Chapter 1

Paul Hartstein winced as the icy wind blew the swirling snow into his face and wished he’d thought to bring a scarf with him as he vainly tried to deflect some of the snow from his face and eyes.

He bent his 6’4” feverish frame into the stiff winter wind whipping down Danbury’s Main Street. It was the coldest January in forty-seven years and he never doubted it; but he did regret not having taken his car to the pharmacy, but on reflection, it had been awfully low on gas and he didn’t have the money to pick-up his prescription and put gas in the fifteen-year-old Dodge Charger.

Paul had graduated from the University of Connecticut with honors; had edited the University newspaper and played linebacker on the varsity football team for three years before a knee injury sidelined him his senior year.

Now 26, he was half finished with his first novel. His first work, a novella about a girl on a train had been submitted to several publishers after his former English professor urged him to do so; but as with most first offerings, it wasn’t well received. Rejection slip after rejection slip arrived with almost no comment on the work itself. If Paul’s count was correct, only one publisher had yet to respond, and they may have just thrown his novella away and not bothered with the rejection slip. He was getting desperate, not having eaten in a day or so, and with very little money to his name.

Yet he felt his latest work was far superior to the novella, and was confident it would be picked up when finished, if he could last that long.

He turned right onto White Street, into an even stiffer wind. His one room apartment was one block east, when he smelled the aroma of food coming from the Mexican restaurant a half block away. He realized how hungry he was, and it occurred to him that Jim and Celia Masters, old and true friends from college, lived just two doors down from where he stood.

Inside the Master’s home, Celia munched at a frozen Milky Way while watching an old video of herself and her husband they had made about two years earlier. In it, Celia was lying nude on their bed, on her back and with both legs pulled just past her head.

Jim, her husband, was alternating between licking her ass and her pussy and driving her crazy with pleasure.

Celia stared at the screen, breathing faster than normal as her arousal sent sensations of warmth and excitement spreading outward from her pubis. The ensuing wetness slowly moistened the tiny thong she had on under her jeans. Previous viewings of the same video had produced similar results, and Celia knew that in due course, this thong would soon be soaked through too.

A faint Mona Lisa smile played across her face as she recalled the tumultuous orgasm Jim had given her the day they made the video. The smile widened as she recalled without shame about the number of men she’d passed earlier that very day at the Danbury Mall and how shocked they’d be if they knew what she was doing now. Her fingertips furtively crept across her sternum to caress the contours of her breasts. She giggled on spying the goose bumps popping up on her areolas; took note of a hair now sprouting up there that required clipping and flicked at the nearest nipple until it began to harden.

Pleased with herself, Celia twisted both her nipples. A soft, pleasured moan left her throat and the dimples surrounding them played against her fingertips as she lightly tweaked them.

Another somewhat louder involuntary moan followed as Celia felt the juices begin seeping from her cunt, coating her labia and making the lips slick and ready for a cock, finger, or vibrator. The liquid continued seeping from her as she stared unblinking at the screen as her husband sent his cock into her, filling her with his thickness.

Celia ached for the real thing. Jim wouldn’t be home until four or so. With all the snow he had no work to go to and so he was off drinking beer and playing pool with his friends. Celia couldn’t wait any longer; closing her eyes, she imagined a man--any man—there with her, holding her close and running his hands over her body. Oh, yeah ... play with my boobs, my knockers, my tata’s. What else does Jim call ‘em? Kahunas and my twins, Fred and Ginger.

Celia looked at her beautiful melons in the mirror, hefting them up to show them off even better.

Shit, my areolas are so big--I remember the other girls in junior high looking at them with envy and awe as if they were special because of their size, and I guess they are. My titties ... my pleasure domes! With that, she began slapping each of her boobs until the nipples stood up to her satisfaction. Fuck! I’m one hot bitch.

Opening her eyes, Celia noted the video had reached the point where she was cupping her husband’s balls with one hand and feeding his cock into her mouth with the other. She moaned recalling the moment then shut her eyes to blot out reality and give in to her imagination, preferring the imaginary man to her husband in a reprised role.

The imaginary stranger teased her back with long fingers, ran his hand along her hip, and suddenly she was aware of the urgency with which his cock was pressing against her thigh.

“Okay--okay, now for some real fun!” she crowed to the empty room, and spreading her legs pried her thong up so that it wouldn’t interfere and set her fingers to roaming over her hairy twat as the first droplets of juice ebbed from her vag.

Celia shoved a pillow between her legs, making it do for her imaginary man, and molded herself to him. With eyes clamped shut, she imagined his fingers slipping under her thong and into her wetness. Not satisfied with that, she rolled over onto her back, parted her thighs and welcomed his imaginary cock into her.

In actuality, Celia’s clit had just emerged from its hiding place and she began to rub it, sending a vivid sensation from the delicate nerve endings coursing throughout her body. Her breath was more rapid than before, and her body began to lose itself to her lust.

Oh yeah--oh yeah--fuckin’ right! Right--right--right there baby! Just you and me, baby--just you and me!

“UGH! UGH! UGH! OHHHHH...”

OHHHH FUCK ... I’M LOVIN’ THIS!

Her body was undulating sensually as her other hand explored other areas of her body-- thighs, belly, breasts. With a reluctant groan, Celia took the finger from her slippery cunt and brought it to her mouth and started sucking. As the taste of her cunt registered in her brain she shuddered with delight and had a little orgasm.

Moments later she was pumping three fingers in and out of her wet twat, thumbing her clit, and gnawing at the fingers on her other hand to keep from crying out too loudly. For she was certain the occupants of the adjoining apartment had come home earlier because of the snow. Celia felt a huge cum coming on and flopped backward landing spread-eagled, and covered in sweat, her hair in disarray, and panting heavily, caught sight of herself in the mirror adjacent to the bed.

Christ, I never looked sexier!

“More ... I need more!” she croaked, and bending over from the waist while keeping her legs straight but slightly apart, Celia rummaged around her lingerie drawer, found what she was looking for and gasped, “Gotcha!”

She held the pink cock-shaped dildo she called Big Jim aloft then layback and smiled. Then with due deliberation, she teased herself by rubbing the pink cock up and down her pussy, then around her clit.

A minute or so passed before the first moan left her mouth. Slowly she eased the large toy into her cunt while using her other hand to rub lightly over her clit.

“Oh yes, oh yes,” she gasped knowing her climax was close.

Suddenly it’s on her!

“Oh fuckkk ... oh fuckkk...” a mantra that went on for over a minute as wave after wave consumed her. Tom, Tom.” Kath continues on for over a minute as a second wave consumes her, and then the room went silent.

That was the moment the front doorbell rang and catapulted her into action.

Perhaps it was because he needed to talk with another person, or possibly the fact that his teeth were chattering as his fever balked at being out in the sub-zero temperature that made Paul ring the bell to the entrance to the Victorian home that served as a trio of apartments for young couples.

He waited about a minute before ringing the bell a second time. He was about to ring it again when the door opened. Celia stood there, wearing one of Jim’s old flannel shirts and a pair of tattered jeans, but no shoes or slippers. Paul noted her flushed face and that she had dyed her hair blonde since he’d last seen her, and a moment later, that she had cut it short.

The startled expression she’d had on opening the door vanished as she smiled and said, “Well, look what the cat dragged in! C’mon in! Jesus, get inside here before I freeze to death!”

Paul opened his arms, and Celia threw herself against him, hugging him tightly as they stumbled into the middle of her very high ceilinged living room. Disengaging herself from his arms, she gave him a pecking kiss on the lips and laughingly chirped, “Jesus, man, you’re shivering like crazy! Brandy--you need a brandy.”

She hurried across the room to a bookcase containing three bottles of liquor on the top shelf, but noted that her jeans were not fully buttoned and deftly buttoned the top button before plucking a half full bottle of Hennessy off the shelf and made a dance-like move that would have pleased her old teacher immensely, whirling around and in one continuous motion grabbed two Brandy snifters off a side table and poured them both generous amounts of the coppery looking liquor before sitting down beside him on the couch.

“Good Health,” Celia said, and took a generous swallow.

“Thanks,” Paul said taking a small sip, shivering as the 80 proof brandy warmed his belly.

“Why have you been such a stranger, Paul? You know Jim and I love you; so what the fuck?”

“I ... I’ve been working on my novel,” he said hoping that would suffice.

“You’re always working on a novel. Is it the same one, um, about that girl on the train?”

“No, I finished that one,” he said so lamely Celia couldn’t hide her dismayed expression and quickly tried to cover her mistake by asking an ever worse question. “So you got it published?

“Well...” He took another sip of brandy and this time enjoyed the fire it lit in his belly as it spread through his system. “Um, I do have a publisher looking at it. Favorable comments, but...”

“No money, huh?” Celia said sadly.

“Yeah, no dinero.”

“When did you eat last, Paul?”

He waved the question off as if it was of no consequence, but she was quick to overrule it.

“When Paul?”

He didn’t answer her because he couldn’t recall. “Um, maybe a doughnut yesterday, I’m not sure.”

Celia put her hand on the small of his back and guided him into her kitchen and had him sit down at the small metal topped table. “You like scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Sausage?”

“Mmmm, haven’t tasted sausage in a while, Ceil.”

“Good, I made too much this morning. Can you handle four links?”

“Yes, I think so. And thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“You can come by anytime you run low on cash, Paulie. You know we love you. It’s not charity, you know. Some day you’ll be rich and famous and you can take Jim and me on a trip to Puerto Rico, or some other island paradise.”

Paul nodded as Celia placed the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, then handed him a knife and fork.

He quickly put away the scrambled eggs while the sausage sizzled in the frying pan, and she scrambled two more eggs for good measure.

When Celia thought the sausages and eggs were ready to eat, she brought them to Paul along with two slices of buttered toast.

She smiled contentedly watching him eat the impromptu meal, and poured him a cup of coffee, adding a shot of brandy to it.

Wiping some egg off his mouth, Paul smiled, stood up, and said, “I really appreciate you letting me thaw out and especially for the food. It hit the spot believe me. But Ceil, I’d better be on my way, or I’ll fall asleep on you, Jim may not appreciate finding me here.”

“Are you kidding? Jim will be delighted to see you. He’s always talking about the fun we had back in college.

Paul wondered if she meant the time they had a threesome together, and while he was wondering, Celia ushered him into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets still rumpled from the couple’s slumber of the night before.

“Sit, I’ll get you a blanket. I can see you’re still cold. Just sit there. I’ll be right back.”

He gave her a shy look but sat down on the end of the bed. When Celia took a step toward joining him, he quickly said: “Can I use the ... you know?”

The facilities? Sure, take your time.”

Paul walked unsteadily to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, unzipped his jeans, took his penis out and began urinating. As the golden fluid streamed from his bladder, he glanced around the room. His training as a writer allowed him to see much more than the ordinary person might, and he took in the pantyhose with a hole in the right toe draped over the shower rod, and the frayed brassiere coiled up and lying over the drain in the tub.

Christ, they’re almost as bad off as I am. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of her. They probably needed the food themselves, he thought.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Celia walked in on him. He wasn’t shocked, or even surprised. “Still the neat freak I see,” he said with a smile while gesturing at the pantyhose hanging from the shower rod.

She laughed, “Yeah, anal as hell, that’s me,” she said and laughed again. “Be sure to shake that thing. Don’t want any pee stains on my glamorous sheets.” Celia was obviously uncaring that she’d come in and caught him with shaking his dick.

They both laughed as Paul tucked his penis back into his shorts and zipped up. He did note Celia’s eyes lingering on his groin for a beat longer than she should have and he realized it had been four long months since he had lain with a woman.

“You smoke?” she inquired, holding a package of unfiltered Camels out to him.

“No, I quit a while back; couldn’t afford them.”

“Great way to quit cold turkey,” Celia laughed. “Go on, take a couple. Jim’s bringing a carton back with him, if that is he can get the Brink’s armored car to deliver them.”

Paul calmly tucked himself away and smiled at Celia. “I guess you mean the high cost of cigarettes today. I haven’t had occasion to buy any for a while so I’ve kinda lost touch.”

Celia turned away and left the bathroom. Paul followed her into the bedroom and sat down in the exact spot he’d been in before.

She decided not to beat around the bush and asked, “So how badly off are you, Paul?”

“No worse than usual. I would have passed by, but it’s so damn cold out and I thought I saw the curtain in your window move. I ... I didn’t want you to think I was deliberately avoiding you guys.”

“Are you really still writing, Paul?”

“Yes, of course I am. Some day...”

“I know, and when that day comes you’re taking Jim and me to the fanciest restaurant in town, or, maybe in New York City!”

It was her second reference to his taking them out when he struck it big as a writer. He didn’t mind and made a silent promise to do just that if and when. He looked into her eyes and said aloud, “It’s a deal, Ceil,” then realizing that he was using her old nickname.

Celia grinned at him and placed a hand on his thigh. “You’re too generous, Paul, much too generous.”

Recalling a time or two several years earlier, Paul returned the favor, feeling her strong muscles through her skin-tight jeans as he leaned in closer.

“How’d you know to come by just now? She asked in a husky brandy laden voice.

“I’m an alien. I sense these things, Ceil,” then he leaned in and kissed her under her ear.

Celia shivered and laughed. “Oh shit, Paul, you know what that does to me!”

“Mmmmm.”

“C’mon Paul! I mean it. Jim will be back any minute!”

Paul knew her well enough to know she was lying. He also knew that in all likelihood, Jim wouldn’t mind finding them in his rumpled bed. In fact, Jim would probably shed his clothing and hop into bed with them, filling whichever orifice Celia didn’t have occupied at the time.

Paul had always been good with women; and no longer freezing with the cold, he reverted to form and casually grabbed the back of Celia’s neck sending a delightful shiver that caused instant goosebumps to skin-surf her entire body.

“Damn you!” she bawled, but her shoulders were already scrunching in delight. In the back of her mind Celia was thinking: Is Paulie my imaginary guy come to life? Jim hasn’t done that in ages. Is it too much to hope for? Hasn’t held my hair--mmmm, yeah like that! Christ, how did he know to do that? Yes ... tight ... oh, yes! Right at the root where the hairline meets the nape of my neck ... please-please-please, pull it, but gently, gently, gently.

“Ohhh, yes, Paulie, baby, just like THAT! And hold it, hold it, HOLD IT!

“AHHHHHH, now please ... pull it again, ahhh, sooo good. Soooo fuckin’ good!”

Paul did just that.

“AHHHHHH!”

Celia’s heels and toes slowly and desperately peeled off the floor. A moment later her brain was teeming with urgency, craving, lust and ... hope. The shiver returned only to begin a new journey on the outer edge of her thigh then creeped serenely down the length of her leg leaving Celia in a state of flux. At which point Paul began opening the buttons on her flannel shirt and with the shirt peeled away, undid her bra and sent it fluttering to the floor.

With a moan that sounded like a growl to Celia, Paul cupped both her breasts in his hands, Celia came to her senses and mewed, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Fuck me?” Paul laughed. A second later, the shirt was gone and they were done talking. He kissed her chin, recalling the tiny dimple on its left side, and then her neck. At this point her hands were busy undoing his jeans while her breasts rested against his bare skin in a kind of celebration of their rekindling an old relationship.

With his jeans off and crumpled at the foot of the bed, Celia tore at the rest of their clothes, peeling her skin-tight jeans off with alacrity, and then almost tore his shirt off before wrapping her arms and legs around his naked body for the first time in at least four years.

Paul groaned happily and made his way down her body until her legs opened around his neck, and she cried out when his mouth found her.

“Wait--wait,” she shouted. And jumped from the bed, took two steps to a nearby dresser, found a box of condoms and ripped one open and returning to the bed, carefully placed it over his rampant cock.

Paul almost as quickly, positioned her so that he could go down on her; and did so.

“Oh fuck, I forgot how good you are at that,” she purred happily.

As he licked and sucked and fingered Celia, Paul remembered something he’d written in a journal and shared with her and Jim that last time.

‘Marriage is like an ice cream cone. When exposed to the heat, it gets drippy and sticky unless its participants are very diligent about licking the sides, keeping it even all the way around, ensuring the mound on top of the cone doesn’t topple over onto the scorching sidewalk. This was why even the best marriages occasionally required help in holding the melting rate at bay.‘

He decided to try a few things he’d thought about on Celia and without any warning began slowly dragging his tongue toward her throbbing clit, exulting in knowing she was already trembling from the heady sensations his tongue was causing.

Ceil was wet, wetter than he expected; her juices dribbled over his tongue as he lapping away at her. She was gasping with each separate touch upon her most sensitive part, and added to her pleasure by letting his fingers drift up the inside of her thighs and slipping into her cunt--two fingers first--pushing them with almost no resistance as far as they could reach.

He was rewarded with a generous splash of Celia’s wetness, as her cunt began sucking on his fingers as she groaned and pushed against them.

Paul added a third finger, and began a slow but steady finger fuck even as his mouth and tongue continued their tender kisses and gentle sucks upon her rapidly pulsing clit.

He knew she wanted him inside her, wanted him to fuck her, but he wanted her to cum first, to beg him to fuck her. He needed to hear her say it.

And to make it happen he placed one foot up on the bed with the other firmly planted on the floor and holding her tightly by her upper thighs raised Celia so that her head and shoulders were on the bed and brought her cunt to his mouth.

“Ohmygod!” Celia croaked. “What the fuckkk?”

But Paul’s lips and tongue lapped relentlessly at her cunt. And when her thighs scissored around his head, it freed the fingers of his left hand and he sent them into her, rooting feverishly for her g-spot while at the same time humping her by rubbing his penis against her spine.

Paul couldn’t believe how wet she was--and hearing her gasp knew he’d found her g-spot. He hooked the fingers and stroked the soft spongy area increasing the speed gradually, but continuously--his mouth still adhered to her clit allowing the fingers room to move about.

“Jesus Christ, Paulie ... You’re driving me crazy!”

He laughed, loving the new found power he had over her; and to maintain it he swirled his tongue over her swollen nubbin then drew it between his lips and pressed them tightly together.

Celia came, groaning and gasping as his lips mashed against her clit, shuddering deliciously, bucking against his tongue--groaning his name.

Paul felt another splash of hot, silky wetness over his fingers--then a moment later tasted her cum juices.

“God, Paulie-- Uunnhhh fuckkk-- ooooh--gonna cum again!”

“I want you to cum--that’s what I want--cum over my fingers--cum over my face--that’s what I want,” he snorted into her cunt. Then sent her off into another wild orgasm by lowering her back on the bed and whispering, “I want to drink you all up, Ceil!”

Perhaps a second passed, and then Celia started to cum--hard--bucking and writhing on the bed--her cunt sucking and squeezing around his fingers while her body convulsed and she cried out his name as he continued to lap the juices from her cunt.

He couldn’t hold off his need to fuck Celia any longer, and dropped lightly on top of her, slid up her body until his cock was aligned with her slit and groaned happily as she took him in hand and guided him into her.

Paul moaned with pleasure as her cunt parted around his cock--so hot, so wet--and they began to fuck--he thrusting --she pushing back at him. Wrapping her thighs around his back to bring him ever deeper.

He kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips and tongue and if possible grew even hotter. He found a comfortable rhythm, and she repeatedly telling him how good he felt, urging him to go faster and harder, unable to believe she was on her way to another orgasm, but then it arrived--roaring in on her like a subway train with brakes screeching as it sped into the station.

Celia, without realizing it, started biting him--on the neck, shoulder and chest. Paul felt the pain, yet didn’t feel it, but unconsciously drove his cock into her harder than any previous thrust.

Celia screamed his name, wanting them to cum together, but losing that battle and coming first. Paul finished right behind her, succumbing in to the frantic squeezing of her cuntal muscles around his member. In a last ditch act to prolong the intense pleasure, he took hold of her ankles, placed them on his shoulders and rams into her one last time.

Celia released a gusher of fluid, flooding over his cock and balls while screaming his name one last time. Paul’s cock throbbed one last time before pulsing three times in succession--each one sending a thick stream of hot sperm into the prophylactic he was wearing while calling Celia’s name.

“I’m impressed, Ceil. When did you start squirting?”

“Hmmm, you’re the first guy to ask me that.”

“Are there that many guys in your past?” he said, making sure to have a big smile on his face as he posed the question.

Celia slapped his penis in feigned annoyance, but answered him quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended, Paulie. It didn’t come naturally to me. I read about it online and learned that it could happen with intense g-spot stimulation, but it took me forever to locate the damned g-spot. And let me congratulate you on finding mine so quickly. You’ve done your homework.”

“I had an older woman as a partner for a while. She taught me several interesting things.”

“You can try those ‘things’ out on me if we have enough time.”

Paul laughed and slapped her lightly across the nose with his flaccid penis.

Celia laughed and resumed talking. “I had barely found my g-spot at the time. Um, this was about a year ago. The truth of the matter is that I wasn’t going to find it on my own. But then a girlfriend told me about the LELO Ella, a wonderful toy. You can use either end when penetrating oneself. One end is long, sleek and tapered, with a bit of an accentuation on the upper side. The other side is curved up and has a wide, flat, blunt end. I tried the tapered end first. It felt nice. Insertion was easy, and the shape fit snugly in my vagina. I thrust a couple times, you know? It felt comfortable, but not especially pleasurable. So it was the other end that really caught my interest.

“Anyways, I inserted the blunt end. Now there was a difference! The blunt, flat tip was pressing right into my g-spot. G-spotting toys that I’ve tried before have been very thin and pointy at the end, and I had long since concluded that poking my g-spot with those wasn’t doing anything for me. Ella didn’t feel like poking, it felt like pressing and stroking. I think “kneading” is a better word. And that’s exactly what my g-spot needed. So I kept thrusting, picking up the pace, and it didn’t take long before I started to feel a new kind of heat in the pit of my stomach, you know, like I had to pee, but not quite. I kept shoving the toy into me as fast as I could, thinking ‘Here I go, I’m gonna cum!’ I mean suddenly I had this hot flashy feeling and I came. It didn’t last long, but it was different than my usual orgasms in that it felt like it came from somewhere deeper.”

“So you really felt it?” Paul inquired gently.

“Oh, I felt it all right; in fact it occurred to me that, as I’ve seen in some porn vids, that it might be possible to squirt a decent distance--several feet or so. Still I didn’t bother getting a towel or something to cover the sheets because I had no idea that I was going to squirt. I was lost in the fact that I’d found the elusive g-spot and that I was gonna cum, big time. And right about then, as I was dismissing all thoughts from my mind, a warm sensation washed over my vulva--and I knew. I was about to cum, really cum. And I’m not usually loud when I cum by myself, but I sure as hell let some noise out. Shit, Paul, I lost all control. I relaxed, released and came, hard and warm, lost in the moment. And best of all, for once, my clit was of no consequence. None. All the orgasmic feelings were concentrated deep in my twat. I was in awe.

“When I regained some semblance of sanity, I looked down and saw only a splattering of cum on the inside of my thigh. I thought, ‘That’s it?’ But when I got up and glanced back at the sheets I’d been laying on, there it was—a huge wet spot about nine inches in diameter. Being the huge dork that I am, I actually said out loud to myself, “no way.” I picked up a handful of damp sheet and felt it, then smelled it. I couldn’t believe it. And when Jim came home, I clobbered him with details about the experience. And here I am now, gushing about it again. After that, it was like I had unlocked a secret talent my body could do. I knew what g-spot stimulation felt like, and what the precipice of squirting felt like. I knew what was required to achieve success—I had to thrust crazily to get that release. I acquired more toys, particularly the njoy Pure Wand which remains the single greatest toy for squirting that I’ve ever tried. Now I can squirt just using the vibrator on my clit if it’s strong enough, with anything jammed up my twat.”

“How often do you squirt?”

“Not all the time, thank God. It’s usually planned in advance. But it’s different each time. Sometimes it’s just some extra wetness during my clitoral orgasm. Sometimes it’s a real gusher, like just now. Sometimes the force of removing the toy causes my squirt to spill onto the floor.”