Free erotic stories by Zenmackie on AdultRead
She looked around quickly to make sure there was no one nearby, then reached down, grasped the hem of her dress with both hands and slowly lifted it until her panties, and then her stomach, and then finally her bra were revealed. I imagined that being discovered fondling my cock was beginning to look fairly conservative to her, at least in comparison to being found lying on her back, panties pulled down, while a man stood between her legs and masturbated over her. He didn’t notice a thing.” I began massaging her shoulder blades, at the same time stealthily unhooking her dress at the top as I continued.
I pulled off her white t-shirt and then lowered her arms just long enough to remove her bra, dropping both items of clothing to the ground beside her before returning her hands to the top of her head—leaving her standing before me wearing only her sandals and panties. As I continued to scour her breasts with my tongue I pressed my left hand, the one not holding the popsicle, flat against her stomach and slowly allowed it to drift down, gradually turning so that the fingers combed through her pubic hair before coming to rest between her legs and beginning to caress her there—not penetrating, just lightly teasing her lips apart with the middle finger.
So when we got to the bottom of the stairs I was astonished when she turned her back on me and, still telling me how thoughtless and selfish I was, dropped her purse to the floor, pulled up the back of her coat and skirt—revealing a pair of white panties with blue ruffled trim and decorated with pink birthday cakes—then bent over, her coat and skirt now up over her hips, and supported herself by placing her hands on the third step and spreading her feet apart. We stood unmoving, a complicated sculpture: Carol suspended against the wall, her long black coat hanging down on either side of her like dark wings, her lower legs dangling next to my hips; me standing pressed between her outstretched thighs with my cock inside her, leaning in as I held her up with my hands and the clenched muscles of my legs.
At the moment, to the casual observer Patti might easily be mistaken for a librarian: her dark hair was pulled up into a bun on top of her head, and she had on glasses and no make-up, and she was dressed in a long, conservatively-cut leather jacket that came almost to her knees. She imagined His eyes on her as she got down on her hands and knees and pulled the end of the leash out of the back of her panties, where it had been tucked so as not to hang below her jacket, and dropped it to the floor beside her.
Then I raised them to her shoulders and pulled her closer, saying, as if continuing the conversation, “Besides, you seemed kind of tired, and I thought you might need a little help getting ready for bed.” I held her gaze as I unfastened the catch at the back of her dress and began unzipping it. Without being told, she slowly lay back on the bed as I continued, rising to my knees and then to a crouch as I kissed her small breasts through the fabric of her brassiere, then the hollow of her neck, and finally her mouth, as I slowly lowered myself onto her and slipped my hands beneath her shoulders.
She stared at the cord in my hand, and gasped in horror when I gave it a small pull, raising the blinds enough so that anyone outside the window, if they were crouched to the right height, could see in, although they wouldn’t be able to see much more than her bare feet. A tear rolled down her face and her lip began to quiver “I...because I’m...s-standing on a desk in...in just my panties with a...with a...” She took one hand down and gestured at the humming object in her crotch and looked at me desperately.
I fed her the entire meal that way: I would cut off a bite of turkey-roll, spread it with cranberry jelly, then place it in her open mouth with my fingers; roll up a leaf of lettuce, slippery with oil and vinegar dressing, fold it over and feed it to her; pick up a dollop of mashed potatoes and butter with two fingers and let her lick it off them; hold the glass of water under the table for her to sip. But when that finger began to probe her anal passage, sliding a little way in, withdrawing slightly, then pushing in even deeper, she actually took her hand off her mouth, turned her head and whispered, “No!” as loudly as she dared.
When I put her on her feet in the shelter of the trees and pulled her to me, she put her hands against my shoulders as if to push me away, and said, “Jonathan!” in a way that made me think her next word would be either “No!” or Stop!” I took her face between my hands and kissed her, saying, “That feels nice.” I wanted to ask her if she liked what she was doing, but I was afraid of breaking the spell. Carol backed away slightly, thinking perhaps that I was going to take her after all, but I caught her arm, then pulled her panties free of my pocket, and pressed them into her hand, saying “Use these.”
I leaned close and said, “You’re very photogenic—I think I’ll print these out and put them on my door so everyone can see how nice you look.” Then I clicked slowly through the rest...and as I’d expected, she went into orgasm before I’d reached the last one. When I finally judged that she’d had enough and withdrew the toothbrush, then took my hand from her mouth, she let the remaining air out of her lungs in a whoosh as if being deflated, then seemed to pass out, hanging silently from her bonds head down like an abandoned puppet. Her eyes began to overflow again, but she kept looking at me and said, “Yes. I-I want you...” she broke off and took a sobbing breath, “...to p-put...your c-cock up my ass.”
Sorry to be such a nuisance, Bradley, but Violet so enjoyed demonstrating her skills to you that she got very wet—isn’t that right, my dear? No, don’t get up Violet, I’m sure Bradley won’t mind ducking under the table for a moment, will you, Bradley? And just feel how easily they slide in and out--shhh, my dear, you don’t want the other guests to hear you whimpering like that, do you? That’s another thing I love about those red high-heels of yours, my dear, they bring you to just the right height so I can get...all...the...way...into you—like this--without even bending my knees.
She quickly pulled up her panties and fastened her coat and by the time the bus hissed to a stop and opened its door she looked like any young college student on a rainy day, except that she was still breathing a little heavily. I took Carol by the shoulders and brought her face close to mine, then told her, “Nasty little girls who wet themselves aren’t allowed to wear grown-up panties. When she had her coat all buckled up I offered her the rain-hat, but she said, “Not yet,” and when I opened the door and we stepped out onto the sidewalk, she turned her face up into the downpour.
She took less time that I thought she would—the idea must have appealed to her more than she’d want to admit—and when she opened the door to let me in I saw that she had gone all the way: white blouse with a red and blue bow at the neck, pleated navy-blue skirt with a wide black belt, pantyhose, low-heeled black shoes. I went on, “You’re going to leave that there, and let it dry.” I gently replaced the glasses on her nose and concluded, “And every time you put on your glasses you’re going to see it, and remember how it got there...and how you look right now...” I leaned forward and spoke into her ear.
Her friends would be shocked, she knew, if they had any idea how much money was spent by no-nonsense, no-time-for-boyfriends Marcia Fischer on frills and flutters and lace—and on strappy shoes with mile-high spike heels that she would never dare to wear in public. They had both outdone themselves in those last few minutes: he standing over her, giving her heavy, open-handed slaps on her bare behind, she discovering that in some strange manner it really did sharpen her focus—the figures and data flying ever more quickly into her mind and out through her fingers with every blow even as she was moaning out loud, tears streaming down her face.