It was supposed to go to a professional ball player, but Dave knew the owner of the dealership and the guy owed Dave big. He had owed a lot of money to the kind of guy you didnt want to owe the smallest amount to and he had fallen behind. Dave let the guy keep his kneecaps and now he had the first 63 Vette in town.
My name is Rose. I am a slut wife and a flight
Finally the weather is warming up here and it is time for Kip to spend some more time on the beach in his speedo.
That was fun! I hadnt skied in years. I was wet, sore, and starting to feel a slight chill from the falling temperature, but I was in high spirits. Our rented cabin was a bit of a trek through the crunching snow. It was actually more of a small Chalet, that my buddy Kent had traded time-share points to get for that weekend. This was something he and I had been planning for months, a surprise for the girls. The final piece fell into place when Kents parents agreed to take Kent and Janets kids for the three-day weekend. In the distance I could see the lights shining in the two story A-frame structure wed arrived at earlier this morning. The bulk of the day had been spent drinking, skiing, drinking, playing in the snow, and more drinking. My wife, Anne, and I are pretty close to Kent and Janet. Theres a lot more playful touching and affectionate kissing than I think there is between most couples. Today was no different, of course. During our trek across the snow, very suggestive innuendo and some pretty bold groping ensued, especially between Kent and my wife. There was a bit between Janet and me, too, though I usually behaved myself more than Kent did.
The house was in its usual chaos. My kid brothers and sisters were always scrambling to get ready, to get dropped off somewhere or my mother was scrambling to go pick them up. Dance, sports, band, so-and-sos house. Today mom was bopping from kitchen to living room and up the stairs shouting orders, questions and reminders. I was on the couch, weekend bag next to me, watching U-M getting abused on the football field. My dad was at work, doing an extra weekend shift to keep us afloat.
It was ten-thirty on a beautiful April morning when Conchi Thorne, the woman in Apartment 6-B, looked at her nude self in the bathroom mirror. She was preparing herself for Keith Broys who would come to her at eleven.
Some might find me a wimp and some might say I should
Everyone has heard or read something about the sex clubs. Almost every city in the United States — and possibly abroad — has its intimate club where couples get together and trade mates. It is common to find something about such couples in almost any daily newspaper, or you can buy a good book on the subject at almost any news dealer.
I whistled with cheerful excitement as I drove down the quiet, suburban road towards the home of my sister. Married with three kids, my sister Melanie had a nice, white-collar existence in a respectable home, though her and her husband were not quite as respectable as they seemed!
I should start by giving you a little background. My name is Tracy. Trace to my friends. My last name doesnt matter and besides, I couldnt take all the phone calls. Believe it or not, the story you are about to read is true. You could find me in the phone book, and to be perfectly honest, I probably wouldnt mind if a few of you did call, but I couldnt handle you all.
This is a true story of what happened to us about three
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. So wrote American poet and essayist Henry David Thoreau in the Nineteenth Century. This statement appears to be just as true today as it was then. Perhaps it is even more valid today, considering the pressures and frequent monotony of modem society.
The fantasies flashed through his brain in little lightning shocks. Lips caressing the backs of upper thighs, licking softly, a white leg rising up an inch or two with each wet kiss… the aroma of untapped moisture from a steaming body, a hot fragrance. His testicles filled to bursting… plunging for the blessed snarl and gulp of the sticky mouth bath… spreading and splitting those thighs apart, burying his face against the drenched and turgid cavity… his tongue wet-sliding, dipping into the naked throb itself, toying there with the fire-hot vulva heart, licking and encircling the clit in a feathery rage… the candy taste and the swallowing of the creamed pussy.
As I get older, I find myself remembering the “old days” and many of the crazy events of my youth. This is a true story that happened after I graduated from college. Everything is true, except for the names, which I have changed.
Small, remote towns seemingly maintain a middle-class, stable outlook which in reality masks the turmoil existing behind drawn blinds.
Excitement, like an invisible electric current, ran through the room. The room was big, tastefully decorated in expensively modern furniture, and crowded with people. The people gathered were men and women. All were smartly dressed and almost all were drinking. The tense murmur of voices sounded above the music that was playing on the stereo.
There are times when you are hurtling down the rail-road
It was ten-thirty on a beautiful April morning when Conchi Thorne, the woman in Apartment 6-B, looked at her nude self in the bathroom mirror. She was preparing herself for Keith Broys who would come to her at eleven.
The facade of respectability often crumbles to dust with remarkable swiftness once its protective armor has been pierced.
I wanted my wife to swing and I got more than I