Fantasy #4

You had sent me an email early in the morning, asking that I meet you that evening at the bar. I dress excitedly, anticipating a night of great food, conversation and of course sex. When I walk into the bar, you are already waiting for me, your clean shirt offsetting your tan, toned arms, and I sneak up from behind and deposit a kiss on your neck. I can feel your smile as I sit next to you but you seem agitated. You glance me over, nodding some tacit approval of my attire, and I grin inside knowing how surprised and pleased you'll be when you see what I'm wearing under my office suit.

We exchange the normal pleasantries, and I order a beer to enjoy on this warm evening. We continue to sit at the bar and I start to wonder if and when we'll be moving on to phase 2 of the evening. You don't seem to be in any hurry, though your jumpiness makes me a little uncomfortable. After some considerable time nursing your scotch, you give the signal that its time for us to move on to dinner. Yippee I think. As we are paying our bill and I climb off my bar stool, you clutch me at the elbow and pull me in close. You whisper that you want me to go into the ladies room and remove one item of clothing, anything I want, and then bring it back to you. You have an evil smirk on your face as you say this but hey, I'm game. So off to the bathroom I go.

I decide to take off the sweater I'm wearing so that now I have only my suit jacket to cover my chest and the filmy bra I have on. I button up my jacket, my breasts pushing it at the seams, so that I am barely contained with a deep, deep plunge into my cleavage. I check my lipstick and exit. You are waiting for me, holding a small valise. You take my sweater, smell it deeply, taking in the tiredness of a long day as well as the musk of my excitement and deposit it inside.

We are off to the restaurant. Once there, we are taken to our table, which is somewhat centered in the room. As I begin to sit down you say, 'not yet'. You ask me to go into the ladies room again and remove another article of clothing. I am surprised and a little flustered but I head off to the WC. This time I take off my bracelets, all the jangly, silver ones I love to wear, brush the hair out of my eyes and head back to the table. You have ordered a drink for me and I smile causally as I drop my bracelets into your hand. You chuckle at my cheekiness but I have complied and I sit down.

We order drinks only first. The table is small, really too tiny for practical purposes, but it keeps us close - and lets you smell me across the table. Waiting for our drinks to arrive you look at me, smiling. "Touch yourself," you say. I glance around the room and do so, sliding my hand under the table, shifting in my seat just a bit for access. I’m about to pull my arm back up when you place your hand on it. "Keep your fingers there. Play with yourself." I become very aroused and squirm in my chair. I look around again, feeling self conscious, but no one's noticing. "And don't take your eyes off me." A minute seems like an hour; the drinks come and you nod to me, saying it’s okay for me to stop and sip my drink; I take my drink with a glistening finger or two. We take some sips and then you say, "Now off to the WC again; bring your panties to me."

I return a minute later and hand them in a crumpled ball to you; you lift them to your face, smelling them, not caring if anyone else sees, all the while keeping your eyes fixed on me. You take my hand, lift it to your lips, and run my fingers over your lips for a second, breathing in that scent too. You abruptly ask for the check, pay and we head out onto the sidewalk.

We hail a cab and before I can get the door closed you are on me. The cabbie adjusts his mirror for a better view but I don't care. I am all nerve endings, feeling you on me, your hands in my hair, on my neck, unhooking my bra, brushing across my breasts, down my stomach, into my pubic hair, and your mouth, your mouth on mine, your lips firm and soft, your warm, whiskey tongue in my mouth, your teeth nipping at my lips. I pull away just long enough for a quick breath and am amazed to see you snaking down my stomach with your tongue, licking my clit and shoving your fingers inside me. I spread my legs and arch my back, no longer even trying to stifle my moans, and I cum there, in the cab, in your mouth, on your hand and let myself settle into that engulfing blackness and disorientation that orgasm brings.

My chest is heaving and I feel like I'm living in some bodice ripper romance but just as surprisingly, you move back up my body, kiss me deep so I can taste myself on you, and then you help me get my clothes back together and seem to content yourself with just feeling the reverberation of my orgasm until we arrive at our destination.

We reach the hotel and head to my room. In the room, you grab me from behind, positioning me so that we can see one another in the mirror. You deftly remove my clothes and as I stand in front of the mirror, locking my eyes with yours, you push your fingers deep into my wet pussy.

Your cock is drilling into my ass through your jeans. I think, fleetingly, how it must hurt to be so confined and I manage to reach back and free you. Your jeans stay hitched to your hips but your cock is free and hard and I run my hand up and down, feeling you. I take one hand and lick my entire palm so I can have some wetness against you and I take my other hand and sink it into my cunt, which is dripping, and then run one very wet finger along the underside of your cock, right near the top, where everything is so sensitive.

You continue to push hard against me, wrapping me in your arms, nearly lifting me from the floor, and I bend over, grab my ankles and push my ass toward you. You grip my waist, start to push into me but instead pull me up so I can see you move in and out of me and you can watch me watching you in the mirror. Its a mesmerizing scene, I let myself go with the rhythm, moving your hands to my mouth so I can suck greedily on your fingers, pinching my nipples to appease some of my own hunger. As you move in and out, your balls slapping against my clit, I cum again. I can feel you are close too. I can't decide if you want to cum inside me or let me turn around so I can swallow you up in my mouth.

With great will, you pull out. Your cock is sopping with my wetness. You turn me around, so we're both sideways to the mirror, so we can both see, and you push me to my knees. I take your throbbing, aching cock, so ready to burst, in my hand, stroking it, squeezing it, making it huge right in front of my face. With my other hand, I stroke your balls, your ass, and then I wolf down your cock, hungrily. Sucking, licking, using my hands, my face, my fingers. "Suck my cock," you say. "Do you like it? Does it taste good?" You arch back, push your pelvis forward, and you explode deep in my wet, hot mouth.

Fantasy #3

I have a friend, well, an acquaintance really, actually we’ve never formally met but we’ve had an interesting relationship nonetheless. I met him in a chat room. Not the kind you find now on the internet, but the old fashioned kind where you call some 1-900 number and get tossed into a situation that strains to resemble sexy conversation. And that’s where I met him. On the telephone.

I had actually called and hung up after stuttering out a few words, but somehow, in a creepy yet neat way, he found me. I’m not a prude by any means but something about the rawness and intensity of the chat room unnerved me. I was excited but didn’t feel up to the challenge. It was a clear, brilliant warm day. The kind you long for all winter and I was admiring the green of the lawn while I finished my second cup of coffee in my kitchen, dismissing my panic in the ‘room’. My phone rang. I answered it and it was the one voice from the room that I had found enticing. At first I was stunned. “How’d you find me!?” I blurted. He wouldn’t say, wouldn’t even acknowledge that we had been in the room together, but instead began one of the most vulgar riffs I’ve ever been subjected to. And I listened, intently. I cringed at some of what he was describing he would do to me but I didn’t hang up the phone. His voice was like taffy-sweet and sticky. I became aroused, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip on the receiver. I’m kind of a two hand masturbator so I felt very much at a loss but I didn’t stop listening, as much as I was dying to sink my left hand into my panties and stroke my clit and pinch my nipples hard with my right.

As I listened, something about his voice seemed familiar. I couldn’t place it; was it some regional accent? The ‘shush’ of his sibilant‘s’? The little whistle that indicated his front teeth were slightly gapped? I’m still not certain but I felt entranced, like a child watching her favorite movie. As I sat quietly, not interjecting in any way, I could feel my pussy lips becoming moist. I was shocked with myself for being susceptible to such trash talk, but that just added to the agony in my groin, that want for release.

As I sat, I felt myself snap to, like I had been hypnotized and I caught just the last few phrases he purred. He told me that I should go to the carnival, that I should ride the merry-go-round in a short dress with no underwear, and pleasure myself while riding the largest horse, which was draped in purple velvet. He said he would be watching me there and hung up.

Now, what I probably should have done was dial *69 to trace his call but instead, I found myself imagining what he looked like and mentally rifling through my collection of shifts to see which I’d wear to the carnival. Where’s the logic you ask and I agree. What woman sets out on such a mission with a total stranger? It was crazy, dangerous and oh so exciting. I couldn’t resist. Biting my lip with anticipation, I nearly jogged into my bedroom to get dressed.

On most dates, I try to dress in a way that is both sexy yet professional. I don’t want a man to think he can just fuck me and not actually appreciate my intellect. The professional touches help keep thoughts going where I want them to go. But, for this date, if one could call it such, I abandoned any sense of decorum and went straight for the throat. The dress I found was quite sheer. As much as I wanted to dress it up with some item from my lingerie collection, I was mindful of his remark that I ride without any undergarments. I wanted so badly to just throw myself on the bed and rub one out, but I decided the frustration and build-up of an orgasm denied was just too great an opportunity to miss in this particular outing.

I arrived at the carnival in the early afternoon. The sky was gathering gloom and the faint rumble of thunder just added to the anticipation I was feeling. I could feel the hair on my arms prickle with the charge in the air, and I rubbed them half nervously to try to calm my own charge. I had not been to the carnival in years so didn’t know my way around very well. I came upon a lemonade stand. The place was actually quite desolate, most likely because it was a school day, and I found myself eyeballing every man in the place, thinking it might be my caller. I came up to the stand and a very young kid was manning the booth. The sun was slanted through the clouds and illuminated and animated my every curve in the thin dress I was wearing. My areolas are dark and large and were quite visible to this boy, as was my neatly trimmed bush. I bought a cup of lemonade and fought the urge to brush casually against his evident erection. I did ask him where the carousel was and he swallowed a sheepish grin and pointed behind me.

There it stood, slowly rotating to the treacle music. No one was riding it. No one other than the boy was in sight. I felt a little crush of disappointment and not a small amount of embarrassment that I didn’t see my caller. I began to think I had pulled a very mean trick on myself and started to head for home but stopped. What the hell? I thought. Why waste a perfectly good fantasy even if I had no spectators.

I gulped down the lemonade and began to walk toward the carousel. The wind was starting to beat hard against me, pulling the dress in several directions at once. A gust threatened to pull it up over my head but I was able to control the dress’s frantic motion and actually get on the carousel.

I moved between the slowly galloping horses, looking for mine, and finally found it buried deep, near the center. I looked around anxiously, trying not to chicken out on myself but feeling every bit the fool; I hoisted my leg up and over and sat squarely on the porcelain saddle. The cool firmness of the beast against my steaming, wet cunt was a lovely and thrilling shock. I felt myself moan just a bit and gripped the pole tightly for support. My nipples were as hard as granite and ached. I wanted to touch myself but was struggling with my own mind. I was so tensed that I got a cramp in my calf and I found myself panting with the excitement and pain of my situation. It was an excruciating agony to be sitting so tightly on that horse, feeling the slow grind of the saddle as the pole moved up and down, feeling completely exposed and totally delighted with my badness, and struggling with my conscious.

Finally, I relaxed. I took in deep, cleansing breaths and was able to actually sit on the horse, rather than keep myself poised over it, and I loosened my grip on the pole. As I relaxed, I gave myself permission to follow through on this dare to myself, to respond with complete obedience to a stranger’s instructions. I moved my hand over my sharp nipples, pinching them each and grinding my pelvis against the saddle, rubbing my clit until I felt the orgasm swell. I closed my eyes, gripped the pole more tightly, felt the release begin but had it abruptly halted by the brushing against my thighs of another person.

He pulled himself expertly onto the horse behind me and in the same movement put his hand over my mouth and told me not to say anything or try to look at him. It was him. My heart was pounding but I didn’t say anything.
(to be continued…..)