All Tied Up – Fay Arthur Part Five

I met up with my artist friend, Byron, in the hope that he would take me to Emma McManners. I followed his Bentley into a suburban district and then into a conventional three bed-roomed house. We were met at the door by Vee, the owner of the house. Vee was in her mid-forties with black hair, dark eyes and a sleek figure. She escorted me into a sitting room and I sat there, admiring the erotic paintings on her wall, while Byron quietly disappeared. Shortly, I was joined by four ladies, aged from late twenties to early forties. All were good looking and all carried an air of respectability. We smiled at each other, somewhat nervously, apprehensively, then sat down to wait. What we were waiting for, and where Emma fitted into this picture, I had no idea, although all became clear as the evening wore on.

When Vee rejoined us, she was wearing nothing more than a thong and a black, silky bra. And she had a companion, a man in his mid-twenties with a mischievous smile and a long pony tail. Vee and her companion took centre stage and, obviously, they were there to put on a show.

First, Vee knelt before her companion. She unbuttoned his leather trousers then kissed his semi-hard penis through his boxer shorts. From my left and right I heard sighs and moans of appreciation as the ladies in the room looked on with approval. Then Vee removed his boxer shorts and started to caress his penis. It hardened instantly and she took him into her mouth. To my left and right the sighs and moans became louder and I noticed that the twentysomething lady was unbuttoning her blouse and cupping her breasts. Fully erect, the man lay down in the centre of the room. Smiling, Vee unclipped her bra and freed her breasts. She cupped them, then rolled her tongue around her nipples. Then she removed her thong to reveal a completely shaved pubis. With her thong in her right hand, she knelt beside the man and kissed him before, deftly, draping the thong over the man’s throbbing purple head. The man groaned and he was joined by a chorus of appreciative onlookers. I noticed that at least two of the ladies had slipped their fingers into their knickers and were starting to play with themselves. And, I have to admit, my nipples were starting to tingle too.

Vee teased her partner with her thong until his groans became plaintive. Then she went down on him again, taking him into her mouth. With a skilful tongue and skilful fingers, she brought him close to orgasm. The ladies to my left and right were moaning along with him and they gasped as one when Vee craned her neck back, caressed his shaft and produced a stream of spunk from the man’s cock. He shot his load across the room and I have to admit that seeing him come turned me on. And I guessed that that was the name of the game, for impressive though it was, Vee and her partner’s performance was merely an hors d’oeuvre and the main course was yet to follow.

And a few minutes later, after the man had left the room, we got a sense of what the main course would entail. Vee produced five blindfolds and invited us into the centre of the room. There, she tied the blindfolds around our eyes. Blindfolded, I felt a sense of anticipation and trepidation. Vee’s performance had turned me on, but what was going to happen next?

While I was pondering that point, I sensed a male presence in the room, in fact more than one male, possibly one for each lady present. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. That hand took hold of my hand and guided me from the room. Someone had selected me and he was guiding me into a bedroom. I knew that because he placed me on the bed. Then, as I sank into the soft, silky sheets, I felt his hands on my blouse, undoing the buttons. Later I discovered that the men had been watching the performance through a two-way mirror. However, now my mind was in a whirl. Should I remove the blindfold, protest and blow my cover, or should I submit to this man’s desires? I decided on the former and I was about to protest when I felt a strong finger on my lips. The finger insisted on silence and, for some reason, I obeyed. Then his hands, firm and strong, were on my breasts, cupping me through my bra. Then he removed my blouse and bra and I sensed that I had no option now, other than to play the game.

His teeth nibbled my nipples. Then he bit them and I gasped and complained. In response, he licked my nipples soothingly and I moaned. I sensed that he was a big man, powerful, and he used that power to pin me to the bed and kiss me, ardently, on the lips. After a moment’s hesitation, I responded, and then his fingers were on my behind, fondling me, caressing me, producing a passionate response. He was between my thighs and I was writhing against him, enjoying the sensation of his hands on my arse and my clit rubbing against his erection.

Then he stood and I sensed that he was getting undressed. Then I felt his fingers circle my wrists. This was followed by a length of silk tied around my wrists. And before I could respond further I realised that he had tied me to the frame of the bed. I gulped and moistened my lips. I was at his mercy now, semi-naked and his for the taking.

He unzipped my skirt and pulled it over my thighs. Then I felt his weight on the bed as he kissed my inner-thighs. His kisses ran up my thighs towards my panties. He kissed me through my panties and I moaned. He continued to kiss me and I sensed his lips broaden into a smile. He knew I was wet and enjoying his kisses. He knew that I was ready for him and that I wanted him to enter me.

Slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was exposed, he removed my panties. I was naked, except for my stockings and suspenders. I heard an intake of breath as he breathed in the musk from my panties. Then I felt his lips on my labia and I groaned.

As he kissed my labia and licked my clit, my hands gripped the silk tie binding me to the bed. I arched my back and pulled against the tie, my hips writhing to the left and the right as his tongue licked me towards orgasm. I was soaking now and he could taste this. The licking stopped and I sensed that he was ready. With a sigh of anticipation, I parted my legs and invited him inside.

He needed no second invitation. He entered me with one powerful thrust. My body convulsed as I took his full length. Indeed, he filled me to capacity, and his length and girth reminded me of my lover, P.J. Parker.

His strong, muscular body was moving on top of me now. His hands were still caressing my behind, pulling me close. I was sighing and moaning, my legs hooked around his thighs. He was grunting, loud. Then he started to move fast and hard. He took me like that for awhile and I cried out in my desire. Clearly, the idea of taking me while I was tied to the bed, helpless, turned him on. He moved faster and harder, and my head moved from side to side as my fingers gripped the silk ties.

Then his movements slowed, he groaned and I sensed that he was coming. He gripped my arse tight, shuddered and shot his load. We moaned in unison, then he kissed me. Spent, he rolled off me on to the silk sheets.

My legs were apart, my lower lips wide open, my clit throbbing. I felt his hand on my thigh, his fingers moving towards my clitoris.

“Yes!” I gasped, and he started to circle my clit. “Yes!” I begged. “More!” He kissed me again as his fingers worked their magic. Sometimes, I like a man to be slow and sensual, to tease me towards orgasm, other times I like to feel the power in his fingers, I like him to bring me off without a pause. Today, I was in need of the latter, so I cried out, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! More! More!”

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Skilfully, his fingers obeyed my command and they raced me towards orgasm. My hands were pulling at the ties now, threatening to tear them from the bed. I arched my back, opened my legs wide and yelled, “Fuck!” as the first wave washed over me, then, “Oh, fuck, yes!” as another wave consumed me, then, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! More, more, more!” as my orgasm held me in its all-embracing, exquisite grip. My lover continued to finger me until I was totally spent. I cried out, “Enough.” Then he kissed me and wrapped his powerful arms around me and, sighing with contentment, I smiled and lay back on the bed.

When I’d recaptured my senses, my lover eased the blindfold from my eyes and I gazed up, at P.J. Parker’s grinning face. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my question sounding close to an accusation.

“Same as you,” he continued to grin, “looking for a teenage runaway.” He explained, “I discovered that Emma McManners and my runaway, Sarah Castleton, had been seen at one of Vee’s parties, so I came along to investigate. They were here, but it seems we’re one step behind them. Then I noticed that you were here and so I decided to step in to save your honour. You knew it was me, I take it, from the first touch?”

“I knew it was you,” I admitted, “when you entered me; no man fills me like you do.”

He kissed me, then he caressed my cheek. “I suppose I’d better untie you,” he said with a regretful sigh.

“We can always try this again,” I replied with a cheeky smile, “the next time we meet up.”

“We will,” he said, his right hand cupping my left breast, his lips kissing its nipple. “We will.”

Story Copyright © 2014 Abigail Summer. All rights reserved.

Classic Erotica #1 – Jules Scalbert and Anais Nin

Bathers

The Bathers by Jules Scalbert (1851 – 1901)

“She continued to swim and he repeated his passage over her. Then she stood up and he drove down and passed between her legs. They laughed. They both moved with ease in the water. He was deeply excited. He swam with his sex hard. Then they approached each other with a crouching motion, as if for a battle. He brought her body against his, and she felt the tautness of his penis.” – Anais Nin (1903 – 77) The Woman on the Dunes 

Abigail’s Diary, Entry #5

Gemma has written a short sensual story for Halloween and it’s now available on Kindle! Please click on the book cover to the right of this webpage for more details.

Invisible Touch

“Hello, Newtown Lifeline, how can I help you?”

“Miss Angelotti?”

“Speaking.”

“Your controller said you would help me.”

“Dr Vine?”

“Will you help me?”

Angel paused. The use of her surname had taken her by surprise; the voices on the telephone were largely anonymous, first name terms only. The mention of Darren Vine’s name had jolted her even more. But that’s the least you can expect when you’re having an affair with a married man, she thought bitterly.

INVISIBLE TOUCH BOOK COVER

Later…As Angel drove to the funfair a strange sensation started to overwhelm her; she felt an incredible urge to unbutton her jeans and slip her fingers into her panties. She frowned at herself in the driving mirror; she wasn’t even thinking about sex; what was going on? The urge became stronger and she found herself clenching her buttocks and moving her hips, slowly, gently, as though responding to a lover’s light touch. Her breasts started to tingle and her clitoris started to pulse. She moaned softly and, taking her left hand from the steering wheel, she fingered herself through her jeans. I have to pull over, she thought, anymore of this and I’m going to come…

Coming Second – Fay Arthur Part Four

Coming Second – Fay Arthur Part Four

The trail to Emma McManners, while not as hot as the noonday sun, was certainly getting warmer. I’d discovered that Emma was streetwalking at night around the quay area of the city, a notorious pick-up point for women looking to earn some jam for their tea. The weather was still sultry. In fact, the evening was humid, inducing a languid feel, a lassitude that slowed the mind and body. Rhythms were measured; you could see it in the women as they walked the street, swinging their hips lazily. They wanted a John, they needed the money, but their body language said that they hoped he was the kind who jerked off while they masturbated, rather than the type who wanted it up close and personal. It was too hot for one on one sex, too sultry, too sticky. It was an evening for making love in the shower or for lazing back on cool, crisp sheets and going solo.

I was walking the streets searching for Emma. My clothing matched the women around me – fishnet stockings, a short leather skirt and a see-though top. I was bra-less, so my nipples were just about visible through the top and they attracted a number of admiring glances. As I walked, I talked with the women and discovered that Emma was indeed a regular in the area, so I was getting closer. Occasionally, a punter would pull up and make me an offer, but I had a plan, namely I’d eye his car, figure out how much he could afford, then name a price well out of his range. I guess the other women put my lack of ‘success’ down to inexperience because they offered no comment. They were more concerned with their own good, or bad, fortune than that of a newcomer.

It was 2 a.m. My feet were aching and I felt in need of a long, cool drink and a long, cool bath. I was about to wander quietly out of the area when a car pulled up beside me. The car was a Bentley, chauffeur driven.

The window on the back door slid down and a man looked up at me. He was in his early sixties with sharp blue eyes, a pencil-thin moustache and a grey corona, circling his suntanned bald head. His suit was smart and well-cut, his gold cufflinks glinted in the moonlight and a small diamond, set in a gold ring on his right little finger, sparkled at me.

“Can I offer you a lift?” the man asked urbanely.

“It will cost you a four-figure sum,” I replied, trying to put him off.

“No problem,” the man said, and the door to the Bentley swung open.

I was aware of the other women eyeing me as I wondered what to do next. I could walk away, but that would risk blowing my cover; I was close to locating Emma, but I needed more time on the street, I needed these women to trust me. So I shrugged and climbed into the car.

As I sat on the backseat, my skirt rode up to the top of my thighs, revealing my suspenders. My punter admired my legs and thighs, smiled and nodded approvingly.

“Perfect,” he sighed. “More Renoir than Rubens; perfect.”

I was still trying to figure out what he meant by that remark when the Bentley arrived at a beach house. The house had two-storeys, a flat roof and plenty of glass. The chauffeur parked the car then offered his hand to help me on to the concourse. I glanced around, at the gently rippling ocean, the neat gardens and the impressive house. Then the man took my hand and we entered the building.

We walked into an artist’s studio. The walls were covered in pictures: landscapes, still-lives, portraits, abstracts. All contained an element of beauty, but the pictures that caught my eye were those of attractive women in various stages of undress. What all these women had in common was a look of lassitude on their faces, a look of post-coital bliss. And then it dawned on me: my punter was an artist who liked to capture women in that afterglow moment, that moment when you’d come for all you were worth and felt unable to move a single muscle.

“Do you like them?” he asked with a smile of anticipation.

“They’re beautiful,” I nodded.

His smile broadened. Then he invited me to sit on a soft leather armchair.

As I sat in the chair, my mind flicked through a likely scenario. Either he, and-or his chauffeur, who had entered the studio with us, wanted to take me, or he wanted to paint me in my post-coital moment. Of the two, I preferred the idea of the latter, though how I reached that moment escaped my languid mind.

“Would you like the money up front, or after the session?” the artist asked.

I hesitated. I figured that I’d pushed my luck and that now was the time to come clean, make my excuses and leave. “I’m not a prostitute,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m a private eye looking for an eighteen-year-old runaway called Emma McManners.”

The artist raised an eyebrow, but apart from this gesture, he didn’t stir. “Describe Emma.”

“Slim build, pretty, with shoulder-length dark brown hair, brown eyes and a distinctive birthmark above her right eyelid.”

“Much like the woman in that picture?”

The artist gazed at the far wall. I followed his gaze and stared at an image of Emma. There was no doubt that his portrait matched my picture of Emma. In my picture, Emma was smiling, albeit coyly, while in the portrait she was lying across a couch, wearing only a pair of skimpy panties. Her right hand was resting in her panties and the blissful look on her face told me that she’d recently come. How the artist managed to capture such a moment, I didn’t know; I suppose that was his gift, his particular talent.

“That’s Emma,” I said. “When did you paint that picture?”

“A week ago.”

“Do you have any idea where she is now?”

The artist steepled his fingers together. He placed them against his chin. He offered me an enigmatic grimace. “I might be able to point you in her direction. But first, you must fulfil your part of the deal.”

I swallowed, then nodded slowly. “Do you want to fuck me?”

He shook his head and offered me a sad smile. “You are not my type.” He glanced over to the chauffeur as he said this, and the two of them exchanged a secret smile.

Okay, so the picture was becoming clear. The artist – I noticed from the portraits that he sighed himself ‘Byron’ – and the chauffeur were lovers. This meant that I was the model and he wanted to paint me. The only unanswered question was, how did I get in the mood? Indeed, did I want to get in the mood? I loved making love, I loved coming, but I preferred to share sex with a partner, not with an audience; I wasn’t sure that I could perform in front of Byron and provide him with what he wanted.

“If I pose for you, you’ll take me to Emma?”

Byron nodded.

“When?”

“Return here tomorrow afternoon. I will paint your portrait and in the evening I will take you to a house where you are likely to find Emma McManners.”

I nodded. It was a deal, of sorts, and probably my best bet of locating Emma. I climbed to my feet, ready to leave.

“One thing,” Byron said. “Be sure to wear black, lacy panties. We need the dark panties to contrast with your legs. The panties are integral to the composition.”

“I will,” I said slowly, wondering what I was getting myself into.

“It will be a beautiful portrait,” Byron smiled. “Of that, I am sure.”

I returned to the beach house the following afternoon with my skimpy, black, lacy panties in my shoulder bag. I was still wondering how I was going to perform; Byron seemed nice enough, but the idea of getting off in front of him didn’t appeal, somehow. He would have to turn me on. And I was wondering, how?

As I entered his artist’s studio he asked, “You’ve brought the panties?”

I nodded and fished them out of my bag.

“Excellent,” he smiled approvingly. “You may retire to the lounge and change in there.”

In Byron’s lounge, I removed my blouse and skirt. I was still bra-less – needless to say, it was another hot day – and so I was down to my knickers. As I slipped out of my knickers and pulled my fresh, lacy panties over my thighs I found myself wondering again – what was I doing here? I guess I was keen to do a good job and find Emma. Also, I have to admit that I was flattered that an artist of considerable talent would want to paint my portrait. I was comfortable with my body so had no problem with the nudity, but masturbating and coming in front of him was an issue. Maybe I could fake it.

I returned to Byron’s studio and he waved a paintbrush towards a leather couch. I reclined on the couch and he smiled his approval.

“Lift your legs, part them,” he instructed, “place your hand above your pubis, but don’t touch yourself, yet.”

I reclined on the couch and spread my legs. My hand hovered over my pubis and as Byron painted I felt the urge to caress myself, though I resisted. The hardest part of the exercise was keeping still, and Byron reprimanded me on a number of occasions. However, as the afternoon wore on I was getting used to my role as model, and was looking forward to seeing the finished picture.

“Now,” Byron said, “slip your hand into your panties.”

Tentatively, I eased my fingers under the waistband.

“Caress yourself.”

I closed my eyes, cupped my left breast with my left hand and imagined I was alone on my bed. My right hand slipped further into my panties, but I was dry and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get off.

“I’m sorry,” I said, apologising to Byron, “this isn’t for me.”

He merely smiled and continued painting. Then he tapped his brush against his easel and a woman entered the studio. She was tall, elegant, in her mid-forties with brown, highlighted hair, a slender waist and long, sensuous legs.

“This is Renee,” Byron informed me. “She too is an artist and she is kind enough to help me out on certain occasions. Now, kindly resume your pose and follow Renee’s artistic movements.” He smiled somewhat mischievously. “I’m sure that by the end of the session we will all achieve a certain satisfaction.”

I resumed my position on the couch and watched in fascination as Renee slipped out of her blouse and jeans. She unclipped her bra without any hint of self-consciousness and revealed her neat, pear-shaped breasts. Then she sat opposite me, where she raised her legs over the arms of a chair, offering a generous view of her black, lacy panties and soft, sensual tufts of pubic hair.

Renee smiled at me. She caressed her breasts, teasing her nipples into points. She offered her nipples to her lightly painted lips and kissed them. Then she licked them with long lengths of her tongue. Simultaneously, we groaned and I noticed that my nipples too were now erect.

Renee wriggled her slim hips and eased her panties over her thighs. On the couch, I mirrored her actions. Her bush was more luxurious than mine and she spent some time there, parting her outer lips, displaying her pink inner-lips before sliding a finger into her pleasure hole. On the couch, I felt my hips responding with gentle rotations, as though she were fingering me. I moaned at the thought, then slipped a finger into my honey hole.

We were watching each other closely and Renee mouthed ‘so good’. I smiled and nodded in affirmation; it was so good, it felt so good; indeed, I’d completely forgotten that Byron was in the studio.

As the session unfolded, I discovered that Renee was indeed an artist, an artist who knew how to use her fingers to the greatest effect. I mimicked her actions as she ran a finger over her clitoral hood, touching herself a little to the right and left of the head. Then she went through a variety of movements, rubbing her clit from side-to-side, before circling it and teasing it with a figure-of-eight sweep of her fingers. For variety, she would use the tips of her fingers, then pat her clit with the palm of her hand before holding her lower lips open with one hand and inserting two fingers with the other. Occasionally, she would squeeze her clit between her forefinger and thumb, then reach deep between her legs and stimulate her anus. She spent a lot of time there and I could see that it was offering her intense pleasure. Indeed, she went hands free for awhile, sitting back, closing her eyes, absorbing the erotic sensations.

I realised that this was a race, a slow race – the woman who came second was the winner. So I eased back and gave myself soft, slow caresses, concentrating on my outer lips, avoiding my clit and vagina, though there were moments when the temptation was too strong and I had to finger myself there.

We kept up a slow, steady rhythm for some time. Then Renee’s fingers began to move faster, her hips oscillated and her back arched. She was approaching orgasm and I had to admit I was also close.

We moaned and sighed together, though we were on opposite sides of the room. Renee patted her clitoris, groaned deeply and I thought she was going to come. I closed my eyes, focused on the exquisite sensation as I moved towards climax and circled my pearl. Then I opened my eyes and noticed that Renee had eased back on her caresses. She was teasing me; she wanted me to come first.

Of course, this was all part of the game, a part of the pleasure but also a device to buy time for Byron. From the corner of my eye, I noticed his brush as it flashed away, but my main focus was on Renee and her skilful fingers, on the honey that was dripping from her lower lips.

Renee gasped and I realised that she was struggling to hold back her orgasm. I opened my legs wide, to entice her, to push her over the edge. Her groans became louder and I found that my fingers were moving faster. I was going to come; I couldn’t resist the sweet sensation any longer.

Renee responded by opening her legs wide. I feasted my eyes on her pink inner lips, bright and moist from her juices. I felt the urge to lick her lips, to slip a finger into her wet vagina and taste her juices. I moaned at the thought and slipped a finger into my own honey pot.

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With a shudder, Renee moved closer to orgasm. However, she was determined to see me come first so she removed her fingers from her clit. For me, the game had moved beyond reason; even if it meant ‘losing’, I had to come first. So I slipped two fingers and a third into my wet slit and fucked myself, my fingers moving with speed. Ironically, the sight of my fucking and the sound of my groans were too much for Renee and she melted into her orgasm, her fingers returning to her clit despite her best efforts to abstain. I managed a smile as she took her pleasure, then my features became a mirror of her ecstasy as I leaned back, raised my hips and succumbed to an overwhelming climax.

Later, I’m not sure when, I pulled my panties up, dressed and joined Byron at his easel. Somehow, he’d managed to capture my moment of joy and from the satisfied look on his face he was pleased with his efforts.

Renee left the studio without a word, which disappointed me because I was hoping we’d exchange a kiss, at least. However, Byron lifted my mood when he said, “You’re a fantastic model; no one has outlasted Renee in this studio.” Then, he added with a twinkle in his eye, “Return here this evening and claim your reward; I will take you to Emma McManners.”

Story Copyright © 2014 Abigail Summer. All rights reserved.

Amanda

Amanda

My name is Lance Knight, that’s right, as in Sir Lancelot. As you can see, my parents had a sense of humour when they named me after the Arthurian hero and while I would not claim to be as noble as my illustrious predecessor, I try to live by my own chivalric code. I’m a private detective and I’d been hired by a husband, Glen, to locate his errant wife, Amanda. Glen claimed that Amanda was sexually repressed, though she had a fantasy about being a prostitute. Glen reckoned that Amanda behaved like a nun, but deep down she wanted to be a whore. Consequently, he thought she’d be on the street, hooking, and with the aid of a photograph I found her easily enough. The trick now was to get her home.

I cruised up to Amanda in my car and wound down the window. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ I asked.

She hesitated, then stepped inside. She was wearing a short plaid skirt and red fishnets. Her legs were good, her body curvaceous, belying her thirty-eight years. Her face, attractive, though lined with tension, told me that she was uncomfortable with her street life surroundings, and maybe with the general direction of her life.

Amanda sat beside me and I placed a hand on her thigh. ‘How much?’ I asked.

‘Twenty?’ she ventured and I nodded. She’d be worth that, and more.

‘Does your underwear match your fishnets?’ I grinned, my eyes admiring her shapely legs.

Slowly, with nervous fingers, she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal a red, lacy bra. The bra gave her breasts a lift, producing a generous valley.

‘And below?’ I asked.

Amanda inched her skirt up to her hips to reveal red, lacy knickers. Her luxurious bush was just visible behind her knickers and I allowed my hand to move up, caressing her upper thigh.

‘Where do you want to do it?’ I asked, my voice a little thicker and huskier than it had been.

She hesitated. ‘Where do you suggest?’

‘I know a motel.’

She nodded and we set off for the motel. I’d booked a room in advance; it was all part of the plan.

In the room I removed my trench coat. Then I walked up to Amanda and placed my hands on her arse. I pulled her close and kissed her. I put a hand in her knickers. She was wet, but her kisses were dry. I pulled away.

‘You’re no hooker, are you?’ I said.

She shook her head, slowly.

‘I’m a private detective. Your husband hired me to find you.’ I picked up my trench coat and slipped into it. ‘Come on, let’s quit this farce and get you back home.’

Again, she hesitated, her fingers toying with the buttons on her blouse. ‘Don’t you want me?’ she asked.

I nodded. ‘You’re a very attractive woman. Sure, I want you. But that wasn’t part of the deal. Maybe next time, eh?’

Next day, Amanda was in my office. She looked bashful as she said, ‘Thank you for yesterday.’

‘For what?’ I frowned.

‘For not taking advantage of me.’

I shrugged, ‘I was hired to do a job. And yesterday that job involved you.’

She looked thoughtful, pursing her lips, inclining her head to her right. Then she said slowly, ‘You must know a lot of prostitutes.’

I laughed. ‘I know one or two.’

‘Can you introduce me to one; I would like to see her make love.’

‘Why?’

Amanda faltered. She glanced at the historical prints on my office wall, at my desk, at my filing cabinets, anywhere to avoid eye contact. ‘Let’s just say I need to do something for myself. I’m thirty-eight, but I’m still not a woman; do you understand?’

I didn’t understand, but instead of saying that I said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

I got in touch with Tanya, a casual acquaintance. Tanya fancied me and I knew she’d do me a favour. She knew someone who liked an audience so we made the arrangements and met at her place. In Tanya’s bedroom in the semi-darkness Amanda took a seat and feeling uncomfortable I sat beside her.

Tanya was good-looking with decent-sized breasts, a round arse and a sassy walk. She walked up to her client and pushed him on to her bed. Then she stripped, nice and slow, revealing herself to her audience. She was naked, apart from a thong, when she walked over to her client, whom we’ll call John, unzipped his trousers and freed his cock. He was hard by now and Tanya soon produced the head as she worked him with her fingers and mouth. John groaned as Tanya sucked him off and I noticed that Amanda was watching them, on the edge of her seat.

Tanya slipped John’s cock between her ample breasts and massaged it for a while. To judge from John’s blissed-out expression and groans it was a delicious sensation; beside me, Amanda started to whimper. Then Tanya removed her thong to reveal her shaved pubis. She fingered herself, to get herself wet, before slipping a condom over John’s cock. His cock was throbbing by now and, I have to admit, I was getting hard too.

Tanya turned her back on John, took hold of his cock, and guided it into her wet hole. From our position, Amanda and I got a good view of Tanya’s arse as she moved up and down on John, writhing from time to time. John left the movements to Tanya; he just sat back and took the ride. Then she reversed her position and faced John. She offered him her nipples and he sucked them while she fucked him with more skilful swings of her hips. Of course, the condom inhibited John’s pleasure, but Tanya was good and soon he was on the brink of orgasm. Sensing this, Tanya dismounted. She pulled the condom off and took John in her mouth again. He was ready now. Meanwhile, I glanced over to Amanda and noticed that her skin was glowing. Then Amanda gasped as John groaned. He put his hands on Tanya’s head and, holding it in position, he pumped his come into her mouth. She devoured it without hesitation, licking her lips, savouring the last drop. As John slumped back on the bed I glanced at Amanda. She was sitting back in her chair, her eyes closed, her legs open, her hand inside her blouse. She wanted it, that was obvious to see, and even though I’d been hired to find her and strictly she was business not pleasure, I wanted her.

Outside, in the street, Amanda said, ‘Do you remember the motel?’ She paused and took hold of my arm. ‘Do you think you could book the same room?’

‘Sure,’ I said and, later that day, I made the arrangements.

I was sitting in a chair, in the bedroom at the motel. I placed my hands behind my head while Amanda stood in the middle of the room. She looked at me, licked her lips, hesitated, then said, ‘Do you still want me?’

I eyed her curves, her attractive face, her expectant look. ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I still want you.’

‘Then take me,’ she said.

I pursed my lips. ‘You sure?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

‘And what about your husband?’

Amanda laughed, a dry laugh without any humour. ‘What about him?’

‘He hired me. I can’t just take his money and then screw his wife.’

Her cheeks coloured, glowing bright red. She looked at me with daggers in her eyes. ‘Is that how you see me, as an easy screw?’

I sighed, ‘I see you as a very beautiful woman whom I’m sexually attracted to. But that doesn’t hide the fact that your husband hired me and if I did make love to you we’d both be betraying him.’

Amanda wandered around the room. The motel room was small, containing not much more than a bed, yet still she looked lost. After shaking her head and gathering her thoughts, she said, ‘My husband doesn’t love me. He just sees me as a trophy wife. I’m just a decoration to impress his business associates. He doesn’t care about me, or my feelings, or my needs.’ Her eyes met mine when she said ‘needs’ and we held our gaze when she continued, ‘It’s over between us; we’re not betraying him.’

I stood and joined Amanda in the middle of the room. I put my arms around her waist and let my fingers wander over her butt. She made no protest. I kissed her. She responded with some tongue. I cupped the cheeks of her arse tight and she moaned.

I gave her arse a gentle slap and she put her arms around my neck and groaned. After another slap I was tender with my caresses and she responded by rubbing her breasts against my chest while I fingered her pubis through her slacks. My fingers were doing their work when she grabbed my crotch. I was hard and she noticed.

‘I’d love to see your hard penis,’ she whispered. ‘I’d love to feel it inside me.’

We kissed with passion, then I took hold of her hand and ushered her to the bed.

‘Take your top off,’ I said. ‘Lie down, face down.’

She did as instructed and I sat astride her butt. I massaged her shoulders and she sighed, ‘Mmm, that feels good.’ Then I unclipped her bra.

‘Roll over,’ I said.

Amanda rolled over on to her back and I pulled her bra from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Her breasts had lost some of the firmness of youth, but they were still beautiful and a handful. I cupped one, then the other, sucking her nipples into long points. She gasped when I sucked on her nipples. She held my head in place as I nibbled her points, her sighs suggesting that she wanted it, bad.

My tongue licked her down to her waistband. I unclipped her slacks and unzipped them. She raised her hips and soon her legs and panties were exposed. She was wearing red, silky panties and I kissed her through the silk.

‘Oh God,’ she groaned as my tongue found her button. I pulled her panties down over her hips then I kissed her around her pubis before licking her thighs, her clit and her open lower lips. She was writhing now, holding my head in place as my tongue tasted the juices of her pleasure hole. I was very hard by this point, so I paused to remove my clothes. I offered my cock to her and I was pleasantly surprised when she guided it between her lips and sucked me. With her eyes closed she licked my purple head while her fingers massaged my shaft. Occasionally I went in deep and when I did I felt her tongue on my balls.

I eased her head from my cock, held it steady, then kissed her on her lips. Her legs were wide open now, so I eased myself between her thighs. The head of my cock opened her lower lips, she raised her hips to meet my thrust and we both groaned as I plunged into her wetness.

Despite her thirty-eight years, Amanda was virgin tight. I enjoyed her tightness around my girth as I gave her my full length in easy, regular strokes. However, she was frantic in her gyrations – she really needed it – and we couldn’t find a mutual rhythm. So I cupped her arse to control her movements and contented myself with shorter lengths. We were getting used to each other, so we kept it missionary. With my hands on her arse and her arms hooked around my back and shoulders we were pleasing each other and our moans increased.

‘Fuck!’ I said.

‘Oh God,’ she groaned.

I kissed her lips, then my lips teased her earlobes. This was her spot because she was sighing now and shuddering with each sigh. I felt my desire increase so I fucked her fast, but I didn’t come, instead I held it back to increase my pleasure.

‘Oh yes!’ she sighed ‘Oh yes!’ when my pubic bone ground against her clitoris. She raised her hips and offered her clit to my pubic bone. I obliged with some circular hip movements and her arms tightened around my shoulders.

‘Mmm,’ she sighed as I kneaded her behind with my fingers. Then, ‘Oh yes!’ as I took a nipple between my teeth. I nibbled her nipple and she whimpered, her back arching, her eyes flickering with ecstasy.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ she gasped as I gave her a few slow, long lengths. Then, as I concentrated my purple head on her vaginal entrance, ‘Oh my God, that’s so good. What are you doing to me?’

I kissed her and she responded with a lot of tongue and a lot of passion. Her hands were everywhere now, clawing at me.

Then she moaned, a deep, sensual, erotic sound. Her eyes flicked open and she breathed huskily, ‘You’re making me tremble. Please make me come.’ She arched her back and her moans became louder. Between these sensual moans she repeated over and over, ‘Please make me come…’

I grunted. In truth, I was trembling too; I was on the point of release. But ladies first. I held myself back until I sensed that she was coming. And when her moment arrived it came with great intensity. She tensed, gripped me and cried out in ecstasy, her orgasm producing an incoherent stream of words while her ejaculation flooded her chamber.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered, my cock pulsing as it slipped in and out of her wetness.

‘Oh God,’ she groaned into my ear, her legs and arms locked around me, holding me as though afraid to let go.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered again, aware that I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

‘Oh God,’ she cried, ‘I’m coming…’

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Somehow, I held on to allow her to ride the waves; while scratching and clawing my back she cried out, then she shuddered and sobbed as her second orgasm washed over her. With our sweat running together her hips writhed frantically, circling my cock. No doubt she was looking for a third orgasm, but her tight, wet vagina and relentless passion took me to my limit; I grunted, bucked and shot my load. As usual, I came in three long spurts and she took each spurt with a sigh of pleasure.

Later, as we lay on the bed, she circled her fingers over my chest and kissed me, ‘You’re so good,’ she smiled. ‘That was so good. I never knew it could be that good.’

I kissed her and held her close. We snuggled together and I mused, that’s the first time she’s come; that’s the first time the lady has experienced an orgasm. Then I kissed her again and thought, what a privilege to offer her that gift, what an honour.

Story Copyright © 2014 M.J. Stewart. All rights reserved.

Abigail’s Diary, Entry #3

When do we lose our virginity, when we first masturbate, when we experience our first orgasm, when we first have partnersex? I guess you have your own ideas on the subject. Sex psychologist Naomi Parker has written about her experience of losing her virginity, a poignant, sensual article, I’m sure you’ll agree. Please visit http://naomi-sex-diary.com/ to read the article. And later this week Erotic and Sensual will have a new story from M.J. Stewart, a hot tale about a middle-aged woman exploring her sexuality and breaking free from the boundaries of a stale marriage. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Love and Kisses, Abigail xxx P.S. Many thanks for your ‘likes’. Your appreciation is like a hug of friendship xxx

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Abigail’s Diary Entry #2

Spent the evening with Mike and Gemma. Mike made a delicious cottage pie, he is far more domesticated than Gemma and myself, and we washed it down with some red wine. Gemma is a vegetarian so she had a veggie version of the pie. After dinner we watched an old movie, Gaslight, the British version, then we fooled around a bit before making love. Gemma will probably blush when she reads this, but never mind I’ll write it anyway…she is incredibly beautiful, like a model from a romantic Renoir painting. I am so happy that we are lovers. And last night her beauty reached new heights in the crimson glow of orgasm…it’s true, Gemma, you look even more beautiful when you come. There, I’ve made her blush for a second time! Love and kisses, Abigail xxx

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Hitting the Spot – Fay Arthur Part Three

I was on the trail of an eighteen-year-old runaway, Emma McManners. Emma worked at the Bayside Sports Club as a masseuse, so I bought myself a day pass for the club and nosed around.

It was another meltingly hot day and I was working out on the treadmill. The sweat was soaking into my sports bra and running shorts. The bra and shorts gripped my firm behind and firm breasts, enhancing my lithe body. I attracted a few admiring looks from male, and female, patrons and I have to admit I was only too happy to return the compliment and allow my gaze to linger over them.

After the treadmill it was time for a quick shower and then into the pool. The pool was cool and refreshing after the rigors of the treadmill and I swam gently, enjoying the sensation of the water as it flowed over me. Whenever a chance presented itself I paused and talked, in a casual way, about Emma, trying to get an angle on where she might be, or who she might be with.

With a few nuggets of information gleaned, I returned to the shower and then the massage room. In the massage room, I placed my arms on a pillow and then my head on my arms. A towel was draped over my behind, otherwise I was naked. I felt totally relaxed, refreshed from my workout and shower. I’d lingered on my second visit to the shower, drying myself slowly, allowing my hands and towel to caress my erogenous zones. Consequently I was feeling in a sensual mood as I awaited my massage.

The door to the massage room opened and the masseuse stepped in. I turned my head and eyed a beautiful woman, in her late twenties with a curvaceous figure, sparkling green eyes and shimmering auburn hair. She smiled at me, and I smiled in turn. Sometimes, my job could be a pain in the arse, other times it could lead to inexorable pleasure. As I smiled at the masseuse I figured that this afternoon would produce nothing but pleasure.

The masseuse applied a fragrant oil, scented with lavender, to my back, and we got talking. I discovered that her name was Melissa and that she knew Emma.

“Have you seen Emma lately?” I asked.

“I think she quit the club for the street.”

I turned my head and raised an eyebrow. “She’s hooking?”

“Huh-huh.”

“Where?”

“The docks area. Emma wants to be in the movies. I think she’s following her dream.”

I made a mental note of this information, my best lead to date. Then I placed my head on the pillow and enjoyed the feeling of Melissa’s hands massaging my legs and thighs.

“Why do you ask?” Melissa frowned. “Are you a friend?”

“I’m a private investigator. I’m looking for Emma.” Sometimes I lie about my profession when seeking information, but I sensed that with Melissa it would be better to play it straight. “Thanks for the info,” I added, “I owe you.”

Melissa’s hands moved to my upper thighs. She smiled. “My pleasure.”

In truth, the pleasure was mine. Her fingers were really good and I felt myself responding with gentle sighs. Melissa’s hands moved towards my buttocks, pausing to outline the creases between buttocks and thighs. I emitted a soft groan as her hands did their work and I opened my legs slightly, inviting Melissa to move under the towel. However, she paused at my behind then moved on to rub oil into my shoulders.

“You’ve got a fantastic body,” Melissa said while pressing her thumbs into my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I sighed. “You’ve got a great figure too. And great hands.”

Melissa giggled. “If you think my hands are great at work, you should see what they get up to at home.”

I turned my head and our eyes met. There was amusement in her eyes, and something else, a hint of sensuality, of desire. Suddenly, my mouth was dry. I licked my lips. Then I eased myself on to my right elbow and allowed Melissa a view of my breasts. I’m pleased to say that her eyes feasted on my breasts and that she felt the urge to lick her lips too. I love to feel a man in my arms and his cock inside me, but there are times when I yearn for a feminine touch. Maybe that goes back to my first sexual experience with a girlfriend. That experience was at my eighteenth birthday party – I was a late developer – and she gave me the best present of all, an orgasm, her fingers teasing me to a never-to-be-forgotten climax.

I reached across to touch Melissa’s thigh, but she shook her head. “Not here.” Her voice was husky now, thick with sensuality. “It’s against club rules. I’ll give you my number. Call me anytime you like.” Then she added mischievously, “I’d love to hear more about your private detective work. I’ve never dated a P.I. before.”

I figured that Melissa and I would have a lot to talk about when we did meet up, but for now I was content to allow her hands to work their magic and rub oil into my body. And as the oil soaked into my skin I thought about Emma and a plan to locate her. I would discuss that plan with P.J. Parker, a fellow private eye, later that evening, over dinner. The afternoon had been good and I hoped the evening would be even better. But one pleasure at a time. I focused on Melissa’s hands and allowed my mind to fantasize about sex.

Melissa had turned me on and I was still feeling hot when I arrived at P.J. Parker’s house for dinner. We dined by candlelight, feasting on rump steak in oyster sauce washed down with a number of Bloody Mary oyster shots. As we feasted we talked about our search for our runaways.

“Are you making any progress with Sarah Castleton?” I asked while dabbing my lips with a napkin.

P.J. shook his head. “Last seen at the Ace of Hearts, beyond that I’ve drawn a blank.” He poured me another Bloody Mary. “What about you and Emma?”

“Progress,” I smiled while sampling my drink. “She’s streetwalking the docks. I’m going out there tomorrow night, to see if I can find her.”

P.J. gave me a thoughtful look from over the rim of his glass. “Could be dangerous; want me to tag along?”

“I’ve got a plan,” I replied calmly, “I’m sure I can handle it.”

P.J. nodded, though he still looked thoughtful. Then he smiled at me and offered up another oyster, which I accepted with relish.

After the meal we retired to P.J.’s sitting room and sat on the couch. P.J. lived out of town, in a stone cottage he’d renovated himself. We were sitting side-by-side and he was telling me about the cottage and the work he’d put into it when I felt a magnetism between us and a desire to melt into his arms. P.J. sensed that too because he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately on the lips, his right hand caressing my thigh, sliding under my skirt.

P.J. pulled me on top of him. His hand went to my rear, under my panties, caressing my arse. I arched my back and groaned. Maybe it had something to do with Melissa’s massage, or the oysters or the fact that P.J. had rescued me from an attacker in the alley outside the Ace of Hearts, but I was so hot, I was on fire; I wanted him; I had to have him inside me.

I cupped P.J.’s rugged face and kissed him with renewed passion. In turn, he fondled my buttocks, sliding my panties down to the tops of my stockings. I was open for him now, I was wet, I wanted him; yet I paused. I paused and thought about Mike Vernon. Mike and I had had fantastic sex in an elevator and a hot chat over the phone, but were we lovers? I had to remind myself that although we knew each other intimately, we didn’t really know each other at all. And what about P.J., what did I feel for him? Was it just lust? Or was I falling in love? He was a big man, hard, rugged, yet tender with his touch. I gazed into his compassionate blue eyes and realised that I was drowning in them. Meanwhile, his hand remained poised on my buttocks. He was waiting for a signal; did I want him, or not?

“Take me,” I whispered into his ear, “I want you to take me.” For me, this was more than just lust; as his lips kissed my neck and his hands cupped my breasts through my blouse and bra, I realised that I was falling in love.

P.J. picked me up and carried me into his bedroom. He placed me on his bed, gently, carefully, then he removed his clothes. He was naked, lying beside me, unbuttoning my blouse. Then he pulled me on to my side and unclipped my bra. He freed my breasts, cupped them, then sucked my nipples. Again, I arched my back and again I moaned. My panties had fallen off somewhere between the sitting room and the bedroom. P.J. reached for the zipper on my skirt and soon I was naked, except for my suspenders and stockings. P.J. smiled as he admired my curvaceous body. He was erect, his penis pressing against my midriff. He was big, wider than Tony and longer than Mike and I wondered if I’d be able to take all of him. Yet I wanted him, I wanted him so much.

I went down on him. While my left hand held the base of his shaft my tongue circled the exposed head of his penis. P.J. closed his eyes and moaned. My fingers started to massage his shaft while my tongue teased the tip of his penis. Then I took the head into my mouth and gave him some oral. I knew I’d gag if I tried to take his full length, so I concentrated on the head, my fingers now cupping his balls. P.J.’s moans and his stiffening penis told me that his pleasure was building and at one point my tongue became too much and he eased my mouth from his cock.

We were both panting now, panting with desire. Would he enter me, or would we extend our foreplay? To my delight he placed me on my back and feasted on my nipples, his tongue darting around my areolae, his lips sucking my sensitive points. Between my legs, my clit throbbed in harmony while my honey continued to flow.

I cupped my breasts, inviting P.J. to lick them further. But instead he sat astride me and slid his shaft through my valley. I haven’t got huge breasts, but they’re big enough to take a cock, and we enjoyed ourselves like that for a while, his cock pleasuring my breasts while my tongue licked his head when it came within reach.

At one point I thought P.J. was going to come over my breasts, but he surprised me again by slipping his thighs between my thighs. With his weight resting on his outstretched arms he positioned his pulsating cock over my pubis. I reached down, took hold of his shaft and guided him towards my lower lips.

“Be gentle, babe, take it slow.” I gasped in anticipation, my hips rising to meet his thrust. “You’re very big; I need time to get used to you.”

P.J. glanced down to his dangling cock. Then we both watched as I guided his head closer to my lower lips. His head started to part my lips. At that moment, P.J. grunted and I cried out, “Oh fuck!” as his head entered my vagina. I cried out again, “Oh fuck!” as he went deeper. Then I wrapped my arms around his torso and bit his shoulder as, bit-by-bit, I took his full length.

“You’re tight, Fay,” P.J. gasped in admiration.

“Vaginal exercises,” I managed to moan through the gentle waves of pleasure that were starting to wash over me. In truth, I was tight, but P.J.’s cock would have stretched any woman.

“Nice and easy,” I breathed into P.J.’s ear as he started to move in me, withdrawing to his head, then sliding his shaft deep into my honey hole.

“Oh that’s so good,” I groaned as he altered his movements, holding still inside me while his pubic bone stimulated my clit.

“You like that?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “More, don’t stop, more. Fuck me, fuck me slow.”

P.J. gave me more clitoral stimulation, alternating with full length thrusts of his cock. The combination was exquisite and I cried out in my desire; it was a good job we were miles away from anywhere because my moans were so loud they would have startled any neighbours.

I was feeling comfortable with P.J.’s size now and my hips were rotating around his cock, teasing him towards orgasm. My juices were flowing copiously, out of my honey hole and over my bum. I felt that by the time we came there’d be a danger of us drowning in the wet spot. But before that moment I wanted more of P.J. and I wanted a change of position.

“Why don’t you take me from behind,” I whispered huskily.

“Huh-huh.” P.J. nodded his assent and slipped out of me. Quickly, I eased a pillow under my breasts then offered up my rear.

P.J. kneeled behind me. I took him with greater ease this time, though we both moaned loudly as his cock parted my lower lips and slipped into my honey hole.

I was holding on to the headboard, bucking and writhing like a filly, when P.J. placed a hand on my back. At first, I wasn’t sure what he wanted, then I realised that he was asking me to crouch lower and raise my butt higher in the air. This I did and I was rewarded with P.J.’s head caressing the entrance to my vagina, my most sensitive area when it came to penetrative sex.

I sensed that P.J. would be a good lover, but he was more than good, he was exceptional. He alternated between deep thrusts and short caresses with the head of his penis. I responded by circling my hips, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickening the pace. He was groaning loudly and my moans joined in the chorus. His movements slowed, became more deliberate and I knew he was going to come. Then he hit my G-spot.

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“Oh fuck!” I cried out. “Oh sweet fuck! Keep it there, keep it there!” I placed my right hand on the bed to steady myself while my left hand groped blindly for P.J.’s buttocks, to hold him in position, to keep his cock on my orgasmic trigger. “Oh God,” I groaned, “that’s so good. Keep it there, keep it there!…oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m coming…”

The first wave washed over me, a gentle one that had me sighing with pleasure. Then the second, then the third…surges of sensuality that built to the seventh wave and the flood of orgasm.

“Oh…yes!” I screamed as the seventh wave engulfed me. Then, “Oh fuck!” as my orgasm continued. Then, I gasped unable to speak as P.J. kept the head of his cock on my G-spot. This was a multiple orgasm like no other. I was crying, moaning, gasping, begging for more, yet begging for relief. Then P.J. could hold back no longer and he brought us both to a merciful release when he pumped himself into me, his spunk blending with my orgasmic juices. As he withdrew, those juices ran over my inner thighs and soaked his bedding; I’d come so hard and so often, it looked as though I’d wet his bed.

However, P.J. didn’t mind. He fell on top of me and with a sigh, we embraced each other. He kissed me on the lips and I responded by placing his head on to my breasts. He lay against my breasts using them as a pillow while I ran my hand through his hair.

One of us said, “I love you,” and the other replied with a romantic echo. Then we closed our eyes and slept, totally sated.

Story Copyright © 2014 Abigail Summer. All rights reserved.

Abigail’s Diary Entry #1

Went to bed last night with Emmanuelle de Maupassant’s ‘The Gentleman’s Club’, an erotic tale of Victorian romance. I’m a slow reader of erotica because I like to absorb myself in the words and story, and take a little pleasure along the way! I’d intended saving myself for when I next meet up with Mike and Gemma, but Emmanuelle’s words were too much and I had to get myself off. And talking of getting off, don’t forget to look out for the third instalment of my Fay Arthur story, which will be posted later today. Love and kisses to all who follow this blog, Abigail xxx

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