“Yes, baby,” he replied. “Oh fuck.”
I bent down lower and folded my hands on the seat, putting my head on them like a makeshift pillow, doing my best to lift my ass up so my pussy was in better pounding position for Braden.
He caught on and reached over to slide my skirt under my face to protect my head. Then he did something I’d never experienced before. He grabbed my hands and held them back, giving himself reins to grip, and as he pulled my hands towards him, he rammed his cock into me, using my arms as leverage.
My head hit the metal seat but I didn’t care. I was in ecstasy. He fucked me like I’d never been fucked.
Braden’s cock barreled into me, his balls bouncing off my ass, and I cried out to the sound of his sweaty flesh smacking against mine. I felt my orgasm coming. And I felt like it was going to shoot out so hard it might blow Braden out the door.
I needed to come so bad that it hurt. It actually hurt. It ached to be spilled out so bad that I didn’t know if I could take it anymore.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned me.
Don’t you fucking…you better not…
I pulled away from him and pushed him back down onto the seat so I could ride him again. I needed to find my spot before he finished. This time there was no soft practice run.
I gripped his dick and sat on it, burying him in my warm, wet, yearning slit. It swallowed him and then I was bucking again until I found my spot.
It was there.
It was there.
Right…no…yeah…right there.
There.
There.
“Oh my God!” I called out. “Right there. Don’t you fucking move!”
Braden wasn’t even there anymore. If he was talking, I didn’t hear him. If he was in pain or was about to come or was about to die…none of that mattered.
I’d found my spot.
And I was going, going, going…
Fuck, yes…yes…YES!!!!!
I looked into his eyes as I finished and just as I did he pulled out of me, reached for my ripped dress top, and shot his load into it. He crashed against the seat and moaned as he exploded into the black top I’d been wearing earlier that evening.
Hmm, don’t think I’ll be able to return that. Best fifty dollars I’ve ever spent.
Getting off the Ferris wheel was a bit awkward. Three attendants were waiting at the bottom, grinning from ear to ear. I think they would’ve given Braden a high five if I hadn’t been there to see it.
Men.
Then again, if Susie and Jill had been around, they would’ve given me high fives too, ha. My girls. I couldn’t wait to tell them this story.
As we drove back to my place, things were strangely quiet. I didn’t know what this whole thing was. I didn’t think I was his girlfriend. Hell, he didn’t even live in my town.
As I thought about what my life had been for the past five months, I realized it was actually a good place. Sure I’d craved cock like a raging sex-zombie whore. But I hadn’t gone through any of the typical boyfriend/girlfriend arguments.
I didn’t have to watch football. I didn’t have to watch boxing or any of the mixed martial arts shit my boyfriends in the past always wanted to watch.
I could eat sushi if I wanted to instead of chicken wings.
I didn’t have to watch video games but I could play video games myself if I wanted to.
I could soak in a tub.
I could drink wine.
I could text a guy if I wanted to.
I could masturbate alone in my room if I wanted to.
I looked over at Braden as he drove. He looked over at me and flashed his sly grin. The fox. Yep, he was a sly one.
And I realized…
I could even meet up with a hot stranger and fuck my own brains out, to hell with whether or not he got off.
I was happy.
As Braden dropped me off at my apartment complex, I told him there was no need to walk me to the door.
“We should do this again sometime,” he said.
I looked up at the sky and thought about it. That could be nice. Or maybe not. Or maybe so. I didn’t know.
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe.”
And I meant it. I’d discovered a new me and I kind of liked this chick.
Maybe I would meet up with Braden again. Maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d do this all over again with some other hot guy.
Maybe.
THE END.
Stay tuned for the next Chris Genovese steamy erotic story and if you really liked hanging out with Mandy, MAYBE we’ll do it again sometime. Maybe.
If you want to know more about Mandy and what else is on its way from Chris Genovese, make sure you check out http://www.eroticmayberry.com.
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Keep reading to get a sneak peek at the next Maybe Mandy novella, Maybe Mandy: Margaritas by Moonlight.
Sneak Peek at Maybe Mandy: Margaritas by Moonlight
Act 1 – The Plot
I’m still not a whore. Okay, I did some pretty whorish things recently and I’ve decided that I completely deserve my forgiveness. Braden was a stud, plain and simple, and I was a young and fabulous woman who had been denied sex for over five months. And I’d been cheated on by my previous boyfriend.
If that doesn’t give me a free “fuck the next hot guy you meet” pass, then I don’t know what does.
So what happened to Braden? That’s the thought on your mind, right? What happened to the guy who fucked me in nearly every square foot of the carnival?
He’s gone. That’s where he is.
Typical guy, right? Well, I should be a little easier on him I suppose since he does live in Staten Island, New York, and I’m all the way down here in Charlotte, North Carolina. We haven’t completely lost contact.
We’ve done the, “so whatcha wearin’” telephone nonsense and we’ve done the “it’s so hard to type with one hand” thing while we masturbate via Internet chat.
Video chatting is a no go for me. I know it works for some people, but I can never figure out where to stare. The camera has that little lens and I know I end up looking cross eyed on the other end as I try to make sure my face stays focused on the camera. Either that or my eyes are open wide and my mouth is agape as I try to figure the camera thing out.
How sexy is that, huh?
Braden’s beating off with one hand while I’m leaned forward, cleavage revealed and all, snooping around the lens saying stupid shit like, “Is this thing even on? Can you see me?”
One time there was even that strange several-second delay. Our conversation started out good as Braden was doing most of the talking, telling me all the hot stuff he was going to do to me the next time he saw me. But then, the walkie talkie effect kicked in and I guess I started talking at the same time he was talking so the conversation sounded a little like this.
Braden: “…nd my balls…”
Me: “What? Braden, can you repeat that cause I didn’t hear…”
Braden: “…your hot tits all over my…”
Me: “What? You want your balls on my hot tits?”
Braden: “…while you ride my…”
Me: “That’s physically impossible, Braden!”
That was the last time we tried the video chat thing. And I haven’t seen Braden since. He’s been busy with work and I decided that I don’t need to hang around and wait to fucking video chat or email chat or whatever.
It’s not me. I’m Amanda Young and I decided I was putting myself fully on the market. Not that I was ever off the market, but you know…
So this is where the story gets interesting. Before Braden, I was a relatively level-headed professional. I fingered myself to anything with Channing Tatum or Ryan Reynolds, but I was pretty inactive when it came to actual pussy pounding sex.
Susie,
my roommate, was getting her daily fix from Vince “Megatron” Adams over there. What? I started calling him Optomus Prime at one point but that’s a hell of a long nickname. Megatron serves the same purpose. He’s a fucking robot, giving her sexual pleasure every damned day. And he still wants to hook up that threesome. Ain’t gonna happen.
Braden changed me a little bit. He taught me that I deserved to be sexually pleased. Why should I wait for several months, meet what I think is the right guy, date for another several months, have some good sex and some bad, and then break up in a whirlwind of foul words slung at each other and lots of awkward times trying to get our shit back from each other’s houses?
Why? Why deal with all that hoopla?
The truth is, I can get the emotional attention I need from a pumpkin spice latte’ and fresh glazed, hot off the conveyor Krispy Kreme. I can get the humor from SNL and I can get hot sex from whatever guy is willing to give in.
Okay, I won’t just jump into the sack with anyone, but you know what I mean. I’m not going to be that cold fish, nose in the air bitch I was at one point.
I’m the new and improved Mandy. Maybe I’ll hook up tonight, maybe I won’t. Life’s full of maybes.
Ben, my gay bestie, seemed to like the new me too, especially when I filled our boring silences with stories about how I hung from a tree branch with my legs over Braden’s shoulders as he tongued my pussy.
Ben loves those stories. To him, they’re kind of like Chicken Soup for the Gay Horn Ball’s Soul. And since he too had recently decided to play the field, it was he who proposed one of the best ideas I’d heard in a while.
We were driving in my car, belting out the lyrics to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, don’t ask, when Ben suddenly reached out and smacked the pause button.
It wouldn’t have been a big deal if I’d realized he was gonna do it instead of continuing to screech at the top of my lungs, “That’s all I ask of youuuuuuuuuu!”
I opened my eyes, stopped singing, and just glared at him. He knew he was in trouble. He’d done this in the past and knew how I hated singing acapella in the middle of an orchestra-filled duet.
“Seriously? Dude, that was my jam.”
“Baby girl, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Benjamin,” I replied. “You hurt me. You hurt me bad. Please do explain yourself.”
We both laughed and the mood went back to fabulous. Ben threw his hands up and excitedly announced:
“So I was at work today, right? And I was trying to sell this high school senior coordinator on how badass a trip to Cancun is for a grad trip. He was trying to purchase tickets for Universal Studios in Orlando. How lame is that? Right? I mean imagine your friends are wanting to party and you’re taking them through…”
Argh, what, Ben? Why did you pause the song?!, I thought.
I love Ben, but he can go off on tangents that will make you want to put a pistol in your mouth, shake it around to knock out a few teeth, and then pull the trigger. This was going to be one of those times. And that just wouldn’t do.
“Ben, where’s this story going because we’ll reach the mall in about two minutes and something tells me you won’t reach the punch line or important info or climax to this story by then. What is it, babe?”
“So true,” he admitted. “Mmm kay. So this dork wasn’t buying it and as I continued to sell him on this completely phenomenal package, I thought…wait a minute…why don’t I go on this trip? Why don’t I see if Mandy and Jill and Susie and Vince and…”
“I get the point,” I jokingly interrupted him.
Okay, I just plain interrupted him but he was on to something. It was a great idea. My high school class actually did go to Cancun but I didn’t have the money to go. I didn’t come from an affluent family and I didn’t have a job and I didn’t have a body worth selling so my high school funds were quite lackluster.
Now, however, older and single me had a savings account set up specifically for unplanned illnesses, unexpected car wrecks, or uninhibited sexual extravaganzas south of the border.
Hey, I’d gone many months without any nookie and I’d seen the videos of what happens to naïve white chicks in Mexico. No, not the scary “what happened to Sally” kind of videos, but the Youtube “oops I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk” kind of videos.
Sign me up please and make mine a double! Holla!
“Ben, you’re a genius,” I said as I pulled into the parking lot and parked super far from the doors.
Ben just looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.
“Can I ask what you’re doing?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“I mean why are you parked in fucking Bosnia when there are plenty of parking spots right up there next to the mall?”
“Because we, my love, are going to Cancun and WE both need to walk off a few pounds first.”
Ben, who had jet black hair combed very nicely to the side and had just a slight second chin, leaned back in his seat, putting extra emphasis on the doppelganger pudge. He was a super cute guy with an award-winning attitude.
I’m talking Golden Globes, not an Oscar, as he does get quite bitchy from time to time.
“Touché,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
I’d planned the trip to the mall to pick up a few fruity lotions and 50 shades of “ooh I don’t have that nail polish” yet. Suddenly I was on the lookout for a new bathing suit, something that would hide the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream I’d grown so fond of lately but would still allow for some serious cleavage.
Thanks for reading, guys. Please keep your eyes open for other Mandy books and I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave a review. Reviews help so much in this game.
Thanks again for reading,
Chris Genovese
P.S. Don’t forget to check out http://www.eroticmayberry.com
Kinky Carnival Games (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 1 Page 8