Sensuous Stories Page 4

  She ducked down and carefully peered through the branches of the banksia in front of her. Boy, oh boy. A dark haired hunk with his cock down the throat of a red head who looked like she couldn’t get enough. Verity knew that feeling. Knew the feel of cock sliding in and out of her mouth, the delicious fear of gagging, the nutty, yeasty taste of cum.

  She watched as the man pulled himself free of the woman and muttered, “I want to be inside you.”

  The woman smiled up at him then looked around for something. She leaned over and grabbed a bag, rooting around inside it.

  “They’re here somewhere” she muttered, sounding increasingly panicked.

  “Ah, here!” she said, brandishing a packet of condoms.

  He laughed while she ripped off the foil of one and slid it onto his cock.

  “Thank god you’re prepared,” he said, as she turned her back to him, flipped off her dress and got down on all fours, tipping her arse toward him. He moaned, grabbed her hips and thrust home.

  “Ah, you feel wonderful,” he said, settling in for a good, hard fuck. The woman moaned each time he thrust. Verity could see the slight swing of her breasts as she shoved herself back on to his cock.

  This was more like the kind of eighteenth birthday she wanted. She carefully lowered herself to the ground trying not to make a sound. She watched as the man’s thrusts became harder and faster and the woman’s groans became more feverish. They looked wonderful. Not just because they were fucking, although that was fantastic, but because they were having fun. There was nothing hidden or furtive about them. That was what she wanted. No hiding or pretending she was something she wasn’t.

  She slid a hand down into her trousers and felt for her clit. Her cunt was wet and throbbing. She rubbed and watched, wondering what the dark haired man’s cock would feel like inside her and how the sharp tips of the woman’s nipples would feel against her tongue.

  Gina tipped her arse higher and groaned.

  “Yeah, that’s it! God, your cock feels so good!” Adam’s grunts and the press of his fingers into her hips made her want to push back hard, make his cock slam into her. He seemed to pick up on her need and thrust hard into her. Gina hoped their audience appreciated the show.

  She’d notice some movement in the bush when she was rooting around for a condom. Not ever having fucked in front of a total stranger, she thought about telling Adam, but changed her mind. She liked the idea of being on show. She wondered, when she wasn’t in the complete zone of fucking, of feeling the in and out of Adam’s cock and the shock of him hitting just the right spot in her cunt, whether the watcher was even now, bringing herself to orgasm. Gina was almost certain the watcher was a woman. She’s seen the swish of a braid as the watcher had ducked out of sight.

  Gina could feel Adam about to come. He sped up his thrusts and with a mighty groan, slammed one last time into her and let go. She peered into the bushes hoping the watcher liked what she saw.

  Verity rubbed fast and harder. Small, mewling noises came from her throat as she watched the man throw back his head and with one final thrust, let himself go inside the red head. She clamped her lips together to stop her mewling noises turning into a guttural groan. Her pussy spasmed and she saw stars. When she gently let out her breath and came back into her body, she saw the couple slumped on the picnic rug. The man covered the woman’s body, nuzzling her neck and looking as though he was about to drift into a post coital snooze. The woman was smiling. Then she lifted her head and looked directly at Verity.

  Shit.

  Verity stood on wobbly legs and heard a distant call from her mother. She turned to go but hesitated. Stepping from behind the banksia, she watched as the woman twisted herself around under the man to cradle his now slumbering head between her breasts. They looked happy and contented curled up on the rug. Verity stood listening to the waterfall and feeling the purple twilight around her. The woman smiled at her again and curled herself closer to the man. Verity blew her a kiss and turned toward her mother’s voice.

  Six months later…

  Adam stood at the arrivals gate, peering over head and checking his watch. Why was it taking so long? The plane touched down an hour ago.

  There, there she is!

  He strode through the crowds and scooped her up, sending bags flying. He kissed her wide, generous mouth. For three months he’d not had that mouth against his, not been able to taste sunshine and strawberries. She laughed has he spun her around and kissed her some more.

  “Wait. Let me get my breath,” she gasped. “You look good. I’ve never seen you in a suit.”

  Adam grinned as lust spiked through him, knowing all too well what she was thinking. As soon as he got her back to his flat, she’d have him mussed up and tousled, creasing his shirt, rubbing her wet pussy against his trousers and using his tie to tantalise his balls. He could hardly wait.

  “Come on. Let’s get going,” he said.

  “Hang on. Ah, there she is.” Gina waved at a young woman with a long dark braid and a backpack, who was weaving her way through the crowd to the tube station. She waved back at Gina, let out a whoop of joy, then disappeared in the crowd.

  “Someone you know?”

  “Not exactly. We met on the plane, although I’d seen her around Katoomba.”

  “Yeah? Does she need a lift? Would she like to join us?”

  Gina smiled and kissed him. He saw the blue sky in her eyes and smelt eucalyptus and fig in her hair. His heart relaxed.

  “No, I don’t think so. She’s not much of a joiner. She likes to watch.”

  Pleasure of the Text

  Ellen stood outside the carved oak door and waited. Alfred O’Toole was her last customer of the day and she looked forward to seeing him. It surprised her, but Alfred was different. A gentleman of the old school, he always treated her with care and consideration, concerned about her well being and worried about her comfort.

  Two years ago, when she first entered his apartment, she thought he’d be a lonely, elderly man looking for an occasional moment of sexual release. Men like him were her ideal clients. Usually pathetically grateful and sometimes impotent, they often wanted to talk or just caress her breasts, recalling their sexual conquests of yesteryears.

  Her breasts were her draw card. Large, firm and round. Porn queen breasts. No surgical enhancements, they were all her own, the legacy of good genes from her grandmother. Her nipples were dark and pointed, surrounded by wide brown aureoles.

  She expected to see Alfred’s excitement when he first saw them, after she’d removed her lacy scarlet bra. He exclaimed and purred, stretching out his hands to cup them, stopping just millimetres from her skin. He’d closed his eyes and kept his hands hovering over her breasts, the bulge in his soft trousers straining for release. She’d been surprised at the warmth she felt from his skin and even more surprised at how much she wanted him to touch her, to rub her nipples with the palm of his hands. That he didn’t made her realise there was more to him that just the stereotype of a lonely old man.

  He was small, round and full of the joy of life. Always dressed impeccably in a smoking jacket as if he’d just stepped out of a nineteen thirties drawing room comedy, he seemed interested in everything - her life, her clients, politics, gossip about the rich and famous, even the details of her shopping expeditions. But mostly he loved books and reading. This, she found, took up most of his time. Every wall in his apartment was lined from floor to ceiling with books. First editions with calf-skin binding smelling of leather, to tatty paperback westerns and old romances.

  That first time, after he explained to her what he wanted, she’d laughed and blessed whoever had told Alfred about her. Easy money. And it was. But now it was much more. As she stood listening for Alfred to open the door, she realised her time with him had become time she treasured, time where she felt at ease, with no stress and no need to please. Not that she didn’t want to please Alfred, but her breasts did that with no effort.

  In return he not only p
aid her, but stroked and soothed her with his glorious, dark velvet voice. Just thinking about his voice as he held a book in his hand, made her cunt wet and achy. It was the voice of every dark, sexy man that women dreamed about in their Hollywood fantasies. She wasn’t surprised to find out he did voice-overs for television and radio. At almost eighty, he still made a good living from his golden vocal cords.

  The door opened and she smiled at him. He beamed in return.

  “Ellen, come in. You’re looking very beautiful today, my dear. That peacock blue looks stunning against your dark hair. Do you know if you have any gypsy ancestry? I’ve often thought you’d be right at home in an exotic caravan winding around Eastern Europe spinning tales and driving men wild.”

  He chattered on, drawing her further into the apartment, making her laugh at his silly stories. She loved this moment, when she could truly relax and let him direct his own pleasure.

  He took her, as usual, into his library, where he threw back the heavy drapes and let the late afternoon sun stream in. It was a room designed for comfort and dreaming. Two comfortable couches, a desk with an intricate wood inlay design, lamps that provided both soft and more direct light when needed, and everywhere framed photographs and nick nacks collected over a life time.

  “I thought I’d give us both a treat today. After finishing last week’s book, which I must admit was rather heavy going, I though we could start something more romantic this week.”

  “It was heavy going, but I enjoyed it. And the way you read it made it even better,” she said, undoing the buttons of her shirt. “I always thought Shakespeare boring, but it was thrilling. Poor Othello. What are you going to read this time?”

  He pulled two small books from the bookshelf. One was pristine and leather bound, the other looked like it lived, until recently, at the bottom of a bargain book basket at the local second hand shop.

  “Lorna Doone. Ever heard of it?”

  She shook her head. “Is it good?”

  “Very old fashioned and melodramatic. But it has a happy ending. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will no matter what it is.” She smiled at him and noted with a pang, a slight blueness around his lips. “Are you alright Alfred? Not too tired?”

  “I’m never too tired for you, my dear. Ah, there they are. So beautiful,” he said, gazing at her now naked breasts. She slipped off the rest of her clothes and sat on the plump couch Alfred had already covered with a soft, cotton sheet. Hanging down from the ceiling were two ropes, the ends covered in fur loops. She raised her legs and fixed the loops around her ankles like stirrups. The ropes were spaced far apart so she was wide open to Alfred’s gaze.

  He smiled at her and picked up a bowl full of dark, rose scented honey. She sighed with bliss. Now she could fully relax and let him take over. He stood between her legs and poured the honey over her breasts. It covered them and dribbled down her belly to her wet slit. She hummed with pleasure.

  “Just right, Alfred. Not too cold.”

  “Good. I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

  When she was covered, he picked up another bowl full of water and gave it to her to hold. Then he picked up the tatty version of Lorna Doone and ripped out the first page. Dipping it quickly in the water, he draped it over one breast where it clung to the honey. Working quickly, he continued to rip out pages and cover her breasts. Soon he was breathing heavily, exited and feverish.

  When her breasts were completely covered with wet paper and honey, he stood back and smiled at her. “So beautiful,” he said. “You are perfect.”

  Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, wanting to be touched. Her nipples were hard and stuck out from the thin paper.

  He took the bowl from her at put it aside. Placing a small footstool between her legs, he opened the leather covered version of Lorna Doone, leant forward so his mouth was just at the entrance to her cunt and proceeded to read.

  “If anybody care to read a simple tale told simply, I, John Ridd, of the parish of Oare, in the county of Somerset, yeoman and churchwarden, have seen and had a share in some doing of this neighbourhood, which I will try to set down in order, God sparing my life and memory.”

  His voice was like the honey on her breasts, dark and sweet. She could feel his warm breath on her clit as he read and closed her eyes feeling, as always, the need to lift her hips to meet his mouth. But she knew he wouldn’t like that. This moment was just for him. But he was generous and she knew she wouldn’t be left unsatisfied. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, the book in one hand and his cock in the other. He continued to read.

  “I had never heard so sweet a sound as came from between her bright red lips...”

  She closed her eyes again and leant her head back on the couch feeling the words slide around her wet lips and into her. The walls of her cunt stretched and a humming vibration pulsed deep in her belly. Every small gush of moisture in her pussy intensified the feel of his breath on her clit.

  She opened her eyes to see him pumping himself faster and faster.

  Her cunt pulsed now to the rhythm of his voice. She inched her hand through her curls getting her fingers closer to her clit when his voice started breaking. He stood, and throwing back his head, groaned and pumped his cock furiously. Semen splattered onto her breasts and dribbled down her belly.

  He came to himself and breathing heavily, knelt on the footstool. This was the moment she’d been waiting for all day. He placed his hands on her breasts and squeezed, smearing the honey, semen and wet paper into a messy paste. She pushed two fingers into her cunt and moved them in and out as he licked her breasts, taking in the gooey honey mixture. In this moment she always felt the need to push her fingers in hard, wanting to keep his voice inside her.

  His tongue and mouth sucked and licked all over her breasts leaving the nipples until the end. She started rubbing her clit as he finally sucked her nipples, gently at first and then hard and rhythmically. As his tongue flicked her wet, sticky nipples, she felt a strong throb, deep in her cunt.

  Her climax exploded through her, making her shriek and thrust her breast further into Alfred’s mouth. She fell back against the couch while Alfred rested, his head on her belly.

  “That was lovely, my dear, the best yet,” he murmured.

  She sat back with her eyes closed, feeling his finger lightly touch the tip of her nipple.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  The following month Ellen received a package in the mail, the day before her usual appointment with Alfred. In it was a tape, the calf bound copy of Lorna Doone, a cheque for ten thousand dollars and a note from his solicitor telling her Alfred died a week ago. Unexpected grief knifed through her. She realised she would miss him terribly. Not only because he’d been a good and kind man, but when they were together she’d felt cherished.

  She placed the tape in a cassette player and listened to Alfred read Lorna Doone. Even in her grief, his voice had the power to arouse her, make her crave the feel of his mouth near her cunt and on her breasts, telling her tales, taking her somewhere else. She wanted her breasts to be coated in honey again while waiting for his mouth to suck hard on her nipples.

  Over the next months she slumped into despondency, unable to find pleasure in the usual moments of her life. She knew her friends and lovers were concerned about her, but it was as if gauzy veil had been dropped between her and the rest of the world. Life seemed without joy or purpose. She knew she was going through the motions, faking pleasure and withdrawing into herself.

  Then one day she made an appointment with a new client. She’d lost a couple because of her lack of energy and told herself to snap out of it or else she’d lose more. Brushing her long black hair, she looked at herself in the mirror and saw dark circles under her eyes. This would not do. Slapping on some makeup, she vowed she’d get her life together.

  Her new client was a woman in her sixties. Maya Andersen. A recently retired professional woman, she was attra
ctive and matter of fact, telling Ellen she had spent most of her life working hard and had little time for intimate relationships. At her age she felt she was too old to start dating and anyway, didn’t want someone else in her life. She was tall and lean with a sleek red bob and sharp blue eyes surrounded by fine lines.

  As she talked, Ellen felt a quiver move through her. Maya’s voice was rough and cigarette encrusted, both sharp and deep.

  After Ellen fucked her, bringing her to a screaming climax with her mouth and fingers, Maya asked her to straddle her so she could caress Ellen’s breasts. She pulled and pinched her nipples all the time telling Ellen how beautiful they were and how she wanted to suck and nibble her.

  “Is your cunt just as beautiful? Let me see. Come up here,” she said, pulling Ellen up so her cunt was over her face.

  “Ah, yes,” she murmured. “Dark pink and luscious. I could just gaze at you all day.”

  Ellen’s heart pounded hard and her cunt stretched and vibrated as Maya talked. She wanted to keep her talking so she could feel her voice vibrate against her throbbing clit and slide into her. When Maya pulled her down and took her clit in her mouth, sucking and licking, Ellen fought her disappointment and struggled to achieve a half hearted orgasm. She moaned out her release and climbed off Maya when she was done.

  “Not very satisfied were you?” said Maya. “I guess that’s not surprising. I don’t pay you to desire me after all.” Her smile was sad and a little wistful. Ellen hesitated as she held her bra in her hand.

  “It’s not that,” she stammered, wondering if she could tell this woman what she wanted. “Strangely enough I do want you, but not in the way you think.”