by Sofia Connor
His back was slippy with sweat and Bree's hand slid over it as she struggled to get a grip. The perspiration poured from him, dropping onto her body and face; she could taste his salt as well as feeling the wetness against her body. She rammed up to meet him, twisting her back and throwing herself upwards so energetically that the smack of their bodies sounded like gunshots. She was sweating as well, her body burning and soaking, the bedding beneath her damp and stained. The feel of the dick within her was so good, so tight, so hard, she screamed and writhed, thrusting at him, "I'm a slut, fuck me like a skanky slut, just fuck me, I'm a whore."
He didn't reply, just grunting. But his cock rammed down harder, slamming at her clit so hard that Bree was sure it would burst. She didn't care. "Fuck me, fuck my whorey cunt, fuck me tramp twat, fuck me harder, fuck me." The pleasure rushed her, booming and blasting through her body like a series of controlled explosions which suddenly became uncontrolled. Her back bent so much it almost snapped and her hands flailed uselessly as she tried to get a grip on Harrison's back. Her head swung back, pushing deep into the bedding, "Fuuucckkk, aaaaaarggggghhhh, fuuuucckkk!"
For the first time in her life Bree knew what an orgasm was.
And it didn't end there. Harrison continued to hammer into her, thrusting his cock hard against her clit and slamming it into another orgasmic blast and then another, until they all merged together in a kaleidoscope of intense ecstasy. Bree's body ceased to be hers and became a quaking, shivering mess of flesh and muscle, unable to do anything but shriek in pleasure and twist in bliss, "Aaaaarrrghh, aaaaaarggghh," she screamed again.
Harrison was panting as he continued to thrust into the orgasming woman, but it was obvious that the end was near as he sped up. A fact confirmed as he gasped, "I'm going to cum." Barely were the words out that Bree could fill her cunt being filled with his warm cum. She moaned in pleasure as the sticky seed shot into her twat, blast after blast of it. Above her Harrison's eyes were closed and his face contorted. He gave another grunt and a fresh blast shot into her, before he sighed in relief and slid off, his cock as rapidly turning limp as it had turned hard earlier.
Bree lay there looking at the ceiling, wanting to enjoy every last second as she felt the cum slide down her pussy.
*
With Susan's promise Don was hard again by the time they reached her room. There was no sensuous strip-down just a Milf and a toyboy getting fully naked as rapidly as they could, dropping shirts and dresses on the floor, kicking of their shoes and throwing themselves against each other in a passionate explosion of tongue and mouth. Susan could feel the rock hardness of his prick push against her, even as she was so close to him she could feel the iron of his pecs and steel of his stomach. Her pussy was almost literally quivering with excitement as she pushed him back; "I need to quickly prep," she said and walked over to her bottom drawer.
There, hidden under some old jumpers and shirts, so deeply eighties that Julie avoided borrowing them like the plague, were the Milf's sex toys; a couple of dildos, anal beads and a butt-plug. It was the latter she wanted, it wasn't as big as the cock that was going to follow it in the hole, but it would give her ass a bit of a head start. She straightened up and turned to Don so she could see what she had in her hand. He grinned as she confirmed that not only did she have mouth she had the pants to back it up, "You wanna a hand?"
"You just watch for a moment, let me show you where you're going to put that big dong of yours," Susan grinned back. She got onto the bed and slid the plug into her mouth, partly to lubricate it, but partly because she thought it would look sexy for Don to see her suck a toy she was about to place into her butt. He certainly seemed to think so, as he touched his quivering cock and it only seemed to be iron self-control that stopped him beating it until he shot. Susan grinned and lay back, one hand pulling at a cheek, the other pushing the end of the butt-plug in. She moaned as the hard plastic pushed aside her wall and pushed into her. She forced it further in, the plug opening up her ass as it got further in, stretching the bowels in preparation for the main thing. She felt the roundel press against her cheeks, a sign that she could go no more. It wasn't far or deep enough compared to the real thing, but it would have to do -- though there was further prepping she had planned for the huge member.
She got off the bed and onto her knees, "I'll just leave that in for a few minutes, get my ass nice and ready. In the meantime..." she smiled and beckoned Don to come nearer. He immediately strode over, his hard prick levitating in front of her face. Susan's tongue came out and touched it, "Let me oil this up for you."
"It's your ass," agreed Don. He gave a small groan as Susan's mouth slid over his erect member. She pushed her head down far, feeling the large prick going in deeper, pinning her tongue to the bottom of her mouth and pushing at the back of her throat. She gagged a little, sending more saliva over it a wet coating. Then she moved back, looking up at Don who's face was a picture of contentment. She repeated the motion, taking the prick deep into her mouth, as she leaned forward she could feel the butt-plug moving slightly in her ass, doing its job well. Above her Don gave a groan of pleasure.
Susan continued the blowjob for a few moments, she wanted to make sure Don was hard and his cock was so wet it would slide in, but she had to make sure he didn't cum in her mouth. Sure, sometimes a wet sloppy bj was all a woman needed for the perfect night, but not when she was looking forward to getting her ass fucked. She pulled her mouth back one last time, looking approvingly at the large cock, quivering in front of her, dripping saliva. The brunette stood up and pulled at the butt-plug. It came out with a pop. She dropped it on the floor and jumped onto her bed, spreading herself out and gripping her ass cheeks to pull them apart. She turned her head to Don, "You're ready, I'm ready. Now come fuck my ass."
Within seconds he was on her back, his hard, muscular frame pushing at her as he guided the iron slab of meat into her back passage. Susan groaned, clawing at the bed, as the large dick entered her ass. The butt-plug had helped, but even so it was like being pulled in two as the cock carved down deep. Her ass stretched and ached more as Don continued to drive it down, past where the butt-plug had been and into territory, which if not virgin was at least untouched for a couple of weeks. Susan closed her eyes and grunted, she knew what was coming and didn't mind a bit of painful stretching as a prelude to the high-intensity orgasms she'd soon be getting. But as she tensed she could feel Don slow, as if he was concerned that her ass couldn't cope with his big dick. Susan gave another groan and let out a call of encouragement, "Fuck me stud, fuck my ass hard."
He continued working his cock in, sometimes pausing and pulling back to thrust deep down again. The anal walls stretched, letting the saliva soaked slab of sex slide deeper. The young man moved faster, his thrusts harder, pushing further into the wanton asshole. Susan gasped in pleasure as she could feel it move so deep that it was hitting her clit from behind, the blasts of pleasure from the stimulation of her G-spot mixing with the waves of bliss from nerve endings in her ass getting stimulated. She let out a moan, "Fuck my ass harder. Gape it, open it, wreck it."
"No problemo, Susie," gasped the young hunk and he continued to move faster and harder. His hard body whacked against hers, the pecs bouncing as he hit her body and his hard stomach slapping into the small of her back so perfectly that it was like they were almost moulded together. Susan could feel herself being shoved deeper into her soft bedding, her wet pussy soaking the quilt as it pushed into her front hole and her hard nipples warming with the friction as they rubbed against the duvet. She gripped the quilt and gasped, the pleasure was strong and getting stronger. Above her Don was moving quicker and harder, really hammering his rock hard dick as far as it could go and it could go a long way, "This good Susie, this good for you?"
"Oh God this is so fucking good, this is so fucking hard," shrieked Susan as the dick rammed at her ass. She had enjoyed having her pussy ploughed by the huge prick, but this was twice as great, a fantastic blast of orgasmic gra
tification which raced round her body like a Superbike rally. Don's hard body continued to pound on top of her, with every thrust she could feel his breathe on the back of her neck, coming in short spurts and feel the warmth of his skin, made wet by the sweat soaking it. She screamed again as another wave of pleasure shot round her body, "This is so fucking hot. Ram my ass harder, ram it open. I want to feel it."
Don was grunting in exertion as he gave it his all. Pounding down so hard that the bed creaked and wobbled, its legs shaking like it was in an earthquake and was struggling to stand. Susan was screaming, loud and passionate, a series of cries. Her ass was exploding with joy, a constant series of orgasms flying through her. She could feel the cum pumping from her cunt, making the bed damp beneath her. The strong, hard dick pounded down, hammering her G-spot from behind and blasting her with pleasure. She shrieked again, "Fuuuuuccckkk... this is... fuuuucckkkk, fuuuccckkk, fuuuucckkk!"
There was no warning of the cum explosion. One moment Don was pumping down, the next he had stopped and his prick was pumping white gooey semen into Susan's ass. The Milf moaned in pleasure as the cum slid down her chute, both burning as it went over her sore points and soothing as it slid down. Don pulled out and Susan moved onto her back, letting the cum slide out of her ass and pool on the bed beneath. Vaguely she thought she might want to change the sheets tomorrow.
*
"Hi Mom," Julie Mayer entered the house and dropped her night bag on the couch.
Susan looked up from her coffee and the morning paper and asked, "How was you Dad's?"
Julie didn't answer, which always suggested she had a good time or else she'd have bucked her Mom's morale up by telling her how terrible it had been and that her Dad's new girlfriend was the worst cook ever. Instead she smiled and asked a question of her own, "How was last night? Do anything exciting?"
"Not really," said Susan, "I went for a quick drink with Bree and then came back and changed the sheets on the beds."
Julie shook her head in despair, "You really should spend the evening out properly and make sure you have some fun, not hang round with Bree moaning about your love lives." She went back to the couch to pick up her bag to take to her room, suddenly she paused and turned to her Mom, an innocent frown on her face, "Mom, why are your panties on the floor?"
The End.
Rhonda's Life after Capture
Six months ago, Rhonda had been a thirty-four-year-old waitress in the mess on an Altruvian space station and trading post. Her job paid well, if only on account of the value of the station and its distance from any well-settled territory. Three months ago, she was still working in the mess, but she wore a navy uniform and carried a pistol. The station had been mobilized for war -- although everyone said the enemy were sure to lose, the Canberrans had taken to raiding even merely economic Altruvian assets. Rhonda was fit for her age, brunette, narrow-waisted, with a generous bust and wide hips. Today, Rhonda was a ponygirl slave in the stable of a Canberran lord whose starships had made a daring raid on her station in the darkest days of the war, shortly before Canberra brought the conflict to its ignominious and untimely end.
Rhonda was standing in the cobblestone courtyard at the center of the lord's expansive stables. Her wrists were bound tightly together behind her back; the leather cuffs were clipped both to the tight metal band that sat just above her waist, and to the metal ring that joined the two parts of her crotch-strap. Whenever she leaned forward, her wrists shifted the strap upward, making it dig uncomfortably into her pussy. She was leaning forward now.
She could hear the swift movements of her master behind her. "Bitch -- present," he said -- this meant she was to spread her legs and bend over, allowing him to easily inspect her crotch-strap from behind. As she stood in that very uncomfortable position, he tightened the straps that held her gear together behind her back, making the strap dig into her even more uncomfortably. She stumbled slightly, trying to keep her balance on the high hoof-boots.
Her day, which she understood was meant as training, was difficult -- the lord whipped her often and hard as he sat in the dogcart behind her, which for some reason was much more heavy than it had ever been before. Rhonda's crotch-strap chafed and the buttplug attached to her tail felt like it would pop out if only it were not held in so tightly by the outfit she was forced to wear. She clamped down on her bit as she put her weight into hauling the cart.
Her training continued at a high intensity for a week, and then she was rested for three days straight, to her relief. On the fourth day, she found out why -- she was stuffed in a wire mesh cage barely big enough for her and put in the dark hold of a hovercraft, and when the door of the transport finally opened, she was at a country racetrack. The sun was out and the day was heating up, but the racetrack had been newly soaked with water and the dirt was loamy and wet. Some hills covered with sparse Canberran shrubs were set behind the track; and in front of it, there stood a set of tasteful white pavilions, adorned with flags, and the Canberran gentry were readying themselves for a day of drinking lemonade and watching their buxom ponygirls toil and sweat.
As Rhonda backed between the whippletrees, she bent forward as she had been trained, and the strap dug into her pussy and chafed as always. Today, her master tightened it harder than he ever had before, and she whinnied, stuck her ass out and prepared it for his whip as she felt him climbing up into the carriage. Girls to her left and right, probably recently acquired Altruvian spoils too, bent over in the same humiliating position, gesturing with their asses as if to invite their owners' lashes on their soft skin. Rhonda scraped a hoof against the ground, readying herself for the race.
When it was over, her ass and thighs were striped with the marks of her master's whip. Her thigh-high boots and bare thighs were splattered with mud from the dampened track. Her pussy was scarlet and sore from the chafing strap. She had not won, but she had outpaced a few of the girls.
She thought she might be given a rest, and her wiplash marks treated, but her master decided otherwise. He took a piece of cord with a loop in one end, slid it over her head, and yanked downward sharply. He tied it to the iron ring in her pussy so that she was forced to walk about in a bent-over position, wobbling on her hips and with her ass sticking out. He led her on a leash as he talked to his friends and colleagues at a cocktail party under the largest pavilion. She was oft-admired, but instead of any tender touch she was apt to receive a smack on the rump.
The End.
Lesbian Wrestles with Conscience
Of course it was all so absurd. So Jess had been Dyke Grappler Champion for 14 years. The whole thing was a show to get money off gullible people, mainly men who could not resist their dark sadistic side. They liked to see women fight each other, to hear their cries of anguish and pain. The whole thing was an insult to women and particularly lesbians, limiting them to who could supposedly win fights against their so called rivals. This led to people ignoring individuality, sexuality, gentleness, kindness, courage of conviction, the things that matter far more than physical power.
Jess was tall, muscled, with long dark brown hair. She had felt the hair could be a disadvantage in wrestling, as it could be grabbed (rules in The Company did not follow professional wrestling in this). However her skill as a wrestler meant it had rarely happened.
It was nearly all rehearsed and acted to a script. As there were at least two live shows each week, the fighters would either been crippled for life or dead by middle age if it had been genuine. Injuries were infrequent, and usually strains picked up during training.
After shows the "fighters" laughed with each other, shared jokes, stayed in the same hotels. Sometimes they would rehearse the words for the next "catfight". Feeding the image of grudges between 'fighters" that were fictional.
The only exception was the annual challenge contest. The company would select who they thought was the best potential candidate to challenge the Dyke Grappler Champion, or The Dyke for short. The criteria were vague, supposedly performance and fitn
ess. In reality what would sell best to the internet subscribers.
This year and last the challenger was easily selected. Sweet, how she hated the name given her, was a superb athlete, strong, fast, supple and with genuine wrestling skill. Day by day she got closer in standard to the previously unbeatable Jess.
Taller even than Jess, Sweet had short blonde hair, a boyishly pretty smile, and was leaner and very much faster than Jess. She was also twelve years younger. It was only in technique she fell short against the champion, and she was learning fast.
Last year she had won two of the five rounds, but Jess had dominated the other three. Jess often won by submission of an opponent but this had never been on the cards . Sweet had found it difficult to be ruthless with Jess. She admired the champion, even thinking about her made her feel light headed. She relished their times laughing together and enjoying each others' company
A year later it seemed Jess was facing defeat in the challenge: the first four rounds had clearly gone to the challenger.
In round 5 Jess began to feel all of her 38 years, slow, breathing heavily, just wanting it to end, so she could relinquish her title with dignity. To be no longer "The Dyke" would be a relief. Jess just felt a great warmth towards Sweet, if she was to lose her title, she was happy it would go to her friend. She often wished they could be closer friends, possibly lovers.