Anne: "Don't Be So Shy"byRichardHardy©
It has been suggested in some Feedback that I'm too quiet in the audios. Maybe so. Since I'm aware of the recorder, it's a fine line between erotic enjoyment and performance on my part and I'm trying to get the natural responses of my partner on record. I've thrown away some audios where I thought it sounded like we were trying too hard or "playing to the recorder." The goal here is to make the listener a fly on the wall for our lovemaking. This is supposed to be voyeurism, not porno.
Having told you that, I'm submitting this one with a little more of me. It's an older audio and I apologize for the quality.
Anne was a realtor I met while house-shopping following my divorce. (As it turned out, my ex sold our house and ended up moving to California, so I probably should have fought harder to keep it.)
Anne was a redhead. If there's a kryptonite to my super-libido, it's a redhead. It may have been real, it may have been from a bottle, but it was full and healthy and gorgeous.
She didn't have a model's body, which was fine with me. Soft and full is much more attractive than stick thin with sharp edges. Anne also had the saleswoman's mentality of showing some skin to keep the buyer's attention. (I know that sounds sexist, but all the saleswomen I've ever known have told me, "The closer the deadline, the lower the neckline." I'm only repeating what I've been told.) I thought I noticed even more teasing as we started meeting weekly to look at homes she thought I might like. She would watch my face intently when I spoke, lean in for emphasis when she spoke and she touched my arm frequently. I'd been out of the dating scene for awhile at that time, but I wasn't dead.
She called one Friday to set a time to show me a couple houses on the weekend and I took the initiative.
"I'm all shopped out," I told her.
"I understand," she said. She sounded a little disappointed, but it might have been my imagination. "Do you need to take a weekend off from house hunting."
"Definitely," I said. "But I don't want to take a weekend off from you. What are you doing for dinner tomorrow?"
There was a long moment of flustered silence on the other end and I thought maybe she was looking for a way to turn me down without losing me as a client.
"Nothing," she finally said. "Not a damn thing."
We made arrangements to meet at one of the only pubs in this tiny town. When I saw her, I was glad I had taken the initiative.
Her hair was soft and radiant, bouncing lightly around her shoulders and dipping into her cleavage, which was also soft and radiant and bouncing lightly.
We agreed that we would not talk about houses, politics, religion or work and managed three hours of conversation interrupted only by two very large Black and Bleu burgers, a friendly waitress and some adult beverages. She put away several Bud Lights while I nursed a couple of Coronas.
When the laughter and talk finally ran out, Anne looked at me and said, "I'm glad we did this. But I probably shouldn't drive."
Being a gentleman (and still sober), I offered to take her home. "Mine?" she asked. "Or yours?"
Like I said, I'm not dead.
We went back to the house I was renting and made out on the couch like a couple of teenagers. It had been a long time since I'd spent so much time kissing and I think I may have given the poor girl whisker burn. But she didn't complain. And she didn't stop me when I opened her blouse and pulled her tantalizing breasts from their lacy confinement. She had very large nipples and I swear the areole puckered to kiss me back.
Her trimmed pussy suggested that she was not a natural redhead, but I buried my face in it and devoured her tangy juice. She moaned and bucked her hips, but eventually stopped me.
"I need to tell you something," she said, sending a chill down my spine. Herpes? Aids? Chlamydia? Psychotic husband? Transgender? It's amazing what can go through your head when a woman says those words when you've just taken your tongue from her clit.
"I don't cum," she said, as if it was an apology. "I don't know why. I can do it to myself. I just can't cum from sex."
"What you mean is, you haven't cum from sex. Not that you can't."
"Maybe," she said. "I think it just makes me nervous. I want to, and then I try too hard."
"Or you're just shy," I said. "You don't want me to see your cum face."
She laughed at that, which was the response I was hoping for. I took her hand and led her to my bedroom, where I finished undressing her.
"What about you?" she asked, pulling at my shirt.
"I didn't want you to think I was in a hurry." I kissed her neck, shoulder. I held her arms over her head and ran my tongue under her arm and down her side. She moaned in pleasure.
I rolled her over on her stomach, lifting that gorgeous red hair away from her neck and biting the back of her neck softly. She moaned into the pillow. I pulled off my shirt and tickled her back with my chest hair as I bit her shoulder and upper arm. Her ass was grinding against my still clothed lower body, so I reached down, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my slacks and let my silk covered cock brush her soft skin.
Her breath came out quickly. Head turned, eyes closed, lost in the sensation, she ground her ass against my cock as if she was trying to memorize each vein.
As I stood to remove my pants, Anne rolled over and watched me. When my swollen cock popped free of my boxers, she reached out to touch it.
I was already dripping precum and she used her fingers to smear it over the head. "Do you have a condom?" she whispered.
"What's your hurry," I asked.
I loved touching her body. She was so smooth with pale white skin that made her nipples and pubic hair stand out in the darkness. Eventually, I had to use my tongue and lips.
I gently rubbed her clit with my middle finger, then tried to press it inside her. She was wet but so tight I was worried I might never be able to get my cock in. I worked my finger into her gripping cunt and massaged her g-spot slowly as I continued sucking and licking her breasts, eventually working my tongue down to her belly button and then on to her clit.
I didn't want her to think I was concentrating on her orgasm, so I moved my tongue around, kissing the inside of her thigh, her pelvic bone, her belly.
I listened to her breathing and moans and tried to bring her to the brink of orgasm without letting her cum. Every time I felt her pussy contract around my finger, I would slow down. She started to understand that it wasn't the cumming that was important but the climbing. If you take a road trip and obsess on the destination, you never enjoy the voyage.
When I got a condom out of my night table, I started the recorder. I skinned it over my dick, then rubbed it gently against her pussy, letting her juices lubricate it thoroughly before I tried putting it inside her.
She tried reaching down and pushing me inside, but I grabbed her wrist and let her know I was going to fuck her at my own pace.
God she was tight. I knew I wouldn't last long with that kind of a death grip on my cock, but I wasn't planning on slamming her anyway. I fucked her slowly, pausing to flex my cock inside her (it's a tightening of the muscle that guys do when showing off to make their cocks wiggle -- most men overlook doing that inside a woman but I can tell you from experience, women like it).
We moved slowly and I couldn't keep my mouth of her neck and breasts. She seemed to enjoy nipple play while she was being fucked. The sexiest thing is, she never stopped looking at me. She didn't close her eyes or tilt her head upward. She watched me. That, my friends, is fucking sexy.
She locked her ankles around my back and ground her hips into me. I could feel my head swelling inside her and knew that she could too. With that cunt squeezing, I was sure she was reading each vein on my dick like an erotic Braille.
It was a simultaneous orgasm -- a first for both of us. She looked and sounded and felt so goddam perfect that I completely lost control. And while I'm usually careful to pull out -- even when wearing a condom -- I came deep inside Anne, filling the rubber while I watched her passionate cum face.
I couldn't help but chuckle at the look of wonder that came over her after the wash of orgasm. "Stop being so shy," I told her, only half joking.
We connected a few more times after that (although I never got to experience the fantasy of nailing my realtor while she was showing me a home -- Anne was much too professional for that). When she sold me my house, she came over with a bottle of champagne and a thin whisper of lingerie to help me christen it. That would be our last time.
This audio was our first.
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Click Here to listen. (3 min/mp3)
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