Elisa 13
finally, the aftermath
2020-04-07 14:38:02 +0000 UTC View Post
CoffeyWriter posts
'upgrade' message
Please ignore any message from Patreon that asks you to upgrade to see more posts. All my posts are released to the patrons who have Early Access ($5) or above.
If you can see this post, you have access to every post I make.
2020-04-06 03:31:44 +0000 UTC View PostRecompense
(another stream of thought story, please forgive any errors)
Recompense
Chapter 1
She looked sad on the doorstep, just in from the downpour that was happening, her hair plastered to her head. Her shitty half-painted Honda was in his driveway, probably leaking oil all over the driveway.
"I'm sorry," she said.
She had ghosted him almost 2 years ago, and after a month of trying to get in touch with her, he had let her go. He probably knew it was coming, he thought, but it still hurt, a lot. They were still seeing each other semi-regularly, and he was in love more than she. He knew that, too.
"What... do you want?" he asked her, blocking the doorway. There was only a slight porch overhand, so the rain continued to drench her, which he didn't exactly hate.
"Just to talk," she whimpered. It was pitiful, but it was an act. He knew her too well, and he knew she must be very down on her luck to show up here. He thought she was probably out on her own, and not doing well. Being taken care of was one of her specialties, and self-reliance was not.
But those feelings that flooded into his brain weren't easy to ignore. The love that had driven him crazy, the lust for her admittedly amazing body and face, even the frustration of dealing with her immaturity and naivete, it all hit him at once, and he was defenseless against it. Well, mostly.
"Come in," he finally said, stepping aside. She walked in, dripping everywhere, and he got her a beach towel from the hall closet.
She stripped in front of him, right there at the doorway, not asking if he was alone, not caring. He had seen her naked a thousand times, and every single time he was struck by how perfect she was formed. She had a sex doll body with the self-confidence of a fat girl, and so she could suck and fuck better than anyone he had ever been with. Also the reason she was rarely not being some man's plaything. He found her a robe from when she was still living there with him, in the back of the closet, where he put the things he still couldn't bear to give away.
She put it on slowly, watching him, gauging his reaction to her body. Her breasts were fake but the surgeon was skillful, crafting the perfect teardrop, natural look with just enough fullness to make it obvious she had been altered. Long legs for a petite girl, her torso was short with a small waist quickly curving out in flared soft hips, with smooth slim arms and delicate hands, always manicured. He instantly longed to see her french nails wrapped around his hardness. He quickly banished the thought and hoped his slight erection wasn't visible in his jeans.
"Do you want anything? Coffee?" he asked, turning toward the kitchen.
"Yes, you know how I like it," she smiled. That tone he had heard before, she was getting smug, happy, satisfied, thinking she had already conquered him just by showing up. "I'm going to dry my hair real quick, be right back," she said. She went down the hall and left him in his thoughts, which was the worst thing she could've done.
He remembered that she didn't even tell him she was leaving him. She didn't tell him she was moving up the mountain with some rich tech guy. That she would be on her instagram a week later with ski pictures and hot tub pictures and a hundred others showing what a great time she was having, while he messaged her on every platform, asking 'why', asking for an explanation, a bread crumb, anything. But she was silent, because she was done with him.
So when she came out, hair perfectly half-dry and tousled as sexy as she could manage, there was coffee there, sure, but his demeanor had changed back to the man she had met at the door - annoyed and angry, with a touch of hatred.
She didn't catch it, of course, why would she? She relied on her looks, not her ability to interpret looks or catch hints. But she was here because of that, because she had no empathy for him, or for the tech guy in the mountains that dropped her as soon as she got caught in a club giving head on a back couch.
She had thought he would have at least let her take the Audi, but he dragged her old Honda out of storage and dumped her clothes and makeup into it, handed her the keys, and closed the gate without a word. She never thought to beg him to take her back, her mind instantly spun through her list of men, but somehow she was coming up blank. Every bridge burned when she left them, most of them despising her, other than a few that wouldn't mind a one nighter.
Until she got to him. The one she would've married if he was richer. If he was hotter. If he drove better cars than a semi-new Ford F-350 or classic BMW. Because he was nice, and loved her, and treated her like a person more than a thing. That was the one, she thought. The one left that would take her back. She put on old jeans and a tight t-shirt, knowing how it would look when it stuck to her body in the rain, and drove to his house in the suburbs.
She had manipulated men since the 8th grade, when she caught a history teacher eyeing her ass as she left the classroom, and suddenly realized the situation he would be in if she told someone. That led to her first sexual encounter, a brief and fumbling blowjob after school, where he pleaded for her to never tell even as the last of his cum dribbled down her chin. She never told, got good grades, always had some spare cash for food or shoes, and started her journey of twisting men around her finger for her benefit. First teachers, then professors, though college was too boring for her, then businessmen in expensive suits that she could identify by cut and color. They all took care of her, and she took care of them. It seemed like an optimal arrangement, until she got bored.
That's what had happened here, she thought. It was really his fault, they weren't going out much or partying, and when she was skiing that one time and the cute tech guy hit on her, she knew what she was missing. Not her fault at all. Just how things go.
She smiled at him and picked up her coffee, the dazzling perfect teeth and perfect bow of her lips signaling her happiness to be there. It really was dazzling, too. He only avoided falling for it because of their past, and even so he almost did, again.
“So what have you been up to?” she asked innocently, like she was casually visiting a friend.
“Mostly work, really,” he said. “It’s been a good year so I’ve been really busy.” He wasn’t lying. The crap startup he dreamed up turned into a semi-good startup, with new investors and quite a big of cash influx. He wasn’t crazy rich or anything but he wasn’t hurting. He was glad it was all in the bank though, and not on display with a Ferrari or huge house. This one was big enough, and his truck actually did cost a lot. “I was actually working when you rang the doorbell.”
“Oh, sorry!” she feigned surprise, and that she cared. She never cared where the money came from, just that it was there for her. “Are you still doing the… online thing?” He smiled at her cluelessness. He never minded that she didn’t know, it wasn’t the easiest thing to understand, and she was so cute in her ignorance anyway. “NO..NO..NO” he thought. Don’t fall back into this.
She caught that look, though. She wasn’t quite as dumb as she seemed. She was no genius, but she played up the ‘dumb hottie’ thing to her advantage. She had followed his startup, googling him when she was bored and tech guy was busy, and she knew he was doing well. She also knew when to push and when to stop.
“Hey can I crash here for just a few nights?” she asked innocently. “I do totally have money and I’m gonna get a place, just need to find a nice one, you know?” He didn’t want to. He knew he shouldn’t. But even he had no defense against those big, blue eyes and soft voice, the look of her perched up on his barstool, robe allowing some leg to show through, some cleavage to peek out, and her hair piled up on her head.
“Yeah…of course,” he said. ‘Idiot’, he thought.
“Thank you, really, I know you didn’t have to,” she said. She really was thankful, because she literally had nowhere to go, and no money to use. She hadn’t needed her own money since... ever? Not that she was a whore, that’s just how it worked out. Guys got to be with her, and she was taken care of. Since the dawn of time, she figured.
“Downstairs ok?” he asked, and she nodded. He made sure there were plenty of blankets and everything she needed. “I need to get back to work,” he said, and left her downstairs. The rest of the day went without their interaction – he was busy in his office, and he only heard her a few times in the kitchen, making herself a coffee, or some food. It was nice, he thought, to have someone around. “NO” he remined himself.
He knocked off around 9pm, a normal workaholic day for him, and went out to the kitchen to get a drink. She was in the living room watching elephants run around on TV, and she waved to him with her shy smile that he only saw when she was feeling small. He went over and sat with her for awhile, not bringing up anything too deep, and suddenly he just felt way too tired to be up.
“You ok if I hit the sack?” he said. “I’ve been going since 5 am.” She nodded, and thanked him again for taking her in. He just nodded back and went down the hall to his bedroom. He was asleep in just a few minutes, not hearing her getting clothes and her other things from her car and taking them to her room.
She made herself at home in the basement – it was bigger than most apartments, with a full kitchen, bathroom and theater room, and she could’ve done a lot worse. There wasn’t much food down here, but she’d remedy that soon, and who knows where this would lead? She felt warm, and happy, and crawled into her bed, secure in the knowledge that yet another man was taking care of her again.
She woke around midnight, a little flustered by the strange environment, relaxing when she remembered where she was. Her fingers slid down her flat stomach and between her legs, where she slowly and smoothly aroused herself, pushing her hips up to meet her hand, sometimes tasting herself before touching again. She never thought about men, just herself, what she looked like, her body, how she felt, how it felt to touch herself, and she would invariably cum just from that. But not tonight. She grew frustrated and would stop even as she got close. ‘This is dumb’, she thought.
He woke up slowly in the dark, automatically glancing at the clock glowing 12:30am, his head fuzzy. That’s when he felt the mouth wrapped around his cock, the small hand gripping the base, and he looked down in the dim light to see her, the most beautiful girl in the world, her tongue swirling around his head, stopping to lick the shaft underneath, even suck on his tight balls, then back to deepthroat him, hand never leaving the shaft, constantly stroking. There was no thought of stopping her, not with that mouth, that skill. He let her continue, the maddening perfection of her mouth sucking him to full hardness, how she easily took it down her throat, her non-existent gag reflex proven since that day in a classroom in 8th grade. He thrust up and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath, but she never slowed, and he felt bigger and thicker than he could ever remember. He wanted her, badly, and not just her mouth.
She grinned in the dark as he roughly pulled her up to him, kissed her, and then firmly impaled her on his raging cock. She rode him breathlessly, his size was one of her favorites, and he filled her completely without hurting her. She whimpered just enough and at the right times, never like a porn star, but letting him know he was fucking her right. If he pushed harder, she would squeal like he wanted, and if he relaxed, she would grind him as though she needed his cock more than oxygen.
He was hers, she thought, and she came for him, screaming out his name and releasing all of her tension from the day.
He let her finish, then moved her onto her back, spreading her legs up and onto his shoulders, and driving himself as deep as possible inside her. She gasped, for real this time, as he went too deep, but she knew he needed to own her. He did, thrusting as hard as he could, punishing her with his cock for all her past mistakes, driving himself farther than he thought possible, hoping to almost cause her pain with his pleasure, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He shouted out his climax, unloading deep inside her, where only 2 nights ago she was taking her last boyfriend’s cum, a man she had almost entirely forgotten about already. She wrapped her legs around him, gripping him tightly and kissing him hard as they collapsed together.
He rolled off her, breathing hard.
“Fuck!” she said, giggling. That’s what they needed, men. They needed to know they fucked her right, that she was happy with their cock and their fucking ability. For the most part, she usually was happy, as long as she came, which she usually did.
“Yeah,” he agreed. She was perfection in bed, and they both knew it. Her body looked good, felt good, fucked good. She knew how to kiss, when to kiss, when to scream. She knew sex. She was sex.
“Thanks… I gotta sleep though,” he added. She nodded and got up, not wanting to push things, not yet. She walked downstairs and cleaned up in the bathroom, hearing his toilet flushing in the room above. She was happy, she thought, and she might never leave, if things worked out.
He cursed himself as he tried to sleep again. Not for the sex, that was fantastic, and he needed it. But for letting her win. He contemplated how he’d fix this, and when he finally went to sleep, he had a contented smile on his face.
The next day was uneventful, as he had to work again. She attempted to draw him in a few times throughout the day, teasing him in the kitchen with tight shorts and a tank top, or suggestively sucking on a straw when he looked her way. But he seemed distant, probably distracted by work, and she stopped trying after awhile and watched some Netflix downstairs.
By 8pm she was bored again and thought maybe he’d want her in his bed tonight. She put on some cute pajamas that showed off her tits and ass, then went upstairs. He was on the couch, watching some news program, when she sat next to him.
They watched silently for awhile, til she piped up. “I could use some more of that… from last night,” she said softly, her long legs tucked up under her, making her look tiny and vulnerable on the cushion. He barked out a short laugh. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. She pouted.
“Why not? That was good!” He just smiled this time.
“Sex with you is always good, that’s not the issue,” he said, glancing sideways at her. He didn’t really have a defense against her pouting, her big lower lip sticking out just made him want to kiss her, so he chose not to look.
“Well, what is it?” she asked. He looked at her then, shaking his head. It’s like she had no clue why he wouldn’t want her. He was pretty sure she didn’t know.
“You hurt me. Bad. For a long time. I don’t really want you around here,” he said simply. “I have a lot going on and you’re distracting.” She smiled, big and pretty, blue eyes wide open. ‘Goddammit she is gorgeous’ his brain told him. “I won’t distract you, I promise, just at night!” she laughed, a sexy, throaty laugh, not the high-pitched tinny squeal you get from so many vacuous girls. His body was reacting to her and he didn’t even know it.
She kept side stepping his point. “Look, you can’t just waltz back in here like nothing happened,” he told her. “You can’t get away with that.” She looked pained.
“I’m not trying to, I’m just trying to be with you,” she said. She looked down at her hands, twisting them as she considered how best to look sad. “I know I was wrong, I’m sorry,” she continued.
“Not enough,” he said bluntly.
“What? What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
“Not enough. It’s not enough that you know you’re wrong. You do this, over and over, and no one ever punishes you,” he added. He stole a look at her then. This was the pivotal moment; this was when it might or might now work. The plan in his head from last night spun around in his thoughts, everything he had dreamed up contingent on the next few minutes. He waited.
“Punished? I’m not a kid,” she said, scowling at him momentarily. “You can’t ground me or something.”
“Well then I just need you to find a place soon,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you here.”
A tear welled up in her eye, a real one, for once. She was scared of leaving, she didn’t have anyone ready to catch her if she fell, and she was thinking that he might be the catch she had wanted all along, anyway. “What if you punished me?” she asked.
He had to turn away from her so she wouldn’t see his expression. He got up abruptly and went into the kitchen, thinking over the next few words.
“I will,” he said, “but you have to accept it, every bit, not one refusal, not one No, you take the punishment I give, until I’m done.” He said. She could hear the ultimatum in his voice. This was it for her. So she nodded. “Ok, I will, I promise. But… what is it? What’s the punishment?”
“You hurt me, for the last two years,” he said. “So for the next month, I’m going to hurt you, however I want. 30 days, and it’s over, and then I want you with me, forever.” He crossed his arms and stood in front of her.
‘Forever’, she thought. Might be nice not to have to jump around, move every year or two, try to figure out a new guy and situation, and friends, and families. Just 30 days and she’d have him forever, his security, home, cars, money, and love. She knew he loved her more than any other man had.
“30 days. Anything.” She stood up and formally shook his hand. “When does it start?” she asked, batting her eyes at him. She knew he wouldn’t last, knew he’d probably spank her or something for a few days and it would be over.
He smiled at her, shaking her hand, then kissing her. “Now,” he said. He pushed her to her knees on the carpet. She smiled as she went down, thinking it would be even easier than she thought. Just give him good head whenever he wanted, that was his ‘punishment’, and she was more than willing to do that anyway. She’d suck his dick til she was 80 if it got her what she wanted. She pulled at his pants, trying to get to his cock.
“No,” he said. He sat on the couch and then pulled his pants down. She eagerly crawled between his legs and started sucking on him, expecting and getting him to grow as fast as possible as she looked up at him. He casually pulled something from behind the couch pillow.
“Here,” he said. He tied a bandana, or a tie, or something she couldn’t tell, around her eyes, tightly behind her head. It was hardly the first time she’d been tied up, or bound, or gagged, she thought. Her last boyfriend used to choke her with a hemp rope, she thought, and the asphyxiation made her cum SO fucking hard. This was nothing. She kept blowing him.
After a few minutes he was fully erect and pounding her mouth. She was gasping from the ramming and her saliva was everywhere, just how men liked it, but then his hands were in his hair, and instead of pushing her head down, he pulled, HARD. She gasped as she was almost lifted into the air by her hair, and the pain was unbearable. She screamed, her legs flailing to touch the ground, saliva still dripping from her chin. She was trying to see, trying to pull the blindfold down and yell at him, what the FUCK was he doing, when she thought she heard a whistling sound, air displaced, and suddenly, her head was whiplashed violently as he struck the side of her face with an open hand.
She felt blinded, this time by white, not black. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, then the pain in her head returned and she screamed again. He dropped her, only a few inches, and she collapsed to the ground. The right side of her face was bright red, with his handprint displayed on her cheek. ‘He had HIT HER!’ she thought, outraged. She pulled the mask off, eyes wide in anger, and was about to scream at him.
“30 days,” he said simply. “Anything.” He smiled, a smug, asshole smile that was so unlike him. He was in command and she would either take it or leave. He wasn’t sure he’d care either way. Inside he wasn’t as sure of himself, though. The satisfaction he’d received from slapping her was too enjoyable. He didn’t want to enjoy hitting women. He’d never done it before. As he thought about it, he knew he’d never do it again, not to any other woman. But to her? He felt better about it. It was just her, it wasn’t that he was like that.
She hadn’t said anything, shocked more from his words than his slap. This was the punishment. He was being literal. He was going to hurt her, over and over, and she was supposed to take it? Just to be with him? Fuck that.
“No,” she said, “no hitting. I’m not some cheap trailer trash.” She stood up, wiping her chin, gingerly feeling her flushed face.
“No, you’re worse,” he said calmly. His hard-on hadn’t subsided, watching her in pain. “A trash whore would care a little bit when she ghosted someone.” He had a lot more to say, but either he had 30 more days, or none. It was up to her.
“What… if I say no?” she said.
“Then you leave. Now,” he replied. “That’s the deal. You get punished, or you leave. It’s pretty simple.”
She thought it over, surprisingly. She figured she’d just leave, but the Honda wouldn’t get her far, and the zero money she had certainly wouldn’t help. There were guys she could prob hook up with for a night, but nothing long term. “Is that all… tonight?” she stammered. “I can’t take that any more.”
He thought it over. “Yes,” he said. “Now get your ass back over here.” He motioned crudely to his crotch, where he had barely wilted despite the situation. She looked at him, then down, then back at him, shaking her head.
And then she gave in. She gave in to what she knew she deserved, the punishment she had needed for so long, the out of control behavior, the pain she caused, everything she had done that had led her to just this place.
She got on her hands and knees and crawled to him, taking him into her mouth and sucking him. She flinched when he replaced the blindfold on her head, and she flinched when he put his hands on the aching side of her face and thrust his cock into her throat. But when he grabbed her hair and fucked her mouth, she took it, and his explosion, and swallowed him. She deserved it, and he did, too.
When he was done, he got up and went down the hallway to the bedroom. She followed, meekly, but he turned and just looked at her. “You haven’t earned this,” he said, pointing to the master bedroom suite. “Not yet.”
She turned away, quietly going down the basement stairs. Once there she stared in the mirror at her beautiful face, marred by the five fingers and palm he had imprinted on her cheek. It throbbed with every heartbeat, and she felt shame. Not that he hit her, but that she deserved it. She felt shame for the men she had ruined. Shame for the wives that had been cheated on, the money she had wasted. Maybe she was just a trailer trash whore in a model’s body.
She went to bed without showering or removing her makeup, and cried herself to sleep.
Late Night Husbands
'I don't know how..' he typed.
It was 2am, prime opportunity for a man like me to find men online who desperately needed to chat about their wives. They would be deep in the throes of masturbation, cocks in hand, wanting to hear depravity about the women they loved.
I was the provider. The dealer with the drug they needed. A supplier of lust and filth.
They paid me with their sin. Every time one would send me an offline message about how they 'just couldn't do this anymore' and 'it was wrong', then crawl back to the computer in the dead of night to mindless jerk off again and beg me for input, that was the coin I wanted.
When they would start with 'oh I could never show you her pictures' and weeks later tell me the most intimate details of their lives, wedding photos, picture of her at work, so seemingly innocent, not realizing I knew their wives better than anyone except themselves. I knew their sexual triggers, the problems they had in bed, their financial difficulties, their frustrations, what their ex boyfriends were like, that was the coin I received.
The most valuable of payments, of course, was betrayal.
'I don't know how...' they would all type.
So I would tell them, step by step. Every increment seemed so basic, they didn't question. The clouded judgment of men edging closer to orgasm was their permission to do things they normally wouldn't, to the woman they pledged their lifelong love. It began so simply, didn't it? Old pictures of her in tight clothing or sexy lingerie, no face included, no big deal, right? Then an old nude, no face again, it's ok to show, and the high they got from showing her off was ecstasy. Of course, they never got the high the second time, or the third, or the twentieth. So it had to progress, as I knew. Then it was a picture of her face, knowing what she does for a living.
It had to progress.
Nudes of her snapped in the middle of the night, bedsheet pulled back by a perverted husband, bare breasts on display in his quest for a better cum. Eagerly shared with me, awaiting my response with their hard cocks in hand, eyes bright in the artificial light of the monitor.
'My cock is SO hard for her,' I tell them. It thrilled them to allow a 'real' man to see their wife. Lewd details about what I would do to her pushed them over the edge, quickly signing off so they could clean up and get 3 hours of sleep before they had to get up and go to their meaningless job. Wife neglected in favor of chatting with strange men, never finding that ultimate orgasm inside her anymore, it only came in an office chair in the dark.
'Do you want her to fuck men at work?' I ask the ones that want to be cuckolded or humiliated.
I knew every response before I asked the question, because I knew who they were and where they were headed, even if they didn't quite understand it yet.
They can barely reply, one handed typing, likely finding a paper towel to rid themselves of the pre-cum that on their hand. 'Oh god yes', they manage. 'Which one? What's his name?' I follow up with. They croak out the man's name, the one they want mounting their own wife, drilling into her following some mythical Work Party or Holiday Get Together, their wife sucking dick behind the Christmas tree for some reason. Later I'll find out his last name, and with a few simple LinkedIn searches, I know where he works, and then locating his wife in the same company is simple.
A few chats later, I'll show him pictures of his wife, her full name, her workplace, and tell him he's betrayed her to another man. He'll want to be upset but his cock is too hard and his need is too great.
He'll erupt in his hand, vowing to never talk to me or any other stranger online again about his wife. He deletes his profiles and vows to be a better man.
A week later he messages me from a new account, asking if I remember him. 'Yes', I tell him, 'do you still want your wife fucked?'
'I don't know how...' he finally types.
We start again, the cycle repeats, though it begins so much more in-depth now, and can only move faster toward a resolution. I let him know how he can get his wife to cheat on him, and honestly, it's not usually that difficult - his hard-ons have been reserved for porn for so long that she's needy and ready to be fucked by someone who wants her, someone exciting, new.
The next time he tries to fantasize with her, she's a little more receptive to the idea of another man. Soon she feeds his perversion with stories of men at work, mostly little white fantasy lies, but a few with some truth to them, like the younger guy with a MILF complex that she thinks might even just want her a little bit.
When he inevitably tells me about this guy, the co-worker gets a few very hot pictures of the wife in his email from an anonymous source, along with some info about her that could be very useful in getting her into bed. 'From a friend'.
He doesn't ask questions.
It can take awhile. Weeks. Months. But usually not much longer. The triumphant declaration by the midnight typist of 'SHE GOT FUCKED!' rings over the internet to me. He has no idea what he's done, in his pursuit of more intense cumshots. He pictures his wife underneath some mystery man, fucking hard, how hot she is, but somehow believes she still thinks of him as her hot husband and lover.
She doesn't, because I haven't told him that he needs to take her back, hard, every time. I don't want him to know. My intent is that he never fucks her again, and it's not hard to get him to create the environment where he never does, and he does it purposefully. 'She'll fuck more guys if you pretend to be impotent,' I tell him. He thinks it's a fantastic idea. He barely understand that he IS impotent, that he can't get hard unless he's typing on a computer and looking at bimbos, or teens, or MILFs, or hardcore pornography. When he attempts sex with his wife, it takes too long for him to get hard, and she begins to belittle him for it. It doesn't help that he enjoys the humiliation.
The once-or-twice guy at work becomes the twice a week guy, and soon she's giving him head in his car or going to his place to fuck. He breathlessly tells me about it, his 'whore wife' becoming another man's plaything. He thanks me,profusely, but I let him know it's all his doing. He begs for a way to thank me, and I tell him how. He agrees much too quickly for his own good.
A day later he shows up at my door. With out his hard-on he looks lost, scared. I let him in and put him at ease, and soon he's on the couch stroking to porn images and video flashing on a screen in front of him. He gets hard and I remind him of his debt.
A few minutes later, I reflect back on my work. Six months ago there was a happy husband and wife, having sex maybe twice a week like most couples, the husband with a dirty but harmless fantasy idea about his averagely cute but unknowing wife of almost 14 years.
Here he was, meekly sitting in my living room, eager to somehow thank the man that helped him realize his fantasy, the one he wasn't even sure of mere weeks ago.
So when I look down and see him stroking and sucking me, it's not because I wanted him to. I don't like men in that way. It's very odd to me that one wants to suck on me, for any reason. He's not good at it, more like a fumbling prom queen virgin that has never wanted to touch one before. I'm quite sure he really doesn't even want to do it.
And that's what makes me cum so hard.
2020-04-02 17:02:52 +0000 UTC View PostJust A Fling
(This was a quick write with no editing, apologies in advance for any mistakes)
I was walking into the grocery store last Friday when she was walking out.
She was in her early 40s, probably, and trying really hard. Tight dress around what was admittedly an excellent body, puffed up lips that were only 3 days since their last injection, heavy on the eyeliner, hair all wavy and done, and fake breasts that likely cost at least $20k.
I was just registering all that in my head when she brushed passed - and I caught her perfume, surprisingly not overwhelming, just right. A light mixture of floral and something darker, and the combination of her look and her smell almost spun me around on my heel.
'Excuse me,' I said just loud enough for only her. She turned and smiled slightly, used to being hit on wherever she goes. I assume she wants to be, dressed like that for a grocery run.
'I was going for coffee after this - would you like to get some with me?' She made it obvious that she was looking me up and down, assessing how I looked, what I wore, what she guesses I'd be driving. I wasn't dressed up like i was going out to the club, but I was decent enough.
'Not really... maybe another time?' She was giving me just enough of an excuse to keep trying.
I walked over to her and took her phone from her hand, not roughly, just firmly enough that she didn't object. I tapped my name and number into it, then slid the shortcut onto the last slot on her phone screen. 'David,' she read. 'You presume a lot, David.'
'I don't presume anything, I just want to take you to coffee, I'll there every day anyway,' I said. She smiled at my attempt to be casual.
'I'll text you if I'm not busy sometime,' she remarked, giving me a sideways sly grin, and then strutted off, swinging those curvy hips a touch more than she was when she was first walking by me.
She waited a day, then texted me. I was impressed by the timing, seemed just right.
'It's Rebecca, from the store. I'll meet you at the shop on 5th at 8am,' she texted.
I waited a few minutes. No reason to be too eager, right? I probably was, anyway, I could only hold out about 10 minutes. 'Sounds good, see you tomorrow,' I texted back.
Don't text her again, David... Don't. I didn't.
I walked into the shop at 7:58 - not too early, not late, just interested enough to be there a few minutes early. She was there at 8:05, which is exactly what I expected from a woman like her. I liked it, make me wait but not too long.
She walked up to me, took my hand, and pulled me to the counter, ordering her drink and then looking expectantly at me for mine. I ordered and paid, because that's just how it's done.
She expected nothing less - no 'let's split it', no waiting for her to offer - I invited her to coffee, I pay. We're on the same wavelength. I like her.
We sat with our coffee for a few minutes, mostly in silence, looking at each other for a clue as to what we would talk about.
She looked out at the parking lot. 'Which one is yours?' she asked nonchalantly, as if she didn't really care. She did, though. I saw her eyes move around the lot, picking out the acceptable cars.
'The black one, there,' I said, pointing. She followed my finger and saw my BMW - it's a nice 7 series, long and sleek, but much older than people think. They're overly impressed by something I bought for less than a new Hyundai. She nodded, smiling. 'That's what a man should drive,' she said.
'And yours?' I smiled. She shook her head. 'Not important,' she said. I didn't pursue it. Later I realized I should have, but that's for another story.
'It has cupholders, I presume?' she said, grabbing her coffee and standing up. I rose with her, nodded, and led her to the car. Talk about presumptive.
We drove without talking, she was texting on her phone and looking through Facebook while I drove through the better part of town she would know. I wasn't far away from it, but it was obvious my admittedly nice home was just a tier below what I was guessing she was used to.
She barely looked up when I pulled into the garage, almost as though she expected we would come straight here. I was glad I had cleaned up everything last night, anticipating a hopefully eventful day. She got out and I led her up the garage stairs.
When we walked inside I pushed her against the wall, my hand sliding under her thigh, and kissed her hard - not too rough, but enough to make her understand that I wanted her, and badly. She responded, her puffy lips wet and warm on mine, her tongue in my mouth as insistent as mine, her hands roaming my body without taking anything off.
We stopped for a moment, and she actually blushed and remarked that we should finish our coffee. I noticed she was looking around, so I took her hand and gave her the tour. I didn't end the tour at my bedroom, but downstairs in the theater room, where I flicked on the gas fireplace, and then took the coffee from her hand and threw her down on the couch.
'Fuck,' she said quietly, looking up at me.
I moved on top of her, holding my weight off her body with one arm and undressing her with the other. The buttons on her blouse came off first, her pretty (but very strong) bra coming into view, which I left on her as I stripped off her long slim jeans, so tight at the bottom I had no choice but to remove her boots and socks. We kissed throughout.
She laid back, the floral lace bra and matching panties still covering her, the fireplace already warm enough to make it comfortable.
'You presume a lot, David,' she said with a smile. I laughed, honestly surprised that she remembered and was so clever. I underestimated her from her looks, but that wasn't my fault, was it? Need to remind myself not to do that, even with the bimbo types.
Yes, this also came into play later. Again, another story. Maybe stick around and I'll tell you that one, too.
I put her hand on my belt, which she unfastened with a practiced skill. She pulled down on my pants, and I stepped out of them. She pulled on my waistband so I would move closer to her, and then stripped the underwear off me, too. I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off as she took me into her hands.
She looked up at me as she slowly stroked it, a measured pace that she knew would engorge me without too much overstimulation. She knew what she was doing, but then, so did I.
I moved next to her on the leather couch, the fire now warming the entire area, kissing her as we explored. I let her stroke me to fullness as I used my fingertips to wander over her, avoiding the most obvious areas but visiting the ones that tease the most. Her breath got shorter and her skin slightly flushed, eyes closing sometimes when I moved my hand closer to where she wanted it so much.
I slid a hand up the small of her back, firmly in almost a massaging action, and flicked the clips of the bra smoothly off in a single motion. Her not so small breasts required 3 clips, but I had much practice. She held up her arms like women do, and I obliged by sliding her bra out of them. Her very expensive surgery was a masterpiece, and I let her know with a few words and the way I pressed my mouth to them - first the outside, lower area, then underneath, up between them, then kissing her mouth hard, and finally down to her nipples.
She liked that, a lot, settling back on the couch to let me taste her skin. I moved my lips over her body, letting my fingers slip in and out of areas she was dying to feel, and at some point her panties were on the floor next to our clothes, too.
I slid up onto her, her long legs moving apart in sync with me. I let her see me pull out a condom and slip it over myself as she watched patiently. I touched her again, without rushing, and she closed her eyes as I used her wetness on the condom to ease the penetration we both wanted.
I slid inside her, and she pulled me in, both with her wetness and with her legs wrapping around me. Three, then four strokes, then I was in her completely. Our mouths crushed together even as we slowly began to grind. I looked at her, hoping she would look back at me, but she was already gone, her eyes hidden underneath the smoky gray of her eyelids, her lips wet and red, and so very full. Her cheeks were flush, too, the blood rushing all over her body, and when she opened her mouth I could smell the arousal in her breath. It hardened me even more.
We worked into a rhythm of hard fucking and rough kissing, the moans of both heard over the fire next to us, the squeaking of bodies on leather ignored in the heat of the moment. I moved inside her, and she moved with me, both of us feeling our way into the most fulfilling position.
I looked in her eyes as I slipped one hand underneath her ass, and the other gripping her hair at the base of her skull. I thrust once, hard, then twice, showing her how she would be held and fucked. She bit on the inside of her lip, hard, enough that I tasted blood the next time I kissed her, and then grit her teeth as I began to drive into her.
We worked into a rhythm of hard fucking and rough kissing, the moans of both heard over the fire crackling next to us, the squeaking of bodies on leather ignored in the heat of the moment. I moved inside her, and she moved with me, both of us feeling our way into the most fulfilling position.
When we had it, she just nodded to me, and I gave in to the lust, pounding her like a young man would've from the start, my desire feeding into my cock, her legs no longer around me but up in the air as she began to scream.
We laid there for a few minutes, hands intertwined in a sophomoric display of togetherness, and she looked down as she took my left hand in hers. to not crush her, our relieved laughing and heavy breathing punctuating the silence of after-sex.
We laid there for a few minutes, hands intertwined in a sophomorish display of tenderness, and she looked down as she took my left hand in hers.
'Our rings match,' she said. My bronzed and stone encrusted wedding band did almost match her golden plain one, though it was outshone easily by the diamonds in the band she also wore next to it, enough to buy my less-than-new BMW a few times over.
She mindlessly twirled the ring around my finger, smiling to herself as if she told herself a slightly amusing joke. 'I would've never done this without that,' she said, indicating the ring. 'Too complicated.' I pondered that for a minute, and ended up agreeing with her. Married with much to lose, we wouldn't want to endanger either of us.
'Why did you ask me to coffee the other day?' she asked me. I just looked at her and raised an eyebrow. 'I know, but really, what was it?' She knew she looked good, but she wanted me to say it.
'You stopped me in my tracks,' I started, 'and that so rarely happens.' She liked that, a lot. I continued. 'Even if I never touched you, I had to know what your voice was like, how you laughed, what color your eyes were, and maybe to make you smile.'
She did smile, though a little wistfully, gazing off into space for a second. 'I am glad you have that ring,' she said, 'cause you just melted me a little bit too much.'
She got up abruptly and started to dress, so I joined her. I took her hand and led her back to the entryway where we put our shoes back on. We drove back to the coffee shop in silence, but for some reason we held hands the entire way, and the quiet in the car felt right.
She waved me to the corner of the parking lot, and I let her out. She looked back at me through the car window and walked directly to an Escalade. I waited until she got in, making sure she got the engine started and going, and let her pull out first.
The stick-figure family on the back window of the SUV seemed to wave at me as she left, the 3 children and 2 dogs and a cat included.
I'd have to pretend not to notice that the father figure of the stick family had been roughly cut out of the sticker, and recently from the looks of it. I finally put it together, along with the excellent boob job and lip injections. I guess I was a little slow, though I didn't have much to go on before.
She didn't mind me seeing that, after. She just wanted it on her own timing. I was supposed to understand that she didn't need me, wasn't looking for something, but wanted what I wanted all the same.
It's what we all want. To be desired, even if only in the moment.
I went home, then, slipping off my ring before bed as I always do, and setting it on the nightstand next to my wife's, which had been gathering dust since her death almost 9 years before. 'Good night, doll,' I said, remembering how much she liked my hands in her hair, pulling her head back as I would thrust into her, how she would always cum for me first, then demand to be fucked roughly after.
I could still smell her perfume, I dreamt that night, but it was because Rebecca wore it, too. I never cared about her big tits, long legs or inflated lips. I just wanted to close my eyes and breathe her in.
Sometimes, it's enough.
February 2020
So, what's coming this month?
We definitely have a special Valentine's story, or two. It's a special occasion and we shouldn't miss it.
We'll hear from Suzy, Sarah, and even Rachel, too. Haylee even sooner. What about Anna?
The Neighborhood and The Fall will get updates for our Patreon exclusives, and another exclusive title will begin. Don't worry, not every story is going the way you might think...
Some oldies but goodies will pop up, too - you may have to go back to ImageFap and refresh your memory, though!
As always, let me know what you think! What do you want to read about? Which stories need more updating? Which don't!?
2020-02-02 20:12:34 +0000 UTC View Post
Haylee and Mom 11
coming today! Sorry for the downtime, been sick (not coronavirus!) but that's no excuse - I'll make it up to you in February.
Goal is 3-5 new entries per week! Yell if you see me lagging.
Thanks to all of you for sticking with me.
Coffey
2020-01-30 15:31:49 +0000 UTC View Post
Sarah-in-law 11
I don't know how they can keep going on like this!
2020-01-11 23:49:39 +0000 UTC View PostThe Fall, part 1
A different take on our 'Dads and Daughters' series, the Fall finds our neighbors texting about - well, I should let you read it and come to your own conclusions.
2020-01-11 18:19:24 +0000 UTC View PostUp Next
New series coming and continuation of our old favs - we need to hear from our favorite uncle/niece soon.
2020-01-08 14:20:25 +0000 UTC View Post
What is the mistake?
A new series comes here in early January, about a young man and the biggest mistake of his life.
What do you think it is? Add a comment with your guess!
Discord server
You should all have access to the Discord server - Love to see more of you on there! leave messages, DM each other, talk to me, anything you feel like!
It's definitely a benefit we're not really taking advantage of to communicate with each other.
No pressure, but try it out if you want!
2019-12-26 21:54:17 +0000 UTC View PostThe Neighborhood, part 9
Just Patrick
Re-read 8 if you need to, dear reader.
2019-12-26 16:44:20 +0000 UTC View PostMerry Christmas to all
and to all... hopefully a fun night!
Thank you again for being here, and for reading my work. Thank you for letting me know how you feel about it, what you like, and what you're thinking.
I appreciate you all.
Coffey
2019-12-25 05:01:05 +0000 UTC View Post