It was 65 and muggy and the light grey eyes I’d come to expect each morning would soon be on me. I tried to rest nonchalantly against the wall near the bus stop, but felt anything but inconspicuous with a washed-off coffee stain on my shirt and larger-than-fucking-life tits jutting out arrogantly from my cardigan.
All too soon, I saw him walk up. His comely daughter tagged behind, her nose buried in her phone. She rides the bus with me and we never speak. Her father and I typically exchange small talk until the bus arrives; awkward, yet obligated words. He’s tall, lanky, Irish. A transplant with silver hair and matching scruff.
I remembered the pic I’d just taken and sent off to The Neighbor with the note “I’m feeling better about my body. Will you please fuck me tonight?” and stood a little taller. The past few days I’ve been plagued with self-doubt and body dysmorphic thoughts, felt heavy and saggy. This kind photo spun me around and opened my eyes. I knew this married man found me attractive; his furtive, nervous glances couldn’t possibly be anything but guilty approval of my body. And I wondered what it’d be like to debauch him for no other reason than because I know I could.
I wondered at the sound that would escape his lips, the taste of his warm, turgid flesh.
I imagined a springy nest of hair, a bouquet of clean man, and a tremble beneath my hands as I gripped him back in my apartment, my bus ride skipped and his daughter on her way without my silent presence bouncing nearby.
He would speak softly about how wrong it was, that he shouldn’t be doing this, that his wife hated to suck his cock. Stilted, Irish lilting. Magical and halting to my ears.
I would smile up at him, his erection dividing my face with its fleshy stripe and he would be lost on a sea of conflict as pleasurably confusing as watching a stallion mount a mare.
Then I would flick the glistening aperture of his cock with my tongue, unafraid of his body’s response to me, and then suck in the head, letting the helmet catch on my lip like a hook.
My eyes would close then as I lost myself to lavishing his cock with attention. My legs would quake, my pussy would pulse and in seconds he would be fumbling for purchase in my silky hair as he cried out and burst wildly into my mouth and his hips bucked against my face.
I’d stand up slowly as he stumbled backwards to a chair and I would follow him, grinning, and slowly close my tingling, cum-coated lips on his.
It would have been years since he’d tasted himself and he would tell me so.
And then, I thought, I would tell N. all about what I’d done. Every lurid, debauched detail and I would hope he approved.
“Good girl, Hy. Good fucking girl,” he would tell me. And with encouraging words he would hustle me to my bed and convince me to touch myself. I would look down on my phone at each chime and see pictures of him “applauding” my dissolute behavior by way of his hand bluring the hardon he’d say I’d created. fap fap fap fap fap, Hy! fap fap fap fap fap
I’d imagine the sound it made — much as I’d imagined the Irishman’s exclamations as I unzipped his invisible pants — and then I would grin stupidly that I had pleased him and I would cum hard and cry out; shudder, then still. Happy to have had the fantasy. Happy to have a friend with whom to share.
Oh you are a bad girl! That’s very good. But let me posit another scenario. The Paddy is no slouch … no stranger to attractive, younger women. He collects them like postage stamps, simply because he attracts them. With his practiced innocence. The Dissoluteone is smitten, submits, is sweetly yet strongly ravished. And left in dizzying yet satisfied confusion. ;)
Mike
Not a bad alternative.
Great story. I’ve always admired how you write; you spark the imagination. Again, very sexy and very hot. xxx
Thanks, girl :)
Woah, nellie. HOT! I wish I had a (husband-approved) friend like that.
Friend like who? N.? Or the Irishman? :)
Either. Or both.
My gosh, yes. Now I’m thinking about blow jobs and I do that enough already.
BJs are pretty awesome!
Let’s face it, EVERYone who read this will be thinking about blow jobs quite a bit for quite a while ….
I’ll take that as a compliment!
Oh! By all means DO!
Gulp. Hot! Love!
😜
haha, that little face won’t appear on my phone but I went to my desktop and here is this cute little winky face. Is that emoji? Perhaps why it shows blank on my droid?
You are a lucky woman, I USED to have a fun friend like N…
Yeah, it’s an emoji. Droid users the world wide are totally deprived haha.
1. I don’t get it on my desktop OR my Droid.
2. Filledandfooled, you used to? Then what happened?
N, 1) my husband is very clear I shouldn’t play with other men like that, and 2) despite what the husband wanted, after a while we got tired of talking about fucking/sucking/spanking/etc., and realized we couldn’t make a real meeting happen, so why talk about it.
Seriously, I tried to get the emoji keyboard and it fucked up my phone and still never worked. :)
Good fucking girl.
Now.
Cum for me, please.
That’s not even meant for me and it has me shivering. Good lord.
It wasn’t meant for you. But go ahead – you cum for me, too. I’ll be grateful.
So effing hot to hear you say that.
They’re good words!
Mmm, N., I totally fucking did. I hope you liked!
I need a bit more to go on. How did you? Where? When? And tell me about it….
Wow and I mean wow. This will certainly give me food for thought as I am going to work and look at others, wondering just what they are thinking!!
Yes, exactly! I told TN about my Irishman fantasy last night and how naughty I felt as he fucked me. You never know what others are thinking!
Oh, I want to see the Irishman…and here his voice…and watch you debauch him…
You’re not alone.
/giggle. I didn’t think so.
And being the spelling/grammar nerd that I am, I am mortified that I spelled “here” when I meant “hear.”
I have very grammatically sensitive readers! You’re not the only one who cringed at their own typo in this comment thread! Haha xx Hy
Shit – you had me worried there for a moment.
Great minds think alike and all.
I like cardigans too, you look great in yours :-) (and writer’s envy…as always ;-))
Thanks, Grace. The cardigan hid my real shape a bit, but don’t tell anyone!
I’ve been living in doubtsville the last couple days so I hear you. I also am glad to know that I’m not the only one that creates scenarios in my mind with strangers or acquaintances (friends?).
I hope you can realize how many men have had that same fantasy looking at you at the bus stop.
Ha!! I seriously doubt it :)
Take it from a man who knows me.
What a brilliant response :)
Good work…. you naughty girl!
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Beaten into Submission
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Submissive in Seattle
Pingback: ELust #46 | John D Stories
Pingback: e[lust] #46 : Perverted Imp
Pingback: E[lust] #46 | Pervertically Virtuous
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Domme Chronicles
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | A Dissolute Life Means...
Pingback: elust #46 - Being Blacksilk
Pingback: e [lust] #46 » Sabrina Swings
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Kink Praxis
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | A Penny for Your Dirty Thoughts
Pingback: e[lust] 46 - Rebel's Notes
Pingback: e[lust] #46 « Lady Pandorah's Sanctuary
Pingback: e[lust] erotica digest | Tgirl Confidential
Pingback: e[lust] – e-dition forty-SMEXXXXXXXXXY… | Journal of a sado-masochist
Pingback: e[lust] — My first! | A Tiger Changing Her Stripes
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | I, Kinkster
Pingback: Your monthly bite of the sex blog digest: e[lust] #46 | Plumptious Pea's Pod
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | KissinBlueKaren
Pingback: e[lust] #46|Dangerous Lilly
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Molly's Daily Kiss
Pingback: e[lust] #46 | Beck And Her Kinks
Pingback: e[lust] #46 » e[lust]