by Viva Jones
Climbing into the bed their lips joined together. Chase loved the feel of her full pouty lips against his. Their tongues joined, flicking together as their hands explored each other. Chase’s mouth travelled lower down her body, kissing her chin, her neck, before finally settling on her breasts. Shaquanda’s back arched and her nails dug into his broad shoulders as he lightly lapped at her round dark nipples. Taking the hard buds between his teeth, he pulled and nibbled on them, making her squeal with pleasure. Placing the whole nipple in his mouth, his tongue licked the large areola as he gently massaged her other breast.
‘Mmmm ...’ Shaquanda moaned out. ‘That feels nice.’
‘This is only the beginning,’ Chase promised winking at her.
Continuing to travel lower, he planted little kisses on her stomach, tickling her sensitive flesh and making it quiver. His tongue swirled around her navel before kissing it.
Reaching her pussy he massaged her aroused lips with the palm of his hand. Moaning, Shaquanda’s fingers clutched and unclutched the sheets, rumpling them. Chase increased the massage. Shaquanda cried out in pleasure. Her feet flexed and her toes tingled. That had never happened before.
Shaquanda’s eyes grew wide and her mouth opened in a silent orgasmic scream when Chase stuck three fingers inside her pussy and vigorously finger-fucked her. His fingers worked her moist pussy, teasing her clit. Her breathing became rapid and she screamed with pure passion.
‘Oh my god!’ She yelled.
Chase laughed. Bending down he kissed her and increased the motion of his fingers. Shaquanda’s stomach tingled and her back arched. Moaning into Chase’s mouth she wrapped her arms around him and massaged his well-muscled back.
Smiling slyly Chase buried his face deep inside Shaquanda’s pussy. She inhaled sharply. Chase sucked and bit on her engorged pussy lips. Lapping up her sweet juices he gently massaged her inner thighs. Chase lightly swirled his tongue around her pussy before spreading it open with his hands and sticking it inside. Shaquanda’s fingers held his head tightly. His tongue moved in and out, steadily fucking her. He was as skilled with his tongue as he was with his fingers. Shaquanda couldn’t wait to find out what kind of cock skill he had.
‘Get on top of me,’ Chase said out of breath.
Shaquanda obliged. Sitting on his face she moved her hips back and forth all over Chase’s smiling face. His features glistened with her juice. Wrapping his arms around her waist he slapped her round ass, making the flesh jiggle.
‘Mmm ...’ Shaquanda moaned out as she stroked his long dick and massaged his smooth balls.
‘You like that?’ Chase asked, slapping her ass a few more times. ‘Huh? You like gettin’ your ass spanked?’
‘Yes,’ Shaquanda moaned out.
‘Suck my cock,’ Chase commanded continuing to spank her.
Not wanting to disappoint the Orgasm Bandit, Shaquanda wrapped her lips around his shaft and bobbed her head up and down his length. Her tongue flicked in and out, teasing his large pink mushroom head. Her fingers tickled his neat dark curls, lightly massaging them.
‘Jerk me off with your braids,’ Chase said in between licking her pussy.
Shaquanda smiled. He was kind of kinky. She liked it. Wrapping her braids around his cock she moved them up and down his thickness. Chase moaned into her pussy causing her to shudder. His body flinched when she took the end of one of her braids and stuck it inside his ass. It was the first time he had ever been penetrated down there. The tip of her hair tickled his anal g-spot. His body shuddered. Who would have thought braids could be so damn hot?
Shaquanda was on her hands and knees. Chase was behind her running his cock over her eager pussy. He slapped his cock against her lips several times making her stomach tremble. Fuck! Homeboy was driving her crazy!
Their moans echoed throughout the apartment in unison when Chase entered her. Wrapping her braids tightly around his fist he gently pulled them as he fucked her. They felt as great as he had imagined. His hips bucked wildly. His balls slammed against her thighs. Her breasts jiggled. Chase’s fingers were rapidly massaging her clit. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when he stuck his middle finger inside her pussy and double fucked her.
Dayum! She thought. For someone so young, homie fucks like a pro! No wonder they call him the Orgasm Bandit! The things he does with his body should be illegal.
She felt herself travelling further and further to the edge of passion. Chase, sensing she was close, increased his speed. Their bodies slammed against each other like animals. Their breaths were rapid.
Oh my god, she thought excitedly. This is it. This is it.
‘Don’t! Stop! Fucking! Me!’ She cried out as her body was assaulted with orgasm.
Shaquanda’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her heart skipped a few beats. Her whole body shuddered. She was light headed and suddenly dehydrated. Her arms and legs gave out and she fell onto her stomach.
Chase followed moments later, coming with a loud groan. Even with the condom on his release felt as good as hers.
‘We’re not done yet,’ Chase said pulling out of her and flipping her onto her back.
Burying his head between her legs he worked her clit with his tongue and fingers. Her stomach tingled, knotting itself. She was so overcome with pleasure she didn’t think she could take much more.
Shaquanda’s back arched and she pushed Chase’s face further into her pussy. Her heart rate increased. She felt herself plummeting.
‘Oh god! Yes!’ She screamed as she squirted all over Chase’s face drenching and drowning him with her juices.
Smiling, Chase greedily lapped up her pussy juice before collapsing on top of her heaving chest. Their bodies were intertwined, skin tones contrasting beautifully. Kissing her nipples, Shaquanda massaged his broad shoulders and ran her fingers through her hair.
After he had gotten cleaned up, Chase kissed her passionately. Shaquanda couldn’t believe that had really happened. She expected to wake up any moment to discover it had all been a dream and she was still an orgasm virgin.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Greatest gift I ever got. And it’s not even my birthday.’
‘My pleasure,’ Chase said.
‘Will I ever see you again?’ She asked hoping the answer would be yes.
‘You still have my number?’ The Orgasm Bandit asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’ll see me again,’ he promised starting to walk out of the room.
‘Wait,’ she called suddenly. The Bandit turned. ‘Take off the mask.’
It was the one thing he had been dreading. Chase’s heart pounded and he started to sweat from places he didn’t even know could sweat. Should he expose himself? Would she be angry? Would she fail him? Pass him? Report him?
‘Please,’ she said softly. ‘I want to see you. The real you.’
Sighing, Chase kneeled in front of her and she slowly removed the mask. Shaquanda gasped.
‘Chase?’ She asked not believing.
‘Hi, Miss Jackson,’ Chase said sheepishly, rising.
‘But ... how?’ She asked tongue-tied.
‘I overheard you and your friend talking in the restaurant. I honestly didn’t think you’d really call. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop out of your class if you want.’
Silence was between them for the longest time. Too long. Chase shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other suddenly wishing he hadn’t left his clothes in the car.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said the words catching them both offguard. ‘It was great. I’m glad you turned out to be the Bandit.’
Chase let out a little laugh. ‘I just signed the note that way because I heard your friend say that.’
‘This may not be the most ethical thing for me to say but I’m really glad this happened. I’m glad this happened with someone that I know.’
‘Me too,’ Chase said smiling.
Kissing her once again he walked out of her apartment. Shaquanda settled into the bed.
The Orgasm Bandit’s scent was still strong on her. Smiling she hugged her pillow and drifted off to sleep not believing that she had actually slept with one of the hottest students she had ever had. Chase was good in bed. Damn good. Too bad he wasn’t as good at political science. But she had a feeling she had found the key to get the young goof-off to pass her class with flying colours ...
Fast and Foxy
By Toni Sands
Roxanne Palmer parked her peachy bottom on the bed and plucked a stocking from the pair nestling on the crisp white duvet. She wriggled her toes inside, easing the gossamer towards one black suspender. As she clipped the second stocking in place, she smiled her pleasure in this ritual. Her oyster silk blouse felt cool against her body as she reached for the charcoal skirt suit hanging nearby.
The reflection in her oval mirror was that of a confident woman. One who’d fought for success and who deserved and expected strawberries on her cake. As Roxanne stepped into skyscraper Manolos, she decided it was impossible to tell whether the sunshine glow of her legs was down to bare flesh or gossamer hose. Licking a fingertip and bending to stroke from knee to elegant ankle was irresistible.
She collected her clutch bag and slipped it inside her briefcase before her long fingers, nails glossy with midnight-dark nail polish, reached for the car keys. Her new Mercedes waited in the building’s underground car park.
Roxanne had taken delivery three weeks before. Flying on adrenalin, she celebrated by shagging the undeniably cute salesman in her office after he’d delivered the hot motor plus bottle of bubbly. She’d popped the cork, enjoyed winding him up, playing seductress and turning him on. And on. When she unbuttoned her blouse, he was like a kid ripping wrapping paper off a gift. Soon they were having hot, dirty sex on the carpet. He’d rammed into her, revving her up into a double orgasm.
He’d been young and eager. She’d been starved of sex for a while and this guy was a stud. She almost invited him back to her place. When she learnt he was married, she couldn’t get rid fast enough.
Now she greeted her sexy motor each morning like a lover. How sad was that? She let herself out of her apartment. Too impatient to call the lift, Roxanne negotiated the stairs to join the many motorists already on their way.
Grant Caldwell was such a motorist. He too anticipated a busy day. As he drove the 20 miles from home to M4 junction, he barely registered the landscape fast-forwarding as he crossed the county boundary. He sailed past fields of grazing sheep and punched the button, hoping for something more stimulating than the crackle and pop of Friday breakfast chat.
He was stunned to hear the seductive drawl of a glamorous movie star he’d always admired. As an adolescent he’d masturbated while gazing at her photo. As Grant drove, he pictured those endless legs parted for the camera, those scarlet-tipped fingernails touching her air-brushed pussy. She’d begun her career as a model and now, in her 40s, she’d probably prefer to forget that particular portion of her CV. Marcia Morton was up there with Bacall and Bancroft. The Today programme was interviewing her not only because of her dramatic talents but because of her involvement in Israeli politics.
Marcia, wearing her frothy g-string and quite a lot of baby oil, still held a special place in Grant’s memory. She was currently appearing in London’s West End playing a Mrs Robinson kind of role. He wondered idly whether to make the trip to see her flashing her French knickers and lacy stocking tops. He imagined calling at the stage door, being invited into the star’s dressing room. Already he was turned on. Get a life, he told himself. His older woman fantasy fuck was better left unfulfilled.
He dragged his thoughts to his date that night. After three meetings it was time to bed the attractive student he’d met while clubbing. After drinks and dinner, he’d drive her back to her place and hopefully it really would be a case of TGIF. Yet Grant, tantalised by images of black satin and crimson lips, suspected his new girlfriend lacked that touch of the feral for which he yearned.
So robust was the stereo system that when Marcia Morton’s sexy chuckle rippled across the airways, he glanced across as if expecting to find her sitting beside him. The sultry sound traversed the length of his body and gathered at his groin. Next she’d cross those long legs under her pencil skirt. Toss that glossy mane of hair away from those perfect features. For a moment he yearned to be his schoolboy self, cock rampant and hands busy. As his mind kept wandering back to Marcia, he wondered what she’d be like in bed. On air, luscious Ms Morton was comparing herself with vintage wine. Doubtless she, or any other foxy older woman, would present a challenge. Demand high standards. It was a challenge Grant longed for.
Lust throbbed through him as Marcia dug her nails into his flesh. He was on the dual carriageway. Maybe increasing his speed would decrease his libido. He shifted his behind against the leather upholstery. His boss was in the States and Grant was driving the jet black Bentley until the head honcho needed meeting at Heathrow. Strictly speaking, this was an old guy’s car. It spoke of success at the expense of years of sweaty bollocks. The car itself was truly a goer. As, hopefully, the babe Grant planned on entertaining tonight would prove to be. Then maybe his lascivious thoughts about Marcia Morton would melt like chocolate drops by the fireside. But he still wondered how it would feel to slip between the sheets with a cock-hungry cougar woman.
A cougar woman was purring down the dual carriageway when Grant’s black Bentley flew past in one blink of her immaculately mascaraed eyes. Roxanne maintained her speed. What was he on? The motorway junction loomed. Surely the guy could wait to flaunt his penis envy. Her lips twitched. If only she could be bothered, she’d pit herself and her silver Mercedes SL against some fat cat corporate lawyer or merchant banker. Roxanne just knew the person behind the wheel was a 50-something male heading for the last chance saloon.
She was tuned into the Marcia Morton interview. Of course, the star was hot news, the media gagging for exclusives. What a role model she was with her three ex- husbands still all eye candy, the last one a decade younger than Marcia who’d ended the marriage by cheating on husband Number Three with a 19-year-old baseball pro. ‘Can I help it if horny guys prefer their women mature?’ she was asking the interviewer in that warm treacle voice.
Roxanne, who’d just celebrated her 42nd birthday, laughed out loud. She reckoned Ms Morton was at least four years her senior. So, who cared? Roxanne ran a successful business selling exotic lingerie and associated ... products. She traded online and via a network of female retailers who downloaded eye-wateringly provocative underwear and allied intimate items from car boot to suburban sitting room. Sales were good. So good, even in uncertain times, that Roxanne had decided she deserved a company car with attitude.
She’d coveted a Mercedes SL since she was 17. Two husbands and 25 years later, she got it. Her son Danny, MD of Roxie Rocks Limited, posed no resistance to his Chairman.
Roxanne joined the motorway. At Junction 15 she’d take the Dornchester turn off then the ring road to the new business complex where she was to address a brain-burst of new graduates. She’d already read their CVs and decided which ones merited an interview for internship. She loved this kind of gig. With just five O Levels to her name, she’d be speaking to kids who, amongst them, had enough A and A* grades to sink the Titanic. But who’d be the one wearing the Mercedes?
Ahead of Roxanne, Grant Caldwell was cruising at 70mph in the middle lane. Marcia Morton had vanished. He was congratulating himself on being ahead of schedule for his breakfast meeting when he spotted the brake lights of vehicles ahead. ‘Bugger,’ he breathed, anticipating a bottleneck. He changed frequency again. But the local station was fixated on ABBA. To add to Grant’s annoyance, this slight lapse of concentration meant a determined vehicle convoy was overtaking him like a pack of lemmings clogging up the outer lane.
Roxanne too liked nothing better than to blast down the carriageway, especially when driving her positively orgasmic Mercedes. Wow. Handling this baby was practically better than having sex – u
nless it was particularly good sex. She was therefore extremely pissed off by this hold-up.
She pulled into the middle lane, timing it so she left plenty of space between herself and the car in front, which happened to be the Bentley from the dual carriageway. Sleek lines, stylish bodywork – pity about the driver. But as she drew closer she saw him turn his head to check the inside lane.
No way was he an identikit Bentley driver. This guy was hot – a young man in his mid to late 20s. Was he driving Daddy’s car? Very interesting: interesting enough to spark Roxanne’s appetite for adventure. If she must endure a motorway delay then maybe she could enliven it. She adored the way life presented opportunities. She reached for her shades.
When Grant shot past the silver Mercedes on the dual carriageway, he’d clocked the fact that a woman occupied the driver’s seat. Now he was sandwiched between Mr Tesco and the foxy female driving that lady-boy car. He shot swift glances in his rear view mirror. The queue of traffic slowed and slowed again, reaching gridlock. A few drivers began getting out and gazing over the roofs of vehicles trapped in this temporary hell. Grant locked gazes with the driver behind, liked what he saw and decided to stretch his legs too.
Roxanne watched with interest as Bentley Boy left his air-conditioned den and stalked a few metres up the queue. The guy moved like a big cat. He was tall with close-cropped dark hair. He had taut buns. Nice. He stopped beside someone who’d been speaking on his mobile phone. They chatted for a minute then Bentley Boy walked back to his car and seized its door handle. He didn’t get in. He looked straight at Roxanne.
Her window slid down. ‘Excuse me,’ she called. ‘Do you know what’s holding us up?’ She removed her shades.
Grant stepped towards her. He saw a complexion smooth as cream, long-lashed blue eyes, and a pert nose. This stunning woman, so chic in her severe suit, oozed a feline sexiness that stole his breath. Her power jacket couldn’t disguise the lush curve of her breasts. Her short skirt rode up; displaying sweet knees he ached to touch.