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My name is B…, well, alright, Bill. You won’t know much about me unless you’ve read another story I shared on Literotica some time ago, but I think only Fiona read that. The other story was about Fiona and me. I can give you the short version.
An internet flirtation led me take a trip to the frozen North to see a red-haired lady musician play bass with her rock band 2000 miles from my home. The show at a municipal auditorium was fine and I hung around the stage entrance afterward just like any groupie hoping to get some attention from someone in a band. I succeeded in getting Fiona’s attention. We went for drinks, talked, flirted and ended up cavorting naked in a big, king size hotel bed. Fiona cleaned my clock; I was thoroughly smitten, and I decided I might have to stay on. There, now you know all about me.
Well, it’s cold up here. The winter nights are long and there are a lot of them. Spring doesn’t really come until mid-May. The summer days are also real long, but there are only a few of them each year. The town Fiona and I live in is a pretty big one considering that it surrounded by bush for a hundred miles in every direction. The big recording artists who do arena shows don’t get up here much, but that’s okay because Alaskan’s know how to make their own entertainment. The town has an air base and a State University. These bring a steady influx of young people – some with a little money to spend. And all of this combines to mean that we have a pretty good club scene.
There’s the Baying Brach biker bar north of town, if you like bourbon and blues and middle aged men wearing tie-dyed thermals. They do Girls with Gibsons once a month which is a great ladies night for electric blues. The University kids dance at the Blue Moon. Mostly, they have deejays with an eclectic mix of music, but sometimes there is a live band. The Swordfish also has live music most nights. The best of all though is probably McCafferty’s.
McCafferty’s is a coffee house. There’s no hard liquor, so the patrons don’t get too rowdy. The music ranges from folk and traditional to jazz and rock, but mixed so you can hear yourself think. When I saw that Fiona Finn was going to be playing an acoustic set at McCafferty’s one Friday night I decided I had to be in the audience. I was hoping, of course, to have another night like the one after the show at the Veteran’s Hall. It didn’t quite work out that way.
Fiona’s set was fine. I didn’t know most of what she elected to play, but she played well and sang like an angel. I was happy just to sit, listen and take in the sight of her auburn hair, her expressive face and her delicious curves. When she had finished and another performer was coming on, I approached her and offered to buy her a drink, if she’d sit with me. She remembered my face, apparently, and when she’d packed up her guitar, she came to my table. Chamomile tea — she always has Chamomile tea.
We talked for quite a while. Eventually, I got around to reminding her of the night after the show at the Vet’s Hall and hinting that I would just be delighted for a reprise. She smiled and seemed to understand what I was getting at. Then, she surprised me.
“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t have my husband’s permission and I don’t think I can get it.”
“Your husband? But, I thought…”
She explained a little more.
“My husband is on a business trip to Seattle. Before he left I told him that if his colleagues insisted, he could go to a strip show. I told him he could even have a lap dance. But, I also told him, ‘No strange!’ And, I promised that if he were good, I’d give him something special when he came home. He just laughed and said, ‘You too!’ And, that’s where we left it.”
I found this a little helpful, but not completely satisfying. I hadn’t understood that she was married in the first place. She hadn’t seemed so that night after the Vet’s Hall show. And, this information about husbands, and lap dances and permission sounded like crazy talk to me. I suggested as much.
“Well, our marriage isn’t completely traditional,” she told me. “That is, it’s not sexually exclusive. We decided early in our relationship that we both had bigger appetites than one other person could satisfy. So we made our marriage conditionally sexually inclusive.”
“Huh?” I asked as articulately as I could at that moment.
“It’s like this. Either he or I may have other sexual partners -.together or separately. The agreement is, though, that if either of us wants sex outside our relationship, we have to discuss it. We can consent. Or we can veto the other’s choice for whatever reason. ‘He wouldn’t be good for you’ is valid. So is, ‘I feel too güvenilir bahis vulnerable, right now.’ This way we have the benefits of committed stability and the spice of sexual variety with no need for cheating.”
“And, how’s that working for you?” I asked, doing my best Dr. Phil imitation.
“Pretty well, that’s our deal. It kind of started before we were even married. We took a trip with Jim’s friends, Tom and Sheila. Over the course of a weekend of water-skiing, I realized that Tom had the biggest dick I had ever even heard about. Jim figured out that I wanted to try that monster on for size and he not only didn’t seem to mind, but he even helped to get me into Tom’s bed. I had Tom’s nine-incher in every orifice and I was sore for three days afterward, but golly was I satisfied,” she told me.
“And it’s a two way street, “she continued. One winter, we flew to Nevada for some sunshine and a change of scenery. It came out that Jim really wanted to go to a brothel because he’d ‘never been done by a professional.’ I found that kind of amusing. I had done pretty well at a particular slot machine. So, I gave him $250 and sent him to the Kitten Ranch. He seemed happy when he got back, but it was really gratifying when he said that I give a better blow job at a much better price.”
“And, let’s see. One time I played a show at the Fine Gold Veteran’s Memorial Hall and this groupie was falling all over himself to get in my pants. It took one phone call to Jim for the go-ahead and then I fucked that groupie silly. But, then you’d know all about that…”
“So, that’s the deal,” I said. “Well, it wouldn’t work for everybody, but I’m glad it works for you. But, let me get this straight. While he’s away in Seattle, he can have a show and a lap dance, but no strange pussy. So, if this is a two way street, aren’t you entitled to a show as long as you don’t ride strange cock?”
Fiona laughed a silvery little laugh and said, “Maybe.”
From a pocket in her gig bag, Fiona produced a business card. It read:
Fiona Finn Bass – Guitar – Vocals
It bore a local address and a phone number.
“Can you come by this address at 11:00 tomorrow morning?” she asked.
“Sure, I said.”
“Can you dance?” she asked.
“Me? No, not really,” I responded.
She may not have heard me, because then she said, “Alright, well, bring your music. Say, it’s late. I have to go.”
She rose, grabbed her gig bag, and with a smile and a wave she headed for the door. I watched her hips and bottom sway rhythmically as she headed for the door.
“What a hunk of woman,” I thought to myself. “Guess I’ll have to bring my music.”
***** At 11:00 the following morning, I found myself on the front door step of Fiona’s pleasant modern home. I was carefully dressed and had my .mp3 player in my pocket. I was even somewhat prepared, having spent much of the morning reviewing key portions of an old DVD, and hoping that everything I really needed to know about dance could be learned from The Full Monty. I rang the bell and waited.
Within a minute, Fiona appeared in casual lounge wear – dark draw string pants and a loose white blouse. Her auburn hair tumbled in loose curls down to shoulders.
“Good morning, Bill,” she said. “Well, good news. I called Seattle. He was just on his way to Darling Girls for a drink with the boys when I rang. I can have any kind of show I like – just no strange cock. Looks like you’re on. Oh, my manners. Do come in.”
I stepped into the tidy modern entryway a little nervously.
“I thought I’d take you back to the woodshed,” she suggested and beckoned me to follow.
“Funny,” I thought to myself, “it doesn’t look like the kind of place that has a woodshed.”
We stepped through the well-furnished living room into a hall. We walked past a bathroom and some bedrooms and eventually into a large room. Against one wall was a desk with a mixing board and other audio equipment. Around the room were a handful of stools, a few microphone stands, and a couple of guitars also on stands. Against another wall was a long, low charcoal-colored chaise. Light streamed in through high windows covered with diaphanous white curtains.
“The woodshed – this is where I practice my instruments and record song demos. I love the light in this room in summertime. We can use it as a guest room in a pinch,” she said indicating the chaise. “So, did you bring your music? Let’s get started. Give me a striptease show.”
In a moment, my mp3 player was plugged into the sound system, Fiona had perched upon a stool, and the delicate strains of Randy Newman began to fill the room. For the next three and a türkçe bahis half minutes, I strutted and pranced around the woodshed losing articles of clothing along the way. The shirt had been carefully chosen because the snaps were so much easier to undo than buttons. The pants a little large at the waist were practically designed to fall off. The longest part of the tease involved the hip grinding in red satin boxers. A two-week crash program at the gym paid off by giving the pects and abs a look of lean definition which the audience clearly appreciated. The boxers gave way to a little black posing thong which emphasized the volume of my package as I humped suggestively in Fiona’s direction. At the final cadence, she received the full monty, but at Newman’s urging, I left my hat on.
Fiona smiled and applauded politely as I stood naked before her. There were no wings offstage, no screens, and no fans. I felt more than a little awkward once the music stopped. “Not bad for a guy who can’t dance,” she said. “I guess I could keep you dancing for a while, but that’s not really what I want. I’ve decided that what I want is a dick exhibition and masturbation show. I just love to watch a man masturbate to orgasm. Do you think you could masturbate for me until you come?”
“I’m sure I could,” I replied.
Fiona appeared to notice my semi-erect cock and asked, “Would you want to look at one of Jim’s magazines? Or, would you maybe rather look at me naked?”
“I’d much rather see you naked,” I answered.
“Good answer,” she said with a giggle. “Okay, you wait here for a minute.”
Fiona left me standing in the middle of the room and stepped out closing the door. She returned a few minutes later wearing only a black ribbon at her throat. Her auburn hair had been re-brushed and hung loosely about her neck and shoulders. She was carrying a small bottle of what looked like lotion. She looked me in the eye, cupped her hands and her breasts, and ran her hands in a slow, smooth motion down her torso.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked.
I assured her that I did very much like it.
“Then, I am going to recline right here on this chaise,” she said, lowering herself onto the long, low couch. “You are going to kneel right beside me on this pillow,” she continued dropping a large dark cushion on the floor next to the chaise. “Then you are going to do a dick demonstration and show me how you come. You are going to do just as I ask. You are not going to touch me. You are not going to get lucky. Understood?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I moaned in response.
“Okay, make yourself comfortable.”
I knelt on the big soft pillow. My swelling cock and balls fourteen inches off the floor just above the height of the chaise and even with Fiona’s waist.. Fiona’s legs and feet stretched away to my left, and her breasts and head stretched out to my right.
“Now, do as I say. Put your fingers under your balls and stretch them out toward me so I can get a good look.”
I complied. She leaned toward my cock with a look of concentration on her face. I could feel the heat from her body as she leaned toward me.
“That scrotum has practically no hair on it. You must have trimmed or shaved those, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I groomed them when I knew I was going to dance for you,” I responded, still cupping my balls for inspection.
“Very nice, I like a nice clean looking scrotum on a man. Now, grab the shaft and give it a good squeeze, then let go. I want to watch that organ really swell up”
I squeezed hard, released my grip and felt more blood flow into my ever stiffening cock.
“Pinch the head, and stretch it and as long as you can make it.”
I pulled on my dick and stretched it.
“Oh, that would surely touch bottom,” Fiona said in a low breathy voice. “But, do you miss your foreskin, Bill?”
“No,” I laughed, as I continued tugging gently at my cock. “I lost that so long ago, I don’t remember it.”
“Well, I miss it,” she said. “One of my favorite parts of a dick exhibition is when an un-circumsized man uses his foreskin to play peek-a-boo with the head of his cock. Not today, though, and it’s a shame.”
I was unable to work up much self-pity about my long missing foreskin. Fiona, reclining naked in front of me, was still concentrating on me with a hungry look in her eyes. And, after a very few minutes of kneeling in front of the voluptuous nude redhead and playing as directed with my cock, it had developed a formidable uprightness. Fiona reached for the small bottle she had brought into the room.
“Here,” she told me. “This is baby oil gel. It has Vitamin E and aloe. It’s good for your skin. güvenilir bahis siteleri It also looks good. Rub this all over your cock and balls, Bill.”
I did as directed, rubbing the gel up and down the shaft of my stiff cock and spreading it over the wrinkled skin of my carefully shaved scrotum. It felt quite pleasant and it did look good. My cock glistened in the summer morning light.
“Okay, Bill, it’s freestyle from here on out. I just want to see you stroke yourself the way you ordinarily would. No more directions from me.”
“Fine,” I said.
I took a deep breath and set to stroking my hard member. I made a fist and began stroking from the topmost knob to the base in long, slow strokes. When I reach the top again I would give a little twist on the slickened and glans and repeat. I half-closed my eyes and ogled the curvy nude in front of me. I thought of the possible ways of enjoying her body all of which were denied for this day because of her absent husband’s ground rules. I made some little moaning noises partly from my own arousal and partly for effect.
Fiona, watching my every stroke, caressed herself gently – first passing one hand gently over a breast, then the other over a hip. She raked her fingers through the tangle of her ruddy pubes. She licked her lips sensuously and still she watched as I pumped my thick hard cock. Now, it seemed we were both putting on a show.
I reached my left hand down into my groin and cupped my heavy balls. I squeezed and massaged them gently as I continued steadily to jack myself off. I noticed my breathing get heavier and I renewed my rhythmic vocalizing, groaning but saying nothing. Fiona seemed to like my randy noise-making.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about while you stroke your fat thick cock, Bill,” she cooed at me.
So, I told her punctuating each thought with a long stroke of my slick manhood.
“Your breasts,” I moaned, stroking.
“Your hips,” I groaned and pumped.
“Your thighs,” I rasped, squeezing my length.
“Your auburn, hairy cunny,” I whispered groping myself hard.
And, in the same slow cadence, I repeated myself more or less.
“Your breasts… your hips… your thighs…your auburn hairy quim.”
The orgasm washed over me in waves. First, a few uncontrollable drops of clear viscous ejaculate shot in an arc from my stiff cock and landed in a random group across Fiona’s rounded lower abdomen. I raised myself from my position kneeling on the floor to a half-crouch with my knees resting on the edge of Fiona’s chaise. I directed a great spurt of pearly white semen across the pooch between her navel and her pubes. This spurt was followed by its twin – another blast of nacreous jism on her tummy. A moment later, a nearly clear gush of gelatinous goo oozed from the head of my cock onto her smooth pale skin. Finally, running two fingers from the root of my cock and up my urethra, I pressed out a last dollop of come, and knelt back down on my pillow panting.
Fiona had watched me in the throes of orgasm with the intensity of a naturalist making field observations of some rare and endangered creature. We both were quiet for a few moments in the awkward aftermath of my solo orgasm. My cock, still glistening with oil, was slowly shrinking in my hand as my breathing and heart rate returned to normal.
Fiona broke the silence saying with a tone of mock reproval, “Oh Bill, you nasty boy! You’ve made a gooey mess all over my tummy.” Her cheeks flushed and she turned her face away from me.
“I did,” I responded. “Give me just one moment to get a cloth and I will clean that up.”
I got quickly to my feet and walked out into the bath in the hallway that we had passed as Fiona showed me in. It took a few seconds for me to find a little stack of clean washcloths on the bathroom shelf. It took a minute more before the water in the basin ran hot. While I was at the sink, I felt compelled to wipe up some of the excess oil on my slick, softening member. Then I rinsed a fresh cloth in hot water and headed back to the woodshed and the luscious redhead who had inspired my climax.
I must have been more than the promised moment. When I re-entered the room, Fiona was recumbent pretty much where I had left her, but her attitude had changed somewhat. Her eyes were closed. I heard her speaking softly to herself saying what sounded like, “My breasts, my hips, my thighs, my auburn hairy cunny…” The fingers of her left hand were tracing little circles and spirals in the sticky cream I had so recently spurted on her tummy. Her knees were spread wide apart and her right hand was aggressively kneading the most sensitive part of her auburn hairy quim.
I saw that there was practically nothing I could do at that moment. So, I knelt back down on the soft pillow in front of the chaise, steaming washcloth in my hand. And I waited and I watched while Fiona finished.
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