18 comments/ 66850 views/ 2 favorites Coconut Smoothies By: SomeOneNew Have you ever just disliked someone for no sound reason? That was Paul, or how I felt about Paul. I didn't like him at first, despised him would be more accurate. He seemed quietly arrogant, like he knew something that everybody else didn't, maybe something they were incapable of knowing, since to him they existed several steps below his razor-sharp intellect. He appeared to be very self-centered, too, like he didn't give a shit if anyone thought he was haughty, since he was who he was, spoke perfect English with a foreign phrase thrown in here and there, you know the type. The kicker was when he basically slammed the door in my face as I trudged around the neighborhood with my daughter, selling Girl Scout cookies. He didn't know me at the time even though our houses backed to each other, but would it have killed him to be polite? A terse "yes" was followed by a dismissive "no thanks," as the door was shut in our faces mid-sentence, much to my consternation and my daughter's bewilderment and disappointment. Consternation? Hell no, I was pissed, and I would have rung the doorbell and given him a piece of my mind if I hadn't been with Megan and had two more blocks of doorbells to ring. He was on my shit list as of that moment. Later though, I got to know his wife Karen as a fellow room parent for the third grade, and she seemed to be quite nice, around my age, 39, and bright, but without the smug baggage of her asshole of a husband. Our daughters began requesting play dates, so we grew to be neighborly acquaintances over coffee and swing-sets, phone calls and predictable third-grade catastrophes. Over the course of a year or so I ran into Paul a couple of times, first with Karen and then other times in a rush whenever he picked up his daughter after school and once where we made small talk at the winter pageant. But on one December day near to Christmas and shortly after the pageant everything unexpectedly changed for me. He climbed the stairs from his family room when I stopped by to collect money for a holiday gift for our kids' homeroom teacher. This was the first time I had seen him in any way disheveled or wearing anything other than jeans and a leather jacket, both of which I hated to admit he looked good in. He's not classically good-looking, like a model or a celebrity, but he knew how to dress to his advantage, and being sexy is more of a state of mind anyway. It hit me that day for the first time that his parts added up to more than the isolated impressions I had gotten of his overall appearance. He's 6' tall and probably weighs around 190lbs, an inch shorter and a few pounds lighter than my husband; he has sparkling blue eyes and thinning brunette hair that he wears in a short ponytail. In short he has that "I'm an artist who used to smoke a lot of pot" look about him. But seeing him in his workout clothes made me aware of his long, muscular legs and, as he bent into his refrigerator, his nice tight buns (just the way I like them, but come to think of it, who doesn't like them nice and tight?), like he had played soccer or run track for years and had stamina to spare. And judging from the random folds and lopsided bulge in his sweat-soaked, gray athletic shorts, he appeared to be amply endowed in other ways as well as I stole a glance at what my girlfriends and I used to call simply "the package" in our college-girl code. But damned if he didn't catch my eye that one second when I checked him out. He held my gaze when I looked up and discovered that I had been caught, but gracefully he looked away before either of us became uncomfortable. I guess he was flattered, I don't know, but it was a polite gesture on his part I must admit since I expected a smirk or the like. He was drenched from a strenuous workout and smelled faintly musky and very masculine as he moved aside me, drinking his iced tea, chatting pleasantly and making his wife and I laugh about one of our neighbors. For some reason I never imagined that he had a sense of humor, but he had a silly and observant one, and I am a sucker for humorous guys. Not a clown, but someone who appreciates life's absurdities. And rather than conceited, now for some reason he seemed to be entertaining and funny in a chiding and acerbic way. When I eventually left there that day I would have gone so far as to describe him as charming and confident. Karen was baking cupcakes for a school function, and as we chatted her eyes were fixed on the mixer and a recipe. He excused himself to shower and change. I became aware of my heart pounding as I watched him walk down the hall to their bedroom, feeling like a high school girl with a horny crush on another girl's guy, only this one came as a shock to me when I realized that this guy was turning me on in a big way, the guy who I seemed to dislike just moments ago. I felt the familiar tingle of warmth in my belly that preceded my nipples tightening into sensitive little buds and my clit asking me to pull the seam of my jeans tightly against it. So I self-consciously crossed my arms to cover the evidence, ridiculously assuming that his wife would somehow know exactly why my nips were all-of-a-sudden rigid. I shook it off; I had to shake it off for my own self-preservation, for all kinds of common sense reasons. He was happily married I assumed; they were one of the royal couples in the neighborhood as my husband called them with a touch of jealousy: perfect kids, highly educated academics both, and income to spare, in two words, off limits. As I walked home I cringed as I imagined humiliating myself were I to be alone with him, making a subtle pass and being rejected with a dismissive snort and a condescending glance over the rims of his glasses that framed eyes, I must admit, that respectfully never seemed to wander below mine. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to talk with a guy and have him look you in the eye rather than stare at your chest, but when you want him to notice you that's a different story. Guys often see that contradiction as irrational, but it's not. But irrationality does describe part of my life; maybe timidity is a better description of why I married Steven. He wasn't flashy or dangerously sexy, and our once-passable sex-life had eroded to bi-yearly trysts, but he was my husband and a good father; he was safe. My friends quietly questioned why "the blond with a brain" as they once called me had settled for him out of many choices, but sometimes practicality and foresight trumps excitement. Steven was a figure out of the nineteenth century; missionary position exclusively, awkward oral sex only if he was drunk and I was fresh out of the shower (where I usually pretended to cum to avoid hurting his feelings). And blowjobs, well, they were "demeaning" to me, he decided, so even though they made me horny as hell and I loved the feeling of hot skin plugged into my throat, he wouldn't let me give him one. Steven could count his lovers on one hand; I ran out of digits even barefoot. So I had become quite adept with my fingers and my fantasies, regularly and quietly in a shower with a pulsing, extendable hand attachment (with two kids the only place in the house where one can get a little peace) and a lockable door. I planned to violate my marriage vows only in the humid mist of my bathroom and the safety of my own mind. Predictably, that evening my shower featured Paul in his workout clothes. I was so eager to get it on with him that I showered earlier than normal. He appeared as I was gardening, in flimsy shorts and a tee shirt, after he stopped during his run to stretch a tight thigh muscle. As he faced the street, I watched him flex and massage his afflicted thigh, clenching and rubbing the muscles of his butt as he loosened up, his running shorts hiking up to where I could catch a glimpse of underwear; that day he wore black. He spied me over the split rail fence and the white azaleas and with a knowing smile asked for a glass of water (he had forgotten to take his bottle on his run; ok, it's lame but it's my fantasy). As we entered the back door of my house that leads to the kitchen he followed me to the cupboard and then to the refrigerator. I felt the heat of his body close to mine as he shadowed my movements. As I leaned over the sink and drew him a glass of cool, refreshing water I felt his arms encircle my waist, thread upward between my arms and my sides and boldly cup my bare breasts with his hands, tenderly manipulating my rigid nipples between his outstretched fingers as he softly squeezed my boobs. Hot breath warming my neck preceded his first playful bite underneath my ear, his teeth tenderly kneading my ear lobe just before his serpentine tongue explored the crevasses leading to my ear canal and then slithered down through my insides along nerves leading directly to my pussy. His expanding cock straightened and pushed insistently along the crack of my ass as with his palm open he pressed my stomach at my navel and pulled me into him, his little finger stretched within just an inch of my needy clitoris. I caught myself as I sighed loudly, with one hand flat on my stomach, one taunting my wet boobs with a nipple pinched between my fingers. Now startled and unsure of how long I had been in the shower, so engrossed was I with my dream, I panicked. Had my husband heard me? Had the kids? Not wanting to appear suspicious I raced through my shower, the moisture between my legs overwhelmed by the shower water that dripped from my pussy and pubic hair. I nervously washed my slippery, warm skin, not daring to stop for fear that I would succumb to my urge to pleasure myself, fearing the accumulated force of my desire would lead my fingers to curl into my unfilled pussy. I roughly and rapidly washed and reached for a towel, trying to banish my desire with the fear of discovery. I dried myself with like speed and rushed from the bathroom to dress, stopping briefly to gaze at my reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. I'm 5'6, thin, with small breasts (generously a 32B), long legs and a full but narrow butt that guys always claw for as they kiss me, ok, used to claw for. Steven leaves my butt alone; there's no need to get into why. My breasts stopped developing in my late teens and never became the globes idolized in men's magazines. My areolas are medium-large and puffy and light pink and lead to delicate and sensitive nipples that literally harden if I happen to be topless in a gentle breeze. My butt, on my thin body, is a bit of a bubble (the blond with the butt was my other moniker). Guys love it even though I think it is too prominent, but I'm not complaining. I thought as I turned to look at my backside, how would it feel were he to see me and touch me. What does he like? What would sex be like with him? Is he demanding (which I could deal with), wimpy, or—I hope--somewhere in between? My hair is naturally blond, and cut in a short wedge, longer in the front than in the back. I have blue eyes and long lashes behind little wire rimmed glasses and rarely leave the house without full make-up, even if I'm wearing sweat pants and a sweatshirt. After having two kids, I forced myself to do sit-ups to recover my flat stomach, and I did get it back, so much so that I can still wear a two-piece with little or no evidence of childbirth. And my soft, thin pubic hair is blond as well (if anyone needs to verify that I'm a natural). Sometimes I wonder if my husband knows how good he has it, driving his sports car in the slow lane. Just once I wish he'd have the guts to floor it. Anyway, our neighborhood New Year's party was a formal affair that rotated from house to house over the years. Before the party, I briefly toyed with the notion of wearing no underwear under my dress, just to feel risqué, but settled on black string panties under garters as a compromise. As it turned out Karen and Paul showed up as well, making me both tense and slightly giddy. Even my normally oblivious husband commented on how sexy and alive I looked, and when I passed a mirror that night, I got a little thrill at how good I still looked despite at times feeling on the early cusp of middle age. The party landed this year at our house and gave me the only sign that Paul was aware of me as a woman and not just Danny and Megan's mother and Steven's wife, although he and Steven had very little in common and associated little. Late in the party I was conscious of him looking in my direction as I refilled the snack table in the dining room in my little black dress and string of pearls, deftly bending in a curtsy at one point—despite the booze--to pick up a dropped pickle as I replenished the platters of crudités. For a moment we were alone in the dimly lighted dining room as Christmas music softly played in the background; the other guests were collected on the deck as a few flakes of snow fell from the sky, adding atmosphere to the party. Everyone was out of sight and earshot, surrounding the warmth of our chiminea, chatting, laughing and drinking everything from mulled cider to cognac. It was late and neither one of us was aware of the time. By now I had drunk a few glasses of wine and some cognac, and Paul was drinking cognac and obviously had more than one drink as well. He said little as he listened to me anxiously chattering in safe territory, about our kids and the neighborhood, his mind seemingly far away from the room. I tried to act cordially without revealing the illusory familiarity (or would that be embarrassment?) that came from masturbating fairly regularly with him in mind and in a variety of fantasies. We had made love in so many places and various ways that the real Paul I feared could never live up to my dreams of him. Everything happened so quickly. He stood to refresh his cognac when a neighbor shot through the room, out of the powder room and by us, mumbling something about not wanting to spend the first minute of the year in the bathroom. As he opened the door onto the deck we heard the final countdown from the revelers and a hardy cheer. Paul and I looked at each other, alone and exceedingly uncomfortable, standing two feet or so apart. He looked dashing and good enough to eat holding a snifter of fine cognac. I gladly would have kissed him then and there and dropped to my knees to celebrate the New Year in proper fashion and begin it in a way that both of us would remember. And I, well I was holding a half-empty plate of cauliflower; I doubt I had the same sexy aura surrounding me. Maybe it was the booze, or the accumulated force of my fantasy, or that the last time I made love with my husband I came only after imagining with closed eyes that Paul was inside of me. But as we gave each other an plastic smile and leaned into each other for a celebratory peck on the cheek, what actually resulted was a celebratory peck on the lips that we held longer than either of us expected. Pulling back with surprise on our faces we froze momentarily. I still can't believe I had the courage to reach out and hook a finger into the waistband of his pants, like I had done so many times before in my fantasies, and pull him toward me. He reached behind me in a move almost as practiced as mine and placed a hand in the small of my back, softly placing his lips over mine. With closed eyes our tongues touched at first, then intertwined as I pressed against him and encouraged our bodies together as our faces tilted into a slow and passionate kiss. I whimpered as I discovered he kissed every bit as well as I imagined. "Much better" he said, as he pulled back and took a deep breath, his eyes wide, obviously moved himself I surmised, swallowed and said with an obvious touch of disappointment as he looked over my shoulder, "here they come." The door opened from the deck and our spouses and guests spilled into the room as I stood at the table holding an empty plate, the cauliflower having fallen into the pretzels and dip during our kiss. Steven came up behind me and gave me a peck on the cheek and whispered "Happy New Year" as I faintly smiled and felt the blood rushing in my ears as I watched Paul embracing Karen across the room. "Oh Honey, you've made a mess" Steven said and, to his puzzlement, I just laughed and excused myself to visit the bathroom. The door closed as I reached between my legs and hungrily massaged my pussy as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I had to admit, I looked good, even with my hand lewdly curled under my dress. After the guests left I was ravenously horny. Steven wanted to finish cleaning the house after the party, but I convinced him that we should save that for morning and attack it with a good's night sleep. What I really wanted was Paul to spread my legs, grab my ankles and ride me hard to a drunken orgasm. I let Steven get into bed before I entered the bedroom. Starting with my pearls, I slipped out of my dress, leaving only my bra, hose, garters and panties. Hoping that Steven wouldn't see how wet they were I slipped them off at the foot of the bed and immediately threw them toward the dirty clothes hamper. Like a cat, I crawled over the foot of the bed and up to his face, straddling him before I began using my tongue to dip into his mouth, his ears and paint a line down his neck as I slowly unbuttoned his top and sucked on his nipples. He was taken aback by my unusual display of sexual aggressiveness and it showed in his eyes. I dispensed with the rules and dropped to his crotch, taking his cock in my mouth and rolling it around with my tongue in a pool of saliva. I felt alive and wanted to share this exuberance with him, to suck him until just before he came and then, reverting to the house rules, slip him inside of me so that he could cum in a "proper" way. But the sucking went nowhere, as if his cock refused to respond to my unruly mouth and demean me, as he would put it. So I decided to push it. I popped his balls into my mouth and began to stroke him to a full erection with my hand. On Steven that was what he proudly referred to as his "thick six," although a slightly rounder than normal five was more accurate, truth be told. It did drag on my lips as it slid in and out of me, nicely pulling on my clit. But he never made it those few extra inches into the back of my pussy. I remember each and every guy who visited there. And it had been years since that had happened. To make a long story short I got a little wild with Steven when I returned him to my mouth, sucking all of him into me as out started to gush the load that had been building up. He tried to pull out of me and I tried to hold him in my mouth. But just after he began to shoot his load he managed to push my head off of him and his thick jizz splattered over my lips and face and even across my eyes. I crawled up his body, stopping to lick up a particularly large stray gob, and kissed him, rubbing his warm spunk all over him and swirling it around in his mouth. You would have thought that I poisoned him as he wrenched his head to one side and angrily asked me if I was nuts. "No, this is nuts" I said as I straightened up. Rearing back and pulling my pussy lips apart with my fingers in a 'V' I pulled back my hood and began to flick a finger on my other hand back and forth over my clit. "Jesus, Corinne" he asked, "do you have to do that in front of me?" "No, Steven, I don't" I said angrily as I got off of him, grabbed my pillow and stomped to the guest room where I furiously screamed, not caring whether the kids or the sleepover baby sitter in the family room would hear, "I can do it in here, too. But I normally I save it for the shower." At that point I was too distracted and pissed off to cum, but he didn't know that as I let out a convincing wail under the cold sheets of our guest bed and feigned an orgasm just to piss him off. The wail quickly led to angry, silent tears as I wordlessly lamented the distressing state of my marriage as I heard him in the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth. That was the last piece of ass he ever sort of would get from me I swore as I drifted off to sleep. Coconut Smoothies Life soon returned to a normal hectic pace of part-time work and parenting after that, with Paul and I occasionally seeing each other in passing, silently acknowledging what had passed between us, or at least I thought we were. Maybe he didn't even remember what happened. I eventually started to assume that he was embarrassed from our drunken kiss, and whereas I acted out of sincere emotions (or plain lust, who knows?), he apparently was just drunk. So the promise dissolved I thought. But I still couldn't keep him out of my shower. I tried substituting other men in my fantasies, but uncontrollably the image would morph into his face, his body, what I could see and what I imagined, and again I would be having sex with the neighbor from the next street down. I even started to chat with men on the net—at least they claimed to be men, who really knows—and even went so far as to buy a small vibrator and intermittently masturbate with one of them, on afternoons when the kids were in school and Steven was working, but screwing my computer just didn't cut it and when the guy wanted to call me, I cut off all communication. So winter passed into mid-spring as I played with my little plastic battery-operated friend. Unfortunately it wasn't waterproof, or it would have joined me in the shower as well. I saved it for occasional afternoons when the house was quiet, once every week right before I changed the sheets. It found its way into me in every way I could imagine, and the quiet humming became as synonymous with an orgasm as my panting cries of release. I would become so horny at times, and so matter of fact about it, that at times I would just sit on the couch, unzip my jeans, slip them halfway down my thighs and satisfy the urge. Sometimes I would drop my panties as well and dribble a little wet stain that I hoped Steven would find. I even watched myself get off a few times, placing a floor-length mirror in the family room and admiring the two symmetrical petals of my little pink flower, pouting and empty. Once I even so got into it that I stripped and pulled my legs up onto the couch so that even my little asshole was in view. I pulled the mirror closer and got on all fours. It wasn't long before the vibrator found its way there as well and contributed to a massive orgasm that I'm sure could have been heard on the sidewalk outside of our home had one of our neighbors been passing at the opportune time. So passed the spring into early May. Steven, mercifully, was out of town on business when the phone rang on the unnaturally warm Saturday morning in early May. Karen had asked Paul to pick up a relish tray that they had months earlier left at our New Years party. Could he come over in an hour or so with Emma to pick it up? Would Megan want to play? Yes, Megan would want to play I told him, so would Corinne if he had the time I thought to myself. Hanging up the phone I immediately called our neighbor and asked her to watch the kids while I showered and changed clothes. Our kids spent half of their time there anyway, so the sudden request wasn't unusual. I ran to my bedroom to decide what to wear after my shower. I hurriedly tried on three pairs of jeans and different tops to make my boobs look larger in the discarded choices of push-up bras and blousy folds of various tops and light sweaters. Nothing was right as I slowly became more nervous and a patina of sweat blossomed from my haste. I was naked and about to step into the shower when Jennifer yelled to tell me that she had locked herself out of her house. I threw on some nylon shorts and a spaghetti strap top I usually wear when I paint around the house and went to the door to give her the emergency key to her house we keep for her. I took a very quick phone call from my mother and told her I would call her back later. Finally back in the bedroom again, I was about to shower when Jennifer again rang the doorbell, I assumed to return the key. You guessed it. There stood Paul and Emma looking at Corinne, barefoot and braless in a spaghetti strap top and nylon running shorts without panties, her hair an uncombed mess. Hi, I'm the real Corinne, I thought. "We can come back," he said after I said nothing for what must have seemed like fifteen minutes. "No, no, please, come in. Emma. Hi sweetie. Megan is over at Miss Jenn's with Danny and Melanie" I rambled and stuttered, my body not sure whether to become aroused or run screaming to the bedroom and hide. "I'll walk her over" Paul said and turned to go when the three other kids ran up to the door and dragged Emma into their play and ran into my backyard. "Well, I guess I won't" he said as he turned again to me as I nervously chattered about the kids, still not having opened the door to let him in. "Corinne, I can come back if you are busy," he said graciously, finally getting a word in amongst my nervous blathering as he moved to leave. "No" I said as I opened the door and held it open for him, meaningless words still coming from my mouth, "please, come in. I was, uh, anyway, come in." "That's cool" he said, "I don't mean to interrupt. Karen has been talking about getting that sacred relish tray or whatever it is for months, it's a family heirloom thing, and I just thought today might be a good time." We paused momentarily and then moved into the kitchen, both of us following the voices of our kids streaming in through the kitchen window from the back yard. "I thought Karen would get it, since I haven't really seen you much recently" I said, fishing for any clue of how he felt about me. "She's at her mother's today; she takes her grocery shopping once a week, to the mall about once a month. Today is mall day" he finished. Despite months of hungering for this guy, I unexpectedly felt inappropriately dressed in my braless, panty-less state, and was about to excuse myself to change when he blurted out: "Look, I've wanted to talk to you anyway. I felt you had been avoiding me since the New Years party. I wanted to apologize if I offended you." Oh god, what to say. We had been fucking in the shower for months; I'd done things with him I had never done before. "Offend me? No, if anything I was the one who should be apologizing. I guess people do things when they are drinking . . ." I trailed off, keeping my eyes safely looking out the kitchen window. "Yea, but I wasn't really drunk, so there was no real excuse for my behavior, uh, so . . ." and then he too ran out of words. "So you weren't drunk?" I asked, a shot of hormones and adrenaline suddenly coursing through my body. "No." I continued looking out the window for a while before I said, without turning, "neither was I, so there's no need to apologize, really." Short of the kid's voices in the yard, the kitchen was silent enough to hear a pin drop for what seemed like forever. And then it happened, finally. He moved beside me as I felt his hand caress my bare tummy, finding my navel and circling a finger around it as my knees turned to rubber. I steadied myself on the counter aside the sink. Since I didn't slide away from him, screaming and lunging for a knife, he placed his other hand in the small of my back at the top of my ass, turned it vertically and, oh my god it felt so sexy, slid it downward to stroke my crack with his middle finger through the thin nylon of my shorts, his breathing deep and firm next to my ear and the heat coming from his body palpable. I froze, not coldly nor indifferently, nor out of fear, but mostly so that I wouldn't break the fragile spell that hovered around us. I was even afraid to swallow. "Paul" I said, my eyes slightly glazed as the out of focus images of our children played in the back yard, "Paul, maybe . . ." my sentence dissipated as his emboldened left hand rose under my top to touch my bare breast, the nipple hard and ready for his mouth, crossing that invisible barrier between friend and lover and fully unmasking my desire as he stroked first one and then the other and sent a shudder through my body with each contact, his right hand still patiently and firmly embedded in my crack. My knees buckled slightly, a soft "oh" escaped my lips, and my hands needed to press harder on the granite countertop surrounding the sink. Jennifer came to the window to speak with me just before his hand flattened and dropped from my breast and he backed out of sight. Her daughter Melanie was in the foursome of kids in the back yard. "You up for a smoothie," she called through the window as our children, hearing her words with a kind of incredibly sensitive radar that only works if one is discussing sugary foods, simultaneously screamed, ran to her, and began to circle her and squeal in unison "smoothies, smoothies, smoothies." Uncharacteristically, I did not answer, so she asked again with a curious look in her eyes, now only half aware of my answer as in their minds the kids knew that the smoothies were a done deal and that she had to get ready to deliver on the goods. All they had to do was get her to the car and be off. I snapped out of it, realizing that this was my out, that if I went with them this was over and no major harm was done. I was felt up good as we used to say, and quite daringly I might add; few teens go right for the ass before a perfunctory kiss; boobs were always the gateway to the forbidden treats. But out of my mouth came words as if someone else was speaking for me: "I have some stuff to do here. I'll send some money along for the kids," I offered, "Paul's in the bathroom." "For smoothies," Justine laughed at the absurdity. "Ok, Corinne, next time you two buy, and I'll get a large shake. That'll teach you. Come on you little monsters," she yelled as the four followed her into her yard like the pied piper. "We'll drink them at the park; 'that ok with you" she inquired with a curious smile. "If you're up to it Jenn" I answered on autopilot, the part of my brain that made words now acting in subordination to the most powerful impulse that controlled my hormones. "No problem. See you in a while" she said, and she left us in expectant silence. I didn't move, nor did he. Somehow we both knew to wait for the doors of the minivan to open and close, the engine to start, the van to back out and drive away. And as all of that happened I worked myself into such a wet froth between my legs that a spot had already appeared where my lips touched the seam of my shorts. I backed a step away from the window and turned to face him, now free to start at his head and slowly drop my eyes down his chest to his manhood, quite obviously aroused and just as obviously much more than a mouth full. As we kissed I felt it pressing insistently against my pelvis through the thin clothing of late spring as he held me against him. We kissed and clutched at each other's backsides, first merely pulling at the muscles of our sides and backs, but as the fever overcame us, our hands dropped lower and clutched at our asses, breathlessly pulling at each other's flesh, mimicking the motions of fucking without penetration, hungrily devouring each other's lips and tongues as our hands pulled back clothing to seize bare skin. I wrapped a leg around one of his, curled behind his knee, and pulled him between my legs, and he obliged my animal posture by tightening his large upper thigh muscle and flexing it against my pussy. "Off," he said as he pulled my tank top over my head and I raised my arms to accommodate him, holding them in the air and resting them on my head as got his first look at my teen tits. "Sorry," I offered stupidly as he pulled back to look at my breasts, still firm and tight against the skin of my chest yet with nipples that had fed two babies and entertained myself and many lovers. "Sorry?" he asked incredulously as he tenderly placed a hand over one and palmed my nipple with his eyes closed. "Would you prefer udders?" He opened his eyes, smiled to put me at ease and delicately rolled my nipples between his fingers, one at a time, as he looked me in the eye with an affectionate smile so sincere that I could not resist returning it despite my hunger, "Corinne, you're beautiful. Relax." I grabbed his hand and kissed it, sucking on his fingers one at a time as tears streamed down my face: "you know, a year ago I thought you were an arrogant prick." "Why the tears?" he asked with concern after he laughed at my confession, obviously thrown for a small loop. "They're good, silly. They're all good," I said as I kissed him again and pressed my bare breasts into the pocket buttons of his shirt, pulled back and began to unbutton his shirt. He broke the kiss and smiled even wider; "and six months ago at that party I wanted to pull off that little black dress of yours and see if you looked as good out of it as you did in it, right there on the snack table. God, had I thought that you had no underwear on then, I would have gone wild" I laughed, "no, today is just a little mistake, but if you like I could leave them off for you more often." "So it's taken me six months, Lover, and for the record you look better out of that little black dress," he said with a carnal familiarity, his smile fading into lust as he kissed me, once on each eye, before he knelt, licking and kissing my breasts on the way down, and began to kiss my belly as one hand reached between my legs to massage my thighs and then up to the wet hair and lips of my aching pussy, the other touching my breasts and playing in the saliva he had just left there, overloading me with sensations in so many places. He unceremoniously pulled down my shorts just enough to see my pussy and again stopped to survey me, whispering "just gorgeous." He kissed my navel like it was a tiny mouth, swirling his tongue around my tender depression before he kissed his way down to my pubic line, one hand threaded between my legs and cradling the crack of my ass in his palm. Eventually he pulled them down further and kissed all throughout my upper pubic hair, down as far as my clitoral hood. I was in heaven, torn between rushing to consummate our affair and wanting to savor every moment with slow and deliberate moves. "This is going to sound stupid, but do you have any hang-ups I need to know about," he asked. "None" I said, too long hampered by my husband's I didn't want to begin here with any, even if I did have some absolutes that had never even been suggested by a lover. I pulled his shirt out of his pants and bent to kiss and lick his nipples, running my hands over his arms and under his armpits as he closed his eyes to drink in the sensations. I made the final leap as I reached down and gently caressed his balls, tracing his erection up, and up, and clear above his jeans pocket. I backed away and looked at him to verify what I thought I was feeling, a very long dick. I knelt and undid his belt and button on his jeans, then unzipped his fly and dropped his pants to just above his knees. His long, thin cock stretched two or three inches above his bikini underwear. To say that I was thrilled by such a long cock would be an understatement. It didn't have my husband's thickness, but it was at least eight inches long and with a proportionally large pink mushroom head. I couldn't resist licking away the precum as he groaned and ran his fingers through my hair. I licked the length of him and looked up at him watching me. "Sorry, I love to watch a woman sucking me. I hope you don't mind" he said with a sort of hunger in his eye. Rather than answer in words, looked him in the eye as I took his balls in one hand and, grabbing his cock with the other, slipped him as far into my mouth and down my throat as I could, not having felt a cock connect with the back of my throat in over ten years. We both groaned simultaneously as I slipped him in and out of me, trying in vain to engulf all of him, making up for what I could not take with my hand stroking the base of his long, curved cock. I couldn't wait to feel it everywhere else as well. He pushed my head away and pulled me to my feet. "You're not going to stop me are you" I said. "Now, yes, in a little bit, no. Turn around and face the counter." I did and he pushed one of my legs into a bend and placed my knee up on the counter and knelt behind me. His tongue was the first thing I felt, painting its way up the inside of my heel, to my calf, to the back of my knee where I began to squirm and push my ass out for his delicate service, to my smooth inner thigh. At this point I was panting with anticipation, hoping to feel him drive his tongue home in my drooling pussy, imagining what he was seeing, the full globes of my butt split wide for his enjoyment, the tiny pink hole into my depths, so long ignored by my husband, and my pussy, lightly covered with wisps of thin blond hair. But no, he dropped again to my other ankle and again, this time seemingly even more slowly he began his progress upward to my sex, painting a series of wet little brush-strokes to my pussy. By now I was wild with desire, my body shaking and calling in guttural noises for his manhood to split me open and bottom out in my depths. But he ignored my pleas and stood, laying his cock in the fissure of my backside and sliding it up and down in my perspiration as he kissed me on the back of my neck and fondled my breasts in this opportune position. As he again dropped, kissing his way down my spine I began to keen softly as he growled under his breath but kept up the pleasurable torment. Reaching my crack he moved to the right, covering my cheek with kisses and playful bites, and then shifted to the left to do the same. The center was his last stop, and despite liaisons with a host of men and one woman, another story in itself, this was new territory. Once I had been taken up the ass on all fours in a drunken stupor and remembered the boy's cum oozing into my panties for the next few hours and the pain lasting much longer than that, but no one had ever attempted to please me there orally. He kissed me up and down my sweaty crack, finally settling in for a lengthy session of circling and lapping at my little rear entry. I should have been self-conscious as I had never gotten around to that shower, but it didn't occur to me as he attentively kissed and licked me, blowing on the little hairs and bringing me quickly to an orgasm the likes of which I had never experienced. It was the sexiest and most vulgar thing I ever had done to me to date, he instantly became the anti-Steven--and it quickly led to what felt like my first non-vaginal orgasm, up my back to my nipples beginning at my ass, if that makes any sense. I bucked and shoved my backside at his face as he rode me, realizing that I was cumming, finally dipping his tongue into my back door and wiggling the tip to push me over the edge as I let loose in a screaming torrent of profanity as drops of my cum dripped onto the hardwood floor from a pussy he had yet to touch. "Oh my sweet man" I said as I tried to turn and kiss him, but he firmly held my hip bones in his hands and wiped his dick up and down my seeping gash before he began to slip into me, slowly so as not to hurt me. But I wanted to be reamed by then and I tried to push myself onto his cock as he backed up to prevent me from having him too quickly. "Corinne you are incredible," he said with a breathless laugh as he again moved into me, only this time I was ready for him and quickly reached around behind me, grabbed onto his sides, and simultaneously shoved backward. I swore a profane oath of sheer lust as his cock bottomed out deep in me, my being now reduced to one wet hole through which I took pleasure from this long and gracefully sculpted cock, precisely curved to hook upward into me and drive home a full feeling of pleasure tinged with flashes of pain. Coconut Smoothies "So you want fucked good," he taunted as he kneaded and lightly smacked my ass cheeks and held onto them like controls. "Yes, fuck me good, fuck me hard, Paul, just fuck me, Lover" I moaned as he dragged his nails up and down my back. And that is exactly what I got. He started a rhythm to his strokes, deep in me, then part way, then all the way out and full in until he bottomed out, then out and teasing me by just slipping his head in and out of me, then all the way in and lying motionless as he simply pulsed his member to subtly make his head blossom inside of me and taunt me deeply, deeper than I could ever go. Then he pulled out of me and pulled me to the futon in the family room and lay me down, kissing me and allowing me to taste myself in a way I never before had. He pushed my ankles in the air and started to lick the bottoms of my feet and my inner shins. I have no idea why but it drove me wild, and I squirmed in his firm grip, his hands tightly holding my ankles. Then he pushed them up high, nearly next to my head and dropped between my legs and began to tongue fuck me and suck on my clit. I came almost immediately and watched liquid bubble out of me like a natural spring as he continued to work on me, never stopping to even acknowledge that I was cumming all over his lips. Next he curled one long finger into me and leaned into me for a kiss. The taste of sweat and my pussy was all over his face. He straightened and found what he wanted inside me, focused his one finger on it, and began to massage my G-spot while hardly moving his finger, looking me straight in the eye. I felt another unbelievable orgasm building in the girl who had to fake most of hers until her husband left for work. He had complete control of me and he knew it. His thumb came down on my clit as a second finger curled into me and found a purchase and I neared the edge again. "Cum for me, Corinne" he said as I exploded, whining, screaming and swearing as he relentlessly kept up the pressure and assured that waves would continue to pass through me, my ass bouncing up and down to hump his fingers. He started to place his cock back in me when I noticed the time. I needed to finish with something he would remember. "No. It's my turn," I said. Before he could protest I slipped to the side and eased him down onto the couch. Now his ankles were in the air and his legs spread wide as I surveyed his long meat that stretched clear above his navel when erect, his relatively tiny balls that were shrunken to supply the skin to his inflated cock. I groaned as I knelt in front of him and began to lick his balls, knowing he was watching me as I worked. I took a finger and wet it to play with his asshole, tickling the minute hairs that surrounded his pucker. Then I went down on him with a vengeance. I sucked all of him that I could into my mouth and held him there, deep in the back of my throat. Remembering my best cock sucking skills I flexed the muscles at the rear of my tongue and made a slight swallowing motion to massage the head of his long rod. I looked up to see if he was watching me, and his eyes were closed with a look of sheer joy on his face as he moaned with pleasure. I'll show him joy, I thought to myself. I started to stroke him in and out of me, my hand following the progress of my lips up and down his cock, making up for the base that was impossible for me to shove down my throat. Stroke after slow stroke I milked him, again and again, slowing as I sensed that he was near to cumming, my saliva running freely down the sides of his shaft and drooling down over his balls and channeling onto his little asshole. I wet my finger once more and applied pressure there as I sucked even more slowly, stroking him at an excruciatingly slow pace yet with such force that it must have felt like a wet and heavenly vacuum with a moving tongue. Just once I'd like to experience what receiving a blowjob feels like. Then he began to growl and swear and clutch at my head, telling me to suck him harder. His hands grabbed for my hair and, taking hands full of it, and pulled me onto him to force as much of him into my little mouth as he could. My god that man could shoot a wad. The first long strand came out with such persistant warm force that I thought he had started to piss in my mouth. And again and again his musky cum saturated my mouth and mixed with my saliva. I did not spill a drop. Nor did I swallow any either. I held it all, catching every bit of that milky fluid until he had finished with me. When he finally opened his eyes I looked up at him and allowed it all to dribble down onto his abdomen, running down my chin in thick strands as I pushed most of it out of my mouth with my tongue, finally swallowing the last of it and licking my lips. I was a mess. "Watch me, Lover." I bent into his stomach began to suck up gobs of it, swallowing every drop, licking up and suctioning up every strand, one eye always watching his wide-eyed reaction as I licked his stomach clean. And then I straightened up and smiled as he rose and kissed my cum saturated mouth without missing a beat. Take that Steven. Maybe I won't brush my teeth until I welcome you back with a kiss, I evilly thought to myself. He cradled my kneeling body between his legs and my head on his chest until we heard the van returning with Jennifer and the kids. We dressed rapidly, flipped the futon and opened the windows quickly. There is nothing quite like the smell of cum to give away a day's activities. I grabbed the relish tray and handed it to him with a laugh. The kids ran through the front door to the bathroom screaming "I'm first" and Jennifer followed quickly behind. "Hey guys, what's up," she said with that queer smile on her face. "Nothing much," I said as Paul attended to Emma and made ready to go. "How were the smoothies," I asked, and the kids all shouted in unison that they were wonderful. "Coconut smoothies, huh," Jennifer said as she led the way out the door. "You had coconut smoothies," I asked as she receded across the lawn with her daughter, and she just kept smiling and walking. As Paul left he gave me a shrug and whispered that he would call me later, his daughter demanding all of his attention at that moment, as were my kids of me. I put on a video for them and told them that mommy was going to shower and locked the doors to the house. In the bedroom I stripped and ran my hand over my satisfied muff thinking that I hoped he would call soon. I still had my private email account just waiting to receive messages from someone. Just before I got into the shower I looked at my reflection in the mirror and noticed several stray gobs of Paul's cum, drops in my hair and one drying gob low on my cheek. Coconut smoothies, Jenn knew. How would I deal with this, I thought. For once I didn't care about anything. I could take a shower and for once relax from my coconut smoothie.