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The St. Valentine's Day Massacre
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Posted:Feb 15, 2015 7:50 pm
Last Updated:Feb 16, 2015 6:39 pm
5935 Views
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The cards have been read, the guys shaking them out in case there was money, and now lay in a drawer with a scented sachet and maybe a ribbon around them.
The elegant box of candy that was too pretty to open now looks as if a tornado hit it .
Only the crappy pieces like raspberry and orange peel are left anyway. The chocolate covered cherries threw themselves in your mouth to save the others in a futile gesture. You were ruthless.
The champagne stands a silent sentinel, another dead soldier commiserating another Valentine's Day. His revenge is blurring your vision, fuzzing your tongue, and what it has done to the inside of your mouth even Listerine couldn't help --- at least you think it was champagne, it wasn't the only thing in your mouth last night you swallowed.
Come to think of there is a faint disinfectant taste like Clorox.
Some of the underwear you wore last night is missing. Did he take it, or did you leave it in the car, the movie, the restaurant, the club, did you start out with them? Oh well, so Saturday is missing from your sexy day of the week panties, big deal, they were probably ruined anyway. You'll go commando on Saturday from now on.
You remember the movie sort of, Fifty Shades of how much wine you had at dinner. Somewhere between the club and the bar things get fuzzy. You know you had a good time because buttons are missing from your favorite blouse , the zipper is torn on your favorite skirt, a pair of black thigh highs are beyond saving, your clothes were scattered from the driveway to the bedroom, your four inch heels were hanging on the bed posts, and you feel as if you just completed a two day ride on a camel at full gallop.
Hopefully you will remember his name before he calls --- hopefully he will call. Hopefully he remembers your name and where you live.
No, wait, you're married, that was your husband, but he's no where to be found. You didn't misplace him with the panties did you?
And where did all that rope come from?
Another Valentine's has come and gone, and Capone would envy this massacre. There was no blood shed --- well, the little bit under your nails from his back, but not much.
Valentine's Day has come (and so have you, multiple times), and gone again. And as you do every year, you remember again why it only comes once a year while you are hoping for a much better average than that after last night.
Hope you survived and woke up some place familiar and safe with no bars on the door.
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Happy Valentine's Day
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Posted:Feb 13, 2015 7:11 pm
Last Updated:Feb 14, 2015 4:52 pm
5525 Views
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It's a bit early, but
Happy Valentine's Day
to all my friends on here and all the nice bloggers male and female who make this a good experience most of the time.
May you spend the holiday with your loved one whoever they may be.
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Rubbing the Magic Lamp
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Posted:Feb 13, 2015 6:52 pm
Last Updated:Feb 25, 2015 2:02 pm
5933 Views
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So, where do you like to masturbate?
Is it anywhere, anyplace, anytime, or do you need or prefer a certain setting? Are you opportunistic or do you plan?
I have housemates so too often it's the shower. It's okay, but you can only take so much time and there is only so much warm water.
My preference is long and slow in the bed. Why hurry when you don't have to. I actually taught myself to delay longer this way for longer intercourse. You can also have the male multiple orgasm this way.
Some people like semi public, public bathrooms, especially in libraries for some reason. I've known more than one guy to admit he did it in the garage or storage building. Work seems popular, both blue and white collar.
A friend who is a bank vice president had me walk her through finding her G-spot in her private bathroom in her office during lunch.
Obviously sperm donors do it in the doctor's office.
In New York the subways are popular, especially in earlier years when they were more run down and their were empty cars the lights barely worked in.
The tub is popular with women, some discover it that way.
So where is your favorite spot, and do you have any rituals, preparations, ways you get your mind game in tune with your body?
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Maggie in Season Pt. 5
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Posted:Feb 8, 2015 8:28 pm
Last Updated:Feb 10, 2015 11:32 am
7090 Views
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Maggie in Season Pt. 5
Her sheath was so tight that when I pulled out I could feel her inner tissues dragged with me.
Every time that happened a shiver ran up her legs and into her lower spine and buttocks, and thru her into me.
She had bent deeper to increase the angle of my cock against her G-spot, and was making a curious moaning noise accompanied by grunts and little short sharp barks like a fox in heat with each thrust.
Those powerful thighs and buttocks slammed against me with a will of their own, and it felt as if I was touching her cervix on the inward stroke.
She came off of me suddenly, turned, grabbed my cock slick with her juices and dragged my out of the shower, pushing down on the bathroom floor until I was flat on my back in the wet floor.
Still gripping my cock she straddled me, lowered herself, and than plunged on my cock as if she was impaling herself on the pommel of a saddle.
Incredible heat enveloped me. With her weight bearing down her grip was even tighter and I could feel the ridges of her sheath, and when she cocked her hips right my cock head rubbing on the flutter of tissue where her G-Spot was.
Her face was a mask. Her head was thrown back, her eyes tightly shut, her lips parted so her pink tongue showed In that instant I don't think I existed save for that length of gristle she was deriving her pleasure from.
And I didn't care. Hard as I was racing to my own climax I realized something much more was happening with her and that my role in that was to help her find the exact moment when she ascended.
Her strong hands grabbed my wrists pinning them above me as she leaned forward still in a virtual trance and began to ride me at a gallop the way I had seen her sit a racing .
I was torn into. Part of me, certainly the greater part of me, was lost in pleasure and the orgasm that was gathering in my spine and forcing my hips to thrust up into her whenever her upward stroke threatened to separate us by even a centimeter.
But another, smaller part, was outside of all the sensation watching. I followed the lithe lines of her body, the way her breasts swung, the dark distended nipples, the areola swollen the size of the nipples on baby bottles. I saw the power in those legs and her tight ass, I could see muscles rippling along under that brown skin. I saw the pink spider of her asshole winking with her thrusts and where we were joined as if we were pieces of a puzzle that had found their match.
Mostly I watched her face. Reckless savage goddesses of the forgotten past must have had the same feral frighteningly intense grimace lost beyond pleasure and pain the man beneath them little more than a sacrifice to their inhuman need and pleasure. Dark, flushed with blood, surely burning to the touch, she had become all devouring female desire and lust and I was only the vessel of her delivery.
I swelled even bigger inside of her, aware I was no longer in control of myself or capable of warning her. Nothing would have kept me from climax at that instant.
One last time she plunged as I thrust upward. Her clit was a hard button on my pubic bone. Her G-spot was swollen as my cockhead rammed into it, her sheath was no longer gentle and undulating, but rigid as the cock it gripped to the point of pain.
I would have disemboweled her if I had pulled out of her. Assuming I could pull out of her.
Her whole body arched, head thrown back so hard I thought she would break her neck. A sound escaped her I cannot describe. It was like a mating cry unutterably animal and savage, and I felt myself giving way to it, and my climax exploded from my balls as if my whole body was rushing through my urethra to be lost in her endless womb.
She must have ejaculated because my crotch was soaked in heat and wetness. Long after my contractions subsided she rode her orgasm still milking me though I was so sensitive it was all I could do not to fight to escape that remorseless grip trying to draw the very life out of my body.
At some point she collapsed across me. I slipped from her sheath followed by a rush of her fluids mixed with mine running down over my balls and into the crack of my ass.
It occurred to me we both needed a shower worse now than when we started.
Just as the hard cold floor was about to get the best of me she stirred and raised her head. For just a moment she looked at me as if I was a total stranger, a frightening stranger who had somehow stolen some secret control from her.
Then she smiled, licking a drop of moisture, water or sweat , from the tip of my nose.
Damn, she said. We've spent too much time around horses.
That was the first time with Maggie. There were others, even when I went to college and came back in the summers. Eventually we drifted, I was in Europe, there were other women, she married someone said and had a .
After Sally, my third wife, died I tried to get in touch with Maggie. I found instead her grown who still lived on the ranch. Maggie had died six years earlier of complications from breast cancer.
I'm told she is buried by the waterfall where we once skinny dipped and primroses grow on her grave in season. But Maggie, my Maggie, never died, never ages, will always be riding into some sunset like the cowboy movies of my youth.
Maggie, like so many others, is only a heart's memory away ...
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A Helping Hand
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Posted:Feb 6, 2015 4:34 pm
Last Updated:Feb 10, 2015 11:37 am
6058 Views
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Nothing like a little cooperation to smooth the way.
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4
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A GIF
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Posted:Feb 5, 2015 6:38 pm
Last Updated:Feb 8, 2015 4:32 pm
6069 Views
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Not sure she's going to get three wishes rubbing that, but one almost certainly.
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Is a Man More Attractive to You If He is Having Sex More Often?
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Posted:Feb 4, 2015 7:17 pm
Last Updated:Feb 5, 2015 6:32 pm
6483 Views
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Maggie is taking a day off, suspended between nirvana and orgasm while I talk about something that has been happening over the last few weeks.
In the past three weeks several younger women have complimented me. Now I am used to being complimented for being nice, for my work as an artist, for dressing nice, most people have something other people note about them. This is different though, because all of these women are at least 20 years younger, and some of them close to 40.
In the past three weeks I have been told I was handsome twice, told by all of them I have a great build, told by one I have a nice 'package' as well, told by a couple I was sexy, and three that 'those tight jeans' looked good on my butt. It wasn't inappropriate, we were talking and something came up and I made some offhand disparaging remark about myself and the next thing I knew I was getting more than the usual challenge to my assessment of myself. I wasn't fishing for compliments, just using my general dry humor.
Granted I've lost weight over the last two years and I have shaped up quite a bit getting some muscle tone back, but I'm still a little taken aback getting those kind of compliments from women in their 40's, 30's, and one in her late20's. None of them were coming on to me, but these were all among the more attractive women here, and it has taken me aback a bit.
Believe me, I am not complaining, but they only thing that has really changed in the last month is that I am getting laid once in a while by G. That isn't generally known, not that we are keeping it secret, but I am wondering if a man becomes more attractive to women in general if he is having sex regularly, even if they don't know it.
In the past I certainly noticed I got more attention when I was married and wore a wedding ring or had been seen with attractive women, but this would have to be more subliminal than that.
Have you ever found someone you knew suddenly seemed more attractive to you only to find out he was involved with someone later?
Do you think you might respond unconsciously to a man who was having more sex in a positive way even if you didn't actually know he was?
Have any of you men experienced this?
It's nice to hear, I suppose it is my own problem I have trouble believing it, but I am curious what is going on. The cute old man thing does not usually get your package and ass discussed without prompting.
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Maggie in Season Pt. 4
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Posted:Feb 3, 2015 2:18 pm
Last Updated:Feb 4, 2015 1:57 pm
7409 Views
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Maggie in Season Pt. 4
Mount me, Maggie said, breed me.
Her voice was breathy, whiskey soaked, and seemed to vibrate in my ear.
Mount me, breed me. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Breed me could have a lot of connotations.
I didn’t have time to think really.
Her strong arms pulled me towards her as she leaned back against the wall pulling my weight into her. She still had a death grip on my cock choking it even as she pumped it a little wetting her hand and my glans with the flow of pre cum.
Her left leg climbed up the outside of my thigh, and she pushed my cock down horizontal, at least as horizontal as it could be right that instant. I felt the glans just glaze the sable patch and nuzzle the now erect clit. She rubbed me lightly on her clit and I felt her stomach muscles roll and her spine arch up.
My hands dropped under her buttocks, and suddenly she had both legs wrapped around me. She guided the head of my cock to her dripping center and even before I entered I could feel the heat, almost steam coming off her. She seemed to split open like a ripe fruit.
She was ripe, ready to fall. Fallen.
I tried to hold back, to tease, enter slowly, let her accommodate what I now recognized was considerable girth.
She was having none of that. She grunted, thrust her hips forward, and buried me to the hilt in fire.
Again it stung like nettles. I have never been able to articulate exactly what the sensation of being enveloped by that ribbed sheath of wet heat is like. There is a sensation of tightness as my penis pushes into her and the tissues give even as they twine serpent like around me. Maggie was smaller than I would have imagined for a tall girl with a big clit and those tits, but she had impaled herself. Groaning as if it was painful, but refusing to pull back or guard herself.
Mount me, she said, but instead she had mounted me.
Fuck ... she seemed to have trouble speaking from the sensation ... fuck me, she said. It was a command, and I could no more have disobeyed it than stopped the sun moving across the sky or halt the stars in their courses.
Fuck me, and I thought pagan goddesses must have used just such a tone to command their priests to satiate their needs. So Cleopatra commanded Caesar, so Messalina demanded of her legion of lovers, so Catherine the Great demanded of her courtiers: Fuck me. Not a request, not a demand, a command to be followed no matter the cost.
I began to grind into her. He mons was prominent and well padded, but I felt our pubic bones grind together. She forced her powerful hips up onto me seeking the deepest most penetrating angle. The grip of her thighs around me was almost painful. I had seen those thighs grip a Brahma bull like steel bands, seen them sit a bucking determined to throw her, seen those long legs power her through the water, or help her a steer.
I was being swallowed by a python. A flaming lava centered python devouring flesh and soul.
She grunted or whimpered every time she forced me deeper, and I worried I was hurting her, but I was no longer in control. Her nails dug into my shoulders and I felt rivulets of warm blood mix with the water running down my back. She came down biting a half moon into my shoulder with those feral teeth.
I didn’t care. The pain helped me keep from cumming too soon. I thought of the way a stallion grasps the mare by the nape of the neck with his teeth when mounting. I remembered how mares snapped at their lovers in the overwhelming heat and fire of the mating, the breeding.
No mustang I had ever ridden had thrown so much of their soul into throwing me as she did fucking me. Fucking herself on me.
Deeper, she said, harder.
She broke away, my dripping cock bobbing suddenly in the air. Her feet were barely on the tiles before she turned, lifting her buttocks, one hand sliding between her legs to part the glistening labia. Her cum was white on my cock and the inner lips of her pussy.
I moved near and the hand between her legs gripped my cock and pulled it to her entrance. Again, before I could act, she forced herself back full length on me, until my balls were mashed against the lips. This time she cried out when I hit bottom, almost a yelp, and then she sighed in a ragged breath that recalled the way the mare had whinnied when the stallion took her like this.
Hard, damnit, she gasped.
I don’t know how I managed to keep from draining my balls and prostate into that maw of her grasping sheath.
There was a tightness in my balls
I don’t know that you will understand this, but there is a moment when a man is inside of a woman he desires when his mortality fades and he becomes timeless, immortal, indestructible. I was animal and god, savant and fool. Thrusting into her depths from behind as her whimpers, cries, moans, and grunts seemed to roar above the shower I went to that timeless place, that fold between time and space, reality and fantasy.
Occam’s Razor, the equation was simple and eloquent. Universes collapsed and were born, worlds spun off in the vastness, galaxies spiraled, lived, died, stars went nova, Dark Matter filled the gaps between nano seconds. As if from a billion light years away a single pin point of light traveled beyond the speed of light, cut through space, burned through the atmosphere, raced through blue sky, and laser like struck exactly at the core of us both.
She was molten, I was rock, at some point I couldn’t tell if I was in her or she was penetrating me. I was hunched over her now, my hands mauling her breasts. She took one of them and drew my fingers to her mouth and kissed, sucked, then bit down on them. I just drove deeper into her.
The tightness in my balls and my spine felt as it was coming undone. Maggie had slipped into a state I couldn’t define, she was as close as the sweat on my body and far as the sun. I felt her stomach muscles roll and her sheath move on me like a small tight fist.
We hung on the precipice of climax awaiting the plunge.
To Be Continued.
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Maggie in Season Pt. 3
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Posted:Feb 1, 2015 7:50 pm
Last Updated:Feb 3, 2015 12:48 pm
7182 Views
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Maggie in Season Pt. 3
Maggie was squatting in front of me, hands braced on my thighs. Her very red lips seemed swollen and were parted still with the pink kitten tongue. My cock strained toward her like on a tight rein.
I couldn’t imagine what it looked like to her. For once it looked huge to me.
I had been told it was big before. I just assumed girls always said that.
Maybe because it was Maggie it registered on me it was big.
I reassured myself she almost certainly not a virgin.
I’m not sure Maggie was a virgin when she was a virgin.
And she did like horses.
Stupid things to be thinking with her feral mouth so close to my cock, but there they were.
As if to add insult to injury my cock pulsed, bobbed its head up and down like a fighting the bit, and another heavy worm of pre cum escaped.
Maggie’s tongue flicked out and caught it not even brushing the prepuce as if aware even that would have been too much for me.
She stood as if to get temptation out of her way. I watched her body rise, her breasts inches from me.
When she was again looking in my eyes, I took the wet soapy rag from her and touched it to the upper curve of her breasts. She sighed a little and her eyes slitted. I washed her as she had me, wide circles out and smaller circles in. She arched to my touch like a cat.
It hadn’t really occurred to me until that moment that I would be giving pleasure to Maggie.
The concept was almost more exciting than her pleasuring me.
I soaped her breasts. I did not soap them alone, I may have lingered there. The nipples were already turgid, where they had been like the tips of her little fingers jutting out, now they were dark with the blood filling them and jutting up like thumbs.
I moved down her belly. I was very close to her. The widening circles began to dampen the edge of the sable patch. She pushed against my hand with a swaying motion as if following the circular movement of the wash cloth. I could only think of a cobra swaying as the fakir moved his flute.
I came even closer reaching behind her to soap her back, her breasts mashed against me, nipples poking me light small cocks. My cock was wedged up against her belly weeping salty tears to mix with the soap and run down to that sable forest. I soaped down that long curve of spine to the top of her buttocks. I looked down over her shoulder and saw a stream of soapy water run down the crack of her ass and disappear with the inward curve.
This must be what men thought to see fearing they could sail off the edge of the world.
I moved the washcloth is slow circles over her buttocks; those buttocks that fit to a saddle like born in it. They relaxed and fell slightly apart when I pressed the washcloth between them. The recess between them was warm and inviting, and in my minds eye I saw a narrow wedge in the rocks opening into a dark tight dank cave.
As she had done me I slid down the length of her body, pausing only to briefly nip at her breasts with my teeth. She tried to grab my head and pull it to her when my teeth grazed the spongy flesh, but I evaded her.
I was virtually nose to pussy as I soaped her legs, those powerful thighs that gripped a so tightly she seemed part of it were smooth as silk. It had never really occurred to me Maggie shaved her legs or did all those girly things. I worked down and up and down again then the same but on the inside. She opened her legs slightly, and I sensed the tension in her from toe to nose tip, a quivering the way a nervous mare did before she was bred.
I think if I had grazed her pussy lips with the back of a finger she would have forced my whole hand up in her heat. I could see how her belly fluttered, I could hear her breath shudder from her parted lips.
Pulling her toward me with both hands I leaned my face into the soft sable wrapped darkness of her. Her rich scent filled my nostrils, the heat almost seared my lips. Her legs fell away as if to pull up inside of her and swallow me.
I flicked my tongue lightly barely brushing the very edge of her inner lips. She was already open, long past sucking and feeding on the heavier out lips. I pushed my tongue up in her and felt that ring of muscle inside of her and the ragged edge of the wounded hymen. Soapy hands tangled in and pulled my hair drawing my face deeper into her.
My nose brushed the small bundle of nerves beneath the hood as I moved up deeper in her well. My face was wet with her juices. As my tongue slipped from her she tried to grasp it with that ring of muscle. I knew it ached for something more substantial.
Not yet.
My turn to say not yet.
My tongue butterflied the swollen projection pushing out from the hood. Her entire body fluttered with it. I teased, long and slow broad licks barely touching and rapid flickering licks that forced her up on her toes and forward trying to force more solid contact.
Then I took her clitoris between my lips, sucked meaningfully on it, and grazed it with my teeth before I bit it once sharply but not hard.
Fuuuuucccccckkkk ... she said, shoving forward into and down on my face.
She was slow to catch her breath. as I slid up her body until my lips were almost touching hers. She felt unsteady on those long legs that had been so coltish only a few years earlier.
The game was more serious for her than she had expected when she began.
Damn, she whispered, you got a tongue like a tallywhacker. It was incongruously sexy, vulgar, silly, and much younger than she wanted me to think.
I shut her up with my lips on hers. Tongues twined, and she nipped the tip of mine with her teeth. I pulled her close, one hand squeezing a breast and then twisting the extended nipple. I had never been this rough before, but I had never been with Maggie. She didn’t want technique or style, she wanted contact, she wanted sex, fucking not lovemaking.
My hand deserted her breast and moved lower, Along the concave waist, over the swell of the convex belly. into the sable heat, over the swollen mons, into the sucking parting lips. She sucked my fingers up inside of her to the last knuckle. She was a furnace inside it stung like tiny nettles. Her juices ran down my hand.
No, not ran, flowed.
She pressed down as if to take my whole hand inside her, and one of her hands was throttling my pulsing cock.
Mount me, she grunted into my ear, breed me!
To Be Continued ...
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Maggie in Season Pt. 2
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Posted:Jan 31, 2015 3:14 pm
Last Updated:Jan 31, 2015 4:35 pm
6831 Views
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Maggie in Season Pt. 2
“Sorry,” Maggie said, “I thought it was a bar of soap.”
The hand that didn’t quite meet encircling my cock was smooth but strong, and felt almost feverish. Her brown eyes were meeting mine, and her red lips lightly parted the tip of her tongue showing. I had a kitten once who used to do that when she was thinking of getting into mischief.
Time froze, un froze, froze again. I seemed to be living between breaths. The steam from the shower rose and curled around us. A single tear drop of perspiration formed in the notch of her upper lip and ran down to her lips where her tongue, only the pink moist tip of it, appeared and thirstily licked it up.
Her hand slid down the shaft of my cock and her fingers beneath me to tease the heavy orbs beneath as they drew tighter to my body. At her touch I felt as if they were trying to draw up into the cavity they descended from, but they were too tight, swollen in their sack, for that. Like my cock there was an ache in them, only this was tight and sharp where the one in my cock was dull and hot.
It was only a hard on, only sperm filled balls, nothing momentous was happening; nothing that had not happened a million times in a million showers in places all over the planet, some of them at this very moment.
Well, it wasn’t their cock, it wasn’t their balls, it wasn’t her hand.
She leaned in toward my face and her tongue licked lightly at my upper lip, tasting the salt sweat. I tried to kiss her mouth but she was too fast for me. I prayed this was more than a tease. It was less praying than begging. Don’t let her suddenly stop, laugh, and make fun of me for thingking she was actually going to ...
Whatever she was going to do.
Whatever she was already doing.
We need to get you cleaned up, she said, and let go my cock and balls. A rag appeared from somewhere and a bar of soap and she began to work it into suds, then she touched it to my upper arm and began to rub it softly in.
I looked down, the first time I had nerve enough to really look at her breasts. They were only a breath away from my flesh. The steam had condensed and droplets formed on the swollen curve. One broke away and ran in a rivulet into the valley between the twin brown orbs. Another droplet hung from the distended tip of her turgid nipple about to fall, but not yet, not yet.
It hung suspended there for eons. I aged, died, was reborn and came to this precise moment of my life countless times in the space between breaths it hung there before gravity pulled it down and away.
I wanted to suck it up with my lips. To take the hard but soft point of the nipple between my lips and suckle like the foal at her mother’s teat.
Soon, Maggie said. First we wash.
Soon. First ... those sounded promising.
She moved the soapy rag in circles on my chest, wide circles growing smaller then widening out again. She must have felt my heart pounding under her touch. It was all I could do not to touch my cock it ached so bad. When it brushed her belly just below her navel and above the dark sable soft vee of pubic hair not quite covering the swell of her prominent mons a wet kiss of moisture fell on her belly and then ran down into the sable forest.
That colt on its four thin wobbly legs must be more steady than I was. It surely must have trembled less. There was a hollow where my gut had been, my head felt light, and my mouth was dry. I didn’t dare speak for fear my voice would crack.
The rag had finished with my chest, but rather than move lower she told me to turn around.
I did and the cascade of hot water from the shower pelted my front. It fell in a virtual water falls from my cock and balls.. I hadn’t even noticed it on my back and buttocks.
Maggie made wide circles with the soapy rag on my back. The water mixed with the soap on my chest and ran down into my crotch in front so the water fall turned white. As she reached the small of my back it felt as if the lower half of my body would fall away like ripe fruit from a tree.
She held my buttocks with one hand and soaped them with the other. The rag moved to the top of my crack, then her fingers slid it down between my cheeks. At the base she pushed inward a little and I unconsciously parted my legs. The rag continued down across the little spider kiss and into my crotch, warm soapy pleasure enveloping my balls.
She washed them tenderly, and then her hand moved on, I felt her forearm under me, my soapy balls resting on it. She took my cock in the soapy slick rag and ran it the length of me out to the tip of the glans and back to the base, my heavy tight balls rolling on her forearm.
I felt warm breath on my shoulder and then the pressure of her lips.
You taste good, she said.
I tried to think of delivering that foal. All I could think of was the big bay quarter we had bred her with and the violent coupling afterwards watching as Maggie wiped clean the stallions still impressive organ as had to be done when breeding horses. I thought of baseball --- I hated baseball. I thought of football, football tore up my knee. I tried algebra. I was lousy at algebra. I tried conjugating Latin verbs ... Amo, Amas, Amet, Amat --- I love ...
I was no longer trembling. I was shaking like an October leaf in the West Texas wind. A single stroke forward or back of the wash cloth and I was going to end this before it even began and I couldn’t even warn her. I heard a moan and was shocked to realize it was me.
As if reading my mind she removed her hand from my soapy dripping cock. I felt a heavy worm of pre cum escape and could almost envision it hanging from the small lips drawn by gravity from me and suspended from the tip of my cock before breaking free. Her free arm came around me, then the one with the soapy cloth and she pressed into me.
I felt her breasts heavy and slick against my soapy back. I felt the soft sable brush at the base of my ass. Her teeth playfully nibbled at my neck. She slid the length of my body like a diamondback shedding its skin and began to wash my thighs and legs. Her face was level with my buttocks and I felt her lips brush them and then her teeth lightly sink into the right cheek.
I remembered when we were younger and we went skinny dipping in the small pond with the little waterfall. I was climbing from the water onto one of the rocks and behind me Maggie suddenly nipped my ass with her teeth like the colts playing in the pasture.
play, almost literally. Nothing sexual about it, at least nothing we perceived. Maggie being Maggie, a little rough, a little wild, playful, challenging.
Never this challenging.
This didn’t seem half as funny. It didn’t seem anywhere near as innocent. She had good strong large white teeth, what my grandmother called movie star teeth. She bit hard enough to leave a mark for a few days then. Now she left another kind of mark, but not on my skin, at least not on the outside.
Still kneeling behind me, she said, turn around.
My cock throbbed and a sharp sensation shot its length from the shaft deep up in my body to the straining tip so taut if felt as if I was exploding from my skin. If she had so much as breathed a single warm breath at that moment I would have emptied my self uselessly like an eager stallion bred for the first time and missing the mark.
I caught my breath and turned ...
To be continued...
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Maggie in Season pt 1
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Posted:Jan 30, 2015 5:30 pm
Last Updated:Jan 31, 2015 8:54 pm
6494 Views
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Maggie said later the mare came into foal and she came into heat at the same time.
Maggie was older than me. Her father ran my grandfather's ranch near Bowie, Texas where I worked weekends as a cowboy/ranch hand. I was 17 and had known Maggie most of my life. She was an older woman, not quite 21, long legs in jeans that must have taken her an hour to get on, an ass perfect for the saddle --- or any other ride --- a narrow waist, breasts that always seemed to be on the verge of escaping her blouse and long mahogany hair usually tucked under a cowboy hat.
I had a crush on her most of my life, but was sure she looked on me as just a she used to play with. She got me through a lot of sleepless nights though, and caused me to wash more than one pair of sheets and pj bottoms.
The mare was a roan and carrying her first foal, and it was clear it was time. Maggie's dad had sprained his wrist, the only hand other than me was short armed, the Vet was 45 minutes away, and being her first foal it was coming out wrong and someone had to turn it. She was valuable and she was suffering, and both mare and foal would be lost.
I was pushing 6'2", 190, and had long arms.
With some embarrassment I stripped off my shirt and tee shirt and more than a little self consciously began the process of turning the foal. I will spare you the description of that. Use your imagination. Better still, don't.
The vet of course got there right after we delivered the foal. Maggie's Dad and the hand stayed to talk with the vet and Maggie took me to the house to clean up.
I was standing in the bathroom trying to get my hands clean enough to pull my jeans off without soiling them when Maggie came in. She said something about here, let me do that, and the next thing I knew she was unbuckling my belt and undoing my jeans. By then there was a major impediment to lowering them.
Even worse I had on a jock strap because I had been in the saddle earlier and lifting hay bails, a sweaty jock strap with a large bulge not concealed all that well in it. She didn't seem to notice. Ranch girls see a lot pretty early. There is nothing subtle about breeding. They figure things out early, though it's unfair competition for any men they meet.
I was even redder than when I was turning the foal. I was prepared for a scathing scolding. Maggie grew up on a ranch, she had the vocabulary of a Maltese sailor.
My jeans reached the floor without comment though and she told me to sit on the stool while she pulled my boots off. She had to turn her back to me, jeans covered ass in my face. It was a really nice ass. The first boot came off easy sock and all, but the second was a bit tougher and she told me to put my foot on her ass and push.
I tried to angle it on her hip, but she grabbed my ankle and jammed my bare foot against the crack of her ass. By now my jock strap not only had a large projection in it, there was also a large wet spot near the top and it was noticeably pulsing.
You can't die of chagrin but it feels that way
With the boot off and the jeans pulled off she turned to the shower and adjusted the water until there was steam in the room. When she turned back I was still standing there in that bulging jock strap.
She shook her head a bit exasperated and with a thumb hooked on either side the .jock strap hit the floor and I stepped out of it. She didn't even look at the considerable erection flapping at her with a big wet nose. At least I tried not to look down at her and assumed she didn't.
I stepped in the shower and she closed the curtains, and I wondered if she would notice if I took care of the problem in the shower. And then the curtain spread and Maggie, every tanned brown inch of Maggie stepped into the tub with me, large dark nipples jutting and dark brown vee holding my attention. I had long imagined those breasts were firm, they were. They were also tanned, only a little lighter than the rest of her. There was a pond where we went skinny dipping in more innocent times. She still did apparently.
And Maggie, who I had a crush on since I was three, who had tied me to a tree when we played cowboy and Indians, who had picked me up when I got thrown, and laughed at me when I stepped in shit looked at me with those large brown eyes as if I was a total idiot, and closed her hand --- as best she could --- around my throbbing erection.
She was lucky I didn't shoot all over her hand, belly, boobs, everything that second.
Sorry, she said, smiling, I thought it was the bar of soap.
To Be Continued ...
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The Meandering Thoughts of a Meandering Mind.
