When I was a 12 year old I started writing erotic stories, I shared them with my classmates and soon I was writing them daily, even getting payed for them. And I am back...
is not my native, so forgive my poor vocabulary, I want to share my
stories with you, they are based on part truth, part virtual adventures
and my fantasies, hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing
The first time I meet him is at my parents house, his person rather overwhelming for me because of his looks, his length, his age, his knowledge and bravery. My eyes are locked on his full lips (my mouth dry), thinking of how they would feel on different parts of my body, every word from his lips a poem to my ears. The way he ignores me when I sit next to him at the dinner table fascinates me because I am so used to get all the attention, I study his hands, his fingers... how they accompany his words, his eyes hidden behind his aviator shades. The soft scent of his skin, cloths, tobacco and soap tickles my nose constantly, I feel like a flower tempted and teased by a bumblebee.
Under the table I pull up the skirt of my dress, exposing my right knee, I place it gently against his leg, hoping he will not move his away, I feel his muscle through the fabric of his trousers and then the slight counter pressure as if he knows what I need.
Everyone at the table is hanging at his lips, his deep voice telling his adventures, I am mesmerized by the feeling of his leg against mine, his warmth crawling through my skin, every single pore takes in his strength, his masculinity and I feel like I become fluid inside.
When we finish eating and are waiting for dessert, I slide my hand back under the table and place it on my knee, my pink rubs slowly against his leg. From the side I watch his face:
(He does not move...)
Encouraged by that I place my hand on his leg, the tips of my fingers on his inner thigh.
(He does not move!)
My eyes close a second as I softly move my hand over his upper leg, feeling his gracilis muscle tighten under my fingertips, a soft needy cramp rushes through my genitals when I reach the bulge in his trousers.
I try to unbutton his fly...
He grabs my wrist under the table and squeezes it hard, my whole body tenses and I resist the pain of his nipping fingers, my hand not moving an inch, now grabs and pinches at his erection. His face turns towards me, the vein in his neck throbs, I stare at the shades where I think his eyes are and subtle move my tongue over my lower lip...
(like waving a steak in front of a bulldog)
The grip on my wrist releases... (I win!)
I open his fly, his lips part, a short gasp escapes when my fingers close around his thick shaft.
Fortunately my father now is leading the conversation, the aviator takes off his shades, his face turns again, a glance of his dark eyes, his pupils dilate, I feel more blood rush into his hard throbbing cock as I stroke him secretly, slowly up and down, my fingertips twist the swollen head, he clears his throat, a gasp, his precum spurts wetting my fingers, the slight squishy sound when I continue to pump him faster.
When my mother talks to me I hold still, his massive cock twitches, I hold my breath, I throb, he throbs as we are one, a giant jellyfish of need that fills the room...
Laughter as my father jokingly hits the back of my brother's head and I continue milking the aviator, he slides down slightly on his chair, his elbows on the table, now and then his hands hide his mouth or half-glazed eyes as his legs spread more and his dick flexes, expands to even bigger, my fingers feel him up, tease the edge of his cockhead, rub the sensitive spot underneath.
My whole body tingles knowing my little slender hand controls this man completely, this perfect specie of masculinity, his knees buckled of desire while I stroke him in an agonizingly slow motion letting the pressure build.
Our dessert is served, I spoon mine in my mouth with my free hand, his eyes watch my mouth as I lick and suck the sweet cream of the spoon, I notice his short breaths, I can feel his leg tremble against mine, my hand moves up and down and up and down, milking him, squeezing him, ever so slowly, his balls full and tight, so ready.
Not able to make a sound, we are placed in another dimension, where every second lasts a minute, every stroke intensified by the slow pace, screaming moans of silence.
I feel that throb, the sudden tightening of his cock, his mouth opens (mine too), his eyes close (I stare), his glands expand to even bigger proportions as his hot milky jizz leaps from his cockhead with force, an eruption of glorious proportion, jet after jet, my fingers grasp firmly, up and down continuously, urging out every last drop of his spunk.
My own orgasm sits ready right under the surface, inhale, too much air to breath, holding myself not to pant. The aviator's glances at my blushing cheeks, my hand still around his cock, a sticky witness. And then uninvited and unwanted. I burp.
All the eyes are on me in collective disbelieve and embarrassment, I feel my blood fload out of my head, out of my chest, out of my legs, collected at my toes.
"Go to your room, Charlotte!" My mother's eyes sling little thunderbolts at me. I stand up, next to the aviator, my wet hand hidden behind my back, whimper a word of sorry, his fingertips stroke the back of my knee, my heart beats like a drum (my knees are jelly and I am oozing). Unable to move. Paralyzed by my longing for his touch.
My father marches to the door, opens it, "Go Charlotte, think about what you just did and how to apologize to our guest"
( A flash through my head: the aviator tied to my bed while I ride his beautiful face, I can make it up to him!)
I lower my head and walk, my eyes on my fathers shoes, the cuffs of his pants, decorated with the big creamy lumps of the aviator's cum.
(to be continued)