Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Shania’s short story.
Shania sits at her computer in her semi-darkened bedroom. Her privacy is assured as her family are out at her aunt’s house until ten o’clock. She is wearing a grey cotton T-shirt and pink panties. The evening is warm enough to leave the windows open. She is home from Nielson’s College for the summer break. She has time to spare. She does not want to waste it so she has given herself a project, a goal. She looks at the empty white screen; a weak lamp above the desk lights the keyboard. The submission guidelines on the short-story site she found on line state 3000 words minimum, 5000 maximum. She waits patiently for inspiration.
Write what you know, the teacher on her creative writing course at Nielson tells her. Shania sits deep in thought, pondering what she knows. Write about your experience, he tells them. At the tender age of eighteen and eight months, she does not know a great deal. She still lives at home with her mum in the spacious bungalow where she was born. She scans back over the recent years of her short life; prep school, high school. A prom night she did not enjoy. She has one weekend a month with her dad in the neighboring city but that is nothing to write about. They just watch a movie and eat at some fancy restaurant. He spends all evening pawing his new wife.
There have been a few family holidays before her dad left with his secretary five years ago. She attends a few parties but she neither drinks alcohol nor smokes, certainly not weed, like some of her friends so they are a bit of a damp squib. Sometimes she goes out with her mum, generally for a meal somewhere and then a few drinks in a bar. Shania drinks tonic with lime. Her mum is trying to find a new man. She admits to Shania after a few cocktails that she misses sex and wants to find a fuck-buddy. Shania tells her that it is too much information for her innocent mind to assimilate and asks her to talk about something else.
She has attended college since last year. She has been out with a few boys. They all wanted her to make a video where they would get paid ten thousand dollars as long as there was a cum-shot involved, preferably in her mouth or over her face and breasts, they explained. They wanted her to be in the videos because she had great tits and her face looked beautiful, so they told her. She did not go out with them again. It seems the universal past time at college these days is to make a porn videos for posting on-line. Even Shania’s mum would be disappointed with her if she saw her in one of those videos.
Her friend Melanie showed her, with considerable pride, the video she had made with three seniors during the previous semester. They managed five cum shots between them and the video is high on the list of most watched college videos. Melanie is a star! She told Shania she might go into porn as a career, if there is such a thing, thought Shania. She decided to go out with a girl after the bad experiences with boys. It was fine. Neither of them was interested in sex so they got along well for a few brief months but life experiences worthy of a novel, or even a short story; not so much really.
She is still a virgin at nineteen, a rare thing in the 21st Century College environment. She is keeping the boys at arm’s length until she feels ready; she is not ready yet, she has decided. She knows who she wants to be her first. It is not any of the juvenile, lecherous youths who attend Nielson. She wants to give her virginity to one very particular man; the man of her dreams. It will not happen, she knows that, but she dreams of what might be, one day. She wants to be a professional writer, a novelist. She knows she has to start somewhere. She has written a few one-page articles for the College magazine but nothing more than a few hundred words. She has decided that writing short stories for magazines and on-line sites would be good practice while she attends Nielson for another two years.
She sits at her desk, playing with her short blonde hair, chewing a few stray ends in the corner of her mouth. Her left foot is up on casino oyna the seat, tucked under her right thigh. She leans her cheek on her knee and thinks. She continues to sit, unmoving, thinking, hoping, even willing inspiration to appear, as if by magic. She begs, as if the Muse will answer her prayers. Sadly, nothing springs to mind. She glances in the mirror beside the desk; all she sees is herself. There is no inspiration coming from that direction.
Disappointed, she opens her web browser and checks her Facebook, Instagram and Twitter pages for anything new. She notes two friend requests, which she allows without looking to see who they are; she just wants more friends than her room-mate, Jill. She scrolls down her news-feed page; there is nothing exciting or even remotely interesting. There is quite a nice white cat doing somersaults but she cannot think of a story to fit that. She tries to resist the temptation and go back to her short story, but it has been about two hours since she last looked; something might have happened in all that time that she desperately needs to know about.
She opens the fan page for her favorite boy band. They are coming to her city in a month; she has two tickets to their concert. She might ask her mum to go with her if she does not find anyone else in the meantime. There are five of them; her favorite is Kenny Major, the bass guitarist. She Tweets him almost every day, telling her how much she loves him. She has posted several selfies, all decent though. She knows many girl fans send topless or even naked shots, but she is not like that. She told him about the tickets earlier today. She asked if she could meet him back-stage after the concert. She has not had a reply but she knows that is normal with bands like his. He must get hundreds of such Tweets and requests every day, maybe thousands. At twenty-two, he is not much older than she is. Shania has all their albums on her iPhone and knows every word of every song.
He has posted some news and a few recent new pictures. Several of them show him posing with several different girls before a concert last weekend. One of the girls is around the same height as Shania. She looks a little similar, with the same haircut even. She likes the way he fits his right arm around the girl’s shoulder. It looks in the picture as if his right hand is on her right breast. She guesses it is not actually touching her breast but it certainly looks as if it is. It is just hanging an inch or so in front of it. If he flexed his wrist, he could hold the whole breast in his strong hand.
Shania wonders what it would feel like to have his hand on her breast. She wants to feel his hand on her breast. She wants to feel both his hands on both of her breasts. Her breasts are adequate she feels, better than the girl in the picture. She looks about a B cup. Shania had just bought her first C cup a few weeks ago. Her mum helped her choose it from a little boutique in town. She hopes they will stop growing now she is older. She does not want them any bigger. They are quite a handful as it is.
She feels her left breast with her left hand. Her right hand is clicking on the pictures; she keeps returning to the one with the hand on the breast. She downloads it and opens it in her picture viewer. She enlarges the picture and crops it until she has just the two heads and down to their waists. She squeezes her breast through the thin T-shirt. Her right hand is no longer busy with the picture. She squeezes both breasts. She squeezes quite hard. She likes the feeling as she moulds and pulls at the firm mounds of flesh. She slips the T-shirt over her head. She looks in the mirror once again; she likes what she sees. She keeps in good shape and eats properly; her mum sees to that.
She recalls a video her mother liked to watch many times when she was younger. The good-looking singer came out of the television screen and danced with the watching girl. It was a sort of cartoon. Shania tries to remember the name of the band but all she can think of was A-ha, which surely can’t be right. She quite enjoyed slot oyna the song but it was a hundred years old.
The reflection in the dim light of the mirror alters, shifts, changes; Kenny is in there, in the shadows, watching her. He reaches out his right hand; she takes it and he slides across the desk from the mirror to the computer monitor, his picture becomes real, alive, and warm. He really is here, in the room, squeezing her hands. He drops them and moves his hands directly to her breasts, no delay, no asking permission. He is gently rolling her nipples between his fingers. He is speaking sweet words of love and devotion, telling her how beautiful she is, how he will stay with her forever, love her, make babies with her and give her everything she could ever wish for.
Shania smiles at him, baring her even white teeth as he continues his outrageous but effective flattery. She does not speak, she just listens and watches. She feels a tingle and the first hint of moisture between her legs. When she gets aroused, she gets very wet. She has been pleasuring herself since she was thirteen, she knows what happens when she masturbates. She knows very well; she does it almost every day. Right now, it is just dampness more than anything else. She blows the picture up once more, now it is just Kenny, the intruding girl has gone. He is close to her now, life sized. His smile brightens the room. He appears naked now, his clothing somehow melted away in the transition from the mirror to the monitor. He is erect, proud, virile and oh so handsome. His cock bobs around in front of her.
He is talking again, telling her what to do, telling her to take off her panties. He wants to see her naked. He tells her she has perfect breasts; not too big and not too much of a handful. He tells her he wants to see her virgin slit, her almost hairless slit. He loves breasts, he tells her. He also loves to see young girl’s sex, preferably hairless, like hers.
Shania stands and quickly gets naked; she slides her panties off her feet and flicks them onto the bed. She sits down again on her T-shirt on the swivel chair at her desk. She adjusts the web-cam on top of the monitor. She moves it so that the small screen opens in the top right corner of her monitor. It clearly shows her body from the head to the knees. She makes sure that she has not connected it to a website; it is just showing him what he wants to see. He tells her what he wants. She complies, willingly.
Her right hand slips between her legs, she spreads them as far as she is able on the chair. She places her feet on the desk at both ends. The picture shows her knees at the edges of the screen. Her young pussy gapes open, glistening pink with her slick juice. Her tapered, manicured fingers slip in and around her pussy, sliding over the erect nub of flesh. He speaks again, telling her to put her fingers inside. She obliges; first one, her middle finger, then two, her index finger. She pumps and slides slowly; she keeps the pressure firmly on her clitoris as she rolls her hand over her pubic bone. She presses hard, the way she does almost every night.
His face leans forward, close enough that he can smell her virgin pussy. His grin and his voice tell her she is doing it right. He tells her he wants to see her orgasm, up close. He wants to see the juice she makes, taste it even. He knows she squirts, she has told him so many times in her dreams. Her fingers pump more quickly now, her left hand holds her left breast, massaging the globe of flesh in large circles. She pinches her nipple every few seconds. As she does so, she moans in pleasure. Her right hand rubs in tight, hard circles over her clitoris. The clear juice spreads under her hand. Her upper thighs are slick with her juice. She needs more friction, she is too wet. She presses harder; her hands work faster, the thrusts become deeper. Her feet are up off the desk now, high in the air, her legs forming a wide V in front of the screen. She cannot open them any further for his lustful gaze.
He gets more animated, more detailed, and even more explicit. canlı casino siteleri She beckons him into her, guiding his rigid cock into her virgin pussy. There is no resistance; she has been ready for this for two years, ever since she saw him on the television. His cock fills her with heat, with a hard rod of searing hot iron. He is big, but no bigger than she imagined and certainly not too big for her young, athletic body to handle. He encourages her, tells her to keep going, come for me, he rasps, fuck me, take my cock deeper in your tight pussy. Make me come with you. Can you feel my cock filling your little virgin pussy? Can you feel me coming? I will fill you with so much semen you will be wet for a week.
Shania gasps as her orgasm approaches. She can feel it building deep inside her, down in her lower spine somewhere. She keeps her eyes glued to the screen. She is watching herself now, enjoying the spectacle of the young woman well on the way to a dizzying orgasm. The pressure is intense within her, her breasts are sensitive now, but sensitive in a way that requires more pressure, more squeezing, more pulling. Her whole body is about to ignite with the roaring flame of her orgasm. It is more than a flame as she listens to his sweet voice urging her on. She rubs, squeezes and pulls, harder, faster, deeper.
She begins to come. It is not simply one explosive shock to her system but an intense build-up of sensation within her whole body. Finally, she explodes, the molten core of her body floods outwards, radiating intense heat and passion throughout her firm young body. She hears him roar as he comes deep inside her. Shania roars back, her long, intense orgasm ripping through her tight body. She shudders, shakes and vibrates as clear liquid spreads across her hand, dripping and dribbling with each spasm as she comes, again, and again. She stops shaking. She looks down at her T-shirt; it is soaked with her squirts of pussy juice. She half-heartedly wipes herself dry with the sleeves of the T-shirt.
She looks up to see his dripping cock inches from her face. She is very willing to do what comes naturally. She opens her mouth and sucks the wide crown into her mouth. He is still coming. Her mouth is open as she pumps the last few precious drops of his life giving seed into her smiling mouth. She swallows it down, overjoyed that she has been chosen for his special treatment. She smiles as he tells her that he has had the best fuck of his life with her. He tells her that he wants to do it again, and soon. He makes her promise that she will be there every night when he is not on stage. She promises to be here, naked and waiting for him, every night. She tells him she will do anything for him. She promises undying love and devotion; she wants to be his special girl. He blows her a kiss and steps back, his cock now deflated, spent, returning to normal. He fades from the room, gone, for now. She knows he will be back. She closes her web browser. The blinking cursor in the top left corner of the word document on her screen confronts her.
She has written nothing.
She is drained, drained of inspiration, drained of ideas and completely clueless as to what she can write for her first short story. She sits, recovering her breath, relaxing, coming down from the sexual high. She drops her head and rubs her face. She looks once again at the empty page. Her hands do not move towards the keyboard. She will give up for tonight and try again in the morning. She has the whole weekend to get it written.
She decides that sleep is what she needs. She switches off the screen, plunging the room into almost complete darkness, just the low wattage lamp above her desk remains. She leaves it on all night. She brushes her teeth and gets into bed. She finds a clean T-shirt and panties to sleep in. She has promised that she will sleep naked when she is with the right man. She lies down under the sheet; she needs no duvet tonight in this summer heat. Her hands stray between her legs but she does not need another orgasm, one is enough for today. She wonders what Kenny Major is doing right now. She turns and cuddles the pillow, images of his strong and quick fingers playing with her naked body flash before her eyes. Time to sleep.
A chime sounds on her computer; she has a Tweet.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32