Carol and I stood in the living room of the little cabin hidden in the woods upstate. We kissed for the first time, though for the last twenty-four hours it had been understood that we were there to fuck and suck or do whatever else consenting adults might convince each other to do — though of course I would take very little convincing about anything sexual. And neither would she; of that I was pretty sure. Carol was maybe an inch or so taller than me, but not enough for me to give a damn.

The cabin was set back in the woods, off a dirt road, down a steep driveway — almost impossible to get up during the winter before the plow got there — and right next to the proverbial babbling brook, so close that nowadays they'd never let us put the septic system there. The cabin had been in the family for years, just sitting there for the use of any of us Carlyles who wanted to get laid without any of the wives — or in one case the husband - being any the wiser. When there were no weather noises, like wind or rain, you could actually hear the water in the stream while you were fucking or being blown. Or eaten, in my sister's case. Very erotic, I must say.

I was twenty seven at the time, in the very prime of my extra-marital existence. I'm a mortgage broker. My friends call me Marvin; strangers who want me to think that they're my friend call me Marv. A lot of quality cunt comes through my office: real estate salespeople trying to make a deal happen, title closers, some lawyers, some bankers and an occasional retail customer. Enough of them are horny enough to make going to work a real pleasure, never knowing if some new piece of ass would come walking through the door.

For some reason, real estate saleswomen are exceptionally receptive to the suggestions of a reasonably handsome mortgage broker with a full head of hair, an athletic build and what they call a seductive voice. Plus I still have the stamina to fuck during the day and service my wife at night whenever she wants it. Which, if I had been a decent guy, should have been enough for me.

I've often wondered why those saleswomen ever went into the real estate business, and why it's so wonderfully easy to bed a lot of them. Some of them I know were just born into the family business and never thought of doing anything else. A bunch of them have been waiting for the kids to be old enough to be alone after school and they're trying to supplement the husband's income. Some others are divorcees with kids to raise on their own. They all lack one thing, a guy to pay attention to them at night, someone who's not too tired from fucking his own secretary — or other target of opportunity - all day long. A few are just horny bitches who look for the chance to bed one of the husbands in the couples that she drags around all day long looking at overpriced houses.

Age never mattered either. Most of the saleswomen that I boffed are older than me, and none of them care. So long as I can get it up and stay inside long enough for them to get off, they're happy — and satisfied. Yes, definitely, getting them off is what brings them back for more, again and again.

And so all too many of them are ready and willing to fall for the blandishments of Marvin Carlyle's smile, soft whisper and occasional complimentary leer — if she's got the body to justify a leer. Carol — do you remember her from the first paragraph — was one of the divorced ones; her son was about eleven or so. More about him later; no, don't worry; he's not involved in any of the sex. Not directly, anyway. I met Carol after she had made a sale; I've been taught to always encourage the sales people to hand deliver the mortgage application to my office. That's for legitimate business reasons; the ones that I can boink are just a bonus.

Carol was, I'm groping for words here, not unattractive. Her face would never appear in a cosmetics advertisement, nor would her tits sell sweaters or bras. But still, she was pleasant to look at and I would not be embarrassed to be seen with her in a restaurant or a motel room. As I later happily learned, her mouth and pussy — and her imagination - would have made her a star in the porn flick industry.

It took a week before we could arrange schedules for a lunch and just an hour until she accepted my invitation to see the cabin in the woods, which was located a mere fifteen minutes from my office. At that lunch, she had vented about her ex-husband and about men in general. I took all that to mean that she was horny. Without either of us using that particular word, she confirmed it.

The next day, she parked her car at a shopping center near my office and I picked her up. As I drove, she commented that we were going somewhere to fuck and yet I had never even kissed her. I responded by picking up her hand and kissing the back of it. She smiled and placed her hand on my lap, sighing as she felt my cock growing against her palm. She also confirmed my prejudices by casually asking me about the status of her customer's mortgage application. I shrugged inwardly, thinking that she was just a whore, selling her body not for cash but for mortgage approvals, and not even realizing that I had little to say about final approval; that decision was for the bankers. I chose not to belabor that last point.

She was wearing a pair of expensive white jeans, identical to or maybe the same ones that she had on the first time she came to my office. Two days later, when I was bragging to my best friend about the fabulous new piece of ass I had fucked at the cabin, I had to distinguish her from another Carol, one who my friend knew, and so I referred to the new one as White Pants. Hence the name of this story.

As the cabin came into view, she gushed about the beauty of the setting and her hand, seemingly involuntarily, closed over my by-then hard pecker. I parked, we left the car, and I held her hand as we walked down the loose pebbled path to the cabin. Once inside, she took in the cabin in a single glance and then, in a totally unnecessarily seductive voice, said "It's beautiful, Marv."

I didn't care for her enough to tell her that I preferred to be called Marvin; she wasn't my friend yet. Nor did I have the nerve to spit out the obvious 'not as beautiful as you are' because she simply wasn't beautiful and I thought that she would treat it as pure bullshit. What I did was to pull her around to face me and then kissed her for that first time.

Her eyes closed, reminding me again that women want to feel some emotion before they fuck. Most of them, fortunately not all, like to think that they are desired for their minds, not just for their cunts. Deep down they all know what we're interested in — fuck, suck, cum - but they continue to delude themselves that there's hope for 'us', the couple.

Carol's tongue flicked out aggressively. I opened my mouth to let her in and our duel began. This saleslady was a pusher; it felt like she was trying to get her tongue all the way down my throat. I could feel our saliva mixing, crossing back and forth from mouth to mouth. Meanwhile, I had my hand on her ass, pulling her snatch tightly against my groin. Her hand was on my chest, feeling me up as if I had tits.

It was only mid-day; I had to go back to the office and I didn't want a dress shirt wrinkled. I let her go and stepped back, stripping off my jacket and tie. As I started to unbutton my shirt, Carol pulled her sweater off over her head. I had seen her nipples poking through the sweater earlier but I hadn't realized that she wore no bra. When I bent to suck her tits, she took over the job of opening my shirt. Ultimately we were both topless. As I began to open my belt, Carol pulled down her white jeans.

Somehow, especially since the jeans were white, I would have expected her to be wearing panties. I mean, isn't underwear supposed to be used to keep your outer garments clean? I mean, jeez, didn't she ever hear about body fluids and that stuff? On the other hand, it was a very pleasant surprise to be presented with bare pussy. Of course, by that time, I knew that seduction would play no part in the proceedings, but bare pussy told me that I'd get whatever I wanted from dear old Carol.

I dropped my pants where I stood — fuck the wrinkles — and lifted her up to carry her into the bedroom. Laying her out on the bed, I sat next to her and began to give her a very slow massage, starting with her back and then to her tits. After that, it was stomach, hips, and ass, finally winding up with a gentle rub of her inner thighs which led right up to her snatch.

Carol was jerking me off backhand as I rubbed, but she was mainly daydreaming as I worked her closer and closer to her orgasm. She panted and her eyes focused way out there, seeing nothing and feeling everything. My fingers pinched her clit and I knew that she would cum before I even began to eat her. I shoved two fingers up into her cunt and she began to scream; I love it when they cum so noisily.

"AAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEE."

I moved on top of her; the kiss served no purpose except to help line up cock and cunt. Carol's eyes glistened, with satisfaction and with anticipation. She licked her lips, suggesting that she'd like my cock in her mouth; I was sorely tempted, but decided that I preferred to fuck rather than to be sucked, at least that first date. The more I could make her cum, the more I could get into her pants again. After the first time, though, I'd let her blow me, and if she didn't have time to wait around for my cock to recover, that would be her problem, not mine. She took my meat and lined it up with her slit.

She was so fucking wet that my cock oozed into her easily. I hit bottom instantly and she wrapped her legs around me, powerful legs toned from all that walking into houses with customers. She held me tightly inside her, so tightly that I had to tell her to relax so that I could pump back and forth. My cock stroked without difficulty; it was as though her pussy had been oiled for me. I generally try to hold out so that the girl can cum on my cock; Carol was so wet and hot that I knew I wouldn't make it, so I reached between us and pinched her clit. It worked; we came together. My load was so big that it oozed out of her on the last of my strokes.

She cleaned me off with her mouth; I wish that they were all so considerate. She also cleaned herself off with a tissue before I had a chance to do it for her. My mind boggled at the absolute waste of a great opportunity for me to clean her pussy with my tongue. What the hell, I thought, there'll be other chances with her for that. We dressed in silence.

I looked at my watch. A little bit longish for a lunch, I thought, but no one in the office would notice except my secretary. She would guess where I had been, if not with whom. She didn't care; as long as she got hers, in the sack and in the paycheck, she didn't care who else I fucked. After I dropped off Carol and got to my office, my secretary did give me a shit-eating grin. I blew her a kiss and told her to get back to work.

"Your turn tomorrow, Susie," I whispered to her.

She licked her lips with a smile; no, make that a leer.

Susie did require a fair amount of servicing, as did my wife. Besides that, I did have a business to run and employees to feed. As a result, I didn't get to see Carol for over a week. She met me at the cabin; she wore the same white jeans, without underwear, just as I had requested. In place of the sweater she wore a T-shirt. When she exited her car — sorry if that sounds like it was written by a police officer — I read what was written on the T-shirt.

The words were totally forgettable but they brought something else to mind. Women like to show off their tits. I don't mean that in my usual filthy way but only to say that they are proud of their figures and dress to show off their breasts. And they kind of like it when a guy notices their fine racks. Yet if he stares at their chests, it seems crude and they think of him, sometimes even call him, a pervert. Why then do they wear T-shirts with things on the front that carry some sort of political or other message that requires a guy to stare so that he can read the whole message? Or is that what they really wanted in the first place? And when those nipples are popping right out of the T-shirt, I really have no choice what to look at.

Our kiss hello outside the cabin door was perfunctory; maybe she liked me and maybe she didn't, but all she cared about was a cock, any cock, so long as it was hard and the balls behind it full of cum. (Many of the stories on this site use the word 'jism'; I've never learned the derivation of that word. I've always thought that it was a poor euphemism for the creamy stuff that I call cum.) I looked around to make sure that no one could see us and then I yanked her T-shirt off over her head. Then she looked around, assuring herself similarly of our privacy, and leaned against the door to pull off her jeans.

"Look what I did for you this morning, Marv. Do you like it?" she asked, proudly pushing a freshly shaven pussy toward me.

Oh yes I did! Bald pussy always turns me on, and my response took the form of two fingers sliding inside her as we kissed, this time for real. Visions of fucking a naked Carol doggy-style bending over the lawn picnic table ran through my head. I chickened out. Instead, I unlocked the door and let her into the cabin. She threw her clothing on the floor and mine followed, leaving a trail as we headed toward the bedroom.

She pushed me onto the bed and jumped on right after me, positioning herself between my outspread legs. She bent to gobble my cock and I lifted my ass to make it easier for her. Her wet mouth engulfed me, sending me into a frenzy; I held her head hard against my groin and humped up into her mouth. After a few strokes, Carol twisted away from me, her signal that I was to slow down and let her control the sucking action. She gave me a stern look, then a smile and resumed sucking while I caressed her hair and face.

She held the base of my cock with her hand so that I couldn't slam it down her throat. Her tongue ran up and down my shaft, licking lazily. Her lips fastened on my crown, on the pee hole, sucking away my pre-cum. She lifted my cock straight up and bent her head under it, sucking my nuts one after the other. Then her tongue traveled down toward my ass, flicking my pucker. If I weren't afraid of her killing me, I would have let myself cum right then.

"Suck it, Carol. Make me cum," I begged her. She complied, ceasing the blow job foreplay and wrapping her warm wetness around my shaft. Though I never had any doubt about her experience, I reveled in the skill she brought to fellatio. Her vacuum cleaner mouth, her hand jiggling my balls and her middle finger pressed against my anal opening all combined to bring my cum bubbling out of my balls and up through my cock toward her gullet. A moment before the first spurt of my cream shot out of me, I tightened my grip on her head once again, the warning she had all so obviously known often before.

I moaned and exploded, throb after throb of cum blasting into Carol's mouth. With the last spurt, I begged her again.

"Swallow it, Carol, swallow it."

She did, most of it anyway, and rolled away onto her back. A thin stream of my cum dribbled out of the corner of her mouth to run down her cheek. She used a finger to scoop it back into her mouth, licking her lips like a cat finishing a bowl of milk.

"My turn, Marv." She said it with a smile but I could tell that it was a demand. If I didn't fulfill it — yet how could she even think that I wouldn't want to — I could delete her phone number from my memory bank. Oh Carol, Carol, is there any man alive who wouldn't want to stick his tongue into your shiny wet newly shaven cunt?

I stalled for a minute or two to catch my breath and then I rolled between her outspread legs. To my experienced nose, her pussy gave off a mixture of sweet rose petals, probably from a spray can, and unbridled lust, the musk and sweat and lubrication that cried out 'fuck me, fuck me.' Or, at that particular moment, 'eat me, eat me.'

And I had learned the delights of eating pussy so many years earlier, back in my middle school days, when my sister Lisa had interrupted me in the middle of jerking off and she had taught me to eat her cunt as compensation for having given me my first blow job. But that's a story for another day. To me, eating a girl has always been like that cup of sherbet served in a fine restaurant between courses to cleanse the palate, that intermezzo between the blow job appetizer and the straight fuck main course, or even between the straight fuck and the anal fucking dessert.

My tongue flicked around her inner thighs and all over her freshly shaven pubes, but deliberately avoiding slit or clit. My little taster went beneath Carol's cunt into the start of the crack in back. I wasn't ready to tongue her pucker but I knew that it would happen one of those days. Her sighs and moans told me that she was having great fun, and I had barely started. She especially seemed to enjoy it when I stuck my nose inside her wet pussy. But all this cunnilingual foreplay had to end before she got cranky.

I began to kiss her clit softly while I buried two fingers inside her, finger fucking and at the same time searching for her g-spot. She grabbed my wrist and began to twist it and move it this way and that, using it as the ultimate joy-stick. We found the spot and she began to scream and gush out her Amaretto-tasting discharge all over my face.

Before she finished screaming, I had my mouth wrapped around her clit and my tongue buried inside her, sucking her juices and licking like a maniac. I had her almost to her second cum when I heard a knock on the front door.

"Oh shit!" I snuck quietly to the bedroom window and looked out. Our there, big as life, sat the oil truck, hose already connected to the intake line on the side of the house. It had to be Tony the oil man. I had known him for years, not that we were that close. Worse though, he knew my wife, had gone to school with her. And he had to know I was there; two cars were parked in plain view. If he looked through the front window, he could probably see my clothing and Carol's right there on the floor. And even if he didn't, he was sure to guess what I was doing in the house and not answering the door.

I didn't know whether to shit or go blind. So I did nothing, hiding below the window until Tony wrapped up the hose and drove away, leaving a bill in the door. Carol meanwhile was lying there laughing.

"Ah, you married men have such problems," she finally said with a smile.

Interestingly, I had never mentioned to her that I had a wife, but I guess she could tell. I've never hidden the fact from any of the women I fucked, but I never flaunted it either. When I stood up, my cock had shriveled away to nothing.

"I wasn't finished, Marv."

She had been so close and didn't plan to let me get away with an incomplete job. My cock on the other hand was useless and though that didn't directly affect the utility of my tongue, it sort of took all the fun out of it. But a guy's hold on any cunt is tenuous, and further access can be denied for the slightest of reasons, or for no reason at all. So I moved behind Carol and straddled her head, figuring that a sixty-nine would help.

She cooperated, taking my limp dick in hand and surrounding it whole with her wet mouth as I bent forward to her snatch. Her clit luxuriated as I sucked, but my cock remained flaccid. I strained to please her pussy and was finally rewarded — no, make that released from duty — when she came. Fucking her pussy or — fantasy — ass after that was out of the question, so we snuggled up in bed and kissed while I played with her tits until it was time to go back to the office.

The following week I met Carol again at the cabin. It was my birthday, and I had planned a long lunch hour in bed with her before heading home for a duty-fuck with my wife. Instead of her white pants, though, Carol had on black slacks and I could see a panty line under them. In addition, her cheek was swollen. She saw me staring at her face and then her slacks. She explained with a blush.

"We've got a problem today, Marv. I've been at the dentist all morning and my mouth is still feeling the Novocain. No blow jobs for you today, I'm sorry to say."

I shrugged. Blow jobs are fun, from my point of view at least, but fucking is even better. Carol read my shrug and looked down. She had an almost evil smile on her face. She continued in a whisper.

"The reason I'm not wearing the white pants this afternoon is because I've got my period. I think the best we can do for you today is a hand job. For anything else, we'll have to wait for a few days."

"What difference does your period make?" I asked. Even as I spoke, I knew that it would be an uphill battle to have a good time. The Novocain in the mouth I could understand, but the period had never made a difference with most of the women I fucked. But that was not something I dared to mention. She may not think that I'm limiting my cock to her, but there was no sense in rubbing it in.

"I've never had sex during my period, Marv."

"Why not?" I asked her.

"Because."

Don't you love it when you're in the middle of a debate and the other person just says that one word to rest his or her case, as though the logic is obvious? I had to bite my tongue to keep from raising my voice, which would have wiped out any chance even for a hand job. But I'd never been faced with this problem and didn't know how to address it. Well, I thought, you may as well give it a try, Marvin.