by Sophie Sin
Dear Reader of This Letter,
My name is Penrose P. Smith. It is Penrose with an P and a dot, not a period, nor a full stop or any other fangly-dangly item of weird punctuation that one can come up with from many of the languages of skulduggery or other malarkey that one might call British English, or, worse, anything South of Texas, West of the sunny shores of California or suburbianly placed in the heart of New York with all its disgusting channels of masculine and semi-masculine post modern 21st century masochism. It is P with a dot and it stands for PERVERT.
Now, dear reader, you might wonder why I have taken the time to scribe those letter with such force into the parchment that you are reading right this very moment, but I assure you there is good reason. Since the day that I sucked upon my nanny's breasts I was a pervert; from the moment my sister's closest friend flashed a hint of a petticoat my way in a youthful girilish attempt at flirtation I was a pervert; at the very second that my first love screamed "Hawh!" in the heat of my oral pleasuring of her lowest regions – not frontal but rearward bound – I was a pervert. With that clearly established let me go onwards with what I must tell you.
First, there is a train that is known as the Bang-Bang Express. It runs from the deepest reaches of that filthy city one might know as New York, or the Big Apple, or something of similar distasteful sound to the ears, all the way over to the charming city of Chicago – no properer place on this Earth exists for a man to lay his head in rest on the wide and large breasts of a Southern woman of vintage brown chocolate color. It is a trip that takes the stretch of some days and is worth every dollar and cent that one might spend on it.
My trip began with a bang. Just as promised, I suppose, but most certainly not expected.
At 8:00am I board the platform with my tweed luggage being pulled along by a hired man servant whose name is so irrelevant that it escapes me right at this moment. His broad shoulders were a useful tool to disperse the filth of the Ugly Apple and for that I was pleased at having him along.
We came to the doors leading in when a perverted urge came upon me. Seeing the large ladder that lead up towards the train's large wooden double doors, I knew that something lewd must be done as standing only 15 yards or less away was a gaggle of young woman of college age wearing the crude long dresses of those who undertake the most religious of schooling – a crippling curse to all men everywhere who seek not a wife but a harlot in a good woman's form.
Sending the young buster up the stairs with orders to be gentle with my goods, I head down the train some and find a spot to jump down onto the tracks Now, some might call this foolhardy, others quite brave (perhaps in that way that indicates they still think I am not fully there), but I am at this point very caught up in my urges and I have found that holding back leads to... shall we call it 'social discourtesies'. These have landed me in under the jailer's eye several times and only good fortune, an excellent lawyer and considerable resources have saved me from further incarceration. Hence, I follow my need, being a creature of it in so many ways.
The women approach the steps and begin their prancing past. Blue panties are the first that catch my eye. Let me describe them for you: Blazing blue, slightly too tight, full and round at the rear as the owner has a well toned pair of buttocks – perfect for spanking I might add – and with a little cross in the center created by her wonderful tunnel and the press of having such tightness jammed upwards and inwards. Next is virgin white and I can say for certain that the one wearing them is most certainly that. Her legs are long and smooth and make me uncomfortable downstairs in my gray heavy fabric trousers – adding a extra crease at the front. After comes red and then yellow and, finally, the icing on the cake, so to speak, in the form of a pearl white pair.
This last one brings upon me the need to wipe a little spot of drool from my lips. Her panties were much too tight for such a god fearing woman to be wearing and were smudged with the faintest musk of need. They stuck to her like they were nothing but skin. It was a miracle.
Checking the time and noting it is 8:10am and soon time to leave, I rush up to the platform and nod carefully to the tired looking conductor of similar years, who gives me an odd look back.
"This woman," I mutter. "I must find her."
In the heat of the moment I am prone to talking to myself. This is no different.
Her name I do not know, reader. Which of those fair young woman it was is beyond me. I know nothing. Yet I want everything.
It is a challenge being me some days.
Come 10:00am I am sitting in my private car meditating on which I will approach first when a hint of plain tones passes the faded glass window of my door. I come up to my feet and to the door. Looking out I see a woman.
"Is it you, sweetness?"
I have already given her a nickname. Sweetness will be it.
Reader, I tell you. Being a professional of the perverted kind there are ways that one knows of how to establish the filthiness of a woman quite quickly. Of course, these often backfire, but that is not what my letter is about to you. All I wish to say is that it is 50/50 whether I survive this or get arrested, but the result is worth it.
I hurry along the hallway, the train trickety-trackety-ing down the long rails towards the fair city of Chicago in the background. She is a waif of a girl. However, this does not perturb me in the slightest: Youth is gorgeous and I only restrict myself to those over 20 because the law states it so. To my eyes this one most certainly is old enough – by law or otherwise – so a fair attempt can be given for a little play on my side.
Her sought out place is the far bathroom. I wait a moment for her to go inside before sneaking in after.
“BUT WAIT! Isn't this a little risky?” you ask.
Well, esteemed reader, it is. But when has reward come without such? Think over that the next time you are too afraid to do something. It is truly the cure-all of all things fearful.
With the grace of a gazelle in full sprint, I flip up on my hands, so my head faces downward and my eyes are just right for looking under the lip of the other stall. The woman shifts about. Does she hear me? My breath is paced, my heart is full and her panties are red. The sound of something yellow and steamy warms my ears. As a pervert I can tell you that this is truly wondrous.
Her panties come up. I have admired them with both trepidation and turmoil. Red. Not white. Not white, I say. That is the hardship that I must bear in this moment.
She leaves. I pop down on my hands and nimbly sit down upon the toilet. What a problem I have here. My mind will not for a second allow me the grace of a moment's rest. It was arousing to hear such a gorgeous young woman of college age empty herself with such little concern for who might be listening. The surety that I should find this woman is strong, yet the white... Oh that damningly pearly white! How can a man dine on charcoal when gorgeously tasty mutton is available?
I come to my feet and stroll out with my hands in my pocket and my heart feeling dejected by my bad luck this time around. There is a woman in the hallway standing near the door of my room. I glance to her and away. She is gorgeous, but I am settled now on the idea of having that white pair today.
“Excuse me. Are you, Mr. Smith?” she asks.
I sigh. It's that, isn't it?
“Yes,” I sigh out dramatically. “I am he.”
Her eyes widen with pleasure. I note that her breasts are large and perky. The waist is slim and the face is heart shaped, as if to point downwards to where I am looking at this point.
“Can I have your autograph?”
My pen is out. I sign the book that she holds out to me. Unfortunately, dear reader, I am a writer of short fiction of the most boring kind – travel books. This one is a particularly unpleasant specimen that I hoped would never see the light of day, but has become a timeless classic in the genre to my utter and long lasting disgust.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I really appreciate this.”
I breath in and nod as she turns. The young woman must be barely 20. I wonder if s
he is part of the group of college students. Her clothing is plain and unremarkable: A blue sweater and a gray long dress. Something about the waddle of her rear makes me take better notice of the woman though.
“Hold there,” I say.
The woman stops on my command and glances back.
“Yes?”
I look down to her buttocks. Yes, they were about that shape...
“I have need of conversation. Would you pleasure me with your company?”
A blush forms on her face.
“If it would be alright. You must be very busy with your next book.”
I stifle a laugh. These things are written in hours rather than the months that people believe my work takes. I have a stack of manuscripts sitting about that I feed my publisher with promises of more always present and available. It is my work to 'pretend' that I didn't just steal most of the information I give from the top selling books in my genre. Perhaps it is my writing skill that makes them palatable. For the most part, I do not care.
She enters. I sit.
“What is your name?”
My voice is commanding. She is named Anna Heart.
“And what do you do?”
“I'm training to be a nurse.”
“College?”
“Yes.”
“But your clothes...”
She plucks out her sweater. For a second I see the hint of a nipple pressing through the fabric.
“I spilled some wine on it before. This is my spare clothing.”
A long and slow, “Ohhh...” exits my mouth.
“Anna have you ever had sex with someone famous?”
The woman blinks several times. There is no answer, so I repeat myself.
“I... um--- I've never considered... I mean, me? I'm very plain, don't you think?”
It is her! The look in those eyes. She is playing with me as a fox does a chicken before consuming it. Like a viper she is ready to strike. I can feel my heart beating as she looks upon me with those eyes full of calculated understanding. Did she see me enter the toilet? Perhaps she saw me under the train? Or is it so plainly apparent that I am what I am that any who shares anything close to a similar feeling on all things sexual can tell immediately?
“Let us dispense with the formalities. I wish to break you. Are you willing?”
Her eyes lock on mine. This is the one. There is no doubting it.
“You think that you can break me, Penrose?”
My first name. Now we are getting started.
“Without a doubt.”
I stand and grab her dark brown hair. We pass through a tunnel. Flashes of light. Darkness. Her on the floor on her hands and knees. Dark. My hand raised and her bare bottom exposed by her thrown up dress. A cry in the dark and a chuckle.
Light pours in through the window. I stand above with my hand raised high. It glistens with the dew of her inner pleasure.
“You are soaked.”
“I have a hard time controlling myself,” she explains.
Lucky is the man that finds a harlot that looks like a maiden.
“Then you do not need much foreplay. Let us move along briskly.”
I grab up my cane. It has a head shaped very much like a man's penis. It's gold plated appearance glitters as I make use of some oils that I keep in my pocket.
“You are going to spank me with that?”
Her greedy expression makes me smile.
“Much more, darling. You will find this to be quite interesting, I think.”
I rip her panties away. She is shaven.
The top hole bulges as I push the head of the cane into her. It is hooked a little. I draw it upwards and drive her forward like I am operating some kind of aircraft. She groans and crawls towards the door.
“We are going to go for a walk, little doggy. Be good for your master and do not mess yourself on the floor.”
Her eyes widen as I take her into the hallway. This is incredibly risky as I am an older man and she a much younger woman. Society will judge me for this and provide appropriate punishment if caught. At this point, reader, I do not care.
I make her crawl to the toilet door and open it so that she can enter inside. The cane sticks out from her rear like a long tail. The size is large and the head is all the way inside now. I take her to the stall and get her up and squatting. The skirt gets in the way of my view, so I have her pull it up and over her head to discard. The elastic around the waist makes this possible.
With her wide and rounded buttocks in front of me and her thighs bunched in a tight pose, I reach between her legs after closing the door and feel the wet surface of her womanhood.
“Doggy needs to pee,” I note.
The woman gasps. I admire her expression. Probably no man has so wantonly suggested that she do such a thing. I feel that as a sensation of sharp pleasure that centers around my groin.
Yellow flows. I admire it closely and lick my lips. When she is done, I remove the cane and put it to her mouth.
“Clean this for me. I don't want it to be messy later.”
Her tongue comes out. This one will do anything for pleasure. I can see it in her eyes that this is so.
She works her pink around the musty scented gold. It is glorious.
“Now, empty the back.”
Another gasp and another first for her. I watch in pleasure again as it slips out.
“Wipe yourself.”
She does.
Taking her by the hand, I draw her out in the hallway and parade her along the line of windows in the VIP section. People can be seen sitting and performing actions that people usually do on trains: Reading, sleeping and so on. I make her take her top off and discard with her bra, so that she is only wearing the small pair of flat shoes she came into my cabin with. We walk to the end of the car and I press her to the stained glass of the window. Beyond here is the cheap seats. They will be full right now. Women, men, her colleagues in learning, perhaps a teacher or two as escort, they can all probably see the silhouette. It will not click that what they are seeing is her huge breasts pushed to the glass, but that is beside the point. Both of us know that we are on the verge of something here. Heaven and hell and damnation, dear reader. We live upon the boundary and dare to throw cusses at the devil for his hardships. Getting caught right now... that would be arousing.
I take my penis from my pants. It is massive and bulging by now. The head enters her rear and she cries out softly. I stifle any sound with my palm and push in hard. It is lubricated and somewhat stretched, so there is no fear of harming her.
With my pants around my ankles and her naked body bunched against the door, I pound into her rear with full force. Stroke after stroke until the door is shaking.
“Bitch,” I moan. “You heated little bitch. Master is pleased with doggy.”
It is satisfying to hear only moans in response. I know she's not listening and only feeling. This is excites me to no end.
A door opens behind us. I twist around and see a man looking into his cabin. He doesn't see us and is busy talking to a woman inside.
Like two teenagers in love, we rush into my room and close the door tightly. I take no time in re-entering her rear. She bemoans my lack of use of her other hole, but I am stern in my punishment for such talk. Why would I want such a thing when this one has such a kinky little trapdoor.
The shadow of the man passes. I pound so hard into her body that the door shakes. Those large breasts of hers are almost crushed into the glass. Anyone on the other side would see two round brown circles and some white fleshy looking rounds.
There is a knock on the door as I nearly reach my climax. I sigh in annoyance and push the woman aside. She goes down to her knees with two digits working between them while her wicked mouth suckles the life from my manhood.
“Sir, there have been some complaints of banging.”
It is the conductor. He looks even more tired.
“I am writing. It is a creative process that produces... ah...”
>
I'm close. She tenses. Down below I hear a moan. Her eyes tell me that she just came.
“... noises. I will try to be more quiet.”
The man glances to the door. I know he knows what is going on. He must have heard the moan.
Instead of forcing entry and reprimanding us, he gives me a grin and nods his head.
“I imagine it is, sir.”
And off he goes. I turn and grab her head. To me it is just another hole for my use. I imagine her as a glory hole as I do it. In and out. No respect for the throat I ram into, the flesh I bend, the mouth I ruin.
“Bitchhh...”
It pours in. My little doggy laps it up like a good pet.
“Dat was a bot,” she gurgles before swallowing it all.
I kiss her and drag her to the long leather seat. Already I am hard. It is the first of many times that I use this one this day.
So, reader, I have taken a bit of white space here to give pause of breath from the climax of my story. This letter has, as I have hoped, presented to you myself and my perverted nature. The Bang Bang Express was only one of many times that I have encountered occasion to be myself – the dirty man I am – and I am sure we will correspond again. Until then continue greatly into your future and be of good health.
Yours faithfully,
Penrose P. Smith
Sophie's Book Note For Seducing My Friend's Mum
I read Hemingway. I admit it. Guilty as charged. Because I do, I sometimes get caught up in his style. The man had a way with words and didn't skimp on dialogue when needed. Limited description with long layers of dialogue as the central draw card. He did it well.
Sometimes I like to practice that. This work, the MILF one, is a work of practice. It's my way of trying something out. I like how it came out. The sex was hot and the dialogue fit in better than I thought it would. Sometimes in erotica dialogue can turn a good sex scene sour. I don't feel like this is the case this time around.
That's all there is to say. Copying a master for practice.