Category: finger fucking

Mile High Club

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Trent Boyd hefted his small attache’ case into the over head compartment and sat down in the aisle seat and waited for the 737 to take off. Leaving the bone chilling cold of Detroit to spend a long weekend in New Orleans was enough to bring a smile to the face of any seasoned traveler! One stop over in Memphis, and it would be good by Woodward Ave. and hello Bourbon Street! This would be Trent’s sixth visit to the Crescent City and it was definitely his favorite destination, with all the food, booze and women to be had! His day dream was abruptly interrupted, however, when he chanced to see an absolutely stunning black haired beauty dragging an over night bag down the aisle, obviously looking for her seat. Every male eye in the plane followed her every step, the result of which was a slight jiggling of her oversized chest underneath her skin tight sweater! To Trent’s utter delight, she stopped at his row, rechecked her ticket stub, and hoisted her bag into the over head, and slipped past him into the window seat next to his. Usually in cases like this, Trent’s usual experience would have been that this lovely creature would turn out to be an ice queen, but to his happy dismay, she stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Sonja, Sonja Fletcher!” He took her hand, and replied, “Trent Boyd’s the name, glad to meet you, New Orleans or Memphis!?!”

“Memphis,” she answered, “born and raised there, going home to visit the folks.” “That’s nice,” he replied, “I’m going on to New Orleans myself, a long weekend getaway!” Just then the no smoking and seat belt lights came on, and a flight attendant announced that they would be taking off in about two minutes. “I guess we had better get ready,” Sonja said, while reaching for her seat belt. “Yeah,” replied Trent, “if we go down we better be belted in, for all the good it would do.” “Please don’t say that, I’m scared to death of flying,” she said in a nervous voice, “joking about it just makes it worse for me!” At first Trent thought she may have been joking, but the look on her face told him that she really was terrified of flying! “I’m sorry, Sonja,” he said soothingly, “you’re right, it was a bad joke, here, let me hold your hand during take off, it will make you feel better!” Gripping his hand like a steel vice, Sonja was obviously glad to have someone to hold onto, and Trent was a little taken back when she held his hand to her chest while waiting for the plane to take off.

“My god,” he thought, “her boobs are incredible,” even if he was getting a somewhat limited feel through her tight sweater. “I’m sorry I’m holding on so tight, but I really am frightened,” she offered! While trying to maneuver his fingers for a better feel, he replied back, “Oh, that’s all right, if it makes you feel better, it’s all right with me.” Soon the jet was taxiing out to the runway, and Sonja’s breathing became shallow and intermittent, a sure sign of hyperventilation. Deciding to take a real chance, Trent turned a little to face her, and reached his right hand over and held her leg, six inches or so above her knee. Acting as if he were just trying to protect her, he held her close, while all the time enjoying the sensation of having one hand buried in her huge chest, and the other one on the inside of her smooth bare thigh! “Hold on,” he whispered into her ear, “here we go,” as the plane hurtled down the runway, gaining speed with each passing second. Sonja held on to Trent even harder, as she closed her eyes, hoping that they would get air born as quickly as possible while Trent let his hand slide a little farther up her thigh, until it was actually under the hem of her dress!
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Wild Subway Ride

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Terri crammed her way onto into the third car of the Englewood-Howard subway line on her way to the Loop for work, and while it was only 7:00AM, the car was already packed like a can of sardines. After about a month of subway rides, Terri would get fed up and take her car to work, but that usually only lasted a day or two because of the horrible traffic and expensive Loop parking rates. The el was considerably faster and cheaper, if not more convenient than driving a car. On this Wednesday it seemed that it was packed tighter than normal as Terri was pressed between a well dressed business man and a mid forties woman who smelled of Chanel No. 5.

The car rocked back and forth as the train made it’s way from the far north side on it’s way down town, and having made the same trip thousands of times, Terri kind of put her mind in neutral and just swayed with motion of the car. She was gazing out the window at the passing apartment buildings, and hardly noticed Miss Chanel No. 5 starting to breath a little harder and more shallowly, and only when she felt the woman stiffen against her did she realize that something was up. Now looking the woman in the eyes, she could see that she was in some sort of discomfort. “Are you all right,” asked Terri? The woman just nodded her head and gulped down a breath of air. For the next several stops Terri watched to see that the lady was going to be okay as her cheeks now flushed a bright red! Terri felt the woman grinding herself into her and while trying to hide her short gasps of air, Terri couldn’t believe it, but she thought that the woman looked to be having an orgasm right on the train! She became more convinced when the woman’s body suddenly went limp and her breathing returned to normal, after which she gave Terri a weak smile and then looked away.

Terri was about to forget it the whole incidnt when she felt the unmistakable feeling of a hand sliding up the inside of her thigh up under her skirt! “My God,” she thought, “this is what happened to her fellow passenger!!!” Frantically looking around she couldn’t see anyone looking out of the ordinary. She looked to see if the business man pressed against her could be the culprit, but he was reading the newspaper in one hand and holding on to the over head bar with the other. “Can’t be him,” she thought as the hand had worked it’s way farther up her thigh until she could feel fingers softly brushing against the front of her panties!!! Should she scream? She was sure that if she did, the hand would be gone and she would surely look like a fool!!! Now the fingers had worked their way past the elastic on the leg openings and now were moving up and down her slit. “Shit,” she thought, “I can’t help it, I’m getting wet!!!” Now her own breaths came more shallowly, while as the car swayed too and fro it only heightened her arousal!
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Librarian

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Ryan pushed the heavy cart containing at least on hundred books down the narrow library aisles, stopping occasionally to return the volumes to their proper place. To most people rummaging around a bunch of dusty books and periodicals would be a chore to be avoided at all costs, but Ryan was different, he loved feel of the books in his hands and the aroma of old manuscripts filling his nose, but especially the wealth of information found like buried treasure between the sometimes frayed covers. He was only eighteen, but already he knew what he wanted to do with his life, go to college, major in library science, and become a curator for some large research library. He wasn’t interested in checking books in and out, or sending out past due notices to tardy borrowers, no, he wanted to get into old manuscripts, first editions, and rare writings from days gone by. For now, though, just being able to work at something he truly loved was enough for him. He glanced at his watch, and said to himself, “Five minutes to closing, I better get hustling, it’s gonna take at least an hour to get all these put away!” Working at a quick pace, Ryan was almost finished restacking, when it happened, standing on the short step stool needed to reach the upper shelf, his foot slipped and he came tumbling to the floor, landing with a loud thud. The force with which he had hit the floor had been noisy enough that the head librarian, Miss Vance had heard it and brought her running. When she got to him, what she found was and unconscious Ryan, with blood trickling down his forehead.

Miss Vance practically ran to the rest room and wet a towel with cold water and rushed back to Ryan. When she got there he was trying to shake out the cob webs, but his head was pounding, and he was still too shaky to stand up. Miss Vance gently dabbed the blood from his brow and asked, “What in the world happened Ryan, you just must be more careful!?!” Ryan tried to stand up, but slipped back to the floor, only to be caught in Miss Vance’s arms. “Don’t try to get up yet,” she ordered in her usual stern voice, “just lie back and relax for a few minutes!” Miss Vance was a very strict and formal woman, about fifty Ryan guessed, with a manor that bespoke respect and decorum. No matter the weather or time of year, she always wore a white blouse, a medium length skirt, and a ladies blazer or jacket, usually gray or dark blue, while sometimes to add a little color she would wear a gay scarf around her neck. With her black hair pulled back in a severe bun, and her erudite personality, it wasn’t easy to carry on a conversation with her, let alone have any type of interpersonal relationship, but right now he was as close to Miss Vance as he ever had been, and in his hazy mental state due to his fall he wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. Although she wore unrevealing clothing and acted cool and aloof to her employees, Harriett Vance couldn’t disguise the fullness of her body which was dominated by a large full chest that she tried to keep hidden from view!
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