gritted my teeth and carried on until they couldn’t take it
anymore.
Easing off for a while, I took the each
breast in a hand and squeezed. It felt like I was kneading dough and if Roger
hadn’t been there drooling, I wouldn’t have bothered.
The piece de la resistance was my tongue.
I stretched it as far out of my mouth as I
could, but I was short by a couple of centimetres.
My hands pushed as hard as they could to
force my tits up. Somehow I pulled it off. My nipple and tongue met for the
first time and I couldn’t believe I’d never made that extra effort before. It
was perfect, being able to send the silky smooth tongue into all the right
places at the right times.
No doubt Roger forgot about his timing.
I didn’t care. For me, our timing was
perfect.
As soon as I stopped, he fell on top of me
and thrust his cock inside me.
He pushed hard but was gentle, reaching
right in to me one minute, then hitting my G-spot the next.
We came together like singers in a choir,
our harmonies making the perfect sound.
Somewhere in the middle of the action, the
board was tossed onto the floor and all the letters were scattered around the
carpet like casualties of a militant classroom.
It was game over, not that it really
mattered. I was spent and so, by the feel of things, was he. We held each other
tight until our panting became shallow breathing and until his breathing became
wispy snores.
Before he left this morning he told me
about his other idea. He even had a skipping rope in his bag to prove his line
of thought. A little bondage and blindfolding would have come my way if he’d
scored another 50.
Never mind, I told him as I kissed him
sleepily to say goodbye. There’s always next weekend.
So I’m lying here, mindlessly playing with
my clit and mulling over all these things and wondering why last night was so
special.
There have been bigger men and harder
fucks. I’ve had more danger and excitement in my life. I’ve been with guys for
longer and I’ve let them do anything they fancied.
I guess the difference this time is the way
my heart feels.
Maybe it’s the love thing, the first time
I’ve actually made love rather than scratched my lusty itches.
Next time he comes over, I’m going to bake
him a heart-shaped cake and get some massage oils in. If he throws in the
ropes, who knows what will happen?
––––––––
the
end
and
the beginning ;)
Hen Nights
for the men and women in my life
T he limo was pink and stretched from
Penny’s terraced house at number 15 to the door of number 25.
10 women emerged in procession from Penny’s
and danced their way into the car. The chauffeur held open the passenger door,
his cap tilted to one side, his tie slightly crooked and his sleeveless shirt
revealing the tight lines of his enormous biceps. He smiled at each of them in
turn and did a fine job of looking sultry and available as he did so.
The hen party wore their uniform with
pride, the Penny’s Henny tee shirts tight across their chests, the gold and
silver deely-boppers bouncing as they skipped, the shorts practically
non-existent and the high heels a bugger to walk on.
There were cries and whoops as they got
into their seats, leather and soft and fit for far more regal behinds than
their own.
Polly popped open the champagne. Jenny
pinched the chauffeur’s ass and decided that she’d like to do a further
inspection of his rock-hard buttocks later on in the evening. Liz and Pepsi
giggled as they carried each other along, already too pissed to walk
unassisted. Marge adjusted her bra cups so that it didn’t look like she had
muffin-top tits. Anne and Shirley looked at each other and touched hands when
they thought nobody could see them. Peaches gave the chauffeur a full on snog
on the lips when she went past, determined to better Jenny and leaving the
driver looking like a clown with his new lipstick face; her parting shot was a
tiny lick of his lips to make sure he understood what
anymore.
Easing off for a while, I took the each
breast in a hand and squeezed. It felt like I was kneading dough and if Roger
hadn’t been there drooling, I wouldn’t have bothered.
The piece de la resistance was my tongue.
I stretched it as far out of my mouth as I
could, but I was short by a couple of centimetres.
My hands pushed as hard as they could to
force my tits up. Somehow I pulled it off. My nipple and tongue met for the
first time and I couldn’t believe I’d never made that extra effort before. It
was perfect, being able to send the silky smooth tongue into all the right
places at the right times.
No doubt Roger forgot about his timing.
I didn’t care. For me, our timing was
perfect.
As soon as I stopped, he fell on top of me
and thrust his cock inside me.
He pushed hard but was gentle, reaching
right in to me one minute, then hitting my G-spot the next.
We came together like singers in a choir,
our harmonies making the perfect sound.
Somewhere in the middle of the action, the
board was tossed onto the floor and all the letters were scattered around the
carpet like casualties of a militant classroom.
It was game over, not that it really
mattered. I was spent and so, by the feel of things, was he. We held each other
tight until our panting became shallow breathing and until his breathing became
wispy snores.
Before he left this morning he told me
about his other idea. He even had a skipping rope in his bag to prove his line
of thought. A little bondage and blindfolding would have come my way if he’d
scored another 50.
Never mind, I told him as I kissed him
sleepily to say goodbye. There’s always next weekend.
So I’m lying here, mindlessly playing with
my clit and mulling over all these things and wondering why last night was so
special.
There have been bigger men and harder
fucks. I’ve had more danger and excitement in my life. I’ve been with guys for
longer and I’ve let them do anything they fancied.
I guess the difference this time is the way
my heart feels.
Maybe it’s the love thing, the first time
I’ve actually made love rather than scratched my lusty itches.
Next time he comes over, I’m going to bake
him a heart-shaped cake and get some massage oils in. If he throws in the
ropes, who knows what will happen?
––––––––
the
end
and
the beginning ;)
Hen Nights
for the men and women in my life
T he limo was pink and stretched from
Penny’s terraced house at number 15 to the door of number 25.
10 women emerged in procession from Penny’s
and danced their way into the car. The chauffeur held open the passenger door,
his cap tilted to one side, his tie slightly crooked and his sleeveless shirt
revealing the tight lines of his enormous biceps. He smiled at each of them in
turn and did a fine job of looking sultry and available as he did so.
The hen party wore their uniform with
pride, the Penny’s Henny tee shirts tight across their chests, the gold and
silver deely-boppers bouncing as they skipped, the shorts practically
non-existent and the high heels a bugger to walk on.
There were cries and whoops as they got
into their seats, leather and soft and fit for far more regal behinds than
their own.
Polly popped open the champagne. Jenny
pinched the chauffeur’s ass and decided that she’d like to do a further
inspection of his rock-hard buttocks later on in the evening. Liz and Pepsi
giggled as they carried each other along, already too pissed to walk
unassisted. Marge adjusted her bra cups so that it didn’t look like she had
muffin-top tits. Anne and Shirley looked at each other and touched hands when
they thought nobody could see them. Peaches gave the chauffeur a full on snog
on the lips when she went past, determined to better Jenny and leaving the
driver looking like a clown with his new lipstick face; her parting shot was a
tiny lick of his lips to make sure he understood what
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