A Blackburn Brothel story Joan
- 2 years ago
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THREE SHORT STORIES ABOUT JOAN free porn video
I was scrolling through porn here on xhamster & I saw several images of buxom ladies all done up in corsets, with their boobs all spilling out, etc at Renaissance Faires & it reminded me of a story ... well, three stories actually.
I.
"Joan" is probably my wife's closest friend. They've been friends since college. Long time. For nearly ten years we used to go on vacation with Joan, her (ex)husband & their three boys in Mexico.
The boys were little - the youngest was five, the middle eight, the oldest ten. They were a handful, but basically good. We all got along well & settled into an amicable "family" routine. It was fun. I enjoyed it.
One year we were there & the little town we went to was building a water treatment plant. Potable water had been trucked in prior to that. Each house had a cistern. Water was in short supply, so it was rationed. No long showers, etc. We all got back from the beach late one afternoon & the boys were sandy & hungry & wild. The adults s**ttered to multitask. My wife & Joan went to prep the kitchen & dining room, Joan's (ex)husband ran into town to buy tacos, which left me to supervise the boys' showers.
We usually rented a casita. It was a typical sorta Mexican beach casita - adobe with tile roof, a deck with a palapa & an outdoor shower. The boys were wild, as I said. There was horsing around, some dilly-dallying, some arguments & negotiations about who'd go first, etc. & it was all taking way too fucking long, & I had to get all drill-sargeanty & start hollering, etc. because the (ex)husband had returned with the food & the boys still weren't clean & margaritas were getting made & I was sorta distracted & hungry & I wanted a drink & I lost track of what boy was where & who was clean & who wasn't & I was worried about the water running out & the shower was still going & I stormed outside all in a huff...
"Goddammit ... who's still showering!?!" I hollered as I stepped around the privacy partition.
"Me," Said Joan - standing there stark naked.
Joan's my wife's age - which is a few years older than me, but she's not built like my wife - all big & burly, like a farm-frau. Joan is a yoga instructor - lean & lithe, small breasts with stiff, hard nipples & a tight, flattish ass. She'd gone for the full Brazilian Wax & was bald as a baby down there.
"Oh," I said, standing there staring at her. "I thought you were ... one of the boys."
"I'm not," She said.
"No ... clearly ... not."
She looked at me looking her and smiled, "Did you want to shower?" Soaping herself, the soapsuds spilling down her torso & running through through her hairless crotch.
"Uh..." I said, dumbly, "With you?"
"No, that'd be ... inappropriate." She said, turning off the water. She gave her wet head a tossle with her hands & walked-up to me confidently, unselfconsciously & stopped right in front of me - she looked me dead in the eye and held my gaze, reached past my shoulder & took a towel from the laundry line behind me. "With our spouses just inside," She said as she toweled off her face first & slowly patted herself dry. She wrapped the towel around herself, smiled at me mischievously & went inside.
II.
Not long after that Joan & her husband divorced. It was ugly. Real ugly. Joan was under a whole lotta stress - her (ex)husband was being an ass, money was tight, the boys were not handling it well & were acting out/acting up. Joan lost a lotta weight ... she didn't have a whole lotta weight to lose, but she lost a lot of what she had.
She appeared on our doorstep unexpectedly one night. It was a real surprise because Joan lives in a whole other state. We weren't ready to host anybody, but she was clearly desperate & in a bad spot & I clearly needed to stay out of the way. My wife took care of her, but I was fetching & carrying & fretting & hovering. My wife sent me to make food & bring drinks.
They were upstairs in our bedroom. I brought a tray of food up & found them in the bathroom - Joan naked in the bathtub, my wife sitting on the toilet leaning over to wash her. Both talking quietly.
"It's okay," Joan said, "He's seen me naked." But not like this.
Joan was skin & bones - sunken & shrunken, ribs & hips visible, pert small breasts now like sad, deflated balloons.
It broke my heart.
She only stayed the one night & left early the next morning. She returned home ... & would eventually stick it to her ex-husband. She didn't go for his jugular - which she coulda done & shoulda done & had been advised to do, but she got what she deserved - which was everything he was trying to keep her from getting & some of what he'd been trying to hide from her.
Next time we saw Joan was not quite a year later. She was in a better way. She'd put on weight, seemed happier & less stressed ... & she'd got breast implants. It was startling. They weren't outrageous, but they were bigger than what she'd had. Way bigger. I think she'd been a large A-cup &, with the implants, she was a small C.
I was sorta disappointed, but sympathetic. We were at a mutual friend's house hanging-out & talking ... & my wife, all matter-of-fact, as only BFFs can be, said: "Did you get implants?"
"Yeah," Joan said shyly, "They're bigger than I wanted, but the smallest they'd do. I know it's ... vain, but how they were ... with all the weight I'd lost ... they were just skin - hanging there sad. They weren't filling out ... after I started eating again. So I just ... did it. Are they ridiculous?"
My wife was all: "No! No-no-no," etc.
Then both women looked at me. WTF? So I also said: "No! No-no-no," etc. But they didn't believe me. I wasn't emphatic enough. So then we got all into the shape & texture & feel, & how time was gonna have an effect of how they hang, etc. And Joan's all got her top off & showing us where the incisions were & how small they were & having me feel how heavy her new breasts were & her nipples are poking into my palms, etc. But it's all very friendly & kinda clinical & "Oh neat" etc.
And that was the second time Joan sent me to bed with blue balls.
III.
This last bit is what reminded me of the whole "Joan" stories series.
As the boys got older they all got real into Fantasy & cosplay, role-playing, DnD, swords & sorcery stuff. They were running around playing at hunting dragons or fighting orcs, etc. Smacking trees & each other with homemade swords, etc. I'd read them the Dragonlance books & my wife had read them the Harry Potter books & we're probably responsible for some of that nerdery.
Anyway, Joan started taking them to these seasonal Renaissance Faires. The boys loved it & I guess Joan did too. My wife went with them once - or met them at one once - I don't remember. But Joan kinda got into the spirit of it all in a "When in Rome" sorta way. She bought herself an outfit that had a corset & I don't know what all else ... but she'd text pictures of herself at these faires occasionally - her new boobs all spilling over the top of her corset, etc.
It was really something.
My wife & I were home & we got this text from Joan. It was Joan & all her boys & their Ren Faire friends. And everyone's dressed up in this historical mish-mash of eras - there were Vikings & medieval knights, 17th century pirates & swashbucklers, etc. & there's Joan in the middle of it all with her new boobs spilling over the top of her corset looking happy & rather sexy with the hem of her billowy skirt hiked up & tucked in her belt showing a lotta leg, thigh & hip.
So flippantly I replied: "Looking pretty boobtacular there, Madame Cleavage. Careful of yon cad & his droolage which may dampen your duds."
So the next text she sent was a close-up of her boobs. Just her boobs. Not her naked boobs, but her boobs spilling outta the top of her corset. Boobs filling the screen of my phone. Motorboat kinda image. MILF boobs.
My wife was laughing. I was too, because it was fun & funny & our friend was happy having a good time & I kept going with the "serving wench" jokes & "forsooth" type "ye & thee, hither & yon" type language. "Thoust art but a knave," etc. And the pictures kept coming & all the boobs spilling outta the outfits - goddamn!
It all slowed down or died off, eventually. Bit of time passed. Later that day the wife & I were getting ready for bed. My phone chirped with a text. It was Joan. No words, just an image, a selfie - Joan, at home, in her bedroom, still in her corset, but she'd loosened it & shed her billowy skirt. Two more pictures came in quick succession & they were of Joan in various states of undress. Joan was clearly hot & horny & had brought me into whatever mastabatory Ren Faire fantasy she had going, because she'd only sent the images to me ... not to my wife.
I didn't quite know what to do or how to respond. My wife's real shy about pictures (which is another long story) so I don't get too many sexts. But my wife is there in bed beside me & my phone’s chirping with these half to mostly naked pictures of Joan coming in & my wife's all: "Who's that?" So I handed her my phone.
She just smirked ... & started texting back. Replying as me. Egging her on. Before I knew it things were escalating. Joan's naked tits, her spread pussy (she had grown her pubic hair back), Joan pleasuring herself, etc.
My wife got really into it. She kept on texting. Sent her pictures of my dick. Limp & then hard. She'd had to work to get me hard too. Blowing me for a bit, then sitting up and texting. Wanking me with one hand while looking at my phone & whatever nudie image Joan had sent back. Smirking as she replied with some instruction or request, whatever. Not letting on that it was her, not me.
The texts slowed & then eventually stopped. I guess Joan had cum. And I'm sitting there naked with this huge boner & my wife's all, "Well, that was fun ... Oh ... you want I should finish you off?"
I was kinda pissed suddenly. Here my wife had faked this whole sext correspondence, never once letting on to the fact that it was she who was communicating with her BFF & not me. I'd been used as a prop. Got me all hot & bothered & hard, showing me all the texts as they came in & all the randy replies she was making, all the naked images her friend was sending, etc. And then she's all: "Oh yeah ... you want me to finish you off?" WTF!?!
So she leaned over and put her face in my lap and gulped me down, and started to give me the quick service ... but that wasn't gonna cut it. I wasn’t having it. Not after getting me all spun up. I took hold of the back of her head & I held her there. I pulled her head against me, grinding her face into my crotch, thrusting up against the back of her throat.
My wife started gagging and choking, coughing and trying to pull back, but I was mad and I told her to stop & to hold still.
I'm pretty beta in our marriage. My wife is a lotta woman & it's safe to say she rules the roost. But something in my tone of voice or the strength in which I was holding her, or the urgency of my manner made her stop. She went still.
"Open your throat," I commanded.
She shifted her position then - got onto all fours. And I started to hump her throat. I held her head down tight against me & thrust vigorously, quickly & steadily. Scowling at myself in the mirror over our dresser at the foot of the bed. She started gagging and choking and coughing, spitting up wads of goo & snot, stuff shooting out of her nose against my pubes, back-splattering her face, etc.
It didn't take me long. I was pretty spun up & horny, as I said. I didn't tell her I was about to nut like I usually do. I just grunted & growled & held her hard so she couldn't pull away and adjust to receive it more comfortably or easily. I just growled and pushed deep and nutted right down her throat. She gave a tremendous heave like she was gonna puke, but I held her tight. SHe kept heaving three more times, but fought back against the urge and went still, swallowing it all. I held her through the last quivers and shakes and tremors & convulsions. And when I was finished, finally through with all the ending shivers & shakes & starting to go limp I let her go.
She sat up quickly, her face a wreck of tears and snot and throat goo hanging in thick cords from her chin. Cheeks all splattered and rosy. Eyes bloodshot. She coughed for a bit, gagged a couple times, wiped her chin, looked at me kinda wide-eyed & surprised, rubbing her eyes.
"Goddamn," She said after almost a full five minutes. She tried clearing the frog from her throat.
"Sorry," I said.
My wife coughed, put her hand on her throat, "I don't think you've ever..." Cough.
"Sorry," I said again, starting to feel bad.
My wife smiled and wiped her eye, "No. That was ... fucking hot!"
I smirked sheepishly.
"But..." My wife said, "I don't think we should sext with Joan for a while ... or ever again."
I.
"Joan" is probably my wife's closest friend. They've been friends since college. Long time. For nearly ten years we used to go on vacation with Joan, her (ex)husband & their three boys in Mexico.
The boys were little - the youngest was five, the middle eight, the oldest ten. They were a handful, but basically good. We all got along well & settled into an amicable "family" routine. It was fun. I enjoyed it.
One year we were there & the little town we went to was building a water treatment plant. Potable water had been trucked in prior to that. Each house had a cistern. Water was in short supply, so it was rationed. No long showers, etc. We all got back from the beach late one afternoon & the boys were sandy & hungry & wild. The adults s**ttered to multitask. My wife & Joan went to prep the kitchen & dining room, Joan's (ex)husband ran into town to buy tacos, which left me to supervise the boys' showers.
We usually rented a casita. It was a typical sorta Mexican beach casita - adobe with tile roof, a deck with a palapa & an outdoor shower. The boys were wild, as I said. There was horsing around, some dilly-dallying, some arguments & negotiations about who'd go first, etc. & it was all taking way too fucking long, & I had to get all drill-sargeanty & start hollering, etc. because the (ex)husband had returned with the food & the boys still weren't clean & margaritas were getting made & I was sorta distracted & hungry & I wanted a drink & I lost track of what boy was where & who was clean & who wasn't & I was worried about the water running out & the shower was still going & I stormed outside all in a huff...
"Goddammit ... who's still showering!?!" I hollered as I stepped around the privacy partition.
"Me," Said Joan - standing there stark naked.
Joan's my wife's age - which is a few years older than me, but she's not built like my wife - all big & burly, like a farm-frau. Joan is a yoga instructor - lean & lithe, small breasts with stiff, hard nipples & a tight, flattish ass. She'd gone for the full Brazilian Wax & was bald as a baby down there.
"Oh," I said, standing there staring at her. "I thought you were ... one of the boys."
"I'm not," She said.
"No ... clearly ... not."
She looked at me looking her and smiled, "Did you want to shower?" Soaping herself, the soapsuds spilling down her torso & running through through her hairless crotch.
"Uh..." I said, dumbly, "With you?"
"No, that'd be ... inappropriate." She said, turning off the water. She gave her wet head a tossle with her hands & walked-up to me confidently, unselfconsciously & stopped right in front of me - she looked me dead in the eye and held my gaze, reached past my shoulder & took a towel from the laundry line behind me. "With our spouses just inside," She said as she toweled off her face first & slowly patted herself dry. She wrapped the towel around herself, smiled at me mischievously & went inside.
II.
Not long after that Joan & her husband divorced. It was ugly. Real ugly. Joan was under a whole lotta stress - her (ex)husband was being an ass, money was tight, the boys were not handling it well & were acting out/acting up. Joan lost a lotta weight ... she didn't have a whole lotta weight to lose, but she lost a lot of what she had.
She appeared on our doorstep unexpectedly one night. It was a real surprise because Joan lives in a whole other state. We weren't ready to host anybody, but she was clearly desperate & in a bad spot & I clearly needed to stay out of the way. My wife took care of her, but I was fetching & carrying & fretting & hovering. My wife sent me to make food & bring drinks.
They were upstairs in our bedroom. I brought a tray of food up & found them in the bathroom - Joan naked in the bathtub, my wife sitting on the toilet leaning over to wash her. Both talking quietly.
"It's okay," Joan said, "He's seen me naked." But not like this.
Joan was skin & bones - sunken & shrunken, ribs & hips visible, pert small breasts now like sad, deflated balloons.
It broke my heart.
She only stayed the one night & left early the next morning. She returned home ... & would eventually stick it to her ex-husband. She didn't go for his jugular - which she coulda done & shoulda done & had been advised to do, but she got what she deserved - which was everything he was trying to keep her from getting & some of what he'd been trying to hide from her.
Next time we saw Joan was not quite a year later. She was in a better way. She'd put on weight, seemed happier & less stressed ... & she'd got breast implants. It was startling. They weren't outrageous, but they were bigger than what she'd had. Way bigger. I think she'd been a large A-cup &, with the implants, she was a small C.
I was sorta disappointed, but sympathetic. We were at a mutual friend's house hanging-out & talking ... & my wife, all matter-of-fact, as only BFFs can be, said: "Did you get implants?"
"Yeah," Joan said shyly, "They're bigger than I wanted, but the smallest they'd do. I know it's ... vain, but how they were ... with all the weight I'd lost ... they were just skin - hanging there sad. They weren't filling out ... after I started eating again. So I just ... did it. Are they ridiculous?"
My wife was all: "No! No-no-no," etc.
Then both women looked at me. WTF? So I also said: "No! No-no-no," etc. But they didn't believe me. I wasn't emphatic enough. So then we got all into the shape & texture & feel, & how time was gonna have an effect of how they hang, etc. And Joan's all got her top off & showing us where the incisions were & how small they were & having me feel how heavy her new breasts were & her nipples are poking into my palms, etc. But it's all very friendly & kinda clinical & "Oh neat" etc.
And that was the second time Joan sent me to bed with blue balls.
III.
This last bit is what reminded me of the whole "Joan" stories series.
As the boys got older they all got real into Fantasy & cosplay, role-playing, DnD, swords & sorcery stuff. They were running around playing at hunting dragons or fighting orcs, etc. Smacking trees & each other with homemade swords, etc. I'd read them the Dragonlance books & my wife had read them the Harry Potter books & we're probably responsible for some of that nerdery.
Anyway, Joan started taking them to these seasonal Renaissance Faires. The boys loved it & I guess Joan did too. My wife went with them once - or met them at one once - I don't remember. But Joan kinda got into the spirit of it all in a "When in Rome" sorta way. She bought herself an outfit that had a corset & I don't know what all else ... but she'd text pictures of herself at these faires occasionally - her new boobs all spilling over the top of her corset, etc.
It was really something.
My wife & I were home & we got this text from Joan. It was Joan & all her boys & their Ren Faire friends. And everyone's dressed up in this historical mish-mash of eras - there were Vikings & medieval knights, 17th century pirates & swashbucklers, etc. & there's Joan in the middle of it all with her new boobs spilling over the top of her corset looking happy & rather sexy with the hem of her billowy skirt hiked up & tucked in her belt showing a lotta leg, thigh & hip.
So flippantly I replied: "Looking pretty boobtacular there, Madame Cleavage. Careful of yon cad & his droolage which may dampen your duds."
So the next text she sent was a close-up of her boobs. Just her boobs. Not her naked boobs, but her boobs spilling outta the top of her corset. Boobs filling the screen of my phone. Motorboat kinda image. MILF boobs.
My wife was laughing. I was too, because it was fun & funny & our friend was happy having a good time & I kept going with the "serving wench" jokes & "forsooth" type "ye & thee, hither & yon" type language. "Thoust art but a knave," etc. And the pictures kept coming & all the boobs spilling outta the outfits - goddamn!
It all slowed down or died off, eventually. Bit of time passed. Later that day the wife & I were getting ready for bed. My phone chirped with a text. It was Joan. No words, just an image, a selfie - Joan, at home, in her bedroom, still in her corset, but she'd loosened it & shed her billowy skirt. Two more pictures came in quick succession & they were of Joan in various states of undress. Joan was clearly hot & horny & had brought me into whatever mastabatory Ren Faire fantasy she had going, because she'd only sent the images to me ... not to my wife.
I didn't quite know what to do or how to respond. My wife's real shy about pictures (which is another long story) so I don't get too many sexts. But my wife is there in bed beside me & my phone’s chirping with these half to mostly naked pictures of Joan coming in & my wife's all: "Who's that?" So I handed her my phone.
She just smirked ... & started texting back. Replying as me. Egging her on. Before I knew it things were escalating. Joan's naked tits, her spread pussy (she had grown her pubic hair back), Joan pleasuring herself, etc.
My wife got really into it. She kept on texting. Sent her pictures of my dick. Limp & then hard. She'd had to work to get me hard too. Blowing me for a bit, then sitting up and texting. Wanking me with one hand while looking at my phone & whatever nudie image Joan had sent back. Smirking as she replied with some instruction or request, whatever. Not letting on that it was her, not me.
The texts slowed & then eventually stopped. I guess Joan had cum. And I'm sitting there naked with this huge boner & my wife's all, "Well, that was fun ... Oh ... you want I should finish you off?"
I was kinda pissed suddenly. Here my wife had faked this whole sext correspondence, never once letting on to the fact that it was she who was communicating with her BFF & not me. I'd been used as a prop. Got me all hot & bothered & hard, showing me all the texts as they came in & all the randy replies she was making, all the naked images her friend was sending, etc. And then she's all: "Oh yeah ... you want me to finish you off?" WTF!?!
So she leaned over and put her face in my lap and gulped me down, and started to give me the quick service ... but that wasn't gonna cut it. I wasn’t having it. Not after getting me all spun up. I took hold of the back of her head & I held her there. I pulled her head against me, grinding her face into my crotch, thrusting up against the back of her throat.
My wife started gagging and choking, coughing and trying to pull back, but I was mad and I told her to stop & to hold still.
I'm pretty beta in our marriage. My wife is a lotta woman & it's safe to say she rules the roost. But something in my tone of voice or the strength in which I was holding her, or the urgency of my manner made her stop. She went still.
"Open your throat," I commanded.
She shifted her position then - got onto all fours. And I started to hump her throat. I held her head down tight against me & thrust vigorously, quickly & steadily. Scowling at myself in the mirror over our dresser at the foot of the bed. She started gagging and choking and coughing, spitting up wads of goo & snot, stuff shooting out of her nose against my pubes, back-splattering her face, etc.
It didn't take me long. I was pretty spun up & horny, as I said. I didn't tell her I was about to nut like I usually do. I just grunted & growled & held her hard so she couldn't pull away and adjust to receive it more comfortably or easily. I just growled and pushed deep and nutted right down her throat. She gave a tremendous heave like she was gonna puke, but I held her tight. SHe kept heaving three more times, but fought back against the urge and went still, swallowing it all. I held her through the last quivers and shakes and tremors & convulsions. And when I was finished, finally through with all the ending shivers & shakes & starting to go limp I let her go.
She sat up quickly, her face a wreck of tears and snot and throat goo hanging in thick cords from her chin. Cheeks all splattered and rosy. Eyes bloodshot. She coughed for a bit, gagged a couple times, wiped her chin, looked at me kinda wide-eyed & surprised, rubbing her eyes.
"Goddamn," She said after almost a full five minutes. She tried clearing the frog from her throat.
"Sorry," I said.
My wife coughed, put her hand on her throat, "I don't think you've ever..." Cough.
"Sorry," I said again, starting to feel bad.
My wife smiled and wiped her eye, "No. That was ... fucking hot!"
I smirked sheepishly.
"But..." My wife said, "I don't think we should sext with Joan for a while ... or ever again."
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- 25.04.2022
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