TMI Tuesday: January 8, 2019

He’s Under Here

sombrero-mexicano-4

Believe Me

 

New Year. New Hopes. And another new TMI Tuesday. Cheers!

Fill in the blanks.

1. I want to repeat then pete again .
2. I want to lose this ancient cockroach in a sombrero named Don Brew Ha Ha that keeps whispering wisdom in my ear.
3. I want to gain insight into why this ancient cockroach in a sombrero named Don Brew Ha Ha keeps whispering wisdom in my ear.
4. I want to enjoy the moment.
5. I want to savor the moment after.
6. I need more moments.

Bonus: I will succeed in understanding what this ancient cockroach in a sombrero named Don Brew Ha Ha is telling me.

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

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December 4

Oh my God. Everything was so warm and wet and wonderful down there. I never felt so delicious. It was like a warm lapping surf writhing it’s way up my spine and all over my body. Branching out in squivers, quivers and trembling nerve ends. I looked down and there was Donna’s face buried between my upraised knees. But what was she doing down there moving her head side to side like that. I just know I did not want her to stop. Above Donna’s upraised rump was Robin. A fierce smirk on her face as she seemingly pumped into Donna. But with what?  Her small flat chest was glowing with red splotches from her exertions. She had one hand on each of Donna’s butt cheeks and spread them roughly on each forward thrust. Why she was mounting Donna just as I had mounted Rene last night.

 

Rene!

 

I awoke soaking in the tub. I had drawn the bath after my last journal entry and climbed in while she was still snoozing in bed. I must have dozed off. Now I turned my head and there was Rene’s sweet blond fringed muff right at eye level. I peeked up to her smiling down at me. Her straight blond hair fringing a great big smile and flowed over her small breasts.

 

“Look at you.” she proclaimed. “Fucked me silly the past two days and still ready for more.” I followed her eyes to where she was looking  and I as indeed in up periscope mode.

 

She poured her favorite bath salts in the tub, I ran more hot water and she joined me. We soaped, played, and teased ourselves clean. We repaired to the bed where I did not fuck her silly. I licked her silly instead. As my tongue moved through her delicately scented pink curtained snatch  the scent of bath salts gave way to the more powerful Ode de Rene. She writhed and clutched the dampening sheets as she came with the force of a young blond volcano.

 

She almost seemed ashamed when she regained her senses, but then whispered in my ear, “Pooh. We need to talk.”

 

“You have to get back in school now. Don’t get me wrong. Your body is muscular and sexy from this manual labor, and I swear even your thingy seems bigger. But I am thinking about the future. Your future. Our future.”

 

My answer was easy. “Tomorrow is Monday. I’ll let Sheldon know I am going back to school and he will need to replace me full time.  I’ll offer to work part time around my school schedule. But my degree will be number one.”

 

Rene hugged me, kissed me, straddled me and rode upon me harder and longer than she ever had. Watching her sweat and toil as she feverishly worked her big ass up and down the length of my “bigger thingy” made me sure the future was as bright as could be. As I played with and tweaked her stiff protruding nipples that tipped her small round breasts she made noises I had never heard issue from her delicate slender throat, and her final violent climax of the weekend ended in a howling cacophony of yelps and yabbers as well as a few sobs and tears.

 

So today I marched into Sheldon’s office. Sheldon needed to know first. He was the owner and one of the few original people from when I began working there and he deserved to hear it from me first. I gave notice. He thanked me for the longer than usual lead time so he could replace me, made his usual pitch that he liked me, I was a hard worker, an asset, and I always had a future in his company in the sales department if school did not work out. We shook hands and I agreed to train my replacement. Sheldon said “Great, because we got so big so fast I have no idea what goes on back there in the warehouse anymore.”

 

He had that right. He had no idea.

 

When I walked out of the his office all the women were clucking like hens. Office and shop workers alike.

 

Ms. Spain,  Karen was having a baby.

 

Oh my.

Last Rides of Samhain

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To say bewilderment was upon me would be an understatement. Herself unburdened by the journal she now had two hands free to roam. After all, idle hands are you know who’s playground. Tami untucks my formerly girded loins giving those deft little fingers of hers unbridled access. JoJo just watches. I lean back and feel the pleasure rising up my spine like the mercury in an old school thermometer heading for a fever of a hundred and three. Tami’s little hands work there way around my seething cock, The Leather nun leaves her full leather habit on, but lifts her skirts as she mounts the machine. Full white thighs on display glimmer under the single bulb. Memories of my youthful clinging to full thick womanly thighs and the scent of an office chair leather wash over me in a tsunami of lust.

My senses spilleth over with her revelation of shimmering black bush amid blinding white thighs. Tami ‘s hands and JoJo’s eyes upon me are but grace notes in this symphony of sensations. The bush revealing prominent pink nubbin and cleaved delight spread to admit the business end of the Luddites Lament Machine and disappears into The Leather Nun. The pink gash is spread and Annie’s clitoris seems to sneer at me as it had so many years ago. From this distance I can see it throb. No. I feel it throb.

I watch as The Nun falls forward to allow full contact with the studded vibrating pad. Tami’s hand becomes as slick as Annie’s cunt. I am in Tami’s little fist inside Annie. Annie’s blue eyes become pale as she leans closer to me riding the machine as if it were a broom. I am sliding down in my chair. I am melting . I am dizzy. Grand mal dizzy. Swallow my tongue discombobulated. Little Bo Peep supports me cupping my right buttock. Tami clutches my shaft still stroking all lubed to a lather, but slips her other hand under and cups my balls. I feel the lube collecting in her testicle cradling hand. I am panting. Palpitating in a whirlwind of senseless senselessness.

A mouth engulfs my cock. Annie’s blue eyes look up at me just the way they did during every office blow job she’d blessed me with. Free of her mouth now her pointed tongue plays on the altar of my volcanic pre-cum tipped lingam. Her eyes watch, her tongue plays. Gratitude washes over me as her saliva slowly seeps into and over my length. My cocks head is near bursting. Little Bo Peeps finger tests my anus.

I missed a transition somewhere amid The Leather Nuns oral tease. I do not remember her dismount. I will never forget Brunhilda’s mount.

“Ho Jo To Ho!” I hear echoing up from her in the rafters.

Brunhilde was riding the machine in all her corpulent Teutonic splendor. With spear raised high above her head I had no idea who was running the controls on the machine for her. From the sounds it was making I believe all dials were set to eleven. Dynamo hum was deafening.

Yodeling like an operatic Valkyrie her songs are not angelic. Her flesh was prodigious, set in motion upon the groaning machine. All her flesh is quivering, layer upon layer was kinetic. Her potential was bursting forth out of armored breastplate revealing tattooing so extensive it was armor in itself. Layers of intricately drawn feathers and runes that had been hidden for years were revealed upon her expansive breasts, curved stomach perched upon prodigious tattooed thighs and all was motion. Ms. Spain was being magnificently fucked from here to Valhalla. Miraculously I am fucking Brunhilde’s cunt. Annie’s mouth. Tami’s fist. All for once. All at once. JoJo’s finger goes second knuckle deep up my butt. For all of time. Everything blinks black. Immediately blinks white.

I am looking up at bare rafters. I am on my back. I am on the feather-bed platform. I am being mercilessly fucked. I should be looking up Brunhilde’s back side. My dead reckoning tells me I should be getting a gander at voluminous woman back side in reverse cowgirl fashion , But lo and behold it is no longer the tattooed once and former Karen dressed as a fabled warrior. I see a glowing translucent blond. So white as to be near transparent. Still reverse cowgirl, but I immediately recognize a ghostly Cathy. The late Cathy. White spectral Cathy. I am being ridden by a woman who has been relieved of her mortal coil for a decade or so, but I know her heart shaped rump. I feel myself inside her. I see the swaying half globes of her breasts revealed along her side. Under her arms. I am in the humming electric shaking shivering vibrating throes of prolonged and astounding orgasm. Not spurting spending fiery flow of seed but quivering rippling rolling orgasm. It goes on wave after wave after wave. I am undone. I long to see Cathy’s beatific countenance smile back at me. Mount me face to face but I am helplessly cumming apart.

When I wake I am a damp, spent, frayed, shredded wrung out clammy wash towel sprawled next to a content as a kitten curled up JoJo. We are in her bedroom. I see a Journal on the nightstand. But I need more sleep, and fall back into forgetful fitful slumber.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Ellen Joy

Ricky and I were out in the parking lot playing our version of handball. Really it was just slapping a tennis ball against the factory wall and keeping a pseudo type of tennis score. Boy it was hot that day. One of those steamy August days in Chicago. As usual Donna and Annie were sitting on the shipping dock watching us spend our lunch hour running around working up a sweat. At nineteen years old neither Ricky nor I had a clue why these two 40 something women would watch us so intently, or had any idea of the thoughts that were going through their heads. Call us naive.

We all worked for an advertising specialty company, Ricky and I were shipping clerks, and Annie and Donna were engravers, silk screeners, and general production staff. It was a small company run by Sheldon Roth.

Ricky and I were in full lather, our shirtless muscled young man bodies running and pounding the tennis ball into the wall when Ellen Joy, the freelance artist sauntered out onto the loading dock. Ellen Joy was in her thirties, the Bohemian artist type sporting a floppy sun hat, a sheer peasant blouse over tight jean shorts and lace up sandals. Not usual business attire, but with a long relationship as company artist casual was acceptable. Ellen Joy was a five foot five enigma to me. She had straight black hair  cropped in a 1970’s feather cut with bangs that swept seductively over her left eye. Perfect olive skin, well formed breasts that stood up proudly in the often bra-less state she sported under sheer white blouses. You could detect large brown nipples under the fabric. With my limited experience of skinny blondes and red headed Irish girls, those nipples were an endless focus of my attention. Ellen Joy knew that. She would always give  me a big smile with her prominent white teeth couched in soft full lips as she bounced through the dock on her way to meet with Sheldon. But that was only a preview of the best part. It was the full round buttocks that would wiggle through the loading dock that would grab Ricky,s and my eyes like super glue when she would pass through.

Woof!

On this day she sent a big smile in our direction and slowly looked us up and down with a leer that I never knew a woman could pitch,  punctuated with a wink in our direction, Since it was at a distance Ricky and I would argue the rest of the afternoon over who it was meant for.

First thing next morning Sheldon had an assignment for me. Apparently Ellen Joy had forgotten the product sample she needed for her design work and I was to deliver it to her studio at precisely eleven AM. The time was made clear to me , twice.

I was at Ellen Joys door at eleven on the dot. Ellen Joy’s studio was actually her apartment so I was a little shy, but very curious to see how a thirty year old Bohemian lived. The door opened and there was Ellen Joy, hair wet and blacker than usual but still seductively straight and provocatively swept over her left eye.  She had a blue satin robe loosely draped over her fragrant freshly showered body. I stammered a few apologies for being too early even though I knew I was not.  She put me at ease quickly by waving me on in and closing the door behind her. The view of her round booty was exceptional in that rather sheer robe as she led me into the room. When she turned to receive my delivery her robe was perched perilously close to slipping beyond those extraordinary areolas I had fantasized about endlessly.

With product in her hand held up to the light of the large apartment windows she gave me a tantalizing view of her bodies silhouette under the flowing robe. My youthful exuberance let out an audible sigh.

When Ellen Joy turned she said “I am going to need your assistance for a few moments. Can you pitch in for the company?”

“Of course,” I said quickly and eagerly not really knowing what I was agreeing to, but since the front of the robe was now revealing the dark brown edge of one of those brown desire disks that tipped a goodly portion of Ellen Joy’s left boob, I would have agreed to almost anything at that point.

“I need you to photograph something to reference as a font style I am thinking of using. I have tried but I cannot get focus or proper angle for my needs.” With that she handed me a simple camera. I was momentarily disappointed that  she really needed me to do something rather than the sex fantasy my little monkey brain had instantly cooked up.

But hope sprang eternal as did my erection. She turned and lowered the robe revealing her bareback, tiny black thong, and a tattoo above her bulbous bountiful booty. Ellen Joy looked over her shoulder to see the look on my face and then explained. “If you look real close at my tattoo and stop looking at my ass you will see that it is made up of very tiny script. I need you to get a clear picture for my art reference. If you do a good job on that, and you are a good boy, maybe I’ll show you my tits.” For emphasis Ellen Joy had demurred and wrapped her arms to cover her breasts .

Being a good scout, I put the lens close to the tattoo and indeed it was made up of very small characters. Of course rather than marveling at the skill of the tattoo artist I was enjoying the scent of this freshly showered Italian beauty.

I took a couple of shots with the Polaroid and let the photos develop in the apartments sunlight. Once satisfied I showed her my work.

“Good job,” she exclaimed and pirouetted around while raising her arms high above her head.  She struck a pose that displayed her perfect pair of large brown nipple crowned boobs with salacious delight. I basked in the vision of the straight black hair that framed her features,  her flawless tanned bareness, and full womanly hips.  Ellen Joy approached me and ran her arm along the ridge of my broad shoulders. My hand caressed her hip as I greedily reached for a handful of her firm round ass. Ellen Joy whispered in my ear, “Now see if you can write me a story with your tongue in that tattoo font so I can really feel it”

With that Ellen Joy pushed down on my shoulders bringing me to my knees as  as I pulled her thong to her ankles leaving me face to face with her full retro nineteen seventies Italian black bush in my face. She draped one of her legs over my shoulders which opened the moist pink rose beneath the furry fringe. As my tongue made slow sweeping motions across the slick palette of Ellen Joy’s cunt I wrote of desires I had never told any girl before, but Ellen being a women understood. As I worshiped at her moist curly black haired altar with my young and resolute tongue I heard her say breathlessly “I think I am going to need you for the rest of the afternoon. Let me call Sheldon, He’ll understand.”

Little Red Rides Samhain With Hood

sketch-1543506564472Little Red’s peasant blouse was already unbuttoned as she stood before The Leather Nun’s delight cart.  She removed the flowing crimson peasant dress but still her breasts were partially concealed by the red hood and cape combo she wore. Still a peek a pert small womanly breasts were shared and the mature hips of a petite woman were exposed as the flouncy dress dropped revealing a compact but pleasing body.  Matured to perfection.

 

I watched as her tiny hands ran over the cock selection. It was hard to tell with such small hands but she seemed to select quite a large instrument for one so tiny. She compensated with lots of lube. As she slathered it on I could imagine those small hands slathering me with that slick concoction.  It was as if I was immersing in her experience. Still her face was obscured by the black sheer veil she wore under her red hood.

 

My eyes were glued as her petite stature made her mounting the gleaming black Sybian a bit of an acrobatic feat.  While JoJo merely had to rise up on her long dancer’s legs, the combination of large dildoage and Little Red Riding Hood’s shorter limbs made it necessary for her to balance on her haunches and rise precariously to position her instrument of pleasure where she desired it most. But once there her precipitous drop unto the phallus looming below her made me shiver just imagining such an abrupt and deep penetration.

 

Oh I felt it.

 

So much so that when her fall from grace completed an “Oh Yes !” exclaimed from my throat. All the eyes in the room turned to me. Only the purr of the Sybian broke that spell and Little Hood was again front stage and center of attraction. The Leather Nun was working the machine controls like a mystic maestro and Little Hood was grinding and vibrating to the tune of the beast which was now growling between her spread thighs. Her black veil was revealing her face as her hood was falling revealing her a face in full throes of her rising passion.

 

Clearly this was indeed Tami. But the look on her face was not the demure young woman ‘O” face of my distant memories. This was the face of a woman devouring he orgasm. Letting it take her away to realms she could not even imagine back in our days.  She was up and bouncing on the machine in such a manner I was not sure if the machine would break her or if she would break the machine. Any trace of baby fat had melted away. She was now a sinewy and strapping mature women. Her small snow globe sized breasts had kept gravity at bay and bounced joyously as she fucked machine and machine fucked her. Symbiosis and syncopation had met half way and she exploded in a stream of squirt that also was unheard of back in our days.

 

Ohh I felt that too. Like she was flowing all over my lap. Had I come under my loincloth watching this display. JoJo was looking up at me wide eyed now with her soft cheek still resting on my bare thigh. Was that a smirk or a smile revealed on her lips. Tami was being assisted off la machina. Leather Nun had one arm. Brunhilda had the other. Once off the feather bed platform Tami, naked save for unfurled  hood sauntered toward me only pausing to pick up her picnic basket that had accessorized her costume.

 

She was still a sight. This time I enjoyed her full frontal presentation rather than all my secret leering at her behind all those years ago. She reached into her basket and pulled out what appeared to be a journal. Aged and weathered by time she held it out to me . “You forgot this last time I saw you.” For the life of me I could not imagine when that would have been. Nor did I ever recall having such a journal. I was ready to go into full denial, but as if reading my mind she opened it to a page and clearly it was in my hand writing from the days back when I wrote things by hand.  To dark in this room to read it now, she just smiled as I took it, braced herself with an introductory hand on my left thigh, and lowered herself to bookend me with JoJo. Trick and Treat.

 

 

Gathering Samhain

JoJo and I have been dating since April. April 1st to be exact. She had given up on relationships. So had I. Over the months I learned she had a special machine tucked away in the back of her closet. I was fascinated by it, but discreet when the topic arose. It rarely if ever did, other than her insinuation she was enjoying her new found toy of late. I will say I am one grateful and lucky toy. But still….

She had a full regalia costume Halloween Party for the past couple years. October was here and she would parse out her holiday party rules to me.

Rules:

    • Costumes had to include at least a mask of some sort.
    • Real identities cannot be revealed through out the party.
    • Don’t ask Don’t tell.
    • More rules would follow

The first part of the evening was hors d’oeuvres and cocktails while candy and treats were handed out to the Trick or Treaters. All the little ghouls and goblins were treated well. Some of the party attendees did not answer the door because their costume selection was to risque for this sleepy suburban cul-de-sac community.

Through the evening the party goers would come and go. Some were clearly in for the duration, others recycled and refreshed, would go on with their Halloween revelries elsewhere. Some of her neighbors I recognized, costume and all. Others I did not.

JoJo made about as lascivious a Little Bo Peep imaginable. Her lithe body belied her status as GrandMaMa. The skimpy costume was just the wrong side of decency. But the rams head mask complete with horns that she wore above the sexy Bo Peep branding gave me the shivers. No cute cuddly lambs head for JoJo.

I was intrigued by a diminutive little red riding hood who would occasionally speak in an odd sort of affected Cardiff, Welsh, Scottish accent. Clearly an artifice for the occasion. Childlike in size the voice was that of a woman nonetheless. I found myself watching her move about the room in flowing scarlet robes and a black veil under her riding hood had efficiently obscured her features.

A cameo appearance was made by Peggy,  JoJo’s next door neighbor, sufficiently liquored up early and often while dressed in the Naughty School Girl Uniform. Disheveled enough from the boozing to make it less sexy and more victim of a misspent youth in appearance. No attempt was made by Peggy to obscure her identity because, well, that’s Peggy.

Then there was the other person with the genuine Cardiff accent. The leather nun costume was formidable.  Voice did not betray gender. The habit had the addition of black leather mask making the striking visage intimidating. The nun emanated command from the corner with the stance of a sentinel assumed. I could not tell if it was to be near the mulled wine or perhaps to remind those to practice restraint from consuming too much mulled wine. But the nun was a presence with a capital P.

There were early Trick or Treaters. The young ones that would look amazed when all they had to say were three magic words and then candy would appear in their sacks. Children bringing their parents around begrudging because they knew they were old enough to go on their own, but the parents disagreed. Then came the teens, Brooding, still young enough to want the candy, but really out to just roam the streets with impunity and scare up just enough trouble to be dangerous. To others and themselves.

Since I had followed JoJo’s strong suggestion that I dress as Gladiator, she tells me I favor Russell Crowe from time to time, I was excused from door duty.  Even with mask in place and loins girded it still was not a PG costume. If I had known I would have spent more time at the gym and less at Slammies were JoJo is the bar wench. Oops. Don’t tell her I wrote that.

Although the party had healthy circulation and turn over I noticed  Little Red Riding Hood and The Leather Nun were in for the duration. It was toward the end of the evening when Brunhilde made a grand entrance.

Every bit the grand operatic legend. From her prodigious size to her bawdy and booming voice. She took up the room. Unabashedly revealing costume worn well and to great effect, Viking horns with obscuring face guard she was ready for battle. Where the Leather Nun was tall, Brunhilde was wide and massive.  Folds of flowing flesh that moved about the room with grace as she embraced those she knew as well as those to whom she had just been introduced with equal joy. Clearly comfortable in herself and the space she owned.

Peggy clearly was enjoying her wine, and apparently my costume was having an effect upon her.  As next door neighbor our interactions had always been cordial, but between the mulled wine, the vodka tonics, her day drinking ways, and my costume she seemed to be sending more than her usual attentions my way.  JoJo noticed too. But her rams head mask did not allow me any sort of read on her feeling about this attention. But slutty school girl signals Peggy was sending were not lost on anyone in the room. Luckily her husband came to collect her after doing his kiddie trick or treat duty and all was well in the neighborhood again as the party cleared.