Magical Dreaming

Design is copyright of Missy Rose Fabrics

I recently discovered a delicious fabric supplier that is Australian based. I am currently working with the design pictured. When I read the Wicked Wednesday prompt “Magical Power” this weird idea popped into my head.

“If you could have anything in the world what would it be?” The smooth timbre of the creature’s voice broke through the magic of the clearing. 

Sally stirred, turning to feel the sun on her face as it filtered through the trees. The creature nuzzled her neck, making her wiggle against his sift velvet skin. Without thinking she lifted her hands to cup her naked breasts, lifting them upwards as her fingers explored the smooth skin and her fingers toyed idly with her erect nipples. 

“How could I want anything more than this?” Her voice sounded strange in her ears, kind of sleepy but deeper and huskier, and somehow more satisfied than she had been in a long time. 

The creature gave a satisfied rumble from deep in his body. “You are right, how could we want anything more than this?” He moved downwards stroking Sally’s breasts with the smooth skin of his forehead. Sally felt a stirring between her thighs. It was truly magical being here with him, everything about him was perfect. The creature continued his descent over her belly, leaving a silvery trail of desire as he caressed and teased. Sally’s knees fell apart in anticipation. The creature gave another rumble of desire.

“You are such a greedy girl,” he admonished her, all the while moving closer to the centre of her greed. 

“How can I not be greedy when I have something as delicious and perfect as you.” Sally responded, running her thumb over his forehead, smearing the clear fluid of his arousal over his skin before she lifted her digit to her mouth to taste him. She sighed in delight at the sensation on her tongue. The perfect blend of salt with a tiny bit of sweet. She could drink this nectar all day. 

“You know what they say, too much of a good thing is dangerous.” The creature admonished her, his voice slightly muffled as he began to nuzzle between her legs. 

“Never!” Sally’s statement ended in a sigh as he began to work his magic. Warm waves of pleasure travelled through her body and her back arched sending her breasts jutting high into the sunshine. A butterfly fluttered down from the trees and landed nearby watching, mesmerised by the beauty of the woman abandoning herself to the attentions of her creature. Birds twittered softly in the canopy, tittilating themselves with stories of other creatures that lived in this forest and the women who came to visit. 

The little clearing became alive with the sounds of Sally as the creature teased out her pleasure, stroking her folds and sucking gently on the swollen nub at the top of her slit. A stream of juice rewarded him and he drank greedily, pressing his face firmly against her. 

“Please,” her voice was strained with the urgency of her desire, “I need you, all of you.” 

As always the creature responded to her perfectly. His smooth skin slipped deeper downwards seeking out her opening. Sally held her legs wide. She gave a groan as he penetrated her. Diving deep inside her, like he had so many times. She never understood how he managed to be so perfect but he always was. No matter what he filled her exactly how she needed to be filled. She squeezed her thighs close around him, driving her deeper and he responded swelling just a little to fill her out. The sensation of stretching sent another jolt of pleasure through her body. The forest filled with her cries of pleasure. 

Around the clearing other forest creatures gathered, honouring the bond between the woman and her creature. In the trees the birds were silent, watching, committing every detail to memory to twitter to each other later. The movement of the creature became faster, more urgent. He was nearing his own peak. Sally’s fingers worked the swollen nub he had roused earlier. She was waiting for him, he was waiting for her. Together the reached the peak, filling the clearing with the sound of their release. 

As the sounds echoed away and the two of them lay, curled up in the nest of moss the creatures of the forest began to disperse, each inspired to seek their own clearings. In the trees the birds began quiet chattering, the beginning of a new story. 

Slowly Sally’s eyes opened, sun was streaming through the window of her room. Sheets were rumpled around her and her pillows nestled against her body. Between her legs the moisture of her desire remained. She smiled, remembering her dream. 

“Until we meet again my magical creature.” She whispered to the empty room. 

Wicked Wednesday
Every Damn Day in June

Consent Revisited

Photo by Philipp Wüthrich on Unsplash

Uncle and I are considering starting a project documenting our experiences and advice.  So I have started ploughing through the substantial body of work I had written for Erotic Adventures and Corrupting Mrs Jones. I came across an article I wrote in 2013. Almost ten years ago! I am so old. In it I I wax lyrical about the art of saying “NO”. At the time I felt that the “No means no” fundamental of the swinging world was very firmly in place. I considered that most women who had an issue with enforcing their NO were not being clear with their intent. 

Fast forward to now. I still think a lot of women have issues with saying no. There are a multitude of reasons for this and I could wax lyrical about social conditioning and the like but a quick Google search and you can find much better researched and written articles about this. What this story is about is men who don’t listen. Two sides of the same coin in many ways. 

In my early slut career (I coined this term for last weeks TMI Tuesday don’t you love it). I don’t think I said no very often. We were playing predominantly in the couple space. I interacted with the people I was interested in and if there was a NO it was from the more discerning Mr Jones. Interestingly a woman saying NO on behalf of her husband does not have a lot of repercussions. It did not seem to create a lot of arguments. It is accepted. There were some occasions when it did cause problems. Mostly when the man of the rejected couple decided he HAD to have me and went about trying to pressure his wife into pleasing Mr Jones to achieve this end. But that was their issue. I went about my business secure in my bubble of “no means no”.

These days I interact with single men. In some circles I could be viewed as an individual seeking fun because I do go on solo dates. I have never sought out a couple. For the most part my interest in women is limited and so couples don’t seek me. Married men do. I am happy to play with them one on one if their wife / girlfriend is on board. Over the weekend we invited a couple to come sailing with us. We met at a party. I was intrigued by his mind. Perhaps a little flattered by his statement that he doesn’t interact with women much because he doesn’t find many women worth his while. 

On closer inspection his mind turned out to be very much like other men’s mind. Focussed on his own personal gratification. His discernment wasn’t as refined as he led me to believe. In short he was a man looking for as many holes to poke his dick in as possible. He likes rough play. The kind that explores the boundary between pain and pleasure. He likes boobs. What he likes to do with them is squeeze them quite firmly and pinch nipples. I am not averse to this practice. Sometimes it elicits quite a strong response but for the most part I am a “go easy there” kind of girl. My body is an instrument that needs to be played skilfully to get the most out of it. Bashing on me like a drum will have some effect but it is limited. Plus it will piss me off after a while and get you on the “no thanks” list. 

So I spent the weekend dancing this line. Controlling the amount of rough handling I could tolerate while he pressured me to take as much as his partner seemed to enjoy. In addition he has erection problems. Not uncommon amongst older me. Sad for them. Hard to deal with but you know what. When I want to fuck I want to fuck. If I have tolerated and accommodated your rough handling and tried to be the person to please you I am not entirely pleased when you can’t perform. On top of that I am unhappy if you make me feel like I am being unfair to express my displeasure. That my friend, is gaslighting. 

So with that awkwardness sitting in the background as I helped him straighten his bed in the cabin he shared with his partner, he proposes that I visit him and his partner solo while Mr Jones is away delivering a yacht….

My response…

“Well we don’t do that. See couples when the other one is not present.” 

He seemed OK with that. I exited as speedily as possible and related the events to Mr Jones. He was understanding and agreed with my position as the safest option. That, I thought, was that. But no. The next morning I received a text.

“Come hop in bed with us” the invitation was for me. Not Mr Jones. The cabin is big enough for three but definitely not suitable for four. 

Less than twelve hours ago I told him that we don’t do that. And now he is ignoring my no? 

I didn’t bother to respond. He queried me later. It annoyed me to have to point out that I didn’t feel comfortable leaving my husband alone to go play. Rude much? 

I was irritated about the whole situation. When I met these people I was excited. Happy to have found a couple that we both seemed to get along with. Happy to maybe have another couple friend in the lifestyle. They are hard to come by. But on reflection it just isn’t working for me. He is domineering, opinionated and the most irritating thing, he just doesn’t listen to other people’s ideas or opinions. I really like her but he is not able to let her have a relationship without him being around wanking. Not my thing. 

As we unpacked at home I reflected about a lot of things. One of them being that men often simply don’t listen when a woman as a solo person says no. They don’t hear what she means which is 

“I am not interested, this isn’t working for me, I don’t want to.”

What they hear is;

“I need you to convince me that what you are proposing is attractive.” And worse, “Tell me the reasons why my feelings about my body are not correct.”

These men pressure a woman to explain her refusal and then rebut her reasons. They badger her and make her feel bad for saying no. And then they wonder why dating apps are flooded with men  without a counterbalance of a similar number of women. It isn’t as simple as women learning to say no more clearly. Men need to learn to hear it. 

Wicked Wednesday
Every Damn Day in June

The Traveller – Part 2

You can read part 1 of this story here.

Over the next two days The Traveller and I fucked. Many times. I was amazed. He never seemed tired or unable to respond to me. My own response to him was also surprising to me. I never failed to respond to his touch. One moment we would be enjoying some sunshine and the nest my dress was pushed up and his fingers were exploring me. Drawing out my juice and making me almost beg for his cock. 

We weren’t completely nude. But clothing was minimal. The days were warm and I enjoyed the sunshine. I was keen to enhance my tan as the last warm days of summer faded. Whenever I could find a warm sunny spot out of the wind I stripped down and lay around like a siren luring men to me. For the most part Mr Jones was amused. He watched us dancing around each other and me teasing a response from this man. He watched us fuck and then reclaimed his wife as much as he wanted. 

I was never tired of looking at him. I loved the hair on his body. I loved to run my fingers through the rug on his chest. The silvery hairs seemed to make him more attractive. Like a silverback. Strong, virile and experienced. When he was fully naked I peeked at him around corners. Taking in the strong lines of his body and his round arse. Whenever I looked at his arse I wanted to grab it. I was reminded of how it felt to wrap my legs around it as he fucked me. 

I am unsure of how I managed to walk on the last morning we were together. Or sex that morning was more leisurely. I was reflective knowing that I had to go back to reality and that this was probably the last time he would fuck me. We dragged ourselves out of bed and prepared for the day. I took the opportunity to be a lady of leisure as The Traveller took on my regular duties as a crew member. We sailed back towards the city line, leaving behind the quiet bay where we had spent the night. 

As we sailed back to our home port I began to tidy our cabin and pack up clothing and washing from our trip. As I was pottering I became aware of him in the cabin that Mr Jones and I shared. Of all the places we had fucked Mr Jones’ and my bed was off limits. It wasn’t something spoken but something we agreed to. Over our time together Mr Jones and I have invited others into our own bed at home but for the most part we play somewhere else. A hotel a club, the play room or the guest cabin on the yacht. 

The Traveller’s attention was unexpected. Our time was coming to an end. We had fucked so many times I was sure he had his fill. But then he was there, putting his hands on my waist, pulling me against his body as he nibbled on my neck. I sighed in pleasure as his hands reached inside my dress and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened between his fingers and I reached back to slip my hands inside his pants. His cock as always was ready. He was a freak like that. Always ready. Always horny. 

“How do you want me, Mrs Jones?” His voice was husky against my neck. 

I smiled remembering being teased the night before about how greedy I had been. The Traveller insisted that I had initiated every one of our encounters. As much as I didn’t want to admit it he was right. But I told him that today was about him. He was the initiator. 

“You are in charge today,” I replied. Attempting to fold clothing. 

He moved me towards the stairs. “Here looks good,” He positioned me so that I was leaning over the staircase. I had never thought about using the stairs this way but any stray thoughts of dust and practicalities were banished as he entered me. Even after the last two days I still felt that thrill as he slid inside me. I was still transported by the sound of his breathing and the slap of his belly against my arse.

As always my body responded to him. Excitement rose as his pace increased. 

“You are so fucking sexy,” his voice was strained with excitement. “Are you ready for one last load?” 

“Yes,” My voice came out as a whisper. 

“Here it comes,” I could feel the intensity and my own body responded. 

With the now familiar grunt he climaxed. I could feel him pulsing inside me. I was never tired of that feeling. For a few moments we leaned against the stairs and he rested against me. I was really aware of the feeling that I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to live like this forever. Reality was too hard. 

We made our way back to our home berth, everything was tidy and packed away. As we said our goodbyes there we all expressed a hope that there would be a repeat in our future. As much as I want it to be that way I am not sure. He is a nomadic person. His wanderings don’t bring him to my little corner of the world much. But maybe, one day, the planets will align. In the meantime travel well sexy man. Enjoy life and be happy. 

Wicked Wednesday

The Traveller

Last week’s Wicked Wednesday Prompt was “Hitchhiking” I started writing this post about a friend we had encountered but life got in the way a little.

In yachting circles it is called “taking on crew”. Sometimes the crew are looking for experience aboard a yacht because they want to own their own boat. Sometimes the crew have the finance and life situation to make this happen. For these people crewing is a step on the journey they have already begun. A way to get experience and some free training. Some people don’t have finances and the idea of owning a boat is more of a dream. For them being part of a crew is like touching the dream and somehow keeping it alive. For some people they want to travel from point A to point B but they have time and they are taking the opportunity to have an adventure along the way. 

From the outside life on a yacht can seem romantic and luxurious. The reality can be quite different. Broken toilets, close living quarters, seasickness, bad weather and nowhere to escape when someone is getting on your nerves. Most yachties are men. This can make it hard for solo women who want to join the adventure. Being aboard a small space with no escape and being effectively trapped with a man can be hazardous. Especially if he is interested in more than someone to help him operate his yacht and share the cooking duties. Yachting forums and social media groups are awash with cautionary tales about women getting caught in these situations. To make it worse some of the posts from single men looking for “female only crew” are a bit ambiguous but a bit of a closer inspection makes things seem doubtful that once they have trapped their prey they are going to respect her wishes. As always it seems men take every opportunity to be a dick and try to force their desires on any woman they choose. 

For myself and Mr Jones extra crew members can have a dual purpose if they wish. We advertised on a swingers site. We were pretty transparent and we only chose people who were up for the task. But once on board the choice was theirs. We have enjoyed some very sexy times with multiple people since we purchased our yacht. The one that springs to mind first is The Second Mate. Our time with him was intense and for me satisfying. He pushed my sexual boundaries and opened my eyes to the idea that I can be more picky and in fact should be. As a sailor he was OK. Willing but not a natural. He was one of the ones that planned to own his own boat but finances did not quite meet with desire. 

Recently we met The Traveller. Whilst we are no longer travelling long distances ourselves he wanted to get experience on a yacht because, like The Second Mate, he planned to purchase his own yacht and travel. He was keen to learn about sailing and combine the experience with another activity, passion. We met at a swinger’s weekend. On our first encounter he bent me over a chair and fucked me in front of my husband and any other people who cared to watch. It was a cracking start. A promise of things to come. When we packed up and went back to reality after the weekend we exchanged numbers with plans to meet in the future. 

A few weeks later the second meeting happened. We spent a couple of nights on the water. As with our first encounter things worked. Everyone walked away satisfied. Over the course of a couple of days and memorable evenings we explored each other, learned about fantasies and pleasure spots. Words that spring to mind are lusty, willing, capable and very, very sexy. We parted, unsure of when or if we would meet again. He has a nomadic existence and does not frequent my part of the country much. 

But the planets aligned. He came on board at a jetty on an island in Moreton Bay. It was a sunny morning and Mr Jones and I were enjoying a few days remembering boat life. From the first hello there was the connection. Caressing each other as we walked past, little comments and innuendoes, quick glances that relayed promises of what was to come. We moved away from the jetty and found somewhere a little more private. It was school holiday time so there were quite a few people around. After we anchored The Traveller and myself took the opportunity to sun ourselves on the front deck. Despite the other boats in the vicinity I took off my top and sunned myself allowing the sun to kiss my bare skin. Before long our hands were on each other’s bodies and I was encouraging him to free his growing cock. Fishermen anchored close by were treated to a show of me gorging myself on his cock. All of our flirting and suggestion had taken its toll. 

“I need to fuck you.” He told me urgently. “I can’t hold back my load any longer.”

The fishermen were about to be disappointed. We retired to the cabin to be joined by Mr Jones. In line with an earlier request Mr Jones wanted to watch me be fucked closely. His request was to lie underneath while I was being fucked from behind. I kneeled with my pussy close to his face and The Traveller rested his cock against my opening, teasing us both. I was unprepared for the feeling of him sliding into me. In the weeks since we had last been together I had forgotten but he reminded me but sliding in slowly as if he wanted to remember every part of it. His hands gripped my hips and he fucked me slowly, sliding his cock almost all the way out as Mr Jones licked me. The connection we had was re-established. He fucked until he could no longer hold back sliding out to blow his load over the outside of my pussy. I listened intently, taking in his breathing, the slight groan of pleasure as my husband licked his cum from me. 

I flipped myself around so that I could impale myself on my husband. His cock was rock hard. As I leaned down to kiss him I could taste The Traveller’s cum on his lips. I smiled knowing how much he had waited for this moment. This was almost his ultimate fantasy. I could tell as I rode him that he was close to adding his own load of cum to me. The thrill of being part of this much excitement was like a drug. I could never get enough of this. His climax came quickly. A little too fast for me but it didn’t matter. I knew that this was just the entree. I had two more days with both of them. There would be many more times. 

I wasn’t disappointed. 

Wicked Wednesday

Wet

At first there is a gentle touch

My skin responds

Gooseflesh raising the hairs on my arms

Your breath is warm on my neck

You give a gentle nibble

Strong fingers penetrate me

You bend me over the stairs and pull down my panties

There is no waiting just penetration

The thrill of feeling you inside me never gets old

Fucking me slowly

Hands gripping my hips

Fucking me faster, harder

Until you release

It is satisfying

But I want more

Wicked Wednesday

Table

For Boobday on Friday I posted an image of a table I had been restoring. As I was working on this project a germ of a story was planted.

“Look at this!” Shelli exclaimed as she pulled the drop sheet away from the table sitting in the back of the shed. Dust billowed into the air making Pete sneeze as he came to investigate her find. Even in the dim light of the dusty shed the table seemed to dominate. Pete ran his fingers over the wood admiring the solid construction. 

“You don’t see furniture like this anywhere these days.”  

The wood was dark with age and grime from years of use. Years of being part of the family that lived here before the farm was abandoned after a long drought. Like everything here, the table held stories of better days and dreams for a future that never eventuated. 

“This will look amazing in the dining room,” Shelli’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“I agree, let’s get it outside.” 

Together they lugged the surprisingly heavy table out into the sunlight. “Man I didn’t think it would be THAT heavy,” Shelli leaned against the furniture breathing heavily as Pete inspected their find more closely in the daylight.

Despite the dust and grime Pete could see that the timber was unusual.

“I wonder what it is made of,” he mused as he brushed away dust and scratched the surface with his fingernail. A layer of oil mixed with dirt filled his nail but he was unable to make an indent in the timber itself. Close inspection revealed evidence of saw marks indicating that the planks may have been hewn by hand. 

“It is definitely hardwood,” Shelli concurred. 

“I think it is home made.” Pete continued his inspection admiring the solid way the table was constructed. “Whoever made it wanted to make sure it lasted.” 

Over the next few weeks the table became one of the many projects Pete and Shelli tackled as they worked to bring order and life into their new home. They knew a little of the sad story. The farm was owned by an older lifelong farmer who had inherited the property from his own father. He had lost his wife to cancer and continued to live and work in the only place he had ever known until a tragic accident had taken his life. His adult children could not agree about how to continue running the farm or how to arrange finances. In the end a long drought had decreased the value so much that the family had been unable to sell and had simply walked away. They had stripped the house of anything of value and piled unwanted furniture into the shed. Everything else was left where it stood. Fencing wire and old machinery rusted in the paddock. 

As she scrubbed and sanded the table Shelli reflected on the history of the table. She imagined the original owner constructing the table specifically for the dining room of their newly built house. Her mind wandered to meals shared by the farmer and his wife after long hard days of work. Of stories told and games played with children who followed. Of Christmas dinners shared and birthdays celebrated. How this table saw the children grow up and perhaps even bring their own children to sit at the table to be part of family celebrations. Deep inside she wanted to honour the family by following this tradition. To make the table the centre of her own family and her and Pete’s dreams. 

Eventually the table was finished. The dining room was cleaned and painted. Pete and Shelli lugged it up the steps and through the door. Finally the table was back where it belonged. To mark the occasion Shelli cooked a roast dinner with meat from their own cattle. The first beast they grew. The whole evening was symbolic of a new beginning. New life being breathed into the buildings of the old farm. The air was filled with possibility. 

Pete sat at the head of the table. Perhaps the farmer who had died had sat in that very spot every evening. When the meal was finished Shelli cleared away their plates stacking them neatly to ferry them to the sink for washing. There was no money or spare electricity for dishwashers here. Pete’s hand slid up Shelli’s thigh as she leaned forward to remove the salt and pepper. 

“Someone is frisky tonight,” she smiled back at her husband. 

“How could I not be?” He responded with his own grin. “Fantastic meal, beautiful wife. Who is hot as fuck.” His fingers slid under the elastic of her panties. “And I believe she is as horny as me.”

Shelli leaned further forward to retrieve a teacup, “I swear I have no idea what you are talking about.” Her skirt lifted higher as Pete’s fingers dipped into her wet opening. 

“Really?” He asked as he moved his face close enough to inhale the scent of her.

“Absolutely! Unnff,” She collapsed on the table as his fingers stroked her opening. Her legs spread wider as he pushed his fingers deep inside her, finding the places he knew would make her weak at the knees. Groans of pleasure filled the dining room as she writhed in pleasure, completely at his mercy. Liquid trickled down his fingers sending a jolt straight to his cock. 

Without speaking he stood up from his chair and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free throbbing with desire for his wife. With his tongue touching his lips Pete pulled aside Shelli’s sodden panties. There was a sound of stitches tearing but he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was burying himself deep inside her.

As his cock touched her she backed against him eagerly her desire matched his as he gripped her hips pumping hungrily. From the first thrust he knew he would not be able to last. She was so amazing, her arse was so full and round, slapping against his belly. He could feel the familiar pressure of his seed pressing against the base of his cock, clamouring to fill her. He held as long as he could but it was not long. With a loud groan he pumped his load into her. His strong fingers gripped her hips, she held herself against him eagerly welcoming his jizz. 

His body collapsed over hers, a slight sheen of sweat formed on his back as he revelled in the warmth of her body and the smell of their sex. After a few moments he started to worry about his weight on top of her and he stood up to free her. His cock slid out of her and a dribble of his cum formed on her leg. Shelli squeezed her legs together.

“I don’t want to lose any,” she whispered against the tablecloth.

Pete smiled fondly and caressed the line of her back making her shiver, “Why not?”

“I want to grow more than just cows.” She looked at him with a sly look on her face, “This table is too big for just two people.” 

Wicked Wednesday
mmmMondays

By the Ocean

Photo by Palle Knudsen on Unsplash

Take one man. Slightly salty with a sense of humour, Add a woman with a dirty mind. Find a quiet space near a beach perhaps with a park bench. 

The man puts his hand on her thigh and looks into her eyes. She opens her legs and the sea breeze tantalises her just a little. 

Their faces are close, she can hear his breathing but he refrains from kissing her. Instead he slips his hand higher so that his fingers graze her naked pussy. Now it is her turn to breathe heavily. 

Her hand slides down into his pants. Fingers wrap around the velvet skin of his engorged cock. She moves her hand gently up and down the shaft. His fingers delved deeper opening up the silky wetness of her cunt. 

He moves between her legs and unzips his pants. With his other hand he pulls her closer. The sun shines down but no one else is there on the beach to enjoy it. 

Then they are fucking. Him sitting on the bench with her on his lap. His hands grip the globes of her arse as she moves up and down on his shaft. They are wild and free in nature. 

When they are done, she sits on the bench. Her dress is pulled down over he knees. He stands and zips his pants before kissing her goodbye and walking away. She leans back on the bench basking in the sun and the memory of him. 

Somewhere, hidden by the bushes her husband is watching. His cock too is engorged. He steps out of the bushes and stands in front of his wife. She looks up at him. Her eyes glisten with desire.  She is not satisfied. 

He pulls her up and bends her forwards over the bench. Her dress is hiked up allowing him access to her deep wet cunt. His fingers grip her hips as he fucks her. She responds, arching her back revelling in the feel of being filled by him. Together their desire builds but at the last minute he pulls out of her. 

She stands, legs splayed, panting, aching for him. 

“Don’t turn around,” his instructions are firm. 

She waits, listening to the sound of the water lapping. Feeling the breeze on her bare arse, grazing her tender cunt. Then there is another pair of hands stroking her, fingers dipping into her opening.

Her husband stands in the bushes, watching.

Forbidden

Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

There is something about fucking another man’s wife. She belongs to him. She wears his ring. When my mouth is on her cunt she moans as my tongue strokes her pussy. When I penetrate her with my cock she wraps her legs around me, squeezing me as she orgasms.  She is responding to me. I am the source of her pleasure. Even then there is always a layer of her that belongs to him.

As we are fucking he watches us. At first he sits outside the door watching. The sound of her pleasure fills the room. Every thing about her is wild and she has given in to the pleasure she feels. As he watches us his cock stiffens and he strokes his shaft as he watches his own personal porno. He is only focussed on her. And a part of her mind will be aware of him, his movements and his mood. Even while I fuck her and she squirts her juices over my cock. 

I had never experienced a woman like her. She orgasmed at my touch so many times. She vocalised her pleasure in so many different ways. She touched me in front of others, teasing my cock until it was rock hard. And then walked away to speak with someone else, as if there was nothing between us. I don’t know what the people at that party thought when the three of us went back to our own yacht, to our own private party. I just knew that where I was going was going to blow my mind in ways that most people would never understand. 

I took her away to my room and undressed her. Somewhere outside her husband was doing his thing. As we kissed and touched we both knew he was aware of us, she was aware of him. I was slowly drowning in my desire for her. I stroked her pussy, opening her legs and moving between her knees. I craved the taste of her. I wanted to extract that jet of juice that she struggled to contain. Knowing how much she was trying to hold back made the taste of her juice so much sweeter.

“I want to feel you,” I whispered in her ear. “I want to be naked inside you.”

“That isn’t part of the deal.” She responded in between gasps. 

“Please,” I was desperate. 

“It isn’t my decision,”

I lay on top of her, pressing my body against hers. Her legs opened to welcome me. She wrapped her legs around my hips so that her wet hungry cunt was against my cock. A wicked grin played around the corners of her mouth as she reached down and stroked herself with my cock.  Little spasms of pleasure told me how much she was enjoying using my cock in this way.

“You want to be inside me?” she asked as she played the head of my cock over her pussy.

“Yes,” I struggled to contain myself

“You want to slip inside me?” She pushed the head of my cock into the opening of her cunt. “Like this?” 

It took all the control I had not to ram my cock deep inside her. I ached to immerse myself in the silky warmth of her. She had complete control over me. But I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t notice the slight change in her demeanour that told me her husband was in the room. I looked over my shoulder to see him sitting at the end of the bed. 

“I want to see your cum on her pussy,”

It was as if he had read my thoughts. Despite the forbidden nature of this encounter. What most people knew as “normal” I didn’t feel intimidated. 

“You want me to fuck her naked?” His consent was important. To her. To me. To all of us. 

He shrugged, “Don’t you?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. My attention went back to her. The man watching intently faded into the background. My whole focus was on her. She smiled that wicked smile. Her hand was still holding me. Teasing the head of my cock against her opening. Her legs opened inviting me deeper and she released me. I slid myself into her. I resisted the urge to rush. I wanted to feel every millimetre of her. I was surprised at the way she responded. I didn’t think it was possible but she responded even more intensely. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened as she groaned in pleasure. 

I felt as if every hair on my body was tingling with pleasure as her hips bucked upwards towards me, urging me to fuck her. I didn’t need any more invitation. Our eyes locked together as I fucked her hot wet pussy. Her juice squirted over my belly and soaked the bed underneath us but neither of us cared. Nothing mattered except the feeling of skin on skin and the man watching. 

The familiar pleasure began to build at the base of my shaft. Deep strong heat building up as I pumped into her. I knew it wouldn’t be long. Somehow she knew.

“Put your cum on me,” she whispered in encouragement. 

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I pulled out of her just as thick white jizz spurted over her swollen pussy. My body tensed as a second wave of pleasure shuddered through me and a second jet covered her. I was spent and rested against her for a few seconds as the other man touched her, smearing my jizz over her cunt. 

I moved away and he took my place. Reclaiming his territory fucking her hard until he left his own seed deep inside her. 

Wicked Wednesday
mmmMondays

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 23

I have been struggling to write anything of late. My new job is a much longer commute and it is taking it out of me a bit. I used to get a solid hour of quiet time in the mornings but now I am struggling to get in 30 minutes. The routine will come. It hasn’t been a full term yet. Until then things are going to be sporadic.

When and how did you lose your virginity, and how did you feel about it? How do you feel about it now?

I lost my virginity when I was 17. I had moved out of home to attend university and for some reason I was on a mission to get sexually active. At the time I did not realise but what was happening was the classic reaction of a young person who has been restricted by parents and the education system. With the first taste of freedom they go a little crazy. Perhaps as an indicator of my future sexual antics were my particular jam.

I gave my virginity to a mature age student in my university course. He was about 23 and was busily working his way through all the impressionable 17 and 18 year olds in our course. We all thought he was incredibly good looking, he wasn’t, We all thought he was worldly and grown up. But honestly he was a complete fake. No fixed career and not a lot to show for the five years he had been working since he left high school. No tales of travel, no fixed address and a beat up car. He supposedly had a girlfriend who none of us ever met and who, according to him was more of an on again off again thing. 

I found myself in his flat one afternoon and there we were naked. From memory he was reasonably well endowed and I remember making him wear a condom. I didn’t tell him I was a virgin until afterwards. He was concerned about that and I remember him apologising to me and admonishing me for not telling him. Honestly I don’t think it would have made a difference. But there it was. 

I was not ashamed of what had happened and wasted little time letting people know. Maybe I thought it would make me more popular. It didn’t. It certainly didn’t secure him, even temporarily. I guess I wasn’t his type because he moved on straight away. He then proceeded on his mission of fucking as many impressionable young girls as possible. One particularly memorable time he fucked my friend while I was in the room and not involved. Maybe he thought it would trigger a threesome. I was too socially awkward to know what to do other than pretend I couldn’t hear them and steadfastly concentrate on the Maths we were all supposed to be studying.

For the record. I failed that exam and she got pregnant. Not a great outcome for either of us. At least I didn’t end up with that gift. Looking back I don’t regret what happened as much as I regret being so immature and impulsive. I regret what was the beginning of a lifelong mind habit of thinking my most important value is in being sexual. I wish I had more people in my life then, and now, who celebrated my other talents and gave me a different focus. Perhaps then I would have ‘saved myself’ for someone who appreciated me, the person, a bit more and who wouldn’t cast me aside like a takeaway container after the meal is hastily consumed. It may have saved me later heartache and given me the confidence to make better relationship choices. 

If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.  

Wicked Wednesday

Fuck Me Now!

Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

“I want to fuck you right here, right now.” His cock was hard on her arse. His words were a secret whispered in her ear amongst the music and the chatter of drunken people all around them. His hands cupped her breasts under her shirt teasing her nipples. 

Hot breath escaped from her lips and she spread her feet, bracing against the back of the chair as his fingers slid downwards into her slit. One arm held her firmly as the other hand teased her hardening clit. His beard tickled against her cheek as his breathing sounded in her ear. His finger slid down further, seeking her opening. The sounds of the party around them seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was him, exploring and the urgency building. 

There was a ripping sound of velcro being opened and she felt the hot velvety skin of his cock on her butt. Pre-cum smeared over her arse as he moved his cock between her butt cheeks. Like a dog on heat she bent forward and opened herself to him. For the briefest of seconds he paused at her opening before sliding the length of his cock into her hungry wet cunt. 

She wondered who was watching, then he began pumping into her. She realised she didn’t care. All that mattered was the feeling of being fucked over a chair. His fingers worked over her clit and the juice of her arousal began to trickle down the inside of her leg. She could feel the tension building in him as he fucked her harder. The familiar yearning began to build. 

Almost before she knew it he was there on the edge. His breathing changed, the rhythm of his stroke changed slightly and his fingers gripped her more tightly. She arched her back in anticipation she wanted to be filled with all he could give her. 

He did not disappoint. With a long groan he emptied himself into her. She could feel his cock pulsing and relished the shuddering of his body, responding with her own cries of pleasure. He slumped over her back, breathing heavily. She rested her head on her arm and let the warmth flow through her. He pulled away from her slowly, reluctantly, his cock sliding out of her. A trickle of cum wound its way down her leg glistening in the party lights. 

Wicked Wednesday