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When this story began, you may remember, I slipped Wanda’s panties and little bra from her basement laundry shoot, took them upstairs to my room one afternoon after school, thinking I was all alone in the two-family house we shared. After I put them on, masturbated, sniffed, and rubbed them all over myself (I was careful not to cum on them, but into my hand, which I wiped carefully with tissues as well); I returned them to her laundry shoot when I started to do my family’s wash for my mother, who had left instructions in a note. While I was in the basement, Wanda came down from her first-floor apartment, aroused me, and led me upstairs to my room again, for my virgin fucking and sucking. I had little reason thereafter to put her panties on, fucking and eating her delicious cunt was far more exciting that masturbating with nylon panties on. I loved cunt-licking far more than anything else sexual I had ever even dreamed about. Now you’re about to read about the second adventure with Wanda and her bisexual husband, Wayne.

The following Saturday night, after a boring, sexless week of impatient waiting, Wayne and Wanda had invited me downstairs for more sex play with them, beginning again at 8:30. My friend Richard agreed to cover for me again, if my parents called, and I had given him Wayne and Wanda’s phone number to alert me to call home or to come home. (I was lucky enough to go until 11:30 again with no call, so the second Saturday night orgy was uninterrupted and wonderful.)

When I knocked on their door at precisely 8:30, two, not one, sexy women greeted me: Wanda, the delicate, and a stranger with big tits, which a jersey top could hardly contain. I wanted immediately to release those jugs from her blouse even before Wanda told me that she was Wilma, her sister-in-law. It was dark in the living room, and again Wanda led me down the hallway to their back bedroom. In the darkened front part of the apartment, however, Wilma grabbed me in her strong big arms, pressed me to her voluptuous chest and french kissed me with the largest, searching tongue that ever entered my mouth. She turned me on good; and I had already come downstairs with an erection. I reached up for her mammoth mammaries, but she forced my hand away from them casually. I accepted that and figured that I could wait until she took them out to show me and to have me suck them later.

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Your hand comes to immediate and reassuring rest upon the small of my back, as it unfailingly does whenever you are lying next to me as I stir into awakening. We have shared this moment many times over the years, and this familiar yet ever unexpected gesture continues to move me. I sometimes ponder how a subtle, unabated desire for you has remained so alive and flame-like within me; familiarity so often dulls our sensitivity to the changing beauty of those we love.

We don’t sleep like spoons and our shared time is as sporadic and imperfect as the paradoxical creatures we ourselves are. We part for a time but always come back to each other to share the intimacy again.

Your hand knows (whether you yourself do or not) that I need its warmth, its current, its solidity, to bring my body to life. I have lived much without it, given our penchant for separations, but it is still the current of life to me, that hand on my back; it is my food, my desire, my reason. From your palm to the small of my bark and out through my belly, which rests flat on the surface of the bed, your solar glow begins its slow radiance, suffusing my heart with its warmth, flowing downward like molten lava over my Venusian mound, down farther, down the insides of my legs, stirring like lights the inner spaces below my ankles.

Perhaps you are still dreaming, unaware of this journey we have begun. It is as though your instinct is ahead of you, moving you toward me, drawing you from your solitary flight in the boundless universe of dreamland. I don’t know — can we ever know another’s experience directly? Still, my imagination seeks images of explanation; what is it at your deepest core that knows me? I don’t ask, I feel the current travel from you through me and out again; our molecules, heedless of our possible intent, begin their rhythmic intimate dance.

I listen to the sound of birds outside our room, then the sound of our breathing, now in unison, all of my senses coming alive. This time, this unique and unrepeatable time, I hear the rustling of the sheets as you stir. Moments pass. Your hand changes pressure ever so slightly. Our breathing is slow, rhythmic, relaxed, yet deeper.

My eyes, resisting morning, are still closed and I am awake within that light-darkness. You are wordlessly aware that I am awake; our ritual is silence. We are orphan-close, so far away in this moment from the day which will soon press in upon us. We are farther still from our differences, our troubles, far from who we often pretend we are, even to each other. Do we really even know each other? I think not. Yet, our intimacy is so complete that we are like one being in this quiet time of shared arousal.

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In which a routine marriage is revived by the vagrancies of the weather and the attentions of a good neighbor.

That fateful Sunday started off with the same old routine. We’d been married for just three years, Michelle and I, but that was enough for us to settle into that comfortable routine. Work was routine, play was routine, life was routine. Worst of all our sex life was routine. So, following the old Sunday morning routine, I pecked my wife’s cheek and drove off to the golf course.

This Sunday, however, did not live up to its namesake. That worthy was hiding behind a mass of low lying clouds. Nothing to stop an afternoon of golfing fun, however. But after an hour of whacking a ball around the fairways those clouds had turned ominous and soon the heavens opened up. The more sensible among us broke for the shelter of the clubhouse while a few diehards squinted into the storm, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge its presence.

The rain wouldn’t go away. It didn’t look like it was ever going away. It just, continued to fall hard, determined no doubt to drown the world and all its creatures. So I cursed Nature and the rotten luck she had dumped on me and decided to go home. Not too long after that momentous decision I found myself pulling into our driveway. A lot earlier than I had planned to. All I had to look forward to was the rest of the day, spent with my loving but routine wife.

Cursing the weather one more time I let myself in the front door. And heard voices. Oh great, I thought, visitors. The day was just getting better and better. What next? An atom bomb? Worse! It was, Jeff, one half of the sweet as apple pie couple that lived next door. Five minutes with those two would guarantee a place in heaven and a mouthful of cavities. Even routine ol’ Michelle would be in dire need of rescuing by now, I thought.

But better her than me. Grinning to myself I half-turned on my way back out. That’s when she giggled. I froze in my tracks. It was the same giggle I’d heard all those years ago. The nervous half-laugh that she laughed the first time I seduced her. Cautiously and silently (thanks to the sound of the falling rain) I shut the door, removed my shoes and padded over to the dining room door.

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My wife Teri and I have a game going between us. She teases me with her sexy body and the sheer animal lust builds up inside of me. I hold out as long as possible, until I can’t stand it any more and I have to have her! Pretty fun game, huh? It can lead to some quite interesting (and wild) events.

A few nights ago she and I were playing a game of Scrabble. Sometime during the game she got up and left the room (“to use the restroom,” she said), and when she came back, she was wearing extremely revealing negligee. We managed to play a few more turns as my foot explored her sexy legs and body under the table, and my cock throbbed and threatened to bust out of my shorts like the Incredible Hulk. Then she jumped up, laughing, and ran out of the room. Oh was I horny!

I got up, grabbed the bowl of popcorn that was sitting next to the Scrabble board, and headed after her. “I’M COMING FOR YOU!!!” I yelled. “I’M GONNA RIP ALL YOUR CLOTHES OFF AND EAT YOU UP!!!” I could hear her shout from the bedroom, “Eeeeek!! A rapist cannibal!”

My dick was pointing straight out, leading the way down the hall. When I entered the bedroom, I saw her knockout body lying on the bed. She’d removed her bra and pulled on one of my old T-shirts.

“Here I come,” I whispered, and made drooling sounds like some sex maniac who’d broken into the house. She squirmed and writhed on the bed, saying “no, please, don’t hurt me, don’t eat me, I’ll do anything, please…” Her body writhed and undulated, the large breasts jiggling and moving back and forth underneath the T-shirt. I set the popcorn bowl on the nightstand and sat down on the bed next to her. My hands went out and landed on each side of her body. “No please don’t hurt me don’t eat me I’ll do anything don’t kill me” she whispered. Her boobs continued to wiggle and jiggle intoxicatingly, and my hands headed that way of their own volition. They came to her breasts and squeezed. “Ooooooh!” she moaned, as her whole body seemed to spasm in response to the feel of my clutching hands. That darn T-shirt was hiding those beautiful boobs, her delicious body. I had to look at it, feel it, lick it, kiss it! My hands slid down to the bottom front of the shirt, and took firm hold. Muscles flexing, fueled by intense horniness, my arms pulled my hands away from each other…

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To Miss Stephanie,

It was almost time for Stephanie to get home and Alicia was getting warm with excitement at the thought. She was finishing the vacuuming, the last of the housework that she had told her to do that day. Nothing thrilled her more than playing servant to the tall, imperious girl she had married. She was so beautiful and she loved her so much – that kneeling in submission before her was the supreme pleasure in her life. She had a hard-on in her tight panties, beneath the frilly white apron that covered them, truly a slave of love to that girl.

She heard the front door open and a tingle of titillation went through her. Then she stepped into the living room : a gorgeous creature with long dark hair. She stood with hands on hips, watching her finish her tasks, clad in the white silk blouse and neat black skirt she had worn that day to the office where she was a rising young executive. She had a look of disapproval on her face as she stepped across the freshly vacuumed carpet and dropped into an easy-chair.

“I’m tired, Alicia,” she sighed. “it’s been a hard day, one conference after another. And some of my underlings are no better than you. Inefficient. I have to do everything myself.” She nodded, shutting off the vacuum cleaner as she motioned for her to set it aside and come to her. “Remove my shoes,” she snapped, “and then massage my feet.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, hurrying over and addressing her in the form she most liked to hear. It thrilled her just to say those words, the submissive words of a love slave, and she was soon on her knees at her feet. (click to read entire story…)