A conversation one day

Teacher used to tease out the most well-though out pieces of me. Like this one.

Well, I was thinking being at a garden party with lots of adults, and just running around, in plimsolls, short skirt and cotton panties, as you do and then being cornered by my Dad's friend somewhere quiet. 

I can totally feel the tension but I don't yet quite know what it means so I am bit scared and shy at the same time. I sort of know that being touched and stroked till I gasp is not quite what I should expect to happen from an older man but I am getting wet and shaky and the novelty and excitement of it is just to hard to resist especially as you clearly know what you are doing gently stroking me through my knickers which by now are very wet although I am still keeping my legs together like Mum told me girls should do. I can still hear the party in the background and I am thinking that someone may come and find us but all I am thinking about is that I want this to continue. 

My nipples are so hard underneath my little cotton bra that it's almost painful and as you starts pinching them in a languid, reassured way I am ready to be fucked senseless. As I observe your tongue tease the dark flesh of the nipple I don't even know that exactly means.. But then you just push my hand on your cock and as I get my hand around it, all warm and smooth and hard I suddenly I get it and open my legs.

Enough of that... I...

Daydreaming

Planes. Strange creations. The humming engines, the closeness of others.

I, for one, am exhausted.

I fall asleep, curling into a comfortable ball in my cashmere blankie which always (I mean always you mean customs man who made me pay extra for it!) travels with me.

I drift off to sleep. The dreams that come are those of his cock. Not sure why but his cock always held power over me. One sighting of its smooth, olive skinned, girthy, comfortable length had my mouth salivate in a desperate bid to please. I had it in my mouth, in my pussy, forced, trained, calmly talked into taking it all down the throat.

He used to wank over my face too. Let me touch myself at permission. Then suddenly force the gorgeousness of it in my mouth and fuck it leisurely in long strokes, talking to me slowly, seeping his dirty fantasies into my sodden face. I never minded the saliva, the snot, the choking. I loved that cock in my mouth and by Jove, I'd make him squirt over my lips, dripping with cum.

For a bit I was obsessed with it.  Once, I went for it so much with licking, sucking, dripping sloppy need that he was in my will for once. I massaged his balls with a hand sodden wet with my saliva, gorging, gagging feasting on his cock, sucking at the shaft, running my tongue down, with my lips just clasping the girth. I felt him come from  miles away. That beautiful smooth column, trapped in my mouth. He came shuddering, in strokes. I drank him like a nectar. Careful not to miss a drop of the salty musky cum, sucking it out of him hungrily.

He stroked me over my hair.

"That was quite intense"

I said nothing. I knew it was.

Unhapiness

I remember unhappiness.

The problem with unhappiness is that feels like happiness if you you're trapped in it at the time.

You think that 'throatchokingawfulhotpotatoinmythroat" feeling is okay. That's how you think it's meant to be.

I remember the perfectness of it all. The Islington flat, the sheer unbridled gorgeousness of my husband, the Farmer's Market we used to go every Sunday, the anxiety over the Scandinavian designer sofa they should deliver that week. My £40K salary and his £70K one. We were the mortgage man's dream.

He was a greyhoundish beautiful man with chocolate hair, freckles and weak eyes and I was his pretty skinny high cheek-boned blonde wife with big blue eyes full of life, smart, kicking out all the time.

We were so lovely we were unreal. But, because we were and none of it was real, nobody asked any questions.

When the chips were down, it was me, swaying my hand imperiously around the designer flat and saying simply: "But what about all this?" Because it was not about him, or love. It was the concept I built up in my head and good Lord, nobody, even him, was to take it from me.

All I wanted was the deception of it to tell me that I was 'happy' and all he parameters of happiness were there.

*It all ended in tears. He had a tawdry affair with my best friend's  neighbour. When we met for the last time I said "I always thought my marriage will be something out of E.M. Forster and it was Eastenders"

"Life is always a bit Eastenders, I suppose", he said, his beautiful face gathering up a look of regret.

Wet. Again.

It happens again today.

He's browsing movies on LoveFilm. We are going to watch something. 

I have other plans. His closeness brings out my kittenish demanding me.

Slowly, I start kissing him, my entire body arched towards his, willing.

"Oh', he says, puts away his laptop and pulls me closer.

Yes. That's what kitten wants.

And what kitten wants, kitten gets.

He kisses me briefly, and then I get hard, hot erect cock between my legs. Needless to say I am ready dripping wet just wanting, open and ready.

As he fucks me, I beg. 

"Please, please, please"

I breached 'no talking policy'

'Oh dear...'

As I get his fingers filling my mouth I come spasming and quietly let go.

He comes all over me. Literally. His spunk hitting my belly is one of the most beautiful things ever. I smear it all over myself with a satisfied smug smile.

Bored

I am having a morning off. Nice. Time to myself.

I browse pornhub.com and slutload.com for to help me pass time.

Tell you what.... Gangbang porn, MMF, double penetration and all my usual favourites fail to get me excited. I browse and browse and... nothing.

In the end I lie back, start touching myself and think about this

And that gets me off in no time. Twice.

I think I am in love with The Lover.

The great outdoors

The day is gorgeous. The surroundings even more so. A castle, a waterfall, thick wood surrounding us, people milling around, music from the stage pounding in the background. The light is shimmering through the branches with that unmistakable afternoon gentleness.

"I want you to fuck me now", I say boldly. "But let's get a drink first"

As we stand at the bar, I order the drinks and I try to look dignified as his fingers sneak up my dress. I have no knickers on. I lost these swimming in the waterfall few minutes ago. My body is recovering from having been plunged into freezing water in that delightful 'goosebumps just easing' way. My nipples are still erect. But the sensation I care about is that between my legs. My pussy is feeling slippery and fresh, I can feel every move I make as more juice is slowly dripping out onto my thighs.

We sneak off, voices of kids shrieking with delight in a nearby adventure garden and fellow festival goers falling away as we walk through the woods, humming with crickets.

We don't go that far because there is no need to. As in there is need and that one overrides any sensibilities.

We kiss briefly. This is not about taking time. I want to be fucked. Now.

He pushes me onto my knees. The undergrowth feels gorgeously soft and I am so comfortable that when his cock, rock hard, takes my mouth, I close my lips greedily around it, licking, sucking, my mouth salivating. I take my time to play with the deliciousness of it.

He has other plans.

He lifts me up, pushes me forward, bends me over a fallen tree and hikes my dress up. I part my legs wide because I want him now and I want him deep. He peruses my arse just for a moment, adjusts my hips to his liking, pushes my down and as his cock stars parting the swollen drenched lips of my pussy, I feel myself closing around his girth inch by inch in a hot wet needy clasp. 

The sun is penetrating through my closed eyes. He fucks me hard.
I am moving with his cock and by now, I am whining, whingeing, begging, my arms holding onto the mossy trunk.

"Yes, please, take me like tha.."

He reaches over and puts his hand on my mouth to keep me quiet and I come so quickly it surprises me. As my head is spinning, I feel his spunk hit me. Deep inside.

The crickets are singing. It's country side after all.