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Helen's Game

By: kowalski



I started this months ago in a flurry, then as usually happens lost interest and moved onto other fragments of stories.. Recently I discovered it afresh and I've been obsessed by it ever since, re-writing the original idea, hopefully improving it into the dirty little story you see before you. Any feedback good or bad is welcome and gratefully received.

Hope you like it, have fun.

Kowalski.

* * * * * 

Part 1.

The microwave bleep, bleep, bleeps, telling Helen her lasagna is ready. Lost in her own thoughts, she fails to register the noise at first.

Sitting on the sofa in her small living room, still wearing the uniform of her work, a navy skirt and white blouse, her legs tucked up beneath herself, Helen is feeling familiar desires growing. Her mouth is dry, with lips sore from her near constant nervous biting over the last couple of days.

It's nearly always the same. She puts it off and puts it off, denying her feelings. Lying to herself that this time she can resist, yet at the same time making her plans, arranging her quiet night in, trying to ensure there are no distractions.

Her attention is on the well thumbed yellow telephone directory sitting on her coffee table, beside a half finished cup of tea, long cold.

How long has it been since the last time? A month? She doesn't know exactly but it feels like an age. The intense shame she feels after each time has faded, as always gradually outshone by the bright urge to do it again. 

Tonight the urge is bright indeed, stronger than ever in fact. All day in her office she's been distracted, fidgety and horny as hell, barely producing any work at all. A male colleague even asked her if she was all right. Ha! 

How she longed to tell the truth.

Just looking at the directory when she's in this kind of mood makes her panties wet. In the past, the thought was enough, for years it'd been a favourite fantasy of hers. She'd been slightly drunk the night fantasy became reality, even putting the wine bottle to good use. Seven shame filled months had followed before she did it again, stone cold sober, yet high as a kite and without chemical help. From then on the floodgates had opened, once she even did it twice in one night.

Helen reaches forward and hefts the heavy book from the table, sitting it on her lap. To have the book in her hands sends giddy little ripples through her.

She wants to touch herself as she starts to flick randomly through the pages, just the thought of pulling her panties to one side and doing it makes her want it even more. It's a delicious feedback loop, but an urge she manages to ignore, for now at least.

Her exploration of the directory is meandering, with no initial focus. However, after a couple of minutes of flicking through the entire book, as it always does, a letter comes to the forefront of her mind. Immediately, yet for no real reason that Helen can think of, it seems right.

Tonight it seems, will be brought to you by the letter C.

Her initial decision made she remembers the lasagna, life intruding on her dirty little game. She doesn't fight it, after all she's starving, but more than that she likes to draw the game out, almost teasing herself, letting the anticipation bubble and swell, until it becomes a red mass of delicious need, burning her from the inside out.

Due to the wait the lasagna had stopped steaming before she withdrew it from the microwave. 'A Healthy Meal For One', that's what it says on the box.

She sits down at the tiny, barely big enough for two, table in the kitchen, tidily set with her knife, fork and a small glass of water. A forkful of lasagna passes between her lips, her tongue seeking the sensations it can offer her. However, unsurprisingly, it's bland, her mouth hardly notices its presence. Largely ,this is down to the uninspired and low calorie recipe, but also because her mind is focused almost entirely elsewhere in her body, in all truth it could have been 'The Ultimate Lasagnatm' and yet Helen would likely still have been oblivious.

After several more disinterested mouthfuls she looks up and across to the kitchen window, and sees that the blinds are open, the wet winter darkness pressing against the glass. The surrounding houses are packed in close, several of her neighbours could well be able to see her sitting at the table, under the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen, all they need to do is glance in the right direction.

An extra little frisson of excitement itching within causes Helen to put aside the half eaten lasagna. It's nearly time to make her next choice, but it need not be rushed, she has all the time in the world. Of more importance is the growing tension between her legs. It would be so simple to scratch that itch, to turn it into warm glowing pleasure with a finger or two.

But what if someone was watching? She dwells on that thought. What if someone was watching? Would they know what she was doing? Would they see the movements of her hand and guess correctly? What would they do if they did? Desire gnaws at her insides, her pussy clenching around an object that isn't there.

She's very wet, and getting wetter, she doesn't have to touch herself to know it, besides, someone might be watching though the rain spattered windows. Someone might be watching. Almost of their own accord her legs open until the navy skirt stops their outward motion. It would be so easy to push a hand between her thighs and touch herself. She moans at the naughtiness of the thought and the way it makes her insides quiver.

She wants to, oh God how she wants to, but she knows the neighbours well, a lot of them she regards as friends, if they saw and new what she was doing? Just at the thought of it a hot flush of shame colours her cheeks, but with the shame comes a strengthening of the heat between her legs, a sickening wave of need spreading out from under her increasingly wet panties.

Her hands disappear beneath the table, sliding flat over her lap, fingertips finding the hemline of her skirt. She shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't, but the feelings are so strong tonight, her body craves the adrenaline of something new.

She hitches it up, closing her legs to ease its journey up her toned, heavy thighs. Until it's as high as it will go, bunched up against her curvy hips and the chair she sits upon.

Heart pounding, she slowly opens her legs, exposing her white cotton panties to anyone who may be watching, cloaked in the darkness beyond.

With one hand resting flat on the table she closes her eyes, letting her mind wander. Immediately she sees a man, illuminated by the light from the kitchen. He's standing just outside the window, hair plastered flat and lank against his forehead, rain dripping down his impassive face. He's perhaps in his fifties, well built, dressed in a dark suit, tie and white shirt. He's looking in, watching.

Helen spreads her legs even wider, until they can go no further, hip joints screaming in protest. She touches herself, sighing as she brushes the damp front of her panties with delicate fingertips.

She feels little sharp points of stubble poking through the cotton, she always keeps herself trimmed neatly and very short, but rarely shaves completely unless a partner requests it. She likes the prickly feel of her stubble, likes the sensations it gives her.

With a deliberate lack of haste she hooks a couple of fingers beneath the damp material and pulls it to one side, exposing her vivid pussy to hungry eyes both imagined and maybe real.

The man at the window, he looks in, his gaze angled down beneath the table, between her thighs, zeroing in on her flushed, slightly parted lips. He licks his lips and looks up, making strong eye contact, his hand rising to take the door handle. When he speaks his voice is smooth and ocean deep.

"You have a beautiful cunt. If you'll let me, I'd like to taste it."

Without waiting for her reply he twists the door handle, opening the door and stepping calmly inside.

She opens her eyes, gasping, all watchers banished into their dark hiding places of the night. She's desperate to plunge her fingers inside herself, to feel her slick muscular walls gripping them tight. She's ready for the next stage, wants it badly now, this fun new game can wait, growing darkly in her fantasies for another time.

With more than a little reluctance she covers herself up again and makes her way back to her living room, picking up the directory.

Her floor is covered in a cheap grey carpet that she inherited from the flat's previous owner. She cannot afford to replace it but instead bought a white rug to place in the center of it. She kneels down on the rug now, it feels soft and luxurious underneath her.

The directory gets placed, as always, just in front of her knees. She leans forward, her back arched, and places her palms down on the thick tome, her eyes closed, focussing and savouring every second of the build up.

Without opening her eyes she takes her hands from the book and straightens up. As she does so she slides her hands up her thighs, taking her skirt up with them again, exposing, milky skin and eventually the soft lower curves of her rump until her fingers find the elastic of her knickers.

She eases them down, pulling them off the damp flesh to which they stick, tugging them down until they hang taut, just above her knees. Soon her skirt follows, undone, and allowed to slide down her thighs, to cover her knees.

Her pussy revels in its new found extra freedom, it begs to be touched, Helen finds herself almost overcome by its silent yet powerful siren song. A single rivulet of her sex juice dribbles onto her thigh, tickling her sensitive skin as it begins its slow decent. Soon there will be more.

She resists the urges, feeding off the sweet tension in her body, almost giddy with it, and leans forward to open the directory.

She rifles through the pages, ignoring the business section and finding her way to where the Cs start in the residential section.

A. Cabalero. She always finds a strange pull towards the first name in a list, number one, numero uno, but as ever she ignores it and moves on into the deeper parts of the listings.

The room is warm, at least it feels that way. As she turns the page with one hand she unbuttons her blouse with the other. Today, unlike most days, Helen is bra less. She almost religiously wears a bra at all times, determined to look after her plump and perky breasts.

Except that is, when she wakes up feeling like she did this morning, wanton and more than a little naughty. She's been flirty with everyone at work today, especially one of the new young Lecturers, and she loved the way his deep blue eyes had kept straying downwards as they talked, lingering where her nipples pressed brazen against her blouse.

He's married, to a lovely woman apparently, although Helen has never met the lucky lady. Helen is sure though that he wants her, perhaps it's wishful thinking but something in his eyes, and the way he keeps on coming to her office for silly little reasons suggests not.

She slips her blouse from her shoulders, letting it fall behind her back. A small, golden St. Christopher hangs on its delicate chain, glinting at the very top of her cleavage.

As one finger slides slowly down the pages of the directory, she caresses her proud breasts with the other hand. Fingertips leave tingling, circular trails behind them, her nipples growing fat and stiff.

Her pussy may be out of bounds for now, but as she begins to make her final choice, she allows herself free reign over the rest of her body.

Turning the pages, scanning the list of names, trying to picture the person behind them, often Helen wonders what draws her to a particular name, never coming up with any real answer.

She's seeking a name that sends some kind of connection, a spark of something that feels more than just random. After turning a few pages She finds a name... Collins. D. drawn to it by an unknown force, just like always. As ever she does not know whether the person is male or female, young or old, ultimately it doesn't matter.

"D. Collins, D. Collins," she whispers the name over and over to herself, closing her eyes, wrapping her lips and tongue around the name. "D. Collins." Both hands find her fat brown nipples now, rolling and tweaking them erect, her face tilting up to the ceiling as she imagines the person behind the name.

In her mind it is David Collins, he's about 37 years old and married, he works out regularly to keep himself in shape and is a faithful husband, at least that is, in body, in his mind he dreams of being with other women.

In reality D. Collins could be anyone, Helen has no real idea who he, or just as likely, she is, but in her fantasies the recipient is always a few years older than her 25 years.

The thick, padded envelope lies ready on the small coffee table. Placed carefully next to it is a Biro and a couple of first class stamps.

Helen lifts the directory from the floor, rising naked with it, leaving her clothes behind on the rug, she carries it over to the table. Sitting down on the very edge of the sofa she places the heavy book down next to the envelope and takes a deep breath, opening her thighs for the easy access she'll need so soon. 

Leaning forward she brushes loose locks of her long, almost black hair behind her ears and then picks up the Biro. 

Looking at the directory she makes a mental note of the address and then copies it onto the padded envelope, checking it several times to make sure it's correct.

Sitting back for a moment she basks in a warm glow, the preparations, the relatively boring but necessary preliminaries are almost over. 

She picks up a stamp, the dry glue on one side needs moistening.

Resting it carefully, glue side up, on the fleshy pad of her middle finger she lowers it between her legs, her mouth is dry and she's biting her bottom lip as her finger approaches the wet heat of her pussy.

Helen spreads her thighs even more, as far as she can, like before, her hip joints burning with the strain. Her other hand, white knuckled, grips the front of the sofa.

Her pussy is desperate for contact, and with the delicate touch of the stamp upon her raw flesh she releases a little moan. The little rectangle of paper sticks to the edge of one sodden lip, soaking up her juices. She peels it away and applies it carefully to the envelope, pressing it down hard to make sure it's well stuck.

She takes the second stamp, also guiding it down to her heat, pressing it slightly below her eager hole, where her juice dribbles heavily, drowning the glue in her flow. When she peels it away it's slippery with come, almost too wet to stick to the envelope, it slides across the surface at first as she tries to press it down, but the glue eventually does its job, finding purchase on the paper.

She leaves the envelope waiting, ready on the table and stands up, Everything is set, and she's more than ready for the next stage, the part she dreams of day and night, the main event.

Starting to leave the living room for her bedroom she steps over her clothes, sees her panties lying discarded on the rug. A flashback from the kitchen comes to her, the moment those panties were pulled to one side. That dark window.

Overwhelmingly aware of her nakedness, yet acting on a playful impulse too strong to resist she makes her way back to the small kitchen. Walking straight past the table with her meager meal on top she approaches the window. Her arousal making her reckless, freeing her from previous restraint.

The night is black and wet, a few lights shine in overlooking windows, sparkling in the rivulets of water running down the window. She sees her reflection in it, wanton and free.

No matter how many times she visits the gym, she's never been able to slim down her heavy thighs or reduce the curve of her hips. It doesn't matter how many lovers fall in love with those curves, she's still always wished to reduce them. All that gym use has meant though that her unknowingly fabulous curves are firm and toned. Only the hint of a belly gives away her weakness for chocolate muffins.

Looking at herself reflected against the night, she sees something rarely witnessed by herself, a hint of her beauty, and longs for someone to be watching as she steps closer to the darkness, drawn forward by her desire, closer still, until one, then both nipples brush the cold glass. Closer.

Her breasts become flattened disks, her breath fogging the glass as she presses her belly, her thighs, her whole length against it.

"Look at me." She whispers, her nose tracing patterns in the fog as she writhes against the window, a hand dipping between her legs, touching parted flesh.

"Look at meee."

For a minute or more she stands there, pressed against the night, exploring the slippery folds of her cunt with gentle, probing fingers, desperate to plunge those fingers deep within. Helen knows she would quickly come, she's already close, very close. 

The thought of someone who knows her but who she's never spoken to, seeing her coming against the glass is dangerously exciting, but it slowly dawns on her that although someone might be out there, equally she may be alone, and unwatched. The glow fades, she has to be watched, that's what this night is all about.

In her bedroom she knows that D. Collins is waiting, offering unbroken attention.

Her imprint is left behind, slowly fading on the glass as she makes her way, not without a hint of sadness, to her room. That trace of sadness fades swiftly and utterly as she walks into the bedroom and approaches her small computer desk. Sitting next to the mouse is a small piece of paper with a Hotmail address printed upon it. The address is brand new and never been used, she set it up especially for today.

Next to the slip of paper is a video cassette. She picks this up and turns to the large camcorder she set up on a tripod earlier. 

Her hands are shaking and her heart hammers in her chest as she puts the blank cassette into the camera. She looks through the viewfinder. The end of the large bed is perfectly in frame, a fresh set of clothes lies upon it, she'll wear these to work tomorrow, sharing a secret with them all day.

Satisfied with the view Helen approaches the bed, her pussy aching as she picks up the most important item of clothing. 

The black wool of the balaclava is soft and thick. She squeezes its soft warmth in her fingers, bringing it up to her face and rubbing it on her cheeks. It smells freshly laundered.

She parts her legs and lowers the balaclava down her body. It feels divine and Helen moans as she presses it softly against her sex, the fibres catching on her short stubble as she draws it back and forth. 

It fits snugly over her head, her long black hair flowing from the back. She smells that laundry smell again, tainted now with the heavy scent of her sex. Her face is hot under the thick wool, she likes it that way.

Slowly, starting with a crisp, white pair of panties she gets dressed again. A wet spot blossoms on the cotton almost instantly. Her excitement grows as each item goes on, thinking of when and how she'll be removing that item so very soon.

Satisfied and desperately ready, she turns back to the camera and sets it recording. 

This is it.

Part 2

Dan Collins lays awake in the dark, he's sure his wife is asleep beside him, her back facing him. He toys with the idea of waking her up, telling her about it, but he can't do that. It was sent to him. What would Tabitha think? Jesus, he knew exactly what she'd think, she's always been a little distrustful of him, not without some cause admittedly. Something like this would blow her apart.

Of course, if he did wake her up he could do something with the erection he was currently stroking.


Helen's Game



His mind is racing, overflowing with thoughts, more questions than answers, lots more. 

He must know her, but who is she? She obviously wants to get in touch, otherwise why would she give out her hotmail address? He's already checked his contacts although he knew even before he did that the address wasn't one of them.

One thing he does know though, he wants to watch it again, all the way through this time. He looks across at Tab, she's definitely asleep. What would she look like in a balaclava? 

As Dan eases back the covers from his naked body he tells himself he's simply going to the bathroom, where he'll masturbate into the toilet and flush away his urges, hopefully enabling himself to sleep.

He is of course lying to himself, and even before he's silently padded from the room he knows it. The bathroom is where he heads first however, his guilty footfalls silent on the thick carpet of the hallway. When he leaves the bathroom shortly afterwards he has a wad of toilet tissue in his hand. The other hand tugs insistently at his long, thin cock. 

Before descending the stairs he takes a quick look at his bedroom door, he's nervous, Tab could wake and find him missing, but she's a sound sleeper, the chances are slim.

The stairs and hallway below are almost pitch black, he treads carefully, one hand sliding on the wall for support, trying not to dislodge the pictures that hang along it, feeling for the next step with his feet. He doesn't want to switch on the light. In the hallway he reaches out his hands in front of him, seeking the door to the living room.

He finds the handle and carefully eases it down, pushing gently against the door. It slides open with a whisper against the carpet. He closes it again behind him.

An orange glow from the sodium lamp on the street outside filters though their net curtains. It's just enough to see by. The dark hulk of the television sits waiting in the corner of the room. It sits above the video player, and that sits upon a drawer unit containing all their videos. He crosses the room and kneels before the television, far closer than his mother would ever let him sit as a child, but no one's here to tell him not to.

He places the tissue down in front of himself.

Sliding his fingertips over the front of the television he feels for both the power and volume buttons then simultaneously switches on the power and turns the volume right down. Even before the picture comes into proper clarity the sound is whisper quiet. He'll turn it up a bit later but it needs to be just loud enough and no more.

It must be monster season.

On screen an old black and white horror movie is playing, giant ants are silently terrorizing a small American town. Dan's pale, wiry body and the room beyond are bathed in a grey flickering glow, his eyes shining and wide, reflecting the grey rectangle of the screen.

With deliberate but unnecessary care he pulls the drawer open, it slides easily and quietly on its runners. Rows and rows of tapes are lined up, some pre-recorded films but mostly the tapes are filled with old TV shows, recorded then watched only once or twice before being wiped over with more of the same.

He needs to pull the drawer right open, for the tape he seeks has been hidden right at the back. Using the light from the TV he peers in and sees the tape he's after. It's unmarked, he'll have to mark it up soon with something inconspicuous if he wants to keep in here for much longer. It would be far safer to hide it someplace else though, he'll have to think of somewhere. He glances towards the hallway door, it's closed, just as he left it. His fingers close around the tape.

He received it earlier today in the early morning mail, Tab, thank god, had just left for work. He heard it drop through the letterbox, an unusually loud thump as it hit the floor spiking his curiosity.

It was a brown, padded envelope, his name and address written in Biro. He didn't notice the slight discolouration around the stamps, and would have thought nothing of its origin if he had.

When he saw the tape inside, and the fluttering of the small piece of paper as it fell to the floor his curiosity went into overdrive. He had to watch it there and then, who cares if he was a little late for work.

Ten amazing minutes later, long before the end of the tape, he happened to glance up just as Tab's car pulled back into the driveway. Frantically he'd hidden it and the slip of paper with the hotmail address in the drawer.

Tab had forgotten her purse, nearly giving Dan a heart attack and ensuring that the rest of the incredible tape remained unwatched, its contents only to be guessed at. Tab lightheartedly berated Dan for being late for work, he blamed loosing his keys, and they left the house together this time, leaving the tape to wait till now.

The tape disappears inside the machine, the loading mechanism horrifically loud in the still air of the house. Dan holds his breath as if that will make a difference. The logical side of his brain tells him Tab couldn't possibly have heard, let alone woken up, but as Dan was finding out, at 3 in the morning when you're sneaking around your own home, logic doesn't feature highly in your thought processes.

He rewinds it to the beginning and flicks channels upwards through the late night selection, until he finds the video channel. Momentarily the screen is filled with static which, as he presses play, turns to black, back to static for a second and then the picture flicks into life. 

The bed lonely in an empty bedroom, but not for long. His tormentor comes into view, coming out from behind the camera. As soon as he sees her Dan's hand speeds up on his shaft, his knees spread wide apart, his balls almost touching the thick carpet as he sits back, gazing lustfully at the screen.

The balaclava, it's the first thing the eye is drawn to. Black with tiny eye holes and a slightly larger hole for her mouth. It could be anyone under there, only her long dark hair could give any clues to her identity.

He thinks she looks like an office worker, with her navy skirt and white blouse looking like the uniform of a secretary. Then again, he muses she could just as easily be far more senior. He chooses to think of her as a secretary though. Does her boss have any idea of what she gets up to in her spare time?

She sits down on the edge of the bed, facing the camera now, taking up most of the frame. There's a glint in her eyes, shining from within the dark wells created by the balaclava. Her legs are pressed together, prim and proper. She places her hands flat on her thighs. Something about her pose reminds Dan of a nervous interviewee. He knows he'd give her a job, any job.

Seconds pass and she remains still, Dan hears the ticking of the mantlepiece clock, other than that everything is silent. 

Almost imperceptibly at first, and with measured calm, one hand moves, sliding over her skirt and up, past her waist, onto the cotton of her blouse. It carries on upwards, meeting the impressive swelling of her breasts, curving up and over.

Just underneath the bottom of the woollen balaclava, at her throat, it rests in a stranglers pose. More seconds pass, it seems there's no hurry. Her fingers and thumb caress her neck before dropping down.

Her fingers alight on the top button of her blouse, it releases with barely any movement from them. It would be wrong to say the next two buttons followed swiftly, but it seemed that way to Dan. Doesn't time fly when you're having guilty fun. 

As she releases the remaining buttons Dan's eyes are glued to where the sides of her generous breasts can be seen in the slight parting of her blouse.

"Oh wow." He whispers, despite having seen it once before. Being down in the darkness, doing something he shouldn't, has given everything an added razors edge of excitement, and besides that, the curve of her breasts fully deserve his exclamation.

The blouse is now fully undone but she doesn't remove it straight away. Her hand rises to her chest again, caressing one orb through the cotton of her blouse, a slow circular motion, the softest lovers touch, her blouse creasing and sliding over her skin but never revealing more than the slightest tease of her plump breast.

Her gaze is focussed intently on the camera, her eyes making contact with Dan's and never breaking. 

Her hand slides to the other breast, across and under her blouse, hidden from the wrist upwards. Again the hand moves with slowly circular motions, perhaps a little harder now, rubbing and flattening her soft flesh with her palm.

Dan shuffles even closer to the TV and turns the volume up a little, just enough so he'll be able to hear it, but only just. He's close to coming already, his cock dribbling as he strokes it forcefully, pelvis tipped towards the screen. He slows down, forcing himself to prolong it, there's a long way to go yet, he hopes.

His other hand glides over his body, up the insides of his thighs, toying briefly with his balls, sending shivers with fingertips, and then up to his chest, playing in the coarse hair there, tweaking his nipples, just like Tab does.

Both her hands move beneath their cotton shroud now, synchronized, large circular motions. She tilts her head down and he hears it, the faintest of sighs, as she responds to her own touch. Her legs, covered by sheer, dark stockings remain primly together, blocking any attempted view between.

She stands up, for the moment hands still on her chest, and turns around, her rear now facing the camera. Dan can't help but make comparisons to his wife asleep upstairs. Tabitha's sexy with a cute little behind, slim waist and small, perky tits. But this unknown woman makes Tab look boyish. He feels a little guilty with the thought, but can't help himself.

The woman parts her legs just a little, feet maybe a foot apart. Her hands come down from her front, slide into the curve of her waist and out and down to her hips, tracing the same curves that draw Dan's hungry eyes. As her fingers find the curve of her buttocks she bends forward at the waist, pushing her arse back towards the camera. Continuing further down her hands slide over her skirt as she tilts ever forward until her fingers find the hemline, just above the depression of the back of her knees.

Slowly, as if there could be no other way, she pulls up the back of her skirt. Her dark, lacy stocking tops exposed first, pale thigh above.

"You want it don't you." Dan hisses, wanking himself hard at the seductive sight, just knowing she's doing this all for him, offering herself. 

More and more creamy thigh comes into view, her skirt rucking up as she gathers it into her fists. Her legs look so toned and firm, he can't help but wonder how it would feel to be squeezed between those powerful limbs.

As she raises the skirt she straightens up until, as it reaches the crease where thigh becomes buttock, she is upright. Still she lifts her skirt, he sees her white knickers, nestled between her cheeks, sees between her legs, to where those knickers cloak hidden delights.

Her arse though, for now that's what he gazes at, his face inches from the screen. Her skirt is held high, unable to rise anymore, the pristine swelling of her pale rump exposed. Dan wants to kiss the screen, to lick it, to fuck it, anything in fact to let him believe he's in there, touching those perfect cheeks. He reaches for them, wet fingertips seeking, and leaves a snail trail of pre-come on the screen, tracing his desire upon her.

Again she bends forward, further this time, the slight crease between buttock and thigh disappearing, the distinction blurring, becoming one long, fabulous curve, from her knees to oblivion. She rests one hand on the bed, her open blouse hanging down, still shielding her breasts from view. Her skirt lies crumpled on her lower back, no need to hold it anymore, freeing her hand to explore, it slides down her belly, into the hanging folds of skirt material and beyond, until Dan sees it between her legs, reaching back, touching white cotton. 

Touching and rubbing, back and forth. He hears her silky moan, watches her body react, legs squeezing tight around the slow metronomic motions of her hand before widening further, her arse pushed back, offered openly to the camera, to Dan.

Who is she? Dan feels sure, with the easy confidence that arousal brings, that one day soon he'll find out. She'll announce herself to him, make herself known and offer more than just her image on a screen.

Her fingers stray from view, slipping beneath the white gusset, her hand moving more urgently, her pelvis rotating against it.

"Ahhh," comes her voice. "Ahhhh," and again, hissing like a pressure release valve.

She stands up a little more, her skirt falling back down her toned, pale thighs, hiding her rump and the movement of her hand behind a navy curtain as she returns slowly to an upright position. The slight rocking of her elbow though, gives telltale signs of the activity between her legs. Like a lever, a small motion there translating to a larger motion in the humid gap between those white panties and her damp skin.

This is where Dan had been so rudely interrupted before, from now on everything was thrilling and new.

Head tilting to the ceiling, her moans of pleasure come quietly from the speakers, for his ears only.

Upstairs in the bed for two people now occupied by only one, Tabitha, on the cusp of consciousness, stirs. Roused from deeper slumber by something unknown, Tabitha reaches for her opposite number, seeking his warmth for comfort.

Downstairs, Dan's cock is slick with liquid desire, wet sounds come from down there as a fist works hard along it, the other hand nestles between his legs, toying with his balls.

The balaclava clad woman turns around to face the camera. Bringing her breasts swinging into view, fat and perky with large brown nipples, Dan has to have them, and he's sure he will. She touches them now, one hand caressing each one in turn. He longs for his hands to do what hers is now, cupping and squeezing them, her nipples looking so tempting, so suckable as she toys with them, making them stiff and erect. 

Meanwhile the other hand, mostly hidden by her panties, moves slowly and rhythmically between her legs.

Her mouth is open, he can see her tongue flicking out, wetting her bottom lip. He wants to kiss that mouth, those full lips, to push his tongue between them, but, he looks down between her legs, more than anything in the world right now he wants to put his tongue down there.

"Show me your cunt." He murmurs as she brings her hand out from under her panties, the front of her skirt falling down, She trails the hand up her body, eventually finding her mouth. He sees her tongue wrapping around two fingers as she tastes herself, sucking the digits inside.

With her fingers moving between her lips she sits down again on the edge of the bed, legs together again but not, he's sure, for long.

Her hands slide down to her knees, in almost exactly the pose she started with. Dan sees her fingertips playing at the edge of her skirt, easing under the hem.

He wasn't expecting what happened next, but it made him ache with need.

"Will you promise to fuck me hard?" her voice was soft, but with a ragged edge that betrayed her desire. Dan couldn't believe she was speaking to him, he had to release his cock, so close was he to the edge.

Her hands begin to tug at her skirt, slowly drawing it up her thighs.

"You've got my hotmail address, use it, you won't regret it."

"I promise, I promise," he hisses, leaning in close. "I'll do you so fucking hard."

Her skirt is as high as it can go, her legs resolutely together. She seems to lean towards Dan.

"My cunt is for you," she licks her lips. "Whenever you want it, it's yours."

He kisses the screen, saliva on her face, his fingertips touching her knees, as if he could prise them apart.

"I want it now."

Upstairs Tabitha opens her eyes and sees her husband missing. She assumes he's in the toilet and closes them again. For some reason though she's restless and cannot sleep. She waits for his return.

On screen her hands hook into the elastic of her panties and, after lifting herself a little from the bed and keeping her legs together, she tugs them down. Past her knees they fall of their own accord, down to the floor where she lifts her feet from them.

Looking right into Dan's soul as she does so, she runs her hands up and down her lap, fingers sliding into the crease between them, one hand rising up to her belly, fingering her navel and then higher, massaging her breasts. The other pushing down between her tightly closed thighs, forcing them to open just a little to accommodate.

He hears her sigh as she touches herself then hears something else, too quiet to catch properly.

Quickly he rewinds the tape, turning up the volume.

Her hand plunges down again between her legs, she sighs, "Ohhh," and then.

"I'm so wet for you," she whispers, barely audible.

Again he rewinds, again he turns up the volume with slippery fingers.

"Ohhh." 

"I'm so wet for you."

She parts her legs, opening like the wings of a butterfly, showing everything except the one thing he craves. Her hand is flat against her pussy, fingers pointing down, motionless, unlike the hand that plays rough with her nipples. As he watches, the middle finger of her pussy hand begins to move. Up and down, up and down.

"Oh Fucking hell." He moans as he watches that finger slowly disappear inside. She closes her eyes, his are wide, staring, fist pumping hard along his cock.

The finger reappears before gliding inside again and again, into the focus of his intense desire.

She opens her eyes, looking into his darkened living room. Slowly, a little breathless she says.

"I bet you'd like to see my cunt."

"Yes." He hisses in reply.

"I'd like you to touch it too." 

"Oh please."

Her thighs close and she withdraws her hand, bringing it, and the other, to her knees. Then, with delicious lack of urgency, pulls those knees apart with her hands. Nothing remains to hinder his view and he drinks it in, The darkness of her stockings framing the creaminess of her thighs, in turn framing the wanton pink/red gash of her cunt. The crumpled navy line of her skirt above that, and then those breasts, hanging fertile and plump, framed by the white sides of her open blouse. Above it all the balaclava, hiding her identity but not the glittering lust in her eyes.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asks. "Do you want to touch me?"

He's speechless, on the edge of losing control, he licks the screen, the thin tip of his tongue flicking between her legs by way of reply.

With her hands resting halfway up her thighs, fingertips lightly playing there, she leans forward.

"I'm gonna tell you a secret." She whispers in a conspirators hush.

"When I'm alone at night, I think of you, and I finger myself," a hand moves up her thigh, fingers finishing millimeters from the puffy swelling of a pussy lip. "Like this."

She runs two fingers up the length of her pussy, briefly circling her clit, gasping as she does so. The noise fills Dan's head, such a beautiful sound, he'd give anything to hear it for real.

Those fingers part her outer flesh, play along flushed crimson inner lips, dip inside, coming out shiny and wet.

"I dream it's you, I want you so badly." Her voice needful, her fingers spreading her natural lubricant all over the soft pink lines of her pussy, dipping, no, plunging back into her wet heat, piercing herself.

"Mmhhh."

Wrapped in their thick duvet Tabitha lies awake. Dan's been gone for ages. She can't suppress her curiosity, wondering what he's up to, if he's all right.

Enraptured, Dan watches her hands, wishing they were his own, touching her, making her moan. The video is such sweet torture.




Helen's Game



She spits a large gob of saliva onto her other hand, bringing it down to her clitoris, depositing it all around her engorged little bud. Her delicate fingers move in tiny circles, her legs beginning to shake as her other fingers speed up, fingering herself deep and increasingly hard.

She writhes on her hands, legs shaking, mouth open, the noises coming from it increasing in urgency. He kisses the screen where her hands move, kneeling right up against it as if to allow him to get closer to the reality.

"Ohhh." 

She's coming, he's sure of it. The movements of her hands become less coordinated, a little jerky, her whole body shaking. The sweet noises she makes, music to his ears, is there any better sound than a woman approaching orgasm?

She falls backwards onto the bed, her legs kept wide as her hands continue their dance and then, and then...

"Ah, ah, hhhaa." 

She comes, her legs slamming shut around her hands, her body stilled, tense for a second before all the tension seems to drain out of her, limbs almost melting into the bed.

She lies there, still, her chest rising and falling slowly, a hand clutched there, her clothing in disarray.

He can't quite believe what he's seen, but can't deny the truth of the video. If only he knew who this amazing woman was, he doesn't even recognise her voice. It must be someone from his office building, someone he passes in the corridor, probably everyday. If only she'd remove the balaclava.

The mystery woman sits up with languid ease, glancing at the camera as if she's surprised it's still there. She stands up, no sense of urgency in her movements. Her blouse tumbles to the floor as she slips it from her shoulders. Her skirt follows next, unclasped, unzipped and released to join her blouse. It falls down her legs with a little shimmy.

She's naked now, except for the balaclava and the sheer stockings that accentuate her legs so well, somehow Dan knows these will be staying. He's right, but suddenly she walks out of the frame, gone, stockings and all.

There's some kind of exquisite tension in an empty view, it forces the mind to fill in the gaps. What is she doing? Will she be back? Is this the end of the show?

He doesn't need to wait long, she returns, climbing, crawling onto the bed. His eyes are torn between her fabulous swinging breasts and her hands, but his heart beats a little faster when he looks at the latter.

In one she holds a small plastic bottle, blue with a little white top. He thinks, but isn't sure, that it's lubricant. This is given more credence by what she holds in the other.

The black dildo is about ten inches long, fat and flared at its base. He just can't wait to see what she's going to do with it. Again, he doesn't have to wait long.

She turns around, presenting her rear to the camera, giving Dan the image that'll fuel his masturbation for years. She's on all fours, knees and elbows on the bed, looking back at the camera.

The curves of her rump are, to Dan's eyes, perfect. Smooth, plump and just begging to be spanked.

Her breasts scrape the covers of the bed as they hang down. At the angle she is to the camera her pussy is just visible, peeking out from between her legs.

Dan holds his breath as she moves the vibrator back between her legs. She parts them wider, sinking lower to the bed. Moaning, she runs the tip of the fake cock briefly up and down her lips before concentrating it against her wet entrance.

Slowly, with fits and starts, she eases it inside, taking most of its length, her lips stretching to accommodate the girth. He can see the tension in her body, she needs it so badly. She needs him, wants him inside. He knows it. He's gonna give it to her.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard." He says as she moves the dildo within, using her body as much as her hand to slide it in and out. Fucking it, fucking herself with it, writhing upon it.

Momentarily she leaves it alone, a thick black stump protruding. Her attention is in front of her, on the bottle of lube. He sees her doing something with it, unscrewing the cap, squeezing a clear gel onto flattened fingers.

She brings her lubed fingers behind her back, in fact both hands come back, leaving her unsupported at the front, her chest and face pressed into the covers.

Immediately she begins to fuck herself again with the dildo, Dan's attention now on her other hand though, the one angling down between her buttocks, spreading them. She leaves a shiny trail of lube behind but deposits most of it exactly where it's needed, on the puckered little hole that's frustratingly just out of view, hidden by the curve of a buttock.

"Oh God." He whispers.

He doesn't need to see it to know what's going on, it's clear as day. With one finger she circles the hole, spreading lube around it, gradually zeroing in on the depression at its center.

Her finger stills, poised against the barrier. She keeps the dildo alive inside her but the rest of her is paused, waiting and tense.

The finger moves, almost imperceptibly inward. She gasps, "Ahh." Then it sinks within, screwing inside. She's breathing heavily, climbing rapidly up again to the edge of total pleasure, taking herself back there. Another finger joins the first, stretching her bum hole wider.

Tabitha opens the door to the bedroom and peers out into the hallway. The toilet light is out, he must be downstairs. Perhaps he couldn't sleep. She decides to check on him, padding quietly into the hallway.

"Oh you dirty little..." he can't believe his eyes, this is so far beyond his experiences or expectations. With a tiny flush of guilt, he thinks of Tab, lying asleep upstairs. She wouldn't do a thing like that, he's asked her more than once.

He has a sudden urge to go upstairs and ask her again. To push his fingers inside her little pink arsehole, to fuck her anus.

Balaclava woman would let him, would demand it in fact. He can almost hear her dirty sweet voice. "Fuck it pleaase." 

Her fingers were doing that now, sliding inside her anus, fucking it with quick, jabbing thrusts, moving in time with the dildo in her pussy.

As Tabitha makes her way down the stairs, she hears a noise from the living room. Is he watching TV? He obviously can't sleep.

"Yeah," he gasps. "Yeah," stroking himself with a white knuckle fist, on a tightrope of pleasure.

Her moans are louder, her body bucking on the bed, she must be close again, must be. She pistons the dildo and her fingers inside with increasing force. 

"Yeah you dirty bitch, yeah." He looses himself in the sight before him, the sensations in his cock rising suddenly to a crescendo.

"Oh god, oh shit."

He reaches for the tissue, too late, thick gobs of come jettison from his cock, most landing upon the screen, upon the writhing, balaclava clad figure. He makes the most of his sudden and slightly unsatisfying release, milking himself dry of come and sensation. 

He sees the woman's not finished yet, moving the dildo from her pussy to her smaller hole, pressing it insistently there, trying and initially failing to force it within.

"Fuck my bumhole." She gasps and he knows who she's talking to.

Dan hears a different noise, one coming from behind, then another, louder. Thick black dread falls over him. The soft swish of door on carpet, an anguished gasp. Before he's even looked over his shoulder he knows nothing can be the same again. The look in Tabitha's eyes only confirms that thought.

Epilogue.

A couple of weeks later Helen logs on to her new account. She sits at her desk, naked except for something black and woollen.

She has ten messages. The first one is the standard Hotmail hello. The next nine are from the same person. D. Collins. 

She reads them all. The first few are filled with angry, abusive words, ranting at her. His name is Dan and it seems he's loosing his wife. The last couple of messages plead for her to reply, he wants to see her, he tells her what he'll do to her if he can only meet her.

She pleasures herself, coming violently, more than once, as she reads and re-reads them, her clitoris raw, the fingers of one hand slippery and wet. 

Eventually satisfied she logs out, unlikely to return, and then opens a brand new account. 

Planning her next quiet night in.



Helen's Garden of Delights



This tale was inspired by a young tumblr girl who exchanged a letter or two with me a couple of years ago.

*****

I asked her to tell me something she had never told anyone else, and she replied:

"Something I've never told anyone... hmmm, that's tough as I will find somebody to tell even about my secret stuff... Let's see... one night when I was out celebrating by bar hopping, there was a line for the bathroom because one was out of order, so guys and girls were having to make do with one toilet available... and I got sick of waiting. So I walked over to a spot in the bar where there were fewer people and where there were no lights directly overhead, and then simply stood against the wall and slowly let loose in a puddle on the floor, then I walked back to where my friends were and kept right on drinking."

I replied that her "never told a soul" story was wonderfully intimate, and the next time I saw a wet cotton gusset, I would think of her. I had already established that she was five foot nothing, and the image of her peeing stayed in my mind - so a couple of weeks later I wrote the "O'Malley's Bar" story for her.

I think she might have been trying to shock me, I don't know. But writing that tale put the idea into my head, and it kept coming back, of a woman peeing, hot and full and copious, pissing on me.

And I found myself, over the next couple of months, browsing various porn sites for girls peeing. I found a wide variety of genres available, ranging from clothed girls crouching and puddling in the street, to naked girls spreading and spraying, crouching and spraying. 

Girls in white tights wetting themselves. A particular sub-genre of girls, who for some reason I felt were Russian (I'm not sure why I thought that), pissing in the woods and in the snow. Natural girls, honest in their bodily functions, and an earthiness.

I also found myself, for a fortnight or so, indulging in a fascination for girls shitting. But that did not arouse, even if it did fascinate. I found the Russian girls also had that fetish sewn up - does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, and so does a Russian girl, apparently! Girls smearing scat did not do it for me, not one bit; but a solid healthy turd easing from a tight asshole, yes, that had a certain something.

I then remembered one of the most successful stroke stories I had ever found, published in an anthology of erotic tales maybe ten or fifteen years ago. I no longer have the collection (I wonder where it went?) and I cannot remember the author's name. His timing was brilliant - it did not matter how many times I read that story, it would always bring me to the strongest come, always paced superbly for the last paragraphs. I must have read the story dozens of times, and if I stroked myself steadily and slowly, at just the right pace, there it would be, a pulsing ejaculation hitting my chest every time.

My re-tell of the story goes like this:

The subject of the tale is a woman in her forties, earthy and sexual, who lives on the edge of town in a small cottage, with an orchard surrounded by low walls. She lives alone, but has befriended one of the young jocks from the local school. He is wholesome and innocent, the cliched all American boy. Let's call him Johnny. 

Johnny has a bright-eyed cheer-leader girlfriend, blonde and beautiful, tanned in the summer sun. Let's call her Debby. School has finished, and the pair are going into their last summer as teenagers, before they move on to their older age and loss of innocence. They gave each other the gift of their virginities just after their eighteenth birthdays, and they are still wide eyed with the wonder of it all.

The story starts with the teller (I shall call her Helen - for in this re-tell of her story I should refer to her by a name), Helen has just finished some hot work in her garden. She comes inside and takes a shower to wash away the mud and the sweat from her toil. She is described in loving detail - her breasts are full and her nipples thick, surrounded by big areola. Her legs are firm, a thick black bush between, a nicely rounded belly. Helen is lush and womanly, and her body is fit and strong, used to a good day's work.

As she showers, of course she turns herself on with a soapy finger in her ass, several firm pushes into herself. The shower head pulses against her vage, and that is the term the writer uses repeatedly. He does not write "sex" or "cunt" - this earthy woman has a vage with thick lips and a proud rising clitoris, and thick black hair, curls tracing the tops of her thighs. She soaps herself and rubs long fingers along her lips.

But Helen makes herself wait. Still wet, she reaches for a box of her favourite toys and selects a long plastic prick, which she presses deep into herself. She straddles the edge of the bath and rocks her groin onto the edge of the tub, her vage filled with the big dildo. The author describes this over several paragraphs, and the writing is vivid and rich. He tells us how the prick feels deep inside her, and how she grips it, and the heavy heat of her groin tingles as her flesh touches the cold rim of the tub.

But Helen is not done with the dildo in her vagina, oh no; she has a tighter channel to fill as well, and we are treated to a lush description as she inserts a satisfyingly big butt plug into herself, her ass muscle clamping it tight in her dark, musky tunnel. Her aroma is rich and spicy (I can taste her tight asshole on my tongue). So there is Helen, both passages filled. Because she is an earth mother, with her wide hips and large, heavy breasts, she drapes herself with a kaftan, loose flowing. The coarse material rubs her hardened nipples, and her breasts sway under the cloth.

By this time, if I'm reading fully dressed, my cock is hard in my jeans and tight. If I am sitting up in bed with the book in my hand, my other hand is by now slowly caressing my erection. My cock bounces against my belly each time I turn a page, and then my hand cups my tightening balls and makes a slow, idle caress up the shaft. Like Helen, I am slow with myself and delaying my own arousal. She has much to do before she is done, this day; and I too am slow and patient. It is best that way, no need to hurry. Besides, Helen is still inside the house, and the warm dappled sunlight calls her out.

Helen takes her bag full of toys, and because her cunt (I am not bound by the original author's word "vage") - because her cunt and ass are filled with a plastic prick and a heavy butt-plug, every step she takes is a delicious pressure in the guts and centre of her, and she is almost giddy by the time she makes it to her orchard. 

Helen has a special place in the centre of her orchard, where the grass is smooth and cut short like a carpet. Surrounding the grass patch is a circle of earth and mud, and she has a tap and a hose. Helen spreads a rug on the ground, and sits herself there, cross legged. Her toys are mobile within her passages, and as she is now sitting, the heft in her ass passage is full and solid, urging its presence up inside her tightest tunnel. Helen likes her fill, and luxuriates in the dappled sunlight, and the sun is warm on her face and a slight breeze cool on her arms. She is full of sensation.

After sitting some five minutes, rocking back and forth on the shaft in her ass, she takes up the hose and waters a moat around herself. When the earth is soft and wet, she opens her bag of toys and plants around herself a circle of upright dildos, carved wooden shafts, various plugs and insertion devices. Helen makes a small garden of fake phalluses, raised upright seeking the sun. She is an earth witch, seeking to make things grow, and she is the plug fuck queen, reigning within her kingdom (or her queendom). There are no fairies at the bottom of Helen's garden, hers is a more primal place, and she grows things. She is very wet.

Her hands are covered in mud from her digging and planting, and so that she doesn't get her kaftan dirty, she carefully undoes buttons and rolls the cloth down below her heavy breasts, so that her lap and legs are still covered with the circle of cloth, her stuffed ass and cunt her own secret places. Helen smears her wet mud covered fingers and her palms over her big breasts, and coats herself with a fine layer of mud, which soon dries. 

Helen is truly an earth mother now, patterns of dried earth a lace of shapes and shadows around her torso and tits. As the mud dries, her slight movements cause cracks and ripples to appear over her flesh, and it is as if she too has grown from the earth. 

Helen closes her eyes and enjoys pulling on her big nipples, and they peak up tight and firm. As she does so, there is a movement from within the trees, and a shadow is cast across her face. She opens her eyes, and there in front of her stand Johnny and Debby, the all-American teenage couple. They stand there holding hands, two pairs of eyes wide in astonishment, their feet making nervous little movements. Helen's cunt pulses at the sight of them, at their freshness.

"Helen," asks Johnny, "what are you doing here, why are you topless in the orchard?"

Oh the sweetness, thinks Helen, the goodness here in front of me.

"I am planting," she says, "I am planting a circle around me. See."

And Debby crouches beside her and realises for the first time what is in the mud around the older woman. The girl licks her lips, and flicks her long blonde hair away from her face, and tentatively reaches out to touch the biggest, most upright thing there, a carved dildo some twelve inches long, subtly curved. The girl touches the tip of her finger to the head of the wooden prick and it rocks in the mud as if alive. Debby laughs, a nervous giggle, and snatches her hand back.

Debby is sun kissed, her bare arms and colt like legs tanned and slender, the finest down of hair on her arms catching the sunlight and shimmering an aura around her. She wears a pair of denim shorts with ragged and torn cuffs, hugging the swell of her taut ass. Her midriff is bare skin, and her pert breasts are wrapped in a checked shirt which is tied in front with a knot, just above her navel. Her long blonde hair swings in a long pony tail. She even has a white ribbon tying the pony in place.

Helen can see the line of a white bra strap across the girl's shoulder, and just knows that Debby wears the most divine pair of white cotton panties. Ah God, Helen's sex is brimming now, and she clenches tight in her ass tunnel, to make that tight plug push up inside her, again. Her eyes open wide with the illicit pleasure of it, hidden from this perfect young pair.

"Do you know what else I am growing?" 

Helen desperately wants to reveal her lush, ripe cunt to the pair, and her dark hole, but she also wants them to discover her earthiness and her stuffing for themselves. She will lead them on, but needs to see the looks on their young faces as she reveals what else she is doing in her orchard.

Johnny looks down at her, and Helen can see a bulge in his jeans as his young cock swells at the sight of her naked, mud covered breasts. Helen lifts her big breasts into the palms of her hands, and offers them up closer to the youth, and is rewarded by another shift in his tight crotch. Johnny has to shuffle his legs apart a little, to try to ease the pressure on his rising cock. He has never seen such a ripe, big pair of breasts in real life, even if he has seen unnaturally large tits on his computer. 

Johnny glances across at his girl, and sees that Debby, too, is reacting to Helen's offered up breasts. Debby crosses her legs, as if squeezing in a sensation at the base of her belly.

"Can we see what else you are growing?" 

Johnny has guessed that the drape of cloth around Helen's waist and spreading out in a circle round her might be hiding something. He cannot see the woman's legs, but can see from the drape and fold of cloth in her lap that she is sitting cross legged. He realises that the centre of her, that he has never seen, will be open and wide and spread. 

Johnny sees the dark hair in Helen's armpits, and understands that there is a dark, thick mat of hair under that cloth. Johnny wants to see that dark mystery, but he has worked out that there is a guessing game to be played here.

He glances at the circle of mud-planted pricks around the woman, and makes a guess.

"You've got something up you," his guess is inspired, but only half right. "You've got a long toy up your vagina." 

Debby blushes, but leans closer. She crouches again beside Helen. The girl has also worked out that Helen is aching to show them more, but she too has worked out that she and Johnny need to do some guess work here.

"Yes," Debby says, "I think you've got a big prick in you." She can't bring herself to say any other word.

Ah bless, thinks Helen, they are so close to the truth. She cannot deny them, nor herself.

"Stand in front of me, so you can see properly." 

Helen commands now, for she must make herself fully naked before these two perfect beings.

And she takes the folds of kaftan cloth, and lifts it like a draping tent above her head. As she raises it higher the cloth pulls in along her legs, and she raises her arms and raises the cloth up. The folds lift like the curtains of a theatre, and as it rises her open, dildo filled cunt is revealed in its black haired glory, her legs spread wide. Helen tosses the kaftan onto the ground and leans back onto her elbows. 

She thrusts her breasts up high, and arches her back so that her belly is long and tight, her usual folds of soft flesh pulled taut. Her thighs are long and wide in front of her, and between her legs there is a thick mat of black, tight curls across the centre of her, with a fine trace of darkness working part of the way up to her navel. Her sex lips are a rich, dark brown, thick in the hair.

"I was right," Debby's voice has a slight tremble to it, she has never imagined she would see such a sight. 

Johnny is silent, but his stance is bent at the waist now, it is the only way he can ease the tightness on his erection. Helen glances at his groin, and up to his face.

"There is something else in me, but I am sitting, so you cannot see it."

And she is rewarded by the slow glimmer of understanding on their faces, as first Johnny and then Debby work out what Helen is saying. 

"Show us." Johnny's voice is thick with lust now, he wants to see everything.

"Show me first," replies Helen.

Johnny stumbles onto the ground, he is so eager to free his fresh cock and to see what Helen has in her dark ass. He pulls off his sneakers, doesn't care about the laces, and pulls his jeans down his legs, tugging down his jockey shorts in the same movement. As he gets to his feet he pulls his tee-shirt high over his head, and stands naked before Helen, his fresh young prick rigid against his belly, his little tits hard and tight. His fingers unconsciously brush across his chest, flicking his nipple. He has discovered that connection, for his cock bounces as his nerves connect.

Helen devours his youthful body with her eyes. Johnny is tall and slender, his skin also golden, the shape of his swimming-trunk tan lines a pale band across the base of his belly and the tops of his thighs, for he spends the afternoons and weekends at the swimming pool. His hair is long and blond and his chest hairless, for he is just a youth, not yet filled out as a man. 

His cock is risen and high against his belly, a beautiful straight length, a pleasing thickness, the head of him reaching almost to his navel. Helen looks at his length and her eyes widen. She would take that firm cock into her mouth or into her ass in an instant, but knows that she must not do that.

For Johnny is Debby's sweet boy this summer, and while Helen promises them an earthy sexy teaching, she will not have either of them, for they are each other's. But Helen is not without some cunning of her own, and she knows there are many ways for her to take her pleasure. She sees that Debby is shy and nervous, and she must be gentle and persuasive with the girl.

"Debby, don't be shy, come closer and caress my big tits. Feel the heavy weight of them in your hands, and look how my nipples pucker. I bet your breasts are lovely and delicate, and why don't you show me your little nipples?" 

Helen knows that the girl will want to compare the slight weight of her rising young breasts with the heavy big tits in front of her, and she also knows that Johnny will happily let his prick tighten and bounce at the very different sights in front of him. There is no concern that his fine young cock will wilt. Helen knows what grows in her garden.

Debby senses that the older woman is not a threat to her, and the girl knows that her young curves will be a wonderful contrast with the full lushness of this earth woman. The girl understands that this is not a competition but a teaching. Her brimming, bubbling sexuality will learn a thing or two from the older woman's ripe, mature sex and licentious nature.

But Debby is still nervous like a fawn, and demurely she turns away from the other eyes as she undoes the knot at the front of her shirt, and then peels it back from her slender arms. Still facing the other way, she reaches behind her back and undoes the clip on her bra, and then places her hands to her breasts. 

Helen holds her breath as the girl turns and faces her, her hands holding the white cups of the plain bra to her wonderful breasts, hiding her gentle mounds from the older woman's eyes.

"Please, take away the bra, show me your lovely breasts." Helen is nearly begging now, so eager is she to see the nubile curves of the lovely girl.

"Yes, come on Debs, let's see your boobs." Johnny is less subtle, but he will learn. Helen shoots a warning stare to him.

And Debby bravely does a little shimmy, and casts the bra from her breasts and oh goodness, see how those firm breasts sit high. She is that delicious age where her teenage years are nearly done, and she has the beginnings of a proud young woman to her, but she is still fresh. Her breasts sit as high on her chest as they ever will, her pert nipples pink and tight. Helen squeezes her own breasts in acknowledgement of the young girl's ripeness. While Helen is the earth mother, young Debby is the princess yet to be crowned.

Debby stands beside Johnny, and glances down at his firm prick, a bright drop of pre-come glistening on the slit of his cock head, catching the light of the sun. Her nipples are thrusting pink and firm in front of her, and her belly moves quickly with her breathing. She is still nervous, but aroused. Her fingers slowly move to the button on her shorts, and she knows she has more cloth to slide down her long slender legs before she too is fully naked in Helen's fertile garden.

Her fingers slide the short zipper down, and she curls her thumbs around the top of her shorts and rolls them down her legs. She keeps her legs straight and bends from her waist as she does so, and the movement tenses her taut little bum, and she is all lovely curves and slim limbs. Her shorts gone, she stands tall again and proud now, thrusts her delicious breasts out. 

Helen has guessed correctly, for Debby wears a delightful pair of white cotton panties, a little row of pink hearts embroidered across the waist band. And look, there is a dark patch of moisture in a thin line down the front of the white cotton, from her moist little snatch. Debby is more confident now, and she does a slow strip to ease the small strip of cloth down her legs, and with a "ta da..." she spins the panties on her finger twice, before throwing them to the pile of clothes on the ground. She stands proud in front of Helen, her feet apart and the slit of her sex widening between her slim thighs.

Debby's mound is curved, and her sex lips are fine and smooth, rising an inch up the front of her belly. As she is so golden skinned and fair, the whiteness of her bikini lines are a vivid costume on her bare skin, and her pubic triangle is small and blonde, a fine shape of light hair at the base of her belly, between her legs.




Helen's Garden of Delights



Helen's eyes drink in the sight of these golden and blonde young things, their slim limbs long like a pair of wild animals, two dryads in Helen's garden.

Helen rewards the pair for showing themselves before her eyes, by rising to a crouch and kneeling before them, her full rump a round curve of flesh. She thrusts her ass high, and the young ones finally see the earthy darkness of her rear, a swirl of dark hair surrounding the base of her big plug. Helen reaches back with one hand and pulls a cheek wide so that they can see better.

"How far up you does it go?" asks Debby, inquisitive now and wondering. 

Johnny is silent, his eyes wide with the open blackness of Helen's lush cunt and the crevice of her dark crack. His tongue licks his lips, and his hand touches the thickness of his cock, tight with the sight of her fullness.

"Oh, about four inches," replies Helen.

Debby measures the distance between her fingers, and her mouth opens with a silent O at the idea of that length deep inside Helen's anus. She cannot begin to imagine the thickness inside Helen.

Helen wants movement inside herself, so as the spellbound pair watch, she takes the end of the dildo in her cunt and slowly moves it back and forth, in and out, her lips engorged and moving with it. She does it so that Debby and Johnny can see her lush redness opening and gripping, her wide sex lips like petals around the shaft. As the dildo eases from her, it glistens with her wetness. Helen slides the long prick from her cunt and Debby's eyes open wide at the length of it, and again she is measuring lengths with her eyes, and cannot imagine it inside her. But Johnny can.

Helen returns to her sitting position, her ass plug once again joyfully pressed up deep inside her, her legs once again crossed in front of her, her swollen sex rich and scented. She reaches over to the mud garden surrounding her rug, and the movement rocks the weight in her ass deliciously. She plants the dildo with the others and once again takes a palm of mud and rubs it over her low swinging, heavy breasts, coating herself within a fine layer that quickly dries in the warm sunlight.

Debby again crosses her legs as if conscious of a fullness in the base of her belly. Her feet shuffle.

"God, Johnny, I shouldn't have had that milkshake, I'm busting for a pee."

Helen's ears prick up at this revelation, and she knows that all gardens need watering.

"Crouch down and do it here," she suggests. "The house is too far away, and someone might see you running naked to the back door." Helen is always practical.

Debby is quite practical as well, and she is quickly getting more comfortable in this orchard, and besides, she too likes the warmth of the sun on her bare skin. So she does squat, just on the other side of the mud moat, and there is a little trickle between her legs. She glances at the woman watching her, and Johnny too is entranced, his hand just brushing his still hard prick. Not too firm, since he knows that there is so much sensation flooding his senses that he is trigger sensitive. He somehow knows that his patience will be rewarded, and he is willing to go wherever Helen weaves.

Debby looks away from the gazing eyes so she can concentrate on herself and relax. Her bladder is full and insistent, so she places her feet just a little further apart, and this time she can let go. Her piss jets from her in a gush, two strands of urine separated at first and then twisting together into a single full stream. 

The stream of pale fluid splashes to the ground and pools between her feet, spreading in a shallow puddle before soaking into the ground. Her jet continues and Debby holds the lips of her ripe sex apart so that she does not tangle the flow. The stream of piss arcs into a softer curve as the flow eases, and the muscles of her tummy clench as the girl squeezes out the last drops.

Debby stands, and returns to where Helen is sitting. The older woman twists her own rising clit at the sight of the teenager, for she has another idea now, but might have to wait a minute or two.

Sure enough, the vision of the stream of piss shooting from his girl triggers another set of nerves in Johnny's groin, but he has a problem. His cock has risen too hard to easily let him piss, and he needs to stop seeing the naked flesh in front of him if Helen is to see through her idea.

"Johnny, why don't you walk down the path a bit, till your cock softens. I know you want to pee too, but don't go behind a tree. When you are ready, come back here so we can see your stream of piss."

Helen is once again practical, and Johnny does as he is told. Debby sits beside Helen, and they talk. Helen is eager to find out how much these two have done it, and Debby is quite happy to prove that she is an experienced young woman, despite her young age.

"I've sucked Johnny several times, and he has given me smiling eyes lots of times."

"What are smiling eyes?" asks Helen - she has not heard this expression in the context of sex play before, and guesses it is something between this young pair.

"Smiling eyes is what my eyes do when I pleasure myself by rubbing my vagina and clitoris." Debby knows the correct words but isn't yet brave enough to use more sexual terms. "Johnny says my eyes close, but he can still see the smile behind my eyelids when I orgasm myself."

Helen loves the innocence in Debby's description of her coming, and she too wants to see those smiling eyes before the afternoon is over.

Johnny returns, his cock still full but hanging down against his thigh. Helen loves to see the soft hanging weight of his young prick, nestling in a patch of dark hair, curls coiled at the base of his shaft, his swelling balls covered with a light down of softer hair. His foreskin has crept back.over the head, which now shows half exposed, half covered.

Helen sits cross legged in front of him, and she motions him near, so he is standing just by her feet so his young cock is level with her face, some two feet from her. She can scent his musk like a light perfume, and she licks her lips, as if she can taste him. 

Helen has observed his eyes grow large at the sight of her heavy breasts, and she takes the fullness of each tit into the palm of her hands, and the dried mud which is coated all over her body cracks, and some flakes of dried mud fall away from her skin. Johnny's cock fills and starts to stiffen, so Helen knows her next suggestion needs to be quick.

"Johnny, let your piss flow, and make it stream all over my face and over my breasts, I need to wash this dried mud away."

Debby gasps at this, for she has never seen his piss, let alone the idea of it spraying Helen's body.

Johnny is up for it, and almost immediately starts a strong jet of pale urine onto Helen's chest and breasts, and the gush clears a path over the patterns of mud on her body, wet flows streaming down her body. She is quick to lift her breasts so that her engorged nipples catch the stream, and she smears his fluid over herself, and the dried mud becomes once again a wet paint on her body, earth on earth mother, watering down. 

Helen senses his piss is easing off, and before it does:

"Over my face, the last bursts over my face!"

Johnny rises the curve of his streaming heat so that it hits Helen's cheek, and she turns her face to the centre of the jet and opens her mouth to it. She does not drink it down, but lets it fill her mouth with the tangy acrid taste, salty on her tongue, and then she lets the spill dribble from her lips and down her throat and over her chest. 

Ah, the warm feel of it and the taste, it is enough for her to drop her fingers to her swollen cunt lips and swirl the head of her clit, and ah, God the pleasure is so exquisite and she still has the heavy weight of the butt plug hard up her ass, and her breasts are full and heavy and swollen, all wet with his piss, and her nipples are urging out towards him and oh fuck her eye catches the sight of Debby with her own finger sliding into her sweet cunt and along her smooth lips and fuck fuck fuck oh fuck now, Helen comes with a shudder. 

Her head is thrown back and with a long moan, yess, she spasms in her garden and her ripple rocks through her, her head drops and her long hair makes a veil over her lush full tits and there, she has come.

Johnny's cock, done with softening for his piss, has risen again and is young and hard up against his gut. Debby's pink nipples are hard and her breasts are high, and she is flushed red on her chest and throat, and her cheeks burn. But her eyes are bright. Helen is in a near swoon, fast breaths panting through her body, her belly moving in and out like a cat's belly breathing.

Now here is a surprise - Debby's hands suddenly move to the base of her belly and she presses hard into herself. "Ohhh, God, I need a poo, I need to do a poo." 

The muscle tension in her belly and groin has obviously been working on other muscles and now her bowel is full.

"Crouch down," God almighty, Helen is quick! And prepared, for she reaches to her discarded kaftan and fumbles for a pocket, and pulls out a white handkerchief, neatly folded. She unfolds it so she has a rectangle of cloth in her hand.

The girl crouches before Helen, and all Debby can do is concentrate on taking a shit, for it has come upon her quickly and the urge is so strong and sudden that she wants to deal with it immediately. She crouches, facing half away from Helen, and her tight little rump is right before Helen's eager eyes. 

Helen can see the pulse of muscles tightening across the girl's belly, and the girl pushes her cheeks out a bit, with the push inside her. With one hand Debby reaches back to grab one cheek of her delectable rear, to pull it away from the other cheek, and she feels a cool breeze on the pink rosette of her bum hole.

Her tight starfish is pink and slightly raised from the flesh of her crevice, which is hairless and smooth. Her little ass pucker slowly pulses with the pressure working out from inside. But she is nervous, and even with a strain and push, nothing is moving. 

Helen licks the ball of her thumb and gently presses it to the pink rose bud, putting some slight pressure onto the tight muscle. She is rewarded by a slight pulling in of Debby's asshole, and the ball of her thumb pushes into a slightly more open hole.

"Oh yes," sighs Debby, "that pressure is what I need, I feel it coming now."

And sure enough, Helen feels a push against the ball of her thumb, and the glorious little ass hole domes out some, a bulge of flesh smooth and pulsing. The creases of the tight hole stretch, and Helen sees a dark roundness in the centre of the dome, as the tight round end of the coming shit is exposed. And then it disappears back inside her as the muscles prepare for another firm push. 

Once again the dark dome pushes out, a bit further this time, and Helen can smell the pungent tangy heat of the shit. She places the rectangle of cloth in the palm of one hand, and holds it under the girl's bum, ready to receive the hot, soft gift. Once again the rounded shape of the shit pushes out, with a contrast of its dark brown fullness with the stretched pink rosette.

The strong pungent scent hits Helen's nose, and she breaths in the spicy scent of the emerging shape. And then the lengthening shit reaches the point where it pushes past the muscle of Debby's tight asshole and pushes out rigid and fast, and then it drops to Helen's handkerchief. Helen feels the weight of the long turd in the palm of her hand, and is surprised at the length of it, and the size of it.

Johnny looks at the shape and size of the shit resting in the white handkerchief, and glances down at his cock, as if making a quick comparison. It seems he is not displeased with the size comparison of his white shaft, hard erect now, with the shape of the turd in its cloth. 

Helen wraps the poo in her cloth, and places it on the ground. The delightful pink of the girl's ass bud is ever so slightly marked with a small streak of brown, so Helen wets her thumb with her tongue and smooths away the brownness. She wipes her thumb on the grass.

The three look at each other, a range of emotions flickering over their faces. Helen sits cross legged in the centre of this triangle, a solid earthy presence with her skin mud slithered and deltas of streamed piss sprays patterned over her large tits and over the creases and folds of her full flesh. 

Johnny stands, his cock still proud and not yet serviced, but hot with the flow of his piss, and his balls have ridden high and tight. The visual sensations that have paraded before his eyes, and the whole idea of this nakedness under the sun, will serve his mind for a very long time. He can see the fullness of the future in Helen, and the swift freshness of today in Debby, and his hard cock pulses and throbs. His pulse beat can be seen in the bounce of his fine prick. His groin is full and the pressure is building.

Debby has emerged like a butterfly from its cocoon, like a shit from its ass, and is blossoming in Helen's garden. The blonde girl is starting to see that it is she who controls her body and her emotions and her sex, and that she too will have a garden that begins between her legs and will spread and become her forest. Helen is the planter and Debby is the sapling. Johnny will climb.

But enough of this future, Johnny is now, and the sight of his girl naked there is an inspiration to him.

"Lie down, Debs, on your back, and let's see your legs open wide." 

He is more audacious now, and whereas before he was silent and in awe of Helen's mature lushness and experience, he is more confident when it comes to Debby, for they are learning together and he has some experience and success with the girl's budding sexuality. He has given her smiling eyes before today, and here in the sunshine and warm breeze, he reckons he can make her eyes smile, oh yes.

Debby is also keen to focus on herself, and happily lies on the rug, her head on a pile of clothes as a pillow, and her slim legs parted and her knees high. 

Her sweet sex is surrounded by a fine blonde down, and her mons is rounded and her clit peaks from her slim lips. Her finger and thumb move to one of her tight pink nipples and pull on it, and she enjoys the tiny edge of pain caused by her tight pinch. She then pushes her young breasts together with the palms of her hands, and looks down at the tight cleavage she makes. But she wants Johnny's tongue between her legs, to make her smiling eyes.

Johnny crouches between Debby's legs and his tongue is keen and deep into her. He makes long slow licks from her little pink asshole up to her rising clit, nearly the same pink. Johnny has his ass in the air, his tight balls a handful under him, his wrinkled hole a darkness between his cheeks. He is doing this for Helen and knows that she will delight in the sight of his hard cock under his belly, and the sight of Debby's spread sex. 

Helen watches the pair of them, and her fingers stroke slow, idle movements between her lips, and she pulls up the slick moisture from her cunt and swirls it over her clit. She has gorged herself on the sight of her two teenagers, and is content now to slowly caress her own lips and her full nipples, slowly.

Johnny is faster between Debby's legs because he is greedy for her mouth, but he is a young gentleman and knows that he should give his girl her smiling eyes. He is a fast learner and his tongue is tight and pointed into her tight wetness, and then broad and flat over her tasty little clit. 

A red flush creeps over the top of Debby's chest and up one side of her throat and her breath comes in little pants. She grasps her knees with her hands and pulls them up to her chest, so her little ass hole is presented for his pointed tongue, her lips full and plump with the attention and the filling blood.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," she pants, and he responds with his mouth sucking hard on her lips and his tongue probes her dark channel. 

With one hand she pushes his head on to herself and with the other she twists her own nipples. Her twist is firmer than it once was, and Debby finds that she enjoys a tiny edge of pain, or at least a tightness on her pointed nipples.

Debby can feel her orgasm rising up to a peak, and when I read the original story, this is the point in the tale where I couldn't always control my own ending, and sometimes I would spurt as I read the descriptions of the young Debby shaking on the ground with her own coming. 

Sometimes I would last until Debby turned her own mouth and tongue onto Johnny's seed bursting cock. He has been aroused to such a fever pitch that his coming is a quickly triggered event, and always the last few paragraphs of the story blurred together. 

Looking back on it now, I cannot remember exactly how the tale ended, other than the young couple in a sixty-nine and Helen coming again with her own fingers deep in her cunt, and Johnny's youthful vigour spilling into Debby's mouth and his come dribbling from her lips.

Whatever happened to the characters in the story, I know that I always came hard, my semen spurting high onto my chest, my eyes closed with the open book grasped in one hand and a firm twisting grip on my purple headed cock with my other hand. 

I remember clearly the vivid descriptions of Debby's shit doming from her ass, and when I found an internet site of hot girls shitting just recently, I found one where the dark head of shit came out of the stretched hole exactly as the original author had described, even down to the first emergence, her asshole closing back up, and then pushing through again, followed by the solid shape smoothly emerging. So I have borrowed that image for this tale.

So: by writing my college girl peeing story, I aroused my own interest in a woman with hot piss crouching over me; and by writing this story I see that I have become diverted by re-telling one of my favourite stroke stories, which was meant to have been just a short preamble. I have also indulged in a small fascination with girls shitting, but it must be a healthy turd or I quickly move on. 

So what I think I shall do now, is finish this first part of my tale, post it to perhaps wet the appetite of some readers; and then write what was meant to be this story, where I make arrangements with a woman of my acquaintance who, like Helen perhaps, is willing to indulge me.