Crazy Sandy Pt. 01

I have been going out with a wonderfully crazy girl for some time now and feel that I just have to share the story with someone. She is totally different from any of the girls I have met before, and if you persevere with my story I think you will appreciate why.

I first met Sandy at 'Cameo' which is a night club I often go to in order to meet girls. I could recognise by sight most of the regular girls who frequented the club, but this new girl stood out immediately. I was instantly attracted. British readers may be familiar with 'Strictly Come Dancing', and if you can picture the stunning tall blonde Nadiya Bychkova, you will understand why. Google her now if you like -- you won't be disappointed.

Sandy was a little shorter than Nadiya, but had the same effervescent nature. At her first visit to the club she wore a short black skirt, a tight and skimpy white top, clearly with no bra, and her breasts were captivating. I have always been a breast man. Sandy's were a perfect size for my taste; what I call a 'nice handful', and her nipples protruded through her top in the most provocative way. Despite the club being on the warm side, Sandy's nipples seemed permanently erect and I instantly resolved to try and get to know her.

She looked way out of my league but after a few drinks I plucked up the courage and went over to the table where she was chatting to a female friend. I asked if I could get her and her friend a drink. I always used that approach; it was not too forward and the worst that could happen would be that the girl declined. If she accepted, then maybe I had a chance; it was clear that she did not think I was Quasimodo's cousin.

I introduced myself -- my name is Bryn by the way, and I learned Sandy's name (short for Alessandra), and that of her friend, Ashley. Ashley was also very cute but I was bowled over by Sandy. I chatted with Sandy and we had a few dances. She was not up to Nadiya Bychkova standard, which is just as well because I am very bad. Some random guy met up with Ashley and spirited her away, leaving Sandy to me. As time proceeded I learned quite a bit about her. She was highly intelligent with a degree in business management, and had moved to the area just a few weeks previously. Her pastimes included clubbing (no surprises there), and art. Apparently she had even had some pictures displayed in exhibitions. I knew nothing about art but resolved to find out rapidly so I would not appear to be a total dummy. The evening proceeded well. Sandy was great fun to be with and when other guys invited her to dance I was pleased that she politely but firmly declined.

Shortly before the club was due to close, Ashley reappeared and Sandy told me she would have to leave as she had to give her friend a lift home. I don't know where Ashley's bloke had got to. Ashley looked a somewhat cheesed off so I guess something had gone a bit wrong. I suspect that she needed Sandy for some girl-talk. Damn, I was going to chance my arm and invite Sandy back to my place. However, I behaved like the perfect gentleman, but made sure we exchanged numbers. I asked if she would like to come to Cameo with me the next weekend and I was delighted when she agreed. I even got a quite intimate kiss on the lips before Sandy and her friend departed.

I phoned Sandy a few times over the next week, and was pleased that on a couple of occasions I received calls from her. The 'one sided phoning' thing is a clear indicator that the girl is not that interested. I could not wait till the weekend and I so I invited her for a meal on the Wednesday, and we had a very pleasant evening at The Imperial Spice, a rather posh Indian restaurant about half way between our apartments. Sandy liked her curries hot, as did I, which always endears me to a girl. I even managed to talk a little about art without making a fool of myself. I had googled quite hard for several hours. Without the noise of Cameo making our ears bleed we could talk and hear each other easily. Sandy seemed to like my sense of humour. The evening ended with confirmation that we would meet at the club on Saturday and I got another goodnight kiss, this time with slightly open mouth. We both had to work the next day, so once more, the 'back to my place' scenario was not on.

Saturday arrived and I got to Cameo ridiculously early. I know I should have played it a bit cool, but I was too eager to meet Sandy. There was no sign of her for some time, and then, just as I was beginning to think I had been stood up, she arrived. Apparently her car had been playing up, so she had taken a bus and walked the final distance to the club. The fact that she had made the effort and had not phoned to cancel brightened my mood. Perhaps she liked me as much as I liked her?

We drank and danced, and on the dance floor Sandy was quite happy for me to hold her quite close. Modern dancing where the couples stay about six feet apart has never appealed to me, and I always contrived to get closer, even when the music was totally inappropriate. If the girl was willing it was always a good omen.

Sandy's top this time was a salmon pink satiny material; much looser than the white top she had worn the week before. When we danced her breasts swayed tantalisingly below the satin; clearly braless. As before, her nipples were easily discernible beneath the fabric and several times when she leaned forward I managed to sneak peeks down her top. The ski-slope upper curves of her breasts were beautiful, and I sported a semi-erection for most of the evening. When we danced and I got to hold her close, I was pretty sure that she must have felt it against her.

When the music became even louder and it became impossible for a meaningful conversation, I decided to take the plunge. I said to Sandy, "It's too loud in here, do you fancy going somewhere a bit quieter?" She nodded and stuck her fingers in her ears, and I think she said "Good idea."

We emerged into the cool night air of the street. Even though Sandy had a top coat on, the front was open and I noticed that her nipples had reacted instantly to the change in temperature, becoming even more prominent under the sheer fabric of her top. "Where should we go?" Sandy asked. I decided boldness was best. "I have some nice wines we could sample at my place?" I replied. Sandy took my hand. "Sounds good to me."

I drove us back to my apartment. I tried to drive slowly, but I was sorely tempted to hit a hundred miles an hour and get her home as soon as possible. Time was not for wasting. We got to my apartment and in we went. Sandy took off her coat and I hung it up for her. I put the gas fire on, and poured us each a generous glass of wine. I set a radio station to play soft music and sat with Sandy on the sofa. Sandy looked around the living room, paying scant attention to the scattering of pictures on my wall. Just as well; I had no idea who they were by or if they would be considered any good. I was curious what sort of art she did and was about to ask when Sandy noticed my guitar propped up in the corner of the room.

"I see you play guitar." she commented.

"Yes, not very well, but I was in a band some years ago." I hoped desperately that she did not ask me to play. I was very bad. The band had been when I was still in school and it only survived about three months. She did not ask.

"Ah," she said. "So you have lived the life of sex, drugs and rock and roll?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," I responded.

"Which did you want more of?" asked Sandy, with an impish expression. "The sex, the drugs...?"

"Well," I said, "I have never been that much into drugs."

"So sex it is," she said with a giggle, "maybe I can help you with that?"

I had anticipated several hours of chatting up before any chance of you-know-what, but before I could even think of a reply Sandy put her drink down, took mine from me, set them both on the table, and kissed me. I responded eagerly. The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. Our hands were all over each other, and the kisses were full-on open mouthed tongue-swirlers. Sandy smelled divine and I resolved to find out what perfume she used in preparation for future gifts. I had scarcely started to fumble with her top to get my hand underneath and get to her breasts when I felt Sandy's hand probing at my crotch, feeling, squeezing, checking out what I had to offer. Sandy was certainly not shy!

Now in the crotch department I am of only average size, according to surveys I have read on the Internet, and having seen a lot of porn with studs sporting ten inch dongs I always worried that girls would prefer the 'heavyweights'. Sandy was so hot I was sure she must have had dozens of guys -- some could have been in the premier dick league and I hoped she would not be disappointed with me. I had sometimes had a measure of size anxiety, but as Sandy's fingers explored my crotch I was confident that at least on this occasion I was very, very hard, and I knew that her fingers would easily discern just how aroused I was.

I need not have worried. Within seconds Sandy had undone my belt and unzipped my fly, and her hand was reaching for the waist band of my briefs. She did this without looking; we were still kissing passionately and she would not have been able to see, and I wondered how many times she had done it in order to get so skilful.

I wiggled a bit to help her as she pulled the briefs down, freeing my cock which sprang bolt upright against my stomach. It even made a slapping sound which I clearly heard despite the muffled moans Sandy was making into my mouth. As soon as my cock was freed I felt her fingertips run lightly up and down the length of the shaft, then briefly explore the head before she wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft, neatly below the head. Well, I thought, the deal is done, the die is cast. She could now be under no illusions -- what you feel is what you get.

Sandy's hand moved slowly up and down on the shaft a few times, gently tugging on it, causing me to emit noises of my own, before she let go and gently encircled the head with palm and fingers. She moaned "Mmmmmmh" into my mouth as she gave it a firm, and what seemed to me to be an approving squeeze. So far so good, I thought.

By now I had managed to get a hand successfully under her top and had reached the pot of gold - I cupped her left breast; it was superb, firm and nicely rounded, and I thought - if Sandy has gone for my cock so quickly, why should I dither? I moved up and over the peak and felt the hard nipple brush against the centre of my palm. I moved my hand in small circles, feeling her nipple stiffen. I felt for it with my fingertips and thoroughly explored, testing the texture, size and firmness. I twiddled it like I was twiddling a knob on a radio. I estimated her nipple to be well over half an inch long, perhaps even three quarters, and it felt as wide as the tip of my index finger and oh, so firm. Sandy arched her back and moaned and I checked out the nipple on her other breast. It seemed a perfect twin - firm and erect. I had occasionally encountered girls with unmatched left and right breasts, or breasts with very different nipples, and I was always a bit disturbed by them. Not that I was turned off, far from it, but if I concentrated more on the one I preferred, would the girl notice and be offended? Would she think that I actively disliked the other breast? Do I tend to overthink things? I will leave that for you to answer.

By now my trousers and briefs were half way down my thighs, and my cock was totally free, jutting rampantly from my groin. Sandy's hand traversed up and down the shaft, sometimes circling it and squeezing, and sometimes caressing softly with just her fingertips. I could feel that I was oozing pre-cum like a leaky tap, thoroughly wetting her fingertips, and lubricating them so that they slid deliciously over the swollen glans.

Then abruptly Sandy broke away and got up from the sofa. I had a sudden panic -- was it going wrong, had I squeezed a nipple too hard, was she going to leave? But she pushed me back on the sofa, and deftly removed first my shoes and then my trousers and briefs. Sandy knelt squarely on the carpet before me and pushed my knees apart, took hold of my cock, slowly pumped the shaft a few times as she appeared to study it closely, and then looked me directly in the eyes and said seven words I never imagined I would ever hear, "Bryn, you have a very beautiful cock".

"Er, thank you." I stuttered. Sandy smiled, gave a girlish little giggle and promptly lowered her head, taking the head neatly into her mouth.

As her soft warm lips closed around the shaft below the head I heard myself uttering, "Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" and involuntarily my hips jerked upwards; the desire to thrust deeper into her mouth was almost overwhelming. Such was the incredible sensation that I felt I could erupt at any second.

I have had blowjobs plenty of times but Sandy was an expert. She grasped firmly round the base with her hand while her lips and tongue worked wonders on the head. Every now and then her fist would pump me firmly while she held the tip motionless in her mouth and then her hand would stop and her mouth take over. When she did both at the same time I thought it would soon be game over -- I could not last much longer. When her other hand surrounded my balls and gently squeezed and pulled them I thought, oh fuck, she is definitely going to make me come! Perhaps the most exciting thing was that it wasn't the traditional clumsy, furtive blowjob, the sort that might occur in the back of a car or in a pub carpark. So many blowjobs happened with only the tip of the cock exposed, or half under the sheets, or in the dark so you could not see what was going on.

But Sandy had positioned me to her liking, fully exposed, sat herself between my legs, and was putting all her energy into pleasuring me, and by the way she was moaning as she did it she was deriving considerable pleasure herself. I could also sit back and soak up the voyeuristic element of watching her at work.

I lasted just a few seconds more of this exquisite torture before I urgently pushed her off my cock. "Oh my God, Sandy, stop, stop, you'll make me come!"

Sandy laughed, "I am told I can have that effect!" I could well believe her. I had not jerked off for several days and I now regretted it. It had been a mistake. I was clearly full of pent up sperm and perhaps a crafty wank the night before would have increased my staying power.

"It would have been OK if you had come." Sandy said, looking down at my cock. I think she was a bit taken aback by the sight - it was twitching and pulsing, the head grossly distended and an angry purple hue, and as she watched, an opalescent white pearl of semen emerged from the slit to perch precariously on the tip. She gave a little squeal and started to reach out a hand, but I intercepted her, and pushed her hand away.

"Don't, just wait..." I said, desperately hoping the single drop was all that would appear. It was, and catastrophe was averted.

"My goodness, Bryn, that really was a close call!" she giggled. Think of something unpleasant for a minute," she advised, "or perhaps count backwards from a hundred". Sandy got up from the floor and sat beside me. She reached for her wine, and passed me my glass. I took a sip and tried to picture Mrs O'Riley who lived in the apartment next door. Now I love Mrs O'Riley dearly; she is a sweet Irish woman who often brings me treats like homemade cakes and biscuits, but an erotic goddess she is not. That seemed to do the trick and my cock ceased its twitching and the purple colour in the head faded. The little drop of cum had now liquefied and slid half way down the shaft and when Sandy took a sip of wine I quickly attended to it by wiping it away with my shirt, hoping she would not notice.

I started to mumble some sort of apology for my 'almost' premature ejaculation, but Sandy laughed and told me not to worry, "Don't be silly, I take it as a compliment."

"Well, you can't blame me," I said, "what you were doing was fantastic."

After a few more sips of wine and a little more less passionate kissing, Sandy looked around the apartment. "Is your room through there?" she asked, pointing at my bedroom door which was slightly open. "Yes." I replied and Sandy took my hand.

"Come Bryn, let's get comfortable."

I suppose I might have been a bit put off that Sandy was the one taking the initiative. I know I had been the one to ask her out and invite her back to my place, but ever since she had stepped through the door, Sandy had been orchestrating events. Fortunately I don't have a fragile male ego, and if a gorgeous sexy blonde had decided to have her wicked way with me, I was certainly not going to protest.

In my room Sandy pulled my shirt off, pushed me onto the bed and then stripped off her skirt and her top. She had a skimpy white thong on which she removed with a deft flick of one hand as she alternately balanced on each leg.

OMG to the power of a Googol! Totally naked Sandy was even better than I had anticipated. Perhaps even better than my wildest teenage wet dream. She was so slim and graceful, with long, long legs, and a trim waist above hips that had just the right degree of fullness to say "I am definitely a woman," but narrow enough to be almost boyish. She looked like she would look ultra-sexy wearing men's jeans, like one of those beautiful catwalk models.

But recall that I am a breast man. Once exposed to the world Sandy's breasts showed their true intoxicating shape that I had not been able to appreciate with my under-the-top fumbling. They were smallish, perhaps a full A cup or possibly a small B, but proudly, defiantly prominent. I guess women wear a bra to lift their breasts upwards and into a peaked shape, striving to recreate their teenage perkiness, but Sandy clearly was never in need of a bra. That old adage about supporting a pencil under the breast... Sandy would never hold up a pencil; there wasn't the slightest hint of sag. But when I saw her nipples clearly I felt my head start to swim, and I felt a nervous excitement in my chest such as I had experienced as a teenager when I had opened my first Playboy magazine. It was the type of excitement that made me want to grab her and devour her quickly, as if she was a fleeting ethereal spirit that would evaporate into thin air in an instant if I did not seize the day. Clearly she never sunbathed nude because her breasts were milky white against the rest of her tanned torso, and surmounted by dark pink nipples that were a vivid contrast to her white skin. Her nipples looked as if she had been stung by bees, the areolae were that swollen and round, looking like succulent bruised fruit ready to exude the sweet nectar of the Gods. Sandy, dear readers, had 'puffy nipples'.

I have always been attracted to puffy nipples. I do not want to get into hot water by talking about under-age girls, but after puberty girls often go through a puffy nipple phase, where the areolae tend to swell above the main contour of the breast, as though the areolae were developing at a faster rate. If in any doubt what I mean, google 'Camille MPL'. In my teenage years I had noticed this quality in a few of my girlfriends who were generous enough to show me their breasts. I suspect that as they grow older; the puffiness tends to recede, and it is rare to see a fully grown woman retain her girlish perfection.

But here before me was a beautiful woman, stripping off in my bedroom, who possessed every feature that I could ever have desired. I had a brief anxiety that I would come as soon as I touched her; surely I would not be able to control myself?

Sandy joined me on the bed and we kissed and I held tightly onto her, feeling her breasts against my chest. My heart was pounding as I rolled her over onto her back, my cock making its first contact with her thigh. Sandy had taken control earlier but now I was so driven by lust that any hesitancy was dispelled. I stroked her gorgeous breasts and took one in each hand. She had complimented me on my cock earlier; now I proclaimed, "Oh God, Sandy, you have such..." I paused, what was the appropriate word? Breasts, bosoms, gazongas, what should I say? To hell with it, "...gorgeous tits!" In response she arched her back, closed her eyes and sighed as I caressed her. I ran my fingertips over the exquisitely protruding areolae, marvelling at their firmness, and then concentrated on her nipples which were every bit as long and thick as I had estimated earlier when fumbling under her blouse.