Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
A Public Handjob and An Anal Creampie
Or, The Art of Handjobs
It has always seemed unfair to me that handjobs are viewed as a sort of second – or perhaps even third – tier sexual act. As if they’re automatically constitutive of a disappointing end to an otherwise pleasant evening, or are all essentially blowjobs that should have been but never were.
I mean, I’m not going to deny that there is a special magic to the sight of an upturned arse with waiting, unfurled lips slick with shimmering arousal. I want to leave you with no doubt that I too am a great fan of oral sex. The sound that a woman’s throat makes as you collide with it is amongst the most erotic that you can experience, and the sensation of a woman’s tongue bathing your cockhead is truly incomparable. Nevertheless, however, I remain a great lover of handjobs.
The key, I have learnt, is the context in which the handjob takes place.
As evidence for the above, I would cite one of my favourite sexual memories of all time. Its a memory to which I have returned time and time again when I have had need of a fantasy sufficient to make an empty bed warmer, and a long night somewhat less boring.
The episode in question took place when I had just turned 19. I was a few months into my first serious relationship, and we were both beginning to realise that we actually had very little in common, save that we were very physically attracted to each other. She was an art student with a penchant for fashion, and I was a straight-laced economics student without a creative bone in his body. Her idea of a good weekend was a couple of parties and a blinding hangover. Mine was a mountain, a tent, and a sleeping bag.
I suspect that, had I thought about it for more than a few minutes, I would have realised that our relationship was doomed to fail for precisely that reason. Now, with the maturity of a few more years under my belt, I like to think that I wouldn’t force myself to pointlessly continue it. Back then, however, I didn’t foresee the inevitable. Of course, we knew that we were struggling, but we simply chose to try to escape our issues by relying on the one thing that we had in common: our mutual attraction to one another. And so we fucked. We fucked like rabbits. We fucked like dogs in heat. We fucked like the horny teenagers that we were.
If we couldn’t choose where to go out to eat, I’d finger her in the kitchen as we cooked ourselves an omelette. If we couldn’t decide what to do for a weekend, she’d suck me off as we watched TV and I’d eat her out on the sofa in her flat share. In fact, after the first three or four months of our relationship to the very end of it, hardly a date went by when some part of me didn’t end up buried in some part of her. We fucked under a bridge in the park. We fucked in a public toilets in a London suburb. We fucked on her kitchen table, and her living room floor. If there was a flat surface and we had access to it, we gave it a damn good shot.
And its not like I was complaining. Physically, she was my ideal partner. Blonde and blue-eyed with a cheeky, full-lipped smile she turned heads no matter where we went. Beneath the fancy clothes and artsy makeup, she also had a body to die for. She was slim without being skinny. Her tits – still blessed with the buoyancy of youth – were untanned, pillowy and perfectly sized for her body. They were topped by gorgeously puffy nipples that she would tug and massage as she masturbated, and complemented by a thick, well-formed arse that would ripple and shake whenever I took her from behind.
All of this was made all the more appealing by a sexual appetite and love of experimentation that bordered on voracious. To be clear, its not that we were kinky, per se (though there was more than one occasion where she found herself tied up and blindfolded). It was more that she rarely required convincing to try something new that I was interested in, and often came up with enthusiastic suggestions of her own. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for her to show me a görükle escort clip from some porno that she’d watched, and ask me whether we could give a scene or move the old college try.
When we were actually in bed together, she was equally exciting. For a start, she was vocal — not so much a screamer, but definitely a moaner and groaner. Even better, she had a pussy that would overflow with a sweet nectar that clung to her fingers in thick strands whenever I watched her play with herself. She never creamed — her grool was always viscous and clear — but it was always free flowing. Indeed, to me, it felt as if her panties were never dry.
And when it came to my cum, ‘voracious appetite’ is an entirely literal and thoroughly accurate descriptor. She didn’t care where I came, so long as it was either on her, or in her. Whether I wanted to cum in her arse, or glaze it, whether I was going to have her swallow it or lick it off her own chin, she was always willing and even excited to take it. I gave her vaginal creampies, anal creampies, pearl necklaces and facials. I’d fuck her face, and unload down her throat without a second thought. If it was cum, and it was going anywhere near her, she’d love it. I think she probably felt like it was the ultimate sign of my approval of her — the definitive proof that she was still just as sexy to me as ever and that our relationship was therefore still going strong.
That’s probably about as much as you need to know about her and, frankly, anything that I say about myself will probably be a lie, so I won’t bother you with any of that. Suffice it to say that I was happy with life.
But you clicked on this story to read about a handjob, no doubt. So, let us return to the matter which is, as it were, at hand. I was, as I say 19. It was the year that Avenger’s Endgame came out, and the cinemas were packed with Marvel diehards and casual viewers alike. I, however, had already seen the movie with a couple of friends from uni, and my girlfriend was far more interested in artsy films than anything quite so artistically bankrupt. Both those things combined to mean that when my girlfriend chose to go and watch some ‘cinematic experience’ the name of which I cannot for the life of me recall, the theatre that we walked into was relatively unpopulated. It was just us, a group of artsy looking girls with bangs and stylistically baggy clothes occupying the left wing of seats, and a group of older women in spectacles who had come equipped with wine glasses and had inexplicably chosen to occupy the front row.
We found ourselves some seats near the back of the cinema and made ourselves comfortable. Now, I’d been on dates to the cinema before. I know the drill. You wait for the lights to go down, give the movie maybe fifteen minutes of runtime so that you know that the other punters are well and truly engrossed, and then you make your move. Start with the hand on the knee, or around the shoulders. Get close enough for a kiss, and transition into a make out. If you’re lucky, a bit of over the clothes action, and if things are going really well and the movie is either a bit raunchy or very shit, you might find that a hand makes it into your boxers.
Of course, knowing my girlfriend, I already expected that things would go differently. It wouldn’t have been the first time that she rode my fingers to a muffled, panting orgasm in an empty cinema, nor would it have been her first time wanking me to completion in the dark. I could not, however, have predicted just how far sideways she would take my plan that evening.
Things began to go sideways at around about stage three of the aforementioned plan. I had waited for the lights to go down. The movie was about five minutes started, and I made my move. Rather than plumbing for resting my hand on her thigh, I went straight for her arse, wrapping my arm around her waist and pushing her gently forwards so that I could have the room to get a firm grasp on her butt cheeks.
Now, I made that choice for two reasons; firstly, bursa merkez escort I reckoned that if one of the cinema’s other denizens were to turn around, it would be much less suspicious for me to have my hand wrapped around my girl’s waist, than directly up her skirt. Secondly, I knew how much my girlfriend loved to have her arse played with. Ever since the first time that I did it for her — pushed my finger into her tight, hot little arsehole whilst I lapped away at her clit — she’d been mad for anal and I knew that with nothing more than a quick graze of her arse with my finger, I could have her soaking through her panties and ready to let me do whatever I wanted with her.
As my fingers quested through her panties, however, massaging the taught flesh and muscle of her arse cheeks, they didn’t come across the sensation that I was expecting. Instead, I found a ring of cold metal topped by a hard, flat surface with sloping edges. It took me a minute to realise what I was toying with: her favourite, jewel-topped butt plug. I turned to look at her, and found her already looking at me, smiling with her blue eyes wide and innocent. She turned away from me and leant forwards, giving me as much space as I needed to do whatever it was that I had planned.
If I wasn’t as hard as a I’ve ever been before then, I got there immediately.
See, I knew what that butt plug meant. What it symbolised.
That plug was one of her favourite toys that I’d ever gotten for her. Like I said, my girlfriend loved anal. She loved it when I ate her arse. She loved it when I sank my fingers into her butthole whilst she buried her head in my lap and my cock in her throat. She loved it when I pushed my thumb into her whilst I fucked her doggystyle. Most of all, though, she loved it when I butt fucked her. In fact, I think it might have been her favourite thing for us to do in the bedroom. It certainly mad her moan the loudest and squirt the most often.
The one thing that she didn’t like — that annoyed her even — was that she couldn’t do it as easily as she wanted. At least, not if she wanted me to fuck her as rough and as hard as I knew that she preferred it. And that’s why I bought her the plug. It was a long thing with a wider than usual, tapered base, like a thick, jewel topped carrot. What we discovered was that if she wore it for our foreplay session before we got down to business — whilst we 69’d for example — I could fuck her ass slowly for as long as I wanted, or as rough as I wanted for about ten minutes. If she wore it for twenty minutes, I could get half an hour out of her arse before she’d need a break. And if she’d worn it for an hour, I could pound her arsehole for just about as long as she’d had it in. But, I realised, she’d been with me since three in the afternoon. That meant that she’d had her plug in for over four hours. I couldn’t even imagine what she was going to let me do to her that night. How many times I was going to get to cum in her tight, little arse.
It was something that we’d talked about before: one of her kinks that I was more than happy to share in. Of course, we’d gone multiple rounds in a single night many times before. One time, we’d stayed up as late as we could to see how many different places I could cum in a single evening (. We managed five. (A story that I’d be happy to tell some other time). But she’d never been able to go multiple rounds with her arse. She just couldn’t do it, no matter how much lube we used it was just too painful for her to enjoy. Tonight however, I realised, she was determined to pull it off and she had already made the necessary preparations.
My fingers toyed with the plug almost absent-mindedly as I imagined the ploughing that I was going to be giving her in just a few short hours. I began to pull and push it back and forth slowly, dragging it gently a few short centimetres out of her before plunging it back. I heard her slap her hand to her mouth to silence her breathy groans and her hand latch, bursa escort bayan vice-like onto my leg. I wrapped my fourth and fifth fingers around the base of the plug and let my middle and forefingers drift lower. I found what I was looking for instantly. Her slick, welcoming pussy lips unfurled to meet me. I pushed my fingers into her soft folds as I continued my onslaught on her butt with my other two fingers.
I was now double penetrating her, and I could tell from her fidgeting legs and convulsing walls that she was enjoying my ministrations as much as ever. It wasn’t long before I felt her attempts to reciprocate. Her slim hand, however, wasn’t reaching for the gap between my belt and my wait as I had expected. She was going for the belt itself. She was well practiced and, even in her compromised position it wasn’t long before she had my belt undone, and my trousers unzipped. Then, my cock was in the open air, and her soft, warm hand was wrapped tightly around my shaft. She wanked me slowly at first, in time to my own penetration of her arse and pussy. Then, as I sped up, she sped up too and soon she was wanking me at full speed as her juices flowed across my palm and fingers and she whimpered into her other hand.
She managed to pull her head around to mine, her quivering lips inches from my ear.
‘Please…’ she begged me, her voice shaking with pleasure, ‘please don’t stop using my arse.’
I shivered at her words and pushed my cock up against her hand. She took the hint and began to masturbate me faster as she continued talking in my ear.
‘My arsehole needs to be ready for you. I want you to be able to fuck it as hard as you want for as long as you want. I want you to fill it with as much cum as you’ve got.’
Her hand left my shaft for a second and my hips bucked as my cock searched for her warm embrace. I felt her hand slide between her legs, pushing my fingers out of her gushing pussy. For a half-second, I thought that she was taking over fingering her pussy so that I could focus on her arse, and she her clit but I immediately felt her hand return to my cock, now bathed in her own, sticky juices.
‘When you’re close to cumming,’ she whispered, ‘pull the plug out.’
She paused to bite her other hand to silence a moan.
‘I’ll sit on your lap and you can finish in my arse then put the plug back in when you’re done.’
That was enough for me. The image of her upturned arse already overflowing with cum as I fucked another load into her was seconds away from pushing me over the edge. I tugged the plug out of her and, true to her word, she immediately rose from her seat, took a second to position my cock beneath her, and sank. Immediately, I felt the white, hot tug of my orgasm propel itself through my shaft. With what little remained of my conscious mind, I redoubled my attacks on her pussy, now reaching unashamedly between her legs to thrust my fingers into her pussy and grind my palm against her clit. As spurt after spurt of my spunk filled her arse, I felt the familiar tightening and convulsing of her pussy crescendo and her orgasm crash over her. She writhed silently in my lap, her arse’s contractions squeezing the last drops of cum from my sensitive cock.
We sat there for a few moments as we returned to normal. On the screen, a naked, anorexically thin girl was smoking something in a pipe as she was painted by a class of young men. The audience in front of us was either rivetted or asleep. Our own performance had gone unheeded.
My girlfriend rose out of my lap, her arse resealing as she pulled herself off of my fading cock. She bent herself over the seat in front of her and reached back to flip her skirt up and spread her cheeks with her hands, a clear invitation to push her plug back in. I paused for a second, however, to commit the lewd sight to memory:
My girlfriend, her thighs slick with excitement, her pussy lips engorged and her arsehole splattered with cum. In front of her, a 30 foot high, nude model, commanding the attention of twenty-odd oblivious women. A single bead of cum emerging from my girlfriend’s arse and trickling down her leg.
I tucked my cock back into my boxers and fastened my jeans. I lined the plug up with her arse and pushed it slowly forward, sealing my cum inside her for the next few hours.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32