“Oh god your pussy feels so good…” John leaned into me, splaying me on the desk, and I squirmed beneath him as our motion sent number two pencils rolling and progress reports sailing off the edge to flutter to the floor. His cock seemed to be swelling inside of me, filling me deeper as he fucked me even harder. He grabbed one of my legs behind the knee, shoving it up onto the desk so I was spread even wider for him.
“Oh that’s good!” I cried, feeling the angle change, his cock getting even more of me now. I rubbed my clit faster as he fucked me, using two fingers on either side of it as I arched back to take him, wanting more, more. I was so close to climax, my thigh muscles taut and trembling, my pussy on fire with the heat of our fuck.
He grabbed my ass in both hands and I begged him to come, feeling my own orgasm begin with a shuddering surge. The rapid squeezing of my fluttering pussy around his cock must have sent him over, because I felt him tremble and grip me hard as he buried himself into me. I moaned and squirmed on the desk, whispering things I don’t even remember as he filled me with his cum.
Most of the progress reports were salvageable, if a bit wrinkled from our foray onto the desk. We didn’t finish them that day. Instead we shoved them into John’s briefcase and went back to his place to do it all over again, this time bent over a chair in his living room, and later in the softness of his bed, and then in the heat of the shower…
We never took a chance at the school again, like we had that night-instead we found other places to meet to indulge in our pleasurable little secret. Eventually, the job ended, and so did our affair. But it was hot—incredibly hot—while it lasted.
NEIGHBORS
When I was a teenager, we lived in a condominium complex with very, very thin walls. Not only could I hear my parents having sex-my girlfriends and I labeled my mother “Lassie”—think Kim Cattrell in Porky’s—but my room happened to be right next to the neighbors’ bedroom. My mother was loud, yes-but all she really did was moan.
There were no real words, not even a “yes” or “oh god!” Just lots of feminine noise.
My neighbor, on the other hand…
The funny thing is, she was the most straight-laced, button-down, uptight woman on the face of the planet by day. She was my best friend, Sarah’s, mother, the woman who insisted we take our shoes off the moment we walked in the door, who required coasters under every glass, and who took down and washed her curtains twice a week.
Tall, thin, with short, blonde hair and bright blue eyes behind sensitive-80’s-glasses, she wasn’t what anyone would really consider a sexual powerhouse.
At night, however, Mrs. L turned into an animal. This was the woman who taught me-at a rather young age, and of course, unbeknownst to her-how to talk dirty.
Really, really dirty. The sound of the headboard against the wall usually woke me up, a rhythmic pounding. I knew exactly what the bed looked like, where it was placed. I could even imagine Mrs. L, naked and spread wide, Mr. L towering between her legs. I have to admit, the thought excited me. Mr. L always had a ready smile, he liked to tease us girls, and once, I’d been spending the night over there and had walked by their bedroom on the way to the bathroom and saw him snoring away, covers thrown off, his cock standing straight up, hard as a rock.
It wasn’t Mr. L I heard, though. It was Mrs. L, telling him what to do.
“Come on! Fuck me harder! That’s it! Ream that hot, wet little cunt!” I told you it was dirty.
My face flushed in the darkness, but the ache grew between my legs as I listened. I couldn’t believe it was Mr. and Mrs. L on the other side of that wall, rutting together on their bed in total abandon. “Give me that big dick! Come on! Ahhhh god, that’s so good! “The fire that spread through my body at those words was so hot I thought I’d explode. I couldn’t help touching myself. My pussy begged for it, and I gave in, pulling my nightgown up, my panties aside. I was wet already, just from listening. My fingers slid easily between my slit, parting the soft, red pubic hair and searching in the darkness for my throbbing clit. It always thrilled me when I heard him, too. Mostly it was just her, but sometimes I heard him growl or grunt something low and oh, so hot: “Get on your knees, bitch! Suck it! Suck it!” Then I wouldn’t hear anything for a while, but I didn’t stop rubbing, the delicious sensation growing between my thighs as I tweaked my nipples through my nightgown. I strained to hear something, anything, trying to imagine Mrs. L on her knees like he told her, sucking his cock. I’d had a cock in my mouth before, I knew what it felt like, the insistent thrust, the tangy taste of precum. “Oh god, yes!” Her voice rose, grew closer somehow, and I arched toward the wall, my fingers buried in my wetness. “You like me bent over for you, baby? You like fucking me like a dog?”
The heat of her words made me want to hide my face in the pillow, but my fingers worked faster, harder under the covers.
“That’s it, don’t stop! Oh god, don’t you fucking stop! You’re gonna make me come all over that big, hard tool!”
Mrs. L was a slut. A naughty, dirty whore. She said so herself. “Fuck your little whore! Fuck her ’til she comes!”
I heard him groan, long and low, and that made me twist and buck on my little twin bed, hearing her finally lose her words, lost in her orgasm, just moaning with it now, over and over and over. My climax found theirs and I came, too, whimpering and shoving my hips up to meet the wet thrust of my own fingers, shuddering with pleasure as the sound of their coupling faded.
I always had a hard time looking them in the eye the day afterward. Of course, they didn’t know I’d heard. And I never said anything. But they sure taught me a lot, late at night, after everyone else was asleep…
UNION STATION
It’s been over ten years ago, now, that my ex and I were separated, and I flew to Chicago to meet a cyber lover. Dan was a former DJ, charming, arrogant, cocky, and a staunch Republican. We were like gasoline and a match- the sparks flew. I was twenty-five, separated with two kids. He was thirty-something, a year out of a serious relationship with the “love of his life” and liked kids… the way some people like cats…
“with a nice honey glaze sauce."-Those were his exact words.-I don’t know what I was thinking. Okay, I know. I thought I was in love. I probably really was. But it was doomed from the start. Still, love doesn’t pay attention to that, does it?
Perhaps my body knew, because I got my period the Friday I left. It started heavy and fast and I called him in tears, because of course, after all the cyber sex and phone sex, real sex was definitely on the menu. I had new lingerie and had planned not to wear any panties on the forty-five minute flight. My body had other ideas. He comforted me on the phone, said it was okay, we’d just spend the weekend together doing… other things.
And we did. We kissed the minute I got off the plane. We kissed a lot that weekend. We cuddled a lot. I certainly alleviated my oral fixation more than once with him. And Chicago was a fine town to play in. It really was a good time, and I remember it fondly. In fact, when Sunday rolled around, neither of us wanted to go home. We walked, hand in hand, through Union Station, where he was going to meet his train. It’s very stately and beautiful, and we spent an hour or so on one of those benches. We didn’t talk much—but we felt a lot.
Considering how things ended up, I’m glad I had an excuse not to have sex that weekend, but at the time, I was simply aching to be with him. I spent the whole time in a constant state of arousal. The anticipation for our meeting was incredible and I didn’t know how I was going to make it through. But I did—the entire 48 or so hours—with no orgasm. He had a few, and giving him those made me so filled with lust I thought I was going to burst. But I just rode the waves, let them ebb and flow. The problem was, each time, the water got higher. And higher. And higher.