Her mouth was warm and wet. His cock felt amazing, throbbing inside it. She drew in her breath and let out a whimper, traveling three years earlier in her mind, imagining Damon’s eight inches in her mouth for the first time.
Their third date. She’d wanted to suck him off so bad, she had pulled him into an alley and dropped to her knees right there. He’d tried to get Kirsty to do the public thing again, several times in the three years since, but she never would. Not once. It was too intimidating away from the heat of the moment.
But this was the heat of the moment.
The stranger was moaning; deep, guttural growls escaped his throat as Kirsty worshipped his cock. Up, down, around; loud, sloppy, sucking, exaggerated sounds inside the otherwise silent cabin.
The stranger let out a cry, then pushed himself deeper into her mouth. Kirsty gagged, but the stranger pushed her head down anyway. She pulled away, and his cock fell from her mouth.
They locked eyes and the stranger whimpered, then nodded, giving Kirsty full, silent permission to do it her way. She lowered her head, swallowed him whole, and tried to ignore the river raging at her clit.
Fingers in every hole, this is FUCKING HOT.
Up, down, hard, soft. Kirsty loved the stranger’s cock as though it was Damon’s; worshipped it like every man she’d ever had. She felt his balls tighten and body tense, and her instinct pulled her body back.
No, he can’t cum in my mouth.
He’s a complete stranger.
Damon will know!
A deep moan of runaway pleasure escaped his lips, pushing Kirsty past coherent thought. She tightened her lips and lowered her mouth as far as it would go, tickling the back of her throat with the stranger’s throbbing. She had a half second to register the sharp, sudden pain of her hair being pulled at the root as his first burst of hot, sticky cum hit the back of her throat.
She vented a low moan and kept sucking, her pussy a bucket.
Her tongue danced the length of his shaft and he pulled out, painting her face in a splatter. Ignoring her plastered cheeks, Kirsty leaned into his lap and licked every drop of the warm cum from the stranger’s still throbbing cock.
“That was the best...fucking blowjob of my life,” he breathed. “Worth every goddamn cent.” He handed her a box of Kleenex.
Kirsty wiped herself down, smiling, then said, “I aim to please.”
The stranger handed Kirsty two neatly folded $100 bills. She said, “good evening,” then stepped from the car and into the shadows.
Damon had better fucking be home. If he wasn’t, every toy in her drawer wasn’t going to be enough. Kirsty had no idea when she’d last been so goddamn horny, but at the moment, she’d have gladly let the stranger fuck her blue in every hole she had.
Seriously, fuck Damon. If he couldn't pick her up on time, she would find satisfaction elsewhere, and maybe make a small fortune on the side.
Fortunately for him, he was home, asleep on the couch where he’d fallen a few hours earlier. He was barely awake five minutes before Kirsty had him plowing her from behind, the first of three times he fucked her that night. They had sex another four times throughout the weekend, not counting Damon’s impromptu hummer, Kirsty gave him in the bathroom of Ichiban’s Saturday during dinner with the Anderson’s.
On Monday morning, as Kirsty ascended the stairs to her office, she felt the familiar tingle along with a softening in her pink panties. She wondered if what had happened on Friday could ever happen again.
She imagined the stranger’s eyes, his hair, his light stubble. Heard his moan echoing in her ears, and pictured herself climbing in the Escalade again, her slick clit living a snail trail on the seat.
Kirsty shook off her smile. She couldn't exactly stroll into the office imagining being some random John’s cum slut when she had to hand over the McKinley and Ackerman accounts to the new guy Gerald in just a few minutes.
“Morning, Abby,” Kirsty said, greeting her secretary as she opened the door.
That’s when she saw Gerald, the stranger, sitting in a chair by her desk, his mouth a round O of perfect shock.
“This is Gerald,” Abby said. “He’s been waiting to meet you.”
Kirsty’s face bled a gallon of crimson. “I believe we’ve met,” she said.
XXX
Celeste Sinclair: Special Delivery
Celeste’s nose was an inch behind Johnny’s balls, her lips suckling sack as his throbbing cock pointed up and out the window.
He moaned, then dropped to his knees. Celeste lowered herself over the edge of the bed, her face upside down, facing Johnny. She opened her wet mouth wider and Johnny shoved his cock deep into the drooling hole, fucking it hard, just like she loved it.
Just like Rick never would.
Celeste wrapped her lips around the throb of his dick as Johnny’s tip repeatedly slapped the back of her throat, thrusting in time with her slurping.
His breathing accelerated and Johnny shuddered.
Cum flooded Celeste’s mouth, racing saliva down her hungry throat. She swallowed, then slowly sucked Johnny’s cock completely dry. His throbbing softened and Celeste slowly eased from the edge of his dick with a lingering kiss.
She stared at Johnny’s cock, still holding blood, but no longer angry. Her job was finished. And like always, Celeste had done it remarkably well.
“Fuck. Yeah.” Johnny said, falling back on the bed. “You could suck a golf ball through a garden hose!”
Celeste smiled, then reached over and stroked Johnny’s quickly softening cock. She didn’t mind that he had nothing left for her. He’d spent 40 dedicated minutes on her, immediately after slipping through the back door – half the time with his tongue lapping her skin, from pink lips to puckered ass, the other half sanding his face down with her soaking wet heat.
That was the way it had to be done with Johnny, otherwise it was five minutes to blast off with nothing left for her. And five minutes to blast off with nothing left for her was exactly how Rick gave it her, when she was lucky enough to get it.
Yet, Rick’s disappointment was her fault, and Celeste knew it. She figured every guy loved to fuck, and would want to add his cream to her soup as often as possible. Rick’s main problem, Celeste assumed, was that he couldn't believe his goddamn luck. Every man wanted a cum bucket in the bedroom, and Rick had won the lottery marrying a woman who wanted nothing more than to get filled, drilled, smothered and covered, all the live long day, except for the extremely rare lack of mood.
But Celeste was wrong.
Rick liked it a few times a week, a few minutes at a time. Rarely more and sometimes less. For a few months after they first got married, Celeste thought Rick might even be gay. Because seriously, who wouldn’t want to fuck her in every hole and every opportunity? She was a smoking hot piece of ass, knew it, and loved to let it wiggle.
But Rick wasn’t gay, he just didn’t have much going on downstairs, which was a shame since his cock was thick, long, and gorgeous. In other words, an absolute waste. If Rick was bi, that would have probably meant more fun in the bedroom; extra cum for all. But no, Rick was straight as an arrow, and regrettably, about as boring in the bedroom as a pillow.
Rick owned Ale Mary’s, a local bar and grill, which meant he was busy most nights. Friday and Saturday were the worst, which happened to be the two nights when not fucking felt especially intolerable to Celeste. So she started filling her mouth with mayo on the weekends. But soon enough, the secret life tasted so sweet, Celeste couldn't stop and went right on into the weekdays.
She told her best friend Kirsty, and her kid sister Autumn, about a few of her rendezvous, but downplayed their frequency. She had to since once a day (sometimes more) sounded downright slutty.
Johnny was Celeste’s “everyday.” He worked a double shift as a teacher’s aid at the local elementary school, so he usually had time off right in the middle of the day, starting about a half hour after Rick got going to work. Johnny was a bit young, and would’ve b
een a better match for Autumn, but he made up for missing years with extra energy, and could always be counted on for 40 minutes or so of solid face fucking.
“See you tomorrow?” Johnny said.
“Same Bat Channel,” Celeste said, looking down, surprised at how wet she suddenly was. Dammit, she wanted to fuck. But Johnny was soft and on his way back to the classroom.
Johnny buttoned his jacket. He dressed so primly for the school. It always made Celeste smile, imagining what the faculty at Johnny’s school would think of the shit he blurted mid-thrust, when cum was building and ready to burst.
“Text you tomorrow,” Johnny said, then left the bedroom. The front door rattled in its frame a few seconds later.
According to Kirsty, Celeste was a slut. It wasn’t an insult, and Celeste was fine with the title. She knew there was a part of Kirsty that craved Celeste’s experience. She had always loved sex, ever since the day when Tim Castle fucked her twice and came on her tits once. Celeste had thought about getting crammed and covered every day since, sometimes through most of daylight and all of the night. It was an obsession, the biggest in her life. She’d been lucky enough to make a career out of it during her college years, paying tuition by doing a job she loved for ridiculous money. Celeste was fortunate, finding the right firm at the right time. They made sure she was safe. All Celeste had to do was show up and do what she would’ve probably been happy to do anyway.
Of course, the customer was always right, but their pleasure was her pleasure, as long as there was a happy ending. And there was always a happy ending.
Celeste had met Rick as a senior, though of course he never knew about her previous career. He was just finishing his final business classes, nursing the dream of owning his own bar. He looked like Celeste’s dream guy, though it turned out that Rick was only perfect on the outside. If he fucked like he looked, Celeste would have been covered in the cum of Nirvana. But Rick had exactly one gear: barely running.
So Celeste became an “on the down-lo cum bucket,” another one of Kirsty’s pet names. It was true, Celeste was cum hungry. But she was reasonably discreet. Though her appetite was massive, and she wanted what she wanted and did what she needed to get it, she did her best to spare Rick’s feelings. A part of her would die if he found out.
But then again, part of her knew that Rick finding out was inevitable.
It wasn’t like they had children. Her secret life was the main reason, of course, why Celeste kept postponing pregnancy; saying no, making excuses, and taking bigger and bigger chances. Eventually Rick would find out. They’d get the divorce, and life would move on. A small part of her, she hated to admit, would have been happy to simply get it over with.
It wasn’t that Celeste didn’t want children, she did. And she knew time wasn’t on her side. But she couldn't see herself sharing children, and a long life, with someone who wouldn’t fuck her. It was like loving to drink but living with someone who got tipsy after a sip and could never down more than half a glass. Celeste was addicted to cum, and needed more than her husband could give her during the long, lonely hours when he was running Ale Mary’s.
Celeste had a small, select number of men, each chosen with care. She preferred men, or semi-men like Johnny, who didn’t especially want to have sex. The ones who wanted to throat fuck her all the way to hallelujah were always eager to meet her demands. They came with another bonus, too: they were tighter lipped than Kirsty, who Celeste had been unable to bring to the dark side, despite a decade of trying.
Celeste’s men knew the drill. If they opened their mouths, she closed hers. For good.
It was an even trade, square as a set of dice: Celeste got all the cock she needed, and a few local Musketeers had their very own cum slut.
Celeste opened her bottom drawer and ran her fingers along the top of several toys, then mumbled to herself and rolled back on the bed. She put her hand between her legs, pussy slick and hungry.
Celeste didn’t want a toy, she wanted a cock and the cum that it came with.
She glanced at the clock: 2:40 – almost 10 hours before Rick would be home. Getting dick was a near guarantee, as long as she was willing to wander a bit off schedule.
Just then, Celeste’s iPhone vibrated against the nightstand. She reached to the nightstand and picked up the phone: Fred.
Hell yeah!
Celeste had met Fred, trying not to stare at her tits, when she and Rick bought their jacuzzi six months earlier. Fred had been picturing Celeste inside it, she could tell by the look in his eyes and the slick in her slit. Fred was sweet, and a little nerdy, not at all the type of guy to tell a girl what he wanted. He’d rather spend his time pleasing her, then leave her bed grateful for the chance to do it again.
In other words, Fred was perfect.
Nothing would have happened between Celeste and Fred if she hadn’t “accidentally” brushed her ass against his fly while Rick hunched over the desk getting his signature on a stack of credit applications.
Rick was leaving his John Hancock while Celeste stared at the suddenly spry and surprisingly large outline of Fred’s cock. She returned to the office the following morning to ask about regular maintenance, then took him in the back and swallowed him whole. Fred spilled his milk in seconds, definitely less than a minute. So Celeste came back after lunch to see if there was someone he could recommend for regular maintenance. Once the office emptied, she took him in the back again, this time for a proper fucking.
And that’s the way it stayed with Fred. Celeste had to quickly get him off the first time, then ease him into round two immediately. But when it came to round two, no one was better than Fred. It sometimes took a while, but every time she had the time to get Fred to give her the old one-two, Celeste had her taco tenderized enough to keep her wet for days from memory alone.
Her last afternoon with Fred had been incredible.It started with the usual early squirt, but she nursed him back until he was sporting a Sequoia in less time than usual. Then, Fred fucked her into delirium, filling every hole a few times before finishing with a 30 second splatter that started at her clit as he pulled out, then covered every inch of her frontside, from navel to face; the thickest wad landing right between the pink of her tits.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Celeste. It’s Fred.”
“I know,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me each time. It says “Sarah,” on the caller ID when you call. That means “Fred.”
“Oh,” he said. “You told me that before. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Celeste said. “What’s up. You gonna fuck me today? I’ll let you do anything you want.” Celeste knew damn well that anything Fred wanted meant whatever she did.
“Can you?”
“Depends,” Celeste said. “Is today a day you can actually stick around?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a while,” he said. “And I’m close.”
“Okay, Freddy, start touching yourself, then text me when you get here.”
“I already am,” he said.
Celeste remembered to add, “Park in the alley,” just as the line went dead. He was gone, but there was nothing to worry about. Fred always parked in the alley, visible from the side of the house. It was the perfect location for Celeste to see her callers, while keeping them inconspicuous to nosy neighbors.
Celeste swung her feet from the bed and pulled on an ice blue pair of panties. Fred liked to pull her panties off, loved pulling them from her right ankle and throwing them to the floor. Simple foreplay, good for his blood flow and fine by her. She rubbed her swollen lips beneath the thin fabric, promised herself she’d get satisfied soon, then headed toward the kitchen for a tall glass of icy water.
Celeste was standing by the refrigerator in her blue panties and no top, nipples hard, waiting for the ice cubes to stop plunking and water to start pouring, when she spotted the UPS truck pull to the edge of her curb.
Celeste felt a strong tingle between her legs. The UPS man’s name was Paul, and he w
as hotter than any of the guys on her current Fuck List. Celeste would order something from Amazon every day just to see him walk to the door, if Rick would let her.
She’d given Paul plenty of opportunity, from subtle to loud. Unfortunately, Paul had never given her the time of day. He was a semi-regular at the bar, along with several of his friends, and knew Rick reasonably well. Plus, he was shy.
There was a light knock on the door. Celeste set her glass on the counter, picked up her phone, then crossed the kitchen and living room on her way to the front door. She set her phone on the table beside her keys, then opened the door, its frame covering her topless body.
“Hello,” she said.
“Mrs. Sinclair,” the UPS man said, “I have a package for you.” He held a small, thin box in the air. Probably the season of Weeds she’d ordered.
“Thanks,” Celeste said, reaching her hand around the door and taking the box. She set the box beside her phone, then swung the door the rest of the way open, giving the UPS man a full view of her pert nipples.
“Paul, right?” she said.
Paul shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered.
“I answered the door naked,” she said. “Why are you apologizing?” She giggled. “Now, don’t I need to sign somewhere?” Celeste took a step closer to Paul, reaching for the stylus in his right hand. He gasped and took a surprised step back. Celeste pointed to the dark silhouette nudging against the fabric of his brown shorts.
She stepped behind the door to cover her body again, then purred, “Tense day?” Celeste was close to earning a prolonged victory with Paul, and felt a deep and sudden need to satisfy herself. After all, her second round with Fred probably wouldn’t happen for a while.
Celeste looked left and right, saw no one outside, then swung the door wide and showed Paul her tits a second time, the same tits that approximately 10 out of 10 guys did a double take at, and the same tits her own husband barely paid attention to.
“Hey, Paul,” she said, “Wanna fuck me?”
Fifty Shades of Lexi Maxxwell Page 2