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November 20

by Pete Symes 11 months ago in erotic
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November 20
Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash


Weeks of nothing. Calls into Annie’s office were just that. Calls into Annie’s office.

Deliveries to Ellen Joy’s studio were just that. Deliveries to Ellen Joy’s studio.

Even when Tasha leaned over my shipping desk in her flouncy disco dress late on a Friday requesting a rush shipment was only that and not a prelude to prepping Annie and Tasha for their night out on the town. Just a peek at Tasha’s pert little breast to entice me to stay late and ship her special order out.

Then there was Rene. So busy doing her course work that I did nothing but speak with her over the phone.

Even Ms. Spain no longer teased and flirted with me nor called me her “Pumpkin” of late. Perhaps it was my difficulty in meeting her eyes after my “Halloween Hallucination” as I now thought of it.

So, it has been. Work. Catching glimpses of Tami’s tiny tush swishing indifferently through the warehouse and me dolefully beating off to Liv Lindeland on those increasingly sticky Playboy magazine pages.

No red lines and only the belief that my dick seems bigger because I am so damn horny and haven’t been laid in weeks linger from All Hallows Eve.

But that all changed last night with a visit to Rene’s parents' home. Her teasing gropes to my crotch when her mom and dad were preoccupied only encouraged me during dinner. Being downstairs in the family rumpus room where Rene’s father fixed us each an after-dinner drink even though we were only nineteen was unique. Considering the couch in the room was the scene of many of Rene and mine youthful explorations of each other. Fuel to my fires.

When we settled into my coach house for the night, with each garment I removed from my dear Rene’s slender frame my affection grew. As I removed her slight bra from her small breasts in the candle lit room her fully erect nipples beckoned my mouth to worship them with kisses and gentle suckling. As I smoothed her long straight blond hair over her shoulder my lips found her neck with gentle kisses. As I dropped to my knees to pull her panties to her ankles the scent of her sopping wet panties put me in full frenzy.

I pushed Rene across the bed and mounted her. The knees of her long legs found their usual place draped over my shoulders. But rather than pushing my new found length into her immediately I teased her flowing snatch with the tip only. Tiny pressures and circles causing her to breathe rapidly and her raspy voice begged me to fuck her. I rubbed her clit with the bottom of my pricks bulbous head. Rene moaned “Please. Please. Please.” Still, I teased until finally I pushed my full length into her flaming body. She was so tight that I had to use my full weight to enter her and she came. Oh, how Rene came.

Then I ever so gently began a slow piston in and out of her pussy. Her pussy. I had longed for so many years for her pussy. Her pussy whose sweet embrace I had missed these past weeks. My slow strokes felt every pulse and clutch as I slowly moved out. Then in again. She came again with a very unladylike “Ommph!” But still I pumped.

With each thrust I vowed that my days of being the boy toy of those older women at work were in the past. The summer was over. Now it was time to get serious. This incredible woman whom I had loved and grown with was too precious to risk over some spent bits of strange offered up in clandestine fucks in a warehouse office and makeshift artists' studios. No more. Rene was too precious.

By the time I was furiously pounding into her and growling in my full focused lust on only Rene I could not tell if that was fear or pure orgasmic bliss in Rene’s eyes. But when I came. When I came harder. When I came hotter. When I came longer than ever before I felt all off me spurt not only deep in her cunt, but spill and slither up her spine to behind Rene’s eyes to hear my gasping with Rene’s ears until all went dark as I saw myself fall forward sweating and heavy on top of her through her eyes.

Yes, things were going to be different.

If only I could remember.


About the author

Pete Symes

A scenario manifests. A scenario disassembles. I participate intensively for the duration.

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