Archive for April, 2013

Grimm and Tonic

The Big Bad Wolf is playing EmpireCraft and doesn’t particularly want to hear about it when Little Red Ridinghood stalks into the apartment. She slams the door after herself, which makes Wolfy flinch and hurriedly close the website he had been browsing in between turns. If Ridinghood saw what he was looking at, he’d be embarrassed.

She sets her picnic basket down heavily on their twelve dollar Ikea coffee table, making it sag dangerously. The Wolf is familiar with this routine and knows what it means: another one-night stand; another swing-and-a-miss.

“I don’t get it,” Ridinghood announces petulantly.

The Big Bad Wolf makes a noncommittal wolfish sound. The game was going poorly anyway. London is on the verge of capitulating to the Irish Horde. It doesn’t help that he has been browsing porn while playing.

“I just don’t get it,” Little Red Ridinghood repeats. “Why can’t I come when I’m with a guy? I do just fine by myself. I can orgasm for days on end. But with a guy it’s like… I get this close, but it stays just barely out of reach.” She sat down heavily on the couch behind the computer desk. “It’s like… I get so fucking close, and then he starts humping away like crazy, and totally loses the rhythm. It drives me insane.”

There is a clunk and another clunk as Ridinghood takes off her boots. The Big Bad Wolf knows that her jeans and trademark red hoodie will be next. Ridinghood has a really bad habit of wandering around the apartment in nothing but her skivvies. He is going to have to say something to her about that. Sometime.

On the screen, Cromwell is fiddling while London burns. The Big Bad Wolf hears Ridinghood squirm out of her street clothes. Despite himself, his dick tingles and stirs inside his pants. At the same time, his tail bushes up like a Halloween cat. He wonders if she gets the connection. He wonders if she even cares.

“Guys are easy,” Little Red Ridinghood went on, “All you have to do is apply a little friction, maybe add a touch of wet; rub, repeat, and not stop. Why do girls have to be so tricky?”

“Maybe you should try fucking a girl,” the Wolf says, “and then you both could not come together. I heard Rapunzel goes both ways.”

“Up yours,” Little Red Ridinghood tells him, but not in an unkind way. She ruffles the Wolf’s hair between his ears, which makes him crazy, and retires to her own bedroom. The Wolf tries, and fails, to ignore the muffled humming drone of her vibrator.


“Bigger isn’t always better,” Little Red Ridinghood announces over coffee. The Big Bad Wolf winces as the toaster ka-chunks and spits out a pair of PopTarts. He is hung over, in a pretty brutal way. Goldilocks was over last night, while Ridinghood was out with Rumpelstiltskin. Wolfy and Goldi wrapped themselves around an improbable amount of gin and tonics, and hung out and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Bitching and complaining mainly, mostly about their love lives and the lack thereof. The Big Bad Wolf could probably have fucked her, or at least gotten a blowjob, if he’d made any serious effort. But he hadn’t. Probably for the best, the Wolf reflects; Goldilocks is a friend and a really cute girl, but she has her own issues, and more than her share of baggage. The Big Bad Wolf gets a reasonable amount of sex, for a single creature, but he is a lonely Wolf.

Ridinghood is unfailingly chipper in the morning, a condition the Big Bad Wolf alternately envies and loathes. She likes to recount her previous night’s adventures over PopTarts and coffee, and the Wolf likes to torture himself by listening.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Little Red Ridinghood continues with a smirk plastered across her face, and a frosted breakfast pastry in one hand. “I like a big dick as much as the next girl. But Rumpelstiltskin’s schlong is way out of bounds. I mean, it hurt. Holy shit, just getting it in was an engineering challenge. And then he wouldn’t just be done. He’s one of those guys who thinks that the girl always has to come first, and who get’s all pouty and bent out of shape if she doesn’t…” She sighs, bites the PopTart in half. “I had to fake it, just so he’d get off. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it, over the years.”

The Big Bad Wolf has heard plenty of Ridinghood’s fake orgasms, and he disagrees. To his ears, they just sound fake. But he keeps his big fat trap shut. As usual.


The Big Bad Wolf has a lunch date with Grandma. They meet up at a hipster little bistro on Gingerbread Lane, a couple blocks off the L train. Grandma wears leather pants, probably an unfortunate choice, the Wolf reflects ruefully. She’s not bad looking at all, not for her age, but still… Leather pants?

The Wolf always feels a bit like a whore when he’s out with Grandma. He eats a tiny, exquisitely crafted and shockingly overpriced baguette, and they go through the requisite motions:

“My, what big ears you have!”

..sigh… “The better to hear you with, Grandma.”

“My, what big eyes you have!”

“The better to see you with, Grandma.”

“My, what big paws you have Wolfy! I wonder what else you have that is big…?”

This is the Wolf’s cue to signal the waiter. Grandma picks up the check as always, which the Wolf shouldn’t really mind, but does anyway. It’s kind of emasculating. Being kept can be a mixed blessing. They retire to Grandma’s apartment, the doorman winking knowingly and obnoxiously.

Once inside, Grandma peels off those hideous black leather pants. She takes good care of her body; she must have been seriously hot when she was younger. She still looks good, damned good. The Wolf is fully erect, and it isn’t just a Pavlovian response.

Grandma likes it hard, rough, and from behind. She bends over her Barcalounger, and pulls her lacy sapphire panties to one side. The Big Bad Wolf slathers his cock in lube (Grandma doesn’t get wet like she used to), and jams it up inside her. Grandma grunts and the Wolf utters a long, drawn-out howl. He may feel like a whore, but right now feeling like a whore feels pretty damn good. She likes it hard and fast, so he gives it to her hard and fast, shoving his cock all the way up her pussy before pulling it almost all the way out and then slamming it back inside. The wolf smacks Grandma’s ass as he fucks her; he claws at her back and nips the back of her neck with fangs that could pierce bone crush vertebrae. Grandma loves it, and she lets him know, loud and clear. It doesn’t take long. She comes hard on the Wolf’s thrusting cock; and when he yanks her steel-grey hair and slides one slick, manicured finger up her crinkled asshole, she comes a second time, just for good measure.

The Big Bad Wolf finishes inside her. Which isn’t a bad way to finish, no not really bad at all.

They relax nude over Bombay Gin with just a hint of tonic, thrown in for propriety’s sake.

“So, when are you going to fuck her?”

“Who?” the Wolf asks, startled out of his hazy post-coital reverie.

“Your roommate, of course. Red. When are you going to fuck that spicy little piece of ass?”

“Oh… Her. She says I’m her best friend. She says I’m too nice. She doesn’t want to spoil a perfectly good friendship.”

“What-ever.” Grandma lounges back in her Barcalounger, spreading her legs and giving the Wolf an eyeful of her juicy, freshly-fucked twat. A twat that appears to be ready for round two. “Fuck her. I would.” She takes a big fat drink, and smacks her lips. “If I were in your shoes, I’d totally jump on that red-haired action.”


Little Red Ridinghood walks right in on the Wolf masturbating to a porn video. The wolf likes amateur porn, and he favors redheads.

“Oh!” she exclaims, “Excuse me!”

She almost seems to hesitate a moment, and the Big Bad Wolf almost thinks about asking her to stay. But she is already gone.


Morning coffee and toasted PopTarts. The Wolf drank too much again and has a headache. Little Red Ridinghood is just as chipper as always, though the Wolf knows she stumbled in not three hours earlier after a date with Pinocchio.

“I swear, that boy doesn’t know when to stop!” Ridinghood bitched, with a peculiar combination of petulance and smugness. “I mean, he’s made out of wood!”

The Wolf sighs. He’s not sure he wants to hear this. But he is all ears.

“He fucked me raw. He’s not all that hung, you know, he just never gets soft. The boy is insatiable. It was kind of cute at first, but then it just got painful. My coochie is going to be sore for days. And it’s not like I even got to get off.” She sighs dramatically, spreads her legs and runs her fingers gingerly up and down the crotch of her grey sweat pants. “He can do some pretty interesting tricks with his nose though…”

This is too much for the Big Bad Wolf. He excuses himself, makes his exit, takes six Advil and a very long, very hot shower. He jerks off under the running water and feels sorry for himself afterward.


The Three Little Pigs are a trio of fat, greasy, horny little porkers, and they make no apologies for it. To get into their apartment, the Big Bad Wolf has to go through the whole “I’ll huff and I’ll puff…” routine, which was cute like ten years ago, but is kind of annoying when you have a hard-on the size of the state of Florida wedged into your pants. But when they do open the door and let him in, it’s all worthwhile.

The Three Little Pigs adore being eaten out. The one thing they all like almost as much as being on the receiving end of cunnilingus is watching a fat, juicy piggy pussy getting licked. The Wolf is always happy to oblige.

The Piggies get naked faster than you could say ‘higgledy-piggledy’. They are utterly uninhibited little creatures, all pink and roly-poly and jiggly and wiggly. Their breasts are big and bouncy, their bottoms are wide, their pussies are wet and slippery, and their tails are tight little corkscrews. They lounge on the bed and watch lasciviously while the Big Bad Wolf gets undressed. His cock is already plenty hard, and they ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ with unfeigned admiration. The Little Piggies are nothing if not an enthusiastic audience.

The First Little Piggy spreads her legs, and the Big Bad Wolf dives in. She is sopping wet and juicy, and her taste is oh-so-slightly reminiscent of bacon. The Big Bad Wolf would love to slather maple syrup all over her crack, and lick it clean. Maybe sometime he will. He slurps up and down her pussy, dragging the flat of his long tongue between her puffy pink labia and slathering her clit.

The Big Bad Wolf inserts first one, then two, and finally three thick fingers into the First Little Piggy’s cunt. He finger-fucks her, gently at first, spreading her wetness up and down and all around, then harder and harder, until he is lifting her pelvis all the way up off the bed with his fingers. With his fingers buried deep inside the First Little Piggy, he bends over and laps at her clitoris.

The other two Piggies ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’. They will all get their turn, but they are not patient creatures, and they have started in on each other while they watch the show, touching, nibbling and kissing. The Piggies are certainly not lesbians, and it is just a little bit like incest, but right now they don’t care. The Second and Third Little Piggies are intertwined like double helixes, stubby little fingers getting busy between fat thighs; their little piggy eyes glued to the Big Bad Wolf and the action on the futon mattress.

The First Little Piggy surrenders to her excitement, grunting and squealing and huffing and puffing her way toward a massive orgasm. Meanwhile, the Big Bad Wolf is already thinking about where he is going to come. The Piggies don’t hold with fucking or sucking, but once they have all gotten off (at least once, maybe twice, or more), one of them will jerk him off, and he gets to choose where he comes: boobies, or ass, or squirting off onto a wide-spread piggy pussy, or into an open mouth, or even all over one of their plump pink porcine faces. It’s not a bad arrangement. Not at all.

Once the First Little Piggy has settled down and extracted herself from the Wolf’s long and sticky fingers, he goes to work on the Second Little Piggy, who is halfway there already. Delayed gratification has never been the Piggies strong suite.

It doesn’t take long for the Big Bad Wolf to finish off the Second and then the Third Little Piggy, and by then the First Little Piggy is ready to go all over again. The Wolf is getting tired and frustrated, but he does his duty, using more tongue and less fingers this time, bending the First Little Piggy over the back of their ratty old couch and burying his long snout between her cheeks, licking up and down the cleft of her ass, alternately tonguing her pussy and asshole, letting her do the clit stimulation herself, until she comes one last time, squealing and oinking with pleasure. It is, he has to admit, pretty gratifying.

The Big Bad Wolf has made his choice. The Second and Third Little Piggies each lend a hand while the First Little Piggie sprawls limply across the futon. It doesn’t take long; it has been several days since he has gotten off, and he’s overexcited anyway. Howling at an invisible moon, the Wolf shoots off all over the First Little Piggy’s not-so-little tits. His balls twitch and tremble and he squirts gobs and gobs of pearlescent white semen across her chest and beyond, splashing onto the futon. They will definitely need to change the cover after this afternoon.

Temporarily sated, the four friends get dressed and have a drink. The Piggies favor vodka tonics, with more vodka than tonic. They want to know when he’s going to get around to fucking Ridinghood. He tells them she just wants to be friends, and they laugh at him, which is annoying. Mildly buzzed, the Big Bad Wolf strolls homeward, his balls hanging low and loose, the intoxicating smell of piggy pussy still lingering on his fingers.

When Wolf gets back to the apartment, Riding Hood is in her bedroom, getting loudly and vigorously fucked.

The Wolf attempts to ignore it. He fires up his computer, puts on some music, tries to concentrate on EmpireCraft. It doesn’t work. The sounds of Riding Hood getting banged keep leaking right through his expensive headset. Who is it? The Gingerbread Man? Tom Tom the Piper’s Son? Jack Sprat? It doesn’t really matter. Whoever it is certainly is enthusiastic. And Riding Hood is faking orgasms all over the place.

Wolf splits over to the House of Candy and proceeds to get fucked-up drunk.


Several days later. Wolf was supposed to have a date with Grandma, but she cancelled at the last minute, and he doesn’t really mind. He is playing EmpireCraft, and looking at naked girls on the internet; alt-tabbing between the two, and as usual, his game is suffering for it. The Ottoman Empire is foundering; the Irish have developed mechanized warfare and are overrunning North Africa. He doesn’t hear Riding Hood come in.

“Cute tits,” Little Red Ridinghood observes.

The Big Bad Wolf is looking at redheads, in various states of undress. He alt-tabs back to his game, where the Irish Hordes are sacking Jerusalem. Under his fur, he is blushing, but Ridinghood doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’d do her,” she goes on. “I wish mine were a little bigger. Not huge, just a little bigger.”

“I think yours are perfect,” says the Wolf. His tail is poking out the back of his pants, big and bushy, like a scared cat. It always gets big and bushy when he gets an erection.

“Thank you!” Ridinghood says. “I’d like to see her pussy.”

The Big Bad Wolf switches windows and clicks on the ‘next’ button. This picture does indeed show the cute redhead’s pussy. It is shaved, with fat, pouting lips.

“Cute pussy! It looks a little like mine, except I have more hair. It would look cuter with a big fat wolf dick stuffed up inside it though.” Ridinghood informs the Wolf. His tail gets even bushier. Before he can think of an appropriate response, she is gone.


The Big Bad Wolf is in the shower. In the kitchen, the coffee pot is burbling and hissing. Ridinghood is still asleep in her bedroom. She always sleeps in men’s boxers and a t-shirt. The Wolf is seriously considering jerking off in the shower. He hasn’t started yet, but as far as his penis is concerned, the decision is already made.

Little Red Ridinghood walks into the bathroom. She is wearing tartan boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt that reads ‘WHO THE FUCK IS MICK JAGGER?’ She still has sleepy eyes. She reaches around the shower curtain, grabs the Wolf by the erection, and pulls him straight out of the bathtub.

She waits while he does a perfunctory towel-off of his soaking-wet black fur. The whole time he can feel her eyes on his body, hungry.

He follows her into her bedroom, which is a mess of an epic sort. They land on the bed.

There is a lot of kissing. The kissing is really nice, and they both want more of it, but they are also both eager to move on to other, more urgently pressing matters.

The Big Bad Wolf pulls off Ridinghood’s boxers. She does indeed have a very pretty pussy with pink, eager inner labia and a soft muss of red hair atop it like a cowlick. He takes an ankle in each paw and lifts her up to his face.

He drags his tongue along the length of her pussy, exploring in between the puffy outer lips. She is very excited. She tastes delicious. When his tongue brushes across the erect nubbin of her clit, she bucks and squirms. “Fuck me!” she demands, her voice raspy and urgent, but the Wolf does not stop.

Up and down, up and down he laps, the flat of his tongue dragging lazily across her labia, caressing her clitoris. Wolf is holding her ankles up over his head so that the only part of her body that is touching the bed are her shoulders, outstretched arms, and the back of her head. Her red hair is flying like it is in a whirlwind. She struggles, but she doesn’t get away. The Big Bad Wolf is a strong animal, with long, ropy muscles. “Fuck me Wolfy! Goddamn it, fuck me! Fuck me, please!”

He lifts her up a little more. Now it is just her red hair that is touching the sheets. He buries his snout between her ass cheeks. His long, wolfish finds her anus and squirms up inside. She squeals incoherently, twisting and flailing, whimpering his name, begging him.

Finally the Big Bad Wolf relents. He plops Ridinghood back onto her bed, where she lies, twitching and mumbling, her legs spread wide apart, her fingers running lightly petting her sodden cunt. The Wolf could watch this show all day. But not today.

He wastes precious time looking for condoms, before Ridinghood tells him “In the little wooden box, under the bed.” There are some other interesting items in there too, ones that the Wolf would be very interested in trying out with Ridinghood sometime. But not this time.

Properly wrapped, the Big Bad Wolf slides his cock right up into Ridinghood’s pussy. She is hot and wet and slippery and very excited and ready for him. She wraps her legs around his butt, just under his tail, pulling him closer and deeper. He is too far-gone to last very long; she doesn’t care.

Her cunt squeezes him tight. He is fucking her as slowly as he can stand, and it isn’t slow enough. He is going to explode.

She starts to huff and puff. “Oh, oh, oh, oooh, yes! Oh yes Wolfy! Yessss!”

The Wolf stops fucking, curls his tail and clenches his toes to keep from popping off. He bares his teeth and snarls. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare fake it! Not with me!” He is still an alpha predator. His hair bristles angrily.

Ridinghood quiets down, knocks off the moaning and sighing, kisses him on the snout. “Just come inside me then Wolfy. Just come for me” He is happy to oblige.

He cups her ass in both paws, lifts her up, slides one finger from each hand up her asshole, and fucks her hard and deep. He lasts longer than he imagined he might. She keeps quiet, biting down hard on her lower lip, watching him fuck her. She almost comes, she tells him later. She could feel it. She didn’t quite get there, but almost.

After he comes, he keeps his cock inside her, and she rubs her clitoris for him. This time she really does come, and it is beautiful to watch. When she finally orgasms, holding her breath and flexing her abdominal muscles spasmodically, her face is a mask of silent ecstasy. Her pussy twitches on his cock. You can’t fake that shit.

They kiss some more, and he extracts his wilting, condom-enclosed cock from her still-drooling pussy. She sits on his chest and masturbates to another orgasm, this one just as beautiful as the first. He helps by slipping a finger up her pussy and tickling her asshole. They will fuck again after they’ve had coffee.

“Wolfy, did you know you’re my best friend?”

“You’re my best friend too, Red.”

“I’m crazy about you Wolfy.”

He squeezes her tight. Maybe next time they fuck he will make her come. Or the time after that. Maybe she’ll come rubbing her clit with his cock wedged in her ass; maybe she’ll come all over his long and slurping tongue, or on his probing insistent fingers. The truth is, it doesn’t really matter. It will be a long journey, and they will both have a lot of fun.

And they live happily ever after.


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Two Ships at Night on a Dark and Restless Sea

I wake up with a start, suddenly shockingly, lucidly conscious. I’d been having a disturbing dream that I don’t quite remember now, but which lingers on the edge of my memory like an unpleasant taste. I look over at the glowing red digits of our alarm clock. It is 2:22 a.m.

What woke me up? I have no idea. Certainly not Dennis, my husband. He is lying next to me. I can hear him quietly breathing.

The bed is shaking, trembling oh so softly. It takes me a moment to figure out what just what is going on. Dennis is jerking off, right there beside me in our bed. He has the sheet flipped back, so that his cock is exposed to the darkness of the night, and he is slowly, softly masturbating.

I almost reached over and grabbed his dick from him, finished the job myself. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t.

I wish I could tell you how long it’s been, but I can’t. Dennis and I get it on once ever couple, three months. It usually seems adequate. We’ve been together twenty years now, nearly ten of those years married. I guess I always assumed that he jerks off from time to time, but the reality of it stabs me in the gut.

I think back to Kristov, my very first. I was in my mid-teens, too smart for my own good, and horny beyond description. Kristov was my tennis instructor, and if my mom ever found out, even today, it would kill her. He was ten, fifteen years my senior, easy. He should have known better. He did know better. I blatantly seduced him.

We’d been flirting all the way through the lesson. Kristov seemed to be flirting back There was a lump in the front of his white tennis shorts that hadn’t been there earlier. I was gratified to see that my newly minted powers of seduction were working. I stuck my hand down his shorts and told him I wanted him to fuck me cross-eyed. The poor guy didn’t know what to say. But his dick answered loud and clear.

With that established, we progressed rapidly through tongue-kissing and dry-humping to the art of furtive handjobs and finger-banging (a joy in and of itself!); with a brief pause for refreshment; and then straight to the main event, which occurred in the passenger seat of his little black Miata on the bottom floor of a parking garage. The ambience wasn’t what I’d call exactly romantic, and his sports car was only slightly more cramped than a Soyuz capsule.

I thought his dick looked beautiful, crowned with an explosion of blonde pubic hair, and I wanted it inside me, like yesterday. He didn’t want to wear a condom, but I insisted. I was horny, not stupid. He had some in the glove compartment. By this point I was beyond excited; my pussy was quite literally drooling, leaving slime trails all over his black leather bucket seat. Safely wrapped, he climbed on top and kissed me some more and played with my tits a little before skewering my cunt. I won’t say it didn’t hurt when he penetrated me, but I didn’t really mind. I’d expected it. And once he was well inside and thrusting, I knew that I’d hit jackpot.

I wrapped my legs around his white little butt, kicking the rearview mirror right off the windshield, grabbed the headrest with both hands, and screamed like a howler monkey. He shot off inside me about two seconds later, his cock pulsating and spasming like a dying animal, thrusting like mad and filling the condom to overflowing with his hot semen.

In retrospect, I know that Kristov had a fairly small penis. Not that I’m complaining; on the contrary, for my purposes it was perfect. I couldn’t get enough of it either. He taught me to suck it for him. He was uncircumcised, which was kind of exotic, though I didn’t know it at the time. He was no mini, but definitely on the petite size. It fit inside me perfectly. Possibly a little too perfectly. I could feel myself starting to get addicted.

Kristov fucked me three times, and each time was a little better than the time before. He lasted a little longer each time; the last time he did it to me, I even had an orgasm on him.

I broke it off after that. Quit tennis, never played again. I was in danger of falling in love with Kristov and his scandalous dick, and I wanted to nip it in the bud. I hope I didn’t do him any damage. All in all, he was a pretty good guy.

Next to me in bed, Dennis’ rhythm has changed. He is doing it a little faster, a little more insistently now. I wish I could see, but I can barely make out his profile in the darkness, and I don’t want to move and let him know I am awake.

I don’t know why it should bother me that he is masturbating now, in our dark bedroom, but it does. I could never get enough. Even back in the day, when me and Dennis were crazy about each other and screwing like weasels, I used to whack off behind his back, look at pornography, fantasize about fucking different guys, teasing and flirting and generally pushing my luck.

Oh, I’ve strayed a couple times. I even paid for it once. Yes I did. It wasn’t so long ago, last summer. Our regular receptionist called in sick (Hung-over, most likely. Ricky was a pale and anorexic-looking tight-jeaned young raver. Not my type at all. And yes, I would probably fuck him given half a chance.) The temp that they sent over was exactly my cup of tea though. He looked just like Teddy Ruxpin. He might have been twenty-one. He was a little chunky; he had curly brown hair and hairy forearms and a bit of a belly, and the biggest, most adorable brown eyes.

I flirted with him shamelessly all morning, and he seemed to be flirting back. I am well aware that I am no supermodel, especially since I’ve gained some weight, so as he responded to my playful innuendo, I just got bolder and bolder.

I sat down on the counter next to his swivel chair. “What are you having for lunch?” I asked. If he looked, he could see straight up my shirt, black panties framed by fat white thighs.

“I brought a sandwich,” he said, holding up a paper bag as evidence. “What are you going to eat?”

“For a nickel,” I informed him, licking my lips lasciviously, “I’d eat you.”

He turned bright tomato red. “I have a girlfriend,” he sputtered. I don’t think he would have said that if I was skinny.

“Doesn’t bother me,” I said. My panties were distinctly moist, my hands trembling. “I’ll give you sixty bucks, but you have to go down on me first.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

I gave him three twenties, and we retreated to my boss’ office. Sharon was out for a lunch meeting, and I knew she wouldn’t be back until after three. We did it right there on her desk. I’ve never told her, but I’m pretty sure she would approve.

I peeled off my panties and sat back, and he went to town. God, he was good! His girlfriend was one lucky gal. Dennis eats pussy too, but not like that! His tongue was busy, restless, dancing up and down my slit, darting here and there, circling my clit and then moving on, teasing me mercilessly, intentionally or not. It was sweet, sweet torture. I was wet like Lake Michigan. When I finally did come, I pretty much suffocated him between my thighs. Not one word of complaint though.

As much as I enjoyed him going down on me, I relished sucking his dick even more. It had been ages since I had sucked a cock—Dennis and I usually just skip straight to the main act—and I relished it. I relished every inch of it. He was pretty hung; nice and thick, slightly bent, hairy and circumcised. I would have happily taken it in my pussy, climbed on board and ridden him, bouncing up and down until he filled my pussy with his juice, girlfriend be damned. But I restrained myself. I sucked him like a gobstopper. The head got more and more purple and swollen the more I licked. He tasted delicious. I love the taste of man, sweaty and clean. I loved playing with his fat balls. He squealed out loud when I stuck a wet finger up his asshole. I think he may have been a virgin to that. I kept my finger lodged up there while I jerked him off, my lips wrapped tightly around his over-inflated glans, and shortly thereafter he came in my mouth, grunting like a bear and pumping out what seemed like about a gallon and a half of sticky, salty semen. I was pretty much in heaven. I swallowed every drop and licked his wilting member clean before gently extracting my finger, a process that made him giggle.

“I’d have done it for free,” he said.

“Yeah, but this way you made sixty bucks,” I told him. “Take your girlfriend out to dinner.”

She’s a lucky girl. I kind of wish I had fucked him.

There is this girl at the gym I am dying to fuck. I don’t even know her name. We have roughly the same workout schedule. I’ve been watching her get undressed, shower, and put on her street clothes for the last couple months. I’m pretty sure she knows I’ve been watching too. She always picks a locker close by mine, and she has dropped all pretensions of modesty with her towel.

She has short hair, black with a blue streak. She’s probably half my age. She shaves her pussy, the way all the kids do these days, I guess. She has these enormous, round boobs that I am absolutely dying to touch. And to suck on. And I don’t even like big tits!

This girl has the sexiest ass ever. I would love to fuck her little asshole. I wonder if she likes it that way. Dennis used to butt-fuck me from time to time. He was always a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure I was really into it. I’m not sure when we stopped doing that. It always made me come. It feels so intimate! There is nothing like coming with a cock in your ass, your clit bulging out and on fire, your pussy drooling and grasping at air while your man abandons restraint, thrusting deep inside you, fucking your harder, pummeling and brutalizing your wide-stretched anus.

I’d love to fuck her that way. I’d take her right there in the locker room. Bend her over the bench and lick her from clit to asshole and back again, making her pretty little pussy all wet and wide open, sticking my tongue in her ass until she is positively begging for it. I’d start with one finger, wet with my own pussy juice, work it gently inside. Damn, she’d be tight! The sound of her moaning would change, get softer and more intense. I’d keep my tongue busy, kissing and licking her backside while I worked my finger deeper into her anus. I’d add a second finger, and she’d growl with pleasure, humping back up against me. My other hand would find her clitoris, her tiny, needy button, and I’d pet it, just barely stroking, drawing little circles, while I sodomized her deeper and deeper. And then she’d come, her whole body flailing and bucking and twisting, while my invading fingers stretched her to her absolute limit.

She’d kiss me shyly, and get dressed and leave, leaving me there to masturbate shamelessly right there in the showers, where just anyone could walk in and see.

Next to me, Dennis’ hand is moving faster and faster. The bed is making tiny squeaking noises now, like a hamster wheel. Suddenly he freezes. His hand stops and his whole body goes rigid, and I know he is coming. I hold perfectly still, waiting for his breathing to resume.

He gropes by the side of the bed for a dirty sock to wipe up with. What is it with guys and dirty socks? Maybe I should reach over, dip my finger in the puddle spread it around his belly before bringing my wet finger to my lips and tasting his salty essence. I could lick him clean, kiss him on the lips, whisper in his ear that I still love him.

It is 2:26 in the morning. My pussy is drenched. My clit is hard and erect, throbbing urgently with every heartbeat. I am making a little wet spot on our clean sheets. I can hear Dennis breathing again, the slower, deeper sound of sleep. I wonder what it would feel like to be divorced.


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