Author: Elizabeth Heath
Category: Other
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/elizabeth-heath/page,93,550163-quickie_collection_of_hottest_explicit_taboo.html
"OK, now on the bed. On your back. One knee up. Finish unbuttoning for me. That's my girl. Can you take that bra off now? Can you do that shimmy trick where you get it off without removing your shirt.
I did.
"Now I want one where you tangle your hands up in your bra, overhead, like the bra has been used to handcuff you...Oh very nice. And spread your legs wide. Let me see it. You're getting wet, huh. Your pussy is glistening. She's practically quivering with anticipation..."
"Ok, now toss the bra away and cup them both, offer them to me, you want me to have them. You can hardly wait for my lips to be on them... "
He was right. I could hardly contain my excitement. I could no longer suppress my moans. Once I started playing with my tits, squeezing them, tweaking my nipples, I was truly lost. There was absolutely no way that we were going to quietly say good night and march off to our separate beds...Again, of my own volition I sent my right hand slithering down and spread my lips for his inspection. Sliding a finger in, then three, then plunging fingers in while I played with my clit...I exploded again. Glancing at him, I saw that sometime in the last few minutes he had taken his cock out and was stroking it one handed, while watching my action through the view finder. It was the first erection I had seen in three weeks and it looked good, just a nicely proportioned cock attached to a very handsome, fit young man...
"Now it's my turn," panting from my second orgasm of the evening, I gestured for him to pass me his camera. "Take your shirt off. Rip that fucker off. I want to see your chest. Hold it up for me. Have it smile for the camera...You're dripping, too huh." A shimmery drop of precum hung like a jewel from the tip of his hard cock. Setting the phone carefully on the nightstand, propped it up so that it would record at least some of the action, I motioned him to sit on the edge of the bed. I rolled off the other side and came around to kneel between his knees. He was placed so that his mid-section and the side of my hand would be in the video frame.
Some women will suck cock if begged. Some will do it for money or favors. I love sucking cock. I just love it. I always have loved it. And like most activities that one does wholeheartedly, I am really very good at it.
Looking up at him, keeping my eyes locked on his eyes, I gently flicked the head with the tip of my tongue.
He groaned.
The drop of precum stretched from the tip of his cock to my lips, stretching then breaking to fall across my lips and chin. I did it again. Expanding my range of contact by degrees, cupping and stroking his balls, I could feel him jerking and straining, and growing harder.
I cupped my right tit. Pulled on the nipple. Giving him a little visual. More groans. By the time I had taken the whole head in my mouth, I could feel him pulsing, his thighs iron bands squeezing my sides.
"I'm gonna..."
"I know baby, I can feel you, I'm gonna let you come on my face." I was stroking him with both saliva slick hands now, " You gonna squirt on my lips, watch your cum dribble down onto my tits...then you know what, baby? You're gonna clean me up with your tongue. You are gonna lick it off of my tits and..."
I didn't get to finish my trash talking...apparently the idea of slurping up his own jizz off of the tits that he had fantasized about for the past six months, just sent him right over the top.
When he started, I had his cock in the long tube of my hands, an inch away from lips. I was back to wetting the head periodically in between phrases... I opened my mouth to catch the first blast, then, as promised, directed the subsequent spurts onto my chin, throat and tits...
And there was a great deal of it. I had forgotten how much young men could hold. Seeing it land on my tits, feeling it blast my face, sent tremors of another little orgasm through me.
I stood up and kissed him then, open mouthed, our first real kiss, the first time he ever tasted his own sperm, and the first time he ever tasted my lips. We kissed for a long time, strangely still hungry, exploring, greedy.
Then I pushed his head down to finish the job...lapping up his cum from my chin, my throat and finally my tits.
I pushed him back on the bed, flat on his back and straddled his face. Pulling on his ears I crushed his face into my eager cunt.
"You know what to do!" I hissed.
Rubbing my clit on his nose, he forced his tongue inside me. I rocked back and forth, nearly suffocating him but relentless, lusting for my next orgasm. He bore it well, and did what needed to be done...
By the time he had brought me off, I could see that he was fully hard again. I needed no prompting. I arranged him so that his back was to the headboard, propped up, and I climbed aboard reverse cowgirl style, my back to him so that he could play with my tits.
He needed no hints in that regard either, but began mauling them even before I had settled my dripping sex on his upright cock. Bouncing up and down, frigging my clit with my right hand and balancing myself with my left, my tits being mauled...I was a happy woman. After a few moments of this, though, I was aware that he had removed his right hand from my tit and was groping around for something on the bedside table...
"FUCK the video!" I said and pulled his hand back where it belonged. I came again, and then again, before he achieved his second orgasm.
I was flaked out in the hollow of his chest, his strong arms around me, sweaty, satiated. Time had passed and I could feel his cum drying on my thighs, around my pussy lips. We had dozed off for awhile when he began nuzzling the back of my neck. Lightly he ran his right hand down my thigh and back up, over my tits to my lips. I still had on my shirt, completely open, my stockings and my heels. He still had on his pants, boxers , shoes and socks. Running his fingers lightly over my front brought a tremor to my body, made more intense when he forced my thighs apart to access my sex. Dipping in he then brought his fingers up to my lips. I licked them clean, sucking them, fellating them, reveling in the taste, the seasoning of his semen in the broth of my own juices...
I could feel him growing behind me.
He began playing with my ass, stroking my hips, caressing my cheeks, then sliding a spit-slick finger along the crack...parting my lips, he stroked and explored.
I squirmed.
He rolled me over onto my front, and spread my legs to his satisfaction. The battery had died in his cellphone-not designed for protracted video-and at some point he had retrieved mine from the bedside table. Using it now to record the sight of my spread lips, leaking his cum, the slickness of his saliva drooling between my cheeks...
Putting the phone down, he entered me with his curled fingers, while reaching under to play with my clit.
He found my buttons and pressed all of them. I shrieked this time, with the strongest orgasm yet. Crushing his hands between my thighs, trapping him. Arching my back in primal animal ecstasy.
Giving me a few moments to recover, he climbed on top of me, his full weight pinning me down. I groped around until I found the discarded bra, and entangling my hands in it as though I were restrained, I placed my arms over my head , diver position.
"Yeah. I like the look of that. I like how little you feel under me. How strong and big I feel. I love that you're no real MILF. Cuz you are so tight!"
Wet as I was, he slid right into the hilt. I could feel his balls slapping against me as he bagan a much more controlled slow, fuck. He would pull all the way back until the head was almost out, and then slide back in. He had remarkable muscle control, I'll grant him that...
We had been fucking for a while, and I was starting to feel a little raw, so I spoke up, thinking that some encouraging words might help speed up his orgasm.
"Ooh baby, your big dick feels so good in my tight little pussy. Can you feel me squeezing your dick? Can you? Cuz I want to milk you dry one more time tonight. I want you to plant your seed in me. I want to feel you spurt and jerk and know that you just left your mark on me...you claimed this pussy. These tits for your very own...cum for me, baby, cum for me..."
My words seemed to take immediate effect because he quickened
his pace to a frantic, mad hard fuck, and bellowing, came at last.
He started to move away, but I said,"no I want to feel you soften inside me, cozy" and I dozed off again.
The next morning, I awoke alone in my bed, the sound of knocking, and "room service"
I pulled my shirt around me, and went to the door.
"This is complements of the gentleman in room 508"
Jamal had ordered a carafe of coffee, a beautiful spray of cut flowers, and a continental breakfast...for two.
We didn't make it to the morning session of the conference...
We look forward to not attending the morning session of the next conference, too.
The End.
Extra Attention
My lust-addled brain swiftly reached a conclusion; his jeans needed to come off.
Immediately.
The top button was undone, his happy trail running from his bellybutton and disappearing down, like an arrow pointing to the Holy Grail. The prize in question was straining against its confines, and the idea that it was I who did this to him made me writhe underneath him.
"Please..." I begged, because that was what he had reduced me to.
My hands were captive above my head by one of his; every inch of his body was strategically plastered to my naked form, pinning me to his desk and creating a delicious friction when he shifted. He turned me into a needy, frustrated mess underneath him with the skill of an artist.
"Please what?" He spat down at me.
The cords in his neck were strained, his blonde hair was damp, his lips were swollen and his eyes were black as pitch. His face would have been frightening if he hadn't spent the last forty minutes kissing, sucking, biting and licking every inch of my naked body. As it was, I knew he was simply trying incredibly hard not to unzip a little bit more and plunge himself into me.
Which was actually perfect, considering that was exactly what I wanted.
"Please...please..." my arguments, which seemed so coherent in my head, came out in garbled whimpers. "I'm ready now..."
He raised himself slightly, making sure my eyes were on his hand as he lowered it to his jeans.
"You're ready now?" He questioned darkly, and I nodded in response, eyes still fixed on his hand. When he started roughly rubbing himself through his jeans I heard myself moan, without any conscious knowledge of making the sound.
"I'm not sure I believe you. I've spent a great deal of time convincing you – rather eloquently, I feel - how much I want you. You remember my arguments? The ones where I used my teeth, and my tongue, and my fingers?" He was hissing at me, barely managing to get the words out as his hand continued to rub up and down his length.
I nodded more emphatically this time, looking up to meet his intense stare with a desperate one of my own. He ignored my frustration and finished, "and all you can say in response is 'I'm ready now'? Try a little harder."
"I want you to fuck me," I rasped shamelessly – because if this was what I needed to say to get to the Holy Grail – then say it I would. And just in case that didn't work, I pulled out the big guns; the words I know would get him every time. "I want you to make me your little slut, to own me."
His eyes, if possible, became darker, but instead of the harsh glare I expected to see, an amused smirk rose to his face while he shook his head at me.
"Baby," he snarled "I do own you." His tongue ran over my lips in an animalistic gesture of possession.
"But seeing as you don't seem to realize it yet, I think I can spend a couple more hours drilling the message in..."
"Miss Gavin?"
I was abruptly jolted from my day dreaming by the sound of my name being called.
"Sir?" I weakly responded, hoping I hadn't zoned out for too long.
When I looked up, I was met with a harsh, but all too familiar stare. "Personal narratives, first drafts due tomorrow."
I sighed with relief. Oh, just that. "Oh, can we turn them in early? I already have mine done."
As I pulled out the printed copy of my work and held it out for him to accept, Mr. Christiansen looked at me and his expression softened. When he took the assignment, our eyes made contact for a brief moment, causing me to shiver. There's no way he could know that I was just fantasizing about him. Right?
As he continued going over the requirements for the other students, I gathered my composure. I tried not to make a habit of letting thoughts of my English teacher run too wild when I was at school. I knew I wasn't the only one; in fact, some of the other girls would go as far as to hike up their skirts right before walking in to his class. If he noticed, he certainly didn't let on that he did. But of course it's not like he would just openly gawk at them, even if he did notice. I mean, they sort of frowned on that sort of thing; ogling the students.
While everyone wore uniforms at Chilton, it certainly wasn't hard to distinguish the group of girls who spread their legs for any and everything. While I also chose to hem my skirt as high as regulation would allow, I certainly didn't make a habit of going commando underneath, like a few others desperately vying for the attention of our extremely sexy, extremely unattainable teacher. Those girls were naive, though. Like he would risk his entire career, that he's obviously passionate about, for a slut in a skirt.
At 28, he was still relatable while managing to get his point across, so it was no surprise that he was overwhelmingly voted the students' favorite teacher every year. Because I was on an accelerated path, I was placed in AP English for my senior year. It took a paper almost 10 pages long to be accepted to the course, but I knew it would be well worth it. As far as college recommendations go, Mr. Christiansen only wrote them for the most dedicated students; and I planned on being one of them. My priorities always stayed on academics and sports, hoping maybe one of the two would pay off with a scholarship. As the school year drew to a close, I was already in pre-season for field hockey, and expected to be named All-State in the fall, as it would be my senior year.
The next day as we left class, Mr. Christiansen stopped me as I passed his desk.
"Miss Gavin, a moment?"
God, I loved hearing him say that.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'd like to discuss your paper with you if you have the time." He said taking a seat at his desk, bringing my paper to the top of the pile.
"Of course, is something wrong?" I nervously asked, running my hand through my hair. I couldn't really believe that since I double and triple checked that I met all the requirements.
"Not wrong, per se, I just wanted to discuss your topic with you."
I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, automatically on edge. The personal narrative was supposed to be about something we were passionate about, and I chose field hockey. I'd been playing since grade 7, and dedicated a good amount of time to it year round, so it seemed like a no-brainer to write about.
"Your paper is well structured and well written, and it's of tamer subject matter, which I thoroughly appreciate; trust me," he joked, which led me to assume those pantyless sluts decided to write exactly what they were 'passionate' about. "But the assignment was to write about something that you are passionate about, and I didn't see a lot of passion in your paper."
"Is there something I can do to fix it?" I immediately ask, hoping I hadn't completely botched the assignment.
"No need to panic, Miss Gavin. You're an excellent student, and a very talented writer, but your paper lacks the conviction that needs to be present when writing about something you're passionate about. So, that said, I'd like you to choose a different topic," he explained calmly.
I think my face visibly fell. Start all over?
Fuck my life.
"I'm just not sure what else to write about," I admitted, biting my lip in frustration.
Start from scratch? Really?
"Is there an organization that you feel strongly about? Are you pro-life? Pro-healthcare?"
I shake my head and shrug in response. "I'm not very big on politics, and I'm n
ot a member of PETA," I joke softly.
"What else do you like to do besides sports? Dig deeper," he probes with an encouraging stare.
I felt put on the spot. Did Mr. Christiansen really care if I was passionate about anything? I was passionate about fantasizing about him on a daily basis, but of course I couldn't write about that. Or ever admit that aloud.
"I like to dance."
He smiled and motioned for me to continue. "Tell me about that."
"I've been taking ballet classes since I was four years old, and I still do three days a week. I also spent half my summer in dance intensives." I shrug. This probably bored him to death.
"That's a lot of time to dedicate to one thing, why do you like it so much?"
I chewed my lip looking for the right words. I could feel his electric blue eyes imploring me for an answer.
"It's not fun, exactly, and it's never easy, but nothing makes me happier."
His eyebrows raised with intrigue, "interesting, why is that?"
"It's hard to explain, really. It's all about discipline and precision. The rules of classical ballet are very cut and dry; there's something comforting about the structure while always striving for perfection. But you have to feel it and enjoy it, because if it's forced it will read that way in your movement. It's 50% of holding everything in, from your posture and center and controlling every move your body makes, but then it's 50% of just letting go, of feeling the music and using your whole body to convey emotion. But it's like, that sense of control that helps me let go and just feel it. It's euphoric."
I was completely sure that none of it came out coherently; there was no way he could understand any of that. I hesitantly looked up, knowing he was about to steer me in a different direction. His expression was completely was unreadable, and I already felt stupid enough for that overly descriptive explanation.