It was the last opportunity for a sleep-over, the night before the former high school classmates all headed off for college. Gail and Diane had both turned up, as had Christina, Melissa and Nicola. The five of them were sitting in their nightwear in Eden’s bedroom, waiting for the last girl, Wendy, to show. When Wendy finally made it, she looked flushed and couldn’t stop giggling. The girls watched her change into her silk pajamas. As she did, she told them about what just happened to her on the way to the party.
“I asked Bud to drive me over,” she shouted over the sound of Eden’s latest CD. “Only I asked him to stop off at the creek on the way. Well, he did, and we kissed for a while. Then I let him touch my clitty.”
Christina and Nicola let out a shriek as they guessed where Wendy’s story was leading.
“You let him screw you, didn’t you?” Eden shouted, and everyone started laughing.
“Well, why not?” said Wendy. God, she sounded so casual about it! “After all, I head off for school in the morning, and I don’t want to turn up at college still a virgin.”
Gail and Diane stared at one another, both girls unable to believe what they were hearing.
“So I let Bud finger me for quite a while and wound up getting all sticky.”
You’re cordially invited to Vivian’s Sex-Toy Party. Dress in your fave lingerie and bring your frisky, naughty self. The fun begins promptly at 8pm. Regrets only—and you’ll regret not coming!
Okay, I was guessing my friend’s party wasn’t going to be remotely similar to one of my mother’s Tupperware galas, where swarms of housewives ponder which color schemes would best match their kitchens.
Leave it to Vivian to be an unconventional party planner. The woman oozes sex, and a sex-toy party is right up her alley. But for me, even reading the invitation made me blush. Being that I’m a celibate 26-year-old, I generally felt prudish at the mention of sex toys. It’s not that I was some sort of religious freak claiming to be a born-again virgin. I had just vowed to myself to refrain from sex ever since my boyfriend broke up with me almost a year before, leaving me in complete disarray and misery. So I was adamantly anti-dick, not sure when, if ever, I would dive into those all-too-charted waters again.
It was final. Both our signatures were on the papers, and our marriage of six years was dissolved. Now Cameron was just a heartless jerk who thought I was born yesterday. “Sex addict,” my ass! Calling himself a sex addict was just his way of thinking he had a free pass to cheat on me.
He had begged me to give him another chance, saying he would go into therapy to cure his uncontrollable fucking behind my back. My answer was, hell no! If Halle Berry couldn’t salvage her marriage with her cheater ex-hubby who claimed to be a sex addict, there was no hope for us.
Not that I’m saying I lack sex appeal. I admit I’m no Halle. She is a vision of perfection. I would even do her, and I’ve never been attracted to girls. But my honeysuckle tits induce instant boners from men of all ages, and the rest of my body looks better than when I was in my 20s, due to my healthy eating habits and Pilates regime. I am one sexy bitch!
So I might have lost a husband, but I retained full ownership of the house, an L-shaped ranch that I had inherited early in our marriage.
Unfortunately, it was in need of major TLC. For five years Cameron had promised that he would tend to it, but I guess he was too busy pounding down walls of his own. Now it was up to me, and I decided to call in a professional. The consolation was that the settlement I got from that cheating slime should easily cover the cost.
My friend Claudia had had work done on her house some months earlier and was still raving at every opportunity about this guy she found, a fellow named Don. I went to take a close look at the work he’d done, and I had to admit I was impressed. He had upped the house to diamond condition. And that was what I needed, a polished home. That was my thinking: Start with the home, and the rest of my life would sparkle and shimmer.
I dialed Don’s number, and the minute I heard his deep, raspy voice, I knew he was the man for the job. He exuded confidence and expertise. I rattled off quick directions to my house for an estimate. He said he would be here in about 20 minutes.
When he clicked off the phone, I scurried to my bedroom to spruce up, in case it turned out he looked as hot as Claudia claimed. She had said that throughout the job she felt like a dog in heat. Merely looking at him work had turned her into a ravenous hormonal sexpot. Her husband benefited, being on the receiving end of deep-throat blowjobs and creative sex moves with images of Don’s sweaty, muscular body dancing in her head while he pounded her. She felt no need to share with Charles the fact that there was a sexy muse turning up the heat in their bedroom. According to her, there were no complaints from him.
While I was applying lipstick, the doorbell rang. I smacked my lips and headed toward the door. Why was I so giddy? Was it the anticipation of getting a make-over for the house? Or the possibility of a sexy guy entering the premises? Be honest now, which would do it for you? The hot piece of ass, right? Well, me too, especially since it had been over six months since I got any, and that was a non-monumental goodbye fuck with Cameron.
Not that I didn’t have opportunities. After my divorce was finalized, guys that were supposedly Cameron’s pals came out of the woodwork. I certainly didn’t want anything to do with those bums, though—not even for revenge! Apart from that lot, though, I just wasn’t meeting much available talent, at least not that I found worthy.
Before I could open the door, the bell rang again. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Wow! Thank you, Claudia!
In front of me was an incredible hunk. His chiseled features and buff body commanded my attention. In fact, he had my insides steaming! His navy blue thermal jersey fit so snug that I could see the outline of his bulging chest and broad shoulders. His jeans hugged his body like a fitted condom. Not to mention that he had a winning smile and piercing blue eyes that felt like they were undressing me.
Where the hell did Claudia find him? In a Chippendale’s calendar? If so, he could strip for me anytime. Hell, I would spring for a private show.
I felt flushed imagining him giving me a sizzling X-rated lap dance. I would love to rub his pecs with oil and stuff his underwear with dollar bills, where my hands would grab a package of my own. I longed to kiss, caress, touch and throttle him. Oh, what I would do to him!
“Sorry, I think I got the wrong house,” he said, breaking the prolonged silence. His voice vibrated throughout my body. He was turning away when I was finally able to use my voice.
“No, no, come back,” I said. “You’ve come to the right place.” My mouth was watering, and my pussy too.
“Oh, since you weren’t letting me in, I thought I must have rung the wrong bell,” he said with a smirk as he entered. Was that a double entendre, or was it just my horniness taking over? Suddenly I was flooded with images of having him inside me ringing my bell like crazy.
I walked Don through the house rattling off a list of improvements I hoped he was capable of doing, and worrying that I would have no hesitation hiring him whether he could do them or not! The to-do list included a kitchen expansion and remodel, replacing all the windows, French doors, crown molding throughout, ripping up all the carpet and installing new hardwood floors—and lots more projects. While he took measurements and his dreamy eyes narrowed in thought, I watched in salivating delight.
When we finished the house tour and were back in the kitchen, Don scooted up on the table, and I wanted to take him right there! I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself alone with him. Unaware that I was tempted to pounce on him, he was hunched over a calculator he’d pulled out of his pocket, punching numbers in. The number he finally gave me took my breath away. Damn, he didn’t come cheap! Was he that good?
I knew I should get more estimates before hiring anyone, but I didn’t want to see anyone else. It was Don, and only Don. For all I knew he could be robbing me blind, but hey, it was my ex-husband’s money that was paying for the job anyway, and he had to pay big-time for what he did to me. Screw me, and I screw you back!
“So when can you start?” I said, biting my lower lip in order to hold myself back from planting a kiss on his seductive mouth.
“Well, you’re in luck,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “I just finished a job, and my schedule’s open.”
“If that’s the case,” I said, “could you start tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he said. “Just give me a deposit and I’ll get cracking.” My God, he was driving me crazy with all this sex talk! I scribbled a check for the amount he requested and handed it to him.
“Okay, Mrs. R, I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
“Excuse me,” I said, smiling, “please allow me to clear something up for you. I’m no longer ‘Mrs.’ anything. I just haven’t gotten around to ordering new checks since the divorce. It’s Kara.” Now at least he wouldn’t think of me as a desperate horny housewife. Rather, I was a horny single divorcée.
“By the look of this place the guy must not have been too handy,” he said, frowning at the shoddy condition of the house.
“Ironically, the asshole is a carpenter,” I said. “He was just too busy nailing anything in sight.”
Did I sound bitter? I hated to admit it, but Cameron had left me feeling slightly inadequate. Was I not sexy enough? Did I suck in bed? Well, I did suck—his big cock. But did I lack pizzazz? These were questions I had tried hard not to think about since the breakup. They were probably also the reason I hadn’t dived into sex with other men. Could I have been responsible for Cameron’s cheating ways?
“Don’t worry, Kara,” Don said. “By the time I’m finished here, you won’t recognize the place.”
“I certainly hope so!” I said. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I looked deep into his eyes, searching for trust, something I was finding nearly impossible to find those days.
“Mark my words,” he said, smirking again, “you’re going to be very pleased, and very satisfied.” There he went, stirring up the juices inside me again! I was mesmerized. Did he notice my cheeks burning? Or my nipples hardening? I didn’t care if he demolished the entire house as long as I got to feast my eyes on him. No, I admitted to myself, just looking at him wasn’t enough. I wanted to feel his body grinding into mine.
At the crack of dawn the next morning the doorbell rang. I threw on a silk robe, ran the toothbrush over my teeth and gave my hair a few brush strokes. I was relieved to see that my face appeared refreshed, even glowing, showing no signs of the sleepless night I’d spent tossing and turning, unable to shake the fuckable image of Don. That image haunted my fantasies and trickled down to my warm sweet spot. I was flushed and needed to relieve the sexual tension that had enveloped me since I laid eyes on my Mr. Fix-It.
Late-night TV had failed to distract me from my horniness, and around three I turned off the TV, determined to focus on something other than Don. Instead I found myself doing something I hadn’t done since college. I tore off my panties, sucked on a few fingers and shoved them in my snatch. Then I bounced up and down on them, imagining it was Don’s cock ramming me. As I pumped my fingers in my drenched hole, I kept calling out Don’s name until I reached climax.
Now as I dashed downstairs to open the door, my silk robe floated in the air. I flung the door open, and there he stood, looking ever so delectable. No wonder I had succumbed to a solo finger-fuck fantasizing about him! He had even more power over me in the flesh. I admired his tool belt, his toolbox and his concealed prize tool, which I yearned to have him use on me.
“Damn, Kara,” he said, his eyes darting all over my body, “if you’re going to prance around here half-naked, there’s no way I’m going to get any work done.” So, thankfully, the attraction wasn’t entirely one-sided! I had an instant fantasy of Mr. Fix-It spending the night fantasizing about me! And maybe also jerking off to let off steam.
“You know, Don, there’s no rush to finish the job,” I said, trying to entice him by unwrapping my robe, displaying my bare tits and pussy. It was a temptation I hoped he couldn’t resist.
“Holy shit!” he said. He stood frozen, with a sudden bulge in his pants.
“I thought we might start in the bedroom,” I said.
The man set his toolbox down and reached for my robe. His fingertips traced over the silk fabric, then brushed over my tits and stiff nipples. I moaned as he tweaked my hard nips. When his hand slipped down over my navel and inched toward my mound, I thought I was going to cry.
“I need you,” I heard myself saying (yes, out loud!) while he caressed my juicy twat. It occurred to me that I might be coming off as just a tad desperate, but at that exact moment I didn’t care. I couldn’t think or breathe straight. His touch was intoxicating.
In my bedroom I slipped off my robe. Don gave me a look of pure longing! I approached him on the bed, and he nibbled on my neck, melting my insides. The heat between us was turned up to the highest degree. I rubbed and gyrated my naked body all over him, leaving wet trails on his clothes.
“You’re overdressed,” I purred as I unbuckled his tool belt. He undid his jeans. His Calvin Klein boxer briefs were sporting a massive woody. Eager to see it in the flesh, in a horny rage I tore off the jeans and briefs. A gorgeous cock jumped out at me. Instinctively, I dived down and wrapped my mouth around the mushroom head, rolling it around my tongue, then licking the entire length of his shaft.
“Yeah, suck my cock,” Don groaned, propped up against the headboard, observing my every move. I took hold of his rod and shoved it down in my throat with him tugging on my hair. I bobbed up and down on his meat, sucking and licking while his cock gyrated in my mouth. The more I attacked his dick, the wetter my pussy became.
“Sit on my face,” he said.
Wow, what a man! Not just a taker, but a giver too! I quivered in delight as I positioned my carefully kempt beaver on his mouth. His hot tongue slithered over my swollen clit. While he gorged on my pussy, my entire body trembled. I lowered my mouth to his boner and continued the fierce blowjob I hadn’t finished. It was a sensual 69, with slurping sounds and moans filling the bedroom. I was tingling from my toes to my pussy, and couldn’t stop the onrushing explosion. While I slammed my cunt against his mouth, he lapped up my juices. Seconds later he gushed his load in my mouth, and I swallowed every drop.
“Now, get to work,” I teased, slapping his amazing ass. I watched him get dressed and transform into my handyman stud.
Weeks passed, and my house was shaping up, but my pussy was being neglected. While Don gave such loving attention to every detail of the construction, I longed to be nailed, screwed, drilled and hammered by his big tool. But he couldn’t be distracted from the job! The hardwood floors were looking incredible, no doubt, but I wanted his hard wood in my pussy. I was on the border of obsession with naughty, even depraved, thoughts of him. I woke up every morning in a fever.
On several occasions I tried distracting Don. Like when he was installing new windows, I oops dropped my panties in front of his face while he was reframing the openings. Or when he was framing out the new kitchen, I pressed my tits in his face. Nothing broke him from his work.
One day when I reached the point where I thought for sure I would burst into flames from sheer sex-deprived agony, Don hollered from the bedroom, “Kara, I need a hand in here.”
What was he thinking of? Me give him a hand? He had to know I would be of no help. If you put a saw in my hands, I would probably slice one of them off. Besides, I had just gotten a manicure and had no intention of putting a carefully finished nail at risk.
When I turned the corner into the bedroom, my twat moistened at the sight of Don’s hot naked body sprawled on my bed. Suddenly I didn’t mind at all giving him a hand, or any other part of me. I peeled off my clothes as I raced up to him. My stiff cherry nipples and my moist pussy were ready for him. I mounted him expertly like a jockey on a winning racehorse. His cock effortlessly penetrated my drenched hole.
“Is this what you want from me?” Don asked, pumping his hard rod deep in my warm cave.
“Yes!” I cried. “Fuck me with every inch of your cock!” I was finally getting what I’d been craving for weeks: a good hammering from my handyman. Don lit me up like a jack-o’-lantern. Sparks and ripples flowed through me as our bodies thrashed together. In a quick but relentless pace, I rode him to the finish line, coming in record time.
“Oh yeah, I am fucking coming,” I screamed while Mr. Fix-It kept right on fixing my exhausted pussy. And while he did, I milked his supertool. The way his eyes rolled back, I knew he was on the verge of erupting. He held onto me tight and, groaning like a wild beast, unleashed his load.
“Job well done,” I whispered in Don’s ear as we lay tangled together.
“Oh, I’m far from finished,” he said. “There’s a lot more to do.”
“As long as you do me, I don’t care how long the home improvements take,” I said, stroking his ripped chest.
“In that case, you better get used to seeing me around here,” he said as he brought his lips to mine.
It’s Thanksgiving weekend, and I have an obligation to spend it with my parents. Oh, joy!
All would have been business as usual if they hadn’t moved to Florida last December, deserting me, their lone spawn, on Long Island. They sold the house I grew up in right from under me, leaving me with only two options: (1) to move with them down to West Palm, the capital of Oldgeezerville, and sulk in misery, or (2) to stand on own my two feet, get a job, find my own place and be able to get piss-ass drunk and let loose anytime I care to.
It wasn’t a difficult decision. I chose to be an independent girl. That was, after getting a job. No one warned me how enervating job interviews are, facing endless obscure questions that don’t even pertain to the position. I can’t think why a company needs to know if I was an animal which one would I care to be. After answering “a man-eating shark” and being shown the exit door once too often, I wised up and said “a penguin, since they’re team players.” (At least that’s how they were in Happy Feet.)
Ever since I can remember, Helena has been a vital part of our family—I sometimes think the most indispensable part. My mother bridles anytime anyone refers to her as “the maid,” even though she does cook and clean up after us, which we certainly wouldn’t be able to do for ourselves. “Housekeeper” is more like it, but still makes her sound like a mere hired hand. “Mother hen” probably captures it best. No one could ever say a bad word about her. She is the kindest, sincerest woman, always greeting us with a cheerful grin. She says our family is her pride and joy aside from her daughter, Izabella.
I often wondered if we could survive without Helena. Fortunately, for the longest time we never had to find out! In all the years she had worked for our family, she’d only missed one day of work, and that had been when she gave birth to Izabella 21 years before. Those were some of the thoughts running through my head when I took the phone call from her that morning, wondering how on earth I was going to break the news to my mother.
Life was getting too predictable in my hairdressing business. I could close my eyes and walk through my daily routine—have my shampoo girl Laura (fresh out of beauty school) whisk my next client to the back sink to wash her hair, then usher the lady onto my chair (my “throne,” I call it, since I make my clients feel like royalty), towel-dry her hair while chitchatting about her latest heartbreak while on autopilot I snip and sculpt her into the goddess I know she has inside her.
Poof! Like magic, she melts in my hands. Her problems—typically dissolved relationships, cheating spouses, backstabbing friends or family dramatics—all fade away by the time I blow her out. My clients leave feeling on top of the world, which is why they always come back to me, however deep they have to dig into their pockets. My services don’t come cheap, but they seem to feel that the price of beauty is worth it. My ladies leave radiant, looking like they stepped off the pages of a Hollywood gossip rag, feeling like rock stars!
1. “Remember to wear your Armani tux tonight”
The banquet to raise a cure for some-disease-or-other is being held tonight on my parents’ sprawling estate. My mother lives for charity events. She’s all about “giving back,” which she can afford, since she has enough money to eliminate the hunger crisis in Africa. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. Actually, it’s amazing that we have any money left. It’s “old money” now, but Mother came by it the good old-fashioned way: through her bloodline of robber barons. Miraculously, it has sustained four generations of greedy, grubby hands, including mine.
Life as a trust-fund kid has been, well, highly satisfactory. I noticed early on that I seemed to worry way less than my less fortunate friends, hardly ever experienced shame and never heard “no.” I have a passion for fast cars and even faster women. As soon as they find out who I am, they seem to go down on me like it’s a competition for Slut of the Week, with the prize being a chance of becoming my wife.
As if! At age 26, I like things just fine just the way they are, and plan to keep them that way. A lifetime of fucking is kind of what I have in mind.
Over breakfast Mother reminds me, “Douglas, remember to wear your Armani tux tonight,” adding, “You have to look your best for the auction.” While I roll my eyes, our live-in maid Dolores refills my coffee cup. I’ll need all the caffeine I can get flowing through my veins in order to get through tonight.
I was in a foul mood. My two-week business trip had been cut short due to client error, and then, since I had no other business in the area, I’d had to change my return flight reservation at the last minute. Of course, then my flight was canceled, and I’d had to spend the night in a hotel I wouldn’t have booked my worst enemy in.
But finally, after a five-hour flight, I was riding in a limo and homeward-bound. I couldn’t wait to get there. All I could think about was changing my clothes, pouring myself a drink and putting my feet up.
As the driver pulled up in front of my house, the first thing I noticed was the sound of music—but not just music. I’m talking about thumping-bass, where’s-the-party-at music. I mean, it wasn’t late, but it was after ten.
Naughty and complicated—that’s how I would describe my sex life. Proudly spinning a web of lies and deceptions that eventually rises up to the surface. My pussy is always open and ready for anything.
Life wasn’t always so intriguing. It was rather dull. Just a year ago, I was a devoted military wife, standing behind her man, praying for his safety, hoping for a speedy homecoming—to make up for all the sexless days and nights. I stayed up every night full of turmoil and loneliness. That was, until I found out the dirty truth about my husband.
Ron had come home from his first six-month stint in the Middle East, and being a diligent wife, I unpacked his duffel bags and was mindlessly loading the laundry bags when a shiny material caught my eye. In between a grimy pair of socks, a red pair of silk panties flashed at me. As I unrolled the skimpy G-string, my mind grew suspicious. Either Ron was a panty-stealer, or he was a panty-wearer, or he was screwing the panty-wearer. I brought the moist panties up to my nose and sniffed. Sure enough, it was the scent of a woman. My marine husband was getting serviced in the service. So much for thinking he was hard up!
It was only the second time I’d set foot in the club with my girlfriends. The first time was still fresh in my mind. I’d met this guy—not really my type, good-looking but a little on the short side for my taste—and before I knew it we were tongue-wrestling and feeling each other up in a dark corner. That’s not really my style, but I’d had a few, the DJ was tossing out killer beats, and I hadn’t had sex in about a month. Luckily, I came to my senses and moved on to dance with someone else, then left with my friends before Shorty caught up with me. A week later I found myself at the same club with the same friends. This time, though, I wasn’t as horny, having had a few fuck sessions with my faithful vibe. I was cool, calm and collected. Or so I thought.
I was sitting at the bar with one of my friends when the bartender came over and placed refills of our drinks next to us, saying they were “compliments of the gentleman,” pointing to the end of the bar. We both looked, and I cringed when I saw my make-out buddy from the week before! Not good. But it wasn’t Shorty who raised his glass to salute us. Standing next to last week’s reject was a tall, dark, broad-shouldered hottie. Definitely biker material. Definitely fuckable. He didn’t smile, and neither did I. I leaned toward my girlfriend so she could hear me over the pounding bass and asked her what she thought. I knew he wasn’t her type, but best to make sure. I don’t mind sharing myself—two men are definitely better than one. But I don’t share my men with other women. Fortunately, she had just three words for me as she grabbed both her unfinished drink and the fresh one: “Have at him.” With that, she took her drinks and left the bar, worming her way through the crowd.
I turned my attention back to Biker Dude to see if he would follow my friend or take the newly vacated seat next to me. His dark eyes held mine captive. As I waited for him to come over, Shorty spotted the empty seat, waved at me and started over. This was so fucked up! With what had to be a look of utter panic on my face, I downed the remainder of my drink, picked up the refill and left the bar as quickly as the crowd would allow. Heading for the far side of the club, I made my way around the dance floor, trying to put as much square footage as possible between Shorty and me, hoping Biker Dude would follow.
About an hour later I was bored, and with no sign of Biker Dude, I was ready to leave. Then, as my friends and I were leaving, I saw him. He was in the parking lot, leaning against his Triumph, holding his helmet. I took one look at him, told my friends I’d call them in the morning and sauntered up to him. I walked around the bike, admiring the chrome detail and the fat tires, and felt my heart start to race. When I completed my inspection, I stopped next to him. “Thanks for the drink,” I said. He looked down at my jeans and over the knee boots with heels not really meant for riding. “Wanna go for a ride?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbling, and full of danger and power, like I imagined his bike would feel and sound if I rode it.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I definitely want a ride.” I’m sure he knew that my answer was meant to be taken any way he wanted, but to make sure, I leaned into him and let my hand drop to his fly. I lightly cupped his package, feeling the solid mass there, and thought, oh baby, what a ride this is going to be! “And how do you like your rides?” he rumbled. “Hard and fast—to start,” I purred as I rubbed up against him. “Then slow and long.” “Then let’s get going, girl.” He gave me his heavy leather jacket to wear, which practically swallowed me, and produced an additional helmet, which he fastened under my chin. Then he put on his own helmet and climbed on the bike, and it roared to life. He glanced over his shoulder and I climbed on behind him, plastering the front of my body against him and slipping my arms around his deliciously hard body. I’d ridden a bike on my own, but I still found the thrill of ripping up the road with someone else at the helm better than any high. And that steady vibration between my legs was almost enough to make me cream my pants. God, it was fan-fucking-tastic! I hugged my new bad boy with arms and thighs, my face flush to his broad back. The only thing better would have been him fucking me as the scenery flew past us.
Since I couldn’t have his dick at that moment, I turned my face and sank my teeth into his shoulder—not really hard, but enough to get his attention, I thought. The bike slowed gradually until Biker Dude pulled off to the side of the road. I stepped off the bike, and he rolled it off the shoulder into the grass. I leaned up against a tree, and waited for him to come and take me. The headlight from the bike was behind him, so I couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but it didn’t matter. He was a hard-muscled body of walking sex. I wanted him. When he was standing right in front of me, I asked him his name. “Does it matter?” he asked. “Yes,” I said, while unbuckling his belt. “I need to be able to scream out your name when you fuck me into oblivion.” “Jesus,” he said. “Really?” I said. “How convenient.” His skin was a deep bronze color, which I’d mistaken for a tan. Mmm! I was lowering his zipper when he kissed me. It was sudden and consuming and had me revved up and ready to ride, no foreplay needed.
He crushed me against the trunk of the tree with his strength, and I reveled in his power. His tongue searched my mouth, exploring every nook and cranny, while his hips thrust against me. His fly was open, and I had better access to his hot rod. It was bigger than I thought, now that it was free of the confines of his jeans—no boxers or briefs to bother with. I was ready to ride, but Jesus had other plans. He palmed my breasts, then lowered his head and sucked my nipple through my shirt, leaving a big wet spot. I raised my hands over my head, arching my back and pushing my tits forward. He let out a deep moan, and his hands slipped up along my ribs. He pushed my shirt up and just stared. Then he squeezed my mounds together and sucked one tit through the lace bra, laving the hard peak of my nipple before moving over to the other breast. He switched back and forth between the two, giving them equal attention, while I moaned and quivered with pleasure.
I snaked my hand down into his pants and rubbed my palm along his dick. Jesus got the message and started in on my tight-fitting jeans, peeling them down along with my thong while I used one foot to try to work the boot off the other. He stopped kissing me long enough to yank off my boots and pants; then he was back to kissing the life out of me. His cock felt like a burning rod against my stomach as I thrust my hips against him. “Fuck me!” I moaned into his mouth. I gripped Jesus’s shoulders and hopped up, wrapping my legs around his waist, rubbing my needy breasts against his chest. He supported me, his muscular arms under my thighs, his rough hands gripping my ass cheeks. Then he lifted me up and brought me down on his thick cock. I felt every inch of it as it wedged itself deep inside me. The feeling was indescribable. With my back braced against the tree and Jesus bearing my weight, he withdrew halfway and slammed his cock back in me. I screamed out my pleasure. Over and over he repeated the sweet torture, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. And when I came, screaming out his name, he didn’t stop. The thrusts continued until he brought me to a thundering climax, and then still continued, until I felt like a rag.
Through the haze of unending bliss, I realized Jesus hadn’t come. Or if he had, he was still hard as a rock. His thrusts slowed, and he lowered me to the ground. When he pulled out of me, my cunt was dripping. It felt empty. After he’d stripped off his boots and jeans, I pulled him up closer to my head and started licking and sucking his meat, tasting myself along with his precome. A combination of our essences—salty and tangy—hit my senses, and I did my best to deep-throat him. He tasted really good, and he was really hard. He started fucking my mouth, and because he was on top, he had leverage over me. I relaxed my throat and took him as deep as I could, enjoying the feel of him being in control. I don’t know how long he kept it up, but just when my jaw was beginning to ache from holding it open for so long, his rhythm began to falter, and after three more strokes he groaned and shuddered and released more come than I could handle.
Jesus rolled to his side, pulling me with him as some of the overflow ran out of my mouth. Panting and sweating, I leisurely licked up every drop that I had missed from his dick. Then I wiped my face with my top and pulled him close for a kiss, giving him back a little of his come. I couldn’t believe I’d just fucked a stranger like a wild animal in the woods. I felt fantastic. “And your name would be,” he said, his hand slipping deftly under my top and playing with the lace cup of my bra. “Tara,” I said. Feeling blissfully sated, I arched my back like a cat, pushing my breast against his hand. “Well, Tara,” he said, “I hope you’re not tired.” “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys with a short recovery time,” I said. “Kinda,” he said as he used his considerable strength to rip my bra open from the front. He helped me slip my arms out of his jacket, then rolled on top of me. “You did say you like your rides hard and fast.” “To start, yes,” I moaned. Jesus’s fingers were tugging and twisting my sensitive nipples. I began to squirm and writhe from the growing need within me. Yeah, I could go again if he kept this up. I have a healthy sex drive, but this was insane. My whole body was heating up again. I rubbed my thighs together.
“Wait,” I said. “Give me your shirt.” We were in a grassy area, and his jacket protected my back, but I still felt bits of gravel digging into my butt and the backs of my thighs. Jesus pulled off his shirt, and I told him to spread it underneath me. He did. I expected him to resume his attentions to my tits, but he got sidetracked. “Mmm,” he groaned against the inside of my thigh. I felt him nudge my legs farther apart. Then he pushed his shoulders under my thighs and started snacking on my pussy. He took his time, learning every intimate part of me, his tongue languidly furrowing into every crevice, lapping up every bit of wetness he could find. His tongue was everywhere—except for my clit!
When he’d driven me to the brink of insanity, I felt him push one of those big fingers up inside me. Only then did I feel his tongue brush fleetingly over my sensitive nub. I wanted to come really bad, but he kept me right on the edge by withholding that last push. He started sliding his finger in and out through my wetness. He added another finger, then scissored and twisted them, just missing that pressure point inside me. He had me writhing with abandon, trying to ride his fingers and get them deeper inside me. “More, Jesus,” I begged. “I need more. Make me come.” I couldn’t ever remember feeling so desperate for release. “More what, Tara?” he said, taunting me in between quick swipes of his tongue. “Tell me what you want.” Oh God! I was half out of my mind, and he wanted me to tell him what I wanted. I was so going to get him back for this. “Suck my clit!” I screamed. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”
I couldn’t believe I was begging, clawing at his shoulders. I never, ever beg, but Jesus had me feeling like I was hard up—like I would die if he decided to withhold sex. Suddenly I knew that when this night was over, I couldn’t see Jesus again—not ever. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face into my crotch, grinding my pussy against his face. I thought I heard a weird noise but wasn’t sure what it was. Then I heard it again. Was he laughing at my needy ass? All sense of reason left me when he sucked my clit into his mouth and turned those fingers up to press on my sweet spot. I went off like a rocket, locking his head between my legs. I wailed out his name and drenched his face and hand with my juices. Done. I’m so done. “Come on, Tara.” “Mmm?” I murmured.
“What?” Jesus hadn’t come again, but the way I felt, that was his problem. I was content to just lay there, basking in the aftermath of great sex. Fuck him! “Come on, baby,” Jesus rumbled against the pulse in my neck, kissing and licking and biting that secret spot no one’s supposed to know about. “You’re not done yet.” From the feel of his big hard-on, he was ready for more fucking. At the mere thought, my hands came up to clutch his ass and I felt my traitorous pussy muscles clench and throb with renewed desire. Biker Dude was going to be the death of me. “Let’s do something different,” he said. He stood up and pulled me to my feet. My legs felt like rubber, and I leaned against him for support. He pulled off the jacket and tossed it on the ground. My shirt and what was left of my bra quickly followed. He stood behind me, and his hands came around and cupped my breasts. I leaned back against his chest and let my head fall back on his shoulder.
I loved the feel of his muscular chest against my back. He went back to kissing and licking my neck. Every now and then he’d suck my skin into his mouth. I knew he was marking me, and I didn’t care. I wanted him to. I wanted to be able to look in the mirror afterward and relive one of the best nights of my life. Maybe I’d even masturbate, although my vibrator would be a poor substitute for Jesus’s big dick. I started to moan and rub my ass against his cock. I had just come, but I felt more wetness leak out of my horny cunt and trickle down the insides of my thighs. He’d been working my nipples and massaging my breasts all this time. Then one hand moved down the front of my body and didn’t stop until it was between my legs. I placed my hand over his and clamped them between my thighs.
“You’re really wet, baby,” he whispered. “You must want my cock inside you again.” He walked me over to the bike and told me to lean forward on the seat. As soon as I was in position, he leaned over me, covering my body with his, and I felt that big cock of his nudging into me from behind, stretching me once again, filling me to the max. “Still want it hard, Tara?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous-sounding. Did I? Oh, hell yeah. “Oh yeah, bad boy,” I said. “Fuck me the way you ride this bike.” That’s all it took. Jesus grabbed my hair with one hand, the bike handle with the other, and started fucking the daylights out of me—really hard, deep and fast. I held onto the bike for dear life as his hips hammered against my ass. Forget about screaming his name—I came keening like some wild woman in the throes of passion. I was panting and grunting when the tempo of his thrusts changed, slowing to a steady pounding. Along with that change in pace came a stinging slap to my right ass cheek. Shock and heat were the sensations that registered first, then hot desire as he followed that slap with three hard thrusts to my cunt, then another quick slap.
I’d never been spanked before. I’d never even thought about it. But I liked it. It ramped up my horny factor. And then when the third slap came, I screamed. “Oh, Jesus!” I shrieked. Tears streamed down my face. Jesus kept fucking me, but he’d picked up the pace again. The strokes were coming hard and fast again. I didn’t know when he would let go of my hair, but his hand had moved down between my legs. He found my clit and pressed. Between the fucking, the pressure on my clit and not knowing when the next stinging slap was going to come, the pressure had built again. The climax brought with it another drenching release. Jesus finally reached his peak. He pushed into me three more times, each hard thrust sending a load of hot cream pulsing into my love canal. When he slipped out of my hole, a stream of fluids ran down my legs. If it wasn’t for the bike, I’d have slid to the ground. I felt cool air on my back when Jesus stood up. Well, that’s nice, I thought, one of us could still walk. I heard him move around the side of the bike and open a compartment. From it he produced a rag. He proceeded to wipe down my legs.
“Do you live around here?” he asked. “I could use a shower.” “A shower? You fuck me silly and that’s all you have to say?” Really! This guy had just given me amazing sex, ridiculous orgasms, and he wanted to talk shower? “Well, yeah,” he said. “It’ll be daylight soon and I thought we could clean up. Then maybe go out for waffles and chicken. Aren’t you hungry?” I thought about it for a couple of seconds and realized I could eat. I hate to cook, and if he wanted to take me to breakfast, the least I could do was let him shower. We were both grimy and sticky, and probably smelled like sex. “Sure, why not?” I said. “I live about ten minutes from here.” “Cool. I can’t wait to get you in the shower.” Every muscle in my body was crying out no más! I began pulling my clothes on. Then, watching Jesus get dressed, I thought about how that incredible body would look all slick with soap and water. And shit, didn’t my pussy start to twitch again!
Well, we made it back to my place, and yes, I did fuck Jesus again in the shower. And on the sofa, and in the bed. We called out for breakfast, and thank God, he got ready to leave after that. As he was leaving, I told him I didn’t want to see him again because he wasn’t good for me. End of story, right? Wrong! He said he’d already rented a place not too far from me and he’d stop by after he finished moving in.
I said fine.•