Chastity Chronicles -- Part One
There were two things I considered the other day: one, coming into your full sexual potential as a forty-year-old woman is exciting, and two, being a woman allows you much greater freedom in pursuing that itch.
This led to me wanting to write short stories about a woman blowing open the doors of decency and diving deep into her deepest desires and pulling along a bunch of randy young adults along for her ride.
These stories are going to be wild, completely unrealistic, flights of fancy, but a fun journey. This first part opens the door to her new lifestyle.
Sure hope you enjoy.
Love,
Lana Ocean (Estcher)
Content: Heterosexual sex, oral sex, cum swap between men and women, anal sex.
P.S.: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All fictional characters engaged in sexual acts are eighteen or over.
The Beginning
When I was born my parents named me Chastity. There's a certain irony to that now, I realise. My parents were a little religious but later in life my mother admitted she named me that only to please her mother, but I've always liked my name. It suited me to a tee until I turned forty.
My father was in the military, and we moved around a lot in the United States and overseas, although the overseas part happened when I was too young to remember anything other than the occasional memory flash of Japan, Naples, and Hawaii. I know, Hawaii is not exactly overseas but it was outside the continental United States and my parents treated it as such. Dad was in the Navy and died while still in uniform from a rare genetic disorder when I was sixteen.
Which led to me being examined by Tri-Service Care, but they found nothing related to what killed my father. Then they found what they called
unexplained infertility
. I would be childless. It was devastating. In six short months, I went from having a loving father to losing him, to finding out I was barren. I went through a rough patch. I rebelled. I drank. I smoked. I did drugs. I fucked a lot of boys. I thought I had nothing to lose. I distanced myself so much from my mother that even today, at age forty, I have nothing to do with her. That's on me.
I also was unable to commit to any relationship. Those men who pretended not care I was barren, cared. Some men thought that meant they could do whatever they wanted with me. In time, sex lost its appeal. Dating lost its appeal. I withdrew from society and became a senior editor and part owner of an East Coast artsy magazine. I made some investments during the Dot Com Boom and got out before the Dot Com Bust, and I have to say, I really want for nothing financially. I choose to live in Centreville, USA in my overpriced condominium overlooking a lazy river. It's my choice.
I run daily to stay in shape. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs (other than the occasional joint on special occasions, such as a new episode of a Star Wars series showing up on my Disney+). I'm fairly good looking if I don't say so myself. My breasts aren't huge at all thankfully, but they're prominent. My ass is heart-shaped, and firm due to my running. I'm exactly the right weight for my age. I have shoulder-length red hair, white skin, a freckled face and upper chest, and dimples on my face cheeks and ass.
I'm a hot MILF who's unable to be an actual mother.
When I turned forty, something changed in me. It didn't happen overnight. It was a gradual build-up of conflicting emotions that started a month before my birthday and exploded about three months after. I went from zero sex drive to a raging inferno. I bought toys and used them frequently. I was jilling myself about four times a day by the three-month period. I had dildos, nipple clamps, vibrators, and accounts with most female tailored porn sites. The free stuff is crap, and I really needed the good stuff.
My go to was always—and I mean always—videos of MILFs with eighteen-year-old boys and girls.
Then videos and my toys were simply not enough for me anymore. I wanted real cock. I wanted to watch cum spew forth in huge gouts to land all over me. I wanted to be filled. Eaten. Fucked hard. I wanted to lick male sweat off an eighteen-year-old chest.
Let me tell you how it all started.
* * *
The elevator doors had almost closed, and soon I would ride up to the top floor of the condominium complex I lived in, when a hand shot between the doors. I suppressed a groan at the delay. I was eager to get home and pleasure myself. The doors slid open revealing a young man, dressed in running gear, staring right back at me, with me standing right in the middle of the elevator.
He froze in place. I watched his eyes roam all over my body, taking it in, lingering on my tits and my crotch. I could almost feel his eyes physically touching me. I won't lie. I felt a strong sexual stirring and enjoyed the blatant attention.
The boy looked barely eighteen. He was fit but, in that beanpole look of young men still waiting to grow into that more masculine look. He wasn't muscled or filled out in that all-American quarterback look. But he had lovely soft brown hair, a little shaggy, and plastered to his forehead with sweat. He had a little acne around his mouth. His legs were skinny but toned with a runners look. The leg openings of his shorts had plenty of room for more leg. I was sure he could put both legs in one opening. His wrists and arms were sticks. I judged he was just shy of six feet tall, based on how I had to slightly look up at him. I watched his eyes roam and roam and to my delight—which surprised me—my nipples tightened a little, sending sharp pleasant tingles through me. I saw his eyes lock for moment on my tits. He saw them get hard but likely had no idea why. Boys are a little bit stupid at times.
He looked like he spent his days playing videos games and eating cheesy poofs. He probably ran because his school expected him to participate in track. But I looked at his shoes and they were well worn. When I looked back up, he was looking right into my eyes. They were a little wide and had a fight or flight look to them.
"Are you coming in or not?" I barked and he actually jumped a little. That amused me greatly, and in that moment, my subconscious made a decision that would change my life. Well not my life exactly, but certainly my lifestyle.
I have a voice that registers a little lower than most women. I've had lovers who've said it's seductive and always just on the edge of being husky. To me it's my voice, but I have noticed it has a positive effect on men. It speaks of desire and lust. With this poor young man, I used it to my advantage and let's be honest, in the game between men and women, women have all the power. And I have my own cheat code.
He stood there not moving.
"In. Now." I barked again and he jolted forward. I was still standing in the middle of the elevator and refused to give up my God-given right to own the middle of the elevator. He had to twist a little to get in and he ended up standing in front of the left elevator panel. He punched the sixteenth floor, just three below me, and stood there. The elevator suddenly blurted out the most God-awful noise, and then we watched the doors ponderously close. They took forever.
Why have a door alarm because the doors have been opened too long, and THEN make them close in the slowest way possible?
