Lost Ch 01 02

Part I

I lose things. A lot. It's a real problem...

"Tango! It's Mr. Maxxx. I'm going to be in town tomorrow night; wanna fuck?"

I met Mr. Maxxx about six months ago and we hit it off...big time. He lives in NYC and work takes him to my neck of the woods four or five times a year. The last time we got together had been in July. We pitched a tent on the beach and fucked our brains out whilst surrounded by sunbathing soccer moms and their sandcastle-building children. Mr. Maxxx has a dry sense of humor, a head full of thick black hair and a cock...well, his name isn't Mr. Maxxx for nothing.

I answered the door freshly showered and smelling like vanilla musk; he wrapped me in his arms, lifted me off my feet and spun me around.

"Tango Tango Tango" he whispered in my ear.

I fetched him a rum and Coke and some condoms...let the games begin!

Mr. Maxxx not only has a big cock, he has a big, fat cock that gets extremely hard. When he fucks me, it's deep...so deep that his cock reaches unchartered territory - virgin territory. And believe me, that's saying something. We fucked in every conceivable position and I came in each one. After about an hour, I told Mr. Maxxx that I couldn't take it anymore. I was completely drained. That's all he needed to hear; he came so intensely I thought he was going to pass out.

After we caught our breath, I thanked Mr. Maxxx for the tumble and told him that I was throwing him out (I'm such a guy). But something didn't feel right. I was awfully wet. Wetter than I usually get (and I can be an oil slick with the right guy). I got up, went to the bathroom and wiped myself. Yup, that definitely wasn't only pussy juice. Something was up.

"Hey, did the condom break?" I asked Mr. Maxxx. "Can you check?"

But we couldn't find the thing. We looked everywhere: in the bed, behind the bed, to the side of the bed, underneath the bed, in the blanket, in the sheets, in our clothes...uh oh; was the condom in me?

I hurried Mr. Maxxx to the door, gave him a kiss goodbye, then planned a reconnaissance mission. I gathered my weapons (magnifying mirror and tweezers) and retreated to the bathroom. I spread my legs as far apart as they would go, fingers of my right hand spreading my pussy lips, fingers of my left hand holding the mirror. I looked and I looked and I looked...nothing. Hmmm...I decided to wait until morning. I tossed and turned all night. The condom had to be under the bed. It had to be.

But when I looked again in the morning, I still couldn't find it. My search turned up nothing. A day passed; two days passed. Nothing. I started to get worried.

After three days, I decided to confide in my fuckbuddy the Professor. Big mistake.

"Can something get stuck so far up there that it won't come out?" I asked tentatively.

"Of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "I know a woman who lost a tampon up there and ended up dying of Toxic Shock Syndrome."

Great. Fucking great.

"Tango, you need to go to the doctor and get an ultrasound. Bacteria grows rampant up there."

But still I wasn't sure. I decided to give it one more day. Nothing. I sat on the toilet at work, cell phone in my hand and made an appointment with my OB-GYN.

"Great...fucking great," I thought to myself as I stood up and straightened my skirt. "A $10 co-pay and $100 for the ultrasound."

I turned around to flush...and there, in the toilet bowl, was the errant condom. I hadn't even felt it come out.

Never again, I thought. No more Mr. Maxxx, no matter how big and thick and hard his cock is...no matter how many times he can make me cum. I will never, ever put myself through this hell again.

Yeah...right.

*

Part II

I get lost. A lot. It's a real problem...

I am currently fucking Mr. Adorable, a delicious hunka hunka who lives more than 200 miles away. Luckily, he travels a lot for business, so at least twice a month, he books us a room at a Hampton Inn, his preferred home away from home. We've fucked in Hampton Inns in Boston, Sturbridge, Holyoke, Smithfield, Norwood, Providence...every city within a 100 mile radius of my apartment.

And I always get lost. Always. No matter how many different sets of directions I get or maps I consult. Every single time.

"Of course you get lost," my friend Limey, who knows I'm a Jewess, told me. "It took Moses 40 years to find his way out of the desert, didn't it?"

Finally, I got a GPS. Actually, it was Mr. Adorable who got it for me. He was tired of waiting for me in darkened hotel rooms, glass of Laphroiag in his hand, hot tub full of lavender scented bubble bath, so ready to fuck me...and me lost and late.

My life immediately changed. How cool are GPS's? I was amazed - you just program into the GPS where you want to go, and it tells you how to get there. You can even pick the voice (I chose the sexy, English accented one). And it's cruise control all the way to your destination.

The reason I drive miles and miles to meet him is because Mr. Adorable has a magical cock. When I am with him I have, basically, one continuous orgasm. And he can go for hours. His cock knows exactly where that special spot in my pussy is, and, like a heat seeking missile, it finds my special spot EVERY SINGLE TIME. And, as women know, that is a rare gift, indeed. It got me thinking...

There should be another kind of GPS: a G-Spot Penis Stimulator. First, you would program into the GPS the position in which you want to fuck your partner. Then, using heat sensors, the GPS would give directions to the man, in that reassuringly sexy voice, on how to get to the woman's special spot. Every single time.

"Thrust left," the GPS would instruct. "Go right".

Think about it. The G-Spot Penis Stimulator would sell out. Immediately. Every sexually active woman on the planet would be queuing to buy it, for ANY price, the night before it went on sale. It would be a gold mine...

Of course, it goes without saying that extensive research would be in order before production. And Mr. Adorable...well, he's up for it.