A friends dance for me.18:45 Jul 21 2007
Times Read: 1,046
Suggested 'for mature readers'
Taking a stance in white blouse and red tartan skirt, she begins to dance, moving her hips slowly, seductively.. and I stare, licking my lips.
Moving her hips to a basey slow song she slowly raises her skirt in increments up her thighs gyrating them slowly to the beat as she slid her open thighs over my legs…
I look at her thighs and my gaze moves slowly upward.. as I sit with my hands at my sides.
She slowly eases her thighs lower to mine, moving to the beat her eyes meeting mine as she reaches out to slide her hands down my chest to where my jeans fasten and the heat of her lowers to his arousal evident, as she grinds down, thighs taut, as my gaze is fixed upon her, as intent on seeing how far this tease is meant to go…
She takes my fingers and find the button of my jeans while looking into my eyes and flicks the top one over as she leant down and lightly licks my lip with just a teasing touch of tongue to mine, her hips slowly pressing into my hardness and knowing I wanted all of it bared..
As a strip to tease, becomes more of something to please and my hirsute chest is
revealed to my eyes; I can't resist temptation any more, and my fingers ache, to touch her warm flesh…
Her fingers find another button as she teasingly inserts her tongue into my mouth and slowly suck my tongue and slide her fingers through the hair on my chest finding my nipples and pinching teasingly, she presses her naked pussy to my hardness, barely constrained by my jeans…
And her groans seen to fill the air, as my teasing of her hardened buds has her melting beneath my touch; and she looks to my eyes, afire with mischief, as my hard self pulses with it's need for release..
Her fingers reach down for the final button at last, freeing my hard cock, as it has wanted so very long. She slides the molten wetness of her pussy over my pulsing hard cock and slowly eases it into the hotness of her pulsing opening as she lowers herself slowly, her hands on my chest, her liquid warmth a pleasure to feel, as I reach up to cup her breasts in my hands, as she begin to rise and fall.
Her pussy clasps itself around the full pulsing hardness of my cock and she begins thrusting myself down onto the hardness knowing we both needed the feel of completion, my fingers tightening on your nipples and needing to feel my teeth there biting harder.
As her pussy milked my cock, feeling it growing harder at that moment in her pussy as she thrusts harder and harder and she rises and falls, I bite her neck, grasping your flesh, with hands and teeth and I sit beneath her, gasping with my satisfaction, as I finally shoot my cum.. deep into your belly.
And, we kiss.
“awww gods above and below!” She cries, as I bite her neck as her pussy convulses around my cock pulsing in time with my emissions
and holding her tight I thrust upward, as she pushes down, listening, as she moans wild-eyed: and I hold her, biting her, wanting this climax to last.
“awww gods!” She cries, as her pussy spasms, as she came, squeezing my cock with the convulsing that overcame our bodies flexing in time with the pulsations of our sex…
A Doctor’s.. Help.
15:59 Jul 07 2007
Times Read: 1,069
It was early evening and the teen was the last patient of the day.
She had entered the teak panelled small office sucking slowly on a lollipop, wide eyes staring from side to side, at the framed certificates, a testament to his learning.
Hello Doctor Winterton.. I’m pleased.. you could see me.. I’ve..” She said, removing the lollipop briefly, licking at her sugar sweet lips: “I’ve heard so much, about you.”
He glanced up and smiled; looking at the short tartan skit, white sock srolled down to her practical brown sandals.
Bespectacled and wearing a waistcoat and cravat, the man was in his early sixties, an unlit pipe in the crook of his mouth, between the greying goatee.
He sat on a large winged red leather armchair, his notepad on his lap, legs crossed, right over left, drawing his trouser up to show his Simpsons socks.
“Who from, Miss..?”
“Yolanda Khan... Sir.” The teen told him, as she twirled a pigtail.
“An unusual name Miss Khan.” Michael Winterton said distantly, his eyes drawn to her chest and how she filled her blouse: how it was apparent she wore no bra, the impression of her nipples clearly evident.
“My grandfather was Indian.. and.. I was named after my Mother, from Yugoslavia.”
“Yet you have such blonde hair, freckles and fair skin..” he said slowly, appraising the girls looks.
“Why thank you,” she giggled; “I try to keep out of the sun.”
Yolanda continued to giggle, as she walked slowly to him, again sucking the lollipop.
“Well, do come and lie down and maybe I can help?” he told her, gesturing with his pipe, toward the black leather couch to the left of his seat and next to the wall.
She sat, for a moment, swinging her legs back and forth, looking at Winterton straight in his eyes, pulling the lollipop from her sugar-coated lips, which she licked with the tip of her tongue.
“Do I lie down, while we talk, like they do in the movies?”
“Yes, that’s the idea,” he assured her gently, his hands on her shoulders as he helped her lay back, placing a read cushion beneath her head.
Then Winterton sat as before, his concentration fixed on the teens pale thigh, as his pen hovered over the pad.
He reached over with his left hand and lightly stroked her hair.
“So, what brings you here?” The Doctor asked.
“I told you, one of my friends said you helped her.. after her parents broke up,” she replied, talking into her chin softly, drawing her right leg up to a crooked position.
The tartan skirt fell away at the side, where it’d been loosely pinned, exposing the side of her white cotton panties.
Breathing hard, Winterton set his notebook and pipe down by the side of his chair and knelt at Yolanda’s side, his right hand on the teenager’s calf.
“And was I able to help your friend?” He asked, feeling the flesh tremble as his fingers brushed the tartan skirt aside.
Yolanda turned her face to the wall.
“You helped her.. make a decision..” she told him, speaking from around the lollipop, her hands at her sides; the small fists clenched, knuckles showing white.
He couldn’t help himself, Winterton thought, pressing his lips to her bony right hip, his right hand on her thigh now.
“So what’s her name, the one I helped?” he asked, drawing back a moment.
“Heather Cirrone..” She whispered, as he cupped her right breast in his left hand; the mottled flesh a contrast to the white of her blouse.
He liked the feel of her pert bosom and easily mistook her rapid breathing for passion.
‘Heather Cirrone?’ The name meant nothing to him; there’d been so many in here, on that same couch.
“Do you remember her?” Yolanda asked, turning to watch the older mans mottled baldpate, as he pressed his face to her soft belly.
She didn’t smile, as she queried him.
“Yes,” he lied easily; as he undid his zip and drew his arouse manhood into the open.
“I’m pleased you remember her, Doctor Winterton..” Yolanda expressed softly, smiling again, recalling exactly why she was here.
“I’m very pleased.. you remember Heather..” she murmured, as the Doctor mauled her body.
The smile widened as she drew strength from the Full Moon, allowing the power it instilled to course through her, as the change began.
Yet obsessed as he was, with the nubile body before him, Winterton didn’t notice her eyes turn from blue to amber, as her pupils became elliptical: and she bared her canine teeth.
He even smiled, as Yolanda leant over and ran her right hand over his back, upward, toward his neck.
Abruptly he felt the pain, as nails turned talon long and sharp, tore at his flesh, cutting deep.
She raked flesh from him and blood showered the black leather couch, as the teen leapt upon him, taut thighs round his back.
Winterton fell forward groaning loudly, clutching at the wound in his neck; so was unable to fend away any further attack.
“Help..” he cried out.
Yolanda’s eyes burned with her rage, raking her claws through his shirt, ripping open his stomach, bloody entrails spilling forth.
Still he lived.
Turning, he looked up, at the lupine avenger.
“Why?” He tried to ask around the blood frothing in his throat, choking him.
All the sound he made though was a gurgle, as he rolled over into the viscous crimson mess that had issued from him.
“Why?” Yolanda snarled as she stood: “Is that what you want to know?”
Her blue eyes calmer, as was her demeanour, Yolanda crouched down to retriever her skirt.
“I’ll tell you why. Your help led to a good friend killing herself.. Doctor Winterton.”
He heard her words from a distance, as he watched her dress.
And Michael Winterton remembered Heather Cirrone, moments before he died, as Yolanda walked out of the office and into the night; pleased, her coven sister would now rest easy.
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