A Picture is Worth 1000 Words

[HumanBean]

(Sorry, folks. My image seems to have disappeared. I don't have a photo sharing account. I was using and image to which I hot linked. I guess you'll have to use your imagination. That's not the idea behind this thread, obviously. But it's the best I can do for now.)

You are the most beautiful creature upon whom my gaze has ever fallen. It's not the first time I've looked upon you, of course; the first we met was two days ago on the University's football field, when the the coach was showing me around and waved you over to say hello. Seeing you in your cheer squad uniform had, up until this very moment, been the highlight of my university search.

"Why, um..." I begin, unable to form the words, why are you here...? why are we here? I do manage to get out, "You look ... amazing."

"Come in," you respond with an inviting smile. "Shut the door behind you." I do. You add, "Lock it." I do, you smile again, and you ask, "Is it okay with you if we are alone here?"

I'm dumbfounded by the question. I answer with emphasis, "Of course!"

You suggest, "Why don't you take your jacket off ... get comfortable."

I don't hesitate. My Letterman's jacket is heavy with patches, pins, and letters. I was a four-sport athlete in high school: four years each of football and basketball, two years each of baseball and track and field. I scored 10 varsity pins by graduation last year.

Ironically, all of the fame and attention that came with being an All-Star athlete failed to gain me the one award I had yearned for all through high school: Former Virgin. I had been so intensely focused on family, school, and sports -- in that order, per my parents' demands -- that there had been no time left over for romantic pursuits.

You say, "I hear you haven't yet decided whether or not you are coming here next fall."

I don't hear you. I mean, I do hear you; my ears collect the words and send them to my brain. But my brain is otherwise occupied with thoughts about your perfect body and how I so badly want to hold and touch and kiss it.

"I want to help you make that decision," you go on, "if you'd like me to help, I mean."

I finally snap out of my reverie, looking up from your perfect bosom to your equally perfect face. You words are finally absorbed and translated by the brain in which they were swimming, and I snap urgently, "Yes! I mean, by all means ... yes, I would like to have you help me make a decision." Then, not having yet concluded what's ahead, I ask, "How, um ... how are you going to help me ... decide ... decide on whether to come here for school?"

You smile wide again, then sit up a bit taller. I see your gaze fall very conspicuously to my groin, and -- not meaning to -- I tense up down yonder, causing my cock to twitch enough to make you giggle. You look up to me and ask, "How old are you?"

"How old am I...?" I respond. "I'm 18. I turned 18 this past month." You don't react; I suspect that you already knew this. I ask in return, "How old are you?"

You respond, "I'll be 22 next month."

I can't help but think older woman! I'm not sure that means anything right now, yet it still only excites me more.

You say, "I couldn't help but notice the other day that you couldn't keep your eyes off my titties."

My eyes widen and I blush. Very apologetically, I respond, "I'm so sorry, really! I didn't ... I wasn't ... I mean, I didn't mean to be..."

I go quiet when I finally realize what you are doing. Even before you finished speaking and all the while that I was, you were caressing one of your hands upward from your thigh to your belly to your bosom and finally under the thin fabric so wondrously holding in place your big, beautiful titties -- as you yourself called it. With a little pull toward the middle, that big, beautiful tit pops out into view.

"Oh, God almighty," I murmur to myself without thinking. I watch as you slowly repeat the motions and release the second trapped titty into the wild. I simply stare for the longest time before finally whispering, "They're perfect. You're perfect. My god ... you're beautiful."

The tightness of your dress's top portion, now positioned to the outside of your breasts, hold them inward, creating an even more dramatic cleavage than before. You smile again and ask with a devilish tone, "Would you like to fuck my titties?"

I stare with an expression of shock and awe; not only am I uncertain of how to respond, I'm not even quite sure what it is that you are offering. Then finally, an image from one of the thousands of porn videos I've watched on the internet fills my brain, and I blurt out, "Yes! I mean ... yes ... I would like to do that."

"Take your clothes off then," you say, still smiling. You see me hesitate, giggle, and then reassure me, "It's okay. We're alone behind locked doors. There's nothing to worry about."

"You're gonna let me..." I begin, still not entirely certain that this is truly what I think it is.

I only just now notice that you have a small bottle in your hand; where it came from is a mystery, but not really one I yearn to solve at the moment. You pop open the top, squeeze, and send a gob of thick, clear gel out onto your fingertips. You begin smearing the gel up and down your deep cleavage.

My clothes are off in seconds. You look me up and down and smile, seemingly pleased with what you see. I've been a dedicated athlete all my life, and my physique shows the result. And while all that exercise had nothing to do with it, I also possess a cock that's above average in both length and girth. You respond at seeing me nude by licking your lips and whispering a simple, "Nice."

You gesture me closer, and when I am within your reach, you grasp my shaft in your gel-covered fingers. I draw an excited breath, releasing it in a conspicuous, "Oh!"

You spurt more gel into your palm and stroke my full length a couple of times; my cock glistens in the indirect sunlight spilling into the second-floor room. You move back into the couch, leaning into the pillow at the small of your back. You pat the couch on each side of your thighs, saying, "Come here. Knees ... right here."

Again, I do as you say. Our relative positions put my cock just inches from your beautiful bosom. You lube your cleavage again, then my cock, then tell me, "Put it right here ... between my titties. Fuck them just like you'd fuck my pussy."

I move a bit closer and lay the underside of my rock-hard cock onto her cleavage. I instinctive move it forward, then back, forward, then back. I moan again.

"[i[Fuck[/i] them," you chastise playfully, giggling. You reach up to push my shaft down in between your titties. They part to let my cock find a resting place against your sternum, swallowing it up between their bountiful curves. Again, I moan, and you say to me, "Go ahead."

I do, of course; this is new to me, but instinct has me stroking my full length up and down your chest; I pull back until my huge, bulbous head nearly slips from your gripping titties, only to again shove it forward until my ball sack slams against your rib cage.

The feeling is sensational; the inward pull of your dress's parted top keeps your massive mamms tight around my cock. The pleasure increases quickly, and after only a dozen strokes in and out of your titty-pussy, grunt out loudly as my cock begins jerking, sending huge wads of thick, white goo onto your chest.

My heart pounds, my chest swells and contracts, and the air on the latter comes out in a series of moans that only slowly begin to fade away. My mind swims in the euphoria of the greatest orgasm I've ever experienced.

You reach up to move me back; my cock is ejected with a somewhat comical plop sound. You take my cock into your mouth and suck hard while your mussed hand grasps my shaft tightly near the base and milks me for what cum still remains. Then, conspicuously, you swallow what bit of my jizz wasn't already deposited onto your chest.

You urge me to sit, then stand before me. You ask, "Is the decision becoming any clearer?"

My brain is still swimming in the euphoria. But naive as I may be, I finally and fully understand the link between my choosing a school and what this Goddess has done for me. Of course, as the euphoria begins to wane and I am able to think more clearly, I realize that the really important thing to know is what more will this Goddess do to help me in my decision making process.

I smile and ask, "Am I still a virgin...? I mean ... this was ... great! Unbelievable! But ... still ... I'm still a virgin ... right?"

You return my smile, pull your dress up and away from your body, and respond with a devilish smirk, "Not for long..."

 

[lakesailer_mi]

Thanks @HumanBean ! Nice job!

 

[Farmboyshunger]

Whatever you two have going on is hot as hell! Whew!

 

[lakesailer_mi]

This vignette is partly autobiographical and partly just musings.

It had been a long 24 hours. The watch system had completely broken down as the crew puked their guts out through the rough night. By the time the pitch-black skies of a stormy night had slid into the grey skies of another day, the crew simply did what needed to be done, schedules and positions be damned. We rested when we couldn’t function any longer, and functioned beyond what we thought we could.

I lay for a moment longer on the number two genoa, which was the last sail we managed to fold the night before, as we moved down to the three. When the three shredded explosively, we just stuffed the spaghetti remnants down the hatch after raising the tri-sail. Besides, it’s too hard to properly stow a sail when every 45 seconds the deck is underwater as you crash through another of the relentless waves.

I couldn’t decide if I was hungry or seasick, the two having morphed together sometime in the early dawn light. I pulled myself up and grabbed a packet of peanut butter crackers and a capri sun. One way or another, I’d know in a few minutes. Climbing the companionway ladder I emerged into the grey of late afternoon.

I was beyond feeling. Beyond processing much beside the condition of the boat and the jobs that needed to be done. I saw relief on Steve’s face as I came up. “Can you take a turn?”

I wolfed down the food and sugary drink, hoping it would sit, and took over the helm. I was the fourth string helmsman, and this was my second shift. A testament to how brutal the conditions were. I focused on keeping the boat moving along the close-hauled course we were following. The sun was setting again, and the wind had finally begun to relent.

We sailed on and Ron came on deck. He smiled and said, “you’re doing great, but what do you think about a number two?” I had considered it. With the wind back to something manageable, moving to a larger sail seemed the right move, but it was going to be hard work as the boat still plunged through the waves.

Kurt came up on deck and he and I moved to the foredeck, Steve poking his head up through the forward hatch and hefting the sail onto the deck for us. We made the change, holding our breath and ducking every 45 seconds. We stuffed the tri-sail down the hatch on the upswings.

Exhausted again, I took up a position on the windward rail: helmsman and rail meat, all in one.

There was no sunset to speak of. I dozed against the stanchion; it wasn’t any less comfortable to sleep on the rail at this point. About eleven I saw the first twinkle of light in the sky. The clouds were clearing and in only a short while the entire sky was full of stars. And then I could see the glow on the horizon. I didn’t know what it was and Ron said, “northern lights.”

I felt an overwhelming sense of hope and peace.

I’ll never forget those 30 hours of my life. The details are hazy at this point and the fear and seasickness are long in the past. But that moment of revelation as the skies cleared and the of the lights of the heavens showed themselves still brings me hope, even in some of my darkest hours.

Like today. I can still see it. The green glowing light, the milky way so brilliant. So maybe, maybe the darkness will clear again.

 

[Littletoo]

They say a picture is worth 1000 words, but many of us here want the words. So here is the idea folks. Find a picture or quote or anything that moves you. That grabs you. That makes you think. Something that inspires you. And write a vignette.

A vignette is a short piece of writing meant to describe a character, a place, an experience, or a feeling. Vignettes are more focused on vivid imagery and meaning rather than plot. Obviously, given we are on lit, these feelings are likely to be highly erotic. But it doesn’t have to be. Tell us “the rest of the story” or enough to arouse and excite us too.

@Indiesoul and I will serve as "hosts" (although I'm not sure exactly what that means). We envision this as serving three purposes. First, to read some fun, sexy, creative stories from the wonderful minds we see and love here. Two, as a safe place for people who want to dip their toe into writing. Finally, as a place where those of us who like to write can whip something off quickly (and, if you later use it in a longer story, let us know!!!).

I want to give credit to a couple of old friends, @LostGirlTink and @justasimplegirl, who had a similar thread some years back. I don't think either of them are around, but it was fun. Indie and I decided that rather than revive that one, we could start anew.

Rules: First, The usual Literotica rules about pictures apply. If it's too racy, put it in a link.

Second, and most important. Be Nice! If you think someone's story sucks, well, don't read it. If you like it, give it a like (or whatever). Some stories may not be to your taste. I want this to be a place where everyone can share and feel safe. Please, be nice!

Third, Let's keep it apolitical. I'm not opposed to thought pieces and non-fiction, but this isn't the place for political rants.

Fourth: I'm not going to put limits on the length, but I think it likely shouldn't exceed 1500 words. Shoot for less than 1000? (I’ll probably be the first to break this).

vignette? Oh. Yah, that's French for "stroke story,"

 

[Mr_PT]

"Men just aren't that complicated" might be the first 5 words of the 1,000 lol

Lol

 

[OrdinaryPerson]

I listened to him read. His familiar voice clear and smooth. His breaths steady at first, but for an almost imperceptible shudder. A rock from Spain... Now I can hear him inhaling and exhaling. A cross between. Rose quartz and Soap... His breaths are starting to quiver.

My hand travels across my breasts as his voice in my ear describes the rock which turned out to be magnesium, almost pure salt. My fingers rub against my nipples, pinching when I hear his voice hitch and he trips over a word.

My hand travels downward with his voice in my ear. White salt crystals… I hear wetness in his voice just as I find mine. As his reading gets more and more halting, I imagine his hands stroking his cock. The same way I've seen countless times. His cock hard and wet with his spit and precum. His left hand working its way up and down… My fingers sliding across my lips, matching what I think is his pace as he reads.

The origin of the word… saa-salicious... My fingers circle my clit whenever he struggles with a word. Soon, there are many. My fingers swirl faster. My breaths match his. My fingers dip in my pussy when I hear him licking his hand. Returning to my clit as he returns to stroking his cock.

We are both getting so close. He is pausing to breathe and gather himself more than he is reading but he forces a few more words out …almost every part of the human body… then panting, one word coming out at a time. Nourishment… annnd… wwwould…Ah fuck. He cums. Sending me over the edge with him, my body clenching and then finally releasing. The tension built up in the reading finally flooding away just as he chuckled with his release.

 

[Indie]

View attachment 2324085

I listened to him read. His familiar voice clear and smooth. His breaths steady at first, but for an almost imperceptible shudder. A rock from Spain... Now I can hear him inhaling and exhaling. A cross between. Rose quartz and Soap... His breaths are starting to quiver.

My hand travels across my breasts as his voice in my ear describes the rock which turned out to be magnesium, almost pure salt. My fingers rub against my nipples, pinching when I hear his voice hitch and he trips over a word.

My hand travels downward with his voice in my ear. White salt crystals… I hear wetness in his voice just as I find mine. As his reading gets more and more halting, I imagine his hands stroking his cock. The same way I've seen countless times. His cock hard and wet with his spit and precum. His left hand working its way up and down… My fingers sliding across my lips, matching what I think is his pace as he reads.

The origin of the word… saa-salicious... My fingers circle my clit whenever he struggles with a word. Soon, there are many. My fingers swirl faster. My breaths match his. My fingers dip in my pussy when I hear him licking his hand. Returning to my clit as he returns to stroking his cock.

We are both getting so close. He is pausing to breathe and gather himself more than he is reading but he forces a few more words out …almost every part of the human body… then panting, one word coming out at a time. Nourishment… annnd… wwwould…Ah fuck. He cums. Sending me over the edge with him, my body clenching and then finally releasing. The tension built up in the reading finally flooding away just as he chuckled with his release.

Ah fuck. I can't wait to listen to the audio version.

 

[Alice2015]

You enter the room, stopping short at the sight of me as you've never seen me before. I say with a seductive tone, "I've been waiting for you."

Your gaze shifts up and down between my face and my other beautiful features before you ask, "Where's my wife? She's ... she's not here, is she?"

"Shopping," I answer. In anticipation of the next question, I inform you, "Your daughter's sleeping ... soundly, I might add."

Smirking, I add, "She won't hear us. I promise."

You can't keep your eyes from by body, yet you manage to say, "Because nothing's going to happen between us that she could hear."

I laugh. "Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right," you say, unconvincingly. I glance to your groin, finding a massive bulge tenting the front of your slacks. I point a finger, saying, "Tell him that."

"You're the nanny," you say. "I'm not ... I can't fuck the nanny. I ... I just can't."

"Sure you can," I contradict. "It's easy."

In a swift movement, I strip my top off, then pull down my boy shorts. Standing naked before you for a long moment -- during which you reach down to rearrange your cock for more comfort -- I then turn toward the bureau and look over my shoulder at you.

"I can do this on my own," I tell you, parting my feet a bit and reaching a hand down to my already wet pussy. I begin gently fondling my clit, my body beginning to slowly writhe to the pleasure. I tell you, "I'd rather you got me off, though."

I continue toying with my love button while staring at you; my body movements are becoming more reactive, with the beginnings of moans slipping from my mouth.

The lustful need finally gets to you. You begin unbuttoning, unbuckling, and unzipping, shedding clothes until finally you are in nothing more than your socks.

A moment later, your hands are grasping my hips, and with my back arching to provide easier access and my hand between my thighs to guide you, your cock is ramming inside me, causing me to cry out in a combination of pain and pleasure.

You reach full depth in just three hard strokes, and after another dozen to-and-fro movements, you are grunting loudly as your balls empty into my depths.

As your torso slowly collapses forward onto my backside, I listen to your continuing groans of euphoria; I can feel your heart pounding furiously against me.

Eventually, you rise to height behind me, your face a mix of ecstasy ... and shame. You murmur, "Oh my God ... what have I done...?"

I smile, pleased. I pull my hips forward, causing you to withdraw from me with a comical suctiony plop. I turn to you, taking your still hard cock in my hands. As I stroke you, my own fluids coating my palms while your last drops of cum join the mess, I smile, kiss you softly, and whisper, "Maybe now would be a good time to talk about my raise ... don't you think?"

 

[Alice2015]

I look up and find you looking at me from across the room, shock in your face. The surprise isn't limited to you, of course, as my stomach rolls over anxiously. You make your way casually through the crowd until you are standing over me.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Benny?" I whisper with a bit of disapproving growl in my tone.

"I could ask the same question," you respond, sipping at your drink as you look casually around.

"This is ... so embarrassing," I murmur, speaking more to myself than to you. I also look about for eavesdroppers and prying eyes, finding no undue attention being paid to us; this is a room in which it is commonplace -- expected even -- for well-to-do men such as my father's brother to chat with young, beautiful women such as me without anyone caring.

I ask with a desperate tone, "Can you just ... go away?"

"You didn't answer my question," you remind me. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing," I respond, clarifying, "Paying for school."

"How long have you been doing this?" you ask.

"Doing what?" I challenge, looking up with anger in my eyes. "Sitting on a couch looking pretty...?"

"Is that what you're doing?" you ask.

"Chatting with men such as yourself...?" I continue. "Being friendly?"

"It's the being friendly part that concerns me, honey," you say. "If I'd known you were having troubles ... money troubles--"

"What...?" I cut in, my voice momentarily rising enough to garner glances from a nearby couple. After they return to their own business, I continue in barely above a whisper, "You'd loan me the twenty grand I need to get started on my Ph.D?"

A long moment of silence passes between us before you ask, "So ... going to one of the suite's bedrooms with a stranger..."

Another moment of silence passes as you try to find a way to complete your question and I hope that you won't. You eventually ask, "How much? How much are you being paid?"

"Five hundred dollars," I answer, clarifying, "to sit here and look pretty."

After a moment, you ask, "And if you go to one of the back rooms...?"

"I don't have to go to one of the bedrooms," I stress. I can see in your face that you're simply going to continue to pester me about this, so I answer, "A thousand dollars. Our host pays me half ... the gentleman pays me the balance ... more if I make him very happy."

I look up into your face, asking, "Are you happy, Uncle...? Knowing this? Knowing what I'm doing to stay in school."

After a long moment, you whisper, "A thousand dollars." Another moment passes before you say, "Five hundred from me."

I look up into your face, unsure if I just heart what I thought I heard. You clarify, "If I ask you to one of the bedrooms ... it will cost me five hundred dollars ... more if you make me very happy."

I glance around, seriously fearful now that someone might be hearing what's being said between us. I ask with shock, "What are you saying...? That ... that you want..."

"You would rather go with one of these men...?" you ask, clarifying, "One of these strangers who you don't know ... who don't know you?"

I want to remind you of who you are, of who we are -- you are my father's younger brother, my uncle. But I don't need to do that; you are more than aware. After another one of our many silent moments, I ask timidly, "Are ... are we going back there ... to chat?"

For the first time that I have noticed, let your gaze drop conspicuously to my generous and well displayed bosom. A smile spreads your lips as you ask, "For five hundred dollars...?"

I realize suddenly that my heart is pounding like a jack hammer. I assume it's because of the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. But ... maybe there's more. Maybe ... just maybe ... I'm okay with this. I reach out a hand for help rising from the couch and look into your eyes for a moment. Then ... smiling ... I whisper, "When we are done ... you'll be looking for an ATM ... Uncle."

 

[Alice2015]

I'm not expecting company and smile, then laugh at seeing you standing there gawking at me. I ask, "What are you doing up here? This cabin's for senior counseling staff only."

You don't respond; your eyes are wide, your mouth is open. I wonder if you've ever seen a naked woman before. Eventually you manage to get out, "I, um ... I was, um ... I'm supposed to be..."

I laugh again. I know that I should cover up or flee back inside my cabin or demand that you divert your eyes. But the awkwardness has already been achieved, so...

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Billy," you respond. "Billy Hamilton."

"You're one of the First Timers, yes?" I ask, clarifying, "Trainee Counselor?"

You nod your head; your eyes are continuing to eagerly take in the view.

"You're 18?" I ask.

"Yes," you respond. "19 next month."

"You got a girlfriend?" I continue my inquiries. When you don't immediately answer, I expand the question, "You bumping uglies with some young thing at school ... maybe here at camp?"

"No ... no!" you answer, as if having sex is a sinful act or something. "I mean ... no, I don't have a girlfriend." Then, softer, you add, "Never have."

I finally rise to height and turn to face you, a moment later beginning a slow walk your direction; my hips sway dramatically with ever step, your gaze moving up and down repeatedly from my firm B-cups and their chill-hardened nipples to the cleanly shaven, less-tanned triangle at the meeting of my thighs.

"You're a virgin then," I say, a statement, not a question. You don't immediately respond but finally nod your head almost imperceptibly. I smile, asking, "You wanna fix that?"

Again, your mouth falls open in shock. I reach out a hand to caress a fingertip on your chest between the lapels of your button up camp shirt, saying, "I don't want the others to know that I was up here like this ... you know ... enjoying the great outdoors with all of my womanly features outdoors. You understand where I'm going with this?"

A moment of nothing passes, followed by you shaking your head. I laugh, then explain, "If you can keep this between us ... all of this ... I'd take you into that room on your left ... and..."

I don't finish what I'm saying; the expression that fills your face tells me that I don't need to. You shake your head, saying with emphasis, "I won't tell anyone ... anything ... nothing!"
I smile again, take your hand, and lead you into my cabin. Positioning you at the side of my little bed, I tell you, "Strip."

You immediately begin to do just as I ask, then pause. Fearfully, you ask, "I'm not getting punked, am I? I mean ... you're not going to suddenly grab all my clothes and go running off into the woods with them?"

"Isn't it worth the chance?" I ask.

Apparently, it is worth the chance, because you very quickly resume undressing, and in less than thirty seconds you are standing there just as naked as I am, save for the cowboy hat still resting atop my mass of blonde. I move closer, push you gently to get your ass on the mattress, snatch up my pillow, and drop it on the floor at your feet.

Kneeling down before you and taking your shaft in one hand and your balls in the other, I compliment, "You have a wonderful cock ... beautiful ... perfect."

"Thank you," you whisper, still unsure of just what is happening here. You finally say, "You're beautiful, too ... perfect. My god! You're ... unbelievable."

I smile up at you, lean forward to kiss the head of your absolutely rock hard cock, and say, "Thank you."

I take you between my warm, wet lips, suckling on your bulb for a moment as my fingers work your balls gently, then finally lower my head and take much of your length into my mouth. Suddenly, your cock leaps, sending forth shot after shot after shot of warm, salty cum onto my tongue and into the back of my mouth.

You groan loudly in ecstasy, your hands reaching back to support yourself as your mind is lost to the euphoria. I remain where I am, my mouth and hands sharing the length of your shaft as you repeatedly pump round after round of your load into me.

When the tremors cease and I have sucked and licked and swallowed all you had for me, I rise to my feet, urge you to lay back on the bed, and find my place above your groin. Your eyes open eventually, staying up at me in awe; your chest rises and falls, and as I caress a hand over your bared chest, I can feel your heart pounding fiercely within it.

"So ... shall we continue?" I ask, reaching for your cock and moving it to my hole for insertion.

With obvious appreciation and amazement, you respond, "Best ... camp ... ever."

I laugh, telling you, "It's only just begun."

 

[Alice2015]

We stare at each other from across the room for a long moment before you start slowly my way. Arriving, you introduce yourself, then ask, "Are you a friend of Charlotte's ... the bride-to-be?"

"Sure," I say, not giving any more information about my identity than that.

"I have to admit," you say, looking around the room, "I don't know most of the people here very well, if at all. Robert and I are old friends from college. I haven't seen him since we graduated six years ago."

You turn back to looking at me. You can't take your eyes off my body, eventually asking, "So ... what's with the getup?"

"I'm sorry?" I ask, indicating my confusion.

"Your outfit," you continue. You look around at the other dinner guests; they are all dressed more conservatively than me, even the women in tight fitting or otherwise revealing dresses, skirts, or pant suits. "I mean ... you don't exactly look dressed for this crowd ... for a wedding rehearsal dinner."

"I'm a dancer," I say, not really giving too much helpful information. I add unnecessarily, "I dance. I was at a rehearsal, and it was too late to change."

"Oh," you say, likely unsure of how else to respond. You are again ogling my form. You smile, saying, "Well ... you look great. Really great."

"Wanna fuck?" I ask softly.

Your reaction is classic: widening eyes, opening mouth, sudden look around for witnesses to my bluntness. You respond with shock and a muted voice, "I'm sorry?"

"Why are you sorry?" I ask as I reach out a hand for assistance to my feet. As I stand close to you, I point out, "You have nothing to be sorry about." I pause, licking my lips and studying your own before repeating, "Wanna fuck?"

The panic is obvious in your eyes, your mind overwhelmed by a situation you've likely never faced before. Eventually, inevitably, you respond in a whisper, "Yeah, um ... sure ... why not?"

"Wait ten seconds, then follow me," I tell you. I turn and head away, to the hallway that leads to the suite's bedrooms.

A mere but wonderful three minutes later, I'm listening to you groan out loudly as your cock leaps inside of me, filling the condom with your warm seed. As you fall back onto the bed from where we were fucking on the edge of it, I lean over you to ask expectantly, "You still got enough to get me off? I'm not done yet."

You don't immediately respond; the euphoria is overwhelming your brain. I decide not to wait for an answer and instead continued rising and falling in your lap, driving your cock in and out of me, stimulating my clit and the fore of my vaginal canal, where I am even more sensitive, particularly in this new position.

Three additional minutes later, I'm arching my back, looking to the ceiling, and crying out as the waves of pleasure wash through me. As I'm coming down, I can see that you are desperate for yet another orgasm. I continue to ride you hard and fast until you cum once again and -- lucky for me -- I do yet another time just moments later.

I flop down upon you, pressing my bared bosom against your equally naked chest as I meet your mouth with mine in our first kiss; it is soft, slow, and erotic, my tongue dancing with yours as my fingers play through your hair.

"My god," you murmur when the power of speech returns. "That was incredible ... and a bit unexpected, obviously. I ... oh, God ... I never imagined that an engagement party could be so ... wow."

I'm kissing your neck, nibbling at it, threatening you with hickies, when you ask once again, "Are you a friend of Charlotte's? You never said."

I lift my head up to look in your eyes, smile, and inform you, "I am Charlotte."

You stare at me a long moment, then smile and laugh. "No, you aren't. I've seen a picture of Charlotte. She doesn't look ... anything..."

I'm very aware of the picture that most of my fiancée's friends and family have seen of me. I rise tall over your groin and pull my hair back, much like it had been for that photo. Your expression slowly mutates to one of disbelief and panic.

"Oh my God!" you murmur. "What did I do?"

"You did me a favor," I say as I rise up off of you; your latex-wrapped cock pulls out of me with a comical plop. I add, "Thank you, by the way."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you ask, scrambling to get out of the bed and out of the condom; you initially toss it into a little garbage can under the lamp table, but then -- likely fearing that Robert might see it -- you pull it out again, wrap it in a dozen or more tissues, and stuff it into the front pocket of your pants. Again, you ask, "What the hell are you talking about? I just fucked my friend's fiancée. How is that doing you a favor?"

I'm gathering my clothes and heading for the bathroom, answering, "You were great ... incredible, really. You reminded me of how much I enjoy getting a little strange from time to time. Thank you."

Still panicked as you are quickly redressing, you ask, "But ... you were getting married in two days."

I stop in the bathroom door, smile, and ask, "What do you mean ... were? I'm still getting married on Saturday. I love Robert ... deeply and sincerely. The one thing has nothing to do with the other."

I smile to you again, looking you up and down. I giggle softly, saying, "Again ... thanks. I needed that."

I close the door...