The 73rd Virgin – Terrorists Whore

Do you know that voluptuous, round and full breasted, dark eyed girls like me will be fucked forever? Now you know. Can you imagine that? Having your pussy dripping wet and fluttering like a butterfly for eternity?

My pussy is appetizing – it puckers when it smells testosterone from a thousand miles, it’s so wet but tight enough, thanks to Kegel exercises, and it throbs like the beating of my heart. I have Googled what appetizing vaginas have over the others, and I made a startling discovery: it is for the 72 virgins, houri, who would be given to terrorists in heaven.

Oral Night

When we decided to have tantric sex, we meant it. But just like New Year resolutions that are forgotten long before January ends and thrown out the window, he didn’t keep the rules of tantric sex on the third day which is time for penetration without fucking when the woman takes that dick she’s dying to feel tearing each part of her womanhood inside her pussy and just lies there until the man’s erection subsides.

Trail of Squirt

He sat comfortably on the chair in the corner of his home office. I had already put our son to bed and checked the camera to the screen in our bedroom was online.  He was working late, some book he was fast proofreading to beat a deadline, but when he saw me looking the way I was – nude, glistening from the massage oil I had applied on myself and some syrupy liquid dripping between my legs – he stopped what he was doing immediately.

With the grace of a deer I impaled myself on his erect phallus. I slipped in with ease, what he loves, and settled at the base of his penis. Just for effect, I looked him in the eyes, so I could see how his desire mounted and mine in his eyes. I felt his hand on my back, then on my ass. I returned the favour by caressing his chest. I leaned to kiss him, teasing him a bit so he won’t devour me like a fox.  

Gold Digger

When I return from the bathroom, I sit on his laps.

He seems lusty.

My hardened nipples push through the sheer negligee

A minaret and a spire that calls men to worship me.

When I left my pussy was pulsating, swollen and dripping wet.

He whispers quietly on my ear:

You smell nice. Your scent is sensual.

No, I want to say. It’s sexual.

Jamie, ten years my senior, talks dirtier:

I wanna feel that dripping wetness on my dick. My nipples brush his lips when

I move closer – my pudenda throbs for your cock, cough dough.

I move to the couch opposite him and I let out a moan.

He is more handsome than I can remember.

I press my open knees closed. Sit like a girl, my mother used to tell me.

I finger the hole between my legs, slick glistening when I remove and suck it.

From his couch he stares at me, eyes drooling.

My elongated clit caresses the leather and I tremble –

I open my legs like a well-oiled door,

Daring him to show me the dollar bills and

Give me what I wanted: DICK.