At the Gym Working Out Hard

June 10, 2019 Leave a comment

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It was empty in the weight room except for she and I. I was glad to have her for myself, as I couldn’t believe what she was wearing—a sports bra so transparent you could see her nipples. Below she wore light coloured, very tight tights, and though you couldn’t see through them you could see every curve, crease, and the crevices of her vulva and between her buttocks.

The gap between her thighs was substantial. I fantasized inserting my hand, cupping her pussy, and treating her to rhythmic squeezes any girl would love.

What possessed her to dress like that and come to the gym, a primarily male domain, in a fuck me outfit, not that I was complaining. We were painfully aware of each other, at least it was painful to me for in my imagination she was naked. I wanted her so bad I could taste her.

Then the bitch… That’s mean. I really shouldn’t call her that. She’s probably a nice girl. Yes, she was under-dressed (undressed to me), and she had to be aware she would get stared at. I’m convinced she liked teasing. But mostly, though she knew her body was sexy and wanted to show it off, she mostly came to the gym to exercise like the rest of us, not to get fucked in in the minds of men.

Anyway, as I started to say, then the bitch began exercising on the ab machine. It more than I could stand. I’ll paint you a picture.

The ab machine is a sloped padded bench upon which you rest your thighs. The backs of your feet hook behind padded supports. I imagined tying her feet to them so she couldn’t get away. You bend at the the tops of your legs, below your hips, and you start with your head almost touching the floor. Then you use your abs and the muscles at your lower back to repeatedly lift your torso into the air as high as you can go.

Many people cross their arms over their chests when they lift, but others, including this girl, crossed her hands behind her neck thus thrusting out her breasts (and barely covered nipples) in a blatantly sexual display. Note: This was after she sat on the leg machine, spreading her legs wide to strengthen her thighs.

On each rep the girl raised up and offered her breasts that in no way need of a bra for support. Then she would lower and rest, her buttocks at the apex, presented for whatever one might imagine doing to her.

I tied her feet to the ab machine wishing only that I could spread her legs farther before securing them. I tied her wrists to the front of the heavy apparatus as she squealed in protest and fear at what I was going to do to her.

I stepped behind her, straddling her legs, and I pulled her tights and panties down her thighs to her feet. I hadn’t known she was wearing panties as they were seamless.

“Don’t! Don’t! Let me go!” she protested as I pulled her bra over her head and down her arms revealing her breasts and nipples in all their glory, nipples erect from her exercises.

Soon her anger turned to tears, and she began to cry. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

Her begging hardened my cock to a curved ingot of iron. Being in her and not coming would be a challenge but one I was ready to accept.

Her buttocks were raised and presented, her feet fastened with her legs spread enough to allow access but closed enough so she would remain tight while I fucked her. Her wrists were fastened, her breasts were bare, nipples within reach of my fingers. Entering her would be exquisite.

Of course this girl wasn’t as undressed as the girl in the photo above. And of course I didn’t really tie her to the ab machine and fuck her as I tweaked her nipples. But I did fantasize all this as I stretched. And though I didn’t have a full blown erection I did firm up significantly.

I watched the girl out of the corners of my eyes, and I saw her staring hungrily at my cock, the size and shape of which showed as clearly as her nipples through my spandex shorts. I fantasized spanking her for being naughty, but instead I went home and fucked her in my mind and came with globs of cum spurting onto my chest.

Little Girls Growing Up

October 2, 2018 Leave a comment

Little Girls Growing Up

He knew his daughter was growing, probably too fast, and her friends were too.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Morton of Morton Preferred Products Inc. asked angrily when he came home unexpectedly and found his daughter’s friend swimming naked and alone in the family pool.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Morton,” the girl stammered.

She wished she could reach her towel and cover up, but it was next to her friend’s father, and she couldn’t bring herself to go that close to him when she was entirely naked. Even being near him while wearing here tiny bikini, something she done on visits in the past, was unnerving. Now, being caught entirely unclothed, she desperately wanted to cover her breasts and pubic area even if just with her hands. But she didn’t want to seem a prude, which would be admitting she had done something wrong. She opted to pretend being naked was no big deal, so she stood, pretending to be casual, and let the man look. Defensively she said, “It’s so hot. Molly said it was okay if I swim here. She said you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Morton.”

“I’m sure she didn’t say you could swim here naked. What would the neighbors say?” he demanded, as he looked toward the windows of the neighbors house.

“I’m sure they’re not home,” the girl said.

“Yes, they’re away,” Mr. Morton agreed. “It is hot. I might as well join you,” he said.

The girl’s mouth opened, but she didn’t know what to say, as her friend’s father began taking his clothes off.

Oh shit, the girl thought as her Mr. Morton’s cock sprang into view. He’s fucking huge… and already hard.

Mr. Morton’s cock was huge, but he wasn’t hard, not yet. His cock had only plumped up and stood out, not up, not yet, in anticipation of getting his hands on the girl. “Let’s get in the water,” he said, as he put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and turned her around.

“But Mr. Morton,” the girl whined in half-hearted protest, as Mr. Morton guided her back to the pool.

As soon as he had his hands on the girl’s tiny breasts, her brand new titties barely swelling from her chest… and soon as his fingers latched onto and began teasing her nipples that sprang into tumescence… “Oh, Mr. Morton,” the girl moaned as the man’s fully erect cock worked its way into her to do its job.

“Oh no! Mr. Morton,” the girl cried out as his and her orgasms erupted into the exquisite pleasures of climax. “I’ll get pregnant,” she cried as she felt
Mr. Morton’s spasms spurting a full load of cum far up inside her.”

“Vasectomy,” Mr. Morton managed to blurt out.

It was such a relief for the girl to hear that word that a whole new and even more intense orgasm filled her consciousness and took her into realms of ecstasy she never knew existed.

“That was a good fuck,” Mr. Morton said while still inside the girl but after she had time to come down from the peaks of her climaxes.

“You’re telling me,” the girl, still in a world of bliss,

replied almost incoherently. “Let’s do it again.”

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That wasn’t the only one of his daughter’s friends that Mr. Morton fucked.

After a sleepover everyone including Mr. Morton’s daughter left the house. Only one girl remained. Mr. Morton was going to drive her home.

“Mr. Morton, you’ve been looking at my titties all day,” the girl said.

It was obvious he had been. He couldn’t deny it.
Mr. Morton shrugged.

“Want to see them with my top off?” she asked.

Punished For Masturbating In Class

September 28, 2018 Leave a comment

Punished For Masturbating In Class

It was during the part of her cycle in which she always became horny that for the first time
she shaved between her legs. Having her pussy cleanly shaven  made her extra horny, and she couldn’t stop examining her super sensitive skin, no longer covered with hair. This led to teasing her clit and before long to what could only be called masturbating.

It’s not
that she fingered herself in class (fingering was something
she did especially like), but her freshly shaved pudendum
and that she had chosen to wear a very, very short skirt and no
underwear was driving her crazy and
making her do things that were definitely inadvisable.

She sat in the last row and spread her legs wide, while the teacher droned on about the Hundred Years War. No one’s looking, the girl thought, as her fingers drifted to her clit.

In a few minutes the girl was approaching an orgasm—not the full letting go crying out with pleasure totally overcoming come she really needed, but enough to tide her over, until she could get home and climax with abandon.

Kerry’s
attention was not on the teacher, as he dropped his notes and bent to
the floor to retrieve them. And her attention was not on the teacher as
he raised his head, taking the opportunity to look up the skirt of any
girl who might accidentally be exposing herself.

“What are you doing?” the teacher sternly called out to Little Kerry—the pet name he secretly attached to the girl whose figure was delightfully petite.

Kerry’s
fingers flew from her swollen clit, and she clamped her legs
shut but not soon enough to stop the contractions of a mini-orgasm that
rippled through her pubic anatomy.

“Nothing, Sir,” Kerry guiltily blurted, breathy, as her contractions pulsed within her.

“Stand up, and repeat after me.”

Kerry stood, guiltily, as the teacher intoned, “We don’t play with ourselves in class.”

The whole class looked at
her and laughed, and
Kerry’s
face turned bright red as she

imagined them imagining what she had been doing between her legs beneath her
almost-not-there skirt.

“Say it!” the teacher ordered.

Kerry’s
face was was flush with embarrassment, and her pussy, unbeknownst to her
classmates, was was still flush with arousal. She hung her head and
murmured as quietly as she thought she could get away with, “We don’t…”
She hesitated.

“Say it!” the teacher demanded.

“We don’t play with ourselves in class,” she sobbed.

“See me when class is over. A visit to the Vice Principal is surely in order,” her teacher said with a smirk.

The
class tittered, for the principle duty of the Vice Principal was
discipline, and corporal punishment was enthusiastically encouraged by the directors of the school who often
observed punishments of girls.

No! Please!” Kerry cried out, but Kerry and her classmates knew begging would be in vain.

***

Kerry was afraid as her teacher spoke to to Mr. Franklin, the Vice Principal, on the telephone. She was especially frightened when her teacher said, “We’ll be right down,” for she knew her punishment would not be delayed.

In the punishment room in the basement Kerry stood to the side, her head bowed in a gesture of submission, cooperation, and acceptance. She felt vulnerable and naked. She wished she had panties on, for she knew she would almost certainly be spanked, and panties would provide at least some modesty. She had never been spanked in school—she had at home—and she didn’t know that during school spankings the Vice Principal always removed girls’ panties.

Having no panties on Kerry imagined what she would look like, bent over, her skirt pinned up or even taken off. What if they spank me extra for not even wearing panties, she thought with horror, for she’d heard about extra punishments from other girls and an extra punishment was exponentially worse than a regular punishment. The girl wondered if she would be able to keep her legs closed while in the throes of a hard spanking. She imagined the sight of her pussy, dramatically tumescent and red with arousal that even with her legs closed she knew the men would be able to see through the gap between her thighs. Her clit tingled and swelled at the picture.

Then Kerry had another horrifying though: They won’t be able to see my clit, will they? She had imagined a hand spanking, which is how her Daddy punished her, but now she flashed on being spanked with a strap, whip, rod, cane, or some other diabolical instrument of castigation, and her imagination went to the delight the men would have if whatever instrument, or instruments, accidentally—yeah right—was applied between her thighs to land on her most sensitive nubbin. Please God, not on my little clitty (which at the moment wasn’t at all little), she prayed. [You can see her little clitty begging for attention in the picture above.]

The two men discussed Kerry’s punishment in hushed voices, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their conversation was mostly discussion, but it included some argument, and occasionally the men looked her way, as her teacher imparted information about her masturbation and his suspicion, as yet unconfirmed, that she wore no panties and her pussy was bare.

***

“I’m Mr. Franklin,” the Vice Principal began.

Kerry nodded—she knew who he was.

“Don’t nod at me!” Mr. Franklin said angrily.

“I’m sorry Mr. Franklin.”

“You are to address me as Mr. Franklin, or
Sir, or if you want to be in my good graces as Mr. Franklin, Sir.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Franklin, Mr. Franklin, Sir.” Kerry made sure to include all the forms of address. “Please don’t spank me, Mr. Franklin, Sir,” the girl begged. “I’m a good girl. I’ve never been spanked before, I mean, in school, Sir. Sometimes my Daddy spanks me, but he hasn’t spanked me in a long time, Sir, really, Sir. I just made a little mistake,” Kerry said, and she began to cry.

“Little mistake?” the Vice Principal repeated. Spreading your legs and masturbating during class? Is that what you call a little mistake?”

“Well, Sir, I mean… I mean… It wasn’t a little mistake. I’m sorry, Sir, for saying that. I mean… It’s just that I’m so scared about what you’re going to do to me. Please don’t spank me, Mr. Franklin, Sir.”

“Mmm hmmm,” Mr. Franklin said seeming to consider Kerry’s apology.

It gave Kerry slight hope that he might let her off the hook, until, that is, he began running his eyes up and down her body in lascivious inspection. She thought about her father’s spankings and how much they hurt, and she knew that Mr. Franklin spankings would be much worse. With Mr. Franklin’s eyes boring into her she knew he wanted to see what was under her clothing, limited as it was, and he had the power to do so. Also, she had heard how much he enjoyed hurting girls. She knew she was unlikely to get a reprieve. She felt weak in the knees.

“Your skirt is very short,” Mr. Franklin accused the girl.

“All the girls wear…” Kerry didn’t want to say sexy or revealing. She chose, “clothing like this, more or less.”

“I’d say more, in most cases, but you chose less, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Franklin, Sir,” Kerry admitted along with a fresh bunch of tears.

“I’m understanding, to a point,” Mr. Franklin said. “Young girls and boys are frequently aroused and find their feelings hard to control. It’s natural, so I might let you get away with it.”

“Oh thank you Sir. That would be wonderful. I’d really appreciate it, Sir. I’ll never do anything like what I did, again, Sir, I promise. It was crazy, and…”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Franklin interrupted the girl.

“Huh?” Kerry said nervously.

“Mr. Kingsley said he saw you not just idly stroking between your legs, something a girl might do almost without thinking if she was aroused enough. He thought you were playing with your clitoris, meaning actively masturbating. Is that what you were doing?”

Kerry was shocked at the explicitness of the accusation, and her face turned red, as she remembered how she not only rubbing the top and sides of her clit but also been squeezing and pulling it outward, as she fantasized that a group of men were holding her down and hurting her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mr. Franklin said. “Also, though he said he couldn’t be sure, Mr. Kingsley thought you might not be wearing panties. Are you wearing panties, girl?” Mr. Franklin asked.

Kerry knew she was in trouble then. She thought about lying, but the odds of getting away with it were zero.

“I was just so horny,” Kerry cried sobbed. “I teased myself and couldn’t stop.”

“And the panties?”

“No, Sir. I’m not wearing panties.”

“Where are they?”

“Where are they?” Kerry repeated the question and hung her head in shame. “I didn’t wear them to school today,” she confessed.

“Ahhhh, so premeditation—you decided right from the start to come to school naked, so to speak, and play with yourself in class.”

“No, well, not exactly,” Kerry protested. I didn’t plan to masturbate in class, Sir. I just…”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Mr. Franklin interrupted the girl. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but I’m afraid punishment is in order.”

“I don’t think you’re sorry at all,” Kerry said angrily. “You like to hurt girls. Don’t you? That’s what all the girls say.”

“That’s what all the girls say Mr. Franklin, Sir. Isn’t that what you mean?”

It took Kerry a moment to catch on. “Mr. Franklin, Sir. Yes Mr. Franklin, Sir,” she added the honorific.

“Let’s bring her inside,” Mr. Franklin said to Kerry’s teacher.

“Nooooo,” Kerry wailed.

***

This was the part Mr. Franklin loved. Not that he didn’t love the spanking itself, but the stripping, the humiliation, the fastening of girls to the spanking bench (specifically designed for spankings below the waist) or the spanking frame (designed for punishing breasts in cases of intentional nipple exposure or even accidental nipple exposure if the vice principal decided it was caused by carelessness)—Mr. Franklin really loved the fear he struck in girls who knew they were helpless, totally under his control, and subject to his whims.

“Skirt off!” Mr. Franklin ordered.

“Noooo,” Kerry wailed, though she knew not to disobey Mr. Franklin and quickly lowered her skirt down her legs and took it off.

Dress Down Day at Work

September 19, 2018 Leave a comment

Dress Down Day at Work

Dress Down Day at work became quite the competition among the new temps. Each wanted to attract the attention of the higher ups, their bosses, so as not to get laid off. They each wondered if getting laid on was a price they’d ultimately have to pay.

On Dress Down Day, the last Friday of each month, girls dressed provocatively. That a pool was formed, going to the girl with the best costume, didn’t hurt. Almost three thousand dollars in payout accumulated, and a winner was going to be declared on the last Friday of the year.

The first to dress down was Danni, above. Her wrap demonstrated that she wasn’t wearing a bra, for it showed the sides of her breasts. When she bent over, which she was careful not to do, you could see her nipples.

 

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Not to be outdone, Darlene came in in what some of her colleagues called a bunny suit. Darlene didn’t like that.

Note the snap closure in the crotch. This allows a girl access as needs dictate, or dick-tate as the case may be. Her immediate boss imagined it as access for him.

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Sissy, they called her. It wasn’t her real name, but her brother works for the same company at another facility. She dreaded him finding out that she came to work in a bikini. To her dismay, no matter how she adjusted it, it kept showing the shape of her vulva and even the crease within.

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Next Dress Down Day Sissy changed to a see-through top and black bra. “That isn’t going to do it,” one guy quipped.

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Sissy showed him. Just before lunch she took off her jeans.

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Sissy got high marks especially from the ass men among the execs.

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At the end of the year Nell won the contest.  Her bra was the cutest, the most decorative and attractive, and the most revealing. You can’t see it here, but her nipples showed through the lace of her cups.

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The men wanted her to take off her jeans, but she wouldn’t. Next year—if I have to, the girl thought.

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I’m sure you agree she’s a winner.

Caught—sort of—Masturbating

September 18, 2018 Leave a comment

Caught—sort of—Masturbating

I say sort of, because he didn’t interrupt her. Instead, he watched her as she masturbated for a long time, in no rush, climbing
over and over again

toward peaks of sexual ecstasy as she leisurely stimulated herself toward a climax.

It was the end of the college term, and the girl was moving out of her apartment to return to her parent’s home for the summer.

The man was her landlord, and he entered the girl’s apartment ostensibly to inspect its condition. It was early morning, so he was sure the girl was home, but he didn’t knock, hoping he might catch her in a state of undress as he had done once before.

***

It had happened shortly after the girl moved in. He watched her through her windows, and one day he saw her in the kitchen wearing only a nightgown. He came to her back door that entered the kitchen, and waited until the girl momentarily left. He unlocked the door, entered, and waited until she came back..

The girl was still in a nightgown. It was clear she had no bra on, and the man detected no evidence of panties.

The girl was shocked, and she lifted her arm to hide her breasts, but the landlord gave her no time to protest. He held out a piece of mail he had taken from her recycling bin. “I thought you were out,” he said, clearly a lie. “I got some of your mail.” He held out an official looking envelope.

The girl, her arm still covering her breasts, lifted her other arm and took the envelope.

“How about a cup of coffee?” the landlord asked, waving his hand to the pot of coffee the girl had just made. He pulled out a chair and sat with his legs spread, blocking the girl’s retreat to another room.

Rather than confront her landlord, whom she hardly knew and was afraid of, because of the way he looked at her, she poured him coffee. She knew he was ogling her backside. She turned, her arm still over her breasts, and handed the coffee to the man.

“How about cream and sugar?” he asked.

The girl turned again and scurried to fulfill his requests, feeling the man’s eyes all over her.

She sat opposite her landlord, taking slight comfort in him not being able to see between her legs through her sheer, back-lit nightgown.

She felt embarrassed by her prudish gesture, and she lowered her arm and let him stare at her nipples as she drank her coffee and tried to make small talk about college.

“I’ve got to get ready for class,” the girl lied. She screwed up her courage and said, “You’ll have to go.”

The man took a last gulp, stood, and looked the girl over, his eyes searching through her scant covering. “I’ll see you,” he said, emphasizing see and raising his eyebrows to dig in the taunt.

***

This time entering without permission, the landlord figured he’d use the excuse of an end of lease inspection. But whatever rationalization he was going to use fled from his mind as soon as he heard the moaning and squealing of a girl in heat.

Is she getting fucked, he wondered. He discounted the idea—he’d never seen the girl with a man. Probably a virgin, he decided. It was a delicious thought, and he fantasized fucking her for her first time, as he sneaked his way toward the bedroom.

His jaw dropped as he spied through the space at the hinged side of her bedroom door, watching
the girl, her legs spread, masturbating, stimulating her clit with a blue vibrator (she also had a pink one too).

It was an intense orgasm, and the man took the above photo just as the girl came, her mouth open, mewling in ecstasy.

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The landlord retreated, but but he was so aroused by what he’d seen he couldn’t leave the house.
He envisioned the girl still naked—her legs spread as when she had climaxed—now luxuriating in the post coital bliss of her imagination.

He needed to go back and walk in on her.

The landlord knew girls could enjoy multiple orgasms, and he imagined her still as excited as he was. He thought she could be convinced or manipulated, coerced if necessarily, to crave another climax with his cock buried deep inside her. Regardless, he was going to see what he could see of her.

The girl was no longer in bed. She was in the tub, ready to fill it, bathe, and wash away the bodily secretions of her long session of self pleasuring.

“Oh! Sorry,” the man said, feigning surprise. “I’m just here for an inspection… of the house,” he clarified, holding out his hand, fingers spread in a gesture of apology. “Your lease is up.”

The girl looked at his hand. She imagined it coming for her. She screamed, ran to her bedroom, threw on a dress with nothing under it, and ran out of the house.

The man went back to his place and jerked off imagining penetrating the girl for her first time and coming in her. A copious release of cum spurted high onto his chest.

Another Favorite Bra (or Two)

September 2, 2018 Leave a comment

Another Favorite Bra (or Two)

I once flippantly posted: Bras of the Week:

Bras of the Week #1

To start this post here are two more favorites.

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I’ve never been able to find a photo of bra exactly like my real favorite, which I remember in wondrous detail. On special occasions
(when she was feeling special)

it was worn by my one time girlfriend who would periodically let me look down her shirt. It got me extra extra horny, and when she was ready—after teasing me half to death—she’d allow me take out my frustrations on her by which I mean in her. After her teasing I would be especially enthusiastic, which was her point.

Her bra was a half cup bra, so her nipples would have been exposed except that at the top edges of the cups there were lacy veils that barely hid—i.e. teasingly exposed—her nipples that were quite prominent and painfully sensitive.

At first she could barely let me to touch them, but after teasing them for awhile, they would get less sensitive, and she would ask me to treat them ‘firmly,’ sometimes she said ‘roughly,’ all of which I refused to do, torturing her with need until she begged me and promised me I could do anything I wanted to her. I liked it when she said that.

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Last weekend I was at a party. It was hot, and the women were wearing shorts except for one young woman who has a child, a neighbor from the other side of town, who was wearing a tight skirt. The skirt was tighter than the one above, and when she stood sideways I could see the shape of her mons showing alluringly.

She was nice, and I talked with her for awhile, as she sat in a lawn chair facing me. I could see that it was taking some effort to keep her legs closed, but modesty demanded it, for the skirt, being tight, had no drape and would not have fallen between her legs had they parted.

Kindly (you catch more flies with honey that with vinegar), I stood, nodded, and told her I was going to get another drink. Only with great effort had I never once glanced between her legs that had parted slightly, several times. I’m sure she was aware of my being considerate.

How do I know? Later there was a group of chairs, and she was sitting alone. I went to sit with her again. Note: She’s terribly sexy with the kind of figure I love—waist, hips, and mons that show off teasingly in a tight skirt, and the cutest titties you can imagine.

Instead of sitting across from her—which I and she knew I really wanted to do—I sat next to her, so she wouldn’t have to struggle to keep her legs tightly closed. “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said, and she went into the house. She came back quickly, and she sat across from me. She opened her legs, not so much that it would be obvious to others what she was doing but enough that with sunlight streaming in I could see all the way. I know she had been wearing panties, because I had noted her panty lines, but she wasn’t wearing panties anymore.

She wasn’t shaven, but her hair was sparse and hid nothing. She glanced around. No one was looking, and she opened as wide as her skirt would allow. Her labia parted, and I could see her clit standing firmly, begging for attention. If she could only have raise her skirt and parted her legs farther I would have seen the angelic wings of her inner labia and her opening to heaven. Sigh.

She had taken a risk, and she couldn’t hold her legs spread any longer, but  her knowing smile as she closed them was worth a million kisses.

Her husband worked in construction, she had told me, and the way she said it—maybe I imagined it—it seemed he paid her little or no attention, sexually, certainly less than she wanted. I was somewhat sure—maybe fifty-fifty—that if I pursued her she would let me fuck her when her daughter was at school and her husband was at work. But as much as the reward—even thinking about it—

was tremendously hard to resist, getting laid by such a sexy, teasing, young mom whose husband kept her unsatisfied, the risk was too great, and we both knew it.

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That wasn’t the only time a young woman displayed her usually hidden treasures
to me

in a public sphere.

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When I was fourteen I had a friend-girl, not a girlfriend as such, and we went to a beach on the Jersey shore near where her parents had a summer home. She had on a two piece bathing suit, and the top was too loose for the size of her still growing breasts. I tried my best to see in whenever there was an opportunity, and I saw plenty of tit but no nipples. It was frustrating.

At one point on the beach I sat close but a bit behind her, so I could look over her shoulder into her bra.

Just like in the photo above, my friend leaned forward and moved her shoulders inward. The loose bra of her bathing suit fell forward and revealed all of her newly sprouting breasts. She did it on purpose—I know she did—and she enjoyed showing herself to me.

As I wrote in another post: There’s nothing like seeing a naked girl when you’re fourteen. The view stays with you. Her breasts and nipples looked just like above.

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The third time a girl showed me her naked body in a public setting was at a fair in a village next to the village in which I lived. The girl wore no bra, which was sometimes done for a variety of reasons—more comfortable, less sweaty, didn’t give a damn, and desiring attention. As her breasts swayed with her movements her nipples inscribed designs in the cloth of her blouse. It was hard not to stare at them, to stare at the sexiness of her, and
as the fair was coming to an end
and I saw her leaning over, wiping down tables. I took the opportunity to join her, and I offered to help. She thanked me, and her telling me she appreciated my caring started to make me hard.

I stood on the opposite side of each table, and we worked together. As she bent over I couldn’t help but try to look down her shirt to catch glimpses of her long nipples that looked like those of the girl in the photo above. I tried not to be obvious, but her nipples were so tantalizing I couldn’t not try to see them, and she knew full well what I was doing.

She knew, but she didn’t mind. In fact she liked it, it turned out, and as she leaned over she leaned far over to let her shirt fully reveal all of her lovely breasts.

We kind of knew each other. We hadn’t ever spoken, but we were part of the same extended community, and we had mutual friends or at least acquaintances. She knew me—by reputation—well enough to feel safe with me. And she very much wanted to confide in someone—a man.

As we worked together she told me she was married, which I knew, and that her husband traveled a lot and was often “unfaithful.” Not only was he unfaithful, but, “He hasn’t had sex with me in over a year,” she said. She told me she felt hurt and frustrated, and she confided, “If he can cheat, especially as much as he does, I should be able to enjoy sex too.”

Next she invited me home, but inviting is not the right word. It was much more like begging, and even if I had thought of turning her down, before, after that I couldn’t.

She was sweet and lovely, especially when completely naked, and she was very wet. Her nipples were extremely sensitive—when touched, she said she felt it between her legs.

We made love many times, that day and many times after, and her husband never found out. If I wanted to be crude I’d say we became fuck buddies, but really we were just buddies—pals, friends who exulted in each others bodies and in the warmth we shared.

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To end this post, here is a sexy dress, but is it designed to display one’s self? I don’t think so. I think this lovely young woman pulled her dress to the side to expose one of her exquisite breasts. Yes dear. We see you and we love looking at you. Matt

True Story

August 3, 2018 Leave a comment

True Story

When I say a story is true then it is. Here’s another true story from Matt Dyne.

Those who live with me went away for a few weeks, so I had the house all to myself. I got naked, got in bed, and jerked off or was about to when: Wait, I said to myself, for I remembered that a friend had given me some amazing weed.

I’ve used a lot of weed in my day, but this particular variety is a modern cultivar, hybrid that’s not only the most mellow, most pleasant reefer in which I have ever indulged, but it also has intense aphrodisiac properties. It takes away inhibitions and leaves you in a world where fantasies flow like horny women and seem almost real.

I smoked a joint and enjoyed taking a very long time fantasizing and pleasuring myself, until I came with as good a come as I’ve ever had having sex by myself. It was intense and blew my mind not to mention emptying my cock and balls in a great spurt of jism, pardon my language.

Later I did it again, and if I was a younger man I would have jerked off a third time before falling asleep.

The next day I also smoked a joint, jerked off twice, and had a super intense orgasm followed by another pretty good one later in the day.

The third day I tried it again, but I was somewhat played out, and though I was enjoying myself having a great deal of sexual pleasure,

I was having trouble getting over the edge. My frustration at my inability to come was starting to get to me when the doorbell rang.

I thought about ignoring it—I knew it couldn’t be anything important—but I figured a break from jerking off and then coming back to it might be just what I needed.

I slipped on my jeans without underwear and pulled a t-shirt on over my head. All this took me a few moments, so I decided to go to the door barefoot, thinking that whoever it is might realize that with the time it took me and being barefoot I might have had my clothes off. Then they’d figure I’d jerking off. Fuck it, I said to myself.

I opened the door and saw… You’re not going to believe this… I didn’t… In front of me was a very sexy young girl, meaning a young woman, walking away. The rear view was delightful, but then she heard me open the door and turned around.

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Wow! No shit: she looked just like this woman above, though she had on a bra and her neckline was low but not quite as low as in this picture. Her nipples weren’t showing, but she was all round and firm, just like above, and she wore short shorts, so her legs were bare all the way up (well, almost all the way up).

Fuck! Fantasy delivered right to my door, I thought. As I said, I couldn’t believe it, but there she was, asking for donations.

I didn’t lear at her. I’m not that kind of guy. Take a quick look, okay two, and keep your thoughts to yourself, is my motto.

I didn’t stare. I kept my eyes on hers, as she made her pitch, but oh those curves, they really got to me. And there I was, thinking about taking a long time getting to the door, arriving with bare feet, and being naked underneath my jean,s not that she could tell.

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As I ogled her subliminally, and I imagined what she was thinking. She had to have been affected by me, sexually even if not overtly.

I fantasized about her begging to come in, stripping herself naked, and lowering her gaze submissively, as she asked me to do whatever I wanted to her.

That was it. When she left I had another really good come thinking about doing things to her like tying her down, inserting a plug in her, an overly large one, and then spanking her just for starters. Then ultimately fucking her, of course.

She was tight, hot, and wet.