Simply Sara
by Robin Pentecost
This story is � 2004 by Robin Pentecost and may not be excerpted, reprinted, reproduced, or reposted in any form without the express written consent of the author. Visitors to this web site may read or temporarily download chapters but are not permitted to modify or re-distribute them. Please address requests or comments to [email protected].
The story contains sexual activities and situations that are to be read only by readers above the legal age of consent. The story is not to be read in locations where such stories are illegal. If you are not of legal age, or live in the wrong place, please exit this site immediately.
Chapter 2
When she got home, Sara flung off her clothes, only stopping a moment to hang up her suit. Hose, panties, blouse, camisole went in a ball into the hamper. Naked, she threw herself on the bed, her legs spread wide, as if the cool air could cool her desire.
She lay on her big, king-size bed with her head at the foot, a frequent choice when she wanted to masturbate. At the head of the bed, a wide mirror tilted out from the wall to give her a good view of what she and her lovers were up to.
She looked at her body. Full breasts, hanging naturally beneath broad shoulders. Nipples that normally stood a half inch from the flesh of her deep pink aureoles. Flat stomach and narrow waist. Good hips and chestnut brown hair at the junction of her thighs. Long legs she could only, even being a little humble, describe as fantastic. She spread her thighs and looked at her sex. The brown hair, luxuriant at the base of her belly, was sparse between her thighs and the lips shone pink and moist through the light covering of fuzz. She flexed her muscles, and saw how her mound shrugged. In the mirror, she watched herself dip her fingers into her moist folds.
When her fingers were wet, Sara started to work on her clitoris. She began to rub and caress the little bit of sensitive flesh, feeling the sensation inside her build with each touch. Slowly at first, she smeared the juices around. Then, she slid her fingers down the length of her pussy, letting the tips enter her vagina, and began rubbing the length of her slit. The feeling of frantic desire built higher inside her. Slowly, then faster, she rubbed, pushing her hips up to increase the pleasure, watching herself in the mirror. Almost before she knew what was happening, she came, her orgasm making her gasp, her hips twitching and bouncing. As the bursting feeling subsided, she slumped back on the bed.
“Shit,’ she murmured, “that hardly helped at all. I´m still hot as a firecracker.’
Sara thought about going for a second orgasm, but went to take a shower instead. She felt much better for the exercise, but there was still a lot of sexual tension. She kept the water cool as she soaped her full breasts and spent just a moment or two extra on her crotch, trying to make the fragrant soap and water mixture replace the musky scent of her sex. She often did that, rarely succeeded. She was simply a woman who smelled of sex. All the time.
‘God, I wish I weren´t like this,´ she thought, ‘All it gets me is hot pants and trouble.´ She knew that this evening she would end up in bed with Steve Calvin, and she looked forward to the release it would bring, but dreaded her feelings of guilt tomorrow.
Back in the bedroom, she looked through her drawers, finding loose, lacy, dark brown tap pants and a pair of thigh-high stockings with a sexy design up the side. The brown gabardine skirt was tight across her flat stomach and round buttocks, but long, reaching almost to the floor. The left-hand seam, however, was open to the waist-band with buttons spaced along the edge. She fastened only the waist and one other button so that, when she sat on the bed, her leg was visible to the top of her stocking. Between the button and the stocking was a glimpse of lace almost the same color as the skirt. Not obvious, just sexy as hell.
She sat there for a moment, still naked to the waist, looking at her reflection in the mirror at the head of the bed. She lay back across the bed again, watching her breasts spread slightly on her chest. Her finger caressed her nipples, making them harder and more rigid.
.oOo.
Not long after she had her first period, Sara decided to find out about sex. She was a pretty girl, leggy, with breasts that already showed the promise of fullness. Her only problem was finding a partner. The boys in her grade didn´t seem to be interested.
By the time she was 15, however, she found that older boys were indeed interested. Accordingly, one afternoon when her mother wasn´t home, Sara brought one home. They took off their clothes and he stuck his penis into her. After he had moved it in and out a while, he came, got up, dressed and left.
Sara knew from reading her mother´s slightly trashy novels that there was more to sex than that. She began to study the subject a little and found out about masturbation. She tried that, and got good at it quickly. It was fun. She did it a lot. Some of her girlfriends did it, too. When she told them about screwing the boy, they all wanted to try it, but Sara warned them that there wasn´t much to it.
One of her girlfriends come back from a date and said that fucking was wonderful. Sara figured she must have missed something, so she got hold of the boy who had pleased her girlfriend and took his pants off for him. This time, whether because of the masturbation or because of the boy, she came. That changed the whole picture. Sex was suddenly a whole new ball game. She did it a lot, at least until her mother found out.
Mom gave her a licking, and a lecture and the pill. She got more lectures and plenty of grief, but she didn´t stop having sex. Mom made it clear that sex was dangerous, unwise, and maybe Wrong. Mom wasn´t heavy on religion, but she knew Right from Wrong. Certainly sex was Wrong without a marriage certificate, because marriage meant you wouldn´t get screwed financially. Her lectures to Sara took their toll, and by the time she was in high school, Sara was worried about her strong sex drives. Few of her friends liked it as much as she did, and all in all, she began to get the feeling that there was something wrong with her.
In high school, Sara was taller than average. She began looking for a personal style – she didn´t want to look like all the other girls. Her mother had bought her bras as soon as she had started to grow breasts, but Sara found them uncomfortable and stopped wearing them. Her nipples were always rather prominent, so she usually wore an undershirt and finally found that camisoles did the trick, keeping her warm in winter as well as keeping her nipples and breasts from being too obvious. She cut her heavy, glossy chestnut hair short so she could dry it quickly and didn´t have to fuss with it. It saved time, especially when she wanted a shower after a hot session in bed.
In her junior year in high school, one of the guys she slept with told some other guys, and all of a sudden she had a reputation as an easy lay. Of course, it was true, and she lived up to it. It didn´t take a lot to get into Sara´s pants because she loved sex. But she didn´t like the reputation and the way people treated her as a result. And, it worried her that she needed it so badly, especially since everyone else thought it was wrong just to do it, much less to like it.
In her senior year at high school, she cut them all off. It wasn´t easy, and she had to clobber a couple of the more persistent boys. But, she made her decision stick. She wasn´t anyone´s easy lay any more. For the first few months she nearly went mad with frustration, and masturbation really didn´t make up for the real thing. Then, she found a boy who could keep his mouth shut. She kept him very busy, but she did miss the variety.
At college, Sara decided to study Hotel Management. She was smart and quick, worked hard and got top marks. She also managed to find several men who didn´t need to brag about sex, and she slept with them all as often as possible. There was hardly a day that she didn´t have a man in her mouth or between her legs. And quite often, she didn´t have to limit herself to one.
During this period, she began to learn about the byways of sex, as well. She made someone take her to a really serious strip joint. When they got home to his apartment, she tried to imitate one of the strippers´ shows. It turned her on and, of course, it turned her date on, too. She practiced a few strip routines for future reference. She and her lovers watched a lot of Triple-XXX tapes together. She found out they turned her on, too.
Sara read the European fashion magazines, or looked at the pictures when she couldn´t understand the words. She adopted a style that featured soft, loose shirts that covered her breasts but let them sway and bounce underneath. In summer, when she didn´t wear an undershirt, you could usually see her nipples moving beneath the fabric.
Because she was usually wet and ready, Sara had frequent bouts with yeast infections that itched like mad and required her to use medicinal goo. The goo killed the infection eventually, but was messy. Finally she discovered that if she didn´t wear panty hose, just panties, the problem seldom occurred. Later, she found a line of thigh-high stockings that stayed up without a cumbersome garter belt. Since the stockings also often had patterns or clocks, her shapely legs became quite a sight to see. When she wore long skirts, she made sure they had high slits so as not to inhibit her long stride – or her long, pretty legs. Her pants or skirts showed her firm butt, and lacking pantyhose to control them, her buttocks rotated visibly as she walked.
She sent for all the sensuous clothing catalogs, and studied Playboy and Penthouse for fashion tips. And she learned how to package her own lush body for the best effect. She could look like a nun, a whore, and everything in between as well and with a surprisingly small investment. What she had was good, and chosen so that it could look sexy or chaste.
Because Sara never wore a bra and frequently went without panties, she could have looked like a sex-bomb. But that approach didn´t seem to get her the kind of attention she wanted. So, unless she had a reason, her day-to-day college uniform was jeans or slacks and a baggy shirt or sweater that generally underplayed her full breasts, great ass and long shapely legs. She wasn´t really hiding anything, because she was always willing to take it off. But the low-key advertising seemed to pay. The quality of the guys who got in bed with her improved. They were all young and smart, and somehow the subject of long-term relationships never came up. Sara was glad of it when she thought about it at all. She wasn´t ready for the long term.
When Sara graduated, she dressed herself for success, landed a job with a good hotel chain and started climbing. She cultivated long, flowing skirts or pants. They meant she could often wear half-high stockings and nothing else beneath.
Once settled in her new city, she entertained a few new lovers, but was now looking for a partner in her trip to the top. The man she found was attractive, good in bed, a nice guy and bound for good things in the business. They married, but Sara discovered to her dismay that one man simply wasn´t enough. Her fondness for Ed was sincere, even if it wasn´t mad passion. And he certainly made love to her well and often.
But it wasn´t enough. It was all Sara could do to keep from screwing every good-looking man she met. She went to a shrink for a while, but he seemed to want to cure her of her sexual enthusiasm. She wasn´t interested in that; she wanted to be satisfied with just her husband. She stopped going to the shrink after he tried to convince her that screwing him would solve her problems. ‘It might very well have,´ Sara thought at the time, ‘and that would have been a shame.´
Meanwhile, her career kept improving. She went through all the training assignments and paid her dues on the dirty jobs and the night shifts. She got promotions and did well in her new jobs. It simply wasn´t hard for her to deal with people and pay attention to detail. And she had the right instincts and ideas.
One day Ed came home with a new job offer in another city, another company. It was a good one that he didn´t want to turn down. The problem was that Sara got a similar offer at about the same time. Different company, different city. They talked it over and it developed that Ed was about fucked out: the thrill was gone. And Sara didn´t want to be his shadow in the new job – she wanted her own success. They got a nice, quiet, civilized divorce. Sara cried at least once every day for two months. By then, she had a new apartment in a new city, her new job was under way, and she was horny.
One Friday, she put on her hunting clothes and went to a meat-market bar. She took home the first guy she met, screwed him and went back for more. The third man stayed overnight, but by lunch-time she had had another. All told, that weekend she had sex six times with five different men, at one of whom became a long-term lover. That Monday morning she woke up alone, regretted it, and wondered what was wrong with her. But, at least she wasn´t horny any more.
Over the years since, Sara had collected a reasonable stable of men who knew how to please her and didn´t expect her to be their slave. They liked to take her out – she was beautiful and dressed so that she attracted attention both to herself and her escort. And she was hell in bed. She knew how to make a man feel like the greatest stud since the Trojan Horse, and she so obviously enjoyed it that it was a pleasure to be with her in any capacity.
And, they didn´t have to know about the times Sara lay in her bed trying not to need sex, thinking about her failed marriage, her sexually perverted soul, and what was Wrong with her. She was 32 years old, a successful business woman and a sex fiend. After her marriage broke up, she had never taken the same man to bed two nights in a row, and didn´t intend to in the future.
.oOo.
And now, here she was again. About to go out with a new man. She wanted sex with him, to feel him between her legs, even though she had plenty of men here in town she knew and liked. And the guy was a customer, which could cost her her job if Jefferson found out. She shrugged her shoulders and watched her breasts move in the mirror.
She slipped her hand inside the wide leg of her tap pants and caressed herself, playing with herself until her hips thrust and bucked as she came again. She watched herself in the mirror as she masturbated and saw how her breasts bounced on her chest when her orgasm gripped her. She sniffed her fingers and smelled lightly scented soap and musky sex. It was her favorite perfume, really, and she had long ago learned she couldn´t find anything better in a bottle. She smeared both her breasts with the moisture and got up to finish dressing.
Sara pulled on a silky, white wraparound blouse and tied it behind her back. She looked in the mirror and made sure she could see the dark points of her nipples through the white fabric. Then, she adjusted the wrap so that an inch of tanned flesh showed between her skirt and the blouse. When she turned to get a light wrap, she could see the tap pants and the tops of her hose through the side of her skirt.
She left the apartment and took a cab.