Just when my life got a little normal, it twisted pretzel-like into thirty three and a third percent more difficult.
And it's all because of Stephanie Crawford.
It has been a while since I've written for Literotica, but quite frankly there wasn't much I thought readers would want to look over. I was still living with my boyfriend, still cavorting with my former boss, the still married but endlessly horny K. Linford Little (see "Doin' the Boss" series in Mature section), still working as a senior administrative assistant and still taking some part-time college classes.
If anything, things had gotten tamer than in some of my recent stories because Mr. Little's job had taken him to the road a lot more, so we weren't doing naughty things as much. Not that we stopped seeing each other, as Mr. Little had an addiction or oral sex that the best 12-step program in the land couldn't stop.
But things were, uh, a little bit more mundane. Or as my mom used to say, there was nothing to write home about. Not that I would write anything home to her about my relationship with Mr. Little...she'd keel over and die.
The man had this thing for blow jobs, not that most guys don't. But he was, well, insatiable. I swear, I could suck him off one minute and he'd be up and hard rubbing cock all over my face the next. Not that he could get off twice in succession, at least hardly ever, but he'd still love for me to suck on his cock for as long as my mouth would let me, savoring every slippery slide up and down his manhood.
The fact that he was 180 degrees from my current boyfriend Roger was likely a plus. Roger was a two-or-three screw a week guy, and oral sex was just a prelude to fucking. That was something we'd do every Saturday night, maybe Sunday morning too, and sometimes do during the week.
He claimed sex drained him, and he had a hard time staying sharp at work if we screwed during the week. Still he was a great lover, he bought me all kinds of nice gifts, and in nearly every regard was a keeper. But the little bit he didn't give me --- the living on the edge, knock your socks off, curl your toes up stuff --- was something I realized I hated to give up.
Hence, my re-hooking up a couple years ago with Mr. Little. The now 50-plus guy caught my fancy when I worked for him, and we hooked up first after work then during work for quick, naughty sex. He made promises, I believed him, but when I realized he wasn't going to leave his wife Mary I left him in the dust. Or so I thought.
Despite other relationships, something was missing, and I realized it was Mr. Little. We got back together with a different goal...we knew we'd never hook up full time, just get together for all the things missing at home, both of our homes.
It has been a whirlwind, pleasing relationship. We get together for sensual fun often, several times a week if possible. Always with a look over our shoulder, always making sure his wife didn't have an inkling of his extracurricular activities. Mr. Little liked to push the envelope, for while we stopped fooling around in his office we did manage to find places where a little seclusion went a long way.
Parking garages, both stand alone and at full malls, as well as local parks, train station parking lots, bike trails and of course the good old automobile worked well for what we had in mind. The danger of semi-public cavorting merely added to the excitement.
Somehow that all brought to mind Stephanie Crawford, a girl who attended home room with me in high school and a close friend throughout those formative years. We spent many pajama parties together, where the usual topics of conversation was shopping and boys.
We of course were in love with several movie stars and musicians, but those fantasies were supplemented with a heavy dating schedule. Stephanie lost her virginity to Ryan Thatcher in the back seat of his dad's SUV parked by a local lake on the outskirts of Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I still had my maidenhood, but wasn't a prude by any means. I learned early on how to satisfy a date with my hand, and later my mouth.
"I don't know how you can do that, it's disgusting," remarked Stephanie one Saturday night at a sleepover at her house after a movie, dinner and make out session with our boyfriends. On those occasions, neither of the boys went home with blue balls.
"I think Erik was a little miffed we didn't do "it" in the car the other night," said Stephanie with a laugh about her current boyfriend. "Erik is used to getting some each week and last week he didn't. I think he'd have done me in front of an audience if I let him."
"Hey, the guys went home happy," I replied, mentioning our hands had a long evening pulling their dicks off to a hearty explosion. "What did he expect, you to spread those pretty legs of you right in front of us."
Stephanie shook her head. "Pulleeze," said my friend. "I think he thought you two might go for a walk or something."
We laughed at how guys viewed nocturnal activities in different ways. My date, Glenn, was euphoric over having me toss off his cock, while Erik, who was used to practicing pushups on Stephanie, was a little put off having to act like they'd never done "it" and settle for a hand job.
Both Stephanie and I were thought to be "good girls" by our parents, who would likely have a heart attack if they knew of our night time activities. They made sure they were around when guys were visiting, so we took playtime to the road when the desire hit. "You know, Stephie, it's a little embarrassing messing around in the same car, but it's also sort of exciting, The sounds, hearing the rustle of clothes, the heavy breathing, it gets me hot listening. And then when I have a dick in my hand while listening, it's, well, hotter."
Stephanie laughed. "Imagine if we were actually doing it in the car, bet that would really get you hot," said my friend.
"Yea, maybe we'd take pictures!" I replied, ducking as Stephanie swung her pillow at me.
Stephanie and I would continue our banter well into the wee hours, trading stories, talking about boyfriends, nerds and bitches we came in contact with.
A week after our sleepover we double dated once more, heading to our favorite make out spot near the lake. We loved it there, so secluded, water rippling nearby, and of most importance, never patrolled by the local constable until very late in the evening.
It was Glenn's turn to drive, and he had his dad's SUV. As soon as we left the movie I scooted over to be next to Glenn, my head on his shoulder, while Erik and Stephanie immediately began making out. I heard rustling from behind, and imagined Erik's hands slipping under Stephanie's blouse or maybe sliding up her thighs.
The twosome in the back made out for the 20 minute ride, making me a bit jealous that they were getting such a head start. But since we switched seats weekly, nobody had an advantage of more room to spread out...so to speak.
When we got to the lake Stephanie and Erik were making out hot and heavy. Taking matters into my hands, I unzipped Glenn's pants and reached into his boxers for my favorite pole...the hard pillar poking out the unleashed fabric. "Oh, Robyn, that feels so good," whispered my boyfriend as I slowly stroked his manhood. "You have such nice hands," I heard him coo.
I slowly traded spit with Glenn as I played with his hardening cock. He unbuttoned a couple of my blouse buttons and snaked his hand inside, plopping a breast out of my cotton bra. He rubbed my nipple as I tantalizingly ran my fingers up and down his manhood. We were lost in our lovemaking when we heard a gasp from the rear seat.
Glenn whispered in my ear, "they're fucking, Robyn, they're fucking."
