Making a Fresh Start

They fucked standing. Like a well-practiced couple, he lifted her by the hips and lowered her onto his prick, bouncing her gently, up and down. He could feel her warm pussy muscles grasping at him, lathering his erection with her slick, feminine nectar. She perched on his cock, her arms were wrapped around his neck, her ankles locked over his butt. Leaning back slightly, she watched his eyes, intently, as if trying to decipher some hidden message or something.

They came very quickly. Candy's climax causing her to hang on tight while her whole body shook in juddering spasms. Her sporadic stiffening and relaxing, squeezing and caressing his hardness precipitated, in Brett, an enormous orgasm. Pulling her tight into his crotch he let go within her a tremendous volume of cum, then proceeded to squoosh it out between them with a few final pumps before she lowered her landing gear and stepped away. "Unfortunately," she muttered, "I need to hurry back out there before someone starts to look for me." Frantically attempting to clean up a bit and rearrange her clothing, Candy wordlessly left him in the dust – both literally and figuratively.

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After a bit of emergency mess-control, Brett managed to inconspicuously rejoin the throng. Soon, he was calmly mingling, once again, relaxed, chatting with all and sundry, including Rachel. She was a colleague he'd noticed around the office – hard worker, mid-twenties, single, cute. About five-five, she was a trim, athletic looking girl; but that was pretty much all he knew about her.

She, on the other hand, had always noticed his animal magnetism. And, for some reason, talking with him that afternoon had made her unbelievably horny. In fact, she found him so strangely irresistible, that she began to watch him, stalking him, as it were. Consequently, she was soon able to intercept him coming from restroom. "So," she hissed in an almost accusatory tone. "Was she any good?"

"Huh?" Brett replied, truly baffled.

"That old bag of a waitress?" Rachel explained, as if that ought to have been obvious.

"Uh..., uh...," he stuttered. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on," she went on, impatiently, grabbing his arm and steering him down the hall and back into the supply room. "I watched the two of you disappear into here, then emerge disheveled." Closing the door behind them, and draping herself around his neck, she purred, "Here – let me show you something better," then muttering as if to herself, "...while I've got the chance." She lifted her top and rolled up her sports bra at the same time, revealing small but incredibly perky tits with conspicuously long and erect nipples. "I'm sure I can make this much more memorable than that big-titted slut." There was a peculiar, and, Brett felt, unwarranted vehemence in her voice.

Rachel put his hands on her boobs then reached for his fly. She released his rapidly growing prick without much trouble. She, then, swept a pile of table cloths onto the floor beside them, and pulled him urgently down onto her. She fucked him hard, for it seemed clear that she was the one in charge there.

Thrusting her hips violently, pulling him by the buttocks as if trying to insert him completely, she urged him to pound her. Accelerating the pace, her whimpers turned to squeals as the slow explosion of her orgasm overtook her. Holding herself skewered, rigid against him Rachel forcefully extracted Brett's climax from him, luxuriating in the flood of warmth that further enflamed her roiling fulfillment. It was, indeed, a seriously powerful quickie. Rachel's face displayed an almost rapturous glow as her body went limp under him and her heart-rate slowed. he breath slowly returning to normal.

As she recovered, Brett rolled off her. She stood up on slightly wobbly legs, shook out her hair and straightened her attire, before giving him a quick kiss and sashaying out without a backward glance.

Brett paused, to puzzle, if only for a moment, about why this kept happening to him. As far as he knew, it didn't happen to anyone else – leastways not the people he knew. What made him so special? Mind you, he didn't spend too much time worrying about it. As always, he just took things as they came.

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Janet McArthur was the senior office manager. A very classy, silver-haired widow in her early sixties – approaching retirement. Mingling with the crowd of pretty much all younger colleagues, she spoke briefly with small groups, then moved on, satisfied with people-watching. She stopped to pass a word with Brett, the guest of honour. After exchanging pleasantries, as they each moved back into the milling throng, Janet had a particularly 'funny feeling' come over her. It was like an amorphous and vague memory of something very nice – extremely nice. It left her just a little dazed and breathless, although she couldn't, for the life of her, imagine why.

Sometime later, still thinking about the odd sensation, she caught sight of young Rachel emerging from a back room, straightening her clothing. Janet smiled to herself as she recognized the kind of dazed, just-fucked look on Rachel's face. "It's been a while since I've even thought about that," she mused, allowing for the rise of some lovely old memories. As Rachel disappeared into the crowd, Janet was seized with a sudden feeling of envy – envy and arousal. Surprised, she felt her breasts swell and warm. She raised her hands over her bust and was amazed by the firmness and sudden erection of her nipples. "Why, I haven't had high-beams like that in ages!" she thought, feeling just a bit smug.

Indeed, Janet hadn't had sex in over six years; the two years of her husband's illness and her four years of widowhood. With an uncharacteristic sense of mischief and adventure, she headed toward the door of the mystery room from which Rachel had emerged. Just as she got there, it opened, and, who should appear, but Brett.

"Just a minute, young fellow," she said, standing in his path.

"Mrs McArthur?" He'd always thought of her as a sort of office mother.

"I've been watching you – and that little tart Rachel. Don't think I don't know what you were up to with that tramp." Somewhat taken aback, Brett felt as if he were a child being admonished for bad behaviour.

Janet surprised both of them by taking him by the elbow and, after checking for witnesses – "All clear," she breathed – steered him back into same room. Brett accepted her attention with a bemused docility. Suddenly, the staid, no-nonsense manager was playfully aggressive and surprisingly frisky. To start with, Brett merely allowed her to undress him, letting her prattle on with an inane running commentary, but, eventually giving way to curiosity and temptation, he began to pull at her clothing, too. Unsure of exactly who was leading the dance, they coaxed themselves back onto the pile of table cloths. As Brett lifted her skirt, she humped her hips to remove her rather utilitarian 'big whities'. Meanwhile he opened her blouse and flipped her bra up over her breasts. He was pleased to discover that she had an amazingly firm, mature body – with killer tits, a well-defined tummy, strong thighs, and an invitingly soft, furry bush.

Brett spent a little mouth time on her boobs before she complained, "Stop teasing! Just give it to me, fer Chrisakes!" Retrieving his schlong from her manual massage, he lined himself up and unceremoniously drove it into her. They were both astonished, each more than a little pleased, at how smoothly and fully he penetrated her slick and puffy quim. They paused for a moment, Janet thrilled at her novel situation, Brett simply delighted – as usual.

As soft and gentle as was possible when rutting on a tangle of tablecloths on the floor, they set up a mutually satisfying rhythm, and rocked steadily toward orgasm in a reliable, old-style missionary position. As lights and energy sparked and arced up and down her spine, Janet silently observed that it was like riding a bicycle – it was amazing how fast it all came back. She began lifting and thrusting her hips as her crisis approached, and, leaning in to fix his lips to hers, sucking out of her a long passionate moan, Brett increased his pace bringing Janet along with him to a deliciously wonderful, and fairly quick orgasm. Pulling out smoothly, Brett nibbled and licked his way down to her snatch, where he ate his way to another fabulous climax for her.

"How could I have gone so long without?" Janet wondered, and when they were through, she added, to herself, "I've got to get me some more of that!" She couldn't get over how great it was; how great it made her feel, and how carefree! In fact, she realized, it was better sex than anything she'd ever had. Not feeling even the least bit guilty, she was still pragmatic. "Let me leave first," she told him, straightening her attire. She could feel the dopey grin on her face but could do nothing about it. Humming to herself, she thought, "A tiger is born! No, not tiger... A cougar! That's what I am! A cougar – reborn!"

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Later, that evening, at home, while Brett and Cori made love, they both silently thought that he seemed extra virile. They pounded and paused, humped and twisted, changing positions without losing their connection. Brett took her soaring, her arousal spiked, then seemed to stay on a roiling simmer, moving from one climax to the next, seamlessly, all peaks of the same continuous orgasm. They moved lovingly, through a mist of multicolours sensations, sweeping away any doubts about the veracity of their love.

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Friday morning, after checking about the office, Brett said a few final goodbyes and left his place of employment for the past decade to start a new chapter. As he meandered home, he stopped at his local bank branch.

The teller at the bank – one Sarah D. according to her name tag – felt a weird sense of dissociation come over her as Brett stepped up to her wicket. For just a moment she watched herself fall under his thrall, before being pulled abruptly back into her corporeal body. Without consciously noticing anything, Brett slid his withdrawal slip over the counter, but at the touch of her fingers, he felt a sort of discharge.

Coming out of her brief, hypnotic-like trance, Sarah realized she was hot and panting. She felt inexplicably, irresistibly attracted to the client before her. With quite a bit of effort, she pulled it together enough to accept his transaction; notwithstanding, as she went to get his cash, with an impressive sleight-of-hand, she stepped out of her panties. Surreptitiously, she handed her damp underwear to Brett, along with his cash. Nothing surprised him any more.

Just as surreptitiously, he read the note. "Please consider making a special deposit with me." Somehow, she knew he would understand, so when he looked up from the note she simply whispered, "In the back. Follow me."

She took him, as business-like as anything, into a safety deposit viewing room, sat him down in the chair and patted his already impressive boner. "Help me get this out of there," she said, coyly. No longer surprised by anything, especially this week, Brett helped her unzip and unfold him. "Ooooh," she panted, as she gracefully straddled him, lowering herself slowly onto his firm erection with an ecstatic sigh.

Biting her lip to keep herself quiet, she rode him – hands on his shoulders, eyes closed – as if he wasn't even there. Swivelling her pelvis, she slammed herself repeatedly onto his ever-hardening cock. Accelerating feverishly, she rode through a humungous orgasm and several echoes, igniting a violent ejaculation from Brett, before coasting to a stop. As she opened her eyes, she leaned in to kiss him on the forehead, whispering, "Thanks. I needed that!"

Quickly straightening her clothes, she scooted out the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder and leaving a redolence of sex permeating the chamber. Brett mopped himself up with her underwear that he had dropped earlier – when under her attack. He tucked himself in and, feeling a little... what? Embarrassed? Used? Obvious? ...he tried to exit the bank as inconspicuously as possible, leaving her sodden panties in a ball on the corner of the table.

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In the last few blocks before home, Brett needed to stop by and see Freda, Megan's friend's mom with whom she would be staying. He had called her earlier to see if he could stop by, just to be clear on a few last-minute details. "Oh, absolutely!" she had said. "Please do!"

Walking up the path to her house, he recalled their earlier fuck a couple of weeks ago, when Freda had first suggested that they billet Megan for the remainder of the school year. In showing him the accommodation, Freda, he remembered, had become increasingly hyper. At first, he'd thought she was on drugs. She had been wild – possessed – rubbing her body against him, cooing and mewling and kissing as she'd begun to pull at his clothing.

It had been astounding. She had, up to that point, seemed like such an ordinary stay-at-home mother and housewife. In retrospect, however, Brett realized that that had been more or less the beginning of the currently accelerating spate of spontaneous sex.

The recollection of it still amazed him, but not half as much as it did her. It made her head spin just thinking about it. Answering the door just as he was about to ring, she was almost knocked over by the invisible wave of arousal that wafted over her. She had an overwhelming feeling of anticipation, and stood still for a long moment – rapt – gazing into his eyes. Fredda had apparently dressed for the occasion. Obviously braless under her loose sweatshirt, her yoga pants revealing no panty-line, she was, if, perhaps, a little matronly, really, in pretty good shape.

Finally coming back to herself, she said, breathily, "Here, let me show you how the girls have fixed up the rec-room." She towed him into the basement, chattering away as they went. Then, moving to an adjoining door, she reminded him, "This'll be Megan's room." Pulling him in, she kicked the door shut, muttering something about 'christening' and 'a farewell fuck'. Freda pulled Brett onto what would be Megan's bed, and he followed without protest. It seemed he just couldn't resist a sexually insistent woman.

Wordlessly, they wrestled each other out of their clothes, and, without any further ado, Freda lowered herself onto Brett's raised flagpole. It was absolutely sublime, the way she slid down onto him until he was fully ensconced. In a fury, they rocked and grunted and twisted and sighed, changing positions without breaking their rhythm. The squeaking, banging background to their own puffing and squealing was evidence of the workout they were giving the bed.

Having cum barely an hour ago, Brett held on while Freda succumbed to climax after climax. Eventually enervated, Freda fell to her side and curled into fetal position, trying desperately to catch her breath. Reaching down to caress her sopping pussy, he smeared her juices in widening circles across her labia, over her hyper-sensitive clitoris, and around her anus. Then, gently raising her onto all fours, Brett slowly and steadily pushed his steely-dan against her rosebud. Assisted by her state of complete relaxation, it was not long before he'd popped through her sphincter, and eased inexorably, with surprisingly little effort, balls-deep into her rectum.

Even if she had had the mind to object, she no longer had the energy. Initiating a deliberate and steady rhythm, Brett proceeded to saw in and out of her upturned ass, slapping his thighs against her cheeks. Oooohing and aaaahing in unison, their arousal rose in volume. As electrical currents flashed up and down his spine, his rock-hard truncheon becoming harder and bigger than seemed possible, another orgasm, ignited by Brett's exploding climax, detonated in the pit of Freda's fundament. The shockwaves ran back along back up her ass surrounding Brett's jerking and shuddering cock, as he ejaculated voluminously into her. The field of ultra-orgasmic energy flowed with the scalding heat of Brett's emission back to Freda's pussy before spreading like a firestorm at a fireworks factory, throughout the two of them, leaving them senseless and exhausted, and more satisfied than they were used to.

Eventually, Brett rose, gathering and donning his clothes, and left her panting and dripping on the clean bedclothes. The details of Megan's stay would work themselves out, he decided, as he tried once again to head for home

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In the few blocks walk from Freda's house, Brett managed to gather his wits, and calm himself down. Checking his watch, he realized he was still early – early enough to beat Cori home. As he approached their house he spied his neighbour, Pamela, working in the garden. Looking up, she smiled broadly as she caught sight of him. It was almost like she'd been on the lookout for him. "So," she called, "you're leaving us, eh"

"Yup," Brett replied, approaching her so they wouldn't need to shout. "Pulling out Sunday. Heading out west."

"Well," Pam said just as the breeze wafted between them, "I'll be sorry to see you go."

Suddenly her eyes took on a strange, sort of mesmerized look, as she added, "Very sorry." Pamela had noticed, increasingly frequently over the last few months, that when she'd chatted with Brett, however briefly, she would often come away feeling horny. In fact, the intensity of those feelings had been mounting seriously. She was noticeably bothered and confused – enough so, that, unbeknownst to her, her husband had begun to suspect that she was having an affair. He even considered Brett as a candidate. Pam wondered what the hell was going on. Still she seemed on auto-pilot.

"I suppose," she heard herself say with a contrived casualness, trying to prolong the conversation, "you're pretty much packed?"

"Pretty much," Brett agreed, curious about the odd twinkle in her eyes.

Moving quickly across the yard to swing her gate open, Pamela said in a strangely calm voice, "Hey Brett, can I just show you something?"

Telling himself he did not wish to be rude, with a longing look over his shoulder at his own house, he shrugged and said, "Sure."

Pamela ushered him through the garage and into the family room. Immediately, upon entering, she turned and with a flourish lifted her sundress front to reveal her nakedness, complete with a surprising nude cunt. "I just shaved it for Brad. What do you think? Reckon he'll like it?" Flopping into an easy-chair she beckoned Brett over to "feel how smooth I got it." Chattering inanely, she reached to his shoulders and guided his mouth down. "See how it feels on your tongue."

Brett could imagine no other course of action, so he enthusiastically ate her – right to the very edge of cumming. Then he stood, deftly freeing his weapon, and stabbed himself into her with one decisive thrust. Holding for a beat, he proceeded to pound her to a long and vociferous orgasm. And he continued almost lazily, until she started to come down, then, with a few quick strokes, he thoroughly flushed her innards with his spunk.

Scrambling to do himself back up, he explained, "I've really got to get home. I'm trying to surprise Cori and beat her home on this last Friday. Anyway, you'll have to clean yourself up in time for Brad getting home, eh?" Pam replied, with a persistent trace of the earlier twinkle, "Maybe I'll just leave you in there and tell him how horny my bald pussy is."

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Brett hurried home, intending to surprise Coral. He entered the house through the back door, quietly, though not particularly intentionally so. Noises from the family room caught Brett's attention, he padded that way from the kitchen, not deliberately stealthily, but noiselessly, nonetheless. Peeking around the corner, he saw, there on the day-bed, oblivious to his presence, Coral – fucking their neighbour, Pam's husband, Brad. They were active and focused. Cori was on her back with her hands bracing Brad's shoulders and her legs up, waggling over his lower back. She was bumping her bum to meet each of Brad's thrusts.