My Marketing Men Ch. 02

I remember, when I was on top, fully impaled, sitting down on Marc with his cock in me as far as it would go, I always felt stretched inside. If I pressed on my belly, I could feel that hard shaft up inside me almost up to my navel. It was more than I was used to taking into my body, so it hurt a little. I couldn't just plop down onto it; I had to let my hips down slowly, taking time to let my vagina stretch to accommodate its length. I didn't tell Danny all this at the time because, well, you know how insecure guys are about dick size.

I saved the stories of the second screw and the slow morning pick-me-up for the weekend, when we could really enjoy the titillation of my nastiness together. We both loved thinking of me as a selective slut, a sex-driven female who wanted a lot of attention and penetration from males. (Or male-like objects. I had my little drawer of, shall we say, pre-marital aids.)

When Marc and I started, it was usually two weekdays a week. Occasionally three if we were especially horny. Drinks, dinner. We got to search out a lot of out of the way places to avoid being seen. Then back to his apartment. Or the other order, depending.

I spent the night at his place only occasionally, once every couple weeks. (Fresh clothes for the next day to avoid "the walk of shame" were important and a pain to do in advance.) The other evenings, he paid for a cab to take me home quickly and safely.

The rest of the evenings I spent in my own place, often on the phone with my guy, telling him all about my adventures, and as dramatically as I could manage. I loved being a hot slut with loose legs and he loved my taunting him with my slutty behavior.

Of course I wasn't a typical slut. I was very selective. And serially monogamous. Well, I was completely with all my heart monogamous with my man. And then serially monogamous with my various weekday dalliances. One at a time. Then change partners when that one goes cold or weird. So I sort of taunted Danny with my blatantly sexual behavior.

Do you like it when I go to my lover, sprawl on his bed, and have him eat me? Ooh, he does that so well! I always come when he pokes his tongue into my hole, then drills me with his fingers while he tongues and sucks my clit.

Then I spread my legs wide to welcome him into me. He pushes my knees down to my boobs so my puffy lips and gaping hole are completely exposed and vulnerable. I'm folded in half and my drooling sex is pointed straight up at him waiting to be probed! Drilled! Fucked! And he takes his long, hard, hot dick and slides it into my hole. Deep into my body! He slides in and I love it and I come when I feel him hit bottom. His balls bounce on my butt with every stroke. His shaft scrapes my clit every time he pushes in and sends lightning thrills to my womb and my belly and my brain.

Does it turn you on when my lover comes inside me? When he sticks his joint deep into my body and squirts his seed there? How he claims my pussy by planting his seed in my womb? You know I don't clean it out. I want to keep his cum in me. Wouldn't you like to see him come in me? Can you see his cum dripping out when his cock deflates and falls out of me, while he still lies on top of me, kisses me passionately? I'm going to be your wife! Can you see this man planting his cum in your wife? Watch his cum seeping out of your wife's used pussy?

I took a cab home tonight. Imagine how every bump in the road squeezes a little more sperm out of my leaky box into my damp underwear. And that oozing sensation reminds me of how good I felt inside when he squirted squirted squirted his seed into me. Does it turn you on that Marc's cum is still inside me? I can feel his hot juices seeping out of my hole and into my pants. If I strain my pussy muscles I can squeeze out a glob of cum.

My guy reveled in that sort of taunting tale! That was his way. He was jealous of my heart and head, but not of my pussy. We both got off on it. God, I get wet right now just remembering those times.

He did the same for me when he was involved with some babe. Unfortunately that was less frequent. It is harder for a guy, even a cutie like my guy, to find an informal mistress that isn't looking for a real attachment. He did discover a couple times that older, married women were fun partners and not clingy. But the DC suburbs are close in, so there were never any overnighters. They tended to be brief dalliances, just a mom looking to let off some steam and get laid by a new man. But I loved hearing about his erotic adventures, too.

We both played with ourselves during our phone sex calls. I had a vibrator; he had only Ma Hand and Kleenex, but we tried to come together.

I never lied about my affairs. I stressed the sensual, the sexual, the thrilling sensations, and the psychology of the moment, my unbridled lust. I would describe how I felt anticipating getting screwed - and screwed hard! - later. How sitting in a bar or restaurant I could feel my sex beginning to warm up and weep. How his hands on my breasts or under my skirt in the cab made me hotter and wetter. How when we got into the apartment, we would usually rip clothes off - well, not literally rip, but pull off and toss - and fall into bed. How he kissed me, kissed my breasts, put his fingers up me and teased my G-spot! How he sometimes knelt by the bed and sucked on my vagina and clit until I screamed! How he knelt between my legs and stroked the head of his cock through my wet lips. And how I aimed his cock directly at my hole and pulled it into my hole to penetrate me, a little at first, then deep, then deeper still! How I lifted my knees and pulled my legs way up and apart to make a perfect target to be pierced deep by that arrow of love. How he pounded away at me, how I cried for him to fuck me deeper, harder! How I came and he came, his long cock growing, throbbing, pulsing, squirting his seed into my cunt!

And how I got to be on top later, kneeling over his hips, aiming his cock's arrowhead again straight into me. How I sat down, slowly, down, down, savoring every inch of man meat opening up my cunthole! How I moved up and down and round and round to get the feeling of his member scraping every inch of my insides. How he cried about the exquisite torture of my cunt moving so slowly! How that prolonged his orgasm for seconds, tens, a minute, and drained him.

Through all of this, we-the-couple were having sex with each other over two hundred miles of telephone wire. I came and he came and we panted and whispered words of love and went to sleep for the night.

When the weekend came, well, the ones we could afford to travel back and forth on, we would do all this in person. With my beloved's cock piercing me, making me scream instead of my lover's.

But let me be really clear about this affair: it was not a romance at all, just sport fucking. Mainly we got together to get off, get our rocks off, get our ashes hauled, just plain get laid! A great tension reliever at the end of the work day. After the first month or so, the novelty wore off and most of our sessions would be rated as quickies: in, clothes off, in-out in-out in-out in-out . . . , scream out, squirt in, snore, clothes on, kiss goodbye, out. Still tension-relieving if not emotionally satisfying.

I was - and still am - madly in love with my guy, and intended to marry him - which I did - and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him - which I am in the process of doing. I liked Marc and that was it. I mean, I liked the guy, I enjoyed getting poked by him during the week when I couldn't be with my honey. He was my sex toy. I chose him partly, I'm sure, because he was not the type I could become attached to. I came a lot, I screamed a lot, I felt a long dick shooting into me a lot, I dripped cum a lot. Fun. End of story.

I actually liked walking around with cum drips coating my thighs, my wet thighs sliding against each other as I walked. I still do, when possible. Makes me a perv, eh? And my husband loves seeing my thighs glistening with male juices leaking from inside me. And much better if in public, wet thighs showing under a short skirt! Both pervs, and loving it.

I was young and horny. I think my hormones started raging kind of late. I didn't really do much with boys sexually until college. An evening with Marc usually but not always included dinner before or after sex. For an affair, I think you could say it was mostly new and exciting at first, then settled into a routine. I mean, he was a nice guy, but not one I would choose for myself for long term. However, he really was a great lay, and that's why we got together to put our organs together. As I said, fun but a little boring.

There were a few fun times that really stand out in my memory.

We had dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant where everyone sits on big pillows, tailor seat. There were six people (strangers) around a low table where the food was served. It was very dark, only some lighting onto the table. By very fortunate accident I had a dress on that day with a flared skirt; my usual business suit with straight skirt would have made this impossible. So I gathered the skirt for modesty. When I leaned forward to get food, I had to go up on my knees so my butt and the back of my skirt were off the cushion. Marc took advantage of this several times to put his hand under my butt when I sat back. I didn't mind, of course, and it wasn't too obvious to the others.

After a while Marc suggested to me that I go to the ladies room and remove my panties. *And* split open the pantyhose. He already knew about that trick that Van and I had done so often because I told him and showed him. He rarely used the opportunity to reach under my skirt to get into me at the office, only sometimes if we were working late and the place was empty. But right here in the restaurant? Like five feet away from other people? He insisted; I acceded. I did it. Open crotch pantyhose and no panties to get in the way.

When I sat back at one point, his hand was just under my butt, feeling my goodies. After a couple minutes of this off and on, I was getting hot and wet under there. Then he went for the home run. I sat back slowly and he put a finger into my vagina. I sat there with his digit wriggling inside my sex for a few minutes as we ate and talked. I was so excited. The brazenness of it! The illicitness of it! A nice girl like me getting finger fucked - in public, during dinner, at a restaurant, with strangers watching! They couldn't actually see my crotch or his hand, I'm sure, but they must have guessed that something was going on from the way I was squirming, and closing my eyes, and gasping now and then.

When we went to plays or movies, he would suggest that I wear a relatively loose skirt and of course the required modified underwear: open crotch pantyhose, and panties removed when we were seated in the theater. And we always had to be on the correct sides, with him on my left so he could molest me with his right hand. Danny was the same way, so I was used to that arrangement.

We tried to sit with no one on the other side of me so that he could play with my pussy unobserved. That wasn't always possible because of limited seating choices at Broadway theaters or little off-Broadway theaters or even crowded New York movie theaters. so I learned not to care too much if someone saw his hand going up my skirt and me parting my legs to welcome him up there.

On more than one occasion, a man sitting on my other side brazenly put his hand on my other leg and fondled my thigh on the way up. I was really shocked the first time it happened, but what could I do? I froze. Marc didn't mind. He whispered to me, "It's okay. If he wants to feel you, let him feel you." After all, I wasn't his property, I was just his mistress. There, I said it, I was the illicit mistress of a married man. His weekday tumble, his occasional whore - except that he didn't pay me, of course; this wasn't a business arrangement, just a lot of fun.

"But what if he wants to do more than just feel my leg? What if he wants to do what you're doing? *In* me? He's a complete stranger!"

He didn't mind at all. "Then I'll watch him give you some pleasure. Open up for him and enjoy it." So he let another man feel me up, feel my knee, feel my thigh, spread my legs, feel my crotch if he dared to go that far!

I sat there, slouched down with my legs spread, two men feeling up my stockinged legs, up under my skirt. One hand already inside my wet pussy drilling me with his finger and rubbing my clit to try to make me come, right there in the theater. The other hand fondling inside my thigh, going higher and higher. I hoped that their hands would meet at my crotch, that they would cooperate, that both of them would stick their fingers into my sopping cunt and fuck me madly until I came, biting my hand to silence my cries of pleasure as my vagina contracted on their probing digits.

But no such luck, I never had the two men cooperate to finger fuck me at the same time. They just alternated. Marc visibly moved his hand out of my crotch and the other man - a stranger, no one I had ever seen before or would see again - moved his hand up to my pussy. He quickly discovered the opening in the pantyhose that welcomed his hand on my vulva, his fingers pushing into my slit, between my puffy wet lips, his fingertip on my clit that made me jump, and finally his finger prying into my hole, sliding into my blazing hot sex, pushing in and out and in and out and curling sliding. This made me completely crazy! A complete stranger with his hand up my dress! Fucking me with his fingers! In a crowded theater! Oh god that was hot! I was completely beside myself, my eyes closed, concentrating on the delicious sensation of being fucked by a strange man's hand.

When this happened, and it happened several times, I lost the thread of the play or movie, and I would have to ask Marc to fill me in later. He had a hard time doing that because he was also very distracted by my sex at the same time.

Sometimes the stranger was able to make me come. Maybe those lucky few were left handed or just more dexterous. A couple times, the strange man withdrew before I came. At least once, it was because his date (wife?) saw what he was doing and jabbed him hard in the ribs.

Imagine! Imagine being at a movie with your husband/boyfriend/date, and discovering that he has his hand up the dress of the girl sitting next to him? And from his movements you are sure that he's finger fucking her? You know *why* he's doing it: no guy in his right mind would pass up the opportunity to plunder the sex of an attractive young woman, even at the risk of being caught at it by his wife/girlfriend/date. But why is her - the girl's - date/boyfriend/husband allowing it? Look at that! Her date has a hand on her thigh, too, and her skirt is pulled way up, and he can see that her crotch is occupied by another man's hand, and he clearly knows that she is being manhandled by my date/boyfriend/husband. What is this craziness? He must be enjoying it, too!

Well, I think she should try it sometime. She doesn't know what her pussy is missing. Everyone involved here is getting a kick out of it, except her. She should let her guy put his hand up *her* skirt and play. Let him get right up to her pussy. Open her legs to welcome him there. Maybe get stockings and garters instead of pantyhose. Maybe even take off her panties, or forget them altogether. Bet she'd come like gangbusters when he touched her sensitive spots. And maybe, just maybe, there would be a cute guy on her other side who would be brave enough to join in. At least feel her knee, then her thigh, stroking her tight, slippery, stockinged thigh. Up, up, up, higher, closer, hotter, wetter. And who knows where it would go from there. . . . I think most women would love it - if they could just get past thinking that sex is some sacred act. It's not sacred. It's fun. Evolution put all those pleasure nerves in that area to make sure we "did it" a lot and continued to reproduce the species.

End of rant. Back to the story.

In New York, one takes a lot of taxis. When Marc and I were in a taxi for more than a few blocks, we would make out like horny teenagers, for our pleasure and as an added the benefit for the driver. He would maul my breasts. I loved having someone else see my breasts being kneaded passionately like that. After a while, he would lift my skirt high and spread my legs wide, both so he could get up it easily and so anyone watching could see him delving into my hot hole shining with my juices and probably his, too. I loved this. Especially if my panties were already off. A little exhibitionism enhanced my excitement at being finger-fucked and clit-rubbed. If I actually came there in the cab, it was an extra bonus for me and for the driver that he could see and hear me. Many drivers gave us a special thank you with a wink when we got out.

Of course we didn't leap into the deep end of the pool all at once. We started gradually with just kissing. Then a little feeling up. Then a hand on the thigh. But like sex junkies, we built up a tolerance for simple pleasures and went further and further over a few weeks. I wonder if cabbies shared stories of us. Maybe they cruised our usual locations hoping to pick up a porn show along with a fare. And I do wonder if there were ever cameras in some of those cabs. Yikes, I dread the thought that I might be an inadvertent porn star.

Then there were subways and buses. Sometimes, like rush hour in the rain, you just can't get a cab, so you hop on the other forms of public transit. And, it being rush hour, they are usually very crowded, packed to the gills. This, too, presented opportunities for a little semi-clandestine semi-public fondling. If we were squeezed together, Marc would always put a hand on my ass or my thigh, and stroke and fondle a bit. And guys crowded in around me often used the occasion to do a little frottage with my bum. I didn't mind much; usually I could almost ignore it.

There was one occasion when Marc was behind me stroking my ass, getting under it toward the goodies. The guy in front of me, a young Hispanic guy in a suit, caught on and thought that looked like fun. So he put his hand on my thigh - over my skirt and pantyhose, sure, but way up high on my thigh. This was not an innocent touch. I looked at him, pointedly looked down at his hand then back to his eyes, and, since I didn't object or pull away, he took that as a green light. His hand moved to the inside of my thigh. And then up a little. This was too good an opportunity to let go to waste. I moved my feet apart as much as I could in the crowd. A clear signal for him to continue. An open path to my pussy. He reached the top of my leg, between my legs, and cupped my crotch. He pressed up into my pussy; I answered pushing my vulva toward him to increase the pressure on my crotch, trying to split open my labia.

Little did he know that my crotchless pantyhose would have presented no real obstacle if he could get there. Maybe he would have been faster and more insistent. His fingers started to inch my skirt up as he still held hard onto my pussy. Another couple minutes and this would be a four-alarm fire in my pants. But he didn't quite get under the skirt because the bus started to empty out. He gave my pussy one last squeeze and stepped away. We smiled. Even Marc inched back and removed his hand from my ass.

A couple times we tried to screw really in public. There are a few small parks in the city with benches, screened away from the street by plantings. I would put on a dress with a very full skirt. And no panties to get in the way. Finding a small park that was empty in the evening, but when it was still light enough to feel safe, was not that easy. There was always road traffic, and occasional foot traffic.