|
Freewheeling Barbara toys with boys #1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Chapter One - Freewheeling Barbara Toys With Boys
He had curly blond hair, he was about ninteen years old, and
the look in his eyes told Barbara that the young man had other
thoughts in his minds than the eggs Benedict he was eating. Look
how his tongue curls around the bacon, the woman thought. Like
it could curl around my ...
He stared at her. Then he smiled. A shy, young smile. What
was she thinking of, anyway. How silly! Here she was a mature
woman watching a teenage young man eat his breakfast, getting
damp between her legs as she did, not knowing why, narrowing her
eyes in a lust-filled response to his lewd smile. She hoped
Annette didn't notice. She directed her attention toward her
partner, Annette. Her partner. How foolish that sounded. Oh
well.
No, Annette hadn't noticed. Good.
Barbara leaned away from her cheese omelet and glared at the
thick slices of French toast buried beneath a mountain of fresh
strawberries and whipped cream on Annette's breakfast plate.
"That's disgusting, Annette, how can you eat like that? she
said. "Here, I'll help you." And she scooped up a bite,
glancing back at the young man at the other table as she rather
obviously rolled it around on her tongue, lips slightly parted.
The two women had just finished an eleven-day, 638-mile bicycle
tour down state. In past years they had peddled thousands of
miles together, 150 miles in one stint, 500 in another. They
were already planning a bike tour across Europe that might very
well get them into the Guinness Book of Records. They had both
often agreed that it was their mutual "visions of hotcakes" that
made them dedicated cyclists.
The two women never allowed themselves breakfast until they had
gone 20 or 25 miles. They had long before agreed, "We'll have to
be starving first, and then we will both agree that it was the
best breakfast we ever ate." And every night they would have the
best shower they ever had. But that seemed to be it. No great
sex, just a great shower.
The two women had been biking together for years. They had met
four years before when a mutual friend, a real estate agent,
introduced them, saying that, "Annette will be great for you!
She will help you decorate your home." Annette had, and now the
two houses looked exactly alike.
Their first long ride together had taken them some twelve
miles, to meet their husbands for dinner at the beach. As they
approached the restaurant Annette had called out, "That's twelve.
Thirteen is a luckier number!" So the two women circled a car
wash, next to the restaurant, about fifteen times to make up the
mile difference.
The difference between them, Barbara had finally decided, was
that Annette was a record-breaker idiot. There was something
else about cycling that Barbara loved, screw the records, the
distance and all that. She loved the wind in her hair, her face,
the coolness of it. And her legs pumping, sometimes aching ...
and she associated that thought, strangely enough, with sex. The
moment of exhaustion was not unlike the moment of orgasm.
But then how would Barbara know? She was in her mid-thirties,
and except for a little side-trip of sexual adventure, had never
experienced true sexual fullfillment. And that had been a mind-
bending experience.
And of course it had been with the young man who had stared
over his eggs Benedict at her during breakfast that morning at
the little roadside motel. A soul-filled look in his eyes, that
was what it had been that turned her on so. She had had a
husband and many other men in her life - so why was this youth's
look so different, so exciting? Perhaps it was a case of Monday
Morning Quarterbacking - he had satisfied her. Oh, did he ever
satisfy her!
She had become sick to death of Annette's bribes of "Tell you
what, Barbara, a big luscious hot fudge sundae if we push on for
another three miles, what say?" Annette was obsessed. Annette
was a nut.
There had been the feedback from friends - "You two will kill
yourselves." Actually, there had been few mishaps. The two
women had prepared thoroughly for their long-distance runs, and
both had worked themselves into demons for conditioning.
Barbara, in her first burst of enthusiasm after meeting Annette,
had taken a semester-long course on bicycling at a local Junior
college, and the whole thrust of it had been safety. Safety was
something Barbara was sick to death of. The young man's eyes -
ahh, there was danger, a much spicier dish than safety.
Annette had insisted they have their bikes checked out before
each and every trip, and then they would train, leaving home
before 5:45 a.m., getting in 12 or 20 miles of vigorous cycling.
Always, though, they were back before 7:45 in time for Annette to
cook breakfast for her husband. Barbara had become jealous of
that. She had no one except her son Jerry to even think about
breakfast for. And her son Jerry, at this point in his life,
anyway, needed a bicycling mother like he needed a hole in the
head.
But the conditioning had paid off. She was slim, tight of
body, didn't pant, even when cycling up a continuous twenty-five
mile hill. Maybe it had all put her in condition for the very
young man who was to be her first satisfying lover.
In his arms, she was to forget the challenges of roads that had
no shoulders, logging trucks and sawdust trucks whizzing by,
hills to pump up.
But, in young Jim's arms, Barbara, a bit late in life, realized
the wonderful exhileration of another kind of uphill pumping, her
mind screaming to itself, "Look what your body is doing now!"
"Hi!" he had said to her as she sat outside her motel room
door. She and Annette always had their own room, no matter where
they were cycling to or from. It had been Annette's husband's
idea. "If you do break any mileage records, people will get to
talking, and the next thing you know you'll have reputations as
being lesbians. I don't mind the bike rides off into nowhere,
but I don't think I can hack the lesbian talk bit," he had
declared. Both women agreed immediately, for that was not their
game.
Barbara now lifted her sun glasses and looked into the young
man's handsome face. She said nothing, but did manage a smile.
"You and your girlfriend are bike freaks too, eh?" he said.
"Freaks? I don't like to think of it exactly that way,"
Barbara replied, crossing her legs, a subconscious protective
measure - against her own compulsions, not against the young man
who had approached her.
"Sorry. No offense. I call myself a bike freak. I biked up
here all the way from State College. There are bike freaks and
there are bike freaks, see?" He pulled up a deck chair next to
her. His body was tight, compact, tanned. "I live on a
particular street down at college. "It's off campus, actually,
and I have a basement apartment. Anyway, this street is known
for bachelor parties, and out on the street and on the balconies,
anywhere. Sort of like New Orleans. And the girls that live
there in the dorms ... freshmen, mostly ... they ride their bikes
by this street every morning, see. It's like a beauty parade.
They know that only studs that are seniors and have some bread
can afford apartments on the street. Not that the apartments are
so great - mine was flooded knee deep last year during the rains
- but then I got a basement two-roomer, the rent's cool. Anyway,
these freshies ride by, and whoever doesn't have a hangover from
a bash the night before watches. Good watching, too. They
purposely wear these little bikinis and no bras under their T-
shirts, so their boobs bounce and all."
Barbara smiled, and reddened a bit. He's so young, she
thought, so fresh, so ready to attack life. I wish I was like
that. I was once.
He grinned, and his teeth were very young and white and square.
"So there they go, pedaling along, dozens of them, up and down
the street. Their boobs bounce, and sometimes when I look up
from my basement window I can almost see the balconies above
bouncing in the same cadence. Lots of horny dudes, see. Anyway,
like I was saying, there's bikers and then there's bikers. Those
girls are not bikers. You and your friend, you're bikers. I
could tell. Bikes oiled, everything in balance." He looked down
at her breasts. "And nothing bouncing."
He wore nothing but blue satin bathing trunks, and her eyes
fell on the thick bulge, the almost invisible throb at the skimpy
center.
She looked back up into his eyes. And she knew. They both
knew ...
Later, in her motel room that night, while Annette obtained
her necessary "health sleep, eight hours, no less!", the young
man named Jim stared again into Barbara's eyes.
Running his middle finger over the crispy curling strands of
her pubic hair, he hissed down at her his teeth bared in an
animalistic mask of lust. "Don't worry," he told her. "I'm
going to give you the fucking of your life!"
"Oooooooooh!" moaned Barbara. "Yeeeeeees!"
His obscene words triggered still more excitement in her wildly
impassioned body, and she groaned louder, "Do it to me ... fuck
me as hard as you can!" Her small ringed hand tightened about
the shaft of his pulsing penis as she spoke, and her naked white
ass-cheeks began to rotate in wanton little circles on the
mattress as she felt his prodding finger swirling around and
around the sensitive little bud of her clitoris. "Aaaaaaah," she
cried.
Her new lover's penis lurched violently and he new he could not
wait any longer. Suddenly inspired by her lewd gyrations and
wanton pleadings, he decided what his plan of attack would be
with the woman. He wanted to shove his bursting cock up inside
her tight little belly, and he wanted the salacious view of her
jouncing breasts and her lust-contorted face as he did so. There
was only one way to do it.
"Get on top of me!" he commanded, and before Barbara had a
chance to protest or to consent, she felt herself being pulled up
over his passion-fevered loins.
Her husband had never made love to her this way, and she was
not quite sure of what to do. She stared down with wide
wondering eyes, afraid he was going to do something else that
would only satisfy his own needs instead of giving her the
fucking she needed. Her breath came in quick labored gasps, and
she only wished he would put his penis inside her aching pussy
quick! It felt as though her cunt were on fire, and the spirit
of licentious liberation from all inhibitions drove her to
heights of wanton desire which she had never before known.
"Like this, baby," explained the youth whose fingers were
clasping the satin-smooth cheeks of her resilient buttocks and
positioning her temptingly small cuntal mouth directly above his
throbbing hardness. A lewd little smile lighted his face as he
noted the half-fearful, half-lustful gleam in her eyes as she
stared greedily down at the size of his penis.
"Is it big enough?" he asked lecherously, his eyes gleaming.
"This what your hot cunt is needing?"
Barbara could hardly answer. The sight of his rigid pulsing
flesh rising straight up from his hairy loins to her unprotected
pussy made the lustful woman almost faint with desire.
But it's so big, she thought in terror. It will surely tear me
apart. Suddenly her lust was forgotten in a flood of terror.
"No!" she gasped. "Stop! Let go of me!"
Forgotten now, in the moment of truth, were all the other
massive penises that she had thought too big for her. But there
was no stopping now. The panting youth was quite sure that she'd
like his big thick cock well enough once it was firmly ensconced
within her trembling cunt.
"Take it in your hand and put it in your cunt," he ordered, too
impatient to pay attention to the cock-teasing woman's
objections.
"No!" she wailed. "I can't! I'm afraid! I won't!"
Oh God in heaven! thought Barbara, he is surely going to tear
me to pieces. But she was helpless against his every wish. Her
body ceased to struggle and strain, and much to her astonishment
the needles of desire and thrills of excitement began again,
prurient flames of eroticism flooding through her loins.
"Now you put my cock in your pussy and hurry up about it,"
commanded the boy who lay below her, still leering.
Oh God. How did I ever get in a position like this? But she
obediently reached out her hand and guided his lust-distended
hardness toward the small quivering mouth of her vagina. As she
somewhat gingerly parted her soaked vaginal lips to guide the
blunt-nosed shaft up into the depths of her belly, her earlier
passion began to return.
Unable to wait another second, the lusting youth with the big
penis flicked his muscular hips upward and plunged his aching
hardness deep into her open cunt without thinking whether he was
hurting her or not.
Sharp needles of sensual agony shot through her impaled body.
The boy's massive thickness was thrust inside her. His mammoth
hardness throbbed within the suffering walls of her stretched
cunt.
And then before she realized what she was doing, she began to
undulate her own firm-fleshed ass-cheeks around the obscenely
impaling rod of hardened male flesh, all traces of pain easing
until she was floating in between hurt and happiness, between
pain and pleasure, far away from reality. Something was so
erotic, so forbidden about being fucked half to death by a
stranger, far away from her son, far away from home. A powerful
wave of pleasure rippled through her over-stimulated body.
"Oh, yes," she breathed. "Yes, fuck me like that."
Eager to oblige the lust-ridden woman the youth began to fuck
his pulsating thickness hard up into her heated vagina with
smooth straight strokes that sank all the way to her spongy
cervix. At the same time, he teased his thumb wildly at the
sensitive bud of her throbbing clitoris.
Incoherent gurgles of joy spurted from Barbara's lushly parted
lips, and her ripe body squirmed in orgiastic ecstasy. She felt
his hand attack her vulnerable anus with savage insistence, as
the outstretched finger wormed its way up into her clenching
rectum, to move back and forth in time to the wild fucking
strokes of the youth beneath her. She felt herself floating
higher and higher, far removed from space and time.
Then, suddenly, the long desired climax hit her like a
jackhammer. Unexpectedly it came over her aroused flesh and she
howled like a wounded animal, as great swirls of incredible
pleasure stormed through her overloaded nervous system. And at
precisely the same moment, the plunging penis that brought her to
such heights, came also, expanding to spurt its hot load of semen
deep into her convulsing body.
Maddened by the pungent aroma of sexual release, Barbara fucked
harder and wilder down upon his stiff exploding penis. Orgiastic
liquid poured from her own convulsing body and overflowed upon
the bed below them. She swallowed in the delights of orgasm and
the slippery warm cum.
|
|
