Report Carding

Greg buzzed me into his ultra tiny apartment on the Upper West Side and swept me into his arms after I'd walked up a flight to his door.

"Jeez, Greg, you're so appreciative about seeing me!" I patted his bearded face and my fingers moved on to tug at an ear. This was one handsome guy for a college professor. He had that comfortable feel of an old overstuffed chair even though his body was tall and fit. I said comfortable feel, didn't I?

"It was the book, Jennifer. The book you're returning. You do have my copy of the Kama Sutra, don't you?"

"Fuck me," I said exhaling like a flat tire.

"Just kidding," he laughed. "C'mon in. I'm tossing some things into a bag for a conference I'm headed out for. Flying out on a Saturday is a bitch."

He led me into his microscopic bedroom, just big enough for a single bed. You know colleges don't pay their adjuncts very well. I barely had time to look at the gym bag and carry-on he was packing when his hands went to my shoulders and spun me around.

"Greg!"

"I distinctly heard you say 'Fuck me.' I have a cab coming in an hour so we don't have a lot of time. And the conference is going to be so boooring with nobody but dusty academics."

While his mouth was moving his hands were pulling and unbuttoning and unhooking all over me. My boobs fell free of the bra and then my tights were slipped down over my legs. Some sort of automatic hardwiring in my brain-body matrix made my arms go around his neck and pull his mouth to mine. Um, loved that taste of tobacco I gave up.

Whoops, let me explain. Greg is one of the most gentlemanly, cosmopolitan, wise men I know and he had always given more than I could hope to give in return. Dinners, flowers, small tokens of affection. It stops there. No marriage or long-term relationship for either of us, but we both know that sex is the epitome of living a full life.

"For one week, I will remember your beautiful little breasts, so perky and insolent. My 29-year-old angel of mercy." The hands cupped my 36-Bs and a little shock went through my body. "And your flat stomach with a tiny belly button begging to have an olive stuffed into it as an appetizer." The fingers slid down my stomach and tickled my pubic hair.

"Oh, shut up, Greg. Just stuff yourself up into of me. Pack my bag."

"And I will close my eyes in sleep dreaming of your warm, tight pussy." And here his finger slid over my slippery little clit, making me jump.

"Oooh, shut up some more." Then I felt his warm tool separate my lips and wiggle itself wormlike into my pussy, centimeter by centimeter. My catlike fingernails found a firm grip on his back. Momentarily, I wondered how many centimeters equaled six inches of cock. I lay under the weight of his body, welcoming this wonderful man home again, rising to meet his thrusts and taking little nips out of his collar bone with my pearly whites.

Hips banged against hips in an accelerating rhythm before his hands gripped my ass, pulling me tight to his loins, and his tool began making short pile driver jabs. Our bellies slapped wetly as he plunged into my pelvis, trying to find some elusive organ deep in my body. He was searching for treasure buried deep in my soft flesh.

Somewhere, I heard a panting ooh ooh ooh sound and realized I was puffing like a little steam engine trying to climb a steep hill. The top of the hill was in sight. I could feel it deep inside me, a nuclear explosion that was growing as he pumped me harder.

Then I blew with a tiny screech, body stiffening and legs scissoring his hips, fingernails digging deeper. Simultaneously, I felt Greg shoot off inside me, his cum filling my cavities with milk. He collapsed onto my sweat-soaked breasts and I hugged this darling man.

* * *

There's this joke about the guy seeing his shrink and he tells the doc every Rorschach picture reminds him of sex. Doc is perplexed, but the man explains, "You're the one showing me the dirty pictures." Get it? Everything in my life makes me think of sex. And if you stop to consider it, it's probably the same with you. I climax looking at a kielbasa sizzling on the grill.

I like love, affection, sentimentality, all that Hollywood stuff, but mainly I get off on the feel of having a man plunge deep inside me, fulfilling me with his warm flesh and hot juices. Please, I am not a whore and the word 'nympho' is so last year. Please admit it, if you're a man you'd like to stick it in every good looking woman. And, unless, you're frigid or a nun, you'd like to be porked by a man. We women have the advantage, however, because we can take it and take it and keep coming back for more. Sex is a never-ending feast.

I wiped away a little tear as I left Greg's place. I'd miss him until his return, but I had miles to go. Mainly, a long trip downtown to see Adam in the West Village and deliver a stern lecture. Adam was the go-to guy in politics and was finally making a run for elected office.

"You could be the next Kennedy or Clinton with your charisma and looks," I'd told him many times. "But you have to have solutions to the district's problems and the solutions are laid out in position papers."

"I have the perfect position," he said pulling me onto his body in the upholstered chair. "We can talk later."

"No!" I exclaimed. "Schools, community involvement, more jobs. We need to think about..."

At that, he pulled my head down to his crotch while unzipping his khakis. "More involvement. Can you take it all in?"

I cursed myself for being such a spineless political advisor. Me, a corporate communications chief and I couldn't get the client to think beyond a blow job.

"Oh, all right!" I withdrew his beautiful dick from his trousers and let my tongue slide over the pink head. I did a merry-go-round on the end as his tool got impossibly large with blue veins hiding under the pink skin. I sucked gently, the way I'd do if he was an ice cream soda and this was a gigantic straw. "Now I'm going to take you all the way in — and don't you dare cum till I tell you to!"

I slid this magnificent piece of flesh over my lips and let my tongue play around the smooth shaft. Distantly, I heard Adam give a soft groan of pleasure. My head moved closer and the cock began to slip down my throat. I bobbed my head a few times to let him slide in and out and then dove for his ball sack.

Adam was deep in my throat and there were still inches to go. Getting a deep breath I pushed forward and enveloped him past the gag reflex. I swallowed, letting my throat muscles stroke his dick, pulled my head back and then plunged forward again so the meat went all the way down and there was no more shaft. His public hair was tickling my nose making me want to giggle and sneeze at the same time.

He was definitely fucking my throat, or was I doing him? I knew I was getting wet between my legs. Getting an idea, I drew his cock out of my mouth. "Lie down on the floor," I ordered. He looked bewildered — but intrigued — as I pulled off my tights and panties, then settled my hips over his pelvis. I wiggled and shoved, hearing one little "ouch" as I got him settled into my box like a finger in my glove, and then I rode him like a bronco. Up and down, feeling that magnificent dick bury itself up to my cervix.

"There's more room in the womb," I whispered, but I don't think he heard me, with his mouth open and his eyes closed and his hands grasping frantically at my breasts. My nipples were slippery little stones under his pinching fingertips.

I was trying to be careful not to hurt Adam or sprain that wonderful cock, but I needed the pleasure, I had to cum. The climax was calling as I rose and settled on his hips, and then the heavenly feeling began to fill me and capture my mind and body.

The little screech came from my lips again and I fell forward on Adam's chest.

"Thank you, my darling," I whispered. God he smelled good. Hormones and aftershave.

When we both had washed and were picking at little sandwiches he'd ordered, I had his complete attention. I talked political strategy. He listened, only occasionally blinking his beautiful brown eyes or running his fingers through a shock of brown hair in thought.

"Jennifer, I'd like you to work on my campaign. Be an organizer."

I laughed. "I'm doing this 'cause I need your copulating. You fill me with great pleasure, my darling man."

"Don't go, Jennifer. Stay awhile."

I looked at my watch. Past noon and miles to go before...well, who knows what?

"Next time, Adam," I said adjusting my tunic top and tights. "We'll do something new," and I kissed him lightly on the lips.

* * *

I took the IND subway into Brooklyn smiling at the city that I loved and which loved me back with great excess. My career ladder was beckoning at the agency, my 401(k) was toddling along like a baby learning to walk, and my body was exploding with appreciation at being a woman. And Antoine was waiting.

"Cherie," he chortled as he ushered me into his brownstone. Antoine the artist was such a happy guy, at least when his paintings were selling, which was most of the time. Antoine was a bit on the heavy side, but having all that meat on top of me could be a great joy, like burying myself under a downy comforter.

"Comment ça va?" I asked, exhausting my French vocabulary. "How is my favorite artist?"

"Bien, bien. Come sit down. My friend Alain and I are having a glass of wine and talking about the terrible state of the world."

A young man stood up and extended his hand. "Enchantée," he said, kissing my hand.

"Wow, that is so Continental, Alain. Pleased to meet you."

"Actuellement, I asked Alain to come over to meet you. I said you were the most accomplished, beautiful woman in New York. That you had breasts made to fit a Margarita glass, a derrière like two plucked chickens."

"Chickens? Sometimes I think they're hams," I muttered at these compliments.

He put a glass of wine in my hand and guided me to the sofa. Antoine is a very neat, clean artist, I might mention. Not a speck of paint on him or his clothes — the dressing gown he was wearing now. His friend Alain was dressed in slacks and a well-tailored shirt.

"And," Antoine winked, "her pussy is like two little cherrystone clams that close around an intruder and nibble at it in ecstasy."

This last seemed a bit embarrassing, I mean, discussing my cunt in front of a stranger. "Antoine, please stop." I felt my face get red.

"Ah, non, it is something to drink to. A toast, to the most delicate, well-trained, symmetrical vagina I have ever seen. I would like to paint it, make a sculpture of it, immortalize your pussy for the world to admire. Please, my dear, let Alain admire it."

"Whaaat?" Was he seriously wanting to display me naked to a stranger?

He wiggled his fingers, indicating I should disrobe and stand naked like a Greek statue in a museum. "Well, this is very odd," I said in confusion.

A silence followed and I found myself kicking off my shoes and drawing down my tights and panties. The cool air from the open windows wafted across my bare thighs. Not knowing what else to so, I awkwardly pulled off my top and dropped my bra in a pile. Then twirled like a runway model. Greek model.

"Bravo!" Alain said in admiration, and Antoine clapped softly before wrapping me in his arms. The dressing gown slid from his shoulders and I saw that he had an immense hard-on.

"Antoine," I whispered, "I don't think this is a good idea." But a little germ of an idea niggled at me, daring me to see what might happen. Certainly, I knew Antoine was a kindly, generous lover who had once put ten hundred dollar bills in my bra as we kissed goodnight. Didn't this earn a little trust?

Lowering me to the sectional sofa, his warm body dropped over mine in a collapsing tent of flesh. His lips found mine and he kissed me deeply and artfully. This was a hero of a lover, a gladiator who had impaled me in places both public and private. If there was a spectator today, well, no matter.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over his hairy shoulders, thinking Let the games begin. He was my wooly bear and I was his plaything. Anticipating — and welcoming — the next move, I felt his cock probe between my legs until he found the opening. He rutted blindly until his heavy meat forced itself — gently — past my lips and into my vagina. I helped by raising my hips to open the doorway to my soul.

Antoine was big, bigger than most men in width, but artful as he dove through my cave of flesh. My hips rose to meet his thrusts until I felt him firmly seated deep inside my loins. With studied casualness, he pumped himself and caromed off the sides of my vagina, meeting every sweet spot between my legs with vigor and generosity.

I was beginning to feel the climax, when he wrapped his thick arms around my back and rolled me on my side. With surprise, I realized a naked Alain had slid onto the sofa.

"Antoine, what is...?"

"Shhh, don't speak." Abruptly, Antoine pulled out of me, leaving me gasping. He turned me over like an omelette and spread my buttocks, then I felt his thick joint force itself — persistently again — up my bunghole.

"No, Antoine, his is not good!" It was not my first time being screwed in the ass, but it's an intensely personal act. An art, but not one of the performing arts before an audience.

Too late, his rod was seating itself in my rear end, sliding ever deeper into my bowels until his meat was buried all the way to his groin. I scrunched my eyes closed, vowing not to allow pain to detract from the coming experience. At that moment, Alain spread my knees and inserted his long, thin joint into my pussy. I was the meat in their sandwich. Front and back. Bookended.

I was impaled front and rear by these two men as they pushed and withdrew, slowly and delicately, from my body openings. I was a small boat rocking rhythmically on the open sea as these manly waves buffeted my pussy and asshole.

My teeth sank instinctively into Alain's neck — gently — as he pronged deeper inside my cunt looking for the most comfortable nest to ejaculate. At the same time, Antoine's dick swirled inside my butt, giving me the strangest sensation. Could the two dicks feel each other through the thin separation between my organs? Were they greeting each other deep inside me?

I stopped thinking as the tingle grew into a wave of ecstatic emotion of having my cavities filled, front and back, by two Roman soldiers capturing a Sabine woman. My breasts were heaving at the onslaught of two stiff cocks ramming me—less gently, but insistently—front and back.

Then the dam burst and the flood of my climax exploded in my body. And, in one of these too-rare occurrences, Antoine and Alain blew their gobs of cum into my cunt and bowels simultaneously, rocking me with great heaving spasms. I was filled with sperm, covered in sweat, and dripping small tears at the sheer elation of our threesome exploding at the same time. From salty liquid we had emerged eons ago and back to that fertile sea I was returning.

"You are my queen, Jennifer," Antoine said softly, and kissed the back of my neck.

"I shall remember you forever, ma cherie," Alain said as his lips butterflied over mine.

"And I think I shall take up smoking again," I said to myself contentedly.

* * *

That night I lay in my bathtub with several candles flickering and a cognac at my side. There had been Greg's studious lovemaking in the morning, earnest Adam letting me fuck him at noon, and then -glory be!—Antoine and Alain jumping my bones simultaneously. I loved them all and knew that they loved me, unreservedly and with without hesitation.

Was it just because I love to fuck and have a well-made—durable?—cunt? I think not. It's more that I try to give more than I get and ask only for my partners to do the same.

My phone tinkled and I saw there was a text message.

You were unanimously given 10 stars in 21 reviews, making you the best fuck in NYC. Congrats!

I almost dropped the phone in the tub. The texter was an unknown. Who had written me a report card? It was outrageous! Was I being given some Zagat rating like a new entrée on the menu? Like having my phone number scribbled on a men's room wall with the recommendation, "Gives good head, takes it in the ass." The text went on:

Relax. No one will ever know your name. But those of us rating you will always hold you in the highest respect.

I sank back in the tub. Perhaps this was like some Hollywood celebrity claiming her star on the sidewalk, knowing she was the best even if the achievement were somewhat dubious and done solely out of enjoyment. I was in the new America where everything from mouthwash to teachers is rated and given a report card.

"Thank you," I said softly to my little pussycat between my legs and ran the washcloth over it teasingly. And I think I saw my pussy wink back at me.

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