That was this summer. I had very long relationship and last year i got ridden of it. So I sex occasionally wit various girls till then. One night this September I was very very tired of everything. Job went finally better and some private investing also, but I had being working for 14 hours a day at time. It was About 1 am in the morning and was just went of from long shower and about to lay down on my bad.The voice from the other side of cell phone was very pleasant, some kind of baby talking voice. Voice said" Annnn' what what do want from me now?...LOL.. i said "who is this?&... Continue»
Dear Dirty Diary,
Eight weeks had passed since Doug had come home from the hospital. He was still a little pale looking and complained of being cold all the time because of the bl**d thinners. The night before, he was detached and completely immersed in a Blue Jays baseball game. Early the following morning was gray and rainy and I was feeling quite sorry for myself. Like a fool looking for comfort, I went down into the den, popped in that Lisa Brokop “When I get to be you” CD into the stereo and cranked up the volume.
My thoughts were with Louise as I danced around to the first two songs, but then I heard those chirping crickets begin the third song. I heard that simple acoustic guitar riff begin and heard Lisa’s haunting voice moan, “Single-sided conversations. Too much time spent alone. Even though my heart is breaking, you don’t even know!”
The reverberating thump of the bass drum resonated through my larynx and my eyes welled up with tears, preparing for what I knew was coming.
“Today I was thinking about us, what I’d do without you. I was lost in reflection, when I found the truth!” I shivered along to the chorus of, ”Can’t think of, one reason. Tried to find a way, to make this work. Through crying. Through denying. Tired of pretending, I don’t hurt.” But when I tried to sing along with, “So I’ve been thinking, maybe my heart’s… better off broken!” my throat choked up and shallow breaths quivered up through my chest.
I broke down completely as she continued, “Sometimes fakin’ is the easy way out, but I can’t ignore this pain. Made up my mind to get it over with now, cause you’re not gonna change!”
By the end of the second chorus, I began to wonder if maybe my heart was better off broken. A mandolin solo preceded a reprise of the chorus and by its ending, I was resigned that my heart was indeed, “Better off broken” and it was time to move on.
The sentiment of the rest of that CD’s songs reinf***ed my decision. As her last song began, Doug mystically appeared, wrapped his right arm around my back, clenched my left hand in his, pushed his pelvis tight against mine and we dirty danced to “The Land of a Thousand Dances” in perfect harmony. He nibbled my ear, squeezed my butt cheeks, goosed me a time or two and ground his knee up into my crotch throughout the whole song. By the time the song was over he had me all hyper so I made a mad dash up the stairs and zipped into the bathroom.
I spun the taps on in the shower, stripped off my nightgown and was in the tepid spray for all of one minute when a fingertip poked the shower curtain into my left buttock. The next thing I knew, he’d pushed the curtain aside a little, slipped in behind me and I felt a hot bigger protuberance rudely slide along the underside of my crotch!
His right hand flashed around in front of me and grabbed up my bar of Dove from the soap tray. Doug wet it thoroughly in the spray then soaped up my right breast. About the time the suds began to drip off my nipple, he handed off the soap to his left hand then lathered my left boob up frothy as well. He reached around further, soaped all over down my abdomen then inched back his penis. He smeared the soap down over my pubic mound, flipped the gently curved side of the Dove upward then swiftly worked the bar back and forth along my labia. Immediately after that I felt his even stiffer protuberance slide back in along the hollow of my crotch!
But I foiled his ploy by grabbing the showerhead hose and rinsing down all his sudsy delights, creating drag where he wanted lubricity! I spun around and turned the tables on him by soaping him up and down, and forward and back, in return with his Irish Spring. I took delight in foaming his penis till the suds flew, but when his face began to redden, I took even more delight in rinsing him down with considerably colder water than I used on myself!
I zipped out of the shower, toweled myself dry and left my shocked, shivering, shriveled husband to whine. By the time he got back to the bedroom I was in the middle of my skin moisturizing routine. He must have had the water pretty hot after I hosed him down, for his skin was quite pink. His penis was also quite pink. In fact it was fat and somewhat erect. He lay back on the bed and watched me rub my baby oil and skin lotion mixture into my legs.
My hands were still dripping in oil so I mischievously reached over and wiped the excess all over the pink knob peeking out of his bathrobe. Doug immediately brightened up and like a little k** said, "More please!" I obliged by dribbling a little more lotion down the back of his penis and rubbed that in. His penis had grown erect and bloated by the time the lotion started to soak in.
I heard, "More please!" once more so that time I drooled lotion and baby oil together into my palm, pulled back his foreskin tightly with my other hand, then squeezed the slippery oil in, up and down the length of his penis. The next thing I knew, what felt like four slippery fingers, squeezed into my pussy. Unknown to me, Doug lubed up his fingers with lotion and just shoved them all in! I was in total shock for a while but when I felt his old thumb rub my clitoris, I regained my senses. When he stroked his bony fingers in and out, I noticed how silky smooth his skin had become after not working for a month.
About the time I was starting to feel real good, I gave him a bunch of strong pumps and saw a little semen dribbled out his urethra. As I kept rubbing and squeezing, spurt after spurt gushed up and mixed with the lotion, making the stickiest, slimiest mess I'd ever touched. It was all over my hands, his belly and pubic hair and I was just loving it. His madly flicking thumb jiggled the my clit ring just right, then I too, felt a most wonderful tremor tear down through my clitoris, rumble back through my vagina, shiver up through my chest and out through my nipples!
The second spasm ripped through me and I felt my vulva squeeze down on his hard bony fingers. Being unable to contract excited me more and I felt myself orgasm again. I looked over at Doug, saw semen still drooling from his penis and came once more! My eyes followed his forearm down between my legs and into my pussy and I quivered one last time.
Doug's eyes shone much brighter blue than normal as he grinned and whispered, "I guess there's life left in me yet."
We cuddled for a few minutes then, out of the nowhere he asked if I'd heard from Louise. I guess I got a little choked up when I told him she was still pestering me to come visit. Doug raised his eyebrows briefly, and then blurted out, "I’ve been getting cabin fever lately and I really need some fresh air so let's drive up to Quebec for the weekend and have a look around.” Butterflies fluttered around in my chest just at the notion. “I see my doctor tomorrow and I’ll make sure it’s all right to travel,” Doug said assuredly.
In less than a week we were admiring the scenery along the eastbound 401. It should have been a nice leisurely trip but somewhere after Kingston, Doug got bored with the scenery. I was reclining back in the front passenger seat, dreaming of Louise and listening to a Michelle Wright CD.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I wanted to look nice for her so I wore my little see-through bra under a silky blouse. Sexy thoughts and the cool breeze blowing out of the dash vents made me shiver.
Old Nosey at the wheel, must have noticed my nipples perking up. “Nice scenery!” he murmured, then reached over, squeezed my swollen teat and gave it a rough little shake.
I ignored this invasion of my privacy but reminisced on how that annoying little gesture originated. I remembered back to our honeymoon trip to the Gaspe and how I foolishly wore a polka-dotted thin nylon halter-top for days. It was hot in the old Gypsy caravan. The wind would billow it up constantly and tickle my nipples erect for hours at a time. The horny fool must have twisted my left nipple half-off that week. Nearly every vacation since, he’s reinstated that stupid tradition and that’s probably why my left teat is so much bigger than the right. I took over driving at the first rest stop in hopes that he’d stop. I wanted my nipples rough and ready for Louise, not all tender and sensitive. I settled down, put the van on Cruise, listened to the stereo and nurtured obscene thoughts while Doug dozed.
The next thing I knew, I felt a cool finger tickling up the inside of my right thigh. Again, Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I had worn a new short skirt to show off how thin I’d become on Doug’s low-fat diet. I squeezed my legs together so he couldn’t get up any further. Foiled, he rummaged through the glove box like a little brat until he found a new yellow pencil. He held it by its unsharpened tip, stared at it a while and then smiled.
Doug cleared his throat and began: “One of these caused me to fail grade 11 German. Dorothy Braun sat to the right of me during my final exam. She was a pretty red haired young thing who had immigrated to Canada. She spoke fluent German and was the language teacher’s pet. Some of the girls gossiped that he gave her special private tutoring. On that fateful day, she opened her exam and breezed through it in no time. Perhaps to flirt with her favorite teacher, that day she chose to wear a short skirt and a black see-through blouse with a shiny black bra underneath. She must have realized I stared at her breasts throughout the whole period, but I was sixteen, still a virgin and just couldn’t help myself.”
He continued: “She glanced over at me, smiled to herself and opened her pencil case. She took out a new wooden pencil, just like this one and twirled it around with the fingers of her left hand. Dorothy held onto the unsharpened tip like this, then slid her hand down and rested it on her leg, just as I’m doing to you. She spun it around between her legs, and then guided the eraser end up under her skirt, just like this. I watched intently as her fingers poked and prodded the pencil about. I suppose she managed to push her panties aside somehow, like I’ve done with yours. That done, she twirled the pencil to and fro and back and forth, then started doing long penetrating strokes, much like these. After a few minutes, her fingers pulled the pencil out from between her legs and brought it back up on top of her desk. The eraser end of it was shinny wet, just like this one is now. Dorothy sniffed the tip briefly, the put it into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she sucked her juices off of it. Seconds later, the end of period bell rang. She watched as I struggled out of my desk. I bent over and tried to cover up the bulge in my pants with a notebook but she had already seen. Dorothy glanced up at me, smirked, stood up and strutted out down the hall! Failing that exam messed up my grade average so bad I had to transfer to a technical school the following year and I never saw her again.”
All that story telling must have exhausted Doug’s sex drive temporarily, for he settled back with his pencil and dozed off in no time at all. However, all that left me with was bunched-up underwear and a wet, hungry pussy. I looked around for something suitable to play with and found an ice scrapper beside my seat. It was a really deluxe one, with an exquisitely ribbed, foam-padded handle. Temporary comfort comes in strange guises sometimes and it looked like it would fill the bill. After I licked the handle juicily, I grasped the blade then felt the thrill of it puncture my pussy.
Sexy thoughts of Louise and a full vagina helped the miles pass, but before I could do anything about my secret toy, we were crossing into the U.S.A. at Cornwall. The stop and go traffic towards the border crossing created a frantic situation for me. Every time I moved my right foot from the gas to the brakes, the inside of my thigh pushed hard against the ice scrapper’s blade. That shoved it sideways and I felt it split open my vulva. Each time we moved a car length ahead, I felt my pussy got looser and wetter.
It was all I could do to stay calm while approaching the Customs Officer. She was an attractive, but bitchy-looking aboriginal Indian, about thirty-five years of age. Suddenly, I wondered if entering the U.S.A. with an ice sc****r wedged in my pussy would be justifiable cause for a cavity search. I held my legs together as tight as I could as we rolled up to her kiosk. I rolled down my window and was mesmerized by the most striking black eyes I had ever seen. I looked her right in the eyes and answered all her questions.
As she questioned Doug, I took notice of her petite hands. I wondered to myself if she'd be gentle or rough searching my pussy if I lifted up my skirt right then and let her see my little secret. I wiggled my right leg back and forth on the brake pedal for more intense stimulation as he explained our Port Louis shortcut to her. After Doug told her we had nothing to declare, they both looked down at my busy leg.
Realizing I suddenly had a real situation on my hands, I blurted out, "I have to pee really bad!"
She smiled, pointed out a restroom in a nearby building and wished us a safe trip. Then I had to demurely exit the van, tighten up my pussy muscles so the ice sc****r wouldn't fall out and strut to the washroom as they both watched. That was the longest fifty feet I'd ever walked.
Back in the van with my sc****r washed up and tucked away in my purse, I vowed to be good the rest of the trip. Shortly after we entered the USA we turned east and passed a sign for the Mohawk reserve, St. Regis. I gazed to the north and wondered if my Mohawk princess lived up there.
We ate supper in Dundee and were at Louise's door in Port Louis by seven-thirty. My heart pounded as we stepped up onto the front porch of the big old Mansard-roofed house. The front door swung open and there was my sweet Louise.
She hugged me tightly for the longest time then whispered, "I can't believe you're really here. Please stay here with me forever."
She broke off her embrace and all I could see were those sparkling dark eyes and her intensely erect nipples jutting out. When she helped me off with my sweater, she brushed it across my breasts as she hung it up in the hall closet. My husband just smiled at our matching hard nipples as he handed her his jacket. Louise took my hand and led me past the second floor staircase and down the hall into the kitchen
When Doug stepped into the washroom he noticed, just past the hall closet, I squeezed her hand and whispered back, "I need you so much too." She spun around, stood on tiptoes, grasped my head in her hands and planted a sultry kiss on my lips.
Then she dropped her hands down, squeezed my nipples and murmured, "The nipples are ripe but is the pussy wet for me?"
I lifted up my skirt with one hand and then stretched out the waistband of my panties so she could check for herself. Her hand pushed down inside my soggy underpants just as the toilet flushed. We pushed away from our embrace, just in time for the door to open.
Doug walked out into the kitchen, looked us both over, frowned a little and then asked, "All right, what have you two been up to?"
In unison, we both replied, "Nothing!"
He raised his eyebrows, said, "You both are blushing a lot for doing nothing," and then smiled at us.
To change the subject, I told Louise I was ever so curious about the house and asked if she could give us a tour. She graciously walked us through the rest of the big kitchen, showed us the door leading down to the "dungeon." Louise showed us through the dinning room with its huge, eight setting hardwood table then we walked through the wide archway that led to the living room. To the left, along the center wall, she showed us a built-in bookcase and entertainment complex with a big screen TV and stereo sound system that made Doug’s mouth water. At the end of the living room we walked through an archway leading back into the front door hallway and second floor staircase.
Louise led us upstairs. The center hallway’s left doors led to two guest bedrooms. The rooms were pretty much mirror images of each other. They had mirrored-door closets and a shared washroom at the foot of their double beds. Each room had one night table, a built in chest of drawers and a chair by the window. Louise said the second one was brighter, so Doug put our luggage in it. At the end of the hallway, she told us the left door was a linen closet and the right door led upstairs to the attic.
On the other side of the hallway, She opened the first door and showed us into her bedroom. It was similar, but opposite to ours, excepting where the chair was in our room, a small hallway led along the outside wall. It passed by a bathroom cabinet set with sink and her small personal toilet stall, into her living room. She told us the attic and basement were works in progress and promised to show us her ideas for them tomorrow in the light of day.
Back down in the living room, Louise poured us all some wine to unwind. She insisted that Doug try out the recliner chair. It was a couch commander’s dream, with heated seat and back and had five different vibrator patterns to play with. Fifteen minutes of girl-talk, that glass of wine and his eyelids were drooping. I cleared my throat loudly and his eyes popped open.
Mr. Mellow looked around and said, ”Ladies, I don’t know if it’s the wine or my medication, but I can’t stay awake a minute more.”
By the time I changed into my pajamas, he was in dreamland. So I tiptoed out and tapped on Louise’s bedroom door. It seemed she was expecting me. She pulled me into her room, squashed her little breasts into mine and planted that busy tongue into my mouth once more. When she felt my breaths quicken, she broke off her embrace, then scanned down over my abdomen.
Figuring she’d like to continue on where we’d left off, back down in the kitchen, I unbuttoned my top, and then stretched out the waistband of my satin bottoms. She shoved her hand down inside, and then pressed her middle finger firmly against my vulva. After twenty seconds of steady pressure, my muscles relaxed and I felt her finger slide into my little pink cave. We smooched passionately again and in less than a minute, I felt three more tiny fingers join the first.
I undid her belt and spread open that familiar judo robe, to find her nipples and clitoris ring were already laced together with her little black glasses cords. I took hold and pulled out where they joined at her waist and led her, as she loved, to her bed with her little leashes. I pulled off my top, tugged down my bottoms and pushed her back onto her bed. I put one knee on the bed beside her, then swung the other leg over so I was on top, in position and ready to give her the thorough tongue-lashing she deserved. I tilted my head down, stuck my tongue out as far as I could and stabbed it right into her wet little vulva. We hungrily licked and slurped each other’s pussies for the longest time, but heard a creaking noise from across the hall that perked up my ears.
My eyes shot up toward my room and I watched the door slowly creak open, all by itself. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light in our room, I could make out Doug’s reflection in our mirrored closet door, looking back at me. Oh my God, my husband had caught me, with my tongue stuck in my girlfriend’s pussy! Through my brain rang, “Bad girl, bad girl, we’re gonna catch you, Bad girl!” to the tune of the “Cops” TV show theme.
For some reason, spreading Louise’s vulva and jabbing my tongue back in seemed the most obvious thing to do. As I licked away, that stupid jingle kept playing in my head. Hassling Doug for peeking seemed the next best thing to do, so I lifted my head up, wagged my finger at him and mouthed, “You’re bad!”
Taken aback, Doug shook his head, pointed his finger directly at me and mouthed back, “No, you’re bad!”
Looking for forgiveness, I looked him straight in the eye and with all possible conviction, mouthed, “I love you!” He nodded, to show what I hoped was his support, so I pleadingly mouthed, “Watch!”
As I rolled off Louise, I plucked my trusty KY tube out of my robe’s pocket then sprawled back diagonally up from the foot of the bed. I whispered to Louise, “Hey there gynecologist Lady, I’ve got that itch back again, so don’t you think you should check it out?”
She raised her eyebrows at my suggestion, then grinned and shook her head when I handed the vaginal lubricant to her. bl**d pounded up the back of my neck as I watched her shimmering little hand approach my pussy. Once again, I felt the pleasure of her slim fingers slide into my vulva. I gazed into her eyes and saw the unmistakable look of love. In an instant, I saw love’s sparkle change to lust’s insanity and felt her thumb squeeze in beside her four fingers.
I felt her ever-increasing pressure push the folds of my labia into my vulva, then gasped when her bumpy cluster of fingers started to twist back and forth. As she ground her hand in deeper, I glanced down between my legs and caught my husband’s reflection from the next room.
I humped my hips a little to loosen up. After a few seconds, I closed my eyes and rolled my head back to the left in passion. A soft vision of that border guard’s beautiful black eyes flashed in my brain. My eyes popped open and I was startled by what I saw!
The mirrored closet doors at the end of her bed spanned the most of the wall. For some reason my mind perceived the reflections as a voyeur’s glimpse into another dimension, much like Alice’s Wonderland. I saw a bizarre image of a naked, matured Alice, lying spread-eagled on a bed. Beyond her was a kneeling pixie-like woman, whose reddened face was intensely watching her hand enter Alice’s genitals. I looked back at Pixie’s arm, saw it slow its gyrations and then saw it push strongly ahead. I felt a searing, stretching pain as I watched her hand sink deeper into Alice’s vulva. My eyes shot down between my legs and focused on another looking-glass image.
An equally red-faced male voyeur, wearing perhaps a White Rabbit suit was staring back at me. One paw steadied him as he perched on the edge of his bed, while his other paw squeezed his exquisitely bloated penis. I gave Rabbit my sultriest look and began to hump my hips ever so slightly. A few seconds of serious humping against Pixie’s steady pressure made my vulva release and instant relief came to me as I felt her hand slide through my vulva, up into the depths of my vagina. Her tiny wrist spreading my vulva was no more uncomfortable than Doug wearing that “penis enhancer” so I relaxed for the ride into Wonderland.
I felt Louise’s fingers ball into a fist and start to twist back and forth inside me. I looked back at Alice, just in time to see the aureoles of her nipples darken and wrinkle. I watched her teats blush cranberry-red then poke up magnificently erect and bumpy. I reached over to Louise with my left hand, hooked my index finger under her tender bits’ cords and pulled. With the fingers of my right hand, I plucked the taut little strings like Leona Boyd tuning her guitar and in no time at all, Louise’s teats were tantalizingly tuned up.
With Louise now giving me her complete attention, the talented fingers of my right hand pushed up into her instrument. The introduction called for slow, luxuriant strums to warm up and check the instrument’s resonance. The melody was a simple two-note flamenco exercise with a fast tempo. My fingers flew, savoring her rich wetness, while the audience marveled at the intensity of the lushly erotic music emanating from her sounding hole. The staccato chorus, primarily a deep tapping sequence on her bumpy little G pad brought renewed excitement from her whenever I played it.
My continued re-tuning of her strings eventually convinced Louise to bring this performance to its climax quickly. She bent over, sucked my acorn-hard clitoris, ring and all into her mouth and began to flick it with her tongue like a Jew’s harp. I increased my tempo to a fevered pitch, felt her juices puddle in my palm, then dribble down my wrist. I strummed her bottom string with my thumb and felt her crescendo begin. Labored-sounding breaths came from her nostrils then suddenly she spat out my clit and pulled out her hand. She raised bolt upright and grasped her nipples as the rigors of orgasm surged through her!!!
While she was catching her breath, I noticed the inside of my pussy felt quite cool, so I glanced down between my legs. The White Rabbit wore a most curious look of amazement on his face. Confused by his expression, I looked over to my left to see what that slut Alice was up to. She flopped down the leg between us so I could share in what the rabbit saw. Her vulva was obscenely dilated, allowing me to see right up into her vagina. As well I saw what looked like a huge garbanzo bean, strung on a gold ring, strained out from under the hood of her labia. Alice stretched her lower arm tightly down her side and reached for her own pussy. With glazed eyes, Alice taunted me as she diddled the flashing golden hoop.
I watched for a while then closed my eyes so I could concentrate on what I felt, not what my wandering mind saw. I should have kept my eyes wide open!!! In the darkness, my mind played me back one more chorus of “Bad Girl, Bad Girl” In my mind’s eye, I envisioned an orchestra-conductor signal the end of the song with a rather bulky baton. The maestro turned to me, bowed to acknowledge my performance, then rose to face me. I instantly recognized the face of St. Regis, the border guard. She smiled oddly as she walked towards me. Instead of shaking my hand, she brought up her baton, which was actually a police riot stick and shoved its hard, leather-covered shaft all the way into my pussy! My orgasm came instantaneously, leaving me quivering and moaning like a porn star.
We cuddled briefly to calm down from our climaxes. We kissed and whispered sweet talk back and forth, but when she asked me to stay the night, I had to say no. I explained that if Doug awoke alone in a strange bedroom, he might not be too pleased. I told Louise to be patient and promised her we’d have lots of opportunities later as I put my pajamas and robe back on. After a quick pee, my rubber legs wobbled me back to my room. Damn, Doug was still awake. Shakily, I d****d my robe across the chair and crawled back into our bed.
He immediately whispered, “Laura, you can hardly walk, are you all right?” I reminded him I always have wobbly legs after a real good workout.
“How long will your pussy take to recover from all that stretching?” he asked with surprising concern. I told him I was tough and would be fine in no time, but for the moment, I was “loose as a goose.”
“And how loose can a goose be?” he asked with questionable intent. My hand crept over and brushed against a very fat penis poking out of his pajama bottom’s fly. “Would it be too tender for this goose to take a gander?” he questioned.
I whispered back, “I think you want more than to take a gander, I think you want to goose the gander, don’t you?”
Doug took on an odd little smile and his eyes swirled with anticipation. I flipped the covers off and he pulled off my pajama top. I raised my hips and watched him pull down my bottoms. After he unraveled them from my feet, I saw that Alice had made her way into the mirror doors at the foot of our bed. I saw the White Rabbit crawl into bed and lay beside her. He nudged her closest leg up, slid in close to her and poked his penis against her labia.
Weary of watching that slut Alice, I closed my eyes and felt the heat of Doug’s penis warm my aching vulva, but for the first time there was no rush of muscle release as it slid in. I felt smooth, unobstructed luxury as it tunneled deeper. I felt steady pressure against my pubes and heat radiate through my vulva as my husband pushed but it occurred to me that I felt no searing sensations throughout of my vulva. I finally had to acknowledge his preoccupations with his penis, for Doug, indeed felt small.
I couldn’t help but think that adage should be changed to “Size doesn’t matter, until you’ve felt really big!” As he stroked away, I realized how little I really felt. I wondered if impaling myself daily on my exercise bike, at sixty pumps a minute might have permanently stretched my vulva.
Afraid he’d want to really get at it, make a whole bunch of noise and then find out he couldn’t cum because I was so loose, I whispered that I was kind of sore and suggested to old Hard-on that if he’d pull it out and lie back, I’d give him a treat. There was a box of Kleenex in the headboard, but I knew he just loved me jerking him off into my panties. The elastic by their crotch was pretty crusty from our little driving games that afternoon, so I carefully d****d their clean front panel over his fat little penis. I sat myself up comfortably beside him so I could stroke him with gusto and get it over with quickly. I wrapped my fingers loosely around his penis and stroked the silky nylon up and down its shaft. I pulled down hard, squeezed back up lightly so the material caught under his foreskin and then jerked ferociously.
Doug watched my hand with great intensity as it blurred up and down, but he didn’t cum right away. I was hoping he would be satisfied with just being done his favorite way, but no, up the inside of my thigh tickled his fingertips. I spread my legs so he could have a little play. Not bothering with any preliminaries, he clustered all four fingertips, wet them in his mouth and just poked them right in! He swirled his big thick fingers a bit to juice me up and did they ever feel good. I tried my best to maintain my stroking, but he was pushing just like Louise!!! I summoned up all the saliva I could, spit it on my fingertips and then spread it all over his fingers. He pressed me, I pumped him and just like that, I felt his hand push in up to his thumb. Suddenly, I swore I felt his big thumb tuck into my pussy too. I’d never been so excited in my life! I shivered and quivered, then relaxed my pussy as best I could. I wasn’t sure that was enough to let him in, so I thought of Mr. Satisfaction.
Twenty years ago, I saw a creepy little carnie running the Tilt-O-Whirl at the county fair. He was short, skinny, had long stringy hair and no left hand whatsoever. Like the sixteen-year old girl in front of me, I couldn’t help but stare at his smoothly pointed stump.
“Mr. Satisfaction?” she said, reading out loud the tattoo running up his forearm, “Why you’re nothing but a slimy little freak!”
The carnie held up his arm for her to see and said, “Twenty years from now, when you can’t feel your husband’s dick anymore because your pissy little cunt’s gotten all sloppy from having one too many babies, you’ll wish you’d gotten to know me better! Fuckin’ doesn’t get any better than this and if your mother saw this arm, she’d be crawlin’ all over me!”
I remembered the red-faced girl hustling away. I remembered wondering how many loose pussies he’d really had his scrawny little forearm rammed up, I remembered noticing his powerful left bicep and I realized the image of that got me just as wet as it did twenty years ago. I hadn’t the courage to get to know Mr. Satisfaction either, but I did have a husband with an even thicker hand and I was ready for it! At that exact second, he moaned suddenly and I felt hot semen squishing between my fingers. I didn’t know whether I was more disappointed that he stopped or relieved that he did.
When Doug’s breathing returned to normal, he cleared his throat softly and whispered, “You really thought I was going to try to fist you, didn’t you?” My silent blush gave him his answer. “You silly woman, if through some miracle my hand had gone in, it would have ruined you for life!” he continued.
My pulse was still quick and the bl**d pounded up the back of neck. I accepted that my mind was hopelessly addicted to the thrill of putting my body through some dirty new adventure, but letting him shut out my opportunity to achieve that last fantasy was more than I could bear. Doug’s rule always was, “If it feels good, it’s not perverted!” What I craved might have turned out to be perverted, but I needed to find that out for myself!
To ensure another opportunity, I blurted out, “On the contrary, I survived several internal exams by Dr. Loo, that pediatrician who delivered Jeremy twenty years ago and was neither excited nor in love with him.”
When he sl**pily said, “Perhaps another time then,” my heart skipped a beat!
The sun shone softly onto my face. Pulling the sheets over my head did little to shield my eyes. The clock beside me read 8:15 but I wanted to sl**p more. Creaking steps from across the hall told me Louise was up and about, so I begrudgingly flipped off my covers, donned my robe and followed her downstairs. We drank coffee and chattered for three quarters of an hour or better until Doug sauntered into the kitchen. He was clean-shaven, dressed and said he was “ready to rip.”
During breakfast, Louise spoke of additional alterations her architect had suggested for the house. She pointed to a door on the back wall of the kitchen and explained she wanted to convert the old back porch into a nice solarium and sun deck. She led us downstairs after breakfast and showed us how she planned to make half the basement into an exercise and games room, enclose the furnace and water heater, and use the other side for storage and a workshop.
Under the stairs was an antique Simplicity wringer washer, still hooked up. Horrified, Doug yanked the plug and told Louise it was a miracle it hadn’t shorted out and burned down the house!
Louise plugged it back in and said, “I’ll have you know its in fine working condition.” She flicked it on and sure enough, the wringer spun and the agitator rotated to and fro.
Doug stood mesmerized, staring at the agitator’s gyrations and then whispered to me, “I’ll bet if you lube up that knurled knob at the top of the agitator with KY jelly, climb up on the tub and press your pussy down against the knob then turn it on, it’ll give you a better ride than those mechanical bulls we saw in Texas!” That got him a good punch in the shoulder for being so gross.
Louise continued her tour and led us upstairs to the attic. Her house’s high Mansard roof housed a large open loft. In the center of each roof side was a large six-foot by six-foot window with a little peak over top. Every window gave a fantastic view of the village. To the west, east and south, there were mature trees, quiet streets and stately homes, but to the north was a breathtaking panorama of the Lac St. Françoise.
She pulled some architectural drawings out and showed us plans for an additional apartment. The open-concept design showed a glass corner shower and toilet stall backing against the large chimney in the center of the apartment. A small dining room table sat next to the west window. Storage closets were wrapped around the southwest corner over to the stairwell. Chests of drawers flanked a corner clothes closet in the northeast corner. The king size bed’s headboard sat between two support posts and its foot faced the north window. A matching corner clothes closet and bureaus theme wrapped around the northwest corner. A three-seat recliner sofa by the chimney faced the beautiful west window, while an entertainment center and kitchenette wrapped around the southwest corner, back to the south window.
Louise’s dark eyes searched back and forth between us for answers after she blurted out, “Do you think a couple like you two would be comfortable in an apartment like this?”
Doug walked over to the north window once more, stared out for the longest time and then muttered “There’s no sailboats like at our marina.” I didn’t know what to say but after considerable silence, Doug turned and began: “The truth is, Laura has had a really rough time since your move here, Louise. She lives in a private world much of the time, daydreaming, presumably of you. I’ve kept my petty jealousies under control because Laura frequently reflects back the sexual exuberance you’ve kindled in her. However, I’ve noticed her sparkle has dramatically dulled since you’ve been gone. I need Laura, you need Laura and Laura needs both of us, so the answer is quite simple. Baring any huge cultural differences in living here in Quebec, I think we could all be happy here together.”
Not wanting to seem too anxious, I tried my best to bring up a few more negative thoughts, but they were quickly overshadowed by the realization that back home and retired, with little to do, Doug would drive me crazy. I reminded him it might not be that easy to leave our home, our c***dren and our lives behind, to which he replied, “Perhaps then, a trial period of say a year, might be a good idea,” and then added, “If you’re sure the neighbors could live with it, if they found out about our little secret, I think we should seal the deal.”
As we had a group hug, Louise suddenly exclaimed, “That’s absolutely perfect, Our Little Secret is what we’ll call the business!” In the next breath she continued, “I’ll get a sign made for the front lawn and put brochures in the malls and we’ll need an Hotmail address in that name.”