Sunday Quickie: Midnight Show


The local cheap-seats theater always smelled of burnt popcorn and spilled soda. Not even sure why I took Nikki to a show there. Well, I do know why.

She’s ten years younger than me, just out of college and still wet behind the ears. And always horny. Her hair color changes with the season, but most of the time it’s shades of purple.

On movie night, I took her to see Zombie Pirates of Vancouver. We expected the show to be terrible, and weren’t disappointed. Halfway through, right when the main hero started chainsawing his way through the hordes, Nikki put aside her soda and touched my thigh. Her fingernails scratched through the denim, tickling my skin.

“This movie is terrible,” she said.

I shrugged. Maybe there was a reason why we were the only people in the theater. We sat in the back, just under the projector. I leaned to her, and kissed her on the forehead. She smelled like gas station perfume mixed with buttery popcorn.

“Want to go somewhere else?” I said.

Nikki’s hand moved further up my thigh and found my growing cock. She stroked me, and squeezed just a little. “Have somewhere in mind?” she said.

My first mistake was to move her hand away from my crotch. I intertwined my fingers with hers. Nikki scowled, and glared at me. She doesn’t like subtle variations of the word “no.”

But she was so cute, the way the silver screen reflected on her pale skin. She wore black tights and a purple spaghetti strap, her bare shoulders well toned, boobs pushed up and nearly popping out.

Mistake two was to kiss her.

Nikki doesn’t need a ton of encouragement. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me in closer, and bit my lower lip. Every time she did that, I got weak everywhere in my body. My legs, my shoulders, my arms.

My fingers were still active though. I cupped her breasts, and then pulled the shirt and bra down, popping out both headlights. Twisting her nipples, I probed the inside of her mouth with my tongue. Nikki was already ahead of me. Her hands slithered down my chest, around my waist, and found the zipper. She didn’t even have to look where she was going.

Nikki pushed me back against the seat, being rough and all business now, and opened my jeans. My cock slipped right out, springing to life.

I couldn’t stop her. Not even sure I wanted to. Even in a public place. I worried about somebody walking into the show—a theater employee, a late arriving movie goer—and how I’d have to fight Nikki off me.

Or would I fight her?

Maybe just let whoever walked in call the cops. Would they let me and Nikki stay in the same cell over night?

I didn’t get real far in that fantasy. I already had a fantasy shaping up, which was the real reason I brought Nikki to the worst zombie movie ever made.

She bent at the waist, and took me in on one swallow, balls deep.

My member throbbed at her touch. Nikki didn’t hold back, scrapping her teeth across my skin, slobbering all over me. The cannon battle on screen nearly, but not quite, drowned out the slurping noises. The saliva mess she was making trickled down my shaft, down my balls. Every inch glowed hot.

Nikki tugged at my sack. The gentle pain mixed with the excruciating pleasure. I had a hard time breathing. Sweat trickled down my spine, making my shirt stick to my back. The pressure built in my groin.

“Please stop,” I said. “I’m about to lose it.”

Nikki didn’t listen. She never did when sucking cock. As if the world didn’t matter, everything could just go to hell, she was so focused. An army of pirate zombies stormed a fortress on a beach, looting and plundering and gangbanging barmaids as they went.

The movie focused a lot on the gangbang part, which amounted to random ladies without shirts screaming while being tied down.

Apparently, according to this stupid film, undeath is no barrier to getting a hard-on.

Nikki started stroking me while sucking. The pressure of her hand was too much. I couldn’t tell the difference between her moans and the moans coming from the movie.

I clutched a fistful of Nikki’s hair and threw my head back. I didn’t mean to scream. I wanted to remain quiet, on the off-chance somebody was going to walk in any time now.

Instead, I howled in pleasure. The spasms in my cock hurt as I spurted come on her face and hair. But Nikki still didn’t stop.

Milking me for every last drop until my shaft became too sensitive for more. Grabbing her hair, I lifted her face off my lap. Nikki laughed. The come on dripping down forehead and cheeks and chin was satisfying.

I kissed her, tasting my salty essence.

“I think I can watch this movie now,” she said.

“Only if you promise more of what you just did,” I said. “When we get home.”

“I only promise you’ll get this and more,” Nikki kissed me, and settled into my arms.

I had no idea how we were getting out of the theater, with her covered in spunk. At that moment in time, I didn’t care.

Now the theater smells like popcorn, soda, and sex. I felt accomplished.


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Humpday Story: Whipped Cream Surprise

Whipped-Cream-Surprise-GenericThis was their Sunday routine as a couple.

He’d stumble downstairs first, to be alone for a bit. Make coffee, watch news and the sports shows, read the paper. She left him alone, knowing he needed the solitude in the morning. So she read a book, listened to the classic rock station for a few songs, and then follow him down.

Once he was fully awake, the fun began. They’d share a pancake breakfast with coffee and whipped cream. Then watch the Vikings and the Bears, drink beer later, have a late dinner, have sex.

Sometimes, have sex multiple times, and preferably in a different room each time.

If you enjoy steaming erotica with quirky couples, be sure to read Whipped Cream Surprise.


Starting the day right

Lauren came downstairs like she always did on Sunday morning. She wore her blue fuzzy slippers, a fluffy white bathing robe wrapped tight around her body, and lacy pink panties. No bra. Her tiny flat breasts didn’t need the support today. And not like she was going anywhere. No need for boob sweat.

The bottom landing squeaked, like it always did. But the TV was already on, tuned to the sports channel with the pre-game shows and the talking heads debating football. Little chance Wayne heard her over the noise.

Lauren could hear the sound of dripping coffee in the kitchen. The smell of dark roast permeated the house. That always got her going in the morning, better than morning sex or a hot shower. Imagining a savory hot cup with a dash of her favorite mocha creamer, and Lauren was ready for anything.

She snuck into the kitchen and made a cup. The pancake griddle was out and turned on. A peak into the fridge showed her that Wayne hadn’t yet made the batter. Or anything else yet.

Because, of course.

At least he was good at making coffee. And he got points for being cute and good in bed.

But no points for being a morning person. If he had it his way, he’d sleep in every day. The demands of a day job prevented that. Wayne never complained, except for a few times when he’d fuss about waking up before ten in the morning.

Lauren held her cup in both hands, enjoying the warmth to her palms and fingers. She watched Wayne, slouched into the sofa, with his feet kicked up on the chestnut coffee table, one arm draped lazily over his head, his own coffee cup in the other hand. He wore a flannel shirt with matching pajama pants. He was barefoot, wiggling his toes slowly as he listened to the football analysis.

This was their Sunday routine as a couple.

He’d stumble downstairs first, to be alone for a bit. Make coffee, watch news and the sports shows, read the paper. She left him alone, knowing he needed the solitude in the morning. So she read a book, listened to the classic rock station for a few songs, and then follow him down.

Once he was fully awake, the fun began. They’d share a pancake breakfast with coffee and whipped cream. Then watch the Vikings and the Bears, drink beer later, have a late dinner, have sex.

Sometimes, have sex multiple times, and preferably in a different room each time.

Despite their differences, or maybe because of them, Wayne was the perfect man for Lauren. Morning person versus evening person. Math major versus sociology major. Short redhead versus tall and dark and quite handsome. It all worked out somehow.

She loved how his thick, wavy hair was still flattened on one side, despite how he absent mindedly fluffed it with his fingers. He had a weekend stubble that made his face rough to kiss and touch. His hair curled up and around his ears.

And finally, Wayne turned his hazel eyes away from the TV.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said.

“Top of the morning to you,” Lauren raised her coffee cup in mock salute.

She walked over to the couch, right behind him, and draped an arm around his neck. She stroked his chest, feeling all the smooth, lean muscles beneath the flannel shirt. He’d gone to the gym for a lot of years, and it showed. Wayne turned his head, and kissed her on the cheek.

She nuzzled against him, feeling the rough stubble. He pushed her hair away from his eyes.

“I got the griddle out,” he said.

“I saw that,” said Lauren. She leaned forward further, balancing her body weight on the back of the couch, and kissed him on the lips. “Come on. I’ll make the pancakes.”

Then she patted him on the shoulder and walked away. For a man who was stubbornly self-sufficient in so many things, he could barely cook his own breakfast. He made fine dinners–especially his angel hair pasta and homemade tomato sauce–but any other meal, he was hopeless.

Lauren got out eggs and flour, and made batter. While she mixed it, he stumbled into the kitchen, a goofy grin on his face. He was that way when trying damned hard to keep a secret from Lauren. Often, such a grin meant a surprise. Judging by the arched eyebrows and laugh lines, he had one hell of a wonderful surprise somewhere.

She shook the spatula in his direction. “Don’t hold out on me, mister.”

“What?” he said, pointing at himself and shrugging as if innocent.

Lauren snorted. “What, he says. Is that the best you can do?”

“Guess I’ve been caught.” Wayne sat down on the closest barstool on the other side of the griddle.

She topped off his coffee, and then touched hers up as well. The silence between them was sweet, and a bit maddening. She looked at him. He looked at her. And then he busied himself with pouring cream and sugar into his coffee. He could barely keep eye contact for long when keeping a secret.

“Might as well spill it,” she said. “I know what this is about.”

“And ruin the fun of watching you guess?” he said.

She poured batter on the griddle, being purposely slow and making each perfectly round. That annoyed him, in a cute sort of way. She knew he was hungry, and she enjoyed denying him. Watching him squirm under her intense scrutiny, while also watching him salivate, was a piece of heaven.

“Clearly, you bought me a Corvette,” she said, breaking the intense silence.

“And clearly, you are wrong again this year.” He patted her on the forearm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “So it must be smaller than a car. Is it our anniversary already?”

His eyes got big and round, and then he thought that through. Their anniversary wasn’t for another three months. She tricked him with that year round.

“January seventeenth,” he said, winking.

“Very good.” She poured more batter. “So, not our anniversary, not my birthday, and too early for Christmas. What is this mystery gift for?”

“For the woman who makes me pancakes,” he said.

“You’re such a tease,” she said. The pancakes sizzled on the griddle. She turned her back and opened the fridge door, taking out the glass bowl of fresh fruit and whipped cream. Strawberries, blueberries, honey dew. Then she got down the syrup bottle, and set all the stuff in front of Wayne.

He popped a strawberry in his mouth. “I know you’ve been begging for one,” he said, “but you can forget about a new vacuum. That’s not your gift.”

“Oh shucks,” she said. “You had me really hoping for a moment.”

“But you will have it today, if you’re good.”

“I’m an angel. Cross my heart.” Lauren made a circle with her fingers over her head, in an imitation halo. Then she flipped the pancakes. The wonderful smell made the kitchen feel homey.

“But here’s the rub,” he said. “You have be a little bad if you want this gift.”

“Oh?” She smirked, and winked.

And then he broke eye contact and smiled like a dork. His entire face lit up. That was her answer right there. Anything else–an appliance, jewelry, concert tickets–he wouldn’t react quite like that, even with the sexual innuendo.

Wayne still became giddy while playing with her body, even though he’d long become more comfortable pleasuring her. His ever-present wonder and curiosity delighted Lauren. Every time was a little different with him. And after a few years of being together, sex was still wonderful.

More wonderful, in fact.

“So,” she said. “How long will you keep me in suspense about my new sex toy?”

He picked up the whipped cream bottle and sprayed some onto his tongue. “I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on how hungry you are.”

She flipped the pancakes again. They were crispy brown on both sides now. She placed them on the cooling rack. Tough choice–pancakes, or sex. Hunger for food? Or hunger for cock?

They had a little time before the first football game started.

She leaned on the counter, right into his face. Then she kissed him on the lips, a sweet, sensual meeting of lips. He cupped her cheek, holding her for a bit.

“I don’t know about you,” he said. “But I don’t know what I want more.”

“The pancakes look delicious,” she said.

“So do you.”

That earned him another kiss. This time, with a little tongue. At this rate, they weren’t eating anytime soon. They weren’t going to watch much football either.

“I have an idea,” Lauren said. “Maybe we can do both. What do you think?”

“Eat pancakes and have sex?” He laughed in her face, literally. She laughed too, couldn’t help it. Then he got serious. “I like the way you think.”

“Grab the pancakes,” she said. She picked up the whipped cream can in one hand, and the syrup in the other, and led him to the dining room.

The most important meal of the day

She spread a beach blanket over the dining room table. Wayne brought the plate of pancakes and a small box wrapped in green paper and tied with a pink bow. He handed her the present with a kiss on the lips.

“What is it?” Lauren shook the box. Whatever was inside started vibrating.

“I guess you should open it and find out,” Wayne said. “Before the battery runs out.”

She ripped off the bow and tore the paper apart. The toy’s box was bright pink, and had a picture of a pink vibrator with a clit tickler and a G-spot stimulator. She wasted no time opening the box and taking the toy out. She pressed the button on it, to make it stop vibrating.

“This is perfect,” she said, hugging Wayne and nuzzling his neck.

“Go wash it,” he said. “I’ll finish setting up in here.”

Lauren ran upstairs to their bedroom. She washed the new toy with hot water and the special spray stuff they used for cleaning their toys. Then she came back downstairs with a bottle of lube and the toy wrapped in a towel, to dry it off.

Wayne had closed the drapes shut tight, and lit a half dozen scented candles around the dining room. The flickering glow and cinnamon scent put her in the mood, as if she weren’t already so.

The pancakes were set on a plate, with a butter dish, syrup bottle, and whipped cream off to the side. The two mugs were refilled with steaming coffee. Lauren picked hers up, and sipped at it. Tasted just the way she liked it.

And then she shrugged off her robe, letting it fall to the floor. Wayne helped her sit on the table. She laid back, and he put a pillow under her head. She couldn’t sleep on the table, it was too hard and lumpy for that. But she loved the feeling of vulnerability while on the table. Like Wayne could do anything he wanted, and she wouldn’t be able to just comfortably roll off and walk away. Here, she was open, kind of helpless.

Wayne buttered the pancakes.

“Seriously,” Lauren said. “Hot woman on the table, and you reach for the food.”

He squeezed syrup on top of the stack, and then took a bite. “Hot woman will stay hot. Hot pancakes won’t.”

“Okay, point taken. Just give me some.”

He sprayed some whipped cream on one edge of the stack, the way she liked it, and cut her off a bite. He fed her. This batch of pancakes turned out perfect. Just brown enough, toasty, with the right consistency.

“You make fine pancakes,” Wayne said.

“Glad somebody agrees with me,” she said.

He ate another bite for himself, and then fed her again. Then he set the plate down on the table, still feeding her, but now he used his free hand to pinch her nipple. She chewed slowly, with her eyes half closed, enjoying the hot food and his warm touch.

After she swallowed, Lauren leaned to the side and took a sip from her coffee. Once the mug was safely placed back on the table, Wayne pushed her shoulders down and held her in place. From the bulge in his pajamas, he was clearly turned on. Didn’t take much for him. Even the thought of football was far away for him. And for that, even though she wanted to watch the games too, Lauren was grateful.

The games could wait.

Fuck it, that’s what instant replay and the internet were for. Hot men in tight knickers would stay hot. A hot man in front of her was another thing.

She spread her legs wide. Wayne took off his shirt and tossed it aside. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her to the edge of the table. She tried to kick at him, but only for play. He leaned over her and pinned her arms down. She could feel his cock pressed against her panties.

Then he kissed her on the neck, just below the ear. She squirmed against him. His hot body made her hot, literally and sexually. She panted in his ear, and told him how bad she wanted him.

And then Wayne reached for the whipped cream can.

He sprayed a cold line down her chest, between her breasts and to her stomach. With a rakish wink and a devilish grin, he licked at the line, starting from the bottom and working up to her breasts. Along the way, he left some of the whipped cream, making a sugary mess.

Then he sprayed a dollop on each nipple. And flicked his tongue on each. She held his head to her breasts, making him linger a little longer, to clean up his mess better.

He struggled out of her grasp, and broke away finally. She scratched up and down his smooth chest, wanting very much to return the favor. But he reached for the butter, and she knew it wasn’t her turn yet.

The stick was already room temperature. The butter slipped in his fingers, nearly dropping it on her. But he recovered, and pressed one end on her nipple. Gooey butter dripped down the small curve of her boob and into her armpit. Then he repeated the motion with her other nipple and then down her stomach, mixing butter with whipped cream, both melting on her skin and making a dripping mess.

He toyed the butter stick across her panty-line. And then further down yet, quite possibly ruining her panties with a butter stain.

Lauren tugged at her panties, wanting them off very badly. Her whole body felt slick. Messy. This was her weird kink, one that she didn’t even know she had until she met Wayne. He had forever changed her idea of foreplay, that fateful night when he first put chocolate syrup on her stomach and ate it off her. Lauren could never go back to vanilla love making after that.

Now, he reached for the maple syrup. Her heart raced, anticipating the sticky mess he was about to make.

She just hoped it wasn’t the only sticky mess he’d make this morning.

He up-ended the bottle and squeezed slowly, making curly random designs on her flat stomach and breasts. She giggled at the sensation, which made him drip even more syrup on her body, all the way down to her panty-line. Once again, she tugged at them, and he helped her slip them off.

Her patch was prickly, shaved days ago and left to grow back. She meant to shave it again, just hadn’t gotten around to it. Wayne didn’t mind either way. But given what she knew he’d do next, it was best not to have much pubic hair.

He squeezed the syrup over her pussy, slowly making her sticky and sweet.

And then he knelt down with his head between her legs. Then he licked at her pussy, scraping his tongue across the rough hair. He poured syrup down one thigh, and licked that up. And repeated with the other thigh. Lauren tingled all over, loving how gross and sticky she felt. She wanted even more syrup all over her.

He covered her in syrup and whipped cream. Somewhere during the mess, he pulled off his pajama pants, to show her how hard she was making him. He was stiff and big. Throbbing. She wondered how much it would really take to make him pop.

She was about to sit up and beg for his cock. Just a taste of his saltiness, maybe with some sweetness poured on too.

But then he pushed her back down flat on the table. He turned on the new vibrator, and poured a liberal amount of lube on it.

He used the toy to tease her labia, spreading her wide open first.

“This isn’t fair,” Lauren said.

“How so?” he said.

“Get over here.” She tapped the table behind her head with her knuckles. She scooted closer to the edge, so her head could hang off. He got the message and dutifully stuck his cock in front of her face.

Lauren sprayed whipped cream on his member, enough to cover the head and most of the shaft. The excess dripped down his balls and fell to the carpet. Seems like they couldn’t have sex without cleaning something afterwards. Just the way it was.

He leaned across her with the toy and played with her pussy. She took him by the balls with her mouth. The humming in her pussy hit all the right spots, exactly the way she loved it. A tickle against her clit, and a strong vibe on her G-spot. He wiggled the toy around, making her squirm about.

She licked the whipped cream off his shaft. Most of it slid down her cheek. He tasted salty and sweet.

And then he slid his entire length into her mouth. She breathed through her nose and closed her eyes. Gripping his ass cheeks with both hands, she swallowed him whole.

Right then, when she could barely breathe, with her mouth full of whipped cream and cock, her body trembled. Her world was reduced to the steady thrum of the toy in her pussy, the sticky mess that covered her torso, and the man in her mouth. She pressed against his hips, trying to make him back away. He didn’t, at first. Her heart hammered. Desperation zipped through her body.

And then the orgasm hit. Her pussy clenched the toy, then spat it out. Wayne pulled out of her mouth. He fast stroked himself a few times, and blew another sticky layer on top of her.

Lauren sprawled out on the table, vulnerable, still hot from the orgasm, but a little cold now that Wayne was off to the side cleaning himself off. In the other room, the first football game was kicking off.

“Quick shower?” Wayne said. “Then watch the games.”

She rolled over. He helped her off the table. Her knees were wobbly and unsteady.

“You know any other Sunday,” she said, “there’d be no such thing as a quick shower.”

“Guess we’ll just have to take multiple showers,” he said.

Lauren kissed him on the lips, and then led him upstairs by the hand.

This was going to be a long Sunday. Hopefully a long night as well.


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Sunday Quickie: Not Another Night Out

Not Another Night Out

Andy and I had finally stopped fighting and settled our differences. We’d been through one hell of a year. But I can’t stay mad at him forever. Let’s just say, on our first dinner date in far too long, I wore the skimpy backless dress he likes. The one that rides up my legs when I sit down, and makes other guys turn their heads and stare whenever I wear it out in public.

I managed to keep it a secret that I wore no panties. That was something for Andy to discover, if he chose to later.

He had eyes only for me that night. I liked the way his laugh lines stretched his face. How his brown eyes sparkled in the dim light. I was fascinated by how carefully he cut his sirloin steak, as if each piece had to be the right size. I’d forgotten that about him, in our year of constant fighting.

I’d also forgotten what it felt like to be the center of his attention.

Throughout dinner, we bantered and teased each other. At the third round of wine, he was feeling me up from under the table. So close, but respectably far away. When dessert came, Andy wasn’t saying much at all. I kept blabbing, for the sake of talking.

But it was clear what was on his mind.

I pushed the French silk pie to the side, not wanting any more of it. Andy didn’t take another bite of it either, whether to save the last bite for me, or because he had sex on his mind–I couldn’t tell for sure. And it didn’t matter anyway.

He took me by the hands and leaned forward across the table. I met him halfway, and kissed him. Our first real kiss in a year. I nibbled on his lips. He rolled his tongue across my teeth. We breathed together, barely at all. My body warmed, as if a blush were breaking out all over my bare skin. Our fellow diners were certainly watching us kiss, and that thought sent a thrill down my chest.

And then Andy fingered one of my breasts. Just a tap on the nipple at first. Then a pinch that made me squirm in my chair.

Then he cupped both breasts and squeezed. I tried to slap him away. To tell him no, that too many people were watching. But I couldn’t. I didn’t freaking want to. I shook with nervous energy. Not because I wasn’t just the center of Andy’s attention. I was the center of everybody’s attention. I knew it.

And Andy knew I had an exhibitionist side.

Once, it had been simply pole dancing for Andy. Then it was performing oral on him in front of close friends. Never went much further. But we had talked and fantasized about performing for strangers in a public place.

I had always imagined such an experience would be terrifying. That I’d feel too vulnerable and powerless.

Now I was pushed past my limits, I felt powerful. I had the power to excite an entire room full of strangers.

I had the power to say no.

Or not.

I chose the latter.

I grabbed his jacket lapels, not letting him retreat back to his side of the table. He was in deep now. And I wanted him to literally be deep.

Andy reached under the table and patted my knees. I spread them apart, anticipating his next move. When it didn’t happen as fast as I wanted it, I was afraid he was chickening out. But then I felt the soft caress of his rough hands on my inner thigh. I reached under the table, took him by the hand, and led him the rest of the way. One finger in. A gentle touch, with the promise of more.

The entire restaurant became quiet. I could feel dozens of eyes on me. The skin on my back felt hot. I blushed. I didn’t want the experience to end.

I ripped Andy’s neck tie apart. He helped with the buttons. My fingers were shaking too hard for those. My entire body shook with nerves and heat.

But I managed to stand up. And then I walked around to Andy’s side of the table. He scooted out, and patted his lap.

I squatted down in front of him. My turn to figure out if he could be embarrassed. I unzipped his pants and tore his belt buckle apart.

He flushed bright red. His eyes roamed around the room. I kept my full attention on him, and only him. When I pulled out his cock, his private smells mingled wonderfully with the smells of steaks and wines.

The soft music on the overhead system seemed softer, more distant. Somebody cleared their throat. Another person gasped. It was as if I were alone with Andy. But not quite. I could hear chairs creaking as people leaned forward to get a better view of the action.

I teased Andy with my tongue. A light touch on the tip. Down the shaft. I sucked on his balls. I loved how his cock twitched as it grew harder.

Then I went down on him. All the way in one swallow. My throat muscles remembered how to handle him. I used my teeth with the exact amount of pressure he liked. I gave him the best, nastiest blow job I’d given him in a long time. And I hoped this was the first of many.

From behind and around me, I heard the rustling of clothes and zippers being unzipped. Naughty giggles and husky moans. The smell of sex and private parts increased. I reached between my legs, enjoying the hell out of the scene I caused.

And then Andy tugged on my hair. He pulled me off his cock, much to my disappointment. He was hard and glistening with saliva.

He raised me to my feet, and then turned me around. As if on cue, a waiter and a waitress came to the table to clear away the dirty dishes and glasses. He had an amazing bulge growing in his pants. She kept brushing at his fingers as they worked, as if on accident. I made eye contact with both of them and winked. They both smiled and rushed off to the kitchen.

Andy bent me over the table. He conveniently had a condom in his jacket pocket, and slipped it on. Right when I thought he was about to penetrate me, instead he squatted down on his knees.

He lifted my skirt over my hips. He pressed the tip of his finger into my bum, then licked my lips and clit. Tender, slow, as if he had nowhere else to be tonight. I leaned forward on my elbows and laid my head in my arms.

The sweet sounds of other people getting off got me off. A couple times. Andy didn’t even have to penetrate with his tongue or finger. Pretty soon I was a wet mess.

When Andy finally stood back up, took me by the waist, and slid himself in an inch at a time, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I had never felt so violated before. So open and vulnerable. Bent over and fucked in a room full of strangers. Everyone of which was fucking or getting fucked too. I screamed in orgasm.

Andy blew his load inside me.

He paid the bill, and we walked away from the hot mess we created, hand in hand.

Needless to say, the owner of the restaurant invited us back the next night, with the promise of a free dessert and wine.

We haven’t taken him up on the offer yet, but it seems we’ve found a new way to bond with each other.


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Humpday Story: Shadow of a Doubt

Shadow-of-a-Doubt-GenericNot everyone rekindles a romance with their high school sweetheart. For Nate O’Brian, his young hearted belonged to his high school art teacher, Darla Johnson. But being with her never was an option.

Nate still remembers her sweet smile, and the tight mini-skirts with black pantyhose she used to wear.

Fast forward seventeen years… New cats, new job, new house to call his own. Nate couldn’t ask for anything more in life, except for love.

Until he sees a familiar woman mowing the yard next door to his.

If you enjoy quirky romantic student/teacher erotica, be sure to read Shadow of a Doubt.

Shadow of a Doubt


When I was a young man, I had this crush on my high school art teacher, Mrs. Darla Johnson.

She always wore tight mini-skirts with black pantyhose. When she sat and crossed her legs, her skirt rose up her thigh, hinting at the smooth upper edge of her hose. She’d often walk around the classroom, going from student to student to praise or give advice. On my turn for instruction, Mrs. Johnson would stand directly behind me, the tips of her big boobs pressed against my shoulders.

And then she’d point at something on my canvas, reaching one arm around my head. She smelled of coffee with Irish cream, paint, and scented hand-soap. When she moved on to the next student, I could still feel the impression of heat from her breasts on my back.

To say she fueled my teenage sexual desires is an understatement. I day-dreamed about her constantly; in the cafeteria, during every boring class, at home in bed while tossing and turning. Every wink and smile when she greeted me, every “hello” she said in the hallway, gave me butterflies in the stomach.

At night, I kept dreaming about her.

I had to sleep with a bath towel around my waist, to keep the sheets clean. I remember going an entire semester with at least one wet dream a week.

At graduation, Mrs. Johnson gave me a warm hug and a quick peck on the cheek before wishing me luck and success. Never thought I’d see her again.

Fast forward seventeen years, long after the memory of her breasts poking me in the back had faded some. I’d married, divorced, buried two cats, and changed jobs five times.

A new house with a yard and picket fence, a new job as a cover artist in a growing publishing imprint, back in the old hometown where I grew up. For the first time since college, I felt invigorated and fresh. I wanted to conquer the world. I left the old behind, and now intended to do new things and meet new people.

So when I took a break from unpacking boxes, and stepped out on the stoop with a warm cup of coffee, I was surprised to see Mrs. Johnson mowing the yard next door.

I just bought the house, my first, and didn’t know any of the neighbors yet. It was a quiet neighborhood, full of cookie cutter split-levels and Cape Cods. A little slice of heaven, all to myself and the two numbskull cats who were hiding among the unopened boxes. I had brewed a mean cup of java from my slick new stainless steel coffee machine, strong enough to make me feel a little light headed, with a heavy dose of Irish cream for flavor.

This woman mowing her yard stunned me. Flat out stunned. The caffeine flooded my brain, mixing in with old emotions I’d forgotten about. I staggered, and had to sit on one of the lawn chairs on my stoop.

I forgot to sip my coffee. I shook my head, thinking I was just seeing things. This sweaty middle aged woman in skimpy cut-off jeans and a hot pink halter top couldn’t be my high school infatuation. What were the odds of me buying a house next to her? And this woman seemed a little too young to be her. She had a wonderful curvy body, with no obvious tan lines and a strong muscles in her arms and legs.

Mrs. Johnson had to be in her fifties. I had no doubt she still looked great, but no way could she be as perfect as my new neighbor.

And then she moved up to the property line, and I got a better look. The long nose, the high arching eyebrows, the seemingly permanent smile on her lips. She wore a blue bandana, but the frizzy brown hair was exactly as I remembered.

I nearly dropped my cup.

A rush of wonderful memories swept me back to high school. I don’t miss my youth—the bullies, the pressure to get into a “good college,” the sexual frustration—but Mrs. Johnson was a reprieve from being a teenager. Around her I felt like a man. I wanted her to be my first sexual encounter (alas, not to be). I wanted to marry her (hey, I was pretty innocent).

The beautiful woman mowing her yard waved. She was red-faced and dirty, but her smile was infectious.

Before I could return the wave or the smile, she turned and mowed the next strip. The muscles in her hamstrings tightened and strained as she pushed the mower uphill. Her hips were the right size to grab onto from behind. The woman’s shoulders were strong. The way her hair bounced as she moved was mesmerizing. I sprang a hard-on. Good thing I was sitting down.

When she made the corner and turned around to mow a new strip, I forced myself to look away. But I kept watching her while pretending to observe squirrels playing in a tree across the street.

And then the mower engine shut off. I had to peek a look. The beautiful neighbor lady was approaching. I waved, a bit too nicely, a little too stiff. Her flip-flops smacked against her heels. She came right up to my stoop. Hands akimbo, she placed one foot on the first step, Captain Morgan style. I got a wonderful view of the inside of her long thigh. I had to lean forward to hide the ever growing pocket rocket in my pants.

“Good morning, new neighbor,” I said.

“Morning to you, too, stranger,” she said. I could feel her sizing me up. Not a creepy stare, but a glance that made me feel exhilarated and awkward at the same time. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Mrs. Johnson?” I said, voice squeaking more than I liked. I hoped like hell it was really her, and not some look-alike. “You remember me?”

She smiled, and I knew right away it was her.

“Nate O’Brian, call me Darla,” she said. “You’re not in high school anymore. And I’m not a missus-anybody anymore.”

Felt like I needed an eternity to process that information. I certainly felt like I was back in high school, with my sweaty palms and slumped shoulders. Like I was being scrutinized by this knock-out gorgeous woman from my past, who I thought I’d long forgotten about. What if she was disappointed with what I’d done with my life? What if she didn’t like the adult I had become?

And then I latched onto what she just told me. She wasn’t a missus-anybody.

Inside my pants, my rod twitched.

“You look great, Darla” I said dorkily.

She tossed her hair over one shoulder and smiled. I maybe wasn’t being smooth, but I meant what I said. Her abs were flat and toned. She had beautiful skin, and white teeth.

“You’ve grown into quite the man,” Darla said.

I offered her coffee and the other lawn chair that was folded up behind me. When she said yes (with lots of cream, no sugar), I knew I spoke too soon. The erection wasn’t going down anytime soon, and I had to stand up to make good on those two offers. I made a show of being sore while standing up, while also adjusting my t-shirt and shorts.

No way Darla couldn’t have not noticed. I quickly unfolded the lawn chair and placed it in front of my own, and rushed inside to get a mug of coffee.

I paced in the kitchen for a bit. By the time I freshened my cup and made hers, I had settled down. I adjusted my junk, wishing I’d worn briefs instead of boxers, and went back outside.

Darla was sitting, legs spread-eagle and rubbing the inside of her upper thighs. She crossed her legs and accepted the mug, her fingers barely touching mine. It was like seventeen years of repressed sexual urges sprang back to life. My boner snapped back to attention for no damn reason.

She took a slow, careful sip, glancing from the mug to my pants to my eyes and back down again. And like an idiot, I stood there, frozen in her stare.

“Irish cream,” she said. “Wonderful.”

“Glad you like,” I said. She was bluntly staring at my erection, no point in hiding it now, unless another neighbor happened to pass by. The street was quiet for a weekend morning. I stood up straight, shoulders back, looking down at her.

Darla smirked around another sip of coffee. “I do, very much.”

“Still teaching?” I sat down across from her. “What you up to now days?”

“Retired from teaching. I’m a full-time graphic artist, with my own studio in the attic. You?”

“I design cover art for a publishing company. Sometimes with stock art, but often with my own photos and paintings.”

She placed a hand on her chest, her smile growing even wider and warmer. “Glad to hear. You were such a talented artist in school.”

Pride swelled, and I got warm, fuzzy feelings all over. I knew right then that I was going to enjoy living in this neighborhood.

“Let’s do lunch sometime?” I said.

“How about today?” Darla asked. “Unless you’re too busy unpacking?”

“Why? Are you too busy mowing the yard?”

“Never.” She reached out and touched me on the forearm. “I’ll need a shower. Come over at noon, I’ll have tuna salad.”

“I have a six-pack of beer. Is that okay?”

“Wonderful.” Darla said. We both stood up. She leaned against me, her hot body pressed to mine, and kissed me on the cheek. Memories of graduation flooded back again. The tip of my cock pressed lightly against her stomach. I wondered, for the first time in many years, what it would’ve been like to have had sex with Mrs. Johnson when I was a teen. “See you later, kiddo,” she said.

Darla turned and stepped off my porch to her yard. Her flip-flops smacked against her feet. I couldn’t help but watch her ass swaying as she walked away.


The morning wouldn’t pass fast enough. I baked box-mix chocolate chip cookies in between unpacking, which got the stupid cats’ attention. They each got a small ball of dough. Then I took a shower for the second time.

Boxers? Or briefs? Being a new neighbor, I should’ve thought about controlling my junk around Darla on our first meeting in damn near twenty years.

But there was that chance the underwear could come off. At least I hoped so. Boxers were more fun.

I put on a pair of jeans and a Def Leppard t-shirt then, with cookies and Shock Top in tow, I headed next door. I rang the bell, and the anticipation nearly killed me. No backing out now. I rocked back and forth from foot to foot. It was all I could do to just breath. I should’ve been comfortable, after all this was just a reunion with an old teacher. But this felt like a first date. My palms were sweaty, and the boxers clung to the inside of my ass.

When the door finally opened, the paper plate of cookies nearly toppled over. Darla was quick to take them with a smile and a friendly wink.

She was dressed in a tight navy blue miniskirt, cream colored silk stockings, and a blue sateen blouse with the top buttons undone. On her feet were blue, pointed-toe high heels, just like the kind she used to wear. Her brown hair was tied up in a loose bun. Darla wore little makeup, enough to smooth out her face but not much more.

She appeared exactly the way she did in my teenage wet dreams.

As I walked through the door, I felt tingly and nervous for no good reason. I was a competent adult, not a kid anymore. But this was surreal.

The inside of her house was as beautifully taken care of as the outside. It was a split-level with beige carpets and cedar vaulted ceilings. The living had a cozy red brick fireplace and a leather L-shaped couch. On the coffee table was a crystal bowl with tuna salad, a pitcher of ice water, and two tall glasses. The TV was turned on to an infomercial featuring kitchen knives.

She sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. I sat, and offered her a beer, and then poured for both of us. Darla seemed so prim and proper, back straight and knees together. Maybe I had the wrong idea. Maybe she wasn’t being flirty with me earlier. I could’ve worn briefs, and probably should have.

But then why was she dressed up like she was about to teach class?

We clinked glasses, ate a little, and made small talk. What have you been up to? How long have you lived here? Wonderful home you’ve got.

And then she placed a hand on my knee. Her fingernails were painted a light shade of blue. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” she said.

“I never forgot you either,” I said. When the silence got a little awkward, I placed my hand on top of hers. Then she placed her other hand on top of mine. Not wanting to interrupt this wonderful pattern, I stacked my other hand on the pile.

I never wanted to leave this couch. This seemed so right. All the first date nerves were gone, as if they never were. I didn’t even care if I scored with my former teacher. Just being around her was good.

Darla rubbed her thumb against my wrist. “Not sure how to say this. But, it’s bothered me for… Sorry, how long ago did you graduate?”

I chuckled. “I forget too. Umm… 1999, however long ago that was.”

“Long enough,” she said with a cute wink. “I regret not getting to know you better.”

“You knew me well.”

“I mean, a lot better.” Darla pulled her hands away from mine and stood up. She bent at the waist, her skirt rising up her long thighs, and picked up the tuna salad bowl.

I thought about grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back down to the couch. Thought about smothering her with a deep kiss. Maybe even undoing the rest of the buttons on her blouse.

Instead, I watched her walk away to the kitchen.

Five carefully counted seconds later, I followed her. I leaned one hip on the peninsula and watched her stretch plastic-wrap over the tuna salad. She slide the bowl in the fridge, giving me another view of her well formed backside. For a fifty-some old woman, a retired high school teacher no less, Darla was in top shape. I don’t remember her looking this damn sexy when I was in school.

“I had a crush on you,” I said. “Big time.”

She smirked. This time, the smile was more blue, like she was thinking on things long past. She tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Didn’t you take some cute young thing to the prom?”

“Olivia Chatterton,” I said. Hate to admit it, but I only remembered her last name because she was a chatty thing. I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter. “She put up with me because she wanted to wear a pretty dress and get a corsage. I liked her. But I was in love with you.”

“Were you now?” Darla’s high heels clicked on the linoleum floor. She came up beside me, one breast poking me on the shoulder. “I hope you know, the feeling was mutual.”

I stood up straight. Even in heels, she was a few inches shorter than me. I liked the way she looked up at me. I liked it even more that, if she took off her heels and bent her knees some, her breasts could touch my cock.

I gripped her by the elbows, and she gripped me by the biceps. I pulled her in closer.

“Even when I was married,” I said, “I thought of you now and then. If I’d been your neighbor in those years, I would’ve been tempted to have an affair with you.”

Darla massaged my arms and shoulders. “I was tempted to have you, when you were in school. You kept me awake at night with my vibrators.”

“Oh?” This was a fun fact to learn.

“Having you in class was hard, I have to admit. And then seeing you graduate was bittersweet. I knew then the opportunity was lost forever, but I was glad the temptation was gone as well.”

“You made the right choice,” I said. “I would’ve hated myself if you lost your job over a kid like me.”

Darla tugged at my shirt sleeves. “Teaching was okay. Can’t say I miss it. But there was only one kid who tempted me.”

I kissed her on the cheek. More a polite, how-you-doing kind of kiss. “Oh?” I said.

She slid her hands down my sides to my belt. And then a bit lower. She tugged at my jeans. “I see now he’s not a kid anymore,” she said.

I was at attention and ready to go. All my dreams came true, and the warm fuzzy feeling of those dreams hadn’t faded one bit. Not how I imagined things, but then nothing ever really works out like in fantasies.

I pushed Darla away and held her at arm’s length. “You sure you want this?”

With both hands, she grabbed my belt buckle and pulled me closer. “I’ve wanted this for seventeen years. I’m glad it’s happening now.”

“Me too.”

I wrapped my arms around her. Cupping her ass, I pushed her body against mine. She smelled like lavender bath soap with just a hint of grass clippings. Darla was strong and well formed everywhere, curvy in the hips, flat in the stomach, all woman. I loved how her breasts squished against my abs. It was like she was made to fit in my arms.

No clue who initiated the next kiss. Our lips just sort of met halfway. A brush, a quick pass. Then a mingling of tongues. She slid her fingers through the back of my hair. I followed the curves up her body, and teased the sides of her breasts with a light squeeze. I could feel the outline of her bra, and I wanted to know what color it was.

Darla pushed against my chest, pushed me away for a breather. Her bosom heaved.

I pinched her at her waist and pushed her against the kitchen counter. I held her like that for a moment, enjoying the view. Enjoying the way she looked me up and down, as if sizing me up. I liked the way she no longer held back the desperation in her eyes.

Then I pressed against her, letting her feel my manhood. Darla grabbed my shirt, tugging hard enough to pop a few seams.

“I didn’t bring a condom,” I said.

“No worries,” she nuzzled against my chest. “I’m past the age.”

I cupped the nape of her neck and kissed her forehead. “Doesn’t bother me one bit.”

Then Darla nudged against me and slapped me on the chest.

“I’m such a bad hostess,” she said. “I forgot to give you the grand tour.”

“I’m only interested in one room,” I said.

“Oh? Which one?” Her smile was sardonic and infectious.

“The bedroom.”

She wiggled her way out of my embrace, and tugged on me by the collar.

“This way,” she said, and led me down the hall.


The bedroom was tucked in the back of the house, and the blinds were already drawn. Only a sliver of light came in from the window, illuminating a cozy room with grey shadows. The queen sized bed had a shiny purple duvet cover and too many frilly pillows to count.

I didn’t bother. Once inside the door, I pushed Darla against the wall and kissed her violently. She tugged on my shirt sleeves, breaking a few more seams. She could’ve ripped my shirt apart, I wouldn’t have cared. Her body heat made me sweat. My boner ached to be whipped out, but I was too busy feeling her up and enjoying the slow kissing.

The making out seemed to last a long time. Neither of us got tired of it. My knees grew weak. The front of my boxers were sticky wet with pre-cum. Darla’s beautiful brown hair fell of its bun, flowing around her face and shoulders. What little makeup she wore was smeared.

I grabbed both of her tits and squeezed, pushing her even harder against the wall. The tips of her nipples poked through the fabric. I rubbed my thumbs across them.

Darla moaned. She lifted my shirt up enough to feel my skin. I helped her out and took the shirt off. She glided her fingers up and down my torso, paying careful attention to the nipples. I pulled at her blouse buttons, undoing one and then another. The process was too slow for her, and both of us fumbled our fingers at yanking the rest undone.

Her bra turned out to be dark red. I loved the way her breasts were squished together and pushed up. I jerked at her blouse, exposed her shoulders. Then I buried my face in between the valley, breathing in her scent, and licked at her soft skin.

Darla held the back of my head, tickling my hair with her fingers. And then she pushed me downward. I obliged. Down on my knees, I gripped her stocking covered thighs and looked up at her.

This was the image I long dreamed of. Looking up at the underside of her breasts, right as I was about to go down on her.

I lifted the skirt above her hips. Her panties were a matching red. Unceremoniously, I pulled them down to her knees. Darla was well trimmed with a prickly thin patch. No tan lines. She smelled sweet and musky. I pressed a finger against her folds. She was already wet.

Darla hooked a finger under my chin. “I need both clit stimulation and penetration,” she said.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, and then spread her lips and tentatively kissed her on the clit. I rubbed her on the outside a little to get her more wet. Along with a few light tongue swipes, it didn’t take much.

First one finger, to see what she liked. Darla quivered and moaned. Then two fingers for good measure. I went as deep as I could. The clit popped out and I sucked on it slowly. Inside her, I curled and uncurled my fingers. The way her thighs tightened and her squeals of pleasure told me I was doing things right.

So I didn’t stop for a long time. No idea how long I ate her out. I alternated between finger fucking her and sucking. I must’ve edged her close, because she kept pushing me away, but not trying very hard. And then I felt her tunnel spasm around my fingers. Drops of warm liquid poured down my wrist and forearm. Darla nearly toppled over me.

I pulled my fingers out slowly, and gently kept licking her sweet juices. When I finally got my head out from between her legs, I stood back up. My head felt light. She leaned into the crook of my neck.

“You’re next,” she panted. Darla patted me on the ass. Then she went around me and pulled the duvet off her bed. With a shrug of her shoulders and a sexy shake of her hips, she disrobed down to just her bra and stockings. Then she patted the edge of the bed.

I obediently sat. She went down on her knees between my legs. I let her have the honors of yanking my belt apart and unzipping my jeans. I only helped by lifting my backside when she wanted me entirely naked.

Saying I was stiff hard was only half of it. I never realized my cock could hurt so good from being erect. As if seventeen years of late night frustration had built up inside me, clawing to burst out.

Now I wanted nothing but to be touched by Darla. I even told her so.

Pleaded for her to take me inside her mouth.

Instead she scratched one fingernail down my shaft. She gently patted my balls, and then tasted my pre-cum with the tip of her tongue. A long, sticky string came out, connecting her tongue with my head. When the string broke, she scooped it up and licked it with her fingers. My cock twitched in eager anticipation. I lifted my hips off the bed, trying to get closer, to encourage her to take me.

Darla didn’t need much encouragement. But she didn’t give me the satisfaction of a blowjob, yet. She massaged my groin, touching my cock with only light kisses up and down.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the pleasurable ache of sensations.

And then I felt her warm mouth and tongue. Some of her saliva dripped down my balls and to my anus. Darla scraped her teeth up my shaft. A moment pause, as if waiting to see if I’d protest. I cupped the back of her head. She flicked me with her tongue and went back down.

All the way in. Balls deep. Darla tugged at my sack while sucking me off. Just slow, almost painful motions. I gripped the edge of the bed with both hands.

And then she stopped. Darla stood up. I reached around and unsnapped her bra. She let the garment slide off her body and drop to the floor. I cupped one breast, sucked the nippled, then repeated for the other.

Darla nudged at my shoulders. I kept teasing her breasts. When I didn’t react fast enough, she pushed me flat on the bed and climbed on top of me.

She reached around behind her to grab me by the cock. I slid right into her wet pussy. She was a perfect fit for me, as if we were made for one another.

Darla wiggled and rotated her hips. One hand pressed against my chest, pinning me to the bed, the other rubbing her clit while she grinded on me. I massaged her thighs and ass, begging her to go faster. She whimpered, and then cried out in ecstasy. A warm gush trickled down my balls, like somebody pouring hot water on my junk. She collapsed on me, head nuzzled at my neck.

But I wasn’t done.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, securing her. With my other hand I pinched her nipple. Hard. Darla squealed.

And then I jabbed my cock as deep as I could go.

Slow, long stroke. Another, a little faster.

Then I pumped her. Sharp and quick strokes. Skin slapping on skin. Our fucking made a wet sound. She dug her fingers into the bedsheets, holding on for life. Our bodies glowed with heat. I was sweating everywhere.

I felt another smaller gush from her. Enormous pressure built on my cock and sack. I couldn’t hold on any longer. The orgasm began in my balls and forced its way upwards. I blow my load into Darla. Her pussy clenched me. My entire body quivered with the shock.

Pulling out was painful. I had to go slow. Once I was out of her, Darla rolled off and relaxed next to me. I held her I my arms.

At long last, I lived my teenage dream as a grown man. I wondered if I’d wake up in my own bed, with only the cats and myself.

But no. This woman in my arms was warm and real and breathing slowly. I could pinch myself all I wanted, but this was Darla, my first real love.

I kissed her on the ear. “I hope…” I started, but wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Darla half turned and cupped my face with a hand. “Darling,” she said. “I hope you’re not done with me, now that you’ve scored with your teacher.”

“Hell no,” I said.

I spooned with her and took a nap. And then we had a long weekend of fucking. On Monday night, she helped me unpack for an hour, and then we had a night in my bed.

One weekend turned into a year of fun with Darla. I still hope we’re a long ways from done with each other.


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Sunday Quickie: Hotel Siren


I’d been traveling all over for business. Chicago, Minneapolis, Washington, Miami. Too many places to name. In one of those cities, I had an encounter I’ll never forget.

I was at the hotel, walking along the balcony with a much too bitter coffee in one hand and a leather portfolio case in the other. The sun was too bright for early morning, but felt nice on my bare arms. I wore a slim pencil skirt with a slit up one side, a pink sateen blouse, and three-inch patent leather heels.

Exactly one door down from my room, I saw her through the window. She had the blinds open all the way, and she was completely naked. One foot was propped up on the window sill, her opposite arm stretched out behind her head. She had lovely tanned skin, a tattoo of roses and dragons crawling up one side of her torso, and hip length black hair.

And she had a vibrator pressed against her bare pussy.

Of course I stopped and gawked. I might look and talk feminine, but I have the sex drive of a man. And I happen to like other women.

I gave her a smile, to let her know I appreciated the early morning show. She blew me a kiss and pressed her hand against the window. I set down my portfolio, and returned the kiss. I put my hand on the window against hers.

And then she motioned me to come inside. How could I refuse? I picked up the portfolio and waited for her to open the door. Inside, I introduced myself.

“Kate,” I said.

“Sylvia,” she said, closing the door behind me.

And like that, I instantly liked her. She was so beautiful, almost as tall as I am in heels, with a luxuriant body and a warm smile. I set the portfolio against the wall and left my coffee next to the TV, which was playing a raunchy video featuring two blondes in a sixty-nine position. She had an array of sex toys spread out on the bed—dildos, vibrators, a riding crop.

I pecked Sylvia on the lips. Just a friendly meeting of lips, which turned into a co-mingling of tongues, and then we were in each other’s arms. In the back of my brain, where my business sense resides, I wondered if this was a bad idea.

But my sex drive won out and pummeled my common sense into a pulp. You only live once.

I grabbed her by the ass with both hands and pressed her warm body against mine. She was firm and muscular everywhere. No dainty morsel here. Sylvia ran her fingers through my hair. Out of breath, she told me I was beautiful and sexy as hell. She whispered in my ear, like she was telling me her darkest secret, that she wanted to fuck me.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I melted a little. Then and there, I decided I was really staying for a few minutes, or maybe longer, even though I had meetings to attend and asses to kiss. And I liked the idea of getting caught by random gawkers who passed the window.

As if we were both thinking the same thing, we went to the window. I faced the outside world, and she faced me. I laid my hands on Sylvia’s shoulders, and pushed her to her knees. I unzipped my skirt and dropped it to the floor. Then I dropped my panties too, exposing my trimmed runway.

Sylvia wasted little time. She barely knew me, knew nothing of what I liked or didn’t like, but that didn’t stop her. I find that women understand other women’s bodies instinctively. Or perhaps I’ve just had the good luck to encounter ladies who are turned on by the same things I enjoy.

She started slow, rubbing me on the labia and flicking her tongue across my clit. I ran my fingers through her hair, keeping her head to my pussy, where I wanted her. Between her love and the sounds of hot moaning from the porno in the background, I was worked up and wet quickly.

I turned around, and picked up a blue vibrator and the riding crop. I handed Sylvia the toy and told her to use it on me. She took one look at the crop, smirked impishly as if she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and then responded to my demand. The vibrator had a lovely, steady pulse and was just the right size for my tunnel. Big enough to fill me, small enough to hit the right spots.

I smacked her ass with the riding crop.

Sylvia yelped in pain, but didn’t stop licking or fucking me with the toy. If anything, her playing became more frantic now, like she was more desperate to please me. I smacked her on the other cheek. And then she set the vibrator to a higher setting, with a faster rhythm and a stronger punch.

My thigh muscles tightened, my scream was drowned out by the porno. My stomach felt like butterflies. My head felt light. And then my pussy contracted. I came. Nobody passed by the window, for better or worse. That was some random stranger’s loss, especially if the stranger was a man.

I whipped her again for good measure, and thanked her.

“No, thank you,” Sylvia said. She stood up slowly, her knees wobbling. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

I kissed her on the mouth. “Provided management doesn’t kick us both out.”

“Well,” she said. “We don’t want that.”

Sylvia pulled the curtains shut tight. I drew her into my arms and held her, enjoying the sweet afterglow.

Eventually, I had to let her go, with the promise of more later. I had every intention to finish my business meetings early.

I made good on that intention, and was back in Sylvia’s room after a light dinner that night.

A few days later, I had to move on, and so did she. We keep in touch, but it’s more of a chatty relationship now. Every so often I think back on those wonderful days I spent with Sylvia, and all the wicked things she did to me and I did to her. I keep asking now and then if she’d like to relive that time, but we haven’t made it happen yet.

Of all the sexy encounters I’ve had in my adult life, Sylvia is still my favorite. Every time I walk past a hotel room window, I think of her.


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Humpday Story: The Sexy Umbrella of Doom

The-Sexy-Umbrella-of-Doom-GenericRain marks the beginning of Charley Vaughn’s vacation. The kind of rain fit for an epic nap interrupted by coffee breaks. But no matter, Miami offers Charley endless fascination.

Magical fascination, as it turns out.

Talking dogs, alligators singing opera, and street magicians. And one sexy umbrella that purrs like like a kitten when opened.

One look upwards into the transparent blue plastic, and Charley finds herself walking on the clouds with a strange and alluring man. Soon enough, they do a lot more than just walking.

If you enjoy quirky and humorous erotic fantasy, be sure to read The Sexy Umbrella of Doom.


The Sexy Umbrella of Doom

In the rain

On Wednesday evening, despite the downpour, Charlene Vaughn felt like she was walking on the clouds. Tomorrow began her long needed vacation. She packed up her legal briefs and memos into her messenger bag, hooked her magical umbrella on her forearm, and headed down to the lobby.

The rain started at three in the afternoon, and didn’t seem to want to let up. Rained cats and dogs, maybe literally. Charley wouldn’t have been surprised. In her three weeks of living in Miami, she witnessed at least one magical event per week.

Always small, yet wondrous things. A man who pulled a hot dog out of his sleeve, and gave it to a homeless guy. A dog who talked in short, mostly one word sentences. (He liked the word yes, for some reason.) The world’s smallest alligator, which fit in the palm of a woman’s hand and sang high pitched opera.

Maybe the hot dog man was just a regular street magician who did nice things for people. Maybe the alligator was only a ventriloquist act.

But dammit, that dog was mighty convincing.

Aside from watching Burn Notice, Charley had no idea what Miami was like until she moved there. She never expected this. Miami was full of amazing secrets and wonderful magic. Granted, she hadn’t yet experienced the summer humidity, or lived through a hurricane, or had a real alligator swim in her pool. But Miami was just freaking cool in so many ways.

She hadn’t quite expected it to rain so much though. Today, it was a steady downpour that thumped against the office windows in a constant rhythm. Charley wanted to take a nap. Coffee helped. So did a dinner of left over pasta with marinara sauce, heated up in the microwave.

She waited at the revolving door in the lobby, hoping the rain would stop. Or at least slow down so she wouldn’t get so wet.

Charley wasn’t dressed for getting wet today. She wore a navy blue pinstripe suit, with a short skirt three inches above her knees, no pantyhose, and a thin pink blouse that revealed a fair amount of cleavage. Her waist length blond hair was pinned up into a tight bun. Her navy pumps were in one hand, a pair of soft leather flats on her feet.

A leather messenger satchel was slung over her shoulder, full of all the legal briefs she’d been working on.

On her opposite arm, the magical umbrella of doom hung over her wrist.

Charley didn’t really believe it was magical. Who would think of a making a magic umbrella? Of all the silly magical items.

But the Cuban lady who sold her the umbrella insisted it had powers from the great beyond, or something like that. She had a rather broken accent, and it was hard to tell what she was really saying. Plus, Charley didn’t speak a word of Spanish, which didn’t help matters at all. Four years of French in college helped some, but not enough to get past the Cuban lady’s thick accent.

All Charley could tell for sure, was the umbrella was cute. Very sexy. She had to have it, even though at the time the weather man had been predicting sunshine all week.

It had a sleek wooden handle, maybe walnut, stained dark and smooth to the touch. The wires made a soft popping sound when opened, almost more like a purr if done slowly. And the top was a transparent blue. She thought a lot about looking up and watching the rain pelt down on the umbrella. She imagined the pretty streaks of rain water as seen from underneath, tinted blue.

Or, at least watching that in much calmer rain.

This rain smacked against the windows with a vengeance, like a thousand people tapping on the glass in rapid fire unison. The street outside was like a swimming pool. Charley half expected an alligator to swim by any moment now.

She wanted to leave work. Go home and stop thinking about intellectual property law for a change. Maybe watch some TV, with a little popcorn, and flake out with Rosa Bean the tomcat without having to worry about anything at all.

Sounded nice.

And once she scooted Rosa Bean off the bed for a bit, she could load up a porn DVD and lube up her vibrator.

That sounded really nice.

She squeezed her thighs together, thinking about that a little more. Which porn would she watch? Clearly, with this stormy weather, this was a wonderful night to spend with Trey Longchamp, her favorite porn actor. He was tall, well muscled, but not overly bulky like some of the meat-heads porn studios cast.

And he seemingly always got paired with pretty blonds. Women who might’ve been stand-ins for Charley when she was in college, if she’d had a boob job.

But now, in her mid-thirties, Charley had no hope of ever being in a porn, except maybe as a MILF, which didn’t appeal to her at all. At least she still had the right hair color for Trey, and that’s all that really mattered for her late night vibrator fantasies.

The rain let up, a little anyway. Charley stuffed her pumps into the messenger bag and pushed at the revolving door. Once outside, the cool mist of the rain steamed off her hair and skin.

She opened the sexy umbrella, enjoying the little purr sound. Then she looked up. The rain still fell, and it made beautiful streaks down the umbrella top. The patterns had a life of their own, like a shifting one-color kaleidoscope. It was like looking up at a stained glass window.

She imagined what people driving by might think of the crazy blond lady looking up into her umbrella. But she couldn’t help but stare, at least for a minute.

Besides, she was too old to give a shit what people thought of her. She had firm legs and a well shaped ass, which was more than enough to get her laid now and then. And she made more money than every one-night stand she ever attracted, even in the nicest clubs and bars she ventured into.

Charley was her own damn woman. She could stare up at her so-called magical umbrella if she wanted to. And then she had a cat to go home to and feed. And then a pussy to feed after that.

The air felt calm. Breezy, with the mist of hot rain. Then the rain’s vengeance returned, stronger this time. Drops fell like tiny comets, pelting against Charley’s legs.

She stopped looking up into her umbrella like a doofus, and ran. Water splashed around her ankles as she managed to step her feet into every puddle on the sidewalk. She was parked in the public ramp two blocks over, the best place she could get without parking privileges closer to the office. Those privileges would come with a partnership, and that wasn’t even a reality for a long time yet.

So much for the umbrella being magical. The faster she ran, the more wet Charley seemed to get.

She was soaked through. Her bun came undone, long strings of hair got into her eyes. The suit probably needed to be dry-cleaned now. Even her panties oddly felt wet.

Which, in a way, felt kind of stimulating, though a bit embarrassing.

The vibrator at home was suddenly all the more enticing.

She just needed to cross the street and turn down the alley to the parking ramp.

Crossing the street wasn’t so bad. She made the crosswalk with a little time to spare. And then the alley wasn’t far after that. Her suit stuck to her now, hopelessly wet. She may as well have taken a dive into a swimming pool with her suit on. At least she wasn’t dumb enough to insist on wearing her heels to her car. They would’ve been ruined for sure.

Whoever thought of putting the entrance to a parking ramp down a dark alley needed to be sued. Badly. Tonight, the alley seemed extra dark.

Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light. The rain was less harsh here. But she didn’t close her umbrella yet. If nothing else, she could use it to fend off an attacker. She closed a fist around the pepper spray in her jacket pocket anyway.

At least the parking ramp door wasn’t far. Just a few steps, and she’d be dry and in better light.

She stole one more glance upwards at the droplets running down her umbrella. A streak of lightning flashed overhead, followed by a clap of thunder. The blue plastic of the umbrella seemed to turn a lighter shade in the lightning. A cool breeze whisked her legs and up her skirt.

When she looked down again, the alley was gone.

Her brain couldn’t make sense of what just happened.

Instead of a dark city alley in Miami and wet pavement, Charley stood on a cloud.

A big, white fluffy cloud that spread out to the horizon.

She spun in place a few times. The air was crisp. Her head felt light. She thought she should be scared, but she wasn’t. Charley laughed.

Maybe laughter was a defense mechanism. In the back of her brain, she thought that was funny, to be thinking about defense mechanisms while standing on a cloud with a magical umbrella.

She couldn’t help it.

And then she got kind of serious.

“Well, shit,” Charley said. “How the fuck did this happen?”

In the clouds

“Hey!” said a man. “Want to watch the language?”

Charley spun around. Nobody had been behind her, or anywhere near her, just a moment before. But sure enough, there was now a man lounging on a fluffy divan made of clouds. He wore red sateen pajamas. The top three buttons of his shirt were opened, revealing a smooth and well muscled chest. He sported a gruff beard that was little more than a glorified five o’clock shadow. The tops of his bare feet had dark hair.

The guy was no Trey Longchamp, but he was definitely hot. His black hair was slightly long and curled behind his ears. He had smooth green eyes, the kind Charley could get lost in.

And then he smiled.

His smile was lazy, like an after-thought with cute dimples and white teeth.

Charley melted a little. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. It was like being in a cheesy romance story. Or better yet, a cheesy erotica story. Except if Charley were writing the story, the guy would be played by Trey.

This guy in front of her would have to do.

Oddly, an umbrella matching the one in Charley’s hands lay near his feet. Water droplets dripped off his umbrella and soaked into the cloud.

“Fuck no,” said Charley, returning the smile. By comparison, her smile felt a little weak, like she was trying too hard. But it still felt good. Being in the clouds certainly loosened her up from her normal lawyer-self. “I’ll say whatever the shit I want.”

She thought about closing her umbrella, given it wasn’t raining up here. Instead she twirled it above her head.

The guy frowned, but his dimples were still there. Then he stood up and walked toward her. He made no sound as he moved, but then he was walking on a fluffy cloud. He was a head taller than Charley. Up close, he smelled wonderful, like he’d just gotten out of a bubble bath.

She glanced down. The front of his pajama pants bulged upwards at her. He was clearly well endowed. Perhaps not as big as Trey, but then again few men had porn star cocks. Charley had reasonable expectations in bed. But this guy in front of her probably came close to the outer limit of her normal expectations.

Charley wanted to find out.

He held his hands in front of his waist. A failed attempt at covering himself up, and he seemed to know it by the wicked curve of his lips.

“You can’t even help it,” he said.

“What?” said Charley. “Stare at the tent pole in your pants?”

“No, silly. Curse like a sailor.”

“Oh, that too.” Charley shrugged and stepped away. Sure enough, he took a step towards her. She held out her hands, palms out. “Look buddy, as far as I’m concerned, I blacked out in the rain and am now having some kind of weird coma dream. So I’ll freaking curse if I want to.”

That made him laugh. He had a cruel yet gentle laughter, one that sort of rumbled from his belly and came out with a sigh.

“That’s precious,” he winked at her. “But you can’t help it. I can prove it.”

“Wanna fucking try me?” She emphasized the word fucking. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to prove either. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared.

He took her by the hand. He was warm to the touch, palms sweaty enough to be slick. He gripped her firm, but not too strong. And then he led her to the edge of the cloud.

Charley really didn’t want to look down. Really, really. One of her one-night stands had tried to convince her to go sky-diving with him, which she quite firmly turned down. Looking out the office window at the street below was bad enough. Seeing a satellite image of Miami on her laptop made her nervous within the comfort of her own living room.

Even without sort of glancing down, she felt the overbearing need to pee. Which would’ve been funny, given she was high above the ground standing on a cloud. Charley laughed hysterically and covered her face in the man’s shoulders.

He patted her on the back as if to comfort her.

“See,” he said. “Told you.”

“Told me what?” She sob-laughed against his smooth pajamas. “I didn’t curse when I looked down below.”

He shrugged one shoulder against her face. His neck blushed, which made his smirk all the more amusing.

“Yeah,” he said, “not sure what I was proving either.”

“You’re a weird man,” Charley said.

“Mostly I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hello,” she said. Then she pushed him back away from the edge of the cloud. “So, umm, how did we get here?”

“On this cloud?”


He thought for a long minute, scratching his chin and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Truth is,” he said slowly, drawing out each word. “I have no idea. I was in the rain with my umbrella, and I looked up and then…”

“Here we are,” Charley spread her arms out. “Same thing happened to me.”

She liked the way his eyebrows arched upwards while he thought. He seemed deep in concentration, like he was trying to remember something, or think of something snappy to say. Charley didn’t want to disturb him. So instead, she watched.

“My name’s Hunter,” he said at last, then nodded his head, smiling widely.

“Charley,” she said.

“You say you were in the rain, with your umbrella?” He stepped a little closer to her. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and inhaled his scent. He touched her lightly on the arm. “I was in Miami for the weekend, looking for an apartment. I walked back to my car, then bam! Downpour.”

“Miami? That’s where I’m from.” Charley twirled a finger through her hair, which wasn’t wet anymore. In fact, she hadn’t noticed until now, but she felt dry and cozy. She glanced down at herself.

“Oh God,” she said.

She was dressed in red sateen teddy, the same color as Hunter’s pajamas.

“I know, right?” said Hunter. “Seems like a long ways down.”

“What? Oh. Not that. My clothes.”

“Oh,” he snorted in contained laughter. “Umm, yeah I was wondering why you were out in the rain in that.”

“I wasn’t.” Charley bit her lip. What was going on? Her lip hurt from being bit. This couldn’t be a dream and feel so real.

Hunter sat back down on his cloudy divan, which happened to be big enough for two to sit comfortably. He patted the spot next to him. Charley looked at him askance, uncertain of what to do next. He was attractive, for sure, even if a bit weird and lacking in social skills. But from all the dates she’d been on and the all the guys she’d met in clubs, Charley knew how to spot a true creep. Hunter wasn’t dangerous.

Charley snapped her umbrella shut, then sat next to him. He slipped an around her waist, above the hips. Polite enough, but close enough to make the gesture less polite if the situation turned that way. Charley snuggled into his embrace.

Somehow, it just felt right. It was stupid and unexplainable, but it was very much right.

She snuggled her head against his shoulder.

“So,” she said. “Since we’re literally in the clouds…”

“And this never happens in real life, right?” he said.

“And won’t ever happen again, we can safely assume.”

“Wanna do it?” he said.

She laughed. Any other situation, she would’ve turned him down, or at best given him the run around to make sure he was genuine.

Besides, it was as if he read her mind.

She answered him by grabbing his pajama shirt in one fist and kissing him hard on the lips. He stiffened at first, both in the pants and in the shoulders. Then he loosened up into her kiss, and held her close. His body heat warmed her. His breath tasted like peppermint and coffee.

When they parted, Charley glanced around as if to look for any onlookers, which would’ve been silly given where they were. To her amazement, the clouds parted some under their feet.

Now they were on a fluffy cloud island, surrounded by an ocean of sky with a rather stark and beautiful view of the ground far below.

Charley wasn’t scared anymore. Not of falling.

She was already fallen anyway.

The rain kept coming…

Charley tore open his top, the buttons popped off rather easily, as if they were made to be popped off. They bounced along the cloud’s surface, and then fell through. She suppressed a giggle at the thought of buttons falling from the sky. She wondered what else might fall, or drip, through the cloud.

His chest was firm and smooth to the touch, with only some light hair above the collarbones. Charley kissed him starting at the neck. Never before had she been this adventurous so quick, even on one-night stands. At least with the one-nighters, she’d get a drink and some light hearted conversation. Here, on this cloud, with this man, she felt frisky enough to cut straight to the punch-line.

And Hunter didn’t seem to mind too much. He tensed up as she kissed downward, past his collarbone and to his nipple. But he massaged his fingers across her shoulders and down her back. She felt his heart race with her lips. He wiggled and squirmed when she tickled his ribs.

And then he inhaled and exhaled deeply, and ran his fingers through her hair. He held her close while she traced her tongue across and around his nipple.

Leaning against him, she could feel him stiffen between her breasts. She made a move to kiss down his body.

But he took her by the shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. They stared at each other for an intense moment. Charley licked her lips, hoping like hell this was just a bump in the road and not the end.

Hunter slid off the divan and got down on his knees. He pushed her chest, motioning with his eyes that she should lie down. Charley obeyed, almost trance-like, and settled down on the cloudy floor. The cloud was softer than carpet, without the nasty burn, and fluffier than the best pillow. Right at the moment her back touched the billowy surface, she wondered if her panties were still wet from being out in the rain. She still felt a little wet down there, but the warm kind of wet.

When Hunter placed his head between her legs and ran his tongue across her slit, Charley realized she wasn’t wearing panties anymore. Figures–if this were a dream, which it must’ve been, it’d only make sense she changed from a business suit to a teddy and forgot her panties in the blink of an eye.

That’s how dreams worked? Right?

And if this were a dream, it was a dream come true given how talented Hunter was at oral.

He took his time with her and knew exactly how to touch her and when. A little pressure from his tongue on her labia. The feel of his stubble on her smooth skin. His rough fingers caressed the insides of her thighs. He opened her petals with two fingers. He found her clit with his tongue. Her body was tense with electricity and at the same time perfectly relaxed. When he entered her pussy with his middle finger, she gasped. She loved the way he played, how wonderfully his finger fit inside her, and how magical other parts of his body might feel. He curled his finger against her G-spot.

The first orgasm was sweet.

Charley wrapped her legs around his head and gazed up into the blue sky. Her body sizzled with heat. Pressure built up within her pussy, until she couldn’t take anymore. And then she squirted into his face.

That didn’t stop Hunter. He continued softly licking and fingering her.

Right when Charley was bored with him eating her, he lifted her into his arms. And then held her close, playing with her hair and kissing her.

“I think it’s your turn,” Charley said in his ear, surprised at how husky her voice sounded.

“My turn?”

“On your back.” She smacked his shoulders with both hands.

He complied. Charley tugged on the drawstring of his sateen pajama pants, as if she were opening a gift. He waited with his arms tucked behind his head, impatience in his eyes. She teased him by tugging on the front of pants, then by tickling his waist. His lack of patience wore thin. Hunter helped her undress him with a final sweep.

He was just the right size, exactly as Charley imagined. Not freakishly big, like some of the porn actors. Not as big as Trey Longchamp. But big enough for Charley. She savored the sight of his cock in her hand, and cupped his balls in the other. She loved the thin streak of trimmed pubic hair. A little bit of precum wetted his tip and dripped down the shaft. He smelled wonderful.

Charley went down on him. She felt like a slut and a sweet lover at the same time, going down on this strange man in this strange circumstance. The feeling was weird and alien, but familiar at the same time. She licked him from tip to balls, so slowly, teasing him with her tongue and teeth.

Before he could climax, she took him by the cock and straddled him. Squeezing him with her legs, she slid him inside. The way he stretched her was perfect. Just the right size and shape, he filled her in a way she never imagined a man doing for her. Normally, Charley required a sex toy to feel quite this good.

Charley pulled her teddy’s straps down, revealing her breasts for him. To her surprise, her boobs seemed… bigger. Not unnaturally larger, but fuller and as firm as they were when she was younger.

Hunter wasted little time in reaching up and grabbing them with both hands. He covered them, pinching the nipples while she rode him.

Sex hadn’t felt this good in so long.

Like they already knew each other’s bodies. Already knew how to please one another. Like they were made to fit each other.

Charley rode him even harder. Faster. She had to have every inch of him. She threw head back and screamed in pure pleasure.

Hunter rubbed her clit while she fucked him. The pleasure intensified a notch. The second orgasm peaked and rattled her body to the core.

And then another orgasm rocked her. When the shock wore off a little, yet another jolted her. Her pussy tightened on his cock, then spat him out with a gush.

Charley collapsed into his arms. Her scent was all over him, and his scent was on her.

He massaged her back muscles. Just being held close felt wonderful while the afterglow wore off. She craved more, but didn’t feel physically capable of it yet. Just a little rest.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was standing upright. In the rain. Soaked through to the skin.

Her body still felt the glow of great sex, from the tips of her hair to her toes. She grabbed her breasts–they were the correct size and shape within the bra she put on this morning. Charley even reached up her skirt and felt her wet panties clinging to her curves.

She was back in the alley next to the parking ramp. She had her satchel and the umbrella above her head, blue tinted streaks running down above her, as if nothing more had happened than a lovely daydream.

It was like being yanked out of a warm bath and tossed into a freezer. She longed for Hunter’s touch, and half hoped he was somewhere nearby, looking for her.

She wasn’t done with him yet. Her heart ached. Hell, her pussy ached. It felt like she really had sex just now, with all the scents on her and the sore thighs from riding Hunter.

A Trey Longchamp video no longer sounded like a wonderful way to spend the evening.

But neither did sleeping alone after being with Hunter, even if that only happened in Charley’s mind.

She sighed, bit back an unexpected sting in her eyes, and walked into the ramp to find her car. A hole was in her heart. She had no idea how to fill it. Charley didn’t know if she wanted the hole filled, after what she had experienced on the cloud in her magical daydream.

No real man like Hunter existed. Did he?


Her vacation went by faster than she wanted, but not fast enough. Charley longed to find Hunter in her dreams, to maybe recreate that experience in the rain with her umbrella. But during the entire week, no rain fell, and there was not even a cloud in the sky.

On the last day of her vacation, Charley decided to stop pitying herself.

She grabbed the umbrella, even though the forecast called for more sunshine with only a very slight chance of precipitation, and headed to the supermarket. She wanted pasta with homemade marinara sauce and mushrooms. Perhaps garlic bread and a mixed salad.

She was spending this night alone, so dammit she was making the most of it.

Once Charley had the shopping cart loaded with everything she needed, she returned to the front of the store.

And her heart rose into her throat.

There, right front of her, was a dream come true.

A man who looked like Hunter from behind stood in the checkout line. He was less dreamy perfect than the man on the clouds, not as tall or as broad shouldered. But he had the same rough five o’clock shadow and the V-shaped back. In one hand, he held a blue umbrella identical to Charley’s, just like on the clouds.

When he turned around and noticed her behind him, he had the same handsome, dazzling green eyes.

And then he smiled at her. A broad, friendly smile, as if they were old friends.

“Charley?” he said.

“Hunter,” she said. His smile brightened even more when he saw that she recognized him. Charley’s heart thundered so loud, she wondered if he could hear it. She placed a hand on her chest. “My God, it is you.”

“I’ve been…” he started. Hunter cleared his throat and stammered a bit. “I’ve wanted to see you again.”

“I thought of you every day,” Charley said.

A tense moment passed. They stared into each other’s eyes. The checkout clerk coughed.

And then Charley grabbed him by the front of the shirt. He wrapped his arms around her.

She kissed him.

And Charley knew she wouldn’t have to be alone tonight. Or any other night.

Charley was in the clouds again, metaphorically if not literally, and never wanted to come back down.


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Sunday Quickie: Worst Second Date Ever

Worst Second Date Ever

I met Kimberly through a friend at work, and had a lovely first coffee date with her. Even ended the night with a quick, cream-and-sugar kiss on the lips, and she gave me her phone number. Didn’t take much arm-twisting to convince her to go on a second date with me.

Picked her up at seven. I wore a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and shiny black shoes. Kimberly wore a red sundress and three inch heeled sandals. She greeted me with a more passionate kiss this time, but again all too quick.

After that, the evening went from good, to bad, to what the fuck just happened?

Around the corner from her house, I got a flat tire, and had to change it. Which made us late for our dinner reservation. The maitre’d had given away our table, and we waited for an hour. My lasagna came out cold, and her house salad featured wilted lettuce and one lousy crouton. After an unsatisfying meal, I took her to the cinema, only to discover that it was children’s night or something. A lot of screaming brats and a limited selection of cartoons convinced me to take her somewhere else.

She chose a coffee shop next to a bookstore. A mob was outside the bookstore, waiting for a signing with some wannabe erotica author. The barista had smeared makeup and smelled like a pussy, and messed up our orders of hot chocolate.

“Well,” Kimberly said, and sipped the white chocolate mocha she didn’t order. “I’ve never been on a date quite like this.”

I blew on my triple espresso latte, afraid to actually drink it. “Wish I could take credit for planning all this.”

“I’d be truly impressed if you did.” Her tone was dry, sarcastic. The crinkle in the corners of her eyes made her look dangerous. We shared a long moment, staring at each other over our styrofoam cups, tired smiles on both our faces.

The moment was interrupted by a vibrating sound. And it almost certainly wasn’t a coffee grinder in the shop’s back room.

Kimberly quizzically arched an eyebrow up, the dangerous look intensifying. I had to lean forward, to hide the erection poking up my jeans. The vibrating got kicked up a notch, then another. A low feminine squeal echoed from somewhere behind the counter. Kimberly at the straps of her sundress.

Then she stood up, taking my drink away, and tossed both cups into the nearest waste-bin, sashaying her hips as she strutted. I was convinced she wanted to leave, but instead she pointed to the ugly green couch near the coffee shop’s fake fireplace. I tried my best to hide my boner, but Kimberly glanced down at it anyway. I closed the front window blinds.

I fished in my pocket and brought out a condom. I always come prepared, though I never expect anything on a date, especially a second date. At the same time, Kimberly dug around in her purse, and brought out a condom. Same brand as mine, same packaging.

She giggled. I chuckled. We both shared a belly-aching laugh.

And then I pushed her to the couch and kissed her. A gentle brush of lips. Tongue. Teeth. Then the fondling started. I grabbed one of her melons, gave it a firm squeeze. Her hand slid up my thigh, and made a bee-line to the zipper.

This was happening so very fast. But I wasn’t going to tell her no. I couldn’t.

The vibrator buzzed even louder, like some giant angry insect. Surely the barista had it on max. I hoped her battery wouldn’t run dry any time soon.

Kimberly ripped open my dress shirt, and twisted my nipples. I tore the sundress straps down, along with her bra straps, and popped her breasts out. I tried to suckle her, but she insisted on opening my jeans. I didn’t deny her.

She gasped when she saw my cock flop out, and wasted little time in sucking it. I had to pull her head away by her hair, and force her down on her back. I ripped her silky pink panties off, and ate her like the dinner I didn’t get to enjoy earlier. Her moans were soft, subdued, and matched the moans coming from the hiding barista.

Then I plunged a finger inside Kimberly, and hooked her right on the G-spot. I made short work of her, and sprayed an orgasm all over the couch.

I stroked myself, letting Kimberly calm down a little. Her skin was flushed, hair sticky with sweat as if she’d been working out. Then I put on the condom she had offered me.

Slid only the tip in at first. Back out. I enjoyed the way she squirmed under me. I rewarded her with the rest of my cock, balls deep.

Gripping her calves, I lifted her legs up over my shoulders.

Kimberly gripped the couch cushions, bucking her hips against me.

I fucked her. Slow, jack-hammered, slow again, wiggled my hips, pumped the juices out of her. Her tits jiggled around as I pumped her. Kimberly screamed, and buried her face with her arms.

I pulled out, tore off the condom, and blew the biggest damn load across her dress. Even managed to sprinkle her left boob. Then I fell into her arms, and we made out.

After a few minutes, Kimberly pushed me away, and we got dressed again. As best we could at any rate. I glowed with exhaustion, and couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was radiant.

Once dressed and the used condom thrown away, the barista came out from the back room, haired messed up and what little left of her makeup smeared down her face.

“Oh, shit,” the barista said. “I didn’t realize you guys were still here.”

I winked at the girl. “It’s okay.”

“Huh?” the barista said. “I’m half deaf.” She pulled out a hearing aid to show us.

I tipped the girl twenty bucks and Kimberly and I left.

“That, was the worst date ever,” Kimberly said, hand in the crook of my arm.

“Want a repeat next Friday?” I asked.

“Next time, we’ll use your condom.” Kimberly kissed me.

Our next date was a lot better. Turns out, the deaf barista always takes an extended break at the same time every night. She even locked the door next time, and doesn’t seem to mind that Kimberly and I have completely ruined the couch.


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