tagGroup SexCarmen's Fantasies Ch. 1

Carmen's Fantasies Ch. 1


Slouching in her chair, Carmen drew up her dress and rested her unshaved legs on her desk. The student's paper she was reading, though competent and well composed, lacked passion and fire, and the dry topic tempted her to read between the lines and extract more mouth-watering fare. From habit, the naughty professor conjured up a fantasy involving the paper's author, an older graduate student named Sandy.

The voluptuous redhead is walking across campus unprotected from the afternoon sun. Though she's wearing a short cotton dress, she sweats fiercely and feels terribly uncomfortable. But the sun is not wholly to blame, for the coeds passing by boast firm bellies and shapely legs and make her feel old, fat, and unattractive. It isn't that her own body is so bad. True, her ankles and calves are thick, and her thighs could benefit from more exercise. And her belly bulges out more than she'd like, and her butt is anything but small. But her breasts require DD-cups to keep them in tow, and her lips are full and sensual. Moreover, at 5'6" she looks good in heels, and everyone loves her hair.

Still, what twenty years will do to youth! And what a change in one's suitors! Only dirty old men seem to hit on her now as if she carried a sign saying, "Divorced and Easy." She flogs herself with these disturbing thoughts until her sarcastic conscience intrudes. It chides her for making tortuous comparisons and for mourning the fact that she's no longer young.

"Where's the shame in turning forty?" asks her inner voice. "Except for growing pimples, what can't you do now--and better--that you did at nineteen? So unless you get off on feeling miserable, accept the fact that you're middle-aged and be grateful that anyone still desires you. For many women your age aren't hit on at all!"

"It's stupid letting these girls upset me," Sandy scolds herself. "I'm not here to compete with them is some beauty contest." But being a woman means always competing, and being surrounded by a sea of pageant winners means struggling to stay out of last place.

Two coeds stroll by wearing summer dresses like herself, and she’s compelled to make a comparison. Their legs look sexy, but it's unlikely they’d say the same about hers. However, their half-buttoned blouses are less intimidating, and even with the help of push-up bras, they don't come close to matching her cleavage. At least she’s the clear winner in this category, and her self-esteem creeps up a notch.

But as the girls pass by, she gives in to an urge to look back. Their seamless contours say that they've abandoned panties, and she quickly puts it down to the hot climate. But her inner voice mocks her pious rationale. "You go without panties because it gives you a thrill! So does wearing a black bra! But you’re too much of a 'good girl' to admit it!"

The internal lecture and ungodly heat makes Sandy's temples throb, and the merciless sun gives her a rabbit's pulse and leaves her feeling unbalanced. In times like this, the world grows distorted as if she were viewing life through a warped lens. It's a lifelong problem that she’s never licked, and she longs for the shadows and a one-track mind.

But the pitiless sun burns away the protective layers of her psyche, rousing her animal nature which she fights to keep caged. Dark desires fly up from her depths like bats and flutter around in her head, battling with her forces of restraint and threatening to gain the upper hand. Now thrashing in an orgy of conflicting impulses, her brain crashes like a computer, leaving her face looking blank. No longer making comparisons with the girls, she simply moves dumbly with the herd. But the sun won't allow her any escape, tattooing her fair skin with freckles until the stinging pain forces her to confront herself.

Wishing that she had a hat to screen her--or her own dark cloud--she peers up at the hostile sky for signs of relief. As if disgusted by her presence, the sun lashes her naked shoulders as if trying to drive her off, and when she looks to see if others are suffering, none wear a pained expression. Worse, the other students seem to avoid her as if fearing contagion! So with head down and spirit crushed, Sandy trudges on in private agony.

Where is she going? Carmen scratched the mole on her thigh while dreaming up a suitable destination. To the library? The bookstore? Hmmm? Lured to her bush, her fingers combed through the soft sable hairs.

A different fantasy. That one would have to wait. She still had Sandy wrestling with her conscience as she crosses the campus in the hellish heat. But where is she going? To the bus stop, of course. Sandy hurries to catch her ride, but it rumbles away, bathing her in its hot exhaust. Locking eyes with the female bus driver in the side mirror, she sees the woman smile wickedly, and the grin is branded onto Sandy's brain. She’ll now have to wait a full hour, and what to do until then?

Carmen teased her clit, watching it twitch like a worm in a frying pan. "Hurry up with the story!" it cried out to her. "I’m getting excited!" But its eagerness was disciplined with a brisk slap. "Patience is a virtue!" the professor chastised. "Never rush good things!" Then she slid down further in her chair to continue her fantasy.

Sandy hoists herself onto the wall facing the main drag. The slender trees lining the boulevard provide little shade, and the slight breeze from the traffic comes with unpleasant fumes. Three other people are already perched on the wall. Two girls with nice tans are reading a naughty novel together; and a homeless black man with a cigarette in his mouth is scrounging through his pockets for a match. Though dying for a smoke herself, Sandy resists the urge to bum one from the transient and instead stares down at her legs wishing they had more color.

A big blonde in spike heels now comes weaving down the sidewalk. Encased in a dirty pink T-shirt with matching leggings, the woman sports a shoulder bag with a designer's label and reeks of perfume. But she's clearly no runway model, for her curves are far too voluptuous, and a spider tattoo guards the slope to her heavy breasts. She stops by the wall to dig a cigarette out of her bag, but her drunken coordination makes it hard for her to strike a match.

Cursing after repeated failures, she singles out the redhead to perform the service for her. Though hesitant to have any contact with the whore, Sandy agrees to light her up, and the hooker leans in closely between her legs. When the match proves a dud and sends a spark flying onto Sandy's thigh, the whore slaps away the ember, then licks her finger and rubs saliva into the wound. No accidents occur on the second try, and after grasping Sandy's wrist to steady the flame, the streetwalker grasps her thigh to steady herself. "Thanks," she says without looking up, for a gust from a truck flutters the redhead's dress, and the flash of unshaved pussy makes her deeply inhale and scratch her butt.

The tramp now comes off the wall to have the redhead do him, too. His cigarette is bent and leaks filling at the tip, and the entire shaft is consumed by the fire that she produces. Like the blonde, he says thanks by staring up her dress. But he also offers her a smoke, and since the ice is broken, Sandy sticks the Camel in her mouth and blows a cloud at the unsullied sky.

Since they're now great friends, the hooker pulls out a bottle of cinnamon schnapps and after taking a swig, offers the bottle to Sandy. She declines, but the tramp gladly accepts when a taste is offered to him. Throwing back his shaggy head, he gives the bottle a long tilt, then passes it to the redhead. Again she declines. But both transient and whore press her to take a hit, the former teasing her mouth with the bottle, the latter squeezing her thighs. Sandy hates to stoop to their level, but gives in to avoid making a scene. The booze makes her shudder, and her new friends smile, not hiding their desire to peek up her dress.

Everything now seems to slows down--except Sandy’s heart. As her chest pounds she squints up at the sky to see the sun seemingly welded in place, its relentless beams penetrating her flesh like X-rays. The humid air also conspires against her, trapping the heat in her body like a thermal strait jacket, and she pants like an overheated dog. Her vision blurs, and feeling soaked with sweat, she tugs her bra away from her breasts. It's an automatic action lasting only a few seconds, but her seedy admirers read much into it.

Sandy opens a book to escape their stares, but the words are all Greek to her dilated eyes. Developing a tremor, her ankles bounce against the wall, and one of her sandals drops to the sidewalk. The tramp retrieves it, and like some squalid Prince Charming, insists on replacing it on her foot. He grasps her calf to provide resistance but has trouble making the connection and lets the hooker have a try. She lifts the redhead's leg to go at it from a better angle, but her equally clumsy technique blatantly exposes the crotch. Sandy knows that something’s wrong, but her reaction time is sluggish, and her fan club gets a long look before she crosses her legs.

Though she feels like slapping them both, she's too dazed to perform any action, so she simply tries to ignore them. But the whore can't abide a fashion gaffe and removes the redhead’s other sandal to keep her feet coordinated. Failing to grasp the logic, Sandy stares at the hooker while breathing through her mouth.

The girls nearby now giggle as they come across a juicy paragraph, and one reads it aloud as if they were in private. The dirty dialogue resounds in Sandy's brain, and the images forming make her deeply blush. But neither bum nor whore look embarrassed as they pass the bottle and lick their grinning lips.

The sight of a nun passing by slaps Sandy out of her stupor, and she asks herself why she attracts such types. Was God trying to punish her? Was there any God at all? Or was heaven just a ball for masquerading souls? She seeks refuge in her book, but the blonde suddenly grabs her feet, asking if she'd like her toenails painted. Sandy shakes her head, but the whore is deaf to refusal, burrowing into her bag and extracting a red vial. Ignoring Sandy's protests, she makes her draw up her knees. The position makes it easy to apply the polish--and allows a clear view of a red-haired pussy. The black transient helps by getting in the way.

Making a mess of the job, the whore uses the tail of her T-shirt to mop up the smudges. But doing so bares her belly and part of another tattoo, a scorpion's tail sticking out of the elastic band. It seems alive and ready to strike, and for some reason, Sandy can't take her eyes off it. Noting her interest, the whore tugs down her leggings to completely uncover her abdomen, and undulating her belly brings the scorpion to life. But her leggings are now so low that the roof of her dense bush is exposed.

"Beautiful," Sandy drones, mesmerized by the black hairs.

The whore loves body art and asks to see Sandy's. The redhead points at her red freckles. Believing that she is responsible for them, the whore blows on Sandy's face with her acrid breath to dry the creative smudges. Then she pronounces her work a masterpiece and rewards herself with a hit of schnapps, inviting the redhead to join her. Left with the dregs, Sandy empties the bottle with quiet resignation.

Seeing her as a kindred spirit, the bum hops up on the wall to sit next to her. But his judgment is skewed, and he knocks Sandy's books into the bushes behind them. She stares down at them dumbly for a long time, then slowly pivots and lowers herself to the ground. The tramp and the whore look at each other knowingly--and scramble over the wall to lend a hand.

Screened from the public, they now make their move, groping the redhead's ass and breasts as she bends over to retrieve her books. Losing her balance, Sandy falls into the dirt, and the hooker straddles her and bunches her dress up around her waist. As the black man curses while fumbling with his zipper, the hooker explores the red snatch. Eager to see if it's hot and aroused, she dips three fingers into the anxious hole, stirring it like a pot on the stove. Delighted that the soup is ready, she greases the clit with circular strokes and cleans her spoons in the redhead's mouth. A pair of red lips follow the fingers, then a long pink tongue. But Sandy cares less about the French kiss than the strange cock plowing into her pussy. But overcome by the heat and the sensual shock, she sees no point in resisting.

Believing that the redhead likes their advances, the whore tugs Sandy's dress off her sunburned shoulders and hastily removes her sweat-soaked bra. "You got nice tits, bitch!" she says, cupping the breasts in her greedy hands till they bulge out like melons. When she swoops down to suck on the nipples, both Sandy and her male lover stiffen and gasp.

Feeling overdressed for the occasion, the whore yanks off her T-shirt and bares her own big tits. Her nipples, huge splotches the color of wine, are pierced with large golden rings, and not once does the tramp think of the pawn shop as he sweeps his tongue over his thirsty lips. The blonde can't keep her tongue in her mouth, either. Dragging it down Sandy's quaking belly leaves a trail of cinnamon-flavored drool, and once she reaches the cunt, she tortures the clit, making it swell as large as a grape. The black cock pumping in and out of the pussy swells too, and the whore grins hearing the balls rhythmically slap against the redhead's crotch.

Desiring to see more of the action, the hooker rolls Sandy onto her side. But the cock, like its owner, becomes homeless during the move. Rushing to reinsert it, the whore shoves it up Sandy'’s asshole, but her aim isn't affected by the booze. She simply wants to see the redhead get butt-fucked. The bum doesn't mind the change in locale, and apparently, neither does Sandy. She grimaces as her rectum expands, but once the stroking returns her pain melts like butter.

With the redhead now in a perfect position for ogling, the hooker throws a white thigh over her shoulder and sucks red pussy with open eyes. Her own crotch hungrily traps Sandy's hand--but it desperately wants her mouth. So after kicking off her heels and squirming out of her leggings, she hooks an ankle behind the redhead's neck. Sandy’s civilized face soon disappears in a wild jungle pussy that has swallowed many a victim.

The bum loves hearing the hot sucking sounds, but he's blind to the raunchy lez action. But rolling the redhead over doesn't improve his view, for the whore stays attached to her female lover like a leech. Moreover, when his cock slips out of Sandy’s butt and finds its way into the hooker's busy mouth, he thinks he's found the best ass in the universe. But he comes back to earth when the whore stuffs his cock into the redhead's cunt.

To get the friction she craves, the blonde now takes advantage of her superior position. Digging her toes into the dirt, she rolls her hips like a prone stripper, grinding her hot pubes into the even hotter face below. And to see all of the action, she grabs Sandy's ankles and sits upright, bringing both of their cunts into view. This allows the tramp to penetrate the redhead completely, and nine inches of back-alley cock get buried in graduate pussy.

Sandwiched between her thrusting black lovers and sweating like a mare, Sandy can only grunt as her breath is forcibly expelled. Her face is streaked with fuck-milk and matted with stray black curls, and the cunt depositing them screams for a pair of sucking lips and a probing tongue. The cock pumping her pussy likewise has complaints, hollering for lubrication and some good opposing thrusts. Since Sandy seems incapable of supplying her lovers' needs, her inner voice intrudes to both punish and build a fire under her.

"You are so pathetic!" her angry conscience begins, sending a gut-wrenching jolt of pain deep into her loins. "Here you've been given a great chance to let yourself go! But instead you retreat to some zombie state to protect your 'good girl' delusion! Well, enough of that shit! It's time to face facts! You're a whore at heart! And a fat ugly one at that! You should be sucking cocks and licking cunts in the gutter! That's closer to your true nature, so quit trying to deny it! Now this hooker is gorgeous and truly desires you! And the tramp is well hung and can give you a great ride! You should be grateful that they're willing to help a cheap whore like you to break out of this stupid shell! Now get busy and return their kind favors or else!"

Another painful jolt follows the chiding, but as pain subsides, Sandy's true self emerges. Letting her gut instincts take over, her cunt muscles clamp the big dick in her hole while her hormones secrete a runny grease. "Your cock feels so wonderful!" she gasps to the tramp, locking her calves around his thighs and thrusting her hips at the sky. "Had I known what a pussy-pleasing monster you possessed, I would have pulled it out of your pants and fucked you right on the wall! It's the biggest and best dick I've ever had, and I could hump it all day in my cum-loving cunt!"

Now on the right track with her male lover, she moves to get in step with the hooker, sucking her fat labia and licking the inner pink until the blonde's pussy quivers with anticipation. "Your juice is so fucking sweet!" she gushes to the whore. "I could drink it for hours and never get enough! The moment I laid eyes on your gorgeous curves I wanted to drop to my knees and drain your cunt right on the fucking sidewalk!" Since actions speak louder than words, Sandy traps the whore's clit in her bush-battered lips and pleasures it with a long chain of noisy sucks. As her chin drips cunt-milk, the tramp longs for a camera.

"Jesus!" the whore cries out like a virgin on a sacrificial altar. She has sat on a lot of female faces, but this redheaded bitch is a present from the gods! Moaning for more, her prayers are answered as an eager tongue swirls into her foaming pit and laps the honey-drenched walls. "Jesus!" the whore cries out again, think she has died and gone to heaven.

But the redhead keeps eating her in an ungodly fashion. Using her tongue as a ladle, she spoons load after load of hot broth into her gulping mouth. Each trip to the pot earns a suck-kiss from the hairy lips that threaten to pull her taste organ out by the roots. It's a game of cat and mouse, and the pussy always wins. But the whore loves playing like this and repeatedly releases the tongue so the game can go on.

Unbidden by the whore or her inner voice, Sandy now pushes the envelope of pleasure, circling her tongue around the blonde's anus and sneaking in to steal the forbidden dew. But the hooker's sphincter is as muscular as her cunt and suddenly clamps down on the anal thief like a vice cop busting a pervert. This new game is played much like the first, and to anyone watching, it's the dirtiest trick in town. Both women give it their all, and the bum thinks he has died and gone to Hollywood. For the sake of continuity, he plows his dick back into Sandy's asshole.

Reaching for the whore's big tits, Sandy roughly milks them and smashes the spider. After trying on the nipple rings, she slides her hands down the sweaty slope and mangles the scorpion. Then she parts the folds of the wild bush to strangle the jungle queen. Now getting fucked up one side and down the other by a serial killer makes the whore launch a counter-attack. Bending forward to get at Sandy's oyster, she cracks it open, spreads it wide, and sucks out the pink pearl. The cock plumbing the nearby pit spatters her face with spray, and since it reminds her of fucking on a boat, she goes in over her head. The redhead's already drowning, but the tramp has no thought of throwing out a lifejacket.

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