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A Work Of Art
It's you. By an act of fate, you are here in front of me. I am in awe of your body, and I admire you from a short distance, speechless and unable to form words. My eyes travel leisurely over the full picture that is you. Beautiful, thick, dark hair. Broad shoulders. Arms chiseled, yet inviting a warm embrace that will inevitably end too quickly.
Midsection is solid, intentional, set beautifully over the perfect ass: easy to watch as you walk away, stopping traffic and stealing glances wherever you go. Your legs are powerful, shapely, with a confident and purposeful stride. Your face is a work of art. Deep black eyes accenting high cheeks that frame your gorgeous smile, eyes alive with the heat that emanates from you. You are art that only gets better with time.
My mind wanders to a private place where we can spend all the time we need without the constraints of schedules or subtlety. Time has stopped. I admire your cuts, angles and curves at close range, tracing a line across your shoulders, down your arms, around your waist; encircling your beautiful ass, kneading it with my hands and forcing myself to pull away. I set my sights on what I now know is the most beautiful dick I've ever seen or held. Clean shaven, showing full shaft and balls so enticing I can't wait to get my mouth around them.
I'm wet now, pussy lips quivering, waiting their turn to entertain this gorgeous dick in front of me. I lick my lips, tongue reaching out tentatively, waiting for a sign from you to move in closer. Your dick is straining against your body, seeming to pull your hips towards me and your dick directly into my mouth. The first lick explores, my tongue flicking over the tip, down one side of the shaft, and gently brushing over your balls. You taste so good and I want to devour you. I lick my way back to the tip of your dick, lightly probing for cum, determined to taste your sweet juice, swallowing every drop.
I play around the tip, holding your balls in my hand, feeling them swell as your dick gets harder. I ease my mouth over your dick, thick and heavy as it slides over my tongue and into my throat. Your skin is soft to the touch yet solid as a brick as it fills with semen. Your eyes are closed and a sensual smile plays across your lips as you enjoy me enjoying you.
Now you're ready, and your face wears a grin of anticipation. I'm licking you faster, covering your dick from swollen tip to heavy balls with rivers of saliva to keep you half as wet as my pussy is, waiting to feel you explode in my mouth; coaxing an ocean of cum past my waiting lips and down my parched throat. You grab my hair and force my face against your body, ensuring my mouth will not let go. I grab your ass to force your dick closer into my face, preventing even one drop of your delicious liquid from spilling outside of my mouth. Each thrust glues us together, your dick growing longer and harder, and now I'm sure that this beautiful dick connected to a gorgeous man is going to break through the back of my head and I'm taking every inch because nothing has ever tasted better to me and I want to feel you explode...
You cry out slightly as you cum, your hands still on my head, my hands still on your ass and my mouth drinking hungrily as your warm liquid shoots out of your dick. I lick you more, sucking the head of your dick for any last drops and enjoying your dick's steady throbbing as it recovers.
You pull away, lay me on my back and bury your face in my soaking wet pussy. You find your rhythm and have me purring in ecstasy almost immediately. Flicking, probing, gentle nibbling has my pussy straining for every bit of your touch. I gasp for air and beg you not to stop. I've never felt anything like this and never knew I could be this wet. I hold my breath when you take your tongue away, only for it to catch in my throat when you shove that beautiful dick, hard again and eager to explore, into my welcoming pussy.
This is just too good to end. Each dick thrust has me gripping the grass beneath me in ecstasy. I can't get enough of your dick or your tongue, and you've got my pussy quivering out of control. You wrap my legs around your neck and plunge your dick as deep as it can go. I let out a scream as my body rocks in orgasm. My pussy grabs your dick once more as cum pours out of you. Cum drips out of my pussy and down my thigh. I'm not letting any get away, so I wipe it off and lick every drop of you off of my fingers. So amazing, and I can't wait to do it again.
The End.
Wrestling the Shrew
Another conference. At least that is what our company calls them when they summon you to head office. Two hundred miles from where I live. "A conference where we will hear about new products, deepen our knowledge of existing products, and learn more the marketing strategy our company is developing." At least that is what the letter said, but most of us knew what it really meant -- or certainly the last part about developing "the marketing strategy." Generally it means being given targets to meet which are ludicrous; it means being shouted at for lack of sales; it means being compared unfavourably to some mystical office with miraculous sales; it means being berated for lack of commitment; it means being asked to give our souls to the company. As much as we complain about these "conferences," we have to go. And the worst part -- where we have to stay. We have to find hotels. Spend a week eating hotel food, spending nights in pointless bars passing pointless hours watching pointless television programmes dreaming of bedding the gorgeous girl who just walked in with the muscled hunk............
It was my wife who came up with the solution. Apart from telling me to stop moaning, she suggested I stay with her sister and her husband. Joan and Mike were friendly, easy going people, although I didn't know them particularly well -- they had always lived some distance from us. However, they had recently moved to the same city as the conference, and while I would have to get a local train from their home to "head office," it was only a 20 minute train ride, and they only lived a five minute walk from the station. A couple of phone calls from my wife Mandy to her sister, and it was arranged, although I'm sure the arranging didn't take the 96 minutes the phone call took!
Joan and Mike were now in their late forties, their children left home, and had no problem finding a spare room for me. Delighted to see me and get to know me a bit better, according to Mandy. They had always been a couple that were a bit different from the norm. Joan was a strong personality with strong opinions. Most of those opinions revolved around what Mike should do, and be like. Do things like the shopping, looking after the children, fitting the new cupboards. According to Joan, he should be a go-getter, an ambitious man, none of which fitted Mike at all. Mike was a gentle, meek guy who did what his wife told him to. Joan I reflected on -- now in her late forties, she always had a good figure -- tall, slim, shoulder length black hair, often caught in a pony tail. Joan worked out at the gym a couple of times a week, as well as rode a bike everywhere. The exercise kept her body slim and, well, to be honest, hot.
The trouble was, I got on fine with them both, particularly Mike, but had had my share of run-ins with Joan. She tried to tell me what to do when I saw her. She tried to get me involved in the causes she cared about. And she tried my patience when talking politics. We got on, initially, but we constantly had battles when we were together -- probably two egos battling it out. Well, I could live with her for a week -- anything had to better than the hotels. And to be true it would be less than a week -- I would catch the early train and go straight to "head office" on the Monday morning, then only go to their house after the Monday sessions, and leave after Friday Breakfast, going to the final day, then going straight home when the conference ended. Just 4 nights -- we couldn't start world war three in 4 nights could we????????
It felt like it had been a long day, as I rode the train out into the suburbs to the, hopefully, relaxing home of my in-laws. It had been an early start to get to "head office" for 10.00am, then spend 7 hours in talks and seminars and workshops and lunchbreaks, but now it was good to sit silently on the train, keen not to miss the stop, pulling the google map out of my pocket..........
Ten minutes later I was ringing the doorbell on a strange house. The door was opened by Mike who shook me warmly by the hand before taking my suitcase and leading me into the sitting room. Joan came over to me smiling, kissed me on either cheek, welcomed me. It had been a couple of years since I had seen Mike and Joan, and Joan looked good. Slim, tallish, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, looking as good as I remembered. Mike was about the same height, dressed in trousers and shirt -- the tie and jacket from his work had already been shed.
The evening was easy -- good food, washing up, watching the telly, catching up on family -- Mike and Joan saying how much they were enjoying things now the kids had left home. If there was one slight hitch, it was perhaps seeing Joan getting Mike to do things. Telling him to take my case to my room, telling him to make coffee, telling him to show me around the house. It wasn't a worry to me, but you would say you could see who wore the trousers in their house, and it reminded me of my wife Mandy telling me that older sister Joan had always been bossy when they were young.
The next day -- Tuesday -- passed slowly, and again it was back to Joan and Mike's house. Again a pleasant evening although it changed slightly -- Joan's bossiness was beginning to embrace me. I felt I was ordered to wash up with Mike -- which I was happy to do, then told where to sit. Told the TV programme I wanted to see wasn't worth watching. It was still a pleasant evening and I took the opportunity to phon
e Mandy to see how she was.
Again Wednesday went as well as you might expect, but this time things were a bit more difficult at Joan and Mike's house. It felt like Mike was ordered to take me to the pub for a drink, and Joan seemed to think it was her responsibility to tell me what to wear to the pub. And exactly what time we should be back. At the pub Mike admitted that Joan organised his life, and as much as he had tried he couldn't seem to get the opportunity to make his own decisions. But then, he admitted, he enjoyed having someone to run his life -- all of his life, he said with a wink. And someone who would spank him when he was naughty........... I changed the subject quickly -- It didn't seem the right thing to be talking about.
When we were twenty minutes late back from the pub, Joan gave us a good telling off -- and she meant it -- about how we had made her worried, and should have more respect. When I went to bed I didn't feel comfortable -- I suppose I had never stayed with Mike and Joan before without Mandy there, and had never experienced the full bossiness. At the same time it was clear that Mike was almost happy to be treated like a naughty child, submitting to Joan's rule. And that wink in the pub suggested he enjoyed being submissive, allowing Joan to dominate him.
Thursday was much like the rest of the days at "head office," but when I arrived home it was clear Joan and Mike were in the middle of a row. Joan seemed to stand tall, looking stunning in a simple t-shirt and knee length skirt, while Mike seemed to be cowering like a little child. They greeted me warmly, but the row continued. One might say, rather than row, that it was a monologue, with Joan telling Mike he should do what he was told, and be more helpful, and sort out the things she asked him to sort out and................. and it went on all through our meal. At some stage through the meal I said, trying to change the subject: "I'm sure Mike won't be like that tomorrow will you Mike.?"
It wasn't the right thing to say: Joan snapped at me, about how all you men stick together, and are as bad as each other. I was rather annoyed, but kept quiet. Joan continued telling Mike how bad he was, listing his short-comings. The odd thing was that Mike seemed to enjoy it. Being told off. Humiliated in front of me. As Mike and I went to wash the dishes, Joan's parting shot was "Perhaps I should give you a good spanking later, and let Tony watch and see you get what you deserve." Mike went bright red, but I noticed he had to move strangely, to accommodate a bulge in his trousers. Somehow the argument had introduced a tenseness into the house which hadn't been there earlier in the week.
As we finished, I wandered into the sitting room carrying the tea-towel. Joan was standing by one of the chairs, and tried to snatch the tea-towel from me, but didn't quite get it from my hand. She glared at me, demanding: "Give it to me, so I can put it out to dry".
We were suddenly staring at each other, until I spoke quietly. "No."
"Don't be silly," she said condescendingly. She reached for it again, caught the edge of it but I wouldn't let go.
"No-one speaks to me like I am a little child," I said quietly to her.
She started to pull the cloth as she spat back at me: "I'll talk to you as you men deserve, you spineless idiot."
