The origin of this story are the opening vignettes: Bree waking up from a sexy dream and Bianca walking the hallway of her high school. After that it was a question of finding a way to tie them together. There are several ideas for a second chapter bumping around the inside my skull, but I'm not in which direction to go. If you have any thoughts on the subject please feel free to share them.
I am starting a new mother-son story which I expect will see the light of day several months from now.
I hope all are doing well during the current crisis. May this story provide a momentary distraction.
As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
Bree's clit was throbbing.
It was the same dream she'd had the night before, and the night before that, but more graphic, more intense, more arousing. The young man holding her clitoris between his teeth sucked on it, drawing more and more blood into her most sensitive place. He dragged the flat of his warm thick tongue over it, flicked it with the tip of that tongue like an unrelenting Gatling gun. His tongue kept shifting, trying something new, returning to something wonderful, moving from spot-to-spot. It knew what she needed.
He touched his finger to her vagina, played with its swollen lips. Although he could have jammed his finger into her -- she'd never been so wet -- he moved it inside incrementally, slowly, half a inch at a time, caressing exploring the inner walls of her sex. Pleasure pulsed through her.
When he found her g-spot he dragged the fingertip over it in a come hither motion, massaged it, pampered it. She gibbered her delight and her g-spot -- it'd never been this big -- merged with her clitoris. All the time his tongue continued its assault on her clit, slapping and plundering her sex.
Her cunt was on fire. She was going to come like she'd never come before.
And then she'd woken up. It took a second -- she heard her husband's snores -- to orient herself before she was ready to accept it wasn't real. However, real or not, the hand she pressed to her wet sex confirmed the dream's power. She glanced at the clock beside her bed -- crap, it was three in the morning.
She looked at her husband, considered waking him up, but she recalled the last time she'd done that. Two weeks ago she'd used her mouth on him, but the resulting erection lasted five thrusts (she knew, she counted) before he came inside her, his dick far too sensitive to continue. She'd felt his shame, had felt it over the past months as his sex drive deteriorated and he had ever more trouble achieving, then maintaining an erection. No, she'd not embarrass him tonight.
She got out of bed, closed the bathroom door, turned on the shower, climbed inside. She imagined the young man's mouth, squeezed her breast, twisted her nipple, worked her clit. When it came the orgasm was hard and strong and delicious and she swallowed her groans so as not to disturb her husband.
Feeling rejuvenated, electric and alive, she toweled herself off, took extra care with her short fiery red hair and make-up, then, as she studied her naked self in the mirror, her mind returned to the first difficult months of her marriage.
Bryan, her soon to be stepson, had not been happy when, after a six day courtship, his father announced he was going to marry this total stranger. Things got worse when Bryan met Andrea his future stepsister, the Belle of the Ball, the girl who dated the quarterback but was too cool to be a cheerleader, the girl who, when she deigned to notice her studious stepbrother, treated him mixed contempt and disdain. And while Bryan was never overtly hostile to her or Andrea -- he was too smart to risk setting off his volatile father -- he was aloof, refusing to fully participate in his new family, holding himself as an outsider, an observer.
Then, three months ago, she'd started having trouble falling and staying asleep. She mentioned it to the family over breakfast and a few days later Bryan said he'd done some research and suggested a white-noise machine. She said no -- she didn't trust the kid -- but as the problem intensified she revisited the idea, checked it out on the internet, decided it could do no harm. When the package arrived Bryan, the family geek, volunteered to program and set it up for her.
It worked. She slept eight hours that night, every night since, felt better, looked better -- her eyes and skin seemed to glow. Brimming with energy she got herself to the gym and lost ten pounds, regaining her college 112 pounds spread over her slender 34-24-35 five foot seven inches and "B" breasts. Even better, it was the beginning of a new relationship with her stepson. Treating him like an adult, always taking the extra step for him, making every effort to show him courtesy, kindness, and respect, she came to appreciate his determination, sense of responsibility, wisdom, air of intelligence and command.
Bree's reverie was interrupted by the sound of her stepson coming down the stairs. The editor/manager of his high school yearbook, he'd been getting to school early each morning to work with the yearbook's faculty adviser. But before he'd leave, knowing how Bree loved her coffee in the morning, he'd set up the coffee maker for her. Now, deciding to thank him, she wrapped a towel around her naked body, turned off the light in the bathroom, and slipped by Edward, her comatose husband.
"Bryan, is that you."
He came around the corner of the kitchen, saw her, said, "You're up early."
"Yeah, woke up about forty-five minutes ago, couldn't get back to sleep. I want to thank you for making coffee. That's very sweet."
"You're welcome. Should I take a look at the white-noise machine, see if it needs adjustment."
Pinning the towel to her chest -- it had started to slip -- she approached him, said, "I'd appreciate that," kissed his cheek, wished him a good day, and then did something she'd never done before, kept her eyes on his butt as he headed for the garage. She knew she shouldn't. He was her stepson, he wasn't her type, too skinny, too nerdy, but still, it was a nice ass.
* * * * *
Bianca Richards heard the clop-clop of her blue 2 ½ pumps echo down the empty school hallway. She wished they were the 4 ½ inch spiked heels her lover preferred, wished her pantyhose had the seam running down the back her lover adored, but he was right. At school one erred on the side of the appropriate.
There was no false modesty to her: she checked herself in her office mirror, liked what she saw. Of Middle Eastern descent, her look was exotic: triangular face with a strong chin, full lips, dark smoldering eyes, thick wavy raven hair. And although she'd worked her body to curvy perfection, 110 toned pounds on a five feet six inch 25-32-35 figure and "C" breasts, wearing glasses, a white blouse, blue jacket, and calf length blue skirt, no one could accuse her of flaunting it. Of course, if they knew about the stockings, garters and straps, lacy bra and lack of panties she wore underneath things might be different. But, only he knew.
Deciding to emphasize her full lips she reached into her purse, choosing a red lip stick too dark for this early hour. But he'd like it and it would be gone before the rest of the student body arrived.
As she put the lipstick back in her purse she heard his footsteps in the hall. If the school board knew she'd provided him a key to the school, there'd be hell to pay. Then again, if the school board knew he had a key to her car and home, that she was fucking him, that her husband happily acquiesced to it all, there'd be hell to pay. What was one additional indiscretion?
She glanced in the mirror one last time. She'd never looked better. Part of it, she knew, was presentation. While she had always been careful about her appearance, over the last few months she'd become fanatical, and at the moment, make-up flawless, hair worn up, long nails painted a deep red, she could have been taken for a model. She'd also never worked harder at the gym, her skin and eyes, bright and alive, were healthier than ever, and she thought about sex all the time, of her lover, the way he fucked her, taking her to places she'd only dreamed of.
She'd never been so alive.
She slipped her leather belt off, draped it over the back of her chair, neatly folded and lay her skirt atop it, then saying, "Good morning darling," turned to the door, greeting her lover in stockings, garter, and heels.
He stopped. She loved the way he looked at her; the ways his eyes possessed her.
Slipping the glasses from her face, she nibbled on the end of a stem and said, "You like?"
"I do."
Placing her glasses on her desk, she strode across the room, steps slow, rotating her body for him, and said, "I know we have a lot to do for the yearbook, but I'm thinking we still have time for a quickie."
He smiled, placed a finger under her chin, moved her face to his, and his strong masterful tongue entered her mouth. She reached down, covered his penis with her hand, and with practiced skill undid the buttons on his jeans, slipped two fingers inside, ran their manicured surface on his erection.
When the kiss ended dropping to her knees she said, "I take it that's a yes. Y'know, you're not wearing any underwear."
"No, but neither are you. I guess great minds..."
"...think alike."
Bryan yanked his belt free and Bianca pulled his pants over his hips, smiled up at him, said, "God you're big," held his dick flat to his belly, licked up its underside, did so again, sucked one testicle, then the other, into her mouth, thoroughly bathing each with tongue and spit.
Letting the testicle escape his mouth with an audible pop she tilted him forward, flicked her tongue across his pisshole several times, stretched her jaw, moved him just inside her mouth, licked along the underside of his cock then clamped her lips on him just beyond the crown. Swinging her tongue around the cockhead, she moved forward, taking half of him in her mouth, moved back, repeated, pushing forward a little farther each time until his pubic hair tickled her nose. His dick embedded in her face, she placed his hand on the back of her head and coddled his hot heavy balls. He was ready; they were pulsating. And her? She was always ready.
She let him slip from her mouth, stood, pulled the pins from her hair, and shaking her head, straightening her long black tresses, leaned over her desk and looking at him over her shoulder said, "Bryan, you know how I love your dick. Fuck me, fuck your horny teacher."
Inserting a finger in her, confirming she was wet and ready, Bryan took hold of her hips and drove himself into her in a single solid thrust. Ninnying her delight with a high lascivious squeal, her body rocked forward and clasping the sides of her desk Bianca and pushed back, meeting his next thrust. They fucked, bodies slamming into each other with loud slaps. Bianca wondered why couldn't her husband fuck her like this, why wasn't his cock perfect like Bryan's, but she knew the answer. Her husband was sweet, but you can't expect one man to be everything.
Her mind turned inward, focusing on the cock plunging into her, filling her, stretching the walls of her cunt. His massive balls swung back and forth, slapping her clit at the end of each thrust. She reached between her legs, trapped her clitoris against her body with the pad of a perfectly manicured finger, rubbed it back and forth.
