4 comments/ 59234 views/ 8 favorites Attorney Fucking, Anyone? By: johnnieblue44 The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemicals: if there is any reaction, both are transformed ... Carl Jung We met at a real estate law seminar in Philadelphia, which will never be confused for Hedonism II. I was the real estate development guy, she was the title attorney. I knew this immediately because we both wore those hideous name badges that adhere to your chest that these organizers always insist the participants wear. You know the kind, the "Hello, my name is...", which really should be followed by, "Will somebody just please shoot me now and end my misery." She approached me out of the blue as I stood by myself momentarily at the event's happy hour, numbed by boredom, nursing a warm, watery beer. Her name badge stuck out a lot more prominently than my own, thanks to her ample chest. That is the one redeeming trait of those name badges, I suppose. They do allow you to stare at a woman's chest for a disproportionately long time under the auspices of gathering personal information. And, oh boy, I was gathering personal information, all righty. Let's face it, when a woman approaches you at any social event, it can only be motivated by the desire for money or cock. At such a symposium, it is almost always because of their curiosity of your monetary status. Not this time. The first thing that impressed me about her (well, OK, OK, after my review of her chest, er, name badge) was her smile. Attorneys aren't exactly renowned for their gregarious and affable personalities, as a general rule, and feel free to sue me if this is an inaccurate stereotype. She never stopped smiling. Hmmm, why? That made me nervous. A beautiful, smiling, female attorney, flirting with me? I started to look around for Ashton Kutcher and the "Punk'd" cameras. Kate Clement was her name, and her job was to round up business for her firm, and I had not the slightest doubt that although she was unquestionably intelligent, a law firm did not give this particular responsibility of new business development to seventy-year-old lawyers named Henry. I'll break down a description of her for you readers by age group. If you're fifty or older, think Ali McGraw in Love Story. If you're between thirty and fifty, picture a more voluptuous Angie Harmon. For you children of the 1980's, Jordana Brewster could be her twin. Got the visual? Except Kate had this impossibly sexy wisp of a silver streak of hair amidst all the other raven locks that she kept tucking behind her right ear as she tossed her head back in laughter. Ashton, knock it off, pal. I'm hip. No way this woman should be flirting with me. I told her that I was a native Philadelphia boy myself, and had moved to DC about a decade ago after my own divorce. We discovered that her brother actually went to my high school, which is a game unique and indigenous to Philadelphians, sort of equivalent to the "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon". You start off by finding out what neighborhood someone is from, which leads into which high school you attended, and next thing you know, you find out you have about a dozen friends in common. Trust me, there's no other big city quite like Philly, it's how we communicate and decipher social status and heritage. For those of you who understand, no further explanation is possible. For those who don't, no explanation will suffice. Kate was a 'Main Liner' originally, which meant she came from old money. So, that also meant that she had the timeless, classic beauty that was handed down from generations of good, wealthy genes. Kate also did about ninety-five percent of the talking, and considering that she was an attorney, a sales representative, and a woman, I figured this was just about par for the course. There was good news and bad news to her diatribe. The bad news was she was married to an airline pilot. The good news was, with each rum and coke she consumed, she became a little more vocal in her candor that she was less than enthralled with her matrimonial situation. Another truism, students, take notes. When a woman whom you met less than an hour ago starts to tell you she's in an unhappy marriage, she's already qualifying you in her own mind as a potential paramour. This is neither a sexist theory nor a delusional hypothesis. I guarantee you that Adam became tempted to Eve only when Eve started bashing her ex. ( "The bastard's abusive, he drinks, he gambles, and all he does is sit around on weekends with that prick the snake and watch football while I have to schlep the kids to every soccer tournament in the county.") Some of Kate's cronies from her firm eventually came over and tried to whisk her way from our conversation with an invite to a private party on the convention center floor, some seven floors below where Kate and I now stood. Kate happily invited me, but the legal beagles went through the charade of acting remorseful that this party was restricted to those with private invitations. Thus in so many unspoken words, they were telling me to fuck off. However, I was preparing to leave anyway, since I had a Amtrak ticket for the train back to Union Station in DC. I accompanied Kate and her throng to the elevator, and we all crammed into the small cab. I was pressed into the back wall, and the overflow crowd in the elevator forced Kate back into me. It was not by coincidence that Kate began to slowly, almost imperceptibly, grind her backside into my crotch. Naturally, this evoked a Pavlovian involuntary response of tenting in my suit pants, which happened to hold, in all humility and no exaggeration, a seven and half inch slab of real personal property, as they might say at a real estate seminar. Her actions went completely unnoticed by the inebriated crowd, and I took the opportunity to tender my own tease with a twitching of the stiffening muscles within my shaft, causing my spontaneous salute to slide between the crack of Kate's ass cheeks, covered by pair of fashionable black cotton slacks. She rocked back just slightly, and then I felt it, a warm and explorative grasp. Could it be? I glanced down to see long, slender, perfectly manicured fingertips grazing up and down my cock, which now threatened to burst from the seams. Her touch started at my heavy testicles, cupping them ever so briefly, and then slid seductively, up, up, and up some more, to my titanium-hard manhood. She culminated her journey by tracing her thumb and index finger around the outline of my bulbous cock head, squeezing it before releasing as the doors opened at the ground floor. I struggled to catch my breath and maintain my composure as the group stumbled out of the cab, and before Kate disappeared into the private lounge, she scurried back to request one of my business cards, which I extracted from my wallet and slipped into her palm. Her eyes pierced into my own and with her back turned to her fellow employees, she licked her lips just a tad and whispered, "I'd be very interested in setting up a meeting in DC very soon with your own......" She glanced down to my crotch. "...firm." "I'd like that very much, Ms. Clement," I stammered. She extended her hand formally, the same one that just seconds before had performed manual inventory on my private parts. "I look forward to seeing you soon, then, Mr. Martin. Please, don't contact me, I will be in touch." She peered at me intently and made an 'X' with her fingers across her tits. "Cross my heart." Two weeks later, I received a simple e-mail, the one that I had been eagerly waiting for after setting a personal 2-week record for masturbation sessions. "John, I will be arriving at Union Station at 5:25 on Thursday. I'll be staying at the Hay-Adams that evening, and don't have any appointments until late the following morning. I was hoping that perhaps you would know a valet who could pick me up and perhaps recommend and escort me to one of those wonderful restaurants in Georgetown? Regards, Kate." My reply was equally succinct. "Kate, fortunately, I know just the valet and escort who would be honored by your presence. I've taken the liberty of procuring reservations at Filomena's for seven o'clock. Would that be acceptable? RSVP, John." At five-twenty-four on Thursday, there was a man with a barely concealed seven-and-a-half-inch hard-on who looked a lot like me anxiously pacing in the waiting area at Union Station gate C-4. This same man felt his ego and his cock shrivel simultaneously when Kate exited the train with three other men. Worse, she was dressed like a librarian, well, no, actually, she was dressed like almost all of the female attorneys that I was accustomed to. Her hair was bunched up in a disheveled bun, she wore no make-up and a pair of granny reading glasses, and her outfit looked like it may have been left over from Kelly McGillis' Amish wardrobe in the movie "Witness", a gray skirt that almost reached the ankles and a pale, loose blouse that was buttoned to the neck. She was deep in conversation with one of the men, obviously fellow lawyers ( betrayed by their own lawyer uniforms, straight from the WingTips 'R' Us catalog) and excused herself when she saw me standing with what was undoubtedly a forlorn and disbelieving look on my countenance. She walked towards me briskly and extended her hand cordially, but distantly. Before I could speak, she spoke quickly, getting out the opening remarks first like any good lawyer. "I'm sorry, this was not the plan, I found out this morning that these associates of mine would be on this train with me, so I can't blow my cover. But, nothing's changed, please play along with me now and I'll meet you in the lobby bar of my hotel in an hour. You won't be disappointed." She made a big production of calling after me as she walked away as quickly as she had approached me, "So nice to see you again, Mr. Martin! I look forward to our appointment!" An hour later I was seated in the corner of the plush Off The Record Bar in the Hay-Adams, an apt name for a cocktail lounge that was located in virtually the shadow of the White House just blocks away. I silently cursed my luck and set the odds as very long that I would ever see my 'appointment' again. My once proud and mighty seven-and-a-half-inch greeting present had now taken on the shape and texture of a frightened turtle as I sadly sucked on the straw twirling in my DiSaronno on the rocks. My hopes and erection were resurrected as one when I saw the lovely vision walk through the door. Before it becomes a butterfly, a caterpillar goes through a growth stage during which it is called a "chrysalis." On the surface it may not look like much is happening, but the delicate chrysalis process changes the fuzzy caterpillar into an awesome butterfly with wings of intricate designs and intense colors. What my eyes saw before me was every bit as miraculous as that beautiful act of nature. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bar, I could see the spectacular butterfly clearly as she peered into the dark to search for me. Kate's silky, raven hair cascaded down over her breasts, which were defying all laws of gravity, pushing upward beneath a satin purple blouse that had at least three buttons undone, displaying the milky white and freckled skin below her neckline and her lean, slender legs seemed to stretch up to the ceiling of the bar in a stream of ebony. Tight black miniskirt, black stockings, 4-inch black stiletto heels that resulted in her lithe frame easily exceeding six-feet-tall. The brightest of cherry red lipstick covered her full lips which exploded into a flash of pearl white teeth as she saw me, her crystal blue eyes sparkling merrily, and her perfect tits bounced seductively as she walked towards me with a confident purpose. If she was on web cam at that moment, Kate would have stopped traffic around the Beltway faster that a Presidential motorcade. The room of almost exclusively older men came to a complete hush as the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor was the only audible sound other than the drawl from the darkened corner of a man who resembled Newt Gingrich, "Day-um", followed by a soft, complimentary wolf whistle. Kate acted as if she was impervious to the reaction that her entrance had evoked as she slunk into the leather barstool next to mine, rubbing her sculpted legs against my thighs as she did so, revealing the lacy tops of her thigh highs. My own transformation was now complete as well, my below-the-waist turtle now magically reinstated in an instant into a steel anaconda. (My apologies to National Geographic for the analogies.) She kissed me softly on the cheek and rested her hand dangerously high on my own leg, the back of her palm grazing my erection for just a fleeting nanosecond, long enough to let me know it was not accidental, and brought the straw of my drink up to her lips, as her tongue snaked out of her mouth and extracted an ice cube from the bottom of the thick glass. She dangled it seductively and then pushed it between her lips and leaned over and slid it gently into my own mouth, our lips finally touching for the first time. Pre-cum leaked and covered my cock tip in a slippery, thin glaze. Not to be outdone, I reached into the glass and scoped out two amaretto-flavored ice cubes of my own, holding one in each hand. With the back of my palms, I eased Kate's thighs apart, turning her stool towards me, which served the dual purpose of now having her back to most of the rest of the bar, her legs now hidden from direct view, much to the dismay of the collection of admirers scattered throughout the room. I parted her legs wide enough to ascertain that she did indeed have panties on, and they were a light lavender hue, and silky. I slid one ice cube along her thigh, starting at the top of her stocking and inching upward as she shuddered, biting her lip tersely to keep from crying out. With the other hand, I placed the rapidly melting cube flat on the palm of my hand. I took my index finger and slid her panties to the side, briefly exposing her slit, which I was somewhat surprised to see was covered by thick, dark, and robust curls of pubic hair, like a slit of steaming java, and with my finger tip, I eased the cube directly onto her clit and closed the panties over the cube. I half-expected to hear a squeal similar to that of a teapot boiling over as the cold ice mixed with the warm, sticky, humid molecules within her cunt to form vaginal steam, a meteorological phenomena. Kate squirmed on her seat and groaned, softly, almost inaudibly, and her thighs clenched together as she rocked back and forth in her chair, the cold liquid streaming back down onto her inner thighs, and the veins in her neck clamped against her skin and her eyes rolled back into her forehead. Mr. Ice Cube, meet Ms. Mini-Orgasm. Pleased to meet you, Ms. 'O'. When Kate finally re-entered the earth's atmosphere after her pussy's brief departure into orgasmic Elysium, her blue eyes were still glassy, and her gaze was lubricious, prurient, salacious. "Jesus Christ, I had an intuition you would be a sexual freak. I may have met my match. Let's go to dinner and use that as more foreplay before I jump on your big cock right here." We walked arm-in-arm to the front lobby while valet fetched my car, affording the lucky bastards who did not go for my vehicle to catch an eyeful as Kate clung on my elbow. While waiting, she nibbled on my ear, staining my lobe a ruby red, and whispered, "Do you know how much I masturbated these last two weeks, imagining my dream cock, yours, was filling all of my holes?" That sentence will certainly keep and become indelible in a man's memory. I'll fast forward a bit and just cover some of the highlights of the conversation at our romantic dinner, because I don't know about you, but at this point, I'm just about ready to wank off myself, and hopefully so are you, dear reader. Kate revealed that although she had consistently tried to seduce her husband, they hadn't had sex in six months because her husband "was clinically depressed and didn't crave sex any longer". Not to make light of a man's depression, but to not want to fuck Kate every waking minute would be a reason for depression in and of itself. She also pledged that she wouldn't shave her pussy until she had sex again, and that was why she packed a razor, shaving cream, and scissors in her travel bag, and asked me to do the honors in the morning. I'd be less than a gentleman if I declined, right? Among other topics, we discussed her favorite position ("doggy, because it can get so deep"); where she preferred a man to cum ("on my face, and next, um, probably the streak of gray in my hair, it would blend in and I could use the protein"); her most recurring fantasy ("to be gang banged on a beach under the moon and stars"); how she wanted to be fucked tonight ("hard, fast, and rough, all night, completely uninhibited"); her feelings about dirty talk ("the filthier the better, makes me soaked"); her thoughts about anal sex ("only tried it once, but tonight will make twice, I know you'll know just what to do"); her dabbles in lesbianism two decades ago as a young fashion model in New York City ("I always wanted them to lick my pussy first, I was kind of selfish that way"); and, last but not least, why she chose me to end her soon-to-expire sexual hiatus ("because you're cute, smart, and I've always wanted a cock that huge"). If this was Family Feud and Richard Dawson had been moderating, he would have lauded Kate for having all 'number one' answers. Um, garcon? Check, por favor, ahora? We finally reached the exit of the restaurant and found ourselves immediately locked in a passionate embrace and kiss right on the vibrant sidewalk of Wisconsin Avenue, completely oblivious to the passersby and their catcalls, our tongues dancing passionately into each other's mouths, addicted to our sexual chemistry now, consumed by complete and unabashed lustful desire. We stumbled and groped our way across the street and down the ramp of the parking garage to my car. Before I even slid Kate into the passenger seat, her skirt was bunched up to her waist, and as she reached over to unlock my driver side door, she literally leapt across the divider and into my arms, stomach up, as I unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her satin, purple blouse and undid the clasp of her matching purple bra, exposing cocoa-colored nipples that were the shape and texture of Crayola crayon points. But infinitely more edible. Her kisses were delectable, scrumptious, heavenly, exhilarating, serving as a magic elixir of life for my eternally hard cock. She frantically groped and squirmed for my cock, which was by now probably poking holes into her backbone, but I grabbed each of her wrists and led her respective hands to my preferred destination, for the time being at least, one hand to match mine on her perfectly sized firm tits, and the other flicking her own clit while three of my fingers performed a spelunking exercise within her cunt walls. Now, this next sentence is not at all meant to be self-aggrandizing, but I've had the pleasure over many years of having been with many beautiful and sexually expressive women, and the sensation that I experienced that night while exploring Kate's pussy was something that has no basis for comparison. Kate's was the tightest, most talented and expressive vagina that I had ever felt. Her vulva, or the 'double doors' as I call them, were softy distended and thick, dark brown, and velvety. Yet, most exquisitely, the muscle tone within her walls was beyond compare. As three of my digits danced and explored within her, she rapidly contracted her muscles as forcefully as possible, literally clenching my fingers buried deeply within her with a vice-like vaginal grip, and each time she released, the convulsion would be accompanied by a small spurt of liquid nectar, and her abdominal and buttock muscles would move in synchronicity with her cunt. I couldn't wait any longer to get back to the hotel and feel this magnificent miracle of nature wrapped around my dick for the duration of the night and morning, and I reluctantly pushed her up and started the ignition while Kate still writhed from the aftershock of one of her countless explosions, and I watched, mesmerized, as her gaping cunt pulsed and gleaned when I extracted my saturated fingers. Attorney Fucking, Anyone? But Kate had other plans, her needs having been temporarily sated with that appetizer of vigorous finger-fucking. She rolled over, reached up, turned the power off, and pulled my wildly twitching cock from my zipper. She gazed at it wide-eyed for a few seconds, before gently and lovingly rubbing my shaft across her soft, beautiful cheekbones. She then held it straight up in the air for an examination of sorts and sighed. "Look at this thing," she marveled, holding my cock tenderly with two hands. "It's as long as my entire face." She slapped the tip across her forehead. "Maybe longer. Amazing." I guess I expected her to devour my cock with the fervor of a Labrador Retriever attacking a new bone. But instead, she made soft oral love to my cock, twirling her tongue lovingly around my bulbous mushroom-shaped cockhead, and then softly yet tightly easing her lips up and down, up and down, up and down, along just the top two or three inches of my shaft, augmenting her sucking with a gentle caressing of the most sensitive spot on my lower shaft, just above the balls. It was prolonged, sweet, ecstatic agony. "Would you mind if I drove us back to the hotel now?", I asked hopefully. Kate never raised her head an inch. "Please do. I'll be right here if you need me." Her head remained immersed on my lap even as we went through the toll booth of the parking garage, providing the young Ethiopian attendant with a vision that he won't soon likely forget, Kate raising her eyes long enough to mumble a bashful "Hi" to the stunned youngster with her mouth still administering to my dick. When we passed the Washington Monument, the irony of the world's most famous phallic symbol was not lost on me as Kate's mouth had now leisurely traversed its way about halfway down my length, taking her time, teasing me with her tantalizing patience and skill. Kate did not release her gifted and hungry mouth from my cock until we pulled into the hotel driveway, just seconds before the young valet opened the door to see my cock snaking its way back into temporary recluse and Kate re-zipping me. I'm sure he had seen similar sights before, and he gave me a wry smile as he handed me the ticket, holding the door on the passenger side as Kate gave him a longer-than-necessary view of her parted, drenched thighs. "Enjoy your evening, folks," he grinned mirthfully. When we reached Room 609, I first excused myself to visit the restroom, to relieve myself in anticipation that my pee-pee would soon be needed for other bodily functions. Peeing with a hard-on should be an Olympic sport, such is the dedication, accuracy and athleticism required so as not to spray all over the confined quarters. It's really not fair that men should be challenged to hit a foot-round oval while standing upright with a raging woodie. I think someone should patent a device that automatically expands the circumference of the toilet rim upon detection of a heat-sensing erection mechanism. But, I digress. When I returned to the bedroom (and, yes, I dutifully mopped up the excess spillage), Kate stood in front of the door with her hands on her rounded hips, devoid now of that pesky blouse and skirt, adorned in just the purple bra and string panties, thigh-highs and heels. I sat back on the bed to enjoy the rest of the strip show that I hoped I was about to spectate, and I was not disappointed. Kate kicked off her heels and unclasped her bra, and her full, firm and freckled C-cup tits spilled languorously from their confines. She began to reach down to untie the strings on the side of her frilly panties, but I waved my hands in the air in a "Timeout" gesture. "Please, allow me, I insist." I crawled on my hands and knees over to her and eased her gently back so that her butt rested against the wall. "I've always wanted to take off a pair of these hands-free, using only my tongue, lips, and teeth." I looked up at Kate from my knees, my mouth just inches away from her crotch, inhaling her sweet, musky scent. I used my best puppy-dog eyes. "May I?" Her answer was to pull my head into the wonderful gap between her legs, my nose softly burying into the tuft of pubic hairs encased underneath the soft silk. "Be my guest." She lifted one leg from the carpet and rested it over my shoulder, her body relaxing and melting at once in anticipation of the oral homage that I was about to provide to her. With my efficacious tongue, I undid the string on her left hip just as I would untie a knot from a cherry, and after a few glorious moments, when the 'string-ectomy' was complete, the fabric fell to the floor, the operation a success, and I prepared the patient for 'post-op' procedures. Juices spurted and splashed onto my face as I licked and gently nibbled on her slit and her love nectars flowed from beneath the soft curly, delicious puffs of black pubes, coating them into fine, delicate braids and snarls and tangles of cum and saliva-covered ringlets of sex. My hands pressed and parted her buttocks, and my pinkie began to encircle the rim of her brown-puckered forbidden hole, placing the the small thimble of my pinky tip onto and around her anus. Quibble with me if you must, but to me, there is nothing more erotic than pleasuring a beautiful woman who has surrendered unilaterally and unequivocally to your tongue, watching her tremble and shudder and shiver as she gushes tiny waterfalls of liquid warmth onto your face. Until you fuck her, that is. I led Kate over to the king-size bed, laid her on her back, and peeled her stockings off with one hand while kicking my pants and boxers to the floor. Kate's eyes widened from their orgasm-induced sleepy-eyed bliss as she got her first eyeful of my cock without the encumbrances of clothing. Like a watered-down version of a haiku, Kate lapsed into a one-syllable, two-syllable, one-syllable staccato command as she spread her long legs lewdly on the mattress. "Huge." Her eyes were riveted on my cock like a laser beam honing onto its target. "Fuck me." My tip tickled against her pubes, poking open the slit slightly. "Now." We have lift-off. I'd like to tell you that I savagely rammed my cock as deep and hard as I could into Kate's tunnel. Can't say the thought "didn't cross me mind', as Crocodile Dundee would say. But, truth be told, I eased and teased my way agonizingly slowly into Kate's talented cunt, as much for her to get adjusted to my size as it was for me to experience the sensation of her muscles enveloping my cock like Saran Wrap. Each insertion deeper into her folds was met by Kate's verbal cacophony of tumultuous dissonance of grunts, squeals, and obscene exhortations. "Oh.....yes....fuck....what a cock......unhhhh....ooooooh, yes, fuck..............huge...split me...harder..deeper....unghhh......don't hold back...can you feel how wet I am....fuck me, hard...that's it....unhhh..oooooh, oh...Goddamn it, fuck me....hard, now...." So I did the gentlemanly thing once again and complied. Thus, Kate embarked on my special 12-step Round the Clock tour. Strap that cock on real tight, darlin', it's gonna be a bumpy ride. One O'Clock: I rolled Kate onto her left hip and entered her from the side so that we could kiss while she fondled my cock and balls sliding inside of her while I fingered her clit and massaged her tits. Two O'Clock: I rolled Kate again so that she was now flat on her stomach and I now stood flat on the floor, hovering over her on the bed, and fucked her, hard, my cock slapping at the spongy wall of her g-spot, evoking her first vaginal orgasm after scores of the clitoral kind, and her vulgar screams as white milky cum poured from her cunt would have made a longshoreman blush. Three O'Clock: I lifted up those hips and gave her the delight of her favorite position. Straight deep, rabid doggy-style fucking, augmented by pulling at her bouncing tits and my index finger lubing up her sphincter, preparing her for the grand finale. Hey, it's never to early to prepare. Four O'Clock: A mirror image of the One O'Clock step, except on her right side this time. I missed her lips on mine, she was the most erotic kisser, and this added exponentially to the vigor and intimacy of the sex. Five O'Clock: I lifted Kate up and placed myself flat on the bed beneath her so that she could ride my meat reverse cowgirl-style and I could watch those round globes of her ass cheeks bounce against my pelvis. Six O'Clock: Same as Five O'Clock, but with 'extras'. I grabbed Kate's hair with one hand and pushed her face as far down to the mattress as it could go, so that she could get a bird's eye view of my cock slamming in and out of her, while I balanced her by placing her wrists behind her back, controlling her movements, and lifting my own hips off the bed so that I could get deeper into her hole. This worked, she gushed like a fire hydrant. Seven O'Clock: I picked Kate up and twirled her like a baton so that she now rode me while facing me, and I played again with her luscious tits. Eight O'Clock: Same position as Seven O'Clock, except I pushed her down so that she was lying flat on top of me, stomach-to stomach, as I kissed and pinched and licked and sucked on her tits, bringing her to yet another orgasm. Nine O'Clock: Indian style. I sit upright on the bed and Kate wildly rode my cock while I mashed her tits and we kissed with an indescribable fervor. Ten O'Clock: Warning, don't try this at home. This can only be accomplished with a tall woman with long legs and a short, stocky man with a big cock. (Instead of a "69", picture the number "11", one on top of the other.) I lay flat on my back once again and lifted Kate on top of me so that her back was against my stomach, so that I could manipulate her clit and tits while laying beneath her and pounding her incessantly. This position also results in my cock massaging the top wall of the woman, and in Kate's case, it sent her spiraling into orbit. Eleven O'Clock: Return to base camp, missionary position, but I pushed Kate's legs tightly together after a short while. For those of you ladies who have never been fucked using this position, I encourage you to ask your lover to try it out with you, because, believe me, his cock will hit your top wall at just the right angle for both of you. After a few minutes of this intense position, I maneuvered myself just a bit sideways, and Kate's face brightened up once she realized I was slowly one finger into her gaping anus. I think perhaps I should quote Kate's own narrative for the beginning of our 'witching hour', as described below........ Twelve O'Clock: Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! "Ohhhh, Christ, that feels good. Would you like to fuck me there? Would you like to fuck my hot ass?" I kissed her in response. She knew I did, and my wiggling finger probed her asshole deeper and deeper as we kissed. Another of my fingers found Kate's tight, puckered asshole, and slid inside a bare half-inch. She gasped in pleasure and nodded, grimacing slightly. Her ass had been waiting patiently for its penetration, and the thought of me fucking it had both of us impossibly turned on. Right now, with my fingers in her tight hole, she only felt pleasure as her sphincter walls stretched out. Since my touch now just turned her on more and more, even a sensitive area like her asshole was now just an incredible pleasure zone, and I fucked her cunt harder and harder, preparing for the inevitable. "Oh god, John, I so want it. You know I do, please, please, do it." I bit her lip. "Do what? You need to tell me," I said, grinning. "Please fuck my ass. Put that big cock of yours up my asshole and spread me, fill my ass." Her eyes were on fire with lust now, I could tell she was craving anal for her second time ever. I lifted her ass, and spread her cute cheeks wide, making her tight little asshole open up, just enough. Then, I eased my cockhead up against the entrance to her hot, tight, little anus. Of course, every touch from me drove her wilder for more, so she practically panted in delight at the feel of my cock at the entrance to her little brown eye. Finally, I was thrusting comfortably inside her ass, manhandling her ass cheeks, grunting with the intensity of it, and we made and kept eye contact as a measure of trust. "This is about pleasure, not pain, Kate. If it hurts, tell me and I'll stop right away," I said reassuringly. Her growled, muted response was hard to misinterpret. "Fuck my ass, John, I can handle it, I want to feel all of you, this is the cock I've been waiting for, big and talented. Fuck me........." Duly encouraged by those words, I fucked her asshole slow but deep, and she did her best to match my thrusts, pushing back against my cock, my balls slapping against her as we fucked. I didn't last long in her anus before I finally came inside her with a volcanic burst of semen in her bowels, my cum burning a hot trail up her asshole. I willed my cock to stay hard, and kept fucking her for another tasty stretch, hearing her moan and groan and beg for more of my cum until, with a primal screech after one last anal-induced orgasm, Kate passed out in a sexed-out stupor, the unmistakable glow of a 'thoroughly-fucked' smile on her gorgeous, cover-girl-worthy face. I kissed her forehead tenderly and staggered to the bathroom once more, wobbly-kneed, and cleaned off my private areas carefully, knowing that there would be more aerobic activities that would require a clean cock in the coming hours. I didn't have to wait long to be rewarded for my good hygiene after I dozed off myself, because I was stirred by a now-familiar warm and wet mouth performing nocturnal oral magic in the darkness. There is just something about that middle-of-the-night-blowjob-wakeup call, isn't there? Once Kate became aware that her administrations had woken up all parts of me, from beneath the covers I heard a muffled whimper as she took a short break from her hidden cocksucking. "May I take this thing home with me to play with every night?" After enjoying her tongue's journey along my nether regions for perhaps ten wonderful minutes or so, I reached down to extract Kate and bring her up next to me. We then proceeded to do perhaps the most underrated sexual act of all. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed some more. We made love to each other's mouths for perhaps a half-hour, each exploration rousing our mutual desire, and as Kate began to tug on my shaft with her soft hands more fervently, I lightly grazed my fingers over her engorged clit as we instinctively found each other's buttons. We brought each other to respective orgasms as I squirted another thick load onto Kate's hands as her sweet cum dribbled onto my own palms. We licked and shared our ejaculations off of each other's hands erotically, as we resumed our passionate kissing. It may have been the hottest, sexiest act I've ever shared with a woman At least, until a few hours later when I lovingly shaved Kate's bush. Who says I'm not a romantic? God, why, oh why, did this woman have to be married? When dawn's sunlight drifted through the drapes as we lay entwined in each other's arms, I awoke and made my way to the bathroom, and sure enough, there was the equipment. Scissors, razor, gel and lotion, just as promised. I filled the ice bucket with warm water and carried in two dry towels. Since the 'string-ectomy' procedure the evening before had been so successful, I was confident that our pending 'pube-ectomy' would be just as beneficial to the cause. Kate sleepily opened one eye as I lifted her delicious ass so that I could place the towel on the sheets, and I tenderly went to work, first sponging Kate's mound with a wet handcloth, and then liberally applying the lather. Now, this was not my first rodeo when it comes to shaving a woman, but I have to admit I was nervous, more so than usual. Besides the precious piece of pubic cargo that I was about to trim and be responsible for, I couldn't help but think that this was my first 'haircut', so to speak, of a married woman. Kate must have had clairvoyance as she recognized my anxiety and hesitation. "Don't worry, I doubt he'll even notice". She propped her elbows up on the bed so that she could witness, and her natural lubrication began to again drip liberally and coat her labia. If you think peeing with a hard-on requires Olympian dexterity, well, try holding a razor in your hand while a married woman's dripping well-fucked cunt is inches from your face. Now, THAT'S skill. But, undaunted, filled with the false bravado and courage that only an erection can muster, I assured my hands weren't shaking and attempted to soothe and perhaps distract Kate's attention by providing a running narrative of my own. All that was missing was a power-point presentation. "Now, gorgeous, I usually cover the entire area I am going to shave at the beginning so I don't need to set the razor down constantly and fiddle with the container of shaving gel. We can always go back and add more shaving cream later, but we need to be careful because if we leave leave them on too long, you may start to notice a burning sensation on your skin. If that happens, let me know, and we'll wash the lather off immediately and give your skin a few moments to recuperate." I snipped with great concentration as I was delivering this monologue and before we knew it, the excess curls had disappeared, and we were ready for the next (i.e. razor) step. I started with the top of Kate's pronounced mound, and used one hand to gently pull back the skin so it was tight and, with the razor in the other hand, I gently shaved down with the hair growth, and resumed my verbal analysis of the event. Kate was mewing softly now, like a kitten enjoying a grooming. "I like to start on the sides near the crease of your legs and then work towards the center, above your pussy. After I've shaved most of your mound against the hair growth, I'll then shave lightly against the growth and sometimes from side to side." Kate trembled visibly now, but it was clear it was from arousal, not fear. Her crayon-shaped nipples could've poked holes in a pack of construction paper, and her scent permeated the room. She had completely entrusted me with the most intimate part of her beautiful body, and I was determined to be Picasso-like in my craft. My own cock had assumed the texture of granite, coated with titanium. In other words, I was hard. By now, we were almost halfway home. My razor cautiously descended southward as I tried to remain suave and comforting. "The lips can be a bit trickier although the outer labia should be similar to shaving your mound. Shaving against the hair growth should get most of the hairs although we may have to retrace your stroke one or twice to catch any strays." Kate groaned loudly as another trickle of white liquid oozed from her slit, which I took onto my fingertips and raised it to her mouth, offering her a first taste of her soon-to-be-naked cunt. She lapped at it like the same hungry kitten. "I'm gonna shave inside your labia now, so help me out, use your hand to gently roll your lips open." She complied, while emitting small whimpers. I continued. "Carefully pull your fingers up along the edge of your lip and around the upper ridge so I can get to those little hairs which will REALLY agitate your partner during oral sex if they are missed. And, we'll be taking a taste test in just a few minutes, so let's make this a team effort, shall we?" By now, Kate had receded back onto the mattress, panting heavily, her tits heaving, her thighs radiating heat, and I again took the warm hand towel, freshened it, and wiped the entire area clean, admiring my work. I had left a small triangular landing strip on the apex of her mound, almost like a welcome mat. Attorney Fucking, Anyone? I draped the larger towel over her stomach and softly whispered up to her, "Would you like to participate in the unveiling?" Kate lifted her body tentatively, and I dramatically waved the towel for the formal unveiling. "Voila!" Kate gazed down with her blue eyes as wide as saucers. "That's the single most incredible, erotic, sensual, sexy, fucking HOTTEST thing any one will possibly ever do to me." I grinned up at her. Another satisfied customer. "But we're not done yet." I wagged a finger at her as she looked at me quizzically. "Now we must exfoliate and moisturize." I peeled her lips wide apart and buried my tongue in her newly-shaven, almost virginal snatch. And I stayed there for the better part of the next half-hour. Kate's fingertips, I believe, have left permanent indentations in my skull, and her wails of passion were enough to evoke a knock on the door from a curious but helpful housekeeping associate. "Is everything all right in there?", came the soft inquiry in a female Hispanic-accented voice. "Oh, God, yes, I'm just having my bare pussy eaten like you wouldn't believe!", Kate yelled in reply. I'll bet that made for some lively conversation around the housekeeping office's water cooler. In the next hour, I was duly compensated and rewarded for my artistic display with an enthusiastic blowjob in front of the plate glass window with the shades wide open (Good Morning, Washington!), a soapy handjob in the shower, and a rousing fuck as Kate was bent over the bathroom counter in front of the mirror so that we could mutually admire her new nude pussy being rightfully and royally fucked. It was the best view in DC that morning. And, yes, before I came, she kneeled in front of me and we gave that sexy gray streak of hair a protein bath. Gratuities are always appreciated, after all. Postscript: That happened almost six years ago, though it's hard to believe. I truly thought that evening would be the beginning of something long-term for Kate and myself, but geography, circumstances, and a variety of other life occurrences intervened. As John Lennon once said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans." Kate has since gotten divorced (shocking!) and from what I hear from some mutual acquaintances, she has been having some fun catching up for some lost time. Carnally, at least. Good for her. Me? I'm engaged to be married in June to a wonderful woman who bears a resemblance to Angie Harmon, er, Kate. And this story was a way to memorialize perhaps the hottest night of my sexual life, as well as send to Kate an acknowledgement and 'thank you' for giving her body and mind to me, albeit very briefly. I recently shared some e-mail correspondence with her, alerted her to my Literotica stories, and she seemed flattered and genuinely excited to be the focus of a story of her own. So, Katherine, this is to you. Cheers. I wonder if your pussy is shaved these days. And, oh yes, Kate and I did share just one more night together. If you're really nice, readers (and you, too, Kate!), well, I just may consider writing and telling you all about it. After all, I'm not married yet.