"No, no no! Don't do this!" Nancy shrieked, clenching her fists under her chin, her eyes filled with tears of frustration. They just weren't listening, and she couldn't shake their resolve at all. She would have run, if she could. But Joani, standing behind her chair, had a tight grip on both shoulders, and was pressing down firmly. At her left side, Cindy had her fist doublewrapped good and tight in Nancy's long curling brown hair, holding her head back. And in front, standing over her, patiently waiting for this outburst to stop, Marly held the shiny metal handcuffs, swinging them gently to and fro between pinched fingertips.
"Yes, we will," Joani whispered in Nancy's ear.
Marly nodded confidently. "We can, and we will. Don't try to deceive us, Nancy. We know that you want to do this, very badly. We have your boyfriend Gregory's word for it, and we've read your personal journal over very carefully... "
Nancy's face reddened. With anger, and shame. How dare they!
Last night the craziest thing happened. I was at this fundraiser for some good cause I'm sure. I wasn't too interested with the going-ons around me. I didn't know anybody, and my friend who had dragged me into this shindig, had left with a desperate-looking chubby girl that he was sure to get lucky with.
Drink in hand, I wandered around trying find somebody interesting to strike up a conversation with. A couple of hours later and many drinks from the free bar, I had a pleasant buzz going on and still nobody to talk to.
That's not to say that I didn't start conversations. I did. Many of them. But for some reason, either my mood, or the drinks that I had consumed, nobody interested me. Quite a few ladies tried to prolong their boring conversations with me, but I didn't care and most of the time I just walked away.
My boredom lead me up the stairs in that joint to the next floor up which overlooked the big space where the party was held. The circular walkway was deserted as everybody was downstairs gabbing.
As I walked aimlessly, I reached a point where I saw a gorgeous set of legs, topped by a nicely curved ass of some woman leaning quite a bit forward on the stone banister. Her upper body was nearly horizontal. I approached closer to see who these fine body parts belonged to, but the side of her face was obscured by a huge column.
My girlfriend and I arrived at the Merlot a few minutes before our reservation and when the ma�tre D' accepted my hand in greeting, there was a twenty in the palm which from experience is instantly detected and deftly passed from my hand to his pocket.
He knows that it is a twenty by instinct. He is also converted immediately to one of my most loyal and accommodating friends willing to move anything and anybody in the house to make me happy and to insure the presence of another twenty. In a very low voice, I let him know that my pleasure would be a corner table with a view of the dining room. For a moment he had that wild look that says that he's trapped in a hopeless situation.
Then, whispering, just a moment, he disappeared and just as suddenly returned announcing that our table was ready. We both know that, that table, disappeared from the party that overlooked his twenty.
I love going out wearing my jogging outfit, mid-calf black Speedos stretched tightly against my vulva, showing a deep crease. Sometimes, I'll see guys and gals walking past me with their eyes glued to my crotch as I ran by, and I enjoy seeing them "getting a rise" over it.
I was wearing just such an outfit last summer when I went grocery shopping at my usual store. I like shopping there, and had become familiar with one of the bag-boys. He was a 17 year-old tall, lanky red head. I noticed he always made an effort to be the one to bag my groceries and take them out to my car.
He told me about his new motorcycle, and that he was going off to college in September. That's when I started seeing him as a young man and not a kid. I also got the feeling that he had a crush on me, with all that attention. I figured that he fantasized about me, lying awake at night, jerking off, dreaming about having sex with me. (I'm getting wet.)
Women who are compulsive masturbators fascinate me. I think it began with an experience I had over ten years ago.
I used to live on the northern coast of California and I often visited the nude beaches of Humboldt County. On one late spring day I went to a place called College Cove near Trinidad.
I got off work at three in the afternoon and headed straight for the beach. As I headed down the trail from the parking lot I passed many people who were leaving but there were still a few folks on the beach including a couple of old friends whom I hadn't seen for a while.
It's the 4th of July in DC. We're picnicking on the Virginia shoreline waiting for nightfall and the fireworks to start. I'm wearing a pair of running shorts and a tank top and you're simply in a sundress and panties. As we lounge on the grass your hem keeps riding up your long legs and I have to constantly avert my eyes so I won't get too turned on.
You ask my why I seem so preoccupied with everything but you. I respond that you are all I'm thinking of but I must look elsewhere so that my hard-on doesn't get to obvious. You smile and say that now you understand.
"There are times when you have to turn off your mind and think with your balls," Michael thought idly.
Eight years of blissful, loyal marriage had not stymied his vivid fantasies of making love to other women. Even the joys and rigors of parenthood had not dampened his intense imagination. He had gone through phases where he actually thought about other women while making love to his wife. In spite of his fantasies, he still had deep feelings of personal contentment as well as pride in the fact that he had never even touched another woman in the ten years since he met his wife.