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Foxy Lady
Star
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2014
- Location
- United Kingdom
There came a time when I’d tried everything and wanted to try something new. We’re talking sex here, as you must have guessed. For some this time may take years to come, decades even. My grandmother told me that it happened to her when she turned 60. Until then, she had only been with one man, as she put it, her husband, but suddenly, when they were having her annual birthday fuck, she realised that she had no idea what being with another man was like or whether her husband was any good at fucking her. She didn’t say ‘fuck’, but we both knew what she meant. Anyway, she slept around a lot after that, and said she didn’t regret anything except the discovery that her husband’s performance was only just about average, which made her realise how much pleasure she had deprived herself of over the past 43 years.
Well for me the time came a lot sooner. I was 23 and newly qualified as a lawyer, not that that had any connection with the timing. It was just that at that time I had pretty much tried everything I had heard of or thought about, so I set about searching the web for something I hadn’t tried before. And suddenly, half way down the second page of results, it jumped out at me.
Sex with a stranger. Nothing new about that, but the way it was done was very different. The organiser arranged a date and place, always a large hotel where the participants could blend in with the other guests and probably not bump into each other either. When you checked in, you were given a mask and an envelope with the rules for the evening. The mask was so that you could remain anonymous, at least until you both agreed to take them off. What the rules were you would only know when you arrived.
My rules were very simple. Have a shower and put on the hotel robe. What else you wear, if anything, is up to you. You will be collected and taken to the room where your randomly selected partner is waiting – male or female unspecified, I noticed. You will both wear masks and your escort will disclose to both you which part of the body you must begin with. Where you go from there is a matter for mutual consent. There is only one thing that is forbidden – no talking. Secrecy is guaranteed. Who knows, the rules ended enigmatically, you may have been allocated to someone you know. What, I muttered, were the chances of that?
I was ready when the knock came at the door and my escort entered. I was wrapped in my robe and, after a lot of thought, had decided to wear a silver string as a small, very small, concession to modesty. She took me in the lift up several floors and along to a room where the door stood ajar. I pulled on my mask and she led me into the room and across to the bed. I imagined my partner for the evening waiting quietly as I did for the word that would tell us where to start.
‘Nipples,’ she said softly.
Fuck. There is no way the organisers could have known, but nipples are so my thing. Always have been, right from the start, from the moment of my sexual awakening. From my own gentle and then not so gentle exploration in the privacy of my bed, to leading boys’ hands and lips to them, and soon, very soon, men’s, encouraging them to play with them and torment me, letting them know what pleasures would await them when their attentions had had their full effect.
I almost flooded on the spot, but I knew that would spoil the experience. Just jumping on a guy wasn’t anything new for me, I’d done it loads of times, sometimes at the most inappropriate moments, and with the most inappropriate partners. So I chewed my lip and reached out. My first touch answered my first question – it was a man, not a woman - unless it was a woman with a mat of thick hair on her stomach.
And that hair, another massive turn on. A sure sign of virility, that’s been my experience. I’ve not had a really good experience with hairless men. I slipped off my robe and settled on the edge of the bed, my hip pressing against his, as my fingers rummaged through his thatch, seeking out his nipples. I found his right one first and worked on that, scratching at the small circle of bumps that surrounded it, wondering what colour they were – bright red, dark red, or my favourite brown. And then working hard on the nipple itself, feeling it stiffen and his breathing getting deeper, the more my nails dug into the tender flesh. His breath was coming faster now, as I moved over to his left side and a repeat performance there before finally dropping down to nibble and bite them. He grasped by head in his hands and pushed my mouth down, encouraging me to bite harder.
This left my hands free to explore, down his belly and along his thighs, also blissfully hairy, but carefully skirting his cock, which I was sure would be throbbing by now. Because my clit was certainly throbbing, so I pulled away from his chest and scrambled astride him, dropping my tits onto his face. He didn’t need telling what to do, just tucked right in, gnawing and chewing, only moving on when one nipple was exquisitely tender, almost more than I could take. This guy had perfect judgement.
His hands were working over me, exploring, learning my shape and following my curves, finding my string and trying to ease it over my hips, but I stopped him, as a signal to him that he had to wait until I was ready to blow. Finally my nipples felt so raw that I pulled up and sat back on his thighs, tracing the line of his hair down to his navel and beyond, until I came to the soggy mess of his pubes. His cock was slowly draining. Struck by my selfishness, I climbed off, shed the string, and mounted again, guiding his cock to my pussy, where a slight tilt of his hips guided it into my waiting cunt. I tried to ride him slowly, hoping to make it last, but he was as ready as I was and his thrusts became more urgent until I felt his cock stiffening like a rod inside me and then the hot blast of his cum as I rubbed my clit to bring on my own climax.
As I sat there, feeling the last throbs of his ejaculation, I lent forward and let my fingers wander across his chest and down his belly. And as I savoured the sensation on my finger tips, a memory came to me. I had done this before, with this man, stroked his hair as I was doing now. Slowly the memory reformed - it was long ago, on a beach, when I was still an innocent girl - and I saw his face looking up at me and smiling. I knew who he was. The man I had just aroused, who I had taken to the point where his balls were draining, who I had ridden to orgasm, and whose sperm were now swimming towards my womb, this man was my father.
Well for me the time came a lot sooner. I was 23 and newly qualified as a lawyer, not that that had any connection with the timing. It was just that at that time I had pretty much tried everything I had heard of or thought about, so I set about searching the web for something I hadn’t tried before. And suddenly, half way down the second page of results, it jumped out at me.
Sex with a stranger. Nothing new about that, but the way it was done was very different. The organiser arranged a date and place, always a large hotel where the participants could blend in with the other guests and probably not bump into each other either. When you checked in, you were given a mask and an envelope with the rules for the evening. The mask was so that you could remain anonymous, at least until you both agreed to take them off. What the rules were you would only know when you arrived.
My rules were very simple. Have a shower and put on the hotel robe. What else you wear, if anything, is up to you. You will be collected and taken to the room where your randomly selected partner is waiting – male or female unspecified, I noticed. You will both wear masks and your escort will disclose to both you which part of the body you must begin with. Where you go from there is a matter for mutual consent. There is only one thing that is forbidden – no talking. Secrecy is guaranteed. Who knows, the rules ended enigmatically, you may have been allocated to someone you know. What, I muttered, were the chances of that?
I was ready when the knock came at the door and my escort entered. I was wrapped in my robe and, after a lot of thought, had decided to wear a silver string as a small, very small, concession to modesty. She took me in the lift up several floors and along to a room where the door stood ajar. I pulled on my mask and she led me into the room and across to the bed. I imagined my partner for the evening waiting quietly as I did for the word that would tell us where to start.
‘Nipples,’ she said softly.
Fuck. There is no way the organisers could have known, but nipples are so my thing. Always have been, right from the start, from the moment of my sexual awakening. From my own gentle and then not so gentle exploration in the privacy of my bed, to leading boys’ hands and lips to them, and soon, very soon, men’s, encouraging them to play with them and torment me, letting them know what pleasures would await them when their attentions had had their full effect.
I almost flooded on the spot, but I knew that would spoil the experience. Just jumping on a guy wasn’t anything new for me, I’d done it loads of times, sometimes at the most inappropriate moments, and with the most inappropriate partners. So I chewed my lip and reached out. My first touch answered my first question – it was a man, not a woman - unless it was a woman with a mat of thick hair on her stomach.
And that hair, another massive turn on. A sure sign of virility, that’s been my experience. I’ve not had a really good experience with hairless men. I slipped off my robe and settled on the edge of the bed, my hip pressing against his, as my fingers rummaged through his thatch, seeking out his nipples. I found his right one first and worked on that, scratching at the small circle of bumps that surrounded it, wondering what colour they were – bright red, dark red, or my favourite brown. And then working hard on the nipple itself, feeling it stiffen and his breathing getting deeper, the more my nails dug into the tender flesh. His breath was coming faster now, as I moved over to his left side and a repeat performance there before finally dropping down to nibble and bite them. He grasped by head in his hands and pushed my mouth down, encouraging me to bite harder.
This left my hands free to explore, down his belly and along his thighs, also blissfully hairy, but carefully skirting his cock, which I was sure would be throbbing by now. Because my clit was certainly throbbing, so I pulled away from his chest and scrambled astride him, dropping my tits onto his face. He didn’t need telling what to do, just tucked right in, gnawing and chewing, only moving on when one nipple was exquisitely tender, almost more than I could take. This guy had perfect judgement.
His hands were working over me, exploring, learning my shape and following my curves, finding my string and trying to ease it over my hips, but I stopped him, as a signal to him that he had to wait until I was ready to blow. Finally my nipples felt so raw that I pulled up and sat back on his thighs, tracing the line of his hair down to his navel and beyond, until I came to the soggy mess of his pubes. His cock was slowly draining. Struck by my selfishness, I climbed off, shed the string, and mounted again, guiding his cock to my pussy, where a slight tilt of his hips guided it into my waiting cunt. I tried to ride him slowly, hoping to make it last, but he was as ready as I was and his thrusts became more urgent until I felt his cock stiffening like a rod inside me and then the hot blast of his cum as I rubbed my clit to bring on my own climax.
As I sat there, feeling the last throbs of his ejaculation, I lent forward and let my fingers wander across his chest and down his belly. And as I savoured the sensation on my finger tips, a memory came to me. I had done this before, with this man, stroked his hair as I was doing now. Slowly the memory reformed - it was long ago, on a beach, when I was still an innocent girl - and I saw his face looking up at me and smiling. I knew who he was. The man I had just aroused, who I had taken to the point where his balls were draining, who I had ridden to orgasm, and whose sperm were now swimming towards my womb, this man was my father.