Amity 5 CataclysmChapter 22 Outposts
- 2 years ago
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Eating Out free porn video
Before we got married, my ex and I would text each other as I travelled about. Long back and forth debates about how, when and where we would next see each other. I suppose that’s polite code for when we would next fuck.
One of the things I always wanted to know was what knickers she had on that day. I’m not some kind of fetishist, I just liked to imagine her going about her day, naked except for a pair of knickers. I’d encourage her to buy and wear top class undies, comfy for all day wear yet colourful and sexy to look at - I hate grey knickers on a girl.
All that died away a bit when we got together full time. I missed it, felt that something was missing in our lives. So one day I sent her a text as I drove away, asking her if her bloke had gone to work yet. Once she worked out the game, we developed an entire fantasy life as if we were having an affair with our secret selves.
This went on for several months until one day she suggested something even I would never have thought of, and we ended up booking into a travelodge on the edge of the city for an afternoon tryst! After that we’d get away for the day once every month to six weeks, usually but not always to the same place. Not often enough to be ‘regulars’, but frequently enough for the staff to get the idea that we were their ‘afternoon couple’.
Now we weren’t porn stars. We were your average thirty something couple. I was six foot, fit but not fanatically so, dark straight hair, glasses, usually wearing a plain dark suit. She was a couple of years older, about five four, curvy, heavy breasted with rich dark copper hair and pale skin. She would dress slightly sexily, if that makes sense. Not tarty, but a cut above the average - not a housewife meeting friends, more a businesswoman meeting a colleague.
We had developed a ritual. Just as I liked her to tell me what knickers she was wearing, she liked to show me. Sometimes just a little flash in the car park. If she got there first (I was ‘at work’ after all…) she would wait until she was so randy she didn’t want her lunch any more and then just slip them off and hand them to me. If the restaurant was busy, she’d do that in the loo, but if it was quiet she’d either do it sitting at the table or - heavens above - she’d stand up and let me reach under her skirt and slip them down.
It’s the Terry Pratchett principle. If you saw Death walking down the street - an eight foot skeleton with black cloak, scythe and twinkly blue eyes - you’d scream for the rest of your natural life, right? So your brain tunes it out, tells you that can’t be right - it can’t have happened, therefore it didn’t. I once took my woman’s knickers off in the middle of a crowded Starbucks on a summer’s afternoon and nobody even glanced over. Of course you’ve got to pick your moment - never work with k**s and a****ls, etc.
So this day it’s a gorgeous ivory thong with a lovely lacy front panel to match the bra I could just see under her white blouse. She sits down, we eat our main course. I’ve got the heat from her pussy burning a hole in my hand. I raise my cupped hand to my nose, it’s like thrusting my face into her crotch. The smell from her knickers is so intense. She’s clearly soaking wet. The knickers certainly were.
I put them down to finish my food. The waitress comes over, clears the table. Takes the knickers! Shit! they were expensive!! Waitress returns carrying dessert menus, blushing to the root of her hair. She can’t be much more than eighteen, stammering, not meeting my eye, looking at my woman like she’s hoping she’ll save her from an awful fate. The yearning ‘help me, help me’ look.
We finish our meal, leave a bigger than normal ‘you poor thing’ tip and head for our room. We manage the lift before my tongue is down her throat, my hands inside her wraparound, fingers slipping in her molten cunt. We made it to the room without getting arrested, laughing and giggling, all over each other.
Now I’d already made a plan for this afternoon, and the lunchtime events hadn’t changed my mind. My woman liked to be treated firmly - sorted of dominated but not quite that strong - and I loved to look. I planned to combine the two by getting her naked, wanking for her and cumming all over her in front of the full length hotel room mirror. We didn’t have anything like that at home, so this was fantasy fulfillment day. She loved seeing me wank, getting cum over, so she was happy with the plan when I explained. In point of fact, she offered me her scarf and suggested I tie her hands. All good so far!
So I’m standing over her, rubbing my erection on her face. I’m alternating between smiling into her eyes and staring open mouthed at the porn show in the mirror. The love of my life giving her mouth to some big hairy bloke with the hardest dick on the planet. Her E-cups are high on her chest with her shoulders arched by the scarf at her wrists, the curve of her belly full and inviting. Her buttocks and thigh muscles are tightly defined as she wriggles around. All I can smell is her arousal.
And then there is a knock at the door. Oh boy. Passion killer. So I leave the scene set, pull on the hotel dressing gown and answer the door, blocking the view with my body. Judging by my woman’s Very Hard Nipples, she’s happy with that risky arrangement.
It’s the bloody waitress. You couldn’t make it up, could you? Younger than my woman’s oldest. Nearly my height. A bit gothic with long black hair and spandex mini skirt and those clumpy boots the goths like. So nervous she’s almost unable to speak. So I say hello, ask if anything is the matter. She says she thinks we might have forgotten something, and holds out her hand.
I don’t take it straight away. Instead, I step more into the corridor. I’m properly wrapped - this is someone’s daughter after all - but my erection is tenting the front of the gown. I ask her quietly if she’s sure. Still not meeting my eyes, she nods. So I take what she’s holding. They’re red, light nylon almost like pantyhose yet so small they barely qualify as knickers. I’m so surprised I just stare at her.
“Um”, she mutters, “Is there something wrong? You smelled the last ones". Feeling like I’m sleepwalking, I stare at her as my hand lifts to my nose of its own accord. Strong, moist, delicious.
“You’d better come in”, I said. I step back into the room, holding the door for our guest so she gets an eyeful of what’s waiting for her, get rid of the robe and go back to my girl. Taking her head in my hands, I angle her face to suit, and press the tip of my cock to her lips. She welcomes me in, staring into my eyes as she does, a quizzical expression on the bit of her face not distended by erect cock. I go balls deep and pause. The feeling of power is overwhelming.
“So where are ours?” I ask, looking directly at the waitress, who is standing somewhat uncertainly by the foot of the bed. I begin to slowly gently fuck my woman’s mouth. The waitress is transfixed, mouth open. “Please tell me you knew what you might be getting into”, I said, perhaps a bit roughly.
“Oh!”, she says, snapping out of it. “I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell if the knickers were a come on, or if you’d just forgotten them. You both looked nice, so I thought I’d come and see. Never done this before, but seeing you doing it right by your table was so hot”.
It was as if she’d woken up, regaining her confidence along the way. She stripped quickly, in a matter of fact sort of way, til she just had her boots and my girl’s thong left. It was too big for her really, but the thought was there. We hadn’t seen a body so young and firm for a very long time. I pulled out of my girl’s willing mouth and we both stared for a moment. The waitress came to us, slipped her arm around my waist and leaned her delicious c-cups against my chest, her other hand on my girl’s hair.
“My turn!” she grinned.
Now I thought I was the luckiest man alive, but how wrong can you be. Slipping between us, she put her other hand on my woman’s head and guided her mouth to a young bare mound. We’d discussed threesomes and bi sex, but my girl had always said she felt it was somehow wrong to have sex with another woman. She took to it without hesitation, eyes hooded with arousal. The waitress - Ethne, local girl with family from Donegal - ground herself against that willing mouth.
Both women had strong orgasms. Ethne against my girl’s face, hard, bucking, crying out. My beautiful woman on my fingers, my hand cupping her from between her buttocks, the muscles of her arse tense and hard as she serviced her new lover, her arms and wrists taught in the bindings, her fingers flexing like the muscles of her very wet cunt. All done with the lightest touches on her clitoris, no male roughness required.
I did indeed cover my fine woman’s face, chest, hair, tits and thighs with a spray of cum. I was well hydrated and very aroused. There was A Lot. Ethne watched, talking to us as I got close, gently touching herself and my girl’s back as she talked, eyes glittering.
This is not a fantasy. That’s why there are so few names or places mentioned. We shared Ethne for over two years and stayed friends after she found love with a guy her own age. When we split, my ex stayed in touch. Like I said, you couldn’t make it up.
One of the things I always wanted to know was what knickers she had on that day. I’m not some kind of fetishist, I just liked to imagine her going about her day, naked except for a pair of knickers. I’d encourage her to buy and wear top class undies, comfy for all day wear yet colourful and sexy to look at - I hate grey knickers on a girl.
All that died away a bit when we got together full time. I missed it, felt that something was missing in our lives. So one day I sent her a text as I drove away, asking her if her bloke had gone to work yet. Once she worked out the game, we developed an entire fantasy life as if we were having an affair with our secret selves.
This went on for several months until one day she suggested something even I would never have thought of, and we ended up booking into a travelodge on the edge of the city for an afternoon tryst! After that we’d get away for the day once every month to six weeks, usually but not always to the same place. Not often enough to be ‘regulars’, but frequently enough for the staff to get the idea that we were their ‘afternoon couple’.
Now we weren’t porn stars. We were your average thirty something couple. I was six foot, fit but not fanatically so, dark straight hair, glasses, usually wearing a plain dark suit. She was a couple of years older, about five four, curvy, heavy breasted with rich dark copper hair and pale skin. She would dress slightly sexily, if that makes sense. Not tarty, but a cut above the average - not a housewife meeting friends, more a businesswoman meeting a colleague.
We had developed a ritual. Just as I liked her to tell me what knickers she was wearing, she liked to show me. Sometimes just a little flash in the car park. If she got there first (I was ‘at work’ after all…) she would wait until she was so randy she didn’t want her lunch any more and then just slip them off and hand them to me. If the restaurant was busy, she’d do that in the loo, but if it was quiet she’d either do it sitting at the table or - heavens above - she’d stand up and let me reach under her skirt and slip them down.
It’s the Terry Pratchett principle. If you saw Death walking down the street - an eight foot skeleton with black cloak, scythe and twinkly blue eyes - you’d scream for the rest of your natural life, right? So your brain tunes it out, tells you that can’t be right - it can’t have happened, therefore it didn’t. I once took my woman’s knickers off in the middle of a crowded Starbucks on a summer’s afternoon and nobody even glanced over. Of course you’ve got to pick your moment - never work with k**s and a****ls, etc.
So this day it’s a gorgeous ivory thong with a lovely lacy front panel to match the bra I could just see under her white blouse. She sits down, we eat our main course. I’ve got the heat from her pussy burning a hole in my hand. I raise my cupped hand to my nose, it’s like thrusting my face into her crotch. The smell from her knickers is so intense. She’s clearly soaking wet. The knickers certainly were.
I put them down to finish my food. The waitress comes over, clears the table. Takes the knickers! Shit! they were expensive!! Waitress returns carrying dessert menus, blushing to the root of her hair. She can’t be much more than eighteen, stammering, not meeting my eye, looking at my woman like she’s hoping she’ll save her from an awful fate. The yearning ‘help me, help me’ look.
We finish our meal, leave a bigger than normal ‘you poor thing’ tip and head for our room. We manage the lift before my tongue is down her throat, my hands inside her wraparound, fingers slipping in her molten cunt. We made it to the room without getting arrested, laughing and giggling, all over each other.
Now I’d already made a plan for this afternoon, and the lunchtime events hadn’t changed my mind. My woman liked to be treated firmly - sorted of dominated but not quite that strong - and I loved to look. I planned to combine the two by getting her naked, wanking for her and cumming all over her in front of the full length hotel room mirror. We didn’t have anything like that at home, so this was fantasy fulfillment day. She loved seeing me wank, getting cum over, so she was happy with the plan when I explained. In point of fact, she offered me her scarf and suggested I tie her hands. All good so far!
So I’m standing over her, rubbing my erection on her face. I’m alternating between smiling into her eyes and staring open mouthed at the porn show in the mirror. The love of my life giving her mouth to some big hairy bloke with the hardest dick on the planet. Her E-cups are high on her chest with her shoulders arched by the scarf at her wrists, the curve of her belly full and inviting. Her buttocks and thigh muscles are tightly defined as she wriggles around. All I can smell is her arousal.
And then there is a knock at the door. Oh boy. Passion killer. So I leave the scene set, pull on the hotel dressing gown and answer the door, blocking the view with my body. Judging by my woman’s Very Hard Nipples, she’s happy with that risky arrangement.
It’s the bloody waitress. You couldn’t make it up, could you? Younger than my woman’s oldest. Nearly my height. A bit gothic with long black hair and spandex mini skirt and those clumpy boots the goths like. So nervous she’s almost unable to speak. So I say hello, ask if anything is the matter. She says she thinks we might have forgotten something, and holds out her hand.
I don’t take it straight away. Instead, I step more into the corridor. I’m properly wrapped - this is someone’s daughter after all - but my erection is tenting the front of the gown. I ask her quietly if she’s sure. Still not meeting my eyes, she nods. So I take what she’s holding. They’re red, light nylon almost like pantyhose yet so small they barely qualify as knickers. I’m so surprised I just stare at her.
“Um”, she mutters, “Is there something wrong? You smelled the last ones". Feeling like I’m sleepwalking, I stare at her as my hand lifts to my nose of its own accord. Strong, moist, delicious.
“You’d better come in”, I said. I step back into the room, holding the door for our guest so she gets an eyeful of what’s waiting for her, get rid of the robe and go back to my girl. Taking her head in my hands, I angle her face to suit, and press the tip of my cock to her lips. She welcomes me in, staring into my eyes as she does, a quizzical expression on the bit of her face not distended by erect cock. I go balls deep and pause. The feeling of power is overwhelming.
“So where are ours?” I ask, looking directly at the waitress, who is standing somewhat uncertainly by the foot of the bed. I begin to slowly gently fuck my woman’s mouth. The waitress is transfixed, mouth open. “Please tell me you knew what you might be getting into”, I said, perhaps a bit roughly.
“Oh!”, she says, snapping out of it. “I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell if the knickers were a come on, or if you’d just forgotten them. You both looked nice, so I thought I’d come and see. Never done this before, but seeing you doing it right by your table was so hot”.
It was as if she’d woken up, regaining her confidence along the way. She stripped quickly, in a matter of fact sort of way, til she just had her boots and my girl’s thong left. It was too big for her really, but the thought was there. We hadn’t seen a body so young and firm for a very long time. I pulled out of my girl’s willing mouth and we both stared for a moment. The waitress came to us, slipped her arm around my waist and leaned her delicious c-cups against my chest, her other hand on my girl’s hair.
“My turn!” she grinned.
Now I thought I was the luckiest man alive, but how wrong can you be. Slipping between us, she put her other hand on my woman’s head and guided her mouth to a young bare mound. We’d discussed threesomes and bi sex, but my girl had always said she felt it was somehow wrong to have sex with another woman. She took to it without hesitation, eyes hooded with arousal. The waitress - Ethne, local girl with family from Donegal - ground herself against that willing mouth.
Both women had strong orgasms. Ethne against my girl’s face, hard, bucking, crying out. My beautiful woman on my fingers, my hand cupping her from between her buttocks, the muscles of her arse tense and hard as she serviced her new lover, her arms and wrists taught in the bindings, her fingers flexing like the muscles of her very wet cunt. All done with the lightest touches on her clitoris, no male roughness required.
I did indeed cover my fine woman’s face, chest, hair, tits and thighs with a spray of cum. I was well hydrated and very aroused. There was A Lot. Ethne watched, talking to us as I got close, gently touching herself and my girl’s back as she talked, eyes glittering.
This is not a fantasy. That’s why there are so few names or places mentioned. We shared Ethne for over two years and stayed friends after she found love with a guy her own age. When we split, my ex stayed in touch. Like I said, you couldn’t make it up.
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