Free erotic stories by Desiremakesmeweak on AdultRead
I fell into this agenda almost by accident, when an accountant friend – a female, and a good-looking red-headed one too – mentioned that business wasn't going so well and could I introduce her to some wealthy people that I knew. And he thinks he knows and I'm not going to shake that up because he certainly can't do things for me the way that I need." I can't guess at the answer to the question so I have to ask you in case from this point on we have to talk in certain ways, I mean when I start dealing with the actual phsyical requirements."
On the other hand, I wouldn't trade my own looks with any film star you know; not even... The only other things in the room were two large hip-high Bowers & Wilkins speakers, a little ways out from, but still near enough to, opposing corners of the room. Completely naked below the waist to the high-above-knee FM boots of natural hide, the colour scheme might not have worked except for the rust-red inguinal curly tufts of hair around her pussy, and the fine milky white skin of her body and breasts thrust up high into generous mounds above the tight natural-colour leather corset, a stubble of ginger-gold beneath her armpits, and the bob-cut shortish red-golden hair that framed her face and head.
The electric starter system went into high drive and the plane began moving, turning around to the right first, and then rolling a short way up the taxi-ing lane before stopping briefly, until the turbines were spinning into gas compression velocity, quickly screaming the aircraft forward with urgency and intensity, and then faster and faster until the big wings lifted the plane's wheels off the ground, and we went up, up into the sleeting darkness, undercarriage methodically whining back into fold-in position, and the in-cabin sound-baffled take-off roar now changing to a soft hum.
And then he got into that damn low gleaming red automobile -- that hot automobile -- and when he powered up the engine it really did sound like the goddamned batmobile as he drove away pretty fast from the curbside and took off away to wherever Bruce Wayne goes when he just doesn't give a damn about the sick chick that he's left in her dismal pool of sweat and drool on some pavement out there somewhere in nowhere'sville. The smiles I give when I like the people looking are really coming down from a high place.
But what people like Lady Daphne were referring to, were a semi-apocryphal handful of modern sex spies trained by the modern-era FSB and originally set up in high places among the oligarchs, but who had quickly become extremely wealthy and independent in their own right and now existed in some sense autonomously from, though parallel to the official State apparatus. "You, of all people, Janosz, you - must know the needs of people like us -" she made hand expressions that implied I was being included in the 'us.' "The masses live inside their comfortable illusions, of course. Tekla, the Nawch Vyead came close right up to my face again, wiggling and swaying like a big blue-black snake.
A real sex partner, fully-developed, polished, and sitting neatly, back straight, in some cocktail lounge in a tight black mini skirt, holds the prospect of real fire hidden beneath the shadows under her skirt, between the legs, across the delicious round behind, covered in its figure-hugging silk or satin. In high heels, a strongly sensualist woman for instance even just erotically remembering a particularly fierce sexual incident can readily buckle at the knees, descending automatically down to the floor... Sometimes, art in music, and when particularly narrowly defined, on that rare if not unique occasion, is at least as evocative as finding a pile of hot-looking black lace panties on the set of a decent, current in-production, modern film.
Nicolo, and up the same poorly-lit rising narrow stretch of worn old and often wet paving stones, and having caught a glimpse once or twice, of an actual monk striding along up ahead -- although not on this night -- and many times before having seen that chalkpaint-faced street mime with his small clutch of colourful gas-filled balloons and his beckoning finger, it was no surprise that she could read a little Latin now, and when she allowed her eyes to follow where the mime's finger pointed up towards, she was able to understand that the raised lettering over the architrave read: "Chapel of the Mystical Transfiguration." And she was able to read and understand the writing without a single lift of her heartbeat.
I love how some city women spray these kinds of heavy scents on and even after they've been in a warm bed for many hours, or even in an office all day long, superficially they still smell of the dry-down stage of the fragrance. But I knew Cherise quite well and after a heavy night in the club when she went to sleep she went off so deeply that she would sweat into the sheets from on top of the already stale sweat that was still on her from all the thumping dance music and the long hot session working that combat DJ mixer deck.
There was a complete understanding that there was cunt down there, there was a certain amount of hair, there was pink crenelated genital skin, there was lubrication, there was intent, and desire, desire to have the juicy slit wedge entered with the knob head of a hard prick and then fucked silently in and out with the slippery co-operation from her dirty-minded, and indeed slightly smelly pussy, and then fucked very hard too, gruntsomely with the gruesome effluvium of her woman's sex smell welling up into the nostrils of the both of them in their panicked intensity of the life/death act of the human being.
So I was wandering around then, I guess kind of in a glow of imagined self-importance, a mug of coffee in one hand, Nokia Lumia in the other held up close to my ear, when I heard the woman explain in perfectly-British accented English that her boss wanted to know why 'all you top Literotica writers' virtually never wrote about the products her boss made his fortune on. Which was all for the best too, since Peter the tycoon had arranged a meet-up at the Hong Kong Peninsula with one of the world's best (and best-looking) A-list actresses - in order for 'the jemsbee-jonshon,' to sound her out on script ideas.
Her mistress opened the car door to her on the passenger side, and the girl got in delicately, sitting in the rear left-hand side seat, next to her patron who also sat in the rear, on the right, directly behind the liveried male driver who always seemed to just look straight ahead. ...There was the currency of a mutual self-knowledge as women, of course – this fundamental idea floated inconspicuously around constantly in the background of Li's mind as she thought about the situation from the hot, even slightly dazzling context of its present focus of possible, in fact likely nay, certain sex now with this girl.
Kate spoke to the beautiful young woman in the little black dress and Cesare Paciotti high heels with the little silver sword motif on them: “So – we don't want to hear from short fat ugly people like Henry Kissinger, do we, about what he thinks is an aphrodisiac. Susan saw her brand new friend's flame red pussy hair spill out through the opened trouser slit, and in that moment her own cunt suddenly twitched independent of her obvious conscious control and then went completely wet, melting its womanly sexual effusion transudate into her own black lace panties and raising its fascinating warmth and effluvium up and out into the open, into the already thick air of the confined cubicle space, making it tang in there with her own personal brand of womanly salty ocean foam and sex.
I'm pleased to meet you." The shock she felt as she held the other woman's hand and felt something like a vast frisson of liberty unleash itself and run warmly, then blushingly, even embarrassingly, somewhat, through her whole body, but especially her mind, and she also knew, at that moment, in her cunt, that feeling of certainty of physical intimacy about to happen soon, or certainly going to happen; that it was allowed to happen by both of them. All the things that happened next, whatever really happened, Sandra ever couldn't say for certain later from her memory - which bits came first, which came next, and then next and so on, but she knew she was seated in an ergonomic front rest massage chair at some point, and yes the man's hands fell onto her shoulders and stroked down across her upper arms, and she could see that he was a very dark-skinned person, well nearly quite black, really.