I couldn’t stop thinking of the tongue licking my breast as it had Janine’s and I shivered as I imagined its slow progression down my body and between my legs. Now as I stared at it, the tongue wriggled like a particularly appetising worm on the end of a hook and I don’t know what came over me because lunging forward I fastened my lips to Marius’s. Laughing, he pulled me to my feet. ‘Come along, I have a little place not far from here.’
* * *
I was too excited to resist as Marius and I tumbled through his apartment door. He pushed me against the wall while his hand slipped under my skirt, and the tip of his lingual acrobat began exploring my face. I opened my mouth in invitation and it came rushing in like an express train, my own tongue darting forward to intercept it, jousting and dancing.
I was trembling so much with excitement Marius had to undress me himself. He did this with great skill, loosening my buttons, tweaking and pinching my nipples as my garments fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Naked, we then tumbled onto his futon and he lay pressed against me for a moment, showing me his tongue, dancing it about and thrusting it out to its full length, while his cock – which was almost as meaty as his other tool – nuzzled my thigh. Angelina was right, amazingly, Langue de chat’s tongue was much longer than a dick. In fact, it was simply incredible.
I was behaving like a whore but I couldn’t control myself. The oral muscle was driving me wild. Gripping my breasts in my hands, I offered them up, like a sacrifice to the stiff, pink tongue. ‘Lick me, Langue de chat.’ I commanded.
‘It’s very strong, feel how strong it is.’ Taking my finger Marius made me hold the fleshy appendage. ‘Did you ever feel a muscle like that? You know, I train it and this tongue is now so strong it can go for ever. I bet you can’t wait to have it, giving you satisfaction up your cunt.’
I was writhing with desire as the tongue began to dance over my feverish body. Marius used it with sexual finesse, rotating it over my breasts, flicking it against my nipples, then treating me to a delicious tongue bath, as he worked his way further and further down towards my hot sex and bucking hips. I cried and moaned and crumpled the bed sheets in my fists as I begged him for satisfaction but, pinning my arms to the bed, he laughed. ‘You mustn’t rush; you must allow the tongue to pleasure you.’
‘I can’t wait, I want it now. Push it inside me. I want to experience it licking and sucking every inch of me.’
‘You are far too excitable. I intend this to be a multi-orgasmic event, my darling,’ he whispered in my ear. Now just do as I say.’
‘Anything,’ I whispered, gritting my teeth. ‘Just stick it in.’
‘I can tell you, babe, after this you’ll never want cock again.’ Marius grinned and holding open my plump, peachy sex lips, he snuggled down between my legs and, with the balls of his thumbs, began pressing on each side of my oozing mound, darting the tip of the monster tongue into my cunt and jabbing at the sensitive flesh with sharp arrow like movements of the oral gymnast. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he forced apart my lubricious sex slick thighs and commenced sucking with great intensity on my now throbbing clit, his saucy pink impostor penis, dancing up and down my slit, insistently circling my swollen cherry, as I shuddered and moaned and raised my hips.
Langue de chat was a lingual magician and he delivered satisfaction with tantalising precision to the point of sensory overload. Tongue is so much better than cock; after all a tongue can change shape and texture from excitably smooth and flexible, to devilishly rough and muscular and what is more, it can creep into every forbidden little crack and crevice, finding those tricky erogenous zones most men can never locate. The cunnilingual seducer soon found my G spot, the elusive trigger to my sexual satisfaction, and it bore down with such a mad fluttering I was instantly catapulted into a thrashing crescendo of orgasmic release.
And I can tell you, the cunnilingual pleasure did not stop there, but kept on coming as the incredible elastic tool crept further up inside my velvet pussy until Marius was so deeply pressed in my moist cunt, his lips were nibbling my sex. Opening his mouth, he began to devour my juicy mound with purrs of pleasure as his hands energetically squeezed my flesh. He was now treating both my tingling G spot and my grasping cunt to a thoroughly salacious massage, his energetic elastic performer undertaking a skilful gymnastic routine, lunging and rotating like an acrobat on a trapeze, as it worked away with machine like efficiency on my sex.
By this time, I was practically insensate with lust and I had experienced such orgasmic satisfaction, I felt as if the tongue had turned me inside out and examined every centimetre of my intimate sexual places with the thoroughness of a surgeon. Playfully, I tried pushing Langue de chat away with my foot and he bobbed up smiling at me. ‘Oh are you tired already, my darling?’ He flicked the tongue back and forwards over his sex-wet mouth. ‘Well, what a shame, because I’ve only just started. You know I love the taste of pussy, there’s nothing quite like it and I intend to taste each bit of you.’ Slithering up my body, he squeezed my breast and I felt his penis slide greedily into my grasping hole. Then he began to investigate my mouth with the same thoroughness he had ravaged my cunt.
Langue de chat has taken the phrase – tongue action – and elevated it to a whole new level. Now, cock will never be enough for me and I doubt any other man will ever be able to live up to my impossibly exacting oral standards.
Langue de chat has fallen in love with me and he tells me he wants to keep feeding on my cunt in order to exercise and give the muscular invader enough of a workout to maintain its acrobatic flexibility. Well, I’m certainly game for that and, what is more, I can let you into a secret, as I am now taking lessons in tongue craft, from Langue de chat so I can repay the favour on his equally naughty dick. My motto now is. ‘Who needs penis when tongue is best’, especially if the tongue craft is performed by Langue de chat.
Molly’s New Mistress
by Lilli Lace
Molly was freshly shaved for this occasion. Mr Chester, who had acquired her services from Madam Almeda’s House, called her into the gigantic master bedroom of his summer lake house. Before the balcony window overlooking his private estate, before the eyes of the world, he told her to strip completely naked and lie on the edge of the canopied bed with her knees bent and her legs apart. She obeyed, and as she removed her short summer dress and cotton bra and panties, she felt Mr Chester’s eyes running up and down her body. They took in the smooth curve of her full buttocks and travelled up to her swelling breasts which were partially obscured by her mousy brown curls. Never in her life had she felt more desirable. When she laid back on the silk sheets and lifted her legs to the desired position, Mr Chester took a good long look at his new purchase and Molly saw the bulge in his trousers.
He was in his business suit, the suit in which she had first seen him at Madam Almeda’s house when he had come to look around. On her first day there, the other more experienced girls had forewarned her that not all the gentlemen that came to Madam Almeda’s House were just as gentlemanly in bed, and Molly had secretly been thrilled to learn this. This was, after all, the reason she had left her stuffy college comforts and boring studies. She had hoped that, by working at Madam Almeda’s House, lounging around the scarlet sitting room and talking with the other much more self-assured, seductive creatures who surrounded her, that she might be provided with the opportunities to fulfil her secret sexual night-time fantasies. She looked up to these women, the attention that they commanded, the spellbinding way in which they walked and held themselves, as though they couldn’t care less if a man was interested in them or not. What mattered was whether or not she was interested in him and, if she was, then she would let him know it and he would be a lucky man indeed!
Molly had become bored with the inexperienced young men who, in her previous life, had come calling at the dorm for her. They were eager to please but not where it mattered. She fel
t that they simply wanted to take from her, never stopping to find out what she might want. Her fantasies were probably their ultimate fantasies but not ones they would be willing to act out. They would probably only discuss them with their friends and pretend to one another with lewd laughter and jokes, a lot of shoving and pushing and leg-pulling, that they would be up for a perverse thrill if ever the opportunity arose. Molly knew they probably wouldn’t know what to do if it ever did, so she turned her back on those sexually inadequate boys and, after months of deliberation, she finally plucked up the courage to shun her studies and seek employment with Madam Almeda’s House. However, it took a week of waiting and posing in the skimpy outfits she had been provided with, before she found her man. It was Mr Chester. His brooding eyes and stately air, not to mention his beautifully tailored suit, slicked back hair and shiny leather shoes suggested that maybe, just maybe he could provide the kind of sexual excitement she had been searching for. When he walked into the room with the short, round, Madam Almeda, he projected authority and Molly was dying to know if this authoritarian attitude might be transferred to the bedroom, so she draped herself on the red velvet sofa in the elegant lounge in her shortest negligee and stared at him intently until his eyes met hers. Molly felt herself radiating with an untapped sensuality. Whether he thought this was intentional or not did not matter to her. It worked. He pointed her out to Madam Almeda and offered to take her to his lake house there and then.
The whole journey home he did not touch her. In the back of the chauffeur-driven Jaguar, she gazed at him intently, but he did not say a word to her, he only stared ahead, lost in his own thoughts. She was only slightly perplexed but she supposed this was the way the game was supposed to be played until they got behind closed doors. Once they reached his beautiful lake house, Molly did not even have time to look around. Mr Chester simply ushered her upstairs into the master bedroom and Molly thought he must be rushing so that he could have his way with her before his wife found out. That’s if he was even married. Molly hadn’t even thought of this but she assumed it would be breaking some unspoken rule if she asked him if he was married or not so she decided not to say anything at all. His rushing her made her doubt her earlier assumption of him. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of man she was hoping he would be. Perhaps he was simply going to use her and have done with her in the space of half an hour or so. She felt her fantasies slipping away…
Everything was all quickly thrust to the back of Molly’s mind however, when they entered the luxurious bedroom. Mr Chester removed his suit jacket and produced some shaving cream. Once undressed and in the indicated position, on her back, legs up, knees bent, Molly felt herself brimming with the kind of carnal excitement which she had previously been forced to lock tight away back at home. She gasped as the cold lather was applied between her parted legs and she had to stop herself from laughing and pushing him away when he used a soft shaving brush to spread the foam all over her exposed area. Then, very carefully, he began to shave her, his fingers moving around her and, much to Molly’s pleasure, inside her, gently pulling the young skin taut so that the razor could glide over and around her delicate pussy. When he was finished, he washed her using the water from the basin on the bedside table and then dried her, removing the remaining foam slowly with a soft, fluffy towel to reveal her soft, pink bud.
He could have had her there and then, God knows she was wet enough, but instead he had grabbed her ankles and in one swift motion pulled her around so that her head was resting on the pillows and her feet faced the foot of the bed. He then produced some restraints from under the bed and proceeded to cuff her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. Molly was enjoying this too much to object; it was more than what she had expected from her first encounter with a patron of Almeda’s House but then, to her astonishment, instead of taking off his own clothes and mounting her as she had expected, he simply walked over and opened the bedroom door and called in his wife.
She entered in her thin robe and Molly could see her forty-something body long and lean beneath. When she disrobed she was clad only in a tiny black lace thong. Her breasts were firm, her olive skim gleamed and her eyes and hair were dark and tumultuous. She eyed the pale young girl on the bed hungrily and then began to crawl on top of her while Mr Chester sat himself in a chair by the wall and watched. The other woman’s body felt strange straddling her own. Mrs Chester bent her head and her full lips began to suck on Molly’s left nipple. Molly moaned. She couldn’t help it. After seconds, her right nipple started to ache for some attention and Molly gently thrust her right breast towards those full lips, but she was firmly pushed back onto the bed. Mrs Chester’s hand which had pushed her back hovered over her right breast for a moment and then cheekily tweaked her nipple, causing Molly to gasp, before it slid down to feel the wetness between her legs as Mrs Chester continued to suck on her left nipple. Her fingers played between Molly’s legs, stroking her up and down. The bare patch between Molly’s legs was smooth and more sensitive to Mrs Chester’s insistent touch. Her silky tongue which was quickly circulating the hard rosy tip of Molly’s nipple really was getting to be too much. How the right nipple ached for that same attention.
Quite suddenly, Mrs Chester left Molly’s nipple and gently kissed her way down her young, lithe body, down over her swelled breasts, over her navel, her tongue circulating round Molly’s belly button, licking the salty perspiration which had gathered on her smooth tummy and then further down between her legs. Here she paused, and then began sucking sensuously on Molly’s creamy inner thighs, slowly alternating between the naked quivering flesh of one thigh and then moving on to the trembling flesh of the other. Then, Molly watched with inexperienced eyes as two slender fingers slowly parted her pussy lips and the older woman’s tongue gently prodded her exposed clit and then started to lap away at her naked pussy with long languorous strokes, like a cat with its cream. At first Molly had been too surprised at Mrs Chester’s sudden appearance to think, but she had quickly realised that Mr Chester had brought her here for his wife’s pleasure and instead of being angry at the deception, instead she found that she was actually excited by this experience which previously she could only have dreamed about. Molly tore her gaze away from the woman kneeling between her legs and glanced at Mr Chester. He was sitting with his legs crossed and the tips of his fingers steeped together before him. He was concentrating on his wife, her thong-clad rump thrust into the air, her long dark hair brushing Molly’s plump thighs and her tongue licking languorously away between Molly’s parted lips. How Molly wished he would get up and smack his wife’s round firm arse, forcing her to pleasure Molly faster, maybe even join them himself, taking his wife from behind with his long, firm shaft. Molly was so turned on by this thought that she was willing Mr Chester to look at her, to read her mind. Suddenly, Mrs Chester sat up and grasping one of her own breasts she brought it down to Molly’s pussy and tickled the moist insides of Molly’s parted lips with her hardened nipple. Molly groaned and, turning back to the older woman, she tried to rub herself against Mrs Chester’s plump breast but Mrs Chester was having none of it. Again she pushed Molly’s naked body down onto the sheets. She lowered her head and carefully found the little groove of her clit with her tongue and started to work on it like a woman possessed. Molly could feel her own wetness running down the inside of her thighs to the groove between her buttocks as with successive little, lizard-like vibrations of her tongue Mrs Chester concentrated wholly on this one little spot. Molly felt helpless. She wanted to push the older woman from her as the tip of her tongue was overpowering her bare little clit, but she couldn’t. Instead, she pulled at her restraints, bucking her hips to and from those parted lips. She did not cry out for her to stop either – the power of authority that Molly had been raised to respect and never disobey was too deeply ingrained within her – but it also added to the excitement. Even if Molly cried out, she knew that Mrs Chester was not a woman to take orders, she was a woman in a position of power,
backed by an equally powerful husband, who had to be obeyed and this turned Molly on more than anything as she watched her new mistress pleasuring her body. Mrs Chester grabbed her buttocks, each peach in each of her hands, and forced Molly to her mouth so that she could no longer wriggle around, but had to stay as she was, at the mercy of that demon tongue. The pleasure was excruciating and Molly came hard and fast, her body shuddering and seizing, half raised from the bed. Mrs Chester raised her head and looked at her husband lustfully while Molly started to subside before her. He made a signal with his hand which Molly barely registered as she was too busy feeling the residual pleasure wash over her body. Mrs Chester turned back to Molly who was breathing heavily, trying to lower her exhausted body to the bed thinking she was done for now, but instead Mrs Chester kept Molly’s arse firmly raised in a vice-like grip and, like a lioness, she lowered her head and began to devour Molly all over again.
The Ex Factor
by Sophia Valenti
I’ll admit it; I did miss my ex, but she and I weren’t right for each other and we both knew it. Our breakup didn’t result in overwhelming heartache, but to have it happen the night before Valentine’s Day was rough. So the next day, on an evening when everyone I knew was coupled up and out on the town, I was watching television and feeling a little lonely. I knew I had to try to make the best of it and swore to enjoy myself as best I could – but then I received a phone call that wound up making my resolution a whole lot easier to keep.
The call was from Kevin, an old flame of mine. Back in the day, we’d had a kinky affair that began as a red-hot free-for-all but had gradually fizzled out, however, we were still close – and I did occasionally fantasize about him. I’m only human, after all, and the sex had been pretty spectacular. These days, Kevin and I talk regularly and see each other whenever our busy schedules allow. We like to say that we have the best once-every-five-weeks friendship there is, each of us intuitively knowing exactly what the other needs. That certainly wound up being the case that night, though it wasn’t how I’d originally thought the evening would unfold.
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