Let's Swing

by Piquette Fontaine

  I simply couldn't say no, however, to the man I encountered in the hallway with a long, veiny black dildo in his hand, who said he'd been unable to get anyone to use it on him all night, and he feared that he would end up having gone through this ordeal without the privilege of having had it put to use on him. And this was one studly beefcake of a guy, too, the type of guy upon which using a strap-on dildo can seem very, very kinky.

  I agreed, under the condition that he wear my bra and panties while I penetrated him, just to add to the authenticity of the scene, you know? And of course, he loved this suggestion even more than I might have imagined, and so the two of us had a pegging party on our hands.

  I savored watching this muscular sexpot peeling out of his clothes, his muscular physique being unveiled to me in throbbing, pulsing brilliance, making my mouth water and my pussy wet as hell as my eyes fell over every last nook and crevice of his anatomy. He had a pretty nice cock on him, too, I had to say, and I halfway felt remorseful that it wouldn't be him doing the penetrating between the two of us.

  At any rate, though, I felt fairly committed to this now, and accordingly, once he was down to his birthday suit, I peeled out of my lingerie as well, handing them over to him, in exchange for the long, veiny dildo. Almost the instant the phallic black thing was in my hands, I began to feel an immense sense of power wash over me, a masculine brutality that had heretofore been denied me, and I decided that this might just end up being very, very fun...

  I slid the straps of my cock around my pelvis, securing it tightly around my waist, and then proceeded to go about admiring my new wang, seizing it in my fingers, and stroking it with the utmost reverence. “Oooh, yeah... That's nice... I like that,” I said, and it was almost as though the sensations actually tingled along my shaft as I touched myself in this manner, as though it was a real cock on there and not just some artificial substitute. “Alright, get dressed, you little cunt...” I commanded him, nodding at the bra and panties, and surprising myself at the collapse of my language throughout the course of the night.

  His face grew very red at this, but he was smiling with delight at his own humiliation, and proceeded to do as he was told. He slid into my underwear in a manner that was rather clumsy and, frankly, not all that sexy inherently, but which, due to the nature of our interaction, turned me on like an absolute motherfucker. The cups of my bra rested flat against his pecks as he fastened the thing around his broad shoulders, and my panties bulged so fiercely with the force of his erection that I thought he was going to tear the damn things in two with his shaft. Then, however, his cock sprang clean free from the lace altogether, popping out into the open and being held forced against his thigh by the fabric of the underwear, so that I could almost feel its heat radiating into his flesh on his behalf. He reached down quickly to go about pushing it back inside the confines of his panties, but suddenly I stopped him.

  “No, leave it like it is... I like it that way... Now get on your knees, and open your mouth wide...”

  He swallowed hard, clearly nervous about all this despite his enthusiasm, and slowly lowered his body to the ground. I gave my shaft a few more pumps with my wrist, and then effortlessly slid the entire curved blade of my erection into the hot, wet nook of his throat. He gagged immediately on me, but I only kept it in there for a moment before reeling myself back out, and then pushing my way back inside. Several times I did this, pulling in and out, in and out, in and out like a dipstick, until at last I decided to give him a break from this torment and settled in for good, holding myself there, then pulling back, and proceeding to face-fuck him into oblivion.

  I felt an immense, almost ridiculous degree of power as I thrusted into him like that, practically knocking his fucking head from his shoulders as I pumped and grunted and strained, loving the churning up of fluids and the obvious degree of agony he was presently facing. At last, though, after some time of this, I decided it was due time to relent, pulling back out of him, and slapping the dildo against his cheeks, much like my former lover had done to me.

  Then, I ordered him over onto the bed, and he climbed up onto it onto his hands and knees, arching his spine and thrusting his ass out into the air, quivering from head to toe all the while. I climbed up behind him in order to go about the sweet, sweet process of mounting him, tucking my fingers into the fabric of my own panties and pulling them slowly, slowly down to around his knees.

  He gasped as I put my cock between the cheeks of his ass, sliding the shaft up and down between his asscrack and causing the sweat to really come pouring down along his body. Then, very carefully, I leaned in, aligning myself with his frightened black entryway, and slowly pushing myself inside. He screamed wildly, apparently not expecting this sort of anal agony despite his apparent to wish to engage in it. I thought about pulling back out of him for a moment, and instead settled for asking if he was alright.

  “Yes... Yes... I'm fine... Christ, yes, I love it... Keep going...”

  And from there on out, I had no further reservations about assfucking him in this manner. I finished pushing all the way inside until every inch of that shaft was buried in there, holding steady as he trembled beneath me, and then proceeding to really tear into him, getting higher and higher and higher as the thrusts ticked by from the sense of sheer, splendid penile power I felt. I smashed and blasted and detonated into him like mad, actually beginning to cackle and howl with perverse laughter as I pumped into the deepest fathoms of his anatomy, again and again and again and again, growing into such a brutal rhythm that I thought I might never be able to slow down again.

  “Huh? Huh? You like that, you bitch? You're my bitch, aren't you? Do you want me to fuck you harder, you little twat?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! I want more! More! More!!!”

  Christ, I was turning into a monster...

  But accordingly, I ass-blasted him even more furiously, somehow managing to redouble the force of my pounding, and my body actually beginning to get quite sore and sweaty as the jackhammering wore on. Then, as he continued to squirm and to whimper beneath my vicious blows, I decided I could at least have a little bit of mercy on the poor bastard. I reached around his stuttering body, and managed somehow to seize a firm grip on his cock, which was somehow only half-erect on account of the penetration, I think, and I began to masturbate him furiously as the humping continued. He moaned even louder at this point, and I savored the fact of his hardening between my fingers, things getting stiffer and veinier, throbbing perversely and jizz beginning to seep down along his shaft.

  At last, I began to think that things were probably just about in the vicinity of where they needed to be, and I slammed one final time into him, holding myself in place deep, deep, deep within his body, and setting him over the edge. I swear to God, I think I, myself, experienced something very analogous to orgasm as he came there on the end of my shaft, even as physically impossible as it may have been given that the genital I was utilizing was constructed of plastic. But something, adrenaline or otherwise, coursed through my body at the same moment he reached climax himself, anal orgasm making him stutter and reel and let out a series of ridiculous sounds. He began to ejaculate all over me, his sperm drenching my pumping hand and dripping down onto the bedspread, not to mention, somehow splattering all over my bra and panties as well, essentially ruining them...

  Well okay, I'm just shitting you... They were pretty much ruined at this point in the night anyway...

  At any rate, as I at last pulled out of him feeling confident and empowered, and not at all like the same girl I'd been at the beginning of the evening, I thought for certain that I had at last exhausted myself for the evening, and that my sexual escapades for the night were all but at an end.

  Then, however, I stepped back out into the hallway, completely ass naked, mind you, having said screw hotel policy at this point, only to find a group of the men and woman I'd fucked over the night standing there, staring at me, with the lust of one final plan for me practically glowing in their eye
s.

  It was time for an orgy to end all orgies...

  We went into a room with two king sized beds, pushing them together, creating an adequate enough playing field for all of us to have fun with on top of simultaneously. I, for whatever reason, was elected the “main honoree” of this grand finale, perhaps because I was a newcummer (pun intended,) or because I had had sex with more people that night, in some way, shape, or fun, than any of them had.

  The gimp from the very beginning came up to me, then, with an almost fatherly sort of pride, and proceeded to suit me up in order to maximize my pleasure for this last hoorah in my hoo-hah. He hooked a set of nipple clamps onto my tits, causing them to become highly sensitized and to hurt like hell, but the pain only a fraction of that I felt when he stuck some very similar clamps onto my labia, stretching out my pussy, and causing it to hurt like fuck as I sprawled out on the bed.

  From there, I found myself promptly double penetrated, the black guy from my second room and one of the men from the gang bang both mounting me, and pushing their massive erections into the wet, tautly stretched folds of my pussy. The agony as they ripped me in half in this manner was an absolute thing of beauty, and as they began to thrust in tandem up into me, their cocks grinding against one another inside me and driving me mad, the black woman I'd walked in on screwing stood before me with her legs splayed. Every pushing into my body of the two fat cocks, conversely, buried my face up in her muff, and I ate her pussy inbetween strokes, tasting the sweet tang and the salty remnants of sperm still coating her from past encounters. And finally, on top of all of his, I was masturbating two people on either side of me with my free hands, one set of genitals a cock and balls and the other a pussy, so that I could not possibly have handled another ounce of flesh in that moment had I tried.

  The friction heated up and the moments dripped perversely along, screams and moans and grunts filling the room as other pairs and triads fucked in corners and at the foot of the bed, sensations mounting inside me as my double penetrators came quickly to a head, overwhelming me, and setting me clean over the edge. Both men began to ejaculate wildly inside me, pulse after pulse after pulse of their sperm filling me up one cock at a time, their sperm coating one another as they continued to thrust and to fuck down to the very last drop, and this sweet fact driving me absolutely wild.

  An orgasm unlike any I had encountered throughout the course of the evening suddenly came roaring powerfully over me, causing me to shake and to tremble and to cry out with agonized splendor, every nerve flashing, every limb convulsing, and the sea of bodies surrounding seeming to close in on me, inundating me, and leaving me so goddamned blissful a stupor that I thought I might sleep for days immediately after this.

  At last, my experience with Speed Mating was brought to its conclusion, and I was brought back around to what I said at the very beginning of all this: sometimes, in order to live a fulfilling life, you have to just sort of take the plunge and do something completely out of the blue and crazy, even if it's out of character for you and beyond the realm of your comfort zone.

  This experience, I thought, had been life-changing for me, and I had a funny feeling I would be coming back around to Speed Mating night sometime very, very soon...

  THE END

  Milf And Chocolate

  One

  Alyshia didn't like new neighbors.

  Or, well, maybe that wasn't quite accurate.

  Maybe it was more along the lines that new neighbors didn't like Alyshia. And not all new neighbors. The problem, in reality, was that certain new neighbors tended to really, really, really like Alyshia. In particular- husbands, boyfriends, teenage boys... And it was always the women in their respective households who developed some understandable hostility toward Alyshia for the fact.

  She couldn't help it, though, really. In spite of herself, she always found herself making eyes at whatever specimen of masculine perfection that happened to grace the presence of her block, bedroom eyes, specifically, fierce, deep, and penetrating, like the look a tiger gives its prey right before it devours it, a look that says, “You are mine, and there's nothing you can do about that... And trust me, you don't want to resist. You want to let it happen... I promise you'll enjoy it as I tear you to shreds...”

  Tiger? Perhaps cougar would be the more adept choice in large feline in Alyshia's case.

  Invariably, Alyshia was old enough to be the mother of any of her romantic conquests, and the mere thought of it aroused her beyond belief. She'd never had kids, and somehow this took away from any perceived “wrongness” of her predatory nature in her mind. She guessed she could understand why mothers and girlfriends and wives disliked her, but she didn't really see things from their perspective. Life was too short to worry about things like age and social propriety. Age was just a number, and social propriety was for people with sticks up their asses- excuse her French.

  She would rather enjoy life with something up stuck up her ass, thank you very much...

  Alyshia was the type of woman who should have known better at this point in her life but never really did seem to know better, and felt all the better off for the very fact of not knowing better. Although age was only a number, Alyshia's number was forty-two- about the time when some women tend to wind down their sexual careers and settle in for more than half a lifetime's physical dormancy, believing that that point in their life was good and over, and that that was that was that was that.

  But not Alyshia.

  For Alyshia, forty-two was the new eighteen, and she was enjoying herself and life more now than she ever had during her actual young adulthood, at the time when you're actually supposed to spread your legs like wildfire in order to get all the fun distractions in life out of the way while you're young. Alyshia was a woman like fine wine, improved with age, more delectable, more experienced, more confident and more enthusiastic to take control of things in the bedroom.

  Not to mention, more adept at luring her innocent young prey...

  The reason women hated her so much was that Alyshia was like a Venus flytrap, snapping up the young men in her life and devouring them, feeding off their energy, and always hungry for more, more, more... The women around her all thought that to a cougar such as her, all of these flings with young, innocent cubs were an act of desperation- or rather, they wanted to believe that, and that somehow the fact that their men all flocked to her with hypnotized eyes was because of her sad, middle-aged appeal for physical sympathy. That made it a little more bearable than the truth, which was that Alyshia, at forty-two, was in the prime of her sensuality, her charms more seductive and eroticism more acute than it had ever been or ever would be for the women around her whose men she devoured.

  She'd always been a beautiful woman, and this, too, amplified and became more delicate with age. More fragile, and therefore more irresistible. Trampy blonde hair. Chaotically blue eyes that could rip you apart if you stared at them for more than an accidental instant. Caramel skin, tan and delectable, smooth and curvaceous as the rolling dunes of the Sahara, with a few lines here and there demarcating her transition to greater maturity, but serving as beauty marks rather than detractors from her feminine wares.

  She'd also always been a major flirt- a fact, similarly, that was made abundantly more intense in her forties, so that every move she made made the men she wanted want her. Every sway of her hips in some ludicrously tight black dress, hugging her curves, her body rippling, her ass melting men's hearts as it rotated, step by step by step. Every flick of her hair, as every bit the trampy blonde eighteen year old she would always be at heart, and every flutter of her eyelashes that filled men with an equal and appropriate lust for her in return.

  She laughed at jokes that weren't funny, she made men who weren't special at all feel special, and then she made them feel like shit, like animals, clawing them apart just as she'd built them up, tearing them limb from limb from limb, consuming whatever was left- and always, always, always, the men loved it. It made them feel li
ke the men they wanted to be, and yet somehow not like men at all- like wards in her care almost, like they were being mothered, all of them as though they had some bizarre Oedipus complex that they could only see fulfilled through this luscious, curvaceous, and more than accommodating woman, this blonde bombshell, this MILF next door...

  Alyshia.

  For all the fun she had with her boy toys, her good time Dicks and Charlies, however, Alyshia was beginning to grow isolated in her cozy little neighborhood. As much as she loved doing what she did, it had led to a sort of pattern emerging. She would bed all the new male arrivals as they showed up in her neighborhood, and inevitably their significant others would find out and threaten to call things off between them. They would apologize profusely, they would make up some bullshit apology that they didn't know what they were thinking, that their girlfriends or wives were the only women they'd ever loved, and that Alyshia had only won them over because she got them drunk beforehand- they'd accepted drinks as she tried to make them feel welcome to the neighborhood, and she kept on insisting they get just one more refill, just one more refill, just one more refill, until they were so drunk out of their minds that they could no longer resist her, until every word she said to them forced them irredeemably into her trap, and they didn't realize what they'd done until it was too late.

  This was, without exception, a complete lie, but it didn't stop the men from telling it and the wives and girlfriends believing what they wanted to hear, and it served the purpose for them of keeping the relationship from fizzling out completely on her behalf.

  And, what's more, it made something of a social pariah out of her. It led everyone to withdrawing from her, both the men she fucked and their significant others- but it also led her to developing something of a reputation, so that even men she hadn't the faintest interest whatsoever in boinking and their wives kept their distance from her. They didn't say hello when they passed her on the street, they didn't send her Christmas cards- hell, Alyshia knew of at least one instance where neighbors had warned a couple thinking of moving in next to her about the danger she posed to their lives and happiness, and the couple had ended up canceling their sale.