Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
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.
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.
.... There is more of this story ...