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true ˈfan(t)əsē This post is only viewable by Affairlook members. Join Affairlook now! |
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Can't wait to read on!! (Virtual Symposium Group) use Virtual Symposium Group
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6/27/2016 1:18 pm |
Yippee! Not only did I bust my blog cherry today, but I get to reply to myself. Fantasy Number 1 (deleted many times from my Q&A, which I know you've studied prior to coming here) --- copied this time before I submitted it for erasure. I quote: This is the third %&#&$*%! time I've tried to post this...and it just keeps disappearing. Please, Affairlook staff, if you're deleting it, send me a message or something. Jeez. My girlfriend (at the time) and I went to Austin to float the Guadalupe with friends. If you haven't done this, you may not understand the draw for adults. Lazy, shallow river. Inner-tubes. No rapids. No adventure. But lots of beer and liquor. Sun, friends, Skynnard, Bon Jovi, Springsteen blaring from various flotillas. A bus drops you off at one end, picks you up at the other. No driving. It's all Disney would have to do for grownups - they'd sell millions of tickets for that simple ride. Anyhow, my girl (we'll call her Lisa - not her real name) is incredibly hot in a bikini - Latin brown skin, D cups with a narrow waist, an ass that looks engineered with men in mind. I'm wearing swim trunks and nothing else. We take off down the river among hundreds of other adults in various states of inebriation. At first, we're casually brushing against each other's sensitive regions with a wink and a nod, playful. A hand here, a leg-between-the-legs. We hadn't discussed this beforehand, but it was all transpiring underwater and we always had a hard time refraining from inappropriate physical contact in public. Since it was hidden from view though, we went a little further than usual, granted. I responded as most men would, sober or otherwise, to repeated fondling. It isn't long before I'm searching for a colder beer - or even a chunk of ice to drop down there to ease the throbbing in my cock; a fat girl to stare at, something... praying there's no shallow gravel bars ahead that we have to stand and walk across because there's a shower curtain rod protruding from my swimsuit. Lisa gets a kick out of this, says she's attempting to naturally induce priapism. She confides, though, after sucking my tongue, it's working on her too. She's so wet that she believes she's raising the level of the river. Wet as she's ever been. I look around furtively and chance a finger, then two inside her. I swear I can feel her pulse. She's positively flowing. Well over half the couples out there are in some stage of kissing, mugging, heavy petting - intermittently, at least. We fit right in, yeah? We think so. I'm behind Lisa, reaching around her, keeping both of us tethered to the inner-tube with our beer cooler atop. No idea where our personal flotation devices have gone at this point. She's pressing her ass into my groin, massaging my hard-on, giving me that over the shoulder glance, reaching back to grab her stiff plaything regularly. Then, without warning, her hand goes into my waistband and she pulls my cock out. Balls too. She's already pushed her bikini bottom aside, and in one smooth (God - so smooth) motion, she lifts herself up and onto my dick. Very few times had I been that far inside her, and never that quickly. Now she's riding, pushing back and leaning forward, up slowly, then all the way down, gyrating with the head of me brushing against her cervix and the heat of her little asshole like a warm stone rolling along my pelvis beneath the chill of the river. Give me a second here. I want to earnestly thank Lisa one more time for that day. You astounded me, babe. Still.. Anyhow, the whole time, we're passing dozens of fellow floaters and some are passing us. We speak to them, sly as we are, playing it off, passing someone's bottle of rum from right to left, handing a cigarette lighter to someone who's lost theirs, navigating through the crowd and trying so hard not to audibly gasp or otherwise give ourselves away. We're doing pretty good, we think, aided in our stealth by the fact that everyone is at roughly the same eye level so nobody can see very far down into the water. And most people are fast-tracking it Blitzville with alcohol and herb. Then we float by a party of folks who have beached their tubes to frolic on a rope swing. Starboard side, high on the bank and a few of them have climbed further up into a large overhanging tree. Their view? Straight into the clear water to the smooth rocks at bottom. Or, to my trunks pushed down in front and my dick sunk into Lisa to the hilt, her arching and cocking that ass backward like women do (the best ones anyway). Now the somewhat odd expressions on our faces must suddenly make sense, at least to the relatively sober onlookers from the bank. Likewise, it stands to reason why we seem to be avoiding linking up with other floaters to participate in the group revelry. Here's these two loaners not talking or laughing much, not really playing well with others  .As we drift past the rope swing, some guy from the tree yells, "Hey! Are they...You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" Followed by cat calls and whistles, a fair ovation of applause. Well, nobody in the river with us, so far as we could tell, has figured out what's going on. We leave the rope swing behind and my hard-on isn't fazed. Of everything - that's what amazed me the most. She'd done it; induced a clinical everhard condition that even embarrassment and cold water couldn't diminish. (Good job, baby. Nobody's come close to that feat before or since.) Then she's off me. The river suddenly got ten degrees colder. I completely understand this, as there are occasionally sheriff's deputies lying in wait to card UT freshmen for drinking. I figure she's spotted one. We don't want to get locked up, these two respectable thirty-somethings, for lewd and lascivious behavior and whatnot. I don't want to be cuffed and stuffed with a raging stiffy. Still, I'm wondering if I'm going to have to jack off underwater to alleviate my condition - and wondering if that would even help. Then Lisa is rising up again using our cooler tube, a little higher this time, holding my cock with one hand while pressing back into my belly, and again sliding down on me...except I'm in her ass now. I don''t know that I can describe that feeling, with all those people nearby, clueless. Words fail me. It's good that we were at that moment passing a group of stoners blaring Metallica, because there was no suppressing the moan and "Oh God, Oh Goddamn!" coming out of me (see the black and white video in my profile called "Missionary Anal" and turn your volume up. You'll hear it. A muffled version, at least) And Lisa just holds me there, "Still, baby," she says. "Be still a minute," as we pass directly in front of several sorority girls diving for somebody's lost Oakleys. I had never had a hard-on reach the painful stage before, but this episode had progressed over miles of river, at least 45 minutes, possibly more than an hour. I definitely started to worry when the throbbing might become less enjoyable. When we had a few yards between the folks in front of us and anyone approaching from behind, Lisa reached around and grabbed the back of my neck and said, "Fill me up. Fill me, baby." She ground into me and pumped my cock with that tight little cinnamon roll ass, as far as I could go, I could feel the end of her. And, you know...she cured my condition as easily as she caused it :  My balls jumped. I quivered. I made a sound something like a very large purring house cat. I don't know what else to say. I was out of control. My breathing was erratic and I saw God. He seemed proud. I don't know how much cum shot out of me. It felt like cups. Lisa reached back and rubbed my head, whispering to me. She asked only that I stay in her. Let nature take its course, she said. My cock was easing its way out of her, slowly, on its own, and I didn't have the energy to move right then anyhow. Lisa said something about the transcendent nature of what just happened, how many orgasms she had in this river, among these people, and the head of my dick - amazing as it seems - reversed direction and started pushing deeper into her again. This time, she pulled away, and she straightened my trunks for me, trapping my half hard cock against my belly. My eyes were closed - no telling how long - so I didn't see that they were pulling tubes out of the water a hundred yards up. We were at the end. Of the river ride, of the experience, of the...what do you even call that? The friends we arrived with? I don't remember seeing them the whole way. They must've taken another bus back to the parking area because they weren't on ours. So, my favorite sexual experience? No. My favorite *anything*. Ever.
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6/28/2016 6:30 am |
Wow. It seems 146 people visited my blog overnight. I am...astonished and pleased! I'll have to get another fantasy up here soon. After work, though. After work. Come again, horny readers!
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Great writing ... evocative. And provocative. True fantasies are the best...
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