The vague scent of Chanel perfume eased its way from the girl’s wrist just below his nose into his nostrils. He breathed deeply, nervously trying to guess if it was No. 5 or No. 19. Not sweet enough for No. 5. Definitely No. 19. Nice. But scary. Was this a joke or some sort of robbery? If she was after money, she was in the right place. Craig had been doing all the buying for his team last night. Aperitifs, liqueurs, the lot. He’d had a wallet full of cash and only spent half of it. But then, if she wanted to rob him why hadn’t she just done it and gone. No. This was about something else entirely. The girl’s long hair tickled his face as she leaned closer. He guessed he was right about one thing. He reckoned she was a big girl. He could swear he felt mountainous breasts overflow on to his arm. God, he wished he could see them. Warm, soft, powerful. Her skin brushed against his. Her voice penetrated the darkness. ‘Listen. Don’t budge. I’m going to remove my hand in a minute and we’re going to trust you not to yell.’
We?
‘And do you know why we can trust you?’ Craig took a risk and shook his head slightly. ‘Because if you don’t do as you’re told, my friend has her hand ready to cup your balls and squeeze. Hard.’ Craig nodded as he registered the pressure of not one but two female bodies under the sheet beside him.
That voice? He tried to make out which of his sales team it could possibly be. They’d all drunk far too much after last night’s awards ceremony and true, he’d flirted with them all in turn. He must have gone a bit too far. And now they were getting their revenge. They didn’t call his team ‘Craig’s harem’ for nothing. But the girls knew it wasn’t serious, didn’t they? He flirted with all women, all the time. That’s why he was so good at his job. Sex sells, ask any ad man, and although Craig promised, he never delivered. He didn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure. If he was a woman, he’d be called a prick tease. Funny there wasn’t an equivalent name for a man who liked to promise but didn’t deliver.
Craig had been doing it for years. It got him just what he wanted. Usually. Top sales figures, awards. A pay rise after schmoozing the girl from Human Resources. Now, it seemed someone wanted what they felt was due to them. Slowly the hand was taken off his mouth and he whispered, ‘What do you want?’ The blood rushed in his ears so loudly he almost didn’t hear himself and was about to ask again when he felt the hand on his thigh start stroking. Craig held his breath as the hand moved upwards. She didn’t grip his balls, she just started kneading them gently. Teasing. Craig held his breath until the need to breathe, to pant got the better of him.
‘I said don’t move,’ came that rich, commanding voice in his ear again as he felt her slide down and start twirling her tongue around his nipple. ‘We need you rock hard.’ The other girl had started running her nails sharply up his thighs. Expertly, she pulled in her claws as she teased soft fingers around the base of his penis. Craig tried to get his brain into gear. It wasn’t easy. Most guys would think they were in seventh heaven but Craig was pissed off. He didn’t want his body to react like this, he wanted to be annoyed and shout at them for breaking in to his room. It was a damned stupid prank. But with the sort of attention he was getting he could feel himself hardening by the second.
With his last ounce of reasoned thought, his mind went back to whom he had lent his room key to earlier. Sarah. That must be who it was. His forehead frowned under the blindfold. Quiet, mousy Sarah whom he had to send on assertiveness training? Surely not her. But, yeah, he had lent her the key so she could come and fetch the brochures for their display. Was she a fulsome girl, well covered like these two? It was impossible to tell with those nondescript dresses she wore. Now his prick was not only being held but was being expertly massaged up and down by girl number two. She’d used some sort of lube, something delicious and creamy slipping and slurping up and down him. Her hands, her fingers, were working overtime on Craig’s straining shaft. She was getting him ready for something. The air was dense with anticipation. He could hear her now, as she edged down the crisp white sheets to kneel in front of him on the bed, her knees either side of his. Her touch was gloriously unbearable.
But, those keys, he fought to concentrate. Sarah may have borrowed them but it was Louise who had given them back. It couldn’t be feisty red-haired Louise though. She was the one member of his team who’d never looked at him twice. She had the truest hourglass figure he’d ever seen. A gloriously huge rump as round as a racehorse and monumental freckled breasts that spilled out against half-buttoned business shirts. All the guys in accounts talked about was sinking their faces between those two superb mounds of womanhood. But Louise wasn’t having any of it. With an athletic fiancé on the go she’d been immune to Craig’s go-to-bed eyes.
The girl at Craig’s knees now cupped him in both hands, and he was no longer frightened of her firm grip. She obviously had only one thing on her mind as he felt her moist lips close over his tip, lapping it like an ice cream cone. Craig moaned, and then he heard her say, ‘That’s it gorgeous, get going, get nice and horny ’cos it’s nearly time for you to do some of the work.’ That voice. It could have been Miranda; she was a dark horse with those sultry, deep brown eyes. But no. She had an accent. It wasn’t her. While he was trying to think clearly, he was aware of the girl lowering her fantastic round breasts over his hard cock. She was squeezing them together, tormenting him, pushing her breasts up and over his cock rhythmically. He felt his mutinous penis give in, loving it, wanting it more and more.
A second later, Craig was aware of girl number one straddling his face as she held on to the headboard. Beautiful, generously proportioned thighs trapped him in their hot grip. ‘OK,’ she ordered, ‘I’m ready for you now. I’m sure your tongue can do more than just sweet-talk women.’
Craig obediently opened his mouth and she lowered herself on to him, exuding the bittersweet womanly musk of a girl close to coming. He worked not only his tongue but his fingers over her swollen clit. Sucking, licking, teasing, lapping, he couldn’t get enough of her. She was like an over-sweet ripe peach as he drank her in. She was delicious, practically suffocating him, then lifting herself to give him air before descending back to cream into his waiting mouth. Moving his hands up to clamp her thighs, he moved her sex down, in and out of his mouth, tonguing her like a cat greedily finishing a bowl of cream. As he rocked his head back and forth, he felt her hand come down and grip his hair, pushing him deeper and deeper into her as she suddenly cried out into the night air, tumbling into a crashing orgasm, then pushing herself heavily off him and landing sated and spent on the sheet next to him.
All the while, the other girl had been working away at his rock-hard cock, and now he heard her speak. ‘It’s my turn now. Get on top of me,’ she ordered. Oh my God, it must be Rosalind, thought Craig as the girl lay down underneath him, and he grasped one stupendous breast in his hand, directing it towards his mouth. Rosalind with the long, blonde, straightened hair. He moved his hand up to grasp her hair and find her out. At the same moment he drove his massive steel-hard erection inside her. She was soaking wet. She also wasn’t Rosalind, he realised as his hand cupped the back of her head and discovered short, thick, lustrous hair.
By this time he had stopped wondering. What the hell did it matter? The blindfold could stay on if that’s how they wanted it. He needed a long, hard fuck so bad, and by the sound of her so did she. Up and down rammed his hips as she raised hers higher, higher. Then he reached down, found her ankles and hoisted her legs either side of his shoulders, opening her wide to him. She was superb, massive, every bit of her was in gorgeous widescreen technicolour surround sound. ‘Right there, right there,’ she cried out, ‘don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.’ He’d obviously hit the spot, pounding deeper and deeper into her as she bucked and writhed. The headboard thumped over and over until he shot his load into her, sweating as she shuddered, rose and came underneath him.
Craig had often been told off for falling into a deep sleep the minute he’d come. By the time he woke up they’d both go
ne. It could almost have been a dream, apart from the state of the bed and the unmistakable, perfumed musky Chanel smell still embedded in the sheets.
In the morning Craig showered, packed, put on his suit and a clean shirt, not bothering with his tie, and went down to reception to check out. There stood Rosalind and Sarah and Louise and Miranda. His eyes flicked from one to the other of them. Which two girls shared that amazing secret? Which two had given him the best night of his life? They all looked tired. ‘Sleep all right, girls?’ he asked boldly standing near them to catch a whiff of that Chanel 19. There it was, unmistakably. But it wasn’t coming from them. It was coming from behind him. He whirled his head to see the two girls at the reception desk whom he had flirted with when they had greeted him yesterday and who had access to all the room keys. One a long-haired beauty with a breathy voice, her voluptuous, larger-than-life curves forced into a sensible business suit. The other a tall, no-nonsense German girl with short, thick hair, an Amazonian bosom and a wry smile.
‘Hope you enjoyed your stay, sir,’ she said, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows, ‘do come again.’
Workout
by Beverly Langland
I think I am about to die. I sweat while those around me glow. For the past forty-five minutes I have managed to keep pace with the rigorous aerobic workout, but now I am ready to drop. If hell is worse than this I’d be surprised. Still, I carry on – as I always do – driven by the dream that one day I too will be in as perfect condition as the young, pretty instructress Sandi. I know my expectations are unrealistic. I have put myself through this self-induced torture for over six months and haven’t lost any weight of significance. It is time to face the truth. I will always remain on the plump side no matter how hard I work, how much I wish otherwise. The health club subscription has been a waste of money. I’d have been better off buying some magic knickers.
By the time Sandi finally calls a halt to the carnage I feel so exhausted that I vow never again. There was a time when a woman’s curves were appreciated. Sadly times have changed. It isn’t as if I’m unhappy with my body. Until recently I had been more than comfortable with the way I look. It was only when I met Roger that I started to have doubts. Not that Roger says anything directly, but the odd derogatory comment has crept into his conversation. Little things that undermined my self-confidence and with everything on the high street geared towards the ridiculously emaciated, I decided to give aerobics a try. Hence the torture. The pain. All for a man. Good God, what on earth am I doing, trying to buy into an image I don’t believe in? Well enough is enough! If Roger doesn’t like the way I look, then tough. There are other things about me other than my body which are pretty wonderful.
Standing under the shower, I let my mind float away in the misty warmth. Soon, the hot burning needles start to soothe my aching muscles, but as the pain fades so does my resolve. Roger is a good catch – handsome in a rugged sort of way and fairly successful at his job. I know Roger has his faults but it isn’t as if suitable replacements have been queuing to usurp him. I could do far worse. With soap in one hand and a soft terry cloth in the other, I scrub away at my underlying feeling of discontent. I summon an image of Roger in my mind and try to invoke a sense of belief. As the shampoo suds drain from my body, I softly caress my soapy breasts; dutifully wash between my legs – perhaps paying a little more attention than strictly necessary. I have no idea why I feel starved of affection, yet I am elated when I touch myself. I quickly check I am alone. Hot steam fills the white-tiled room, obscuring my errant hand, hiding my hideous body.
To ease my sense of guilt, I imagine Roger slipping into the shower with me. I take his cock in my hand, guiding the head between my bloated lips. He slips easily into me from behind, burying his hardness deep inside as I lean against the wall, the water spraying in between us, on my back, on his front. Roger thrusting, me accepting, my breasts swaying as he thrusts hard, taking me deep and fast. Roger always takes me from behind – without fail. I appreciate this makes it easy for him to think of someone else. I try not to be upset by his transgression. It is not a crime for him to imagine I am someone beautiful, but once – just once – I wish I could look into his eyes to see if the love he professes is real.
A sound breaks my reverie. Startled, I open my eyes to be confronted with the beautiful smile of my blonde instructress. Sandi has removed her headband; her long straight hair hangs delicately over her shoulders and breasts. A pink nipple peaks impertinently through the wet strands. From this distance her youthful face looks more like that of a twelve-year-old. I explore her lovely, shapely body with envious eyes – marvel at how perfect she seems to me, how exactly she is what I desire to be. For a moment I find myself blatantly gaping at Sandi’s naked body. Her small up-turned breasts resemble those of a young teenager, though her best physical feature is, without a doubt, her firm, round bottom. I have been transfixed by those firm buttocks on many occasions. Yet, what draws my attention is Sandi’s smoothly shaved pubis. I don’t know why this should be; after all, shaving is hardly uncommon. Still, my eye is drawn to her sex as the young woman soaps herself without inhibition, running a finger deftly between youthful pouting lips. Her eyes are closed under the spray of water, but I’m certain I don’t imagine the wry smile. I tear my eyes away when I realise my fingers are still moving – only to notice another woman has been observing my interest in Sandi. She watches me as intently as I had watched the young instructress.
The woman’s presence takes me completely unawares. I have seen her in the gym before, yet we have never spoken. The woman is incredibly muscular, and obviously works out in the weight room. Her body looks magnificent, almost Amazonian in physique. She is almost the opposite in every respect to the petite Sandi, yet in her own way is uniquely beautiful. Naked in the shower with these two women I become incredibly self-conscious of my size, of my lack of dedication. My body is no temple. Shame-faced I turn away. I want to rinse off quickly and get dressed, want to hide within layers of baggy material, to run away from prying eyes.
“Need someone to wash your back?” Before I can think of anything to say, I sense someone close behind, then feel the unmistakable nudge of erect nipples against my back. I freeze beneath the hot water. “It’s Julia, isn’t it? There’s no need to hide from me.” Strong hands circle my waist; turn me slowly until I reluctantly face the dark-haired Amazon. I am immediately struck by the intensity of the woman’s eyes – as wide and as blue as a clear Mediterranean sky. I can see my own startled face shrinking away in the reflection. The woman has washed away her make-up and her short wet hair lays plastered against her head. Her features are striking – she is more beautiful, more youthful than I first thought. The Amazon’s voice remains low, almost husky as she whispers close to my ear, “I just love big tits.” She reaches out to caress my left breast. Stunned by her boldness, I look around in alarm. Sandi has departed. There is no one to help me. “Don’t worry, there’s only us two …”
“That’s hardly the point!”
“You prefer your girls boyish, like that waif Sandi?”
The young woman had obviously formed the wrong impression. She thought me a lesbian, but even if I were so inclined I’m not the sort of woman who is into public displays. I live a safe, boring life, munching chocolate with one hand, while with the other I switch channels with the TV remote – searching for answers. “It’s not that…”
“What then?”
“I hardly know you …” I realise how feeble my protest sounds, especially as the muscular brunette already has one of my nipples between her lips. I stifle a moan as the young woman draws the hard pebble deeper into her hot mouth then proceeds to nip excitedly. The hot water coupled with the girl’s ministrations has a profound effect on me. I should never have touched myself! I am already aroused and when she takes hold of my hand and places it on the back of her head; I draw the girl to me. The Amazon lets out a muffled moan and snakes her hand along my thigh. At first, as foreign fingers dra
w close to my sex I recoil, then finding myself pressed against the cubical wall I put up token resistance while the woman’s fingers persist. They search my hairy muff. I can’t remember being so wet, so excited. I wrap my hand in the young woman’s hair and lift her head onto my other nipple. She moans and sucks on it greedily.
Suddenly, she pulls away. Her eyes are shining, full of mischief. “Here, let me.” Her strong hands are already caressing my shoulders, my arms. Reaching past me, she grasps the hanging tube of soap and begins to lather her own body, concentrating on her breasts, her tummy, her pubis, her thighs. I watch transfixed as the water runs in rivulets through her soft pubic hair to cascade off her pussy. Covered in lather, she smiles slyly, replaces the soap and turns me to face the wall. I feel her lean against me, feel the firmness of her youthful body against mine, feel her soapy breasts rub against my back. Her hands reach around to cup my breasts with her soap-filled hands, squeezing them, cleansing them, tweaking the nipples until they are erect and impossibly hard. I feel so stunned I don’t resist as she manhandles me. I do nothing – say nothing – as her insistent hands venture to my tummy, briefly lower …
Quickly turning me around, she continues to rub her soapy body against mine, driving me almost mad with passion. Not knowing what to do, I raise my hands and put them on top of her head, working lather into her scalp. She lets me know she likes this, immediately fondling my soapy breasts, lightly pinching and squeezing my hardened nipples in response. She takes the bottle of gel, squeezes a blob onto her palm, then cups my pussy and works the lather into my hair with the heel of her hand. The Amazon takes her time, stroking me gently through my curly bush with her fingertips. It doesn’t take long for her expert fingers to locate my burning clitoris. One touch and I know I am too far gone to resist whatever she intends next or to even care who walks in and catches us. I close my eyes as the Amazon’s fingers work their magic, occasionally they dart from my throbbing bud to delve into the depths of my quivering vagina. After a time, she takes one of my hands in hers and guides it between her legs.
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