We ladies meet in the evening of the second Wednesday of the month, to enjoy a glass of wine, have a chat, and, if we get round to it, discuss the current book.
On this particular Wednesday the book had been unusually dreary, but the wine and conversation became more interesting.
"I mean," chimed in Paula," even the sex scene was dull, unimaginative and frankly boring."
"I agree," said Jen, "it is supposed to be an erotic fantasy, get the imagination going, and it didn't do it for me."
"In fact, way too realistic for comfort!" Someone quipped.
"Oh god, if my sex life got that mundane, I'd take a lover." Paula added.
"Ooooh yea! Just imagine. All that rumbustious fucking, furtively in the afternoons."
I joined in with, "It sounds as if we could do a much better job of writing a sex scene than he did in the book."
"What a great idea! I'd love to read about Jen and her imaginary lover. An afternoon of rumbustious fucking sounds pretty good to me."
The conversation drifted on about imaginary scenarios and inevitably into fantasies. We had had quite a lot of wine by this stage, and bravado was riding high when we agreed to write a sex scene each, featuring our favourite fantasies. In order to spare the author's blushes we decided to write them in Word, print them out, shuffle them up, and enjoy our efforts anonymously.
Eventually the second Wednesday of the month came round and we met at Paula's. We all produced several copies of our stories and managed to collate them into anonymous piles. What follows is the result.
First story.
I have two fantasies, one I share with my hubby, the other is my secret place. The secret place is where I go to get a mega orgasm. Actually they are both part of the same fantasy and involve swimmers.
I know it's a bit obvious, but you get to see so much of a swimmer's body that it's not hard to imagine the rest, and my dream swimmer is quite famous. That lovely athletic black body, that smooth skin and, the only bit I haven't actually seen, that magnificent black cock.
H, my hubby because I'm not using his real name obviously, knows about my fantasy and approves. His attitude is that if it gets me off, he is going to benefit, benefit from me having a screaming orgasm. Oh yes, did I mention I'm a screamer? The closer I get to orgasm the louder I get, and if I get a real toe curler it probably gets heard next door!
So we've just had a shower, as we often do before bed, and we are fooling about a bit. He is semi erect and I'm feeling hot, when he presses his naked body into mine and whispers.
"Cullen wants your body. Cullen wants to fuck you, to watch his black cock enter your little pink cunt."
I know this is the start of our role play, and I'm now seriously in the mood. I'm imagining I'm drying Cullen's lithe young body, paying particular attention to his thick black cock, and pendulous balls.
Once dry we head for the bed, and by now H is erect, he can tell how turned on I am. My nipples are tingling, I am about to be taken by Cullen, missionary style. I always want to start like that, on my back, legs spread wide, wantonly offering him my body, ready to welcome his cock. Ready to feel possessed by his strong, athletic, black body, but it wouldn't be right. It just wouldn't be right to be so blatant, so I reluctantly close my thighs.
H approaches the end of the bed. The lighting is subdued but I can make out his outline. Cullen is about to take me, obviously I should resist so I lie there face up, with my legs clamped together, but he is so powerful that, as he lies on top of me I cannot push him off, he pins my wrists above my head and forces my legs apart with his powerful thighs.
This always produces spectacular results. Is it H being reassured that I am a nice girl, resisting the other man. I'm his good girl, his chaste wife, not giving in to another man's lust; but the bad girl is lurking.
I feel his weight as he forces me open and feel the head of his cock as it rests at the opening of my now moist sex. He slides effortlessly in. The voice at my ear says.
"I've always wanted to fuck you, since that day I saw you looking at the bulge in my swimming trunks. Wanted to possess you, fill your cunt with my thick black cock. You like being fucked by a thick black cock don't you?"
"Yes Cullen. YES! Fuck me deep. Fuck me hard. I want to feel your cock explode inside me. Fill me with your cum."
This usually gets H really going. Does he privately fantasise about being a cuckold? I suspect he does, and this fires me up even more, and anyway, at this stage, I don't care. I lift my knees, wrap my legs over his back and place my hands on his bum, forcing him ever deeper, scratching his buttocks with my nails for encouragement.
H is by now really into it, he's pounding away like a teenager and I feel the start of my pleasure wave. We fuck on, talk dirtier and dirtier until I know it's about to happen and I'm getting vocal, noisily so.
At this point the secret part of my fantasy usually kicks in. I screw my eyes tight shut and I 'see' Cullen at the bedroom door. He's stark naked and his black cock is magnificently erect. He strides over to the bed and forcefully pushes H off me.
He drives his erection deep into me, and I feel his heat, his heartbeat, his excitement, his pure lust. As I scream out his name, I feel the ripples of pleasure flowing along the cock that's buried deep inside me, as my muscles clasp it in spasms and the warm sensation of being filled by the powerful spurts of a sensational ejaculation.
I don't know why this part has to be secret, I don't know if H would be upset, maybe, maybe not, but being a secret makes it much more intense. We play out other fantasies too but that is one of my favourites.
Second story
This is one of my recurring fantasies while I masturbate. The beauty of it is the 'scene' can take as long or as short as I like. If I'm really into it, it can take well over half an hour. I just trim or lengthen the scenes depending on my mood and how far away my orgasm is, or how much edging I want.
My natural persona is slightly shy and a little introverted, so not surprisingly, my fantasy is to escape that, and be more extrovert, much more extrovert.
I imagine that I live alone in a small development in southern Spain. The houses are quite close together and often used as holiday lets as they all have pools. In fact the one I imagine is the one where I holidayed a few years ago.
The pools are just big enough to get a proper swim, with a large tiled surround and enough space for some sun loungers. The only problem is that the pool pumps keep tripping after the frequent thunderstorms, and can only be reset by the pool man, who tries his best to keep all the pools working, but frequently fails.
It is a brilliant hot summer's day, after a particularly violent storm, and my pump has tripped along with the rest of the road, so I send for the pool man. Eventually I hear the door bell ring so I hurriedly pull on a cover up over my bikini, and let him in.
As with all fictional pool men, he is a rather hunky chap, swarthy and dark skinned, rippling muscles, the lot, but he's forward, very forward, and pretty cocky too. I suspect he has developed his persona in order to live the pool man's cliché of shagging all the holiday makers, but he is so cocky that, even in my frustrated state, I don't really fancy him, not even for a quickie.
He manages to reset everything and tells me I am lucky because both my neighbours' pools are out of action, awaiting spares, due to electrical damage.
Before the storm, I had heard a couple of chaps next door fooling about in their pool, presumably holiday makers, so I wonder if having no pool was spoiling their fun. I wonder if I dare......my new persona dares! What will they think? Who cares!
I make myself decent and stride purposefully next door, something I would never have even contemplated in real life. I ring the bell and two lads, probably university students, answer, in their swimming trunks. I make a very quick appraisal of their young physiques and explain that my pool is working again, and they are welcome to use it until theirs is fixed.
They are enthusiastically grateful and readily accept. The taller of the two, I'll call him Tom, seems to be the leader, grabs a towel and tells his pal, Pete, to hurry up.
Tom is much more well mannered than my pool man and really quite charming, as well as chatty. The other lad is somewhat quieter, with a mop of unruly dark brown hair and the makings of a beard. They both have cute, tight little bums and washboard flat stomachs!
I tell them to make themselves at home, and they set about enjoying my pool while I lie down on a sun lounger to soak up a few rays. I hate strap marks, so as soon as I lie face down, I undo my top and let the straps fall to the sides.
I know my breasts bulge out slightly in this position but it's only a hint of boob, nothing dramatic, anyway in my fantasy it is probably a deliberate show. What teenager can resist a glance at even a slight boob bulge? And I so want their attention.
It's a lovely warm afternoon and I soon start to drift off to the sounds of the two lads splashing about with a large ball in the pool.
Quite suddenly I am brought back to consciousness by Tom playfully flicking a handful of cold pool water on my back. A reflex makes me start, without giving a thought for my bikini top, and so I reveal my breasts to their eager gaze. I feign irritation and, as I make a grab for my top, he says.
"I didn't think they bothered with tops in Spain."
I think, cheeky young bugger, I'll show you. So I just stand up topless and say that I am only putting it on to spare their blushes. By the look of their swimming trunks, it isn't just their blushes I'm sparing. There are perceptible, rather flattering, bulges!
I am now ready to have a bit of fun. Here I am at thirty nine, (as I have been for the last few years!) being eyed up by two nineteen or twenty year olds. My new persona cannot resist a tease.
