In my mind

I write frantically, looking for the right words. And write and write, words spilling from me perversely. I want words that will make you love me, not the way that you do love me, but the way that I need you to love me. I write to discover myself and lose myself.

I saw you yesterday. I saw you and could barely bring myself to look at you while at the same time wanting to drink you in. In my mind we were alone. In my mind we stood barely apart, our eyes downcast. In my mind our hands were clasped, both hands in each others, my head buried in your shoulder as I try to breathe myself into you, to become part of you. I can hear your breath, feel it on me. I release my hands from yours and place them on your chest. I let them trail down your torso, my finger tips pressed into your form as if trying to read braille, seeking meaning in your shape. I stop at your waist and slip my hands into the small of your back, leaving one there as the other runs the length of your back to your neck. In my mind my hand follows the curve of your neck and around to your jawline. It traces the stubble, the angles, the dimples, the curve of your beautiful lips. I angle my face up to yours, our eyes meeting. Our lips touch, brush against each others, parted slightly, making way for tongues. I am reserved. I hold back. In my mind I do not kiss you ardently. I am lead by you. I allow myself to be. I let your tongue probe mine, let it tease mine, let myself melt into you. In my mind I begin to undress you, button by button. I undo you, planting delicate kisses on each piece of flesh I unveil until you are standing naked before me, your clothes in an abandoned mess next to me. In my mind I do this all to you.

In my mind I am now on my knees. I run my hands up your thighs, appreciating their tautness, letting my hands move closer and closer to the object I desire. My mouth closes in on you, on your groin, in little bites and flicks of my tongue. My hands are ready, my mouth is ready to consume you. I take you slowly, lazily into my mouth. I circle you with my tongue, let my lips slide over you, down your shaft and back up. My hands grip, caress, squeeze. You're in my mouth, you groan and hold my head so gently as if to will me there not by force but by some ancient longing. I slide you in and out of my mouth, my tongue on you, my lips gripping you. I feel like I could consume you, keep you there hard and twitching inside my mouth. So I remain on you, loving you, sucking you, riding you with my mouth until you release yourself, my eyes wide, yours closed as you lose yourself in that moment. And I, I have found myself, just then, just there, with you.

Gamer Girl

She was a rare breed. A girl who loved gaming. She owned every console known to mankind, but her favourite was her Xbox. She loved combat games - Red Dead Redemption, Call of Duty. Playing those games satisfied a certain bloodlust in her. When she played, she was in the zone. Her concentration was fierce. She didn't appreciate interruptions. She took her gaming seriously. She even had a particular set of clothes she liked to wear while playing; her favourite black Ramones t-shirt and a knee length black skirt. No shoes. Toes curled into the carpet in concentration. She was a rare breed indeed, this gamer girl.

He watched her from the doorway. He knew once she started playing there was no chance of stopping her. He watched her intently - the way her blue eyes were so intense as she focussed on the game, they way her hands held the controller with such purpose. Those hands were very skilled. She used them on him often, and he appreciated them more than she knew. He watched her pale face and let his eyes wander down to her breasts, that Ramones t-shirt hugging the curve of them. He was filled with lust for her as she, apparently unaware, continued with her game.

She was vaguely aware of him watching her. She knew he was there, but she was so engrossed in her game she didn't acknowledge him. She would be playing all evening. He would probably go to bed and leave her to it, like he normally did. She sometimes wished he was interested in playing to. Some things are worth sharing together, but she knew he didn't enjoy it.

He walked slowly from his vantage point to where she sat, and knelt down on the floor beside her legs. He let his hands gently brush against her calves, looking for some sort of reaction. Nothing. She kept playing. His hands made their way to her thighs, and he stroked them with more purpose. Still nothing. He pushed her skirt up so it sat on her hips, leaving her bare legs and black lace panties. He was pleased. He loved those panties. He gently parted her legs, and let his hand press on her mound. She moaned slightly but did not stop playing or even look like her concentration was broken. He began to move her mound, and he noticed her pupils dilate, her lips part slightly and her breathing become shallower. He pushed her panties aside and slipped a finger between her pussy lips, surprised at the slickness of her. He parted her legs a little further and moved his head between her legs. He could hear gun fire in the background, and the sound of choppers. His tongue found her clit, and he began to lick it with purpose, with a pressure that he knew would drive her wild. Her body betrayed her and she started to rock her pelvis and squeeze her thighs together, keeping him there. He slipped a finger inside her, then another. She began to push against him, and he knew she was close to climax. He continued his assault on her clit as she continued her assault in the game. She let out a growl as she came, grinding her pussy against his face. She dropped the controller and rode the waves of orgasm, eyes closed and mouth open. She opened her eyes, looked down at him and then reached for her controller to restart the game. Her right leg was wrapped around his neck, leaving him with his face pushed up against her pussy. He was there for the evening it seemed, and she liked to play for hours.

Work chat 1

Falloutb5: You there?

DBT: Sorry, had to get this paper done at work.

Falloutb5: You’re at work?

DBT: Had to come in today. Don’t want to be here

Falloutb5: I’m bored

DBT: What are you up to?

Falloutb5: Supposed to be in a meeting. Sick of it. Weekend tomorrow.

DBT: How’s things with the ex?

Falloutb5: Don’t want to talk about it. The usual….

Falloutb5: You still there?

DBT: Bathroom.

Falloutb5: Did you sort yourself out!?

DBT: Ha ha.

DBT: Although I am feeling horny.

Falloutb5: Not up to your usual 3 times a day then?

DBT: Well, I haven’t had you to talk to……

Falloutb5: I’m here now am I not.

DBT: I suppose. I’m at work though.

Falloutb5: What are you wearing?

DBT: Skirt, blouse. I look good today if I do say so myself.

Falloutb5: You always look good. Although I never get to see you these days….

DBT: We have our Skype.

DBT: I show you my body. You get to play with me.

Falloutb5: I know.

Falloutb5: Are you wet?

DBT: I’m at work! I may be horny but there’s people around.

Falloutb5: Don’t you want to picture me? My cock?

DBT: Thanks for that! There’s people watching here I told you!

Falloutb5: Do you have a desk?

DBT: Yes…

Falloutb5: Don’t you want to picture me between your legs, looking at you.

DBT: Oh. I’m blushing now!

Falloutb5: Touch your breasts. Pretend your scratching them and squeeze your nipple.

DBT: I don’t know….

Falloutb5: Now!

DBT: Yes sir.

DBT: Mmmm. That felt good. I’m wet now.

Falloutb5: I’m sitting under your desk. Looking up your skirt.

Falloutb5: I can see your underwear. What colour are they?

DBT: White, boring but practical.

Falloutb5: I love the way your thighs look,. I can smell you, faintly. Your scent is amazing.

DBT: This isn’t helping…

Falloutb5: Stop. You’re only allowed to do what I say.

DBT: Yes sir.

Falloutb5: Squeeze your thigh.

DBT: Hmmmm.

Falloutb5: Pretend it’s me. You feel my face against the inside of your thighs. You can feel my breath against your skin.

Falloutb5: I can see your underwear getting wet.

DBT: My panties are wet.

Falloutb5: Squeeze your thighs together. Tightly. Squeeze me in.

DBT: God I’m turned on right now.

Falloutb5: My tongue is sliding up towards your pussy. You still have your underwear on.

Falloutb5: I lick over the cloth. I feel the wetness mixed with my saliva. You can feel my tongue on your clit.

DBT: Oh god…..

Falloutb5: I’m sucking at you. Tasting you. Pressing your clit harder.

DBT: I really need to come! I’m flushed. Can I go to the toilet?

Falloutb5: No.

DBT: OK.

Falloutb5: I need to go to a meeting.

DBT: What?! You have to let me come!!!

Falloutb5: No. You have to wait until I come back.

DBT: Please….. I’m going half crazy here.

Falloutb5: Wait. No touching.

DBT: Yes sir.

<< Falloutb5: appears offline and my not respond>>

Its our stop (reprise)

I catch the bus every day. I like it. The people, the passing by and the slight superiorty you feel looking into and down upon the cars. I like looking at the women driving by. I like breasts. Like any man I'll look at any breasts and like any man I would consider myself an expert. But then I like all breasts. The variety of shape and size attracts me. Nothing on a woman is more unique that her breasts. Her individuality. I never see any I do not like. I love them all but some more than others however.

I catch the bus daily. Everyday I watch the people get on and off. Everyday I see them, truly look at them, watching the girls and their wonderful shapes. But mostly I look forward to her. She gets on a every other day. So relaxed and free, with her easy dress sense over her full frame. Not that she's big mind, just full, womanly. And I like her breasts. I can see them, and everytime I see them I sigh inwardly with desire. Large, round, full. Sometimes I get to see the cleavage. That wonderful line plunging down into her body. Other times its just the outline and I can picture their shape. What is it that one person can be special or unique or intriguing yet another not.

I see her behind her sunglasses. She seems curious and engaging. Watching the other people. I see her watching women mostly, catching glances at their bodies. I wonder.

One day she hops on and another women sits down beside her. I can tell she likes this one. She looks slightly awkward, nervous. The shoulders hunched. I think she's scared of getting caught. I see the girl turn to her and say something. A small thing by the looks of it. They talk a little later.

I close my eyes and wonder at how she looks naked. The smooth lines of her neck. Her shoulders, round and ready to bite. Her wonderful breasts, their weight, the feel when cupped gently and held. the look when they hang down over me. The georgeous nipples, large and erect. Her body which I would love to touch, kiss gently and thoroughly, feel and explore. Her ass to rub slowly. To have her to myself and adore. To lose myself in her nakedness.

Then both of them get up to leave. Confusing. As she stands up and waits for the bus to stop she looks directly at me. She pauses as if assessing me and lifts her glasses. Winking at me. 'I see you.' A pause.  Lets go'. I am startled, instantly excited. Her fellow passenger looks at her, then at me and gets off. She says again ' Lets go'. This time waving at me. She looks at me as she gets off the bus. I make to get up....

.....'Let's go'. I open my eyes, shake my head and look next to me. My wife is prodding me gently. I look around. Look for her. She's gone. ' Yes dear'. I smile as I walk off the bus with her.

Emma

I was walking into the dressing room, she was walking out, wearing an evening maxi dress, no bra. It looked like she was coming out to look for someone but they weren't there. I saw her looking breathtakingly beautiful and said, "Wow, you look amazing in that dress!" She smiled and blushed a little. She asked is she really did look good. I said, "Turn around slowly, show me the dress." She did, turning full circle to me. My eyes lingered on her body, slowly rising to meet hers. I gave a faint smile, a knowing smile, and she smiled back. "It really does look incredible. I would buy it if I were you." She thanked me, then said, "Sorry to be annoying, but do you mind unzipping the back for me?" I laughed, saying, "Of course not." I followed her into the cubicle and shut the door. She turned away from me and I slowly unzipped the dress. As I did, my finger slowly traced the gentle curve of her back. "All done," I said. She grabbed a pen from her bag while holding the front of the dress in place and grabbed my hand. She wrote her mobile number on it. "Just in case," she said. I turned and left the dressing room.

That's how I met Emma. I am eager to meet Emma again, in a more private setting.

It's Our Stop

Most days I catch the bus to work and home again.  I wear my sunglasseses religiously.  I have multiple pair of sunglasses but my favourites are a pair of Rayban Aviators with mirror lenses.  They let me watch people.  Anyone and everyone really.  So I guess you could say I like sunglasses for the same reason an old pervert does, or a teenage boy.  I get off on looking at other people, women especially.  Some take my breath away. 

Breasts.  I love them.  I watch as each woman enters the bus and walks down the aisle, looking for a seat.  I assess her breasts, and if they are big enough, and lush enough, I imagine my head buried between them, my mouth on their nipple, sucking tenderly, biting, licking.  I imagine this every time I am on the bus. 

Coming home one day I wore my reading glasses instead of my sunglasses.  I was in a rush to leave work and forgot to switch them with my sunglasses.  The thing is, once they are on my face they just feel like glasses.  Like sunglasses.  So this day, as I watched each person get on, watched the way they moved and the way they searched frantically for somewhere to sit – looking for the right seat – I did not realise they could see me, see my eyes undressing them, devouring them.  First the blonde with the viola, who looks kind of geeky but secretly slutty.  I like her breasts.  She’s tall and quite solid.  She looks strong.  Then the older woman who wears those quirky red reading glasses.  She always sits near the front so I never get a good look at her, but I like her style.  Then goth girl gets on next, always in her cherry red 18 hole Docs.  Always with some tattered fishnets and a tartan skirt.  I like to watch her.  I like her attitude.  This day someone new gets on.  The bus is quite full but the seat beside me is spare.  I see her and gasp. Already I gasp and I haven’t even had time to examine her.  Closely cropped blonde hair, a small tight t-shirt that shows me a set of beautiful round breasts that I immediately want to touch, jeans and a pair of black Chucks.  I sit there watching her make her way down to the back of the bus.  She's short, she has curves and those breasts - heavenly.  I am thankful for my mirror lenses that I think I am wearing because I can’t take my eyes off her.  She approaches, my eyes on her breasts and the breath caught in my throat.  She turns and sits beside me.  I break my gaze and stare forward.  I sit so still in my seat, my skin feeling electric.  My breath comes in quiet, shortened pants as I try to contain myself.  I take off my glasses briefly and discover for myself that they are not my sunglasses but my reading glasses.  I let out a half gasp half laugh as I realise I have ogled the person sitting beside me and she has seen me do it, felt my eyes on her.  I steal a quick glance at her and she is already looking at me.  She has clear blue eyes which immediately catch my own.  I blush, colour rising to my cheeks.  She leans into me a little and whispers almost inaudibly, “I saw you watching me.”  I mutter “Oh” under my breath, wondering whether to apologise and hoping the earth will swallow me up on the spot.  She leans in again, whispering, “I liked it.”  “Oh” I say again, this time a little louder.  I am dumbstruck, turned on, embarrassed, excited, shy, all at once.  She drops her left hand in between us and strokes the side of my leg.  I jerk like I’ve been hit by a jolt of electricity.  She pushes the button, a few stops before mine.  My mind is racing, I’m barely containing my desire.  She leans in one last time as the bus pulls up and whispers, “It’s our stop.  Let’s go.”

At the carwash

I have no idea why I remember these things. One of those days fine, warm and covered in the emotion of another failed relationship. I mean we were still together but it gets to the point when the arguments and the insults have no reason any more. It's habit. Neither party right. Both wrong and falling upside down back into the same tower. Only to climb the stairs again.

But anyway, we were at the service station. Another argument in the car. Nothing I can remember or even see anymore. Just the air filled with tension. Winding down the window and feeling that warm breeze smooth through everthing. The inside of the car was dirty. Its interesting how the messier a life gets the messier the physical surrounding get. In an attempt to wash away something I decided on the car wash. Bad decision. We're late, you're too fucking lazy. Or some such thing. Mind you my comments were not much better.

I punched in the setting and we drove in. The drone of her in my ear and mine producing just as much crap. My head hurt. I couldn't focus. I felt like I was slipping. I wasnt me.

The window was slightly open and some foam splashed in on my face and shirt. We both stopped and looked down. Silence. I wound up the window and we looked at each other. The confusion in both our faces. The realisation that we were done hitting home in an odd manner of interruption. My mind clear for the first time in months. Just looking at each other. A tear from her eye. I felt sad and free at the same time so I kissed her.

She kissed back with passion we'd not had in a long time. Her tongue immediately toying with mine. Moving and circling. Taking turns at moving to the sensitive base. Surges of desire ripping through me. I could feel her. A connection I'd not felt since we were in love, properly. She grabbed me harder, pulling me closer. I felt her hair, dragging at it. Pulling it through hard. Her hands grabbed the front of my trousers. I grabbed her ass and remembered how good it felt. She was wearing a skirt. I pulled it up and felt over her underwear. She was warm, I was hard. She unzipped my fly and yanked my cock out. I replied by pulling aside her panties. I could actually feel her getting wet, wanting me.

Her hand squeezed hard, and pulled fast right away. I was vaguely away of the water spraying on the car. I rubbed her clit then put two fingers inside her. She lifted herself upwards. I moved the fingers up and against the rough part, feeling the g spot. She groaned and moved her hips back and forth slightly. My cock by now so hard and excited. I wanted to come, and quickly. No romantic moments of foreplay. Neither of us wanted it.

My hand left her and started rubbing her clit. Fast and to the side. The familiarity of a years sex knowing how to reach climax quickly. All the while our tongues going back and forth, feeling the wet saliva over our faces. Passionate, messy kissing. We both reached our pace and stuck with it. A feeling of utter abandonment, Nothing else existed. I could feel my balls start to tingle, feel it building up. Her mouth opened as it does when she's about to come. She groaned and her body arched. I could feel her climax. Her mouth biting down, her hand squeezing me hard, bringing me over the brink. I came. Messily, aching, gorgeously. Not caring where my cum went. I put my head on her shoulder. I knew her eyes were closed. Mine didn't want to open, to face our life. I wanted to be trapped in that moment....

As I did open my eyes it was too light and I could see the drier hovering around the car. We were done. I sat up, looked at her adjusting her skirt back down. I did my pants up, started the car and drove out. We smiled at one another while waiting to enter the traffic. A slightly sad but satisfied smile.

We broke up the next day.

You're mine

I like to dominate.  I like to be the boss.  I like to call the shots.  I’m a plotter, a schemer, a dreamer and a lover.  I like to push the boundaries, other people’s mostly, make them face things they don’t want to face and help them realise that their lives are a little fuller because of me.  I like to flirt. I like to make people want me.  I like to be the mistress.  I like to be playful and coy.  I appear soft and sweet.  Recently someone compared me to the beach.  When they are on (my) sand they feel warm and safe.  They like the feeling of sand between toes.  They take a little dip in (my) water.  Wade in a little.  The water seems so inviting.  The water seems to beckon them, come in a little deeper.  The waves get bigger, the water is rougher and suddenly they can’t touch the sand anymore.  They thought they were safe, but now they’re at my mercy as I sweep them out beyond their depth.  I have been called bad.  I have been called dangerous.  I may be these.  I don’t really care.  Within this context, what I’m about to say may not make sense.  Today I did things I would never have dreamed of, in a setting that is foreign to me.  Read on.

I was in the supermarket, talking to myself as usual.  I was looking for a particular jar of olives and found it on the top shelf.  I knew I couldn’t reach it myself, so commanded the nearest person, a man a few metres away, to reach it for me.  My brashness combined with cuteness normally gets me everywhere, but this time I was out of luck.  This stranger I had just commanded to do my bidding looked me directly in the eyes and said, “I don’t take orders from anyone.”  Bang.  Instant attraction.  My heart started racing as I thought to myself, game on. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t think I was ordering you.  I was just asking you to complete a simple task.”

He looked at me again, his eyes holding mine.  I felt power in his eyes.  I felt myself melt a little.

“How about you ask me nicely?  And call me sir.”

“Wh-wh-what?  Sir?  You must be joking,” I retorted.

He shrugged and turned to continue.  I began to panic.  This man had something I had never encountered before.  I needed to engage him again.

“Wait. Ok.  Please could you reach the jar of olives for me sir?”  I asked.  It felt odd, but also gave me a rush of blood to my pussy.  Go figure.  Slowly he approached the shelf and reached up for the olives.  He handed them to me, his eyes locked on mine.  Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a business card. He said three words before turning to go. 

“You need me.”

I was both incensed and intrigued with this man.  When he was out of sight I reached for my phone and sent him a text.  It said, “Really?”  I thought it was amusing.  How did I need him?  He got the olives for me.  He’d served his purpose. 

The next day I was working from home when a text came through.  It was from him.  He told me to come to his house in an hour.  I wrote back asking what would happen if I didn’t.  He didn’t reply.  I somehow knew I would go, wanted to go, to see what he wanted, what he was about, maybe even what he could do for me.  I readied myself, thinking I was insane for even considering this, but excited at the prospect.

I arrived at his house with a few minutes to spare.  It was a house with clean lines and a modern feeling to it.  I liked it instantly.  I knocked on the door and waited nervously.  He opened it, dressed in suit pants and a fitted white business shirt.  Pretty snappy for a day at home.  He ushered me in, to the couch, and offered me a drink.  We both drank tea and chatted a little before he cut to the chase.

“You strike me as an intelligent woman.  A woman who is used to getting what they want.  I think this needs to change.  Sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side.  Come sit by me.”  He used a patting motion to show where I would sit.

“Let’s see how well you do following instructions.  Kneel down in front of me.”

I considered telling him to fuck off, but I thought better of it.  I kneeled down, looking up at him.  He stroked my hair and ran his fingers down my neck and shoulders. 

“Good girl.”  Good girl?  What the fuck?  I wasn’t his good girl.  I was bad.  I didn’t follow his rules or any rules for that matter.  I went to get up.

“Stay as you are,” he commanded in a soft, low voice.  Bang.  He had me there.  I wanted to leave but I wanted to stay more.  I felt my pussy become slippery as I kneeled back on my heels. 

“Pull your pants down.  I want to inspect you.”  My pussy twitched in response.  I did as he asked.  He gestured for me to lie across his lap.  His hand was between my legs, spreading me, probing me.  I felt a mixture of humiliation and desire. 

“You’re very wet,” he said.  “I think you might be a little slut.”  I started to laugh until crack! the sting of his hand on my arse stopped the laughter in its tracks. 

“Ow, that hurt!” I complained.  Crack! His hand came down again.  Again and again.  The pain did something.  The pain stopped being pain and took me into a space so delicious I forgot where I was.  I felt fingers probing again, my juice used to lubricate my clit as he rubbed it skillfully.  I was still over his lap.  I had no access to him, nothing to see, only the feeling of my burning arse and his fingers on me and in me.  I was not in charge.  I was not calling the shots. 

“Come for me my slut.  I know you want to.”

I bucked hard against him and the orgasm wracked my body.  It took me in waves until I was left a mess of tangled hair and sweat.  I got up and sat down, looking at him.  He smiled.

“Welcome to my world,” he said.  “In my world, you are mine.”

Jeans

Do I like jeans?  Not really.  They aren't that comfortable and aren't that flattering.  There is something I do love about wearing jeans - leather belts.  I own two, just two belts.  A brown and a black.  Both are chunky, heavily buckled.  The black one has rows of flat studs all over it.  The brown one has a gold chain running through the centre.  Both have an industrial-come-rock chick feel to them.  Jeans.  Meh.  Belts.  Yes.  I've been waiting, ever so patiently, for someone to unbuckle my belt and pull it from the loops of my jeans.  Fast, so it makes a swishing sound as it snakes out of the belt loops.  Or slow, gently tugging the belt from its haven.  Then what?  Buckle in hand, a few loops around the fist, then across my bare arse.  Leave me some stripes if you dare...

Eat

I hadn't seen him in years.  Decades.  The taxi was coming by in ten minutes and I still wasn't ready.  It didn't help that I had only just got out of the shower.  Dressing up and looking glamorous was never one of my strong points.  I preferred to just look natural, but I guessed a little makeup wouldn't go astray.  I chose a fairly plain dress teamed with boots.  I snuck some thigh high stockings on, just for a twist of adventure.  I had never been to this restaurant before but I knew it was a pretty casual funky sort of place.  I was hoping to look stylish yet understated.  As I looked in the mirror at my reflection, I felt like I was failing miserably.  Time was up.  As I made it to the front door, grabbing keys and throwing on some lip gloss, the taxi pulled up in my driveway.  A rush of nerves took me by surprise.  Why should I be so nervous?  It had been 15 years since I had seen him and there were no expectations.  I approached the taxi, realising he would get a good look of me well before I caught a glimpse of him.  I tried to walk gracefully but grace was never a strong point of mine either.  I ducked down to get in the back seat, and our eyes met for the first time in forever.  The connection was instant.

"Hi" I said nervously.
"Hello" he replied.  He leaned across and kissed me on the cheek, and while he was there I took the chance to inhale him.  I have a thing about smells.  Names dessert me, faces fade but someone's scent stays with me for a long time.  He smelled good.  More than good.  He smelled completely edible.  I found myself wanting to be close to him already.  Not a good start.  We sat in silence as the taxi took us to our restaurant.  The tension was palpable.  There was a static in the air just being in his presence.  I wondered if he felt it too. 

Finally we arrived and walked through the front door together, making small talk, laughing a little and both wondering what the evening had in store.  A few drinks later, we relaxed into an easy banter and started to open up to each other.  We talked about school, about old times, our lives and the paths we had chosen.  I felt so comfortable with him I started to touch his arm as we joked, feeling the spark as my skin touched his.  Did he feel it?  Did he realise how being near him affected me so? 

Time flew.  Before we knew it we were finishing off our drinks, laughing a lot and paying the bill.  Outside it had started to rain.  As we walked out he looped his hand in mine and I smiled my approval at him.  We walked in silence for a while under the awnings of shops before he stopped and turned towards me.  He tilted my chin up to him and kissed me gently.  Just lips at first, soft and warm.  Then came his tongue, darting between parted lips.  I let out a gasp as I began to feel my body respond to his mouth and tongue, his hands in my hair.  He pulled back and looked at me quizzically.  I just smiled and shrugged, unwilling and unable to hide my desire.  As if reading my mind, he took my hand again and started walking.  We came to a narrow alleyway, and without hesitation, he lead me into the alley.  Water dripped from a leaky gutter high above us and he pushed me into the stream of water.  I gasped again as my body felt the ice cold sensation of water running over my dress, down my cleavage and down my legs.  I arched a little as I began to enjoy the water on me.  His hand came to my breast and traced its outline as the water ran down me.  He started to unbutton me from the top down, exposing my bra, my breasts and cold erect nipples.  Through my bra he took a nipple between his fingers and gently squeezed.  I arched again, willing him to touch me more.  My dress slipped down, leaving me in underwear, stocking and boots.  He seemed to approve as his hands explored my body, slippery with water.  He moved in closer to me and I clawed at his shirt, desperate for skin to skin contact.  We kissed hard, both panting and full of desire.  His hand slipped down my panties, bringing with it cold water to mix with the warmth of my pussy.  The sensation of cold and warm made me draw my breath in sharply.  His fingers found me, teasing and sliding, rubbing as I ground against his hand, needing more contact, more purpose to his touch.  He smirked.  He knew he had me.  He got to his knees and spread me wider, his tongue finding my clit in teasing circles.  I groaned with pleasure, watching him work between my legs as water came down over both of us.  I came as he squeezed my clit between his lips, my voice hoarse and desperate.  He stood up and kissed me fully, letting me taste myself as his tongue lingered on mine.  We smiled and dressed again, walking hand in hand to the taxi stand hoping someone would take us in our saturated state.  The night was young and there was a lot of catching up to do.

The Gig

I’d been drinking since lunch. I knew I had to go to the concert with her. I mean I wanted to go but lately, hanging out with the ex wasn’t exactly how I wanted to end up. I needed more. Alcohol was a way of deadening it. Lifting life into a rosier state of mind. It’s all good now and I can cruise.

I had to get changed and was late to meet her and her friends. I hate jeans sometimes. I’d rather wear a suit so settled on my Ben Sherman outfit. God I can be a wanker sometimes. Slacks, shirt, hat and some black leather chucks. Solid. Looking in the mirror I frowned at the sight of my aging face. 40. Sigh.

The band I was looking forward to so I left the house mildly enthused.

A blur of smiles, drinks and my usual inappropriate comments, followed by the occasional frown from the ex, brought me to the gig.

I felt good. ‘Music is my radar’. So in I go mid crowd, rubbing shoulders lightly, feeling the warmth. A plastic cup of beer in each hand.

Support passes and things get a bit tighter in preparation. I see a girl a few rows up. She’s by herself. I stare. Attraction is an unusual thing. How do you spot one person in a crowd? It happens. She’s blonde, not normally my type but there's something about her.

The girls go off to get another drink. Either way I’m on my own so I move forward. Lights dim, queue stage, on they come. I sing, badly and loudly. I love the start, lost in the emotion of the performance.  Emotional as always.

After a few songs I look around. She’s there. A few people away. I stare down finish my beer and look up again. She’s entranced. Lost, intriguing. I see the back of her neck. It’s desirable. I love necks. She looks around and I look down. Hold. I look back up and we are connected. I know her even though we’ve never met. I reach forward. Feel her hand there and we’re on each other. The music surrounds us. Our kissing full and wet. Passionate. She fills my mouth and we parry, dance. On and on.

I grab her ass. And squeeze then move my hand inside. Down the back of her jeans. Feeling her skin. I love the curvature of it, the feeling between, the sweatiness. As I plunge my hand further down and feel her wetness.

I move my hand to the front, there’s hair at the top. Everything else is smooth, wet, slippery. A mixture of sweat and her excitement. My hand rests, firmly. Not moving apart from the swaying of our bodies. We open our eyes and connect again.  ‘Oh God’ is all she says then closes her eyes.  My finger gently massages her clit. A minute later she’s coming. I feel the legs squeeze, her body quiver. She’s good, very good. I lean back and we evaluate each other. I pull my hand up and lace it on the back of her neck. My fingers holding firmly. She breathes in and motions her head towards them. I move my index finger to the corner of her mouth. She breathes in again heavily. And licks the finger.

The concert

She had been looking forward to the concert for weeks.  It was one of her favourite bands and she couldn't wait to get amongst it, to sing with strangers in unison and move to the same beat.  Was it odd that she often masturbated to this music?  Nobody else knew that, and she was quite sure she could control herself at the concert surrounded by thousands of fans.

She spent a long time deciding what she was going to wear.  Sensible shoes were definitely needed.  She was sure she would have her feet stood on and drinks spilled on them, so a pair of ballet flats made the most sense.  Jeans of course were a must, plus a loose fitting t-shirt that dropped off one shoulder at times, leaving her bra strap and shoulder exposed. 

She arrived with plenty of time to go and took her place near the front.  Through the support act the crowd grew.  When it was time for the main act the crowd seemed to take on it's own personality.  It moved and surged as one, and she was carried with it, eager as everyone to see the band.  She didn't have anything to worry about did she?  She could control herself.  This was a big crowd.

The music started.  She was there, in the moment, in the crowd, hands in the air, dancing, singing, loving every moment. Her body started to betray her.  It was used to this music, much quieter, in her room, in her bed, her hands on herself.  She felt the wetness between her legs, her cunt becoming slicker with every song.  She started to become frantic, to wonder if she could just slip her hands into her pants.  Her eyes met with a stranger next to her.  He saw her need, her want.  A simple cock of his head and they were on each other, lips on lips, tongues frantically searching and probing.  With one swift movement, he slipped his hand down the front of her jeans and found her moist pussy as it began consuming his fingers.  He rubbed fiercely on her clit as his tongue forced its way into her mouth.  She was frantic now, the beat taking her higher and higher, his fingers fucking her forcefully.  She came, clamping on his hand, biting his lower lip in ecstasy.  He slid his hand out, caressed her face with her own wetness and went back to the frenzy of the dance.  She stood there, smiling.

Pizza

She picked up the phone. The children were playing in the office. Noisy again. It was him.
'Hi. It's me'
'Oh hello' she said cautiously, that familiar rush coming to her brain and body.  There was silence for a moment.  She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding and breath quickening.  She was unused to any man affecting her this way by merely uttering hello.  She waited for him to speak.
"I hope you are in the kitchen" he said.  "You have the dough ready?"
"Yes" she whispered breathlessly.
"Touch it, knead it, pull it, spread it."
She set the phone in the crook of her neck and began to do as he asked. 
"Now imagine that it your pussy, and I am kneading it, kneading you.  Prying you apart, stretching and squeezing you."
She felt her breath catch in her throat and she uttered 'oh god' to herself, hoping he wouldn't hear, or sense her rising need. 
He spoke again.  "Are you wet?  Does your pussy like what I am doing to it?"
"Yes" she said, "Yes".
"Pinch the dough. Pinch it hard.  That is your clit between my fingers.  I'm squeezing and pinching it and rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger."
She gasped, following his instructions.  Her clit responded on it's own accord, aching and throbbing.  She was close to orgasm, close to surrendering, her belly aching, her pussy twitching. 
"Now" he said, in a low, firm voice, "Now you will come for me.  Come now."
Before he had finished his last word her orgasm took her body in waves, sending her pussy into uncontrollable twitches as she stifled the noise of her climax.  And with that, he promptly hung up, leaving her in the kitchen, weak-kneed, hands deep in pizza dough.