Masturbation

I asked the woman to attend the prison. Candidates must have small, soft, delicate hands with polished manicure nails in red. Good pay. Room and tray included. Benefits.

Tammy needed a summer job. The announcement in the newspaper seemed that it might be in his alley. She wonders why they stressed their hands. A little strange, she thought. Tammy is a 16-year-old high school. She is an attractive, short 5'7", 110lbs, black hair, and innocent. Her mother and sister did most of the work, cleaning and dishes. Tammy’s hands match the requirements except for one thing. She didn’t wear a varnish.

The ivory looks at itself in a bathroom mirror because its bathtub fills with hot soapy water. She slips her purple and black bathrobe that she wears and takes a moment to admire her. She smiles and licks her lips, “Not bad for a 45-year-old…” She says she puts her hands on her big round boobs and gives them a sneeze. “I am always one of the hottest women ever to scratch a wrestling ring… and a better struggle than most…” The ivory turns to the bathtub and slides its two hands against the sides and back of its neck, “But… I still have to relax…”

For a long time, I’ve had fantasies of being scared by my wife. The whole idea of someone else’s sexual pleasure was driving me wild. I hated her with the idea of convincing her to take a few new lovers so that she would experience the joy of having a bigger and better dick inside her. I thought, however, that it would be a vain effort because she was not the kind of woman who would accept this kind of thing. She needed the sweet love relationship we had developed over the years and would probably not be able to relax and feel comfortable enough to enjoy the experience. I was also afraid that if she mocked someone else he or she would interfere with our daily life. I didn’t want to. Yet at the same time, the fantasy of her sharing with others still raged in me. I wanted her to have sexual encounters and pleasures that I couldn’t provide and be replaced as her sexual partner.

I guess my sex life started one day in the summer of my thirteenth year while I was doing my chores. I was in my brother’s room that kept his clothes clean, and I found a pile of pornographic magazines in his drawer. Out of curiosity about what could be so big about things like that, I pulled them and went to my room. I closed and locked my door, then sat on my bed and started looking in the magazines. There was a photo of naked or semi-nudes girls in erotic poses, and reader stories about their various sexual exploits. After reading and looking for a while, I started thinking that if sex was as exciting and mysterious as these magazines did to be, then maybe I was missing (I guess for the first time I was getting excited). I started wondering how my body compared to the girls’ bodies in the pictures, so I removed my clothes and sunk before my full mirror with the magazines broadcast in front of me. I look pretty good. My hair was long on my shoulders and brown, my blue eyes, and my lips were full and soft. My five-foot shape was smooth and firm with the young. In the summer, I was tanned a rich brown outside of the milky white triangles on my smooth round ass, soft blonde pussy, and pit, boobs size fishing.

Joanna rose along the dark streets while she ran home, her heart beating and the burning lungs of effort. The rubber soles of his sneakers hit the shiny, wet and wet sidewalk of a sudden rain. A few drops were still falling. The girl was grateful for the raindrops that had amortized her hair and her shirt. With luck, she could tell her mother that the wet spots on her shirt were just rain.

Tim was on his back. Naked, he was lying in one of the plastic chairs. With his wife on a shopping trip and children at school, he felt comfortable enough to come back for a little fun.

He had recently been won in some solo water sports, using his pee as lube for a kinky masturbation session. While he was fantasy, he remembered with scrupulous the first days of marriage, when his wife Dee was open to new adventures. Unfortunately, fifteen years had elapsed, and if it were children, of time, or that the average old belly that had developed on them both, it had gotten less and less adventurous.

Over the last ten years, I have come from a gentle, innocent, extremely naive 18 years of the Bible belt to, with the possible exception of my aunt Sally, the best cock and pipe artist to find. I left the house when I was 18 to go to college in South California. My parents were very strict; My father is a Baptist pastor and my mother teaches the summer school and leads the church choir. They only agreed to go to school if I stayed with my aunt Sally, who lived in some college blocks. Sally was only ten years older than me, but had a master’s degree in library science with a minor in economics. Mom and Dad approved it and felt that she, despite only 28 years old, would be a guardian fit for their sweet virgin girl. As we didn’t know.