Poolside

by Jeremy Edwards

The hotel’s elegant indoor pool area–deserted at this hour–was the perfect venue for the tryst we both craved. As we enjoyed the cool jazz that wafted in, we kissed, fondled, and undressed at leisure.

The last garment had hit the tiles. Gabrielle’s nipples and my penis were at maximum tension, and her pussy kissed my fingers with sweet juice. I began to lead her to a lounge chair, so that we could properly mingle.

“I have to pee first,” she said. I prepared to bide my time, thinking she would throw something on, excuse herself, and find a restroom. But she had other ideas. She glanced quickly around the pool lounge and spotted a file of fluffy towels. She grabbed a medium-size towel and, standing gloriously naked before me, she shoved it, still folded, into her crotch, where she held it tight with one hand and both thighs.

As I watched in amazement and delight, she kept her outer muscles tight and relaxed her inner ones. Within moments, she was pumping a powerful river of pee into the towel, humping it rhythmically all the while. Though she pissed a long time–an expression of sexual bliss creeping onto her face as she did so–the towel absorbed most of her flood. Only a few small, titillating trickles headed down her pulsating legs or dripped languidly to the floor beneath her damp, hot pussy.

Short and sweet and deliciously naughty. Dontcha think? You might recall that Jerotic visited Zen Fetish once before and I told you more about him the very next day. I mean, after all, inquiring minds wanted to know.

Something else about Jerotic? He’s a very sweet guy. I count him as a friend. And I count myself very lucky.

What’s a mind like Jerotic’s up to on a daily basis? Find out here. Tell him Angela sent you. He might just offer you some milk and cookies. Watch out for the lemonade, though.

Sabrina in Stockings.

Do you know her? Have you talked with her? If not…why not? She writes (oh, man, does she write):

Smells Like Vanilla

I want. 

I’m pressing down against my office chair right now and bouncing up and down a little, just rocking back on my hips and thighs. It feels like all I am is warm, wet, and hungry and all of that is just melting out of my body through my throbbing pink cunt. Another hour like this and I’ll be in that state where I’m ready to bend over my desk, spread my legs apart, thrust my ass out like a bitch in heat and grind my aching clit against the edge of the desktop. I’ll growl, I’ll whimper, I’ll beg to get fucked. 

I have class in two hours. I have to go sit in a room filled with people, potential warm slippery bodies against mine, all night long. The work is boring and repetitive – exactly the kind of stuff that makes my mind wander to more interesting topics, like which of the objects in the room would be best to impale that pretty little blonde with … 

I can’t think when I’m like this. 

I wonder if any of them read this. I wonder if the guys and girls behind me will be able to smell how wet my panties are. 

They probably will. 

The thought humiliates me and makes me wetter at the same time. 

I’m tugging the crotch of my satin thong up between the lips of my pussy. It slides easily and I just know the slippery evidence will be visible on the black satin hours later. 

I have an old pair of pantyhose. Black. Matte, sheer-to-waist and ripe for ripping. I can’t decide if I want to put them on, feel how smooth the nylon is against my legs, run my short nails over the seam (pressing it right against my clit) and then rip out the crotch and fingerfuck myself through the hole, or if I want to wad up one of the legs and force it inch by inch balled up into my pussy. It would be lumpy, unless I twisted it just right. It would push out my walls at angles I couldn’t predict until the nylon was there, compressing just enough not to hurt me but rough-edged enough to feel very interesting indeed. 

Right now I’m not just wet but slick. The nylon wouldn’t absorb so much as get coated in my juices. Gods, I want to come. I’m riding the edge of my panties that got pushed up against the inner lips of my pussy, just enough to tease me but not give me enough of what I need to send me over. I lean back … the silky smooth satin shifts back and forth across my ass, right there, and it’s driving me crazy. I need more … Two fingers go to my lips, then three, and it’s your cock muffling my moans, my lips wrapped tight around my knuckles… tight around the base of your cock. My tongue flicks out to tease the head of your cock, running around the ridge, teasing that sensitive spot right and the underside, and I suck right there. My panties are starting to leak. I’m shaking, but not enough … not yet. 

My cunt actually hurts, I need to come so badly. I need to make this hard and fast. Hands off the keyboard now – I need something more inside me than just the edge of my panties. Two fingers go to my lips, circling, before pushing in and kicking back and forth, teasing right at the back… harder, then nothing, then more, more, more. 

I don’t think I screamed but I damn well made noise. 

It’s a blur, my panties are askew, my hair is mussed and I’m realizing I actually do need a job where it’s okay to go lie down for a minute and have five mini-orgasms one after the other until I can stop feeling like a hole that needs to be fucked and start feeling like a person again. I’m wondering if there’s someone out there this is enough for, instead of too much. I’m wondering why the hell my fingers always smell and taste like vanilla musk, afterward. I mean really … vanilla?

You can read the original story here.

Then call her.

xo, Angela