She ran out of the car, as the first drops of rain started to pour. Her chest bounced as she ran to the train station to drop her kid off for a 30 day holiday with his dad. She heard a whistle and some comments behind her. She didn't even turn to look. "Men are such idiots sometimes" she muttered to herself. "Do they really think I'm so desperate that I'll take pleasure in being picked up from the street? And with my kid around?"
Ever since she had gotten divorced it was the same thing. Sometimes she felt she had a sign over her head saying: Need to get laid, haven't got a 'steady' man in my bed.
Sometimes it happened at work, or even at parent meetings where other women avoided her like the plague, pulling along their smiling husbands.
It's always been like this for Stella. Ever since she could remember, it was either a drunk uncle yelling obscenities at her, or an elderly grandpa trying to feel her thighs, or a fat horny taxi driver sticking out his tongue. Then she grew up and things got worse.
An acquaintance would tell her out of the blue he jerked off thinking of her—like she cared—or some guy she actually liked and was interested in, would tell her she had a raunchy dirty face and that she must give great head.
Or she would fall in love with prudes who would be shocked at the idea she'd want to touch herself while making love.
She was 36 now and in her prime. She had no false modesty or fears, she knew what she liked in bed and she didn't want to be an idiot like when she was younger. She didn't want to be groped and pity-fuck some guy or fuck with someone in exchange for a little bit of tenderness. She saw herself as a fine food or wine, she wanted to be savored, not devoured by an ignorant burger swallower.
It was hard though. After she hit 30, her body woke abruptly. Many nights she felt passion, tenderness and love in excess radiating from every pore of her body, and she had no one to give all that energy to.
The best years of my life, and they go to waste, she thought many times.
She had tried to sleep with some random guys but her heart wasn't into it. So the sex was bad. She'd laugh secretly at some guy calling her a slut while asking her if his tiny cock was hurting her.
I mean..seriously? she thought to herself.
Or another one squeezing her tits hard, neglecting the nipples and her clitoris, making little panting noises like a dog, completely oblivious that she was in the room—that it wasn't an apple pie he was riding.
Or that other one who made a face when he saw she wasn't shaved Brazilian style.
"Oh I'm sorry, does hair disgust you?" she laughed.
"Well a woman should take care of herself" he said, then checked her round ass and noted "you haven't been going to the gym lately, right?"
Stella sighed. No it wasn't easy to have GOOD satisfying sex. And she paid her dues. She had made pimply teenagers happy when she was in her teens, she had had her share of bad fucks, and now she wanted the real thing.
One afternoon she was reading an article about how women are self conscious about their pussy and she had an idea. She prepared a camera and put a towel on the bed. She spread her legs open and checked the view of the camera. Her face could not be seen. Good.
She zoomed in at her bush and put shaving foam all over it. It was cool and light and it had a good sensation. She took the bowl of lukewarm water close to her and started to shave closely each lip, uncovering the darker flesh underneath. She rinsed her razor many times and drops of water dripped down between her full lips and onto her clitoris. She was turned on.
Once she was done there was not a single hair on her pussy and her anus.
This is going to itch tomorrow, she thought to herself.
She then took the camera and switched it to "photo". She took pictures of her cunt swelling more and more, till it was as big as a fleshy rose. Her clitoris was huge and soft under her fingers and her juices had given a shine to the whole area. She got up and put the camera on the table, then bent over and opened her ass-cheeks. Then she started masturbating as close as possible to the lens. She took a single cigar case and started inserting it inside her, clicking like crazy, taking pictures. Then she took a magic marker and put it in her ass. She took so many pictures she lost count.
She stopped at some point and put them on her computer while she made herself comfortable on the bed. She was pleasantly surprised to see her pussy was beautiful. She was surprised she could actually tell the difference, but she had seen enough porn to have something to compare it with. And that was a good looking pussy.
She got hot doing this little indiscretion, and she thought she must get herself a dildo.
As she was masturbating at the sight of herself and the naughty little adventure she created, she saw movement from the window opposite her house.
"Can he see me?" she wondered and froze.
That's all I need now, some idiot thinking he can get fresh, just because I'm sexually active, she thought as she got up to draw the curtains.
She returned to bed but the mood was gone. She made herself a sandwich and made a CD of her pictures before deleting them from her computer and camera.
You never know, she thought to herself, and put the CD somewhere safe.
A week or so had passed and she was busy going out, dating, working and living her life as usual. One night she met this guy...or should she say boy, since he was in his early twenties?
He looked awfully young, but the way he came on to her was what moved her.
As they were sitting around the table chit chatting casually, his hand reached hers and he stroked it gently. His eyes didn't plunge at her bust line, they didn't linger at her lips. He was just...happy with a huge smile on his face, because he was holding her hand.
She felt her heart bouncing in her chest. That young girl she once was had never had that kind of treatment. She felt torn. He looked so young...
All night their eyes would meet and lock, but she wouldn't take the plunge.
This was wrong. People were staring.
She looked young for her age, she looked 25 at most, but so did he unfortunately, he looked 17.
She couldn't decide what to do, so she just enjoyed the butterflies in her stomach and the giggles he was bringing to her.
He drove her home and as she was ready to exit, he reached and kissed her softly on the lips. She felt she would faint. All the bottled-up passion and sensuality she had put on the back burner had come forth with the sensation of his wet tongue on her lips. She turned, moaning, and allowed him to kiss her deeply.
Three hours later, they were still kissing, in his car. They had parked outside her house and they did that for the next 10 days. She never once asked him in, she was enjoying this pace too much.
The sucking of fingers, the squeezing of his cock on top of his jeans, the awkward licking of her nipple...
On day ten, she asked him to come in.
She opened the door as they kissed and came into her apartment.
He immediately took his shirt off and she was immediately attracted to his wide shoulders that gave him a manlier look. His stomach and chest had hair and she was amazed at herself, watching her hands rubbing him and touching him with a frenzy as she sat on the bed, meaning to take her boots off.
He kneeled down and before she could do or say a thing, he lifted her skirt, pulled her panties to the side and inserted his tongue between the swollen lubricated lips. She had a moment of dizziness.
She could see his head between her legs and his hand reaching out for his cock. Not to rub it, but to squeeze it hard enough to stop the orgasm that was coming over him.
