Denise Milani

I think I'm in love. This woman is absolutely stunning. I mean, if you've got the same tastes I do, she's perfect.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give to have this woman as a pleasure slave. To have those breasts, that body, that mouth at my beck and call. Could you imagine coming home, and that smile greets you when you come in the door? It sure would help melt the stresses of the day if I could just unzip my pants and have her drop to her knees with a sparkle of loving subservience in her eyes and swallow my cock. After I shoot my come in her mouth and on her tits, we'd have a quick dinner then get back to the sex.

I'm fairly confident that I would have a permanent erection while I was in this woman's presence.

If Life Were a Porn Movie

Sometimes life presents you with a scene straight out of a porno.

Not that I would ever have the balls to go through with something like that, but regardless....

Anyway, as I was leaving the building today to grab some lunch, there was a shapely blond girl standing in the lobby, talking on her cell phone. I didn't give her much more thought than "that's a tight little ass."

On my way to the car, I noticed a cab. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I saw the hot blond get into afore-mentioned cab. And that's as far as reality takes us on this little journey.

Now, if this had been a porno, I would have slammed on the brakes, jumped heroically out of my Buick Mercedes, and intercepted the damsel in distress before she could slide that delicious body into the stinking, stained backseat of the cab.

"Need a ride?" I'd say with a beaming smile and a suggestive wink, just as a gust of wind comes along to tousle my streaming locks.

"Why yes, I do," she would say, drawing her eyes down my body, stopping for a moment on the bulge that had formed in my jeans. I would let her into my car, then go around and get behind the wheel.

As soon as we were on the road, she'd ask something like, "How much do I owe you for the ride?"

"Don't worry about it," I'd say with a smirk.

"Please, let me do something," she'd reply with seduction dripping from her words, then reach over and unzip my jeans. I'd be already hard and thick as her slender fingers wrapped around my shaft and began to stroke.

She'd direct me to a parking structure, or maybe a secluded park. It wouldn't matter because once the car was in Park, she would smile and lean over to take my raging cock into her mouth. Bobbing up and down, stroking the shaft, using her saliva as lubrication, she would have me near orgasm within moments. With a grunt and a groan I would fill her mouth with my cum, and she would swallow every drop.

Giving me a moment to collect myself and prepare for the next round, she would shimmy out of her jeans and panties, then climb aboard for a ride. She'd guide me to her dripping pussy and I'd sink into her warm, wet sheath. She'd ride me hard and vicious, tearing her shirt off so I could watch her tits bounce with each stroke. She would writhe and moan on my shaft, until finally she would go into convulsions as the orgasm tore through her body.

Of course, that would just be the warm up. After we caught our breath, we'd be at it again, fucking, sucking, licking in the car, on the car, next to the car, under the car, you name it. My cock would always be hard, she would always be wet, and orgasms would be bountiful.

Yeah, if only life were a porno.

Is there a polite way to ask a girl...

...if you can jack off on her tits?

I was at Target last night, and one of the girls working a checkout lane was wearing a most delicious v-neck top. I was in another lane (hmm, I wonder why her register was so busy) but I had a very nice view.

Her breasts weren't huge, but they were definitely handfuls, maybe more. When she stood straight, you couldn't see much cleavage, unless you were quite a bit taller than her. But when she bent over to put the customer's items in the bag.... From the next lane over, it was a mighty fine view indeed.

What I remember the most about them was that they seemed very soft. Her skin was smooth and pale, and almost seemed to glow in the fluorescent lights. The mounds of her breasts jiggled and shook ever so slightly when she moved, back and forth between swiping an item over the scanner and setting it carefully in the bag.

I stood there at my register, trying to not seem obvious that I was staring at the angel at the other checkout. The hag scanning my items was polite, and I responded to her with my own minimal politeness, but my attention was on the vision not thirty feet away. She was beautiful, and very much out of my league, but that didn't stop me from thinking about her this morning in the shower.

So, Is There?

I don't want to fuck her (well, yeah I do, but I mean to say that jacking off would be enough for me,) nor do I even want her to take off her shirt and bra. I want to preserve that glorious cleavage, after all. I don't want to date her... I don't even need to speak to her - she could be the stupidest, most ignorant and obnoxious person on the planet. She wouldn't even have to tell me her name or even say Hello.

If she could just kneel down right there, with those perfect, plump, pillowy mounds, it wouldn't take more than a minute or two. I could spill my load in ecstasy, drawing lines and dots on those magnificent breasts and be on my way. We could do it in the restroom so she could clean up right away; though her coworkers might wonder at the weird stains on her burgundy shirt.

No obligations, no exchanging of information. Just a quick display of how attractive I find her. That's all. She wouldn't even have to do anything. Hell, I'd even offer to clean my own jizz of her chest. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

Nice Hat

I've never had a thing for girls wearing hats, but that hat is hot. I would love to have those ties wrapped around my fist while I pushed my cock down her throat, fucking her face, pulling on that hat. Once I sprayed my cum all over her face, I'd let her stroke me back to life, then climb onto my glistening pole and bounce, bounce, bounce....

Man she's fucking hot.

*ahem*

Though We've Never Met

Paths Cross

Several years ago, I started visiting a message board. It was an erotic roleplaying, or ERP, board. And yes, by "erotic" I mean cyb0rz. Each person would have one character (some had 2 or 3) that they RPed. The board had a theme, and the posters would start storylines in which different characters would participate.

I admit, not many of the threads had what you might call "plot", but what they lacked in actual storytelling, they made up for it with the sheer hotness of the sex.

Some people came and went, but there was kind of a core of posters, myself included. What was great about it was that I was the only male in this core of about 6 people. That means my character got a LOT of pussy.

After a while, a new participant with a new character showed up. We didn't hook up at first; I think we just kept missing each other. It doesn't matter. When our characters did finally meet up, there was a strong attraction right off the bat. They got along well. Which is to say their sex was very, very hot, and very long, and our characters liked to fuck each other whenever possible. She - let's call her Mya - quickly became my favorite poster.

Over the next few months, while our characters were fucking each other's brains out in every position and location imaginable, the board's politics started to make it unpleasant to visit.

Without getting into any of that drama, suffice it to say that Mya and I stopped visiting the site. I should also add that Mya and I had become friends outside of the virtual world our imaginations fornicated in. So, when the message board collapsed, we kept in contact via email.

We talked about our lives, and whatever else, but we also continued our roleplaying. We no longer used the characters we'd created for the message board, however. Instead, we would make up stories, and she would write from one of the person's point of view, and I would write from the other person's. We'd email these passages back and forth, adding to these stories, some with more than 50 emails.

Blurred Lines

I don't really know when or how it happened, but the veil separating imagination from reality began to dissolve. After sharing in imaginary sexual situations with Mya for so long, we became familiar with each other's real sexualities. She learned what kind of things got me really fired up, and I learned what got her moist. We talked about our past sexual escapades, and our mutual openness. I learned that she loves sex and likes to fuck as often as possible, she likes to give blowjobs and have her hair pulled while she's being fucked doggy style. She learned similar things about me.

As always, our emails drifted toward sex, even if they began with the most innocent of intentions. They were about what we wanted to do to each other; how I'd love to suck her tits, how she'd love to swallow my cock, how I would bend her over my desk and fuck her mercilessly, etc. However, the difference between these emails and all our other sexual interactions is that these fantasies and desires weren't being vicariously channeled through imagined characters. We were directly telling each other how bad we wanted to fuck, suck, lick, stroke, and everything else, even saying so much as "I wish you were here so I could..."

Over time, these emails became less frequent. Our lives got busier, and we just didn't have the time to write all this erotica back and forth. However, I still have a strong physical attraction to her, and I miss our correspondences greatly. She stirred up desires and passions in me I've never felt before, and I always knew she was open to raunchy vulgarity. Nothing was ever inappropriate. I could send her an email out of the blue saying that I had a huge erection, and she would reply with a list of ways she could relieve me of it.

I still go back occasionally and read some of our old email threads, in the hope of renewing some of the feelings they invoked.

One-Afternoon Stand

I don't know if she's ever given any serious thought to the things we say to each other in our emails, but I have.

I can't speak for her, but I feel that she and I have a connection. That connection includes friendship and platonic caring, but it also includes a desire for a face-to-face meeting, and the hopes that our emails aren't "Just Talk." I want to do the things we've talked about in our stories and emails. I want to lick her pussy. I want to titty-fuck her. I want her to suck my dick. I want her to ride me in the back seat of my car. I want her to jerk me off in a dark movie theater. I want to do so many things.

Unfortunately, we live several states away from each other. She used to live an hour or so from where I live now, though that was years before I moved here. We're also each in our own relationships.

I don't want to take her from her current S.O., nor do I want to leave mine for her. I don't want to ruin any families or lives. I just want her to see how much I've enjoyed our friendship over the last few years, and how much she's inspired me.

If she ever comes back to her old home town, I would love to meet her for lunch. If that's all she would want, that's fine. I'll respect her desires, and we could have a wonderful lunch, then go back to our lives.

If she shared even a fraction of the lust I feel, then I could take the afternoon off of work, and we could really get to know each other. Then, once sated, we would depart, and go back to our lives. Our afternoon would be just between the two of us; no one would ever know. Just a one-afternoon-stand, if you will.

Cheerleader

Why don't girls like that shop at the stores I shop at?

If the neck dipped a bit lower, say to the top of the letters, that would be a great titty-fucking shirt. Just have her slather some KY on my hard cock, pull the bottom of the shirt up so I can see the bottoms of her fat titties, then just slide my lubed pole between those smooth, firm globes and go to town. With that face watching, it certainly wouldn't be long before I was painting her chin with my semen.

Afternoon Delights

On my way back from lunch today, I saw a sexy woman pushing a baby stroller down the sidewalk. She was wearing tight yoga pants and a size-too-small white hoodie, and her silky brown hair was pulled back into a pony tail. I didn't get a look at her face, since she was walking the same direction I was driving, but I really doubt she was anything less than stunning.

There's something about young, sexy moms that really gets me going. MILFs have a certain sexiness about them... kind of like a "I don't get nearly enough sex" kinda vibe. Or maybe it's the mystique that someone like me automatically applies to them. A mystique about their hidden passions, their forbidden desires. Those urges that this wholesome, loving, caring mother might be afraid to show to even a limited public. It's like by dressing passively suggestive - in this case, the yoga pants and hoodie that deliciously show off her slender waist and tight little ass - they're saying, "just get us alone and I'll do things to you that would make a porn star blush!"

But maybe that's just me.

By the time I'd driven past her, I was already forming scenes in my mind. For example, perhaps when she got home she'd put her baby down for a nap and once the little tyke was asleep, there'd come a knock at the door. She'd open it and there would be an attractive man named Christian there; a man that wasn't her husband. She'd let him in, and once the door closed them from the prying eyes of her neighbors, their lips would lock and clothes would start to fly.

Doubts would creep into her mind; she shouldn't be doing this, she was a married woman, he was a married man... But her husband rarely made love to her anymore. She was at the height of her sexual prowess, and she needed to be satisfied. And she knew that Christian's wife couldn't suck cock like she did; he'd told her after the first time she'd swallowed his load.

So they both had needs that their spouses couldn't fulfill. So why shouldn't they help each other out? That's what good, kind-hearted people do, right?

But any thoughts of impropriety or infidelity always fled her mind the moment she freed his member. Christian was considerably bigger than her husband, and knew how to use his glorious tool to both their benefit.

Normally, she would drop to her knees and suck the thick, throbbing cock until the warm, slippery semen filled her mouth. But today, she had other needs burning deep in her belly.

"Fuck me," she would whisper into his ear as she stroked his shaft. "Fuck my hot, smooth, dripping pussy." She'd turn and lead him by the cock over to where her husband usually sat to watch TV. She'd lean forward, arching her back to give Christian the best possible view of her toned ass and freshly-shaven pussy.

With her face buried in the cushion of the chair to muffle her screams and moans, the man that is not her husband would drive his cock into her neglected pussy, pounding, slamming, ramming into her harder and faster until the one final scream would herald her crashing orgasm. Clenching and spasming around his piston, her climax would drive Christian to his own, and within seconds his warm seed would fill her.

They'd play a little more, maybe she'd suck his cock clean, maybe he'd lick her clean. Sometimes they would help each other get dressed. Then with a deep, passionate kiss and a final squeeze of her ample breasts, Christian would reach into his pocket and hand her the twice-folded bundle of six one-hundred dollar bills before slipping out the door.

She usually had an hour, after Christian left and before the baby woke up, to relax and get dinner started.

Casual Friday

I step out of my office and stop when I look up from the papers I was going to have Stephanie make copies of.

"What are you doing?" I ask, aware that my dick is beginning to harden. Wearing boxers, the thick ridge would be noticeable in seconds. But I don't care.

"You said Fridays are Casual Days." She kicks her red panties aside as she puts her feet on the floor and stands up.

"By 'casual' I meant jeans. Not this." I gesture to her current state of dress.

"I'm sorry," she says as she saunters over to stand in front of me. "Don't you like how I'm dressed?"

"It's not a matter of taste," I reply, my voice quavering as her breasts sway with each step. "It's not appropriate for the workplace."

"Maybe we should go in your office, then." She brushes past me with a smooth smile on her lips, but no before she squeezes the thick pole tenting the front of my pants. After a moment, I follow.