1 comments/ 20451 views/ 2 favorites Fucking a Star By: ILienBagby "Okay, Okay cupcakes. Time to wake up!" Oh, the voice was toooooo loud. She was sooooo tired. Emma White stuck her head under one of many plush pillows scattered around the bed. The pillow reeked from the odor of hot, sweaty sex. She loved the smell. She wanted to remain in this comfortable cocoon of heady, warm, sex musk---the sweet bouquet of sweat, semen, and her secretions, remnants of some mighty late-afternoon fucking. But the voice persisted, "....Time for you to get up. Time to move your beautiful ass. Do some perambulating, stretch those long lovely legs." Wendell's deep voice, combined with his annoying alliteration, managed to penetrate the fog of sleep clouding her mind. She forced her eyes to open. Her first impulse was to shield her eyes. She was tired. She looked at him and it was as if a burst of energy invaded her body. She felt the jolt of excitement Wendell engendered start just above her chest and run up and down through her body. Wendell Thurgood; The Man. That was his nickname, "The Man." It was the way the world knew him. Ask an average citizen in Oslo or Taipei who "The Man" was and that person would shout out, "Wendell Thurgood." For just the briefest instant, she allowed her eyes to linger at his crotch. So round, so firm, so fully packed. She shuddered. His prowess on the field of play was legendary, chronicled in newspapers, in magazines, You Tube and television. His prowess between the four corners of this bed, was rumored but was known to only a relative few very lucky women. And now Emma was one of those lucky few. The pleasure that the cudgel hanging between his legs could bring had not been a false rumor she could now confirm. Whatever else, the rumors of his PhD. in the art of fucking were true. More than true. Much more than true. He was the man. That's what they all said. And she could happily attest to that. Indeed! "C'mon girl, let's get a move on." His voice cut through the distance between them. She could feel the insides of her pussy wetten; she could feel her clit harden. She blinked her eyes. By dint of extreme effort, she managed to move her stare away from his crotch. There was something she had to take care of. It was there, somewhere in the back of her mind. "What time is it?" she asked. "Eleven." he answered. Her thinking wasn't totally up and running yet. She needed to get her head working. "What day is today?" He just looked at her. He looked at her like 'what the hell, girl?' He looked like an impatient dance master in a painting by Degas, his head tilted, the back of his fist against his hip. "C'mon girl......Girl tight and buff as you are can't be that tired. We didn't.do that much fucking?" Emma was in the gym six days a week, and she worked hard there every day. She was strong and she was fit, but fucking Wendell, well really, being fucked by Wendell, had been more exhausting than a competitive 5k run had been in college.. Oh, my God, she just realized what it was that she had to do. It was 11 p.m. It was Tuesday. She had been here and everywhere with Wendell since five days ago. It was great for sex, great for her business, great fun, and it had been a great workout. BUT, Harris. Harris was her fiancée. They were engaged. They were already deep in planning for their wedding a year from now. She was sure he knew where she was. She had told him that. She was pretty sure he knew what she had been doing with Wendell, although she hadn't told him what. What else could she have been doing? She jumped out of bed "Now you moving. That's the girl. We got to get going if we are going to get to the club on time." "No, no, no," she said, looking around for her panties, her dress, her shoes before she saw them hung, folded, cleaned and sorted out on an end table against the wall. Somehow, everything was always cleaned up almost as soon as it got messed up here at Wendell's place, "Oh fuck Wendell, what about Harris? You know, he's waiting for me." Harris at least deserved an update if she didn't leave here for his apartment. She told Harris, Harris Henderson III, five, six hours ago, minutes after his plane had landed from Chicago. She had told him she would be home soon. Wendell knew all that! Fuck, Wendell was on top of her, fucking her, sliding that magnificent cock of his in and out of her wet cunt all the while she was trying to talk to Harris. He was banging his crotch bone against her shivering pubis and she was trying to talk nice while trying to muffle the impulse to grunt or gasp or yell or to grunt, gasp and yell at the very same instant It wasn't the most lucid of conversations. But she did remember telling Harris that she would be home soon. She remembered that, not much more of the conversation, but she remembered that. And of course she remembered Wendell's inimitable smile all the while he pounded her towards an orgasm and she spoke to Harris. It was the famous Wendell smile. She had seen it in thousands of commercials. Wendell Thurgood, THE MAN. "No, no, Wendell. No club. I really should get home." Why hadn't he mentioned the club to her before? Emma knew that if she went to the club, she'd stay over here another night. Emma had found her panties and was getting ready to slip them on. "I told him I would be home. You heard me. You were fucking me while I was on the phone." This would most likely be the last or close to last time for her to receive the pleasure of being fucked by Wendell, so she was sort of not totally committed to going home. She suddenly began laughing at her memory of that conversation, laughing at the absurdity of this whole thing.. Harris must have had some inkling that something was going on. It was impossible for her to keep the cadence of the fucking completely out of her voice. And then her abs tightened, transmitted messages to her toes, to her tits, to the top of her head. There was no way she could hide from transmitting the news that an orgasm was imminent. But just a millisecond before she screamed out a top-of-the-mouth yell that she was cumming, she managed to end the conversation. She hung up. She had not given thought to Harris and what he might make of her hang up, or of the bouncing cadence of her voice as they spoke. She was too caught up managing one more uncontrollable, rolling thunder of a fabulous screaming orgasm courtesy of Wendell Thurgood.. After the orgasm, she remembered, she let her exhausted body splay itself, spread like a patient etherized on the bed, unconscious and sleeping the just sleep of the just fucked. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" She demanded of Wendell, "You knew I had to be home by seven." "Miss Emma, Miss beautiful slut, Ms. Emma White," Wendell looked down at her from his 6'5" height, "We didn't quit fucking until like 10 O'clock. You looked so pretty, I almost wasn't going to wake you up even now. But I got to be at the party. And you did say you wanted to go. And didn't I tell you that after the party we'd have the best fuckin sex anyone ever had." The promise of the sex should have been good enough to make Emma decide to go to the party. The party was just as good a reason.These parties Wendell took her to were better than good for her business. When Emma's name had appeared in a page seven gossip item as being Wendell Thurgood's date at a party a couple of days ago, business at her art gallery had more than doubled, almost tripled. "Wendell?" her voice, without saying it, was asking him what she ought to do. "You got the nicest bootie." "What did you say?" "I said you can't go home, anyplace, like you are, skanky as you is." She looked down at herself. She could almost see the smell of sex rise from her body. Skanky wasn't too bad a description. Looking down she knew her pussy hair was matted with the admixture of Wendell's dried cum and her slippery sex juice. She knew that she looked and smelled a mess. Shit, she had sweated and been sweated upon, cum and been cum upon for a solid she didn't know how many hours, but it felt like it had been at least 7 hours, maybe eight. Maybe nine. A lot. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Just a second," she said. "Want company?" She looked at him. He wasn't kidding. He was ready to hit the shower with her. That man was without a conscience. He could fuck forever; she thought. Then, taking a quick look at him, she walked to the bathroom. Emma had given her a tutorial on the shower compartment, how to adjust its computer controls to get the height, direction, warmth, strength, and pulse of its water flow just right. So now the just hot enough water poured onto her back, with a soft force unto and beneath and between her shoulder blades, running down her back along her spinal column. It was the perfect temperature. It felt nearly as good as a wonderful massage. She stretched her body beneath the cascading shower water. Wendell certainly knew how to live the high life. , She purred. She was such a slut. Her hand held a bar of sweetly fragrant soap. Slowly, she edged the bar of soap's corner against the hairy slit of her so-cozy cunt. She let the long side of the bar brush her clit. But lightly, not hard enough to bring her to an orgasm. That she didn't need. Wendell had taken care of her orgasm needs plenty and over and over. But the slippery soap against her grateful, happily sore clit, the warm water pulsating against her pussy, her recollection of Wendell's lovemaking brought a smile to her face. He certainly knew how to fuck. She spread her legs and planted her feet firmly. She pushed the long side of the soap softly along her slit, pressing gently, pressing slowly, closing her eyes as she continued to manipulate the soap, now slightly less than an inch into her cunt, now out. She remembered his thrusts into her during their last fuck a couple of hours ago. Slow and deep they were at first. Quiet, slowly entering her eager cunt, and inch-by-inch filling it. He repeated his slow, deep thrusting as she had widened her legs and lifted her knees tight against his waist offering him better access for she had no idea how long until, suddenly, without warning, - - - - -the movement of his hips became piston-like, quick and hard, and deep, deep, deep, fast, deeper as her eyes opened wide in surprise, again, for how long she didn't know. Each time his cock had entered as far as it could, his pubic bone rubbed hard against her pubis and thrummed her clitoris to the edge of an orgasm. And then the angle changed and his steel-hard cock now pressed upwards until it found the curve at the top of her cunt. Her quivering clit was pulled tight against its taut sheath with his every powerful thrust into her until she began to cum and cum, cum and cum again and again. She thought she would never be able to stop cumming. She took the soap away from her pussy. He was a GREAT fuck, but he was also a major self adoring, self centered son of a bitch! Emma recalled his smile as he looked down at her, his finally untumescent shiny black cock freshly lifted from her still twittering cunt lips. "Most of the women I fuck, they usually, you know, write a little note of appreciation, you know, like a letter of recommendation." She thought he was joking, but he was serious. He had shown her the book with the approbations. They were there. Some were proudly scrawled, a few were neatly printed, two had been drawn. She had recognized the names of a few of those who had written to celebrate their experience in Wendell's bed; one of the signatures she recognized was that of an academy award actress. . Any one else had fucked her as good as Wendell had or even close to as good as Wendell had usually asked "if it had been good for her." Harris would have been grateful for the opportunity to pleasure her. Wendell wanted an essay, 350 words or more. Subject: the prowess of his cock. She'd have to make a decision pretty soon about whether to go the party with Wendell or go home to Harris, who, she knew, was waiting patiently at the apartment. The decision should have been a no brainer. Harris wasn't really the problem. Emma knew she could get him to go along with whatever. They were the perfect couple. Their marriage was destined to be announced in the N.Y. Times Sunday Style section. He'd not make waves. But staying with Wendell another night. It was just that one more night. Wendell Thurgood was leaving for Los Angeles and Seoul and who knew where else and his relationships were notoriously short lived. They were hook ups, nice and sweet, but hook ups nevertheless. And how much was one more evening's sex with him worth? The ladies were always there for him, the coolest maker of advertisements, the greatest athlete, most valuable player on the championship team, the subject of articles, columns, television specials, books. Emma estimated that after tonight she could expect maybe, a telephone call maybe once if he was in the mood ....that was, if she went to the party with him tonight. If she left to meet Harris, she was pretty certain that Wendell would be home with some other babe on his arm before the sun came up. But time was being wasted. Emma stepped out of the shower and took a towel from the towel dispenser. The fresh towel was soft and warm. She wrapped it around her torso and took a second towel from its dispenser. Again, it was soft and warm. Emma had been in many a fancy bathroom, but never before had she been in one as luxurious and well appointed as Wendell's. She dried herself, blow dried her hair and put on the beautiful robe that had been folded and left for her to wear. In the next room, the bedroom, she knew that the clothing she brought with her was all nicely cleaned, folded and ready. Just for the hell of it, Emma pulled one more towel from the dispenser. She dabbed at a hint of moisture at the back of her knee. She walked into the bedroom. Wendell was not waiting for her when she returned to the bedroom after her shower. For a second she thought he had gone. And for that second, but only for that second, she was glad. Her decision whether or not to go to the party had been made for her. But then she heard the door open. And she saw that Wendell hadn't left, was still waiting for her. She slipped into her panties, smiled. She looked up at Wendell. "What time does the party begin?" Emma kicked off her shoes and, backing her knees against the bed, plopped down. She threw her hands up and out from her body in a gesture of victory. She was happy. The evening had been a great success! And, soon, frosting on the cake, she would be getting a promised magnificent shagging from Wendell Thurgood, The Man. Wendell was off, calling his agent and answering the texts and other messages that had accumulated while he was at the party. They were always there, messages from friends, fans, agents, journalists, proposers of propositions, old and potential girlfriends. At least he didn't message or text while he was at the party, or while he was having sex with her. Emma had still not called Harris. She thought for a minute that she ought to call him now, but she decided the call could wait. It was already late. If she called now, he'd for sure complain about that. And, right now, she wanted to relive the party. It had been great, a huge success. She smiled. Everyone had been there: A couple of Wendell's teammates and their dates (or wives), three or four very prominent businessmen and their wives (or dates) a rock star and his wife and date, two rap stars, Wendell's owner (the owner of the team he played for anyway), a whole bunch of the glitterati. She didn't know exactly how many visits to her gallery and sales would result, but she thought at least a few, --- these people had money to burn and spend at her gallery. She stretched her body out on the bed. She was feeling very satisfied. And tonight, she figured, she was going to get some powerfully satisfying fucking from Mr. Thurgood. Too bad it would probably be her final fuck from "The Man." Tonight would probably be her last in Wendell's bed. Since they had met at her gallery, they had gone out to dinner, to a club, to several parties, and they had had spectacular sex at his apartment. His finely honed athlete's body had meshed muscles with her finely toned exercised body. It had been great fun. He had given her a lovely ankle bracelet as a gift. 24 karat gold, no less, and it had been engraved "TO EMMA, THE BEST LITTLE GALLERY OWNER IN THE STATE." He had given it to her during the ride back from the party and put it on to her right ankle. She wondered how he had managed to get it engraved in time to give it to her. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she remembered something about anklet bracelets and right ankles and urban myths. She thought to remind herself to take it off before she got home. Emma stood up and removed her dress. She kept her panties on. Instead of laying down on the bed, she began to do some stretching exercises. She was in very good shape. But Wendell's fucking was especially vigorous, and she needed to get her muscles loose. He was so good at fucking, but she knew that, like The Tango, it took two to fuck, and she wanted these probably last fucks from him to be as good as they could be. She began a few yoga poses. She heard Wendell come into the room while she was a minute into her Kapotasana pose, lower legs flat on the ground, toes touching the back of her head and her belly button the highest point of her body. "Even the Kama Sutra don't got any positions like that," he said. She dropped out of the position and laughed, "Like to try to see if you can manage it into your repertoire?" Wendell had once studied yoga. Together, he and Emma had earlier adapted a few yoga and semi-yoga positions into their sexual explorations. "Hey, what I been doing, not good enough?" "Better than good enough," she said. "Read the note I left in your 'recommendation' folder. He smiled and began to take off his shirt. Emma held her breath. He'd be removing his trousers next and just a few inches below those rippling abs of his he be unveiling his wonderful tool. Her eyes watered.... tears of happiness. Her cunt watered.... juice of excitement. Her mouth watered..... saliva. He dropped his pants. He slipped out of his silk briefs, and there it was, the longest, thickest, most talented cock it had ever been Emma's pleasure to get close to. It just hung there, between his legs, only semi tumescent. But even now, in its pre-super-substantial condition, it seemed the most magnificent cock Emma had ever experienced. She leaned forward and took it into the palm of her hand, feeling its weight, fondling its heft, admiring it as it quickly grew to full glory. Wendell put his hand under her shoulder and lifted her up. When she was standing, he moved his long, thick fingers past the waistband of her panties and began to slowly slip the panties down her lovely, long tight legs. She lifted one leg, and he slipped the panty leg over her ankle and off her foot. She lifted her second foot, but he shook his head 'no.' "Leave them hanging from one ankle," he said. "It adds a bit of extra sluttiness to the scene." Emma smiled. Tonight sounded as if it would be good interesting she thought. Well what do you know, she asked herself. Wendell Thurmond was turning her into a slut. And she loved it. That long, thick cock of his surrounded by the whole other part of him, his legs, his arms, his chest, his face.......She didn't know about tomorrow or any day after that, but tonight she would all the pleasures prove that a slut could get proven to her by the best fucker in the world, just like those letters of recommendation said. He was standing in front of Emma. She sat down on the bed, her head about a foot away and level with his crotch. Still smiling, conscious of the panty hanging from her ankle, she put one hand under the purple sac holding his balls and hefted the sac as if to determine its weight. Her thumb and first finger pressed softly against his perineum. They'd had a lot of sex these past few days, so Emma knew he wouldn't mind her taking some of the initiative. She pushed him down to sit on the bed and squatted herself down between his legs. Fucking a Star She held the ample girth of his shaft in the fist of her right hand. She stared at it. This magnificent instrument was deserving of the very best blow job this lady could give, she thought, Emma, still smiling, and well aware of the panty hanging from her ankle by its gusset, snuck her tongue out. She determined that this would be the mother of all blowjobs, the best ever! She circled the head of his cut cock with the tip of her wet tongue. She moved her mouth forward and engulfed the swollen head of his great cock into its warmth. She swallowed all of his meat stick into her mouth. Her tongue went manic in its exertions around his cock. Her cheeks sucked in, her lips jutted out. She squeezed the base of his cock tight in the fist of her hand. And then she repeated each of the actions, varying each move and the order of each action: slower-faster, harder-softer, wetter-drier, slurpy noisy- seriously quiet. Totally into what she was doing, Emma shifted the focus of her eyes up from Wendell's curly haired scrotum to his eyes which were happy-with-appreciation. His mouth was slightly open and paused in a three quarter crooked smile. He liked what she was doing. He had better!! "Like what you are getting?" Emma asked in one of those seconds when she came up to gulp down some new air. She continued her two hand ministry of his cock while gathering her breath and readying herself for a fresh assault on his manhood. Emma continued her ministrations of Wendell's cock with fervor, bending to the task with renewed vigor while he laughed, patted her head and urged her on with happy directions and loud appreciations for every nuance and trick she could play with her hand, her lips, her tongue or her throat. "You go girl," he shouted, "un-be- double believabable," exclaimed. "Yes. Yes, yes," he repeated over and over, Finally, Wendell guided her head way from his cock. "Young lady," he said, a satisfied smile lighting his face, "You are the blow job queen of the world. Thank you!" They lay there, each leaning on an elbow, each admiring the other's long muscled legs, sculpted chest, toned abs. "Allow my humble self to attempt recompense," he said. The fucker was competitive. Even with the person he was fucking, Emma thought. The smile on her face wouldn't stop. "Let the games begin," she said. He helped her to lay crosswise, her ass on the edge of the bed, legs spread and resting on the floor. Then he lowered himself off the bed to between her legs. He held her knees apart, spread her legs wide and began to kiss the inside of her thighs until he reached her cunt. Wendell was a gentleman! He ignored the slight impediment her pubic bush presented and breathed in the sweet, slightly tart odor now seeping from her fully aroused cunt. He let his tongue navigate the furrow of her inner labia from bottom to top and from top to bottom until he felt the labia unfold itself, open, and hang free. He inserted his tongue deep into her cunt, the tongue's sweet lavation licking her to a steady pleasure. The walls of her vagina became a playground for his tongue. He foraged there for a long time, pink tongue to pink cunt. From Emma came a long string of slow, loud and clear, "oooooo's" and "aahhhh's. He entered her cunt with two fingers while his tongue lifted to massage her engorged clit. Her clit felt as hard as a diamond to her. It was transmitting a thousand shocks of excitement a second through her body. He pressed his tongue through the tangle of her redolent bush until he found her clit and pushed his tongue against it. The flat of his nose pressed hard against her mons. Her clit accelerated the signals it was sending her body to three thousand shocks per second. Oh my god, this giant of a man could suck pussy, she thought as she started to cum by beginning a long series of ahhooo's and ohhhhs, yelps and screams. Ohhhhh's and ahhooooo's, screams and yells which continued forever. They ended only after a long squirt of body shaking cum spewed from her tingling cunt. ."Oh, my god, thank you," was all she could muster to say. After she came, Wendell climbed off the bed and kicked closed the door to his bedroom. The other day he had apologized as he closed his door after she had spotted two of his posse looking in while she and Wendell had been fucking. No apology this time, "No one gonna look in on us now," he said. He returned to the bed. Emma lifted her knees. She spread her legs wide. She waited to see if he would again follow her lead. He lay above her. Previously, she had referred to this arrangement of bodies as the missionary position. Never again. Slowly, his inserted cock measured the length and circumference of her cunt as if to appreciate how exactly his cock would slide into and out of her oozing hole. That ascertained, his expression intense, he immediately soared above her and then dove his cock down, powering into her sopping vagina with one explosive swing of his hips. The vigorous entrance sent Emma's doubled-over body bouncing high off the mattress. She held tight onto Wendell, prepared to land on her back and readied to accept a second assault of his cock into her cunt. It was like riding a particularly bumpy ride in an amusement park, but warmer and far more thrilling. How long could he keep this swoop, dive, dive pounding of her cunt and clit, Emma wondered as she came and came again at this pounding. Well, a pretty long time, she realized when he finally spewed his cum, rolled off her body and looked at her with that look that said "What can you do to match that, Miss Emma?" A challenge... With his help, she rolled him over fully on his back and knelt between his legs. Alternately, she let her hands play with the hardening cock and let her lips kiss its mushroom top until she felt the cock begin its voyage to full rigidity. Then she wet his cock by running her saliva wet mouth over the shaft and head of the weapon. When his cock was nice and hard, and wet, she slid her body up until her pussy lay above his cock. She then lifted her body into a crouched over position while letting her cunny guide his spear past her open labia and into its warm depths. She flexed her keegles, and as soon as he was fully in her the hard muscles clamped onto his cock. His cock was secure in her, held tight by her keegles. She tightened and loosened her hold around his hard twitching instrument. "Feel good?" she asked. He smiled. "Let's go for a ride," she whispered. She made herself a jockey bent, leaning all the way over a stallion, riding the sleek animal slowly now. Her mouth close to his ear, "Hold tight," she said. She began a slow movement of her hip. She rode his cock in a canter over a long field, then a trot over a short hill, and finally a gallop up a long hill, smiling and laughing the whole way. Her mouth was open now, her tongue pushing into and around Wendell's ear. She sped along the landscape, racing when it was flat, slowing as she imagined climbing a hill, all the while gripping and letting go of his cock with her cunt muscles. She bounced up and down hard and leaned forward, her tits pressed against his chest muscles. His knees and squeezed against her thighs, holding her tight. Her feet were now straight. Her panties, she noticed, still hung from her ankle. She felt as if she was speeding downhill, totally out of control, intent on holding on to her steed. She moved her hips harder and faster, faster and harder clenching and unclenching his pulsing organ with her cunt muscles until she felt his cock begin to spew his seed into the deep recess of her cunt. Laughing, Emma felt her clit explode and her cunt gush in response to Wendell's coming. Joining him in bliss, she slowly eased her hips' r.p.m.'s until she glided to a stop and rolled off of Wendell. They lay there for a moment. Each of them savoring the sweet afterglow of the sex they had just enjoyed. This is nothing less than wonderful, Emma thought. She kept on surprising herself as they entwined and disentwined their legs, arms, faces, groins, ankles (jeez, she still had that panty hanging around her ankle) noses, mouths....you name it, it doesn't matter, if it was a part of Emma's body it managed to entwine itself with a part of Wendell's. And vice-versa, with an emphasis on the vice. (Emma thought she would never in this life forget the pleasure she had felt, the freedom she had felt, when she jumped from a squat over his groin, did a one-eighty turn in the air and landed her cunt square on his mouth.) The fucking that she and Wendell had done to and with each other tonight was as orgasm generating as Emma thought was not likely to be repeated for her in this lifetime by her or most likely by anyone ever. . . "You are a pretty good fuck," he said. His tone pure admiration. Emma smiled a smug smile of satisfaction. "Pretty good? That's it? Pretty good?" "Okay, maybe a bit better than pretty good. No, woman, you are super great. You gotta tell me." "What?" "You fuck like that all the time?" Emma began to laugh. "Oh, fuck no. Never. I doubt I can ever do it again This is a one off.. Know what, Mr. Thurgood, you are inspirational. You have inspired me to exorcise the slut in me. My every muscle is relaxed and stretched. But do it again? " Wendell jumped from the bed. He pressed a panel on the wall behind the bed to reveal a mini-refrigerator. He took two bottles from the cabinet, opened them and gave one to Emma. "My trainer mixes the drink for me. Vitamins, herbs, veggies, ginseng, alpha omega3, Glu-something-nolactone, fiber, all sort of fine stuff. Great for fucking!" She drank from the bottle. It tasted good. Wendell drank his down in one gulp. "My trainer fixed this up. Nothing that'll show up when I'm tested. It's very good though. Drink up. Lots of energy." He looked at Emma liked he was trying to figure something out about her. "Really?" he finally asked, "You don't fuck like that all the time." "Do you? Fuck like this all the time?" Wendell laughed, "I try." Emma thought that she had never before even known enough to try. Harris Henderson III was okay in bed, but he hadn't the physical wherewithal or, really, the imagination to realize the positions or moves she had enjoyed this evening. Emma admitted that she, in truth, hadn't the imagination to think of some of the positions either. She thought that a big part of it was that they were both in great physical shape, young enough and had active libidos. "What got me was how uninhibited I was," Emma said. "I cannot imagine yelling at Harris 'ream my ass hole with your tongue!' Not that he wouldn't do it. But he'd have to think about it first. You were there before I finished saying it. Yeah, I think this was a one off." "You tasted good," he said. "Felt like suckin' an oyster from its shell. You got an ass that smells nice and tastes like dark icing on a cake." . . "Your cock is an enticement to me being bad. Your voice is provocative. Your sheets feel so smooth, your bed is so big." "Whoa....whoa, girl.". Emma reached over to put her hand on his cock. It stirred a bit. She closed her fingers and gave his cock a gentle, encouraging squeeze. Wendell stood slowly. Emma didn't let go of his cock as he moved back to his wall fridge. He took two more of the drinks from the fridge. He drank his in one gulp. She drank hers, slowly as, still holding tight to his cock, she led him back to the bed. By the time they were comfortable on the bed, his cock was hard again. . "Lay down," Wendell said. His cock slid right in, all the way in to her pussy. He began his pounding and Emma began her moaning. He varied his strokes from fast to slow, from hard to soft. Her pussy muscles grabbed at his cock, held it, let it go, milked it. They readied to screw around more. Could lightening strike the same spot twice? .They were going to find out. "Sweetie?" "Yes?" "As I lay my wood into you, do me a favor; just say 'yes' all the time. Repeat the word over and over." "That's it? Yes? Just yes over and over?" "You got it. Try it. You'll see. By the time we get it going. I'll have you singing like you're a soprano performing an aria from an opera." So far, Emma thought, this guy hadn't made a bad move in bed. She'd give it a try. Emma nodded yes then corrected herself by saying it out loud, "Yes." He smiled and let his hands play over her body. He gripped her armpits and moved his hands down to the side of her breasts, then slid his hand up to tease her nipples, then kissing her now aroused nipples, sucking them. After a while, when the pace of Emma's breathing became heavier, his hands travelled down to massage the insides of her thighs. Her nipples were stiff, her tits sensitive to even the lightest touch. She began a low murmuring, "Yes, yes." Her voice was low, the 'yeses' barely a whisper, but she continued with the plan, whispering "yes" in a low voice that she was unable to keep in one register. To her ears it sounded like she warbled the word. Finally putting two fingers at the wide open slit of her labia, he inserted those fingers into her cunt. He removed his fingers from her gaping hole and put them into her mouth. As she licked his fingers clean, he inserted his steel hard cock into the hungry inlet of her cunt. From Emma, the low murmur of "Yes, yes," continued. It seemed to her as if she was speaking a mysterious magic word. He began to fuck her. She began to voice the magic word so that it became a murmured chant. The "Yes, Yes's," began to rhythm in time with each stroke of his cock. He continued his stroking, his cock moving a bit faster in and out of her slick, oily cunt. She continued to murmur her Yes, Yes's, now a bit faster too.. He inserted the two fingers she had just licked clean into her cunt, forcing the fingers around the shaft of his cock, filling her more than she thought possible. Always before, his cock alone seemed to fill every part of her hole. He folded his fingers into a hook, one on each side of his swollen shaft and pressed the fingers high inside her against the top of her cunt where her clit could feel the pressure from inside. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," her voice was quite a bit louder now. He continued pounding his cock into her; there was no let up in the pressure of his fingers hooked unto the shelf at the top of her cunt, pressing at the root of her clit." His hips seemed to be hinged, swinging back and forth at his incredible pace. His cock penetrated deep, deep into her cunt. Her "Yes's" came quicker. Her shouted "yes, yeses," came louder. Wendell couldn't have been happier at how this "yes fuck" was going. "Yes?" he asked her. "Yes, yes, yes yes," Emma answered, dutifully repeating it over and over again. She looked up at Wendell's face, his mouth opened, his eyes shut, his face intense. Now there was urgency in the sound of her chant. Harder and deeper and as quickly as his hips could pivot, he fucked her. All thought fled from her mind. She was nothing more than sensation. Currents of excitement coursed through her body. "Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes." She didn't believe how intoxicating this was. If Wendell had suggested a gang bang at this moment she believed she would have said "YES." It was the only word that existed for her in the English language. Her chanting penetrated into the web of Wendell's consciousness. It was pushing him to ready to cum. 'Yes, YEs, YES, yessssssssssssssss, yessssssssssssssssssssssssssss!" she yelled, shouted, screamed and hollered. And sometime, somewhere between the "y" and the "s" of her rapidly repeating yes's, she realized that her orgasm had begun and would continue and continue. Stars exploded in her eyes, her body shook. She felt his orgasm explode into the depths of her cunt. It was his coup de grace Her hands loosened their grip around his neck at his shoulder and her arms flopped open at her side. She lay there. Has she said it before? She must have. But she'd say it again anyway, "This man could fuck!" It was her last thought before she fell asleep. .********* Emma was awakened by a kiss. It was Wendell. His lips just touched her forehead to deliver the gentlest of kisses. She opened her eyes and smiled. "Hey, babykins, I'm getting ready to leave." He was dressed, as always, in an immaculate suit, body hugging shirt and color coordinated everything else. He was shaved. He smelled delicious. His skin looked scrubbed clean, shining. He was smiling, "You were great. Loved every minute," he continued. "Look," he added, "coffee and breakfast's ready" He pointed to a tray on the end table next to the bed. "Anything you need, anything you want, just ask Norman." Norman was Wendell's valet, attendant, right-hand-man, always around. "Need to talk with me, need something, just ask Norman. He'll take care of it for you." Wendell pointed to the tray. "His card with his cell number is on the tray. I had a great time. Loved your pussy. Loved it." Emma, tired, weary, but fully awake, smiled back at Wendell. "Me too, loved every second. Take care, Have a good trip. I'm going to get up and get going soon too." She held onto his hips with either hand to help lift her so that she could sit up. So close to his groin, she smiled at the thought of how much pleasure was contained there. Emma stood up on the bed, her face even with his. She rubbed her nose against his. She watched as he turned around and walked out of the room, her eyes following the movement of his body, the swing of his arms, the stride of his legs carried by firm muscles until he was out of the room and on his way. Emma had once flown all the way to Canberra to see Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles. She was pretty sure that this final glance at Wendell Thurgood's back side was just as thrilling. Now to a good, hot, perfect shower. But first, she sampled a croissant and sipped some of the coffee left for her. Then she picked up her cell. She called Harris Henderson, III. "Harris," she said as soon as he picked up his cell, "I'm up and awake. Going to shower now and then I've got to go to the gallery to open up." She listened as Harris spoke. She nodded her head, "I'll be at the gallery all day and I'll see you around seven. I'll tell you all about it then. When I get home." Again, she listened for a moment and then spoke, "No, he's gone to the Far East or somewhere. Don't worry, I'll be home by seven. Why don't you pick up some dinner and we'll talk over supper. Love you." She hung up and went to shower. ########### Eight months later, to the day. The sound in the edifice where the championship game would be played in less than 30 minutes from now, was the sound that one would hear only in this sort of venue and only before a contest that would end a season, that would crown a champion. It was a low, rolling rumble of expectation, a murmur of thousands of voices mixing in a confined area, mingling themselves into a low roar. The sound enveloped Emma as she passed through the narrow turnstile entrance and the brightly lit field came into view. The sound, the lights, the crowd combined to send a rush of excitement tingling out from her stomach to spread through her body. Her eyes swept the floor below where the athletes were stretching, talking, practicing the moves they would be making in deadly earnest soon. Her eyes stopped their movement when they lit on Wendell Thurgood. Her grip tightened around the hand of Harris Henderson III as she and Harris followed an usher to their seats. "There he is, there's Wendell," she spoke into Harris' ear. "Isn't he beautiful?" Harris reply was almost a sneer, "Beautiful, yeah." Truth to tell, Harris hadn't ever wholly gotten over his dissatisfaction at Emma's brief dalliance with "The Man" who was now stretching to get ready to star in this championship game. It hadn't broken up the relationship between Emma and Harris, but it was difficult for Harris to keep a certain quarrelsome tone out of his voice whenever the subject of Wendell Thurgood came up. Fucking a Star The edge had worn off Emma's recollection of her five days of sex with Wendell. She hadn't thought that would ever happen, but, although details still suddenly came to mind (sometimes at inopportunistic times), the experience was more a blurry memory now than a vivid remembrance. The sex and the contacts it had brought with it, the publicity, had been more than great for her gallery. When it came time to assign a value to her Wendell experience, Emma White was inclined to deem it of great worth. Not Harris. Harris was pissed; as he expressed it, Emma's time with Wendell should have resulted in her scoring more than a mere two tickets to today's championship contest. Emma glanced at Harris' face and picked up on his unhappiness. They would be married in three months. If she didn't opt out before then. END The author would much appreciate comments about this story.