A translucent garment, one sheltering yet showing so much, is more erotic, then bold, in your face nudity. Proving the point, Peggy Sanford wore a red gauzy confection that rode over her breasts as transparent film, veiled her pert ass in diaphanous drapery, her pussy, its gash smooth as a baby's cheek intrepidly puckering under gossamer threads. The material, spider web transparent, soap bubble fragile, accentuated the nipples of her breasts, focused one's attention on the delta between her legs, highlighted the cleavage of her ass.
On her feet, she wore red four inch high heels, a classic cum fuck me pump if there ever was one. Her feet precariously inclined at the highest possible angle slid down in the shoes, corded her legs; I would have shot my load reveling in the sight of her luscious gams nothing more.
Lying in the hotel bed, naked under the clean, soft sheets, I watched her model the garment, turn and spin, let me see her nearly transparent nakedness from every angle. Using her index and middle finger, she probed the juncture between her legs, a native familiar with her own geography. My fingers slid up and down my cock, showing an easy familiarity with my own.
I imagined her tottering, these heels on her splendid little feet, wearing this little piece of nothing, pushing a silver cart down a narrow airplane aisle, serving coffee and drinks, sucking certain cocks along the way. Stroking my member, I saw this sexy woman wearing this short red shift, modeling it on a polished runway as men pulled at their cocks, women played with their pussies, all their heads turned up, resembling religious zealots save for the flames of lust shooting from their eyes. Showing a rambling abode worthy of reverent coverage in the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, Peggy wore this garb strolling from room to room, pointing at this, making a comment about that. A prospective male buyer trails behind her taking in the slender columns of her legs, the slim ankles, the pleasure of her firm thighs, and the slit of shadow in the crack of lovely, sculpted ass. Pausing at the breakfast bar, he leans her against the cool surface, bends her down and without a word, jabs his dick into the depths of her womb, fucks her hard and fast. Peggy tallying the damage to a wrecked vehicle, strolling about the scraped and dented and severely crumpled car, finding room in the back seat, she sprawls on the bench between two sprung doors, drops her clipboard, the worried looking man drops his pants and fucks her, finds his way under the sheer sleeve of fabric, she lifts her long legs, wraps them around his fleshy neck.
"Oh yes, fuck me hard and fast."
Before she entered the bathroom to slip into this little number, she did two things. First, she removed the light bulb from the lamp sitting next to the old style clock radio on the nightstand, one with numbers flipping over not a start of the art digital one. She reached into her purse, removed a 60 watt red bulb, and screwed it into the lamp's socket. Wearing a double strapped scoop line bra topped yellow dress with matching yellow heels and a lemon wedge of purse; she unzipped my pants, deftly moved my cock out into the open, and took me in her mouth in one gulp.
Such lavish sucking I had seldom experienced. I felt my cock in the back of her throat; her cheeks settled around my hardness, busily got down to work.
Momentarily, she let me escape from her mouth.
"My husband thinks I am the best cocksucker around. Actually, he says, the best little cocksucker which to me sounds a bit patronizing. He gets off watching me suck another man's cock while he sits in his easy chair in front of the fireplace stroking his cock. Do you like the way I suck cock?"
"Yes, my God, yes. I love fucking your hot, little mouth. I want to come in your mouth, see my semen dripping from your lips. I love to see my semen all over your face. I will not say you are the best 'little' accent on the little cocksucker either."
"This is just an example of things to come tonight, lover boy."
Without letting me find release, she stood, took my hand and drew it under the yellow dress, painted her pussy with the brush of my digits, their flat sides, the locale of fingerprint and fine touching. They touched her warm wetness seeping from her.
"Darling, I feel so wicked, so naughty. I want to fuck and be fucked like a whore, to be your slut slobbering all over your cock."
Looking up at Ms Peggy Sanford, Mrs. Peggy Sanford, wife, soccer Mom, model, flight attendant, claims adjuster until now a black and white print above a blurb of erotic verbiage. In the picture she wears a jacket; something like a realtor might wear, naked beneath it, a body and its delights patiently awaiting someone's attention. Bare legs angled nearly flat on the bed to her left side, her feet in high heels and even in repose I see how perfect they are, me a man with the finest appreciation of a woman's legs. A wavy dark cloud of hair floats down to her shoulders, curls down over her forehead. Her expression conveys innocence, need and a promise of pleasure.
Now in the privacy of this hotel room, a place where they turn down the sheets, place mints on the pillows, we, two hypersexual beings, ready ourselves to fuck with total abandon.
Peggy Sanford has no inhibitions, no self-imposed restraint governing her body in seeking satiation of her needs. She lives to fuck, she fucks to live. The eroticism of a sultan's seraglio, the bawdy actions of a whore, the sleek lines of an ecdysiast striping down to skin all these things I see in her heavenly body, it drives me mad with lust.
Peggy has taken cock into all three of her orifices at one same time; let each one spill its seed nearly simultaneously. Semen has dribbled down her face, ran like syrup down the slope of her breasts, flooded from between her legs and rained down her thighs.
This soccer Mom standing on the sidelines in tight shorts and high heels, watching her tyke's kicks, then later taking kicks herself fucking the soccer coach, a fine young man enraptured and encapsulated by her salacious mouth.
Peggy loves other women as she loves to fuck men.
She eats them with knowledge of her own hunger sated by supping on another woman's meat. Peggy licks and loves their tender petals with such refinement, serious attention and unbounded pleasure. To watch her at work is to see such a natural expertise, a woman poised against this other woman doing great good work to drive her partner to the outer boundaries of pleasure. Such beauty of the flesh even beyond the skill of Michelangelo, any great painter stroking a canvas, chipping away at marble as Peggy delves between this lover's legs. Then it all turns around and she is the one being pleasured between her legs, across the hard caps of her tits, their mouths kissing one another. I crave to see her again doing another woman, me watching from a chair, furiously stroking my cock. All over the bed they travel, mouth against mouth, cunt against cunt, tit touching another tit. Eating each other, dining on two Y's they are oblivious to my set of male eyes.
Soon, Peggy's ass thrusting up and out, her head down between this other lady's legs in a prayer mode but not bended toward Mecca but the opposite direction.
Lover flat on her back, legs spread so wide, moaning in the brightly lit room, Peggy laps away at the twat pushed up toward her soft lips covered in gloss.
Rising from my chair, my cock as stiff as battering ram, wishing to be part of this tableau, I move to the bed, take Peggy's butt between my hands, and my cock slides in, me the dog fucking his overheated bitch. Peggy pushes back against my member, shakes her booty against my shaft.
Always, I am amazed by the tightness of her twat. It retains its close grasp in total disregard of the hefty number of cocks pleasuring her there.
She moves from bedroom to bath in the yellow garment, sexy on its own accord the way it shows a bit of cleavage, does not drop below her knees, covers her hips, cloaks her slender waist. The high heels too, worn by a woman at work after she arrives there in sandals or sneakers. I see her sitting down in an office chair, unlacing the sneakers, unbuckling the sandals, letting them drop to the floor. She opens the bottom drawer on the left, removes the pumps next to spare turquoise panties kept there in case she needs them because Joe in accounting or Mike at his messy desk over there needs a raucous fuck in the supply closet at lunch. One after the other she lifts a leg and makes a production out of changing her shoes. Every man in the office treasures the moment Peggy changes her shoes, the show of her legs lifted up and out, perfect for a cheesecake photographer to snap a shot. Do they see her naked pussy? They hope so. Her legs are so sexy and snappy looking as she patrols the room, every man hot to fuck her.
At one time or another she has fucked them all. She even fucked Chester Dudley, the bald headed man in the wheelchair who twiddled his fingers all the time and was forever chomping down on Wrigley's spearmint gum.
She closes the door of the bathroom. In the tiny purse is the red garment, the shoes are in a paper bag next to the bed. Even though she is gone a few minutes, I am impatient to see her, to fuck her, to feel her sucking my cock.
