Tag Archives: breasts

Lamb and chicken – Final part

“That’s it, work that cock. Suck it,” I say, as if I’m talking to cheap stripper sucking me off in the back room of a dingy club of an insignificant former Soviet republic.

Busty Czech doesn’t make a sound and her action with her mouth becomes more intense in response to my words. She likes being told what to do; she’s submissive.

On her own initiative she stops sucking and sticks her tongue out, still keeping her eyes closed, starts running her tongue around the tip of my cock before lashing the length of my shaft with it several times, making sure that as much of my penis is as wet as possible. She resumes sucking on my cock, effortlessly moving her head backwards and forwards while keeping her lips latched onto it.

Possibly tiring of this she pulls her mouth away, perhaps to give it a rest, she brushes her face with my erection, slowly taking turns to slide it over one cheek then the other. An idea comes to me.

“Slap your face with it,” I instruct.

She complies, slapping one cheek repeatedly with my cock then the other cheek several times. As she does so I encourage her with, “That’s it, good girl”. She opens her eyes while she does this and I can see that behind the slits of her mask she is thinking. Her eyelids are flickering at the camera.

“You’re not taking video, are you?”

I say nothing and she sucks on my cock a few more times.

“You’re not taking video? Oh my god, you’re not?!” she exclaims, recoiling away from me but keeping her hand on my cock and jerking away on it. Leaning back like that has put her exquisite, puffy breasts on display. They are quite a sight for horny eyes.

I guess the fun for the day comes to an end now. I try to think quickly.

“You can get stills from that. It’s better picture quality,” I say. I think my American cousins would call this a ‘Hail Mary pass’.

She leans forward and puts her mouth against my cock, but then pulls away again.

“Ha! I can’t believe it,” she says, laughing.

Again she leans in toward my cock with her mouth. Maybe we haven’t finished.

“You tricked me,” she says before putting her head down and resumes sucking away on the best part of me.

Now she’s aware that she’s being filmed and is looking directly into the lens.

“Nobody’s going to see it. You’re wearing a mask,” I say.

Busty Czech laughs to herself with my cock in her mouth. She proceeds to repeat almost everything that she has already done with my cock, licking and sucking it, but this time she’s looking brazenly at the device, seemingly enjoying herself now.

She stops for a second and bounces the tip of my cock repeatedly against the button nose on the end of her mask, smiling as she does so. A silly laugh precedes her taking my cock in her mouth and she swallows as much of it as she can. Busty Czech is enjoying this now, in the same way that other women who I’ve filmed also initially were against the idea but after a while got into it. Alcohol and a camera seems to make many women lose their inhibitions.

Busty Czech opens her mouth, sticks her tongue out and slaps both sides of her face with my cock while looking directly into the lens.

Just then my memory card on the phone fills up and I remember that I still have the footage of The Saffa sucking on me, especially my toes, that has taken up so much space.

Busty Czech continues to worship my cock with her mouth but I can feel that I’m getting closer to cumming. She made it clear the last time we got physical that she hates having cum in her mouth so I have to orchestrate an alternative ending for the inevitable.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask. I’ll let her have input into what happens next.

“I like it on my breasts,” she says, releasing my penis from her mouth, but still giving it a handy.

“You’d better lie on the sofa then,” I instruct.

She gets up and positions herself on the sofa by lying on her back and cupping her breasts together. I wish my camera was still working to have captured this sight.

I straddle her with one of my feet on the ground and the other leg bent and alongside her ribs. My cock drops naturally between her breasts. Busty Czech licks her hand, smears the saliva between her breasts and then places my cock neatly between them, smothering it. With her hands cupping her boobs she starts moving them quickly backwards and forwards.

That’s something of an expert move she pulled there, lubricating her cleavage like that. How many guys have fucked her boobies?

I can barely feel a thing. Her breast tissue is so light, like cotton-wool, that there is almost no sensation. Yes, it’s a wonderful sight down there between my legs, but it’s doing nothing for me.

“I want to see you jerking me off onto your tits,” I say, hoping not to give offence.

Without a word she grips my cock with both her hands, one behind the other, commencing a perfect hand-shandy. She deserves some pleasure too, so I lean back and slide a hand into her panties. There’s a bit more stubble since the last time my hand was down there. My fingers touch what must be the cord for her tampon; must not ensnare that. Busty Czech spreads her legs and her pussy is so wet it feels like I’ve stuck my hand into a tub of jelly. My fingers begin stroking her swollen clit.

“Oh yes!” she exclaims.

Shit, she’s not going to start screaming again, is she?

Mercifully all I hear is her moaning sweetly as I play with her clit and she jerks me off. This position might not be in the Karma Sutra and for good reason; it’s getting uncomfortable for me. If I stop playing with her I’ll disappoint her, but I’m nowhere near cumming. I need some naughty talk.

“Do you like this?” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” she replies.

“Do you like having your pussy played with?”

“Uh-huh,” she repeats.

“Do you like having a cock in your hands?”

“Uh-huh,” again.

“Do you like making a cock cum between your tits?”

“Yes,” she utters, speeding up her hand motion.

“Do you like the feeling of hot, sticky cum on your tits?”

“Oh, yes,” she says.

“Or would you prefer to feel to feel my cock in your pussy?”

“Oh god,” she splutters. I’m still rubbing her swollen clit, now erect like a mini-penis, so is she close to cumming?

“Or would you prefer to feel my hot,sticky cum in your bum?”

“Oh god!” she exclaims and her body starts shivering and shaking as she cums.

My words and implied ideas of anal sex have had the desired effect and Busty Czech lets off a blood-chilling scream that her neighbours must have heard. Are they used to her screams I wonder? Her sudden scream is so distracting that my erection has subsided a little. I’ll never get used to her screaming during sex. Hell, this wasn’t even full sex.

I straighten my back and, impressively, Busty Czech is still jerking away on my cock while she comes down from her orgasm. She still has that silly leopard-print mask and matching ears on. Her tits are bouncing around beautifully as her elbows are pushing them in as she works my cock. It’s wonderful sight and my full erection returns.

It’s not long before I feel a bolt of sperm shoot up from my balls and launch itself out of the end of my penis. Busty Czech doesn’t make a sound as my cum starts flying around, but bizarrely she opens her mouth in what must be an involuntary reflex action. Maybe she does want my cum in her mouth? People are often turned on by the thing they claim to dislike. The thought of my sperm in her arse sent her over the edge.

My baby-batter mostly collects in her cleavage. She lets go of my cock which is going limp now and she pushes her boobs together, forcing some of the cum up and out of her cleavage, spilling in every direction. Busty Czech lets go of them and her boobs flop down, then smears the sperm into her breasts with the tips of her fingers. I just watch her as she does this.

I slouch down on the ground next to the sofa and we look at each other as we pant like happy hunting dogs.

In this moment Busty Czech feels so right to be with. I feel torn. If The Saffa wasn’t on the scene I’d be happy to let things proceed with this sweet Slav. Ah, but sex aside, she doesn’t feel like The One. Our chats at night have started to feel icky, like I’m being her emotional crutch. I’ve been that before for someone else and I’m not going to let that happen again.

Busty Czech goes to clean herself up while I put my jocks on. Now is still not the time to dump her. Only a heartless monster will do that now. My dating experiences have not yet degraded me into being that guy. However, I should really leave soon and go home.

“Can we please go lie down on my bed?” she asks, returning to the lounge.

How can I say no?

We cuddle on her bed and a pleasant after-glow tingles our bodies. Busty Czech is tactile and I like that because I’m the same. Only a minority of the women I’ve met in recent years would I describe as tactile. That surprises me because what more genuine way is there to connect with someone than by touching them?

As dusk descends she falls asleep in my arms. I lie there, thinking about things, about The Saffa, about Busty Czech and about some of the other women I’ve been involved with. I realize that I need to feel a sense of awe for the woman I’m seeing, but that is lacking with Busty Czech. Instead the overwhelming emotion is one of pity. That’s not right, I don’t want to be with someone because I pity them. That’ll never work.

I fall asleep into a post-orgasm snooze and get woken by the sound of Busty Czech using the adjoining bathroom. It’s now pitch dark and I have no idea what time it is. I should really get my stuff and go.

Before I can move she rejoins me and is wearing a frilly night-gown from the 1950s, the type I don’t like. She’s gone from being a sexy, screaming cock-jerker to somebody’s grandmother in a matter of minutes.

It looks like she’s ready for bed. She smiles at me.

“Why don’t you get under the covers with me?” she asks.

This day has gone so awfully wrong. I should just have blurted out my feelings when I arrived and then left. No, that would have destroyed her, given everything that she had laid on for me. I can’t walk out now either because that would lead to all sorts of questions. I have to spend the night with her although I don’t really want to.

“I need to wear this,” Busty Czech says as she dons a huge black eye-mask that makes her look like a geriatric. The grandmother look is now complete.

She puts the light out and reverses into me. Like that we spoon and fall asleep together, with very different states of heart. She’s pleased with herself no doubt and I’m at war with myself, silently berating myself for my cowardice.

The smell of bacon wakes me the next morning. I’m alone in the bed and I can hear Busty Czech singing to herself in her kitchen. I go to the lounge to find my clothes and I get dressed hoping that I don’t look too rumpled. It’s a perfect, sunny morning and the light in a mirror catches every crease on my clothing. I try to smoothe what I can because I don’t want to give anything away.

Once in the kitchen I give Busty Czech a good morning kiss. She’s wearing a frumpy one-piece frock that does her no favours. It’s the sort of thing my mother wears around her home and she’s in her eighties. I don’t think that any man wants his woman to dress like his mother does.

Busty Czech’s prepared a wonderful breakfast for me. We sit and eat while she chatters away about nothing in particular. I’m not feeling chatty; I feel ashamed and uncomfortable. She starts talking about our trip to France next week and my soul winces. I have to get out of here.

Not long afterwards breakfast ends and I make my excuses about meeting friends in London at noon as part of my birthday celebrations.

“Enjoy your lunch with your friends,” Busty Czech says cheerily as she waves me goodbye from her front door.

I know I’ll never see her again, I think to myself as I get in my car.

Every man she has known has been a fool for treating her the way they did, but I have joined their shameful ranks.

I feel like I’m the biggest jerk ever.

Now I have to face The Saffa.

She’s waiting for me at Piccadilly Circus.

Coldplay – I ran away

Lamb and chicken

On Saturday afternoon I arrive at Busty Czech’s home with my heart in my mouth. I have to dump her so that I can have The Saffa. I also have to kiss goodbye to a thousand Pounds for a holiday that I’m now not going to have with Busty Czech. The Saffa is patiently waiting for me to stop seeing Busty Czech so that she can have me to herself, but her patience is wearing thin. This situation has felt like a vice with me trapped in the middle. I know what I have to do and I’m not looking forward to doing it.

Busty Czech greets me at her door and she is wearing a leopard-print dress which strikes me as a bit odd. She’s all positive and bubbly, talkative and perpetually smiling at me. I can’t dump her immediately after walking through the door; I’ll wait until she’s calmed down.

She makes us coffee and we seat ourselves in the lounge. There’s a wonderful smell in the air; what is it? Busty Czech is on a rampage of telling me everything that is in her head. Her thoughts about our trip to the French Riviera in a week’s time dominate. Over her shoulder I notice a wrapped present sitting in the middle of the dining table. She’s like an excited little girl, it’s so sweet.

Our chats at night over the weeks have always had a negative slant to them so her positive behaviour now I find surprising. Why is she being so ebullient? Then I figure out it’s because she’s gone to some effort to lay on a day of treats for my birthday. She’s a Giver and definitely not a Taker. Oh shit, when is the right time to do this?

“How about you open your present first?,” she suggests, getting up to go get it for me.

Two weeks ago she asked me what my cologne was, so I told her ‘Hermes Terre’. She seemed to listen carefully to this, so I’m guessing I’ll be getting that for my birthday.

I open the carefully wrapped box to find a large, dark-blue scented candle in it.

“I simply love the smell of that candle because it reminds me of you. It smells manly,” she says with a smug smile.

I swallow hard; I’m not feeling very manly at the moment.

I can’t dump her now; best to wait a little bit longer.

Her upbeat nature continues until a buzzer sounds in the kitchen. She’s prepared a leg of roast lamb and it’s perfectly done. We sit down after I’ve carved the lamb which she knows is my favourite meat. Does The Saffa know that? Busty Czech has laid on the prefect lamb roast with all the traditional trimmings and her culinary skills impress me. I realize that I don’t know anything about The Saffa’s kitchen skills.

Busty Czech is on a roll and just keeps talking, which suits me fine. I’m enjoying the meal but my mind is nagging me. Now’s still not the right time to dump her. Am I sure I’m doing the right thing? At this moment I’m not entirely certain.

I envisaged walking in here, getting her comfortable and then letting her down as gently as I’ve learned to do, courtesy of all the practise I’ve had doing so with other women in the past two years. Busty Czech seems the least deserving of heartache. She’s done nothing wrong; she’s a wonderful person. She’s nothing like the others that I’ve broken up with.

Shit, I just can’t do it; it’s just too hard.

I have to do this over the phone.

Coward!

Looking at my plate of food before me it strikes me that Busty Czech is like a lamb, all cute, harmless and innocent. She is the meek lamb and me, well I guess I’m the cowardly chicken.

So here we are, the lamb and the chicken.

My shoulders relax as Busty Czech brings me an elaborate pavlova dessert that she got up early to make. Her generosity is wonderful, but The Saffa can be generous too.

I’m not a big wine-drinker but most women are. I nurse my glass of red for an hour while Busty Czech polishes off the bottle. Not surprisingly, in my experience, the alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions and she assails me with initially sweet kisses and then lusty ones. If I rebuff her she’ll get upset, she’ll ask me what’s wrong then I have to break up with her to which tears will be added. I can’t stand to see a woman cry.

Busty Czech gets up, disappears into her bedroom and comes back wearing a leopard-print face-mask and bunny ears. It all matches her dress. Ah, this must be part of the birthday surprise she mentioned in her text message. She looks so cute, but what’s this in aid of?

She puts some music on and starts dancing suggestively to it. Well this is a surprise. I can’t dump her now.

“Unfortunately my period started today, but we can have fun in other ways,” she says cheerily.

I’m not sure what she means. I don’t think she’s into anal and she’s not likely to whip out a bag full of toys like Tech Titan did, so what has she got on her mind? I know that some women are at their horniest while they’re menstruating; I’ll have to sit back and see for myself. Fuck it, I’m going to have to forget about dumping her and just have some fun with her tonight.

What’s with women having their periods start at times like these? This is how Life screws with me. Still got to make the best of it.

An idea comes to me and I take my phone out. I’ve never had a woman I’m dating dance for me. I want to capture the novelty of this. I start taking photos with my phone as Busty Czech cracks open another bottle of wine and pours glasses full for us.

She starts dancing again while I snap pics of her. Slowly she starts to unbutton the front of her dress. There’s no sign of a bra as her breasts push against the front of the dress. Something in my groin starts to stir.

Busty Czech strips down to her knickers, all tastefully done and in time to the music. The leopard-print mask and matching bunny ears remain in place on her face and head. I can’t believe she’s letting me take photos of her like this, but I’m not saying anything. She wants to do this for me, so I’ll let her.

Suddenly she stops dancing and takes a seat at the dining table to drink some wine. I’m seated on the sofa opposite her and take some close-up shots. She’s sitting with her knees together in a very lady-like fashion, her breasts dangling down as she takes sips of wine. Damn, she has fantastic breasts!

Thirst quenched and under the affluence of incohol, she glides over to me, gesturing for me to stop taking photos. I put the phone down; why antagonize her?

Busty Czech starts fiddling with my jeans and shirt, unbuttoning both, splaying my shirt open and then tearing my jeans and jocks off, casting them gingerly to one side. Her eyes latch onto my growing cock.

Without a word she sinks down to her knees between my legs and in a quick motion pulls my foreskin back and starts sucking my cock. It feels wonderful.

“Have you ever seen yourself giving a blowjob?” I ask.

“No,” she mumbles with my cock in her mouth.

“I’ll take some photos, then I’ll show you later and I’ll delete them,” I say without waiting for her to say anything else.

Instead of taking more photos I switch my phone onto video-mode as Busty Czech hungrily is sucking on me like a starved lamb attached to it’s mother’s teat.

She is unaware of what I’ve just done and I’m not inclined to tell her, not just yet anyway. Busty Czech closes her eyes and rhythmically sucks away on my cock. As cock-suckers go, she’s one of the better ones I’ve had on the end of my shaft. It’s such a pity that she won’t take my cum in her mouth and then swallow it.

I move my phone to my left so that I can capture more a profile shot and perhaps get some of her fantastic breasts in the footage too.

Oblivious to what I’m doing Busty Czech is happily sucking away on the end of my cock, occasionally stopping to run her tongue around my bell-end or up and down the shaft of my penis. She seems to be in a trance, perhaps brought on by the weird gypsy music she’s playing on the stereo.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Screamer

I’m not expecting to fuck Busty Czech tonight, but to be safe I’ve run around my apartment getting rid of any trace of The Saffa. New bedding and a spray of air freshener to get rid of the smell of ammonia-laced cum is a must. I’m getting good at this now. How many times have I bedded two women in the same day? I don’t know any more.

I wasn’t expecting to even see Busty Czech today, nevertheless I’m not hoping to have anything happen between us on the what might be our first night together; her fragile state of health I have to keep in mind. I’m just wanting her to feel totally safe with me in my home. I’m also feeling a little unsexual because of my shenanigans this morning which has left my balls feeling satisfyingly drained. If she stays over I might get physical with Busty Czech in the morning.

The scent of the air freshener has just settled after lunchtime as I meet Busty Czech at her car in my car park. The bulging bags at her feet hint at her spending the night. She gives me a cheery smile as we kiss hello. Can she smell another woman on me? My sense of guilt lingers like an unwelcome fart in a spacesuit.

“It’s quaint,” is all she says as we dump her bags and nibbles in my apartment.

I take her for a slow stroll around my town, yes, the exact same route as I had taken with The Saffa the previous day. Her bouncing breasts attract the attention of other men who leer like salivating dogs. Men are sometimes an embarrassment to me, but I fear that in my own way I am becoming just like them. My eroding morals and treatment of women is bothering me if I am brave enough to think about my actions of late.

After savouring the delights of the fringe of English countryside, once safely ensconced on my sofa, I introduce Busty Czech to Californication. Yes, the same episodes that I had watched yesterday with The Saffa. By now I know the storyline off by heart, so I analyze the dialogue, tone and tempo of each episode. She’s laughing her head off while I wonder to myself how funny she would find it if she knew what had been going on before she arrived. She’s an innocent with a monster sitting next to her.

We hadn’t discussed her sleeping over, it hadn’t crossed my mind because I was expecting her to bail out on me. Now it was implicit that she would and I needed to go with it, because if I showed her the door she would be disappointed. Her intent pleased me as it showed a degree of commitment that I was beginning to think was lacking. However, I feel conflicted because this morning’s lover might be coming back for more than to suck me off, while by my side I have someone else who is committing acts of relationship towards me.

I rustle up an impromptu dinner after which Busty Czech asks to watch more Californication; she’s addicted. I’m in serious danger of getting her so turned on that she’s going to rape me. She could lose control; I think she can be that passionate. I’m still not frisky – The Saffa did an excellent job – but what if Busty Czech wants to have sex?

I’m starting to think that relationships are like London buses in that for ages there’s nothing then two come along at the same time. This isn’t the first time that this has happened to me. My other double-dating/double-fucking situations come to mind: Tech Titan and Baltic Babe, Teacher Gal and Delicate Flower, Career Girl and Musician Gal, Pretty Teacher and Krazy Girl, Travel Gal and Busty Blonde, The Finn and The Brazilian.

The Saffa and Busty Czech are nothing alike. It’s another time of Fire and Ice. Why does this keep happening to me?

“I’m getting a little tired. Is it okay if we go to bed now?” Busty Czech asks, snapping me out of my despicable chain of memories. It’s only nine o’clock. Oh, are we now going from memories to mammaries? This could get tricky because what if I can’t perform?

“All right, if you insist,” I reply with a mischievous smile.

I’m expecting us to just lie down together, chat a little more then fall asleep with her in my arms.

Busty Czech has other plans, other needs.

It is only a matter of minutes of us lying on my bed still fully-clothed before the passionate kissing begins. She is getting really turned on, her sounds increasing in volume and her hip movements become more pronounced, more urgent, almost aggressive as she rubs herself against me.

“Is somebody horny?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

“I was horny already for you hours ago in the lounge,” she purrs in her sexy Slavic accent. My sphincter tightens.

I slide my hand down the front of her jeans and feel warm, slippery, wetness between her legs. There’s no hint of pubic hair. Busty Czech looks me dead in the eye and lets off an almighty moan of pleasure as I brush her clit.

There’s no way I can’t fuck her tonight; that would cause all sorts of problems. I’ll just have to rise to the occasion.

Clothes go flying as passion spirals us out of control. I take a split second to take in the scene before me. She’s lying on her back, smiling at me. Her pussy is freshly shaven and I can make out juiciness between her labia. My gawd, she has a fantastic body on her, almost as good as Krazy Girl’s, but her tits are even bigger. She has the biggest breasts I have ever seen in real life. I thought Busty Blonde was big, but this woman is huge. Most amateurish lovers would go straight to playing with her boobicles, but I know enough to be different.

My manhood has reacted as Nature intended so we’re good to go; I’m relieved. I grip the heels of her feet and raise them to my shoulders, then slowly slide my cock into her pussy, all the time keeping eye contact. Her eyes go wide as she feels my cock filling her up. That moment I cherish has arrived, that instant when a woman’s mouth opens in a silent scream, as if the tip of my cock is about to pop out of her mouth and say hello to me.

This time there is no silent scream. Busty Czech lets out a loud staccato choking sound as my cock pushes past what feels like little areas of resistance in her pussy. For a moment I think that I might have accidentally penetrated her arse and not her pussy, but I realise it has been a while since she last had a cock in her, so things are a little tight down there – just how I like it.

I’m going to give her a good fucking and then she will be ravenous for my cock; I have seen this before with other women. They hadn’t been fucked for a while and as long as the next fucking was a good one, whichever cock was involved, they would almost become addicted to it. I know that she is going to be addicted to my cock, but how long for would be anybody’s guess.

“Aren’t you going to use a condom?” she blurts out plaintively.

“I hate those things. I can’t feel anything and then I go soft,” I reply, continuing to rock my hips.

“I’m in the middle of my cycle. I don’t want to fall pregnant,” she says with a pleading look in her eyes.

“I’ll pull out before I come. I won’t get you pregnant. I promise,” I say and it seems to soothe her fears because within seconds she closes her eyes and is enjoying herself, so much so that the decibel level to her sounds is becoming quite high. After about a minute of thrusting into her, my cock rubbing her g-spot no doubt, she is now screaming with pleasure.

I’m not talking about a loud moan or a high-pitched squeal, but a full-throated scream and as loud as she can.

Could it be pain? I not sure whether she’s acting, but it doesn’t seem like it. I’m enjoying the sight of her breasts wobbling about as I fuck her, but a concerned look comes over my face and I end up focussing on her mouth. She is screaming so loud that I worry I’m hurting her and also concerned that my neighbours, whose bedroom is on the other side of the wall, can hear her.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask.

“No, it’s great. I’m just very noisy,” Busty Czech answers.

“Are you always noisy?”

“Yes, always. My other boyfriends couldn’t handle it,” she replies, laughing.

I can see why. I’m used to women giving off little squeals of tormented delight, but this is something unbelievable! I always thought that the notion of a ‘screamer’ was an urban myth. Now I’m experiencing it and I don’t like it because it’s distracting me.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Cock-eyed Brazilian

The next day I’m speeding towards the trendy part of London where The Brazilian lives. My heart is pounding and there’s a little itch in my groin as thoughts of her race through my head. Could this be it? Is this Her? Finally, after all this time, effort and disappointment, could I finally have found The One?

Stop it. It’s only been one date, fool! You know the rules by now. Only get excited by the end of the third date because only then do you know if the feelings are mutual. Getting excited now is just setting myself up for a big fall. Keep it together. Be more Passive-Disinterested; it drives women wild.

I keep thinking about how much I wanted to kiss her yesterday. I even went home and looked up what the term for it is. Basorexilia: the overwhelming desire to kiss.

After more than an hour’s driving I get to her home which doubles as her business. I’ve always had immense admiration for anyone who runs their own business because I know how hard it is. We greet politely at her front door and it’s just cute kisses on each of her cheeks. I’m pretty sure that the real kissing will come later in the day.

In the blink of an eye we find ourselves on my picnic blanket in a nearby public park. Earlier I’d been to the shops as soon as they opened and bought everything anyone could want to eat at a picnic. The Brazilian is pleased with my surprise and suitably impressed by my selection. Conversation is easy, positive and energetic. She laughs at my every joke, but there’s much more going on between us.

The electricity between us is palpable and I want to kiss her. How and when should I make my move? I think she’s too much of a lady to make the first move. Almost all women are like that though; they want the man to initiate proceedings. Luckily for me I’ve never been afraid to lead.

As if on cue a cluster of rain-clouds speedily collect overhead and start spitting on us. I’m prepared for this and hoist the largest umbrella that I could find at home. I motion to The Brazilian to join me under it, which she duly obliges. Our shoulders are touching; it’s the strongest physical contact we’ve had so far and it feels good. I’ll try my luck soon. An idea comes to me.

I take a spicy cocktail samoosa and I feed it to her. She laughs as I do so, but she accepts my gesture. I’ve always thought it incredibly naughty and titillating to feed a woman food. It’s an erotic act that touches a woman on several levels. The most obvious mental image is that of feeding her my penis. On the cerebral level it also tells a woman that I am prepared and able to dominate her; that is a turn-on for women too. In my experience women find this act to be a part of foreplay and they like it.

“Oh, there’s a bit of crumb next to your mouth,” I say. There isn’t but I want her to think that there is.

The Brazilian wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I smile to myself. Here we go…

“Nope. You’ve missed it. Let me get it,” I say.

I lean towards her, aiming my lips at the side of her mouth, but stopping just short from making contact. Will she pull away, signalling that she’s not yet ready to get physical with me? Or will she come in and meet my lips, thus showing her attraction and desire for me?

The Brazilian instantly moves her head to meet my lips with hers. Our lips are a perfect match. Our first kiss is slow and gentle. I just make my lips available and let her rise to the occasion. Whenever I’ve done this within a few seconds a woman is getting into the kiss as I can feel the energy within her rising, she closes her eyes and her breathing intensifies. It’s when I notice the breathing that I pull away, thus leaving her wanting more. As I pull away from The Brazilian she opens her eyes and they’re ablaze with passion. There’s something I need to know.

“When did you first want to kiss me?” I ask.

“From the very first moment I saw you standing outside the station.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

“Yes, and the whole time we were sitting on the sofa in the pub watching the Brazil game, all I wanted to do was kiss you.”

“Guess what? I wanted to kiss you then too.”

We both smile and then share a kiss that seemed to go on forever. Spots of rain fall on the ground around us as we kiss, but I don’t recall feeling a single drop land on me. It was one of those moments when the universe stood still, just for us, as our lips and tongues entwined, bonding not just our bodies but our souls too. I knew then for sure that I could fall in love with her.

Seeing as we’re having this moment of honesty and she’s forthcoming, there’s something else that I need to know.

“Tell me something. What kind of relationship are you looking for?” I ask, this question driven by the niggling fact that we found each other on Tinder.

“More than anything, I want a relationship free of drama.” She answers with a plaintive look in her eyes.

“Me too. I’ve had enough drama to last me another lifetime.”

I think for a few seconds, feeling her gaze still upon me, I turn and say, “I won’t hurt you, but you can hurt me, because I can take it.”

“I won’t hurt you,” she says softly.

The clouds multiply and an English Summer downpour forces us to abandon our picnic.

“How about we go back to my place?” The Brazilian suggests.

“I don’t think we have much choice,” I say, starting to pack everything away. I haven’t driven for so long only to go home after a couple of hours. I’m quite happy to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon with her snuggled up in my arms, watching movies, chatting and kissing occasionally. I think it’s too soon for sex; we only met 24 hours ago.

In the car park I pack picnic gear into my car and I watch as The Brazilian happily skips over to a rubbish bin to dispose of surplus packaging. She looks so cute and I spot her breasts bouncing. I hadn’t noticed before that she has surprisingly large breasts. Until now she’s kept them hidden away under a tasteful scarf, like most big-breasted women do. Hmm, I look forward to playing with those one day. Patience.

Back at her place she makes us coffee and we get comfortable upstairs in her lounge area which is cluttered with unpacked boxes. The downstairs of her dwelling is reserved for her business. We sit side by side on her new fabric sofa as she flicks through television channels trying to find something that might distract us. We’re in serious danger of ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking like rabbits, such is the sexual tension between us.

The Brazilian finds a mindless rom-com and we pretend to watch it. She excuses herself and goes to another room, returning wearing a tight t-shirt and flimsy tracksuit trousers. She looks so sexy and her breasts are on full display. Damn, they look squeezable!

Hang on, what’s going on here? I’ve been in this position before. It was with Baltic Babe when she returned to the lounge wearing a nice little nothing too. Sex was on offer that night and I turned it down, then haven’t seen her since. If you say no to a woman she won’t offer again because her ego couldn’t risk or tolerate another rejection. A woman will only offer herself to you once. Is The Brazilian signalling that she wants sex?

She throws herself down on the sofa, snuggling up next to me. After a minute of silence The Brazilian snaps me out of my train of erotic thought by uncharacteristically asking me a question about myself.

“What’s your favourite type of ending to a movie?”

“At the end of the movie, ‘When Harry Met Sally’, Harry says to Sally, ‘when you realize that you’ve met the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, the rest of your life can’t start soon enough’,” I say.

“I like that. It’s beautiful,” she replies and sighs.

I cup her face and we kiss…and keep kissing. The Brazilian is getting turned on, the sounds she’s making tell me so. What do I do? Should we go all the way? No, it’s too soon for my liking. I want a loving relationship that has sex as the finishing touch on top, not the foundation of where it all started. Am I wrong in this regard? Perhaps, but it’s what I’m comfortable with. Fucking first then hoping for love afterwards is not likely to work in my opinion.

The Brazilian comes to life, opens her eyes that are blazing again and pulls away from me. She gets up and clambers onto the sofa with both feet, deftly stepping one foot over my legs before lowering herself down onto my lap, facing me. She slides her arms behind my head and starts grinding her crotch into mine.

To Be Continued…

Date #41 – Busty Blonde

I was swapping messages with Travel Gal when someone else caught my eye. This new woman had words and ideas that intrigued me because I identified with everything she said. The only problem was that she was six years older than me. That was offset by the fact that one of her profile photos showed her in a bikini, sporting the biggest pair of breasts that I had ever seen on a dating profile. I could put the age-gap to the back of my mind and if she was young in spirit then it shouldn’t be a problem. Quite honestly, whenever I thought of her, the image that popped into my mind was that of the bikini photo. I couldn’t help wonder what those breasts would feel like in my hands. In a moment of inspired brilliance I dubbed her ‘Busty Blonde’.

Travel Gal was spending the next two weeks in southern Africa for work, visiting new hotels and game lodges that were hoping she would send business their way. I wouldn’t be seeing her for some time, which suited me fine because I wanted to meet some more women in the hope that I could make an informed choice.

Busty Blonde and I swap messages on the national newspaper’s dating website and we get along as well as can be expected via such a limited, tricky medium. I’m still thinking of Travel Gal’s snobbish way of speaking which irritates me, so I suggest to Busty Blonde that we have a chat on the phone. I have reservations about her because of the age-gap and I’m starting to believe that all women’s dating profile photos are at least five years old. I’m forming a theory that the older a woman, the more likely she is to use old photos.

The Wanderer is sitting on my sofa in my lounge as I withdraw to my bedroom to speak to Busty Blonde one week-night. It’s 8pm and she’s just got in from work. Is this why she’s single – a typical London Girl married to her job, no time for a relationship? Our chat is pleasant enough, but I’m struck by how old she sounds. It feels like I’m talking to a pensioner but I know that voice calls distort our speech which is why I’ve avoided screening calls in the past. Towards the end of the call Busty Blonde sounds serious and sceptical because of the questions she asks me about recent relationships. I find it difficult to discern what someone is saying when I can’t see their face or properly hear their tone. I decide to end the call before it spirals out of control and descends into nothingness.

I’m not too sure what to make of our conversation. It wasn’t sparkling and began to feel defensive for reasons unknown to me. The single greatest thing that comes out of it that I’ve learned that she’s Scottish. That gives some cause for optimism, given my track record with English women. I decide to suggest a date and do so via email, thinking that she’s probably not interested in a man so much younger, but I’m wrong when she responds suggesting meeting this Sunday.

Could she be The One?

It’s a typically overcast grey Winter’s day as I arrive at Tower Hill Tube station’s exit. Instantly I spot Busty Blonde standing waiting for me. The first impression is underwhelming. She looks her age, perhaps a few years more even and I’m not filled with any sense of desire. Lust at first sight is not to be ignored but today it’s missing. I’m not used to dating a woman with wrinkles. She’s wearing an expensive-looking long brown winter coat that covers everything so no sign of those massive boobicles. Busty Blonde gives me a wonderful smile as she recognizes me. At least she has a great smile.

I kiss her hello on the cheek and give her a smile of my own. She’s tall for a woman, coming up to just under my nose. Photos never really give a proper sense of proportion. I can only guess that like most women she prefers her man to be taller than her, which I am, but I’m not sure that I can pick her up if I needed to. On her profile she describes herself as ‘curvaceous’ which is refreshingly honest, but the term can hide a multitude of sins. Those boobies must have extra wobble to them.

As we approach the stairs that lead down to the pedestrian subway, I turn to Busty Blonde and say, “Tell me something, do you like chicken?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Take a wing then,” I say, extending an elbow to her.

She bursts out laughing and a second later slides her arm around mine, shaking her head as she does so.

“That’s so cheesy,” she says.

“Yes, I know, but it made you laugh,” I reply.

That moment was our ice-breaker, the instant from which a bond began to form, the moment when defences started to crumble. I’ve always used that ruse as a way to test a woman’s sense of humour, to see if she would appreciate mine because I can be quite punny. Now I think of it primarily as a way of getting a woman comfortable in my presence.

I lead Busty Blonde to St Katharine Docks, somewhere she had heard of but never been to, despite her having lived in London for twenty years and, as I would learn, worked only half a mile away from it. The world over people do not do touristy things in their own back yard. Instead they scrimp and save, fantasize and plan for the day when they get to see what others take for granted. Funny lot, us humans.

We sit at a table for two in the pizzeria restaurant of the Dickens Inn, somewhere I’ve had dozens of dates in the past year and half. The Slavic waiter who has almost always attended me and my date greets me with a raised eyebrow. Is he silently asking, “Where the hell have you been for the last two months? My tips are down because of you!” Or is he hinting that this date is a little old for me? Maybe he’s thinking, “Ah, the gigolo’s back”?

Busty Blonde and I get along like two horny rabbits, only having eyes for each other and thoroughly engrossed in what the other is saying. We’re an obvious intellectual match and have much in common. We both left high school and have made our way in the world by dint of hard work and having the courage to seize opportunities when they presented themselves. We’ve both achieved managerial positions because of our abilities and not our contacts. I respect her for that.

The afternoon rolls by as conversation wanders aimlessly and easily, lubricated by a bottle of South African chenin blanc. I pepper the conversation with open-ended questions, letting her tell me more about herself in a natural manner. She’s open and direct, just like me, so I appreciate that. Busty Blonde is also far more bubbly and positive than what I was expecting. She seems to one of those people who is permanently happy and positive.

After a couple of hours I come to the conclusion that Busty Blonde is a thoroughly good person, imbued with old-fashioned morals and values almost identical to mine. There’s still an innocence about her, an unblemished view of the world that I used to have until I started online dating. My antics and experiences from dating have taken that innocence from me and sitting there talking to Busty Blonde, I realize that it’s never going to return. It’s gone forever.

The sun comes out to bathe London in a hazy light. With lunch over and the date going well, we mutually decide to stroll along the Southbank. It’s a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon, walking past buskers, street artists, scammers, galleries, ticket touts and people who have scrimped and saved to visit our back yard.

Busty Blonde and I walk and talk, eventually ending up in a quiet corner of a Thames-side pub. Another bottle of South African wine goes down easily while banter and laughter flows between us. I’m having a good time and so is she. To me it feels like I’ve reconnected with a long-lost friend, but there’s more it than just that. After months of disappointing experiences with other women, in mere hours it feels like she has lifted my spirits, brought me back to life. She exudes goodness and silly fun and for some reason that I still don’t understand, it makes me feel safe with her.

Her coat is slung over the back of a nearby chair and for the first time I get a hint of her mammaries. Even in the snug confines of her blue sweater they’re bigger than I expected. How does she not topple over? There’s a lot of bounce to the ounce there.

By now we’ve each the equivalent of a bottle of wine in us. Does she notice me occasionally peeking at her breasts? Or is she used to men doing that? Well, she did post that revealing bikini photo on her profile. On a dating site doing that is the equivalent of walking topless down a busy road; men are going to look.

Amidst a bout of laughter, under the slight affluence of incohol I lean over towards Busty Blonde, she responds instantly and we kiss. I do my usual thing of keeping my lips soft and using minimal force before being the first to pull away.

“Gosh, you’re a good kisser,” she remarks, blinking frenetically.

I just smile and continue talking about the topic at hand, as if nothing had happened. I’ve never really enjoyed kissing because it does very little for me physically, but I do enjoy the effect that my kisses have on women. It usually gets their sexual motor running. My having just kissed Busty Blonde sends the signal that I not afraid to escalate matters to the sexual level. Other women have told me that this is where many guys fall short because the woman was interested in having sex with a guy but would never make the first move for fear of seeming like a slut or coming across as desperate or gagging for it which usually leads to only a one-night stand. I’ve never been backward in coming forward so this has never been a failing of mine.

Something else I’ve learned courtesy of all my dates is that laughter mixed with alcohol turns a woman to putty in my hands. If she starts using the same words as me, parroting my exact words and ideas back at me, then she’s mine. Busty Blonde has been doing that for most of the date. I think it’s safe to assume that she’s keen on me.

The atmosphere between us has now been heightened but conversation is not affected by it. We talk some more before I lean over and we kiss again, this time for longer. This repeats itself periodically for the next hour or so. It feels like we could talk all night but I know not to let a good date end on a flat note by letting it go on for too long. Busty Blonde must be reading my mind because she starts saying that she needs to go home as tomorrow is going to be a challenging day at work for her. I didn’t ask what that meant but I was intrigued. In hindsight I should have asked.

By now darkness has spread itself over London, shadows smothering light, warmth giving way to cold. I don’t relish the thought of another Winter alone. What would Busty Blonde think or say if she knew that The Wanderer would be keeping me warm tonight?

I walk Busty Blonde to her Tube station and the banter between us just keeps flowing. This date has been a pleasant surprise, but I’ve learned not to put too much stock into a first date. We kiss one last time before she gets on her train. She beams at me once more from her seat before being whisked away.

Two fun dates in the space of a week. Maybe me and older women are a better match? Maybe I’m seeing things differently? Maybe I enjoyed this date with Busty Blonde because it felt like she had brought me back to life in some way? Whatever the reason, I want to see Busty Blonde and Travel Gal a few times more each. None of us have committed anything to each other, it’s ‘all just dating’. That’s an expression I saw recently that helps make me feel less guilty about dating several women at once.

With that said, is now a good time to mention that I also have the attention of two Russian ladies whom I’ll soon be meeting?

Evanescence -Bring Me to Life

Second date shenanigans – Final part

Licking Pretty Teacher’s clit while fingering her g-spot leads to an explosive orgasm, the type that gives a woman a headache afterwards. I lie next to her while her panting subsides, cuddling her as normality returns. I just say nothing, happy that I’ve pleased her. Eventually she clears her throat and speaks.

“Wow. Nobody’s ever done anything like that before,” she says, her eyes still wide.

“Good,” is all I say.

“What would you like me to do for you?” she asks.

I love it when a woman says those words to me. It signifies so much, such as her being a caring, sharing type and imbued with a sense of fairness. It also hints at perhaps even being totally submissive to me now.

“I would absolutely love it if you were to undress me and kiss me all over,” is my answer.

Pretty Teacher goes about undressing me, taking her time too. I’m in no hurry and enjoy watching her, looking at her naked. There’s something momentous about seeing a new lover naked for the first time. Each woman is different and I appreciate that. I love the female form, with its nuances, softness and clever design. I love the way women move, especially if they are naturally elegant and graceful. Pretty Teacher has a girlish femininity about her that I like.

She starts kissing me around my face and slowly makes her way down my body, arriving at my waist where she had left my underpants on. Her kisses have had the time-honoured effect on me of causing an erection. It’s not my fullest, biggest boner, but it’s almost there.

Pretty Teacher is on her knees on the carpet before me, I’m lying back on the sofa. She slowly pulls my underwear off while she keeps her eyes glued to my genital region. As my cock is revealed I see her eyes go bigger. Even as she dispenses with the undies she still keeps her eyes on my cock. It’s as if she hasn’t ever seen one before. I wonder how many cocks she has played with?

Taking my shaft in one hand she just looks at my cock, taking in every detail. This is most unusual behaviour because no other woman has looked at it for so long. They usually take a second to have a good look then get to doing whatever the situation requires. Not Pretty Teacher though. She tries to hold it erect and grip it so that her thumb touches a finger on the other side, but she can’t. Then she lowers that hand to the base of the shaft and puts her other hand around the top half of the shaft. I’m starting to feel like a frog in a biology lab.

She expertly pulls my foreskin back, slowly puts my cock in her mouth and sucks gently and carefully on it. Pretty Teacher is happy to take her time with my cock in her mouth. She closes her eyes and lowers her head on to my dick, visibly savouring the feeling of it sliding in to and filling her mouth. She stops with her mouth almost full and, with her eyes still closed, sucks onto my cock with increasing force, holding everything still for a few moments. It feels good, very good. She releases the pressure and begins rocking her head up and down, at a very gentle, steady, considered pace. This is the slowest, most tender cock-sucking I have ever felt. She is clearly enjoying what she was doing.

“Do you like doing that?” I can’t help but ask, feeling a little foolish for doing so.

“Uh-huh” was all the sound she makes, without opening her eyes nor breaking the rhythm.

Keeping her eyes closed, she slowly, deliberately goes down on to my cock as deep as her mouth can take it, holds that position for a few seconds, then slowly draws her head up to the tip of my cock. All the while she maintains a steady suction around my shaft and swollen head. She pulls her lips around my head and brings them together in a kiss. She opens her eyes, looks at my cock for a few seconds, then closes her eyes again and runs her tongue up and down my shaft, as slowly as she can. It is as if she was worshipping my cock with her mouth. It is wonderful to see and feel. I never expected her to be like this.

“Oh yes! Finally, a woman who loves to suck cock” I say to myself, half in surprise, half in relief. I could be with her just for these kind of blowjobs. There’s a very real chance that I could cum soon, which is way too soon in the scheme of things, so it’s time to change position.

“Let’s swap angles,” I say, carefully guiding her mouth away from my cock by gently pushing back on her shoulders.

I stand up and gesture towards the sofa, to which she gets up, crawls onto the sofa, lies back and spreads her legs open for me, inviting me to fuck her, which is exactly what I have in mind. I position myself on top of her, my arms by her sides and slowly thrust my cock up into her pussy. My dick skids into her vagina, stopping briefly at a point of resistance before progressing on toward the next moment of resistance. This happens four times until I’m totally in her. I slowly move my hips backwards and forwards and after a minute she’s very wet and slippery.

Her hands lay either side of her head, my forearms were now underneath her knees, which I had now raised towards her face. If she lifted her fingers slightly she could touch her toes. That was the position I had bent her into as I rammed my cock into her. With every deep thrust into her pussy, she lets out an involuntary gasp of air. Our eyes are locked on each other, her face relaxed and showing contentment. She was enjoying this and doesn’t say a word. Her pussy feels quite tight and I surmise that it had been a while since she had been fucked.

Is this what she was wanting first and foremost? Was it her horny point of the month? Is this why she made no attempt to leave, because she was hoping for this? These were the thoughts that came into my mind as I mechanically and animalistically fucked her in that position for a few minutes. We didn’t speak and she closed her eyes, totally submissive and obviously content.

I enjoy watching a woman’s breast heave and wobble like a molded jelly when I repeatedly force my cock in to her pussy. There is something about watching the nipple move, like a boat on the crest of a wave, helpless and having no choice but to go along with the greater force under it, moving it. Watching the breast return to its original position and shape, only for the motion to be repeated, is fun. Each time the breast resumes its position it flies upwards towards her face and then can’t help but fall back to it’s starting point. The bigger a girl’s breasts, the more I enjoy the sight. If large, the breast heads towards her belly, then tries to spring back to its starting point. This flexing and stretching is probably a major contributor to a large pair of breasts going saggy in later life.

Pretty Teacher’s breasts are a B-cup at best, but they are of a good density, shape and not saggy at all. They were small, but good. She looked so pretty, lying there with her eyes closed and a happy little smile on her face. Knowing that I was pleasing her warmed my heart…and probably sent a little extra blood to my cock. I was getting closer to cumming; it’s decision time and I almost always let the woman decide because it’s usually a surprise what their preference is.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask.

“I want to swallow your cum,” she replies which, like I was expecting, surprises me.

She certainly has an oral fixation going on, I muse to myself as we swap positions again. I’m on my back on the sofa while she straddles me diagonally across the large footstool that so many other women have balanced themselves on. I watch Pretty Teacher pull her blonde hair back behind her ears, tidying up before going down. She quickly takes my cock in her mouth and starts rhythmically moving her head up and down on it. She close her eyes and just keeps going, as if it is the most important thing she has ever done. Her enthusiasm for oral sex is amazing, it’s as if it is the thing that she craves the most.

By now most other women would be complaining that their jaw hurts, but not Pretty Teacher. Oh no, she keeps going like a machine doing what it is designed to do. I watch as her head bobs up and down on my cock, but it’s her bouncy little titties that catch my eye. They’re like cheerleaders spurring her on, moving in time with her, nipples erect and very red. I wonder how she likes the taste of her own pussy juices? I do think of the strangest things at times like this.

Seconds later my man juices gallop out of their starting gate and speed up the track towards the winning post, Pretty Teacher’s mouth. My cum squirts into her mouth but you’d never know it from her actions because she just keeps on going. She lets off a sound of satisfaction as my cum stops flowing and she slows down her speed. Slowly her mouth draws back to the top of my cock, again she kisses the top of it before finally letting go.

Pretty Teacher slumps down on the sofa next to me and I wrap my arms around her.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you,” I said, speaking from the head and heart at the same time for once.

She smiles and nuzzles up against me, saying nothing.

I don’t know if what we just did was the right thing to do, but one thing is for certain, I could become addicted to her oral skills.

Robert Palmer – Addicted To Love

Wild Child and Temptation

Wild Child claims to be house-hunting again the following weekend. I say ‘claims’ because she tells me about everything else in her life in detail, no matter how frivolous or trivial, but never says a word about her home viewings on the weekends. I’m suspicious and it doesn’t sit well with my trust issues that I realize I have inherited from my previous relationships. However, I’m not overly concerned because I’m not sensing a serious relationship with her. I just want to fuck her and feel the weight of her breasts in my hands. Is that too much to ask? Whaaat?! No marks for honesty?!

It’s Friday evening straight after work and I meet Wild Child at my town’s train station. We go to a Chinese takeaway to get some msg-rich food. Then it’s time for my apartment test: where I get to see if a woman is put off by my home and if she is, I then take it that she’s after a man with money. I think Wild Child is because when she phoned me the previous night, it was her idea to visit me. I got the distinct impression that she wanted to see my home. I don’t care what she thinks of my place, but I do want to see if her behaviour towards me changes afterwards.

As we enter my lounge I make an effort to face her so that I can see her reaction. Her face falls; she’s unimpressed. I thought this would happen. Her opinion of me has now taken a turn for the worse. That’s fine, now I know. It just confirms that she’s not right for me. The One would not be phased by my current home.

“It’s kind of basic,” is what she can’t help but blurt out.

“I call it Spartan or minimalist myself,” I retort.

I realize that this might even be the last time we see each other. If she’s a gold-digger then she’s ready to run away. I had better see how far I can progress with my seduction.

We have dinner at my dining table from IKEA, eating with cutlery from there too. (The plates are very expensive though.) As usual she has a lot to say for herself. I try to interject but she talks over me. I don’t think that she means to interrupt people, but she does seem to randomly remember things and get really excited about them.

Afterwards we end up sitting on my sofa watching the first episodes of Californication. Wild Child has never even heard of it and instantly loves it. Mercifully it also causes her to shut up, something I wasn’t counting on. From my previous experiences I’ve learned that by the end of the second episode a woman is slightly turned on. I think it’s the whole sexual overtone of the series that, after an hour, leads to a woman feeling slightly frisky. That’s when it’s time for me to make my move.

I lean over to Wild Child and we start kissing, carrying on from where we had left off on Saturday night. I let this go on for a while because I’m learning that most women enjoy kissing; it’s foreplay to them. It gets them wet if you do it properly. Once turned on enough then I can lead them into temptation and I’ll take all the credit or blame for whatever happens. I think that women want to be seduced, to be ravished, taken advantage of, but they don’t want to initiate it. They want the man to lead so that they can preserve a sense of modesty after having done very immodest things with him.

To this end then I take Wild Child’s hand and place it on my crotch so that she can feel my now raging boner. She lets off one of her little girlish giggles, keeps kissing me and grips my cock a little harder through my work trousers. Her giving it little tugs only makes me hornier. She makes approving sounds as she lets her tongue run wild in my mouth. She certainly likes to use her tongue. If that’s her thing, if that’s what turns her on, I’ll gladly let her indulge herself.

After a minute or so (could be less, it feels like an eternity) I unzip my trousers and pull my cock out. Wild Child stops kissing me, grips it in her hand and takes a good long look at it. She doesn’t say a word and resumes giving a little, gentle tugjob. She didn’t seem uncomfortable or unperturbed at all. This is nothing unusual to her. French kissing is her first love and she resumes doing this. I was kind of hoping, neigh, expecting that she’d make like Krazy Girl and go down on my cock. No, she wants to assault my mouth with her tongue, like Baltic Babe used to.

Okay, I’ll see you your mouth-raping and raise you a bit of fondling. The moment I had been looking forward to had arrived. I put a hand on her waist and start slowly rubbing up and down, just for her to get used to my touch. I slide my hand towards me, crossing her stomach and then back up again. This makes her inhale, making her breasts more prominent. Excellent.

I slide a hand up and over one of her breasts and she giggles. She’s used to this, but I guess all big-breasted girls are. We men are predictable creatures; most of us like boobies and the bigger, the better. Sorry small-boobed ladies, it’s the truth, but please don’t go off getting implants because no man likes the feel of those. Take solace in the fact that in later life your mammaries will still be where they always were and not around your stomach. Also, you won’t have men dating you simply because they want to play with your funbags.

Wild Child’s breast is large and my hand doesn’t fully cup it. Impressive, but surely she suffers from back pain, or do I still have hearing all about that to look forward to? I wonder what size over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder she wears, so I ask.

“What cup size are you?”

“I’m a g-cup,” she replies with a knowing smile.

“G?! Jeezus, now those I have to see,” I say losing control and trying to lift up her top.

She swats my hand away playfully while keeping her other hand firmly on my cock. I’m not so easily dissuaded, so I slide my hand under her top and cup her breast in the bra. She giggles and I feel her boob wobble in my hand. It’s a wonderful sensation. I’m not stopping there though and I quickly slip my hand under her bra, lifting the cups above her boobs, but I can’t see anything because her top’s still in the way. I take the nearest exposed breast into my hand and it feels glorious. It is easily the biggest tit my hand has ever felt. Such a shame I can’t see them yet.

“Right, that’s all you’re getting mister,” Wild Child says, expertly pushing my hand down from her chest with her one hand and letting go of my cock with the other at the same time.

I lie next to her, not having given up hope of going all the way with her, just taking a breather, waiting for her to catch up. I notice her looking at my cock.

“Would you like to say hello to him?” I ask.

To be continued…