Intense visit

[aimauanca]

It was the first time I’d visited Head Office, though I’d been working for the company for three years. I flew down on Monday morning rather than Sunday evening - why use personal time to travel to work? I stopped quickly to drop my bag at the hotel that the company had booked for me, and then a brief tube ride to the office, just a few stops away. At reception I asked for Claire Wexley, the lady from administration who had organised all the practical details of my visit. When she arrived, I realised that she was younger than I had thought, and extremely attractive, and didn’t she know it. I noticed she had no wedding ring ...

With very little small-talk, she showed me to a desk that I could use the rest of the week. Here I plugged in my laptop and started my day of emails and meetings, the typical routine of an office-worker.

Seeing everyone around me start packing up at 6pm, I decided to follow suit. On the off-chance, I decided to leave by a route that took by Claire’s office. I found her there, locking away her PC, and, on a whim I asked her out to dinner. Of course there was no way this was going to work, but it’s part of a strategy of mine. You’ve got nothing to lose, and you just say it in a friendly manner, without being pushy. And if she says no, then you never, ever, repeat the request. That way you won’t be accused of molestation or stalking.

She looked at me carefully, as if appraising me. Then she wrote a local address and telephone number on a post-it and told me to pick her up at 8. Just like that.

Back to the hotel, shower, deodorant, should I take flowers? No, too pushy, after all, this was an evening meal with a colleague. Then outside her house at 7:45. Much to early. Take a walk. Back at 7:55. What the hell – ring the doorbell!

She opened the door and took my breath away. She was wearing an incredibly sexy tight dress, cut short just below the buttocks. It was tailored to uplift her breasts without need for a bra, and there was a zip running from the neck to the hem that just wanted to be pulled open. It was not the sort of dress that girls wear in restaurants I normally frequented.

“Hi – you’re early!”, she greeted me. “Do you mind if we eat here instead of wasting money in some crappy joint? I’ve plenty of food already prepared. And it means I don’t have to dress up to go out.”

As she turned to the kitchen and I looked at her from behind, finding no detectable panty-line, I thought “No, I do not fucking mind eating here!”

“That would be great” I translated into a more polite sentence, and followed her, drooling, through the hall. As we entered the kitchen, she suddenly stopped and bent to open a floor-level drawer in one of the units. Doing so, she just “happened” to thrust her bottom backwards, onto the front of my trousers where my prick was already hardening with arousal. “Is that a gun in your pocket?”, she asked, turning her head and smiling, as she stood up with a tablecloth in hand. I knew this hadn’t happened just by chance – she’d planned the manoeuvre ahead of time, and it had worked perfectly. At least this is what I believed, and what I wanted to believe, and I was almost out of control anyway. I thrust myself on her and grabbed one buttock with each hand, as I pressed my mouth against hers. If I had read the situation wrong, I’d be in jail tomorrow for attempted rape, but she responded in kind, wrapping her arms around me and grinding her pelvis against mine.

My exploring hands were soon under her dress, and in fact there were no panties, but just two soft wet pussy lips. I could feel her body react as I pushed my forefinger deep inside her. With this encouragement, I reached behind her again and lifted her bottom up onto the top of the kitchen unit. I myself knelt on the floor and pushed my face between her smooth thighs. She moaned with pleasure as I licked her pussy and clit. At the same time, I reached up to open her dress and pinch her hard nipples.

And so I continued. The more I licked, the louder she moaned, the tighter she pulled my head into her pussy. In any normal sex scene, I would then have stood and fucked her hard, with her head banging against the wall, but apparently this was not what she wanted. What she wanted was for me to keep on licking her pussy, massaging her tits, and thrusting ever more fingers into her hot cunt. And so I thought, what the hell, it’s early and I can have her come, and then FHRITP (look it up, it’s in Wikipedia), then dinner and wine, and then fuck her again.

I hope the neighbours were out, as when she came she was very loud, and used a lot of very, very rude words. I paused, and then licked, and then paused and then licked, as the waves of orgasm passed through her body, and I felt her pull my head hard between her sticky thighs.

Finally she calmed down, and I stood before her, starting to open my trousers that with some difficulty were covering my dripping quivering cock. “Wait”, she stopped me, “that was great! I’m going to give you experience of your life.”
With reluctance, I helped her down from the unit. My prick was starting to hurt with need, and to have fucked her there and then would have been just fine.

“Do you trust me?” she asked. Images of handcuffs, whips and hot dripping candles flashed across my mind. “Absolutely not” I thought. “Sure” I said.

“Follow me”, she said, and took me through to the bedroom where she bade me lie down. “Have you ever had acupuncture?” she queried. This was rather a surprise, but I answered in the affirmative as I had once had therapy for back-pain. She took a long needle from a drawer, told me to relax, and then slid the needle into my left thigh. Then she slipped out to the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth with which she cleaned off all the goo accumulated on my prick. And then she leant over me and sucked me deep down her throat.

It was the best blowjob of my life. She took it slow – any faster and I’d have been coming in seconds – and long. At the same time, she pushed one finger deep in my anus, something I had never before experienced. With all the accumulated excitement, even at this slow pace, I wasn’t going to last long, and soon I felt the tensing of the muscles as the point of no return was reached and the orgasm started. I cried out in ecstasy as I shot semen deep down her throat. Claire continued her rhythm of sucking as if nothing had happened and the orgasm continued, seemingly infinite. Normally, after you’ve shot your come, the orgasm dies down, the prick softens, and you curl up to sleep. As Claire later explained, the acupuncture needle in that particular spot, discovered by the Chinese, caused orgasms to last for up to five or ten minutes. It was all that was good about an orgasm, but just much longer, though obviously with no semen to ejaculate after the first few seconds.

I was totally spent. Claire helped me to rise from the bed and recover my trousers. She escorted me to the door, explaining that after the mega-orgasm, all other sexual activity was impossible if not after several hours. And so I found myself dazed, on her doorstep, with the realisation that I hadn’t even eaten. After a rather tough steak and cold chips in the hotel restaurant, I went exhausted to bed.

The next day saw me in the office again. I looked out for Claire but she seemed to have gone into hiding. Then, in mid afternoon I met her on a staircase. She grabbed my hand excitedly, and pulled me round the corner of a dusty corridor. “Quick,” she said, “I want you! No-one ever comes here.” With that she pushed me against the wall, and while our mouths and tongues met, she reached down, opened my flies, and pulled out my growing prick. She wanked me hard, and, between kisses, urged me come, telling me how exciting it was to have my prick in her hand, right there in the office.

Suddenly there was noise on the stairway and we realised there were people approaching from behind the corner. Claire immediately abandoned my prick in mid-wank, and ran off the other way, just calling out “My house at 8.” I was left to reinsert my sticky hard penis into my trousers before two secretaries rounded the corner. I think I managed just in time, though they did look at me rather oddly as my hand was still closing my zip when I turned in their direction. Or maybe it was that the saw the tent in my trousers that I was trying to disguise behind my laptop!

At 7:40, there I was in front of Claire’s doorstep, showered and clean, with my prick already hardening in anticipation. Too early. Take a walk. Back at 7:50. What the hell – ring the doorbell.

“Hi – you’re early!”, she greeted me. She pulled me inside, pushed me against the wall and repeated what had happened that afternoon. She opened my trousers completely at the belt, and pushed them down together with my boxer shorts before starting to wank me. I only vaguely noticed that she was wearing ordinary office clothes and not the sexy dress of the previous evening.
As she wanked me, she slowly guided me across the hall to the closed door of the living-room, me shuffling with my trousers round my ankles. When she reached the door, she opened it, and I started at the sight of three other young ladies, all dressed formally, seated on a divan situated before the far wall.

Claire was still wanking me with her hand tight around my prick, but I admit that I almost lost my erection when I saw these three looking at me with apparent disdain. I felt rather ridiculous with my trousers round my ankles, and it was difficult not to go soft. My pride however required that I be able to maintain my erection in front of these bitches, so I fixed on one, the one with the biggest tits, and fantasised about what I’d do to her if I had her tied naked to a bed, with my prick in her mouth, and in her cunt a vibrating dildo attached by thin chains to the clamps biting into her nipples.

My prick got harder and Claire picked up the pace until my breath got shorter as I approached the impending orgasm, ... and then she stopped. I looked down, dumbfounded, at my twitching cock which had been about to shoot jets of semen far across the room. Instead, after a few moments, the stuff just dribbled out, onto my trousers, and onto the carpet. I had never before felt so depressed. She had willingly ruined my orgasm, much to the delight of her bitch friends who were now helpless with laughter.

I looked at Claire with pained humiliation, but she just smiled, put something round my ball-sac with a click, and guided me to the front door. She left me on the front doorstep with my stained trousers still around my ankles. Fortunately there was no-one outside to see.

Back at the hotel, after another disappointing meal, I went to my room to wank. First I tried to remove the ring from my balls, but this proved to be physically impossible short of castration. Then I started to watch porn on my PC, all my favourite categories, lesbian, facial, latex, ..., but my prick stayed completely limp. I needed some satisfaction after the evening’s humiliation, but it was not to be. I already realised that this failure had something to do with the ring around my balls. A second painful attempt to remove it with the same negative result.

Next morning my prick was limp as ever. This fact did in no way remove my enthusiasm for all things sexual, and I was mentally, if not physically, very aroused by a young lady in a short skirt on the tube train. Then a very strange thing happened. As I leered at her, all of a sudden my prick hardened and straightened out as much as it could in the confines of my boxer shorts, and I came, all in the space of a few seconds. I grunted a few times as the orgasm hit, and the girl in the short skirt looked at me with distaste and moved away. I moved by briefcase in front of me to hide the wet stain forming on my trousers. The rest of the journey was accompanied by a cold wetness on my prick and thighs. As soon as I was in the company offices, I headed to the mens room to clean myself with toilet paper as best I could. I didn’t really understand what had happened. First impotence, then an instant and pleasure-less orgasm. The ring?

I looked for Claire to get her to take the ring off, but again she was nowhere to be found, and I had a meeting at 9:30. Sitting down at the conference table, I found myself next to a very attractive girl from marketing. She was wearing a white blouse with the first few buttons open, and apparently no bra. If I leaned back just the right amount, I see her right nipple, erected by the cool air of the conditioning system.

And then it happened again – I came in my trousers.

The girl looked at me with astonishment as I grunted. At the same time I shifted my chair so that my sticky lap was completely under the table. Worse was to come. Each of the participants of the meeting had to stand at the end of the room to illustrate his or her presentation. I had to stand there and keep a folder in front of me to hide the second sticky stain of the morning.
After the meeting, and after another visit to the mens room, I hurried to Claire’s office and luckily this time she was there. “What have you done to me?” I sputtered, “last night impotent, and then I come every time I look at a girl?”
“Every time you look at a girl?” she laughed. “No, it’s much more simple than that – it’s a remote control.” With this she took small plastic box from her pocket and pressed a button. I came again, instantly and without pleasure. “It’s an Indian invention,” she explained. “I can make you come again and again.” And she did. “This morning on the tube, and then in the office, you were too busy ogling innocent young girls to notice me just a few yards away, with my zapper in my pocket. The magnetic waves emanating from the ring keep you free from trouble, unless I decide to press this button.” And she made me come again. “The inventor died after the button got stuck in the ON position. Something like this ...”

She pressed down and kept her finger on the button for a whole minute. I doubled over from the dry orgasms racking my body. I collapsed into a chair, my body twitching.

“Enough” she laughed, and pressed another button which caused a click, and I felt that the ring had opened and released my ball-sac. “See you tonight?” she asked. “No fucking way” I thought. “No fucking way!” I said.

In fact, I was due to fly home tomorrow, and this evening I had an appointment with an old girlfriend from university, who had recently moved to this area. We had always gotten on well together, in one of those rare relationships that consists of friendship, good sex, but no emotional ties.

Lucy was wearing only a short bathrobe when I arrived that evening. A few moments later, we were naked on her bed, and I was lying beneath her as she slowly rocked back and forth, enjoying the slow movement of my prick inside her tight wet pussy. This was what sex should always be like – a beautiful girl, astride my body, my prick deep inside her, my hands caressing her fantastic breasts, ... the doorbell ringing. “What now?” I cried, “No, stop, I mean, no, don’t stop!” but it was too late. Lucy was already walking naked to the door to see who was visiting.

I swore when she returned to the bedroom with Claire. “WTF are you doing here?” I cried.

“You ought to remember I work in Admin,” she said, “which means IT, which means mail servers, which means I was able to see you arranging to meet Lucy here by email. So I decided to pay her a visit this afternoon and we got to know each other.” At this, she turned towards Lucy and gave her a long and passionate mouth-to-mouth kiss. Then she removed her raincoat to reveal her otherwise naked body, and then sat down directly on me, impaling herself with my still stiff cock.

“Did I interrupt something?” she queried, as she started rocking on my prick just as Lucy has been doing before. Then Lucy stood over me and pushed her pussy into Claire’s face. Soon all of us were moaning as Claire serviced both me and Lucy. Then Lucy sat on my face while eating out Claire who was lying behind me. Then they strapped two dildos to my head, one on my chin, the other on my forehead, and they both sat on clinging to each other and fucking themselves with the dildos. All the time, they were coming again and again, while less and less attention was being paid to my needs.

Finally, after each had had a particularly loud and spectacular orgasm, Claire turned to me. “I think it’s time for your prick to be inside us” she said, “but we won’t be satisfied unless you fuck us all night. Come here and I’ll use this Japanese cream on you, so you’ll stay hard and come a thousand times!”

She took a small jar from her raincoat pocket, and from it took a generous amount of white cream. The feeling was glorious for the first few seconds, as she started to massage my prick with the cream, but then, almost immediately my prick went first limp, and then almost disappeared, reducing to the size it had been when I was six!

“Oh shit! Wrong cream!” she exclaimed. I was using other words, not usually heard on the BBC. “I’m really sorry,” she continued, “this is the wrong jar. This one’ll keep you soft for quite a few days. I’m sorry, but it’s really no use you staying here. Unless of course you want to see me fucking Lucy with a strap-on, but I think you might find that rather frustrating.” She smiled with the face of one who is asking for pardon, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was all deliberate. Over the last few days, all my sexual activity had been governed by Claire and her exotic oriental devices. And now all I could do was watch two sensationally beautiful women perform lesbian sex in front of me and my completely limp dick.

The hotel meal was shit again. I went to bed early.

On the plane the next day I sat down next to a young (but just legal) female student, off to uni for the first time. After the seatbelt sign had been turned off, she whispered her story in my ear – that she was just eighteen, and wanted to be the first in her year to have joined to mile-high club; would I join her in the aeroplane toilet for a quickie?

Naturally I’d have been delighted to, but in my current condition, it would have been worse that useless. She fumed with disappointment as she realised that she was sitting to the one man on the plane that wouldn’t jump at the chance of fucking her silly on a toilet seat.

Then it got worse. It was like a Penthouse letter gone wrong. A blonde stewardess came over a whispered in my other ear. “Good morning, sir”, she said, “me and my colleague, that’s the redhead over there with the big chest, have a stopover of four hours when we arrive. How would you like to come to our hotel room with us and have a good time?”

I sank into my seat, red-faced. “Don’t bother with him,” said the girl next to me to the stewardess, “He’s a faggot.”

[micheleFFS]

Aimanuanca,

Nice story! Poor guy's in a male fantasy and can't get it up!

A favorite moment of mine:


“Do you trust me?” she asked. Images of handcuffs, whips and hot dripping candles flashed across my mind. “Absolutely not” I thought. “Sure” I said.

That's exactly how I'd react.

As far as I know, you're the first person on my mailing list for my novels to write a story here. Excellent start!

Your obedient servant,

micheleFFS

[quazwierdcev]

Aimanuanca,
being a hopeful writer myself I know how great feedback is. I loved the story! I started it and hooked. I would appreciate a bit more description of Claire Wexley, but other than that I thought it was quite enjoyable. Take any and all criticism with a grain of salt, but that's my two bits.
Thanks for sharing with us,
quaz

[aimauanca]

Thanks, guys, for the kind comments.
To quazwierdcev: you say that you'd like more description of Claire - but that would mean me being able to write, and that's the problem - I don't know how to write!
micheleFFS: "a male fantasy" - in fact, that's just what it is. All the stories I've ever posted are fantasies concocted over many months and then finally typed in on a free day.
Wish I could write instead!

[micheleFFS]

So are mine, male fantasies I wrote down. Or Salamando's and all the others. Being semi-retired and under a contract with my Mistress to write, I may make more time for writing than you can, but you're a writer.

I'm really unsure why or in what sense you say you can't write.

Your obedient servant,

micheleFFS

[aimauanca]

MicheleFFS: because I want to be able to write 100 pages, not just 3!

[aimauanca]

MicheleFFS. Btw, there seems to be a dead link in your profile : http://www.naughtykink.com/livia.htm

[Nezhul]

To be able to write 100 pages you need to do two things:
1) read a lot, preferably authors whose writing style you like. Spend at least an hour a day reading literature. If you don't read - you won't be able to write something decent.
2) write a lot. Your first try may turn out to be horrendous (thats what happened to me), but the more you write and read, the easier it will get to spin lengthy but interesting texts. Try to write at least a page or two each day. Of whatever. Just any scenes that come to mind, dont try to connect them into a single story if you struggle with that.

When you do that, soon you'll find you are able to write up to a dozen pages per day by just going with the flow of your stiry, and connecting scenes you want seamlessly.

[aimauanca]

Nezhul: interesting suggestion. I already read, but the idea of regularily writing inspires me. I might just try. Thanks

[Fledrin]

To be able to write 100 pages you need to do two things:
1) read a lot, preferably authors whose writing style you like. Spend at least an hour a day reading literature. If you don't read - you won't be able to write something decent.
2) write a lot. Your first try may turn out to be horrendous (thats what happened to me), but the more you write and read, the easier it will get to spin lengthy but interesting texts. Try to write at least a page or two each day. Of whatever. Just any scenes that come to mind, dont try to connect them into a single story if you struggle with that.

I support this strongly. Not much will make your writing better than just doing it. By reading others' work, you'll learn what you like and don't like, and it'll help to refine your style. Writing often is a given, although may not be taken as seriously as is required to become adept at writing. Your first drafts will probably always be shit, but you have to start somewhere. Keep trying to get better and you will.

[aimauanca]

Thanks for the encouragement!

[micheleFFS]

I agree with Nezhul also.

One thing that helped boost my output was accountability. I made a contract with my Mistress that I'd write a certain minimum daily or have a good reason for not writing - like an all day event. Perhaps you can be accountable to someone.

I have a built-in reward. I may not ejaculate until I've made my daily minimum. I violated this twice since October and have been suitably punished.

micheleFFS

[Flogger]

Just discovered you. Hope you're still around and writing.

To answer your point about 3 pages vs 100, if you haven't discovered it yet you will and can write them and far far more. Partly turn off your brain, get in the zone and wake up several hours later. And, a bit of extrapolation on my part, then learn to proof-read (ugh).

Very enjoyable stuff. Almost excellent.