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Jet Lag

By: canitbethatlong



We flew in from London with a stop in Miami. My mother went to find the other wedding guests.

I'd never been to the Caribbean before - this was years ago, I was eighteen - and to walk out from the hotel onto the dazzling, mile-long curve of Isla Verde beach was a magic moment, an unforgettable first impression.

There was an hour or so of daylight left. I changed and went straight out to get some sun. There were only twenty or so others on the beach in front of the hotel - most of the guests seemed to prefer to lounge around the swimming pools in the hotel grounds.

I was very conscious of the people around me, mostly Americans. The men wore huge baggy swim trunks, which I'd never seen before. They came more than half way down the thigh. Nowadays of course they come down past the knee, like culottes.

I wore the skimpy little swimsuit of the type that Americans call a 'speedo' but to me that was the normal thing to wear on the beach and it was the Americans who were out of step.

As I lay there, taking sun and spying on the people around me, I became aware that a man lying near me was staring at me. I caught him twice in a few minutes. He was wearing a speedo too, which suggested that he also was from Europe.

This wasn't new to me. I was of a slight build and somewhat effeminate, and I'd always been aware that I attracted a certain type of man. And especially on the beach.

A waiter came out from the hotel and took orders for drinks - we hotel guests were identified by coloured wrist bands, another thing I'd never seen before. I ordered my first Pina Colada. It went down very easily and I ordered another one, putting it on my room bill - I didn't have any money with me.

* * *

After an hour, the sun went behind the buildings. It was still very warm and there was still sun further along the beach so I got up and walked a hundred metres or so east, away from the hotel. The beach terminated in a sea wall that rose from the sand in three big steps. I lolled on the steps in a miasma, the setting sun, two Pina Coladas, the beach, the lush aroma of tropical vegetation that permeates the whole island.

This area had a different feel though. The buildings weren't exactly run down, but they were noticeably less pristine, and the beach itself wasn't as combed and manicured. And the dozen or so people sitting on the wall catching the last of the sun seemed to be locals. I felt a little conspicuous with my light tan and my bright yellow hotel-guest wrist band.

One of the people sitting on the steps was a girl, very pretty, clearly a local. She wore a stirringly short skirt and a tight tank top. She looked me over but her eye moved on. When the sun finally moved behind a building she got up and walked across the street to a little bar, and so did several of the other people sitting on the step. On impulse, I did too.

* * *

The bar was tiny, cosy, just a room and a terrace that looked over the beach.

I sat at a tiny table and ordered an island beer. Night falls quickly in the tropics and already it was much darker outside. The terrace was dimly lit, scarcely lit at all. There was some music playing. There was an unmistakable smell of marijuana.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I noticed that the girl from the steps was chatting with the barman. The man who'd been staring at me on the beach was here too, complete with hotel wrist band.

I was thirsty and my beer was gone in a couple on minutes. After finishing it I headed through some curtains to what seemed to be the bathroom.

The light was even dimmer in the bathroom. There were three urinals and two stalls. The middle urinal was occupied by a figure and I walked past him and took the third one. I was still wearing my swim suit and I rolled down the front of it. I could hear that there was someone in one of the stalls too.

As my eyes accustomed to this new level of dimness I could see out of the corner of my eye that the person next to me was gently rubbing his penis. At first I thought he was just shaking it, you know how some people go to almost absurd lengths to do that. But, no, he was unmistakably smoothing his fingers along from the shaft to the head, not rhythmic, but no doubt about what he was doing, and his penis was responding by growing almost completely stiff, poking straight out in front of him.

This actually wasn't the first time I'd had this - someone making themselves stiff at the urinal next to me - and I took it to be some sort of invitation, or proposition. It excited me, but it slightly repulsed me too. I risked a sideways glance at him. 

It was the girl from the beach.

In the dim light I could see that she was looking at me out of the corner of her eye. (I'm going to call her 'her', that's what I thought of her as.) She gave a slight smile and deliberately ran her fist over the head of her penis again, then drew it back, revealing the shiny, slimy head.

Another person came into the room, breaking the moment. He - at least, I assumed it was a he - stepped to the first urinal, out of my line of sight. The girl next to me turned her head slightly away from me, presumably to take in this new prospect.

I was actually glad of the interruption - after two Pina Coladas and a beer in the last hour I really did need to pee. I've always been one of those people who finds it difficult to go if distracted - by an audience, for example. Or, in this case, by a pretty 'girl' looking at me and masturbating herself at the neighbouring urinal. I shut out everything else and concentrated on peeing.

After I went, I couldn't stop myself from letting my eyes roam to the next urinal again, and I saw again that a hand was stroking her penis, but now it was a different hand. It was the person in the other urinal, he was masturbating her. After that sunk in, I could see also that she was reciprocating - beyond her, above the bowl of the first urinal, I could see her hand gently massaging the newcomer's stiff penis, and I could hear his elevated level of breathing. His penis, I could see, was also slimy.

Now I felt her turn her attention back to me. I glanced at her face again, unable to stop myself, I knew I should just leave, but our eyes met for a moment and she smiled and gave the most tiny tweak to her eyebrows, and she looked down again. Following her gaze, I saw that I was stiff too! I was still holding my penis in my hand, but now it was fully erect, poking straight out above the bowl.

Then I felt her hand move on me, across my hand, and settle tentatively, experimentally, on my erection. I involuntarily drew in my breath at the electricity of contact. She paused, then moved her hand forward and wrapped her fist around my knob, gently massaged it for a moment, giving me gentle squeezes. I knew I was going to come in ten seconds if she kept this up.

But after only a few moments she slackened her grip, and took my hand and gave it a gentle tug. I let her take it, and in a slow, even movement, she guided my hand onto her own erection. I could feel the other man's hand on her too, coming from the other side, and we both explored her and wanked her a little, even making small squelching noises in the dead silence.

She glanced over her shoulder. There was another person there, in the stall. She nodded to him and then turned her attention back to us. She took my hand in hers, stepped back from her urinal, and gently pulled me sideways until I was standing in front of her urinal, replacing her. I felt a different hand enclose my penis, and at the same time she moved my hand, and I got the idea and took the other man's penis in my fist.

She stepped away from us, and now I was masturbating with this much larger man. I glanced down and saw with a bit of a shock that his hand, masturbating me rather inexpertly, had the day-glo yellow hotel wrist band on it, and a glance at his face confirmed it - he was the man who'd been staring at me on the beach. He gave me a slight smile, looking down at me a bit smugly. He obviously recognized me. He was taller than me and his penis was much larger in my hand than the girl's had been. Not enormous, but larger. And very spunky - this was where the squelching noise had been coming from. He also had, I remember so well, enough of a belly that my forearm sort of rested on it as I masturbated him.

Behind us, the stall door creaked.

Now I was back to almost coming. The hotel-man's skill level in masturbating me was quite low - made me appreciate how expert had been the girl - but nevertheless the stimulation and the situation were combining to take me over the top. And I didn't want to. I knew from experience that an orgasm would make me bleary, and I was anxious not to look that way at dinner.

I drew in my breath, let go the man's penis, disentangled his hand from me, and stepped back from the urinal. He let out a sigh. As I left I glanced into the stall, where the 'girl' was kneeling on the floor with someone's penis in her mouth. I walked back through the curtain into the bar.

* * *

It felt as if I'd been gone for an embarrassingly long time and I had that weird sensation that everyone must be looking at me, "where's HE been?", but in fact all of this had taken less time than it takes to describe it, not much more than a minute, and of course no-one had even noticed I'd left.

I'd left my towel at the table but my shirt came down just far enough to more-or-less conceal the fact that I was erect. I had a feeling I wasn't in the kind of place where an erection need be a cause for embarrassment.

I sat back down and drank through the second beer. I didn't really want it but I was getting ready to go and I didn't want to leave it either. The girl came back from the bathroom, gave me a friendly smile, and sat back down at the bar. She said something to the barman and they both laughed. And looked at me.

As I got up to leave it hit me: I didn't have any money with me!

I had a surge of panic, but almost immediately, the solution presented itself - the man with the hotel wrist band emerged through the curtains from the bathroom. I smiled and nodded to him and he gave me a knowing look, a rather slimy look to be honest, but beggars can't be choosers - I raised a hand to him and said "Look, sorry to have to ask but - I've come out without any money. I wonder if ..."

"Oh, absolutely, glad to, not a problem!" An English accent.

"Thanks so much, you're a life-saver. I'm at the El San Juan, I'll pay you back when ..."

"No, think nothing of it. It's on me"

And I realised he wanted me to leave - he was focusing on the girl at the bar.

"Thanks again," I told him, and left.

* * *

The dinner was in one of the hotel restaurants, I forget its name. My mother and all the others were at the hotel to attend the wedding of a friend of theirs, to take place the next day. Third wedding actually. I myself wasn't invited to the wedding but my mother had said to me to string along for the trip anyway, take a few days in the sun.

Not being a wedding guest, I wasn't supposed to go to the dinner, but apparently one of the other guests had flown in without his wife, she was sick, so I was invited to fill the empty chair.

When we were all seated, my companion was in fact just that - an empty chair. The guest whose wife was still in London hadn't shown up either, but sent message that he would. We started the dinner without him.

When he did arrive, he manoeuvred himself into the empty chair beside me, he was fairly big it seemed, and when we glanced at one another we both got a shock - it was once again my admirer from the beach, my masturbation partner from the little bar.

He recovered first.

"You must be Andy," he said, offering a hand - a hand that had been on my stiff penis not an hour before. "I'm Bill Hunter. Pleased to meet you."

"Andrew Wilson, how do you do, Sir." Shaking his hand, unable to push from my mind the thought of this large hand wrapped around my knob. Incredibly, even in this utterly inappropriate context, my penis gave a strong twitch and went half erect. I groaned inwardly. I spent half my day with an erection back then, and I knew that once one started it was very difficult to get rid of it.

Mr Hunter responded, "Please, Andrew, don't call me Sir, it makes me feel old."

"OK, Mr Hunter."

My mother, sitting at the head of the table, she was the hostess for the dinner, called down "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you two had never met." And, following the English convention that we didn't know one another until we had been introduced by a third party, she introduced us to one another again. 

"Andrew, Mr Hunter. Bill, my youngest son, Andrew." 

We shook hands again.

He turned his attention to the other guests. On the other side of me was Lady Silk, who used to come on to me regularly back in London, and as she got sloshed, was starting to let her leg brush against mine. Not helping the erection situation.

* * *

We all moved to the magnificent lobby bar for drinks after dinner, and from there, out into the hotel gardens. It was a beautiful clear tropical night with sprinkles of soft, glowing stars. More drinks were served.

Lady Silk, mercifully, got drunk enough at this point, that her husband, Sir David, led her off to bed. 

I was relieved that she'd gone, but she was almost immediately replaced by Bill Hunter, lowering his big frame onto the lounge chair beside me.

"So," he said. "What's the Andy Wilson story?" I hated being called Andy.

"Oh, not much to tell. I've finished at school and I'm going up to University next month."

"Which one?"

"Cambridge." I was proud of this.

"Very nice. No summer job?"

"No. I had one lined up in the City but the firm collapsed." This was one of those periodic years when about half the small banks in London fail. "Now I'm trying to get into BBC for the summer."

"Good luck! Which firm - the one that collapsed?"

I mentioned the name and he shook his head, as if to say, well, them, what can you expect ...

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and Mr Hunter said "me too" and got up.

"I should come with you anyway," he said, as we walked to the cabana. " ... never know what types you're going to run into in these Island bathrooms."

I laughed, nervously, but it was quite funny. There were no lights on in the bathroom, all the light was coming from the lights outside. We stood at the urinals. Neither of us peed for a moment - the distraction problem.

"Come here often?" said Mr Hunter. Very weak joke, but we both laughed.

Relaxed now, we both began to go.

Mr Hunter dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial level and said "Have you done that sort of thing before?"

"A little."

"Enjoy it?"

"Well, I haven't done a lot of it. But ... yes."

"Me too."

I could feel my penis was erect again, and now that my eyes were more accustomed to the dim light I could see that he was getting there too, he was half erect. My heart was going a mile a minute, somehow just standing there was intensely exciting, thrilling.

After a moment's silence he said, even lower "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but ... come up to my room after this breaks up." He nodded his head to indicate he meant the drink-a-thon that was going on outside. "Ten O'clock. Room Six-Twelve."

He closed up his pants and left, leaving me alone in the bathroom, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself. My penis was so stiff it almost hurt and I had to overcome an intense desire to masturbate right there and then.

When I went out to join the party again, Mr Hunter was making his excuses - 'long flight ... bit much to drink ...' He ambled back across the grounds to the lobby.

I had to stay in the more shady parts of the party area because I still had an epic erection. After a few minutes I made my excuses and left too. I walked back though the enormous lobby area, debating in the back of my mind whether to go to Mr Hunter's room or to my own. A very pretty Puerto Rican girl smiled at me from a seat near the bar. I wondered if she was really a girl.

I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see it was only half past nine, it seemed much later, so much had happened. But it made me relax a little bit about whether to go to Mr Hunter's room, and instead I roamed out of the front of the hotel into the formal gardens there, and then out onto Avenue Isla Verde. On the other side of the avenue there was a low-rent tourist shop. On impulse I went in.

It was a hodge-podge of shot glasses, t-shirts ("A Freakin' Puerto Rican"), sun hats, sun screen, bikinis. I browsed it for a minute, the proprietor ignoring me. I picked up a little tub of cocoa butter - I'd read in Playboy that it was good for anal sex, and I knew that meant it would also be good for masturbating, and I'd forgotten to pack any Vaseline. 

I came to the bikinis. The bikinis.

Looking at them I recalled the very pretty girl who turned out to be a boy. The idea of doing that entered my head fully blown. I would never in a million years have thought of such a thing on my own, but now, when I was tossing up in my mind whether to go to Mr Hunter's room in half an hour, Mr Hunter, who had exhibited some interest in boys-dressed-as-girls (I didn't really have a word for this particular perversion in those days), now, the idea suddenly attracted me.

And I found myself handling the bikinis, fingering the material, mentally framing myself in them. I can't tell you how far from my nature this was, I never thought of dressing in girls' clothing. But, well, now I did.

I quickly thumbed through the rack. The proprietor, whom I had previously thought might be dead, based on his interest in me, came to life.

"Yo like one of dese?"

"My, er, girlfriend." I smiled weakly. I had moved down from XL, and was now at Petite.

"Yes. These are Petite. Is yo's girl petite? How beeg? How beeg they breaths? How beeg they ..."

I gritted my teeth; like MacBeth, it seemed easier to keep going than to extract myself. (In my experience there is never a situation to which a classical education can't add a totally irrelevant thought.)

"Small, er breasts. But ... don't really know what size. Same height as me."

The Senor grinned at me disarmingly. "For bikini, heights no es matter. Small breaths? -- perhaps this is good."

He put a small black creation n my hands. "Thees is small, very popular." It seemed the size of a handkerchief.

"I don't really know how beeg she is," I said, looking doubtfully at the little handful of material he had given me.

"OK, no problem!" he exclaimed, warming to the task. "When not knowing size, but string." And he illustrated his point by taking another black bikini from the rack and showing me the string ties for the bras and for the sides of the pants. "Thees can fits any who is not so beeg."

I handed him the cocoa butter too and we went back to the counter.

As the shop assistant prepared the bill I looked out through the window onto Avenue Isla Verde and, to my horror, I saw Sir David Silk looking into the shop. He seemed to be looking straight at me and the timing could hardly have been worse -- the shop assistant was holding the little black bikini up to the light to get the price from the tags. 

Mercifully, a few seconds later Sir David moved on. I waited a minute or two before leaving the shop to make sure I wouldn't run into him, and when I stepped back out into the street he was gone. Breathing a sigh, I quickly crossed the Avenue back to the hotel.

* * *

The corridor of the sixth floor of the Hotel El San Juan seemed dazzlingly bright as I walked warily along to room Six Twelve. I knocked hesitantly. No answer. I knocked again and a moment later Mr Hunter opened the door, grinned lasciviously, waved me in, and closed the door behind me.



Jet Lag Jimmy: Malaysia



Lost in thought I find myself elated to be returning to Malaysia for a week's worth of vacation. As soon as the airplane slams the pavement at the Kuala Lumpur airport, I get an untimely erection. It was one of those unprecedented ones with no tangible motive. I'm not thinking of Suprina at this time or anyone else for that matter. I guess I am overwhelmed by different ideas of being in a different country and at the mercy of a giant aircraft. I get off the plane and I instantly sink into the humidity and heat that bring me right back to reality and to where I am. I feel as though I have never left this city and have been here since my previous visit. 

I know that I should organize myself first of all and decide on a plan of action and a place to eat. I know that Suprina would put me up and that that was what we had planned but I like to get my bearings straight on my own first, before moving in with her for my short stay. Besides there was still the question of Lea, the travel agent for her father's company, with whom I had had sex with last time I was here as a carefree backpacker. I ponder about Lea's weakness for tall American guys and how she cheated herself out of her wedding engagement with a successful local. I sit in the airport lobby with a stiff one just revelling in my good fortune. I think about calling Lea but realized that I would have to do some talking and play a few head games first before fucking her. But with Suprina it was the other way round, like we had already discussed via email, fuck first and talk later. As much of a thrill it would have been to see Lea again the thought of Suprina and the pictures that she sent me were too much. I start to get cold shivers in the midst of this heat just thinking about her. I pick up a payphone and dial her digits; the pay phone gives me a hassle as always. I slam the phone and yell out a "Fuck!" I get a few odd glances but try again. I compose myself as the phone rings on the other line. I am usually a patient person; I guess I'm just hot and horny over getting in Suprina's pants for the first time and knowing how much she wants it. 

Some guy answers on the other end. "Yeah...!" I pause for a moment and my heart sinks in my chest, "Hello, would Suprina be available?". "Yes! Just a moment please." He sounds quite courteous. I can hear him talking to her in the background. My anger and confusion subside as soon as I hear: "Hello?" it's the first time that I hear your voice and it sounds like an angel tickling my soul. "Hi Suprina! It's Jimmy!". "Hi!" she shouts with glee as though I had already brought her to a climax. "Where are you?" she says.

- "I'm at the airport, looking forward to seeing you."

- "Me too, when are you coming over? Do you know how to get here?"

- "Yeah, don't worry, I'll hop in a cab and give the driver your address. I might make a pit stop on the way."

- "Great! How was your flight?"

- "It was great thanks; listen I'm anxious to see you in the flesh so I'll catch you later. See ya!"

- "See ya!"

I hang up and already I feel fabulous and ready to take on the city. I was so happy to hear her voice, I could have talked for hours but got greedy, maybe a little over anxious, and decided I want to see her right away. Grabbing my bags, hailing a cab, jumping in, I get out the slip of paper with her address on it and show it to the driver. He shakes his head and says, "I know, I know, I take you there." I ask him to take me to a place for "makan derang, sayur..." He says:"You want eat?" I say: "No, grocery store, I want to buy some groceries." "Okay!" he replies, "I take you there first." We pull into a shopping mall, God knows where, and I ask the cabbie to wait for me. I sit down for a laksa and a glass of tea but make it quick; I don't like grocery shopping on an empty stomach. I grab a basket, some beef, butter, vegetables and fresh fruit, along with a few other items. The cashier says:"Twelve ringgitt" "Teri-maka-si!" I retort, then return to the cab feeling high as a kite.

As we pull up to her place, I start getting cold chills again with a hard-on and butterflies in my stomach. I pay the man and step out of the car and into the damp heat with my bags. I throw my knapsack over my shoulder, pick up my other bag and groceries and brave the flight of stairs to her apartment. I put my bag down and knock on her door; by this time my heart is racing. I hear a lock come apart; the doorknob turns the door open and WOW...! THERE SHE IS! My penis starts pumping and I have a hard time catching my breath. All those emails, all that chatting, all the planning and fantasizing has all boiled down to this. "Hi Jimmy! So good to see you!" she exclaims. She looks so incredibly beautiful, I turn it down a notch: "You look beautiful! It feels good to finally see you in person". I give her a hug around her large waist and a peck on the cheek. Her movement, that I mindlessly follow, leads me to the centre of the living room where a short balding man with glasses is sitting on the couch. I place the groceries on the coffee table. Suprina take a breath and says: "Jimmy, this is...", "Wow what a view!" I cut her off and stare out the window overlooking the parking lot. I do not want to know the dork on the couch; I want her alone. I walk up to the dorky looking guy and bark, "Why don't you take a hike shithead." 

Dork: -"Pardon me?" 

- "I said, take a fucking hike... get lost!"

Suprina: - "Jimmy? What are you doing?"

- "Beat it chum!"

I grab the dork by the arm and drag him to the front door on his tiptoes. He doesn't struggle due to our size difference yet he calls: "Suprina!" She half-heartedly objects to my harsh behaviour, pursuing us and calling out my name a few times. Her body fills with adrenaline and a primal sense of justice. I slam the door on the dork's face and turn to face her. She has a stunned look on her face yet I detect a raw smile as though she enjoyed what had just taken place. She seems a little scared as well, so I put my arms around her large waist and press my penis against her thigh. "I would never hurt you." I explain in a soft voice, "You're too damn beautiful." I kiss her on the forehead; gently tap her bum and ask her if I can take a shower. She says that that would be all right. 

After the shower, I spend the next twenty minutes in the kitchen, cooking up a storm while Suprina relaxes in the living room with a magazine. We talk, in loud voices from room to room, about our jobs and ambitions. I finally emerge with two plates of Nasi Derang with veggies and pull a bottle of red wine out of my bag. I pull the chair out for Suprina as she makes her way to the small dining room table. She lays her big bum down on the seat. I dim the lights; light some candles and open the bottle of wine letting out a pop. I then pour her a drop and ask her how she likes it. She just smiles and nods and I join her at the table. I remind her that she looks beautiful and she thanks me for the compliment. I thank her in return for inviting me, kiss her hand, and we engage in rich conversation for the duration of the meal. I go back into the kitchen and bring out a bowl of fruit salad that I place in the middle of the table to share with Suprina. We freshen our palettes with some star fruit and guava and smile at each other in silence.

I ask her if she is enjoying the dessert and then I stand up and solicit: "Would you like a taste of me?" She says: "Excuse me?" I walk over to her, unzip my pants, and pull out my cock. I let it all hang out in front of her, holding the purple helmet near to her face. I press it against her lips and nose while whispering soft words of encouragement. She sucks the tip twice, gives it a kiss, and through her dark skin blushes with embarrassment. I pull back her luscious black hair and blurt beneath my breath:"Can I smell your ass?" She hesitates for a moment and gives me a questionable glance but then slowly leans over on her right bum cheek. I immediately get on one knee and stick my face under her dress. I jam my nose in the ass crack and sniff her anus through the panties. It smells strong and sweaty yet clean, my cock almost explodes but I manage to hold off. I sneak my tongue into her clit under the panties and get a taste of what's to cum. 

I begin to take off my clothes there in the dining area while looking around the apartment. I see a collection of American movies on VCD including "American Beauty", and some Clint Eastwood flicks. I can see now how she took pleasure in my "wild west" behaviour, kicking out her dorky friend. I notice a small library with beautifully polished tomes straight out of Opera's book club. There are also many photographs on the walls of parties and attractive people. Most of her framed photographs are of herself. I look over at Suprina and she has stripped down to her knickers, standing there not knowing quite what to do with herself. I take time to admire the woman that I'm about to fuck. She is of Portuguese and East Indian descent with a hint of Malay around the eyes. She looks beautiful, her big breasts and body are dark and firm. I see things about her character that I didn't notice before. She seems like the sort who is always organizing people and parties and loves planning events more that attending them. She peals down her panties and steps out of them with an air of relief; they seemed to be choking her around the crotch area. We hug, touching warm naked bodies. Suprina then tugs my forearm and moves toward the living room, I follow my dick that is pointing in her direction. I cup her massive tits together and suck them with a strong sense of pride. I nibble ferociously on her nipples and massage her tits aggressively. We kiss each other on the lips as though we both know exactly what to do next. She squats before me and starts sucking me off, making a sick slurping and popping sound as she does. I bend the knees and lean back to enjoy the ride, grabbing a tuft of her soft hair in my fist. Pressing my cock against my stomach, she licks my scrotum and bites my balls. Suddenly! The phone rings. Suprina stops, a little startled, and then gets up to answer it. I spank her good and hard on the rear end and she gives me a smile. 

"Hello?" she says upon picking up the telephone receiver. I just stand there like an idiot with my dick in my hand. She sounds a little apologetic,"Oh hi...I know...ah huh..." A slight pause, "No he's just a friend from Canada..." I realize that it's the dork on the line. I go over to Suprina and start necking her, she strokes my hair and face. I rub my cock up and down the crack of her ass and force her to sit down. I hold my dick out for her to suck while on the phone and she eagerly obliges. I can overhear el dorko saying "What's that sound? That noise?" And she replies with a tone of innocence "Nothing." giving me a smile and licking the tip of my penis with the tip of her tongue. I give her a wink and start to slap my cock on her forehead. She giggles and hangs up the phone. She then turns away from me to bend over revealing the most glorious sight that I have ever seen. My heart races as it did at her front door and my cock damn near explodes once again. I lick her vagina and asshole in long strokes of the tongue carrying it up along the perineum. I then focus on the ass hole, getting it wet and blowing on it softly. She reciprocates with a fart uttering a few broken words of embarrassment. I breathe:"Good girl!" and kiss her left bum cheek. She giggles. I then rap my mouth around her pussy and suck it involving my teeth and nose. Her clit twists and she screams. I lick the hot pink flesh with a quick and piercing tongue. 

I stand, align myself to Suprina who is leaning against an armchair and I slowly insert my penis into her vagina. I start fucking her rather quickly, making a slapping sound as my stomach bounces against her grand derriere. I catch a groove and follow it through until the phone starts to ring again. I slow my pace but she shouts out: "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" so I graciously oblige by picking up the pace. I fuck her good and hard shouting out the first words that come to mind, "Paki fuck! Big fucking paki fuck!" The phone continues to ring as I thrust myself into Suprina, standing on my tiptoes and giving it all my force. Just before I blow my load, I stop, turn her around, grab her by the hair and stick my dick in her mouth. My penis erupts a split second before I get the head in her mouth so a little of the love juice squirts across her jaw. The white fluid trickling down her chin is highlighted against her dark complexion and to my surprise she swallows all the rest. She then stands up and with a guilty smile wipes off the cum with her forearm and verbalizes: "mmm...Yumm!" 

I shake my head in disbelief and as we rub noses the phone finally stops ringing. She looks over to it and giggles. I wrap my arms around her large waist and give her a tight warm hug filling her with a strong sense of my appreciation. I then thank her for the wonderful experience and go to the kitchen to pour her a glass of cold water from the refrigerator.



Jet Lag



The room was almost dark, most of the light coming from outside - the moon, the garden lights. Mr Hunter was wearing just a speedo and a shirt, and I could see that he was half erect.

"I wasn't sure you were going to come." His speech was a bit slurred, he must have gone on drinking.

"Neither was I."

"Glad you did. What's that, a present?" He pointed at my bag from the tourist shop.

"Oh, it's just a ..." I realised this was a moment of decision, it brought to the fore my ambiguity about being here at all. To deny what it was would undermine the little fantasy. To acknowledge it would propel me far beyond my comfort level.

"It's, er, it's a bikini. I noticed that you seemed to enjoy that um girl in the bathrooms in the bar, along by the wall ..."

He blinked at me.

" ... at the end of the beach ..." I went on.

"Put it on" he said.

I walked through to the bathroom -- his room was the same layout as mine -- closed the door behind me, and shrugged out of my clothes.

Have you ever tried to tie a string bikini on? I assume most males haven't, and I'm not bringing this up in order to recommend it, just to say - it's surprisingly difficult.

After a few attempts I intuited that I had to tie the bra laces in front and then slide them round to the back. The bottom was relatively straight forward, complicated only by the issue of my penis sticking out, stiff as a bottle - not a major consideration in its design I suppose. But the sales clerk's advice had been good -- everything fit. I inspected myself in the mirror and I was surprised, no I was astounded, at how convincing I looked.

After a painfully long absence, I turned out the light, opened the bathroom door, and stepped back into Mr Hunter's room, wearing just the skimpy little black bikini.

After the brilliantly lit bathroom, I couldn't see a thing, but I was greeted by an alarming noise, a sort of long, low growl. Did Mr Hunter have a dog? I froze. I remember my hair actually stood on end.

After a pause, another deep, growl. It seemed to be hostile. It was coming from the big armchair I was now able to dimly make out, and with a wave of relief I realised it was Mr Hunter.

He lay back in the armchair, asleep. Actually, beyond asleep, he was unconscious, comatose, his mouth open, snoring like a mastiff.

I stood there a moment, letting my heart beat come back to a level that no longer threatened imminent cardiac arrest. What to do?

Two minutes later I gingerly stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind me. For the sake of making as little noise as possible I had just slipped my clothes back on over the bikini and stuffed my underpants in my pocket. I made my way back down to my own room.

There was an envelope on the floor inside, apparently pushed under the door. I opened it.

Andrew,

I'll be at the Lobby Bar until midnight. Come and have a chat!

Cheers!

Dai Silk

It was Mr Silk, Sir David Silk, the man who had looked in the window of the tourist shop as I was buying the bikini. I looked at my watch. It was only a quarter past ten, and once again I had the odd sensation that it should have been later than that.

A small part of me wondered why Sir David had chosen me as a drinking companion. But another part of me, a darker part, knew it was because he had seen me buying that bikini. And the cocoa butter! What would anyone reasonably assume on seeing those two items purchased by an eighteen year old boy?

By this time in my life I had stopped being surprised by the number and variety of men who seemed to be attracted to me. Sir David had shown no sign whatsoever of this at dinner, but I was familiar with that too - that many an admirer kept quiet about it until ... something encouraged them. Like seeing me buy a bikini and a tub of cocoa butter.

I played back and forth whether to go back down to the hotel bar to meet him. I was a bit frazzled ... I would like a drink ... I didn't really need anything more to drink ... I was intrigued by the situation, even titillated a little ... I didn't really know Sir David, I shouldn't really go ...

* * *

"Oh, Andrew! Glad you came." He was sitting at a little table reading the FT, tucked away in the huge, gloomy bar, and he gestured at the other chair and I sat down.

After a drink arrived for me and the waitress had clicked off in her heels on the marble floor we sat in silence for a moment, clinked glasses, sipped. He was smoking a cigar.

"Ready for the wedding tomorrow?"

"I'm not going."

He made a face. "Not going?"

"No, I wasn't invited. I'm just tagging along with my mother, she thought I might like to get some sun and sand."

"Oh, I see. So it's just you and your girlfriend then?"

"No. Just me. I don't have a girlfriend."

"She's back in London?"

"No." I smiled, a little embarrassed as I began to see where he was heading. "I don't have a girlfriend. At the moment."

"You know, Andrew," he said, pretending to be puzzled. "I was sitting next to your mother at the dinner and that's what I thought she said - that Andrew didn't have a girlfriend. At the moment. So ... so ..." he play-acted the role of the thought that can't be articulated.

I decided to take the cue. I lowered my voice and said "So you were surprised to see me buying a bikini across the street."

"Yes. Basically that. But I suppose there are other explanations." He looked at the ceiling, play-acting again, this time the internal conflict as to whether to go on.

He went on. "Actually ..." He lowered his tone to a conspiratorial level and leaned towards me. "I used to know a chap at University who used to buy things ... for himself, you know, girl's clothes. Actually, he looked a bit like you now I think about it." 

He looked up at me, as if to say "your move".

"Did you ever see him - dressed in girl's gear, I mean?"

"Yes, I did." He glanced around, almost furtively. "He insisted on showing me. He was a bit of a queer really. But he was amazingly convincing."

"What was he wearing?"

"Ah, um, bra and pants. He was ... effeminate I suppose is the word. As I say, he was amazingly convincing."

"Yes, I know what you mean. I was along at the end of the beach earlier, at sunset, and there was a girl there, very pretty, and later she was in the bathrooms and it turned out she was ..." I trailed off. I didn't know a word for what she was.

"Not a girl?" he suggested helpfully.

"That's right. You would never have known. I mean, I think everyone else knew, all the others, but I had been looking her over ... she was quite attractive!"

"Yes, I know what you mean, it was the same with the chap, St John - that was his name, Jimmy St John, we used to call him Jill St John. I had a girlfriend and everything, but I still ..."

"Found him attractive?"

"I did." He looked at me wistfully. "As I say, he looked a bit like you. Quite a lot like you."

"I've never dressed in girl's clothing."

"Oh."

"I mean, I've never done it - before." I took a deep breath and said "But, there's a first time for everything."

* * *

It felt strange being with someone in my room, especially someone so much older than me.

Sir David broke this spell; very quietly, almost in a whisper, he said

"So ... the bikini?"

I breathed a laugh. "I'm wearing it."

He laughed too. "You're joking! May I see it?"

I paused a moment to steel myself - this was going to feel odd. I hooked my shirt in my thumbs and pulled it up over my head. Sir David sat down in the armchair and watched.

I undid my pants and shrugged out of them, sox and shoes too, and in a moment I was standing in front of him in just the little black string bikini. One wall of the room was mirrored so I could see myself too, not very well, there wasn't much light, but enough to see once again that I looked surprisingly convincing, in a tomboy-ish sort of way.

I postured in front of him, making a joke of doing girl-ish poses. I wasn't as self-conscious as I would have expected, and that was for a very simple reason - it was tremendously exciting. My penis was stiff.

"Well, you certainly look the part," said Sir David, after a long minute. He gave a sigh and went on. "Come here" and I understood that he wanted me to sit in his lap.

I was very aware of his body, his ample belly and, especially, his large hard penis stuck against my bum. And then his hands, they seemed to be twice as big as mine as they openly explored me, feeling under my little bra and rubbing my nipples, inside the bikini bottom, sliding down in the crack of my bum.

After a moment he said in my ear "Wait a minute" and motioned me to stand up. He stood up too and in almost a single movement, shrugged out of his pants, shoes and underpants. He sat back down again.

Instead of sitting back down I reached between his legs and handled his big stiff bare penis. He gave a sigh as my fist closed over the head, and he stirred himself and opened his beefy thighs. I knelt down on the floor between his legs. His penis was right in front of my face and I captured it in my fist again and squeezed the bulbous head, feeling a smear of spunk come onto my hand.

I changed my position so I could kneel up, and then I bowed down over him and touched my lips to his penis, still holding him in my fist. I slobbered my tongue over the whole head until it was almost dripping with a mix of spunk and saliva, using my fist to gather the juices and slime them all over him, right down to and including his balls.

Then I carefully took the head of his penis into my mouth. I was quite surprised how wide I had to open my mouth to do this - he wasn't actually all that big, looking back, but at the time it seemed enormous.

I kept my fist firmly squeezed around his penis and I moved my mouth gently up and down over the head, just the first inch or so. Sir David let out a long, uneven sigh.

"You've done this before" he said. I looked up at him and nodded, his penis still in my mouth. Then I moved my mouth down and down, slowly engulfing the stiff, rubbery object. At the same time I reached under his balls with my other hand and touched the area just behind his balls, near his anus. He gave a wheezing sound and settled further forward in the armchair.

I took a gob of spunk and saliva from my mouth onto my hand, and reached back under his balls, this time snaking all the way back until my middle finger touched his anus. I used the slime to probe gently and I felt the tight ring open a little and admit my finger.

"You've done this before," he said again and I breathed a laugh onto his penis, and moved my fist and my mouth up and down on him in synch, letting his penis come almost all the way out of my mouth at each upstroke, to be gripped around the slippery knob by my fist, squeezed, and then re-enveloped by my mouth as my fist traveled back down. With my other hand, with the finger in his anus, I felt the familiar tightening that signaled he was going to come. As it gathered, I worked my finger more intrusively into his bum, and after a moment of stillness he started to pump, a gout of spunk that seemed to flood my whole mouth, though of course it didn't, it's just a sensation, and then a gasping twisting judder as I jerked him off against my lips and face.

After a minute I stood up.

"Sorry, the carpet's too rough for my knees" I said, and I sat on the bed. Sir David got up too saying "No, that's alright, I understand. Phew!" He was still breathing heavily and he flopped down beside me and drew me down with him until we were lying side by side, me curled against him, his breathing settling down, becoming more regular.

* * *

I got up and took a long swig from a bottle of water, and on a whim, opened the balcony door and stepped out into the moonlight. Looking down into the hotel grounds I saw a figure looking back up at me and I went back into the room, sliding the door closed behind me. 

I lay back down beside the Sir David's inert form and as I did so I saw his watch. It said eleven thirty.

It can't be right, I thought, we can't have been here for an hour and a quarter, it felt like 20 minutes!

Then I realised we must have gone to sleep. Or to be more accurate, I knew Sir David was asleep, but now I realised that I must have fallen asleep too.

I lay back down beside him and shook him a little. It took a couple of such moves, but he came to, looked at me blankly for a moment, and sighed.

"Sir David!"

"Mmmh. Fell asleep."

"We both did."

He stretched a bit and then rolled on his side and put an arm over me and drew me into him. After a moment his hand tucked a couple of fingers into my bikini bottom.

"So. Nice bikini," he murmured. I laughed, and he moved himself again, this time turning me a bit too so I was lying with my back to him and his arm was around me. I could feel his penis against my bum once again, and it was semi-erect. His hand rubbed idly back and forth a couple of times over my hips and my stomach, and then he brought it up and under my bra again, and once again he played with my nipple, teasing and pinching. I could feel him get completely hard, and he deliberately moved his penis against my bum, humping me ever so slightly.

"Sir David."

"Mmmh. Call me Dai."

"It's getting late."

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you go?"

"Where?"

"Back to your room. What about your wife? Won't she - wonder where you are?" ('Won't she guess you're out fucking someone' was what I really wanted to say, but didn't.)

"Oh, no, don't worry. Firstly, she's out cold, she had too much to drink. And secondly - we have, um, you know, we have an arrangement."

I processed this for a moment. I'd heard of such things, but never really encountered it in real life. I was more than a little intrigued.

"Interesting."

"It is."

"So she, so your wife will know you're - with someone."

"Yes."

"Does she know you do - do ..."

"... homo?"

"Yes."

"Oh, absolutely. She helps sometimes."

I digested this. I ran my mental image of Lady Silk in front of my mind and imagined being in the nude with both of them.

"Does she - does your wife do other things too? I mean - when you're not ... I mean, do things separate from you?"

"Is the Pope Italian?" He laughed, and I could feel his stiff penis nudging my bum again as he deliberately humped me, just a little, but unmistakable. I could feel my own penis stirring against the tight little bikini pants I was still wearing.

"Yes," he went on. "In fact the way we met was that she and her boyfriend of the time - this was at University - were having it off with a professor, and I was too, and we got to know about one another."

"Wow, sounds so - Roman orgy-ish."

"This was the sixties. It was really an anything-goes time."

This remark jogged a memory and I said "I remember over-hearing my mother saying that at her best friend's wedding, they were all staying at a big country house somewhere, and the best man fucked the bride's younger brother."

"That was me."

"You were ... the younger brother? Or the best man?"

"The best man. My wife - we weren't married at that point - but anyway she told me the younger brother was a well-known fruit, so I went after him."

"And you got caught?"

"Not exactly. The younger brother told someone else about it, and they told someone else, and it ... got out."

"A 'fruit'?"

"Queer. Doesn't your generation use that word?"

"No, I don't think so."

"What do you say?"

"Well, 'gay' of course. And faggy. Not really homo. Queer, and ... well, there's lots of words."

"Are you one?"

"No, not really."

"You seem to know a thing or two about it - about homo sex, I mean. And then there's the bikini ..."

"Yes, I've certainly ... this certainly isn't my first time with ... another male. But I'm more like you - you like women too, perhaps even prefer women. And I do too."

"What word do you use for that?"

"Well, 'bi-sexual' is the most common one. What did you use?"

"You know, I don't remember that we had a word specifically for that. I mean, the word 'bi-sexual' had already come into the language I suppose, but I don't remember it ever being used in the way it is now - socially. It was more a literary term. 'Sir Harold Nicholson was a bi-sexual', that sort of thing."

"So how did you express the idea that someone went both ways? There must have been a word for it."

"Yes and no. We had words for 'gay' - like 'fruit'. And for someone who had homo interests, or did homo things on the side, we just said he was 'a bit fruity', it didn't really have it's own word. And it's funny now you bring it up, because we did need a word for it - it was fairly common. I would say as much as a third of my peers at university had at least some sexual experiences with a person of the same sex. And yet I would say not more than one in twenty have turned out actually gay.

"Is it the same with your friends?"

"I suppose so. It's certainly common. Though it might depend on what you count as a 'sexual experience'. There's a whole range."

"Yes. But all I mean is that it was sexual and you did it with a member of your own sex. What have you done?"

"I've ..." For a moment I felt embarrassed - I had done quite a lot. But I realised this wasn't someone I would easily shock, and anyway the conversation was stimulating - I was completely stiff and I could feel that Sir David was too.

"I've done masturbation. And I've done, you know, in the mouth."

"Fellatio? Did you give it or receive it?"

"Both. But mostly I was giving it."

"So you've done it more than once."

"Oh, yes, a lot more than once."

"Have you done sodomy?"

"No. But several times I've ... been tried."

"You mean you've tried to take it up your arse?"

"Yes. Well, it was more the other person who was doing the trying. But anyway it didn't work. I was too ..."

"... tight?"

"Yes, tight. I was going to say 'sensitive' but 'tight' is really the right word."

"Did you use something to make it slippery? You know - vaseline, something like that?"

"No. Just his ... you know, his spunk."

"Next time you should try some vaseline."

"Oh yes, I agree. I use vaseline, I'm practically addicted to it, I just didn't use it on ... that particular occasion."

"You use it to ...?"

I hesitated. Why had I brought this up? But I kept going -

"Well, I use it to masturbate. Sometimes my spunk isn't enough to keep it slippery. My penis, I mean. And also, sometimes when I masturbate I work something up my bum, and that works better if I use some Vaseline too."

"What do you 'work up your bum'?"

"A hairbrush handle, at first. Later I used a candle, but there's not always one around."

He grunted assent, as if agreeing about the scarcity of candles when you need one. "I hope you don't find my interest in this too ... intrusive." He was apparently reacting to my longer pauses before answers.

"No. No, I really don't. It's actually very interesting, but - it's not something I've ever talked about in detail and I don't have a pre-packaged answer to every question. But, no, I'm actually enjoying it."

"Me too."

"I noticed."

Sir David snorted a laugh and repositioned himself so that his penis was lying along the valley of my bum. He had pulled aside my bikini bottom. I squirmed and deliberately clenched on him a little bit and he chuckled again and responded by humping on me.

"But, ... it slightly surprises me ... you came only 40 minutes ago ... I mean, I sucked you off and you came very hard. It seemed to me, anyway."

"I did."

"But now you're completely hard again, it feels like a piece of wood."

Sir David exhaled, I could tell he was weighing whether to say something. After a long pause he said

"Well ... a friend of mine owns a medical sciences company in Oxford. They test new drugs. And they're testing this drug that - gives you a more-or-less continuous erection for as long as eight hours." (Looking back, Viagra was announced at one of Pfizer's English laboratories some years later, and this must have been an early precursor.)




Jet Lag



I said "If anything, I need a drug that could make me NOT have an erection for eight hours."

"Yes, you're not who it's for. Anyway, my friend gave me a few of them. Sort of informal part of the trial."

"So you took one tonight?"

"Yes, just when we were in the bar."

"For me?"

"For you."

"Well ... it seems to work, doesn't it? And it feels as if we need some vaseline."

"You want me to bum you?" he asked, half expectantly.

"No. Well ... that's not what I meant, anyway. No, I meant just - what you're doing would work better if you were more greasy. I don't know the word for what you're doing - what is the word for nestling your stiffie along my bum like that but without actually doing me in the arse?"

"No, I don't know a word for it either. I'll have to ask Bill!" and he laughed.

"Who's that?"

"Bill Hunter. You sat next to him at dinner tonight. No reason you should know it, but - he's very active on the queer front."

"Really?" I pretended not to know anything about him.

"Yes - picks up people in bars, that sort of thing. Likes ... well, he's essentially a universalist, he likes most things. He'll know the word for this. If there is a word for this.

"Actually - Bill must have been planning something for tonight, now I think of it."

My heart almost stopped. "What - what makes you say that?" Surely he hadn't said anything about me agreeing to go to his room earlier.

"He asked me for one of these pills that make you stiff. Our medical friend gave Bill some too but he didn't bring them on the trip. Or so he said - with him, there's also the possibility that he's finished them!" and he chuckled softly at the thought.

"But, I'm getting off the subject - do you actually have any vaseline?"

"No, sorry, I don't. Oh - but I have cocoa butter."

"Oh yes, I saw you buying it. Is that good?"

"I don't know, never used it before. Here ..."

I reached up onto the bedside table and opened the tub of cocoa butter and gave it to him. A faint aroma of chocolate permeated us as he fiddled and manipulated behind me. He gave it back to me and I took a dollop and spread it on my penis. It felt cool and deliciously slippery. Sir David settled back behind me and as I began to slide my hand gently over my stiff penis, he nestled his solid erection back into the groove of my bum, but now with an easy slimy movement on the cocoa butter.

"What do you think about when you masturbate?"

"Oh. How long have you got?" The fact of even being asked was exciting and I squeezed my incredibly slippery erection. "I suppose the main ones are - it's a number of themes, but they come together in sort of - stories. Fantasies. For example, the idea of someone being captured, being a prisoner, tied up."

"Are you the someone?"

"Yes, sometimes. I'm captured by a man. We're somewhere like a lonely old farm house, he's taken me there. He has me tied up, in the nude, or he pulls my clothes away - pulls my pants down - and he 'interrogates' me. "It's sort of embarrassing now that I'm telling you - it seems so, childish."

"No, it's so - lecherous. Tell me more!"

I laughed at the word 'lecherous'. I'd never heard it used as a compliment before. 

"I used to lie in bed at night and pull my pajama pants down and hold me wrists behind my back and pretend I was tied that way and that my pants had been pulled down. I would masturbate by rubbing my penis between my thighs. And I'd play my story in my head. "Sometimes he's captured me and another person too, a girl. Or it's me who's the captor and I've got this girl tied up in the nude and I question her."

"But always involving someone being tied up?"

"In that fantasy, yes. But there are other fantasies too, quite a few. It's embarrassing to tell you how many I have."

"I think a lot of people do."

"Yes. I used to think I was the only one. I still think I was a bit more - active. I used to, when I had the house to myself, I used to tie myself up. I'd get pieces of elastic and tie them in loops and then pull them over my ankles, and my knees and my wrists, so I had all the sensations of being tied up but I could get out of it fairly easily."

"No gag?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot, I'd put a facecloth in my mouth and tie something around my head to hold it in place. I used to take off all my clothes and put on a swim suit first, and I'd lie in front of the mirror in my room so I could see myself. "It was all really quite elaborate. I used to work a candle up my bum before I tied myself up."

While I'd been relating all this, Sir David had been moving his cock against me, first just sliding it along the groove between my cheeks, but then pointing a little more onto me so the slimy head was pressing directly onto my anus.

He had made everything so slippery that the smallest mis-alignment would let him slide away, and that happened several times, but then he held his penis in his hand and pressed very slowly, progressively more firmly, and I could feel my anus slowly but inexorably opening up for him.

I started to pant a bit from the effort of having my ring stretched. He paused and I could feel my anus twitch a little and clench, so he was squeezed out a millimetre. He pushed back and regained the little bit of entrance. And then I felt my anus was open, the tight little muscle ring had been penetrated and his knob was inside me.

I was masturbating but I stopped, feeling that if I gave myself even the smallest stimulus I would come. I had never been sodomised, not by an actual penis. The feeling of having something slimy and almost uncomfortably large in my bum was extremely arousing.

We lay like that for a minute, not saying anything. I could hear my breathing, and his too, both of us panting a little.

Then he resumed his pressure, just a little, but I was so slippery, we both were, and I felt his whole penis slide right up my anus, so that his belly came up against my bum, and I groaned with the effort of accommodating him.

Once again we both stayed still for a minute.

I was still panting a bit, but I said "This happens in my stories too."

"Except you're tied up." Sir David was panting too. The mental image of my being tied up was apparently too much for him. I felt him stiffen, catching his breath. And then he gasped, right in my ear, it was surprisingly loud, and I could feel him press harder into me, turning me further so I was lying almost underneath him. After a few seconds he gave a long exhaling sigh. 

After another minute I could feel that he was going to sleep again, in fact perhaps he was already asleep. I roused him, not wanting him to be there in the morning, and he lay staring at the ceiling for a minute then got up and dressed.

"When we're back in London - come and visit me" he said as he slid out the door. "I want to tie you up."

* * *

It was midnight. The trouble was, I was still incredibly turned on. I'd had several encounters in that one night, but none of them had actually gone to completion, or not for me anyway - I could feel Sir David's spunk in my anus, no doubt about his completion. 

In my excited state, I thought of Mr Hunter's stiff penis from our encounters in the bathrooms. I remembered that Sir David had told me he'd had given one of his erection pills to Mr Hunter. The idea swirled a little feverishly in my head.

To this day I am amazed at what I did next. The only thing I can think of is that the prolonged period of sexual arousal clouded my judgement. It certainly wouldn't be the only time that being aroused has clouded my judgement - but anyway: 

I quickly pulled on my shorts and a t-shirt in the dark, grabbed my key and slipped out the door. As the door closed behind me I realised - I still had on the little black bikini! I hesitated for a moment and then mentally shrugged and set off back to the lifts. Part of me pleaded to just go back to my room and masturbate, but my aroused state was driving me to ignore all sense. I took some deep breaths and pressed the button. I took the lift back up to the sixth floor.

Walking along the corridor I was once again uneasy with how brightly lit it was, how conspicuous I was. But nobody came and I knocked lightly on Six Twelve. 

Nothing happened. I knocked again, a little louder. I heard a movement inside and a moment later the door opened a crack and a face looked at me out of the gloom. There was a pause.

"You expecting anyone?" the face said, speaking back into the room. 

After another pause the door opened wider and Mr Hunter appeared. He looked decidedly bleary-eyed, but his face lit up when he saw me.

"Andy! Come on in!" he said in a half-whisper, making a paranoid glance up and down the corridor as he pulled me into the room.

The room was very dimly lit. I could see the outline of the other person but very little else.

"Andy, so glad you came back!" said Mr Hunter, still in his whisper. "Just let me ..." and he headed for the bathroom.

Before he closed the door he switched on the bathroom light and I had a glimpse of my surroundings, momentarily illuminated as if by a camera flash. Then the bathroom door closed and I was plunged into darkness again, but with a detailed residual vision of what I had seen: Standing in front of me was the 'girl' from the end of the beach, the 'girl' from the tiny toilet in the bar. She was wearing a skimpy little bra and pants, and a surprisingly large erect penis was poking straight up out of the top of her pants. She was staring at me with unconcealed delight.

* * *

The bathroom door banged open again and we were momentarily bathed in light once more. Mr Hunter emerged. He was completely nude and his penis was sticking straight up, reminding me that he too had taken one of the erection pills. He was holding a cigarette in his hand and he offered it to me - it was a joint. He reached back into the bathroom to turn out the light.

As I drew on the little tube, he clicked on a small desk light so the room was dimly illuminated again. The 'girl' took the joint when I offered it to her.

Mr Hunter put a hand on each of us, on our shoulders.

"Celia - this is Andy. He's a randy little university student from England. Andy - meet Celia. She's a cheap little Puerto Rican cunt!"

"I am" nodded Celia through the joint, apparently complimented by the description.

I laughed. "Yes, he's got me right too."

Celia was now the same height as me. In the bar toilet she had been half a head taller - high heels I supposed. Her penis was somewhat bigger than mine.

"You still wearing that thing?" Mr Hunter asked me.

I shrugged off my shorts and shirt and bowed to them in the bikini. Like Celia's, it showed my stiff prick sticking straight up out of the little pants.

Mr Hunter applauded. "Here," he said to me, and pulled me between them. They both ran their hands over me, handling my cock, touching in my crack, and Celia kissed me sloppily on the mouth.

Then Mr Hunter guided me over to the round wooden table in the centre of the room. He took a vase of flowers off it and then bent me over it so I was lying along its cool surface. Celia immediately stepped forward in front of me. My face was at the height of her crotch and she took me by the hair and with her other hand masturbated her penis on my face. After a moment she brought it to my mouth, and wiped the slimy head on my lips. I opened my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr Hunter reach into a bag on the bedside table and pull out a camera. Before I had the presence of mind to stop him he took a picture of us. He put down the camera and stepped behind me and I felt him pull my bikini pants down, just off my bum. Then I felt his greasy cock against my anus. He held himself in one hand, guiding himself onto me. In my mind it was as if he was threading a needle, and when I had that thought I realised the marijuana was beginning to stake out my brain.

"Tis easier for a penis to slide into a tight anus than for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven," I thought to myself. For a moment I thought I'd said it out loud, but, no, I knew I couldn't have, my mouth was full of Celia's stiff cock, sliding back and forth. I sucked it as she masturbated herself into my mouth.

In the mirror I caught a glimpse of myself, spread on the table with my little bikini bottom stretched down under my hips, and Mr Hunter lining his knob up against me. He leaned forward onto me a little, bringing pressure to bear. The table creaked, and I felt my anus open for him, an intense tightness that had me panting for a moment, and then his solid stiff penis slid slowly all the way up my bum. For the second time that night, I groaned at the effort of accommodating such a large object in my anus, as his belly came to rest against the cheeks of my bum.

He paused there and after a moment, breathing raggedly, he said "You dirty little cunt! I'm not the first person you've had in your arse tonight, am I?"

I gave a smothered reply against the penis in my mouth.

"I think he said 'no'" Celia uttered throatily, and after a moment she added "You won't be the last, either."

* * *

The next day I was sitting with my mother in the airport, waiting to fly back to London. I asked her how the wedding had had gone and she pursed her lips, obviously none too pleased.

"Oh, Dai made a bit of a fool of himself."

"Sir David? What did he do?"

"Well, he went to sleep at the beginning of the ceremony, they had to wake him up to present the ring - he was Best Man, you know.

"Of course it's just jet lag - he said he'd been awake half the night. But even so. Then he went to sleep again at the reception dinner and they had to wake him to give his speech! All pretty embarrassing,! And as if that wasn't enough, Bill Hunter started snoring during the speech, I mean, you've never heard such loud snoring!"

I laughed, sympathetically.

"Some people are more susceptible to jet lag," I said. "So I've read, anyway."

I stifled a yawn, and my mother yawned too.

"Yes, I suppose so" she said. "I couldn't sleep that night either. I went for a walk in the gardens at some ridiculous hour. Actually, now I think of it - did you have a girl in your room? - I saw a girl in a bikini on your balcony."

"No. Of course not. You must have the rooms confused."

"I could have sworn it was your room. I counted along from the first one." She looked at me skeptically.

"Mother, there wasn't a girl in my room!"

"Oh well, if you say so."

* * *



Jet Lagged...



This story was inspired by a friend of mine, an online friend. So as to preserve her identity, I shall call her Heather and locate her on the American western coast. For the rest of it, this is what I have fantasised about her. I just hope she will like it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I hope you too, reader, will enjoy reading it.

Tom woke up all of a sudden and wondered for a few seconds where he was. That's what happens to you when you have a very deep sleep, especially when you are jetlagged. He shook his head and tried to get his ideas straight. But he was still completely dazed and confused.

The past few hours flashed in front of his eyes. He'd flown from Europe to the American western coast -- the initial object of his trip was a conference he was meant to attend. But since he had been in touch with a lovely American girl for the past few months, he'd decided to make a detour and spend the weekend with her. From the airport, he'd taken a coach for another two hours ride. And there, Heather was waiting for him. While she was driving them back to her place, they had both felt a bit awkward. They had been chatting nearly every night for the past couple of month, sharing very -- should I say extremely -- intimate moments, but now that they were sitting next to each other, they even had difficulties managing small talk. After a few miles, Tom had placed his hand on Heather's thigh, and this seemed to ease everything. Heather smiled at him and started chitchatting, driving slightly over speed as if she was in a hurry to get home. As soon as they arrived into her house -- she had arranged to have her children spend the weekend at her parents' -- they were on each other, kissing feverishly, ripping each other's clothes. They had made wild passionate love all over the house, starting in the lobby, then in the living room (the couch gave opportunity for interesting sexual positions), the bathroom (they both needed a shower), the kitchen (while Heather was preparing them a snack) and they ended the evening in the bedroom. Tom could not remember how many times they had made love, nor how many orgasms each had had, but no doubt they had fucked each other's brain to the point of exhaustion when they had fallen asleep on her bed.

And now he was wide-awake in the middle of the night. An alarm clock by the bed was flashing 2am, that is 9am his standard time -- thank you dear jetlag. He was lying in comfortable red satin bed sheets, on his side and Heather was curled up against him, her back on his chest. He breathed in and smelled the light fruity perfume of his lover. She was using his left arm as a pillow and was breathing softly, fast asleep. In the dim light of the middle of the night, Tom could distinguish her red hair and her lovely body beneath the satin sheet. Tom caressed Heather's side softly. She reacted with a deep sigh and curled deeper against him, rubbing her butt against his crotch.

He pressed a kiss in her neck while his fingers trailed up her side, along her arm, to her shoulder, then down her bust to her generous chest. He caressed her breast and felt her nipples harden under his touch. Heather's breathing was not so calm anymore, and although she was still half asleep, she was clearly getting aroused from being awakened in such a pleasant way. When Tom started rolling her nipple between his fingers, she could not repress a soft moan. 

Tom was finding this situation very exciting. He felt Heather's hand join his and follow his every move. And when he let his hand glide down from her breast to her belly, she did not oppose any resistance. On the contrary, it felt as if she was pushing his hand further down to her mound of Venus. He could not tell whether Heather was still half asleep and dreaming of her prince charming, or if she just wanted to make the best of that moment, and he did not care. What he wanted was to give her a moment of sheer pleasure.

As his fingers were grazing on her pubis, Heather parted her thighs slightly and her hand guided his downwards. He caressed her labia -- they were soft, warm and dripping wet. The more he caressed, the more she moaned, and the more she pressed her hand on top of his. He parted her lips and exposed her hard love button to his touch. He played with it, rolled it under the flesh of his index finger. But her hand was pushing him further down and Tom let his middle finger penetrate her intimacy, slowly and deep, his palm resting on her clitoris.

Heather gasped, and as Tom's finger moved slowly in and out of her pussy, her breathing shortened, her moans became small cries. Her hand was pressing softly on his, giving him the rhythm that was making her reach a deep and sensual orgasm. Her hips were rocking slowly to that rhythm, making her bum rub against his fully grown hardness. Suddenly her whole body tensed, Heather's mouth was open, trying to scream her pleasure, but no air was passing through and no sound either. Tom's finger continued slowly moving in and out, until Heather grabbed his hand to make him stop. 

Once her orgasm had receded, she grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to her face and started licking her juices off Tom's fingers. And even though he was not fingering her anymore, she was still rocking her hips slowly, rubbing her bum against Tom's hardness. Doing so, she tilted her hips invitingly. Tom tilted his hips too so as to guide his shaft to Heather's love tunnel and then slowly penetrated her. Her intimacy was warm, wet, her velvety walls were caressing his shaft, her muscles were squeezing his hardness at a slow pumping pace. Both moaned softly, slowly making love was bringing intense sensations. Tom's mouth bit softly on her shoulder when he felt his pleasure overcome his control. Heather felt warm jets of semen flood deep within her and let herself overcome by pleasure.

They remained in that position for a long while, cuddling tenderly, intoxicated by the pleasure they had just shared. They soon fell back to sleep with a smile on their faces.

As to how they woke up in the morning, it's another story -- but Heather had bragged about her fondness for morning sex when they were chatting, so there's a lot to tell on that subject.



Jet Lagged in Japan



Jet lag can be a killer but it can also be a giver. If John McClane hadn't been fighting his jet lag in the corporate bathroom, he would have been rounded up with the others and the Die Hard franchise would have been snuffed at birth. Yippee-Ki-Yay mother hubbard!

I'd been burning the candle not at both ends but burning it twice as fast on the work end. No work/life balance and spending another late night at the office the day before the red eye to Tokio. The saving grace being I would arrive on a Sunday and get a night's sleep before my day with prospective clients.

Comfortable flight, but again I'm on my laptop for most of it so not topping up my sleep tank and by touchdown I've slept six hours in the last 48. Not good. Check-in is a blur at the hotel and no sooner in the key in the door than the sheets are back off the bed and I'm enveloped in Japanese linen which smothers me into unconsciousness.

As a result, I oversleep and when my bleary eyes focus on the clock, there's less than an hour before I'm due in an office ten blocks away. I ring down to reception to ask for a taxi and there's nothing to be had for another hour. With the sublime politeness that the Japanese have, the receptionist asks me where I'm trying to get to and then tells me that a super efficient public bus service will leave in twenty minutes from outside the hotel and stops within five minutes of my destination.

A hurried shower and as few clothes as I can get away with the combat the heat and the potential running around I'll have to do and I'm barrelling out of the hotel doors and joining a queue clambering through the rear doors to board a spotlessly clean bus.

It's only after the doors close and we set off that I realise that every other person on this bus is in a uniform. At least they're all of a reasonably mature age and I won't have to endure erupting acne or the tinny zizz of badly insulated headphones.

Instead, this group were texting and smart phone surfing their social media fingers off. I was on the wrong bus. In my overslept haste I had jumped on the wrong bus. This one was, according to the signs, on a bus bound for Tokio university.

I hadn't managed to get a seat so I slumped against a pole to do my own smart phone surfing. Not for social media but for a map to see where I was going and then to send an email to my hosts, begging their forgiveness, patience and hoping that this was not the sort of dishonour that would cause anyone to lose face. Or any other bodily part.

Now that I knew that I was heading further and further away from my destination, and that this bus didn't stop again before it got there in over an hour's time, I called base (forgetting the time difference) and shared my shame. All in all, it seemed best to re-schedule the whole day's worth of meetings for tomorrow and start again.

Today was my own and I could do as I pleased so I decided to explore wherever it was that I got to before trying to find a taxi that could take me to back to the city centre and preferably to some sort of baths or spa where I could steam out my frustrations and get a pummelingly good massage.

Once I had hung up, the young student nearest me turned her beautiful Asian face to my chest and asked if I was alright. Her English was faultless, albeit with an American dialect. Certainly better than my Japanese, which was non-existent.

So I explained my mistake and cause and my companion made all the giggles, smiles and blushes that you would expect from an excruciatingly polite and shy Asian damsel. Being the best part of a foot taller than her, in order to be heard she moved closer. And with the aforementioned height difference, that put her head just below my jaw and in order to maintain eye contact, I was obliged to look down and as a result look down the gap in her browse to enjoy the sight of pink lace wrapped jiggly womanliness. The jiggliness coming courtesy of the bus' suspension, despite the pool table smooth tarmac.

Now that the ice was broken and the distance between us closed, we continued to speak and share life stories and dreams of what she hoped to do after graduation and what I wanted to do next in my career. She was delightful company and being in higher education, her conversation was informed and topical.

As I became engrossed in our chat, my Neanderthal brain was soaking up her appearance. About 5'2" as I said but at a guess, I'd say size 8 and a generous 34B. She was dressed, as I mentioned in a blouse, which happened to be crisp white to the point of appearing starched with too many buttons undone to be decorous. Neanderthal man was grateful for the high humidity in Tokio for that. And below the waist was a pleated, plaid skirt. Although clearly having left school some years ago and above the age of consent, she had opted for the schoolgirl look, complete with knee high socks and Mary Jane pumps. Neanderthal man was grateful was odd Oriental predilections.

As smooth as the tarmac was and as efficient as the bus' suspension was, there was undoubtedly forces at work that were determined to rub a twenty-something's nubile body up against mine. This made it very hard. Hard to concentrate on our conversation and hard to conceal just how hard all of this was making me. 

This was embarrassing enough but in my pursuit of combating the humidity, I had sacrificed any form of underwear and the fabric of my trousers was closer to a lightweight linen than a sturdy worsted. As a result, blood engorged flesh snaked down the leg of my trousers and made a distinct manprint.

A manprint that stoked its length against the thigh of my travelling companion and drew pleasure from the encounter. Subconsciously or not, this self same companion continued to rub herself against me and if I'm not mistaken, she was actually spreading those thighs so that the throbbing, rubbing trouser snake was clamped against her skirt and jammed into the apex.

With a flutter of dark, dewy eyes my companion looked up at me and bit her lower lip in a way words can't describe but which will be imprinted in my memories until the day I die. Or Alzheimer's robs me of my faculties. Her tiny hand, with perfectly manicured fingers, timidly touched my chest and those nails seem to scratch the cotton of my shirt and my skin beneath tingles and yearns for more.

I clench and unclench my palms, unsure what to do. We're surrounded by other passengers. If I've read the signs wrong, she screams and I get arrested. After that comes a whole world of pain that at best includes deportation. So I continue to talk about what I hope to do with my extra day off and to ask her what there might be at our destination for me to enjoy.

With the look I can't describe in words, she looks at me again. Or rather, straight through me into my soul. She then asks if I need to wait until I get off the bus before I enjoy myself. Do I not enjoy myself in her company? And as she speaks, her hand runs down my shirt and into my lap. There's no mistaking her intent as her fingers encircle my almost fully formed erection and stroke it up and down.

My mouth opens and closes, but no words emerge. I succumb to the sensations and a fully fledged erection swells and fills her hand. Finally, I confess that I am enjoying our time together immensely. In fact, if she's not careful, my enjoyment will climax unceremoniously. As I say the words, I hope that her English will understand the double meaning of my words.

In response, I get the look again and you squeeze closer. Under the cover of my jacket, your hand deftly slides down the zipper of my trousers and reaches inside. When she is wrist deep inside, her hand retraces its grip around my shaft and pulls it to the open fly where she pulls it free.

Her eyes moisten and dilate with desire as she looks at me again and she bites her lip more deeply until I fear that she will draw blood. They remain fixed as she jostles and manoeuvres herself. I am puzzled at first but then I feel fabric against the tip of my penis and those eyes now glint with more mischief.

It now becomes clear what her re-position was intended to achieve. Her skirt drapes over her busy hand which conceals her actions and it would seem that she is rubbing her swollen sex with mine, through the cotton of her panties. My mushroomed crown presses into the creased folds of her labia. The sensation drives me crazy and I start to buck my hips against her until I remember we're on a crowded bus and restrain myself.

My Asian princess then moves up on tiptoe and places the softest and most fragrant kiss I can recall upon my lips. Then another. And another. And each lasts longer than its predecessor until there is no gap between each and they melt into a passionate onslaught on my senses and desires.

Whilst enraptured in her kiss, her nimble fingers slide down and pull on the waist band of her panties. I feel the band strum against my erection and then I am pressed against warm flesh. She resumes rubbing me against her, her against me but now there is nothing, not a single scrap of material, linen, cotton or nylon between me and full penetration. Not a thing, not even the confining latex of a condom.

The sudden realisation of the situation overwhelms me and my knees briefly buckle until I recover. The movement of recovery makes me thrust up against her. A tiny gasp bursts from her lips as her keep is breached. This is madness, sweet intoxicating madness. A girl at least ten years my junior, in a foreign country, whose name I don't know, whom I met ten minutes ago, dressed as a college girl, studying for her masters in political science is about to commit the most intimate of personal and tender acts with me. I am one inch out of eight towards being balls deep in her.

Neanderthal man speaks. Not with words but with actions and grips her hips before slamming up and deep, lifting her off of her feet for fractions of a second but on her descent the final penetration is complete and her shaved (who knew?) groin is pressed against mine. Any pretence of normality is gone and I thrust back and forth, now our union sings with slap after slap of flesh on flesh, punctuated by the gasp and moan of her pleasure.

Jet lag. Ninety nine times out of a hundred it'll rip your face off and spit in the sockets but today jet lag was fated to deliver me to this moment. This perfect moment. Bruce Willis gets to shoot bad guys and blow stuff up, I get to pound my cock through the youngest woman I've had in over ten years.

Reality bursts back and I feel exposed when my Asian princess (when would be the appropriate time to ask her name?) moves away and un-sheathes herself from me. She steps down and turns around, pushing her panties all the way off and stepping out of them. She backs up to me and lifts her skirt, making a new revelation as I see her peachy cheeks for the first time.

And then they're gone again, covered my her skirt as the distance is closed and her velvet gloved pussy admits my steely cock again and those cheeks part and envelope me. Pleasure is restored and we move to make our lovemaking into sounds. Slap, slap, slap, gasp, moan, grunt. On and on with a vigour and stamina I have not felt in years.

My hands reach under her to pull the blouse from her skirt and admit access to what lies beneath. Across her smooth stomach, encountering a small stud in her navel (again, who knew?) until I can pull at the flimsy edges of her bra. It's a front fastener so it soon yields to my command and delivers its warm, fleshy contents to my eager palms.

This stirs something in my companion and I can feel her pelvic muscles ripple and wriggle around me. A sensation I have never known as I am expertly and deftly milked and squeezed. In response, I cup each breast and caress each nipple as I bring them to proud attention, the areolae around each engorging and stiffening in plump arousal.

Once more, I feel exposed as she ends our union to step away. She turns and kisses me again. I drown in the intoxication of the moment as we explore each other's mouths. I break momentarily to ask her name. I can't continue with such anonymity during such an intimate act.

She tells me that her name is Akira and I tell her that my name is Jim. And then she bends in front of me, on her knees and licks my cock. It glistens with the sweet musk of her fluids and she savours each lick and suck and swallows whole. Her nose presses to my groin and her tongue laps at me inside her mouth.

She lubricates the act with her spittle and soon I'm gliding back and forth through a heaven seldom known. Her throat offers brief resistance and it feels as I am actually fucking her face. I have lost track of time and have no idea how much longer until we reach our destination. Which personally speaking, I am all too likely to reach of a more climatic nature soon.

Lust filled eyes lookup at me as she senses a straining and stiffening in my actions. It takes every sinew of self control not to explode in rapture when she mumbles a query (she is talking with her mouth full after all) to enquire if I want to cum in her mouth or inside her.

In response and conscious of the fact that we're nearly there, I pull her to her feet. She rests her head on my chest and then, in a move a gymnast would envy raises her left leg to grab her ankle and rest it on my shoulder before reaching down to guide my wet, eager, hair-trigger penis back to her labia and to enter sweet nirvana again. Hands grasped on her buttocks and I slam home.

We kiss again and she whispers in my ear to cum inside her now. I submit and comply. This unusual position tautened and tightened her muscles around and within her sex and once more her muscle control rippled and gripped me tightly and expertly squeezed me until sweet ecstasy of ecstasies, I unloaded.

But this was no ordinary ejaculate. My toes curled, my ears sang, my blood pulsed, my senses heightened and I pumped. And pumped. And pumped. And pumped. I kept pumping and discharging my seed into Akira. No thought for precautions or impregnations, only the symphony and desire of the moment.

She bit into my shoulder and whimpered her appreciation of the deed, sighing and moaning with what I now realise was her own orgasm. Panting gave way to deep breaths, gave way to regular breathing and she brought her leg back down again. We kissed once more and she buttoned her blouse back and I slipped my withering manhood back within my trousers.

In bending to retrieve her panties, her peachy cheeks were exposed again and I groaned inwardly at the sight and the memories it brought back already. Before I could raise my zipper she stuffed her panties into my fly and patted them. Saying that she wanted me to have something to remember her by.

There was no way I would not remember this day and the pleasures it had brought. I took a card from my pocket and slipped it into the fabric of her freshly re-clasped bra. I told her that I was staying at the Hilton and I would be delighted to see her again and spend some time together in a more conventional way.

With a huge laboured hiss, the bus pulled to a halt and the passengers threaded out and onto the pavement. Feeling slightly foolish now because she didn't respond and made no indication of what we had just experienced. In fact, she joined her friends (I assume) and they walked across the concourse.

But just as she was almost out of my eye line, she turned to blow me a kiss and flipped up the back of her skirt to expose those peachy cheeks again. Then she signed the universal gestures for I'll call you, and disappeared.

Thoughts of exploring this unfamiliar place went out of my head. I needed a drink and a seat to take the weight off. I was working through my third Asahi beer when my cell phone chirped.

"Please don't rush off, my lectures end at 4 and I would like to travel again on the bus with you. It was very much fun!! Aki xx"

O God, how could I not accept the prospect of time with her again. But that's another story.



Jet Lagged - The Morning After



When Heather woke up, she felt the warmth of her lover's body snuggled in her back. Her French doctor had flown from France the day before, and they had made the best of their time together. As far back as she was reaching in her memory, Heather did not remember making so much love in so little time. And when she thought her lover was as worn out as she was, he'd slowly and most sensually made love to her in the middle of the night. She'd lost count of the number of orgasms that had swept her off, and her lover had never failed to cum with her.

And now, in the morning light, she wanted more, she wanted to be playful and she wanted to make the most of the little time she had left with her Internet lover. She rolled over to look at him, that stirred him a little in his sleep and he ended on his back, his large arms above his head. She eyed him for a while. He was not Mr Universe, but he was square built and tall, his chest just hairy enough. The red satin bed sheet was up to his hips, but did not hide the morning glory he was sporting right now. She grinned. Tom was hers and she'd take advantage of him in the dim morning light.

Heather grabbed one the of scarves they had been playfully using the night before as blindfolds and tied it around Tom's wrists and to the bedhead. Her lover was still fast asleep and did not fight against her. She then leant on her side next to him and let her fingers trail around his body: on his face first, down his neck, on his chest, playing with his hardening nipples, then down his belly and further down underneath the bed sheets. Her hand was attracted to the shaft that made a tent with the satin material. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, squeezing slightly as she started a slow up and down movement.

Tom moaned softly. And as he tried to move, he worked out in his half sleep that he could not. Heather's smile grew even wider. Her hand pushed the bed sheet away and moved down Tom's body. Her face was level to his crotch. His cock was bobbing in excitement in front of her eyes. She was petting it softly, along its length, from its red bulging head down to his balls, then back up again. She saw a drop of precum pearling and could not fight the desire to lick it off with the tip of her tongue. He tasted slightly salty, she loved it and wanted more. She wrapped her lips around his cock head and started sucking softly at first. As she was rewarded by increasingly loud moans, she sucked harder, nibbling, licking and taking more and more of him in her mouth. She felt his whole body tense and then jets of warm cream fill her mouth. Heather kept sucking and savouring every drop of cum that was pouring down her throat. She was enjoying it so much she had barely heard Tom scream her name as he came in her mouth.

When she lifted her head, she saw Tom staring down at her. His eyes clouded with the intensity of the orgasm he had just lived. Heather smiled at him, licking the last drops of cum off her lips. Then she moved up and purred in his ear "now that you are wide awake, it's time to return the pleasure". She then straddled his face, grabbing his hair and pulled his head between her thighs till his mouth was pressed on her dripping pussy. She felt his warm lips kiss her labia, and then his tongue parting her them till it penetrated her. She rocked her hips to feel him tongue her deeper. Sucking him had gotten her so aroused; she knew she would reach a shattering orgasm within seconds. She could feel her juices pouring down on Tom's face and in his mouth. Her fingers grasped harder on his hair and she suddenly exploded, screaming her head off, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Tom kept licking her swollen lips while she was slowly coming back to reality. Each tongue stroke making her moan softly. She slid down his body and pressed her mouth on Tom's, kissing him passionately. Their tongues danced together wildly, both their juices mixing with their salivas in a tasty and thrilling cocktail. The more they kissed, the more Heather could feel Tom's hardness coming back to life and she rubbed her slit firmly on his shaft. She was aching to feel his hands on her body, but she was enjoying it too much to have him hers.

Heather sat up, placing her hands on Tom's chest, playing with his nipples, as she rubbed harder on Tom's shaft. She was staring in his eyes, both softly moaning. She moved her hips and felt his burning head at her entry. Then with a swift move, she pushed him deep in her intimacy. She felt every vein around his shaft as it stretched her wide. Tom helped, rocking his hips to penetrate her deeper. Slowly they found a rhythm, and Heather rode Tom in a wild cavalcade. Tom was aching to touch her body, to press his mouth on her body, on her mouth, but was still cuffed to the bedhead. The frustration somewhat made his pleasure even more intense, just as much as the pleasure to control her lover was making Heather's pleasure even more intense.

Heather slowed down and then came to a halt. She stared at her lover, murmuring soft words at Tom while playing with her pelvis around Tom's shaft. She could read the pleasure she was giving her lover on his face. Then as she felt he was about to cum, she started her wild cavalcade again, slamming herself down on him, till both of them came together this time. His warm juices were burning her insides, her warm juices were flowing down on his pubis. She kept riding him till both of them could not handle it anymore, and then fell on top of him.

She wrapped herself around him, keeping him inside her. Hugging and huddling on his chest. Both went back to sleep, enjoying the surge of pleasure hormones in their veins and in their brains, only to wake up when the sun was high up in the sky.