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In this second chapter you will meet my dear sweet friend Brooklyn Lamb, a talented author of several books as Brittni and I continue our adventure with her. Also in the chapter is the talented writer Wendy, better known on Literotica as wendy53. Thanks ladies for your input and inspiration that helped make this chapter possible.
The next day we were awakened by a crack of sunlight pushing its way through the curtains. It was all “up n’ into the shower” for us both. We needed to be fresh and presentable for those next endless lines of people that would inevitably be downstairs wanting photos and scribbles in their books. We also in dire need coffee and breakfast.
In hoping for a miracle but there it was… my boner playing Jack Sparrow’s compass, all goofy and making no goddamned sense. I mean SHIT, I’d drained it in Brittni for half a night and it was STILL stiff as Grandpa’s back after he cleaned out his garage.
I scooped Britt up as soon as the curtain was pulled behind us; snatching up her little pixie ass as easy as if she were a loofah sponge. I hooked her legs over my arms and she wrapped her arms around my neck as she lowered her pussy down onto my dong. We executed a standing shower fuck; hot spray raining down upon us as the air filled with steam and gasps.
It was a good long hard poke but sure enough; just like the night before, when we both shook and climaxed I still had my pesky petrified pussy poker standing problematic and proud. Britt suggested that we switch positions for a little showertime anal sex. She grabbed her ankles as I slewed my cockhead to her anus with the help of a some lube.
What followed was a good solid anal rut that ended with her hollering into the bath tiles and me growling my way through a nice hard cum; sending a wholesome load of penis pudding up her rectum, (not that it did anything to alleviate my hardon other than give it a slight droop. I knew that the slightest touch from Britt would make it painfully stiff so I washed my woodie a couple steps back from her. Afterwards I toweled off at a safe distance. Can you imagine a girl like Britt and you are fucking AFRAID of touching her? That was my predicament.
After shaving the time came for me to put on clothes. It was then I realized I’d have difficulty hiding my wood in any kind of business slacks or pants. Britt saw my dilemma and after putting on a skirt and blouse, she took the liberty of rummaging through my bags. A moment later she found what she was looking for and held them aloft.
“Here Baby,” she giggled, “toss these on.”
A pair of my sweatpants hit me in the face. These were the LAST things I’d need to be wearing if I were to hide my “problem.”
“Ermmm Britt,” I said, looking at her like she’d made a bad joke, “very funny but I need to hide this thing… not advertise to the world it’s there!”
“Silly,” she said, “that’s the point. You are going to a book signing with a long line of old blue hairs and frumpy middle-aged housewives who want you to sign a copy of an erotic novel you wrote. It would be sexy as FUUUUCKKK if the author of the book sports as much hard wood as the hero swordsmen in his stories. Think about it, its what makes these ladies all wet and gushy. They have husbands who probably haven’t touched them in months… and then only with something as limp as soggy spaghetti. They probably have hubby’s who fall asleep on the couch at quarter to nine each night, leaving them with the dishes to do, their vibrators, and your books. Give them a little fantasy… hell, BE that fucking fantasy!”
“Really,” she said, “now get those on. You’ll be like an oversexed woman with constant titty hardons who forgot her bra for a cookout and now she has every man in the neighborhood staring… only with gender roles in reverse! I can’t think of a better of advertising to a female audience. It’s the sweatpants challenge and trust me baby, you’ll meet it and then some!”
So it was settled. A few minutes later, we’d gathered everything we thought we’d need for the day and were riding the elevator down to breakfast. As a joke I’d pressed the lobby-floor button with my stiffie beneath my sweatpants. It got a chuckle and a snort out of Britt.
The doors opened at the bottom. As we stepped into the lobby our ears were met by the sound of shouting. A very unhappy female voice echoed across the great space along with the plaintive sounds of the desk clerk attempting to calm someone who’d simply NOT be calmed. There in front of the hotel desk was a strikingly beautiful woman whose features were that of a beautiful Pacific Islander; about 46 or 47 years of age and of Philippine origin to be precise.
She was in an absolute rage, releasing the full measure of her displeasure upon that hapless Indian or Pakistani or whatever he was behind the counter. The hotel had lost apparently the woman’s reservation and that poor guy behind the desk could only stand and be interrupted beylikdüzü escort as she unleashed a torrent of abuse and profanity in his face.
We recognized that woman. Ooh BOY did we ever. She was none other than Brooklyn Lamb.
In chats on social media late at night I knew her… and so did Britt. The three of us being writers, we’d struck up common ground. Writing erotica was the great ice-breaker for us, although Britt loved happy short stories with an inherently positive sexiness, I loved bawdy-tale novel writing, and Brooklyn… well her work was sexy but dark as trip down the stairs into the basement during a blackout.
Brooklyn loved her darkness, (and in her writing I found some really good ball draining stuff to pull my hard-on to). At some point or another we’d friended one another, I’d seen her video releases and live updates. Now in the lobby there was no question, that gorgeously furious woman was her.
“Ahem,” Britt cleared her throat, “something a-miss?”
Brooklyn spun her head around. Her lovely cat-like eyes went wide. Those eyes, you simply had to stop and look at them; expressive intelligent eyes you’d willingly drown yourself in… brown exotic pools, dreamy and soulful. These were eyes that felt and loved and if you were on the wrong side of her… hated with fire.
“Brittni… and BILL? What are you…?”
“We’re on the same list,” Britt interrupted, “for the book signings.”
“Well,” Brook explained, a little exasperated, “I had family drama yesterday or I’d have been here on day one. Now I’m here day two and my reservation has gone POOF, just like that!”
She made an explosion gesture with both hands before a lovely angular face with a tiny nose, high cheekbones, and a luscious head of curly shoulder-length brown hair that you just simply wanted to run your fingers through at first sight. She was very animated in her expressions and mannerisms, and quite charismatic and those eyes I’d just mentioned were so very expressive when she spoke.
Brittni considered her plight and offered assistance with, “Give me a few minutes with the hotel representative and I think we can find a solution…”
With that, Britt stepped forward to the front desk and whispered something to the clerk, just below our level of hearing. The clerk then shot a glance across the lobby to the bell-hop, who got up from his comic book and stepped lively up behind the front desk to join the two. There, Brittni whispered a few more things to both members of the hotel staff, who promptly escorted her around the corner into STAFF ONLY door at the rear of the front desk. Brooklyn and I heard the door close and then lock. Brook shot me a perplexed look complete with raised eyebrows and I merely said,
“She’s… ermmmm… fixing things.”
We talked at the desk for about ten minutes; small talk at first really but then Brooklyn mentioned the seven-hundred-pound gorilla in the room, (namely my rigid penis showing a more than visible ding-dong outline against my sweatpants). I told her about the previous night’s events and how Brittni had given me the pill and…
“And you took it?” she interrupted, laughing in shock.
“Well… errrmmm… yes.”
“Bill, but didn’t she say there could be side-effects?”
“She said something to that effect and she also mentioned that everyone is different… but it was me who took it and it is me…
“…Who now has ferocious boner,” she cut me off again, “the likes of which he hasn’t had since junior high?”
“So you understand then?”
“Bill, I’m a substitute teacher in my regular job. I know exactly what I am talking about. Its one of those reasons why you see boys of a certain age sitting with a geography book in their laps. The thing is hun, you’re fifty… ” she said thinking nearly as hard as my rigid schwanze.
“Hmmm,” she said, “just considering the possibilities. I mean… a fifty-year-old guy at a book signing far away from home, and with a stiffie that would jimmy open stuck doors.”
She was thinking hard and flirting harder. She was a flirt first and foremost and she loved sex. In online chats the subject came up often, not that I minded. She is one of the vampy MILF types that ooze sensuality. Five minutes after you meet her, you’re wondering what her lips taste like on yours, what her naked body would feel like sliding up and down on you as she nibbles on your ear, what it would feel like spouting your load deep inside her while she screams your name into the ceiling.
She had that vibe… an aura of cool confident sexiness wrapped around the body of an exotic Asian vamp. Added to it was a bratty exuberance of someone who could easily mount a pole on a moving subway car, (just to spin around it and catch someone’s eye). People wanted her five minutes after meeting her. Half the time I wondered if she herself even knew she was doing it, (turning beyoğlu escort “it” on).
Mmmnnn …meh, she knew. She knew and didn’t care. She basked in the fact she was desirable – wore it like a badge. I liked her for that.
Our conversation (and my daydreaming), was interrupted as the door to the front desk office in-locked from inside. Out emerged Brittni, beaming and happy as ever; followed by the bellhop and desk clerk looking somewhat disheveled, (but quite relaxed). Both men had that “my ball’s are empty and now I need a nap,” look. Brittni sauntered up to us with a triumphant announcement.
“The clerk is going to give you a key in a moment. You are going up to room 219… our suite. The porter will bring take your bags up the elevator with you, (as soon as he gets his underwear yanked out of his ass). I sucked him so hard he said he felt his soul leaving his dick into me as Punjab or Mahmook or whatever his name is behind the desk fucked my pussy from behind. I don’t know what is for dinner tonight but hopefully it won’t be anything on a spit!”
There was a shared illicit laugh between the three of us. We shot glances at the Indian desk clerk who averted his eyes and tapped Brooklyn’s information quickly into the registry. In a few minutes Brooklyn was on her way upstairs with the bellhop and her bags as Brittni and I scarfed down a quick breakfast in the restaurant.
After the morning meal, we got ourselves set up for the day in the conference room. The only difference was the empty space for Miss Brooklyn Lamb was soon occupied by none other than Brooklyn herself. She came running into the conference room with coffee and a bagel, setting herself up as the first group of eager readers arrived; each with a copy of a work they wished to have signed.
A few feet away from me sat Britt smiling for the people who began queuing up in front of her and there I was sitting before my line, with my sweatpants, and my pesky prominent priapism. I was a little embarrassed but then I remembered Britt’s words of encouragement and well… I just sat there in my chair with my legs apart showing my hardon to the world; owning my space like a boss.
And I have to say, over the next couple of hours I played it up, (I really did). At first there were just the regular “sign and smile,” photos from a few of the blue haired ladies who’d queued up to the front of my line to get there early and then get off to whatever else they needed to do that day. Then there were a few who posed for photos but kept looking down, noticing I had painfully prominent pecker tent poking against my sweatpants. The fact that I kept adjusting things and pushing it to one side only made things worse and I saw more than a couple of the MILF’s and GILF’s whisper to one another before they reached the head of the line; immediately setting off a spasm of poorly suppressed giggles.
When those women reached the front, they were all smiles. One particular bleach blonde granny with ample bosoms was extremely bold; asking if she could sit upon my lap for the photo. When I agreed she kicked my legs wide left and right, shimmying her big grandma butt down in my lap so that she was grinding me lap dance style. Obviously mugging for her friends still in line, she created an explosion of laughter.
She then spun around and gave me a kiss full on the lips, just as the photo was snapped. More laughter burst from the line, accompanied by hoots and cat calls. She then spun herself back to face the crowd mugging for the camera once again as she ground her pant-suited posterior around on my lap.
I figured if it was a show she wanted to put on – hell, I was game. I told the person on the camera to take one more shot; just before grabbing that same frisky fifty-something by her hips and pulling her crotch down against my tent pole for a few playful plows.
A stunned look spread across her face, then it became a blush. The line of MILFs and GILFs now roared with laughter and catty applause. The grandma on my lap regained her composure; spinning around and whispering in my ear,
“That was lovely hun. Perhaps you need to write another book and get back out here to San Diego so we can do this again?”
“If you buy it I’ll write it!” I flirted back, with a wink and an air kissy kiss.
She winked and walked away. Well… that was entertaining. I wondered however if it was just a one-off. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Following the signing, the next woman in line made it clear she wouldn’t leave until she’d bumped her butt upon my boner, (as did the next woman, and the next, and the next). I looked over at Britt and Brooklyn, amazed at what was happening. They were at a loss too but that didn’t stop them from throwing gas on the fire. They simply pumped their fists in the air, and if anything, encouraged that line of housewives to behave even worse like a pair of catcalling catalysts.
A bizimkent escort tall round-rumped grandma with black hair and a single gray stripe down the middle was next. I marked her book and we kissed for the camera. Everything was good I thought, but when it came time to rub her butt against my bulge she instead tossed a long lanky GILF leg (clad in black yoga pants), across my lap – to hump me face to face! Amidst more hoots and hollers she looked back to the line as if telling them to eat their hearts out before she snatched my face up in her hands; kissing me hard and grinded me harder!
After the skunk-stripe lady waived goodbye it was like each grandma, MILF, and affection-starved housewife in the line were in a strange competition to out due the horny harpy before her. They came on one after another… and so did the smooches, the gropes, and the suggestive comments in my ear. As we were nearing lunch it was then I recognized a VERY familiar face smiling at the mayhem and goading the grandmas from the rear of the queue – Wendy. Oh sweet Jesus… it was Wendy!
A fellow Literotica writer who many of you know of by her pen name of wendy53, Wendy had been waiting patiently at the back of the line. She had a copy of my book to sign. I could not have been happier to see her either.
Wendy you see had been a fantasy of mine for a long time; ever since we’d exchanged ideas for stories years before. She’d sent me a few nudie pics at the time to sweeten the correspondence and I’d be lying if I said those images (and her aura of classy horniness), hadn’t put the hook in me.
Oh… she is a vision to behold, with a story to be told. She’s one of those rich bored San Diego housewives who spend time at the gym (and despite being in her early fifties, she looks like a twenty-something). A tall tanned slender redhead with high cheekbones, she exuded that look of sophistication that could lead one to believe she was a model, a fashion designer or a spokes-woman.
In truth she was a writer of wonderfully nasty adult fiction who had been for several years a counselor at a major Californian University. She was semi-retired now but still did contract work out of her home. It was convenient for her having a home office to work from since her husband (a Texas oil man), was often away from the house on business three states away. It was also convenient because it didn’t interfere with her hobby – young men.
Wendy has a remarkably high sex drive coupled to that gorgeous body and sharp as a tack mind of hers. Unfortunately, when her otherwise dependable and affluent husband is home, the guy is rather inadequate in the bedroom. Three strokes in her snatch with his cock and he sprays her insides, rolls over, and goes to sleep.
At first … way back when; she had an array of sex toys to “fill the gap” created by her husband’s shortcomings. That was fine for a little while but eventually it dawned upon her she had something else; her job at the local university, and all those young men in need of …” guidance.”
Oh this all started many years ago back in her thirties. Being a beautiful woman with a high sex drive and a ready supply of college boys; she found it no problem getting a select few of the young men back to her home for additional “one on one counseling” of a horizontal nature. She basically had a dream job for a lady of her appetites that gave her a ready supply of virile young cock for her to fuck and suck.
Now that she was retired from the University all these years later, she ironically worked as a contract counselor for the very same institution doing the very same job, (only now the young men went directly to her home office). They were like flies tossed into the spider’s web. She could choose whom she liked the looks of and then use her charms while her hubby was away, to simply spirit them up to her bedroom… or the shower, or the couch, or the pool, (or anywhere for that matter). It worked well for her.
Now she was here with a copy of my book. I waived her over as all the other women were departing for the mid-day. We hugged and exchanged smooches as I greeted her with,
“Wendy as I live and breathe, you look gorgeous as ever! You can’t possibly be here to have me sign my little bit of pulp for you could you?”
“I am,” she replied, “I know when a work excites me… and frankly all of yours does. You’ve been a very bad boy, Bill.”
“You were here in San Diego and didn’t say anything?” she scolded, pouting her lips at me and looking hurt.
“How did you find ou..”
She pointed at Brittni who waived her phone at me. That little minx. She and Brooklyn tittered and shared a joke as Wendy turned back and looked at me, putting her finger under my chin and steering my face up to look at her and only her.
“I am sooo very disappointed,” she continued, “would you care to make it up to me?”
“Well,” I replied, “I suppose I have time for one more kiss, photo, and sign before lunch but I was thinking, would you care to join me and the girls for a bite after?”
I motioned over to Brittni and Brooklyn who were tidying up their tables for noon-time break as the last of the literature fans were leaving the conference room. Wendy smirked. I guess she couldn’t believe I was so dense. She shook her head and said,
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