First girlfriend, and I use that word loosely as to this day I still don’t know what was going on.
We met in college after being paired together in a class, I was 18, virgin, geeky. She was 20, goth, 8 out of 10 in the looks department. Smart as hell. We worked together for a while, I tell her that I think she’s interesting and I’d like to take her out. She turns me down, I shrug and smile say “OK,” and continue on.
But she continues as we become “friends” to get closer to me all the time. Puts her arm on my knee when we’re sitting, grabs my hand when we’re walking. I mean total “we’re dating” type moves. Including a pretty passionate kiss at one point. I ask her out again, get turned down.
Her apartment was across the street from the school. After class one day, she asked me to come over and help with her computer. Keep in mind this was back in the days before everyone had a computer on their desk and smart phones were undreamed of.
So we wander over to her place, and while I was looking at her computer this 10 out 10 blonde walks in without a word grabs her and KISSES her right there in front of me. They make out for a while before the blonde goes “Oh, you have company,” while looking at me. The goth says “No you don’t, I saw him first!” and I’m apparently pretty oblivious to what’s going on.
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The gears on Doctor Thaddeus Concupiscent’s Automated Vulva Manipulation device whirred softly in the dusty air of the old cellar. Strapped into the devious device and unable to do little more then shudder in painful pleasure every few minutes, Julia Longley cried out as the main shaft began to oscillate deep inside her moist nether regions yet again. She had been barely able to make out the emblazoned name on the front of a huge steam engine that sported an obscene projection that now pumped unceasingly inside her no longer quite so delicate flower.
When the evening had started, Julia had never expected to end up here. Helpless. Suffering. Tormented. Orgasmic. Even if such erogenous thoughts were at the front of every well educated young lady’s mind and in their deepest wishes, yet rarely spoken about in even the most intimate of company.
No indeed. She had started the evening innocent enough, clad in a blue velvet evening gown. Shoulders low cut to accentuate her ample cleavage, yet just barely long enough to decorously cover a pretty turned ankle. A dark leather corset claimed by the corsetier to be of African Lion, fit snugly around her waist. Rouge and paint highlighted her face, making her already youthful face nearly cherubic.
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Still slightly confused and embarrassed about being caught with his pants down, literally, Scott followed the two young and extremely cute Asian girls further up the desolate road.
He gazed longingly at their tight butts, clad in even tighter spandex. The two girls, Miki and Aimi, swayed back and forth. Every few seconds one or the other would look back at him, catch him looking at her ass, then turn back to giggle with the other. He’d sheepishly grin back, and then attempt to pay attention to where they were going. Inevitably they’d wiggle their asses, almost on purpose, and his eyes would drift back to linger on their ample charms.
About twenty minutes later, the trio turned a corner in the gravel road. Un-realized by Scott, they had risen several feet to a plateau in the forest, and now spread before him was what could only be described as an old Western town. Each building looked like it was fresh out of a Spaghetti Western with false fronts and calico curtains. He half expected a gun fight to erupt in the middle of the street at any moment.
Halfway down the street he finally noticed that the few people he did see were women. All of them were sexy, and all of them paid him no mind at all. The girls would wave to other pedestrians and giggle occasionally, but kept walking down the middle of the road. Frequently the women would smile and wave back while hungrily appraising Scott. As they passed one building, he gazed inside at a metal ringing sound.
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Scott furiously ground the gears on his sports car as he spun it around a corner of the gravel covered road. The day before had been his 30th Birthday. His wife, a Paris Hilton look alike, dressed in a sexy short skirt and low cut blouse, had taken him out to dinner and hinted at the possibility of sex that night. They’d been married a year, but the last time they had done any fooling around had been on their wedding night.
They’d gone out dancing. But she somehow managed to drink too much and couldn’t walk much less fulfill her earlier promise. Instead they’d fallen into bed, and passed out.
In the morning when he woke up, she had already left. Her car keys and his credit cards gone. A note said “Shopping with the girls!” was left on the fridge.
He simply screamed at the empty house and slammed his fist on the counter. And swore under his breath, morning erection slowly subsiding. Without even bothering for breakfast or coffee, he dressed and got into the car. A few hours later, driving aimlessly up back roads he turned onto a gravel road with a worn sign that simply said “Palmer, 14 Miles.”
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