by Amelie
He fumbled for a while and then he rammed himself inside me.
The thrust knocked me forwards. I splayed out my arms and got a grip on the kitchen worktop. I knocked the bowl to the side, but I didn’t care anymore what happened to the food I was preparing, I just wanted Ravi to shag me senseless. It was great to have him back.
He banged away and I was in heaven. His hand reached round and his fingers circled my clit. That was Nirvana. My orgasm was immense. One of the finest I’d ever had. It took over my whole body and engulfed me in pleasure. I screamed so loudly when I came that I half expected the neighbours to call the police.
I was still purring when he turned me round. He kissed me hard on the lips and let his tongue explore the inside of my mouth. I realised then that he wasn’t done. That he hadn’t come with me in the way that he usually did. My heart almost burst when I realised there was more to come.
Ravi flung me down on the table. I lifted my legs high so that he could enter me immediately.
He wasn’t ready.
He looked around and picked up the mayo. Next I knew he had the spatula in his hand and he was throwing the stuff all over me. It was on my tits, covered my belly and splashed onto my neck.
He threw the spatula onto the floor and rammed into me once again. It was pure joy. I felt him inside me like he had reached in all the way to the top of my stomach.
As he pumped at me and I responded, he hungrily ate off all the lime mayo from my body. I watched his tongue lap at my nipples. I felt like Mother Nature feeding the entire population of the world all at once.
The sight of Ravi sucking and licking drove me wild. My pussy contracted for the second time and sent the joy to my spinning head.
He still wasn’t done.
He went at me harder and faster. His face contorted and his mouth opened. This time it was his turn to shout. He gave out a primal scream for the whole of the city to hear. It was so passionate that it introduced me to my third orgasm within almost as many minutes.
When he stood back, he looked at me tenderly for a moment. His mouth cracked into a little smile and then his whole face seemed to fall apart as he burst into tears.
I stood up immediately and threw my arms around him. I held his head to my shoulders and stroked his beautiful dark hair. I held on tight to make him feel better and also because my knees were shaking so much that I didn’t think I’d be able to stand without him.
I managed to calm him down and he eventually stopped crying.
I asked him if he wanted a drink, but he said no.
Instead, he walked over to the sink, turned on the tap and ran his face under the water. He took a towel from the rail and dried himself. When he was ready, he leant forward and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
“I love you,” he whispered and then he picked up his coat and bag and walked quietly out of the flat, closing the door gently behind him as he went. I wasn’t to see him for another month.
That was the worst month of my entire life.
L is for Lipstick
I’d wanted to make Valentine’s Day really special for Simon.
I booked us a hotel room down at the Hydro. The day was all about being pampered. He spent the morning playing golf while I was given a deep massage by a Turkish guy who didn’t speak any English. We met up for lunch. I had a healthy soup with a roll and Simon had the steak dinner. In the afternoon, Simon had a swim and went to the sauna. I had my nails done, had blond streaks put into my hair and went for a walk.
When we went down for dinner in the hotel restaurant, I told Simon I’d forgotten my phone and needed it to take pictures with so we’d not forget a thing.
I ran back up the stairs and set to work. I covered my mouth in dark lipstick and kissed the bed all over. The kisses decorated the pillows and the sheets as though it were a painting in a gallery or something.
I took the roses that the hotel had provided and gently pulled off the petals. I sprinkled them all over the bed.
The finishing touch was a squirt or three of Simon’s favourite perfume, the Jean Paul Gaultier Classique Eau De Toilette from the bottle in the shape of a naked woman.
When I was done, I picked up the phone and ran back to meet Simon downstairs.
They’d really gone to town with the decorations. There were heart-shaped balloons everywhere and the lighting was perfectly romantic. The tablecloths were all red and there was a jazz trio playing softly in the corner.
On each table there was a basket of small pink envelopes. There was a label on them saying ‘Take One If You Dare.’
There was also a bottle of sparkling wine on ours that Simon had ordered while I’d been sorting out the bed.
I took a sip from the wine and the bubbles went straight to my head. I felt all giggly and light when I took the envelope from the basket.
I opened it with my perfectly manicured nails.
The card had a red devil on the front. What I read took me by surprise and I gasped.
I leant forward and whispered the suggestion into Simon’s ear. “French kissing.”
Our mouths met in just the way we’d been instructed and our tongues danced along to the music. It was the perfect starter for any meal.
He took one out and smiled. He leaned over and whispered to me, “Take off your underwear.” The tickle of his breath sent shudders through my body. So did the idea of eating in a restaurant with no knickers.
“Go on,” he told me.
I must have blushed to the colour of the roses that were in the vase on the piano.
I did think about taking off my panties right there and then, but with all those other couples in the room I decided I needed some privacy. Off I scooted to the bathroom, took them off and put them into my purse.
When I returned, I felt completely liberated. I downed another glass of fizz and sat forwards on my seat.
Simon’s fingers rested upon my knee. They slowly crept up until he found what he was looking for.
“Amazing,” he said. And he was right.
For the rest of the dinner I flirted like hell with my husband.
We ate a delicious chicken dinner and fed each other profiteroles across the table. When we were done, we had a little dance, holding each other close and swaying slowly to the jazz the band played so beautifully. Every so often, Simon’s hand would cup my buttocks as if he were reminding himself that I had nothing on underneath my skirt.
Being close to him like that made me want him more than I’d ever done before. In my dreams, we waited for the restaurant to close and he screwed me ever so slowly on the piano stool. I didn’t have the patience to wait for that though. As we sat down to our coffee, I decided we were going straight to bed when we’d drunk them.
Simon excused himself to use the bathrooms.
I looked at the red devil card on his side of the table and couldn’t resist. I picked it up and read it.
“Hold Hands,” it said. The cheeky sod, I thought. The lovely, sexy, wonderful chancer.
When we got back to our room, he opened the door and carried me over the threshold, just the way he’d done on our honeymoon.
He took me straight over to the bed and dropped me there.
There was no foreplay and no kissing, he just whipped out his cock and rode me hard.
I lay there delighting in his manhood, surrounded by lipstick kisses and rose petals. The smell of the perfume turned me on and I made sure that my hips were thrusting in perfect time to give my husband a Valentine’s gift he’d never forget.
M is for Massage
I’ve just mentioned that I enjoy little more than a good massage. I go along every week to get one from June.
June’s great. She lives in this enormous cottage, surrounded by fruit trees and flowers. When she’s not rubbing people down, she’s tending the garden.
Her massage space is in the attic. It has the smell of old wood and incense to it and the light streams in through the window on a sunny day.
June is a
beautiful woman of about my age. She has a full figure, like the secretaries in Madmen. She shows it off to its best with tight tops and skirts that she covers over with a white doctor’s jacket when she gets down to business.
It’s always the same when I get there. She puts on the kettle and we sit and share gossip over a mug of peppermint tea. When we’re done, she leads me up the stairs towards her office.
I love watching her walk up the stairs. Her hips rock from side to side and I sometimes get a flash of her panties as she goes. I particularly like it when she’s wearing stockings. It’s something to do with the way that she’s showing herself off and covering up at the same time. I love to follow the lines of her thighs up to her sex and imagine what lies beneath all that silky fabric.
Ever since Gail, I’ve seen women in a new light. When I check them over now, I’m not just looking for clothes and make up tips. I can’t help myself. To be honest, I don’t mind. It just makes the world twice as exciting.
By the time we get to the top of the second flight of stairs, I’m hot in more ways than one.
We go inside and there’s always some incense burning. My favourite’s coconut. That’s the way I imagine things when I’m daydreaming.
There’s an old fashioned Chinese screen in the corner. I stand behind it and undress behind two embroidered dragons and then slip on the clean pink dressing gown that’s always waiting for me on the hook on the wall.
When I walk over to the massage bed, I slip the dressing gown off and June takes it. I’m not sure why we bother with the gown at all. I only have it on for a few seconds. I’m glad I do, though, because I always love the moment when I slide it from my body and show myself to June. I know she eyes me up and down when I’m naked and I can feel her eyes burning right into me.
I lie on the bed and put my face into the hole in the black leather pillow.
June puts a towel over my buttocks and turns on some music. It’s not pop music or anything. It’s all South American pipes and the sound of running water. It’s great for relaxing to.
After that, all I have to do is enjoy June’s fingers working my muscles.
She’s got different moves in those hands. Sometimes she presses deep and almost hurts as she works at me. Other times, she’s light and gentle and barely rubs under the skin.
While she works, I think of my first weekend with Gail. It spices things up as June’s hands work down the knots in my back and straighten me out. As she gets to the towel that covers me, I feel her slow down. She pulls the towel away and then gives my bottom a work out.
God it’s hot.
Her oily fingers go off in all directions. They splay out from the centre and slip expertly towards my sex. My pussy lights up as she gets close and I bathe in the pleasure of her nearing the spot.
She works around my hips and down to my thighs. As she moves up the inside and I feel the light pressing of her hands, my pussy’s on fire. I need her to extinguish the flames.
Instead of that, she moves down. She rubs my calves and down to my feet and presses my toes in turn and sends tremors through my body. I’m in heaven by then, even if I do have to squeeze my thighs together to stifle my urges.
She turns me onto my back and replaces the towel over my middle.
This time she works the other way, toe to top. She nears my pubic region again and the heat is rekindled. When she shifts the towel, I hold my breath and hope. She passes me by and presses he thumbs into my torso.
My breasts become hungry for attention. I love it when she re-oils her hands and warms them ever so slightly by rubbing them together. She works over my breasts with the perfect pressure. I long for her to pinch my nipples and lick them in turn, making sure they both get equal attention. Sometimes I see a flicker of desire in her eyes. I want to let her know. To tell her it’s OK. That she can eat me if she likes.
She never does.
The fingers press on and work up to my neck and soothe the wrinkles that are beginning to appear on my face.
It’s different in my dreams, though.
When Simon’s working his tongue around me and I’m drifting along my river of sex, June always does the things I want. Her hand brushes my labia accidentally and we both smile. It’s like we unlock the door and she knows that she can enter. I picture me spreading my legs and looking down as her head moves in towards my sex like a heat-seeking missile.
N is for Nails
I get my nails done regularly. Oh, how my teenage self would laugh at me with derision to see me paying such attention to them. She’d laugh even harder to see how much I pay for the service.
The thing is it’s so much more than just the nails. It’s the process.
First of all, I get to catch up on everything that’s happening within a ten mile radius. I know who’s sleeping with whom and who shouldn’t be and, because Michelle is married to a cop, I get to find out who’s doing things they’re not supposed to be.
Take Mr Rogers at number 33. You’d never have taken him for a crook. It turns out he’s going to be on trial soon for fraud. Just imagine. And him just living down the road.
I love all of the work she does at the tips of my fingers. She files and buffs and pushes back those cuticles so that when she’s ready to apply the varnish, my hands look like they belong to someone else. A princess, perhaps. Michelle reckons I should sign up with an agency and become a hand model. One of these days I might just take her up on the idea.
I always pick my colour to go with whatever I’m going to be wearing out on Saturday. If I’m not sure, I take the dress along and get Michelle to pick for me.
When I leave the beauticians, I feel like a goddess, I really do. I can’t wait to get to show them off and to use them on my man.
There’s something about watching my nails rake over Simon’s chest that really turns me on. I love to plough through his chest hair and scratch at his skin. When I get carried away, I’ve been known to draw blood. It makes me feel all animal to claw at him like that. And that feels orgasmic.
O is for Oh My Gosh
For my hen night, the girls thought it would be funny if they put on something a little special. A bit of grown-up entertainment if you like.
I didn’t know anything about it.
They’d hired a disco bus to start off with. We drove through town and screamed at everyone we saw. It was fabulous. There was a bar and a stereo to die for and there was a sparkling ball in the middle of the ceiling that threw diamonds of light around the walls. We were having a great time singing and dancing in the back and I didn’t want it to stop.
We did stop, though. Or rather we were stopped. By the police.
The officer came in looking like thunder. There’d been complaints, he said, about raucous behaviour. On top of that, someone had reported that bottles were being thrown out of the window.
He stood there in the middle of the bus and sniffed at the air. Everyone went quiet.
“Is anyone here smoking cannabis?”
It was ridiculous. “Of course not. Look at us. We’re respectable women.”
It was true we were all respectable most of the time. When I looked around I realised that we looked as if cannabis might be the least of our vices.
He came closer to me, wrinkling up his nose. “It seems to be coming from your direction. Could you please stand up and lean against the wall for me, darling?”
“Don’t you bloody darling me...”
“Just turn around please.”
I gave him the hardest stare I could manage, but I did what he asked. I knew I wasn’t carrying anything illegal. The worst he could get me for was wearing a Learner badge under false pretentions. I turned, leant over to the wall and held on.
The officer patted the inside of my legs. He worked his way up my back and then along my arms. He worked back towards my shoulders and then, completely out of the blue, he grabbed my tits and gave them a firm rub.
“Jesus,” I shouted at him and turned around ready to slap him i
n the chops.
I stopped my hand from swinging at him as soon as I saw the enormous grin on his face.
All my hens screamed and cheered and then the sound of some bizarre cabaret music filled the coach.
“What the...?”
The policeman unbuttoned his jacket and ripped off his shirt with one hard pull.
I finally got it.
The guy swung his hips at me and gyrated in my direction. He took off his cap and revealed a shock of red hair. He rubbed himself up against me and I started to press back.
As the music continued, he took off his clothes item by item. In the end, all that was left was a thong with a huge leather pouch at the front.
He took some oil from a pocket from the jacket he’d thrown on the floor and poured it over his chest. I was to rub it in. I didn’t need to be asked. I reached over and admired the blue nails I’d had done the day before. They looked really special with their tiny sequins in the middle. I got a little carried away and dug in to his skin. My fingers left a set of red parallel lines down his midriff.
I massaged his stomach.
Talk about a six pack. This guy was rock hard.
The gyrating began again.
All the girls started shouting. “Off, off, off,” they screamed.
I looked down at his pouch. It was bulging. “Off, off, off,” I joined in.
He fingered the thongs for a while, lifting them and stretching them. It was tantalising stuff. In the end, I couldn’t bear it. I took a hold of it and pulled down hard.
And Oh My Gosh! I was looking at the biggest cock I’d ever seen in my life, and it was only half-erect.
His ginger pubic hair was neatly trimmed and showed his balls off at their best.
What was I going to do with that?
Around me the girls were all cheering.
I didn’t know what they were expecting.
Before I’d had time to think, my hand had grabbed his bell end. I’d pushed back the foreskin and rubbed gently at the bobbly edges of his helmet.