1. Grown Ups


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

    sexually experimental phase and even had a girlfriend for one bright, brilliant summer. Her girlfriend would dab patchouli at the tops of her inner thighs, so now the fragrance was forever synonymous with being up-close to soft hidden places and delicate flesh. Even now, the tip of Helen’s tongue secretly traced the alphabet in her mouth, recalling her special technique for eliciting gasps and swelling sighs. The experimental time only finished when she met George at a gig – he was the drummer – and he simply filled her heart. His name was coolly ironic back then, and he made her laugh and ache even before they’d got each other’s kit off. She even persuaded him to try the patchouli thing for a while but it was never quite so beguiling on his veiny great club. And now, in a few months, she would have a baby. They would have a baby. She would be a mum. Patchouli was a call from the wild. The train stopped and picked up more passengers. An aggressive customer with a briefcase leant into Helen's back. Suddenly her thigh was forced between the girl's legs. Helen twisted her face to apologise but the girl fixed her gaze at the glass door, even though there was nothing to see as it faced the black tunnel wall. In silent, crushing embarrassment, they stay wedged together as the train moved off. Helen wished she was wearing jeans or something thicker and hadn't let George choose her outfit today. A little summer dress. The punkette wore a tiny pleated miniskirt too, and both were ...
    bare legged. The soft-on-hard dome of the girl's pubic bone was unmistakable against Helen's leg. Pornographic shaven-havens flashed behind Helen’s eyes. Spread, dripping. She blinked them away and sought out George, awkward because of the wall of suited backs around her. When she caught his eye, he flapped his hand at his face. Only then, she realised her cheeks burned like they’d been slapped. She smiled, nodded, and still wanted to hit him. Why had she offered up her seat to the old bloke? She was pregnant for Christ’s sake. Why hadn’t George offered, it should be him, here, with his leg shoved against this sexy girl’s warm, podgy... Fair enough. She tried to rationalise why she resented, so much, having to pleasure him later. It was nothing they hadn't done a thousand times. She used to rather enjoy all the hardcore stuff, the messy play. Once she got a terrible urge, ravishing him when he was up a ladder, yanking off his jeans and sucking him the complete cycle – from limp to hard to bursting to limp again. She’d loved that. And he would surprise her too. She sat on his lap once, and he pulled down her panties and fingered her to one of the finest (dribbliest!) orgasms of her life. And the actual finest: The day they argued about who could multitask, he brought her to climax switching between licking and shagging and she ended up with a lovely hot spurty mess all over her clit. Hmm. Clit. God how she loved that word. And cock. Thing is, all these were way more bonding than ...
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