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34D
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
34D
By John Anais
I travel quite frequently on business and my job takes me to some of the
smaller cities throughout the country. Sometimes I feel as though my life is
an endless stream of small jets, rental cars, and Holiday Inn hotel rooms.
But, hey, it could be worse; I was married for almost ten years while doing
this job, until my wife couldn't take it any more and asked me for a divorce.
Now she's living fairly happy and I don't have anyone complaining to me
incessantly about never being home and missing everything.
Nonetheless, it can be a very lonely existence, and sometimes I feel that all
the sex life I have is jerking off with the pictures in Playboy and
Penthouse. Women's Lib to the contrary, it's still a man's world on the
road, although I've begun to see more women. It's a welcome change, despite
the fact that so many of them have yet to learn that not every man who talks
to them is some pervert looking to engage them in kinky sex. Occasionally
I'll find a woman who's traveling and we'll have dinner together, but that's
as far as it ever goes; nothing more ever seems to come of it. I'm not
exactly what you'd call a good catch, although if I do have to say so myself,
I'm in pretty good shape (a bit of a belly) and pretty handsome (although
I've got wrinkles on top of wrinkles).
I was on my way to one of my better customers last Sunday and had the fortune
of flying on an MD-88 for a change. Usually I'm on a smaller
propeller-driven plane, which can be a bit of an adventure. I was seated in
seat 34C, along the aisle as I always request. Any time I get a seat
assignment like that, I always joke to myself that I'd rather be with a 34C
than sitting in one, but never out loud; people are so touchy these days
about that.
We were taxiing out to the runway when I happened to glance over at 34D.
There was a young woman sitting there in a navy blue business suit, her
blonde hair pulled back in a bun, showing a little bit of leg between the hem
of her skirt and the top of her blue, low-heeled business pumps. She wore
glasses and very little makeup, and a gold stud earring in each of her ears.
Nothing particularly special about her; I've seen hundreds of women who look
like her over the years, and most of them are a huge pain in the ass. I went
back to my magazine and didn't pay much more attention to her, although on
occasion I glanced over and caught her dangling her shoe off of her toes. I
love it when a woman does that; I find it incredibly arousing. About half an
hour before we landed, I looked over and saw that she had taken off her
glasses and was asleep with her face turned toward me. The glasses had done
a good job of disguising the fact that she was a very pretty young woman,
with fine features and full, pouting lips. I was transfixed by her, when
suddenly her eyes opened and I snapped my head around, but not before
noticing that her eyes were gray with a dark circle around the iris. I
figured that she probably wasn't a natural blonde, not with eyes that color,
but I knew that I'd never find out for myself.
The plane landed and I retrieved my garment bag from the overhead. I turned
to make sure I wouldn't hit anyone with my bag and got an eyeful of 34D. Her
blouse was open at the top and when I looked down, I saw the most magnificent
pair of breasts I had ever seen. They were easily a 34D, the kind of breasts
that a man fantasizes about all his life. Her otherwise slender body made
her even more magnificent. It would be impossible for me to forget her now;
her image would haunt me for the rest of my trip.
I left the plane, got my rental car, and drove to my hotel. Since it was
Sunday night in a quiet town, I knew that the only place open for dinner and
a few drinks would be the hotel. I went to my room, changed my clothes and
shaved, then checked between the mattresses for any gentlemen's magazines
left between them. None. Damn!
I walked through the hotel to the restaurant and stood at the door waiting
for the hostess. I glanced around and saw the typical sad setting: thirty
tables with twenty men seated by themselves eating dinner in silence. The
hostess brought me to a table in the back of the restaurant, left the menu
and told me that the soup of the day was cheddar broccoli (I would love to
get my hands on the person who came up with that concoction), then walked
away.
I glanced at the menu for a couple of minutes and raised my head to examine
the dinners (bifocals are such a pain) when I saw her. 34D was sitting at
the table across from me, sipping a glass of wine.
There was no mistaking those beautiful gray eyes, although she had made some
changes to her appearance since I saw her on the plane. She had let her hair
down and now it fell around her shoulders in tresses. She had also changed
out of her business suit and now wore a low-cut leotard which exposed ample
cleavage. Her face was made up to accentuate her beautiful eyes, high
cheekbones and full lips. The gold stud earrings were replaced by large
hoops, and a pink crystal hung around her neck, resting just above her
cleavage. She was even more lovely than I could have ever imagined.
She saw me as I lowered my menu to drink her in, smiled and stood up. She
wore tight jeans and red open-toed pumps with four-inch heels. I was nervous
as she picked up her wine glass and sashayed over to my table.
"Hello. Weren't you sitting beside me on the flight from Minneapolis?" she
asked in a husky but musical voice. "Yes, I was," I said, suddenly
remembering my manners and standing up in the presence of this beautiful
woman. "Please, don't get up..." she said, laying a hand on my shoulder. It
felt warm and it relaxed me like nothing ever had. "My name is Denise
Sheldrake. And you are...?" "Roger Hollings, Ms. Sheldrake...." "Please,
Roger, call me Denise. May I join you for dinner?" "Well, of course! I'm
not waiting for anyone!"
Denise laughed, a lovely musical laugh that put me at ease. There was
something about her that told me she was much different from the other
traveling women I had met. It was a very earthy, sensual warmth, a sort of
sense of being comfortable in this Gypsy lifestyle.
She seemed fully capable of traveling and not letting it stand in the way of
her enjoying her femininity.
We chatted on throughout our dinner and the waiter came up and asked us if we
were interested in dessert. Denise asked him for the dessert menu, and while
he was away, she leaned over to me and whispered, "what I want for dessert
isn't on the menu, Roger." Her firm gaze told me that I was probably her
idea of dessert. When the waiter returned, we told him we had decided to
pass on dessert and he presented us with our checks. Denise grabbed hers and
said "Dutch treat, Roger." This was my kind of woman.
We paid our checks and walked to the lobby. I rang for the elevator and
turned around to find Denise right there beside me. Instinctively I reached
around her and drew her close, and she did the same. The elevator arrived
and we stepped on, and Denise took a key out of her jeans pocket and turned
it in the lock for the concierge floor. "I'm impressed," I said to her.
"Oh, it's nothing really. I stay at these hotels all the time."
We got off the elevator and walked arm-in-arm to her room. She slid the key
card into the door and swung it open, and I walked inside. She followed me,
closed and locked the door behind her with the deadbolt, then fell into my
arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck and drew my face close, and our
lips met in a deep, wet, sensual kiss, our tongues dancing in one another's
mouths. I ran my hands up and down her back then gripped her beautiful
bottom and squeezed it.
She led me into the bedroom area, and I was surprised by what I saw. A pink
teddy lay on the extra bed in the room, and three huge, well-detailed dildoes
were arranged on top of it. I was speechless, and Denise understood.
"Roger, don't you masturbate when you're traveling?" I replied, "well,
sure, Denise, but...." I was eyeing the three huge phony cocks and noticed
that at least one of them had a ring of lipstick about halfway down the
shaft. "But what, Roger?"
She wasn't angry; she was teasing me. "Roger, honey, those aren't for you.
This is for you." With that, Denise pulled the leotard down off of her
shoulders and unhooked her black pushup bra. Her fabulous breasts bounced
out of their restraints and stood high and firm on her chest. She kicked off
her shoes, then unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off with the leotard.
She stood in front of me wearing nothing but her black thong bikini panties
and said, "you like?" I was speechless. A quick glance down told me that I
had been wrong about Denise; the blonde hairs emerging from the legband of
her panties proved her to be a natural blonde.
She sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned me close. I walked over to her,
taking off my shirt and stepping out of my loafers. She tugged at my belt,
then unbuttoned and unzipped my pants and let them drop to the floor. My
cock was at attention beneath my boxer shorts; she pulled them down and took
my cock in her soft, warm hand. She ran her tongue up and down the shaft
slowly and carefully, covering every inch with her saliva. "Roger, honey, do
you jerk off a lot?" she asked me, concern in her voice. "Unfortunately,
Denise, I do; a couple of times a day, I guess." "Your cock looks as though
it's been through a war or something! Does it hurt?" "A little..."
"Lie down, sweetheart. We've got to do something for you." I lay on her bed
and Denise began to suck me slowly, swirling her tongue around the head as
she took most of my shaft into her mouth. I'm not a very big man, certainly
not as big as Denise's dildoes, so it was easy for her to get it into her
mouth. I began to pump my hips up and down, and Denise stopped. "No, Roger,
you just relax and enjoy." She went back to work and I could feel my orgasm
beginning to rise in my balls. She stood up and slipped her panties down,
and climbed on top of me.
"Ever had a woman on top before, sweetheart?" she purred as she took my cock
in her hand and guided it into her wet pussy. She slid down on it quickly,
taking it all inside of her in one stroke, then leaned forward and kissed me.
"This will make you feel a lot better, honey," she said and began to raise
and lower her hips. She wasn't particularly tight at first, but as we got goi
ng she began to tighten up. She had very nice muscle tone and was very agile
and coordinated, and an utter pleasure to watch as she bounced up and down on
my cock, her big breasts jiggling with each downward thrust, blonde hair
flying in every direction, the color rising in her cheeks. She had broken
into a sweat, a thin film of which covered her, making her seem even more
fresh, even more alluring. I reached around behind her and put my hands on
her bottom. She was breathing heavily and whimpering and her pumping became
more earnest.
Suddenly, she let out a loud wail and gripped my upper arms tightly as her
orgasm exploded. I couldn't contain myself; I gripped her tight ass and saw
stars as my cum squirted into her. The air was heavy with the scent of our
sweat, the slightly acid scent of her lubricant, and the bleachy smell of my
semen inside of her.
She fell down over my chest, spent. We lay there holding each other gently
as my penis went flaccid and fell out of her. She turned her head and put
her chin on my chest, smiled and said, "I'm full of your sperm, Roger.....it
feels so nice." No woman had ever said that to me. "That's something my
friends over there can't do for me, fill me up with man juice. How are you
doing there?"
"I feel wonderful. Oh, Denise, you're magnificent! That's something my hand
can't do for me." We looked at each other and realized that we had
discovered something: nothing, not the biggest dildo, not the most
attractive woman in a movie or in the pages of a magazine, could replace the
real thing, no matter what.
I left Denise's room soon after that, after she had fallen asleep beside me
and I had pulled a blanket over her. I don't know if I'll ever see her again;
I looked for her the following morning at breakfast, but didn't find her, and
when I tried to call her Monday afternoon, the desk told me she had checked
out that morning. But my confidence is better than it's ever been, and my
cock feels nice and sensitive again....
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