I leaned back to the table indicating to the girl on her knees I was done with her pussy licking, not that I was really. I simply needed Samantha, Sam, this lovely young thing, up in me, laying her weight on me as we tested what I hoped was the full strength of my dining room table top. As the lanky beauty stood fully, took her cock by the root and I got up on my creaking table (shit, would this really hold?) I spread my legs, opened up my arms and took just the head of that fake dick as Samantha stepped up close, looked down at me hard and said: “Now what a nice way to share a bottle of wine, huh?”
Even seven fake inches are wonderful to take.
41 IS THE NEW 47
I have never truly worried about the real pain of a “one for good luck” extra swat. But with Cindy’s heavy-handed 15th hit I was indeed reconsidering the wisdom in convincing my bestie that I wanted an extra hit for my 40th birthday…or any of these smacks at all.
To my shock―although really I was in shock the second Cindy had agreed to this―the leggy red head stepped up close to my side, reached her hand under and between my legs and grabbed the hard-on raging in my undies. SMAT, she landed her 16th, then SMAT, 17th swat right up close to me, one right cheek, one, thankfully, left, while rubbing me furiously. I huffed and shifted even more from this position up on all fours, about ready to come in my jockeys as I was, but knew doing so would make these stings all that much worse with my arousal slaked and my mind centered only to the pain on my ass.
I bit into my pillow as Cindy made it an even 20 with a blistering triple retort dead center then unhanded me and stepped back to pick up the terrible implement I had left her.
Not only had Cindy agreed to my fantasy-made-real B’day wish, she had added a few crafty amendments to it all…not that I had any doubt she would now that we were actually here doing this, and not that I wasn’t thrilled she had. Cindy suggested the both of us not speak during my swats, as it would break the mood according to her, as well as remind her too much, she said, of what she was in fact doing. My best friend had assured me to “truly give you what you really want,” she’d simply enter my unlocked condo as I waited in my jockeys, bent over the edge of my bed silently. As this woman and I had never truly been intimate save the week before she got married when we attempted a last ditch effort to make flirting lead to fucking (we never got beyond some clothes thrown off and clumsy kissing we laughed too much over), I would, of course, agree to whatever Cindy asked in order to bring my fantasy off.
Hell, I was just happy that she hadn’t balked when I told what I really wanted for my 40th (though being my friend some 20 years Cindy guessed my request on such a momentous occasion might be kinky) and that she had agreed that my fourth decade celebration indeed demanded her to actually rise to this occasion. What I hadn’t counted on was how calculated and cool Cindy would enter my house (with not a word as she said) fumbling for a few minutes out of my sight, but well within what I could hear, before she came down the hall into my bedroom. What I hadn’t counted on was Cindy obviously shucking her pants in my living room and stepping high and slow to me in only teetering black heels, short sweater and a black thong. And also what I hadn’t counted on was the double thrill of seeing this tall girl who I had never seen so undressed before both coming at me, passing my closet mirror so I could study the real first sight of my Cindy’s great round beautiful alabaster and toned bottom in all its glory, as well as see her smile register as she came upon me.
Yes, there was a 39-year-old woman up there someplace, but looking to my side then at all that thick bare white leg, round perfect ass and naughty thin-lip smile all I could do was stare at my friend transfixed.
Somehow I had managed not a word―and neither had Cindy―as she walked to the side of my bed then and plucked the wooden spoon up off it. She seemed to study the implement as much as me and even her own form as she stepped back to the edge of my bed to regard my taut and bent bottom in my blue undies. Surely she might be as stupefied and aroused as I was right then (I doubted though she could be as aroused as I was) but either from what she now knew I consistently fantasized about (and had convinced a handful of women to deliver to me in my life) or she felt some true flicker of sudden fascination holding the spoon in her hands over my bent quivering ass, Cindy delivered a high quick smack across my ass that took my breath away.
SMAT.
Now on 20 (I think it was 20) I was beginning to roil my hips listening hard for Cindy’s unspoken reaction. This was a well-respected mom/housewife of our beach community here giving me what for; Jesus, what had I unleashed? During the summer when we were overrun with tourists, Cindy ran a small shell/trinket shop her husband Bill had bought her to keep her busy, with her two young teen boys on/mostly off again clerks. In winter months, like now, she had time for socializing, like she did with yours truly, as my hot air balloon excursion business all but stopped when my well-heeled customers “summered” to warmer climes from November to April. Stretching what I made in the summer to last me through from Thanksgiving to Easter, I’d have Cindy often over to my two bedroom condo, or I scrambled to her place for whatever potluck lunches we could manage. I had known the lady since high school, like me she was one of only a handful of islanders who had been born and raised here. I was her confidante as much as she mine, and yes we did seem to flirt more and more lately, but the “intimacy” we were sharing in my bedroom then was of a totally other stripe.
In a technical sense this wasn’t sex really, it was a studied specific sexcapade between two very good friends, prompted by the very real circumstance of my entrance to my fourth decade looming. Maybe Cindy also felt the odd pull of four decades approaching (she’d be 40 herself in a month), maybe a mom and wife for some 18 odd years yearns for a little diversion and my suggestion had come just at the right time, maybe my friend coddled a dominant desire to smack some bare male booty, or maybe our unrequited lust finally could find a steam release valve.
Whatever the motivations, I was then humping my underwear and Cindy was standing over me mewling slightly. I looked to my side to see her playing the ladle of the spoon against her generous red lips, contemplating more smacks with it I wondered and feared.
We were only three-quarters of the way to the 41.
“I fear the next step,” she said.
“Yes?”
“You know what’s got to happen, right?”
“I do?”
Actually, I realized right then, I probably did know.
Laying there with my ass pumping, my cock pounding, Cindy looking deep in my eyes as I looked at her (or tried to without once again running my eyes down her fleshy white front) I realized that if she completed landing my birthday swats, hard and ass-blistering as they would have to be, there was no saying where we’d end up. I never thought I’d ever get Cindy to star in my fantasy, let alone be here delivering it undressed as she was; what might follow after she hit me 11 more times and dropped the spoon? I wasn’t all too sure I was worried about propriety exactly, but then again I wasn’t exactly looking to start an affair with a good friend of mine (or a good friend of mine’s wife), but I was hard, Cindy wide-eyed interested and her nipples flat rubber eraser-like full and she was intimating what we both felt; the spanking was one thing, what might ensue from opening this intimacy another.
SMAT, the spoon landed and I jumped.
“Cin Cin Cin,” I growled and pushed myself as forward away from the sting as I could.
“When I am through…” she moaned and SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, she bounced the spoon off my right cheek, “I want to see how hard this has made you,” she continued and SMAT, SMAT, SMAT she landed to my left.
“YES!” I screamed and SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, SMAT I got my last four, all dead center and all metered, a full three seconds between each for Cindy to hit me, stare at, smile, set her heels and rock her whole body forward before the next terrible searing flick-a-snit smack across my crack, dead center, hitting both cheeks.
“Turn, let me fucking see it Steve, I
mean it!”
I could barely breathe, my ass was on fire, but somehow I managed to flip, face my friend and present her my tenting jockeys. I was sitting dead center of my bed then, my hands behind me, my legs spread, trying to avoid that pain on my ass, damn well proud to be presenting my hard cock pushing my tight underwear out at the woman. I was shaking, as much from being so horny as I was aching for Cindy to take a step―or at least drop that fucking wooden spoon―and touch me, peel down her thong, climb up on the bed.
“Show me,” she said, softly, her heavy chest falling lighter now, but her little eyes still so wide, so wild even.
I peeled my underwear off in one quick pull, sat back on my hands again and presented my naked full-at-attention cock to my bestie.
“I want to so bad,” Cindy said, reached out and placed her thumb and middle finger down my shaft so gingerly, so judiciously, that her skin hardly touched mine. It was as if she was massaging the air surrounding my dick, as if a force-field kept her away.
And in a way I knew, there was indeed something unseen keeping her from touching me.
No matter what we feel, what we want, what we know we are deserving of or can easily indulge in, years of conditioning, playing a role, of even enjoying one’s life while needing another keeps us often locked right where we are. Even though a part of my moral mind―albeit a small part―did not want Cindy to touch me―while most of me did―I knew I could easily take the leap here. Surely I’d be nervous―I had been the entire time of her spanking, as well as during the two weeks between me first revealing my birthday fantasy to Cindy and she rolling round the possibility in her head and then finally agreeing a week later to accommodate me―but I had nothing to lose, I wasn’t married, had not made a life with anyone, in fact I had exploited a friendship here if I was really going to be honest with myself (which I never would be). Cindy had already well crossed some lines she’d probably be damning herself over for a few months to come. Whether that damnation would set her to guilt (which I doubted, this was one woman who could get on with getting on better than anybody I knew), bring her back to me for more kink or maybe to really touch my cock in the future―or even the next few seconds―or we’d never talk about my 40th birthday infamous 41 again, I had no idea. But as I tried one last time to wag my erection at her, Cindy backed up, smiled then left my room to grab her clothes (I assumed, as I didn’t hear Cindy leave) and waited for me to do the same.
My mother had impressed upon me to always be grateful for any present presented you, even if I had to fake being thrilled. I didn’t have to fake how thrilled I was with this 41 from Cindy.
THE DENIAL OF JERRI
That was so not fair what you did to me , the text read.
It was early Tuesday night, a good six days since I had had my first encounter with Jerri. I did not recognize the number the text was sent from, but as her mom had my cell number and I knew damn well who this sentence had to be from, I simply replied back with a: You can’t have everything you want all at once, little girl.
I thought the “little girl” was a nice touch.
I don’t even know if I want to see you again.
Up to you, I replied.
Can you come over?
So much for wondering if she wanted to see me again.
You alone?
Yes.
You want more of the same?
Not the stopping part. You have to let me finish.
I had thought “finish” as interesting a word choice when Jerri first moaned it to me a week ago, as I thought so then. There was no end to the wonders that might come from such a young woman, I realized.
We will see.
I hate you…jk.
I want you completely naked this time , I slid back. I knew I was pushing here, but I felt Jerri might comply seeing as she was prompting this.
I don’t want to.
Then I don’t come over.
All the way, nude?
Yes, on your stomach on your bed, front door open, waiting for me.
I held my breath for the text reply.
Give me five and then come over.
****
The walk is not a particularly long one; parking spaces are divided by a macadam middle about a car length and a half wide and all our townhouses are spaced equally off of quaint little hillocks of front and manicured side lawns. For Jerri to have steeled the nerve, bounded down the cement steps of her mom’s place and walked the ten steps across the parking lot to mine that week before took no time, but as I was coming to learn, real courage.
I was friendly with Fran’s eldest, but as a contemporary of her mom (who I had even had a drink with on a few occasions) I saw the lanky chick more like the cute little college sophomore she was and less like a woman I could ever truly lust after. Not that her high cheekbones, long legs and that impudent slightly down-turned smile weren’t attractive to me, but having a daughter about her age and Jerri resolutely straight―or so I assumed―I just didn’t entertain any real sexual fantasies about her.
But it was damn hard though not to notice her charms when she happened over in all her wide-eyed and bouncy energy that early Saturday afternoon. Standing on my front veranda, her oversized sweater just about reaching mid-thigh over black tights, the girl was a fresh-faced vision. Gay or straight, man or woman, you’d have to be dead not to be taken in by such a simply pretty chick with such a bubbly (yes it was truly ‘bubbly’ damn her!) personality.
“Hey, what’s up? Mom ok?” I had asked on opening my front door.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jerri managed, leaning back on my railing as I came out to meet her.
The high sunshine of the fall day, the quiet of our parking lot, a slight almost berry scent coming off the girl all enveloped me then…still, I wouldn’t have ever thought anything untoward (really your honor, I swear!).
“I have something to ask you and I know you won’t think it too weird…or I hope you won’t.”
“Depends,” I had quipped. “I mean, I think you are pretty weird.”
“Funny,” Jerri had said, slowly rolling her back against my railing causing her pony tail to flip nearly from shoulder to shoulder.
Just what was the little dervish up to? We had had plenty of occasions to talk, catch-up about her classes, my eBay business, but Jerri and I usually conducted conversations walking through the parking lot on our way to our respective cars, or when I brought her mom a take-out from Dunkin Donuts for our monthly gossip fest on their front stoop. I’m pretty darn neighborly overall but the twenty-something year-old (really, how old was she now?) certainly seemed to have something running round her cute noggin.
“I kinda know, well ya know, that you know, that I…”
Of course Jerri, like most of my neighbors, knew I was gay. Yes, my daughter visited enough and a good small cadre of men came by―all just friends―but it was no secret that I had divorced my husband Bill after ten years of suffering through hiding my own personal truth. I was a happier person now by far (as was Bill) and while not exactly yelling my sexual preference from the tree tops, I did not hide the fact that on occasion―and too few lately for my tastes―I entertained women friends, who occasionally stayed the night. I didn’t play either the femme or butch side of the street in who I preferred to take to my bed or even how I acted, but anyone with even a small amount of sense would have realized I was a lesbian.
“Yes dear,” I answered through what I hoped she’d recognize as an overly exasperated sigh.
Jerri giggled.
“Well, maybe I…”
“Come inside and tell me what’s on your mind,” I cut Jerri off, turned and opened my screen door.
I know it was akin to the spider and the fly, but in this case even though it was my web/house we walked into I’d soon find I was the one being led to my doom―a big bad thirty-nine-year-old cocoa-skinned curly-haired wide-hipped lez―or at least into Jerri’s quandary and what she’d prod me into doing about it.
****
/> “But I ca…can’t,” the long limbed girl below me shuttered, moaning into her pillow.
“You stop writhing or I’ll shut the vibrator off.”
Truthfully, I probably wouldn’t have stopped plundering the gorgeous pussy I was right then teasing with Jerri’s Rabbit. The young naked girl under me was just too perfect to ignore.
Splayed there on her belly, naked on her bed the way I had requested, having waited the requisite ten minutes I took (her five and then my own) to walk over and into her mom’s townhouse, Jerri was heated even more then the first time we had tried this, all but pinning her clit into the sheets for good purchase as I messed with her pussy from behind. I had a particular penchant for looking at and tickling women this way, especially when the woman in question had the kind of magnificent tight little buns Jerri did. That I could plow and plunder her without really getting a full-on attack of her clit and lips made what I was doing sitting there behind her all the more teasing I knew…for both of us.
But as I hadn’t our first time, I wouldn’t allow the young beauty to come. I was hell bent on teaching this girl a lesson, the very same one I had somehow managed unknowingly that first time we got together in my kitchen, about Jerri not being allowed to get everything she wanted with every person she got naked around, even if she was too adorable for words.
Even if right then I wanted her so bad my own puss-puss was aching deep.
“Pa…please,” she shuttered, attempting to quell her little ass wiggling.
“That’s better,” I said, and once again angled the toy down under and through.
“Oh…oh God,” Jerri moaned, lifting her chin to look up at me sitting next to her as any good neighbor would when visiting another.
“I…I can’t…I have to move.”
Oh, Those Darn Dominant MILFs- the Goddesses of Suburbia Page 3