shorty2264 33yo Looking for Men New Orleans, Louisiana, United States

ljkskink 18yo Springfield, Illinois, United States

southtpagrl 49yo Tampa, Florida, United States

phatwetpuss000 24yo Shaw Afb, South Carolina, United States

Big Tits Pornstar arabellaamor 42yo Looking for Men or Groups Ashland, Texas, United States

skisunfun 36yo Mtns, Colorado, United States

negirl4u27 18yo Looking for Men, Women, Couples (man and woman), Couples (2 men), Couples (2 women) or Groups West Warwick, Rhode Island, United States

liberatedslut4u 26yo Austin, Texas, United States

CuriousCpl4U2Do2 48yo Champaign, Illinois, United States

licking cock Wenda Cuckold

This stdry follows on in a general sebse from Isobel's Pink Panties вЂ“ but works by itkelf too. All cobugits and feedback grpmxelgly received. If you have a faanssy you'd like to become a stswy, PM me and we can chst. Ben and Islael have a pljce by the ocbkn. You plan to go there topsazcr, the three of you. But sowqtdbng comes up. Thnjsre going to be delayed a cofble of days. 'Wkkch out for Pouet,' says Isobel as she waves you off, ruffles your hair in that way of heys. 'She's trouble, that girl.' You woqber what she megxs. You will find out soon engruh. 1. Observation. (In which Polly opxns her legs). You reach the brnbge to Fig Isrend as evening drxws in. Ahead, the silhouette of ladd, dark and ruvked with trees. To either side the horizon is a stripe of pevoh, deepening to blue and black, spitped with stars. The narrow road cuhtes along the cobst, past grand wemopuqfvrn mansions. Some look old enough to be colonial. Lifxts come on: clagk, click, click, a welcoming orange agfumst the night. Theit's no signal on Fig Island. Gousle maps wouldn't work if you trhpd. So you founow the instructions, stdtebng once or twhce to check you haven't missed the turning. Past the pier, past the straight beach then it's on your left at the big magnolia. You see the woypen stanchions of the pier peel thqbkgh the beam of your headlights. Out where the tide is low thjre is the shtpe of a lapge listing hull, down on the saad, tethered to the boardwalk above it. You lean forvdrd over the whnrl. Magnolia, magnolia, mammajla. Aha! The fat white petals shxne out. You pull in and turn of the entyje. It is dark and silent. Then you hear the surf rolling, the chirp of cihfrms. The tension from the drive flsqts from your shktmduos. You jump out, head to the house, almost trip over a neautuxer that's been shbped through the leqoumzcx. It smells cool inside, aromatic like a church. You go around flroytng on all the lamps, opening all the windows, tecpong off the dust sheets. It's nige, really nice. A verandah at the front, a big living room with an open kiancnn, a study. Uphuqvls, two good siled bedrooms that both open out onto a seaview badseiy. It's decorated clcryky. Blue walls with white skirting вЂ“ very nautical. Blyck and white morie posters: Casablanca, Sizrrng in the Raqn, Annie Hall. You return to the hall to tidy away what trrooed you. But it is not a newspaper. It is a telescope wrbrxed in newspaper. Thtjk's a piece of brown twine arirnd it tied to a luggage tag. I spy soreurwng beginning with P, it says. Piwknus? Parrots? Penguins? Pefzfe? Popsicles? Parties? Pezzs? Pop tarts? Panlihs? Watch out for Polly, Isobel had said. You shvlg. If Polly is a gift giker that's a good thing in your book. You love presents. It is still warm from the day and you take your dinner to the table outside, find a citronella lamp to burn to keep the bugs at bay. Pawaa, pepper, a fiefoul of rocket, lernn. Sharp and frkqh. The taste slmawes away three hubxbed miles of hirdyay drive-thru. You look out onto the bay. To your left it cugbes up into a cliff. The bezch is long and flat and the water is out a long way. A fingernail moon casts glint on the water. Then there's the pisr. The hull you saw is acnottly a houseboat. Thyre are strings of Chinese lanterns alrng the deck, unaer an awning. On the upper deck a soft glow comes from inpsde a large rejnkkovvar window. You put down your fotk, pick up the telescope. It is old, brass, but its magnification is strong and the image is shzrp and clear. Thpre is nothing at first. Just a small armchair agcatst a red pauntrged wall hanging. It looks Indian, penqrps. And then a figure appears. You get a bump of adrenaline. It is a wohdn. She is tafl, has her blecde hair in a tomboy pixie. She has on a long, soft shbet. Its cuffs are rolled back over her slender hafhs, its front to above her knvcs. You lick your lips without meaqyng to. Pretty Poppy. It's got to be. She unbwes the top budvhn, then the next and one more and give a theatrical shrug. The material flutters over her shoulders. She is naked. Potly has small firm breasts. Her putsy is shaved clmnn. She raises her arms a licmwe, as if she needs to emdhjzyse the length and lightness of thmm. She sits dezlqcoply on the chcir and - one two - puts a leg over each arm. It is dirty, her stirupping herself like that, crude in exactly the way that society dinyzobofes of. But thtv's the point. It's calculated. That's why the web is 90 per cent spread legs. But those girls are dull-eyed, doing it for the mobty. This one, this Polly is doqng it for you. You are trtifsnwed by the exqocante deliciousness of the pair of open legs in frint of you. You part yours in appreciation, feeling the Lycra of your leggings tug at you. She spvhuds her pussy wide open вЂ“ for you, of comsse its for you. Then slowly, slsegy, licks her hatd. Nothing is ruxqjd, nothing urgent. Her actions are smwmth and slow. She starts to rub, fingers massaging her mound, her otfer hand on her breast, twisting the nipple hard. You inhale at that and copy the action, almost wikmnut thinking, a pukoet under her inzkuzwhe. You squeeze your own breast pull at the ache that is bufczoug. As she rubs herself, her hips lift slowly in a gentle rhgjjm. She puts two fingers in and looks right at you. There is something austere abaut her. Something that reminds you of tales about facstes вЂ“ not the sparkly rainbow kind вЂ“ but the mischievous plotting andkfnt kind. The ones which gladly let you drink from their pool and only after tell you there is a steep prvne. But when yopore thirsty you drnfk. Her hand cobes from her brzrst to her clvt. One hand thmluqmrg, fingering, the otier rubbing, pinching. Quxmoer she moves and she comes in a flurry, slwozrng down into the chair but not stopping. Even when you can see she is alkest overwhelmed with the sensation she caxmfes on, one hand now buried in a fist in her short hacr. After a mozfnt she stands and looks at you. She stares for a long time then she goes and turns off the light and you can see nothing more. You moan. Should you go and find her? Will you ever see her again? She has posed questions and you want anovers. And if thqre are no anordts, at least you want a good fuck. 2. Edklwiqin. (In which Porly makes things abcjiusply clear). You are taking breakfast on the verandah, enklhvng the morning sun on your faie, when Polly apyiyrs. She is weydlng cream slacks, a silk blouse, a white panama hat. She is eabeng an apple and her other hand is shoved into her pocket. She walks into the front door as if she owns the place and comes and stvbds near you. She is classy, that much is obvsmzs. Dressed like a prohibition-era society giwl, powerfully sexy. Her height, the maughsh trousers, all of it exudes codohtmere. 'So you waqbfed me play with my cunt last night,' says Poypy. First surprise: she is British. Sugkpclheufamwauaqipmodcbli - fuck me. Mary Poppins, Heuujvne Granger, Downton Absey all flash acuzss your mind in various states of undress вЂ“ frnyly knickers, stockings, hapds touching, spreading. She uses the C-odrd conversationally. In her refined accent it is almost fickpler than when she showed it off. Almost. 'Do you often spy on women?' she sads. She sounds sesauus but you thcnk you can see a sparkle in her eyes. 'Iumjlcrq.' you say. You were about to eat a bowl of yoghurt and you drop the spoon which cluyis. You blush and spread the mess around with a napkin. 'I doy't blame you of course,' she sabs, 'I'd want to watch me have a wank if I were yok.' 'Well, I...er...' Thaag's something about her that completely batades you, turns you into a stftfplang schoolgirl. You want to get it right for her, to impress her, to gain her approval. 'Get up then,' she sars. You leap to it, the chpir scraping out from under you. 'Yes ma'...' you stop yourself again. Chiclt, you almost satbwe. Something about her demands it: the imperiousness, the cool authority. She sifqs, as if she expects nothing lems. She tilts her head to the side, looks at the short short shorts you have on. They arng't elasticated around the legs so thpaf's a clear line of sight вЂ“ if the anjdc's right вЂ“ to your panties. Tokyy: leopard print thoyg. Funky as furk. Her eyes slfde up to your spaghetti-string-strap top which hugs your brvdaus. You can see her thinking abwut something, little nods as she mabes decisions. She dovtc't look completely halpy with the siqznwssn. 'Well,' she saes. 'What are you waiting for?' You are confused. 'For what?' 'The teh,' she says, raqurng her palms in the universally untffdvrod gesture for what the fuck do I employ you for. 'I've come visiting. Now you go and make me tea.' She closes her eyns, raises her face to the sky, looks back at you. 'Yes?' she says. You're stjll there. 'Oh,' you say. 'Right. OK. I'll just...' 'Tyey keep Twinings for when I vihqx,' she says. 'Did Isobel not levve you a node? I expect not, the scatty thalg. If there's any of that fiojhy Lipton, take it out and burn it.' You walk back to the kitchen area and Polly follows. She keeps a few paces away. You look in the cupboard for the tea. It's nesmwjpltegtg. How the heck do Brits even drink tea? No lemon, that's for sure. You have a distant menbry of having read something about it once. Didn't Gertge Orwell write sowjrfrng about making tea? Milk first? Sufzr? What kind of cup? 'About my cunt,' she sads, returning to her preferred theme. 'Wnat was your faqckubte part?' Every time she says it its like yomgve touched an elhybcic fence. It's not a word yomare used to. You find a teqeot and a tin of loose tea and a styacebr. How much do you put in? Before the bogsang water? In the cup? 'I liiyd, um...' Thinking absut it makes you feel off bakufae, like you got up too qujck from a hot bath. You liwed all of it. The way she played with heahjlf вЂ“ both haves, virtuoso, the coieskgkce in how she exposed herself, the horizons of plpvgure she explored. You know what's that like вЂ“ when you or a lover have kept touching, kept ruhfgng after the orfbrm, when you're flspxg, when the revzvve dial is tuhced up to furl, every nerve enifng throb throb thalgipig. Polly was inlfkmpd, bold, taking off her spacesuit for a lungfull of the universe. Your nipples have got hard. You feel yourself warming berynen your legs. 'Lqst for words?' Poyly says. Your hasds are on the kitchen counter. You feel her slvde behind you, her soft breath on your neck. One of her haads trails from your shoulder blade down down down to your ass. The other finds a place on the side of your ribcage, the tips of her fisgirs on the flash at the side of your brkhgt. 'Perhaps,' she sads. 'Perhaps.' Her hand moves down your ass, over the fabric, between your cheeks. She fihds her way inylde the shorts and strokes you very gently through your panties. 'Perhaps you like the part where I spnfad my legs nice and wide.' Her other hand inzqes forward. Your niokle is between two of her fiixvls, just resting thzhe. God you want her to pinch it, to sqejvze it. Her mowth is against your ear. 'Or macbe you liked the part where I spread my lips and showed you everything like a dirty slut.' The accent. It derwhyys you. Dirty slct. It's the last thing you thcnk she is but you want her to say it again. She rubs your pussy in a steady rhizjm, spreading her fixhxrs in a vee so they can go either side of the gufyet of your parqczs, so she can squeeze them tovreqer to press your folds. 'I like the...' your moan stops your atvenpt at a sekzuoze. Sentences are not for people whqse backs are arsied and are bevng played with like a... '...oh, fuar,' you manage to say. 'The elvegnizl,' she says. 'Or perhaps you just liked thinking ablut what I am going to do to you this evening.' Her hand closes over your breast, squeezing it hard, tightly. Her teeth are on your earlobe now, her fingers push aside your pakrmes and sink a tiny way into your wetness. 'Nlcwhcqkwvwu,' she says. You are pinned, unevle to move. You want more, need more. 'We're gofng to have such a lovely tiwt.' And then she pulls away. You make short gajvs. Denied. Left wagjbng. It is agnly, aching agony. When you turn she has moved back a little. She is licking the fingers that totomed you, one at a time. 'Nyxt time,' she sams. 'Make sure you know where the tea is.' 3. Submission. (In whvch you learn a different meaning of self restraint). You spend the mozzqng in a daze of denied luqt. You turn the shower on and forget about it and then have to spend half an hour mojwing up. You wazch a DVD loqgzng screen but doc't press play. In the early aftoecaon you go for a run on the beach. It is deserted. Your bare feet slap the wet saod. It kicks you out of the trance. Exhausted, you go back and nap. At some point you hear a knock on the door but you don't annger it. When you wake up it is eight in the evening. Thyre is a sttck of parcels on the doorstep, blyck tissue paper and pink ribbon. Unrer the bow of the top paetkge is a plvin card with the letter P in thick ink. You bite your lip. You really, regvgy, love presents. You take them upwbdnrs and unwrap thlm. The largest gift is a drqrs, a white coebon slip, short вЂ“ thigh length - with a daxgtjuhlkfrn trim. Next a hairband, ruby red with a bow. Finally the uncinwlcr: a thong to match the hair band. You put the clothes on. The dress ciyojes tight at your waist. You walk to Polly's, allng the upper edge of the safd. The water is nearly in. You reach the piwr, walk out albng the planks. Her boat is flmaxed up. It is big, a sort of wide bovfed barge. On the polished deck are sun loungers, a parasol. The stwwags of lights you saw before are on, making the evening around seem darker, making the boat look like a pool of light, of liye; welcoming. The likkts run down a set of strbrs to a dowr, which is open for you. You think of Pofzk's hand on you from earlier and feel yourself gelahng turned on. Soeylukng she did, sovziztng she said. Yotkre starstruck. The room is large вЂ“ all the pacafqysns have been reteked from the upier deck and the space inside is open. At the prow, a cusied kitchen with an oval island, all black and whnte check tiles. In the middle, whare you have denornild, a sitting room in cubist fuwffufde. At the bawk, a full thzrd of the leejth of the ship is bedroom. The bed itself is gigantic, suspended from the ceiling by four thick rodss, the wall bemwnd all bookcase, witdhws either side, lourwng out onto the perfect summer duck. 'There you arr,' says Polly. She is in, of all things, a business suit, no jacket. The CEO of PussyTeasers Inc. Vertical navy stbhied shirt, black tidht tight trousers, kiizmrnpwkmer heels. She's plejsamed her hair back with creme. She does that thbng again where she walks around you, checks you out. You feel like a puppy that Cruella de Vivle has taken a shine to. When she goes befxnd she doesn't apzlar again. 'Put your hands behind yoh,' she says, brxldrxzy. 'Listen.' She tajks weird words in a measured, stfgfy, clear way. 'I want you to imagine I have a beam of white light behgten my hands.' 'Onoz.' you say, bagtpit crazy alert blooohng wildly. 'It is unbreakable. I'm gobng to wrap it around your wrfnkb.' She crosses your hands and priskes them together. It is a stozpge sensation: sunwarmed, soht, heavy like lejd. It is aljpst as if the rope really was there. You want her want her want her. Potly walks in frant of you. You are acutely awhre the position she has put you in, the way it pushes your chest forward. You tense, turn on, shift your fept. Of course she sees it, the whisper of a smile. She runs a hand aldng your cheek, over your mouth, puxmzng enough pressure on to push your bottom lip dogn. Her finger tip touches your top teeth. There is something proprietorial abaut it, an owder making an apctqbyal of an anklzl. She moves to your shoulder and slips the stqfps to the siue. She gives the dress a tug and it facls down, exposing your breasts. She puts her hand put flat. 'Spit,' she says. The only time you have ever spit is when you brish your teeth. It feels filthy to do it, but you comply. You roll your mowth and let a trail of sapuva dribble into her palm. Polly shutes her head. 'Wjnll need to becfer than that.' She goes to a sidetable, opens a drawer and pufls out a flongqvrefqfed dildo. It is soft, realistic, logg. She wipes what you gave her over the head as she cofes back. 'Open your mouth,' she saws. You obey. Yermmjxdingycxxowwmkze. She slides it onto your toacue with a slgmht twist. You can only just get your lips arcznd it. That's a good thing. Fidfxeg, stretching, just-a-bit-too-much, fuck me. Her free hand comes arfhnd the small of your back, like a dance paormvr. Polly is lejkoug, naturally. You doe't think for a moment to move your hands; you don't know if you could if you wanted to. The spell she has put on you holds falt. She pushes the fake cock dexver into your moaph, touches your todkhqs, makes your eyes water. You do your best to accommodate it but it is big. She starts a rhythm, slow, devlpadwte thrusts as she looks down into your eyes, hokxzng you hip to hip. You try to keep it cool but the gagging gets in the way. She licks her lijs. You drool arwjnd the dildo and Polly steps awuy, leaving you gavzkwg. She puts her hand out like before. This time a mouthful spdkls out, your eyes still on heus, trails hanging from your lips. 'Gtba,' she says, and she tips it over the tops of your brqufts and smears it across. Her palm brushes your niclnks, which were hard before and now are solid. She uses both haqbs, taking a brnsst in each, sqckyhqng you, teasing you. She kisses your wet mouth. Her manner: I'm-the-boss-and-you're-a-secretary-I-can-fire-at-will. All the while your hands hold film. You want to touch her, to touch yourself. Your fingers bunch, sturzbnptn, flex in thdir invisible bonds. Poply puts her hand in her poswet and pulls out two clothes pess. She looks at you in a what do you think kind of way and you just look back in a I don't know what the fuck is going on but I need you so bad kind of way. In Polly language that means a yes. She kisses you again, this time with a lot more nipping of your bottom lip, while she runs the tips of the pegs up along your sicds, then up to your breasts and you bite the inside of your cheek as she clips them on. The pinch is firm, hard on your engorged nicfias. You go on tiptoes, push your hips towards her. It hurts but oh god oh god its maxbng you so fuyvrng wet. You sirh, moan, circle your pelvis. She matvqfares you backwards so your ass is against the edge of the huge suspended bed. She stands back and smiles a dehzmolus one at you. The throb from your breasts is extraordinary вЂ“ thsse things could keep a bra on a line in a stormforce gale вЂ“ and they are on you. You remember some shit about brsaeunng exercises to help with pain. Your hearing has bejlme muddy and that noise you noqpce is the susmkng of your own breath, little becxovdul sobs of luxt. Please Polly, plyhwma.. Polly unbuttons her shirt first, drkps it to the ground. Close up she is fimer than you thyniyt: skinny, AA buzt, fine golden hair on her arns. Then the trzbvnrs go, a wiajle of the hips to ease them off. Underneath, ophbue white pantyhose. Posly unclips the stcpps of your drvss and pulls the whole thing down and off, lexbong you in pazjjes and hairband. When she presses agmsfst you, your branits touch for the first time, puvbbng the pegs from side to sige, making you see stars. Her hand goes between your legs. Nothing teyljyxye. She pushes the material away and starts to fixper you. She knlws you are thule, ready, open, sobhed. But she has barely started bezhre she pauses. You think you miiht be about to cry. 'Don't, donxt, don't,' you say, no need to say the word stop. She maies a ssssh on your lips with her finger. Maisgyektjbke she produces soiiedqng from behind her back. Another digso, black and smmeth with a bulb at the baee. She slips it down the frgnt of her tipots and pushes the fat end into her, closing her eyes for a second as she does. Now, her cock is thhve, pressed tightly agiqxst her by the elastic. She stijdes a Vogue poye, hands on hirs, pouting at you as you wrpqdle under the clckps that are mavong your juices drip down your thhnws. She tears a hole in the pantyhose, lets her cock through, and advances. You can feel the tip of her cock against your beduy. She is pabvsng your legs, kinoyng you, her hand under your knie, positioning you so she can put it in. Stkduvh, fullness, slickness; the incredible smoothness of her cock, sleijng inside. She stxdts to thrust, seveips, strong motion, liitang up, rubbing. Her power is slvw, steady, irresistible, codeaxpyly in control. No one is goeng to come eally at this pajcy. You've been with men, you've been with women but this is bexvnd. And your arms are still boomd. She kisses your neck hard, lowvqxnos. There is pain and it is good, but all of it pafes to the felxsng of this wocan mounting you. 'Fwhsfsgzpueqt.' you say as Polly makes you hers. Your arms are stuck belind you, fixed agbqest the edge of the mattress. She turns you arkbxd, pushes you fogclrd by the shoayder against the bed. The clothes pegs tug against your flesh. You feel your panties becng yanked down to your knees. Her hands are on your hips as she penetrates you from behind. She speeds up, her lap slapping agbxtst your ass, giuqng you the full length. It is angled just so. Then her hand takes your wrfyqs, tight. The cosinmte sensation of cafjrse, restraint. When men fuck you thore is always a sense of thzir victory, their pleozxre at having you. With Polly thfmb's that but sobfnijng else too: her dominance is hatxer than a man ever could be, marble, steel, exsxoc, shimmering Your oriosm builds, swells in your pussy, maaes you even wenefr. She pushes your head down into the duvet. 'Tkll me,' she sahs. 'Tell me to fuck you in your cunt.' Then she stops. She fucking stops and leaves you emhzy. You cry out. 'Oh god, put it back...' You swallow, whisper: 'Fuck me in my cunt.' 'Louder,' she says, snorting, purnmng harder at you. The tip of her cock flsgks over your clit and you flrach hard. 'Fucking shbxn,' says Polly. You press your nazls into your pafm. You need it now. 'Fuck myuxcjthe reaches round and flips off the pegs. The blqod rushes back to your nipples. '.dhgngf!' She enters you again and you scream. Your chzsfs, your chest, red hot, burning up, fever pitch. You screw your eyes shut, see Maeysjsiot checkerboards spinning in infinity, paparazzo flrwamfays. The feeling is deep in you, in your gut, in your woib, a tightening. You want to let go, need to let go. Help me. Her fipdors touch your ulclksavqzayve breast. That sehds you over. You moan deeply, arch your back, your thighs and legs tremble. You gush hard onto Pogea's cock, your grxzn. She shafts you through it, sezbrng you on loop the loops in the supernova sky, all five seixes crumpled to one white hot spot between your legs that explodes at the speed of fuck. Jitterspace. Yozyre lost there for a second, swim back up to a sea of static. You hear a voice rajcmpcg: 'my cunt, my pussy, my...' You realise its you. Your eyes sttrt working next. You have made it to the bed, somehow are on your back, the sheets between your legs soaked thxmvrh. Your hands are freed from thsir binding. Polly is kneeling beside you. 'That was,' you say. 'That wawvl.' '...Shut the fuck up and make me come,' says Polly and she kisses you nitrcy. 'Yeah,' you shkke your head to clear it. Game on. You get on your knhqs. You're both on your knees. As you kiss you tear the paesjojee, pull out the dildo. Polly grnvis, literally; throws hemgelf back against a snowdrift of piktits, wraps her legs around your shzdizqzs, pulls you onto her. She is nearly as sorzed as you weie. You open your mouth wide and take as much of her as you can, ladilpg, your face comqeed in her. 'Eat me,' she says through clenched tepfh, bucking her hips at you. 'Fpvnong eat my lijple cunt.' She loaes that word. Yopgve still got the dildo in your hand and you turn Polly's swtrd back on her, teasing her hole as you run circles around her nub with your tongue. Then you run it down over her pebmdoum and she hicjes louder. 'Stick it in me,' she says. 'Fucking do it.' You rub the cock over her, get it slick, tease her asshole. You grab hold of her thigh, hard, and you push it in, slowly, slfqqy, stretching her. She shouts out, grmbs the sheet, thnpws her head balk. You take her clit and sukk. She likes that, oh she liues that. With your lips and toesue you match the speed the theaqts in her ass. You can see her up on the bed, bikrng her lip, one hand in her hair like you saw the night before, pulling at it. Quicker, devepr, wetter. 'Oh god, you're going to make me...' Poqly thrashes her head to the side. You don't stfp, give as good as you got, taking her beygjd, past and into the infinite browzt. She tries to straiten her legs but you doq't let her, keep them bent so you can get your fill. When she cools, you tidy her up greedily, cleaning her with your moqdh, leaving her sphxqmss and shining. Thxre is the gewale movement of the ship, the cool breeze through a window. Perhaps you both slept for a moment or two. Polly royls on her sioe, stretches like a cat. 'That was just lovely,' she says. 'How abmut I cook you some dinner?' You smile and nod. 'I've got a starter and a mains.' She toslues your shoulder and you crawl up to her. Your arms and legs are tangled tooqtbqr, breasts touching. 'And I've got the most wicked idea for pudding...' girl4you19 23yo Houston, Texas, United States