It was a pretty hot day, but John Conyers didn’t mind, he was mowing his neighbor’s yard, the Millburn’s paid him well, and as a bonus, Carole Millburn loved to stroll around wearing the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen. He filled his eyes with the sight as she paraded in front of him, pretending to do some gardening. From John’s vantage point, she was a real cock stiffening babe. He drank it all in, five foot seven, about 120 pounds, shoulder-length russet color hair, jade green eyes, nice smooth complexion. His eyes took in the firm, upright breasts, such nice grapefruit-sized mounds, being just barely held in check by a very skimpy bikini top, he saw her nipples jutting up, poking through the fabric. Her hips had a sexy curve, sleek, full legs, and he loved to observe how her rump had a graceful curve, the moons perky and smooth, her very tiny bikini bottoms barely covered half her ass cheeks, they were pressed tightly against her ass crack. The harmonious movement of her ass was such a sight to see. He did his best to remember it, so he could stroke off to the fantasy of her, as soon as he was done.
Tag: Fantasy
Oral of my best friend’s cousin while she masturbates [FFM]
My boyfriend has an ongoing fantasy where I have sex with someone else. He has told me repeatedly things like how he wants to see me make out with another guy and other situations.
This happened Just before the lockdown but I’ve retold parts of it to my boyfriend so many times I feel like it was just last week. He got me to write it all down to jerk off to, and I finally got around to posting it here.
One of our friends applied for convocation early by overloading in the fall to graduate in the winter so we did a New Years / Grad get together in a house she shares with her cousin and her cousin’s boyfriend that I’ll call Liz and Tyler.
We’re socializing with everyone, it’s a big party and I end up talking with Tyler a lot. The conversation eventually gets flirty and when I call him on sneaking a peek down my tank-top, he says that he would love to see my tits if only my boyfriend would let him. I’ve known Liz since my first year of undergrad and didn’t quite believe him. We went to her bedroom where she was busy writing applications for some summer trip. Tyler was still joking around and didn’t seem worried at all.
A Night Beneath the Elvish Moon [Fantasy] [M/F]
**PART I:**
It has almost been a year since I passed through the portal. I know because of the way the crescent moon is tattooed on the still, Autumn night-sky.
Strange. The stars here are vastly different from back on earth, yet the sun and the moon remain the same. Particularly the moon. The way it caresses the leaves of the trees and cuts through the canopies is eerily similar to the way it shon off the high-rises back home.
I knew it had been a year because I got that tingle. The tingle I used to get when Bessie and I shared that city moon. Now we only share memories. Or maybe we don’t even share those?
Maybe she’s forgotten them already.
*Mathieu, enough!*
I snap myself out of it with some internal dialogue and a masochistic swig of some elvish wine.
Tonight is the night I meet her. Tonight is the night I leave earth, Bessie, and all of those memories behind.
Her name is Jasmine, the queen of all the elves in Hectorville. I haven’t seen her, but I have been told of a beauty beyond comparison.
I Fucked My Therapist Pt. 4 (4/5)[MF][taboo]
I sent him a text the night he broke up with me professionally. I sent him a picture of me in Hello Kitty underwear, and he said “I think I’m going to like being friends with you.” God, I wanna cry thinking about it. The release. I wanted to see him as soon as possible. But with the pandemic going on, I knew the possibilities of seeing my still married former psychiatrist were going to be limited. So I got a room at the Chateau Marmont. “To write in.” But he could come over and have dinner with me, if he’d like. And he did.
I got a one bedroom suite with a living room and dining room. I felt like the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. I was impeccably groomed. Waxed, shaved, hair washed, make-up done, starved to death. I wore what he had mentioned in his story, the outfit I wore when I told him about my crush on him. The crush that wasn’t really supposed to be a crush. Just transference, remember? That’s what the videos had said. Something he was supposed to fix. But the outfit. Cream and burgundy plaid skirt, black ribbed Reformation top, black thigh high socks, hair in a 60’s half-up ponytail ala Brigitte Bardot. Underneath I wore black panties and a black lace bra that I knew he would see. I wanted him to see.
He showed up at my hotel door with takeaway dinner. To-go cocktails I wouldn’t drink because I don’t drink. I’m fun that way. It was the first time I had seen him in civilian clothes. Jeans, t-shirt. He looked even taller out of scrubs. I wanted him to push me against the wall of the hotel and stick his fucking tongue down my throat. I didn’t want dinner. I couldn’t have eaten if I tried. I only wanted his cock in my mouth.
We sat at the dining room table, awkwardly, picking at our dinners. I don’t think either of us were really all that hungry. I was too nervous, too fucking horny. He told me nothing was going to happen between us that night. He wanted to be good. He was still married. I doubted that. Why would he come to my hotel room if he wanted to be “good”? Couldn’t eat. Did a magic trick for him. It’s weird, but sometimes endearing. He was a bit of a nerd, and he liked it, watching me struggle to shuffle the deck of cards with my sweaty, anxious hands. We ignored our dinner, sat on the couch and looked for something to “watch.” He showed me pics on his phone of his dog, his friends, what his life was like outside of the office. We got closer and closer. His hand on my thigh, my hand on his thigh. Holding hands. I wanted him to kiss me, but again he said he wanted to be good. No he didn’t. He just wanted to make me suffer. Wasn’t that what he had done up until now? We got even closer. I smelled his neck as he held me close to him. I straddled his lap, and he picked me up and sat me back in my spot. No, he was going to be good. But still, his hands were on me, still he breathed in the smell of my hair. He was teasing me, and I would’ve done anything for him. In that moment, I would have done anything. I was his.
I asked if we could lay down on the couch, we could. Closer. I told him I was going to take off my clothes. I wanted him. And I did. I undressed for him until I was in those black panties and black lace bra. I laid back down next to him, and he couldn’t stop himself then. He put his hand on my stomach, sliding it down and into my panties, feeling my wet pussy for the first time. I could hear him groan with delight. He had me where he wanted me. I was literally in the palm of his hand. I turned to him and said he may as well kiss me now because his hand was down my panties. And he kissed me. Laying down on the couch in a room at the Chateau Marmont. He kissed me. It was happening. I wasn’t crazy. He had wanted me. It was more than a fantasy. It was happening. This was happening.
I asked if he wanted to move to the bedroom. He did. I was dizzy and stumbled my way there, balancing myself with the walls. I hadn’t really eaten much that day, and I was lightheaded from this fantastical reality. Fuck, I wanted him. We kneeled on the bed facing each other, kissing, as he took off his clothes. I pawed at his belt, and looked up at him for permission, he said I could take it off. His pants came off, and he was naked in front of me. His cock was beautiful and thick. I knew it would be. He puffed up his chest, like he was trying to appear buff for me. He was already buff. I thought it was bro-y, but fuck it. I was going to fuck my therapist. Finally. After all these months of fucking agony. My panties came off. We touched and kissed each other until he pulled me to the side of the bed. He was going to taste me. He looked at my pussy, and at me, and said, “beautiful.” He thought my pussy was beautiful. I had imagined him saying those words over and over again in my obsessive thoughts. My pussy was beautiful to him. And he licked me. He tasted me. Put his finger inside of me while he did it. I moaned and squirmed on the bed. I wanted to cum in his mouth so fucking badly, but all the Prozac I was on, that he prescribed me, wasn’t having it. I couldn’t cum, and I laughed it off and said it was his fault. He had done this to me. Put me on Prozac. His name were on the bottles I had packed.
He got on the bed, and I swallowed his cock, gazing up at him with my big, winged eyeliner eyes. His cock in my mouth felt surreal. It was everything I had dreamt of. Hearing him moan, tasting his precum on my tongue. I looked up at him, and he asked me, “so do you want this thing in you now?” I’m not even kidding. Those were the words he chose. I think I secretly knew then that all of this would fall apart. But I said yes, and I laid on my back as he penetrated me for the first time. It took my breath away. A few days ago, this man had been my therapist, and now his cock was inside me while his name was still on my prescription bottles. I already suffered from derealization and dissociation, and I floated out of my body once his cock was inside of me. I don’t remember much else. I do remember thinking it wasn’t as good as I had imagined. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined. But I was devoted to him, and I couldn’t care fucking less. I had finally made it. This was the hill I would die on. He didn’t cum. He said it takes a lot for him to cum. But I think he was nervous. A little freaked out. He had cheated on his wife with his younger, obsessive barely former patient. I would hope he was a little freaked out. But maybe I’m giving him too much credit. We cuddled. We talked, and then he was gone. I didn’t sleep much that night.
The next day, I didn’t do anything but write about it in my journal and lay by the Chateau Marmont pool listening to Leonard Cohen, hoping he’d text me. My life as I had known it was over. That day was the first day of the next phase in my life. A phase where Sean and I met again in the botanical gardens, we held hands, we kissed, and we wondered what we would do next. We talked about our future together. We met again at a beach hotel, at the alleged suggestion of his wife. For him to take a break, but he said that she probably knew I would be there. And we laid on the beach on a bed sheet, he rubbed sunscreen onto my legs. We ate Mexican food, and we made love and laid in bed talking for hours. Yeah, we made love. It was better than the first time. More intense. And I came in his mouth. And he came inside me. Then my husband left me, for reasons that had nothing to do with Sean, but our relationship together was the catalyst. It would’ve happened without him, but Sean pushed it right over the edge. Sean asked for a divorce, and his wife left for her hometown. And it was just us for awhile. After all those months of obsessing. After all those things he had said. After telling me there was a 99% chance it would never happen. After telling me maybe in another life. I was finally his. He told me he knew he was in trouble when he met me. Knew it then, but he tried to fight it. He liked my persistence and the playlist. It was the playlist that made him realize that this was different.
He suspiciously closed down his private practice. He said I didn’t have anything to do with it; he had been planning on it for months. Uh huh. He didn’t make as much money with a private practice as he would elsewhere. His friend, a lawyer, told him he didn’t have anything to worry about with me. He would be safe. When did he ask him? Right before he gave me his story and decided we should be friends. He knew what he was doing. My friend, the one who recommended Sean to me stopped, talking to me. I would learn months later that before Sean stopped treating most of his patients, she had confronted him about our relationship together, and Sean had accused her of harboring romantic feelings for him, too, and reacted as if she were merely jealous. I didn’t understand why she or anybody else would have a problem with Sean and I being together. To me, I had the power in the relationship because I had the ability to end his entire career. But no, that power belonged to him, too.
I Fucked My Therapist Pt. 2 (2/5) [MF][taboo]
This one will be sloppy because it’s hard to talk about it. It’ll be sloppy because I was sloppy. I’ll need breaks. I’ll have to save some things for the book. But let’s try to tell it in pieces. I’m sorry I can’t tell it all at once. I’ve tried to suppress everything. Not to be all “oh my god, I’m so depressed, I’m thinking about killing myself, please tell me how much I’m loved.” Please don’t do that. I hate when people do that because I’m a fucking bitch, and I’d rather you tell me you want to fuck me than you feel any sort of pity for me. But I bought a rope. It’s in my office closet. It’s pink and glittery, and I thought, at least everyone will say, “oh that’s so Kris.” I got this apartment in Beverly Hills thinking that I would be dead by the end of the year, and I could afford it until then but not after. Can’t afford to live after. That’s grim. But I’ve gotten better. I’ll probably live and have to move to Koreatown or the valley. Or fucking Hollywood. Ugh. But now you understand. It’s a nightmare, and I have to keep telling myself that I was sick. I was sick. Not my fault for being sloppy. Not my fault at all. It’s his fault.
And like I said, I told him, my psychiatrist, Sean, that I had a crush on him. I let him read one of my sexual fantasies. The one I told you about. And I’ll admit that when I let him read the first fantasy, I was hoping I’d catch a glimmer of some sort of reaction. I wasn’t that innocent. I hoped to see his cock getting hard beneath his scrubs. Maybe make his neck red again like it did when I told him about the crush. But he was good. Or so it seemed. He did tell me that nothing could happen. He was happily married. I was married. Oh yeah, I was married. That’s something worth mentioning. But not something I’m willing to talk about. That bit isn’t really my story to tell, but all you need to know is that it was over as soon as it began. We had an open relationship at this point. But Sean did not. I asked him if I was the first patient to have a crush on him, and he said no, but nobody as explicitly. And I felt proud. He had never dealt with anybody like me before. And I knew he didn’t stand a chance.
But after I shared my first fantasy with him, he reiterated that nothing could happen. And then. Then, he gave me a little treat — he said, “maybe in a different life.” Maybe in a different life. It seemed small, but it was enough. I agonized over these words for days on end. I scheduled an emergency phone appointment, pleaded with him to help me make my feelings stop. I asked him to tell me something different than “it could never happen.” I needed to hear him say very clearly, in very concise language that he wasn’t attracted to me, didn’t want to fuck me. But he refused. He said he couldn’t give me any answers because they would feed into my obsession. Ugh it killed me. I wanted something to shut the pain down, but the only thing Sean was willing to offer up was a plan where I’d write for 15 minutes a day and then the rest of the day, I was allowed to obsess over whatever I wanted. I just had to write for 15 minutes a day. I have no idea what writing I was working on at the time, none of it mattered. Didn’t know why this was the plan, can’t remember that either. I was lost in those fucking eyebrows. Those arms. That neck. Even when I was writing, he was there in the back of my mind. His arms. That red throat. I wanted to sit in his lap and feel his cock get hard against the little white panties covering my ass.
I’d stay up all night, changing my underwear multiple times because the wetness made me uncomfortable. He was my only dream. During the day, things were getting worse. Covid-19 had shut down everything, and we were forced to stay inside. The only thing I could do outside of the home, was go to therapy. He was my salvation. Couldn’t see my friends, couldn’t go on dates with my husband, could only see him. Sean. And I didn’t have to wear a mask when I did it, either.
My sessions went from every two weeks to every week because I couldn’t bear to be apart from him. I had to be in his presence. I needed to see his face, to analyze every moment, to search and search his body language to see if there was any sign that he wanted me back. But he was good at staying neutral. At first. Psychiatrists learn how to do that. The neutrality made my obsessions worse. I realized I didn’t know much about him, and I thought maybe if I knew more about him, maybe it would shut down the crush. I asked him what his favorite band was, what he wore outside of the office, what he liked doing, and again he remained neutral. He wouldn’t give me answers. Wouldn’t feed into my obsession. It’s funny how every time he said he wouldn’t feed into my obsession, he would actually feed into my obsession. I remember he had mentioned surfing in sessions before I told him about my crush, and that was all I knew. He surfed. And he wore these horrendous 90’s sneakers and an OP windbreaker over his scrubs. And I loved him. He was keeping me alive. How could I commit suicide before I had heard him say my name with his cock in my mouth? I wanted to hear him say, “cum for me Kris.” I wanted to cum all over his cock. I knew he’d have a beautiful cock.
As I lay daydreaming on my couch one afternoon, thinking about his mouth on me, I got a text from his assistant. His assistant told me Sean had wanted her to send me this video. She sent over a 15 minute video of the band The Sea and Cake doing a live performance. She told me Sean said to tell me it wasn’t his favorite band, but they were up there, and it was the right amount of time I should be writing. She hoped I would know what this meant because she had no clue. I knew what it meant. He was feeding me. He was giving me an answer. He was going back on what he had initially said. And he was taking over the 15 minutes I was supposed to not concentrate on him. How. How. How was I meant to listen to 15 minutes of music he liked while writing and not think of him? Looking for meaning in every single lyric. I couldn’t stop the fantasies, and I wrote them down. I wouldn’t try to fight them anymore. He wanted me, I knew it now.
He walked back on his original plan to not answer any of my questions. I’m not sure why. One day, it became, “Okay, I’ll answer any question you want.” And I asked him if he found me attractive. He said he thought I was very pretty. I asked if he ever had sexual fantasies about me. He said he’s thought about what it might be like to have sex with me. Oh god, I recoiled just writing that. It hurts that it turns me on. My therapist sitting across from me, looking me in the eye, saying, “I’ve thought about what it might be like to have sex with you.” He’d thought about my pussy, what it would be like to be inside me. He made it seem like this wasn’t weird. People have these thoughts. He was right. But I know for certain he wasn’t supposed to tell me that. But he had. And it got worse. I got worse.
———-
Het let me use his waiting room as a quiet space to write. Honest to God. With my husband working at home because of Covid, it was even harder to concentrate. But mostly, I wanted an excuse to be near Sean. I knew he would let me. I knew he wanted to be near me, too. I sat on the couch in his waiting room for an hour or two, writing and writing about nothing. Rambling. Waiting for him to come out and say hi. He would, but briefly. Hi. How’s writing going? Okay, gotta get back to paperwork. Except there was one time when he had a gift for me. A surfing book. I had mentioned I was thinking about getting back into surfing, hoping to fish out more personal details about him, knowing he surfed. He handed me an 80’s guide to LA surfspots. He had seen it on his shelf and thought I may like to have it. He made notes in the margins for me. Fuck that just broke my brain. I need a minute.
Things got bad. I asked him again to please be clear with me about what was happening. It seemed like he was saying one thing, but meaning another. Talking in code. Again, I only needed to hear him say it would never happen, he wasn’t interested. Set me free. But instead, he told me there was a 99.9% chance nothing would ever happen. So you’re saying there’s a chance. That was a low point for me. Quoting Dumb & Dumber. There was something there. I’d left my journal behind on purpose, came back to retrieve it, and as he handed it to me, I knew that was it. I was his. He was supposed to be helping me, but I had become his. I told him to please transfer me to another psychiatrist because I felt like I was drowning, but he believed it would be beneficial to me if I stayed.
I asked if I could email him. Maybe knowing I could speak to him outside of the office would help ease the direness I felt to make every moment count. He allowed it because of course he did. He knew what was happening. And he was allowing it to happen. Why wouldn’t he transfer me like I asked? I wish I had had the willpower to do it myself. But I was his. His, his, his. I wanted to live inside of him.
[MF] Anal in a church with my best friend
This is part 2 of my story with Jen. Part one is here, the TLDR – I fucked my best friend in a movie theater. There’s a little back story so skip to the — if you want to get to the hot and heavy.
Her comment about wanting me to finish in her mouth had me frantically googling what made cum taste good – I, of course, absolutely inhaled pineapple juice about twice everyday that week.
If you’re just coming here – Jen was about 5″3, C cups, and had a volleyball player’s ass. I included a little more detail in the first story.
Picking up where we left off –
I get a text from her as soon as she gets into the taxi. We did a little debrief about it and talked about some of the highlights. We were still a little shy around each other in person, but once we started texting – she opened up about how she felt like such a slut in there and how much getting fucked from the back turned her on. She regretted not spending enough time with my balls in her mouth.
the alley behind my house
Who said fulfilling a fantasy is hard?
There is an alley behind my house. it is quiet but still occasionally traversed by the residents who live there. I had plans for that alley, just as I had plans for Sonia.
The day had been magical and the dinner -at the local ramen shop- was delightful. She told me that she was staying a block away at a hostel, so as we parted ways that night, I told her to keep her phone to hand.
It wasn’t long before we were texting in between our various domestic duties. At 10pm my phone lit up. *”Are you alone?”*. Then quickly followed by *”Bored. I can’t sleep”*.
*”Are you up for some excitement?”* I typed back.
*”Could be. . .”*
taking a minute to formulate my plans, I began tapping furiously.
*”Ok. In 15 minutes come to the alley behind my house. Wear the least amount of clothes that you feel comfortable in. You will not speak unless directly asked to. If you agree to those conditions, then say yes, and the clock starts”*
the message sat there read for a minutes before a response finally appeared.
The Night Air
The night air coming through the screen was still warm. I slid the door open and he followed me outside, embracing me from behind. His mouth was immediately on my neck and shoulders. His hands caressing my stomach and breasts as he pressed himself against me. I turned and was on my tiptoes kissing his lips and tasting him. I finally guided him into one of the garden chairs. Sitting he still felt tall. Such a tall, handsome, muscular man he was. What was I doing with my neighbor was beyond me. One minute we were talking and the next I was leading him outside and kissing him. I guess I just recognized the lust in his eyes and decided to go for it. My arms wrapped around his back feeling his muscles as I fingered and explored him through his shirt.
A Slave Girl of Thera [MF] [Slave] [NonCon]
*Well, I’ve never posted here before but a friend/chat partner suggested that I share a bit of my work. This is the beginning of a story I’m working on based in a low fantasy, swords-and-sandals setting. I’ve always enjoyed historical fantasies and imagining myself as a poor captive up on the auction block, so here we go!*
Theo entered and stopped at once, looking around the Ivasi king’s hall. Great carved and painted pillars of redwood held up a high, timbered roof. To each pillar was bound a man, beaten and bloodied, but not yet broken. The defeated chieftains, Theo guessed by the look of them. All were muscled, tall and proud, but stripped and secured with thick chains of Theran make binding their hands and feet. Their pride is all they have left, he mused. Theran might would soon seize that from them as well.
Theran officers sat about the hall, drinking wine or sputtering as they tasted the bitter ale the Ivasi brewed. Collared slaves, the general’s own, roasted goat and lamb over the large firepit in the hall’s center. The men traded tales of the battle as they swapped their plunder, a longsword for a druid’s silver sickle, stolen gold for fine northern furs. These trinkets and treasures were worth much to a common born officer and even more to a common soldier, but Theo had no use for them. He still hoped for another sort of plunder.
[M]y Wi[F]e serves me ice cream in the BEST possible way!
If you need a visual aid check my post history. My wife is beautiful and I love to show her off a little! If you want to see the ice cream used, this should help! https://i.imgur.com/ASrUy7P.jpg
Also, I’m still not great at writing. It feels like I say the same words over and over. I tired my best here but it’s something I have to work on still!
My wife and I like to relax on an evening. Play some games, watch some TV. We don’t always have dessert, but we both like ice cream so it’s always a treat to indulge. I also have a fetish for seeing her with food. Especially when it drops onto her.
I don’t know where it came from but everything from popcorn dropping down her top to burger sauce making her hands messy gets a raised eye brow from me. It was hard to admit it because it’s not a ‘typical’ fetish, but I’m lucky that my wife is very open-minded.
Ice cream has always been a dream food for just this reason, and the night my wife indulged me was magical…