16260-SOE462-Newcomer with Ruri Saijou,threesome, mmf,big breasts
Showing posts with label mmf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mmf. Show all posts
16105-R18198-Big Tits Brush Down 3 with Kei Megumi
16105-R18198-Big Tits Brush Down 3 with Kei Megumi,threesome, mmf,big breasts
15894-HBAD120-Big Tits Female Teacher with Neiro Suzuka
15894-HBAD120-Big Tits Female Teacher with Neiro Suzuka,exhibitionism and voyeurism,masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
15891-PPPD094-Tender Busty Nurse with Nana Aoyama
15891-PPPD094-Tender Busty Nurse with Nana Aoyama,threesome, mmf
15867-WIF022-Creampie Wife Petition with Kei Megumi
15867-WIF022-Creampie Wife Petition with Kei Megumi,masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
15668-MIDD626-Big Breast Braless Temptation with Ai Sayama
15668-MIDD626-Big Breast Braless Temptation with Ai Sayama
masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
15653-PPPD095-Busty Female Teacher Nakadashi Lesson with Hina Hanami
15653-PPPD095-Busty Female Teacher Nakadashi Lesson with Hina Hanami
threesome, mmf
threesome, mmf
8710-SDMS076-Ejaculation Into Vagina Paradise with Nana Natsume
8710-SDMS076-Ejaculation Into Vagina Paradise with Nana Natsume
group sex,masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
group sex,masturbation, self(onanii),threesome, mmf
7115-MIAD150-Fist Fuck with Chihiro Hara
7115-MIAD150-Fist Fuck with Chihiro Hara
threesome, mmf
threesome, mmf
FLY BOYS
It is said that swinging began among American military communities in the 1950s, primarily out in the California desert among the elite test pilots. Out in the joushua tree wastelands, on remote air force bases, recently returned combat pilots from WWII flew the latest jet planes. It was here Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in the X-1 named after his wife, "Glamorous Glennis," and here where these pilots pushed the envelop of aeronautics and set the path for the first generation of astronauts.
Perhaps these hardened combat vets had seen too many of their buddies never make it home. Perhaps they promised them they’d live life to its fullest. Perhaps the heat and the isolation of the Mojave made them bored and eager for some fun. Perhaps the machismo fueled them. Perhaps in the pack of pilots, women were few. And married to their buddies.
“Hey Chip, your wife sure has some body.”
“Hell yeah she does. I bet you want to take a test flight on that model, wouldn’t you, fly boy?”
“Yes Sir I would!”
“Oh, cut it out fellas, no need to fight over little ‘ol me. You're both cleared for take off.”
The hyper testosterone, frat-boy fighter pilot objectification of woman as an interchangeable tool like one of their jets is clearly sexist, and offensive, and if we admit it only to ourselves, a little bit sexy.
By the time the Korean War ended, the practice had spread from the military to the suburbs. The media dubbed the phenomenon “wife-swapping.”
It is said that swinging began among American military communities in the 1950s, primarily out in the California desert among the elite test pilots. Out in the joushua tree wastelands, on remote air force bases, recently returned combat pilots from WWII flew the latest jet planes. It was here Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in the X-1 named after his wife, "Glamorous Glennis," and here where these pilots pushed the envelop of aeronautics and set the path for the first generation of astronauts.
Perhaps these hardened combat vets had seen too many of their buddies never make it home. Perhaps they promised them they’d live life to its fullest. Perhaps the heat and the isolation of the Mojave made them bored and eager for some fun. Perhaps the machismo fueled them. Perhaps in the pack of pilots, women were few. And married to their buddies.
“Hey Chip, your wife sure has some body.”
“Hell yeah she does. I bet you want to take a test flight on that model, wouldn’t you, fly boy?”
“Yes Sir I would!”
“Oh, cut it out fellas, no need to fight over little ‘ol me. You're both cleared for take off.”
The hyper testosterone, frat-boy fighter pilot objectification of woman as an interchangeable tool like one of their jets is clearly sexist, and offensive, and if we admit it only to ourselves, a little bit sexy.
By the time the Korean War ended, the practice had spread from the military to the suburbs. The media dubbed the phenomenon “wife-swapping.”
MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL
Greg and Darleene got married right out of high school. Hard to believe, but they'd just had their 15th high school reunion (and 15th wedding anniversary). At the last reunion, they reconnected with Miller. (Miller was his last name, but every since high school everyone just called him Miller.) He and Greg played football together in high school, and Miller was Best Man at their wedding. He was a couple years younger, a Sophomore when Greg was a Senior. Miller always looked up to Greg. Greg had been the football star, and had literally married the Homecoming Queen.
Queen Darleene. It rhymed. Darleene loved when they announced it at homecoming. She loved to say it in her mind. Queen Darleene. Sometimes she'd say it in frustration. Over the years, marriage wasn't easy. They had a nice house, and they had a baby. Then another. Things were pretty good, but over a decade, had sort of fallen into a routine of work, childcare, cooking, chores, driving.
Greg always thought Darleene was hot. She was the dream girl to be with in high school, and compared to some of her other classmates, she was still foxy. Even after two babies, she was still in good shape. He knew, in his mind, she was hot. But somehow their sex life just seem to dry up after 15 years, and the babies, and the poopy diapers, and the sleepless nights, and his back acting up from his old football injuries, aggravated by his work as a utility lineman.
So when Miller came back into their life, it was like old times. He'd gone to Arizona State to play ball, and had ended up getting married to a girl in Arizona, and it hadn't worked out and he eventually circled back to his hometown. He was glad to see Greg and Darleene again. After the divorce, he'd been on his own for years, and downright lonely. It was good to laugh with them about old times. Share dinner with them, and every Monday night, come over to watch football. And truthfully, he liked to watch Darleene. She'd serve them snack plates wearing skimpy shorts and a tank-top, showing off her legs and her breasts.
Darleene noticed his eyes on her body, and it felt good. Not since cheer leading in high school had boys undressed her with their eyes. She felt the old spark. On a whim, she pulled out Greg's old jersey. She stripped naked and slipped it on. It was long enough to hang like a summer dress. The fabric hung loosely, but her nipples, if hard, poked out a little, and the jersey was just thin enough to let light shine through and reveal the outline of her legs.
Dressed in the jersey, she casually walked in to the living room to give Greg and Miller another beer. Their eyes both immediately jumped. She could see the look on their faces--they were just like teenage boys again. Horny as hell. She told them she'd put the baby and the toddler to bed, and would be in the kitchen, and offered to fetch them a beer every commercial break. She told them just to yell "Beer Break!" whenever the game cut to commercial.
Her plan had its affect. Commercials came on regularly, and each time the guys would yell "Beer Break!" She'd waltz in with two cold ones, just like a beer model. She had given each beer a little shake before entering the room, so when she cracked one, the foam burst and dribbled down her arm and she handed each guy a beer with a wink. She made a point to stand directly in front of the big screen TV, so the light came through her shirt. She tried to lean down a bit lower each time she handed the guys a beer, so they could look down the V of the jersey and see the cleavage of her two bare breasts.
After the first quarter, the guys were pretty buzzed. They'd been pounding beers competitively, so neither one would have a part-finsihed beer by the next "Beer Break!" They shouted at the game, cheered, and high-fived. They high-fived with each beer, and began to hoot and whistle when Darleene swayed into the room with two fresh cold ones.
As half time neared, the guys were starting to get wasted. They cheered and hooted and hollered. For many women it might not have been at all sexy or romantic, but for Darleene, it was just like old times.
"Hey fellas," she said, in her sexy voice, "wanna know what the half time show is?"
They looked at her with big stupid, shit-faced grins. "Beer Break!?"
"Me," she said.
The guys looked at each other, confused, but excited. The hooted and high-fived.
Darleene started one of her cheers from high school. "Give me a G. Give me an O..." She jumped and kicked as she had on the sidelines of many high school games. Greg and Miller were both older, heavier middle aged men, but for now, they were just like their old selves, just dudes, best friends, teammates. Darleene was loving all the attention and had forgotten her lack of underwear when she high kicked, and flashed the guys.
"Whhoooa!" they yelled. The hooted, hoolered, and slapped high fives again. Greg wasn't mad--he was drunk, happy, and totally stoked that his hot Homecoming Queen wife was flashing her snatch at him and Miller. He saw that Miller was totally hot for Darleene--as he should be. She was the prize of Hoover High.
With the dudes cheering, Darleene spun around and touched her toes so her jersey rose up. Her cheerleading moves become more like a strip dance, as the half-time band music played from the TV. It was surprisingly erotic. The sounds of the tubas and snare drums, the marching band, all the dork kids who wanted her, and could never have her. Only the football elite could have her. Like the captain of the team, Greg, and the star running back, Miller.
She flipped up her jersey, giving each guy a look. She bent forward and shook her ass in their faces. She could feel their hot, beery breath on her.
"Look at that ass!" yelled Greg. "That's a fucking hot ass!"
"Hell yeah it is," yelled Miller.
"Look at them titties," yelled Greg as Darleene leaned forward, cupping her breasts, and pushing them first into Greg's face and then into Miller's.
"Hell yeah," yelled Miller, his face being smothered in Darleene's breasts.
The band was reaching its crescendo. Darleene knew the song by heart, knew how to time the big finale. With the crash of the cymbols, she stripped off her jersey and stood before both guys, just inches form their face and hands. Greg began to stroke her thighs and stomach. "Damn," he said, "You're fuckin hot, baby," he said.
"Hell yeah," said Miller.
"Is my wife fuckable or what?" said Greg, stroking Darleene's thigh and letting his hand move between her legs.
"Oh hell yeah," said Miller.
Darleene quivered to Greg's touch and parted her legs. She saw Miller's hands ready to touch her, his eyes fixed on her wet pussy, the buldge in his pants strained. Darleene knew that Greg was ready, too. She knew all it'd take was the suggestion.
"So, you two going to fuck me or what already?"
The two guys jumped into play, each moving as if on the field, positioning themselves in relation to the other. Playing ball, they could communicate just by physical movement, no words were needed. They stripped and took her to the living room floor. On her knees, Greg pushed in, and Miller, sitting back, gave her front row access to his cock. What a great cock, she thought, as she took it in both hands like a trophy. Greg pumped her from behind as she sucked and slurped. The game played on the TV. All the sounds and ref's whistles and cheers of the crowd seemed just for them, each reliving a moment of glory days.
Greg and Darleene got married right out of high school. Hard to believe, but they'd just had their 15th high school reunion (and 15th wedding anniversary). At the last reunion, they reconnected with Miller. (Miller was his last name, but every since high school everyone just called him Miller.) He and Greg played football together in high school, and Miller was Best Man at their wedding. He was a couple years younger, a Sophomore when Greg was a Senior. Miller always looked up to Greg. Greg had been the football star, and had literally married the Homecoming Queen.
Queen Darleene. It rhymed. Darleene loved when they announced it at homecoming. She loved to say it in her mind. Queen Darleene. Sometimes she'd say it in frustration. Over the years, marriage wasn't easy. They had a nice house, and they had a baby. Then another. Things were pretty good, but over a decade, had sort of fallen into a routine of work, childcare, cooking, chores, driving.
Greg always thought Darleene was hot. She was the dream girl to be with in high school, and compared to some of her other classmates, she was still foxy. Even after two babies, she was still in good shape. He knew, in his mind, she was hot. But somehow their sex life just seem to dry up after 15 years, and the babies, and the poopy diapers, and the sleepless nights, and his back acting up from his old football injuries, aggravated by his work as a utility lineman.
So when Miller came back into their life, it was like old times. He'd gone to Arizona State to play ball, and had ended up getting married to a girl in Arizona, and it hadn't worked out and he eventually circled back to his hometown. He was glad to see Greg and Darleene again. After the divorce, he'd been on his own for years, and downright lonely. It was good to laugh with them about old times. Share dinner with them, and every Monday night, come over to watch football. And truthfully, he liked to watch Darleene. She'd serve them snack plates wearing skimpy shorts and a tank-top, showing off her legs and her breasts.
Darleene noticed his eyes on her body, and it felt good. Not since cheer leading in high school had boys undressed her with their eyes. She felt the old spark. On a whim, she pulled out Greg's old jersey. She stripped naked and slipped it on. It was long enough to hang like a summer dress. The fabric hung loosely, but her nipples, if hard, poked out a little, and the jersey was just thin enough to let light shine through and reveal the outline of her legs.
Dressed in the jersey, she casually walked in to the living room to give Greg and Miller another beer. Their eyes both immediately jumped. She could see the look on their faces--they were just like teenage boys again. Horny as hell. She told them she'd put the baby and the toddler to bed, and would be in the kitchen, and offered to fetch them a beer every commercial break. She told them just to yell "Beer Break!" whenever the game cut to commercial.
Her plan had its affect. Commercials came on regularly, and each time the guys would yell "Beer Break!" She'd waltz in with two cold ones, just like a beer model. She had given each beer a little shake before entering the room, so when she cracked one, the foam burst and dribbled down her arm and she handed each guy a beer with a wink. She made a point to stand directly in front of the big screen TV, so the light came through her shirt. She tried to lean down a bit lower each time she handed the guys a beer, so they could look down the V of the jersey and see the cleavage of her two bare breasts.
After the first quarter, the guys were pretty buzzed. They'd been pounding beers competitively, so neither one would have a part-finsihed beer by the next "Beer Break!" They shouted at the game, cheered, and high-fived. They high-fived with each beer, and began to hoot and whistle when Darleene swayed into the room with two fresh cold ones.
As half time neared, the guys were starting to get wasted. They cheered and hooted and hollered. For many women it might not have been at all sexy or romantic, but for Darleene, it was just like old times.
"Hey fellas," she said, in her sexy voice, "wanna know what the half time show is?"
They looked at her with big stupid, shit-faced grins. "Beer Break!?"
"Me," she said.
The guys looked at each other, confused, but excited. The hooted and high-fived.
Darleene started one of her cheers from high school. "Give me a G. Give me an O..." She jumped and kicked as she had on the sidelines of many high school games. Greg and Miller were both older, heavier middle aged men, but for now, they were just like their old selves, just dudes, best friends, teammates. Darleene was loving all the attention and had forgotten her lack of underwear when she high kicked, and flashed the guys.
"Whhoooa!" they yelled. The hooted, hoolered, and slapped high fives again. Greg wasn't mad--he was drunk, happy, and totally stoked that his hot Homecoming Queen wife was flashing her snatch at him and Miller. He saw that Miller was totally hot for Darleene--as he should be. She was the prize of Hoover High.
With the dudes cheering, Darleene spun around and touched her toes so her jersey rose up. Her cheerleading moves become more like a strip dance, as the half-time band music played from the TV. It was surprisingly erotic. The sounds of the tubas and snare drums, the marching band, all the dork kids who wanted her, and could never have her. Only the football elite could have her. Like the captain of the team, Greg, and the star running back, Miller.
She flipped up her jersey, giving each guy a look. She bent forward and shook her ass in their faces. She could feel their hot, beery breath on her.
"Look at that ass!" yelled Greg. "That's a fucking hot ass!"
"Hell yeah it is," yelled Miller.
"Look at them titties," yelled Greg as Darleene leaned forward, cupping her breasts, and pushing them first into Greg's face and then into Miller's.
"Hell yeah," yelled Miller, his face being smothered in Darleene's breasts.
The band was reaching its crescendo. Darleene knew the song by heart, knew how to time the big finale. With the crash of the cymbols, she stripped off her jersey and stood before both guys, just inches form their face and hands. Greg began to stroke her thighs and stomach. "Damn," he said, "You're fuckin hot, baby," he said.
"Hell yeah," said Miller.
"Is my wife fuckable or what?" said Greg, stroking Darleene's thigh and letting his hand move between her legs.
"Oh hell yeah," said Miller.
Darleene quivered to Greg's touch and parted her legs. She saw Miller's hands ready to touch her, his eyes fixed on her wet pussy, the buldge in his pants strained. Darleene knew that Greg was ready, too. She knew all it'd take was the suggestion.
"So, you two going to fuck me or what already?"
The two guys jumped into play, each moving as if on the field, positioning themselves in relation to the other. Playing ball, they could communicate just by physical movement, no words were needed. They stripped and took her to the living room floor. On her knees, Greg pushed in, and Miller, sitting back, gave her front row access to his cock. What a great cock, she thought, as she took it in both hands like a trophy. Greg pumped her from behind as she sucked and slurped. The game played on the TV. All the sounds and ref's whistles and cheers of the crowd seemed just for them, each reliving a moment of glory days.CABIN FEVER AND THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH
At first, Lydia was furious at her husband Mike for inviting his co-worker James to their cabin. Technically, the cabin belonged to both Lydia and Mike, because they were married, but the cabin had been passed down from Lydia's parents, and as a child she would join her family for summer vacations in the cabin. These were her favorite childhood memories--of long days swimming in the lake, and barbecues, and playing board games on the screen porch by the hiss of a Coleman lantern.
Her dad was a school teacher and an avid fisherman, so for Lydia, the cabin was not just a funky little rustic house built in the 70s beside a lake in upstate Minnesota, but rather a second childhood home. Perhaps, she realized, that was one of the things that attracted her to Mike. When they met, they were both teachers -in-training. Lydia was doing her assistant teaching at the same elementary school where Mike had come to work with the at-risk boys. At first, she thought her attraction to him was their connection to education, his dedication to helping youth. After seven years of marriage, she came to realize that the connection they shared to education was there--but it was a more intellectual bond. They both agreed on the same values and principles, but after that, the similarities were fewer. In fact, although Mike and Lydia had had a happy first couple years as newlyweds and new teachers, they'd settled into routines. Both the excitement and newness of marriage and teaching had worn off. They were both still dedicated teachers, and committed to each other. But the glamour and charge of waking every day to make a difference was gone: both teaching and married, Lydia had concluded, was a daily grind. It was hard work, and with every small advance in the classroom, each year a new batch of kids--the same issues and challenges. It was a wheel of repetition, reset each fall, back to square one. For this reason, her summers meant everything to her. For a few months, she could leave school behind. She could step back, almost in time, to when she was young and carefree. She could put fall out of her mind for a while, and just swim and relax, read the books she wanted to read--trashy summer pulp, and not text books. She wondered, secretly, if she'd jumped into her marriage with Mike because she liked him as an individual, or as a type: a man with a steady job, good benefits, and summers free to let her return to her cabin.
Mike had ruined her plan. He'd invited James.
Lydia and Mike both new James. He taught 5th grade and coached. Mike and James had always gotten along, and played on the same softball team. Lydia had never liked James' wife, and never really got close to either. But now James was divorced (no surprise). The divorce became the excuse Mike used to invite James to join them at the cabin. "Come on, honey," he said to Lydia. "James is going through a rough spot. We can't leave him alone all summer."
Lydia knew the real reason. Sure, maybe James was going through a "rough spot" but it wasn't pity that Mike was feeling for James. Simply, he wanted a buddy up at the cabin to drink beers with and shoot the beer cans off the stump with Dad's old .22 rifle. Basically, Mike wanted a distraction from the marriage that had fallen into a flatness of the day-to-day. The same-old, same-old. Of course he wanted James to come along. They'd be able to hang out and let Lydia do her thing. After seven years, they'd pretty much heard each other's stories. They knew the same "water cooler" talk at work. They loved each other--no question--but they found little to talk about.
It wasn't that they had a bad marriage; Mike would say that things were "fine." Spending a month at the cabin, just the two of them, was fine; but having James along was better. It wasn't like inviting a friend along on a honeymoon--that stage of their lives seemed far away. Somehow the daily sex turned into a few times a week, which turned into weekend sex, which turned into every week or two, or maybe once a month. The sex tapered so slowly over time that it just seemed a natural effect. They still had sex--it never stopped--but even those sessions were more like something they did because it was just part of the entire list of things: do laundry, wash dishes, scrub bathrooms, take out trash. At one time, they'd watched porn together, but not for a year or more. Each Valentines Mike would buy Lydia some sexy lingerie. It'd be worn that night, and then live in her dresser drawer.
Sadly, Lydia was reaching her sexual prime. She'd met Mike when she was 23. By 24 she married. Now, at 32, she felt like she was a totally different woman. She was no longer a college student. She couldn't even remember what it was like to date guys before Mike. Seriously, she tried to recall the sensation of kissing old boyfriends, and see if she could picture the shape, texture, scent of their penises. She could get the image, sort of, but it was more like something she'd read, than experienced. for her, it'd been Mike's body year after year. She knew exactly what it took to bring him off. She'd accepted that she'd have to spend alone time to get off herself. That was fine. Not exactly how she'd imagined married life would be. But, all in all, it was fine. Mike was always there for her. He didn't cheat. He treated her kindly, and, well.... he was her husband, and that was that.
She grumbled, but accepted the fact that James was now going to spend at least 3 or 4 weeks with them at the cabin.
As soon as all three were at the cabin, something changed. The air smelled sweeter, the sun warmer. There was an energy, a buzz that Mike and Lydia had not felt before. It was a youthful energy, a giddy. Lydia was not sure what had changed or why. For James, it was obvious: he loved the cabin, the loved the lake, and the porch overlooking the lake. But more importantly, he'd always had a thing for Lydia. Even when he was married--especially when he was married--he saw Mike and Lydia as the "perfect" couple. She was smart, and sexy at school, but here in the cabin, as she spent her days in shorts and bikini tops, she seemed extraordinarily sexy.
In fact, one afternoon, he'd returned to the cabin to fetch something, and spied Lydia on the porch, sunning and napping. He stood, silently as possible, hidden in the shadow of the inside, peering at her bare skin through the screen. He knew he shouldn't look, but it was also exactly what he'd fantasied about. He was instantly hard, and by instinct, pushed his hand in his pants and began to stroke his cock. In his mind, a scene played out like a porno: he'd step out on the porch, holding his stiff cock. Lydia would look up and blink. And smile. And reach for his cock with her mouth. Then he'd tug aside her bikini. He always wondered if Lydia was shaved. He was certain that she was. She was so hot to him. He'd flip her onto her knees and give it to her. He was now beating his cock hard.
What would happen if he stepped outside? Would Lydia scream? Laugh? Even if she wanted him as much as he wanted her, what would happen if Mike returned? James was already taking too long. No, that would be the worst thing to do to a best friend.
As he stared at Lydia on the deck and beat off, he still imagined her on her knees. He was pumping into her. But now he pictured Mike in the scene. He had his dick in her mouth. Yeah...that was it. He'd always imagined Mike and Lydia going at it. James had never had hot sex with his wife, the "ice queen" called her. So he transferred that passion to idea that Lydia and Mike had perfect, porn star sex. James didn't want to break them up. He didn't want Lydia to himself. He just wanted to join them, to have a small part of that passion. He pictured himself and Mike fucking Lydia. He decided then, that he would do everything he could to make it happen.
What he didn't know was that Lydia wasn't sleeping. He didn't know that she'd been completely aroused since arriving at the cabin. He didn't know that she'd fingered herself at least a dozen times in the few days they'd been there. He didn't know that she'd checked out his package as he walked around in shorts. It never occurred to him that Mike had put on a few pounds over the years and, in fact, had started a middle-aged paunch. Although James' hair was starting to thin, he was still pretty lean. Lydia had noticed. She'd actually been thinking of James as she spread out her beach towel. She removed her bikini top and lay back in the sun. She hoped to be caught. She wanted to be seen. She wanted both men to walk back to the cabin and catch her topless. She'd act surprised. But she hoped it'd make Mike a little jealous, and James a little horny.
She knew it was just a matter of time before the guys returned. The waiting made her more and more excited. She became wet. Is this the seven year itch, she wondered? At age 32, all she wanted was to be taken, ravaged. She wanted to feel a cok inside her. A new cock, with a new shape. She wanted to put it her mouth and taste new skin, new salty cum. As she thought about James' body, she became wet and reached into her bikini and touched herself.
That's when she heard a gasp from inside. Someone had already been watching her. This turned her on even more. Was it her husband, Mike? If so, was he seeing her, finally, as the sexy woman she was? Now fully awaken from her daydreaming her ears strained. She could hear the unmistakable sound of a man jerking off. She knew the sound well. Mike would beat off in the bathroom. He never realized even with the door shut, she could hear. She could her him slapping his meat, and then the grunt as he spurt. Then the flush of the toilet. That was fine. She took her alone time. He deserved his. She never mentioned it. But she was also never aroused by it. Now, she was half naked on the deck of her cabin, listening to the sound of a man beating off. Was it Mike stroking his cock, finally using her as his masturbation fantasy? She liked the idea.
But if it was Mike, he probably would have come outside--either to tell her to get dressed, or to take her into the bedroom for a quickie. She deduced that the man behind the screen, standing in the shadows of the cabin was not her husband, but his best friend James.
This drove her wild. She pushed two fingers into her already soaking vagina. "Oh yes," she gasped. "Give it to me." She imagined a cock bigger that her husband's penetrating her. She imagined her husband looking on, nodding his approval, as she stretched to accommodate a new cock. She knew it was unrealistic, but she was masturbating; she could fantasize however she wanted, right? She never imagined cheating on Mike, or being in love with another man. She just wanted a new cock. A new body to take her, ravage her. Even make her feel like a naughty slut, and not a proper, professional teacher. Having any sexlife beyond the typical, accepted monogamous married life was literally grounds for her to be fired. For seven years, she'd been a teacher, and always aware of sensitivity of keeping one's sex life private. Naked pictures of herself--even pictures drinking and partying could get her fired. Any porn on a computer could be ceased. Even a rental history of DVDs if there was ever any question of her sex life. She understood the reasons, working with kids, and knew the stories and cautionary tales passed down. But secretly, she wondered if she'd somehow missed out. She imagined that lawyers could have naughty sex. If lawyers had a threesome, no one would care. Three teachers, the PTA would have their asses fired.
Of course, the more dangerous something is, the more desirable. The thought of three teachers getting it on seemed especially naughty to Lydia. And even better, it was her Dad's old cabin. The place she grew up, and where she experienced her first sense of sexuality. She touched herself for the first time in a sleeping bag on the porch, listening to the crickets and the lapping of the lake on the shore.
She'd go on long hikes alone, and some times slip off her clothes. She'd walk nude through the forest, wearing only her hiking boots. She knew she'd be in trouble if caught by her parents. She'd been warned that she'd be raped if caught by a stranger. But contrary to the caution, it gave her one of her first fantasies. She knew that real rape was a violent crime, and did not wish it on herself or any woman for real. But in fantasy, her "violators" were always very cute, very sexy, dashing, and polite, like cowboys in the old Westerns.One of her regular fantasies was adapted from the classic Western good guy in white hat vs. bad guy in black. In this story, she was a Native American or a pioneer woman who lived in the woods. Along comes the bad guy, the train robber, dressed in black, with a load of money, escaping the law. He'd take her as a hostage. At his camp, he'd be gruff but a gentleman. She'd cook him a meal and nurse his wounds. He'd tell her she was "pretty flower ready to bloom." He'd say things like, "have you ever touched a man's gun before?" He'd place her hand on his crotch. She'd feel it move and she'd squeal. "Go on," he'd say, "it ain't gonna bite." And then he'd let her hold his cock in her hands, and pet it, and kiss it and then taste it. He'd show her what to do and make her suck him off.
It was less rape, really, than an initiation. Because he was the bad guy, he would deflower her. He would be strong, rough even, but never cruel. He'd have his way with her. First in the front, and then in the back, until she knew how to accept his cock in every way. She'd be his captive and his sex slave. Her favorite image was to be tied to a tree and taken.
Then, she'd hear gunfire. The goodguy was catching up, with his white hat and white horse. There would be a blazing fight while Lydia remained bound, naked, to a tree. The bad guy would ride off in a cloud of dust, never to be seen again. The good guy would ride up, dismount, and untie the poor Lydia. He'd scoop her up, and set her on his horse. He'd wash away all the dirt and blood and semen from her pale white skin. He'd tell her she'd been soiled by evil, but that it wasn't her fault. He'd marry her, and make her an honest woman. And they'd ride off into the sunset.
She found a stack of old porn mags her Dad had hidden. She'd sneak one out to the woods, and look at the images of sexy women, imagining herself in their positions. She'd spread out the pages so she could see several images at once and finger herself.
What a sexual girl she'd been, and now, decades later, that latent energy was boiling back up. On her back, half naked, fingering herself, she thought about the hidden magazines. She thought about the good guy in the woods, and the bad guy. She dipped and flicked her finger, imagining being penetrated--viloated--by the bad guy, as she listened to the unmistakable sound of a man beating off.
She knew it was James, her husband's best friend. He was the bad guy--the forbidden lover of her adolescent fantasy. Her husband, the calm, safe, thoughtful Mike, was the good guy that she had married and would grow old with. She didn't want to marry the outlaw, but she wanted him to teach her, to show her the ways of making love. She began to pitch her hips, pushing her fingers deeper. She could hear James inside, beating off, trying to stifle his moans. She matched her rhythm to his. Although separated by the screen door, they were fucking as if one.
She imagined James fucking her, and her sucking her husband. Or vise versa, James in her mouth, Mike in her ass. James in her ass, Mike offering his cock to her mouth. Maybe she needed both--the good guy, the bad guy. At the same time. That was what had been missing, always missing in her life. She could not have only the good guy, no more than she could settle down with the outlaw.
Her moans became high pitched and she began to cry out, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," as she shook in a powerful orgasm. At the same time, holding back for this cue, James released a huge load of cum.
Later, they'd all three be together in the cabin. After a big spaghetti dinner and lots of wine, they'd continue drinking and talking, and flirting. James wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of Lydia, repeating the scene of her masturbating on the porch, trying to imagine what she looked like under her bikini, tasted like, felt like. Mike found his wife radiant that night, glowing in a look of sexual bliss. She wore a tight tank top and short skirt, and he could smell the scent of sweat, suntan oil, and her sex. He was seeing her renewed, vital and inviting his stares. He noticed her bending over to pour more wine for each of the men, and James checking out her small, but sexy cleavage. It didn't make him angery, but rather assured him that his wife was sexy. James, his friend, looked at Mike, and Mike nodded, as if to say, "hell yeah, check out those tits." Lydia bent over several times to pick up objects. Mike and James stared at her ass held in by the tight skirt and a peek of white panties, bunched up, revealing a clear outline of her vulva. Lydia found herself staring at James, knowing he'd been hard for her, and had gotten off from the show she'd put on. She knew it was just a matter of starting. Of crossing the line. Once crossed, there would be no holding back. Each of the three sensed it. The more Mike sensed James' desire for his wife, the more he desired her, too. The more Lydia felt the burning stares of the men, the more confident she became of her sexiness, and more eager to feel the two men and their hard cocks at the same time.
The fire was blazing and they were a couple bottles of wine into the evening, good and buzzed, and horny. "Hey, wanna know a secret," asked Lydia.
The two men glanced at each other, and both seemed to nod to say, "yeah, cool."
Lydia stood up, wobbled a little, and made her way toward the bedroom.
The men glanced at each other again. Then they followed. "Have a seat," said Lydia, patting the bed's patchwork quilt. "I want to show you something." The men glanced at each other again. Lydia swayed over to the wall, where she peeled back part of the wood paneling, left over from the 70s. Behind the panelling, she retrieved a couple dusty magazines. She brought them to the bed and hoped on, beside the two men. She flipped one open and they all started to check out the pictures. Page after glossy pages, she felt herself getting hotter and hotter.
She could see the straining bulges in the men's shorts. "You want to know my secret?" she asked. She knew this was the moment that would either break the spell, or set it into action.
She let her hand slip into her panties, and begin to stroke herself. "When I was a teenager, I used to touch myself looking at these magazines. " Bot men stared at her, fixed on her hand, unable to take their eyes off. James glanced at Mike. Mike looked at his wife. She met his gaze and seemed to say, "This is ok, right?"He had never seen his wife so desirable, so completely alive with sexual energy. His look seemed to say, "Oh my god yes!"
"Do you want to know my deepest secret?" asked Lydia, seductively.
Both men nodded slowly.
She gently reached out to each, softly rubbing their strained erections through their shorts, cupping their balls, and tugging at the elastic bands, signaling them that the talking was done and all three getting naked was next.
They'd have all summer to themselves to try each and every combination. And summers to come. At seven years, it would save Lydia and Mike's marriage. It would start a new chapter for them, a renewed sex life. For Lydia, it would fulfill a long-time fantasy, and make her childhood cabin even more fun to look forward to each summer.
THE LAST LETTER SHE SENT
They'd been long-distance for three months, and the only thing keeping the connection intimate was her laptop. She snapped a picture of herself on the couch, spread out for him. Then she emailed it.
Lots of nights she'd sit on her couch, her laptop propped up beside her. Naked, she'd read his emails, or compose one for him. Sometimes, though, she'd get both bored and lonely; she'd click on one of her favorite porn sites. She'd found one where real couples submitted their photos. If she couldn't have physical satisfaction, at least she could she other people experiencing it. It turned her on, and soon she'd be touching herself at her computer. She joked with him that the long distance would drive her to seek out internet porn. They laughed about it, but she never fully admitted to him the extent of her online exploring.
It wasn't long before she clicked a link to an adult toy retail site. And with a click of a button, she'd placed her first order. She'd never had a toy before. She'd always been far too shy to actually go into one of the seedy adult shops and, frankly, her fingers seemed to do enough. But the months of long-distance, combined with the daily emails, the photos, and surfing amateur sites, had gotten her totally curious. The next thing she knew, a small brown package had arrived.
Of course, the first thing to do was test it out. She locked the door, drew the curtains, and stripped down. She unwrapped her new toy, found some AA batteries, and pulled up her favorite site. She started touching with her fingers, until she was wet and ready. Then with a twist, her new toy hummed in her hand. She touched it to her clit, and it sent shocks of vibrations to the tip of her head. Everything tingled. It didn't take long at all for her to reach climax. In fact, just holding it against her clit could bring on an orgasm. Shaking and trembling, she set the toy down.
She wondered if she should tell her boyfriend of her new purchase, and her new experience. To test his reaction, she wrote him that she'd gone online and watched a video of a woman playing with a vibrator, and asked if that turned him on. The irony was that as she asked his permission to explore new things, she was already two steps ahead. By the time he wrote back that he was glad she'd found a sexy video of a solo girl, she'd already ordered her second toy.
Again she stripped on her couch. She placed a towel down, lubbed up her toys, and set down for more porn, and more pleasure. She learned that the vibrators with the rattling pearls inside produced the most intense vibrations. She loved to feel this type of her toy on her clit and filling her in the front. She also lerned that her smaller, sleek reddish colored vibrator felt good in her back. She'd discovered this on the couch. Trying to hold on toy on her clit and work one inside of her, it slipped to her lower entrance. To her surprise, the sensation shot direct currents to her clit. The more she pushed the toy against her anus, the more intense the sensation in the front. It was as if currents of electricity connected the toy toys. So she'd sit on her couch, legs propped up on the coffee table. She'd work the red toy in her butt, while pressing the pearl vibrator in the front, as she watched online porn.
Eventually, she told her boyfriend about purchasing her first toy. By then, her collection had grown. So had her Sex Ed, provided by hours of watching online porn. At first she liked the solo girls. She would place herself in the shot, moving her toy as the woman on screen moved hers. She then began watching couples' videos. Shed imagine the guy as her boyfriend, and the woman as herself. She'd get on her knees and use the toy from behind. Or hold it upright and ride it.
At the beginning of the long-distance, her sexy emails would retell some of the experiences she and her boyfriend shared. After those ran their course, she found herself describing scenes she'd watched online. In the emails she'd change the scenes, the places, the names, the details to be specific to her boyfriend and their life in their homestate.
She even got so bold as to send him a self-timer shot of her using her toy in the back. It would either freak him out or turn him on so much he'd beat off to it every day for weeks. She wanted to think of him being turned on by the image, and to get her pleasure from the thought of him getting pleasure from the image. But she was already far passed him and their relationship that seemed fixed in another place, long ago. She was in the city and her job and her live was changing. HE was still back home, hanging out with the same high school buddies, drinking beer, working the same stupid job. She didn't know what he'd think of the image of her with the vibrator up her butt. She was certain it'd shock him.
He'd have no idea, though, that bedtime became her time to bring out her toys. She'd used her larger toys in the back, that she'd use another toy in the front. Or suck on one, while pushing another up her butt. As far as he knew, every story, every private fantasy was about the two of them. She couldn't tell him that he only appeared as a character in her emails to him. In her mind, she was on her back, a man straddling her face, his cock dangling down as she takes it in her mouth. Another man beside her, pushing his hard cock into her anus.
She now had several toys: blue and purple, white, red. Each a different shape and size, and personality. Some had gentle, soft vibrations, and some she could only bear for a few seconds, they seemed to send such strong currents through her. Each one had a texture, a style, a mood. A personality. When she was home, before moving to the city, she imagined she'd only be with her boyfriend. That they'd get married, and be happily every after. When they made love back then, she figured a penis was just a penis. All boys had one, but they were essentially the same. Now, with her toys, she imagined she had a dozen different lovers. Each night would be a new combination. Always, she imagined more than one cock, fucking and sucking at the same time.
Months passed. When they first started dating in high school , all they could talk about was getting out of their small hometown, far away from parents and teachers, and starting an adventure in the city. After graduation, even agreed to start college at the local community college. He argued that core credits were all the same, and it'd be cheaper to live at home and get in-state tuition, and get some credits out of the way before moving.
So she passed up all the other acceptance letters from colleges in the east and a couple in California. And she enrolled at teh local community college. And on fridays they went on dates, to the movies, and bowling, and had sex in his pickup, just the same as any young adults do in any small town USA. It was fine then, even lovely, even fun.
But eventually, she had to move to the city. Had he been an asshole, the choice and a breakup would have been easy. Simple. But you know: life is never easy or simple. He was kind and agreeable and supportive. He wrote her letters regularly. At first, he said he needed to stick around a while to make sure his folks had help on the farm. That he wanted to save up some before joining her in the city. But at last, it had become clear. There would always be something keeping him in their hometown, and she couldn't go back. Letters were fine for a few months, but without any clear end in sight, they could not sustain. She'd grown into a woman he didn't know, with thoughts and desires she could never share.
She had to force the situation to the point of decision. She knew she had to do two things to truly break from the innocence girl she was. She knew in her heart, she had to experience two men at once. She had to make real the fantasy, at least once. And she knew, she could not keep the secret from him.
In life, agony and anxiety often come when a decision is put off. ONce the decision is made, life takes up and moves on its own. Things fall into place. And so it was that she found herself in a hotel room she'd reserved, and two young men about her age, good looking enough, and total strangers who agreed to what she had in mind. And so it was the three were naked, and she riding one, and sucking the other, and then trading. Being filled the front and the back. Being stretched out, sore, sweaty, and satisfied. They fucked her like no toys could. She was dizzy and wanted more and more. She came over and over. They fucked until she had drained every drop of cum they could give her. Semen sloshed in her belly, dripped from her cunt and asshole. Around 4am, they guys left. She slept on the tangled, stained sheets.
The next morning she showered, dressed and checked out. The only evidence she had of her tryst was a self timer shot on her digital camera. Back at her laptop, she debated sending it. Did he really need to see it? Did she really need to tell him everything?
That's when she knew she had really changed. For the first time she felt truly like a woman, and not like someone pretending to be a mature adult. She now new herself like never before. She could give all she had, and still keep herself. She downloaded the image, but did not send it. She took out a piece of paper and pen and wrote an old fashioned letter saying she needed to break up, that it was her, not him. That she'd always care for him, and that she didn't want to hold him back. As she wrote, life became suddenly clear. Somehow she knew in her gut that he'd already found someone else, a local girl with no intent of moving. And rather than send him the shot of her and the other guys in vengeance, she wished him happiness. The answer was simple all along. He was doing what he needed to do. And so, with that, she did what she needed to do. She sealed the letter and set it on the coffee table to be mailed, cutting the final and last strand holding her back.
