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Message-ID: <32847asstr$1002373803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: CreampieStories@yahoo.com (Creampie Eater)
User-Agent: Xnews/03.04.11
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 06 Oct 2001 04:51:16 CDT
Subject: {ASSM} "From Staid To Creampie Sexpot" (MF) by Creampie Eater
Date: Sat,  6 Oct 2001 09:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

DISCLAIMER:

This is a story about sex between consenting adults. If you are not an 
adult, you cannot consent, even to read this story. Therefore, read 
something else. Note also that my stories may portray sexual acts that are 
not necessarily safe. Since you are an adult reading this, you know it. 
Even so, caveat lector.

NOTES:

Check out my archive at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/creampie/www

You should also check out my *FREE* Yahoo club, where we discuss our love 
of creampies and post stories:

http://clubs.yahoo.com/clubs/CreampieStories 

As always, comments can be sent the old-fashioned way to 
CreampieStories@yahoo.com. I adore comments, good and bad, but rarely 
receive them. Why not send comments today to the authors you read on ASS 
and ASSM, including me?

Note too that this story, like all my stories, is Copyright (C) 2001 by 
Creampie Eater.  All Rights Reserved. No commercial posting is allowed. 
Please drop me a note asking permission to post on your personal web site. 
No modification whatsoever is allowed.

 From Staid to Creampie Sexpot

"Lori,
"Sorry there's no food in the fridge.
"Dominoes is speed dial 1.  Ask for Scott.
"Love ya,
"Bobbie"

The note was typical of the way Bobbie breezed through life.  Somehow, she 
managed to not care very deeply about anything, and had all the more fun 
because of it.

I looked around Bobbie's apartment, which doubled as her studio.  She was 
making a good living, but nothing visible reflected it, except maybe the 
stereo.  That didn't count, because I knew one of her boyfriends had given 
it to her.

I was housesitting for Bobbie.  As was typical for her, she had won a four 
day trip to Las Vegas, and had taken off with a girlfriend.  In a rare 
moment of Serendipity, I had just sold my interest in a commercial property 
and had decided to take off a week.  Thus, I offered to watch her house, 
just to be out of range of my pager.

I loved my sister, but I couldn't see how she could live like this.  No 
food, but the pantry was stocked with alcohol of all kinds.  Things were 
strewn about the house.  Before I could feel relaxed, I'd have to clean.  
Typical.

Bobbie was nothing like me.  I had worked hard all my life, pulling 
straight A's and getting a MBA from Texas Tech.  Bobbie had coasted all her 
life, her lively personality and artistic bent safeguarding her from any 
real trouble.  She had gone to a New York fashion school, and had finally 
found her niche as a designer/artist.

I suspected she had found a lot more than that.  A free spirit, she was 
free in a lot of ways.  She felt free to have fun, whenever.  I thought she 
was free with her body as well.  Knowing her, the girlfriend she went to 
Las Vegas with really was her girlfriend.

On the table were some of her latest sketches.  She really was talented.  
Her uncolored sketches were great, but the watercolors were outstanding.  I 
carefully put the sketches in her portfolio, probably more carefully than 
she would have.

I took them into her spare room, where I would be sleeping.  It doubled as 
her office.  I set the drawings on the desk, and looked around.  At least 
the bed was made, even if it was piled with clothes.

I decided that if I put the clothes away, I could at least use the room as 
a refuge to get away from the rest of the clutter.  I looked in her closet, 
finding the ironing board.  I began to iron, noting that the clothes she 
had seemed to be nothing but party wear.

Some of it seemed nice, but it was all too revealing for my tastes.  I ran 
to tweeds and Chanel suits.  The most risqu  I had ever appeared in public 
was at the Rodeo when I wore tight Rocky Mountain jeans, high-heeled boots, 
and a keyhole blouse.  I just didn't like showing off my body.

Not that I wasn't attractive.  I mean, I went to the gym every morning to 
make sure I was in shape.  I went to the salon twice a month to make sure 
my roots didn't show and that my cut was in good shape and not growing out.  
I had a considerable collection of good makeup, and I knew how to use it 
tastefully.

Overall, I knew I was cute.  I hadn't aged much since I had been hotly 
pursued by highschool and college guys.  It was just that I wanted to be 
valued for my mind, not my body.

It didn't take very long to get the bed free of clothes, ironed and put 
away.  I then brought in my garment bag and hung up my clothes.  Then I 
went off to tidy up the rest of her apartment.

I didn't think she had many belongings until I got to her closet.  Wow!  
There were so many clothes in there that a sheet of paper could hardly fit 
between the items.  I saw that she had at least some organization, with the 
tops together and the skirts together.  Dresses were in their own section.  
She certainly took good care of these things.

And shoes!  Yes, there were some pairs of running shoes, but most of them 
were high heeled.  A few pair were obviously for fetish ware, being 
platforms with 8 inch heels.  What was my sister up to?  I shook my head.

On the floor was a rather cute cloggy mule, missing its mate.  Bobbie and I 
wore the same size, and I wondered how heavy the shoes were to walk in.  I 
dropped down and looked under the bed.  I found the shoe, but also found a 
few plastic Rubber Maid wrapping paper boxes.

I had brought a gift for her, to leave behind when I left, so I decided I 
might as well wrap it now.  I pulled out one of the boxes and looked 
inside.  My jaw dropped at once.

There was not wrapping paper in there at all.  Instead, it was a disgusting 
array of sex toys.  Beyond the clich  shiny-bullet-shaped vibrator, Bobbie 
had a variety of realistic dildos that ranged in size from tiny to 
enormous.  There was even a flexible 18" long double-headed one that 
confirmed to my mind that Bobbie must go both ways.  Some things I didn't 
recognize, and I frankly didn't want to.

I put the cover back on, shaken.  I opened another, thinking that surely 
this one would contain wrapping paper.  Wrong.  Inside were more sex toys, 
videos, and a scrapbook.  Hardly daring to look inside, I did anyways.  It 
was filled with polaroids of Bobbie.  The first ones looked like they must 
have been taken when she was in New York.  Bobbie in clothes, Bobbie out of 
clothes, Bobbie with boys, girls, and both.  It was lurid and repulsive.

The last few pages look recent, and I saw that some of the clothes were 
ones I had just ironed.  What kind of woman would collect pictures of 
herself like this?  Certainly, she was sexy in the pictures.  But I thought 
she was too pretty and kind and smart to be used like the pictures showed.  
I slammed the book shut.  There was a third wrapping paper box, but I 
didn't open it.

I needed a drink!

Bobbie of course didn't have any bottled water.  I looked in the freezer 
for ice, and instead found a bucket of frozen margaritas.  I should have 
guessed it would be strong, it had never frozen solid.  I scooped myself a 
big glassful, and gave myself a freeze headache.

By the time the headache passed, I had gotten over the shock of my sister's 
disgusting behavior.  By the time I had finished the glass of margaritas 
and tidied up the living area, I was wondering about my sister.

She wasn't dumb, and she wasn't about to be used.  I may have gone to 
college, but she was smart in a wily way.  She had been photographed 
because she enjoyed it.  I wouldn't argue with her and she had long since 
stopped listening to my advice on morality.  I was curious about why she 
liked it.

I poured myself another glassful of the partially frozen rocket fuel, and 
went back to her bedroom.  I bravely opened the third box, hoping it might 
be wrapping paper, but also hoping it wasn't.  It was my latter hope that 
was satisfied.  This one held journals and a sketch portfolio wrapped in a 
pink ribbon.  Interestingly, the portfolio also had my picture on the 
cover.

I took the box into the living room. I wanted to be away from her room, 
with its aura of rampant sexuality.  I feared what the portfolio would 
have, but I was extremely curious too.

I untied the ribbon, not even stopping to ponder the morality of looking in 
her private things.  I saw that there was a dedication:

"I dedicate this book to my sister Lori.  Her bland and boring style has 
inspired me to creativity."

I thought it was written tongue in cheek, but who knows.  Certainly, 
compared to her I was bland and boring.  I turned the page to see else 
there was.

I was truly amazed.  It became apparent that my kid sis was gifted, and 
that she saved some of her best stuff for me.  It was also apparent that 
she was disturbed.  The book had a format that was a one of a kind, using 
both sides of the page.  On the left hand side was a photograph of me, and 
on the right hand side was a watercolor illustration of me based on the 
photo.  It was these illustrations that were disturbing.

Each one took the photograph and highly sexualized it.  On the first page, 
for example, the photograph was me from junior high.  The facing page 
illustrated me in a lolita getup, with a plaid skirt and heels.  The skirt 
was pulled up to my hips, and I was proudly displaying my sex organ.  My 
face was exactly the same, so here I was smiling like a junior high kid 
while showing my stuff like a hooker in Amsterdam.

Later, she seemed to take on a less overtly sexual sensibility.  There were 
face shots of me, and on the opposing pages my makeup was transformed to be 
sexy.  Some were labeled.  One was called "Office Whore", and changed my 
expression just a bit to take on a lurid cheap smile which I saw actually 
seemed to say "fuck me".  Another was called "Cocksucker," and seemed to 
focus on making my lips as plush and red as possible.

The last few pages reflected me as I was today.  OK, so they were from the 
last family holiday, but to my chagrin, I realized I looked exactly the 
same.

The treatment of these last photos seemed more thoughtful.  She seemed to 
be trying to work something sexy into my existing habits and wardrobe.  The 
heels were taller than I wore, and the skirts were shorter, and she 
invariably left me braless with a couple too many buttons undone, but I 
recognized that it did seem to be an evolution of my taste, not 
abandonment.  It looked like she was thinking about how I could loosen up a 
bit, not completely change.  I was impressed, and thought about how 
wonderful my sister was.  She was finally growing up.

The very last drawing really struck me.  Her early drawings showed a 
newspaper fashion drawing technique, quick and linear with the watercolors 
showing generally bold treatments.  They evolved to become increasingly 
complex and masterful.

The last image was positively feline.  I was drawn with a lithe form, 
having the supple grace and poised energy of an undomesticated cat about to 
pounce.  The lines portrayed a subtle sexual energy that I could not look 
at without feeling a stirring inside.  I looked at the reference picture on 
the facing page, and saw it though Bobbie's eyes for the first time.  In 
the candid shot from last Christmas, I did have a poise and grace and 
catlike energy.  How had she seen it when I had not?

I got up and refilled my drink glass, disturbed by the feelings the picture 
had stirred.  The cat-like image of me in the picture was not the prey I 
considered myself.  The drawing showed me as a predator.  I went back to 
Bobbie's bed and looked at the picture again.  Unbidden, my fingers traced 
the outlines of my form on the paper.  It was beautiful.

I shook my head, laughing.  I was getting tipsy!  I closed the book and put 
the ribbon securely around it.  I didn't want to be drawn to it again.  
Then I stood and decided to go to the store before I stayed in for the 
night.

I went and bought a couple bottles of red wine, and another two of 
champagne.  I also bought some cheese and crackers, which I always enjoyed 
with wine.  I came back to Bobbie's and put the cold stuff away.

I had made a pact with myself years ago.  I could drink wine and eat 
cheese, but only if I worked out first.  If I promised to do it later, I 
wouldn't.  So I put on my tankini and went for a swim in the complex's 
pool.

Fall was starting, so the water was 'brisk'.  It shocked the remaining 
alcohol from my brain, and forced me to swim vigorously to stay warm.  I 
kept going across the kidney-shaped pool until I had done 100 laps.  Then I 
had to scamper back up to the apartment lest I freeze!  With the sun going 
down, the air was getting cold this time of year.

I immediately took a warm shower to wash the chlorine out of my hair.  The 
warm water felt good on me, and I found myself feeling how the water was 
running down my body.  I wondered what my sis would draw if she saw me 
naked like this.

That led me to thinking about how I viewed myself versus my sister.  Was I 
even close to being as attractive as she made me out to look?  I ran my 
hands over my wet skin, feeling the smooth lines unbroken yet by the 
ravages of cellulite.  I wasn't a hardbody, but I had to admit I had a 
pretty nice body.

I stepped out of the shower, and saw myself in the mirror as I reached for 
my towel.  Yes, I was not too bad.  I worked hard to look good.  Why 
shouldn't I want to show off sometimes?

I grabbed the terrycloth robe from the back of the door, not at all 
surprised to see that it only went down to mid-thigh.  Bobbie wouldn't 
cover up one inch more than was necessary.  I wrapped the towel around my 
hair and went to open some wine.

I decided on the red, and poured myself a large glass.  The swim had 
chilled me, and I knew I needed some calories.  That led me to pick up the 
phone and hit speed dial 1.

"Dominoes Pizza" the girl who answered announced.  "Is this Bobbie?"

"No, this is her sister Lori," I answered surprised.  "And how did you know 
this was Bobbie's phone?"

"It comes up on the screen," the girl replied.  "Bobbie is a frequent 
customer."

"What does she get?" I asked.

"Hmmm, it looks like it varies," she said, obviously looking at a screen.  
"She seems to get sausage and double-cheese most often though."

"That sounds good," I said, suddenly ravenous.

"Do you want Scott to deliver?  He'll be back before your pie is done."

I recalled she had said to ask for Scott.  "I guess," I hedged.

"OK, that'll be $7.98, unless you have a coupon."

I didn't have a coupon, and rung off.  Then I started the gas fire and 
drank my glass before Scott arrived.  I had just poured it when the gate 
buzzed.  I let him in, and waited for him to knock.

I opened the door, and found Scott to be quite the hunk.  No wonder Bobbie 
wanted me to ask for him.  He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders 
and narrow hips.  I stole a glance, noting that he had what appeared to be 
a nice package.

I handed him a $10, trying desperately to not look at his crotch again.  He 
paused, as if waiting for more.

"Uh," he said with a deep voice that seemed to make my knees go weak, "do 
you want some alfredo sauce?"

"Pardon me?" I asked.

"You know, alfredo sauce."  To emphasize his point, he grabbed his crotch.

"Oh, yuck!" I said, "you're disgusting!"

Scott quickly stepped back, apologizing.  "Listen lady, I'm sorry.  Bobbie 
said you'd want extra alfredo sauce and even showed me what she meant.  
Then, when you came to the door dressed like Bobbie does when she wants 
some sauce, I thought...."  He looked scared.  "Please don't call the office.  
I'm sorry!"

I blushed, realizing that I was dressed only in her terrycloth robe.  And 
my sister had set me up.  I couldn't blame him.  "Look, I won't call.  I 
think we were both victims of Bobbie's practical joke."

"Thanks ma'am," he said, apparently relieved.  "I appreciate it."

"That's OK," I said, starting to shut the door.  Then a question occurred 
to me.  "Wait, what did she mean by extra alfredo sauce?"

He looked around to see if there was anyone within earshot.  Then he turned 
red.  I thought he looked really cute, but I decided to be firm.  "Look, I 
don't want to get in trouble," he said, "so don't tell anyone, OK?"

"OK," I promised.

"Well, normally she'll invite me in and drink the sauce from my hose, you 
know?"  I knew, and I felt my cheeks get hot again.  "She says its my tip 
for the sauce.  Anyways, she told me you would want extra sauce."

"Which means?" I said, barely able to believe I was even asking.

"Which means this time she wanted me to... put the sauce in her 'oven' to 
heat it up first, and then to lick it out and put it in her mouth."

I was mortified.  "Are you saying you put your 'sauce' in Bobbie, and then 
cleaned it out and gave it to her from your mouth."  But I was talking to 
his back as he fled.  He saw my reaction and high-tailed it out of there.

I didn't know whether to be more disgusted at Scott or my sister.  I'd 
never heard of such a thing.  Why would she ask for it, and why in the 
world would he do it?  Ick!

I took the pizza to the coffee table, and took out a slice.  I ate it 
slowly, enjoying the decadence of the heavy cheese and spicy sausage.  I 
realized I had forgotten to get my drink, so I went to pick it up from the 
counter.  On a whim, I went and got the third plastic wrapping paper box.  
I pulled out the Lori Book and untied the ribbon.

I ate my pizza slowly, relishing the flavor as I sipped wine and turned 
through the book.  When I got to the last page, I went back for a third 
glass of wine.  I was enjoying the buzz.

I stared at the picture, imagining myself actually looking like that.  I 
would wear the short red dress, which I knew actually existed because I had 
ironed it.  I bet I could find the hosiery and shoes somewhere in here too.  
My image had my hair piled on top, cascading down to frame my face.  The 
drawing technique was hard to achieve, but Bobbie had done it just right.  
I felt the urge to go to the bathroom and actually try to make myself look 
like that.

It was an urge I quashed.  I set the book aside, and grabbed another slice 
of 'za and another book from the box.  This one was filled with erotic 
essays in my sister's hand.  The titles followed a pattern:

"On the Pleasures of Anal Sex"
"On Having a Cock in My Throat"
"On the Virtue of a Shaved Pussy"

Each essay was about the title topic, exploring why Bobbie would like each 
act.  The titles were shameless, but my eyes took in the text eagerly.  
Obviously, Bobbie had decided that she would experience everything and try 
to defend it before she rejected it.  I didn't see much she rejected.

For example, she wrote that she had tried anal sex four times before she 
actually enjoyed it.  It had taken a patient and experienced lover, a gay 
man of all things!, to show her the pleasures of it.  She concluded that 
she would either have to have a lot of anal sex to become a master who 
adored it, or would keep it for special occasions.  She didn't say which 
road she had followed, but I suspected it was the former.

One essay, "On How to Hold a Gang Bang" actually shocked me.  I had become 
used to her explicit language, but this one was annotated with her efforts 
to perfect the situation.  A marginal note referenced the "red box".  I was 
confused, until I saw the actual red box inside the wrapping paper box.

Opening it, I found a Ziploc baggie with more than a dozen used condoms.  A 
few were filled with a dried glue in the end, but most had whitish flakes.  
There were a couple pairs of lacy panties with lipstick smudges in the 
crotches.  But most disgusting was a videotape.  Of course, I couldn't stop 
myself from watching.

Filled with self-loathing, I watched the tape of Bobbie getting fucked by 
eight different guys.  It was a kind of instructional video, with Bobbie 
explaining what was happening.  Of the eight men, three came twice, and a 
third came three times.  Kneeling next to her were 'fluffers,' as Bobbie 
explained them.  These were sluts who sucked the guys to prepare them to 
fuck Bobbie, rolling on condoms at the last moment.  The guys would screw 
my sister, who was obviously enjoying it.  She came often.

The guys were supposed to pull out and whip off the condom.  They fed 
Bobbie or the fluffers, who would in turn drool the sperm into Bobbie's 
mouth.  A few guys came inside, filling the condoms.  They pulled out 
sheepishly, and Bobbie would have them tie the ends to keep the sperm in.  
That explained the different condoms.  Most had only precum (the white 
flakes) but a few held sperm (the glue).

I was revolted.  Not at Bobbie, because she was doing this of her own 
choice.  Rather, I was disgusted with how I felt watching it because I was 
really turned on.  So much sex!  I couldn't take my eyes off it, although I 
knew I should.

The final scene explained the panties.  After all the men were serviced (as 
I thought of it), the fluffers sat on Bobbies face.  They took a turn 
grinding their panties onto her mouth, then the first removed hers and sat 
on Bobbie's mouth to be serviced.  I turned off the video, haunted by the 
image of the girl sliding her pussy over Bobbie's tongue.

I was extremely agitated, horny though I knew I shouldn't be.  I went to 
refill my glass, and found there was none left!  I had somehow drunk the 
whole bottle!  I had another bottle left, but decided to switch to 
champagne.

I took the bottle into the bedroom, taking the essay book and Lori's Book 
with me.  I turned the picture book to the feline image, and then opened 
the essays to a random one.  It was "On the Benefits of a Shaved Pussy".

I must say, Bobbie did an excellent job stating her case.  I read it 
slowly, for content, as I sipped the bubbly and enjoyed the buzz in my 
head.  When I finished, I realized I had my hand on my pussy, massaging it.  
I was terribly turned on, and not thinking too clearly.

I looked at the picture, and decided to try the hair and makeup.  I felt 
wonderfully adolescent, bounding off the bed, and now swigging the 
champagne from the bottle.  However, when I took off the turban wrapping my 
hair, I froze.  I looked like a horrible Phyllis Diller!

I knew I'd have to wet my hair before I did anything else.  I dropped my 
robe, and turned on the water.  As I waited for it to heat up, I looked at 
myself in the full-length mirror.  In particular, I looked at my hairy 
pussy.  In my state, I decided to experience the shaved feeling.

I remembered some marginal notes in the essay.  In this case, it was a 
listing of the best razors to use.  It didn't take long to find one in 
Bobbie's vanity or to locate the thick cream she recommended.  I stepped 
into the shower and followed Bobbie's instructions.  In minutes, I was 
hairless down there.

Obviously, I was a bit crazed.  It somehow occurred to me that I ought to 
try out the smoothness.  One of the advantages Bobbie had listed was the 
ability to directly touch the sensitive skin when using a sex toy.  I went 
to the bed, pulled out the wrapping paper box, and retrieved a shiny silver 
bullet.

I couldn't wait.  I just knelt and leaned over the bed, sliding the 
vibrator all over my crotch.  Sure enough, it felt wonderful.  But I had to 
try it in my pussy.  I slowly inserted the vibrator into my rarely used 
canal, jerking with pleasure.  In my mind, I could see eight guys lined up 
to pump me.  I came so hard I wet my hand!

Now a little more balanced, I climbed onto the bed and explored a few of 
the toys as I read Bobbie's essays.  I fell into a drunken slumber after my 
fifth orgasm.

I awoke late with a massive hangover.  I struggled to my feet, and went to 
the potty.  It was then that I remembered I had shaved my pussy.  My crotch 
was sticky from dried juices.  I turned red, remembering the wanton way I 
had acted the night before.

Flushing, I stood and saw myself in the mirror.  Again I looked a mess.  I 
looked so bad I couldn't even consider leaving the house to take a swim.  
So, I stood in the shower, and rinsed myself clean.  Then I went and took 
another swim.  This time I swam until I felt exhausted, feeling the cold 
water on my shaved patch.  Another warm shower and I felt human.

I also felt better when I washed the sheets.  I had slept in Bobbie's bed, 
and left it reeking of me.  Stripping them off, I found Lori's Book.  I 
closed and tied the ribbon around it.  It was a dangerous book, as was 
Bobbie's essays.  I put them both back into the wrapping paper box, and 
pushed it to the center of the bed where they were hard to reach.

By lunch time, I felt hungry.  I couldn't stand the idea of eating the 
pizza I had forgotten to refrigerate, and there still wasn't food in the 
place.  So, I decided to go out for lunch.

I drove to a Thai restaurant, which took me past a Dominoes.  Unbidden, 
images of the hunky Scott came to mind.  I imagined his strong body 
violating mine, exploding his seed deep inside me, and then his gorgeous 
blue eyes capturing mine as he sucked it back out.  I squirmed and tried to 
put him out of my mind.

The Thai place was small and unremarkable.  The waitress was cute, and 
seemed familiar.  She had pin straight hair cut into a angled, swingy bob 
that showed a shaved nape.  She looked me over too, as if she knew me.  
Finally, interrupting my ordering, she asked, "Are you Bobbie's sister?"

"Yes," I said cautiously.  "Do I know you?"

"No, but I'm a good friend of Bobbie's and her place is littered with your 
pictures," she explained.  "I'm Hong.  Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too, Hong.  I'm Lori."

"Well, I'll go put your order in," Hong said in her efficient way.

It wasn't until she was walking away that I remembered where I'd seen her.  
She was one of the fluffers!  I remembered her hair swinging back and forth 
as she swallowed cock after cock.  My cheeks got hot as I reconciled the 
cute waitress with the wanton slut I had seen on the video.

And, contrary to her assertion, my picture was not littered all over 
Bobbie's apartment.  The biggest number of pictures was in Lori's Book.  It 
suddenly hit me that Bobbie had shared the images she'd made of me with 
others.  The highly sexual pictures.

And yet, the waitress was still cute and efficient.  If you didn't know she 
was a freak, you'd never guess.  She didn't look any different now that I 
knew what she enjoyed.  Bobbie dressed sexy, but Hong didn't.  Maybe you 
didn't need to dress sexy to enjoy sex.  I pondered the idea while slurping 
up the spicy noodles.

I took a different route home to avoid the Dominoes, but it was no use.  I 
still thought about Scott.  Thinking about him and thinking about Hong put 
me in a highly sexual mood when I got home.

First thing I did was scoop out a frozen margarita. I carried it with me as 
I searched out the clothes from the sketch.  Of course, that made me slide 
under the bed, to pull out the wrapping paper box so I could look at it.  I 
don't know what it was about the image, but it made me all tingly to look 
at it.

I pulled off my clothes, and found I enjoyed walking around naked as I 
searched.  I hadn't ever appreciated the feeling of the air on my skin, and 
I certainly hadn't ever touched myself as much as I did now.  What was it 
about Bobbie's apartment that was changing me?

I easily found the dress, but searching among the shoes for the clunky 
black heels was hard.  Bobbie has so many shoes!  Finally I found them: 
black with clunky funky high heels.  I put them on right away, feeling 
wicked in such trendy shoes.

I couldn't help but look at myself in the full-length mirror.  My God!  Was 
that me?  The high-heeled shoes made me seem longer and leaner, like in the 
picture.  I saw that my nipples were jutting out, and I touched them.  
Turning a little, I could see that my clit was sticking out too, easily 
visible with my bald pubes.  Good Lord, I looked like a porn princess.

I peered closely at the drawing to see what I was still missing.  I saw 
Bobbie had me in fishnet stockings, but the only ones I could find were 
like garter hose, without the straps.  I pulled them on, seeing that they 
stayed up high.  I remembered them from an essay Bobbie had written: garter 
hose were great because they allowed free access to your pussy at all 
times; the straps on garters made unsightly lines on tight skirts; the stay 
up ones were ideal, leaving your pussy free and not showing lines.

I put on the ensemble, dress, hose, shoes.  I really resembled the image of 
me Bobbie had created.  I even had nipple points visible!  All that was 
left was hair and makeup.

I normally wore my long hair in a conservative french roll, so making the 
updo was easy.  Harder was the makeup.  I was minimalist in my makeup 
taste, and didn't often use extravagant techniques.  I found it fun to try 
to replicate the style in the pictures, making my eyes more oval and 
feline.  As a thrilling final touch, I put my lipstick on like in the 
"cocksucker" drawing.  I felt like I was preparing myself for sex, which 
was stimulating in its own right.

Finally, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.  I couldn't believe 
how good I looked.  It was more than that... I looked sexy.  Not completely 
sexual, but sexy.  I was sure men would stare at me, and the idea that 
their minds would be on sex suddenly was attractive.

I wanted to feel their eyes on me.  I was brought up to remain in the 
background, not the center of attention.  Now, though, I looked like this 
other person.  Almost the same, but different.  This other person, my 
alter-ego, wanted to be looked at.  I wanted to be appreciated.

I recalled an essay Bobbie had written on exhibitionism.  It was more like 
a diary entry of her first real attempt.  I read it again, and with my 
heart palpitating, I left the apartment before I could change my mind not 
to do it.

I drove to a large mall called The Gallery.  I parked on one end, and 
entered through the Saks.  I strolled, making sure I was walking with 
enough rump action.  I saw in store window reflections that men were 
stopping to follow me with their eyes.  I felt a tinge of excitement, 
because I'd never noticed men looking at me like this before.

I went clear to the far end, a Norstrom's, and went to the powder room on 
the top floor.  I thought my heart would burst with fear and excitement, 
but I remembered Bobbie's advice:

"Get as far from your exit or safe place as possible.  Before you can 
second-guess yourself, take off your panties and drop them in the toilet.  
There'll be no going back, because you aren't going to dig them out and 
stick them in your purse.  Don't throw them away, because you might dig 
through garbage when you panic.  Just dunk 'em."

That's what I did.  I sat to pee, and pulled off Bobbie's silk undies.  It 
stuffed between my legs, and felt them hit the water.  I felt immediate 
regret (as Bobbie had predicted), but there was no going back.  My nerves 
made it worse, because I suddenly had to pee and I covered the panties with 
urine.  Now I definitely wasn't going to pull them out!

I left the Nordie bathroom, feeling sorry for the cleaning person who would 
have to clean the toilet.  Now I was walking in a too-short skirt on too-
high heels and I felt like everybody could see up my skirt.  I was nervous 
and thrilled at the same time.

I saw the same men watching me walk, and I put a little extra strut in it.  
By the time I cleared Nordstrom's, I could feel that I was starting to get 
juicy.  The evaporating juices felt cold on my bare pussy.  It was 
wonderfully liberating.

I stopped near the middle, getting a doughnut and leaning over a railing to 
watch the indoor skaters below.  I imagined the men looking up and seeing 
my seeping pussy.  It was all I could do not to touch myself.

Then I heard a child's voice, right next to me, "Ohhh, Mommy!  What's that 
smell?"  I heard the mommy sniff, and turned to see her staring angrily and 
shocked at me.  The kid had smelled me!  I was emitting a sex scent.  
Mortified, I hurried away.

I went into Saks Lingerie department before departing.  I bought a pair of 
silk panties to replace the ones I had tossed in the toilet.  I also bought 
a couple pairs of very thin cotton panties for myself.  I got them a size 
too small, thinking about them snuggling up between my lips and holding my 
pussy snuggly.

I thought about putting them on before I got in the car, because I didn't 
want to permanently soil the rental.  Instead, I covered the seat with the 
Saks bag.  I drove home, windows down and radio blaring, feeling quite 
wicked.  I found I enjoyed it.

I drove past the Dominoes, and made another big decision.  When I got to 
Bobbie's, I called and arranged for a pizza to be delivered.  I must have 
checked my look in the mirror a dozen times before Scott buzzed from the 
gate and I let him in.  I also opened the remaining bottle of wine and 
drank two glasses in a rush.

He rang the bell a minute later, and I saw he looked wary when I opened the 
apartment door.  I couldn't blame him after the confusion last night.  At 
the same time, his eyes about popped, because I was looking hot.  I 
actually was hot, because I had decided to be a slut for the very first 
time.

I handed him the money, which I had carefully counted to be the exact 
amount.  "I'm sorry," I pouted, "but I don't have enough money for a tip."

"That's OK," he said hastily.  He stepped back, trying to escape.

"No," I said, feigning sadness, "I feel really bad.  Why don't you close 
the door so I can pay you in the barter system."

"Barter?" he asked, confused but still closing the door.  I locked my eyes 
on his as I slowly dropped to my knees.  His eyes went wide, and then I saw 
them fill with lust.

"Besides," I smiled, "I forgot to order alfredo sauce with my pizza."  I 
unzipped his trousers, then unfastened the button.  I pulled them and his 
underware down, revealing the biggest cock I had ever personally seen.

It was already stiffening, 8" long and almost 2" across.  The head was 
round, and his shaft was covered with fat veins.  I thought I might have 
peed myself went I went to my knees, but now I felt totally excited.  I was 
about to suck off a stranger!

Bobbie had written in "On Having a Cock in My Throat" the pleasures of 
giving a blowjob.  She particularly praised being on your knees for its 
versatility.  It gave you a good angle to open your throat and let him in.  
It also seemed to excite the man, because he was almost always passively 
enjoying your technique.  I remembered that and more as I nursed on Scott's 
penis.

However, Scott upset my plans to swill his cum in my mouth.  He kept saying 
things like "suck it bitch" and "you are such a nasty slut".  He was a 
total chauvinist, and took the pleasure away from me.  This was about me 
doing something outrageous.  Something daring.  It was about me, not his 
cock.

Finally, I stopped and stood up, wiping my spit on the back of my thumb.  
"OK, Scott," I said, furious at him for ruining my first fucking slutty 
act, "get the Hell out."

"What?" he asked, his cock not yet even wilting.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean, even though you have a wonderful cock, and your body is... nice, you 
are a fucking prick."  I loved saying 'fucking'.  It sounded so nasty!  
"Get your pin head out of hear."

"Shit!" he fumed, tucking his shriveling woody away, "Bobbie said you were 
a prude.  Now I can say you are a damn tease too!"

I didn't say anything.  All I wanted was for him to go, and go right away.  
Arguing would just delay his departure.  I slammed the door after him, and 
threw away the pizza.

It took me thirty minutes to calm down.  I slowly realized I was so 
frustrated because I had been so excited.  I had wanted his cum in my 
mouth, and maybe on my face.  I had wanted to be a slut.  Had he been at 
all nice, I might have done whatever he wanted.

Damn!

I took off my clothes, and went in the shower to wash off the slutty 
appearance. The warm water let me think, cleared my head.

I had almost been a daring slut.  I felt like I had been two steps away 
from the summit of a life-changing experience.  Now, I was just mad.  No, 
disappointed.  I had been so ready, like a lifetime of feeling restrained 
almost gave way to freedom.

I was different than yesterday morning, I thought.  I ran my hands over the 
starts of pussy stubble.  I recalled that Bobbie suggested keeping it 
smooth.  I picked up the razor, and the can of cream.  I shaved myself 
again, and with the removal of the stubble came the removal of my 
frustration.

I got out of the shower, toweling off.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  
I was back to normal, and yet I wasn't.  I had a slutty pussy, shaved to 
let a guy lick it better.  Maybe I should try again.

This time, I decided to honor the image from Lori's Book, but put my own 
spin on it.  I found a shorter black sleeveless dress, and a pair of red 
stiletto heels, 3.5" tall with ankle straps.  I curled my hair before 
styling it up, leaving a few strands to frame my face and the rest falling 
like a brook.  The makeup this time was darker, more smoldering, and yet 
still a come-on.  I found another pair of stay-up fishnets.

When I had it all on, I looked stunning.  Not quite a street whore, but not 
that far off.  "Lori," I told my reflection, "I think you might get fucked 
tonite."

Even as I said it, I realized I didn't know how.  I went to my best 
resource, Bobbie's book of wisdom.  Flipping through it, I came across an 
essay called "On the Joys of the Clarion Suites Hotel, and the Men 
Therein".  I knew there was a Clarion Suites Hotel a block away, so I began 
to read.

Among the joys of the Clarion was the bar, with its stools that were high 
enough to flash some leg.  Inside the bar would be lonely married men, ripe 
for the picking.  Even if you only flirt, it was worth a few free drinks to 
tease the men.

But the married men, explained Bobbie, were the real treat.  They would be 
desperate.  They would be excited to please you.  Best, they wouldn't be 
likely to follow you around like a lovesick puppy afterwards.

Sounded good to me.

I took one of Bobbie's tiny purses, and left the apartment.  I stuck the 
apartment key under the fake rock outside the door, in case my purse was 
stolen.  Then strutted my way to the hotel.

The desk clerks stared at me as I found my way to the bar.  There were four 
guys inside, watching boxing.  Their eyes turned to me as I entered, but I 
haughtily ignored them and went to perch on a stool.  I felt like a queen 
at court.

The bartender was an older lady named Vicky, who poured me a glass of wine.  
We chatted for a while, and I kept waiting for the guys to approach me.  
None did.  Another guy came in, but he stopped and found a seat like a 
mouse seeking cover from a circling hawk.  Were all these guys wimps?

Finally, a sixth guy came in, looked around, and sat almost next to me, 
leaving a stool between us.  He seemed very much like my idea of what a 
married guy on the prowl would look like.  Maybe 40, not fat but not slim, 
with his handsome face framed by graying temples.  He looked like a 
traveling executive.

The bartender seemed to know him, which made me wonder if he was a lush.  
But I finally saw they were both just playful types.  This was confirmed 
when she asked him, "What do you want?"

"You mean to drink?" he said, winking at her.  I chuckled, despite myself.  
What an old, corny line!  "I guess I'd like a buttery nipple," he 
continued.  He turned to me, smiling slyly.  "Do you like buttery nipples?" 
he asked.

Since he was being playful, I decided to be a straight woman: "Do you mean 
to drink?" I asked, as straight-faced as I could.  I was rewarded by loud 
guffaws.

"Give the young lady a buttery nipple," he told the barmaid, still 
chuckling.  I could tell he wanted to look at me, but wasn't.  I like a man 
with some self-control, and I'll admit that I like successful men as much 
as the next girl.  I imagined how commanding he could be in the boardroom, 
or maybe the bedroom.  Then, it was my turn to try to ignore him because I 
knew I'd give in too easily at this rate.

The barmaid brought the shots.  "Where's yours?" the man asked.

"I'm not supposed to drink on duty," she said.

"Not supposed to, or won't?" he smiled.  "I'll pay so you aren't robbing 
the till."

"Hmmmm," she smiled.  Then she whipped up another.

He held up his shotglass.  "To new friends," he proposed.  We carefully 
chinked the tiny glasses, then drank down the fluid.  I liked the shot; 
sweet but with a kick I could feel even when tipsy.

The barmaid said, "Well, if we are friends, we ought to at least know each 
other's names."  She tapped her chest.  "I'm Vickie" she said, "this is 
C.S., and what's your name?"

I paused, almost blurting out my name.  I knew I would never be so bold as 
to dress like this, except that Bobbie's book and lingering attitude had 
gotten to me.  I decided I would play Bobbie for the night, and see if I 
enjoyed the change.  "Bobbie", I replied.  C.S. looked like he doubted it 
was my real name, but he was polite enough to ignore it.

I decided to change the subject.  "That buttery nipple was good," I said, 
"but the name is a bit suggestive."  I smiled.  "You shouldn't use such 
double entendres around good girls."  I hoped I didn't come off too fake.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized, smiling in return.  "I didn't mean to 
suggest anything.  I'll buy you another, and let you decide what you want."

"Maybe later," I said.  "I can feel the ones I've had and I don't like to 
lose control."  Actually, I very much wanted to lose control.  I had been 
looking at his mustache, and remembered Bobbie's essay about how oral 
married guys can be.

Married?  It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't even bothered to look at 
his ring finger!  I hadn't cared until now.  Maybe I was as slutty as 
Bobbie!

"Fair enough," he replied, "but how about you tell Vickie what I should 
drink?  I'm pretty thirsty."

"OK," I said, turning to face him.  I looked him over as I envisioned 
Bobbie would, sizing him up.  I saw he had wild gray hairs in his mustache, 
and imagined them brushing my clit.  I felt myself dampen a little, and 
decided that if I was going to kiss him I wanted his breath sweet. "The 
gentleman would like a sloe screw," I told Vickie, smiling at him.
 
"Actually, how about a sloe comfortable screw?" he countered, sliding to 
the stool next to me.

"That is nicer, isn't it?" I asked, winking.  "Vickie, how about you give 
C.S. a sloe comfortable screw.  Emphasis on comfortable."  I winked again.  
Being playful and flirty was turning out to be fun!

"Not me, honey," Vickie laughed.  "I don't drink shots when I'm working, 
and I don't screw the clientele."  The losers behind me laughed, and I 
realized I'd asked Vickie to screw C.S.!   I laughed too.

I was very impressed as C.S. and I talked.  I knew I looked good, and I 
knew he thought so too.  But he never overplayed his hand, was polite, and 
seemed to want to know me.  I found myself giving him "go ahead" cues, 
touching him, laughing at his jokes.  We drank a lot, and kept suggesting 
sexy drink names like 'sex on the beach' or 'blow jobs'.

Some part of me didn't like the thought that he would think I was a slut.  
I tried being as reserved as I could, even while my desires slowly built.  
He wasn't buff, or even as good looking as Scott.  But he did have a 
commanding presence and a quiet self-assurance that made me increasingly 
want him to make a lewd suggestion; I thought I would reject it, but I 
still wanted him to make it!

It got harder and harder to conceal my willingness as I got drunker.  C.S. 
seemed almost unfazed, but my head was swimming.  I had decided to be like 
Bobbie, carefree with my sexuality, but my lifetime of training had made me 
hold back.  As I got drunk, I gave into the Bobbie-side and wanted to go 
for it.

I was about to suggest we go to his room when C.S. said, "Now Bobbie, how 
about you come up to my room and we can get to know each other better?"  
Thank goodness!

Even as I was relieved, I realized it was now time to put up or shut up.  
It was time to be Bobbie or go home and remain Lori.  Shit!  What a choice!  
"I don't go to strange men's rooms," she said.

"I know you don't," he said understandingly.  "I just thought we could go 
up and you could freshen up before heading home.  You know, splash some 
water on your face or have a coffee or something?"

I definitely wanted the 'something,' but I couldn't say that.  "It's the 
something I'm worried about," she smiled instead.  At the same time, I 
touched his arm to give him some encouragement.

"There's nothing to worry about with me, but I'm worried that you might try 
to drive home," he said.  "You're in no condition...."

I leaned over and put my lips very close to his ear.  I had enjoyed 
whispering when I was younger... it felt so conspiratorial and naughty.  
"Shhhh," she whispered softly, "stop trying to convince me."  I almost told 
him I wanted to fuck him as bad as he wanted to fuck me, but the words 
wouldn't come.

He turned to whisper in my ear.  I realized then one of the joys of updos!  
I could feel his hot breath on my ear, which made me moisten more.  "I 
won't try to convince you if you just say 'yes'," he said.

I smiled, because it would be so easy to say yes.  I wanted to.  But... "I 
don't normally go to men's rooms, but...."

He pulled his face back to look me in the eyes.  He nodded 'yes' while 
arching his eyebrows, asking the question without speaking.

'Yes,' I nodded.  I grabbed Bobbie's tiny purse, then found it impossible 
to get off the stool without showing the losers how wet my crotch was.  
Thank God C.S. helped me down, where I found the heels I had worn felt like 
they'd grown five inches.  C.S. gave me his hand to steady me after I 
stumbled against him.  He had a very strong, masculine grip.  I felt 
reassured I was doing the right thing.

I suddenly felt very drowsy on the elevator to his room.  The booze was 
making me sleepy.  I needed to talk to wake up. "You seem like a nice guy," 
I told him.

"I am," he said, and I believed him.
 
"I don't ever do this," said again, kicking myself for seeming un-Bobbie-
ish.

"Do what?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Go to men's hotel rooms," I answered, letting him lead me to his room.

He stopped in front of his room.  "You know, you don't have to come in if 
you don't want to," he said, his voice having a note of finality.  It hit 
me then, what I was about to do.  What I wanted to do.
 
"Who said I didn't want to?" I said, smiling.

I waited for him to open the door, and then I followed him in.  I felt 
energized now, as I realized I was in his room, about to do disgusting 
things... hoping to disgusting things.

C.S. closed the door behind us, and turned to me.  I waited for him to make 
the first move.  He had to remove my last bit of self-control.  Thank God, 
he did.  He stepped to me, gazing steadily at me eye to eye.  He reached 
behind me, touching my bare neck and making my skin hot, and pulled my lips 
to his.

I couldn't believe how much I wanted this.  For the last two days I had 
been focused on my sexuality, and now I was kissing a man and mentally 
preparing myself to give myself to him.  My desire bubbled up in me and 
overflowed in soft moans of pleasure.  C.S. was a great kisser, and seemed 
to exert just enough domination to unleash my sexual side.

Finally, I had to stop and gasp for air.  He fixed his gaze on me, making 
me feel weak.  "Why don't you take off your clothes?" he asked.  I couldn't 
say no.

I stepped back to gain room, and slowly removed my dress.  I could feel his 
eyes on me, appreciating me.  I'd never ever felt sexier as I saw his eyes 
devour my breasts.  I faced away from him, so that I could remove my 
panties, then turned back.  His eyes flew to my hairless pussy, and a slow 
grin crossed his face.  I knew he could see my clit poking out from behind 
its protective hood... there was no way to hide, no clothes, no fur.  I felt 
so shameless, and it excited me.

"Your turn," I said.  I watched him undress, rapidly.  It was like I was 
going to flee if he went to slow.  Soon, too soon, he was naked but for his 
briefs.  I saw a large wet-spot where his erection was tenting his shorts.  
He was leaking for me!

He hooked his thumbs in his shorts, preparing to remove them.  "Stop," I 
murmured.  I walked to him as sexily and confidently as I could, then 
wrapped my lips around his head and kissed him. I toyed with his wet spot, 
gripping his cock through his shorts.  He was not large, but he was really 
hard.

I recalled Bobbie's essay on how empowering it was to cocksuck.  I had 
tried to enjoy it with Scott, but the bastard had ruined it for me.  I knew 
C.S. would not; Bobbie said a lot of married guys rarely got head and 
really appreciated an enthusiastic woman.  I was enthusiastic, tonight.

I kissed him hard, then broke the kiss and licked my lips theatrically. 
"I'm going to suck this cock of yours," I announced.  As I sank to my 
knees.  I heard him gasp in surprised pleasure, and knew I would forever 
enjoy the power of sinking to my knees to suck cock.  I teased him, sucking 
the wetness of his shorts.  Then I pulled his shorts down, and was 
confronted with his dick.

I fleetingly thought about how nervous he would be, since men focus so much 
on their cocks.  But I really didn't care.  It was nice enough, and it was 
drooling in lust for me.  I licked eagerly at his juicy precum, then just 
opened my mouth and sucked him in.

I sank slowly onto him, savoring the heat and flavor.  His cock, so hard 
and hot, left no doubt that it was a living thing.  Pulsing, throbbing, 
oozing.  He tasted of dicksweat, but that went quickly away as I slathered 
saliva over him.

In my drunken state, I wanted him to fuck my mouth, I wanted to feel his 
cock penetrating my mouth.  In the absence of that, I pulled him into my 
mouth, bobbing my head up and down, greedily sucking.  I wanted to feel him 
cum on my tonsils, if only to prove I could get him to do it.  In 
desperation for cum, I parted his ass cheeks, hoping to penetrate his ass 
and force him to cum.

He pulled out, though, leaving me hungrier than ever.  "Bobbie, let me lick 
that pussy of yours," he said.  I stood and kissed him with the lips that 
had just been wrapped around his cock.  Then I smiled like I imagined the 
real Bobbie would, and strolled to the bed.

I got on the bed, on my hands and knees, facing away from him.  I looked 
back, and he came over and rubbed my ass. Then he put that tongue of his 
inside my pussy lips.  I about came when I heard him moan in appreciation.

I could feel myself getting wetter, both from leaking juices and from him 
spreading saliva over my bald pubes.  He was everywhere!  I was shaking 
from the pleasure of it.  I neared orgasm, but then thought of that 
mustache of his.

"Hold on," I said, "Lay on your back."  He did, and I explained, "I want to 
sit on your face."  I straddled his face, feeling myself open as I lowered 
onto his mouth.  I felt some juice puddling, and reached down to scoop some 
with a fingernail and feed it to him.  He hungrily sucked it off, his face 
pure lust.

I felt dizzy, from both the alcohol and my own lust.  I needed to grind, to 
rub hard on his face.  I slid my pussy up and down his face, feeling my 
lips flatten and my clit bumping over his lips and nose.  All the while, he 
sucked and licked me.  It was so exciting, listening to HIM moan as he ate 
me!  Bobbie was right; married guys are eager.

Feeling his tongue exploring between my pussy lips and diving deep, I got 
the urge to have his cock in me.  I slid back, straddling his belly, and 
reached up to undo my hair.  I watched his eyes grow wide, and fill with 
hunger.  I felt like I was letting down my guard as I let down my hair.  I 
shook out my pent-up curls, letting my attitude get as loose as my 
blondeness.  He looked totally excited, which excited me as well.

"I think I need to fuck you now," I purred.  Wow!  Did I really say that?!  
C.S.'s eyes about popped when I said it, which just fed my own lust.  I 
reached back and gripped him, aiming him at my opening.

I slid onto his rigid cock, feeling him reaching places long untouched.  I 
couldn't believe how good it felt, his dick filling me.  It felt so... 
mature.  Like I was a woman, a sexy woman.

I ground now on his pecker, frantically rubbing my clit against his pubes.  
It was frustrating, because my excitement made me lubricate quite a lot, 
which made me lose the friction I wanted.  It was a vicious cycle, and I 
watched C.S. cope as I humped him fiercely.

"You are so sexy," he whispered.

"You think so?" I asked, greatly pleased.  "You like watching me?"  C.S. 
just moaned.  "You want a closer view?"  I wanted him to see inside me.  
See how wet I was, how visible it was with my shaved crotch.

"Oh, GOD!" he cried. I pulled off him and slid forward so that I was almost 
on his face.  Then I leaned back and masturbated, imagining how sexy I must 
look with my excited open hole.  I was so wet!  My released hair was 
hanging back, and I imagined it covering his cock, about to get a cream 
rinse.  Damn!

"Bobbie, I'm gonna cum," he warned.

"Don't!" I ordered.   "I'm so close!" I whimpered with need.  "I'm too 
drunk!  I'm so close!"

"C'mon," he said, pushing me off and pulling me up the bed.   He leaned 
over me, locked on my eyes, and announced "I'm gonna fuck you!"

"Oooohhh!" I squealed.  Thank God!  He shoved himself in me, opening me 
again, rubbing my insides. "Oooohhh!" I moaned, feeling so close to orgasm.

C.S. kept his word, fucking me hard and deep.  He pushed in far enough to 
mash my shaven pubes.  He kissed me hard, taking me.  I felt like I was his 
to play with, to just fuck.  It was so pleasurable, but somehow I wasn't 
finding release!

I pushed his face away.  "Harder," I whispered.  He moved his hands to my 
shoulders, pressing them down with his whole weight as he shoved his cock 
in me with reckless abandon.  I lifted my ankles... I wanted him deeper 
inside.  I saw my shoes, still on, against his ears. We both grunted, and 
moaned as he slammed into me.

"Just fuck me hard and fast," I begged.  "I'm so close!"   The bed creaked 
as if it were going to break as he pistoned in and out.  I could hear his 
balls hitting my ass, smacking loudly.

That sexy image sent me over the edge.  I hadn't had a vaginal orgasm ever, 
and the intense feeling of my womb convulsing knocked me out.  I laid there 
stunned and unable to completely cope with the pleasure.

I could tell by his grunts and gasps and jerky movements that C.S. was 
cumming too.  Inside me.  I thought about the cum flowing into me, mixing 
with my own juices.  I closed my eyes and just relaxed, hoping to feel it 
beginning to seep.  I felt so slutty, and I loved it.

C.S. laid on top of me, throbbing as he squirted his all into me.  It was 
pure pleasure.  I was unwilling or maybe unable to move, feeling total 
bliss.

In the afterglow, I felt him roll off me, and off the bed.  I was drowsy, 
and tipsy, and enjoying it.  I felt the cum begin to flow out, and I felt 
so delightfully trampy.  Tonight had been liberating.

Then, something happened.  I felt C.S. get back on the bed.  His hands 
gently urged my legs apart, and I could feel his stare on my sloppy sex.  
Then his tongue touched me.  Oh my God! He was licking his cum from my 
pussy!

It felt so wonderful, that although I tried to stay still, I couldn't.  I 
had to move my oozing pussy against him, to feel the pressure of his tongue 
on my clit and inside my aching hole.  He had really fucked me hard, and 
now the tongue bath and gentle sucking was driving me crazy!

Abruptly, he stopped.  I felt the bed move and shift, and heard his barely 
audible whine.  What was he doing?  I soon felt a hot splash of fresh sperm 
squirting onto my sex.  With a moan, he fell back to eating me, eating his 
cum from me.

I couldn't help it.  I had just had the best orgasm of my life, but the 
situation was too sexy, too perverse, too pleasurable.  I came again, 
listening to him gasp in surprised pleasure as I squeezed out a glob of 
cum.  He moaned loudly as he licked up the thick cream.

As nice as the sex was, what came next was the most satisfying.  C.S. 
hopped off the bed and turned out the lights.  Then he crawled back into 
bed and snuggled in close.  What a mentally satisfying moment, to fall 
asleep in a strong man's arms, my new sex partner.

I woke up before C.S., and spent happy moments just staring at him.  I knew 
it was foolish to fall for a married man, but it was so nice to have 
someone, even for the night. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, which made me smile.  "How about I call 
my office and say I am sick?  I had planned to take some clients to the 
Mansion at Turtle Creek for lunch, but I'd rather take you."

Wow!  Even I knew that was a pricey place, and I was tempted to accept.  
But, Bobbie was coming home and I had to sever my ties to C.S. lest I 
really fall for him.  I might be ready to fuck married men, to use them 
purely for pleasure, but getting involved was something else.

"I'd like to," I apologized, "but I need to get home.  Last night was 
great, but it can only be last night.  Do you understand?"

He did, I saw.  I saw a little flicker of relief, which made me feel like 
I'd made the right decision.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said.  "I wish it could be more than just last night, 
but I do understand."

"Well, then how about we make it a little more," I smiled.  "Call your 
office and tell them you're running late."  C.S. did, and we had a very 
nice time now that we were more comfortable with each other.

We were both hot and sweaty before we came.  When he filled me this time, 
he looked me in the eyes and slid down to suck his cum out.  I even pried 
myself open so I could surround his sucking mouth.  I came hard again, 
hooked on having my cummy puss eaten.

We took a nice warm shower, and then I fled.  I fled not only his room but 
the feelings that were threatening me.  OK, so I wasn't completely 
liberated from my past.  I wasn't ready yet to detach the event from the 
inevitable feelings.

I gave him a quick kiss then walked home, my hair still wet.  I left via 
the back door, ashamed to walk past the front desk in the daylight.  When I 
got to Bobbie's apartment door, I realized I had forgotten her purse. I 
wasn't about to go back and collect it after I'd fled.  On the other hand, 
I trusted C.S. would leave it at the front desk.  I'd call in a day or two 
and have it mailed to Bobbie.  Meanwhile, I was glad I had hidden the key 
under the fake rock.

I spent the next couple hours hiding my invasion of Bobbie's sex life.  I 
took her dress to a 1-hour dry cleaner, then cleaned the apartment like the 
compulsive I am.  I put away my new friends, the sex essays and the Lori 
Book.

We had made elaborate travel plans, such that I would meet Bobbie at the 
airport after she arrived and before I flew out.  We hugged a lot as 
sisters do, and she introduced me to Paige, her redhead friend.  I could 
easily imagine them in a 69, but I pushed that from my mind.

Paige had an appointment, so Bobbie left earlier than we had planned.  I 
sat for an hour (I arrived early as I habitually do) and then boarded the 
plane for home.

Since I was one of the earliest on the SouthWest flight, I had my pick of 
almost every seat on the plane (it is first come, first serve on 
SouthWest).  I chose a seat a few rows from the door, on a window.

I thus had a great view of none other than C.S. as he boarded at the last 
minute!  I hurriedly slunk down out of site, ignoring the chuckles of the 
guy next to me in the center seat.  Wouldn't you know, my mobile phone 
rang!

"Hello?" I said softly, peeking at C.S. as I did.  He looked around, 
hearing and recognizing my voice!  How embarrassing!

"What in the world have you been doing?" Bobbie's smiling voice said in my 
ear.  

"Why?" I asked softly, watching C.S. continue towards the back of the 
plane.

"I just got an enormous bouquet of flowers, my clutch bag, and a note," she 
said, amused.  "It says, 'You left this behind. Call me if you like.  I had 
a great time, C.S.'"

"I don't know what you are talking about?" I lied.

"So you won't mind if I call this C.S. person, who happens to work in the 
same zip code you live in, and ask what is up?"  Bobbie had caught me, and 
she knew it.

"No!" I panicked.  "I'll explain tonight," I said, "but they are closing 
the doors to the plane and I need to turn this off."

"I bet there is a great story," Bobbie laughed.  "I'll talk to you tonite 
Lori."

I turned off the phone, and hid in my seat the entire flight, just in case 
C.S. got up to wander the plane.  Since I was in the front, I was probably 
out of the terminal before C.S. even got off the plane.

I didn't know what I was going to tell Bobbie about my adventure, but I did 
look forward to calling her.  After all, she had C.S.'s phone number, and I 
was surely going to be needing that.

**** THE END *****



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