I grabbed ahold of my slickened member and smacked Nadine’s brazen ass cheeks with its bloated head, watching the twin, golden orbs ripple with delight. Then I felt for her greasy slit with the tip of my dick and found it, slammed my dong home again. I grasped her waist and brutally pumped her, the table skidding on the linoleum tiles, our bodies smacking loudly and wetly together, in time to my frantic cock-thrusts.
‘Yes!’ Nadine shrieked, her body trembling with orgasm.
‘Mother-fucker!’ I bellowed, the stifling room spinning, my balls boiling over. I grabbed on to Nadine’s ponytail and jerked her head back, her mouth breaking open in a silent scream, sperm cannonading out of my cock and pulsing deep into her sopping sex. I desperately thumped her bottom, riding the gasping, lathered lady like a horse, riding out the electric storm of our ecstasy.
Later that sultry afternoon, after we’d cleared up the remaining paperwork, Nadine suggested that we have a picnic dinner down by the stream that ran through her property. I agreed, then waited impatiently while she packed a wicker basket full of eats and then changed her clothes.
It was worth the wait, though, because when she finally emerged from her bedroom, she looked absolutely spectacular in a white, summer, almost-see-through dress and a big, floppy, white summer hat with a blue ribbon around its crown. Her bare, brown arms and shoulders and legs and chest were mouth-wateringly highlighted against the filmy white background of her dress, her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders. And I could’ve died a happy death from sexual suffocation in the depths of her plunging bronze cleavage.
I tucked the wicker basket under one arm and the wicked MILF under the other, and we strolled out the back door. We walked across a field, through a scraggly cluster of elms, and then down a hill that led to a shallow stream. And when I dropped the basket down on the grassy bank of the creek, Nadine curled around in my arms and embraced me with her lips.
‘Come to daddy!’ I murmured, tasting her glossy lips, gripping her full, only-slightly-drooping bottom through the skimpy material of her dress.
We kissed passionately under the blistering sun, rekindling our nooner fire, the only sounds the babbling brook, the twittering birds, and the wet smacking of our lips and tongues. Eventually, Nadine slipped out of my grasp and pulled her dress up over her head, revealing Nadine and nothing else underneath. Her curvy, sun-kissed body shone ripe and delicious for the picking, and I quickly dismantled my own duds, my cock springing up and sniffing the air.
‘Looks like you could use some cooling off, young man,’ Nadine laughed, her eyes twinkling. She flipped off her shoes and stepped into the creek, scooped up some water and splashed me with it.
I took it on the chest, like a man, my nipples hardening on impact. Then I strode into the gurgling brook after my motherly lover, till we were both up to our knees in the cool, crystal-clear water, our hot, naked bodies glued together.
We kissed and frenched some more, Nadine’s tits surging against my smooth chest, my dick pressing hard into her flat stomach. Then she abruptly broke away and bounded further up the stream, plopped down on a large, sun-heated rock that stood squarely in the middle of the water. She spread her legs, opening the furry gates of heaven, and beckoned me to come forward. ‘Eat me!’ she hissed.
I waded over to her like an obedient, anxious little boy, then stopped and stared at her pussy, at the moisture glistening on the swollen pink lips that peeked out from under her downy, blonde thatch of fur. Then I dropped to my knees in the water and grabbed on to Nadine’s baby-bottom smooth thighs and dove tongue-first into her twat.
‘God, yes!’ she wailed, her body jumping when my tongue touched her slit. She leaned back on the rock, fingers gripping the jagged edge behind her, splayed jugs thrust out to the glaring sun.
I earnestly licked her pussy, savouring her tangy juices, amazed, again, at how wet the old-enough-to-be-my-mother babe could get. Then I clawed her slick, engorged lips apart and speared her juicy pink, fucking her with my tongue, rubbing her puffed-up clit with my thumb. I sank deeper into the water, into the sandy creek bottom, as I lapped and lapped at the lady’s soaking wet snatch, Nadine moaning low and long, her body rippling with sexual electricity.
I pulled my tongue out of her slit and latched my sticky lips onto her clit, sucking hard on it. She howled with joy and her sweat-dappled body arched off the rock, her locked muscles standing out in stark relief, her powerful thighs crushing my head. She was jolted by orgasm again and again and again, girl-juice gushing out of her gash and into my mouth.
It took a while, but once Nadine and I had gotten our breath back, she instructed me to stand up on the hot rock. I climbed onto the now-slippery stone while Nadine stood in the creek, facing me and my steel-hard prick. She looked at my twitching rod for a couple of sex-charged seconds, moist lips only inches away from my mushroomed hood, and then she smiled up at me and vacuumed my cap into her warm, wet mouth, started tugging on it. She sucked expertly on my dickhead, her tongue scouring the sensitive underside of my prick.
‘Yeah, momma!’ I groaned.
Nadine juggled my balls with her right hand while she slid her left up my sun-blasted chest and played with my nipples, her puffy lips inching slowly and inexorably down my pulsating pole. She consumed more and more of my turgid meat, till she had a throbbing two-thirds of it secured in her experienced mouth. That’s when I thrust my hips forward, throat-burying myself to the bone.
She didn’t even gag, so I grabbed on to her blonde tresses and mouth-fucked that mother, plunging my cock down her throat repeatedly. She dug her claws into my ass and hung on for the ride. And within a short, sunstroked minute or so, my throat-diving dick exploded.
‘I’m coming!’ I hollered, frantically pumping my hips, wildly throating my old lady. I clutched her hayseed locks and sprayed her mouth full of sperm, my sweat-slick body shaking like a wheat stalk in a tornado.
Nadine doggedly gulped down just as much of my spurting jizz as she could, the rest spilling out of the whitened corners of her mouth and running down her chin. And when I finally yanked my slimy, spent cock out of the sexpot’s hell-blazing mouth, I glanced up and saw a girl standing on the ridge above us, a shotgun cradled in her arms.
‘W-who’s that!?’ I yelped, pointing at the armed girl staring down at the obscenely naked pair of us.
Nadine nonchalantly gathered up some cum from around her mouth, licked her fingers clean, and then gripped my sodden cock and looked at where I was pointing. ‘Oh, that’s my daughter, Janine,’ the sensuous farmer’s daughter remarked, licking her lips and swallowing, swirling her hand up and down my dong. ‘She doesn’t like it much when I take up with strange men.’
First Time For Everything
by Mary Borsellino
I lost my virginity on New Year’s Eve, 1999. It’s very likely that I’m far from the only person who can claim this. Everyone was a little crazy that night. I think some people thought it was the end of the world, or maybe they just wished it was.
I was eighteen years old, fresh out of high school, and I’d never been kissed. All through my junior and senior year, I’d harboured a desperate, profound crush on my best male friend, Andrew. He’d come over to my house in the mornings before school and play video games with my little brother.
I’d watch his hands, wrapped around the joystick on the game controller. It sounds absurd in hindsight, but eighteen is still a teenager, and my hormones were going wild. Watching his long, clever fingers cradle the slick black plastic of the controller’s shaft was enough to leave me flushed and distracted all through my morning classes, the dark navy panties of my school uniform soaked damp.
Sometimes, if I could convince a teacher to let me out before the bell, I’d escape to the girls’ bathroom and masturbate in one of the stalls. I’d bite my lip and rub furiously at that wet, uncomfortable cotton, my breath panting as I silently imagined Andrew’s slim, clever face and beautiful hands. It never felt like a relief, though. Noth
ing did.
I was an undersexed mess, and Andrew was none the wiser. He had girlfriends from time to time, but never seemed as interested in them as he was in me. The trouble was, it seemed like all he wanted from me was friendship. Honestly, I have no idea why he even wanted that; I was a babbling, silly idiot when he was nearby.
So there we were, on New Year’s Eve, walking up the high hill near our friend Justine’s house toward the local liquor store. It was after ten already, and our party had been going full swing for hours. All the drinks were used up, so we’d been sent out for more.
‘What’s your most embarrassing confession?’ he asked, for no particular reason.
I’d already had two vodkas, and the words slipped out before I could stop them. ‘I’m a virgin. I’ve never even been kissed.’
He stopped, and turned around. His eyes glittered in the low light of the streetlamps. His breath, beer-bitter, was hot and damp on the air between us in the second before his lips touched mine.
‘You?’ he murmured, a little slurred from his own drinks. ‘Never been…’
My first kiss. A warm, heavy press of his mouth on mine, closed and almost chaste.
Then he grinned, stepped back, and started striding up the hill again.
‘Now you have!’ he called back to me. ‘Hurry up!’
I brought my fingertips to my tingling lips, and ran after him.
My second kiss was five minutes later, on the walk back down the hill, two wine bottles clinking in a plastic bag against my thigh as I pulled Andrew’s face to mine with a hand twined in his hair. Our mouths opened against each other. It felt like a part of me was melting.
Back at Justine’s house, we gave our hostess the drinks we’d bought and then, our fingers laced together and laughter zipping in the air between us, we crept down the hallway to the unused guest bedroom.
‘You’ll miss the best parts!’ someone called after us, but as far as I could tell that’s exactly what I was finally going to find.
The sheets were a plain rose cotton, a dull delicate colour. I shoved Andrew down onto the mattress, preferring the wild flush of his cheeks to the fabric’s shade.
I could feel his pulse on my tongue when I sucked at his neck, my thighs straddling his lap, and it made me wonder if I’d be able to follow his heartbeat while I sucked his cock later, when we had our energy back.
His hands were behind me, unhooking the catches of my bra. Those clever fingers had done this before, with the bras of other girls, but I didn’t feel inexperienced or stupid compared to him. It was like my body knew exactly what it wanted, and how to get it.
I stood up, glad that I’d worn a skirt to the party. My breasts, heavy in their unhooked bra, swung forward as I bent down a little to slip my underwear off my hips. Andrew seemed transfixed by the sight of my shifting cleavage, so I leaned forward and bent lower. He could see my nipples now, peeking out of the slipping tops of the bra cups; hard as bone and aching to be touched.
‘Please,’ I begged, not knowing how else to ask. Half an hour before I hadn’t even known what kissing was like, and now I needed his mouth more than anything. He cradled one of my breasts like a full, weighty piece of ripe fruit in his palm, the callus of his thumb tracing lightly over the pebbled pink of the areola. I pressed in closer, urging his face towards my breast. The flat, thin edge of his teeth grazed the nipple, barely a touch, and I felt so wet and open and ready for him that I think I moaned aloud.
I had to step away. It felt too good. I was going to fly apart, like a puzzle dropped off the edge of a table, pieces in all directions. I couldn’t cope with something that good, not unless I had something solid to grasp and ride through it.
I pulled my shirt and useless bra over my head, and kicked my panties away. Still dressed in my awkward first pair of high heels and knee-length charcoal pantyhose, my black skirt sticking to my sweaty thighs, I reached into Andrew’s pocket and felt around until I found the crinkling packet of a condom. I knew he’d have one. I knew everything about him. He was my best friend.
He unzipped his jeans and shoved them down off his hips. Skinny, pale hips – Andrew was the kind of boy who loved computers, not football. His knuckles were white against the mattress as I rolled the condom down onto his thick, blood-full cock, and he made a choked, whimpering sound in the back of his throat.
‘Shh,’ I soothed, touching his face, even though I was the virgin of the pair. I moved my hand up and down over the delicate-looking latex of the sheath, marvelling that something so thin and weightless could offer such protection, such security. It was flavourless, and tasted faintly like party balloons when I lathed my tongue up the length experimentally. Andrew’s heart was racing. His pulse felt like the wings of a tiny, frantic bird. I wanted to keep tasting and exploring, but knew he couldn’t last through it to my own pleasure if I tried. Experienced he might have been, but he was still a teenage boy.
It hurt as I sank down onto him, a dull stretching ache that wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. I needed him too much. I wanted him too much. Nothing could hurt me.
‘Oh,’ was all he said. We were both too overwhelmed for dirty talk or even for each other’s names. I rocked up, experimentally, letting him almost slip free as I clenched my muscles and held him in. The push back down made the length of his cock stroke the upper wall of my cunt, and I felt a wave of amazing sensation shudder through me.
The G spot, I remember thinking to myself. That’s called the G spot. It made me wonder what other magnificent buttons my body might have that I didn’t know about.
‘Squeeze my tits,’ I managed, raking my nails against his arm. He cupped them, shoved them, pinched the nipples hard. I’d never thought to treat myself so roughly. It felt like nothing on earth. I began to understand why people claimed to see God when they were having sex. Every nerve ending in me seemed tuned to some divine channel. Andrew rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, quick and sharp, and I screamed with pleasure.
‘I’m not gonna last,’ he warned me, but I wasn’t either so I didn’t care. We stared at each other, too trapped in the feelings passing between us even to do something as simple as kissing. Then we fell off the edge of the world and into climax, him first and me following after. I wondered if someone could really have an orgasm that strong on their first time, but at the same time I knew it couldn’t have been anything else. It was like champagne. It was like… fireworks.
‘Hey,’ I said, still sitting on his lap, still feeling aftershocks through my body like lightning. He was still inside me, and I didn’t want to ever be without that fullness again. ‘Hey,’ I repeated, glancing out the window at the empty night sky outside. No fireworks split the black out there. They were all inside me, and my new lover. ‘Look. It’s not even midnight yet.’
High Heels And Monster Bikes
by Kitti Bernetti
They were deliciously understated. You can tell real class by whether a woman goes over the top. And these weren’t. They were just right. I was picking a receipt off the floor when I first glimpsed them. It was the heel connecting with the floor which caught my eye. Rubber against granite tiles. Practical but beautiful too in the mixture of textures. I had to stall, pretend I was gouging a bit of chewing gum off the floor with my fingernail, while I studied the heels. They were high. Of course. I can’t be doing with flat shoes. They ruin the line of a woman’s leg. These must have been at least three inches long and black patent. Amazingly, there wasn’t a scuff or a mark on them. They were virgin, pristine, shiny, and black. Like the surface of new gloss paint when you take the lid off. I could have got down on all fours then and there and licked them. What would they taste of? A little bit of leather polish. Oh yes, these were real patent leather, not plastic. I can tell. For goodness sake, I’m a connoisseur aren’t I? Some men go for fine wines, some for Cuban cigars. My passion is shoes.
* * *
I lingered a little too long. My manager saw me and asked what I was doing. Arse. He’
s got less finesse than a bucket of pig pooh. I gave him a look and walked away. I just hope she didn’t hear. I don’t think she did, she’d paid for her stuff and was clicking her way out by then. The whole of the rest of the day, I relived that moment. I thought about how it would feel to have my hands running over that black leather, to feel its shininess under my fingers. They were cute-sexy, round-toed, with a strap over the ankle and fastened with a black pearl button. And yes, you’ve guessed it. Fish-net tights or stockings. I don’t know which. I don’t care much either. It’s the foot that’s the thing and the shoes. Once I’ve passed the ankle I don’t give a stuff. Feet must be the most erotic parts of a woman’s body. It amazes me how many people pass them by. They never even look down. Can you imagine that? Nope, neither can I. They must be sensorily redundant if there is such a word. Search me. What does it matter, you get my drift. As I stacked the tins and swept the floor – that day, unlike all the others – seemed to fly by. She kept me going. My high heel girl. My high heel lady.
The next day, of course I waited. Hovered near the tills. I’d managed to get myself on vegetable stacking duty. You should have seen my manager’s face when I volunteered. It was a picture. He couldn’t believe I’d put myself forward to do anything. ‘That’s not like you, Matt,’ he goaded. ‘I usually can’t prise you off your coffee break. Are you sickening for something?’ He’d put his greasy mitt on my forehead to get a better laugh from the girls. Oily jerk. I could have whacked him in the teeth.
I’d learnt to keep my cool though. A spell inside teaches you that. I wasn’t in long, mind. I played Mr Nice Guy and learned my lesson. It’s tough when you’re a street-wise kid. You have to prove yourself to your mates. It was stupid idiot stuff which got me my stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure. We actually took the trouble to go to Richmond to break into a cricket pavilion and smoke fags. Only trouble was, some dick chucked his dog-end onto a pile of papers and the whole pavilion went up like the great fire of London. We were sitting ducks when the police caught us. I was sent down and I did my few months in the university of human nature. The main thing I learnt was don’t get angry. So now I don’t. I have other interests. I’m squeaky clean now. I even gave up smoking. One of these days I’m going to open my own motorbike shop. Just a local one. I’ll sell a few and fix a few. I know what I’m up to. Funnily enough they taught me that inside too. School’d taught me bugger all. It’s ironic that I had to commit a crime to get my three month crash course as a mechanic. Still, that’s cool if it gets me where I want to go someday.
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