He led me to the men’s room, but not before getting us a couple of drinks from the bar. The sneaky smile on his face left me very curious. I felt uncomfortable going into the men’s room, but he assured me he’d check to see that it was empty. He returned to say it was empty, and his surprise was in there. Well, we entered and he pulled out a package of edible his-and-her panties as he led me into one of the stalls. It was almost immediately that I felt that familiar wetness begin to emerge between my legs. “So, this is the surprise!”
Jeremy kissed me, our tongues meshing with the anticipation of what was to come. I unbuttoned his silk shirt, running my fingers down his soft chest hair, and when I reached his pants I became obsessed with unzipping them as soon as I could. My kisses then ran all the way down his muscular chest and nipples, my hands running down his back, until I reached his throbbing-hard dick with my mouth. I teased him for a few seconds while concentrating on his balls, then knelt on the floor, kissing him gently until I had his huge, pounding cock in my wet and hungry mouth. After sucking him for a pleasurable while, I told him I wanted him to try on the edible pants before he ejaculated. He obliged, quickly slipping into them, and I licked away until the sweet cherry taste dissolved in my moist mouth. I figured it was now my turn.
I asked Jeremy to unzip the back of my very sweaty dress, which he did while kissing my neck and back. Then I turned around in the small space, sat on the closed toilet seat, and pulled down my panty hose. Jeremy helped me slip on my version of the panties, which were grape-flavored. In a matter of seconds, it seemed, my panties were eaten away. I spread my thighs wide, and Jeremy ate me out while I tilted my head back in extreme pleasure. He told me how good I tasted, especially with remnants of grape flavor on his hungry tongue. He sucked me hard, fluttering his well-rehearsed lips and tongue all around my clit until I had to place my hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming when I came. Then I took off my dress and bra and got up, still drenched between my legs. I turned around to the sink and grabbed the edges, my nipples just inches from the faucet while Jeremy ran his fingers all over my huge, erect tits.
His fingers wandered down my tight body until he screamed, “Wow!” at how wet I was down below. When I’m horny, it’s like a spigot down there. Jeremy gently opened my legs and entered me from behind, his thrusting bringing me constant pleasure. My giant, hard tits were flopping all over the place, in tune with his movements. After a couple of minutes, we heard noises just outside the door. I hesitated, and we both kept quiet while we waited for whoever was there to get out! The devilish smiles on our faces were soon replaced by sultry, hot panting when we realized our “company” had left. By now, Jeremy was going in and out of me with a fast-paced rhythm, and he was fingering my clit to no end. It felt so incredible, I couldn’t help but scream and squeeze the edges of the sink when I came for a second time. I must’ve screamed fairly loud, because I felt Jeremy’s other hand over my mouth. Just then he came, his sweet come oozing into my snatch with full force and heat. He pulsed inside me for a few seconds, then reluctantly pulled out.
When we finally emerged from the bathroom, Jeremy checked again to see if anyone was around. When the coast was clear, we made our way back to the party.
— L. K., Pennsylvania
The Husbandly Hard-on
Many years ago, I found I was playing second fiddle to a beautiful and buxom neighbor in the important wifely function of building my man’s hard-ons. Our marriage had started much like most. We met at a college dance back in the days when you danced cheek to cheek and belly to belly, holding your partner close as your legs slid together to romantic music in a dimly lit hall. He had a terrific erection that was soon boring against my girlish vulva. For once I didn’t pull away or pretend to ignore it, but I decided to grind back as lewdly as I knew how at the age of nineteen. I whispered in his ear that he felt “just marvelous and so big.” Naturally, he asked me for a date the next night. I gave him my address, and I also told him that I hoped he would bring his “big friend.”
He did just that, and though we went to a movie, we were soon petting intensely. We left the movie early and drove to a lover’s lane, where we had sex with each other for the first time almost as soon as we arrived. When we came up for air, I began to giggle at my boldness of the night before. My wandering hands began petting him again until he had another hard-on, and then we had even better sex. This was a definite change from my usual pattern of behavior. I was not a virgin, but I had never taken such overt actions.
We married two and a half months later. Our honeymoon was sex, sex, sex day and night. I would greet him at the door with a French kiss, and I’d unzip his fly so I could stroke his penis and feel it jump to life in my fingers, even if we didn’t fall into bed immediately. This idyllic period lasted a year and a half, until he graduated. Then we moved to another city. Our relations were heavenly whenever we had them, but the frequency was far less. We rarely did it two nights in a row, and sometimes we would go almost a week without finding the time or the inclination.
Two things happened to open my eyes. First, my sister and I overheard our husbands talking to each other when they didn’t know we were around. The men were on our apartment balcony when our neighbor came out wearing a sunsuit. She was a really stunning gal, a few years older than I, a redhead (dyed, but a good job), with a pair of forty-inch honeydews straining her thin cotton halter almost to splitting, as well as practically spilling out of the deep-cut neckline. I heard my husband tell my brother-in-law that this neighbor was always giving him a hard-on. My sister’s husband replied that he was a tit man, too. He asked my guy if he had ever gotten a “piece of that,” and my husband said no, but he would like to. He grumbled that I almost never gave him a hard-on anymore. My brother-in-law said that my sister was “getting too settled down” and was always “acting like a wife.” Were we girls surprised and mad! We sneaked out of the house and went for a long ride to talk things over.
While thinking about how I had failed to remain sexy, I began to realize that my husband and I were doing so many things for the community and the church, we weren’t leaving time for a decent sex life. I knew the next move was up to me. I dispensed with girdles, which I hadn’t really needed, and I began buying sexy French undies from mail-order houses. I bought dozens of naughty panties, wicked bras with holes for my nipples to poke through, and tiny, beribboned garter belts. I would give him a show at least once a week. My new nighties were for wearing around the house, not for in bed. I would wear just a sheer slip to cook dinner in, to keep his interest up- and his penis, too.
I am careful to tell my man if another guy gets hard looking at me, and this always pleases and stiffens him. I also smooch him shamelessly at movies, cock-tail parties, even in lover’s lanes once in a while, and I don’t give a damn who knows it or thinks I am making a fool of myself. I like what he has in his pants, and that’s what I am a fool about. I have even taken hula-and belly-dancing lessons so I can keep him erect. I have bought him girlie magazines, and I’ve sent away for nude photos and porno films. I introduced him to Penthouse. I watch for sexy things to call to his attention. If I see a well-stacked woman coming along, I nudge him and point out the jiggling yummies with a manly, ribald comment.