Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
For no particular reason, not one that I consciously admit anyway, I've always thought that the name Yvonne was erotic. It conjured up thoughts of a femme fatale, a siren calling ancient seafarers to her rocky shores, a temptress flitting behind a sheer veil. Then the Yvonne of my masturbatory dreams walked into the used bookstore that serves as my cunt web. Not that I ever managed to get enough use of that back room with the bed; most of the time, I had to flog Peter The Great something fierce, standing up and looking through the one-way glass for prospective customers.
"Hello, Bernie. Getting much lately," she said with a smile. That was the kind of remark she often made, especially knowing that I wasn't 'getting any' from her. She bent close and we kissed the air alongside each other's cheeks. I had to force my hand not to grab her luscious ass as we hugged; I consciously pulled my back away from her to avoid having her think that I had deliberately pressed my body against her formidable chest.
I hadn't seen her in the flesh in a couple of years, living as she did hundreds of miles away, and yet I saw her clearly every time I put hand to cock. Some of those jerk-off scenes had her on her knees in front of me, licking my cum as it dribbled out of her mouth. Others pictured her on her back which her legs spread like a wish-bone, droplets of my cream oozing out of her snatch on to her cunt hair; a few even had her on hands and knees awaiting the ultimate violation up her forbidden dark passage. Very occasionally I imagined using her for a tit fuck, cuming on her neck and face.
"How are you?" I asked, my mind as always full of lewd thought, of Yvonne or others. Her reply and the usual polite banter that followed would bore you to tears, so I'll omit them.
"How's Tom? Did he come with you?" I followed up.
"How is he? Who the fuck cares? I've had it with him. I don't care if I never see him again, unless I'm standing there spitting on his grave. Where is he? He's in San Francisco with a new secretary, trying to find out how long he can fuck her before he has to give her a raise. I think she believes that if she lets him fuck her ass, she'll get the raise faster. Little does she know about that prick. He'll use her for a toilet slave before he digs into his pocket for anything other than to play with himself."
"Why'd you marry him then?" I asked, somewhat argumentatively, I must admit.
"I married him for all the usual reasons. He has a great cock and a fabulous tongue, I was lonely and I needed a sugar daddy. I made good arm candy and I gave him the ride of his life in bed. I did threesomes with my friends for him; with his friends too sometimes. I let him stick it anyplace he wanted to. His pipes were never so clean. His cock can die happy; I just wish he'd die along with it."
Involuntarily, I blushed at her candor and crudity, though I was long accustomed to her salty language.
"What brings you here? It's such a long trip for you." As good as it was to see her again, I was curious.
"Well, first of all, it's only a five hour drive, and I even had time to stop to pee, not like that lady astronaut. As to why, I need a new battery for my vibrator," she said with a big, wide grin.
She sighed. "I thought you understood, Bernie. I live for hard cock. I haven't gotten laid in a week; I'm so horny I could fuck a dog. Since the one we own doesn't have a large enough cock, you're the first person I thought about."
Now that's something I don't hear that often, like never. I mean my cock is adequately sized to do whatever job she wanted done — or was willing to allow - but no woman had ever told me that she wanted me to fuck her because of the size of my cock. Peter The Great absorbed the news even faster than I did, and he made a tent in my pants while I still tried to parse Yvonne's words.
She laughed at the look of surprise on my face. "You never thought that you'd get to fuck me, did you, Bernie?"
"Is that why you're here? Because you're pissed off at Tom fucking around and want to get even with him?"
"Does it matter, Bernie? Is there any reason I could give you that would make you NOT want to jump into bed with me?
Without waiting for an answer, her eyes roamed around the store. "Is there a cot or something behind that door, Bernie?"
I still had to answer the first question she had thrown out, but I didn't want to use the word 'fuck'. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to make love with you? Do you have any idea how sore my tongue got from my biting it when I wanted to say that to you?"
I chose not to tell her that I jerked off to her image almost every day, but being a grown and worldly woman, she probably knew that, or at least surmised that it was a good bet.
"Of course I do, love. And I've felt the same way as you since that first day when fucking Tom came home with lipstick on his shirt and smelling like someone's cunt."
"Yes, there's a convertible couch back there. I always keep it open."
"Just for me, Bernie?" She was joking and I didn't respond. She walked to the door like she owned the place, turned the deadlock and hung the 'Closed' sign.
"Hey, it's only three o'clock. Why not hang the 'Back in one hour' sign?"
She walked toward the back room. As she passed me, she said, "Do you have one that says 'Back at midnight'?
How could I argue with an invitation like that?
In the back room, Yvonne kicked off her shoes and then doffed her jeans. She had on 'whore red' bikini panties; that didn't surprise me. She looked around the room.
"Is that door the bathroom? I have to pee."
Uh oh! Houston, we have a problem. "Er, it's out of order. The plumber won't be here until tomorrow morning."
The silence was deafening. Her eyes bored holes through me. In a pinch, I could always send her to the diner around the corner, but I hated to do that when she already had her jeans off. Still...
"Bernie, have you ever..." She stopped, uncertain I guess as to how to end the sentence. I guessed though.
"Water sports? Once in a while, if the girl is something special and if I've had too much to drink."
She gave it right back to me. "Aren't I something special? And doesn't the idea of fucking me intoxicate you?"
She took my head in her hands, pulling it to her. She kissed me as we had never before kissed, her tongue probing my mouth. The kiss felt like love, not lust. She pulled back and placed her hands on my shoulders, gently guiding me to my knees.
"Take my panties off me, Bernie."
I put my fingers in the waistband and pulled. For some illogical reason, her bald pussy surprised me. I would have to change that picture in my mind, the one where my cum oozes out of her well-fucked pussy onto her cunt hair. The bikinis hit the floor and she stopped out of them. She put one leg over my shoulder and her hand pressed my face onto her drooling pussy. I opened my mouth around her slit.
"Are you ready, Bernie?" I nodded my head and she relaxed whatever muscle it is that holds the bladder closed.
It was the third time I had ever done that in my life. The first two times, the girl had sat on my face while I lay flat on my back and yes, both times I had been drunk as a skunk. I knew what to expect, how it would taste and probably how long it would last. It struck me as ludicrous that after lusting after her cunt for so long, the foreplay would consist of swallowing her piss. As part of the foreplay for sex, I could live with it but I certainly wouldn't want to make a habit of it.
I gripped both of Yvonne's ass cheeks tightly as the golden fluid poured out of her. I swallowed as she kept delivering more and more. When we were both finished, she dropped to her knees in front of me.
"Thank you, Bernie." Then she kissed me again, forcing her tongue in my mouth to get the taste of what I had just done for her. "I was pretty sure that you had done that before; otherwise I never would have asked. And I would never have asked you to do that if I wasn't willing to do the same for you, Bernie. Whenever you want, Bernie," she added erotically.
We both stood. Yvonne pulled her sweater off over her head. Her bra was the same red as her panties.
"Was this red underwear just for me?" I asked.
"You and no one else, baby. I bought both pieces at the mall this morning just after I left for this trip. I'm going to leave them in your desk drawer as a memento." She took off the bra and tossed it onto the desk.
What awesome tits! Without my asking, she told me that they measured 38DD. The nipples stood out like good little soldiers standing on a field of silver dollar areolas. I fastened my mouth on one nip and began to squeeze her other tit. She held my head to her like a baby and I snuck my free hand down between her legs to her wet cunt. She let out a little squeak as my fingers explored her inner workings.
Her body looked and felt as I had imagined, as I had hoped. Her tits announced themselves in any sweater or blouse that she wore; the nipples followed logically. Her smooth round hips couldn't be hidden under the jeans or form fitting skirts that she favored. Her ass was tight, not large, but enough to grab to spread if I should be lucky enough to get Peter The Great in that way. Her bald pussy surprised me, although it should not have, the way she casually spoke about sex.
She pulled her nipple away from me and bounced onto the bed.
.... There is more of this story ...