1. Grown Ups


    Date: 7/8/2016, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: GoBigCatGo, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

    of him. Helen’s ears warmed. It was just as if the pay-per-view porn had followed her out into the real world. Maybe she had become so bothered she was projecting them into being from her subconscious. Then the couple were swallowing each other whole, mouths locked like tussling hippos and Helen squirmed. She wanted a month of tongue. All over. Then – dear Lord please – a long and rigorous and pumpy shafting. She needed not a mouthful of George’s overexcitement. RideACockHorse, on Mumsnet, had got so fed up with her ”Dear O.H.” – and his obsession with her ‘head’ – that she went to the lengths of hypnotism. She had herself convinced that her tongue was another g-spot. The first couple of posts about the results were – literally – ecstatic. Her and her hubby had stopped going out of an evening, just so they could stay at home and play. The O.H. kept buying her gifts and even wrote her love poems. But, by the third post, RideACockHorse had undone the hypnotism. When every snack was an explicit act of self-love, she was piling on the pounds. Priorities. The train stopped and people squeezed out, including the handsome boyfriend. The girl gripped his hand to the last second and even plucked kisses to it before she let it go. "Remind you of anyone?" George said, nodding at her. Helen had an urge to punch him. An old man shuffled and wobbled amongst the jostle of people getting on and Helen, in a force of habit, offered up her seat quickly. The only space left to stand was that ...
    vacated by the boy, then – as the train became even more rammed – she found herself in the awkward position of being almost pressed to the punkette, who was glowering at everyone. The train lurched as it pulled away. The girl was ok – leaning against the wall with her legs braced in a narrow A – but Helen stumbled. The girl caught her, but not before Helen had planted her flip-flopped foot between the girl's boots, to steady herself. They shared an awkward smirk, left in an unusually intimate position. She was side-on to the girl, but Helen’s leg was between her knees and neither could move. Helen tried to act like this was normal, just another day stuffed in the sweltering London tube. Mind the gap and all that. As long as they didn't look at each other, it was all good. But the girl did look. She stared at the discrete dripping-rose tattoo on Helen’s shoulder. The logo of an obscure and aggressive all-girl band in the nineties. She blinked and raised an eyebrow and checked Helen’s reflection in the black glass, eyes flicking around her face, then with the briefest of glances down at her breasts and legs. Helen tried to be cool and grown up but had an urge to giggle like a teenager. Probably the last time she’d been appraised so blatently, too. Honestly. Italians. Spanish. Whatever. The train lumbered along. The girl smelled of patchouli, a fragrance that tossed Helen back to her twenty ’s and she subtly took long, deep breaths of it. In her wild years, Helen had gone through a ...
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