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I'll never forget the weekend Billy came. He was a friend of a friend, and he had a job interview in London one Monday morning. He needed somewhere to stay on Sunday night. I suggested he come on the Friday and spend the weekend taking in the sights. But the sights he got to see, and the sights I got to see, were not exactly what he'd anticipated.
I'm a normal woman. I love having sex. But I'm also a wicked woman, because I love leering at men. Naked men. Men with erections. Men masturbating. Men coming. Men being spanked. Men pumped and ridden and sucked off and milked by women who are still partially clothed and completely in control. I surf the internet looking for the pictures and videos that leave my panties in ruins and my clitoris spent. Magazines litter my house.
Billy arrived about eight and we had dinner together. Afterwards, I left him in the sitting-room with coffee so that I could load the dishwasher. Although I'd cleared most of the magazines away, I'd deliberately left a few of them strategically placed. Nothing too far out. Shots of hunks in the raw. Nice chests, cute balls, firm asses, the occasional erection. I hoped Billy might flick through them while I was away. I wanted him to know I was okay about sex.
He didn't mention them at the time, but I had a feeling some of them had been moved. And of course, I was subsequently proved right. We chatted for about an hour, and then Billy said he was ready for bed. I showed him to the guest room and told him to make himself at home.
'Feel free to read any of the books or watch TV,' I said.
He thanked me and we said goodnight.
I'd left him plenty to occupy himself with. The latest editions of Penthouse and Men Only. A handful of XXX magazines. Several videos.
I went into the room next to his but didn't switch on the light. I watched him. Yes, I confess it now, wicked woman that I am, my guest room has a two-way mirror. It is vast and cost me a fortune, but it has afforded me numberless hours of pleasure.
I looked at Billy as he settled into his room. He must have been about twenty-two. He was handsome and attractively built, but terribly quiet. Very decent, very proper, endlessly polite. 'A very nice young man,' as my mother would say. Usually the kiss of death as far as I'm concerned. But the thought of seeing this innocent, rather sweet young man disrobing was riveting. I was about thirty-eight at the time, I'd long since seen everything, but nothing beats the frisson of seeing innocence exposed.
And yet men are full of surprises, and Billy was no exception. To my delight, he quickly spotted the magazines, but he merely flicked through Penthouse and Men Only. He quickly abandoned them, and I immediately jumped to the conclusion that he wasn't into porn. How wrong I was! Instead of getting undressed, taking a shower and putting himself to bed as I anticipated, he turned to the hardcore magazines. He selected the 'best' one with evident care and sat on the bed to study it. And yes, he was definitely into it. He looked at each page long and hard, and his hand soon wandered to his crotch. I gasped with joy as he began to fondle himself through his jeans.
Billy continued to pleasure himself for some time, then put down the magazine. He looked at himself in the mirror and stood up. Standing with his feet apart at the foot of the bed, clearly contemplating himself in the mirror, he lifted his T-shirt above his head and tossed it to the floor. He advanced a few steps towards the mirror and stood with his hands on his hips. He turned round and half bent down. He looked under his arm into the mirror, deliciously checking out the contours of his butt. And what contours! Firm and rounded, crammed tightly into his jeans.
He stood up and faced the mirror again. He advanced a few more steps. And then he unzipped his fly and unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled his fly flaps wide open. His penis, already bulging, was nudging against the triangular red pouch of his briefs. Red! Whoever would have believed it? I'd expected some hideously sensible white Y-fronts. But these were no Y-fronts. The pouch was sexily cut.
He turned his back to the mirror and, watching himself over his shoulder, slowly lowered his jeans. Another surprise. Not briefs. A thong! He was wearing a bright red thong! He'd been wearing it on the train down from Manchester! He'd been wearing it when he arrived! He'd been wearing it through dinner and coffee! Sweet Mr. Innocent in a bright red thong! I was stunned.
He fondled his buttocks for a while and then faced the mirror again. He grabbed his penis and balls through the fabric of the pouch. He squeezed and massaged, pinched and stroked. The tip of his penis pulled hard against the pouch, desperate to be released.
Billy pulled the ottoman away from the mirror and turned it short-side on. He sat on the edge facing the mirror and slowly lay down, his feet remaining on the floor. The edge of the ottoman was quite close to the mirror, and I could clearly see the outlines of his penis jutting up inside his pouch. More fondling and kneading ensued, and his prick grew harder and harder.
Suddenly, he stood up and turned his back to the mirror. He straddled the ottoman and sat down on it as if it were a motorbike. He lowered his chest to its padded silk seat. And there he was, prone, gripping the end of the ottoman between his knees, his glorious butt mere inches from my face. He fondled that butt lasciviously. Then he stood up again and, still straddling the ottoman, bent down. I stared at his balls pulled tight in the base of his pouch between his thighs. I feasted my eyes on his naked ass cheeks.
And then came another surprise. Sweet Mr. Innocent grasped both buttocks in the palms of his hands and pulled those buttocks wide apart. The under-strap of his thong was fully exposed. I instantly looked for some hint of anus, and, sure enough, a small area of puckered skin was revealed either side of the under-strap close to the point where it joined the pouch.
Billy pinched and kneaded his buttocks and occasionally massaged himself with the tip of his second finger along the length of the under-strap. He tapped at the fabric that covered his anus then pinched the flesh along his butt cleft quite hard.
I lifted my skirt and slipped my right hand inside my panties. My sex was dripping. I massaged my clitoris with the tip of my second finger, shuddering with the pleasure of it. I slipped my left hand under my blouse and squeezed my breasts through my bra. I pinched my nipples and scratched at them gently through the nylon.
Billy stood up and faced the mirror again. Slowly, he lowered his thong. Inch by inch, his shaft was revealed, until his helmet suddenly sprang free of the pouch and his prick reared up in front of him. Leaving his thong round his thighs, he slowly pulled back his foreskin. His purple helmet glistened.
Staring intently into the mirror, he squeezed his glans and, rapt, watched more pre-cum ooze from the eye. He massaged it into his helmet and squeezed again. A further droplet appeared. He scooped it onto his finger and, deliciously, transferred it to his mouth. He repeated this several times, sucking on his fingertip and swallowing.
He gave his glans one hell of a going-over, pinching it, kneading it, twisting it, cupping it. Then he massaged the cleft and ridges, those most sensitive parts of the penis. He rubbed and tapped and pinched. I looked at his face. His neck and cheeks were flushed. His head was thrown back and his nostrils flared. His face was contorted with pleasure.
He sat down on the ottoman and fully removed his thong. He grabbed his penis in his fist and began to jerk off. Slowly, rhythmically, his hand moved up and down. He seemed to go on for an eternity, pulling away with his right hand, fondling his chest and nipples with his left. I watched, transfixed. His penis was fairly long and wonderfully thick. Sometimes he stopped to fondle his balls, sometimes he jerked off with his thumb and forefinger, but he always returned to his trusty old wrist grip. And it was clear he was a seasoned masturbator. He teased himself, speeding up, slowing down, stopping, starting. Now he returned his attention to his glans, now he returned to his shaft. On and on he went.
And then he stopped and raised his knees to his chest. I was amazed. His anus was fully exposed, dark red and puckered. Slowly, he ran the palm of his left hand up the back of his thigh until it reached his left buttock. He massaged that buttock and then continued his advance.
His middle finger slipped into his butt cleft. He massaged that cleft up and down and circled his anus with his fingertip. Mr. Innocent! Tapping and circling that most secret of parts. Then he spat on his fingertip and returned it to his anus. I caught my breath. Could he really be going to do it? He could.
Slowly, he inched his finger into his anus, millimetre by millimetre until it had fully disappeared. He moved his hand about gently. Then, slowly, he withdrew three-quarters of his finger and, equally slowly, pushed it back in again. The puckered skin round his anus seemed to suck and blow. Again and again he repeated the action, in, out, in, out, gradually increasing the tempo until he was rhythmically fucking his own ass-hole. Briefly, he slipped in a second finger and pulled. His fingers launched into a kind of walking motion. He winced with pleasure. Then he removed one finger and resumed his wanton ass-fuck.
He grabbed his penis in his right fist and, still fucking his ass with his other hand, began to jerk off furiously. I couldn't believe how long he lasted. He seemed to be pulling and pumping away with one hand, and deliciously jabbing away with the other, for an eternity. My fingertip was getting into a frenzy against my clitoris, and I struggled not to moan too loudly.
Finally, Billy stopped. Nothing happened for an instant, and then a great jet of sperm arced out from his penis. It crashed down onto his chest, clinging enticingly to his chest hair. Further spurts pumped out and landed on his stomach. He produced an astonishing amount of semen, his ankles dancing about and his torso shuddering, before he was finally spent. Then he just lay there, all wet and messy, before slowly removing his finger from his ass. Slowly, he got up, clearly shattered, and staggered off into the en suite bathroom.
Well, Mr. Innocent, we know now, I thought.
When I got up the next morning, Billy was still in his room, fast asleep. I had a leisurely breakfast and took a shower. As it was a gloriously hot summer day (and as I wasn't done with Mr. Innocent), I decided to do some sunbathing in the garden. I put on my sexiest bikini - tiny yellow top and matching minimal thong - grabbed a couple of towels and some sun cream, and strolled out onto the lawn. Luckily, my garden is completely secluded, so I spread out one of the towels in the centre of the lawn and lay down on it. But I soon realised this wasn't provocative enough, so I went back into the sitting-room, collected a few magazines, and took them out onto the lawn. I lay on my back and leered at some shots of Naughty Nick gradually acquiring an erection.
After about half an hour, I caught a glimpse of Billy. He was standing at the kitchen window. I 'hid' the magazines and beckoned him to join me. A few moments later, he stepped out into the garden, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. What a gentleman! He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
He strolled up to me. I sat up on the towel. He handed me a coffee and smiled.
'Why don't you join me?' I asked. 'It's a glorious day.'
'Unfortunately, I didn't pack any swimwear,' he laughed.
'You can still slip off your T-shirt,' I said. I didn't want to rush things and blow it.
Billy agreed. He took off his T-shirt, spread out the second towel and sat down. We drank coffee and chatted away innocently. Twenty minutes later, I seized my chance.
'I could do with another coffee,' I said. 'What about you?'
'Sure,' he said. 'But I'll do it.'
'No, no,' I insisted. 'It's my turn.'
This gave me an excellent pretext to get up and wander nonchalantly back into the house, thus revealing, without openly referring to the fact, that I was wearing a thong.
The ruse worked. When I returned a few minutes later with two fresh mugs of steaming coffee, there was Billy, lying on his back on his lily white towel, his jeans rolled up as a pillow for his delicate head! His underwear was tiny and dark blue. Although I couldn't be absolutely sure, it looked suspiciously like a thong.
'I changed my mind and decided to join you,' he said. 'After all, it's not the first time underwear has doubled up for swimwear.'
'Exactly,' I said. 'A couple of years ago, it was quite the thing. What a terrible business! The return of the wretched Bermuda short. As beachwear! As swimwear! Such a ludicrous look, don't you think?'
Billy sat up and I handed him his coffee. He looked up at me as I stood beside him.
'You prefer ?'
'Something brief. Something cut properly. Something that actually matches and flatters the male form. Why are men so scared of looking sexy? Why do they think they have to make themselves look ridiculous? It makes me sick.'
I sat down on my towel and sipped some coffee.
Billy was silent for a few moments. 'I guess they think they look cool,' he finally ventured.
'Well, they're wrong,' I said.
We sat drinking our coffee for a while, until a thought occurred to me.
'Be an angel,' I said. 'I've left my sunglasses on the kitchen table. Could you get them for me?'
Billy hesitated for an instant.
'Sure,' he said.
He got up and walked towards the house. I was right. A thong. Perfect!
He returned a few moments later.
'There you are,' I said.
He handed me the sunglasses.
'What do you mean?' he asked.
'That thong you're wearing. It looks fantastic. Really makes the most of your various assets.'
Billy looked at me for a moment.
'Thanks,' he laughed.
Billy sat down on his towel. Again, we drank coffee and chatted for a while, and then I lay down on my front.
'Be an angel once more,' I said, 'and put some sun cream on my back.'
'Sure,' said Billy.
He worked the sun cream into my back, but stopped when he got to my buttocks.
'There too,' I said.
He massaged cream into my buttocks and then transferred his attention to the back of my legs.
'Thanks,' I said when he'd finally finished.
He massaged sun cream all over his front and legs. Then he tried to put some on his shoulders and back.
'Allow me to return the favour,' I said.
He lay down on his front, and I massaged the cream into his back. Then I massaged some more into his calves and the back of his thighs. Finally, I squeezed sun cream onto his buttocks and began to work it in. His ass looked lovely, so smooth and rounded, the sun cream glistening in the sun. I massaged harder and harder. Soon, I was kneading him, and as his buttocks opened and closed I gazed at his dark blue under-strap as it plunged from the tiny waistband between his cheeks. Finally, I pressed down with both palms quite hard, slapped his buttocks gently and rolled him over.
'All done. Oh ! I said.
Billy's penis was rearing up in its pouch.
'Sorry,' Billy said, his face crimson, 'I '
'No, no,' I said. 'Not at all. I'm glad. Allow me.'
And with that, I cupped his pouch in my right hand and squeezed. Billy tried to remove my hand, but I wasn't having any. I continued to squeeze and press, and Billy's prick grew harder and harder. Unable to stop myself, I covered Billy's thong pouch in sun cream and squeezed and kneaded his prick. The sun cream squelched. Soon, Billy was fully erect, so that the edges of his pouch were pulled up from his body and the pouch made a little tent. Through the gaps at the bottom I could clearly see his balls. I grabbed his dick through the fabric and squeezed tight, now concentrating on his shaft, now his helmet.
'Stand up! I want to try something,' I finally said.
Billy silently complied. I waited a few moments until his erection had marginally subsided and his penis formed a taut arc inside his pouch. I then positioned myself in front of him and pushed my arse-crack against the pouch. The arch of his penis nestled between my buttocks. I moved my buttocks up and down, pushing hard against his prick. I could feel the taut fabric now rubbing against the fabric covering my anus, now rubbing against the fabric covering my sex. It was delicious. On and on I went, until Billy was moaning, his penis rock hard beneath the pouch. I then kneeled in front of him and grabbed his penis in my fist. I moved my hand up and down so that the fabric massaged his prick.
'Turn round,' I suddenly said, 'and bend down.'
He did so. I stood at his side and coated the palm of my right hand with sun cream. I slipped my palm between his arse cheeks and ran my middle fingertip up and down the fabric of his under-strap, pressing hard. I continued for some time, then stabbed firmly at his fabric-covered anus with two fingertips. I pushed the fabric slightly up his hole.
'Oh no!' he gasped.
Now I fondled and kneaded his buttocks, now I massaged his butt cleft, now I pushed the under-strap into his hole. Finally, he was practically snorting.
I told him to stand up and turn round again. He did so. Again, I grabbed his penis and jerked him off furiously through the fabric. The friction must have been exquisite, because Billy soon lost control.
'Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus!' he gasped as he ejaculated uncontrollably. Semen oozed through the fabric round the tip of his prick. I cupped my palm round that area and squeezed. The semen squelched audibly and wet my palm.
'Oh dear,' I said. 'I seem to have made something of a mess.'
And with that, I pulled the waistband forward and looked inside. Billy's erect penis was still forcing the thong pouch out in front of him, so much so that his under-strap had been pulled forward and was neatly lifting and separating his balls. Semen had splashed and trickled down the inside of his pouch until it met the obstacle of his ball-sac, where it pooled.
Beside myself, I knelt next to him. First, I took hold of the waistband above his buttocks with my left hand. I pulled it halfway down his ass. Then, slowly, gently, carefully, I used my right hand to ease his under-strap away from his balls. It worked. Semen trickled down the under-strap and formed another pool. I looked at his prick and neatly-shaven balls as his erection slowly subsided. His balls were sticky with semen. Bit by bit, the tip of his prick sank back down to the soaking base of his pouch. Then I stood up and pulled his thong back up, knowing that his penis and balls and anus would now all be sticky with sperm.
Brazenly, I ordered him to get down on all fours and open his knees as wide as possible. He did so. I knelt behind him and checked. Sure enough, the part of the under-strap which pulled tight against his anus was soaked in semen.
I allowed him to lie down on his back and sunbathe, but I refused to let him get changed. And what a gorgeous spectacle he presented. Flushed neck and cheeks and a well-ruined thong, all messy with sun cream and semen. A few driblets of sperm had escaped onto his inner thighs, where they clung to his hairs and dried.
Billy slept in the sun for an hour. I watched him. I watched the front of his thong dry. I checked it. It felt like cardboard and gave off the pungent aroma of sex. Billy woke.
'Wow!' he murmured sleepily. 'What you did was amazing. But God, my thong's a wreck.'
'It is,' I said.
He was silent for a moment, and then, in a very low voice, as if he hardly dared say it, 'I should be spanked,' he confessed.
I too was silent for a moment. Had I left any spanking mags in his bedroom? Had he seen them? I decided to risk it.
'I agree,' I said. 'In fact, you'd better get up to your room.'
'Do I have to?' he asked.
'I'm afraid so, yes.'
I followed him into the house and up the stairs. His ass looked gorgeous. The thought of spanking it made me flush.
When we entered the bedroom, I went straight up to the ottoman and pulled it away from the mirror. I sat on it, facing the bed. The silk felt cool against my exposed ass cheeks.
'Get yourself over my knee,' I ordered.
Billy slowly came up to me and lowered himself over my knee. I could feel his penis pressing against my thigh through his sperm-starched thong. I gazed in anticipation at his buttocks.
'First, I'm going to give you a spanking,' I said. 'And then you can damn well wash that thong for yourself.'
I stroked his buttocks gently.
'But remember,' I said. 'It's for your own good.'
And with that, I raised my hand and spanked his right buttock quite hard. A sharp crack filled the room and a little pink mark appeared on Billy's butt flesh. I spanked his left buttock and watched a similar mark appear. Slowly, with tantalising pauses before each descent, I spanked his two buttocks, right, left, right, left, smack after smack after smack. Slowly, his ass cheeks turned from pink to red and his breaths became long and deep. Finally, when my hand couldn't take it anymore, I stopped and gazed at the results of my labours. Beautiful! A lovely red tingling butt. I was going to tell Billy to look in the mirror, but when I checked, I discovered he was already doing so. I looked over my shoulder into the mirror. Our eyes met. He smiled. Mr. Innocent!
'And now,' I said, 'it's time to wash that thong.'
I led Billy down to the kitchen and ordered him to take off his thong. His balls were still sticky with cum. The smell of sex reached my nostrils. As Billy stood with the thong in his hand, I opened a drawer and brought out a waiter's white cotton apron. I tied it round his waist. It was very short, barely covering his prick, and of course, at the back, his buttocks were fully exposed. Already, the red was beginning to fade.
'The soap powder's under the sink,' I informed him.
He opened the cupboard door and bent down. His ass looked divine, with the ties of the apron dangling into his crack. He stood up and filled the sink with warm water, adding and stirring in the powder. He began to wash the thong.
I went into the hall and fetched a clothes brush from the cloakroom. Returning to the kitchen, I stood behind Billy and watched. Little did he know!
'Not like that!' I barked. 'Give it a proper rub!'
And with that, I thwacked his ass with the back of the clothes brush. Billy jumped and looked round.
'Ow!' he said. 'That hurt!'
He rubbed his right buttock, leaving a fetching smear of soapsuds behind.
'Do the job properly,' I said.
He washed the thong thoroughly and was about to rinse it when I thwacked his left buttock.
'What now?' he asked.
'Use the scrubbing brush,' I said.
He scrubbed the thong thoroughly with a small scrubbing brush, and then I gave him permission to rinse.
Finally, he took the thong outside and hung it on the washing-line to dry. I watched him. His buttocks were so delicious, with their two deep red marks clearly visible even from a distance. I wanted to spank him again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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Posted by ATCFNM at 3:11 PM