So I did. I worked my fist along my erection and soaked up all of her through my eyes. Joy played her part well, pouting at me, blowing kisses, letting her legs lewdly fall apart to reveal that hirsute place between her legs.
Years later, when I met her again by accident in a club in London in the 1990s, I discovered she then favoured the waxed look, she'd stopped smoking too, but in 1976 our Joy was au natural.
'Can't I just feel them?' I asked, desperation cracking my voice as I yanked hard. 'Please, Joy ...'
'Just do it,' the woman dismissed my request. 'Maybe another time,' she added.
The possibility of touching Joy's jugs, albeit only a vague acquiescence, forced me over the edge; that and the way she hefted her breasts in her palms, her forefingers teasing her nipples to thick points. Under Joy's intense stare I grunted and hunched forward. Pleasure surged through me as I came. Sweet relief from the agony of my yearning came as Joy cried out in delight when she watched and heard my semen spattering against the porcelain bathtub.
'Rinse that mess away,' the girl instructed peremptorily. She rose from her throne, again leaving abruptly, just like the previous occasion. I stood and stared at the door through which she'd left, my cock slowly wilting, the inevitable dribble sliding from the slit.
The third time was when Dad did an about turn. Joy, as was becoming the pattern, was at my door as soon as my father left. We both heard the latch snick and stared at each other. We were both naked, Joy in the doorframe of my bedroom, with me standing at the foot of my bed. Joy shot into my room like a bullet when Dad called up the stairs.
'Forgot my wallet,' he yelled in a voice as big as his fists.
'Just off for a bath,' I ad-libbed, making up any excuse for my semi-clothed state as he paused on the landing and looked into my room. My heart was hammering and I struggled for breath. If he came into the room, if he decided to just step inside he'd see his naked girlfriend huddled behind the door. From my position I could see both of them -- my father with a fat wallet in his hand, and Joy crouched there with huge, frightened eyes. 'You seen Joy?' Dad asked.
I feigned ignorance. 'Not since this afternoon,' I replied. Could he not hear the tremor in my voice? Did my face not scream my guilt? She's hiding behind the door ... naked! She poses nude for me every other Tuesday while I ogle her tits and bush and wank off ...
'Fuckin' hell ...' Joy gasped, collapsing onto my bed next to me when the door slammed downstairs. She giggled. 'He almost caught us,' she muttered, shaking her head and turning huge eyes towards me. A light shone there, Joy looked like she actually enjoyed the close call. A laugh bubbled from her chest. 'You covered up so fuckin' quick,' she spluttered. 'Jumped like a scalded cat.' She rolled on the bed, laughter, uncontrolled now, coming in huge sobs. 'Your face ...' she managed before erupting again.
I thought the scare would put her off, my hard-on had certainly wilted, but it appeared that, if anything, Joy was more excited than ever. When she'd calmed, and the laughter had abated to the occasional hiccup, Joy rolled off the bed.
'Make it hard,' she ordered, suddenly serious. I wriggled out of my jeans and, at Joy's order, lay on the bed. My cock rapidly recovered from the scare. 'Let me,' Joy said. She sat next to me, her body so close I could just reach out a hand and touch her. She leaned across me, her breasts swinging. Joy crossed her legs, sitting on the edge of the mattress, her torso hovering over my lap.
'Joy ...' I gurgled when her fingers closed around my girth. 'I ...'
'Shush,' the girl crooned. 'I know,' she said ambiguously. What did she know? How good it felt to have her holding me? How desperate I was to touch her? How close I was to spunking over her wrist and forearm at that slight pressure from her fingers?
She tugged at me for a time, perhaps a minute, maybe two. I watched her face as she coaxed the jizm from me. She stared at her handiwork, concentrating avidly, her eyes slipping to mine occasionally. Joy smiled at me during one of those momentary interludes. 'Just let it go,' she whispered.
'Joy,' I croaked again, my buttocks lifting from the bed.
The stuff showered down in an indiscriminate rain, spattering onto my skin and hers. I groaned and gulped as the pressure squeezed along my cock, great gobs of spunk arcing from me.
I heard Joy squeal with delight. 'You come buckets,' she cried, her fingers still tight around my cock. 'I can't believe how much of this stuff you make.
Finally I lay gasping, spunk spattered across my chest and belly. Joy looked at me, stared right into my face and then smirked. Her eyes narrowed and her face twisted into a strange expression. She lifted her hand and I saw my ejaculate sliding over her wrist.
Then, to my surprise, the girl leaned forward and kissed my mouth. She broke away after the briefest of kisses, nothing more than a compression of her lips on mine. With that weird look on her face still, she slowly brought her arm up to her mouth. I gasped when she licked a strand of glistening jizm clinging to her wrist.
'See you in two weeks,' she said, winking.
And so it went on. My dad would leave, we'd wait the twenty minutes -- God I was so stiff with anticipation during the interlude. Then Joy would come to my door and we'd play the game however she wanted to. I'd wank, she'd watch; sometimes she'd do it to me, but I wasn't allowed to touch.
'Why?' I asked once. 'What are we doing this for?'
She thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. 'I think I told you,' Joy said. 'I get a thrill out of it. Plus,' she added, 'you're a virgin. It's like I'm teaching you something.'
'But I want to touch you,' I wheedled. 'I want to touch you and kiss you and ...'
'I know what you want to do. But I think that if we do it, if we go that far, it'll spoil things.'
'What about my dad?' I don't know why I asked that, it just came out of me.
Joy shrugged again. 'What about him? It'll end soon. I'm not with him for ever.' She rolled onto her front, side by side with me on my bed, which, being single, meant that her skin was pressed close to mine. I looked at the twin mounds of her buttocks, saw myself kisses those cheeks. Joy hoisted herself onto her elbows, breasts squashed against the bed cover. 'I'm saving up,' she informed me. 'When I've got enough money I'll head for London. I want to open a bar there one day.'
It was a simple dream, and one she'd fulfil.
'Can I come too?' I asked.
'No,' Joy said quickly. 'Not a chance of it.' She reached an arm across my middle, touched my cock with her forefinger. 'Too many complications,' she explained wisely. My penis stirred at her touch. 'Anyway ...' Joy's finger traced lightly along the length of me. '... Just shut up and give me my show. Let me see how excited you can get before you blow the stuff.' Pushing off the bed and resting on her knees she kissed me. Something had changed; there was a subtle shift in the girl's attitude. I don't know what triggered it, and I didn't much care. Joy had kissed me. And then she uttered those words: 'You can touch me this time.'
And how I touched her. I knelt, facing her, one hand on my cock, the other going straight for her breasts.
'Gently,' Joy murmured. 'Touch me gently.'
I let go of my cock and ran my palms lightly over the taut globes of Joy's tits. They felt wonderful, nothing like how I'd imagined. I found her breasts taut and firm, not jelly-soft as I'd thought. Joy sighed when I moved a tentative hand down her body, moving over her soft tummy, getting closer to the thatch of hair between her legs. Her eyes opened and she stared at me when my fingers passed her belly button.
'Can I?' I whispered.
Without speaking Joy reached for my wrist. She pushed my hand firmly down. I gasped when I felt her bush under my fingers.
'Lick me there,' she murmured, her breasts squashing against my chest as she kissed my mouth. After that sweet first kiss with tongues she lay back on my bed and opened her legs to me. I could see, through the dark pubic hair, a hint of scarlet. 'Just here,' the woman indicated with a fingertip. She held herself open, pointing to where she wanted my tongue.
>
The first taste of her was slick and oily. It wasn't what I expected, didn't rally taste of anything, but the texture of her, the viscous slide of her arousal thrilled me. I lapped and prodded and tongued, even used my fingers, all at her murmured instruction. After some time a great sob and a cry burst from the woman and, at first, I thought I'd injured her in some way -- jagged her with a fingernail or something -- but then, after a long, slow sigh, Joy grunted and mumbled that she'd come.
I'd brought her off. Me! With my tongue. The first time I'd ever done it to a woman and she'd climaxed.
'Lie down on your back,' Joy ordered, shoving at my shoulder. 'It's time for you,' she muttered. To my slack-jawed delight the woman lifted one leg over my supine form. She held my member upright, squatting over me.
The picture of her hovering over me is still vivid after all these years. Her long hair brushing her shoulders; her face scrunched, serious with concentration. Joy's breasts hung, swaying in their fashion, a peculiar defiance of gravity. I can still picture her thighs, taut with effort; her narrow waist and voluptuous swell of her stomach; her pubic bush, matted with desire; dangling labia pouting thick and heavy and brushing the tip of my cock with a featherlike caress.
I fell in love with her then, in the moment before.
This is it, I thought. Fuck ... she's going to ... And then I groaned as the molten heat of her engulfed my upright stalk.
'Let me fuck,' Joy moaned, her buttocks slapping onto my thighs. 'Just lie there and let me do it to you. When you feel ready just let it all go inside me. I'm on the pill, so it's safe. Just let me do it to you for your first time.'
I tried to take it all in. The sensation of her insides clenching around me; I wanted to watch her face, see her expression change while her own pleasure heightened. Her breasts shivered and shook, then swung wildly as Joy's passion flared brighter and she slammed against me time after time after time. I held her hips, thrusting upwards to meet her. I squeezed and mauled her breasts, sucking the long teats when Joy leaned down and offered them to me for that purpose.
Our movements grew frantic. The slap-slap of flesh upon flesh quickening, my hands on her buttocks now, jamming my cock up into her harder and deeper.
I couldn't maintain that metronomic drive. Not as horny as I was. Inevitably the cry came from me and I convulsed. Joy, knowing I was coming, leaned down to me and kissed me for as long as my cock spurted its load into her.
'I love you,' I sighed when it was over.
Joy slumped forward, her body full length atop mine. 'Don't talk daft,' she murmured. She held me inside her for a long time. My erection didn't know it should be slackening and wanted to go again. Finally she rolled off me and my cock slid out of her body on a rush of semen.
We made love on four subsequent occasions after that. Each time I professed my affections she dismissed it out of hand.
In late September it ended. Joy's position as Dad's girlfriend was usurped by a new barmaid -- a fifty-year-old slattern with loose morals and looser legs. Not long after that, leaving me bereft, Joy left.
Dad went through several more barmaids and I learned the business. In time I too opened a pub, and then moved on to own several more. In 1995, at a brewers' exhibition in Earl's Court, I bumped into Joy. We became lovers again, this time going into partnership in a restaurant in an upcoming part of London.
She still enjoys the show I put on for her every now and again.
The End.
Caroline Wozniacki
"Cause I give the best blowjob in the business!"
The shock rippled through the gathered press even the pretty tall blonde behind the dozen microphones looked a little shocked at what she had just said. Caroline Wozniacki was the current female world number one tennis player. She had just lost in the second round of another grand slam and now she was trying to answer the same tired, repetitive questions that she had answered since she became the top ranking player.
The question that warranted her shocking answer was the most common question that she had been asked ever since she became world number one, "Why exactly are you rated the worlds best?" She had become bored with the question and so as a joke she had made the quip hoping that the journalists could actually sense her sarcasm. Yet the shocked reaction told her that the journalists had believed what she had just said.
"Wait a second, I was just joking... I'm world number one cause I'm the best player on the circuit and well the stats don't lie." she forced herself to smile though in reality she was trying to work out how much she would get fined if she left midway through the press conference.
The same person spoke up again, "But you're not!" he was now standing up pointing his pencil at the annoyed looking Caroline, "I mean come on; you can't believe you're better than the William's sisters or Sharapova. They win grand slams yet all you win is competitions no one knows or even cares about." Several times Caroline had tried to interrupt him but failed as he carried on pointing his pen and arguing. "Just take a look around; I think anyone in this room could beat you!" the laughter rung out around the room as the man grinned inanely, pleased with his put down.
His shit eating grin riled Caroline, she had been called rubbish lots of time, she had been told that she would get her ass handed to her by pretty much every woman on the circuit, but saying an overweight journalist could beat her was one step too far. With anger etched on her face she stood up too and threw down her challenge. "If any of you dickheads can beat me then I'll gladly fuck you!" she glared into the eyes of the journalist who had dropped his gaze in astonishment.
"You hear me! I'll fuck your fucking brains out if you can beat me. Best of three games for everyone with a press pass then we'll see what you have to say after I kick your asses." storming from the room she left the journalists shouting for more questions.
Five minutes later an embarrassed looking woman walked out to face the frenzied crowd who quickly calmed down. "Hello, I'm a representative of Miss. Wozniacki. She would like me to say that she is deadly serious about this offer and she will post more details on her website very soon. That is all!" As she turned to leave, the journalists scrambled for their smart phones and laptops searching for her website hoping for something to appear but there was nothing there.
Quickly the journalists agreed to keep quiet about the situation, not wanting to draw any attention to their once in a lifetime opportunity. Fifteen minutes later and they had set up practice partners, booked every single court available, and decided who would be challenging Caroline first.
The people of Wimbledon had heard of tennis fever hitting the capital, but having queues of middle aged men waiting by every court was something totally different. Though even more unusual were their screams of frustration when they missed a shot or hit the ball out of play. Having watched hours upon hours of professional tennis, the journalists naturally thought that some of it would have sunk in. Yet even with continuous practice they weren't getting any better. By nightfall most of them had given up and headed back to their hotel rooms, their bodies aching from the unexpected workout. Those that stayed were now reaching John McEnroe anger levels, smashing their racquets to the ground in a fit of rage.
There was one however who was still on the practice court. He had only come out when all the courts were free, giving him the freedom and privacy he craved. His name was Craig Masters, an amateur journalist for a free local paper who had been given a press pass for the day from a close friend in the media department. In his mid-twenties, Craig was an ex semi pro tennis player who had fallen into the trap of gambling. Winning a regional tennis tournament at the age of twelve, he was offered the chance to join a prestigious Spanish tennis academy, a chance that he willingly took. It was whilst he was playing lower ranking European tournaments that he first started to gamble. Shooting up the youth rankings and beating several players in the top 100 senior rankings only fuelled Craig's gambling problem. He found himself placing bigger bets, which more often than not he lost, sending him deep
er into debt.
He was riding high on his latest victory over a top twenty seed when the loan sharks caught up with him, demanding their money back. Unable to find ?20,000 in seven days, Craig was forced to become one of their players. They would place a bet on when he would lose a game, how many unforced errors he would make or how many double faults he would serve. He would get a share of the profits of the bets with the majority of his share going to paying off his debt. He really should have felt ashamed, but the thrill of throwing a game just added to his adrenaline rush.
Being in the pay of criminal gangs should have taught him the error of his ways but instead he carried on gambling. Once more he found himself living in a dream, anything he wanted the gang gave to him yet, unbeknownst to him; the tennis association was starting to catch onto his irregular tennis matches and began the process of police involvement.
When Craig first found out about the investigation it had already been going on for three months, he should have curved his spending, and quit throwing matches, but arrogantly he believed he was indispensable to the academy and therefore untouchable to whatever they could throw at him.
The reality of the situation was rather different than Craig thought. The loan shark gang Craig had become involved with were under police investigation and once they had gathered enough evidence they made their arrests. Craig was arrested on suspicion of match fixing and found himself spending a week in prison. Luckily for him the police couldn't find a direct link between him and the gang, all of his instructions were given to him by a middle man and money handed over to him via casino chips. Luckily for Craig he was left alone by the media due to several high ranking Russian and Eastern European players also involved with betting irregularities. Despite being released without charge, the tennis association quietened his involvement and banned him from participation in any tennis events.
Forgotten, disgraced and penniless he headed home, gratefully taking a job his father managed procure for him working for the local newspaper in the sports section. With his parents help and constant supervision he managed to stop gambling and despite his their worries, he carried on playing tennis. Re-joining his old club, Craig helped them win the county's league for the first time in their history. Now four years later at the age of twenty six he found himself at Wimbledon sitting in a press conference gazing at Caroline Wozniacki as she tried to explain why she had failed to win yet another grand slam.
Family Forbidden Taboo Erotica for Women Box Set Page 123