Short Story: Laura and Maggie's Hour on the Ground

 

The year was 1963. The Boeing 707 sat quiet on the tarmac at Los Angeles International, engines still humming at idle under the ground crew’s orders. The rest of the Pan Am cabin staff and the pilots had already deplaned. Only Laura and Maggie remained in the first-class cabin when the ground crewman poked his head through the forward cabin door. “Hi, ladies. So sorry to keep you, but we need to keep her powered while our mechanics check a few systems. It’ll be about an hour. You mind staying aboard in case we need anything from inside?” Laura and Maggie exchanged a look, then shrugged. An extra hour on the clock, and the chance to raid the leftover champagne and canapés appetizers, was no hardship. The cabin door sealed again. The usually bright cabin lights stayed low and soft. Outside, the California night waited. Both women immediately kicked off their white high heels. Laura’s bare feet settled on the soft carpet; Maggie’s did the same. Laura had fair skin, a slender, tall athletic build, and a refined facial structure with high cheekbones, a straight nose, full lips, and defined eyebrows. Her blonde hair was styled in a neat updo with her soft blonde waves pulled back and secured. Maggie shared Laura’s fair skin, but that is about where their similarities ended. Maggie was about a foot shorter than Laura and had short brunette hair that hung loosely, dusting the top of her shoulders. Maggie’s face was rounder, fuller, with prominent eyes, arched brows, a defined nose, and full lips. Both were considered beautiful, even among the high standards of beauty expected of Pan Am stewardesses at the time. Their uniforms were classic early-sixties Pan Am: crisp white short-sleeved blouses with pointed collars and neat name badges, tailored blue skirts that ended just below the knee, blue pilot-style caps still perched on their heads. The skirts hugged their hips and showed the faint, deliberate outline of the regulation white satin-and-lace full-back panties every Pan Am stewardess secretly wore beneath her uniform, smooth satin with delicate lace edging, the fabric stretching snug over the curves of their asses so the panty line was visible whenever they moved. Laura and Maggie sat for about ten minutes or so, simply talking, Laura seated properly on the edge of the bench-style seat in the first-class galley area, Maggie sitting on a pillow on the floor in the aisle, facing Laura, her back leaning against the bench seat on the other side of the aisle, her bare feet resting just behind Laura’s sexy figure on the bench seat on which she sat. The two girls talked about how smooth the New York-to-LA flight had been, which passengers had been polite, which had been handsy. Then Maggie began naming other girls on the line. A certain redhead who always “accidentally” brushed against the first officer. A brunette from the Miami base who had a reputation for late-night hotel-room parties. Each name made Laura’s cheeks flush a little deeper. Her breathing changed. Maggie watched the subtle shift in the Laura’s posture, the way her thighs pressed together under the blue skirt as she purposely talked in more vulgar terms, purposely describing their fellow stewardesses more lewdly with each story. Then, once the conversation lagged a bit, Maggie stretched and rolled her neck, saying very nonchalantly, “I know they have the air running still, but it’s definitely getting warmer in here.” Maggie then reached up and began undoing the buttons of her own white blouse, one by one, all of the way down so that only one button above the waistline of her skirt was still fastened, causing the fabric to part enough to reveal the pure white satin-and-lace bra beneath. The cups were soft, structured just enough to lift and shape, the lace along the upper edge framing the gentle swell of Maggie’s very sizeable breasts. Laura’s eyes locked on them and stayed there. Maggie continued her stories for about another five minutes or so, smiling as she noticed Laura’s eyes were continually darting from her face, down to her beautiful and sexy cleavage and back. Then, as the conversation lulled a second time, Maggie smirked a lustful, playful smile, catching Laura a little off guard as she said, “Laura, you keep staring at my chest. Do you want to see it properly?” Laura’s answer was barely a whisper. “Yes,” she nodded. Maggie kept smirking and opened the blouse the rest of the way and slipped it off her shoulders. Maggie’s bra stayed on for a moment longer, white satin gleaming under the cabin lights, lace delicate against her skin. Laura reached down to Maggie without being asked. Her hands cupped Maggie’s breasts through the satin, thumbs brushing the lace edges, feeling the weight and the warmth. Maggie leaned in and upward, coming up off the floor as far as she needed to and kissed Laura. The kiss started soft, then deepened. Tongues met. Laura’s fingers found the front clasp of the bra and released it. The cups fell away and Maggie’s bountiful breasts literally bounced free of her bra. Maggie’s nipples were hard and pink. Laura lowered her head and took Maggie’s right nipple into her mouth, sucking gently at first, then with slow, deliberate pulls. Laura’s tongue circled the peak, flicked, pressed flat against it. Maggie’s hand tangled in Laura’s blonde hair, holding her there while her soft moans filled the first-class galley. Maggie finished getting the rest of the way up off the floor and shifted onto the long bench seat beside Laura. Maggie’s hands worked Laura’s blouse open the same way, revealing the identical white satin-and-lace bra. She freed Laura’s breasts and returned the attention, lips sealing around one nipple, sucking firmly, then the other, while her fingers rolled and pinched. Laura arched, the blue skirt riding higher on her thighs. Maggie’s voice was low against Laura’s skin. “Do you want to see my panties?” Maggie asked. Laura repeated the same nod and “Yes” she had uttered earlier. Maggie stood, unzipped the side of her blue skirt, and let it fall. The white satin full-back panties came into view, smooth across her mound, lace trim along the legs, the fabric stretched taut over the curves of her ass so the panty line was clear and deliberate. Maggie turned slowly so Laura could see every angle. Laura’s hands slid up the backs of Maggie’s thighs, cupped the satin-covered cheeks, then hooked her fingers into the waistband and drew the panties down. Maggie stepped out of them. Her pussy was already glistening, neatly trimmed, the scent of her arousal rising in the quiet galley. Laura slid to her knees on the carpet. She pressed her face between Maggie’s thighs and licked a long, slow stripe up the length of her slit. Maggie’s hand settled on the top of Laura’s head. Laura opened her mouth wider, sucking the swollen clit between her lips, then sliding her tongue lower to push inside. Laura ate Maggie’s sweet wet pussy with focused hunger, long strokes, firm suction, the occasional soft moan vibrating against wet flesh. Maggie’s hips rocked. Her free hand braced on the seat back behind the bench seat. When Laura finally pulled back, lips shining, Maggie guided her back onto the bench seat and returned the favor. Laura’s blue skirt was pushed up around her waist, the matching white satin-and-lace panties were peeled down her legs. Maggie’s mouth found her immediately, tongue parting the folds, circling the clit, then thrusting inside while two fingers curled upward. She sucked hard on the sensitive peak, alternating between deep, slow licks and rapid flicks until Laura’s thighs trembled. They grew bolder. Maggie turned, presenting the smooth curve of her ass. Laura spread the cheeks with both hands and dragged her tongue from the wet pussy up to the tight pink hole. She licked in slow circles, then pressed the tip inside, fucking Maggie’s ass with her tongue while her fingers worked Maggie’s clit. Maggie gasped and pushed back into Laura’s face. When they switched, Maggie did the same to Laura, tongue delving between the firm cheeks, licking, probing, tasting while Laura moaned into the seat cushion. At last, they arranged themselves into a 69 on the wide first-class galley seat, Laura on her back, Maggie straddling her face. Maggie’s mouth sealed over Laura’s pussy again, sucking the clit, tongue plunging deep. Laura’s hands gripped Maggie’s hips and pulled her down so she could bury her face between Maggie’s thighs, licking and sucking with equal hunger. The wet sounds of mouths and tongues filled the entire cabin now. The girls moved in rhythm, hips rolling, tongues working, the occasional muffled cry when one of them found a particularly sensitive spot. Maggie came first, thighs clamping around Laura’s head, pussy pulsing against her mouth as she ground down and rode the wave. Laura followed moments later, back arching, thighs shaking while Maggie kept sucking and licking through every tremor. They stayed locked together, slower now, tongues gentling, tasting the last of each other’s release, until the tremors faded into soft, satisfied sighs. Outside, the ground crew continued their checks. Inside, the two stewardesses lay tangled in the low cabin light, blouses open, bras discarded, blue skirts hiked or discarded entirely, white satin-and-lace panties somewhere on the carpet. An hour had never felt so long, or so perfectly spent…

Short Story: Thispa's Fingers on the Beach...

 

The late afternoon sun hung heavy over the Los Angeles coastline, casting long golden shadows across the nearly empty stretch of sand. It was Wednesday, and after four relentless days of Fashion Week, Thispa finally had a few stolen hours to herself. She lay stretched out on her oversized blue-and-white towel, the one patterned with sweeping waves in every shade of turquoise, cobalt, and seafoam. The white string bikini she wore clung to her like a second skin, tiny triangular cups edged with delicate beading, the bottoms tied in neat bows at her hips, the fabric so thin it barely contained her. Thispa closed her eyes for a moment and let the past four days replay in her mind. Monday had begun with a winter collection. She had strutted down a runway literally made to look like she was walking on ice, all under harsh white lights, wrapped in a sweeping camel-hair coat that parted just enough to reveal a sheer black turtleneck and leather pants that hugged every curve. The coat had slipped from one shoulder mid-turn, exposing the sharp line of her collarbone and the soft swell of her breast beneath the thin knit. Her nipple that shown was already hard, a combination of the excitement of being the center of attention, the excitement of finally walking at Los Angeles Fashion Week, and the excitement of just how sexy the tight little black thin knit top felt as it gentle massaged her bare nipples. And if that was not enough, Thispa was enthralled with so many of the other models, tall, sharp-cheeked, their bodies oiled and gleaming, brushing past her continually while they were backstage, the scent of perfume and warm skin thick in the air. One of them, a Brazilian beauty with a wicked smile, had whispered something filthy to Thispa about how the coat and that sexy little black top she was wearing would look better on the floor of a hotel room. Thispa had hoped, but that was it – just the comment – nothing more. Tuesday brought a swimwear show. Thispa had worn a series of microscopic bikinis: a metallic gold triangle set that barely covered her nipples, which of course were very hard on the catwalk again, a crimson one-piece cut so high it disappeared between her cheeks and was literally massaging her clit as she walked, and finally a sheer white mesh number that left nothing to the imagination when the lights hit it. Backstage the girls had been half-naked, oiling each other’s thighs, adjusting straps, laughing in that low, throaty way that made Thispa’s stomach tighten and her pussy ache. She remembered the way one model’s fingers had lingered few seconds too long while helping her tie a side-string, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just above her hipbone. Wednesday morning was a lingerie show, tiny scraps of black lace, pale pink silk, and one particularly wicked set of emerald green that left her breasts almost completely exposed, the cups nothing more than decorative frames. The final show of the day had been a leather collection: tight corsets, harnesses, and a glossy black dominatrix ensemble complete with a high collar and straps that framed her breasts like an offering. The leather had been hot against her skin under the lights. Every time she moved, the material had dragged across her nipples, and she had felt herself growing wetter with every step. The other models in the same show had looked dangerous and hungry, their bodies gleaming under the stage lights, thighs flexing in thigh-high boots. One of them had caught Thispa’s eye in the mirror while adjusting a garter and had slowly, deliberately, licked her lower lip. But again, it was just flirty stares and licked lips through mirrors, no real actual action to speak of, so, by the time she arrived at the beach late Wednesday afternoon, Thispa was aching. She shifted on the towel now, the soft terry cloth warm beneath her bare back. The white bikini top sat high on her chest, the thin strings digging lightly into her shoulders. Her dark hair fanned out across the blue waves of the towel. She could feel the sun on her stomach, on the insides of her thighs where the bikini bottoms rode high. Almost no one was around, just the distant cry of a gull and the rhythmic hush of the ocean. The privacy felt intoxicating. Thispa lifted her head slightly and looked down the length of her own body. The white triangles of the top cupped her breasts perfectly, the fabric pulled taut over the soft mounds. Her nipples had already begun to stiffen again, pressing visibly against the thin material. Lower, the bikini bottoms sat low on her hips, the front panel smooth over her mound, the side ties resting against the soft curve of her waist. A small silver heart-shaped charm on her belly ring rested just below her navel, warm from the sun. Thispa’s fingers drifted across her stomach, tracing the edge of the charm, then lower, following the line of the bikini. She was already so wet. She could feel the dampness gathering between her legs, the fabric of the little white bikini bottoms beginning to cling. She thought of the Brazilian model from Monday, the way her full breasts had strained against a sheer black top backstage, the way she had laughed when Thispa’s eyes lingered. She thought of the girl in the emerald lingerie, the way the green lace had framed dark nipples, the way her fingers had brushed Thispa’s arm while they waited for their cue. She thought of the leather-clad model who had looked at her like she wanted to devour her. A soft sound escaped Thispa’s throat. Her hand slid higher, cupping one breast through the white triangle. She squeezed gently, then harder, feeling the soft flesh yield beneath her palm. Her thumb found the stiffened nipple and circled it slowly through the fabric. The sensation shot straight between her legs. She did it again, pinching lightly, rolling the peak between her fingers until the fabric was damp with the heat of her skin. Thispa’s other hand drifted lower, resting over the front of her bikini bottoms. She pressed her palm against her mound and felt the wet heat waiting there. Slowly, deliberately, she began to rub in small circles, the thin white fabric sliding against her swollen lips. The friction was maddening, enough to make her hips lift slightly off the towel. Thispa glanced around once more. Still alone. The beach stretched empty in both directions. With a soft, shaky breath, she slipped two fingers beneath the edge of her bikini top and tugged the triangle aside. Her breast spilled free, the nipple tight and dark against her sun-warmed skin. She pinched it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, tugging gently, then harder. The sharp spark of sensation made her thighs press together. She switched to the other side, pulling the second cup away so both breasts were bare to the sun and the salt air, the white fabric bunched beneath them. She cupped them, squeezed them, lifted them, watching the way they moved in her hands. Her nipples ached for more. Her lower hand was already busy. She hooked her fingers into the front of the bikini bottoms and dragged the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, glistening folds of her pussy. The air felt cool against her wetness. She was so slick that her fingers slid easily between her wet pussy lips, parting them, revealing the swollen pink flesh beneath. She stroked herself slowly at first, long, deliberate drags of her middle finger from the lower entrance of her cunt up to her clit and back again. Each pass made her breath catch. She closed her eyes and pictured the models again. The way the Brazilian girl’s ass had looked in those leather pants. The way the lingerie model’s thighs had flexed when she walked. The way the dominatrix model had smirked at her in the mirror, one hand trailing slowly down her own leather-covered thigh. Thispa’s fingers moved faster. She circled her clit with tight, precise strokes, then dipped lower, pushing one finger inside herself. The wet heat clenched around the intrusion. She added a second finger, stretching herself open, fucking herself in slow, deep thrusts while her thumb worked her clit in relentless circles. Her hips rolled against her hand. The towel shifted beneath her. Sand clung to the backs of her thighs. She kept the bikini bottoms pulled tightly to the side, the white fabric stretched taut across her hip, the little side ties digging into her skin. The top remained shoved aside, her breasts fully exposed, nipples tight and flushed from her own pinching and rolling. Thispa knew she was getting louder now, soft, broken moans slipping past her parted lips. The public nature of it made everything sharper. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see her with her white bikini shoved aside, fingers buried in her dripping cunt, breasts bare to the afternoon sun. The thought sent a fresh rush of wetness coating her fingers. She fucked herself harder, the wet sounds of her own arousal unmistakable in the quiet. She thought of the way the other models had looked at her, hungry, assessing, sometimes lingering. She imagined one of them finding her like this, kneeling between her spread thighs on the towel, replacing Thispa’s fingers with a clever tongue. The fantasy made her clit throb under her thumb. She rubbed faster, two fingers plunging deep, her hand grinding against her mound. Her free hand abandoned her breasts only long enough to slide down and hold the bikini bottoms firmly out of the way, keeping herself completely open. Then it returned to her nipples, pinching and twisting in time with the thrusts of her fingers. The dual sensations. tight pressure on her clit, the stretch of her fingers inside, the sharp tugs on her nipples, built in relentless waves. Thispa knew she was close. Her thighs trembled. Her stomach tightened. The sun felt hotter. The ocean sounded louder. She bit her lower lip hard and fucked herself with short, desperate strokes, chasing the peak. When it hit, it crashed through her in a long, shuddering wave. Her cunt clenched hard around her fingers, pulsing, flooding them with fresh slickness. A loud cry tore from her throat before she could stop it. Her hips jerked off the towel. Her fingers kept moving, drawing the orgasm out until her legs shook and her breath came in ragged gasps. Even after the peak began to fade, she didn’t stop. She slowed, but she kept stroking, lazy, wet circles around her still-sensitive clit, occasional deep pushes of her fingers to feel the aftershocks flutter through her. Her bikini remained exactly as it was: top shoved beneath her breasts, bottoms yanked to the side, the white fabric damp and wrinkled from her hands. She looked down at herself, flushed skin, glistening folds, hard nipples, the little silver heart charm rising and falling with her breathing. and felt a fresh pulse of heat. Thispa was still alone. Still aching. Still so fucking turned on by the simple fact that she was fucking herself here, in the open, in the same tiny white bikini she had worn for the cameras only days earlier. Thispa smiled to herself, slow and wicked, and slid her fingers deeper once more…

Short Story: Audrey's Cousin Vicki...

 

Audrey stretched in the back seat of the family’s monstrously large bright green wood-paneled station wagon as they pulled up the long gravel driveway in the Kansas summer heat of 1983. The old tiny white and green farmhouse sat weathered under a big oak, paint peeling in places, a rusted weather vane spinning lazily on the roof. Chickens scratched near a leaning fence, and the air smelled of cut grass, dust, and distant manure. Audrey’s father, Clark, killed the engine. Her mother, Ellen, was already waving at the porch where her cousin Eddie stood, his wife Catherine beside him pregnant yet again, and their daughter, oldest of what was soon to be six kids, Vicki who was waiting with one hip cocked. Eddie was broad and sun-browned, Catherine soft-spoken with flour on her hands. Vicki stepped forward first, long blond wavy hair tumbling past her shoulders, pretty blue eyes bright with mischief. Vicki’s turquoise crop top clung tight across her small, high breasts, a strip of smooth stomach showing above high-waisted blue denim jeans that hugged her hips and ass like a second skin. Audrey pushed her brother Rusty playfully as she climbed out of the backseat of the big wagon, her long wavy brunette hair bouncing, beautifully bright brown eyes curious. Audrey’s purple crop top was cut low and short, the thin fabric stretching over full, soft tits, a flash of midriff above her own tight blue jeans. Vicki and Audrey sized each other up while the adults traded hugs and small talk about the drive from Chicago. After introductions that were necessary because while they were second cousins, Audrey and Vicki were much too young to remember the last time they saw each other, Vicki tilted her head and smiled at Audrey. “Wanna play on my teeter-totter?” Vicki asked. Audrey hesitated. She felt too old, too sophisticated for playground toys, but the boredom of the long road trip made her nod yes. “Okay…sure,” Audrey agreed. The two girls ran off around the side of the house to the wooden teeter-totter. The boards were worn smooth from years of use. Audrey sat on one end, legs spread wide in her jeans, feet dangling. Vicki took the other side. They pushed off, rising and falling, the old hinge in the middle creaking. Vicki grinned across the gap. “I go around with boys a lot,” Vicki bragged. “And I French kiss,” Vicki added. Audrey bounced lightly, shaking her head. “Lots of girls our age French kiss,” she said. Vicki smiled with satisfaction, then said matter-of-factly, “My daddy says I’m the best at it.” Audrey felt her eyes widen a little, obviously finding that a little odd, but the thought slipped away as the teeter-totter’s motion worked on her. Sitting with her legs spread wide, the hard edge of the board pressed the crotch of her jeans straight up into her purple satin panties. Every up-and-down stroke rubbed the smooth fabric against her pussy lips, slow and steady. Heat built. Wetness built. Audrey felt herself starting to breathe a little heavier, the satin growing slick against her clit. Vicki watched Audrey’s face change. “That’s why I still ride this thing,” Vicki said softly. “Feel it?” Audrey bit her lip and nodded. Vicki and Audrey kept riding, five more minutes of rising and falling, sexy glances trading back and forth between them. Vicki’s blue eyes stayed locked on Audrey’s. Vicki’s voice dropped lower. “My pink satin panties are soaked. My pussy’s dripping. Can you tell?” Audrey looked at Vicki’s spread legs and crotch and she definitely could tell. The tight denim between Vicki’s spread thighs looked darker at the center, and her nipples had gone hard, poking clearly through the turquoise crop top. “Have you ever gone around with girls?” Vicki asked. Audrey’s cheeks blushed as she said softly, “No.” Vicki smiled and licked her pretty pink lips a little. “Want to try?” Vicki asked. Audrey’s pussy pulsed against the wet satin that was now pressed between her lips. She really took in the sight of Vicki on that teeter-totter with her hard nipples and soaked through crotch. Audrey discovered that she felt Vicki was beautiful with her long blond wavy hair, her pretty smile, her sexy pink lips, and her deep blue eyes. Passion flooded her thoughts. Even though she barely knew Vicki, Audrey had reached the conclusion that she wanted her. Vicki leaned forward as the board rose. “I bet you want me to eat that wet pussy for you, don’t you?” she smiled. Audrey bit her bottom lip hard and gave in, nodding yes. Vicki hopped off the teeter-totter fast on her upswing, sending Audrey crashing down. The teeter-totter slammed into the ground, and Audrey’s jean-covered ass slammed into the teeter-totter, feeling just like a hard spanking. Audrey was somehow even more aroused after that. “Come on” Vicki said as she grabbed Audrey’s hand and pulled her toward the farmhouse. The house had wood floors that creaked, wallpaper yellowed with age, a kitchen that still smelled of morning coffee and bacon. The two girls slipped past the living room where the adults talked and climbed the narrow stairs to Vicki’s bedroom at the end of the hall. Vicki’s room was messy in the best way. Clothes everywhere, jeans draped over a chair, crop tops on the floor. Dirty panties were strewn across the unmade bed and the carpet: pink satin ones, white cotton ones, black lace ones, many of them stiff and crusted with dried cum, the crotches translucent from old loads. The air was thick and musky, the unmistakable smell of wet pussy after sex, sweet and sharp and filthy. Vicki shut the door behind them and locked it. She turned to Audrey, eyes shining. “Take my clothes off,” she demanded. Audrey’s hands trembled as she reached for the turquoise crop top. She peeled it up over Vicki’s head, freeing perfect milky white, perky tits with her beautiful hard pale pink nipples. Then the high-waisted jeans. Audrey popped the button, dragged the zipper down, and shoved them down over Vicki’s hips. Pink satin panties came into view, the crotch dark and shiny with wetness. Audrey hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid them down. Vicki’s blond landing strip pointed perfectly to her swollen pussy, lips glossy, a thin string of juice connecting the fabric to her clit as the panties left her body. Vicki immediately returned the favor. She tugged Audrey’s purple crop top off, freeing full, soft tits with dark nipples. Then the jeans, peeling them down Audrey’s long legs. The purple satin panties underneath were soaked through, clinging to every fold. Vicki dropped to her knees, pressed her face against the wet satin, and inhaled hard before peeling them down. Audrey’s brunette little patch was perfectly formed over her pussy, which was flushed and dripping. Vicki and Audrey tumbled onto the messy bed among the cum-stained panties. Vicki pushed Audrey’s thighs wide and dove in. Her tongue dragged long and slow up Audrey’s slit, tasting the fresh wetness, then circled her swollen clit. Audrey gasped, hips bucking. Vicki licked deeper, sucking Audrey’s pussy lips into her mouth, tongue fucking into her hole, the wet sounds loud in the small room. Audrey’s fingers tangled in Vicki’s blonde wavy hair, holding her there while she came the first time, thighs shaking around Vicki’s head. Then, they switched. Audrey spread Vicki open and buried her face between those smooth milky white thighs. The pink satin smell was stronger here, mixed with fresh juices. Audrey licked the way Vicki had, slow at first, then greedy, sucking the clit, sliding two fingers inside while her tongue worked. Vicki moaned loud, fucking Audrey’s mouth, juice running down her chin until she came hard, pussy pulsing. Vicki and Audrey kissed after, tasting each other, tits and hard nipples pressed together, hands roaming. Vicki reached into the nightstand and pulled out a big black strap-on like it was completely routine for her, the dildo thick and veined, harness already attached. Vicki stepped into it, tightening the straps around her hips so the heavy cock jutted out hard. “On your hands and knees,” Vicki demanded. Audrey’s eyes were wide, still marveling at how large the dildo was. She immediately obeyed, ass up among the dirty panties on the bed. Vicki knelt behind Audrey, rubbed the thick head up and down Audrey’s dripping slit, coating it, then pushed in. The stretch burned sweet. Inch by inch the black cock filled Audrey’s beautiful young pussy until Vicki’s hips were flush against her ass. Then, Vicki started fucking, long, hard strokes, the harness slapping wetly, the bed creaking. Audrey’s tits swung with every thrust as she moaned wildly. Vicki reached around and rubbed her clit in tight circles while she pounded deeper. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight…taking this big cock so good…” Vicki smirked. Audrey moaned into the sheets, pushing back to meet every thrust. The wet slap of skin, the smell of sex thicker than ever, the sight of Vicki’s blond wavy hair and beautiful milky white tits bouncing in the corner of her eye. Vicki fucked Audrey harder, faster, the thick shaft dragging over every sensitive spot until Audrey’s whole body locked up. Audrey came hard, cunt clenching around the black cock, juice squirting out around the base as waves crashed through her. Vicki kept going through it, riding the orgasm out, then slowed, still buried deep, breathing hard, one hand stroking Audrey’s sweaty back. Downstairs, the adults kept talking, completely unaware. Inside the messy little room that smelled of wet pussy and cum-soaked panties, the two cousins stayed tangled on the bed, the big black strap-on still glistening between them…

Short Story: "Girlfriends?"...

 

The late afternoon sun hung warm and golden over the park, filtering through the trees and painting everything in soft light. The rest of the squad had already drifted off after picture day, leaving only Mia and Lexi still lingering near the open grass and trees. They stood close, still holding the pose that they had done for the photographer, matching long-sleeve crop-top cheer uniforms of crisp white with bold green and navy accents, sheer navy mesh panels along the shoulders and sides, silver rhinestones catching every spark of light along the sleeves and waistband. The stylized “ENVY” stretched across both their chests in green and white. Short white skirts with green and navy trim, side slits, and more glittering rhinestones sat low on their hips, leaving their midriffs bare and glowing. There really was nothing that made a girl feel sexier than wearing a cheer uniform. Mia’s long wavy light-brown hair that ended in blonde highlights spilled over her shoulders. Her bright smile showed white teeth against red lipstick. Lexi wore her brown hair pulled back, a large green bow with white polka dots perched on top, and wore the same exact lipstick. It was the same red every girl on the squad wore. Lexi’s arm was still wrapped affectionately around Mia’s waist, the same pose they had held for the camera, both of them facing forward with confident, cheerful expressions. The photographer had packed up minutes ago, yet the two girls still stood in their picture pose. The park was quiet now except for distant birds and the soft rustle of leaves. Mia turned her head slightly. Their faces were only inches apart. She could smell Lexi’s familiar vanilla body spray mixed with the faint sweetness of her very familiar red lipstick. Lexi’s fingers flexed against Mia’s bare waist, the touch lingering longer than it ever had before. Their eyes met. They had just spent over an hour with all the girls in the squad, taking picture after picture, and this was the first time that entire time their eyes had met. They were best friends, yet somehow this afternoon, had said very little to each other. It was partly that words were just not necessary at this point, but also the fact that they both knew something was shifting over the past few days, something that had been building for years of shared practices, sleepovers, matching outfits, and the easy intimacy of growing up side by side on the same squad since they were little. The playful affection they had always shared suddenly felt heavier, charged, undeniable. It was if they were afraid to have been next to each other that afternoon with all the girls there. It wasn’t until the very end, the very last picture of the day that Mia and Lexi felt comfortable enough to stand next to each other and take a picture together. Mia’s breath was fast. Lexi’s smile softened into something hungrier. “You feel it too,” Lexi whispered. Mia nodded once, unable to speak. Her pulse hammered against the thin white fabric of her crop top. That was all that was said at the park. Lexi simply grabbed Mia’s hand and led her toward her older sister’s car she had borrowed for the day. The drive away from the park and down a quiet access road that ended at a remote grassy field beside a slow-moving river still contained no word, just hands held, smiles exchanged, glances that lingered longer than normal. Trees framed the clearing on three sides. No houses, no paths, just the soft rush of water and the late-day light turning everything golden. Lexi parked, killed the engine, and turned in the driver’s seat. The short white skirts had ridden up during the drive. Matching white satin and lace bras and thong panties, bought together a month earlier on a giggling shopping trip that now felt prophetic, hid beneath the uniforms, the delicate fabric already growing damp between both their legs. Mia reached across the console first. Her hand slid up Lexi’s thigh, under the skirt, fingertips brushing the edge of the white satin thong. Lexi made a soft, sexy sound and pulled Mia into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Red lipstick smeared. Tongues met, slow and wet and desperate. The rhinestones on their sleeves scraped lightly against each other as they shifted closer. The girls scrambled into the back seat, the space tight but private. Skirts were shoved up. Crop tops were peeled off and tossed aside, leaving them in the matching white satin and lace bras that cupped their soft, full breasts perfectly. The sheer lace allowed pink nipples to press visibly against the fabric. Thongs stayed on for now, thin white satin already dark with arousal at the crotch. Mia pushed Lexi back against the seat and climbed between her open thighs. She kissed down Lexi’s throat, over the swell of her breasts, then lower. She hooked two fingers under the waistband of the white thong and pulled it aside, exposing Lexi’s smooth, glistening, wet pussy. Pink and swollen, the lips parted slightly, a thin string of wetness already connecting them. Mia didn’t tease. She lowered her mouth and licked a long, slow stripe from Lexi’s opening up to her clit. Lexi arched hard, a sharp cry filling the car. Mia sealed her lips around the swollen nub and sucked, tongue flickering rapidly while two fingers slid into Lexi’s tight, slick pussy. Mia curled her fingers, rubbing the soft front wall in steady rhythm while her mouth worked. Wet sounds filled the small space, soft wet sucking, the quiet squelch of fingers pumping in and out. Lexi’s hands fisted in Mia’s long wavy hair. “Fuck…Mia…don’t stop…” Lexi breathed out heavily. Mia ate her hungrily, burying her face deeper, nose pressed to Lexi’s clit as her tongue pushed inside, fucking her with it before returning to suck and lick in relentless circles. Mia added a third finger, stretching Lexi open, and felt the walls flutter and clamp. Lexi came hard, thighs shaking around Mia’s head, a rush of slick juices coating Mia’s chin and tongue. The girls switched without words. Lexi pushed Mia onto her back across the seat, yanked the white thong down her legs and off, then spread Mia’s thighs wide. She dove in, tongue flat and broad, dragging through the soaked folds. Mia’s taste was sweet and clean. Lexi moaned into her, the vibration making Mia gasp. Lexi licked deeper, then focused on the clit, sucking it between soft lips while two fingers slid easily inside. Lexi scissored them gently, then pumped, curling, searching for the spot that made Mia’s hips jerk. When Mia was trembling and dripping, Lexi pulled her fingers free, slick and shiny, and used both hands to spread Mia’s ass cheeks. She leaned lower and dragged her tongue over the tight, puckered hole. Mia cried out, startled and aching. Lexi licked again, slower, wetting the entrance thoroughly before pressing the tip of her tongue inside, swirling, fucking the tight ring while two fingers returned to Mia’s pussy and rubbed her clit with her thumb. The dual stimulation shattered Mia. She came with a sob, pussy clenching hard around Lexi’s fingers, ass fluttering around the probing tongue. The girls shifted again, this time face to face, bras still on but straps slipped down so their bare breasts pressed together, soft skin, hard nipples pressing. Lexi guided one of Mia’s hands between her own legs and pushed two of Mia’s fingers inside herself while she did the same to Mia. They fingered each other in matching rhythm, thumbs circling clits, free hands squeezing breasts and pinching nipples through the lace. Then, Lexi turned around, straddling Mia’s face in a messy sixty-nine in the cramped back seat. Mia’s tongue immediately found Lexi’s pussy again, licking deep, while Lexi lowered her mouth to Mia’s and began to eat her just as greedily. At the same time Lexi’s fingers slid lower, two of them pressing into Mia’s ass, wet from her own juices, stretching and pumping while her tongue worked Mia’s clit. Mia mirrored the act, tongue buried in Lexi’s pussy, fingers sliding into Lexi’s tight ass, curling and thrusting. The girls came together like that, mouths sealed to each other’s cunts, fingers buried deep in both holes, bodies shaking, wetness coating faces and hands and the leather seats beneath them. Afterward, they stayed tangled, breathing hard, lipstick completely gone, hair wild, the white satin bras half-off and damp with sweat. Outside the car, the river kept flowing quietly past the grassy field. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the soft aftershocks still fluttering through both of them. Mia kissed the inside of Lexi’s thigh, slow and open-mouthed. Lexi’s fingers stroked through Mia’s long wavy hair. Neither of them spoke for a long time until finally Mia asked, “Girlfriends?” to which Lexi replied, “Girlfriends.”…

Short Story: The Repair Man's Special Service

 

Shell stood in the sunny kitchen of her neat little 1950s suburban home, the late morning light streaming through the lace curtains and catching the soft waves of her honey-blonde hair. A white fabric headband held the curls back from her face, letting a few loose tendrils frame her high cheekbones and the bright red of her lipstick. She wore her favorite navy-blue button-front dress, the one with the crisp white collar that lay flat against her collarbones and the matching white cuffs that trimmed the short sleeves. The fabric hugged her narrow waist before flaring into a full, pleated skirt that swayed just above her knees. Five dark buttons ran down the bodice, each one polished and gleaming. Underneath, against her smooth skin, she wore a delicate white lace-and-satin bra, cups edged in soft scalloped lace, the satin panels smooth and slightly translucent, and matching full-back panties of the same luxurious combination, the waistband sitting low on her hips and the lace panels covering her perfect little sexy bottom completely. Harold had left three days earlier for another sales trip, peddling vacuum cleaners across the state. The house felt too quiet without him. Shell was only twenty-two, married just over a year, and still carried a shy innocence about the bedroom. She wanted more, though. She wanted to learn, to feel, to explore, but Harold’s long absences left her restless and curious in ways she wasn’t sure how to satisfy. That morning the refrigerator had gone silent. No hum, no cool air. A week’s worth of milk, meat, and vegetables sat inside, already beginning to warm. Panic fluttered in her chest. A perfect housewife would never allow food to spoil. She dialed the repair service with trembling fingers, her voice soft and polite as she explained the emergency to the lovely sounding receptionist that took her call. An hour later the doorbell rang. The man who stood on the porch was nothing like the older, stocky repair man she had expected. He was young, maybe twenty-five, with short black hair neatly combed, a clean-shaven jaw, and a lean, muscular build that filled out his work shirt and trousers. His dark eyes flicked over her for just a second longer than necessary before he smiled politely. “Mrs. Heart? I’m here about the refrigerator.” Shell was a little flustered, still taken aback at her surprise at how young and handsome he was. She stepped aside, heart thudding. “You can call me…Shell…” she stammered a bit. Had he really made her forget her own name? “Please…come in. I’m so grateful you could come quickly. My husband’s away on business and…well, I don’t want everything to spoil.” Shell simultaneously wondered why she brought up Harold in that instant, felt a little guilty about how attracted she was to the repair man, but also remembered how disappointed she was at how little attention her husband had paid to her as of late. He pulled Shell out of her thought pattern when he said, “I’m Jesse.” She had already forgotten that she had given him leave to call her familiar. Shell simply smiled, still pretty nervous, and then turned to lead Jesse into the house. He followed her into the kitchen, toolkit in hand. Even thought it was obvious where the refrigerator was, Shell still presented it with a hand gesture, immediately feeling a little silly after doing so. Jesse smile at her and then quickly set about his work. Shell hovered nearby, arms folded beneath the white collar of her dress, watching the easy way his shoulders flexed as he knelt and reached into the machine. She normally would have disappeared into the living room to let a repair man do his work in peace, but she just could not bring herself to let Jesse out of her sight. In less than twenty minutes, the refrigerator hummed back to life. Jesse straightened his shirt and pants, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned to her. “All fixed. Compressor relay was shot. Should be good now. There is no charge. We’ll bill the company under warranty for you.” Shell exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank you so much. I was so worried.” Jesse didn’t move toward the door. Shell very easily understood the confident little smirk on Jesse’s face, though she was still surprised at his boldness. He leaned a hip against the kitchen table, studying her with open appreciation. “Anything else I can do for you while I’m here? Anything at all?” The question hung in the air, warmer than it should have been. Shell felt heat her cheeks blush. Any other repair man that had been to the house, she would have been enraged by such a question, but here she was, smitten. Shell had never flirted with a man who wasn’t her husband, well, at least since she had gotten married. Yet, the lonely ache between her legs, the restless nights, the way this young handsome stranger’s gaze lingered on the curve of her waist and the soft swell of her breasts beneath the navy-blue fabric made the words slip out before she could stop them. “I…I suppose there might be,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re not in a hurry.” Jesse stepped closer. The scent of clean soap and faint machine oil reached her. “Oh, I’m in no hurry,” Jesse smiled. Shell swooned a bit inside at that smile and without really thinking, leaned forward towards him. Their first kiss was hesitant on her part, hungry on his. His mouth claimed hers, tongue sliding past her red-painted lips. Shell moaned into it, inexperienced but eager, her hands rising to rest against the solid wall of his chest. When he turned her around and bent her gently over the edge of the kitchen table, she didn’t resist. She only gasped as he gathered the full skirt of her navy-blue dress and pushed it up over her hips, exposing the white lace-and-satin panties that covered her round bottom. No one had ever handled her like that, not even Harold, no boy she had been with before Harold. She was instantly wet. “Pretty panties,” Jesse murmured, fingers tracing the lace edges. The word “panties” hit her ears like electricity. Harold never called them panties, but hearing Jesse say that word set her on fire. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slowly peeled the panties down her thighs, letting them drop to her ankles. Cool air kissed her bare skin. She was already slick, her folds glistening. Jesse quickly freed himself from his trousers, thick and hard, and rubbed the head of his cock along her wet slit. No one had ever teased her pussy like that, well, except for her. Shell bit her lip, nerves and need tangled together. When Jesse pushed into her, stretching her tight, unused walls, a soft cry escaped her throat. Jesse was much bigger than Harold. He filled her completely, burying himself to the hilt in one slow thrust. “Oh…oh my…” Shell whispered with a gasp, fingers curling against the tabletop. Jesse began to move, steady and deep, each stroke dragging against places inside her that made her knees weaken. The kitchen filled with the wet sounds of their joining and the soft slap of his hips against her bare sexy little bottom. Shell’s breasts pressed against the table, the buttons of her dress digging lightly into the wood. Jesse reached around, cupped one soft mound through the fabric, and she pushed back to meet every thrust. The pleasure built quickly, sharper and stronger than anything she had managed alone in her bed through those lonely nights when Harold was away. When Jesse groaned and drove deep, flooding her with thick, hot pulses of cum, the sensation tipped her over. Shell came hard around him, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching as wave after wave of bright, unfamiliar ecstasy rolled through her. “Oh, Jesse!” she cried out while he held her hips and emptied every drop into her welcoming hot wet newly awakend pussy. Jesse kept his hard cock inside Shell for a long moment, breathing hard. Then he eased out. His seed immediately began to trickle down the inside of her thighs. Shell turned, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with new hunger. Without a word she sank to her knees on the linoleum floor. She had never even contemplated the most remote possibility of doing such a thing before. Harold had asked her more than a few times over this first year of their marriage, but she just could never bring herself to even consider it with him. But with here and now with Jesse, she could feel herself craving having that big cock wet with her pussy juices and his cum in her mouth. Shell’s small fair hands with their bright red polished long nails trembled as she took his still-hard cock and guided it to her red painted lips. Shell licked experimentally at the head, tasting herself mixed with his cum, then opened her mouth and took him inside. Shell sucked carefully at first, learning the weight of him on her tongue, the way he pulsed inside her mouth. Shell’s inexperience only seemed to excite Jesse more. He stroked her hair, careful of the white headband, moaning as she grew bolder, taking him deeper, swirling her tongue, bobbing her head with growing confidence. When Jesse warned her he was close to coming again, she didn’t pull away. She looked up at him with longing eyes, sealed her sexy little red lips around him, and hungrily swallowed every thick spurt of his second load, the warm, salty flood sliding down her throat until he was spent. Afterward, Jesse helped her to her feet. Shell’s legs were unsteady. She looked at the strong body still half-dressed in front of her and decided she wasn’t finished. Shell guided him down onto the kitchen floor, straddling his hips so that her bare, cum-slick pussy rested against his reawakening cock. She expertly slid back and forth on that big cock until it was fully hard again. Shell began unbuttoning the navy-blue dress from the top. One by one the dark buttons slipped free, revealing the white lace-and-satin bra beneath. The cups were sheer enough to show the pink of her nipples. She reached behind her back, unclasped the bra, and let it fall away. Her full, soft breasts spilled free into the open air. Jesse’s hands rose immediately, cupping and kneading them, thumbs brushing the stiff peaks. Feeling that Jesse was once again fully hard, Shell lifted herself, positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, and sank down slowly until he was buried inside her again. Shell rode him with rising abandon, rolling her hips, bouncing gently, letting him suck and lick at her nipples while she braced her hands on his chest. The second orgasm built slower, deeper. When it broke, she threw her head back, blonde curls tumbling, and came with a long, shuddering moan, her pussy milking him greedily. Jesse followed soon after, adding another warm rush of cum inside her. She marveled at how after one small little load Harold was spent for the night. Jesse had so easily delivered three full loads. Shell and Jesse stayed in that position for a bit, just looking at each other, smiling. Then, Shell collapsed on the floor next to him, beautiful breasts still out, cum trailing out of her. As they both caught their breath on the cool floor, Jesse brushed a curl from Shell’s cheek. “That was a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Heart,” he said, voice low and sincere. “If you need anything, anything at all, whenever your husband’s away, you just call. I’ll come right over.” Shell smiled, red lips with smeared lipstick still swollen from their kisses, the white collar of her dress open and her bare breasts rising and falling with each breath. For the first time in a long while the restless ache inside her felt quieted…and yet…newly awakened at the same time. “Do you have any open appointment times tomorrow?” Shell asked…

Short Story: On-Set Doppelgängers in White Lace

 

The trailers sat side by side on the dusty backlot, identical white boxes under the California sun. Inside the first, Monica Anne adjusted the long black hair that framed her fair face. She stood before the mirror in the full costume the wardrobe department had laced her into that morning. The dress was pure white, off-the-shoulder with ruffled sleeves, a layer of delicate lace cascading over the bodice. The neckline plunged, the fabric deliberately cut to lift and display the heavy swell of her large breasts, the soft upper curves pushed high by the rigid Victorian corset beneath. The corset itself was bone-stiff, ivory silk over steel, cinching her waist into a dramatic hourglass while forcing her cleavage into a prominent, almost indecent display. Under the corset she wore a fine cotton chemise, thin enough that the dark circles of her nipples pressed faintly against the fabric when she moved. White silk drawers, open at the crotch in the authentic period style, covered her hips, and sheer white stockings were gartered high on her thighs. A large feathery white headband crowned her head and a delicate white lace choker encircled her neck. The only personal touch: silver thin but large hoop earrings that caught the light when she turned. A soft knock at her trailer door. “Monica Anne? They’re ready for you on the set.” Across the way, Stephanie received the same summons. Her costume was identical. The same white ruffled Victorian gown with puffed sleeves, same dramatic cleavage, same rigid corset, chemise, open-crotched drawers, and stockings, except there was no lace choker, and her earrings were dangling silver discs, a gift from her mother. Stephanie’s long black hair was also a little puffier in front, and her feather headband was much more subtle, but the resemblance to the woman she had never met that was also being called to the set in the trailer across the way was uncanny. Two production assistants led them separately through the false-front Western town, up the wooden stairs of the saloon set, and into the second-floor bedroom. They arrived at the same moment. Monica Anne stopped short in the doorway. Stephanie did the same. For a long second they simply stared. Same height. Same black hair. Same pale skin. Same heavy, lace-framed breasts rising and falling with quickened breath. The dresses were mirror images; only the earrings, choker, and headbands differed, just slightly different enough to tell the two girls apart. “Oh my God,” Stephanie whispered. Monica Anne’s lips parted. “They said we looked alike… but this…” A quiet, almost electric recognition passed between them. Attraction, sudden and sharp, settled low in both their frames. The director’s voice cut through. “Ladies, take your places on the bed, please. Now, let’s remember that this is the first time these two characters have been alone together. There is instant attraction, but you’re both still filled with nervous energy.” Monica Anne and Stephanie sat side by side on the edge of the narrow iron-frame bed, skirts pooling around their stockinged legs. The camera rolled. The director called, “Action.” Monica Anne turned first, as the script required, voice soft and a little breathless. “You look…so pretty tonight. I keep staring.” Stephanie’s answer came lower, warmer than rehearsed. “You’re the one who’s pretty. That dress…the way it holds you.” Stephanie’s eyes dropped openly to Monica Anne’s cleavage, then lifted again, overdramatized for the cameras, but still genuine in their gaze. “I’ve wanted to touch you all evening,” Monica Anne said. The lines were supposed to stay light, teasing, leading into a careful, tasteful kiss and a fade out. A quick, but very loving scene. Instead, Monica Anne’s hand rose of its own accord and traced the lace edge of Stephanie’s bodice. Their faces were inches apart. The kiss that followed was not the subtle, sweet first kiss called for in the script. It was open-mouthed, hungry, tongues sliding together with a soft wet sound that the boom mic caught perfectly. Monica Anne made a long, soft moan into Stephanie’s mouth. Stephanie answered by cupping one of Monica’s full breasts through the ruffled fabric, squeezing, feeling the stiff peak of a nipple beneath chemise and corset. The director said nothing. No one called cut. Everyone on set was enthralled. Monica Anne and Stephanie kept kissing, harder now, hands roaming. Stephanie’s fingers found the hooks at the back of Monica’s dress and began working them free. Monica did the same, both of them suddenly frantic to get the layers off of each other. White lace peeled away. The heavy feathered headbands tumbled off their heads. Corset laces were yanked loose with impatient tugs. The rigid garments dropped, leaving them in thin chemises that clung to sweat-damp skin, nipples dark and obvious against the nearly transparent cotton. Monica Anne pushed Stephanie back onto the mattress and climbed over her, skirts still tangled around their legs. She dragged the chemise down, baring Stephanie’s large, pale breasts. The moment the cool air touched them, Monica Anne lowered her head and took one thick nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make Stephanie arch and cry out. Monica Anne switched to the other breast, wet sucking sounds filling the quiet set while her hand slid between Stephanie’s thighs, finding the open crotch of the silk drawers already soaked. Stephanie’s hips jerked. The girls forgot the cameras. Forgot the crew standing frozen around the edges of the room. Monica Anne shoved the drawers aside and pressed her mouth lower, dragging her tongue up the slick seam of Stephanie’s pussy in one long, greedy lick. Stephanie’s thighs opened wider. Monica Anne sealed her lips around the swollen clit and sucked, two fingers sliding easily into the hot, clenching heat. The wet sounds of Monica Anne’s mouth and the soft, rhythmic squelch of her fingers were unmistakable. Stephanie came first, trembling, thighs locking around Monica Anne’s head as she moaned with pleasure. The second the tremors eased she flipped them, stripping Monica Anne’s remaining undergarments with shaking hands, chemise and drawers discarded. Stephanie buried her face between Monica Anne’s legs the same way, tongue plunging deep, then dragging up to flutter over the clit while she sucked one of Monica’s heavy breasts into her mouth at the same time, alternating between the stiff nipple and the dripping cunt. Monica Anne’s hands fisted in Stephanie’s black hair. “Don’t stop…please don’t stop,” Monica Anne moaned. The two girls then sixty-nined without discussion, bodies reversing so each could bury her face between the other’s thighs. Mouths worked in wet, hungry rhythm, tongues fucking deep, lips sealed around clits, fingers thrusting in tandem. The taste of each other was sharp and sweet, the sounds were filthy, slick, continuous. When Monica Anne came again, she did it with Stephanie’s tongue buried inside her and Stephanie’s own orgasm rolling through at the same moment, both of them shaking, thighs quivering, soft cries muffled against wet flesh. The two actresses stayed locked together long after the last tremor, still licking slowly, almost lazily, as if they could not bear to stop tasting. Only then did the director’s voice, faintly stunned, finally call, “Cut.” Neither girl moved right away as they both remembered they were on set, and they both came to the realization of what they had turned a cute and sweet, loving first kiss scene into. Monica Anne lifted her head just enough to meet Stephanie’s dazed, light brown eyes. Their identical black hair was ruined, mouths shiny, lipstick smeared, breasts marked with the faint red of each other’s mouths. Stephanie smiled first, small and wicked. “I think we just rewrote the scene,” Stephanie smiled. Monica Anne laughed softly against her thigh, then leaned up and kissed her again, slow and deep, the cameras still rolling even though the director had called the scene…

Short Story: Monica Anne's Pattaya Gangbang

 

Monica Anne stood in the center of the dimly lit, neon-drenched alleyway in Pattaya, the humid Thai night wrapping around her like a second skin. It was just past 2 AM, and the clubs and bars were finally winding down, their bass thumps fading into distant echoes. She wore a sparkly hot pink bikini with royal blue trim that clung to her slender yet curvy body, the tiny triangles of the top barely containing her large, full breasts, cleavage deep and glistening a little, her flat stomach smooth and toned. The hourglass of her figure was unmistakable, her hips perfectly shaped, the gap in her thighs, inviting. Long black hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders. Rectangular glasses with thin black frames sat on her nose, and a pair of large glittery royal blue mouse ears perched playfully on her head. A sparkling choker glittered at her throat. Sparkly royal blue platform high heels elongated her legs. Pink heart-shaped balloons bobbed nearby, neon signs glowed, and other young women in tiny summer dresses lingered, chatting and laughing under the warm pink-and-blue haze. Monica Anne had come to Thailand for modeling work, a few shoots along the coast, but tonight the restless energy of Pattaya had pulled her out into the streets from her lonely hotel room. Her body still hummed from the humid air and the leftover pulse of the nightlife. She was about to turn and go back to her hotel, feeling a little saddened that nothing too eventful had occurred so far on this, her last night in Thailand. But then, five very fit, very handsome young men appeared at the mouth of the alley, rounding the corner. Monica Anne had heard there was a large contingent of U.S. Navy sailors in Pattaya that weekend, but had yet to see hide nor hair of them, and while these sexy young men were in civilian clothes, it was very clear who they were. Short hair, broad builds, the easy swagger of men on shore leave. They moved with the loose confidence of guys looking for trouble or pleasure, or both. Monica Anne looked over towards the five sexy boys as they most definitely noticed her and the sexy little outfit she had put on earlier that night with the very real intention of getting noticed. The sailor that approached her first was tall, maybe six-two, with a strong jaw, close-cropped blond hair, and pale blue eyes that caught the neon. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “My name is Jake.” He had a deep voice and southern draw that was music to Monica Anne’s ears. He wore a tight black t-shirt stretched across a muscular chest and thick arms, his jeans sat low on lean hips. He looked Monica Anne up and down slowly, openly appreciative. “I’m Monica Anne,” she smiled back. “Damn,” Jake said, “you look like you stepped straight out of a fantasy.” While Monica Anne was usually pretty hardened against cheesy pick-up lines, she could tell she was blushing and looking away a little with shyness, but could also feel that unmistakable heat low in her belly. Monica Anne could tell she was already starting to secrete some wetness in her sexy little pink sparkly bikini bottoms. She breathed in his scent. He smelled clean and masculine, a hint of cologne and sea air. His body was hard, the kind of hot that made her thighs press together a little white standing there in the alleyway. Jake grinned, flirty and direct. “We’re having a little private party back at our hotel, Monica Anne. Just us. You should come. I promise it’ll be worth your while.” The other four sexy boys waited a few steps back, watching intently, waiting to see her reaction. A little unlike her, but at the same time given the five-to-one ratio, Monica Anne hesitated. She was alone, it was late, and five strangers was a lot. But Jake’s body, the way his eyes stayed on her breasts and the hot wetness already gathering between her legs, all made the decision for her. The more Jake looked her up and down, the wetter her pussy was getting. “Okay,” Monica said softly, giving in. “Lead the way.” Without another word, Jake reached down and took Monica Anne by the hand, interlacing his fingers with hers and headed in the direction Monica Anne was coming from, the other four boys following closely behind them. Fortunately, though, as her feet were getting a little tired from wearing those big sexy blue high heels all night, the boys’ hotel was only a short walk. The room Jake led her into was simple, two big beds, soft lighting, the air conditioner humming. The four boys all followed in behind them, even though there was no way all five were staying in this one room from the looks of it. The room was dimly lit, though Jake released her hand and turned on the lights as soon as they walked in. Monica Anne stopped right where Jake had released her hand. There was no one else in the room, no music, definitely no party. Just the five sexy boys and the heavy click of the door locking behind her. Jake turned and made his way back to Monica Anne after having turned on the lights, still smiling but now with a different intensity. Before Monica Anne could even ask, Jake said, “Truth is, there’s no party. It’s always been my fantasy…to be part of a full gangbang. Me and my boys, and one girl who can take it. After seeing how amazing you looked tonight, and it being so obvious that you dressed like this tonight because you were out looking for a good time, I was hoping you’d be the girl to indulge me, Monica Anne. You definitely look like you could handle us.” Monica Anne’s heart hammered faster. She’d been in a threesome with two guys while traveling for her sorority, but she’d never done anything like this before. Sure, she had seen videos of gangbangs, even masturbated to them, but just minutes ago, she had no idea she’d be entertaining such a thing in real life. She felt should have left, but instead, her nipples hardened against the sparkly bikini top and a fresh rush of wetness soaked the crotch of the bottoms. Monica Anne came to the realization that she was already too far gone, too horny, the image of all those hard bodies too vivid to refuse. Five insanely fit men, five hard cocks. She was confident she could handle it, just like Jake had said “Yes,” Monica Anne breathed out, almost panting already from the rush of what she was about to do. “I want you boys.” Instantly, they closed in around her. The first place Monica Anne looked was to Jake’s crotch, where she saw he was already tenting his jeans. “Marcus,” the next boy said, smiling as he approached her. Marcus had darker skin, shaved head, heavy shoulders and a broad chest, quiet intensity in his dark eyes. “Tyler” the next boy smiled as he approached her. Tyle was lean and athletic, messy brown hair, a cocky grin, tattoos snaking down one arm. Half way through these little quick introductions, Monica Anne was realizing quite well that these boys were out that late looking for a girl like her for this very specific reason. There was way too much method, was too much obvious rehearsal to this already. “Chris,” the next boy said. He was the stockiest, short black hair, powerful thighs, a thick neck and a deep voice. He looked like he could pick Monica Anne up and twirl her around with no effort at all. Finally, “Lucas,” the last boy said. He was olive-skinned, black hair cropped tight, sharp cheekbones, the youngest-looking of the five, to Monica Anne, the most attractive, and by the looks of the front of his jeans, already completely hard. The boys undressed her only enough to free what they needed. The sparkly hot pink bikini stayed on, the bottoms yanked to the side, the top shoved up so her large tits spilled free, the blue mouse ears still perched on her head, glasses still on, high heels still strapped to her feet. The choker glittered at her throat as they put her on her knees between the two beds. Monica Anne was puddy in their hands at this point. She resolved to let the boys lead the way. Jake’s cock was the first in her mouth, thick, veined, already leaking. Monica Anne opened wide and took him deep, tongue swirling, while Marcus stepped behind her, pulled the bikini bottoms aside, and buried his face between her cheeks, licking her dripping pussy from clit to asshole until she moaned around Jake’s shaft. Tyler and Chris stroked themselves on either side. Lucas waited his turn, eyes dark with hunger, but enjoying the scene before him as he stroked his cock. The boys moved her onto all fours on the bed. Jake stayed in her mouth while Marcus sank his thick cock into her pussy in one long thrust, stretching her open. Marcus was fucking huge. Monica Anne was spit-roasted hard, Jake fucking her face with steady strokes while Marcus pounded her from behind with his massive dick, the wet slap of skin filling the room. Monica Anne’s large breasts swung beneath her, the bikini top still pushed up. She was surprised at how quickly she came the first time, literally in less than a minute, pussy clenching hard around Marcus’s massive cock while she gagged softly on Jake, spit trailing down her chin onto the sparkling choker. The boys rotated without pause. Tyler took her mouth, long and slightly curved, while Chris, stocky and powerful, drove into her cunt with heavy, deep strokes that made her moan continuously. Marcus was huge and pounded her hard, but Chris knew how to fuck. He was playing her pussy like an instrument. Two more orgasms, right after each other. How was this even possible? How did she cum three times so quickly? Is this why the porno girls did this? Fuck, it felt so good. She was lost in it all. Tyler was still fucking Monica Anne’s sweet red lips, and Chris apparently had her on her way to a fourth orgasm when she came to the realization that Lucas was lubing his cock with his spit with the very clear intention of getting into her tight little asshole. There was no thought, only anticipation. Monica Anne took Tyler out of her mouth just long enough to look back at Chris with such lust in her eyes, then over to Lucas as she said, “Double penetrate me like the whore I am.” Without hesitation, Lucas’s cock was filling her ass, sliding in slow and steady as Chris pumped her pussy with quick thrusts. The sensation was amazing. It was like nothing Monica Anne had ever felt. Three cocks in her, all at the same time, all pumping with different speeds and intensity, but somehow still absolutely perfect. Monica Anne marveled at how it felt to have Chris’s cock and Lucas’s cock literally sliding back and forth against each other inside of her. Monica Anne came again almost immediately, body shaking, glasses slipping down her nose, high heels digging into the mattress as she pushed back onto both of them. It was a blur of passion and multiple orgasms. Monica Anne lost count. The boys all took turns plowing into her three holes. They kept her full. Jake returned to her mouth while Marcus and Tyler took turns in her pussy and ass. She was spit-roasted again, then double-penetrated again, this time Marcus in her cunt and Tyler in her ass while she sucked Chris and stroked Lucas with both hands. Monica Anne’s filthy bikini bottoms remained shoved to the side, the sparkly fabric soaked and darkened. Every thrust made her large breasts bounce, every time someone pinched or sucked a nipple, she clenched all three holes harder. Each orgasm was rolling through her longer and wetter than the last, juices running down her thighs onto the sheets, high heels still on, mouse ears having fallen off and laying on the bed. Time blurred. Orgasms ran together. The boys used every hole, switching positions constantly, her on her back with legs spread wide in the air, heels pointing at the ceiling while two cocks stretched her open; on her side in a messy sandwich; bent over the edge of the bed while one fucked her throat and another took her from behind. Her glasses fogged and slipped but somehow stayed on. The choker stayed glittering at her throat. Monica Anne had no idea if it had been twenty minutes or two hours, but in all honesty, she was pretty sure it had been hours that they boys had spent taking turns in her three holes, coming in her then resting, then coming back for more. She had no idea how many loads she had swallowed, how many loads had shot deep into her ass, how many loads had flooded her pussy. Being the cum whore she was, not a single drop escaped her mouth, but there was so much cum dripping out of her pussy and ass at the same time. As Monica Anne could tell the boys were finally winding down and she was beyond the point of exhaustion, she realized what a tangled mess it would be if her birth control didn’t do its job and she ended up with one of these boys’ baby or babies inside of her. But, then, the boys pulled her away from that thought as together they pulled her to the edge of the bed, sitting her up, sweaty, makeup smeared everywhere, bikini disheveled and even torn in some places, her ass and pussy dripping on to the bed, and then stood in a tight semicircle around her. Monica Anne spread her legs and somehow was still horny enough to reach down and vigorously stroke her clit like a porn star, taking in the sight of her sweaty, soaked body, her tattered sparkly pink bikini, and those big blue fuck me heels. Her large tits were flushed and shiny with sweat and spit. Her nipples were rock hard. All five cocks were stiff, glistening, and aimed at her face and chest. Somehow, she was still not spent, her own fingers about to give her yet another orgasm. “Fuck…I’m gonna come,” Monica Anne gasped. “Oh my God, I’m such a fucking whore.” And it was on the word whore that she came again, literally squirting a massive shot of pussy juices all over the edge of the bed, the floor, and Lucas who was stroking right in front of her. “All of you,” Monica Anne pleaded, still vigorously rubbing her clit, “come on me like I’m in a gangbang video.” The boys stroked faster. Jake came first, thick ropes of cum striping across her glasses, her open mouth, her smeared red lips, and the tops of her breasts. Marcus followed immediately, painting her cheek and the sparkling choker. Tyler aimed lower, covering her cleavage and the sparkly pink bikini top. Chris and Lucas finished together, heavy pulses landing on her tongue, her chin, and the soft undersides of her tits. Monica Anne continued playing with herself, now thrusting three fingers inside of her wet cunt feverishly as she felt the hot cum dripping down her body, coating her hard nipples, sliding between her breasts, some of it reaching the soaked crotch of her bikini. Monica Anne kept fingering, eyes rolling back, and came one last time, hard, shaking, moaning openly while the five sailors watched their combined loads drip from her face and tits. Her fingers stayed buried in her dripping pussy until the aftershocks finally faded. Monica Anne stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, covered in their fluids, the neon night still faintly visible through the hotel curtains, the sparkly bikini and high heels still on, the taste of all five men thick on her tongue. “Fuck, boys,” she breathed out so hard as she fell back on to the bed. “That was fucking amazing…”