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Information THREE IN A BED
Posted by: Simon - 11-19-2025, 03:55 PM - No Replies

   


Afterwards, Amy would remember the precise moment at which she plucked up the courage to take Mariola to bed. It came with a swallow, too many – or perhaps just enough – of the wedding Rioja. It was a bit cheap and over-oaked, but it cut through the bright haze of Prosecco like a firm hand. A firm hand taking her by the chin, and a rough voice saying: “Look, look at that.” And the firm hungry masculine ghost of the wine made her look, look across the teeming dark room, to Mariola, a dark flame in a silver sheath dress.

Sipping the Rioja, Amy let the wine fill her with dark flavours, the rich scents of summer nights and dark fruit. She watched Mariola move. Her face was a marvel, strong, fierce. Light danced in her eyes and on her bright teeth. Shadows at her ear and throat showed off her fine jaw. She imagined the strength of the woman holding her down, that powerful mouth at work. The feel of her body, it’s curves and its angles, her taste. Warmth spilt across Amy’s belly, and thighs and tickles and tingles danced down her legs. Amy felt herself fill and flower, her flesh moving. Uncurling. Blooming against the soft grasp of her knickers. Decision made, she tore her gaze from her target, began to search the crowd for her plus-one.

Sam was babbling happily at the bridesmaids when she found him, guileless face flushed with the feast. He leaned over the two girls in their silly pale dresses like harebells and listened with all of his six foot four frame and his broad shoulders. In their luminous eyes and their quick nibbles of a lip and the faint bloom of perspiration on the domes of their festive breasts, she could read their intent. Their willingness.

Oh no, ladies, not tonight.

She took his arm and turned him and gave the bridesmaids the face of a blade, all beaming smile and fuck-you dead eyes and they blanched and retreated as she whisked him away. She took his elbow – lord the strength in that arm – and took him away into the outside, the cool mist of the river and the puddles of table-lights in the rose-hung garden.

Away down the silvered and dewy grass were older unlit tables, tucked under overgrown hedges. Dark, private spaces – some already full of gasps and the whisper of zips. Amy could feel her blood sing as she drew Sam on, found a table and made him sit down. She saw his frown, all befuddled with drink, so she sat in his lap and kissed him messily for a while. She was pleased by the pressure he made on her thigh. She stood slowly and drew a firm fingernail down his imprisoned length and laughed at the faint mewl of complaint.

“Sam,” she said. Her solemnity silenced him, and he grew still, a dog waiting for a blow.

“I need to ask you something. A favour.” She cleared her throat as he unsurely replied.

“Sure, Ames – anything, um..”

It was more difficult than she expected, here, with his cock just there and this table and nervousness and drink and lust and maybe she should just fuck him now and forget Mariola.

A shimmer of silver in the mist-hung trees and a voice like a rusty gate hung with briar roses.

“Amy,” the voice crooned, “I thought that was you. Long time, no see.” And out of the dark, she materialised, as sleek as a fish rising out of the deep. Muscular, silvery, lithe and fragrant. Mariola. A walking sex fantasy. 

Amy woke slowly, the flickering frames of her dream dissipating in the white silence of the morning. White bed, white sheets, the harbour sky white hazed behind half-drawn white curtains. In the bright mist strong shapes. Hard dark strokes of a bed frame and windows and among them, tumbled in the white bed-billows the dips and troughs and ridges, the sine-wave strength of Mariola. As her hand unbidden reached to stroke that naked flank, the warm swell of exquisite arse, Amy remembered snapshots.

Mariola glimmering in the cool dark, silver dress a second skin, scales glittering, eyes aflame and bright white teeth.

Those eyes sliding over her face, her neck, and the swift tug and tightening, the knurling in her own nipples, answering the hard peaks that shimmered through that dress.

An hour, or two of talking there at the dark table, the slow dance of conversation, the slow dawn of the idea on Sam’s frank, sweet face. The awestruck disbelief when Mariola cupped a firm hand around the base of her skull and, tilting her fine head sideways, drew Amy in for a kiss.

The cold wine, fragrant in Mariola’s mouth. Cool tongue on hers.

Back indoors, the sandwich of them, all three, clumsy, giggling, dirty dancing. The hard club of Sam’s straining cock along her thigh.

And Mariola, Mariola, Mariola…

“Forget your shitty hotel, lovelies. I’ve a place down by the harbour. It’s nice.”

The taxi ride. Fingers everywhere, they pinned her between them, eyes front, outwardly prim. But her skirt pulled high and out of view. Strong fingers rubbing and probing. God, group sex left no cravings unfulfilled.

In the here and now, Mariola moved, buttocks bunching under Amy’s slow hand, sliding easily between the perfect arcs, her index finger bathed in glorious heat. Amy grinned wickedly, and as Mariola flexed and turned, a dirty chuckle in her throat, Amy remembered a word. Callipygian – beautiful buttocks.

Sam rose to wakefulness through a soup of hangover and worry. What had happened last night? His own snapshots shamed him:

At the harbour flat, Amy undressing Mariola as they danced and giggled, his cock limp with booze.

Frantic stroking at himself as they twined, as Mariola poured Cava onto Amy’s body. Licked.

The two women, knotted together between his splayed thighs, legs entwined and breast to breast, mouths coaxing, teasing. The rich smell of them billowing up. Nothing.

A miserable shower and somewhat refreshed, forlorn. Returning to the others sprawled naked and asleep, the room awash with musk, though none was of his.

Oh.. GOD.

A chuckle, a rustle, and his opened eyes saw Amy’s hand reach deep into Mariola, her fingers parting her lips, the split fig of her, the dark, lush hair. His gaze was full, brimming with curve and muscle, split and cleft and ridge, the slow uncurling, melding of the two women. His hand – half-fearfully- found his cock. Thank God. He had heft, and heat, and weight. It felt good and thick in his tentative grasp. A slow stroke and the long inrush of blood and the tightening in his balls and the delirious dance began.

Mariola turned to Amy, the younger woman leaning over her, smiling into her, the lip nipple tongue-tip kissing that made her swell. God, she was lovely, just as lovely as she’d seemed last night, just as lovely as she remembered.

Oh…

Mariola gasped, gaped, her lover’s fingers skated down her belly and tickled through her hair like quick and eager fish among the weeds and –

Her voice stopped in her throat, as Amy pounced, spreading, piercing. Holding her dumbstruck gaze. She was awash with heat from nipple to knee, as if the sun was rising in her core, just as it did outside over the water.

Fingers patted and rubbed, and she writhed, the sleek black head descended to an eager nipple and – oh! Oh yes, the third wheel. The sweet, frank face of Sam leaned in and, as they kissed Mariola looked down the sweep of Amy’s back and saw him stroking, stroking at a well-woken cock.

Between them they rolled Amy onto her back and explored her, the smaller woman writhing, twitching like an eel and muttering under her breath. Mariola’s head slid down, whispered kisses across taut skin. Thumbs hooked into hip-creases, Amy’s thighs yawning, her voice growing gruffer, pelvis twitching, circling, jabbing upwards seeking more swiftly for Mariola’s hungry mouth. Her vulva was slick and beautiful, its hairless petals those of an exotic flower, her scent heady with the dark notes of last night’s arousal, overlain by the bright new wetness. She parted eagerly to Mariola’s fingers and on Mariola’s tongue her flavour burst, all evening dark-alley fumbles and overripe fruit, sunshine and white wine and the wind of the sea. Mariola groaned at her richness and dug her chin in, her nose, burying herself from nostril to lip in the hot, pink cleft.
Licking and nibbling she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the thick ridge along the base of Sam’s cock, the glossy lavender head of it as he stroked. Again the after-thought, the poor boy. Mouth slippery and hot with Amy’s arousal she kissed him. Right there on the tip, slowly widening her mouth and drawing him in. Hot and clean, but earthy. Salty and sweet, thick and hot. She bobbed her head slowly, enjoying the music, the bass note of his groans as she mouthed him, felt herself stretch full and hot the raw heat in her cunt spilling, dripping as she realised… She could hardly fit him in her mouth. As wide as she gaped, still there was cock, the hot velvet skin sliding against her stretched lips, she mouthed him, chewed him pulled him in until yes, there he was, the whole fat length of him filling her mouth, and hot in her throat.

Amy growled. That was her cock in her lover’s mouth. Scandalised and envious she was also filled with wicked delight. She watched Mariola’s throat move, watched Sam’s hips circling, propped on her elbows she snarled around nibbled lip:

“I want it, it’s mine, stick me – stick it in!”

And with it, with this command, fled her last coherent thought. As she pulled Sam’s fat cock to her and watched the fat pink head of it, all glossy with Mariola’s spit, she watched it squeeze up to the peach-pink clench of her spread inner lips. She threw back her head and made a noise like a gull, a seabird blown fast over the ocean, lost and delighted in the roar of wild seas.

With breathless reverence Sam watched Mariola’s slim, strong fingers press his cock-head against Amy’s slit, watched her spread Amy’s petals wide, felt her grasping heat envelop him as he thrust inward and in, facing into Amy’s wild grin. His cock felt alive, hot and full, full of blood and music that rang through its length and in long trickles of electricity down his thighs to his calves to his curling feet and again in wild circles and arabesques across belly and chest. This was so new. So unlike anything else. Here he was fucking, and yet – being fucked. They were all fucking, the whole conjugated conjugal verb on this one tight white sheet. Amy was gasping and writhing beneath him, squeezing him but here was Mariola, fingers at his cock, at the crux of him and Amy, her rapt attention on their mingling, mouth flitting to Amy to him and back again, as Amy’s heat swelled, and he stretched out to meet it and as Mariola’s hands and mouth worked he felt the edges move, as if he no longer knew where he ended and Amy began, as if her heat was Mariola’s, as if Mariola’s stiff fingers were somehow his too. He fucked, she fucked, they all fucked. And the world moved.

Amy ridden hard on her knees, face slapping into Mariola’s furred thighs, breath staccato. Mariola’s wide grin at Sam’s astonished transported a blank face. Sam tongue-fucking Amy. The bed a spiral, a whirl of bodies. The two girls half-kneeling before Sam, seated against the headboard, two nubile young celebrants worshipping a fat-cocked Buddha.

Mariola ran her clenched fist hard up and down Sam’s fine cock, slathered the tip with her wet mouth. Amy watched, humping his muscular thigh and, mumbling under her breath, demanded that Mariola fuck him.

“I want to see him in you…stretching…”

She straddled the boy, felt the broad eager strength of him in the tug of her muscles, while he, pinned and breathless, felt the soft prickle of muff along the length of his dick, rubbing, tickling and then as she rose to take him the heat of her lips. Mariola sank slowly, luxuriously, romantic sex the driving force as she savoured his breadth, and every inch of the slide, stretching sensations echoing those in her widening thighs. She smiled and whimpered, shouted and groaned. Lost in the sway of their commingled heat and the hard rod of the boy she was brought back to herself by the touch of the girl. Looking down, she saw the boy’s stubbled chin beneath that smooth, beautiful groin, pubis glistening, muscles ribbed and flexing, tasted her breasts and their mingled sweat and through laughter and gull-cries kissed her as they rode, feeling in her core and in the rising beat of Amy’s breath the fast growth of, of …

Somewhere deep under her navel, where the quick and hard tip of Sam’s cock was nestling and kneading, grew a heat and a brightness, a swirling, a spiral in her mind’s eye, flow of lightning outward down thigh to knee and across belly to breast to nipple and tickling up into her throat. She wanted Amy to take her by the throat, squeeze it. It was just a fleeting thought but then, with one last rise up the shaft of Sam’s cock, it came, a long ripple of light, a spasm, a clenching that went on and on, a clenching in rhythm to Amy, who laughed and bit her ear-lobe and squealed utter filth into her sweat-glazed collarbone.

Outside in the harbour, the fishing boats moved on the water. A slow groan of rubbing hulls, the rustles and slaps of rigging as the gulls wheeled and dived and the street-vendors noisily set out their stalls. On the big raft-bed, Mariola, cunt stretched and aching, muscles as loose and as fluid as if made of warm caramel, watched Sam’s come fly, speckling Amy’s oyster-pink belly with sweet pearls of release.

Continue reading..

Information THE OPERA
Posted by: Simon - 11-19-2025, 03:53 PM - No Replies

   


I take Kristof’s hand as we exit the opera house, the soaring beauty of the final aria of Norma still running through my mind. I’ve always loved the opera. The passion, the drama, the sexy story and the exquisite voices of the singers never fail to leave me breathless and, I must be honest, also a little horny. I’ve always found a trip to the theatre or the opera to be romantically old-fashioned, something to be savoured, with the glamour of the women dressed in beautiful silks and taffetas, covered in beads and sequins and dripping in diamonds and pearls. I love how the men are old school, dressed to impress with crisp white shirts and impeccably tailored suits. It smells expensive, oozes sophistication and makes me feel like I have stepped back in time. I adore the whispered chit-chat before it starts, sipping a martini in our box and the pin-drop silence during the performance as the audience immerses themselves in the beauty, followed by the standing ovations at the finale. I like a show; as I said, it turns me on.

I squeeze Kristof’s hand, and we exchange a secret smile as we follow the rest of the audience out into the cool of the evening. I shiver as we stand on the steps, waiting for everyone to disperse. In part, from the chill of the evening; earlier, it had been unseasonably warm, so I left my jacket at home, but mainly from the anticipation of being alone with Kristof. Always the gentleman, Kristof shucks off his dinner jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The heat of his fingers against my skin as he does so ignites the fire in me further, and I look up and down the street, wondering where Beau, our driver, has gone.

“He’ll be here soon, my love,” Kristof smiles. He knows what is running through my mind, and I giggle as he backs me up against the ancient stone wall of the Opera House, his lips claiming mine as his body presses against me.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, “I don’t know if I can wait to get you home.”

I breathe in the heavy, musky scent of his aftershave, spice and an earthy vanilla note that is his signature, and let the heat of his body warm me, the thought of fucking him right here, right now, already soaking my tiny lace panties. I can feel him, already hard, straining against his tight trousers, as he whispers sweet nothings to me, kissing and nibbling at my ear, my neck and finally my lips again.

At last, when I am almost dizzy with desire, we hear the soft purr of the limousine as Beau pulls up to the pavement alongside us. Kristof pulls back, straightens his suit and takes my hand, leading me to the car where Beau is holding the door for us.

“Good evening Monsieur, Madame. Apologies for my lateness; the traffic over the bridge was shocking.”

“Good evening, Beau,” Kristof replies, and I nod. Beau is a handsome, older man who has been driving for us for many years. He is polite, well-mannered, and trusted, and he is always incredibly discreet.

Kristof helps me into the car, sliding in beside me. He leans forward and speaks to Beau before we depart. There is something about returning the scenic route as we are in no hurry, and the evening is beautiful. 

The anticipation of what this means has me catching my breath, my nipples hardening again despite the warmth of the car’s interior. It is a vintage Rolls Royce, a wedding gift from Kristof’s father. I inhale the scent of the worn leather, run my fingers over the soft material of the back seat and lean back into the luxury of the car as Beau pulls away from the side of the road. I wonder how many other couples this car has carried home from the opera or intimate dinner parties in its long history, how many other women have squirmed with anticipation on its back seats. If the interior could speak, would it tell me stories of secret lovers, clandestine meetings and passionate embraces?

I snuggle into Kristof’s arms as we talk quietly about the opera, kissing and giggling as the streets of the city slip slowly past. The radio is on, a classical station, and the music is reminiscent of the opera we have just enjoyed. I give in to Kristof’s lips and hands, his tongue exploring my mouth as his fingers wander across my body, stroking my thigh, drifting across my breasts and cupping my chin as he kisses me more deeply. My body responds to his touch just as it does when we are alone, a burning desire igniting inside me, and all I can think about is where he will touch me next. I don’t care that Beau is mere feet away from us, the thin glass panel between him and the back seat leaving nothing to the imagination.

I know that Kristof wants me as much as I want him by the soft kisses he is dropping onto my neck and the way his hands are caressing my body, the warmth radiating through the thin silk of my dress. If I open my eyes, I can see the bright lights of the city slip past the window over Kristof’s shoulder. I think about the people walking the pavements as my husband kisses me, his hand at my throat, capturing me and making me his possession, his kisses letting me know exactly how turned on he is. I let my head fall back as his fingers gather the material of my dress and push it slowly up, exposing the pale, creamy flesh of my inner thigh. With a smile, I help him pull the silk and netting up my body until his fingers find what he is looking for at the apex of my thighs.

I am no longer thinking about anything but my desire to fuck my husband. I barely notice that the music has been turned down. I don’t care that Beau is watching us in the rear-view mirror, and I don’t care if anyone sees us through the windows of the limousine. All I want is him. I spread my legs wantonly for him, clutching his face as I kiss him passionately, letting him know that I am desperate for his touch. He spreads me wider, his fingers moving over the brightly coloured thong that barely contains the juices running from me. Slowly, deliberately he rubs from my wet lips to my clit, standing to attention beneath the lacy covering of my panties and back again. He dips his fingers inside, a quick tease and then back over the top of the scrap of material that covers me. It is as though he is testing the water, making sure I am comfortable that I want this as much as he does. And I do; I have never wanted him more.

We lock eyes, and I smile, biting my lip and holding his arm as he plays with me. I want him to continue, to take it further. He nods, kissing me again, kissing my neck as I lean back on the old leather and let his fingers work their magic, circling my clit as I try to remember to breathe.

My dress has slipped down, the frantic kissing and touching too much to keep the beautiful strapless silk in place and my breasts are exposed, my nipples rosy pink and hard, a stark contrast to the deep russet of my gown. I glance up and catch sight of myself reflected in the window, wanton, spread out across the back seat, my husband’s hand between my legs, my sleek chignon comes loose, tendrils framing my face. I think this is what Beau can see, and it excites me further. I want him to be watching us. I want him to be turned on by what he sees.

Kristof pulls my panties to one side, exposing my shaven pussy completely and slides two fingers into me. I can’t help myself. I cry out with pleasure, the exhibitionist in me revelling in the show we are putting on. I know that my moans of pleasure mixed with the soft suck of his fingers inside me will excite him. He knows exactly how to play with me, his fingers crooked to hit the sweet spot inside and the base of his palm on my clit, making me gasp. He switches between focusing on that little bundle of nerves, teasing me, knowing that I want more, and then delving deep inside until I am on the brink of orgasm. He holds me there, over and over, until I am almost undone.

I want more of him, I want to fuck him, I want to make him feel the same delicious desire as I do and I feel for his cock, my fingers rubbing it through his trousers. We tussle as clothes come off, freeing him from the confines of his dress suit, shoving his trousers to his knees so that I can taste him. Kneeling up on the back seat, I take him into my mouth, and he moans, leaning back and letting me do to him what he has been doing to me. I can smell the musk of his lust, the masculine scent of his cock as I take it down as far as I can, covering it with my saliva as I show the city just how good I am at blow jobs. I love his cock, the weight of it in my hand, the taste of it in my mouth and the way he gives himself over to the pleasure that I give him with my lips and tongue. He has his hand on the back of my head, guiding me to take more, watching the lights out of the window as I lick and suck, my hand a fist around him, pumping his thick shaft as I revel in the taste of him.

It still isn’t enough to slake my lust; I want more, and so does Kristof, so we hurriedly take off his shoes and his trousers until he is naked from the waist down. He pushes me down on my side, in front of him, and pulling me tight against him, he lifts my leg and eases himself inside me, entering me from behind. It is a little difficult, but I don’t care. I need to feel him filling me. I am open for all the city to see if they should happen to look through our window. He cups my breast, gently kissing my back and brings his hand around to play with my clit as we fuck.

It’s so sensual and erotic, watching him sliding in and out of my cunt, my leg in the air, spread, my dress bunched around my waist, exposing me, my pussy, my breasts. I wrap my hand around my thigh, opening myself wider, allowing him better access to fuck me harder. We kiss passionately as he thrusts into me, holding me tightly to him so that we don’t roll onto the floor. I hold the handle above the door to allow him to thrust deeper, pushing back against his cock. I wonder again how many other couples have fucked in this car, how many drivers have heard the passionate groans and whimpers of forbidden, exhibitionist lust. Kristof is teasing me, holding me on the brink of orgasm, one minute stroking me, giving the hard nub of my clit his full attention with his fingers, and then taking me roughly and pounding into me, claiming his dominance as he takes his pleasure in my body, his hand on my throat holding me firmly in place as we fuck.

I am so close to climax, but he stops. He wants more and pulls gently out before helping me over onto my knees. Now he can bury himself deeper, take his turn using me for his pleasure and I push back onto him gripping the seat in front of me as he thrusts inside. At first, he holds my arse steady, fucking into me, his grunts of pleasure turning me on even more. I turn my head and catch Beau’s eyes in the mirror. For a moment, I can’t tear my gaze away; the knowledge that he is watching swirls through me. I should be embarrassed, I should look away, but instead, I bite my lip and moan louder, pushing back onto Kristof’s thick hardness. I roll my hips, pulling him deeper into me. He holds still, his hand on my back, and I fuck him, bucking against him, using his cock for my pleasure. He watches me bounce back onto him, then gripping my bum, he pounds his dick into me, stroking my inner walls and giving the sensitive spot the attention it needs, making me scream. I have never been so turned on, knowing that we are totally exposed, fucking like rutting animals for anyone to see, our naked flesh visible through the windows of the car, his arse from one side and my breasts, as he clutches at them, from the other. All inhibitions have disappeared, and I am revelling in our exhibitionism. I am aware that Beau is watching everything, and it excites me even more.

I need to cum. I need to finish, my pussy is aching with the desperate need for release, my clit tingling with sensations. We uncouple for a moment, take off my shoes, rearrange ourselves, and I straddle him, impaling myself on his cock, where he has easy access to my breasts and mouth, and Beau has the perfect view of my pussy swallowing Kristof’s cock to the hilt.

I take a moment to settle around him, my pussy filled completely, sucking in a breath at the sensation of him so deep inside me. This position always does it for me, heightening every sense. It feels so naughty, shamelessly riding my husband’s cock, taking my pleasure from him, using him to make me cum. Tonight, it feels even better. The car slows in traffic, and I can make out silhouettes of people in the vehicles alongside us. I know they can see me too, my head thrown back, my breasts escaping from my beautiful dress, the diamonds glinting at my throat and ears. It will be unexpected; but if they turn their heads, they will know what I am doing and will know that I am being gloriously fucked in my diamonds in our luxury car. They will know that our driver is watching us, that he can hear the sighs and moans of our desire. Will it turn them on, too? Will they go home and fuck their partners thinking of me? I wonder if Beau is touching himself as he drives or whether he will wait until he has dropped us off. Will he stay parked outside our apartment in the dark, his cock heavy in his hand as he thinks about what he has watched this evening. Will he make himself cum thinking about my tits, my pussy, thinking about how he watched me orgasm, how Kristof made me come apart? I cry out as I think about it, my dripping slit clenching around Kristof’s cock as I imagine all those eyes on me.

My husband, too, watches me as I fuck him, and I cling to his shirt, riding him harder and faster, the rhythm of our coupling making the back seat squeak, the neon of the city illuminating us as I near my climax. I bounce and roll, building up friction which drives me closer to release. We kiss again, the rub of his body against my clit almost sending me over the edge. I love him so much, love the way he knows exactly what I need, and love how he lets me take it, my pleasure becoming his pleasure. I am so close, my head thrown back as I clutch at his waistcoat, letting the sensations flow through me. He smiles up at me, his eyes dark with desire, and I know he is close, too. We shift position a little, my hand clinging to the handle above our heads, fingers gripping the walnut sides of the car.

I let myself go, fucking him hard, whimpering, “Yes, yes,” and “Oh fuck, yes,” as I edge closer and closer. The car slows at a junction; I know this will allow Beau to watch us properly again, and it is all I need to tip me over the edge. My orgasm claims me as my body shakes, my pussy pulsing around Kristof’s cock, and he grips my arse, kissing me softly as I come back to earth. I don’t stop riding him, I want him to cum too, I want to feel him fill me, and he grips my thighs, holding me up as he thrusts into me. I watch his face. His eyes closed as he fucks me hard until, with a groan of release, he cums, his heart pounding, legs shaking, as he gently lowers me back down onto him.

The aftermath of our passion makes us giggle together. We can’t stop kissing, still desperate for each other’s touch. I slowly ease myself off him, and the dribble of spunk makes me laugh again. I feel woozy with lust, replete and happy. We smile at each other, not quite believing what we have just done but not wanting the feeling to end.

“Did you enjoy that?” Kristof asks.

“I did,” I nod, smiling again, my face aching from it but unable to help myself. “I think plenty of others did, too!”

He grins, and I lean over, picking up my handbag from where it was discarded on the floor earlier and retrieving a tissue to clean us both up. We dress, chatting as though this were an everyday occurrence, casually rearranging our clothes, and Kristof, always the gentleman, helps me put my shoes back on. I notice that Beau has turned the music back up, the soaring notes of the opera filling the car once again.

“We finished just in time,” Kristof says, stroking my cheek. “I think we’re nearly home.”

“A perfect evening at the Opera,” I whisper, kissing him again.

The End

Continue reading..

Information STICKY FIG
Posted by: Simon - 11-19-2025, 03:51 PM - No Replies

   


“And this… is my daughter Carmina,” my proud father smiled as he introduced me to Miguel.  I was nineteen-years-old and it was the end of summer.

“Nice to meet you, Miguel,” I responded, somewhat abashed.

Wearing a pretty, white dress and my hair tied up in a ribbon, I’ll never forget the way Miguel looked at me the first time we me. But you know how it is; good, little rich girl meets handsome, young bad boy and she’s like a moth to a flame. He was eighteen-years-old, with a sparkle in his dark-eyes and working on my father’s vast swathes of farmland up in the hills. My darling father had spent the day overseeing the harvest, figs in one field, almonds in another when I’d gone to call him into lunch in his favourite spot – an outdoor table set in the shade of the cactus.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Carmina” was Miguel’s assured reply.

His eyes scanned up my lithe teenage legs, my wide-eyes, my full-mouth, my lips parted slightly with intake of breath as I registered this smouldering youth’s desire for me… A desire that, to this day, has not gone away. And can only ever be satiated in the heat of the sun… With outdoor sex…

Even now, Miguel likes me wearing white for our romantic sex escapades outside. It’s virginal he says. He prefers me looking innocent with my hair tied up in a ponytail complete with a girlish ribbon – it’s reminiscent of the first time, of course. Yet he knows now that I’m far from innocent, especially when I’m with him. It’s a far cry from my usual look of city-fashion-chic that I wear in Madrid… but when I’m back to visit my father, and to see Miguel, I know what makes him tick. The landowner’s daughter and the farmhand… that’s how we began and that’s how we like to make it work. Each summer, without fail and without much conversation.

I can see that Miguel’s hard even as I approach him, waiting amid the cactus and the crops, in a secluded spot near my father’s secluded lunch table. The silhouette of his throbbing cock can be seen through the drape of his linen shirt worn loosely over his shorts as Miguel leans back on the table – thrusting his pelvis teasingly forward as I tread along the path towards him. I kick off my espadrilles in readiness. My white shirt-dress sheer enough for the sun to catch my semi-naked form beneath. Miguel smiles – coolly keeping his gaze hidden behind his shades before glancing lower towards the tight peaks of my nipples, the only outward hint of my arousal.

“Hey, Miguel…” I smoulder.

“Hey. Carmina. Here we are again.” 

Wrapping his arm firmly around my waist, he draws me to him, engaging my mouth at once in a firm but sensual kiss. I can taste morning-coffee on his lips and a hint of brandy on his breath – the traditional combination for the local guys here. Miguel shares both with me as pushes his hot tongue deeper into my mouth, forcing it open, as his firm member presses hard against my thigh. This is Miguel – as hot and as horny as always. His fingers grip at my buttocks as he traces his breath and his touch over my gym-toned form and all I can think is that beneath the seductive Spanish-lace of my panties, I know the lips of my sweet sex now glisten with desire.

Running my hands up Miguel’s smooth torso, unbuttoning his shirt and clutching his face closer to mine, my kisses prove a firm response to his, my moans grow audible.

“Shall I take you, Miguel? Is that what you want?” my eyes seem to say as, with a lingering seduction, I lower downwards.

Taking his belt, my gaze turned towards his, I unfasten him – allowing his swollen, pulsing member to be taken into the heat of my hands. It’s a familiar feeling. My hands, my eyes, my tongue, my lips, my mouth – they all know the beauty of Miguel’s cock like a well-studied map; it’s familiar territory and my favourite place all-in-one.

As I wrap my lips around his girth, working his shaft in a smooth rhythm, Miguel stares down longingly – losing himself and his heart in the midday sun.

Just like the first time, I peel my white linen dress from my body and instinctively dance my lace-clad buttocks against his cock, pressing hard against him until I feel Miguel’s fingers tighten across my throat. It’s Miguel’s hint of kink – and how much he wants me and my pussy.

With Miguel’s help, I tease down my panties.

“Do you remember the first time?” I whisper as I slide my wet sex down onto his firm, smooth shaft and thrust against him. My pussy is as natural now as it was then; just the way Miguel likes it to be, hairy, and open to the warm breeze of the air and the heat of his balls pressing against me. Miguel pumps me hard at the thought of the time he took my virginity, right here fucked on the very same table. He rams me hard, the slap of skin against skin as he grabs at my breast, sending a build of shockwaves, my pleasure rising, my pulse rocketing, my heart beating fast…

I lie back for Miguel to take me deeper. On the table prepared neatly for my father’s lunch, as the white plates rattle with every thrust, I reach behind to take hold of another memory; a deliciously ripe, sweet fig set there by Miguel. And I know why, of course. That was his job when I first met him – harvesting figs. And now, they’ve become our plaything. Miguel’s fingers tear open the fig’s velvet flesh. With a teasing smile, he offers its moist sweetness direct into my mouth, seeping its delicious juice across my lips…

“Are you hungry again, my Carmina?” he asks me.

“Always, Miguel”, is my breathless reply.

And with his gaze locked on mine, he teases its stickiness across my nipple in readiness; sweet flesh upon sweet flesh…

Miguel likes nothing more than sharing the fruits of my father’s farm. As if to confirm it, he pushes me back onto the table, opening my legs and pressing his urgent mouth against my wanting pussy; consuming its sensual flesh, drinking in the scent and the exploring the pulsating urges of the aroused and open, ever-flowered orchid of my sex. His tongue flicks against my clit. His mouth devours me. His fingers thrust into me as I reach for another fig, pulling its tenderness apart and sharing it into Miguel’s hungry mouth.

It all started with Miguel sharing a fig beneath the shade of an olive tree and look where we are now, still eating each other at the same table and enjoying every bite. We smile as he eases up to full height, his member hard, my pussy open and ready to be fucked hard – right here and right now.

Miguel takes me hard. One leg pressed hard against his shoulder, I’m open to him. He thrusts deep. My groans build as my body is overcome by the firmness of his rhythm. A pause to get my breath – then he thrusts me hard, taking my breath away. Hard and deep; I gasp and moan. And again and again… pulsing-out all the frustration of our bodies since the last time we fucked until the next time I fuck my beloved Miguel again…

I moan aloud, I grab at the cloth, allowing my climax to overwhelm me from within as Miguel’s groans deepen and his swollen cock fills me with it’s hot, sweet and sticky seed – until our breath falls to gasping and bodies entwine into one. Just like the first time…

For Miguel and me, our love is that of the Spanish summer and sweet fruit and open air. And each year, we fuck just the same: outside at the table, in the shade of the cactus, before I sit down, like the good little rich girl I was when it all began and serve my darling father his lunch. Of course, I can’t help but wonder if my father ever notices that I’m naked beneath my white linen dress…

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Information TWO WET
Posted by: Simon - 11-19-2025, 03:49 PM - No Replies

   


She was drifting in the void between sleep and wakefulness, that most precarious of places where detailed and vibrant dreams are possible to direct and control. She usually explored her most outlandish sex fantasies in this state, frequently finding herself drenched when she finally emerged to full consciousness. This morning’s dream had only just started when she was rudely awoken by her inconsiderate brother of a flatmate slamming the front door. Why she had ever decided to move in with him was a mystery to her and she was counting the weeks until she could afford to find her own home. Until then she did at least have the advantage of watching an array of his male friends come and visit and it was one of these that had been the subject of this morning’s dream.

The friend in question had spent the night on the sofa after the two of them had been out drinking last night. She’d heard them come home in the small hours and she assumed they had now left for their regular weekend football practice, leaving her the luxury of an empty flat. He was by far the nicest of her Brother’s friends and she had been flirting with him on and off for a few weeks now, partly because he was rather gorgeous and partly just to annoy her brother.

In her dream she had watched him working up a sweat in an imaginary garden, his muscular torso glistening in the sun as he wielded an axe to chop wood but she’d woken before anything more exciting had happened, leaving her feeling aroused and more than a little frustrated. She let her imagination drift back to her dream and the still fresh images of his semi-naked body filled her mind as her fingers gently caressed their way down and began to softly stroke the damp flesh between her thighs. She conjured images of him undressing, revealing parts of him that she’d never seen but frequently imagined. Her finger slipped between the wet folds of her flesh and she pictured his hard muscular thighs as his jeans were tugged down leaving him fully exposed. She closed her eyes, willing the dream world to return and letting her imagination direct the action as her hands provided the physical stimulation her body demanded. She cupped one of her breasts, squeezing her already swollen nipple hard between two fingers, feeling the familiar electric ripples of pleasure racing through her as if wired directly to her pussy. Her thighs clamped around her other hand briefly, an automatic response to the pleasurable sensations filling her. Her fingers moved autonomously, their practiced movements maintaining the first flush of arousal with ease and building on it, parting her lips and easing towards her clit. She moved slowly, her fingers tracing lazy circles around it, careful not to press too hard too soon in case she gave in to her physical needs and forgot the fantasy sustaining it. 

In her mind she knelt before his naked body, visualising his perfect abs and beautifully erect cock. Soaking in the detail, she pictured smooth shaven balls that demanded to be cupped and licked. Her lips parted in readiness to take him deep into her mouth while her fingers found the firm flesh of her clit and squeezed it gently as she imagined licking along the length of his shaft while looking up into his eyes and watching the pleasure unfold on his face. Her neck and chest flushed a warm rosy pink as her excitement built rapidly, her arousal noticeably ahead of the action in her head. Her dream jumped forward to match her body and she found herself being lifted in his strong arms and felt the tip of his cock pressing against the sodden entrance of her pussy. Fingers acting as a substitute for the man in her dream she felt herself being stretched as he slowly filled her, easing into her sodden pussy. Pressing the heel of her hand against her clit she drove herself closer to climax, one hand a blur of motion while the other continued to pinch and squeeze her nipple, dream forgotten as she lost herself in ecstasy. Every movement edged her nearer to a peak and she cried out with reckless abandon as the first ripple of orgasm filled her senses, causing her hands to clench, fingers pressing hard against her most sensitive flesh, causing a second wave of pleasure to course through her and she cried out again.

Slowly she eased back to wakefulness, her heart returning to a normal pace and her awareness of her surroundings replacing the fantasy of the dream once more. Throwing back the covers she paused on the edge of the bed, toes pressed into the soft pile of the carpet, listening to the silence that pervaded the flat, checking that she really was alone. Confident that her brother and his friend had indeed left earlier she put her iPod on its dock and turned it on. Padding slowly across the hallway wearing nothing but yesterday’s perfume she left the doors to her bedroom and the bathroom open so that the music was still audible and turned the shower on. Hot water cascaded over her sending a wave of goosebumps racing across her body as if she were being caressed by invisible hands, the sensation was exquisite and she closed her eyes, savouring the feeling for the fleeting moment that it lasted.

He lay very still on the sofa. Last night had been one of heavy drinking and he’d resisted all earlier attempts at being woken. He was supposed to be at football practice but there was no way he was going to go today so he’d feigned sleep and made his friend go on his own which was no doubt the reason he had slammed the door so hard as he left. He’d thought that meant he had the place to himself for a few hours and planned to simply let himself out later. That had changed when he’d heard her cries of pleasure a few moments ago and remembered that his best friend shared a flat with his sister, someone he’d noticed several times and whom he had enjoyed flirting with in the past. Feeling like an interloper he tried to ignore the voyeuristic pleasure of hearing her climax and listened carefully, convinced that she couldn’t be alone and waited for a suitable moment to either announce his presence or make his escape and spare the blushes of the couple that were clearly having fun in the next room. He dressed silently, pulling on his jeans and shirt quickly so as to be ready to make his exit. He was about to move when loud music filled the air followed by the sound of someone moving from the bedroom towards the bathroom. This brought home to him the layout of the flat and he realised he had to pass both rooms to leave. The sound of running water was just audible over the music and he decided that was his cue. Leaving his shoes off so that he could walk silently he made his way to the door but couldn’t resist peeking into the bedroom as he passed. He was sure he had only heard one person enter the bathroom so had expected to see someone, but the room and the unmade bed were clearly empty.

Thoughts whirled through his mind, if there was only one person, then it had to be her and if she was in the shower then he definitely wanted a look. As the sister of a friend she had always been off limits but he’d long held a secret desire to see her naked and he could always pretend to still be drunk from last night if necessary, this was too good an opportunity to miss.

Steeling himself, he put down his shoes and walked quietly into the bathroom. As he rounded the corner he saw her in the shower. She had her back to him and he stood stock still, soaking in the view. She looked even better in the flesh than his imagination had suggested and he felt instantly aroused. He was aware of a growing pressure in his jeans and he knew he should leave but he was rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the deliciously illicit sight before him.

The hot water was intoxicating and combined with the aftermath of her orgasm she felt completely relaxed. A broad smile covered her face as she stood enjoying the hot stream of water cascade over her while she replayed the dream in her mind. She slowly turned, letting the water flow over her back and froze as she saw him standing there. It took a moment before she was sure whether he was really there or just a figment of her imagination. Emboldened by the dream and her still aroused state she smiled at him.

“Don’t just stand there” She said “Get over here and join me”

THE END

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Information LOVE LIPS
Posted by: Simon - 11-19-2025, 03:48 PM - No Replies

   


To the untrained eye, the adorable hunk in his pyjamas sitting on the stairs outside my kitchen doesn’t look like a sex god from a free erotic sex story. I admit I didn’t see it at first either, but after last night—oh, my God last night—I won’t ever see him the same way again. Just thinking about the things he did to me, as I spy on him from the doorway, make me wet.

I want to run my hands through his hair. I want to feel his hands roaming over my body. I want to feel his lips on mine—both lips, wet with an unquenchable appetite for the unassuming man I call My Love. He looks almost innocent reading the paper and pretending he didn’t have the best romantic sex of his life last night at the party. We both know better.

“Tea?” I approach him and offer my mug. My voice is still hoarse, and the crack in it makes him smile. My vocal cords can only take so much screaming and moaning in one night.

He takes the mug and sips while I sit behind him and wrap my arms around him. Last night’s cologne still lingers on his skin; musk, moss, and oak. My lips kiss his strong shoulders, and I absentmindedly flick my tongue out to catch a taste of salt from last night’s exertions. 

He pulls me to his lips and I can still taste the hot tea on his tongue. His hands run over my legs and, without a thought, they spread open for him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to keep them closed around him again. I’m surprised the bruises on my thighs haven’t shown up yet, but it’s only been a few hours since he savaged my poor little pussy. Soon his finger marks will reveal themselves, where he threw my legs over his shoulders and gave me the deep fucking I begged him for. For now, he pulls away and my pussy is flooded in anticipation as his mouth moves slowly down my body.

“Be gentle. I’m still sore,” I whisper. I don’t know why I said it. He already knows. His mastery of my sex is instinctual…almost animal. His blue eyes sparkle along with his sly smile. His lips are feather-light as they kiss and caress my mound over my soft cotton panties. The black lace g-string from last night is gone. Probably still under our host’s dining room table, where he bent me over and ripped them off in his impatience to be inside me. I ache but I’m eager for more. There is only one word for my desire for him after last night: insatiable.

I spread wider as he pulls my panties to one side, revealing what he wanted. Excitement. Desire. His kisses touch bare fleshy folds and I inhale sharply. My nipples harden and scratch against the fabric of my jumper. Licked, sucked, tweaked, and bitten, last night’s rough handling all come back to me as my breasts protest. But there is no stopping this now. He dives into my wet slit with his lips and tongue, splitting me open and healing the ache inside.

When his tongue swirling over my sensitive clit becomes too much, I pull him away. But he’s not done with me this morning. Not by a long shot. His dexterous fingers probe inside, gently massaging my battered little g-spot and making me jump with pleasure at each stroke. I approach the edge of ecstasy again around his hands, but I want more before I cum.

“You’re very good at that, but it’s my turn,” I growl.

We trade places on the stairs, and I find his cock underneath the pyjamas, hard and waiting for attention. Smooth velvet skin slides under my lips as I taste and tease his amazing prick. He moans and I smile despite a mouthful of cock. I love pleasing him this way. I love the way his eyes burn into mine with desire. A drop of his precum lingers on my tongue, and I rise to let him taste it on my lips.

Slippery, salty sex passes between our tongues and we both know what’s about to happen.

I yank off his bottoms and return to the source of my lust. After a minute, his cock is slick with my spit and my pussy is aching for attention. He’s had enough. I want him. Now!

He helps guide me into position on his lap, and I help guide his cock into my slick, swollen pussy.

“Oh God,” I moan as the head of his cock slides into me. Flashes of last night’s party fill my head as I feel each inch stretch and fill me. The masks. The heat. The music. The beautiful anonymous couples fucking and sucking wildly, just feet away from us.

Our eyes meet and I know, as I kiss his soft lips, that he’s remembering last night too. His fingers massage my clit and I enter a dreamlike state of sexual bliss. I want him to fuck me on this knife’s edge of orgasm all day. I want to hover here in his arms, with his cock buried inside me, but I know he won’t let me. His fingers know how to play me, and he’s building me to a crescendo.

“Get up,” he commands. “Turn around.”

I obey. Right now, I’m not the confident, powerful woman that exists outside this house. Now, with him in lust’s heat, I’ve surrendered. I am his plaything and I love it. My body cries as his cock slips from its home in my pussy, but I know he won’t be gone long. I turn and open my legs wide. My hair cascades around my face and he smiles as he sees me biting my lips in longing.

“Please…” I whisper.

“Hold on to the railing. You’ll need it.” His smile is gone.

Oh fuck.

I groan aloud as his cock slowly enters me. He buries his cock to the balls in my wet fuck tunnel and pauses. My pussy clenches around him. I shiver and move my hips. I can’t stand his teasing any longer. He slaps my ass for being an impatient brat, but his cock finally picks up the pace.

I savor his strokes, each one sending a tiny bump of erotic electricity through my body. He pounds me mercilessly. I try to suppress the moans and sighs of satisfaction, but I can’t. My legs shiver and strain as his body slams me around the stairwell. I hold on to the rail for dear life.

His hand slips through my thighs and finds my hot little button. Three circles of his deft fingers and my first orgasm rips through my body sending me to my knees. I try to vocalize my pleasure but my mouth is paralyzed by ecstasy. Grunts and moans are all he hears as I shake and writhe.

He grins with pride at his accomplishment. My tenth orgasm in twenty-four hours and I know one more is only seconds away as his cock works my insides into a frenzy. This morning it’s the stairwell, last night it was against the wall, on the dining room table, on a leather chair, and twice on the dance floor. We never even made it to the bedroom. Theirs or ours. By the time we crawled into our own bed, we were both naked, exhausted, and drunk on lust, love, and wine.

“Yesss…” I hiss and feel the eleventh orgasm coming from deep within me. My poor little, sore, abused pussy can’t handle anymore of his thick cock. I whimper and hump back harder on him. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples through me. I buck wildly as it finally washes over me.

“I’m cumming!” I scream and convulse. I don’t know what I actually say, but it’s what I want to say. All that comes out are sighs and mumbles of incoherent lustful satisfaction.

As the aftershocks of my orgasm subside, he slows his pace and pulls his amazing cock from my body. He smiles and kisses me tenderly. I recover on wobbly legs and we giggle together as his pajamas and my panties shift back to their pre-sex state. I need another three hours of sleep and I tell him so before heading to the bedroom. The inexhaustible fuck machine that is My Love chuckles and turns back to his morning routine.

As I go up the stairs, I look back and grin. He’s still hard, still ready for more, still insatiable—for me. He rocked me to two more orgasms and barely broke a sweat. I know my pussy will pay for this amazing weekend come Monday, but I will satisfy him.

Fully. Deeply. Completely.

THE END

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