YPA: Your Privacy Assured/YPA.ISO/text/barbara1.txt

Text File | 1994-06-04 | 15KB | 271 lines

          Chapter One - Freewheeling Barbara Toys With Boys

      He had curly blond hair, he was about eighteen years old, and
    the look in his eyes told Barbara that the young man had other
    thoughts in his minds than the eggs Benedict he was eating.  Look
    how his tongue curls around the bacon, the woman thought.  Like
    it could curl around my ...
      He stared at her.  Then he smiled.  A shy, young smile.  What
    was she thinking of, anyway.  How silly!  Here she was a mature
    woman watching a teenage young man eat his breakfast, getting
    damp between her legs as she did, not knowing why, narrowing her
    eyes in a lust-filled response to his lewd smile.  She hoped
    Annette didn't notice.  She directed her attention toward her
    partner, Annette.  Her partner.  How foolish that sounded.  Oh
    well.
      No, Annette hadn't noticed.  Good.
      Barbara leaned away from her cheese omelet and glared at the
    thick slices of French toast buried beneath a mountain of fresh
    strawberries and whipped cream on Annette's breakfast plate.
      "That's disgusting, Annette, how can you eat like that? she
    said.  "Here, I'll help you."  And she scooped up a bite,
    glancing back at the young man at the other table as she rather
    obviously rolled it around on her tongue, lips slightly parted.
      The two women had just finished an eleven-day, 638-mile bicycle
    tour down state.  In past years they had peddled thousands of
    miles together, 150 miles in one stint, 500 in another.  They
    were already planning a bike tour across Europe that might very
    well get them into the Guinness Book of Records.  They had both
    often agreed that it was their mutual "visions of hotcakes" that
    made them dedicated cyclists.
      The two women never allowed themselves breakfast until they had
    gone 20 or 25 miles.  They had long before agreed, "We'll have to
    be starving first, and then we will both agree that it was the
    best breakfast we ever ate."  And every night they would have the
    best shower they ever had.  But that seemed to be it.  No great
    sex, just a great shower.
      The two women had been biking together for years.  They had met
    four years before when a mutual friend, a real estate agent,
    introduced them, saying that, "Annette will be great for you!
    She will help you decorate your home."  Annette had, and now the
    two houses looked exactly alike.
      Their first long ride together had taken them some twelve
    miles, to meet their husbands for dinner at the beach.  As they
    approached the restaurant Annette had called out, "That's twelve.
    Thirteen is a luckier number!"  So the two women circled a car
    wash, next to the restaurant, about fifteen times to make up the
    mile difference.
      The difference between them, Barbara had finally decided, was
    that Annette was a record-breaker idiot.  There was something
    else about cycling that Barbara loved, screw the records, the
    distance and all that.  She loved the wind in her hair, her face,
    the coolness of it.  And her legs pumping, sometimes aching ...
    and she associated that thought, strangely enough, with sex.  The
    moment of exhaustion was not unlike the moment of orgasm.
      But then how would Barbara know?  She was in her mid-thirties,
    and except for a little side-trip of sexual adventure, had never
    experienced true sexual fullfillment.  And that had been a mind-
    bending experience.
      And of course it had been with the young man who had stared
    over his eggs Benedict at her during breakfast that morning at
    the little roadside motel.  A soul-filled look in his eyes, that
    was what it had been that turned her on so.  She had had a
    husband and many other men in her life - so why was this youth's
    look so different, so exciting?  Perhaps it was a case of Monday
    Morning Quarterbacking - he had satisfied her.  Oh, did he ever
    satisfy her!
      She had become sick to death of Annette's bribes of "Tell you
    what, Barbara, a big luscious hot fudge sundae if we push on for
    another three miles, what say?"  Annette was obsessed.  Annette
    was a nut.
      There had been the feedback from friends - "You two will kill
    yourselves."  Actually, there had been few mishaps.  The two
    women had prepared thoroughly for their long-distance runs, and
    both had worked themselves into demons for conditioning.
    Barbara, in her first burst of enthusiasm after meeting Annette,
    had taken a semester-long course on bicycling at a local Junior
    college, and the whole thrust of it had been safety.  Safety was
    something Barbara was sick to death of.  The young man's eyes -
    ahh, there was danger, a much spicier dish than safety.
      Annette had insisted they have their bikes checked out before
    each and every trip, and then they would train, leaving home
    before 5:45 a.m., getting in 12 or 20 miles of vigorous cycling.
    Always, though, they were back before 7:45 in time for Annette to
    cook breakfast for her husband.  Barbara had become jealous of
    that.  She had no one except her son Jerry to even think about
    breakfast for.  And her son Jerry, at this point in his life,
    anyway, needed a bicycling mother like he needed a hole in the
    head.
      But the conditioning had paid off.  She was slim, tight of
    body, didn't pant, even when cycling up a continuous twenty-five
    mile hill.  Maybe it had all put her in condition for the very
    young man who was to be her first satisfying lover.
      In his arms, she was to forget the challenges of roads that had
    no shoulders, logging trucks and sawdust trucks whizzing by,
    hills to pump up.
      But, in young Jim's arms, Barbara, a bit late in life, realized
    the wonderful exhileration of another kind of uphill pumping, her
    mind screaming to itself, "Look what your body is doing now!"


      "Hi!" he had said to her as she sat outside her motel room
    door.  She and Annette always had their own room, no matter where
    they were cycling to or from.  It had been Annette's husband's
    idea.  "If you do break any mileage records, people will get to
    talking, and the next thing you know you'll have reputations as
    being lesbians.  I don't mind the bike rides off into nowhere,
    but I don't think I can hack the lesbian talk bit," he had
    declared.  Both women agreed immediately, for that was not their
    game.

      Barbara now lifted her sun glasses and looked into the young
    man's handsome face.  She said nothing, but did manage a smile.
      "You and your girlfriend are bike freaks too, eh?" he said.
      "Freaks?  I don't like to think of it exactly that way,"
    Barbara replied, crossing her legs, a subconscious protective
    measure - against her own compulsions, not against the young man
    who had approached her.
      "Sorry.  No offense.  I call myself a bike freak.  I biked up
    here all the way from State College.  There are bike freaks and
    there are bike freaks, see?"  He pulled up a deck chair next to
    her.  His body was tight, compact, tanned.  "I live on a
    particular street down at college.  "It's off campus, actually,
    and I have a basement apartment.  Anyway, this street is known
    for bachelor parties, and out on the street and on the balconies,
    anywhere.  Sort of like New Orleans.  And the girls that live
    there in the dorms ... freshmen, mostly ... they ride their bikes
    by this street every morning, see.  It's like a beauty parade.
    They know that only studs that are seniors and have some bread
    can afford apartments on the street.  Not that the apartments are
    so great - mine was flooded knee deep last year during the rains
    - but then I got a basement two-roomer, the rent's cool.  Anyway,
    these freshies ride by, and whoever doesn't have a hangover from
    a bash the night before watches.  Good watching, too.  They
    purposely wear these little bikinis and no bras under their T-
    shirts, so their boobs bounce and all."
      Barbara smiled, and reddened a bit.  He's so young, she
    thought, so fresh, so ready to attack life.  I wish I was like
    that.  I was once.
      He grinned, and his teeth were very young and white and square.
      "So there they go, pedaling along, dozens of them, up and down
    the street.  Their boobs bounce, and sometimes when I look up
    from my basement window I can almost see the balconies above
    bouncing in the same cadence.  Lots of horny dudes, see.  Anyway,
    like I was saying, there's bikers and then there's bikers.  Those
    girls are not bikers.  You and your friend, you're bikers.  I
    could tell.  Bikes oiled, everything in balance."  He looked down
    at her breasts.  "And nothing bouncing."
      He wore nothing but blue satin bathing trunks, and her eyes
    fell on the thick bulge, the almost invisible throb at the skimpy
    center.
      She looked back up into his eyes.  And she knew.  They both
    knew ...

       Later, in her motel room that night, while Annette obtained
    her necessary "health sleep, eight hours, no less!", the young
    man named Jim stared again into Barbara's eyes.
      Running his middle finger over the crispy curling strands of
    her pubic hair, he hissed down at her his teeth bared in an
    animalistic mask of lust.  "Don't worry," he told her.  "I'm
    going to give you the fucking of your life!"
      "Oooooooooh!" moaned Barbara.  "Yeeeeeees!"

      His obscene words triggered still more excitement in her wildly
    impassioned body, and she groaned louder, "Do it to me ... fuck
    me as hard as you can!"  Her small ringed hand tightened about
    the shaft of his pulsing penis as she spoke, and her naked white
    ass-cheeks began to rotate in wanton little circles on the
    mattress as she felt his prodding finger swirling around and
    around the sensitive little bud of her clitoris.  "Aaaaaaah," she
    cried.
      Her new lover's penis lurched violently and he new he could not
    wait any longer.  Suddenly inspired by her lewd gyrations and
    wanton pleadings, he decided what his plan of attack would be
    with the woman.  He wanted to shove his bursting cock up inside
    her tight little belly, and he wanted the salacious view of her
    jouncing breasts and her lust-contorted face as he did so.  There
    was only one way to do it.
      "Get on top of me!" he commanded, and before Barbara had a
    chance to protest or to consent, she felt herself being pulled up
    over his passion-fevered loins.
      Her husband had never made love to her this way, and she was
    not quite sure of what to do.  She stared down with wide
    wondering eyes, afraid he was going to do something else that
    would only satisfy his own needs instead of giving her the
    fucking she needed.  Her breath came in quick labored gasps, and
    she only wished he would put his penis inside her aching pussy
    quick!  It felt as though her cunt were on fire, and the spirit
    of licentious liberation from all inhibitions drove her to
    heights of wanton desire which she had never before known.
      "Like this, baby," explained the youth whose fingers were
    clasping the satin-smooth cheeks of her resilient buttocks and
    positioning her temptingly small cuntal mouth directly above his
    throbbing hardness.  A lewd little smile lighted his face as he
    noted the half-fearful, half-lustful gleam in her eyes as she
    stared greedily down at the size of his penis.
      "Is it big enough?" he asked lecherously, his eyes gleaming.
    "This what your hot cunt is needing?"
      Barbara could hardly answer.  The sight of his rigid pulsing
    flesh rising straight up from his hairy loins to her unprotected
    pussy made the lustful woman almost faint with desire.
      But it's so big, she thought in terror.  It will surely tear me
    apart.  Suddenly her lust was forgotten in a flood of terror.
    "No!" she gasped.  "Stop!  Let go of me!"
      Forgotten now, in the moment of truth, were all the other
    massive penises that she had thought too big for her.  But there
    was no stopping now.  The panting youth was quite sure that she'd
    like his big thick cock well enough once it was firmly ensconced
    within her trembling cunt.
      "Take it in your hand and put it in your cunt," he ordered, too
    impatient to pay attention to the cock-teasing woman's
    objections.
      "No!" she wailed.  "I can't!  I'm afraid!  I won't!"
      Oh God in heaven! thought Barbara, he is surely going to tear
    me to pieces.  But she was helpless against his every wish.  Her
    body ceased to struggle and strain, and much to her astonishment
    the needles of desire and thrills of excitement began again,
    prurient flames of eroticism flooding through her loins.

      "Now you put my cock in your pussy and hurry up about it,"
    commanded the boy who lay below her, still leering.
      Oh God.  How did I ever get in a position like this?  But she
    obediently reached out her hand and guided his lust-distended
    hardness toward the small quivering mouth of her vagina.  As she
    somewhat gingerly parted her soaked vaginal lips to guide the
    blunt-nosed shaft up into the depths of her belly, her earlier
    passion began to return.
      Unable to wait another second, the lusting youth with the big
    penis flicked his muscular hips upward and plunged his aching
    hardness deep into her open cunt without thinking whether he was
    hurting her or not.
      Sharp needles of sensual agony shot through her impaled body.
    The boy's massive thickness was thrust inside her.  His mammoth
    hardness throbbed within the suffering walls of her stretched
    cunt.
      And then before she realized what she was doing, she began to
    undulate her own firm-fleshed ass-cheeks around the obscenely
    impaling rod of hardened male flesh, all traces of pain easing
    until she was floating in between hurt and happiness, between
    pain and pleasure, far away from reality.  Something was so
    erotic, so forbidden about being fucked half to death by a
    stranger, far away from her son, far away from home.  A powerful
    wave of pleasure rippled through her over-stimulated body.
      "Oh, yes," she breathed.  "Yes, fuck me like that."
      Eager to oblige the lust-ridden woman the youth began to fuck
    his pulsating thickness hard up into her heated vagina with
    smooth straight strokes that sank all the way to her spongy
    cervix.  At the same time, he teased his thumb wildly at the
    sensitive bud of her throbbing clitoris.
      Incoherent gurgles of joy spurted from Barbara's lushly parted
    lips, and her ripe body squirmed in orgiastic ecstasy.  She felt
    his hand attack her vulnerable anus with savage insistence, as
    the outstretched finger wormed its way up into her clenching
    A rectum, to move back and forth in time to the wild fucking
    strokes of the youth beneath her.  She felt herself floating
    higher and higher, far removed from space and time.

      Then, suddenly, the long desired climax hit her like a
    jackhammer.  Unexpectedly it came over her aroused flesh and she
    howled like a wounded animal, as great swirls of incredible
    pleasure stormed through her overloaded nervous system.  And at
    precisely the same moment, the plunging penis that brought her to
    such heights, came also, expanding to spurt its hot load of semen
    deep into her convulsing body.
      Maddened by the pungent aroma of sexual release, Barbara fucked
    harder and wilder down upon his stiff exploding penis.  Orgiastic
    liquid poured from her own convulsing body and overflowed upon
    the bed below them.  She swallowed in the delights of orgasm and
    the slippery warm cum.