Smut With A Smirk

December 2 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 ...

December 1 Rene and I spent a great holiday weekend together. I could tell she was burned out from University. I hope after this weekend she is not burned out from me, We were at each other like the two healthy nineteen year old animals we are. For a change Rene was as hungry as I. I liked it. That pursued damsel giving in to her boyfriend's base desires can get old. From the time we woke up en-wrapped in each other Friday morning until this Sunday afternoon it seemed if we weren't fucking, we were either eating or bathing in my homes claw-foot tub. OK, we had fucked in that tub a lot before this. Who ever placed that tub in the center of that tiny bathroom was a genius. It became a prop as all the scant furnishings in my coach house abode had for this holiday weekends grunting, groaning, moaning fuckfest. The only break was Fred’s annual Holiday party on Saturday night.  He has thrown one for years. His house was always the one with the scantest adult supervision ...

November 29 Nothing. Weeks of nothing. Calls into Annie's office were just that. Calls into Annie's office. Deliveries to Ellen Joy's studio were just that. Deliveries to Ellen Joy's studio. Even when Tasha leaned over my shipping desk in her flouncy disco dress late on a Friday requesting a rush shipment was only that and not a prelude to prepping Annie and Tasha for their night out on the town. Just a peek at Tasha's pert little breast to entice me to stay late and ship her special order out. Then there was Rene. So busy doing her course work that I did nothing but speak with her over the phone. Even Ms. Spain no longer teased and flirted with me nor called me her "Pumpkin" of late.  Perhaps it was my difficulty in meeting her eyes after my "Halloween Hallucination" as I now thought of it. So it has been. Work. Catching glimpses of Tami's tiny tush swishing indifferently through the warehouse and me dolefully beating off to ...