Public masturbation in hot tube
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"Gross" free porn video
Selena got out of the taxi just in time to see her neighbour Zoe arriving at the front-door of the block - rather unusually, on the arm of an attractive young man. Unusually, because Zoe was very much the ice-maiden, a cold-hearted beauty, tall, spiky and spinsterish at thirty-six, whom men often found intimidating. In this way, she contrasted sharply with the more diminutive Selena, whose dramatic curves had earned her a busy love-life until early middle-age had played its cruel trick, turning her all too quickly into a heavy and shapeless creature. For the two of them, neighbours in the same luxury block, it was a friendship of opposites.
Now the young man seemed to be ready to get on his way. As though on impulse, he leaned towards her, gave her a quick peck and whispered something in her ear, causing her to look puzzled for some reason, perhaps even disapproving. And then his footsteps were echoing away down the street.
The door hadn't quite clicked shut when Selena got there, and she came through, to find Zoe stepping into the lift, where she slipped in beside her.
"Zoe, that guy was a dish. What are you frowning at? You wouldn't catch me frowning if I'd just been kissed by someone like that."
"Huh! You don't know what he said to me, just before he went."
"Well - what was it?"
"Selena, I really can't repeat it."
"Oh go on. You can tell me."
Zoe looked down in silent embarrassment.
"Go on..."
She was starting to blush.
"He said..."
"Well, what?"
"He said, My mind is up your arse."
"Oh Zoe, you're lucky..."
But now the doors were opening at Selena's floor, and she had to get out.
"Anyway, goodnight, Zoe. Talk later, eh?"
"Er... yes... Night, Selena."
Zoe went on up to her floor, and let herself into the flat. For a full minute, she just stood in the hall with the keys in her hand, somehow numbed by those six words that had violated her decency and dignity, making her feel verbally ****d - something cheap and forever unclean.
Then she started to prepare for the night in a dull, mechanical way, filling the little glass water-jug, and then stepping out of her shoes...
What was it Selena had said? That Zoe was lucky? God, the whole idea just repelled and disgusted her. Could it really be that her nice wholesome earth-mother friend Selena had actually allowed a man to invade her rear-end, right up her back-passage for God's sake? Of course, she'd always known that a shapely bottom was a draw for the opposite sex. But not... not that obscene act that she identified with gay men, whom she'd always viewed as sexually deranged. Not to mention those diseases...
Gross wasn't the word.
Now she was in bed, but a long way from sleep.
"Oh Zoe, you're lucky..." Just what did Selena mean by that? Lucky? To have a sensitive part of her anatomy savaged in a painful and unnatural way, probably with a lot of mess and foul odours everywhere, for the selfish one-way gratification of deviant males... Yet that was Selena's idea of good luck? Hmm...
But then Zoe came up against the same old embarrassing problem - her own woeful ignorance of sex.
It had started at university, where she had fixed on an important role-model, the only female Head of Department, Glynis, who was a shining success in academic life, not quite Nobel Prize but probably the next best thing. And Glynis appeared to be totally asexual. With their growing friendship, Zoe had observed her closely for three years, without detecting any sign of an emotional slant to her life. Just once, she had dared to ask whether there'd ever been a close boyfriend, and Glynis had answered coldly, as though from a lecture-platform "There are other ways to fulfil yourself." End of debate.
The trouble was, Zoe had wanted to be the next Glynis. She was totally caught-up in academic study, literally aroused, almost turned-on, by culture and intellectual refinement, rather than by the degraded hippie antics of normal student life.
Socially, this meant she was swimming against the tide. Of the hundred or so girl-students in her year, she was very high-up in the league of looks, about third or fourth in general estimation. But unlike the others, she was unavailable in a way that attracted much comment. Twice only, she had succumbed to the jeering and sneering about her virginity, and nearly lost it to a persistent junior lecturer, who had had to settle for heavy petting only, at the last minute, before she eventually did the deed with the owner of the best Greek restaurant in town. (Who said gourmet food wasn't aphrodisiac?)
But none of it really meant much to her. For it's all in the mind, as they say, and her mind was still in libraries and lecture-rooms, simply not engaged in making sexual rapport, responding to cheek and charm, taking a chance, kicking free, letting fly...
Nothing since then had made much difference either. She might have been employed in publishing for the last twelve years, but her mind was still at university, still trying to be the next Glynis, in that neat-and-tidy world of the intellect, suspended safely above the crude urges of the flesh.
"Who is he, Zoe?"
Selena cut through Zoe's unconvincing pretexts for ringing the bell next morning - delivering the plant-food she'd promised the other day, also showing her a magazine supplement about the ski-resort above Montreal where Selena's elder boy was off on holiday. Yeah, yeah, jazz, jazz...
The truth was that Zoe had passed a largely sleepless night, still lurching between revulsion at the young man's insulting words and a nagging curiosity about this hidden and forbidden practice in which Selena seemed to find some kind of perverted appeal. The idea just wouldn't leave her alone. She had tried to swat it away like a mosquito, and it just kept hovering and buzzing around her mind.
Now she sighed, partly with relief, as she prepared to hear more about this strange sexual theme that both repelled and intrigued her. This part, at least, was just ordinary small-talk.
"He's called Oliver, and he's a coffee importer. Apparently quite successful. Spends half the year in Brazil..."
For some reason, Selena gave a significant nod and smile at the mention of Brazil, which slightly puzzled her, but she went on.
"You know my friend Leila, the banker. She finances West End shows, and gets loads of free tickets. Last night she invited eight of us out for the evening. Afterwards she wouldn't let me go home alone, as it was dark. Told Oliver to see me to the door. That's all I know about him."
"Except..."
Zoe blushed again. This dialogue was not going to be easy, but now Selena seemed to be changing the subject, for some reason.
"Zoe, do you know what they say about Brazil?"
"No."
"It's Number One for rear action."
She stared, unable to speak.
"Nothing but beauty contests in every town, with the girls showing off the contours of their very ample behinds, and huge male crowds cheering themselves hoarse, and roaring out "Colitas!" - that's national slang for a woman's buttocks. I imagine Oliver is kept very happy out there."
This piqued Zoe's curiosity all right, but she was still hesitant, still instinctively half-trying to be good-girl who doesn't talk dirt.
"Selena, you... obviously... know rather a lot about..."
"Go on. Say it. Buggery."
"Yes."
"No. Say it out loud. Buggery."
"Selena, I can't..."
The other woman got up and walked to the window. After a few moments gazing out at the street, she turned, as though she'd just come to a decision.
"Zoe - you, me and Oliver are going to make up a nice little dinner-party for three. Soon. And you and I will share the cooking. So, my dear... your place or mine?"
Nothing important is ever said in the first half of a dinner-party. The venue was Selena's flat, but they established that this was a little thank-you to Oliver for walking Zoe back home the other night, and Selena also pretended that her other son might be thinking about Brazil for his gap-year. So Oliver was much at his ease, finding plenty to say about that vast country that had so much room for everything.
Then, when she brought in the coffee, he really got into his stride, because of course he was a coffee trader, and he became so absorbed in his own special subject that he didn't notice Selena turning the lights down a fraction every minute or two. By the time the liqueurs were on the table, she had put on some soft music, but not just any music. This was an album by a new Brazilian group, and one of the tracks was a song called... 'Colitas!'
Oliver had reached the boastful stage by now, when a man is at his most vulnerable, and Selena had been discreetly presenting the rump when the first chorus began to intrude on his consciousness. The slow thrum of 'Colitas...! Colitas...!' The loveliest siren-sound of all, magically transporting him back to a land of beckoning buttocks and sweet sodomy.
The first pounce came when Selena was stooping to pick up a napkin just beside Oliver. He was in hunting mode now and his blood was up. To her satisfaction, she could feel him, hard and keen, deep in happy valley. Too many men shied away from her generous rear-end these days, convinced that they ought to be seeking the perfect model-agency baseline, trim and tight. But not this one. A genuine connoisseur indeed, who did not draw his feelings second-hand from the tabloids.
She pretended to push him away, but no brush-off was ever less convincing. What he wanted was what she wanted, and Zoe could only look on, transfixed at her first sight of worship from behind. This was getting a long way from the library and the lecture-room.
Conversation had started up again, vague and unstructured by now, full of half-statements that led nowhere, but Selena knew that the cycle would repeat itself after the next glass of that Austrian kirsch, so subtle, so deceptively strong.
Suddenly she was being flung on the bed, her shoes flying everywhere, and Oliver crazily pulling at her skirt. In no time, the panties had slid off, and to Zoe's astonishment, Oliver was sliding his tongue into the lips of Selena's arse, as she started to react with a strange mix of groaning and sobbing.
This was a double electric shock for Zoe. On one level, she could always visualise an erect prick entering the anal sphincter, however off-putting she found it. But this reckless plunge into the wildest and deepest intimacy possible between man and woman, was something that blew her imagination.
To think - twenty minutes ago, they were still talking intelligently about things like pesticides and foreign-exchange controls. Now her sensible and responsible neighbour was lying with her arse open to the world, allowing a stranger to feast himself on her sweat and shit. Zoe found her mouth had run dry, but she couldn't move.
Now, from somewhere, there was a tube of lubricant being squeezed into the glory-hole and Oliver was slipping his kit off with practised ease. Gently he probed the little tight orifice with his finger, and Selena groaned louder. He nudged the tip of his prick into the same place, moving it rhythmically up and down, penetrating a fraction deeper each time, the lubricant cold and refreshing, the walls of the anus thrillingly tight against the raw nerve-endings around that yearning helmet.
But Selena was making it clear that she wasn't wanting the gentle touch.
"Harder, harder" she called out. Yes, it was more-or-less **** she wanted. And as he rammed sharply upwards, she cried out in a sort of delirium "Fuck my shit! Fuck my shit! Fuck my shit!"
Now his mind was airborne too, and he was crying out in rhythm "My white spunk, your brown shit! My white spunk, your brown shit! My white spunk, your brown shit..."
And then almost hysterically, as though he was halfway to heaven, perhaps addressing the angels who made possible this incredible communion of body and mind "Kissing her shit, kissing her shit, kissing her shit!"
And then as he climaxed, it rose to a scream "Her brown badness, her golden glory! Her brown badness, her golden glory! Her brown badness, her golden glory!"
Oliver's wild words acted as one kind of revelation. But it was really the sight and sound of Selena kicking free and letting fly that really brought it home to Zoe how wrong she had been, all these years, to turn away from the badness, hoping this would bring the glory.
For she had never seen such glory as she was witnessing at this moment. The full rebellion of the loins against everyday humdrum living. Giddy and glorious moments that two people were creating before her eyes. But moments denied to her.
They would not be denied to her any longer.
Zoe slipped off a shoe...
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