This is a continuing story, please see :

Emma’s stiletto seduction

Emma’s stiletto seduction Pt. 02

Emma’s stiletto seduction Pt. 03

Emma’s stiletto seduction Pt. 04

Comments welcome

Cum.

Men always, without question, like to see it. I blame porn. When a man cums into the mouth of a porn-star you cannot see it. The most intimate of all sex acts remains tantalisingly hidden to everyone but the protagonists. The receiver simply has no choice but to show the audience primary evidence of the orgasm or there is no climax to the story, no ending.

And yet in reality, David has just cum inside me. It’s not hidden from him, he felt it as the electricity ran though his veins. He has pulled his cock from my bum and witnessed the jizz contained within the condom. Watched as the latex was carefully removed from his penis, leaving it coated in sperm.

As I took David’s cock into my mouth my job now wasn’t too make it cum, but just to clean it. I made an ‘O’ with my lips and took it as far into my mouth as possible, and withdrew it, scraping the cum from the shaft and onto my tongue.

I looked up once more and revealed his cum on my tongue. And, just like the movies had instructed me, retained eye-contact as I swallowed it down.

David had decided to wait until we were both cleaned up and sharing a bottle of red wine. We were sitting on the sofa, my legs in his lap as they were on our very first date. It was difficult to believe it had only been 1 week ago.

“How things have moved on.” I thought.

He allowed his hands to wander absentmindedly to my stiletto heels, fondling them.

He knew he had a secret to tell me, one that he was not proud of keeping and certainly not proud of making. He didn’t want our relationship to stop, but the longer he kept it from me the more likely the news would bring this about.

He had contacted Howard, the voyeur who had watched us have sex the prior weekend. He knew that I needed to know. David took a sip of wine and caressed my high heeled shoes for what he thought could possibly be the last time.

“Emma, I need to tell you something.” David said quietly.

“You are not trans are you?” I laughed?

“Ha, no. No.” David replied, hoping that I wouldn’t continue making a joke of his revelation. “This is serious.”

“Okay, just tell me.” I said, removing the glass from my lips without drinking, a little more concerned.

“I’ve been texting Howard.”

“Do I know a Howard?” I thought to myself quickly, the man behind the name did not immediately come to mind.

“Who is Howard,” I enquired, “and why is it a problem?”

“He is the man who watched us have sex on Saturday.” David revealed.

I returned a puzzled look.

“I went back to the seafront to clear my head,” David said, ” I couldn’t sleep and he was, well, there.”

“And?”

“He gave me his number.”

“Why did he do that?” I asked.

“He wanted me to ask you if you would meet again,” David answered, “like last time in the shelter.”

“Oh he did, did he?” I responded. “And how do you feel about that?”

David did not immediately respond. He had been pondering that question for the past three days. He still did not know the definitive answer.

“And you have texted him?” I asked.

David nodded, suddenly aware he was being told off by a stern teacher. He knew what the next question would be, and that he would not like it one bit.

“Give me your phone.” I demanded.

Like someone who had been caught with his hand in the honey pot, David took out his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and unlocked it. He handed it to me, iMessage app open on the ‘Howard’ contact.

I scrolled upwards with my finger. There were dozens of messages.

“David, this isn’t just a text, this is a conversation!” I exclaimed, “Many conversations.”

He looked down to his feet, suddenly appalled as someone he liked, someone he lusted after, read his most intimate thoughts about her. It was like an explicit teenage diary had been exposed.

I read though the messages, they had started pleasant enough but had soon descended into crude discussions about me. What I looked like, what I liked doing, and what they wanted to do to me.

“Emma…” said David.

“Be quiet whilst I read though all of them.” I responded forcefully.

They were more than crude, they were intimate details of how they were going to turn me into their whore.

“David, what did you mean when you said that you wanted to ‘spit-roast the bitch’?” I asked, “That was sent at midnight.”

David wished that the cushions on the large green leather Chesterfield sofa would swallow him up. “What had I meant saying such things?” He asked himself.

But he know the answer. He knew that he had been turned on just typing them to another person. And that the idea of it would not leave his mind.

“It turned me on.” David admitted, looking sheepish, “I didn’t mean it. It was a fantasy.”

“So you don’t want to ‘spit-roast the bitch'” I porno izle said exaggeratedly, “with your new friend Howard?”

David paused.

“You appear to have promised him in these texts David,” I said sternly, “that you would ask me. That sounds like something more that a fantasy, like something you actually want.”

David paused.

“Yes.” Said David.

“At your house?”

“Yes.” Said David.

“Saturday?”

“Yes.” Said David.

“Then why don’t you text your friend Howard and arrange this?” I suggested.

It was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that David took his phone back from me. He wanted to act on his fantasy, it had been a few weeks of not saying ‘no’ to anything so far, but he know that he didn’t really want to share me. That he wanted me for himself.

He scrolled down to the last message from Howard, and started typing…

David: It’s David, I’ve asked Emma. Do you want to come over Saturday evening say 8pm?

Howard: No way! Where are you again?

David: I’m on the road where you first saw us, house number fourteen.

Howard: She is up for it then?

I took the phone from David, and responded for him.

Emma as David: We can spit-roast the bitch.

Howard: Destroy the slut!

Emma as David: Fill her with cum.

Howard: As she sucked you off last time, can I have her mouth?

I passed the phone back to David, and he caught up with the conversation. He tried to keep calm.

“Aren’t you going to respond to him David?” I asked?

David: You can have her mouth. (Typing)

He showed the message to me, and hit ‘send’.

Chapter 2: David’s story

After Emma hadn’t kicked me out for sending messages behind her back, I had tried my best to keep contact with her over the past few days to a minimum.

Chapter 3: Howard’s story

Chapter 4: My story

David could think of little else until 7.45pm Saturday. His texts to me had been trivial, “How are you?”, “Still ok for the weekend?” In a matter-of-fact way.

On Saturday morning we exchanged the message:

David: Howard Confirms. X

Emma: Emma Confirms. X

I always get excited before a meet, and although sex with one guy is fantastic, I have always felt that sex with two men is better. Like my body is designed for exactly this scenario. Two holes, two cocks had been my mantra in my late 20s.

This was going to be different. I had to remember that this threesome was going to be with someone that I liked, someone that I fancied and someone that I wanted to try and continue in some sort of sexual relationship afterwards.

Things had moved too quickly, “but its his own fault,” I told myself, ” it’s what he said he wanted.”

The male reality of a threesome is rarely what they fantasise about. They picture having two women service their cock with their mouths, greedily sharing it. Then bending them both over and taking them from behind whilst they kiss.

It is rarely this way outside of pornography. Every threesome I have been to, or heard of in real life was with an extra male rather than an extra female.

Men who want threesomes simply have to get used to being around another man, another cock, another load of sperm. If they can get over that hurdle then the hardest part is yet to come. Can you cope with watching your partner service another man, or watching them get fucked?

I arranged for an Uber to meet me at 7.25pm at a street not too far from my apartment. It was an inconvenience picking up my car the previous weekend, and had cost me the price of two cab journeys anyway. The drivers were usually silent, and discreet. I expect they had seen it all before.

I had decided that if David wanted me to act like a whore, then tonight I should dress like one. My usual style was sexy, yes, my admiration for leather skirts and boots was a kink but I always tried to do it in an elegant rather than cheap way.

But David didn’t want elegant Emma this evening, so he wasn’t going to get it.

Stockings were a must, but instead of nylons this evening they were going to get pleather. A cheap black plastic imitation that I rolled up to my thighs. They would be “good enough for one use only.” I thought to myself feeling the quality, “At £14.99 too.”

I clipped them into a wet look suspender belt, another arrival from the same internet store, but this time the manufacturing felt better. “Perhaps two uses.” I imagined. I used the same push-up bra that I had on Wednesday.

I kept my eyes coated in dark make up, too much mascara and ridiculously large false lashes that made me look like a doll. Lipstick was bright red, the cheap stuff. They didn’t deserve the high-end stuff tonight.

I painted my nails red, for a change, but with no base coat or top coat. It would be chipping from my fingers before I arrived.

I was tempted to wear thigh boots, but this occasion warranted something more slutty. I had a pair of what previous boyfriends had called “Stripper heels’. Black patent, 7 inch spiked türkçe alt yazılı porno heel with a 3 inch platform.

Ironically they were far more comfortable than my regular pair of 5 inch round-toe stiletto high heels, they just didn’t look it. They made me tall, and gangly and of course unsteady on my feel. They gave a man the appearance of power and control over you. I buckled the Mary-Jane style straps tightly.

I have always loved leather, and had not yet met with David without a black leather skirt of various styles and lengths. Tonight of all nights was to test out a PVC skirt. It was patent, black, clearly more plastic and harder than leather. It had a high waist which trimmed my small figure and rested so that the top of my pleather stockings were clearly visible.

I had decided that I wouldn’t bother with a blouse, showing off my budding tits in just a bra would be enough. Still I would travel in a long length jacket of a black material that would cover everything from the knee up. It pays to be somewhat inconspicuous when not driving yourself to a meet.

If I was just going to wear a bra, then a collar is a must. I select a 1 1/2 inch wide leather choker from the drawer of my dressing table. It had a silver steel loop at the front, apparently so that a master could clip a leash on to me, although I had never used this as such. There are some things that I was yet to try.

To say that David had been apprehensive about the meet was a disservice. He was almost physically sick at the prospect. It wasn’t about letting a complete stranger into his home, though that was somewhat of a wrench for him, but rather watching the stranger service his partner.

His porn view habits had changed over the last few days. Instead of his regular kink of watching goth women giving blowjobs, it had turned to goth women being gang-banged by several men. He hoped that it would relax him, that he could at least pick up some tips, but it only made him more nervous. Would he be even able to perform in-front of another man? “I just have to fuck Emma like I did on Wednesday,” he repeated to himself, “at least she will be there with me if not holding my hand.”

AT 7.45pm David opened the front door of number 14 and I stepped inside.

“He’s not here yet.” Said David, the nervousness causing his voice to tremble slightly. “Can I take your coat?”

I turned my back to him, and he slipped off my black woollen coat and my outfit was revealed to him for the first time.

“You, you don’t have a top on!” David exclaimed.

“I figured whores don’t need them.” I responded sarcastically.

Davids eyes were glued to me. He hadn’t really looked at my skin before and only then from behind. He admired my small build and the freckles on my chest above my bra.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“You don’t look you usual self,” David responded, “I prefer the leather look.”

He had noticed that my skirt and stockings were plastic, and that my lips and long fingernails were red. They stood out now when they usually blended in with my monochrome look.

“Well I’m not just pleasing you tonight.” Was my barbed riposte.

David knew he didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way I was coming back at him with smart comments, rebelling. He had enough of that from his wife, and liked the way I had previously always been submissive to him. He hadn’t really noticed it or appreciated just how much he liked it that way until it was taken away.

“Have you got condoms and lube?” I asked.

“Err no.” David said panicked. “I thought…”

“I have some in my bag.” I said frustratingly. “Here, take them”.

David took a foil packet string of 6 condoms and a new plastic bottle of water based lubricant. He paused.

“Why don’t you put them in the lounge.” I suggested, and he did so.

“This is exactly why I don’t meet virgins.” I told myself, exasperated at having to do everything and think of everything.

One of the best things about being submissive is that you don’t really have to do anything. The thinking, arranging and the logistics are all done by your partner. It’s much easier to follow commands. You can empty your mind, and just ‘be’.

I’d often thought that I was my most relaxed and contented when others would assume that I am at my most on edge and scared. When you are on your knees, and a man is pushing his cock into your mouth, hands on your head. “It’s almost like he is fucking every memory, every thought out of my mind.” I remembered, and you can be at perfect peace.

“Are you going to be ok?” David asked.

“Yes, are you?” I replied. “Just don’t say you are sorry”.

David turned the lights in the lounge down, and put on the welcoming porch lamp.

“Should I have made drinks?” Entered his mind, he was really starting to think that he was out of his depth.

I could see a figure approaching thought the frosted glass of the front door. It was 8pm precisely. I had often wondered why everyone who wants türk porno to fuck me is always so precise.

David stepped forward and pulled the snib back from the lock, and hesitated as he started to rotate the catch a quarter turn to the right…

With a reluctance he opened it and let the former stranger in.

All three of us remained silent, the two men standing shoulder to shoulder and looking back towards the hallway at me.

I could see the eyes of Howard widen, as he feasted on me for the second time. He was pleased with what he saw.

Howard was smaller thank David by about 3 or 4 inches. I would imagine they were of a similar age, but Howard retained more hair. He was stocky, and had the body of someone who used to work out but had simply forgotten to do so in the last 10 years. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a dark shirt and black jeans with leather Chelsea boots. However his face wasn’t as kind as Davids, who was still desperately trying to retain a forced smile.

I used the bannister and steps of the staircase to steady myself on my 7 inch heels as I lowered myself to the floor, kneeling on the cold terracotta coloured tiles. I placed my arms behind my back and folded them as best I could.

Howard stepped in-front of David towards me and unbuttoned his trousers. He wasn’t wearing shorts, and his erect cock spring out from his jeans. His cock was thicker than David’s, and about an inch shorter. HIs balls were smooth and had been trimmed or shaven recently. He was not about to wait for an official introduction.

He turned his head towards David, who was rooted to the spot, and turned his full attention back to me. Holding his cock in one hand, he grabbed my hair with the other, pushing my neck backwards and opening my mouth.

He pushed his cock hard into me, to the back of my throat and left it there, holding me down with his hand. I hadn’t taken a breath, and after a few seconds was starting to fight the lack of oxygen in my body. I tried to resist moving my arms from behind my back to push him off. I coughed, and finally he relented.

Briefly… allowing me to gasp a breath, and then pushed his cock into my mouth again, this time pushing my head with both hands.

Howard looked back at David again, who could not see what was happening, his view of me blocked by the stranger in the hall. From the gagging sounds he was listening to, and my gasps for air, his mind filled in the blanks.

This went on for approximately 3 minutes 24 seconds. David was counting.

Howard pulled out and I took a gulp of air, expectantly waiting for the cock to be replaced back into my mouth. But instead the stranger hooked his index finger into the loop on my collar, and tugged me upwards to my feet. I rocked backwards into my heels and stood in an ungainly fashion. The popping and scraping of my metal-tipped stiletto heels breaking the silence as they scrambled for friction against the smooth tile.

Howard dragged me towards the door to the dimly lit lounge. Passing David on the way, I grabbed his hand and he followed the two of us into the room, the sound of my stilettos now being muffled by the deep woollen carpet.

Howard, still with his hand on my collar dragged me to the floor so that I was on all fours now, dropping Davids hand and positioned like a dog. Again Howard put his cock in my mouth and rested it against my tonsils. It was hard, rock hard now with a large purple head. His balls were tight, not hanging long like Davids, and seemed to move without input.

Howard started to unbutton and remove his shirt, throwing it over the back of a chair. He cupped both his hands around my face, and proceeded to fuck it again.

I couldn’t help David now, he was on his own. This is what he wanted, seeing me with another man, but the reality verses fantasy can stir up very different emotions.

We had not spoken since Howard arrived, but now it was the strangers turn to break the silence.

“Are we going to roast her or not?”, he asked David. “For fucks sake fuck her or put the kettle on.”

At this point I was absolutely sure that David would have chosen the latter open if he possibly could. He was thinking that himself, wanting nothing more than the stranger to leave. But he knew he wouldn’t.

David took off his jacket and laid it carefully over the arm of a chair. he watched through the side of his eye as the stranger worked on my mouth. “It’s like he doesn’t care,” David thought, “She isn’t sucking him, he’s literally just fucking her mouth..”

David took off his shirt and turned his back whilst he unzipped his flies. He could hear the sound of me gagging now, the rhythmic wet-smack as Howards cock hit the back of my throat, the pace not abating. David took off his socks, but left his pants on, his cock was hard and yet he didn’t feel like he was enjoying himself.

Howard saw that David was finally ready, “what took him so long,” He thought to himself, “let’s do her.”

I felt Howard extract his cock from my mouth, a thick strand of saliva linked my chin to the bell end of his cockhead. His hand never left my hair and I felt it’s grip tightening.

He dragged me to my heels using my hair, I used his knees and legs as a ladder to assist. But he kept my head low, making me bend at 90 degrees and tit my head to one side.

Economic considerations required me to rent a room in an apartment rather than get a place of my own. After visiting many locations I finally found a well-kept middle-class home in a nice building, owned by a very intelligent –and not unattractive–woman in her fifties. I was twenty-three at the time. Mrs. Morfydd (there didn’t seem to be any Mr. Morfydd) was direct and a little commanding in her inquiries about me. But her expectations of my conduct were reasonable, and I was glad to have the terms of our arrangement made so clear from the very start. I would have kitchen privileges, would help with the house cleaning and maintenance, could come and go as I pleased, but might not have overnight guests.

I liked Mrs. M. at once. I have always been somewhat shy, particularly around women, so I was glad to have her take the lead. I soon moved in my effects, mostly books, and a routine developed.

In the course of our first weeks together she asked a few questions. Did I have a girlfriend? The answer was negative. Had I had a girlfriend? Yes, I replied, not entirely candidly. I had had crushes, and once a girl had, apparently on a whim, bedded me, but lost all interest in me after that first time, when I came quite prematurely. I was so overexcited by our several inconclusive dates that when she finally let me have her I didn’t last long. “You came already?” she asked, or perhaps announced, and pushed me off and put her jeans back on. That was that.

I had had a few encounters with guys. These did not, and were not meant to, develop into relationships. They took the edge off my horniness, and were better than abjectly courting uninterested girls. I generally took a submissive role.

I liked wearing panties. My dick isn’t very big, only five inches when hard. I am well proportioned: thin, five foot seven, and I like to think it’s all to scale, but in fact my cock is a good inch smaller than average. Panties fit me, I don’t really need briefs, and I like the patterns and materials better, Anyhow, men’s briefs are designed nowadays so they pretty much look like panties, except they have that little pouch which I don’t really need.

Mrs. M. came into my room one day to speak to porno me about some household matter, and I hadn’t put away all the neatly folded clothing I had brought up with me from the building’s laundry room. She only glanced at what were obviously a pile of girl’s panties, and said nothing. But from that moment she seemed warmer, more sympathetic towards me. In the coming weeks she stood closer to me when we talked, and spoke in deeper, more intimate tones. Sometimes she would touch my shoulder when explaining something, or hold my arm when we went together to the kitchen. One day she told me I was such a nice boy, she wondered that I didn’t have a girlfriend. She stroked my hair when she said this. I sighed.

“Do you like women?” she asked, her hands on my shoulders now. “I saw your panties, and I wondered. It’s OK with me, whatever your preferences are.”

“I like women,” I said. “They don’t seem to much like me.”

“Well I like boys,” said Mrs. M., “especially sensitive boys like you. I think it’s so sweet that you wear panties. But aren’t they a little tight on you?”

“No they fit fine. I’m, uh, not that big.”

“I like that. I don’t like men who are big, like animals. I like smooth thin boys like you. Boys like you can better please a woman who knows what she wants.”

Here she kissed me. My little thing instantly got terribly hard in my pants. I didn’t know what to do. I somehow didn’t dare to take hold of her. She reached behind me and stroked my ass with her hands, pressing me against her while she kissed me.

In her bedroom we undressed. She was wearing just her bra and panties–black lacy ones. I was wearing my pink floral panties. I felt like a flat-chested girl next to her. I was so excited! She reached down and felt my small stiff penis, and said,

“You know you won’t be able to get me wet with this little thing. Have you ever gone down on a woman?”

I said nothing.

She took off her panties and sat on the edge of the bed. I got on my knees before her.

He pussy was quite hairy. She had a magnificent bush and her labia were large.

“That’s what pussy really looks like, Damian,” she said. Have you ever looked at one up close türkçe alt yazılı porno like this?”

I shook my head no.

“Give it a kiss.”

I did, a slow kiss on the amazing wrinkly cunt lips. I smelled the faint thrilling scent of her piss.

She pulled my face in.

“Kiss it nicely. Kiss my pussy for me, show me how much you love it.”

I kissed her pussy up and down, slowly, adoringly..

“Now lick it for me. Lick it like a good boy.”

I licked and licked, slowly, and deeply. I tasted her cunt. I smelled the wonderful smell of a pussy as it gets wet.

“Now put your hands under my ass, so you care really pull your face into it.”

I did so, licking deeply, concentrating on her clit. Sometimes I thrust my tongue into her, using it like a wet thick penis, but mostly I rubbed her clit with my tongue, in a circular motion. The one girl I had slept with let me watch her masturbate once, to tease me. I imitated with my tongue what I’d seen her do with her finger.

“Good boy. You don’t need to touch your little thing. Just hold my ass and keep your face in my nice pussy.”

She was getting really wet. I could almost have cum in my panties just from licking her.

She pushed my face away.

“Now take off your panties, sissy.”

I obeyed her. I wasn’t sure about her calling me a sissy, but with my pink panties I couldn’t well argue.

“Let me see your little thing. It’s so cute and small! Let’s see what it feels like.”

She guided me in. The wet warm cunt felt so good I could scarcely believe it. Hotter, more thrilling than any blowjob!

“Now don’t cum without my permission. Guys with little dicks often cum prematurely. They get so excited. Are you in me yet?”

I had been all the way in for a while.

She held my ass and pulled me close.

“Hump me with your little dickie. You like how that feels, don’t you? Hump my pussy with your little panty-boy cock, but don’t cum.”

It was all I could do not to cum, feeling her hot pussy and being told how small my dick was.

“If you cum in my pussy before I’m ready, I will make you lick it up and finish me with türk porno your mouth. You don’t want to have to lick up your little mess, do you? On your knees licking sperm from a pussy you were too little to fuck? I don’t know, guys like you with tiny dicks usually can’t help themselves. Maybe you really do belong in panties, your dick is too small to be a man’s. You can’t really fuck, can you? Just rub your little clit against mine like a girl. If that makes you cum, you can finish me like a girl, with your mouth. Maybe you’d like that better.”

I couldn’t help myself. I came. My little stiffy squirted helplessly in her hot cunt.

“You came, you little sissy, didn’t you?”

I nodded my head in shame.

“Get out, get out,” she said pushing me off her.

“Now clean me.”

She pushed my face into her cunt, dripping a little with my sperm. I lapped it, to keep it from getting onto the bed sheets.

“Now finish me with that talented tongue of yours. Lick me like a girl.”

I was already hard again from her words and the way she forced me to do what she wanted. I licked into her cunt eagerly, tasting the last of my salty liquid, and then it was nothing by the taste of wet pussy.

I went to work on her clit, rubbing it with my tongue in a circular motion, from time to time thickening my tongue to penetrate her. She held me by the back of the head, keeping my face in place, pushing it into her. Finally she started bucking and her cunt contracted and stayed tight as she came in my mouth.

When she was done fucking my face she put her palm to my forehead and pushed me off.

“Good girl.

“That worked out very well for me, and I think you liked it too.”

I nodded. It had been the most exciting sexual experience of my life.

“And don’t worry about your little thing. I don’t really like hung men, I don’t enjoy being gouged by a big cock. Some women do — masochistic women if you ask me. I prefer a guy with a little inadequate dick like yours. A dick I can just ignore. And I really love being licked. You have a very good tongue.”

She paused to reflect.

“I don’t really like sucking a cock. I hope that isn’t important for you, because I don’t do it. I don’t let men cum in my mouth. But you don’t really care about that do you?”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t think so., You’d rather be the one on your knees, wouldn’t you?”

I nodded, embarrassed but excited.

“Oh we are going to get along very well indeed.”

Hi all! This is my first submission to LitErotica, and a fairly unpolished piece. I just wanted to test the waters and see if anyone was interested in this, or wanted to see more. Not a lot of explicit content, but if interest serves, there will be more later. Comments appreciated, and thanks for reading!

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Sara sat totally, perfectly still in the leather wingback chair positioned in the corner of the waiting room. The silence of the waiting room was absolute, save for the occasional click-clack of a keyboard from behind the tall reception desk, and even that only served to accentuate how heavy the quiet sat upon her. Sara stared intensely at the sealed manilla envelope on her lap. Inside was a small stack of papers, mostly insurance and medical forms, but which also included a couple two pages with some rather probing, personal questions. The former she had filled out the day her doctor had handed them to her. She was very efficient that way. The latter, however, she had put off until right before going to bed the night before. She didn’t really want to answer those questions, and in fact she had been told that she didn’t have to, but they were the reason she was here in the first place. So instead, she had allowed them to torment her for the past two weeks, ever since her doctor had made an appointment for her. The business card she had been handed sat heavily in the breast pocket of her jacket since then as well.

Doctor Laura Stringer, MD, PHD

Then below that;

Sex therapist – Individuals, couples, and group therapy;

and then the address and phone number below that. Sara was endlessly grateful, if a bit taken back initially, that her doctor was kind and thoughtful enough to set up this optional appointment for her. Even more grateful that it was covered by her insurance. Doctor Stringer was an old friend, she told Sara, and she’d seen more than a few patients see great improvement with her help. So she had screwed up her courage, and managed to drag herself downtown to this rather comfortable, cheery office building.

“Ms. Colwitt?” The silence was broken by the receptionist, a pretty, if somewhat plain redhead. “Laura is ready to see you, if you’re ready.”

Sara took a steadying breath and gave a small thank-you, before getting out of the comfortable chair. So it was Laura, not Dr. Stringer. That aside, she still wasn’t sure she was ready. She steeled herself and slowly crossed the waiting room on unsteady feet. The door to the office was dark and heavy, balanced by the bright, shining brass knob. She knocked twice, so softly she thought she might not be heard.

“Come in, please,” came a gentle voice from behind the door. It was a woman’s voice, warm and soothing, but deep, almost motherly. Sara pushed the door open on recently oiled hinges. The office beyond was large and surprisingly inviting, well-aged leather furniture, well-loved books on expansive shelves, and light just a shade dimmer and more yellow than the waiting room. Dr. Stringer, or Laura, Sara mentally corrected, sat behind a large ornate wooden desk. She stood as Sara closed the door behind herself with a quiet click.

Sara’s first thought was that Laura was beautiful, almost take-your-breath-away beautiful, if she had swung that way. Her next thought was that she was indeed beautiful, but not in a way that felt intimidating. Laura was tall, clearing six feet by Sara’s guess, and sublimely proportioned, a pronounced hourglass figure with wide child-bearing hips, a slim waist, and broad, strong shoulders. She was dressed smartly, a slim-fitting grey blazer with a white shirt underneath, and a black skirt cut a hand’s-breadth above the knee, with long, well-muscled and toned creamy white legs. She smiled, and Sara returned a small, shy smile she didn’t think she had in her.

“Hi Sara, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, her voice exuding a sincere warmth and wisdom. Laura crossed the room and approached with her hand outstretched. Up close, Laura seemed even taller than Sara had expected, at least six-two. She was also older than Sara had expected, perhaps 40, or a young 50. Her face was mostly smooth, with some crinkling of the skin at the outside of her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines, her mother had called them, and said they were a sign of joy and a good personality. Her blonde hair was streaked with strands of grey, though by Sara’s view they added dignity and maturity, rather than just age. She reached out and clasped Laura’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Doctor Stringer,” she said quietly, trying not to stammer. Her heart was racing. She was really here. To talk about sex. With a stranger.

“Or Laura,” she responded, “whatever you like. Can I take this off your hands?” she asked, gesturing to the manilla folder Sara clasped tightly. Sara handed it to her stiffly and without response. Laura smiled, and Sara saw those creases deepen. Perhaps her mother was right. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Sara moved towards the large leather couch next to the door and sat to one side, nestling herself in the corner porno izle between the armrest and the back. Laura grabbed her wheeling desk chair and rolled it in front of her desk directly across from Sara and sat, manilla folder in hand. She crossed one long, strong leg over the other.

“So, Sara, would you like to tell me why you’ve come here today?”

Not really, was Sara’s gut-response, but she force her nerves down, a little. “Well my doctor called to set up the appointment, she should have told you-“

Laura cut her off with a gently raised hand. “I talked to your doctor, but I’d like to hear about it from your perspective.” She opened the manilla folder and thumbed through the tops of the pages, questing. She pulled out half of one and glanced over it. Sara recognized the page, the mandatory STI check her doctor had performed before making the appointment. She tested negative, of course. She felt herself blush, though Laura seemed unphased.

“Well you’ve got my questionnaire there, if you look at that-“

Again, Laura cut her off with a raised hand, partnered with a gentle smile. “I’ll look at most of this later,” she said, replacing the STI test results, “I want to hear from you, Sara. I know this is very uncomfortable right now, but I can only try to help you if you communicate with me directly, okay?”

Sara thought about this and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay.” she said, feeling somewhat chastened. “I’m here… because sex is- um, it scares me. I’ve never had a really good experience, I’m scared to be naked in front of people, and there’s so much pressure.” She let it pour out in a surprisingly cathartic stream.

“Sounds like an anxiety issue. Your doctor has prescribed you medication in the past, yes?”

Anxiety, yeah, no kidding, Sara thought, but held her tongue on that. “Yeah, five different brands, different dosages… they never did me any good. It’s not like it bothers me in other parts of my life, just this one…” She felt a little defensive, as though Laura didn’t believe her.

Almost on cue, Laura smiled and responded, “I believe you, Sara, I just don’t have all my notes in front of me right now. Just humour me for a moment and say it is an anxiety disorder.” Sara tried to agree with her for the moment. “Anxiety manifests in all kinds of ways. If it causes distress in one particular area, it’s called fixation. I know you’ve heard this before, I’m just thinking out loud here. If traditional psychiatry and psychopharmacology haven’t treated the root cause of the issue, then I think it’s time we look at learning how to cope.”

“Just cope?” Sara said, sounding a little more disappointed than she had intended.

“Sometimes it’s just enough to get over the hump of the anxiety itself, and sometimes it’s all you can do. If it is all you can do, then at least it should help you achieve some peace in the affected area. Does that make sense?”

Sara supposed it did. She nodded a little.

Laura unfolded, planting both strong, toned legs firmly on the ground. She opened the top of the manilla folder and pulled out a yellow form. Sara knew what that one was too. The one she was most scared of sharing. The carbon copy of her medical information her doctor had provided. Laura nodded to herself, then replaced the sheet. Sara braced herself for a question she was certain was coming.

Except, it didn’t. “Sara, did your doctor explain to you what makes me different from a regular psychiatrist?”

Sara nodded. “She said you were a sex therapist, and a regular psychiatrist, and uh…” Laura raised one finely-manicured eyebrow ever so slightly, urging her to continue, “and you’re allowed to, um… have… contact. With you patients.”

“That’s right. I’m part of a specially-qualified program researching sexual dysfunction and sex therapy.” She paused, then continued, “I am allowed to have sexual contact with my patients.” Sara felt herself go red in the face, but didn’t respond. Laura continued anyways, “If I think it’s necessary. But in the same way that a good psychiatrist won’t prescribe medication unless they think it’s very necessary, I tend to use that as another tool in my belt, and only if I think it’s the best way to help a patient progress.”

“Okay.” Sara said dumbly. She didn’t know what else to say. Laura continued to explain a little more about the program, mostly information her doctor had already given her, but Sara was far away. It was so surreal, being so near to someone who saw sex as a real possibility between the two of them, and for her to be returning the thoughts, however nervous it made her.

Laura ended the legal and scientific jargon, following up with a question, “I’m going to ask you a personal question, if you’re ready.” Sara nodded. “How often do you masturbate?”

The question was a punch in the face, knocking her out of the mental logic loops she was doing around her presence in a sex therapist’s office, and her sex therapist being so darn pretty. She felt her face flush again, but Laura gave no reaction. “Uhh, not a lot.”

“Once türkçe alt yazılı porno a week?”

“No.”

“Two weeks?”

“No.”

“Once a month?”

That didn’t sound quite right to Sara either, and in fact she couldn’t recall the last time she had masturbated. She wanted to end the line of questioning though, and felt a little pathetic in Laura’s eyes for taking this long to pin it down. “Yeah, about,” she replied.

Laura nodded thoughtfully, then stood up from her chair. The thought ran through Sara’s head that she was about to get jumped by this tall, strong woman, but instead she circled around behind her desk. “We’re almost out of time today, so I’ve got something for you to take home. Homework, you could call it,” she added with a wink, then bent over to reach something behind her desk, up against the wall. Only then did Sara notice Laura’s rather large, round ass, now stretching out her skirt quite neatly, and how the hem would rise slowly, inch by inch, revealing milky white thighs that were as thick and strong as the rest of her body, widening up beautifully towards-

Sara shook her head, scattering the thoughts to the ether, and turned, red-faced, to the opposite wall. Laura’s degrees hung next to a beautiful watercolor print of lilies. They were numerous, taking up ten square feet of wallspace. She couldn’t make them out from where she sat, but from what she could see, Laura had been schooled at prestigious universities all over the country. From the corner of her eye, she saw Laura had finally stood back up, turning to face her. She held a small box, wrapped in plain white paper. Walking back around the desk, she handed it to Sara. It was heavier than she had expected.

“I’d like you to do your best to make use of this. If you’ll come back next week, we can discuss it, and proceed as we see fit. If you don’t use it, or if you don’t want to come back, then you can mail it back to my office, or dispose of it.”

Sara took this as a cue to exit, and stood, opening her mouth to thank Laura for seeing her, but couldn’t quite find the words, instead flapping her mouth open and closed like a goldfish. Laura took Sara’s limp free hand from her side and clasped it in both of hers. Her hands were soft and warm. “It was very nice to meet you,” she said with a sincerity that surprised Sara, “I really hope you’ll come back next week. You can go out the way you came, or there’s a private exit back in the corner. The door on the right.”

Sara looked around, only now realizing that there were two other doors in the office, camouflaged by their being painted the same colour as the walls. She nodded dumbly and murmured a thank-you, then headed for the private exit, catching the delicate scent of Laura’s perfume, spring flowers or something equally bright and cheerful. She opened the door and found herself in a hospital-white hallway of concrete, a staircase at one end leading down. She followed it, footsteps echoing loudly, to a door with a push bar. Once opened, she was assaulted by the noise of the street outside. She had emerged on the street behind the office building she had entered. Relieve at the option of an easy exit, she hurried down the street, the box she had been given nestled in her arms, to find her car and head home.

________________

Sara left the box sitting on the kitchen counter for three days before she even looked at it again. Even then, she only moved it out of the way of some spilled coffee, and replaced it on the nightstand next to her bed. She didn’t want to open the box. She didn’t even really want to think about what she thought was probably in the box. As she lay in bed that night, she stared at its unassuming, plain white paper wrapping, and resolved to open it ‘sometime soon’. She didn’t want Laura to think she wasn’t taking this seriously. Her last thoughts before falling asleep that night were of Laura, bent over in her tight skirt.

She opened her eyes. She felt sick, and the world felt wrong. She sat up in bed and her room spun before her eyes, causing her stomach to spin with it. Sara heard a thump and a muffled voice from beyond her close bedroom door. Panicked, she tried to leap out of bed, to run out of her bedroom and past whoever had invaded her home, and across the hall to a neighbour’s home, or down the street to the police station. But her limbs wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t follow her commands no matter how much she mentally screamed at herself to do something, anything. Had she been drugged? She couldn’t remember anything unusual about her evening routine. The door swung open silently. Terrified, she could only stare into the blackness beyond.

Out of the darkness, though, stepped Laura. The fear subsided a little and was replaced with confusion, though fear still ran river-like beneath. She tried to speak, to question her sex therapist’s presence at her house in the middle of the night, but her tongue tangled itself up in her mouth. Slowly, Laura walked over to the side of the bed.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, türk porno Sara,” she said in the same soft, mothering tone she had presented at their appointment, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She sat down on the bed next to Sara and began to rub her thigh with one delicate, graceful hand. Sara could only watch, unable to act. Laura leaned in towards her, and she caught the scent of her perfume.

“Let me make it better…” the beautiful doctor said, pursing her lips.

Sara opened her eyes again. Sunlight filtered in through the privacy shade on the windows. The air was a hair too warm, and she felt like she hadn’t slept at all.

“A dream…” she said with vocal cords that croaked, “what the fuck.”

She looked over at the clock across the room. 7:26am. Her day off. She preferred to sleep in on days like this. Sighing, she rolled over, intending to fall asleep for at least another hour. Instead, she almost rolled into her nightstand, coming face to face with the box she had been given. She stared at it for a long moment, contemplating her session with Laura, contemplating how she had made no real plans to open the box yet. Contemplating her dream about her sex therapist. It was rare that she had dreams she could remember at all. Rare still if she could make any sense of them. But this was the rarest dream of all for Sara. An arousing dream. She realized that the air in the room really wasn’t all that warm once she kicked the covers back a little. She was radiating heat, and feeling a little flush.

Slowly, she reached out for the box, felt its smooth-yet-textured surface under her fingers, and pulled it towards her. She sat up in bed, the box held between her knees and her chest. Finding a seam in the wrapping, she pulled it apart, trying not to make too much of a mess with the wrapping paper. Beneath the paper was a smooth, black, matte-finish container. She found a seam on one side and stuck a fingernail into it. She paused, considering whether she wanted to get into this now, ultimately deciding she had come too far not to at least see the contents. Before she could, however, a slip of paper slid from the back of the box onto the bed next to her. She picked up the note, catching the tiniest whiff of Laura’s perfume. A hand-written note read;

Dear Sara,

I’m glad you’ve opened this. It may not seem like much, but from everything your doctor has told me, getting this far on your own is a step in the right direction. There’s a small assortment of products in here, use whatever you feel most comfortable with, though I would recommend pushing a little bit outside of your comfort zone. I hope to see you again soon.

Laura

Sara dropped the note back on the bed where it had first fallen. She felt somehow more driven to actually open the box after reading the note.

Don’t want to disappoint Laura, she thought, slipping her nail back into the seam and prying the box opened. Sara felt the blood rush to her face. Inside the box was a foam insert, the kind assassins in movies always had their guns stored in, to display all the individual parts. Instead of a pistol, magazine, and silencer however, Sara found on one side of the box a slim tube with a button on the side that she took to be a vibrator, and something that looked a little like the wine stopper she had in her kitchen utensil drawer, only larger and pink. On the other side of the interior was a string of beads with a loop at one end, and next to it…

A fleshlight.

She only knew what it was because she had found one just like it in her older cousin’s sock drawer when she was little. She remembered how embarrassed and angry he was when she presented it, and how embarrassed she was when she looked it up on the internet later. Only now did she appreciate that her parents were too technologically inept back then to be able to check her browser history.

Sara pulled out the vibrator. It was silicone, and smooth to the touch. Simple and minimalistic, but functional, she figured. The wine stopper and the beads she left in their inserts. If she was going to do this, she didn’t want to get too crazy right off the bat. Besides, she had to figure out exactly what they were for, first. She spun the vibrator in her hand, surprised at herself for actually thinking about how best to use it, when she felt the heat from down below. She move the box from her lap to the bed beside her, and looked down. There, beneath the thin sheet of her bed, was a bulge she had never really gotten used to seeing. She pulled the sheet down, exposing her whole body down to her knees to the cool bedroom air. There it was, stuffed into her cute pink and blue panties, the ever-present guest that she blamed for holding back her romantic life for years. Sara’s penis was growing stiff at the thought of using the toys Laura had given her.

She had had morning wood before, plenty of times. She had been a teenager at one point, after all, but never before had it been felt quite so insistent. Her early-morning riser had always been manageable before. It was normally still mostly soft, and would disappear within about 30 seconds of waking up, before it would even properly register. This morning, though, it was decidedly firm, and growing harder by the minute. She could feel it shifting and growing under the smooth fabric of her panties, like a snake uncoiling after winter’s hibernation.

Traduction d’une histoire de Jessiebnh.

Ce récit est une fiction contenant chantage, contraintes et humiliations. Ne continuez pas à lire si vous n’aimez pas.

******

Glen me lança un regard menaçant et il me poussa vers le canapé. Puis il me dit :

– Mes parents vont revenir de l’église dans moins d’une heure alors je te suggère de m’écouter si tu veux que les photos soient supprimées du site. Tu devrais faire ce que je te dis.

Soudainement, je réalisai pourquoi j’étais là : Les photos!

– Toutes les photos? Répondis-je.

– Pourquoi toutes les photos? Demanda Glen, un peu perplexe.

– le vin et la bière! Lâchai-je sans réfléchir.

– Ah oui l’alcool! La petite salope de professeur a acheté de la bière et du vin pour ses étudiants. Ce n’est pas bien hein?

Un sourire tordu apparut sur le visage du garçon.

– Elles doivent toutes être supprimées! Demandai-je sans vouloir poursuivre la discussion sur le sujet.

– D’accord! Toutes! Mais es-tu prête à faire tout ce que je te dis?

Glen se léchait les lèvres et me regardait d’un air méchant.

– Comment puis-je savoir si je peux te faire confiance? Répondis-je tout en sachant qu’il avait toutes les cartes en main.

– Je crois que tu n’as pas le choix de toute façon. Mais un marché est un marché, tu fais ce que je veux et je fais ce que tu veux, c’est gagnant-gagnant.

– Qu’est-ce que je dois faire?

Le regard de Glen me transperçait et me donnait des frissons. Il sourit vicieusement et me dit d’une voix très calme tout en s’approchant de moi :

– Tu dois devenir ma salope, prête à être utilisée comme je le souhaite.

Sans vraiment réfléchir, je laissai échapper :

– Pendant combien de temps?

– Un mois. Trente jours à partir d’aujourd’hui si tu es libre. Ensuite les photos seront détruites et nous continuerons nos vies comme si rien ne s’était passé.

– Non je ne suis pas d’accord. Je veux que les photos soient retirées du site MAINTENANT! Répondis-je courageusement.

Glen commença à jouer avec mes cheveux et à me caresser le visage. J’essayai de rester immobile mais ses yeux devinrent captivants. Je ne pouvais plus détourner mon regard.

– Pas türkçe alt yazılı porno de problème! Je peux désactiver le lien du barbecue et de la petite fête d’hier. Seuls toi et moi sommes au courant. Lorsque le mois sera écoulé, les photos seront détruites…A moins que tu ne veuilles des souvenirs de moi.

Maintenant Glen tenait mon menton et me regardait dans les yeux. J’étais captivée. Je n’avais jamais connu un homme aussi fort et autoritaire.

– Ok, que veux-tu? Murmurai-je.

Glen me regarda. Je savais qu’il jouait avec moi. Il ressemblait à un enfant le matin de Noël. Son excitation commençait à se propager.

– Montre-moi tes seins!

Sans que je ne sache vraiment pourquoi, cette demande obscène me sembla sans gravité, voire raisonnable. Je remontai mon haut de survêtement et ma poitrine fut exposée. Il sourit et regarda sa récompense. Je me rendis compte que mon corps avait un peu de pouvoir sur cet homme fort et agressif, alors qu’il se tenait devant moi, dévorant mes seins du regard.

Puis, Glen regarda sa montre et parut impatient. Il me dit :

– Ok, voici le marché! Tu te déshabilles, tu t’assois sur le canapé et tu te branles la chatte jusqu’à ce que tu jouisses. Je te laisse vingt minutes pour le faire. Ensuite tu te rhabilles et tu pars. Si tu y arrives, je retirerai immédiatement le lien. Si ce n’est pas le cas il restera jusqu’à ce que tu réussisses une tâche que je te donnerai par la suite. C’est facile pour une salope comme toi.

Je commençai à paniquer. Je n’avais jamais d’orgasme quand Mike me faisait l’amour. Et si je n’arrivais pas à jouir? Comme s’il lisait dans mes pensées, Glen ajouta :

– Ah oui, n’essaie pas de faire semblant. Je le verrai si tu simules. Et si tu te moques de moi, je supprimerai le mot de passe au lien d’enlever le lien.

Je suis resté immobile à le regarder. A ce stade mon esprit était engourdi. Glen me lança un regard agacé et montra sa montre en disant :

– Tu n’as plus que 18 minutes maintenant. Tu as ton avenir entre tes mains… Ou plutôt entre tes doigts devrais-je dire!

Il s’assit sur la chaise juste en face du canapé. Immédiatement je commençai türk porno à retirer mon survêtement. J’étais mortifiée d’être venue chez lui sans sous-vêtements. A quoi pensais-je? Je suis sûre que mon visage était aussi rouge que de la betterave. J’enlevai maladroitement mon pantalon et je me laissai tomber sur le canapé.

Soudain, je réalisai que je devais me masturber devant ce garçon. Etre nue était moins gênant par rapport à ça. Je ne m’étais jamais masturbée devant mon mari. Je fus remplie de honte. Je gardai mes jambes serrées et je mis ma main sur mon vagin.

– Non salope! pas comme ça!

Glen se leva de sa chaise et attrapa mes jambes. Il mit mes pieds sur le canapé en m’ouvrant les cuisses et exposant ainsi mon sexe.

– Comme ça! Dit le garçon avec un petit rire.

Il retourna à sa chaise et fixa ma chatte qui s’était humidifiée.

Je fermai les yeux et je commençai à me caresser. J’étais gênée de voir à quel point je mouillais et comment j’étais excitée devant ce jeune garçon dominant. Je commençai à sentir le plaisir monter dans mon bassin ainsi que l’humidité qui s’échappait de ma chatte. Mes doigts titillaient légèrement mon clitoris alors que mon autre main écartait mes petites lèvres pour ajouter à mon plaisir. Je réalisai que je montrai à ce jeune gars mon intimité et comment je me touchais. Cette pensée accéléra mes doigts mais c’était plus frénétique que plaisant. Je voulais jouir oui, mais je le voulais surtout pour que Glen enlève les photos qui me discréditeraient aux yeux de nos amis et de nos voisins. Mais je me suis bientôt sentie bloquée. Je ressentais du plaisir mais je ne pouvais faire plus.

Quand j’ouvris les yeux, je vis que Glen était debout. Il avait ouvert sa braguette et sortit sa queue. Sans aucune raison ça m’excita encore plus que s’il avait été complétement nu. Sa bite semblait plus imposante que sur la photo que j’avais regardé ce matin. Le gland était rouge et d’apparence moyenne. Il caressait lentement son membre en me regardant me tripoter la chatte.

Je ne pus détacher mes yeux de ce joli membre. A ce moment, cette bite était la seule au monde. Je commençai à fourrer trois doigts à l’intérieur porn de mon vagin tandis que je continuai à frotter énergiquement mon clitoris.

C’est alors que je sentis dans mon ventre comme une tension immense. C’était incroyable, il fallait que je me libère de cette tension. J’entendis les chuintements de mes doigts pendant que je les poussais plus profondément à l’intérieur de mon vagin. La main de Glen bougeait sur sa bite au rythme de mes doigts. Mon autre main devint floue sur mon clitoris.

C’est alors que je l’ai senti. Mon Dieu, quelle sensation! Mes jambes se levèrent et je les écartai le plus largement possible. Je ne réfléchis même pas à la position dans laquelle j’étais, je voulais juste être libérée. Je sentis un début de picotement dans mes orteils qui remonta directement jusque dans ma chatte. Je criai quand je jouis, en jetant toutes sortes de gros mots comme « putain » ou « merde ». Je fus choquée quand je compris à quel point j’étais obscène. Mes yeux étaient vitreux et je voyais flou la grosse bite à seulement quelques centimètres de moi.

Puis j’entendis Glen gémir et une décharge de sperme s’échappa de sa queue et m’éclaboussa. Mon orgasme s’intensifia quand son sperme chaud et gluant frappa mes seins. Mon corps eut des convulsions et pendant quelques secondes je ne sus où j’étais.

Glen tomba à genoux et commença à me lécher la chatte. Je ressentis plusieurs petites répliques de mon orgasme alors qu’il s’activait. J’étais au Paradis. Je n’avais jamais eu dans toute ma vie une telle expérience, un tel orgasme. Finalement j’en eus assez. Je berçai la tête de Glen entre mes mains et nous nous regardâmes dans les yeux.

– Ai-je réussi? Demandai-je dans un chuchotement rauque.

– Avec brio salope! Répondit Glen en se relevant.

Il attrapa mon bas et mon haut de survêtement et il me les jeta alors que j’étais affalée comme une poupée de chiffon sur le canapé.

– Habille toi et va-t’en! Commanda-t-il.

– Mais je suis toute…

Glen me coupa :

– Je viens de te marquer. Tu vas ramener mon sperme chez toi pour montrer que tu es maintenant ma salope mariée vide-couilles.

Pendant que je m’habillai, je demandai docilement à Glen pour les photos. Il m’assura qu’il effacerait le lien dès que je sortirai de chez lui.

Tout d’un coup, je craignis que ses parents arrivent et me voient sortir de leur maison couverte de sperme. Alors je me précipitai dans ma voiture et je rentrai chez moi en pensant aux prochains vingt-neuf jours.

A suivre…

Hi all! This is my first submission to LitErotica, and a fairly unpolished piece. I just wanted to test the waters and see if anyone was interested in this, or wanted to see more. Not a lot of explicit content, but if interest serves, there will be more later. Comments appreciated, and thanks for reading!

________________

Sara sat totally, perfectly still in the leather wingback chair positioned in the corner of the waiting room. The silence of the waiting room was absolute, save for the occasional click-clack of a keyboard from behind the tall reception desk, and even that only served to accentuate how heavy the quiet sat upon her. Sara stared intensely at the sealed manilla envelope on her lap. Inside was a small stack of papers, mostly insurance and medical forms, but which also included a couple two pages with some rather probing, personal questions. The former she had filled out the day her doctor had handed them to her. She was very efficient that way. The latter, however, she had put off until right before going to bed the night before. She didn’t really want to answer those questions, and in fact she had been told that she didn’t have to, but they were the reason she was here in the first place. So instead, she had allowed them to torment her for the past two weeks, ever since her doctor had made an appointment for her. The business card she had been handed sat heavily in the breast pocket of her jacket since then as well.

Doctor Laura Stringer, MD, PHD

Then below that;

Sex therapist – Individuals, couples, and group therapy;

and then the address and phone number below that. Sara was endlessly grateful, if a bit taken back initially, that her doctor was kind and thoughtful enough to set up this optional appointment for her. Even more grateful that it was covered by her insurance. Doctor Stringer was an old friend, she told Sara, and she’d seen more than a few patients see great improvement with her help. So she had screwed up her courage, and managed to drag herself downtown to this rather comfortable, cheery office building.

“Ms. Colwitt?” The silence was broken by the receptionist, a pretty, if somewhat plain redhead. “Laura is ready to see you, if you’re ready.”

Sara took a steadying breath and gave a small thank-you, before getting out of the comfortable chair. So it was Laura, not Dr. Stringer. That aside, she still wasn’t sure she was ready. She steeled herself and slowly crossed the waiting room on unsteady feet. The door to the office was dark and heavy, balanced by the bright, shining brass knob. She knocked twice, so softly she thought she might not be heard.

“Come in, please,” came a gentle voice from behind the door. It was a woman’s voice, warm and soothing, but deep, almost motherly. Sara pushed the door open on recently oiled hinges. The office beyond was large and surprisingly inviting, well-aged leather furniture, well-loved books on expansive shelves, and light just a shade dimmer and more yellow than the waiting room. Dr. Stringer, or Laura, Sara mentally corrected, sat behind a large ornate wooden desk. She stood as Sara closed the door behind herself with a quiet click.

Sara’s first thought was that Laura was beautiful, almost take-your-breath-away beautiful, if she had swung that way. Her next thought was that she was indeed beautiful, but not in a way that felt intimidating. Laura was tall, clearing six feet by Sara’s guess, and sublimely proportioned, a pronounced hourglass figure with wide child-bearing hips, a slim waist, and broad, strong shoulders. She was dressed smartly, a slim-fitting grey blazer with a white shirt underneath, and a black skirt cut a hand’s-breadth above the knee, with long, well-muscled and toned creamy white legs. She smiled, and Sara returned a small, shy smile she didn’t think she had in her.

“Hi Sara, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, her voice exuding a sincere warmth and wisdom. Laura crossed the room and approached with her hand outstretched. Up close, Laura seemed even taller than Sara had expected, at least six-two. She was also older than Sara had expected, perhaps 40, or a young 50. Her face was mostly smooth, with some crinkling of the skin at the outside of her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines, her mother had called them, and said they were a sign of joy and a good personality. Her blonde hair was streaked with strands of grey, though by Sara’s view they added dignity and maturity, rather than just age. She reached out and clasped Laura’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Doctor Stringer,” she said quietly, trying not to stammer. Her heart was racing. She was really here. To talk about sex. With a stranger.

“Or Laura,” she responded, “whatever you like. Can I take this off your hands?” she asked, gesturing to the manilla folder Sara clasped tightly. Sara handed it to her stiffly and without response. Laura smiled, and Sara saw those creases deepen. Perhaps her mother was right. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Sara moved towards the large leather couch next to the door and sat to one side, nestling herself in the corner porno izle between the armrest and the back. Laura grabbed her wheeling desk chair and rolled it in front of her desk directly across from Sara and sat, manilla folder in hand. She crossed one long, strong leg over the other.

“So, Sara, would you like to tell me why you’ve come here today?”

Not really, was Sara’s gut-response, but she force her nerves down, a little. “Well my doctor called to set up the appointment, she should have told you-“

Laura cut her off with a gently raised hand. “I talked to your doctor, but I’d like to hear about it from your perspective.” She opened the manilla folder and thumbed through the tops of the pages, questing. She pulled out half of one and glanced over it. Sara recognized the page, the mandatory STI check her doctor had performed before making the appointment. She tested negative, of course. She felt herself blush, though Laura seemed unphased.

“Well you’ve got my questionnaire there, if you look at that-“

Again, Laura cut her off with a raised hand, partnered with a gentle smile. “I’ll look at most of this later,” she said, replacing the STI test results, “I want to hear from you, Sara. I know this is very uncomfortable right now, but I can only try to help you if you communicate with me directly, okay?”

Sara thought about this and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay.” she said, feeling somewhat chastened. “I’m here… because sex is- um, it scares me. I’ve never had a really good experience, I’m scared to be naked in front of people, and there’s so much pressure.” She let it pour out in a surprisingly cathartic stream.

“Sounds like an anxiety issue. Your doctor has prescribed you medication in the past, yes?”

Anxiety, yeah, no kidding, Sara thought, but held her tongue on that. “Yeah, five different brands, different dosages… they never did me any good. It’s not like it bothers me in other parts of my life, just this one…” She felt a little defensive, as though Laura didn’t believe her.

Almost on cue, Laura smiled and responded, “I believe you, Sara, I just don’t have all my notes in front of me right now. Just humour me for a moment and say it is an anxiety disorder.” Sara tried to agree with her for the moment. “Anxiety manifests in all kinds of ways. If it causes distress in one particular area, it’s called fixation. I know you’ve heard this before, I’m just thinking out loud here. If traditional psychiatry and psychopharmacology haven’t treated the root cause of the issue, then I think it’s time we look at learning how to cope.”

“Just cope?” Sara said, sounding a little more disappointed than she had intended.

“Sometimes it’s just enough to get over the hump of the anxiety itself, and sometimes it’s all you can do. If it is all you can do, then at least it should help you achieve some peace in the affected area. Does that make sense?”

Sara supposed it did. She nodded a little.

Laura unfolded, planting both strong, toned legs firmly on the ground. She opened the top of the manilla folder and pulled out a yellow form. Sara knew what that one was too. The one she was most scared of sharing. The carbon copy of her medical information her doctor had provided. Laura nodded to herself, then replaced the sheet. Sara braced herself for a question she was certain was coming.

Except, it didn’t. “Sara, did your doctor explain to you what makes me different from a regular psychiatrist?”

Sara nodded. “She said you were a sex therapist, and a regular psychiatrist, and uh…” Laura raised one finely-manicured eyebrow ever so slightly, urging her to continue, “and you’re allowed to, um… have… contact. With you patients.”

“That’s right. I’m part of a specially-qualified program researching sexual dysfunction and sex therapy.” She paused, then continued, “I am allowed to have sexual contact with my patients.” Sara felt herself go red in the face, but didn’t respond. Laura continued anyways, “If I think it’s necessary. But in the same way that a good psychiatrist won’t prescribe medication unless they think it’s very necessary, I tend to use that as another tool in my belt, and only if I think it’s the best way to help a patient progress.”

“Okay.” Sara said dumbly. She didn’t know what else to say. Laura continued to explain a little more about the program, mostly information her doctor had already given her, but Sara was far away. It was so surreal, being so near to someone who saw sex as a real possibility between the two of them, and for her to be returning the thoughts, however nervous it made her.

Laura ended the legal and scientific jargon, following up with a question, “I’m going to ask you a personal question, if you’re ready.” Sara nodded. “How often do you masturbate?”

The question was a punch in the face, knocking her out of the mental logic loops she was doing around her presence in a sex therapist’s office, and her sex therapist being so darn pretty. She felt her face flush again, but Laura gave no reaction. “Uhh, not a lot.” türkçe alt yazılı porno

“Once a week?”

“No.”

“Two weeks?”

“No.”

“Once a month?”

That didn’t sound quite right to Sara either, and in fact she couldn’t recall the last time she had masturbated. She wanted to end the line of questioning though, and felt a little pathetic in Laura’s eyes for taking this long to pin it down. “Yeah, about,” she replied.

Laura nodded thoughtfully, then stood up from her chair. The thought ran through Sara’s head that she was about to get jumped by this tall, strong woman, but instead she circled around behind her desk. “We’re almost out of time today, so I’ve got something for you to take home. Homework, you could call it,” she added with a wink, then bent over to reach something behind her desk, up against the wall. Only then did Sara notice Laura’s rather large, round ass, now stretching out her skirt quite neatly, and how the hem would rise slowly, inch by inch, revealing milky white thighs that were as thick and strong as the rest of her body, widening up beautifully towards-

Sara shook her head, scattering the thoughts to the ether, and turned, red-faced, to the opposite wall. Laura’s degrees hung next to a beautiful watercolor print of lilies. They were numerous, taking up ten square feet of wallspace. She couldn’t make them out from where she sat, but from what she could see, Laura had been schooled at prestigious universities all over the country. From the corner of her eye, she saw Laura had finally stood back up, turning to face her. She held a small box, wrapped in plain white paper. Walking back around the desk, she handed it to Sara. It was heavier than she had expected.

“I’d like you to do your best to make use of this. If you’ll come back next week, we can discuss it, and proceed as we see fit. If you don’t use it, or if you don’t want to come back, then you can mail it back to my office, or dispose of it.”

Sara took this as a cue to exit, and stood, opening her mouth to thank Laura for seeing her, but couldn’t quite find the words, instead flapping her mouth open and closed like a goldfish. Laura took Sara’s limp free hand from her side and clasped it in both of hers. Her hands were soft and warm. “It was very nice to meet you,” she said with a sincerity that surprised Sara, “I really hope you’ll come back next week. You can go out the way you came, or there’s a private exit back in the corner. The door on the right.”

Sara looked around, only now realizing that there were two other doors in the office, camouflaged by their being painted the same colour as the walls. She nodded dumbly and murmured a thank-you, then headed for the private exit, catching the delicate scent of Laura’s perfume, spring flowers or something equally bright and cheerful. She opened the door and found herself in a hospital-white hallway of concrete, a staircase at one end leading down. She followed it, footsteps echoing loudly, to a door with a push bar. Once opened, she was assaulted by the noise of the street outside. She had emerged on the street behind the office building she had entered. Relieve at the option of an easy exit, she hurried down the street, the box she had been given nestled in her arms, to find her car and head home.

________________

Sara left the box sitting on the kitchen counter for three days before she even looked at it again. Even then, she only moved it out of the way of some spilled coffee, and replaced it on the nightstand next to her bed. She didn’t want to open the box. She didn’t even really want to think about what she thought was probably in the box. As she lay in bed that night, she stared at its unassuming, plain white paper wrapping, and resolved to open it ‘sometime soon’. She didn’t want Laura to think she wasn’t taking this seriously. Her last thoughts before falling asleep that night were of Laura, bent over in her tight skirt.

She opened her eyes. She felt sick, and the world felt wrong. She sat up in bed and her room spun before her eyes, causing her stomach to spin with it. Sara heard a thump and a muffled voice from beyond her close bedroom door. Panicked, she tried to leap out of bed, to run out of her bedroom and past whoever had invaded her home, and across the hall to a neighbour’s home, or down the street to the police station. But her limbs wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t follow her commands no matter how much she mentally screamed at herself to do something, anything. Had she been drugged? She couldn’t remember anything unusual about her evening routine. The door swung open silently. Terrified, she could only stare into the blackness beyond.

Out of the darkness, though, stepped Laura. The fear subsided a little and was replaced with confusion, though fear still ran river-like beneath. She tried to speak, to question her sex therapist’s presence at her house in the middle of the night, but her tongue tangled itself up in her mouth. Slowly, Laura walked over to the side of the bed.

“I’m türk porno sorry if I scared you, Sara,” she said in the same soft, mothering tone she had presented at their appointment, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She sat down on the bed next to Sara and began to rub her thigh with one delicate, graceful hand. Sara could only watch, unable to act. Laura leaned in towards her, and she caught the scent of her perfume.

“Let me make it better…” the beautiful doctor said, pursing her lips.

Sara opened her eyes again. Sunlight filtered in through the privacy shade on the windows. The air was a hair too warm, and she felt like she hadn’t slept at all.

“A dream…” she said with vocal cords that croaked, “what the fuck.”

She looked over at the clock across the room. 7:26am. Her day off. She preferred to sleep in on days like this. Sighing, she rolled over, intending to fall asleep for at least another hour. Instead, she almost rolled into her nightstand, coming face to face with the box she had been given. She stared at it for a long moment, contemplating her session with Laura, contemplating how she had made no real plans to open the box yet. Contemplating her dream about her sex therapist. It was rare that she had dreams she could remember at all. Rare still if she could make any sense of them. But this was the rarest dream of all for Sara. An arousing dream. She realized that the air in the room really wasn’t all that warm once she kicked the covers back a little. She was radiating heat, and feeling a little flush.

Slowly, she reached out for the box, felt its smooth-yet-textured surface under her fingers, and pulled it towards her. She sat up in bed, the box held between her knees and her chest. Finding a seam in the wrapping, she pulled it apart, trying not to make too much of a mess with the wrapping paper. Beneath the paper was a smooth, black, matte-finish container. She found a seam on one side and stuck a fingernail into it. She paused, considering whether she wanted to get into this now, ultimately deciding she had come too far not to at least see the contents. Before she could, however, a slip of paper slid from the back of the box onto the bed next to her. She picked up the note, catching the tiniest whiff of Laura’s perfume. A hand-written note read;

Dear Sara,

I’m glad you’ve opened this. It may not seem like much, but from everything your doctor has told me, getting this far on your own is a step in the right direction. There’s a small assortment of products in here, use whatever you feel most comfortable with, though I would recommend pushing a little bit outside of your comfort zone. I hope to see you again soon.

Laura

Sara dropped the note back on the bed where it had first fallen. She felt somehow more driven to actually open the box after reading the note.

Don’t want to disappoint Laura, she thought, slipping her nail back into the seam and prying the box opened. Sara felt the blood rush to her face. Inside the box was a foam insert, the kind assassins in movies always had their guns stored in, to display all the individual parts. Instead of a pistol, magazine, and silencer however, Sara found on one side of the box a slim tube with a button on the side that she took to be a vibrator, and something that looked a little like the wine stopper she had in her kitchen utensil drawer, only larger and pink. On the other side of the interior was a string of beads with a loop at one end, and next to it…

A fleshlight.

She only knew what it was because she had found one just like it in her older cousin’s sock drawer when she was little. She remembered how embarrassed and angry he was when she presented it, and how embarrassed she was when she looked it up on the internet later. Only now did she appreciate that her parents were too technologically inept back then to be able to check her browser history.

Sara pulled out the vibrator. It was silicone, and smooth to the touch. Simple and minimalistic, but functional, she figured. The wine stopper and the beads she left in their inserts. If she was going to do this, she didn’t want to get too crazy right off the bat. Besides, she had to figure out exactly what they were for, first. She spun the vibrator in her hand, surprised at herself for actually thinking about how best to use it, when she felt the heat from down below. She move the box from her lap to the bed beside her, and looked down. There, beneath the thin sheet of her bed, was a bulge she had never really gotten used to seeing. She pulled the sheet down, exposing her whole body down to her knees to the cool bedroom air. There it was, stuffed into her cute pink and blue panties, the ever-present guest that she blamed for holding back her romantic life for years. Sara’s penis was growing stiff at the thought of using the toys Laura had given her.

She had had morning wood before, plenty of times. She had been a teenager at one point, after all, but never before had it been felt quite so insistent. Her early-morning riser had always been manageable before. It was normally still mostly soft, and would disappear within about 30 seconds of waking up, before it would even properly register. This morning, though, it was decidedly firm, and growing harder by the minute. She could feel it shifting and growing under the smooth fabric of her panties, like a snake uncoiling after winter’s hibernation.

Helen was looking forward to seeing Martin again. She had ‘known’ him for quite a while via the Internet and had met up with him in person just once before. They had seemed to get along really well, and even though it was a first meeting, they had had sex… and that had been good too. Now it was time for them to meet again.

Helen was not some giddy girl, but a mature woman who had her feet firmly on the ground… but the thought of spending another few days away from her ordinary life, with Martin had her flushing and sighing like a love sick teen. She tried to decide what it was about Martin that made her feel this way, and the only thing she could think of was the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to say so. Helen liked that in a man – not the whole time. She was far too used to having to cope on her own to be ordered about like a kid, but when it came to the bedroom… she liked a man to be firmly in charge.

This time, Martin was to come to her place. She had been going crazy all week, cleaning already clean rooms, washing already clean clothes, plumping cushions that didn’t need plumping. Every time she told herself to sit down and relax she would think of some imaginary task that needed doing and she would be off again. And here she was, with just an hour to go, standing in her bedroom, remaking the bed for the third time. ‘Get a grip woman!’ she sternly told herself… we might not even make it this far. She fervently hoped they did… she was a woman after all said and done – and women had the same needs as men. Sure, she had a toy that she occasionally used on herself – but it just wasn’t the same as the real thing. And just lately, after spending time with Martin, a do-it-yourself session was just hollow. Now… what if HE was to use the toy? Really take control? Make her lose control? Ohhh that was a delicious thought, and Helen felt her abdomen give a lurch, and felt her vulva tighten slightly.

Helen gave herself a mental shake. She must stop this. If she didn’t, and mapped out the meeting and nothing happened, it would be twice as disappointing! Anyone would think Martin was the only man she had ever been to bed with… and this wasn’t the case. Just, since her partner had died a number of years before, she hadn’t really had much opportunity. No, that was a lie. She had had ample offers… but a quick wham bang thank-you Ma’am type sexual encounter was not what she wanted. Just after the death, she hadn’t wanted sex… but as each year passed, she found herself wanting that connection again.

Helen checked the clock, only about twenty minutes to go. She went through to check the bathroom just one more time, and at the same time ran a brush through her hair, checking carefully for any signs of grey roots showing through. Time was when she didn’t need to do a thing to her hair, but these days, she needed help from a bottle to keep her naturally blonde hair looking blonde. At least that’s was all the help she needed, her hair curled naturally and as long as she kept it trimmed. Helen had quite a striking face as her eyelashes and eyebrows were a much darker blonde than her hair, and framed her deep blue eyes perfectly. Should she put some make up on??? No! She didn’t usually wear much unless going out somewhere ‘posh’ and so wouldn’t bother now. Let Martin find her as she usually was.

Helen made her way downstairs and forced herself to sit and relax. Five minutes to go… and she hoped he would be on time, as she didn’t think her nerves could take him being late. The hands on her mantle clock seemed to have stuck and Helen checked her watch. Nope – it was right… just time seemed to stand still when you were waiting. Was that a car??? Helen stood up to check and then quickly sat down again feeling foolish. Helen leaned back and closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down and count backwards from a hundred. She had got as far as 15 when the trill of the doorbell made her jump. Jumping up and smoothing her skirt, Helen made her way to the door.

Martin stood there, dressed casually, but smartly, holding a huge bunch of flowers down at his side. Helen went suddenly shy and only managed to mumble “Hi there,” as she stood to one side. Martin stepped into the hallway and stopped, waiting for Helen to show him the way. Acting the perfect hostess, Helen led him to the comfortable sitting room and showed him to a chair. Martin smiled his thanks and went to sit down, but stood again as Helen asked if she ought perhaps take the flowers before they got crushed. “Ah, yes, that would be rather a good idea,” he grinned, “I bought these and then suddenly realised that you might suffer from allergies… and so had second thoughts.”

Helen smiled her thanks and went off into the kitchen to find a vase. Quickly arranging them, she carried the vase back into the sitting room and placed them in a prominent position. “There, they look perfect!” Helen beamed at Martin and then went towards the drinks cabinet, asking Martin what he would like to drink as Ankara travesti she walked. Martin named his favourite blend of whisky and Helen noted with dismay that not only did she no have this blend, but didn’t have any whisky at all. Then she jumped as she felt Martin touch her arm, and tell her that it didn’t matter, as he wasn’t really very thirsty, and would much prefer a soft drink anyway. Helen moved off towards the kitchen and Martin followed, seating himself at the kitchen table.

This simple act seemed to break the ice, and soon they were chatting away about what they had been doing since they first met a month ago. Once the last of the tea had been squeezed from the pot, Mark stretched himself and remarked just how hungry he suddenly felt. Helen went to move towards the cupboards to prepare some food when Martin blocked her way, holding her arms tightly. “I have booked a restaurant for eight, and it wasn’t food I was exactly hungry for!” Martins eyes twinkled mischievously as he watched Helen face redden as she worked out what it was he was referring to. “We have something like three hours to kill before we have to leave… now, how can we fill in the time? How about showing me around the house?” Martin asked in an innocent voice.

Helen nodded and waved towards the sitting room, “You have seen that room,” she said, her voice unnaturally tight, “and can probably tell that I don’t use it very often. Over here,” she added, opening a door, “is my main room – bit of office, bit of TV room… bit of everything really.” Martin glanced in and nodded.

“And upstairs??? What’s up there?”

Helen’s stomach gave another lurch, as she tried hard to appear nonchalant.

“Oh just the bathroom and bedrooms. I use one, another is a guest room and the third is a bit of a junk room.”

“Well, let’s go look then, shall we?” said Martin, nudging her from behind.

Helen made to stand back to allow her guest to go first, but Martin just put his hand in the small of her back and pushed a little more firmly. “You lead the way, I will follow.”

Trying hard to remain calm, Helen began to mount the stairs. When she was on the third step, she felt a hand running up her calf, and gave an involuntary shudder, but didn’t stop climbing. As Martin was climbing behind her, his hand slid up and down her leg with each step they took. By the time Helen had reached the top landing, her heart was beating fast and she was becoming aroused. She cleared her throat before telling Martin that the first room was the junk room, and then came the guest room. He glanced quickly into each, before moving along. On the other side of the landing was the bathroom, and Peter glanced again. Helen hesitated when they came to the door at the end of the corridor but Martin prompted her, “And this is your room?”

Helen just mutely nodded, desperate to go in and use the large bed, but not wanting to take the lead in the slightest way. “Well, come on then, let’s go and have a look, shall we??” Martin asked in a mock serious voice, and opened the door and guided her in. Once they were both inside, Martin firmly closed the door and began to look around. He nodded his approval at the unfussy décor that Helen had chosen, and remarked at the colour scheme of autumnal colours for all the soft furnishings. There were rich reds, gold, oranges and yellows along with muted greens and browns. Just listing the colours would make you think that the room clashed, but Helen had matched the differing hues so cleverly that it was like stepping into a wooded glade.

As Martin wandered around the room, looking at various items Helen had dotted about, she just stood there, unsure of what she should do. She gave a start as Martin opened up her wardrobe and began looking through her clothes. Helen made to say something, but changed her mind, and crossed the room. Martin looked at her and smiled at the uncertainty that showed in her face. “I would love to see you in this dress,” he said, pointing out a midnight blue, silky cocktail dress. “Perhaps you could model it for me?”

Helen took the dress, and headed towards her private bathroom to change, slightly puzzled at this turn of events. As she went to pass Martin, he stopped her, and took the dress from her hands. Helen stood before him passively, trying to work out what he expected her to do now. She soon found out as he gathered her towards him and ran his hands down her back until he reached the waistband of her skirt. With practised ease, Martin undid her skirt and began to slide it over her hips until it fell to the floor. He then turned his attention to her blouse and began to slowly undo the buttons. Helen opened her mouth to protest, but found it covered with his as he kissed her deeply for the first time that day. Martin was a good kisser and Helen began to melt under the onslaught, totally lost in the sensations until she felt the material of her blouse sliding off her shoulders. She had been so wrapped up in being kissed Çankaya travesti that she hadn’t even realised that Martin had managed to get all the buttons unfastened.

Now she stood in her underwear, a little uncertain, and wishing it was better quality, and that her figure was more like it had been in her late teens. Did Martin expect her to shed the rest of her clothes, or put the cocktail dress on, or… what? Martin again took control and began to kiss her once more, at the same time running his hands up and down her back. Helen again began to melt again, losing herself totally in the moment. As she felt Martins hands run over her shoulders and down her upper arm, she realised that her bra was coming off. Martin’s hands began to move over her now exposed breasts, gently at first and then with a little more force as he began to knead her flesh. As he brushed her nipples firmly, a small groan escaped Helens throat and was lost in the continuing kiss.

It wasn’t until Helen felt the edge of the bed pressing against the back of her knees that she realised Martin had moved her very slowly backwards. He began to lean towards her more, applying subtle pressure so that Helen found herself falling onto her back on the bed. Martin swiftly finished taking her bra from her body and ran his hands down her stomach. Before Helen could begin to sit upright, Martin had hooked his fingers into the top of her panties and hose and was drawing them down her body. Helen was no completely naked, whilst Martin was still fully clothed.

“Very nice!” Martin exclaimed as he began to unbutton his shirt. Once his shirt had joined her discarded garments, he lay beside her on the bed, and began to kiss her again. Helen felt confident enough to respond, and started to kiss him back. When his hand began to caress her breasts, Helen began to feel as if she was in heaven, and felt her groin begin to respond. Tentatively, she raised a hand and ran it over his back, feeling his muscles ripple.

Martin felt the woman half below him relax and began to widen the lazy circles he was making with his hands. Although they had had sex last time, he wanted to make this moment live on in her memory and not be classed as a quick fumble and fuck. He could sense that Helen was beginning to be aroused, but wanted her at the stage where she was bucking and begging him to take her. Still kissing her deeply, so that she was both distracted and pinned to the bed, he carefully edged his fingers down over her stomach and towards her mons. Helen stiffened slightly, and then relaxed again as Martin stopped the movement with his hand.

Martin shifted his body slightly, so that his other arm was free. He used this to begin the kneading of Helen’s breasts. It had the other advantage that his leg had fallen to resting on hers, and by applying very gentle pressure, he had managed to get a knee between hers, forcing her legs slightly apart. Once he felt her body relax again under the gentle movement of his roving hand and mouth, Martin began to inch his knee up slightly, inch by inch, until it was at mid thigh. Quickly taking advantage, he shot his lower hand down over her mons and began to stroke her vulva.

Helen gasped and tried to push him off, but Martin wasn’t having any of it. “Relax. Just lay back and relax and enjoy it. I am not going to hurt you, but want this to be about your pleasure, not mine.” Helen nodded, a little uncertainly and tried to relax. She wanted the man to be in control, but now it came to it, she was full of doubts again. It had been many, many years since anyone had touched her intimately just for the sake of bringing her pleasure. Silently, she offered thanks that she was freshly showered and so fresh in all the places Martin was now beginning to probe.

Martin began to rub his fingers along her outer lips, until he felt her body relax. He then gently parted her lips and gently circled Helens hole, carefully inserting a finger just to the first knuckle and then withdrawing again. Martin continued this action until Helen gave a slight wriggle beneath him, as if trying to get his finger further in. Judging the time was right, Martin excused himself, telling Helen to move further on the bed while he fetched something from his car. Helen watched as Martin rushed from the room and figured that he was off to fetch some condoms, laughing to herself that if only he had asked, she had some in the bathroom cabinet… just in case!

Helen got up and stretched herself before settling again in the centre of the bed. She felt rather foolish just lying there and was just considering getting up again when Martin returned with a small bag that looked like a black cosmetics bag. ‘Heavens!’ thought Helen… ‘what on earth??’ but didn’t have much time to wonder as Martin climbed on the bed and knelt beside her.

“Now, where were we?” he asked with a grin. “Oh yes… I believe I had a hand here, and another here, and my mouth was…” He leant over her and resumed kissing her deeply. Martin had placed the small zipped bag the far side of his body, so Helen wouldn’t have been able to see what he got from it even if she had her eyes open… bust as they were lightly closed with the kiss, she had no idea that Martin had even opened the bag and was now holding a seven inch slim vibrator in his hand. Keeping Helen fully focussed on her mouth and breasts, Martin produced a miniature vibrator that he could slip over his finger, some lube, and something that looked like a baby’s toothbrush and laid them with the vibe on the bed.

He broke the kiss and leaned over so his face was above Helens. Locking eyes with her, he told her that he was about to take her to heaven and back. If he did anything that she really didn’t like, or the sensations got too much, she was to say so, and he would stop. He promised that he wasn’t going to hurt her in anyway, but warned her that she might end up screaming or in tears! If she really and truly wanted him to stop, she was to yell BLUE, and he would stop immediately. He made Helen repeat what he had said, and then added, “I am in charge here. I want you to do exactly as I say, when I say it. Is that understood?” Helen bit her lip and nodded, wondering exactly what she had got herself into here. After all, she hardly knew Martin… what if… Helen gave herself a mental shake. Her best friend knew that she was entertaining him today, and was due to ring at seven to make sure everything was all right.

Helen decided to go with the flow and consciously relaxed, wondering what Martin was going to do. He had certainly been pushing her buttons so far, and she had been a little disappointed when he had begun to get her worked up and then ran off to his car. “I am not going to tie you up or anything,” Martin said, snapping Helen’s attention back to what he was saying, “But I am going to lay this scarf across your eyes. Anytime you want to take it off, you can – but for now, close your eyes and let me make you fly!”

Helen didn’t really like this idea, but thought she would give it a few minutes before she moved it. Not being able to see what was happening heightened Helen’s other senses and she found herself straining to hear the slightest sound so as to get a clue as to what was happening. All she could hear was a faint rustle as Martin shifted his weight on the bed, so she gave a slight jerk as she felt his fingers touch her vulva. He was parting her lip, very gently, with the fingers of one hand. Oh this was so embarrassing, but also so hot. Helen could almost visualised him peering at her most private place, and then blushed as she realised that this was turning her on, and she was getting wet.

Helen gave a slight yelp as something cold hit her clit and wondered what on earth it could be, and then relaxed again as she worked out that Martin must have applied a little glob of lube. Her yelp turned into a low moan as his finger began to circle her tiny nub. Oh that felt good. It was so much better when a hand other than her own rubbed there. Alone she could run and flick all night and get nowhere, but already she could feel that her body was beginning to respond.

“I do so love the way you have styled your hair,” Martin remarked and made Helen frown as she wondered what he was talking about. The frown turned into a deep crimson blush as she worked out that he was referring to the fact that her pubic hair was trimmed very short and shaved in places. She had done it some time previously to wear a high-cut swimsuit and had so like the effect that she had kept it like that since.

Helen didn’t have time to comment though as her breath was taken away as Martin inserted a finger into her hole and began to make circles with it. The circles reflected those being made on her clit and soon Helen was in torment trying to sort out messages from two different places. Her breathing quickened and her skin began to flush as all her senses focussed on her cunt. If he kept this up, she would soon be building to an orgasm. It wouldn’t be a big one, but when you hadn’t had one in week, the size didn’t matter too much.

Sure enough, she soon found herself moving her hips slightly and could feel her muscles begin to clench in preparation for the minor earthquake. Just as she felt the wave was a bout to break, Martin withdrew his finger and Helen experienced a sense of anticlimax. A low ‘nooooooooooo’ escaped her mouth before she could stop it, and she heard Martin give a chuckle. “Oh you liked that did you?”

Helen didn’t answer, and Martin repeated the question, giving one nipple a small pinch until Helen gasped a “yes!” The sharp pain was replaced by one of a different kind as Martin sucked hard on the aroused flesh. Helen was lost in the sensation and began to roll her head, making the scarf slip slightly. However, as she had closed her eyes to allow herself to concentrate on the sensations her body was experiencing. The finger on her clit also stopped its action and Helen was about to protest again when she felt herself being spread. Something was being pushed into her vagina, it felt odd at first, but her walls soon adjusted to whatever had replaced his finger. It wasn’t much wider than maybe two slim fingers, but felt hard but squishy at the same time.

Nothing is like anything else if we look closely. I have the most bodyish body I could be given, replete in every way. What am I to myself. I am one of my sensations, till it is replaced by the next sensation. Sensation of my body felt subjectively. To feel everything in every way. The bad, the good, the perverse, the pleasure. Without adding to it. Things must be felt as they are.

There is nothing more sensitive than my cock. My cock is full of sensations. A woman’s cunt is likewise sensational. She is a masturbator, and sometimes she seeks a man to share her masturbatory habit. The pleasure is multiplied two fold when we masturbate together. She wore a short summer dress with nothing underneath. She had long hair that came down to the crack of her ass, and she had colored her cupid lips with a ruddy lipstick. I could feel the blood pulsing within me. It thrummed my temples, and filled my cock. My trouser front showed what was happening beneath the taut material. Matter is always appearance, and has power to excite the whole body. Nature has put this pagan energy into my cock.

She Ankara travesti steps out of her short dress revealing her juicy body for my eyes to first stare at, what is on display before me. Leaning against the counter opposite me I am excited by what I see. Pert breasts, and a shaved, plump cunt. I hastily unzip my pants, and pull them down around my ankles displaying my excitedness straining inside my underpants. The way her green eyes light up I can tell she likes what she sees. I am standing opposite her in the kitchen, and free my cock from its entrapment. I do a turn so she can see everything I have on display. The weight of my cock pendulums from side to side. I lean back against the kitchen wall, and with trembling hand I grip my cock, pulling back its foreskin, which until now completely covered the head. I like this part, revealing the purple head to the world, and I watch her eyes swell, as she plays with her well spoken clitoris.

We are here, because we want to masturbate together. That she can see me masturbating, which is Çankaya travesti the most secret thing I do, thrills the fuck out of me. I am enacting the sensations that my cock allows. Likewise she too is slipping her long fingers inside her cunt with ooooos and aaaaaahs. We are the pronouncements of skin, and flesh tied to bone. I imaginatively see my cock entering her cunt in place of her finger. My hand has become her cunt. Her finger has become my prick sliding in and out. But all this is transference. Masturbation is for me a rite, a ritual. Kiss, sugar, sip.

My cock sticks out glad to be seen by her eyes, as too, her cunt rounded at the base of her body, deliverer of babies, swallower of men’s hoary cocks. So vulvic. My cock is very dark like the summer ripe color of a fat juicy Black Doris plum in my hand, its skin as smooth as the plumpness bursting the flesh held within. But what is bursting is the feeling of the cum travelling from my testes up the shaft, inch by inch, ejaculating a ways across the distance between the woman masturbating opposite me, hitting the floor, and oozing over my hand, that is still trying to divine the opium sugar that has weakened my legs, and thrums my temple.

My cock begins to feel like a breast sucked dry, and my hand is the infant’s mouth crying for more, wringing out every last drop. I see her looking at my discharge, but unable to touch it. She is in the pleasure vice of her own pleasuring. My cum on the floor looks like freshly minted moon drops. She keeps on masturbating her cunt, and arches her spine in the throes of ecstasy.

We both stand there in our post erotic bodies. Our sexual energy is done for a while. We empty what is inside, out, then refill, only to empty it out. Sex arrives, conquers our body, then leaves. This is when most people turn their sexual encounter into love, to justify the naturality of sex. I am objectified into her, and she is now objectified to me. I dreamt this masturbation long before I enacted it. I dreamt desire into my cock, and even though she probably does not know it, she dreamt a masturbatory desire into her soft cunt, long before she masturbated it.

Yes, their is a philosophy, even in sex. My cock is drooping down and is dripping its final residue. I pull up my Kelvin Kliens, and zip up my pants, and leave the room with a sticky cock behind the material.

Marie loved to masturbate. She loved vegetables, and her vegies loved her (with a little help from me)! First, we met in the desert….

Eight of us spent a month and a half in a remote corner of the Southwest digging holes in the sand looking for traces of Indian civilization. We lived in tents up a little gorge where there was shade. We didn’t shower much, and the nearest washing machine was two hours away. It was fucking hot, dusty and sandy. We could manage a bucket of water each day for bathing. We were, to put it mildly, informal.

Marie came from the East Coast. We’d never met, but we had corresponded a little since I was in charge of the logistics of the group. She’d sent a picture, which was nice. When I picked her up at the airport, she looked good. Tall, dark, French blood. Big eyes, small breasts, long strong legs and a quick smile. By the time we drove four hours to the site, I was entranced. After a week of digging, we circled each other like two magnets–just a little flip one way, and we’d slap together so hard you’d have to pry us apart.

I had a policy of discouraging romance on these expeditions–it seemed to just cause trouble. I was the leader and was supposed to set an example. I tried, really, I tried. Our attraction was clear to us, and to the others, and also our dedication to what we were doing. After all, I thought, there would be plenty of time afterwards to get together. We kept our distance for about a month. Then, Marie got cramping in her legs and a very sore back–big girl down in a small hole all day long, long legs bent every which way for hours. Dehydration. She had to take the afternoon off.

Before dinner I stopped by her tent to she how she was. Our tents were scattered up the gorge and hers was the last one, the only one past mine. She said her legs were still tight and her back was giving her trouble. I offered to give her a little massage after dinner. As I walked to Marie’s tent I wasn’t thinking “sensual massage”. After all, the girl was in some pain. In fact, I wasn’t thinking at all, except it would be neat to be a little more intimate and quiet with her than we could be on the site. We had talked now and then when she passed my tent–she woke me when I overslept a couple of times, and we’d stumbled up the gorge together after having a few beers at dinner, but that was as intimate as we’d been.

Her tent was roomy, and her stuff was neatly packed around the edges, and she had a comfortable pad and fluffy sleeping bag. It smelled of her. As usual, she was in a tee shirt and shorts, but when I looked closer these weren’t the usual working shorts, but soft, short cotton ones with an elastic band. Her dark tan line faded just a little below the shorts, and so by the time her legs Ankara travesti disappeared behind the cloth, they were pure white. It wasn’t the usual tee shirt, either. To begin with, it was clean and smelled like laundry soap. And it wasn’t just a regular tee, but soft, light cotton that draped like fog around the gentle curves of her breasts. (Marie didn’t wear bras; her breasts weren’t big enough to require them, and she couldn’t be bothered in this heat with any more clothes than necessary).

We spoke a little, and then I began massaging her back. The small of her back and her thighs were tight, so I began there. It wasn’t going to work to avoid her butt, so pretty soon I was kneading her buttocks with my hands. She had a great butt, just big enough, nicely rounded, soft and strong at the same time. I gave her thighs a thorough going over, and down her legs to her feet. Her feet were slim and amazingly soft considering how hard we were working. She began to relax quite a bit. I lifted her tee shirt up to her armpits to rub her shoulders and back, and she dozed off. While she slept, I gently rubbed her, tracing with my warm fingers down her back, buttocks and thighs, down to soft heels and long toes, and I continued gently rubbing her until she stirred. By that time, I was in love.

She was thoroughly relaxed and sleepy, and I asked if she wanted to turn over. “Yeah, my stomach is really tight! Can you do that, too?” Certainly. I rubbed her belly, deeply, and felt her pelvis relaxing. I traced her muscles down, over her shorts, my palm brushing against her pubic bone on the way to her thighs. Her legs relaxed and her feet fell open, like a cat in the sun. Then I massaged her face and neck and shoulders, and came down over her chest, and her breasts, just avoiding her nipples at first, but then rubbing them with my palms. For the first time I’d seen, they stood up, defying the heat that had melted them into soft patches in the day. The gentle curve under her soft cotton shirt sported two little points. I rubbed her belly again, lost in thought. I wanted to continue, but beyond this point we could not pretend any more–the magnets would slap together. Was I ready for that? Marie dozed off again, and so again I traced her body gently with my hands until I lay down my head next to her and fell asleep.

The next day, we had changed. We knew that it was inevitable we would get together, and we both enjoyed the sweet certainty of watching a flower bud, knowing that nothing would prevent it from opening. The others had begun to look on us as a couple, and waited, as we did, for it to really happen. When they said, “You two can do the dishes tonight,” and we didn’t protest a bit. Waiting became tedious, Çankaya travesti unnatural, and few days later we “opened the bud” ourselves.

Marie had a little cramping that day, and asked for another massage after dinner. When I got to her tent, she had her usual candles burning, and she also had a little spread in front of her bed–a bottle of red wine, some crackers and a small stash of cheese she’d hidden in the fridge. She flashed her irresistible French smile, “I’ve been saving this since we got here–we’d better finish it up before we leave!” We had a couple of glasses of wine and talked and flirted a little–we felt like an “item” and it was nice! Then I began the massage, sliding her tee up to her armpits, and working her back and shoulders then down to her butt and thighs, and gently her feet. When she was “done”, I asked her to roll over, and instead of pulling down her tee, she just rolled over, a little sleepy, but warm and cozy–and half naked in the candlelight.

For a moment, I thought of protecting her modesty and pulling down the tee, but a little smile on her lips told me that she had done that on purpose, and her nipples, puffy and large, told the whole story. I straddled her hips and gave her a slow, sensuous massage. Her eyes stayed closed, her lips open and smiling. I gently rubbed her nipples, breasts and traced her lips and large eyes, and lay next to her while my hand traced her body, wandering around her breasts and sliding down to her belly again, and then over her shorts. She wiggled a little, and pulled her arms down to push her shorts down and I slid them the rest of the way. She laughed and sat up and pulled off shirt before collapsing again.

The patches of white between her tan lines were clear and bright in the candlelight. Creamy breasts with dark nipples, and white thighs broken by a thick patch of soft dark hair. My hand found its way over her soft patch and fell between her legs, brushing her fresh, white thighs and gently pushing at the door to her private delights. For a long time, I stayed outside the door to her pussy, until the flood inside began to leak, and the swollen guardians at the gate relaxed their vigil and let me pass. Inside it was wet and hot everywhere. Her labia were not large; they were small and compact and very smooth and glistened. Between them her clit slipped out, and danced around my fingertip like a gypsy around a fire.

Marie had high cheekbones and a large sensuous mouth, which was lazily held open by her gentle breath. It wasn’t long before those gentle winds grew to a noisy storm that rocked the tent, then for a moment settled into painful little moans, and groans and happy whimpers before growing strong again, strong and regular, like the march of a symphony; and her legs opened and thrashed, she gasped and shouted, and then collapsed and pulled me to her, to shower my face with kisses.

If someone had come looking for me that last week, they would have found my tent empty. They might have guessed where I was. So, every night until we broke camp, Marie and I would disappear up the gorge to make love and sleep–wrapped in a confusing combination of blankets and sleeping bags. Some nights we began slowly, sipping the wine and gentle kisses. Other nights we made love quickly, and fell hard asleep. Every night began with my hand slipping softly between her legs, and dancing with her wild gypsy. Marie liked to masturbate, she told me, and she liked to dance with my finger until she was wild and crazy and wanted my cock so very badly she would grab me with all her might and pull me on top of her and my stiff cock would find its way in the dark, without help, and slip through her tuft of black hair, thrusting and devoured in the heat within.

And in the dark night, laying relaxed in the sticky mess of our lovemaking, Marie told me her secrets…She had not been with a man for almost three years, since she was in graduate school. She didn’t want a relationship. She said she loves masturbation. “My sex life is really very satisfying”, she added, and a thrill went through me. I lay there thinking, “hmmm, is there more?” There was.

Marie told me that for most of those three years she’s had sex regularly with her roommate, as short, tiny blonde named Cindy. She went to a school were lots of the girls “got together”, so it wasn’t so strange. They weren’t “a couple” she said, they were friends who liked to have sex—especially Cindy, who was pretty much always eager to satisfy Marie. “How can I resist?” Marie said, “she’s very cute and cuddly, and she knows exactly how to turn me on! Actually, many nights having sex with Cindy is a little too intense, and so I just masturbate. Well, actually,” she laughed, “Cindy usually masturbates me herself.”

My fantasies went wild. I guess every guy has lesbian fantasies, and for me it’s a real turn on to be with a woman who makes love with other women. Ok, so I’ll tell you the truth—sometimes when I’m making love with a woman I actually fantasize that we’re two women together. Marie’s hands and tongue and lips had known only the soft fleshy folds of another woman, and when we made love, my fantasies felt very real. In our quiet moments, she held me like a woman, kissed me like a woman, and smiled at me like a woman, before we both erupted into the ecstatic thrusting of our undeniable, and uncontrollable sexual passion.

Ah, but the title of this story is “A Girl and her Vegetables.” Vegetables?? What about the vegetables? One night we lay talking, and Marie talked about how much she liked to masturbate, and I asked what really made her most horny. Well, she said, just before coming out here, she got this thing about vegetables…..

I answer my phone and you’re on the line. You don’t bother with a greeting and go straight to what you want to do to me. I sit back on the bed, close my eyes and let your voice and instructions wash over my anticipating body. I always follow your instructions; you like it when I do as you say.

I’d only just got changed from a shower so I was wearing my purple vest and shorts set on over my simple white panties. I explain to you what I’m wearing and that at the right angle my vest is translucent, revealing my large breasts and pink nipples behind it.

Following your instructions I slowly begin to move my right hand from behind my right ear, down over my neck and linger on my cleavage between my heaving breasts, as my breath quickens slightly. I gently slip my fingers under my vest by my left breast and slowly begin circling my fingers, only grazing my skin.

My nipple begins to harden the longer I keep circling my breast without touching it. At your command I take my index finger and thumb and gently pinch and tug at my nipple sending shivers all over my body, which begins to make my pussy warm and wet.

You then ask me to remove my vest and tell you what I see. I tell you about looking down to my large breasts, the left tingling with my hard nipple, and my right breast ever so slightly larger with its nipple only slightly erect. I repeat the same action on my right, like you ask. As I pinch my right nipple I bite my lip as I feel my clitoris begin to wake up and send messages to my brain that I want you inside me.

I lose Ankara travesti awareness of my surroundings as I concentrate on the instructions you give to me. I swap hands with the phone and take my left hand up and down my sides with just my fingertips and nails. I start at my hips and pull my fingers up to the side of my breast and back again. Occasionally I move across from my belly button to the space between my breasts, under my breast and back to my hips. Each time I do this I feel myself getting wetter and my breathing quickening and becoming more erratic, as I become more and more turned on.

I put the speakerphone option on and put the phone on my bedside table. I run both hands and fingers up and down my sides, making my nipples rock hard and tingle with desire. My left hand begins to linger on my breasts. I bring my right hand up to my mouth and slip in my index and second finger. You tell me to suck my fingers as if they were your cock so I make my fingers wet with saliva and after a while I withdraw them. I gently open my legs and slip my hand under my shorts and panties and over my dripping pussy. I rub my saliva-covered fingers over my clit making me quietly moan with wanting.

You tell me to remove my shorts and panties and use my right hand to stroke my hot pussy. I run my hand over my smooth lips and through the small patch of hair just above my clitoris. I can feel the heat coming from my pussy and I tell you how much I want to feel your throbbing cock inside me, thrusting hard and Çankaya travesti fast until scream with pleasure.

I follow your next instruction and thrust my fingers into my soaking wet pussy. As I begin to finger-fuck myself I pull at my nipples keeping them hard and sending a tingle to my clit. After a few thrusts, I pull out my wet fingers and begin to tease my clitoris by tracing circles around and only occasionally touching it which makes me gasp with delight.

You ask me to taste my juices which are almost dripping out of my pussy. I bring my fingers to my mouth and begin to suck, imagining it is your cock in my mouth. The familiar taste of warm and slightly salted liquid covers my tongue as I lick off every last drop of my juices.

Following your next command, I reach for my favourite vibrator. I love the feel of this vibrator inside me, all 7 long inches, and 6 glorious round inches of it. It fills me up without causing pain and is shaped to imitate a real cock. It’s covered with veins and even has a sucker on the base for sticking to surfaces. As you asked, I rub the vibrator the entire length of my pussy, covering its head with my wetness.

The need to have it inside me causes my nipples to get even harder so that they ache with desire. I beg you to let me push in my vibrator so I can reach the orgasm I desperately want. Just as I’m about to shout out with frustration you tell me to start fucking myself with my favourite vibe. I moan loudly as I plunge it inside me, satisfied that something is inside my hot pussy.

Slowly I thrust the vibrator in and out of my pussy with it on a low-vibrating setting. I alternate between full thrusts pushing the vibrator in to the hilt, and shallow ones where I only push the head into me. As my clit swells, I quicken the pace of my thrusting with my left hand and I begin rubbing my clitoris with my right.

I start moving my hips to match my thrusts, moaning with every thrust knowing I am getting close to orgasm. You tell me to push my vibrator into my pussy as far as it would go and turn it onto pulse setting. I contract and release my pelvic muscle to match the pulse, making sure I contract with the vibration pulse to get the full effect.

I keep the vibrator pushed right in as I continue to contract and release my muscle. I keep rubbing my clitoris until the familiar wetness and shivery tingling begins to surge around my body. My breathing quickens to pants, my nipples get harder and I moan so loudly, I’m sure the wall vibrates. As I cum, my pussy spasms over and over again almost in sync with the pulse on the vibrator. I try to keep contracting and releasing my pelvic muscle but as my orgasm washes over me I find myself losing control. My toes curl and I grab the bed with my right hand, releasing my clit from my touch. I throw my head back and arch my back pushing the vibe in even further. Every part of my body tingles with the warm glow of my orgasm.

I let go of the vibrator and resume my contracting and releasing until my orgasm has subsided to satisfaction. I remove my vibrator and turn it off, admiring the slick effect of my cum all over it. You tell me how hard you are now and ask me to tell you what to do. I turn onto my and pick up my phone. I turn off the speakerphone and start my orders.