It started with an email entitled "Literotica feedback." Ms. B had read one of the stories I had authored, and fired off a feedback note, evidently in the throes of passion, telling me that I had made her cum. Well, I can't imagine a better first impression. And there was a return address! Hopefully, I replied, and after a week or so, there was another email from her, a bit more demure to be sure, but possibly the beginning of a lovely friendship.
Ms. B was a bit mysterious about her personal information. I think that she was married, but she would always avoid questions of that sort. When I asked about her sexual fantasies, however, she was most obliging, providing me with an astonishing variety of scenarios in fairly lurid detail.
As she became more comfortable with the arrangement, Ms. B sent me a photo. She looked a bit like that auburn-haired film star, the one with the big eyes, who has been in more than a few daring sex scenes during her celebrated career. Ms. B was also witty and well-read, but with a wild side that came out when the conversation turned to sex. And, she was a workaholic -- there were often lengthy gaps in our correspondence due to her professional responsibilities, during which I waited patiently, re-read her old emails, and -- well, you know.
Then, one day, she announced out of the blue that she was taking some vacation time, and proposed that we meet. I needed no persuading. We agreed upon a neutral location that I suggested, in Oregon. When the appointed day came, we had a rendezvous at the Portland airport, rented a car, and set off down the Oregon coast.
She looked like her photo, and her voice was nice and musical. We chatted amiably for a few hours as we drove down the coastline. Ms. B was wearing a creme-colored blouse and a burgundy wrap-around skirt, a fairly conservative ensemble. But the skirt had a slit which would expose a lot of thigh, when she wanted it to. I tried to keep my eyes on the road.
I took her to a place I know midway down the coast, where a discreet little old lady has a guest house that she rents out for the weekend. The coastline is very rugged there, with enormous rocks that are just plunked down in the middle of the surf, and lofty cliffs. In the nearby town we picked up a bucket of fresh oysters and a few bottles of champagne. Back at the guest house a blustery wind was blowing outside, as I fried up the oysters and served them to her along with some side dishes. It was cold outside, but cozy and warm inside. We dined in the living room, sitting on two overstuffed armchairs, facing one another with a coffee table and the dinner between us. Halfway through the meal I opened one of the champagne bottles and we put it away rather quickly, as we were having an animated conversation about this and that, and working up a thirst. Then there was a lull in the conversation. I looked across at her, in her cream-colored blouse and burgundy wrap-around skirt; she had kicked off your sandals. I thought to myself that her bare feet were very sexy. My jeans suddenly felt much too tight.
She pulled the champaign bottle from its ice bucket...nice and cold and wet...then she leaned back and lay sideways over the overstuffed arms of her chair. She held that dripping bottle just over her cream-colored blouse and let the cool droplets find her already peaked nipples...mmmm but that icy cold water just made them swell, and they pled to be released as they pressed hard from inside the soft sheer blouse. She took the fingers of her free hand and gently brushed over her needy tits, pulled each nipple up slowly and gently, and let her tits fall back in place.
She arched her back, and as she moved so very slowly, she pulled her outside leg up just enough to cause that seductive slit in her skirt fall to one side...my side... Perhaps a bit crassly, she drank from the bottle, then slid it down between her swollen tits, hugged herself so the bottle slightly disappeared, and arched her back once again for me. She lifted the bottle up and slowly poured some of the bubbly from the bottle all over her chest. Her blouse was now very soaked and clinging to her, so there was little left to the imagination. With uncharacteristic force, she ripped that blouse open and arched again, to let me see the swelling lust within her that I'd soon be attacking.
The candlelight heightened the visual, and while my cock had been hard for some time now, my hand now found its way between my legs. I saw Ms. B's eyes lock on to my hand as it came into contact with my cock, through the denim of my jeans. Her eyes widened with excitement, and she began arching and undulating. As my hand seized my cock, I kept my eyes on hers, and watched her increase the tempo of her writhing in her chair. She was holding herself, hands sliding up and down her neck, chest, and thigh. The side of her skirt fell upon farther now, so that the thin pink strap of the thong she was wearing peeked out at me. My tongue made a lap around my needy lips. I let out a gasp -- I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath with anticipation, and the mere sight of her entire leg and side exposed to me forced a much harder squeeze of my cock than I was ready for.
She slid the cold bottle up and down the side of her leg - her ankle, her calf, her thigh, her waist...it was only when the bottle reached her waist that I realized that her free hand had freed her from that skirt. She had pulled it apart and there she lay - the soaked thin material of her blouse open yet clinging to the sides of her chest. I was transfixed by her.shiny wet breasts and hard throbbing nipples ready for feasting.
