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Her End of the Business (mf)
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.
Subject: Her End of the Business - m/f, oral, anal, cons.
Reply-To: [email protected] (SirGlans)
Date: Sat Jul 22 20:36:52 1995
The following work of erotic fiction is provided for the
entertainment and perhaps enlightenment of adult readers
only. Any resemblance between the characters in it and any
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. (Still, hope
springs eternal.)
Your thoughtful comments appreciated but not required.
Her End of the Business
By Sir Glans
Sometimes I think Barbara doesn't care that much about me, really.
Maybe I am just a novelty. Our relationship has always been on her
terms, strictly.
Sure, I am her boss. I could have her bounced down to a lowly
receptionist's spot with a single phone call. If she didn't quit, I could
fire her. Doing so would put an end to some annoying questions that
circulate through the company every so often: "How come she's a
Departmental Associate with only a year and a half here, and she's only
22?" and "I heard she's taking home sixty grand a year, can it be true?"
I could end this thing with Barbara, all right, but I won't. She's too
beautiful, too erotic, too . . . into what I crave.
---
The neat, modern little loft apartment I keep in the city always has a
sort of musty smell when I first arrive. Result of being closed up, with
no one really living there ninety percent of the time, I suppose. Plenty
of time to air it out this week, however. Barbara is really late. If she
doesn't get here soon, I'll have to mix some more martinis. And if I
finish this batch, well, I might not be in shape for why I am really here.
Amazing how dull and empty the little place seems when she's not here.
At last, I see her little red Del Sol zip into the space near the front
door. She emerges gracefully, her generous curves tastefully displayed in
a neat, white business suit, her long, shiny black hair tousled
beautifully by the wind. My heart beats faster and my mouth gets dry just
looking at her sometimes.
"Sorry I'm so late. There was a terrible pileup on the highway," she
explains, slipping gracefully out of her clothes and tossing them on the
easy chair. Then, beautifully nude, she takes the martini I hand her and
curls up next to me on the loveseat. She nuzzles my cheek and says,
"You're not mad, I hope. You said yourself anticipation adds to the
pleasure."
I assure her I understand. The sight of her soft, smooth, lightly tanned
skin, her medium-sized but perfectly shaped, upturned breasts, sleek
waist, neat hips and legs are more than enough to turn back any impatience
I might ever feel. She is feminine perfection.
"You know, I recalled something on the way over. It was while I was
waiting for the tie-up to clear," she tells me, smiling just a bit. "Yes,
it just popped up out of the blue. And it was so ... appropriate, I'd
guess is the word. I mean, because of what you -- we -- like to do."
I tell her not to keep me in suspense, finishing my drink and caressing
her shoulder and arm. She leans forward for a kiss, giving me tongue
spiced with gin and vermouth. Then she giggles.
"I think I was only something like 12. This boy, Larry, and I had done a
little sex play a few times. He was almost 13 and kind of cute. We did a
kissing part, where he had to put his arms around me and everything, and
we'd kiss. That went on for awhile, too. I knew it wasn't his favorite
part, of course, but he did it to keep me happy. And to make me hot, too,
I suppose. But being happy, I did his favorite part ..."
"Which was?" I asked, cupping a firm breast in my hand, feeling the nipple
grow hard as her hand pressed on mine and suggested a gentle, rotating
massage motion.
Another girlish giggle (martinis were maybe too strong this time) and
then, "Well, we messed around a little while and I let him eat me. That's
what kids called it -- 'getting eaten' or 'eating somebody out'. I would
crack up sometimes when my dad would tell us, 'Barbara, go get cleaned up
because we're eating out tonight'. This really nasty little vision would
zip through my head, of everybody in the family doing it to everybody
else. Males doing it to the females, I mean.
"Anyway, this time I remembered today, Larry didn't have me sit down or
lay down with my legs open so he could do it like before. After he took my
pants down, he sat down and had me stand in front of him, facing him at
first. He kissed and played around with his tongue up front, tried to get
it to where I like it. You know, my clit and all. But it was awkward, even
though I pushed my hips forward and opened my legs pretty wide trying to
cooperate. So then he had me turn around.
Kissing her neck, basking in the aroma of White Shoulders, I asked her to
go on.
"He rubbed his hands all over my butt, like he was polishing it, you know?
But pretty soon, he kissed it. Nobody had ever kissed my butt before, and
I was like, whoa, this is too nasty," she motioned with her arms and
giggled again. "But hey, it got worse, or better.
"Next thing I know, he's prying my butt apart with his hands and then he's
eating me out from behind. And I bend over and push back, because it's
feeling really good. His tongue's on my little nerve and working around
over everything else. When he pushes it up in my vagina, I tighten on it,
noticing his nose is right on my butthole! Can you imagine? Well, of
course you can, but I couldn't then.
"Well, not to go on too long with this, before it was over, Larry not only
got me off licking me the regular way in the regular place, he licked all
up and down between the cheeks of my butt, including right on my nasty
little butthole. I mean, it hadn't been but maybe three or four hours
before that I had used that for the purpose intended, if you know what I
mean. I cleaned up afterward, the way a person does, but it wasn't like I
took a bath or anything. So, it dawned on me it was the pure nastiness of
it, you know? So, when he poked his tongue up in there, just a little, I
was so into what he was doing, the pure nastiness, I pushed back to get
more of it. I came again, really wet, and grunted like one of those bimbos
in a porn video or something."
By now, I am very close to coming. I am kissing and sucking her neck,
sometimes ranging down to nibble her erect nipple and strum it with my
eager tongue. Having finished her drink, she is idly fondling my heavily
loaded balls and teasingly caressing my erection. Oh, sweet agony of
desire.
"You probably think I was a little slut, but really, I was just naive. I
mean, this stuff was all so new. Plus, Larry really was sweet to me. He
did things with me and we really talked. So, it wasn't like we just spent
time together to do sex stuff. But hey, when the time was right and there
was nobody around and we were horny, I mean, we just did stuff. We were
experimenting, learning, right?"
Moments later, we are rolling on the floor, intertwined. I am generous
with licks, kisses and love bites. So is she. Our bodies work together,
play together. Then we're locked in sixty-nine with her on top.
Above me, before me, the grandest sight in my personal universe. Her
beautifully round, full, high, tight ass. And from the divine crevasse
that separates her generous, firm globes of exquisite flesh there emanates
the ultimate aphrodisiac -- her natural genital perfume, which flows
abundantly and coats like honey in moments such as these. Added to it,
mixing with it is her anal musk, a pine forest floor smell, sweetish and
crisp, as after a summer evening rain. I must fight to keep from flooding
her beckoning mouth too soon.
She reads me, backs off, concentrates on my testicles with her hot,
rolling tongue, then works back, along the ridge that leads to my own
anus. Ah, so delicious these moments.
I lean up and forward, lapping, licking, chasing the silky, fine black
crown of hairs that adorns her pink-brown, rippled opening. Then onto it
with the flat of my tongue, wetly lapping. Her scent is strong and
electrifying. For all the power of her scent, her flavor is very subtly
salty-bitter; I crave that. How much more self-control can I manage?
In a moment am pressing my now-pointed tongue into her. Her sphincter
shies inward slightly, tightening, teasing, refusing admittance. But only
for seconds, and then it relaxes and welcomes me. She groans, coos, begins
working her lovely hips in a rolling motion -- one that bottoms at a point
of maximum penetration.
My chin caresses, then is ground against by that sensitive area at the
bottom of her cunt, between vagina and anus. I do my best to rotate my
tongue, taking full advantage each time one of her undulations presses her
ass back to nearly cover my face.
Barbara is moaning and grunting incoherently now, transported to a place
where orgasm is all that counts. As it nears, she bends down and again
engulfs my oozing, straining, cock in her hot, eager mouth. Her tongue
winds around it, rolling, squeezing. Busy fingers clutch and stir my
balls.
And then it grips both of us. Grips her in a series of fleshquakes, the
shocks of which clamp my aching, ass-probing tongue. Feeling her let go, I
draw my legs up halfway, work my hips with the incredibly intense
sensations, then let the spasm rise, focus, intensify and finally erupt,
spewing long, white-hot gobbets of pearlescent protein lava into her
rolling, sucking mouth and down her delicate throat. With muffled moans
she encourages, pausing only to swallow.
When it's over, we lie there in a heap of damp, still heaving limbs and
torsos, transported in our euphoric minds to a place where this is right
and good -- the way things ought to be for us and everyone, all the time.
She is first to break the reverie.
"Why don't you mix some more martinis and call for a pizza while I start
the shower for us, dear? Then we'll still have time for me to show you
what a boy named Norman taught me the summer before I started college."
Man, talk about job security!
--
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