OxonWoods Man

Category: Fantasy

  • Wychwood Forge’s Embrace

    In the shadowed heart of Wychwood, where ancient trees twisted skyward like the gnarled hands of forgotten gods, Francesca, moved with the silent grace of a predator. The Warrior Princess of Wychwood, a striking figure, tall and lithe, her leather skirt clinging to her hips, its ragged hem brushing her thighs as she navigated the moss-draped roots. Beneath it, leather knickers molded to her form, a practical yet intimate shield against the wilds. A brass breastplate, intricately etched with curling vines, hugged her torso, glinting faintly in the dim light that pierced the forest’s thick canopy. Her broadsword hung strapped across her back, its weight a familiar comfort as she patrolled the realm she’d sworn to protect.

    Wychwood was no ordinary forest. It thrummed with magic, its air heavy with the scent of pine, damp earth, and the faint musk of unseen creatures. The trees, their bark scarred by time, whispered secrets in a language older than humankind, their branches interlocking to form a ceiling that swallowed the sun. Here, myth and reality danced a perilous waltz, and Francesca, raised among its mysteries, knew its rhythms well. Today, the forest felt alive with restless energy, urging her deeper into its embrace.

    As she approached a clearing she often used as a vantage point, a sound snagged her attention, soft, rhythmic moans interwoven with the rustling of leaves. Her pulse quickened, curiosity warring with duty. She crept forward, her boots sinking into the loamy soil, and parted the thorny branches of a blackthorn bush. What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

    In the center of the clearing, bathed in a shaft of rare sunlight, a Woodwode and a Wood Nymph were entwined in a lover’s embrace. The Woodwode was a creature of primal majesty, his form a fusion of man and forest. His skin, rough as oak bark, rippled with muscle beneath a texture that seemed carved from the trees themselves. Leaves and twigs sprouted from his hair, a living crown that shivered with each movement, and his eyes burned with an emerald fire, ancient and untamed. He towered over the nymph, his hands, large, calloused, yet gentle, cradling her as though she were both treasure and tempest.

    The Wood Nymph was his ethereal counterpoint, a vision of otherworldly grace. Her skin shimmered with a soft, pearlescent glow, as if lit from within by moonlight trapped beneath her flesh. Her hair cascaded in waves of vibrant color, violet petals fading to golden blooms, then wilting to crimson before blooming anew, a cycle of life mirroring her every breath. Slender and supple, she moved with a fluidity that defied mortal constraints, her eyes closed in rapture as she surrendered to the Woodwode’s touch.

    Their union was a dance of nature, raw and reverent. The Woodwode knelt in the moss, his knees sinking into the earth as he drew the nymph into his lap. She straddled him, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands tracing the ridges of his bark-like chest. He entered her with a slow, deliberate thrust, and her head tipped back, a cascade of flowers spilling from her hair to scatter across the ground. Her moan was a melody, high and keening, blending with the low, resonant groan that rumbled from his throat.

    Francesca watched, rooted to the spot, her heart pounding against her ribs. The air grew thick with the scent of sap and crushed petals, mingling with the musk of their arousal. The Woodwode’s hands roamed the nymph’s body, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing nipples that glowed like tiny stars, then sliding down to grip her hips. She rocked against him, her movements fluid yet urgent, each thrust met with a counterpoint that spoke of deep, instinctual harmony. His cock, thick and veined like a tree root, glistened as it plunged into her, her slickness catching the light in fleeting, iridescent flashes.

    Heat bloomed in Francesca’s core, an ache that spread like wildfire through her veins. She shifted, her thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, and her hand slipped beneath the leather, finding the damp within her knickers. Her fingers brushed her clit, tentative at first, then bolder, circling in time with the couple’s rhythm. She bit her lip, stifling a gasp as she imagined herself in the nymph’s place, the Woodwode’s rough hands on her skin, his cock filling her with that same relentless force. The fantasy sent a shiver racing down her spine, her breath hitching as pleasure coiled tighter within her.

    The Woodwode quickened his pace, his thrusts growing deeper, more insistent. The nymph’s cries sharpened, her body arching as she clawed at his shoulders, leaving trails of sap where her nails dug in. Flowers burst from her hair in a riot of color, petals raining down to carpet the moss. Francesca’s fingers moved faster, her arousal soaking her fingers, but the sensation remained frustratingly hollow. She pressed harder, chasing release, yet the sight before her demanded more than her own touch could provide.

    In the clearing, the lovers neared their peak. The Woodwode’s hands tightened on the nymph’s hips, lifting her slightly before slamming her down onto him, his growl reverberating through the trees. She screamed, a sound of pure ecstasy, her body convulsing as her climax claimed her. Flowers withered and bloomed in rapid succession, a storm of petals swirling around them. He followed moments later, his head thrown back, leaves trembling as he roared his release, his cock pulsing deep inside her. They stilled, locked together, their breaths ragged in the sudden silence, the forest seeming to hold its breath in awe.

    Francesca withdrew her hand, trembling, her body taut with unspent desire. The ache within her was a living thing, gnawing at her resolve. She needed more, something real, something visceral. Adjusting her knickers, she stood, casting one last glance at the lovers as they collapsed into the moss, entwined and sated. Her destination crystallized in her mind: Sir Richard’s workshop. He alone could quench the fire they’d ignited.

    She turned from the clearing, her boots crunching leaves as she forged a path toward the canal. The forest grew denser here, shadows lengthening as the canopy thickened, but her senses remained sharp. As she neared the stone bridge spanning the waterway, a cluster of guttural voices halted her steps. She ducked behind a twisted yew, peering out to see a gang of trolls huddled near the water’s edge.

    They were a brutish lot, five in number, their warty skin glistening with slime, yellowed tusks protruding from sneering mouths. Their eyes glinted with malice, and their hands clutched crude weapons: a rusted axe, a splintered club, a length of chain. Francesca strained to catch their words, her grip tightening on her sword’s hilt.

    “Tonight’s the night,” one growled, his voice like gravel underfoot. “We hit the smith’s place. Take his brass, his tools, take everything.”

    Another chuckled, a sound that grated like stone on stone. “He’s alone, no match for us. We’ll gut him if he squeals.”

    Rage flared in Francesca’s chest, hot and bright. Sir Richard was more than a craftsman; he was a guardian of Wychwood’s spirit, his forge a beacon of safety. She wouldn’t let these filth defile it. Drawing her broadsword with a whisper of steel, she stepped into view, her stance radiating menace.

    The trolls whirled, surprise morphing into snarls. “Who’re you?” the leader barked, hefting his axe.

    “Your reckoning,” Francesca said, her voice ice-cold. “Leave now, or I’ll make you wish you had.”

    They laughed, a cacophony of derision. “Five against one, girlie,” the chain-wielder sneered. “You’re dead meat.”

    Her lips curled into a feral smile. “Prove it.”

    She lunged, blade flashing as the trolls charged. The leader swung his axe, but she ducked, the weapon whistling over her head. She drove her sword’s pommel into his gut, doubling him over, then spun to parry the club aimed at her skull. The impact jarred her arms, but she pivoted, slashing the flat of her blade across the troll’s temple. He crumpled, out cold.

    The chain-wielder lashed out, the links whistling toward her legs. She leapt, the chain grazing her boot, and landed with a thrust that caught his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. A kick to his knee sent him howling to the ground. The remaining two rushed her together, one with a dagger, the other bare-fisted. She sidestepped the blade, grabbing the dagger-wielder’s arm and twisting until it snapped, his scream echoing as she flung him into his companion. A final blow to each head silenced them.

    Breathing hard, sweat beading on her brow, Francesca surveyed the fallen trolls. None were dead, she’d used restraint, honoring Wychwood’s balance, but they wouldn’t trouble anyone soon. She fetched hemp ropes from her satchel, binding their wrists and ankles with practiced knots. “Stay down,” she muttered, stepping over their groaning forms.

    Her muscles ached, her body slick with exertion, but the fire in her belly still burned. She pressed on, the canal’s lock gates looming ahead, and with them, Sir Richard’s workshop. Smoke curled from its chimney, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal a siren’s call.

    She pushed open the oak door, heat slamming into her like a physical force. The forge roared at the room’s center, its glow casting flickering shadows across stone walls. Sir Richard stood at his anvil, a titan of sinew and sweat. His linen shirt clung to his broad chest, translucent with perspiration, revealing the dark hair beneath. A leather apron shielded his torso, but below, he wore only a thong, no trousers, his muscular legs bare and glistening. His hammer struck brass with relentless precision, each blow a testament to his mastery.

    She cleared her throat, and he paused, turning to face her. His gray eyes, sharp as storm clouds, locked onto hers, roaming her form with unabashed appraisal, her sweat-slicked skin, the taut leather skirt, the brass breastplate contoured over her breasts. A slow smile curved his lips, both knowing and hungry.

    “Princess Francesca, Wychwood’s Warrior” he rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle her bones. “What brings you here?”

    She stepped closer, her boots clicking on stone. “I need brass,” she said, her tone steady despite the huskiness creeping in. “A guard for… a sensitive place.”

    His brow lifted, intrigue sparking in his gaze. He set the hammer down, wiping his hands on a rag, and closed the distance between them. “Sensitive, eh?” His eyes flicked to her groin, then back to her face. “I’ll need to measure you proper.”

    Her pulse raced as she unbuckled her skirt, letting it fall. The leather knickers followed, leaving her bare from the waist down. The workshop’s heat kissed her skin, intensifying the ache within her. Sir Richard sank to his knees, his face level with her hips, and his hands hovered above her mound, hesitating as if to prolong the tension.

    Then he touched her, fingers tracing her contours with a craftsman’s care, measuring width, depth, shape. Sparks shot through her, her breath catching as he lingered, caressing now, his touch igniting her further. “You’re wet,” he observed, voice low and rough.

    “Watching a Woodwode and nymph,” she admitted, cheeks flushing. “It… it, stirred me.”

    He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound. “I reckon it did.” He rose, fetching a brass sheet from a shelf, his shirt stretching tight across his back. Returning, he knelt again, a tool scratching her outline into the metal. His other hand rested on her thigh, thumb circling her skin, driving her mad.

    Her fingers found his thong, untying it with a tug. It fell, revealing his cock, thick, long, hardening under her gaze. He didn’t flinch, his focus on the brass, but his eyes gleamed with want. She grasped him, stroking slowly, marveling at his heat.

    He set the brass aside, cupping her pussy fully in his work roughened hand. “Need the exact shape,” he growled, fingers slipping inside her. She gasped, lifting a leg over his shoulder, opening to him. He thrust deeper, curling his fingers, and she cried out, her hand tightening on his cock.

    Their mouths crashed together, a hungry clash of lips and tongues. She guided him to her entrance, rubbing his tip against her until he groaned. His hands gripped her hips, and he thrust, filling her completely. She moaned, legs wrapping around him as he lifted her, pinning her against the workbench.

    He moved with purpose, shallow teases, then deep plunges, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Her fingers found her clit, circling frantically, and she came with a scream, her body clenching around him. He didn’t stop, driving her to another peak before spinning her around.

    Bent over the anvil, she spread her legs as he teased her clit with his cock, sparking another orgasm. He slammed into her, hands untying her breastplate to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples. Pleasure-pain surged, and she felt him tense, his thrusts growing erratic.

    “Together,” she gasped, and he nodded. With a final, deep thrust, he came, his release triggering hers. They shuddered as one, waves of ecstasy crashing over them, until they stilled, panting in the forge’s glow.

    He withdrew, steadying her as she swayed. “Guard’ll be ready by dawn,” he said, voice soft with promise.

    She dressed, smiling faintly. “Thank you.” Stepping into the night, she knew this was just the beginning, a bond forged in Wychwood’s fire, destined to endure.

  • The Coastal Path Encounter

    The Scottish coast stretched out in wild, untamed beauty before Kiri and her friends, Emma and Morag. The three women had set out that morning along a rugged cliffside path, the wind tugging at their hair and the salty tang of the North Sea filling their lungs. Kiri, at 47, carried a few extra pounds that softened her frame, her large breasts swaying slightly beneath her loose-fitting sweater as she walked. She’d always been comfortable in her body, its curves, its heft, its appetites. Her sexuality was a well-worn path she’d traveled with confidence, her high sex drive a constant hum beneath the surface of her everyday life. Between her legs, her large pussy was a landscape of its own, prominent, crinkled inner lips darker than the surrounding skin, neatly trimmed pubic hair framing it like a crown. She knew it well, loved it fiercely, and today, as the sun climbed higher, she felt that familiar itch stirring.

    Emma, wiry and sharp-tongued, led the trio, her short blonde hair whipping in the breeze. Morag, broader and quieter, trailed behind, her auburn curls bouncing with each step. They’d been friends for years, bonded by laughter and a shared irreverence for propriety. When Emma spotted a narrow trail veering off the main path toward a secluded cove, she didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get some sun on our bones,” she declared, and Kiri grinned, already imagining the cool sand against her skin.

    The beach was a hidden gem, a crescent of pale sand framed by jagged cliffs and lapped by gentle waves. It was deserted, save for the gulls wheeling overhead. Without a word, the three women stripped off their clothes, tossing sweaters, jeans, and underwear into a haphazard pile. Kiri stood naked, her heavy breasts settling against her chest, nipples tightening in the crisp air. She ran a hand absently over her stomach, feeling the softness there, then let her fingers brush the coarse hair above her pussy, a private ritual of self-assurance. Morag stretched out in the middle, her freckled skin gleaming, while Emma flopped onto the sand on the right, facing the ocean. Kiri took the left, closest to where the beach curved toward the cliffs, and lay back, the sun warming her flesh.

    For an hour, they basked in silence, the rhythmic crash of waves lulling them into a lazy haze. Kiri’s mind drifted, her body alive with the sensation of being bare under the sky. Her thoughts, as they often did, turned to sex, memories of past lovers, the weight of a man’s hands, the stretch of a cock inside her. She shifted slightly, feeling the sand shift beneath her ample hips, and let her legs part just enough to feel the breeze tease her inner thighs.

    Then, a figure appeared.

    He came from the left, walking along the shoreline toward them. Tall and slim, he carried the easy grace of someone older, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, his silver, grey hair catching the light. Kiri noticed him first, her eyes tracking him casually as he approached. He stopped about thirty feet away, near the water’s edge, and set down a small bag. Without a glance their way, he began to undress. Kiri propped herself on one elbow, intrigued. His shirt came off first, revealing a lean torso dusted with gray hair. Then his trousers, exposing long, sinewy legs. She watched, unhurried, until he stood in nothing but a pair of dark briefs. The bulge there was unmistakable, promising, substantial, and her pulse quickened.

    When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the briefs down, Kiri’s breath caught. His cock sprang free, thick and long, hanging heavy between his thighs. It wasn’t erect, but its sheer size was impressive, a soft arc of flesh that swayed slightly as he moved. He glanced her way and smiled, a warm, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Kiri returned it, her gaze dropping back to his cock as she tried to gauge its potential. Eight inches? Nine? More when hard? She couldn’t be sure, but the thought sent a shiver through her.

    He spread a towel on the sand and lay on his back, his head turned just enough to keep her in his peripheral vision. His cock draped across his left hip, away from her, its weight pulling it down against his skin. Kiri rolled onto her side, facing him fully, her left arm tucked beneath her head. Her right breast rested heavily against her chest, the nipple brushing the sand. She studied him, the faint lines of muscle in his thighs, the relaxed curve of his belly, and that magnificent cock, lolling there like an invitation. Her right leg bent slightly, raising her knee, and her hand drifted down her body. She let her fingers graze her pussy, tracing the thick, crinkled lips she knew so well. They were warm, already slick with the first stirrings of arousal.

    At first, her touch was light, discreet, a slow circling of her clit that could’ve been mistaken for an idle scratch. But he noticed. His head tilted further toward her, and he rolled onto his right side, mirroring her position. His cock twitched, swelling faintly as blood began to rush into it. His hand moved down, long fingers wrapping around the shaft, and he started to stroke himself, slow and deliberate. Kiri’s breath hitched. She lifted her leg higher, parting her thighs, and slipped two fingers inside herself. The wetness there was immediate, her pussy yielding to her touch with a soft squelch. This wasn’t about a quick release, not yet. She wanted to be ready, lubricated and open, for what she knew was coming.

    His cock grew steadily, thickening and lengthening as he worked it. The head emerged from its foreskin, glistening faintly in the sunlight. Kiri’s eyes locked on it, her fingers plunging deeper, curling against her inner walls. She imagined him inside her, stretching her wide, filling her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. When he was nearly fully erect, eight inches at least, maybe more, she couldn’t wait any longer. She pulled her hand free, her fingers glistening, and stood.

    The sand shifted beneath her feet as she crossed the distance between them. She knelt beside him, her knees sinking into the towel, and let her gaze travel from his cock up his body to his face. His eyes were hazel, warm with amusement and desire. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to introduce himself, but Kiri pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. Names didn’t matter. She pushed him gently onto his back and leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest as she took his cock in her hand. It was heavy, warm, the skin velvet-smooth over its rigid core. She lowered her mouth to it, lips parting to take him in.

    He tasted faintly of salt and musk, his thickness stretching her jaw as she sucked. Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit, and he groaned softly. His hands found her, one threading into her hair, the other sliding between her thighs. His fingers, long and deft, stroked her pussy, parting her lips and slipping inside. She moaned around his cock, the vibration drawing another groan from him. He was fully hard now, a towering presence in her mouth, and she knew she needed him elsewhere.

    Kiri pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his tip, and straddled him. She guided his cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her slick folds. Slowly, she sank down, feeling him stretch her inch by inch. It was exquisite, almost too much. He was the largest she’d ever had, his girth pressing against every nerve inside her, his length reaching deeper than anyone before. Her pussy clenched around him, adjusting to the fullness, and she gasped, her hands braced on his chest. She felt stuffed, gloriously so, her inner walls pulsing against him as she settled fully onto his hips.

    She began to move, rocking slowly, savoring the drag of him inside her. Each motion sent a jolt through her, the pressure building low in her belly. Her breasts bounced with her rhythm, heavy and free, and she reached down with her right hand, fingers finding her clit. She rubbed it in tight circles, amplifying the sensation of his cock filling her. The combination was electric, his size stretching her, her fingers teasing her to the edge. She rode him like that for long minutes, the sun hot on her back, the sound of the waves blending with their breaths.

    Her orgasm built gradually, a slow wave cresting higher with each thrust. When it hit, it was shattering. She cried out, her pussy clamping down on him, spasms rippling through her core. Her fingers pressed harder against her clit, drawing out the pleasure until she was trembling, breathless. He groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips, but he didn’t come, not yet.

    Panting, Kiri slid off him, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. She shoved him off the towel, onto the sand, and got onto all fours, her knees sinking into the soft ground. Her breasts hung low, swaying as she arched her back, presenting herself. He didn’t hesitate. Kneeling behind her, he lined himself up and thrust in, burying himself to the hilt. The angle was different, deeper, sharper, and she moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the cliffs. Their bodies slapped together, a rhythmic, primal noise that drowned out the waves.

    She reached back with one hand, fingers working her clit again, but as the pressure built, she let go, wanting to feel him alone. He pounded into her, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto him. Her second orgasm came faster, harder, a tidal wave that crashed over her and kept going. She screamed, her voice raw, her pussy spasming around him as the pleasure stretched out, endless and consuming. When it finally began to ebb, she pulled away, his cock sliding free with a slick pop.

    Kiri stood, legs shaky, and glanced around. Morag was nearby, one leg cocked up on a rock, her fingers buried in her own pussy as she watched. Their eyes met, and Morag grinned, a wicked, conspiratorial smile. Kiri returned it, then turned toward Emma, who was waiting a few feet away, her slim body taut with anticipation.

    Without a word, Kiri lay back on the sand, and Emma climbed over her, positioning herself for a 69. Kiri’s tongue found Emma’s pussy, tight and tangy, while Emma’s mouth descended on Kiri’s still-throbbing folds. They devoured each other, tongues and lips working in tandem, the taste of salt and arousal mingling. In the background, Morag’s cries rose, sharp and needy, as she took her turn with the stranger. Kiri didn’t look, she didn’t need to. The sounds told her everything: Morag’s gasps, the slap of flesh, the stranger’s low grunts.

    Kiri focused on Emma, on the slick heat against her tongue, the pressure of Emma’s mouth on her clit. They came together, a shared shudder that left them panting into each other’s thighs. When it was over, Kiri lay back, staring up at the sky, her body humming with satisfaction. The stranger, the beach, her friends, it was a moment of pure, unbridled freedom, etched into the wild Scottish coast.

  • Selena – Van Encounter

    It was a crisp Tuesday evening, the school long since deserted, and Richard’s battered white van sat parked in the staff lot, its windows fogging up before they’d even started. He’d spent the day fixing a busted boiler, but his mind was on Selena’s promise: the back of his van, where no one could interrupt. She’d slipped out after her shift, trading her apron for a tight black sweater and a skirt so short it barely qualified as clothing. Her buxom chest strained the wool, and Richard’s cock twitched the moment she climbed in.

    “Nice ride,” Selena purred, shutting the van door with a thud. The back was a cluttered mess, tools, blankets, a rolled-up tarp, but she didn’t care. She shoved a toolbox aside and perched on a makeshift bench of plywood, legs spread just enough to flash red panties. Richard loomed in the cramped space, his height forcing him to duck slightly, his eyes dark with hunger. “It’s about to get nicer,” he growled, kicking off his boots and yanking his shirt over his head, revealing a chest dusted with dark hair.

    She didn’t wait for an invitation. Grabbing his belt, she tugged him closer, unzipping him with a practiced flick. His cock sprang free, thick and ready, and she licked her lips before taking him in her mouth. “Fuck, Selena,” he hissed, hands tangling in her hair as she sucked him deep, her tongue swirling around the tip. She hummed around him, the vibration making his knees buckle, and he braced one hand against the van’s wall. “You’re too bloody good at that.”

    Selena pulled back, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock, and grinned. “Just warming you up, tall man.” She stood, peeling off her sweater to reveal no bra her heavy breasts bounced free, nipples peaked in the cool air. Richard groaned, spinning her around and bending her over the tarp-covered bench. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you scream,” he promised, hiking her skirt up and ripping her panties down to her ankles.

    He didn’t tease his cock slid into her dripping pussy in one hard thrust, stretching her wide. Selena moaned, loud and shameless, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the tarp. “Yes, right there!” she gasped as he slammed into her, his thick shaft grinding against her G-spot with every stroke. The van rocked slightly, creaking on its shocks, and Richard gripped her hips, pounding harder. “Tight little devil, aren’t you?” he grunted, one hand reaching around to squeeze her swaying tits.

    She pushed back against him, meeting his rhythm, her moans echoing in the metal box. “Harder, fuck me stupid!” she begged, and he delivered, his cock relentless, pressing that sweet spot until her legs shook. His fingers found her clit, rubbing fast, and she shattered, her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her pussy clamping down as she screamed his name, “Richard, oh fuck, yes!” Juices dripped down her thighs, soaking the tarp, and he kept thrusting, dragging it out until she was a trembling mess.

    He wasn’t done. Flipping her onto her back across the bench, he spread her legs wide, hooking them over his shoulders. “My turn,” he rasped, plunging back in, her slick heat sucking him deep. Her tits jiggled with every thrust, and she clawed at his arms, still reeling from her climax. “You’re a fucking beast,” she panted, eyes glazed with lust. He smirked, leaning down to bite her nipple, then kissed her hard as he came, spilling inside her with a roar, his cock pulsing against her walls.

    They collapsed together, breathless, the van smelling of sex and sweat. Selena traced a finger down his chest, smirking. “Hope you’ve got good suspension, think we tested it.” Richard laughed, pulling her close. “Next time, your place. I want you on a proper bed, screaming louder.” She nipped his ear, already plotting. “Bring your tools, big man. I’ve got plenty to fix.”

  • Lynn & Louise – 02 – The Reunion

    Reunited

    Two weeks had passed since the dunes, and the memory of that afternoon still burned in my mind, Richard’s thick cock filling me, Louise’s hungry eyes, the salty air mingling with our gasps. We’d kept in touch on X, a private thread of flirty banter and Richard’s cheeky limericks, like, Three souls by the sea found their spark, in sand where desires disembark, with a wink and a grin, they’d soon meet again, for a night that would blaze in the dark. So here I was, mid-thirties, my rounded body hugged by a black dress that clung to my large breasts, stepping into a seaside restaurant. The date night was Richard’s idea a classy meal, then back to his hotel. Louise had agreed instantly, and I couldn’t say no.

    The place was upscale, all soft lighting and polished wood, the murmur of conversation blending with the clink of cutlery. Richard stood as I approached, tall and slim, his late fifties softened by a tailored blazer, his silver hair catching the glow. “Lynn, you’re a vision,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, that naughty edge lurking beneath. He pulled out my chair, ever the gentleman, though I knew what hid behind his polish.

    Louise arrived moments later, her tall, lean frame striking in a deep green dress, her small, shapely breasts subtly outlined. “Well, don’t we clean up nicely?” she teased, sliding into her seat beside Richard. He sat between us, a grin spreading as he poured wine.

    “Only the best for my muses,” he said, raising his glass. “To nights worth writing about, A trio once wild by the shore, now dine with a hunger for more…” He trailed off, winking, and we laughed, clinking glasses. The meal unfolded with ease, succulent seafood, rich sauces, the kind of food that felt indulgent. But the real feast was the tension simmering between us. Richard’s knee brushed mine under the table, deliberate and slow, while Louise’s fingers grazed his arm as she leaned in to whisper something that made him chuckle darkly.

    “You’re incorrigible,” I said, sipping my wine, feeling the heat rise in my chest.

    “Guilty,” he replied, leaning closer. “But you love it. Both of you do.”

    Louise smirked. “He’s not wrong. I’ve been thinking about that cove all week, your poetry wasn’t the only thing that stuck with me.”

    The flirtation escalated with dessert, a shared chocolate torte that left us licking spoons and trading loaded glances. By the time Richard suggested we head to his hotel, “A hot tub awaits, ladies”, my pulse was racing, my dress feeling tighter than ever.

    The Hotel Room

    The hotel was a short walk, the night air cool against my flushed skin. Richard’s room was a suite, spacious and modern, with a private balcony where a steaming hot tub bubbled under string lights. “Make yourselves at home,” he said, shedding his blazer with that casual grace I remembered. Louise and I exchanged a look, a silent agreement, and kicked off our heels.

    “Hot tub first?” Louise asked, already tugging at her dress. She stripped down to a black bra and panties, her slim body glowing in the soft light. I followed, peeling off my dress, my large breasts spilling free as I unhooked my bra, my neat pussy barely concealed by lace. Richard watched, his eyes dark with hunger, then pulled off his shirt and trousers, leaving his boxers. That thick, shaved cock pressed against the fabric, a promise we all recognized.

    “No need for modesty,” he said, sliding the boxers down. It sprang free, heavy and bold, just as I remembered. He stepped into the hot tub, the water swirling around his lean frame, and beckoned us in. “Join me, muses.”

    I hesitated, then shed the rest, my skin prickling as I sank into the heat. Louise did the same, her small breasts bobbing as she settled beside him. The water lapped at us, jets pulsing against my thighs, and Richard grinned. “Three bodies in steam reunite, a dance of the flesh in the night…” he murmured, his voice low.

    “Keep going,” I teased, splashing him lightly. “You’re good at this.”

    He laughed, pulling us closer, one arm around each of us. “Only because you inspire me.” His hands roamed, mine to my breast, squeezing gently, Louise’s to her hip, possessive. The water amplified every touch, slick and warm, and I felt my breath hitch.

    Louise leaned in, kissing his neck, then me, her lips soft and daring. “We should make this a night to remember,” she whispered, and I nodded, my hand finding Richard’s cock beneath the water. It was already stiffening, thick and heavy in my grip.

    “God, it feels even bigger like this,” I said, passing it to Louise. She took it eagerly, stroking slow.

    “Like a damn rod,” she agreed, her fingers curling around it. “Look how it throbs.”

    We played with him, hands sliding in unison, the water sloshing as he grew fully hard. “A scepter arises in haste, two hands give its glory a taste…” he groaned, half-laughing, and we silenced him with our mouths. I went first, ducking under the water to suck the tip, the heat and bubbles swirling around me as it swelled in my mouth. I surfaced, gasping, and Louise took her turn, her lips wrapping around him, then lower to his balls, sucking gently. We traded off, our mouths meeting along his length, tongues clashing in a wet, messy dance until he was rigid, pulsing, a marvel slick with water and spit.

    The Ecstasy

    Louise pulled back, water dripping from her chin. “Lynn, ride him. He’s begging for it.”

    I straddled him, the hot tub’s edge supporting my knees as I guided that massive cock to my entrance. The water made it slick, but my tight pussy still stretched deliciously as I sank down, inch by thick inch, until he was buried deep. “Fuck,” I gasped, the fullness overwhelming, a sweet ache that pulsed with every jet against my skin. His hands gripped my breasts, kneading hard, fingers pinching my nipples as I rocked, the water splashing around us. My own fingers found my clit, rubbing fast, the pleasure sharp and electric. Then I caught Louise’s eye watching, one hand between her thighs, and the thrill spiked, knowing she saw me unravel. I came hard, my walls clenching tight, a scream tearing free as the orgasm ripped through me, amplified by the heat and her gaze.

    Louise pushed me aside gently, claiming him next. She mounted him, her slim body rising and falling, water cascading off her small breasts as she rode. I watched, mesmerized, her moans sharp against the hum of the tub, her face contorted in bliss. Richard’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her, and he beckoned me with a grunt. “Lynn, here.”

    I straddled his face, lowering until his tongue plunged into me, hot and relentless. The water lapped at my thighs as he licked, sucking my clit with a hunger that made my legs shake. Louise’s rhythm faltered, her cry piercing the air as she came, her body shuddering before she slid off, panting against the tub’s edge.

    Richard didn’t pause. He lifted me off his face, maneuvering me onto all fours, my hands gripping the rim as water sloshed over us. He entered me from behind, that thick cock driving deep, the angle brutal and perfect. He fucked me hard, long thrusts that slapped against my arse, each one rattling my core. “A tempest of flesh in the steam…” he growled, mid-thrust, and I lost it, my pussy clamped down, milking him as I exploded, a raw, guttural scream escaping as the orgasm tore me apart. He grunted, pulling out, his cock pulsing as he sprayed my back with cum, hot and thick, mixing with the water dripping down my spine.

    We collapsed, breathless, the tub’s jets still bubbling around us. Louise laughed softly, trailing a finger through the water. “Better than the dunes.”

    Richard, spent, grinned. “A night in the foam, wild and free, a poem writ by you and me…” His voice was hoarse, but the spark in his eyes promised more verses, and more nights to come.

  • Lynn & Louise – 01 – Seal Watching

    The Pub

    The air in the pub buzzed with laughter and the clink of glasses, a warm hum of thirty voices mingling under the low wooden beams. It was a small seaside town, the kind where the salt lingered in the breeze, and tonight, it hosted an eclectic gathering of people who’d connected through #NSFW posts on X. About twenty-five women and fifteen men sprawled across tables littered with pint glasses and crisp packets. I sat near the center, my rounded frame tucked into a cushioned bench, acutely aware of my large breasts straining against my top. To my left was Richard, tall and slim, his late fifties showing in the silver at his temples but not in the spark of his eyes. He spoke with polished charm, every word measured yet laced with a naughty edge that made my pulse quicken. To his left sat Louise, late forties, tall and lean, her small, shapely breasts hinted at beneath a fitted blouse, her posture exuding quiet confidence.

    The group discussion swirled around us, raunchy tales of X posts, debates about boundaries, the thrill of the taboo, but Richard, Louise, and I had carved out our own little world. “You’ve got a wicked mind, Lynn,” Richard said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned closer, his knee brushing mine under the table. “Those posts of yours leave little to the imagination.”

    I grinned, heat creeping up my neck. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it? Your captions are downright sinful, and those limericks you sneak in? Pure filth.”

    He chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and leaned back. “A poet’s soul, guilty as charged. How about this one: There once was a lass with a flair, whose posts left us all in a stare, with curves so divine, she’d make hearts align, and leave naughty thoughts in the air.” His eyes twinkled as he recited it, aimed squarely at me.

    Louise laughed, clapping lightly. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Richard. You’ve got her pegged. And that last photo you shared well, it’s a good thing this pub’s dimly lit, or we’d all see you blushing.”

    Richard shifted, his thigh pressing more firmly against mine. “I’ll take that as a compliment from both you lovely ladies. Poetry’s my other vice, keeps the mind sharp and the tongue… nimble.” His gaze flicked between us, bold and unapologetic, and I felt a shiver of anticipation. The flirtation was electric, a dance of words and glances that made the crowded room fade away.

    Needing a breather from the heat, I steered the conversation elsewhere. “Richard, you’re mad about wildlife, aren’t you? I’ve seen your posts almost as passionate as your verses.”

    His face lit up, the naughty glint softening into enthusiasm. “Oh, absolutely. There’s something primal about it, don’t you think? The raw beauty of nature, it is poetry in motion.”

    Louise leaned in, her eyes brightening. “I’m the same. Seals, especially, I could watch them for hours. They’re so graceful, yet wild.”

    “Seals?” I said, catching her drift. “Perfect timing, we’re right by the coast. Do they come near here?”

    Richard nodded, a conspiratorial grin spreading. “I know exactly where they are. Just a short walk, a little cove most miss. They bask there this time of year. I’ve even written about them, The seals by the shore weave a tale, of slick silver skin and a wail, in the surf they play free, a wild symphony, nature’s lust in each flip of their tail.”

    Louise stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the din. “Right, everyone! Richard, Lynn, and I are off to find some seals. Anyone joining us?” Her tone was light, but her eyes locked on ours, daring us. The group murmured, some laughing, others shaking their heads, none took the bait. It was just us three.

    As we wove toward the door, I caught Louise’s arm. “Was that invitation genuine, or…?” I let the question hang, my voice low.

    She smirked, her expression vague. “Depends on what you’re hoping for, Lynn.” Her wink left me wondering, my stomach fluttering as we stepped into the cool night air.

    The Dunes

    The walk to the cove was brisk, the sea’s whisper growing louder as we descended a narrow path between dunes. We settled on a small patch of sand, shielded by grassy mounds, and there they were seals, their sleek bodies glistening in the sun. We sat entranced, the world shrinking to the rhythmic slap of waves and their lazy barks. Richard murmured, almost to himself, “In sunlight they gleam like wet stone, a chorus of life all their own…” His voice trailed off, lost in the sight.

    After a few minutes, the seals slipped into the water, vanishing beneath the surface. Richard broke the spell. “They’ll be off feeding now. Won’t be back for a while.”

    Louise stretched, her long limbs catching the light. “This is a perfect spot to sunbathe, don’t you think?” She glanced at us, a silent challenge in her nod. I nodded back, my heart pounding, and Richard grinned, already tugging at his shirt.

    He stripped with casual ease, peeling off his clothes until he reached his boxers. Then, without hesitation, he slid them down, his large, thick cock springing free, freshly shaved, as I’d expected from his meticulous nature. It hung there, bold and unashamed, and he froze, suddenly sheepish as he glanced at us, still in our bras and knickers. “Sorry, ladies, I might’ve gone too far”

    “No, no,” I cut in, my voice eager. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. It’s… impressive.”

    Louise nodded, her gaze lingering. “Very welcome, Richard. You’ve got a gorgeous body, don’t hide it.”

    “Really, it’s fine,” I added, catching Louise’s eye, our words weaving together. “Accepted, absolutely.”

    In sync, we shed our clothes. I felt the air kiss my skin, my large breasts swaying free, my neat pussy bare. Louise’s slim frame glowed beside me, her small breasts pert. Richard’s eyes widened, drinking us in, and he quipped, “Two sirens arise from the sand, with beauty no mortal withstands…” Before he could finish, we pushed him gently onto the blankets.

    He lay back, naked and sprawling, and we sat on either side of his hips, treating him like a sculpture. “Look at this,” I said, hushed as I studied his cock, thick and resting against his thigh. “It’s so… substantial.”

    Louise tilted her head, appraising. “Smooth, too. Perfectly shaped, almost too good to be real.”

    I reached out, wrapping my fingers around it. “God, it’s heavy,” I said, lifting it toward her. She took it eagerly, her slim hand testing its heft.

    “Solid,” she agreed, stroking it. “Feels like it’s waking up.”

    We toyed with him, passing it back and forth, marveling as it stiffened. It grew, thick and pulsing, and Richard murmured, “A rod rises proud in their grasp, two muses who tease and clasp…” We laughed, ignoring his verse as we continued. “Look how it curves,” I said, tracing its length. “Beautiful.”

    Louise teased the tip. “And responsive. He’s loving this.”

    I leaned down first, my lips brushing the head, tasting salt. It swelled in my mouth, stretching my lips. Louise dipped lower, sucking his balls, her tongue careful. His groans spurred us, and soon we were both at his cock, lips meeting along its length, tongues tangling until he was rock-hard, glistening.

    Louise pulled back, breathless. “Lynn, ride him. He’s ready.”

    I straddled his hips, guiding that massive cock to my entrance, my tight pussy aching as I sank down. The stretch was exquisite, filling me completely. His hands found my breasts, kneading them, thumbs flicking my nipples as I rocked. My fingers slipped to my clit, circling fast, pleasure building. Then I remembered Louise watching, eyes dark with lust and the thrill doubled. I came hard, clenching around him, a cry tearing free as waves crashed through me.

    The Finale

    Louise claimed him next, swinging a leg over his hips as I slid off, trembling. I watched, mesmerized, as she took him in, her slim body arching. Her small breasts bounced, her face twisting in ecstasy, and I couldn’t look away her pleasure was raw, magnetic. Richard, beneath her, muttered, “A dance of desire in the sun…” but his words dissolved into a groan.

    He beckoned me, husky. “Lynn, come here.” I straddled his face, lowering until his tongue found me. It was heaven, hot and insistent, lapping my clit as I gripped the blanket. Louise’s rhythm faltered as she came, a sharp cry escaping, and she flopped off, spent.

    Richard shifted me onto all fours, his hands firm on my hips. He entered me from behind, driving deep, relentless. He fucked me hard, long thrusts rattling my bones, each one pushing me closer. “A rhythm of flesh, wild and free…” he gasped, mid-thrust, and I exploded, my pussy clamping down, milking him. He grunted, pulling out, his cum spraying across my back, warm and thick, marking me as he collapsed.

    We lay tangled in the aftermath, the seals forgotten, the dunes our witnesses. Richard panted, “Three souls in the sand, undone…” and we laughed, too breathless to care. The sun dipped lower, and I knew this was a story beyond X but one I’d never forget.

  • Slow Delivery

    Outdoors they drift beneath a molten canopy of flame,
    Her loose top flows like a whisper of dawn’s breath, leggings a serpent’s coil on her frame,
    His jeans a taut forge of denim, t-shirt a banner in the sun’s wild game.
    Others blur into ghosts, swallowed by the day’s untamed sea,
    On a bench carved by time’s teeth, they alight unseen,
    His hands voyage to her mound, a hidden hill of honeyed green,
    She stiffens, a shiver racing, her breath a startled fawn unseen.

    Her thighs unfurl like lotus blooms in a fevered pond,
    A furnace flares in her gaze, twin embers of want unbound,
    Pressure mounts, his touch a river chiseling stone to frond,
    Motion a sculptor’s blade, her lips part, a soft moan crowned.
    She spies his jeans, a ridge swelling like a coiled beast,
    Her core clenches, a greedy pulse beneath her skin’s veil,
    Then he withdraws, a tide abandoning its hive,
    She gasps, a whimper of loss, her eyes blaze, wild and frail.

    In the car, he stoops, lips a tempest claiming her shore,
    A kiss that brands, she melts, her tongue a moth to his forge,
    His hand snakes beneath her leggings, a thief at the door,
    Past knickers’ damp sentinels, her hips buck, a plea to gorge.
    Fingers plunge like divers into her coral abyss,
    She writhes, a keening cry, her nails dig into the seat,
    She’s a volcano’s edge, lava kissing the abyss,
    He halts, “Drive,” he commands—she trembles, rage and heat.

    The road roars, a black ribbon threading dusk’s loom,
    His words fall like embers, her chest heaves, a frantic drum,
    Each breath a bellows, she hungers, a flower torn from bloom,
    Her eyes catch his jeans, erection a spear—she bites her thumb.
    A desert thirsting, she squirms, her leggings chafe her ache,
    His bulge taunts, her voice cracks, “Hurry,” a desperate plea,
    Whispers weave lust’s brash clash, her resolve begins to break,
    Hotel lights flare, she grips the wheel, a storm desperate to be free.

    In the room, her need roars, a lioness unchained,
    She lunges, eyes feral, craving their skins to spark,
    He lures her to the shower, a siren’s refrain,
    Steam cloaks her, she purrs, her body a taut, quivering arc.
    His hands glide, soap sculpts her joyish vale, she moans low,
    Fingers tease like moths, her knees buckle, a pleading sigh,
    She arches, a bowstring taut, begging the final blow,
    He stops, she growls, a snarl of want, her patience run dry.

    Towels shed, she sprawls, a banquet on sheets of snow,
    Legs flare like wings, she beckons, a queen in flushed command,
    He kneels, lips a pilgrim at her altar’s flow,
    She arches, a guttural cry, her hands claw at the strand.
    Before she shatters, he mounts, a stallion in the fray,
    Thrusts deep, she screams, a banshee loosed in primal din,
    She erupts, a starburst fracturing night to day,
    Her spasms hurl him, a wild mare bucking free from sin.

  • Selena – The Staff Room

    A week had passed since their kitchen escapade, and the tension between Richard and Selena had only grown thicker. Every glance across the schoolyard, every brush of shoulders in the hallway, was a silent promise of more. It was Friday afternoon, and the school was quiet, most staff had bolted for the weekend. Richard had been called in to fix a leaky radiator in the staff room, and Selena, ever resourceful, volunteered to “help” with the cleanup.

    The staff room was a cozy, cluttered space, old armchairs, a coffee-stained table, and a radiator that hissed like an angry cat. Richard knelt by it, wrench in hand, his broad shoulders flexing under a tight navy shirt. Selena sauntered in, locking the door behind her with a click that made his head snap up. She wore a low-cut red dress under her apron, the fabric clinging to her buxom figure like it was painted on. “Thought you might need a hand,” she said, her voice dripping with intent.

    “Only if it’s yours,” Richard shot back, wiping sweat off his brow as he stood, towering over her. His eyes raked down her body, lingering on the deep V of her cleavage. “That dress oughta be illegal in a school.” She smirked, stepping closer, her heels clicking on the linoleum. “Good thing the kids are gone, then. No one to tell on us.”

    She didn’t waste time. Grabbing his shirt, she pulled him down for a kiss, hot, messy, and full of pent-up need. Richard groaned into her mouth, hands sliding to her ass, squeezing through the dress as he backed her against the table. “Been thinking about you all week,” he muttered, nipping her lip. “That kitchen fuck’s been replaying in my head.” Selena’s laugh was wicked. “Let’s give you something new to obsess over.”

    She shoved him into an armchair, the springs creaking under his weight, and straddled him, her dress riding up to reveal black lace knickers. Richard’s hands were on her thighs in an instant, pushing the fabric higher. “No bra again?” he asked, voice rough, as he tugged the neckline down. Her heavy breasts spilled out, nipples already hard, and he latched onto one, sucking greedily while his hand kneaded the other. Selena moaned, grinding against the bulge in his jeans. “Wanted you ready for me,” she gasped.

    He fumbled with his fly, freeing his cock, still as impressive as she remembered, thick and pulsing. She didn’t bother with her knickers, just yanked them aside and sank onto him, taking him to the hilt in one slick slide. “Fuck, Selena,” he growled, gripping her hips as she started to ride him, her tits bouncing in his face. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and set a brutal pace, chasing that sweet friction against her again.

    The chair rocked dangerously, but neither cared. Richard thrust up to meet her, his cock slamming deep, hitting that spot that made her eyes roll back. “You’re a bloody menace,” he panted, one hand slipping between them to rub her clit. Selena’s moans turned to cries, her nails digging into him. “Harder, you bastard, make me come again!” He obliged, pounding into her, the wet slap of their bodies filling the room.

    Her orgasm crashed over her fast, a shuddering, screaming mess as she clenched around him, soaking his lap. “Richard, oh, fuck, yes!” she wailed, trembling as he kept thrusting, drawing it out until she was a boneless heap against him. He wasn’t far behind, two more deep strokes, and he came with a guttural groan, spilling inside her, his hands locked on her hips like he’d never let go.

    They stayed there, panting, her forehead pressed to his, the radiator still hissing in the background. “Think we broke the chair,” Richard chuckled, kissing her sweat-damp neck. Selena grinned, shifting to feel him still inside her. “Worth it. Next time, your van, I wanna see how you handle me in the back.” He smirked, already hard again at the thought. “Deal, love. Maintenance just got a lot more fun.”

  • Anna – The Massage

    Coffee and Cake

    The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of carrot cake as Anna stirred her latte, her eyes flicking up to meet Debs’ across the small café table. It was their usual pre-yoga ritual, coffee, cake, and a good gossip. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over Debs’ freckled cheeks, which were already beginning to flush as the conversation took a predictable turn.

    “So,” Anna said, smirking over the rim of her cup, “Richard. The man every woman in class is secretly, or not so secretly, dying to take home. You left with him last week, didn’t you?”

    Debs’ spoon clinked against her mug a little too loudly. She avoided Anna’s gaze, focusing instead on slicing her cake into precise, tiny bites. “Yeah, well… we walked out together. No big deal.”

    Anna raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “No big deal? Debs, you’re practically glowing. What happened? Spill.”

    Debs’ flush deepened, creeping down her neck. “He… uh, he offered to give me a massage. My hip’s been acting up, you know that.”

    “A massage?” Anna’s tone was teasing, her eyes glinting with mischief. “And how did that go?”

    “It was… good. Really good.” Debs shifted in her seat, her voice dropping. “He’s got strong hands. Fixed my hip right up.”

    Anna grinned, sensing there was more. “Strong hands, huh? Did they wander anywhere… interesting?”

    Debs’ face was now a vivid shade of pink. She took a sip of coffee, stalling. “Well… let’s just say it wasn’t just my hip he took care of.”

    Anna’s grin widened. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, what you’re saying is… he gave you a little extra relief? A proper hand job?”

    Debs choked on her coffee, coughing into her napkin. “Anna! God, keep it down!” But her eyes sparkled as she murmured, “It was… fantastic. Okay? Leave it at that.”

    Anna chuckled, satisfied for now. She wasn’t about to push further and risk Debs clamming up, or revealing something even juicier, like how Richard’s cock had definitely played a starring role. Instead, she shifted the topic. “Speaking of aches, my leg’s still killing me. That damn hamstring.”

    Debs, relieved to move on, seized the chance. “You should try Richard. Seriously. He’s magic.”

    Anna’s lips twitched. “Magic, huh? Maybe I will.”

    Yoga Class

    The yoga studio buzzed with quiet chatter as Anna and Debs arrived, spotting Richard just outside the changing room. He gave them a nod, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, and the three of them walked in together. Normally, Debs and Anna flanked Richard in the second row, but today Anna veered off, claiming a mat in the front row, directly in front of him. Debs shot her a questioning look, one eyebrow arched. Anna just winked.

    In the women’s changing room, Debs watched as Anna peeled off her jeans and slipped into a pair of loose grey shorts, short enough to turn heads, baggy enough to leave plenty to the imagination. What caught Debs off guard, though, was the lack of underwear beneath them. No knickers, no thong, nothing. Anna’s top was equally casual, a loose tank that hung off her frame, and, another surprise, no bra. Debs blinked. “Going for the minimalist look today?”

    Anna shrugged, adjusting her shorts with a sly smile. “Comfort, Debs. It’s all about comfort.”

    During the class, Debs couldn’t help but sneak glances at Anna. Every downward dog, every warrior pose, seemed calculated. Anna’s shorts gaped just so, her top shifted to reveal the curve of her breast, all perfectly angled to give Richard an eyeful from his spot behind her. Debs bit back a smirk. Her friend was shameless.

    After class, as they rolled up their mats, Debs caught Richard by the arm. “Hey, Anna’s been complaining about her leg. That hamstring’s still bothering her. Maybe you could give her one of your… special massages?”

    Richard’s brows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with a grin. “Yeah, sure. I’d be happy to help.”

    Anna, overhearing, flashed a smile. “That’d be great. Shall we?” She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing her bag and heading out with Richard in tow. Debs watched them go, shaking her head. She had a feeling Anna’s leg wasn’t the only thing about to get some attention.

    Massage

    The room was dim, lit only by a soft lamp in the corner, as Anna lay face-up on Richard’s massage table. A small hand towel rested across her hips, barely covering her pussy, leaving the rest of her bare. Richard’s hands had already worked wonders on her thigh, kneading the tight muscle until the ache melted away. She sighed, sinking deeper into the table.

    “Anywhere else need attention?” Richard asked, his voice low and professional, though there was a hint of something else beneath it.

    Anna met his gaze, her lips curling into a slow smile. “Yes, actually.” With a flick of her wrist, she cast the towel aside, letting it fall to the floor. Her legs parted slightly, just enough to make her invitation clear.

    Richard’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, his hands hovering for a moment before settling into place.

    Fingers

    His fingers moved with precision, tracing the contours of her inner thighs before sliding upward. Anna’s breath hitched as he brushed against her clit, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt through her. “There,” she murmured, her voice husky. “A little firmer. Circles.”

    Richard obeyed, his thumb pressing into her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles. She arched slightly, guiding him. “Yes, like that. Now… inside. Curl your fingers up, there’s a spot…”

    He slid two fingers into her, curling them as instructed, and found it, the ridged patch of her G-spot. She gasped, her hips bucking as he stroked it, his thumb still working her clit in tandem. The sensation built fast, a tight coil of heat in her core. “Faster,” she breathed, and he complied, his rhythm relentless.

    The first orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing through her body, her thighs trembling as she clenched around his fingers. She barely had time to catch her breath before he adjusted his angle, pressing harder against her G-spot. “Again,” she demanded, and he didn’t disappoint. The second climax ripped through her, sharper and deeper, leaving her panting, her skin slick with sweat.

    Mouth

    Before she could fully recover, Richard shifted. His hands parted her thighs wider, and then his mouth was on her, hot, wet, and impossibly skilled. His tongue flicked over her clit, teasing at first, then settling into a steady rhythm that made her moan. Two fingers slipped back inside her, her pussy now drenched, and he curled them again, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

    Anna’s world narrowed to the sensations: the slick heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the way her body seemed to melt and ignite all at once. He sucked gently on her clit, and she cried out, her hands fisting the sheet beneath her. The first orgasm came hard, a full-body shudder that left her gasping. He didn’t stop, his tongue swirling faster, his fingers pumping deeper, and a second climax followed, even more intense, her vision blurring as she rode it out.

    Rest

    Richard pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and shifted to a gentler touch. His hands returned to her body, starting with her calves, which had tightened into hard knots from her earlier convulsions. He kneaded them with slow, firm pressure, his thumbs digging into the muscle until she felt the tension unravel. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of his movements and her own steadying breaths, the air cool against her sweat-slicked skin.

    He moved to her feet next, pressing his thumbs into the arches with a rolling motion that drew a low sigh from her lips. The sensation was grounding, almost meditative, as he worked each toe, stretching them gently to release the last vestiges of strain. “Still with me?” he asked, his voice a warm murmur that seemed to vibrate through the table.

    “Barely,” she replied, her words thick with languor. “Keep going.”

    He chuckled, a soft sound that made her smile despite herself, and shifted his attention to her thighs. His palms swept over them in long, soothing strokes, smoothing out the tremors that lingered from her earlier exertion. The oil he’d rubbed into his hands earlier left a faint scent of lavender, mingling with the musk of her own arousal, and she inhaled deeply, letting it anchor her. He lingered on her hamstrings, coaxing the muscles into submission with a patience that felt almost reverent, his fingers tracing the lines of her body like an artist perfecting a sketch.

    “Roll over,” he said after a while, his tone calm but carrying a quiet authority. She complied, flipping onto her stomach with a lazy stretch, her limbs heavy and pliant. He started on her back, his hands gliding over her spine, the heels of his palms pressing into the tight spots along her shoulder blades. She groaned softly as he worked a particularly stubborn knot, the ache dissolving under his touch. His fingers fanned out, kneading her shoulders with a rhythm that lulled her deeper into relaxation, then trailed down her arms, stretching them out to the sides and massaging the muscles until they felt like liquid.

    He moved lower, his hands settling on the curve of her lower back, just above her hips. His thumbs pressed into the dimples there, circling slowly, and she felt a shiver of relief ripple through her. He lingered, working the area with care, his touch firm yet tender, until every ounce of tension had melted away. By the time he finished, she was a puddle on the table, her breathing slow and even, her body utterly surrendered to the calm he’d crafted.

    Cock

    He stood at her head, finishing her shoulders, when Anna reached up, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers. She tugged them down, revealing a thick, rigid cock that sprang free, its tip glistening as she pulled back the foreskin, veins pulsing along its length. She leaned forward to take him in her mouth, her lips brushing the velvety head, but he stepped back, a faint, teasing smile on his lips.

    He moved to her feet. Still face-down, she felt his hands, warm and firm, part her thighs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin where her legs met her hips. He climbed onto the table, his weight dipping the surface slightly as he settled between her legs, pushing them wider until she was fully exposed. His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing her slick entrance, before she felt the blunt, hot tip of his cock nudge against her.

    He guided himself with one hand, the other gripping her hip, and pressed forward. The first inch stretched her deliciously, the thick head breaching her with a slow, deliberate push that made her moan into the table. He paused, letting her adjust to his size, then slid deeper, his shaft filling her inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. She felt every ridge, every pulse of him inside her, the pressure exquisite against her still-sensitive walls.

    He began to move, drawing back until just the tip remained, then thrusting forward with a long, measured stroke. The angle was perfect, his cock dragged against her G-spot with every pass, reigniting the fire he’d stoked earlier with his fingers. She clenched around him, her breath hitching as he set a rhythm, slow at first, letting her feel the full length of him sliding in and out. The tip of his cock seemed to kiss that sweet spot each time, a deep, throbbing sensation that built with every thrust.

    “Harder,” she gasped, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Her body rocked against the table, her fingers curling into the sheet as the pleasure intensified. The heat coiled tight in her core, and then it snapped, an explosive orgasm that tore through her, her pussy spasming around him, milking his cock as she cried out. The sensation was overwhelming: the way his thick shaft stretched her, the relentless pressure on her G-spot, the slick friction as he kept moving through her climax.

    He didn’t stop. His hands gripped her hips tighter, lifting her slightly to deepen the angle, and she felt him shift inside her, the tip of his cock now hitting even more precisely. Another orgasm built almost instantly, spurred by the memory of his fingers and the reality of his cock, its girth, its heat, the way it pulsed inside her. She came again, harder this time, her vision sparking white as her body trembled beneath him, her moans turning to breathless whimpers.

    Richard slowed for a moment, letting her catch her breath, but then resumed with long, steady strokes, each one drawing out the aftershocks until she was teetering on the edge again. The sensation of his cock moving inside her, the smooth glide of the tip, the stretch of her walls, the deep, rhythmic pressure, pushed her into a state of near-constant climax. One orgasm bled into the next, her body shaking, her voice raw as she surrendered to the relentless pleasure, lost in the feel of him driving her higher with every thrust.

  • Selena – After Hours

    The Waiting Game

    The school day dragged on, the clock ticking slower than a snail on sedatives. Richard lingered in the kitchen, pretending to double-check the fittings, stealing glances at Selena as she served up the last of the lunches. Her apron hugged her buxom figure like a second skin, and every time she bent to scoop gravy, he felt his overalls tighten. She caught his eye once, smirking as she licked a drop of sauce off her finger, and he knew they were both counting the minutes until the bell rang.

    Selena wiped down the counters with exaggerated care, her hips swaying like she was putting on a private show. “Patience, tall man,” she murmured, brushing past him so her chest grazed his arm. “Good things come to those who wait.” Richard grunted, adjusting himself discreetly, his mind already racing ahead to what they’d do once the kids and staff cleared out.

    Lock-Up

    The final bell echoed through the halls, and the school emptied out in a chaos of footsteps and chatter. Selena locked the kitchen door behind the last straggling colleague, her eyes glinting with mischief as she turned to Richard. “All ours now,” she said, untying her apron and tossing it aside. Her soft pink blouse clung to her curves, and he could see the outline of her nipples pressing through, no bra today, he noted with a hungry grin.

    Richard leaned against the counter, towering over her, and patted his toolbox. “Got something impressive to show you,” he said, voice thick with promise. He flipped it open, pointing to a hefty wrench, long, thick, and gleaming. “This isn’t the only tool I’m good with.” Selena’s laugh was low and dirty, her fingers moving down his chest, unzipping his overalls. “Prove it, then,” she challenged, stepping closer until her breasts pressed against him.

    The Tease

    He closed the tool box and grabbed her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. Selena gasped, then giggled, her legs parting as he stepped between them. “Let’s see what you’ve got, big man,” she purred, pushing the overalls off his shoulder. She didn’t waste time, his boxers hit the floor, revealing his cock, already hard, delightfully thick, straining toward her. Her eyes widened, then narrowed with delight. “Fuck me, that’s a tool,” she breathed, reaching out to stroke it.

    Richard groaned at her touch, his hands sliding under her blouse to cup her heavy breasts. “Been wanting these all day,” he muttered, thumbs circling her nipples until they stiffened. She arched into him, her breath hitching, and yanked her top off, letting her tits bounce free. “Then take ‘em,” she said, guiding his head down. His mouth latched onto one, sucking hard, while his fingers teased the other, her moans filling the kitchen.

    The Demand

    Selena slid off the counter, turning to brace her hands against it, her ass pushing back toward him. “From behind,” she demanded, voice husky with need. Richard didn’t need telling twice. He yanked her skirt up and her panties down, exposing her slick, ready pussy. “Fucking hell, you’re soaked,” he growled, gripping her hips. She wiggled against him, taunting, “What’re you waiting for? Show me what that cock can do.”

    He lined up, his thick head stroking her clit, then nudging her entrance, then thrust in deep, filling her in one smooth stroke. Selena cried out, her walls clenching around him as he pressed hard against her G-spot. “Oh, shit, right there!” she gasped, rocking back to meet him. Richard’s hands roamed her sides, then up to her swinging tits, squeezing as he started a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust making her moan louder.

    Tension Builds

    The kitchen echoed with the slap of skin on skin, the air thick with heat and lust. Richard picked up the pace, his cock slamming into her, hitting that sweet spot over and over. Selena’s fingers gripped the counter, knuckles white, her breaths coming in ragged pants. “Harder, you bastard,” she begged, and he obliged, pounding into her with a force that rattled the pots on the rack above. Her breasts bounced wildly, nipples grazing the cool steel edge.

    He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucked her senseless. “Gonna make you scream,” he grunted, feeling her tighten around him. Selena’s head tipped back, her voice breaking into a string of curses, “Fuck, fuck, yes!”, as the pressure built. His cock pressed relentlessly in, and her legs started to tremble, the devil inside her roaring to life.

    The Arrival

    Selena’s orgasm hit like a freight train, her pussy clamping down on him as she screamed his name. “Richard, oh God, fuck!” Her body shook, waves of pleasure ripping through her, her juices coating his cock as he kept thrusting, her full length. He held her hips tight, growling as her spasms threatened to milk him, his own release teetering on the edge. “That’s it, love, come all over me,” he rasped, his voice raw.

    She slumped forward, panting, still impaled on him, her bare breasts pressed against the counter. Richard slowed, then pulled out, spinning her around to kiss her hard, tongues clashing in a messy, desperate tangle. “Best fucking maintenance job I’ve ever done,” he muttered against her lips, one hand sliding down her sweat-slick stomach to tease her soaked folds again. Selena grinned, breathless. “Stick around, tall man. Kitchen’s not the only thing needs fixing.”

    The Pace Changes

    Richard’s breath hitched as she stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest. “Sit me back up there,” she said, nodding toward the counter, her voice low and commanding. He didn’t hesitate, gripping her waist and lifting her effortlessly again, setting her down with her legs dangling over the edge. She spread them wide, inviting him in, her pussy still glistening and swollen from their earlier round. “From the front this time,” she whispered, pulling him closer by the neck. “Slow. I want to feel every inch of you.”

    Richard stepped between her thighs, his hands sliding up her sides to cradle her face as he kissed her deeply, slower this time, savoring the taste of her. Selena moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him tight against her. His cock nudged her entrance, and she tilted her hips up to meet him, guiding him in with a soft, needy whimper. He entered her deliberately, inch by thick inch, letting her feel every ridge and pulse as he filled her completely.

    Another Release

    “Oh, fuck, yes,” she breathed, her head tipping back as he settled deep inside her. Their bodies pressed together, her bare breasts flattening against his chest, nipples hard and sensitive against his skin. Richard’s hands dropped to her hips, holding her steady as he began to move—slow, sensual thrusts that made her gasp with every roll of his hips. Her legs hooked around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer, deeper. “Just like that,” she murmured, her voice trembling with pleasure.

    Their eyes locked, the air between them thick with heat and unspoken promises, as he fucked her with a tenderness that burned as hot as their earlier frenzy. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered his name, their lovemaking a slow dance of passion that built toward another shattering peak.

  • Katie – the Kitchen

    The kitchen was warm, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the quiet as Nurse Katie watched Richard step through her doorway. He’d always been an old friend, a familiar face from years past, with a rugged charm she’d flirted with more times than she could count. There was a spark there, a quiet desire that flickered beneath their easy banter, and it was that pull that had her calling him when her oven stopped heating. Not a handyman, not a stranger, just Richard.

    He arrived with a toolbox in hand, his broad shoulders filling the frame of her small kitchen. “Let me take a quick look,” he said, his voice low and steady, before crouching down to inspect the oven. After a moment, he stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Gonna need to haul it out and check the wiring. I’ll change into something I can work in, don’t want to mess up your floor.”

    Katie nodded, her eyes lingering as he headed upstairs to her bathroom. When he returned, he wore a single-piece denim coverall, the kind that zipped up the front, hugging his frame in a way that made her breath catch. As he walked down the hall toward her, she noticed something, a subtle movement at the top of his left leg, near his groin. It wasn’t a tool in his pocket, she was certain of that. It was the shape of him, long and heavy, shifting with each step. Her pulse quickened, a flush creeping up her neck.

    Richard set to work, pulling the oven from its slot with practiced ease. In less than half an hour, he’d found the problem, a loose electrical connection, he fixed it, and started sliding the appliance back into place. But as he maneuvered it, a knife left carelessly on the counter snagged his coverall, slicing a shallow cut into his side. He winced, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

    “Richard!” Katie was at his side in an instant, her nurse’s instincts kicking in. “Take that off, let me see.” She grabbed her first aid kit from under the sink, her tone firm but laced with concern. He hesitated, then unzipped the coverall, stepping out of it to reveal loose boxer shorts and a small patch of blood staining the fabric near his hip.

    “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a stool. He obeyed, and she knelt before him, gently lifting the leg of his boxers to expose the cut. It was small, barely more than a scratch, but she cleaned it with care, her fingers brushing his warm skin as she applied a plaster. When she finished, her hand lingered on his thigh, the heat of him seeping into her palm. Slowly, almost unconsciously, her fingers drifted upward, grazing something firm and heavy against the back of her hand. She froze, her breath shallow, knowing exactly what it was.

    “Stay there,” she murmured, standing abruptly. “You should drink something.” Turning to the cupboard, she reached for a glass, her back to him. Her fingers found the zipper of her dress, and with a deliberate tug, she lowered it past her full breasts, the fabric parting to reveal the soft curves beneath. She filled the glass with mineral water from a bottle, then turned back to him, catching the way his eyes roamed downward. His gaze traced the edge of her cleavage, lingering where the dress dipped low enough to expose the bottom curve of her breasts. He shifted on the stool, and her eyes flicked to his lap, his cock twitched in his boxers, noticeably larger now.

    She stepped closer, leaning over his legs instead of standing beside him, and handed him the glass. Her hand rested on his lap, dangerously close to the growing bulge. His response was tentative at first, his fingers brushing her shoulder, then sliding down to stroke the sensitive skin of her neck. Their eyes met, and then their lips, a deep, hungry kiss igniting between them. His hand moved lower, cupping her breast through the open dress, his work-roughened palm grazing her nipple. She gasped into his mouth, the sensation sparking a wave of heat through her core, and their kiss deepened, tongues tangling with rising urgency.

    Katie pulled back, her breath ragged, a teasing smile playing on her lips. She tugged the zipper lower, letting the dress hang loose, then reached for his waist. With a swift motion, she slid his boxers down, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and long, heavy veins pulsing along its length, swollen but not yet fully hard. She reached into her dress pocket, palming a foil condom packet, then shrugged her shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor. She stood naked before him, her skin flushed, her body unadorned. “Good thing my underwear matches,” he said with a low chuckle, his voice rough with desire.

    He stood, his cock rising higher as he stepped toward her. She pressed the condom into his hand and hoisted herself onto the edge of the countertop, spreading her legs apart. He knelt before her, his fingers finding her first, tracing her small, neat pussy with a tenderness that made her tremble. She was already wet, her arousal slick against his touch, and when his fingers glided inside her, she gasped, her hands gripping his head. His mouth followed, lips closing over her clit, teasing her with slow, sensual strokes of his tongue. Her body arched, pleasure building in waves, and soon she shattered into an orgasm, her moans filling the quiet kitchen.

    He didn’t stop. His fingers curled inside her, his mouth relentless, driving her toward a second peak. Just as she teetered on the edge, he pulled back, tearing open the foil and rolling the condom onto his now rock-hard cock. He stood, using the thick tip to stroke her clit, reigniting her pleasure. She came again, quick and sharp, her body trembling as the waves crashed over her. Between her gasps, he slid inside her, his length stretching her tight, wet heat with a slow, deliberate thrust.

    Their lips met again, the kiss deep and unhurried, mirroring the rhythm of his strokes. He moved with long, sensual thrusts, filling her completely, the heavy veins of his cock dragging against her inner walls. She was tight around him, her pussy gripping him with every motion, slick and hot with her arousal. Time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to the feel of him inside her, the slow build of pleasure as he rocked deeper, then withdrew, only to plunge back in. Her hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she lost herself in the sensation.

    He kept the pace steady, sensual, each stroke a deliberate caress that stoked the fire between them. Her breaths came in soft moans, her body trembling as another orgasm built, slower this time, richer. When it hit, she cried out, her walls clenching around him, and he groaned, his restraint faltering. She felt him tense, his thrusts growing slightly erratic, and then, just as her pleasure completed, he pulled out. With a swift motion, he removed the condom, his hand stroking himself once, twice, before he came, jets of warmth spilling across her breasts.

    They stayed there, panting, the air thick with the scent of them. Katie slid off the counter, her legs shaky, and leaned into him, their foreheads touching. The oven hummed faintly behind them, fixed and forgotten, as they lingered in the afterglow of something long desired and finally claimed.