I Love Women Who Squirt
I was on my back on an air mattress, Nancy’s bed not yet having been delivered. Good thing, actually, as Nancy, rubbing the head of my cock vigorously against her clitoris, burst forth – squirting - in orgasm with another near pint of ejaculate, gushing down over my cock and loins, mixing with the pussy juices already lingering on my cock and pubic hair. I gasped from the heat of Nancy’s squirt and then arched my back, driving my cock as deep into Nancy as I could, each of us thrusting against each other, neither of us anymore thinking of the other’s pleasures, just of hot, wet lust, our own needs, having reached a point of no conscious ability to think or to stop.
Her B cup breasts were bouncing to our rhythms, her pink eraser nipples nearly a half inch engorged. My climax buildup was as strong as I have ever experienced, and then I exploded my own hot cum against her cervix as I drove my cock as deep as it could reach in an instinctive and primeval desire to plant my seed as near her womb as possible. I had multiple ropes as my balls emptied. Nancy gave three additional thrusts against my shaft to reach her own orgasm, then spasmed as she came down as hard and as deep as she could in her own instinct to push her eggs as close to sperm as she could, as her breath simultaneously burst from her throat in a gasp. And then once more she gushed ejaculate across my loins and hips, so hot, so wet, so wanton. And only then as I pulled her to my chest, Nancy kissing my mouth, her tongue piercing between my lips, my cock still embedded in her pussy did we begin to recover our breath.
“Oh fuck, that was incredible,” exclaimed Nancy, “Can you do it again?” Well, no, not this afternoon anyway, middle age having snuck up on my ability for repeated orgasms. I can get hard again, and I can deliver a functional fucking, but my junk will not deliver a second helping. I may not be quite as good as I once was, but I am just as good once as I ever was. And frankly, probably much better as I have mastered my tongue and fingers, and my dick, to provide extended pleasures in every orifice of a woman, grand master cunnilinguist!
And that was how Nancy and I had commenced our afternoon, my wife on a pleasure trip to visit friends in Boston. It was a rare opportunity to spend a full afternoon in Nancy’s arms – and twat – and I did not rue the shopping bill I would soon receive from the treasures of Massachusetts. I am, after all, most discrete, and this afternoon was a rare dalliance. Perhaps you have surmised, perhaps not, Nancy is an e*****, endorsed by a most helpful vetting service.
I do not mind, and Nancy certainly does not take exception to, an interlude enabled by a cash transaction. After all, men always pay for sex, just mostly not so directly. Dinners, flowers, dates, theater, gifts, at the start of romance. Then marriage, with all of those plus everything else a loving husband wants to provide his spouse. Oh, and I love Donna, whom you have met in another story. I just occasionally crave an aspect of sex not available at home. Donna does, too. She occasionally wants a very large and/or ********** cock and the chance to help educate a younger (adult) male to a more sophisticated level of sex than simple youthful pussy pounding. And that is okay with each of us, so long as we remain discrete between ourselves and unobserved by the community, i.e., no tennis instructor for her, no blonde stripper on my arm at a restaurant. And we do not discuss our mutual dalliances, as discretion is foremost.
There is, however, nothing so incredibly erotic and sexy than a woman who squirts. Hot washes of cum are the most tantalizing of experiences. Nancy squirts copious amounts, and I think Donna holds back though sometimes her juices are a bit more liquid than the usual pussy lube one expects upon arousal. I am a squirt fanatic!
Well, okay, Nancy was not actually my first experience with squirting. Angie, my senior year high school girlfriend, was my first. Angie wanted to get pregnant, have me marry her after high school graduation, while I wanted to go to college and then law school. You might have thought a high school guy would do anything to get laid, but I was so afraid of pregnancy, I would not put my cock in that hot, wet pussy, and I had not figured out a condom would do. I imagined I had millions of little soldier sperm who would swim their way right up to her waiting egg, consigning me to premature parentage. Angie and I played, fingering her pussy to orgasm and she stroking my cock to conclusion. Occasionally, I would get a blowjob. I often would go home with blue balls and stroke myself off, sniffing her scent on my fingers, to a significant amount of cum, but I would not fuck her. One time and she would be knocked up for sure.
One late winter night in my parents’ yellow Ford station wagon, I went down on Angie after significantly petting and fingering her twat. I had neither the vaginal anatomy nor the technique down at this point in my life, but I was an enthusiastic pussy eater, my tongue straining deep into her vagina and apparently, unbeknownst to me, lapping her g-spot and clitoris correctly, because Angie bucked against my mouth, her pussy spasming rapidly, and suddenly my mouth was filled by warm liquid. Whoa, not good, I thought Angie had pissed in my mouth!
A month later, we laid, well, not that kind of laid, on the carpet of her parent’s living room, somehow under their baby grand piano. Angie had my cock out was pulling it towards her wet pussy into which I already had several fingers. Still convinced Angie wanted a load of my cum to make a baby, I pulled back and then planted my mouth on her vagina, licking as best I could to distract her from my pre-cumming dick. My mouth on her clam, my nose filled with her scent, I stroked my tongue deep into her pussy, bringing her quickly to orgasm, and again she flooded my mouth. But it did not taste like my piss smelled. I was too inexperienced to know Angie was a squirter. Two funny things: Angie started up the very next day, the chance I could get her pregnant the night before nonexistent; and if I had known squirting, Angie would today be my wife, the hell with law school. There is nothing finer than to be in a vagina washing your cock in a stream of female ejaculate.
Many years and two wives later, I was working a project in Pittsburgh, a relatively new member of a web based screening service, and very horny. Beth responded to my appointment invitation as an outcall to my hotel. I had showered and dressed as she knocked on my hotel room door. We began with her sucking my cock, I was kissing her nipples, working down her belly to her vagina. I was licking her twat and stopped momentarily to reach for a clit tickler I had brought with me. “What is that?” Beth a little worriedly exclaimed. Just a small toy I thought we might have some fun with, I responded. Beth, looking over the little purple vibrator, took it from my hand, turned it on and began to excite her clit. “I am a squirter”, she announced, “I hope you do not mind.”
I certainly did not as Beth and I spent the next hour alternating between my tongue and the vibrator, and sometimes simultaneously. Beth was a wondrous squirter, frequent and copious and hot, not in a jet but in frequent burbles as if from a low powered drinking fountain. Beth came on my fingers in her twat, against my mouth, over top of me down my chest, on her back as I watched her wet her vagina and thighs with hot juices. I was in heaven. I finally mounted and fucked her to my own orgasm, and I was fully spent from this adventure. Beth arose, showered, dressed and kissed me at the hotel room door, remarking, “I’m not sure there is a dry spot on the bed where you can sleep.” And there was not, though I lay naked on the soppy bedding until her juice became cold. I found a blanket in the closet that was dry. I wonder what the maid thought the next day when she came to change the sheets, probably I was a drunken bedwetter.
And ever since I have been on a quest for ladies that squirt. And id I could find a way to help Donna to squirt, after nearly 30 years of fucking, without giving away my other adventures, it would be fantastic. Any ideas?
Edit Delete
Her B cup breasts were bouncing to our rhythms, her pink eraser nipples nearly a half inch engorged. My climax buildup was as strong as I have ever experienced, and then I exploded my own hot cum against her cervix as I drove my cock as deep as it could reach in an instinctive and primeval desire to plant my seed as near her womb as possible. I had multiple ropes as my balls emptied. Nancy gave three additional thrusts against my shaft to reach her own orgasm, then spasmed as she came down as hard and as deep as she could in her own instinct to push her eggs as close to sperm as she could, as her breath simultaneously burst from her throat in a gasp. And then once more she gushed ejaculate across my loins and hips, so hot, so wet, so wanton. And only then as I pulled her to my chest, Nancy kissing my mouth, her tongue piercing between my lips, my cock still embedded in her pussy did we begin to recover our breath.
“Oh fuck, that was incredible,” exclaimed Nancy, “Can you do it again?” Well, no, not this afternoon anyway, middle age having snuck up on my ability for repeated orgasms. I can get hard again, and I can deliver a functional fucking, but my junk will not deliver a second helping. I may not be quite as good as I once was, but I am just as good once as I ever was. And frankly, probably much better as I have mastered my tongue and fingers, and my dick, to provide extended pleasures in every orifice of a woman, grand master cunnilinguist!
And that was how Nancy and I had commenced our afternoon, my wife on a pleasure trip to visit friends in Boston. It was a rare opportunity to spend a full afternoon in Nancy’s arms – and twat – and I did not rue the shopping bill I would soon receive from the treasures of Massachusetts. I am, after all, most discrete, and this afternoon was a rare dalliance. Perhaps you have surmised, perhaps not, Nancy is an e*****, endorsed by a most helpful vetting service.
I do not mind, and Nancy certainly does not take exception to, an interlude enabled by a cash transaction. After all, men always pay for sex, just mostly not so directly. Dinners, flowers, dates, theater, gifts, at the start of romance. Then marriage, with all of those plus everything else a loving husband wants to provide his spouse. Oh, and I love Donna, whom you have met in another story. I just occasionally crave an aspect of sex not available at home. Donna does, too. She occasionally wants a very large and/or ********** cock and the chance to help educate a younger (adult) male to a more sophisticated level of sex than simple youthful pussy pounding. And that is okay with each of us, so long as we remain discrete between ourselves and unobserved by the community, i.e., no tennis instructor for her, no blonde stripper on my arm at a restaurant. And we do not discuss our mutual dalliances, as discretion is foremost.
There is, however, nothing so incredibly erotic and sexy than a woman who squirts. Hot washes of cum are the most tantalizing of experiences. Nancy squirts copious amounts, and I think Donna holds back though sometimes her juices are a bit more liquid than the usual pussy lube one expects upon arousal. I am a squirt fanatic!
Well, okay, Nancy was not actually my first experience with squirting. Angie, my senior year high school girlfriend, was my first. Angie wanted to get pregnant, have me marry her after high school graduation, while I wanted to go to college and then law school. You might have thought a high school guy would do anything to get laid, but I was so afraid of pregnancy, I would not put my cock in that hot, wet pussy, and I had not figured out a condom would do. I imagined I had millions of little soldier sperm who would swim their way right up to her waiting egg, consigning me to premature parentage. Angie and I played, fingering her pussy to orgasm and she stroking my cock to conclusion. Occasionally, I would get a blowjob. I often would go home with blue balls and stroke myself off, sniffing her scent on my fingers, to a significant amount of cum, but I would not fuck her. One time and she would be knocked up for sure.
One late winter night in my parents’ yellow Ford station wagon, I went down on Angie after significantly petting and fingering her twat. I had neither the vaginal anatomy nor the technique down at this point in my life, but I was an enthusiastic pussy eater, my tongue straining deep into her vagina and apparently, unbeknownst to me, lapping her g-spot and clitoris correctly, because Angie bucked against my mouth, her pussy spasming rapidly, and suddenly my mouth was filled by warm liquid. Whoa, not good, I thought Angie had pissed in my mouth!
A month later, we laid, well, not that kind of laid, on the carpet of her parent’s living room, somehow under their baby grand piano. Angie had my cock out was pulling it towards her wet pussy into which I already had several fingers. Still convinced Angie wanted a load of my cum to make a baby, I pulled back and then planted my mouth on her vagina, licking as best I could to distract her from my pre-cumming dick. My mouth on her clam, my nose filled with her scent, I stroked my tongue deep into her pussy, bringing her quickly to orgasm, and again she flooded my mouth. But it did not taste like my piss smelled. I was too inexperienced to know Angie was a squirter. Two funny things: Angie started up the very next day, the chance I could get her pregnant the night before nonexistent; and if I had known squirting, Angie would today be my wife, the hell with law school. There is nothing finer than to be in a vagina washing your cock in a stream of female ejaculate.
Many years and two wives later, I was working a project in Pittsburgh, a relatively new member of a web based screening service, and very horny. Beth responded to my appointment invitation as an outcall to my hotel. I had showered and dressed as she knocked on my hotel room door. We began with her sucking my cock, I was kissing her nipples, working down her belly to her vagina. I was licking her twat and stopped momentarily to reach for a clit tickler I had brought with me. “What is that?” Beth a little worriedly exclaimed. Just a small toy I thought we might have some fun with, I responded. Beth, looking over the little purple vibrator, took it from my hand, turned it on and began to excite her clit. “I am a squirter”, she announced, “I hope you do not mind.”
I certainly did not as Beth and I spent the next hour alternating between my tongue and the vibrator, and sometimes simultaneously. Beth was a wondrous squirter, frequent and copious and hot, not in a jet but in frequent burbles as if from a low powered drinking fountain. Beth came on my fingers in her twat, against my mouth, over top of me down my chest, on her back as I watched her wet her vagina and thighs with hot juices. I was in heaven. I finally mounted and fucked her to my own orgasm, and I was fully spent from this adventure. Beth arose, showered, dressed and kissed me at the hotel room door, remarking, “I’m not sure there is a dry spot on the bed where you can sleep.” And there was not, though I lay naked on the soppy bedding until her juice became cold. I found a blanket in the closet that was dry. I wonder what the maid thought the next day when she came to change the sheets, probably I was a drunken bedwetter.
And ever since I have been on a quest for ladies that squirt. And id I could find a way to help Donna to squirt, after nearly 30 years of fucking, without giving away my other adventures, it would be fantastic. Any ideas?
Edit Delete
5年前
