101 EROTICA STORIES (44 page)

He watched as her wife touched Anna Marie’s peach-like breasts and he felt himself bulging inside his pants. He unbuttoned his khaki shorts and released his now glistening member and held it tight. Damn all women!

His wife removed the barrier between her and the babysitter’s cunt and placed her legs on her shoulders. Her tongue moved slowly at first, testing her. Anna Marie groaned and moaned and arched her back as his wife tongue-fucked her to perfection. Mrs. Boor imagined how she liked to be licked---firmly and slowly and without hurry.

He went towards her wife, and gripped her ass. He knew he loves it when he licks her from under. He positioned her head so that her cunt was above his mouth and he started using the tip of his tongue to tickle her pussy. “Oh,babe...” was all that she was able to say and her juices mingled with his saliva. Her wife smelled like cinnamon down there---like pumpkin pie. He licked her again and again until she was moving her hips like crazy. Before she even get a chance to climax, he stood up and gripped her ass again, this time massaging it gently, prepping it for some serious fucking.

He moved his cock gently inside her, taking some time to warm her up. He knew she was dripping wet and ready for him, but his wife is a bit sensitive and he didn’t want to hurt her. She was moaning again as his cockhead found her entrance and slid almost effortlessly inside her. His wife was on all fours and he was able to pull in and out of her while standing.

Anna Marie was in so much frenzy now as his wife licked her full force. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and he fingered her clit to increase the sensations. The three of them were linked together in the most intimate way. He pushed in and out of his wife’s pussy, thinking about doing this again and again and again...

Vicky Morris had always considered herself sort of a prude when it comes to the opposite sex. She was twenty-one years old but had never had an official boyfriend. Well, there were the boys she made out and petted heavily with—and sometimes went to bed with—in parties where she had too much to drink and stuff, but she didn’t think those counted. All those boys were simply after her body, which she had to admit was pretty spectacular for a prude.

She was of medium height, not too tall that boys would feel like midgets next to her but not too short either that boys would feel like they were with a midget next to her. Her hair ran past her shoulders and up to her elbows. She had dark-brown hair, something she used to consider a blessing because it made her stand out among a sea of blondes in high school. Now that she was in college, though, her hair had become sort of like a curse. There were too many brunettes at the college she attended. She felt like she looked like everyone else, and that wasn’t a good thing for someone who was intent on snagging a boy and a college romance at that. She had thought about dyeing her hair blonde but thought against it. She just didn’t have enough guts.

Vicky’s hair may be plain, but her body was far from plain. She was built like an hourglass: shoulders and hips in matching width, waist as curvy and tiny as a waist can be, boobs not too big like Leslie Taint’s—the campus crush—but upright and perky enough to attract the needed male attention. Her tush was firm and toned, but in terms of size, it was an ordinary-looking tush.

She knew she had the looks. Her friends had been telling her so. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them. She knew enough when she looked in the mirror that she was more attractive than most girls she saw. Her beauty wasn’t the type that would make heads turn. Her beauty was the type that would make one take a second look and then another before the looker would realize they were looking at something spectacular. Vicky wore glasses, something she figured concealed her looks some more. She didn’t mind, though. She had the worst eyesight, and contact lenses irritated her. It was glasses for Vicky Morris. While she thought her spectacles put a damper on her looks, the boys thought the opposite. A chick in glasses was hot for most members of the opposite sex. In the days that followed, Vicky mused her eyeglasses may have had something to do with the events that took place between her and Mr. Russell.

Mr. Ned Russell was one of her babysitting bosses, the other being Mrs. Arlene Russell, his wife. Vicky, for two months and running now, had been babysitting Sabrina Russell, the couple’s daughter and only child. Vicky and Sabrina had hit off right away, and the child looked forward to the babysitting sessions, which took place on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Mrs. Russell’s work was something that involved travel. Thus, she was always out of the house, and it was mostly Mr. Russell who took care of Sabrina. His work involved something big too—Vicky guessed it had something to do with banking—but he didn’t have to go out and travel as much as his wife. Vicky babysat on the three said days every week since Mr. Russell had to stay out late on those days. She didn’t mind since her classes at the college took place only on mornings, and she had her afternoons off. Babysitting also meant spare cash, something Vicky certainly didn’t mind.

She had been drawn to Mr. Russell the first time she had laid her eyes on him. Mr. Russell was a tall man, a towering figure to his wife’s petite feminine frame. He was the typical all-American husband portrayed in most family-related ads. His hair was blond. His eyes were blue. His skin was fair and unbelievably creamy for a man’s. His shoulders were broad, and he had an athletic air about him. His waist was trim, and his hips were slim. He didn’t have washboard abs, but his stomach was still decently flat. She wasn’t surprised. The Russells were a young family. Vicky figured husband and wife were in their late thirties, but she didn’t get to confirm this fact.

Mrs. Russell was the ideal contrast to her husband’s almost-blinding fairness. She had jet-black hair that looked startling against her plaster-white skin. Her eyes were of a dark brown; they were so dark they were almost black. Her lips were rosy pink and looked lush. While her husband had an imposing frame, Mrs. Russell looked frail enough to break. She wasn’t very short, but she was petite and gentle looking. Her shoulders were narrow and as wide as her hips. She was thin, but she wasn’t curvy. Aside from her breasts, which hinted of motherhood, she could have been someone who was fresh out of college.

Vicky didn’t think of Mrs. Russell as beautiful, but she was certainly very striking. Also, it was plain to see Mr. Russell was head-over-heels in love with his wife. They were always so sweet together, always looking out for each other and making sure the other’s needs were met first before he/she dealt with his/her own. Vicky figured Mr. Russell may have been something of a playboy back in the days when he was single and free, but he sure didn’t fit into that bill now, not with his attractive doting wife around to give him all his needs and wants.

Yes, all his needs and wants, all right, as Vicky discovered one day.

It was a typical babysitting session for Vicky. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for her. She and Sabrina played for a bit, but Saab got tired after a while and said she wanted to take a nap. Vicky agreed of course and immediately put Saab to sleep, which was an easy feat since the child almost drifted off to Dreamland right away the second her head hit the pillow.

Saab must be so tired, Vicky thought, looking at the child tenderly. She loved Saab, greatly enjoyed her company. But with the child asleep, what on earth was she going to do the rest of the afternoon? She glanced at her wristwatch and gave a low whistle. She still had three more hours to go before Mr. Russell got home. She thought for a bit and decided to while the hours away by going online. The Russells had a desktop computer in their living room, and the Russells had given her permission to use it whenever she wished.

After making sure Saab was sound asleep and comfortable, Vicky went back down the stairs quietly and headed to the desktop computer. She thought briefly of watching some TV instead then dismissed the thought when she realized her favorite show wasn’t going to be on until about two hours later. Well, the online world it was, she decided. Besides, there were some new videos she wanted to check out on YouTube. She plugged the computer in and turned the volume down a bit as she waited for the machine to come to life. She had forgotten to bring her headphones. The Russells had a wicked speaker, but she didn’t want to wake Sabrina up from all her online racket.

The desktop came to life. Vicky glanced up, and that was when she saw the image on the screen.

She was so surprised that she froze for about a few seconds. She didn’t do anything at all. Her heart beat faster, and her hands grew clammy. She blinked and swallowed the lump of unease that was starting to grow in her throat. No such luck. The image on the screen remained the same, and so she blinked again. The image didn’t change an inch. In fact, it seemed to stare back at her with a sense of quiet defiance, as if asking her how dare she doubt the reality of what she was seeing before her eyes.

What stupefied Vicky was the wallpaper on the Russell’s desktop computer. The picture was that of Mr. and Mrs. Russell. They were in a room that Vicky suspected was in their very house, but the room was too bare and nondescript for her to point out which exact room it was. There was a desk in the room, though. Mr. Russell was seated on the desk.

He was as naked as the day he was born.

Mr. Russell had his hands planted on the desk for support. His legs, on the other hand, were spread far apart. Vicky took in the man’s muscular frame, his creamy skin made even brighter by the sheer film of sweat that covered every inch of his body. She couldn’t see his face. He had his face down as he was looking down at something. Of course he was. He had to.

Mrs. Russell was right between Mr. Russell’s spread-apart legs. She was bent over, and her legs were spread wide too. Vicky could see Mrs. Russell’s bare bottom. For a woman as petite as she was, her behind appeared quite large. Vicky looked closely and could almost see the swollen pink flesh that was Mrs. Russell’s cunt, but she wasn’t very sure. What she was sure of, however, was the sight of Mrs. Russell’s fingers on the spot right where her vagina and anus met. Apparently, Mrs. Russell was playing with herself using one hand. The other was wrapped around the bottom part of her husband’s erect penis, which Vicky couldn’t clearly see since its top half was also covered by Mrs. Russell’s mouth.

Vicky was seeing an image of Mrs. Russell give her husband, Mr. Russell, some head.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the picture. The subject was quite scandalous, but the photo was taken tastefully. Husband and wife were caught in perfect form. They were both slick with sweat, and their bodies portrayed they were completely caught up in the throes of their passion. She stared at Mrs. Russell’s behind again. How clear and smooth, and how pale! She suddenly wanted to run her hands all over that juicy bottom. She had the urge to know how it felt like under her hands, how the smooth skin felt as she ran her palms all over that round behind, how it would feel to bring her palm smartly down that ass and hear the smack! that came after each slap, the sound of which was sure to satisfy her.

But she couldn’t do that, of course. What she was seeing was a still photo, and she couldn’t just go up to Mrs. Russell and ask her if she, Vicky, could see and touch her bare bottom, could she? Vicky’s eyes flicked to the Mrs. Russell’s round ass again. The longing inside her raged uncontrollably now. She began to shake. She realized she had to do something about her sudden bout of fleshly longing for her female employer before she totally lost it. She glanced upstairs and listened for a moment. Everything was quiet upstairs, which was how she wanted it to be. The silence meant Sabrina was fast asleep. Perfect. Vicky could get to her business without anybody accidentally walking into her as she immersed herself into it.

Vicky slid her red cardigan down her shoulders, revealing the thin-strapped cotton dress she wore underneath it. She threw the cardigan down the floor then reached out behind her to unzip her dress. When that bit was done, she stood up and stepped out of her dress. She was now in her underwear, a dark-blue lacy set she had gotten for herself a few months back. She bit her lip. She was feeling hot and racy now. She stared at the wallpaper again for a couple of seconds. Now she could see the swelling underside of Mrs. Russell’s right breast, which was partially concealed by her right arm. Vicky’s eyes traced the length of Mrs. Russell’s right arm up until her hand, which was clamped over her husband’s seemingly humongous dick. Vicky leaned closer for a quick inspection. The photo didn’t give a crystal-clear detail, but she was almost 100 percent sure Mr. Russell was gifted with some huge equipment.

No wonder Mrs. Russell is all over him, Vicky thought. Well, I would be too if I were in her shoes.

Her flesh called out again, and Vicky responded right away. She slid the straps of her bra down her arms. Her breasts, eager for release from the stifling confines of her undergarments, sprang free. Her nipples got a whiff of the cold bracing air and all at once began to stand in attention. She looked down and gave one of her nipples a quick pinch. This led to an electrical sensation that ran down her arm and all over her body, seeming to linger at the area of her crotch where something appeared to gush out. She tweaked her nipple again. The electrical sensation was unmistakable this time, and she couldn’t help but moan. She bit her lip again and looked up. No signs of moving life upstairs. She figured she didn’t have much time to play around. If she wanted to do this, she better do it fast.

She threw her bra on the floor. She was only in her panties now. Vicky started to slide her panties off her hips then stopped. Why? There was something incredibly sexy about playing with herself with her panties on, Vicky realized. There was a sense of urgency, some wild animalistic desire that screamed “I gotta have you now! No time to take your panties off!” She shrugged. Why take off something that added to the excitement?

She was all set now. She looked at the picture again for inspiration and nodded. She sat back on the office chair in front of the desktop computer. She lifted her legs and placed them beside the desktop, one leg at each side. She moved back a couple of inches so that her legs were spread really wide. She looked down. Her panties were sticking into her crotch, and there was a dark spot right in the middle of her crotch. Vicky liked what she saw. It made her feel sexy. It made her feel wanted. She glanced at the desktop wallpaper again. It made her feel like she was part of Mr. and Mrs. Russell’s intimate moment.