What To Get For The Man Who Has Everything...

When in doubt, go with the classics - blowjobs and doggy-style

Take Me Any Way You Want Me

Rough is what you both like. Rough is playing, while you come from a place of tenderness, love and respect. Rough is spanking, but never hitting. Rough is another way of saying, I love you.

Artistic Appreciation

I love going to the Symphony, just to watch. Mmmm, cellists do it on a chair with their legs spread wide

A Fine Upstanding Citizen

Morals are like knickers - I always keep a clean set in my handbag for The Morning After The Nite Before

Blue Dress Vignettes I

The long weekend starts tomorrow, and as we have Fri-Sun off, we decide we should spend this Thursday night finally going on our first ever date to the movies. The movie of choice has been hotly debated during the preceding 48 hours, before we finally settle on an artsy chick flick rerun at the Oxford Street cinemas. This movie date has been a long time coming, and we are both really looking forward to it, not to mention the dinner we've decided on afterwards - a taxi or ferry to the North Shore, and choosing a place that takes our fancy as we wander around.

Having got home from work a little earlier than you, I've already showered and changed, and poured you a glass of wine for when you arrive home. Being greeted at the doorway with a glass of white wine, being relieved of your bag, and a hug and long, lingering kiss goes a long way towards making you realise the weekend has arrived early!

You disappear into the bathroom, and I settle to call the taxi while you're getting ready.
A little later, you appear around the passageway, and with a "Do you like it?", model the dress and heels you'll be wearing this evening. My breath catches in my throat - you are eye-catchingly beautiful, and look incredibly sexy in a blue, shimmering dress and nice heels.
I get up, cross to you, put an arm around you, and whisper, "Babe, you're stunning. That looks really beautiful, and really works for you!" On impulse, I kiss you on the lips. You smile, and shrug off the shoulder strap, so the dress slips down a little, and the top of your firm and beautiful breasts are exposed. We kiss deeply, my hands stroking your back. Spoiling the moment, and the unspoken desire and invitation, a mobile sounds - the taxi has arrived. Breaking the kiss, we walk out of the flat to the taxi holding hands.

The taxi trip is short - we aren't going far, and as the taxi driver prattles away about Thursday night traffic, our hands explore each others' legs, and inner thighs, your hand gently massaging me, mine exploring as far as your knickers. At the theatre, it's the work of minutes to pay off the taxi driver, buy our tickets, get drinks, and move into the seating area. In the back row, naturally, as it has the best view. We've timed this to perfection, and minutes later, the movie commences, thankfully without the plethora of ads that precede a new release!

It's the chick flick's chick flick, but enjoyable nevertheless. The story-line really is romantic, and without even realising it, we've gone from holding hands, to stroking each others' arms and leg and leaning to touch each other. I realise with a small start that you have gone still, and immediately realise why - my hand has reached your pussy, and the knickers you had on have gone! Somewhere between the taxi and sitting down, you have managed to whip them off! Your hand is on my increasingly aroused manhood, but your attention to that falters as I gently penetrate you with two fingers, and tease your beautiful clit with another. You subconsciously inch forward in your seat, pushing yourself against my teasing, searching fingers. An evening of foreplay that started in the flat is rapidly coming to a head for you - I have never seen you this aroused from me teasing you like this alone... After another ten, long, beautiful minutes, you draw a deep breath, arch your back against the seat, stiffen and groan as you climax. The movie is loud enough to stifle the noise, and the theatre is sparsely populated anyway, but this is a real turn on for me...

You relax, and turn and smile as you see me cleaning each finger of your pussy juice with my tongue... Without any hesitation or warning, or even a backward glance to see if anyone else is watching, your hands seek out and undo my belt and zip in the near darkness. I feel your warm hands close around my enormously aroused manhood and pull it free, gently massaging it, then you lean across my front, and I feel your warm, wet and willing mouth close over me.

A wave of pure pleasure washes over me, and I shiver in delight, and I can't help but quietly gasp "Oh... Oh..." as your mouth and hands work absolute magic on me. You're sucking for all you're worth, your tongue teasing and playing with me, teasing the sensitive skin just under the tip, one hand sliding up and down the base, the other playing with my balls. God, it feels so incredibly good... Each time you move your mouth up and down me, a thrill of pleasure runs up and down the entire length of my body.

Suddenly you feel me tense, and start to stiffen. You take your mouth off, and hold me firmly to stop the orgasm happening just yet, and when I have stopped gasping quite as much, you sit up, have a quick look around, and hoist yourself onto my lap, raising the blue dress a little. You hold yourself just above me using your legs and one hand, while the other takes hold of me, and guides my throbbing manhood into your hot, wet, tight pussy... The sensation as you slowly lower yourself onto my shaft is one of the most beautiful feelings ever, and I feel your warmth and wetness as you envelop me. My hands are on the chairs either side of me, and I'm desperately trying not to moan out aloud, as you start moving, my shaft siding in and out of you, your back leaning against my chest, your arms helping to support you on either side, your legs on mine. You move your head to one side, and lean back further, and I turn so we can kiss...

The whole world could have gone spinning off it's axis right now, and we wouldn't have noticed. The climax for me comes quickly, I am so turned on by you, and I have my hands around your waist, and pull you back down on me as hard as I can just as I cum, shuddering with the intensity of it. When the moment passes, we still have our lips together, and continue to kiss deeply. Still hard, I am still inside you, but we are just holding each other close now, and my hands stray to run over your breasts, delighting to find how hard and erect your nipples are.

"You dirty, dirty boy," you whisper. "Now I'm sooo wet and messy I'm going to have to go out and clean myself up! Care to come and give me a hand? You can hold my dress up for me and help me...?"
The movie, only half way through, is forgotten...

Sweet Nothings

Your turn of phrase turned my head.

It was your tongue that made me flip with pleasure underneath you, though

After The Lecture

I knock on your door. I've been pacing up and down the corridor for half an hour, working towards this simple action, when I got sick of myself. What's the worst that can happen? Actually, I reason, best not to open the door on that, not if I want this door opened, as it were. So I knocked.

'G'day Sir,' I croak. Is that really how I sound? Really really? Ker-rist, that's embarrassing to find out.

You don't seem to notice that I sound like one of Jim Henson's Muppets. 'Jane, my God, what are you doing here? I thought you would've taken the first flight out of here once you submitted your thesis.' You sound genuinely pleased to see me.

I laugh. 'Thought I'd come mix it with the plebs - the semester's not quite over, and the babies might need me.' I've been your tutor these 15 long weeks, and taken half your tutorials, saving you from your marking. A torturous 15 weeks, working alongside you, becoming more and more desirous of your touch.

'You're a beautiful woman,' you say, 'Willing to sacrifice pleasure in the pursuit of undergraduate excellence.' That knicker-melting smile.

Did you just call me beautiful?! 'It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it,' I joke.

'And nobody does it better!'

You're not helping. 'And, I think I may have inadvertently agreed to attend the end of year Ball,' I add. 'That'll teach me to answer questions when I'm trying to do 27 other, more important, things.'

'Ah, they got you too?' You ask. Suddenly, you realise I'm standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. 'Have you got time for a chat?'

Baby, I've got so much time for you. 'If I'm not interrupting?'

'Not at all - step into the club room.'

Your tenure and seniority has assured you one of the better offices, an L-shaped room with all the expected detritus of academia - solid desk with PC, bookcases and conference table - but also an alcove, out of sight from the door, and a small ensuite. These offices have always been the Swingers' offices but the fact you inhabit one has always seemed incongruous. I've known you since I was a 20 year old undergrad, and I've never heard you speak of a wife, or even a girlfriend, and you're certainly not a notorious skirt chaser. A shame - I wear so many skirts in the Canberra summer... So rather than a fur coverlet and mirrors on the ceiling, your alcove has been fitted out as a gentleman's retreat. I wasn't at all surprised when I first noticed the leather club chairs, was more surprised by the images that flashed through my head. My silk slip pushed up over my hips, my naked bottom on the cool leather, your hands on my thighs, pushing them gently apart... Ahem. Yes. But I recognise the privilege of being allowed in - you have colleagues who have yet graduate past the conference table.

Sitting with knees touching, I'm very aware that I've dressed with baser pursuits than academia in mind. My tightest business skirt is mid-thigh now I'm relaxing in the chair, the merest hint of my lace-topped stockings apparent. My white blouse, short-sleeved in the Canberra November, is undone far enough to display my golden tits if I lean forward. Remind me to lean forward...

You're in your usual teaching gear - trousers and a business shirt. The long sleeves are rolled up, displaying your sexy, golden forearms, the shirt open at the collar, displaying enough broad, hair-dusted chest to make me want to slip my hand in, and explore...

'Sir, are you off the clock yet?' I ask. I'm sitting on my hands to stop myself from grabbing you by the shirtfront and screaming, THERE IS ONLY ONE ANSWER, DAMNIT!

You glance at your watch. 'Technically, it's only twenty to 5...'

'And in reality?' I push, as gently as I can in the circumstances.

'It's twenty to 5 on a Friday in the exam period. I was off the clock about 3 and a half hours ago.'

Good answer! 'In that case...' I reach into my shoulder bag, the brown leather tote you laughingly called my Tardis whenever I pulled out the vital item - bottled water, tissues, painkillers, bandaids - and remove a bottle of champagne. 'I wanted to celebrate my success with the man who never doubted me.'

You're flustered, unsure. 'Really Jane, it's not necessary - I wasn't even your supervisor.'

'And that's exactly why you never doubted me. You've mentored me, you've allowed me to teach, to lecture even,' A favour bestowed on a chosen favourite, I hope, 'And you waded through my drafts.' I say with some finality. 'Please Sir - celebrate with me.' Before you can continue your protests, I'm darting over to the window, popping the cork, and laughing as it spirals over Union Court. 'It'd be a shame to waste it now,' I tease, licking the sweet stickiness off my fingers.

'You are the most remarkable woman,' you sigh, fetching the wine glasses I knew you'd have.

If only you knew.

We make the toast to academia and bright futures, settling back into our chairs. 'Thank you for this,' I say. Playing hard and fast with the truth, I add casually, 'It saves me drinking a bottle of champagne by myself tonite.'

'Surely you have friends to celebrate with, Jane?'

'Of course,' I reply, 'But no one special enough to drink champagne with.'

'I don't believe you,' you splutter. 'You're clever, and funny, and very attractive,' Hello! 'I can't see you without a young man hanging on to your every word.'

Ouch. 'The only young man who hangs on to my every word is my nephew, and that's because I see him so seldom that every visit is a chance to spoil him, much to his mother's delight.'

'Oh,' you reply, obviously discomforted. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it.'

'It's fine,' I say, taking another sip of the cool bubbles. She shoots... 'I'm sure your girlfriend tells you how difficult it is dating someone on a teaching/researching/publishing schedule like yours.'

'I'm not... with anyone.' She scores!

'So you get it - it's hard,' I reply, simply.

'It is. But thank you. I'm touched you consider me special enough to drink champagne with.' Screw champagne, touch me!

'I'll have to enter you in my address book as A Man To Drink Champagne With!' I joke. 'I don't suppose you come out after dark, do you?'

'Why?'

'We're both attending this Ball, apparently. And I'd really like to not have to arrive by myself, have no one to talk to while we're "mingling", and then spend an evening watching undergraduates drink their own bodyweight then hurl it back up again.'

'You do make it sound so attractive...'

'You must rescue me then, Sir. Gallantry surely forbids me going alone?' I'm touching your knee for emphasis, leaning forward. Oh yes. You've seen.

'So, we'll... Drink? Sit through a dinner? Leave as soon as possible?'

'And there'll probably be dancing. So many Balls, all that dancing.'

'Ah,' you start. 'I'm not really a dancer. In any sense.'

Giggling, I reply, 'None of us are dancers. We just hope for the best.'

'No, really, I'm not a dancer. I'm not sure I'm the partner you need for an evening like this.'

I've shown you my boobs. How hard are you going to make me work? 'I'm sure I can teach you.'

'Okay.'

'Okay... what?'

'Okay, teach me how to dance.'

Putting my glass down, I head over to your computer, quickly connecting my iPod in, and turning the volume up. As Gin's 'Oh My' opens, I'm standing in the middle of your office.

'I think it helps if we're a little closer together,' I hazard, looking at you still in your chair.

You look unconvinced.

'Come on, this is a great song.'

Oh my God, I'm beaten in the game of love,
And I fall down, I fall down to my knees I fall,
Oh my God, I'm beaten in the game of love

You walk over to me deliberately. I grab your hands, and start moving. You move... less. I obviously need to introduce the concept in small information sets.

'Follow me,' I murmur. Still holding your hand, I turn on my heel, nestling my back along your front. My hips start swinging, on the heavy bass beat. I'm pull your arm over my shoulder, so you can feel how I'm moving, before turning my head slightly. 'Can you feel it?'

When I feel you start to mimic my movements, I turn back so I'm facing you. Still writhing, I gently place your hands on my hips, before wrapping an arm around your neck and stretching back, offering you my throat, and a look down my blouse. I'm my head's moving, and I'm grinding against you. You've yet to respond, but you haven't stepped away. With the bridge, my hand's on your should and sliding down your chest as I lower myself down your body. I stand back up with a particularly athletic gesture and, with my usual brilliance, knock the pile of folders off the corner of your desk. Immediately, you've broken away from me, and are on your hands and knees, re-filing the papers.

'Um, I'm really sorry?'

'It's not a problem.' You're a million miles away, tracing document runs, putting the rite paper in the rite folder. Screw it.

Deliberately, I stand one leg either side of your shoulders. 'While you're down there...'

You twist to look at me. I've pulled my skirt up my legs to allow me to stretch, and you can see my lace-top stockings, the straps of the garter belt stretching up to the delicious unknown of Under My Skirt. In my sheer stockings and black high heels, the image is at once cliched, but still intensely erotic.

Silently, you stand, clearing the recently salvaged files back off your desk. In one swift movement, you've lifted my up and laid me on the table, my arse at the edge. My skirt's still pulled up, and you gently remove my thong, sliding it down my legs and off my ankle, before kneeling between my thighs and gently, tenderly giving me the best blowjob of my life. You're so talented, and know exactly how to stimulate my clit while sliding your fingers into me, pausing only to throw my legs over your shoulders for wider access. I'm writhing under your ministrations, pushing my pussy against your beautiful mouth, my hands on the back of your head, my vocabulary reduced to Please, More, Don'tstop don'tstop. You don't, and I'm cumming hard, the juices dripping down my thighs and arse. When I return to you Earth, you kiss each of my thighs before standing. I know what you need, and I'm pushing myself into a sitting position to unzip your flies. Firmly, you push me back down onto your desk, pinning my hand above my head. This slight force makes it so much more sensational when you slide into me completely. You quickly establish a rhythm, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in deep into me. Gently, I struggle against the hand pinning my wrists above my head.

The lust explodes suddenly. Your free hand is ripping my blouse open, tearing at the buttons - you're seemingly desperate to lavish attention on my breasts, as you quickly pull my bra down, exposing my nipples. As you fuck me hard and deep, my nipple is in your mouth, and I'm yelping as you nip and suck. I'm wrapping my legs around your waist, pulling you in deeper, squeezing tightly around you. When I arch my hips and start thrusting back against you, you pace quickens until, with little composure and animal desire, you thrust hard and deep into me, before collapsing on top of me. Your hand releases my wrists, and my hand are running across your body. I'm desperate to touch every part of you, and brand you as my own.

Feverishly, I kiss your neck and jaw. I'm not sure what's happened but if I never have this moment again, I can say that I was loved by you, and I'm a happier, better person for that.

You lift your head from my shoulder and turn to look at me. Our eyes lock as we lie facing each other, side-by-side on your desk.

'You are the most amazing woman,' you breathe.

Questionable

Is it wrong that I buy knickers solely based on how comfortable they'll be around my ankles?

The Blue Dress, pt. III

You're good together, there's no denying that. You find yourself thinking about her when she's not with you, wondering what she's doing, and when you'll see her next, so you can find out more about what she does when she's away from you. She's become the kind of woman who can be found smiling to herself throughout her day, recalling the things you've said and done together. A weekend away seems the next logical step.

She fascinates you. She is, by turns, empathetic, sweet, funny, and clever. She delights you with her thoughts on the world, politics, love, food and life. And her capacity for pleasure leaves you breathless - in bed, she behaves like a woman who knows that life can leave you without an expression for desire, and so enjoys every moment of erotic sensuality completely without reserve. She has never said no to anything you've suggested, and has acted so as to provide you with your fantasies made flesh. She is willing and enthusiastic. The woman is a sex kitten - she's the girl who will give you a blow job when you get home from work, just because it's fun. She is unashamed in her sexuality. She is fresh, and beautiful, and leads you when you're unsure, taking you to new and intensely pleasurable highs. The idea of an entire weekend away from the minutiae of ironing work shirts for the coming week is erotically charged. You've found yourself squeezing your aching cock surreptitiously throughout the week when you imagine the weekend to cum...

You'd arranged to leave at lunchtime on the Friday, beating the peak, but she is her usual shipwreck self, arriving late, and still needing to sort 'one tiny thing' before you can leave. Your innate sense of punctuality is offended, but she is so vibrant in her chaotic organisation that you can't help but laugh and relax. 2pm was always going to come, whether you were well underway, or just heading out. You can't argue with her cheerfully presented logic. But you do manage to get the two of you, with luggage, into the car, paperwork for the hotel in hand, and the radio tuned to her satisfaction. Even the traffic, gridlocked as Sydney demands, is no problem. You talk, and touch, and tease - she 'accidentally' flashes her knickers at you while looking for something in the backseat, her skirt sliding up her legs, you 'unintentionally' graze her nipples while adjusting the wing mirror on her side of the car. She may have run late, but for magnificent reasons - she has packed snacks and drinks to make up for your missed lunches, and you have a picnic in the stop-start traffic, pressing treats into each other's mouths, licking fingers...

It is hot in the car, and after finishing lunch, she begins to doze in the soporific warmth. You do not have the heart to wake her, but listen to the radio and wait for the traffic to start behaving itself. Typically for Sydney, you're on the outskirts before you can even consider the speed limit. She sleeps sweetly. Things clear up when you leave the highway to cut thru the National Park, and out to the coast. You're moving along now, but still, what should've been a two hour trip door to door will be almost doubled, with another 90 mins of driving ahead of you. Oh well. You have a beautiful woman in the car, and a sweet long weekend ahead of you. You can deal with it ;)

She wakes in another half hour, gasping and suddenly conscious. This is unusual - she is a woman who loves her sleep, and spends Saturday mornings coming to consciousness slowly, accustoming herself to her own wakefulness. Still, the front seat of a car isn't the most relaxed place to rest, as she seems to be finding out, shifting in her seat and crossing and re-crossing her legs. She's in that vaguely dopey state that daytime sleep encourages, looking around slowly, and attempting to catch up with the day.

'Where are we?'

'National Park, babe,' you reply, stroking her leg as you're unable to take your eyes off the road.

'How long are we going to be?' She asks, re-crossing her legs once more.

'About another hour, I guess - the Sydney traffic was pretty exceptional today.'

'Oh, okay.' She is silent, and returns to staring out the window.

Over the next 25 minutes, she becomes more and more restive. The leg-crossing is alternated with her bouncing her legs up and down, and pressing her thighs tightly together. Soon, she is fiddling with the seatbelt, trying to sit it somewhere other than her obviously aching midriff. When she tries to slide a hand between her thighs discreetly, her discomfort becomes so apparent, you wonder how long she'll be able to wait before asking the inevitable.

The further 10 minutes she waits passes in silence, leaving you to wonder why a woman who's prepared to engage in anal sex on a first date (even though the way you tell the story it was your second) is too shy to mention this. Not that you're complaining - for some reason, you're finding the whole situation arousing. Perhaps it's the continuous leg-crossing that has pulled her skirt up, or the fact that's she holding herself, or just the continuous wiggling, so reminiscent of her movements in bed, but somehow inexplicably, she is sexy in her need.

'Babes, can we take a break?' She asks suddenly, attempting to be still as she talks to you.

'We're in the National Park, baby - there's no place really to have a break.' You don't know where this badness came from, this desire to tease her a little bit. It has the desired effect.

She bites her lip, resumes squirming in her seat. 'I don't really care,' she replies quietly, 'I need the bathroom pretty badly.'

'We'll rejoin the highway in about 20 minutes, baby. Can you wait?' Her writhing increases, pulling her skirt higher, with both hands now between her thighs. Inexplicably sexy.

'No,' she finally replies. She is shy in her assertion. 'Can you find me somewhere quiet to pull over?'

You do as she asks, finding an overgrown track leading to a small stopping bay abut 20 metres back from the road in the next couple of minutes. Since asking you to stop, she's no longer trying to hide her desperation, and openly has her hands under her skirt, holding and squeezing herself. You feel yourself growing hard, vaguely disturbed that you find the sight of her struggling so arousing.

But, it becomes clear, her squeezing was more than a relief from the pressing need. No sooner have you stopped the car, pulling it out of sight of the road, than she is moving your seat back, and pulling her knickers aside to straddle your lap. She is tighter than you've ever experienced, and wet with arousal. You sense this won't be a long session, but set about fully enjoying it while it lasts. Gently cupping her arse, you note her thighs are trembling with the strain. She's moving up and down on your lap, moaning, 'Ah ah ah!' Her vice-like tightness, the sneaky, dirty arousal you experienced while driving, the obvious tension in her body - you're turned on enough by the kinkiness of the situation you find yourself racing to an orgasm. The sensation of you cumming inside her is the final straw for her, she's throwing her head back, and contracting around you - you find yourself whimpering at the sensation - before quickly sliding off you, and opening the door. She doesn't bother to close it, but just steps out of view. You hear her skirt slide up her legs, then she's squatting down, her sigh of relief not drowning up the noise of her obviously intensely pleasurable wee. After a minute or so, she stands back up, pulling her knickers and skirt back into place. Returning to the car, she leans over to kiss your cheek, murmuring, 'Thank you for that, I feel a million times better,' before sharing her general sense of good feeling by cleaning you up with her tongue.

Baby It's Cold Out

My thighs are really good at warming up Winter-affected extremities. Especially ears

Take Me Back to the Summertime

In the humidity of December, I want you to treat me like the screen door.

Bang me.

The Blue Dress, pt. II

The cab ride back to her place is quiet. Neither of you have spoken much, but she sat curled against your shoulder, twining her fingers through hers. It's peaceful.

Arriving back home, you follow her up the stairs. Her bum is beautiful under the tight lyrca of her dress, and you find yourself wondering what it'd be like to hold her down and slide into it. You're shocked by the thought, but rationalise that tonite has been fairly shocking, generally. And the sight of her thighs, still wet from your cum and her own arousal isn't helping clear thinking. Without considering, you place a hand on her arse, before sliding it down and under the hem. Casually, you slide two fingers deep inside her. She gasps, stumbling, falling back against you. You bite her earlobe, pushing deeper inside her. She's limp in your arms, squirming against your hand, pushing harder onto your fingers.

'Haven't you had enough already this evening?' She whispers hoarsely.

'Oh no,' you reply, grinning wolfishly. Despite the fact you've fucked her once, she's still deliciously tight, and oh-so-sensitive. Party's just begun...

Her flat is so obviously hers - pictures of friends and families on the walls, books on every surface, cards and notes from those she loves, and who love her. This is the girl you rescued from a terrible, stood up blind date. But now you know that, lurking beneath this, is a dirty little minx who likes being fucked. You fucked her. But mingled with that powerful sexual pride is a strange tenderness. You rescued her fm some bloody idiot that didn't realise that she was amazing.

She's turned to you, looking hopeful, nervous and sexy in equal measures. Slowly she's moving closer, stretching to put her arms around your neck, pressing the length of herself against your body. 'You're amazing,' she whispers into your neck. 'I'd do anything for you.'

The comment's so loaded with meaning that your cock twitches. She notices.

'You want me, don't you, baby?' She croons, sliding and brushing down your body till she's kneeling in front of you, unzipping your flies. Her mouth is talented perfection - hot, warm, and sensitive to your touch. You show her how you like it, and she's such a fast learner that soon your knees are sagging at the sensation of the best blow job of your life. But, before she takes you further, you stop her. When you cum, you want her to feel it inside her. Pulling her back to her feet, you say, firmly, 'Time for bed, you naughty girl.'

She smiles a secret smile.

She leads you to the bedroom, and starts to pull her dress off.

'Leave it on,' you order, pinning her arms.

'But it's dirty,' she laughs, struggling gently. 'You saw to that.'

'And I'm not finished yet,' you murmur in her ear. Holding both her wrists behind her back in one hand, you run the other across her bum again. You can feel a wet patch - she's leaked, probably while sitting in the cab. It's inexplicably, yet intensely, sexy. This is the kind of girl who wants to play.

'Slide your knickers off,' you ask, releasing her wrists.

Sliding her hands up under her dress, she takes an inordinate amount of time removing her knicks, her movements suggesting she may be stroking and touching various dress-hidden areas of anatomy.

You smack her hands away again. 'That's what I'm here for,' you protest, taking the opportunity to slide your fingers back inside her. She's standing at the foot of the bed, hand on your shoulder, shifting to get your fingers EXACTLY where she wants them. She is unashamed in her pleasure, squatting and pushing to get the hand job she wants. She's moaning, shuddering with pleasurable sensation. You pull away from her, wiping your hand on her already wet, dirty dress.

She's squirming, aroused but untouched, aching with need and dirty desire.

Pulling her dress up over her hips, you spank her roughly. 'Dirty girl, getting your dress wet. I bet you're wet...' Sliding a hand between her thighs, you're proved rite, and you gently rub the juices across her backside. She shivers.

'You're a dirty bitch you likes my cock, and my fingers, aren't you?' Another spank, and she whimpers her agreement. 'You want to be fucked again, don't you?' A succession of slaps, turning her backside red. Her pleasure is evident, and dripping down her legs. My God, she's wet. 'I bet a naughty girl like you has toys...'

Red with embarrassment, she gestures to her bedside table, where you find lube, handcuffs, a vibrator, a dildo, and various clit toys. Grabbing the lube and a couple of toys, you place them on the bed. She's still bent over the foot, not prepared to move till you ask her.

Playing with the lube bottle, you ask her, 'Now, why does a girl like you have this? You're so wet I can hardly see you having any problems that require this.' You brandish the bottle.

She can hardly talk for her shame. 'It's... uh... It's not for... For my pussy,' she stammers, dropping her head lower.

The suggestion sends a flare of desire thru your body. Your cock, already hard, throbs. 'So, what do you use it for?' You ask, innocently.

She laughs, quietly. 'I use it when I want something in my arse.'

My God, the eroticism of the statement.

'Oh yes?' You probe, stroking your cock through your jeans.

'Yes,' she hisses, arousal and shame quickening her breath. 'I like my dildo in my arse, and a toy on my clit.'

'Does it make you cum?' You ask, your own breath faster.

'Yes, yes,' she pants, rubbing her thighs against each other, desperate for relief.

You're behind her, dropping your jeans, smoothing a condom on to yourself before generously applying the lube. Slowly, you slide a slick finger into her arse, gently but firmly stretching her open. She's whimpering and writhing, clutching the sheet in her fists. When she's ready, you add another finger, scissoring them to open her up nice and wide. You're firm, but not rough, allowing her to get used to the sensation. Patiently, you stroke and stretch this intimate flesh, readying her.

When she whines and begs, you place one hand on her hip, and use the other to guide yourself into her arse.

It's intense. So tight. A different kind of heat. Fundamentally naughty. Smoothly you begin to stroke into her, only becoming faster and rougher as she encourages you to do so by pushing back against you. She's wanton and open, and so fuckable.

'Do you want to come?' You ask stretching over her back, and sucking and nipping her earlobe. She whines in assent.

'You want something on your clit, don't you?' She practically flips underneath you. 'Get a toy,' you demand, magnanimously. Quickly, she has grabbed the purple rabbit it from the bed. 'Use it,' you croon, stroking the hair off her face. She turns, smiles, before sliding the toy between her legs.

The end comes quickly - she tenses, screams at the height of her orgasm, starts clenching and tightening. Her arse is magnificent - every shudder of pleasure is so clearly felt around your cock, tightening like a vice as she sobs with her pleasure. You follow, pushing hard against her as you empty inside her.

Gently, you withdraw, stroking her bum as you do. Still panting, she looks at you. Her dress is over her hips, her juices are running down her legs, and she's winking at you over her shoulder.

'Mmmm.'

The Blue Dress

It's one of those bars that make you wonder why you bother to come out. Too hot, too loud, too expensive. Glancing at your watch, you decide you'll head out once you've finished your drink. Enough time wasted already. Talking of time wasted, your eye is again caught by a lass perched on a ridiculously high bar stool. By her constant checking of her watch and phone, it's clear she's waiting for something - most likely, a someone. She's been there a while - at least as long as you've been standing elbow on bar, curiously watching the comings and goings of the room.

She's definitely cute - brown hair with blonde streaks, long legs, a nice smile - and quite obviously alone. Nothing ventured, nothing gained... As if sensing your ambivalence, she shifts position, crossing her legs under the table, a gesture of impatience. However, with her short hemline, she's just offered 2/3rds of the bar a comprehensive flash of her knickers. No one else seems to have notice, but you're thinking you must be on to something with this one. Quickly ordering a drink, you head over to her table, before you talk yourself out of it.

'Hello,' you try, wondering if there's a prize for such inspired conversation starters. 'Is anyone sitting here?'

She looks at you, curiously - who is this 6"4 ride that's chatting away with her, and asking if he can have a seat? 'No, no one's bloody sitting there,' she replies.

You're taken aback by her vehemence, and she notices.

'I'm sorry,' she starts, 'But I think I've been stood up. I'm a little bit embarrassed.'

Now, this, this you can do - you're a nice man who realises when Brownie Points can be won. 'You're embarrassed that you don't have to spend an evening forcing laughter with the kind of idiot that doesn't have enough decency to call or text you? Really?'

She giggles, the first real smile playing on her lips. 'Y'know, when you say it like that, I feel much better. Of course, the better could be the 3 vodka lemons I've had...'

Gallantly, you offer her another drink. Smiling prettily, she accepts.

While waiting at the bar, you glance back. Again, she uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Again, you're blown away by this flash of knicker triangle between golden thighs. Surely, she realises? But she's looking around the bar, and paying no attention to anything in particular. Surely not?

Back at the table, the evening really takes off - there's plenty of shared understanding, and everything slots in together easily. The music's loud, forcing her almost into your lap to make herself heard. Not that you're complaining - her dress, blue and short, is so clingy that nothing is a secret. You've spent a fond 15 minutes talking about the last couple of movies you've each seen, and slowly hypnotising yourself with the sight of her erect nipples straining against the fabric. Finally, she figures out why your eye contacts been so patchy, and she playfully swats your arm. 'Hey, when the three of you are done, let me know, okay?'

Painfully stammering, you attempt to deny and disassociate.

She laughs, patting your shoulder. 'It's okay - they're pretty fantastic boobs. I'd look at them, too.' She roars laughing at your expression - the surprise is so cute.

'Seriously,' she continues, 'Thank you for rescuing me tonite. This is a new dress, and I'm glad it got an occasion worthy of it.' Gently, she stretches up to kiss your cheek.

You turn your face, grazing her lips with your own. A sound between a whine and moan escapes her. Suddenly, both of you are intensely aware that sex is powerful. Frozen, faces together, barely breathing - this is the delicious tension of the new relationship. Will we, won't we? Hardly daring to move, she whispers so quietly she's practically mouthing the words, 'Come back to mine?'

You nod, swallowing.

Helping her into her coat, you leave the bar. Standing on the city street, the crowds of Saturday nite party animals surging and pushing around you, you're both silent. Placing her hand in yours - the intimacy of the gesture sending shocks through both of you - she turns and heads off.

You're lagging behind her, her long legs stretching away down the pavement, and you lengthen your stride to match her. She's accelerating, and you follow, faster and faster, until the two of you are running thru Sydney streets, untalking, holding hands, mesmerised by the shocks striking between you. Something in her soul has been met tonite, part of you has recognised this woman you've never seen before as yours.

Suddenly, she's pulling you down an alleyway, invisible unless you're looking for it, pulling you against her as she leans against the wall, panting. Cupping her chin gently, you raise her face, and your eyes meet. She gasps. You know.

Your knee's between her thigh... Her hands are under your shirt... You're kissing her neck... She's kissing the hand cupping her face, sucking your fingers... You're pushing against her, wishing you were in her... She's groaning, pulling her dress up around her hips, pushing your hand down between their two bodies... You're hooking her knickers aside, fingering her, watching her expression greedily... She's fumbling with your belt, undoing your flies, hooking a leg around your waist...

Sliding in to her sees you both gasp. There's no time, or so it seems, and you're fucking her hard, slamming her against the wall, nipping at her neck and jaw, her fingers digging into your neck, as she moans and calls, 'Ah ah ah!' Despite the roughness of the act, both sense the tenderness and good feeling that flows between you. Stroking hard and rhythmically, her dress is riding up higher and higher, showing off her hips and bum, which you grab enthusiastically, pulling her harder on to you. Her left boob has slipped out of her dress, and she's playing with her nipple, pinching and teasing, before sliding the hand between you to rub her clit as you fuck her brains out. Grunting with exertion, this sight is enough to push you over the edge. Slamming her against the wall, you thrust high and hard into her, her cry of almost-pain mingling with your whimpered orgasm. Still stimulating her clit, she pulls you hard against her, putting more pressure on her fingers and clit before gasping and yelling in her own orgasm.

Slowly, you pull out of her, amazed at the sight of your cum dripping down her thighs. She pulls her dress back down, covering the reddening handprints on her backside. You're refastening your belt. Both are shy now.

'I don't usually do this,' she states clearly, breaking the silence. 'You probably don't think that, but I don't.'

You pause, considering your reply. 'It was the new dress. It needed something special.'

She nods, quietly. This withdrawn, self-possessed woman is not the woman you shared drinks with, fucked beautifully in an alleyway. This is someone else.

'Look,' you start, trying to find a way back to the beginning, 'Maybe we shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry.'

She pulls away further, nodding, 'I understand. You have to watch out for man-eating single girls!' The jokey sentiment is lost in her delivery.

Everything seems lost, different, sad. One last chance - 'If you're not busy in the next couple of days, maybe we could catch up for dinner?'

She smiles tightly. 'You don't need to buy me dinner.'

You continue. This was too close to good to stop. 'But I'd like to. And, I'd like to see what new clothing I'm worthy of.'

She turns, and looks at you. 'I don't buy new clothes for fuckbuddies.'

'So, let me date you. Dinner, a date. Who knows? I might even take you out for a drink afterwards. If you're good.'

'You want us to date now?'

'Why wouldn't I? You're clever, funny, and, no offence, you're amazing in bed. Or alleyway. You get it.'

She laughs. 'Are you crazy? Everyone knows you don't see the girl who puts out on the first date.

You shrug. 'I do. So, when can I see you again?'

She smiles. 'I think I invited you back to mine...'