Convention Town Girl Part 4

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Convention Town Girl Part 4
Okay, okay, Tommy has been bugging me to tell you about the “little adventures back in college” that I mentioned. This is really kinky. It was back in my “If it moves, fondle it” stage back in college. Remember those days? Well, it was actually more like, “If it moves, fuck it.” He knows only a little about some of those kinky times, so some of this may come as a shock. Sorry, baby. I mean, I was really horny and loose back then, much more than the suburban mom that you know now. It was a different time back then, and I was a different person. However, I think that the titillation will far outweigh the shock value. If this doesn’t make you hard, I’m losing my touch.

Sometime in college, back in the late sixties (boy, am I showing my age!), my then-boyfriend and I went to a foreign movie at an “art house” theater in town. I can’t remember the title of the movie, unfortunately. (Somebody please tell me if you can. This movie contains one of the most erotic scenes I’ve ever seen, and I would love to see it again. I’m sure my memory and lust over the years have enhanced the film with details that weren’t really there, but what the hell.) Some Italian flick, like “La Dolce Vita” but five or ten years later. At some party, a bored girl does a dance on a piano. You think it’s going to be a striptease, but it’s not. She’s very conservatively dressed in a nice blouse and straight skirt. Short skirt, that was the style then. She sits down on the edge of piano, removes her shoes then stockings from under her skirt. And then her panties. But she carefully shows nothing. She gets up on the piano top and dances around sort of lazily, slinking as much as dancing, all the while pulling her skirt higher on her thighs. You still don’t see anything of her goodies under the skirt, but you can imagine like crazy.

A man with sunglasses brings a long-necked chianti bottle to piano, places it in front of her. (You know the kind of bottle, a round bottom covered with wicker, and a long neck, maybe two feet long. You used to see them in stores and bars — and in college dorm rooms — back then. Very dramatic to pour, but the wine was usually pretty sad.) In any case, she dances over to it, reaches out with her long hand and fingernails and touches the top, dances around it, pulls back from it, looks at it. She dances up to it and around it. Her hands push her skirt up her thighs more so that the hem is above the neck of the bottle. Now she dances up to it, right up to it, and the neck is under her skirt. She closes her eyes and dances hypnotically, shoulders and hips just moving with the music. The bottle is now between her legs, and we know she is not wearing any underwear, we watched her take them off. Jesus, is she going to do this? I thought she was just going to dance *around* the bottle and maybe fondle it suggestively. Boy, was I ever square. The camera pulls back for a better look. Her knees bend and she gets lower, the neck of the bottle disappears under the skirt. She bends down a little further, her hips down toward the bottle, she gasps a little, she bites her lip for a minute and then bends even a little lower. The bottle is now inside her! Ohmigod! We see her sink down on it in little jerks, half a foot or so, then up, then down again slowly. Then she pumps it regularly, clearly fucking herself with the object though the crowd can’t really tell, they can’t really see. The onlookers applaud softly. But soon they get bored even with this exotic, erotic scene. One by one they return to the conversations they were involved in before. The movie continues with a discussion while she fades into the background, still pumping away at her inert lover.

Absolutely the most erotic thing I had ever seen. I nearly slid off my seat in the theater when I saw this. Holy honey-pot, was I turned on. I didn’t care if her lover was inert. It was unbelievable to watch her take control, take that thing into her body, into her most intimate pussy space, and fuck it and fuck it. Ignoring the crowd. She just wanted to fuck herself. I melted.

My boyfriend was turned on, too. (And fortunately we were already intimate. I can’t imagine how embarrassing it would have been to watch that scene with a casual date.) When we went back to his room later, this image played a part in our lovemaking.

We shared a bottle of wine to loosen up, which we often did, by the light of a couple candles, romantic and sexy. When he drained it, he made a show of licking off the neck of the bottle and looking at it lasciviously. “Would you dance with the bottle, for me?” he asked. I was kind of expecting it. I took the bottle and put it on the floor. “Leave the skirt on,” he said. “It’s much sexier that way if I can’t actually see it but have to imagine it going inside.” He was right, that was part of what made it so sexy. (And permitted the movie to be shown in art theaters in college towns rather than in porno theaters in slums. But never mind that.)

I got up and found some suitable music on the radio. I started swaying to the music as I came back over to him. He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch. The bottle was on the floor, too. I danced up to him, put my crotch under my (relatively short) skirt right up against his nose for a moment, then backed away. I reached up under my skirt to grab the waist of my pantyhose and pulled them down a little. I realized I would have to sit down to remove them, so I pulled out a chair and faced him, worked the pantyhose down my thighs and calves as sexily as I could, giving him whatever peeks under my skirt. When they were off, I threw them over to him. He sniffed them, dirty boy, and held them in a little ball. So I reached up under the skirt again and pulled my panties down, slowly, a bit at a time, teasing and tempting. When I threw them to him, he sniffed them, too, deeper and longer. I got up and swayed slowly over to the area of the bottle. Around it. Then right over it.

It was just a normal wine bottle. It was so short, it was clear I would have to kneel over it rather than squat down that low. So I knelt just behind it, from his point of view, and walked up to it on my knees. I had to raise my skirt many inches to get the hem over the neck of the bottle, just like the girl in the film, but not quite up to the goodies, so the audience couldn’t see anything, just imagine it. Just imagine my sopping pussy hovering over that bottle. Hard, vertical, smaller than a cock, at least this bottleneck was. But quite enough to penetrate me. I moved forward a little more and started to sit down on it. Not quite in the right place. I moved forward a little more, then down some more. Right there, that’s the spot. Holy shit, it’s nudging its way between my lips, right up to my little hole.

I look over at my boyfriend. His mouth is open, his eyes are staring wide, he’s almost drooling. He looks up at me with lust I have never seen before, and with love, too, and with pleading that I continue this act. I gently, slowly, relax my legs and, sure enough, the bottle pushes its way past the entrance of my vagina, pushing open the muscles and inside. It’s a little cold, cooler than any cocks or even fingers have ever been. I haven’t felt this kind of cold, hard intruder since I was a teenager experimenting with my hairbrush, my favorite shampoo bottle, my candles. I relax more, down further onto it, until the shoulder of the bottle is too large to go inside. I have the whole neck up me. Up my cunt. I might as well say that, because that’s what it was at the time. A hot, hungry, drooling cunt that wanted something hard to fill it. How depraved, and how sexy, and how thrilling it felt.

I pulled up a little, and I was wet enough that the bottle slid out. So I could pump up and down on it without having to hold on. Just like the movie. So I started fucking the bottle, up and down, in and out, I was in complete control of how far it penetrated into my cunt. With guys, they are always pumping, too, trying to get farther in. It’s hard to keep a rhythm with two people wanting to move at different speeds. But the bottle was just my slave. I push down, he goes in. I pull up, he comes out. Slippery, slippery. I need to touch my clit so I can come. I reach one hand under my skirt and find my button, which is on fire. I can feel the hard neck of the bottle right behind it, going in and out slowly. I’m fucking myself with the bottle and with my fingers! I’m so hot, I don’t have to rub long before I climax. Shuddering. I almost lose my balance. He holds onto me as I come down. He wants to feel the bottle inside me. I take his hand and pull it under my skirt up to my pussy and I sit down hard on the bottle to take as much of it as I can. He feels around and plays with my clit and I move up and down until I come again. I raise up until the bottle leaves. I don’t want it to go, but I have to lie down.

He held me until my breathing and nerves relaxed. Later, we made love so he could get off, too. The feeling of a cock, hard and hot and gorged with blood, is different and more intimate, for sure. Still one of the sexiest nights I can remember.

(You k**s who don’t think this was very radical, remember that this was way, way back then, long before the vibrator became standard equipment in every girl’s and boy’s nightstand.)

That one night wasn’t the end of it, of course. “Dancing with the bottle” — really, me fucking myself with it — became a special part of our lovemaking. Once a week, maybe. Then one day, sitting in the corner of his room, was a bottle of chianti. A very tall bottle of chianti. Ohboy, I can guess what this is for. I wondered if it would actually work. So I walked over to it just to check the, uh, height. It was just about right, even when I had flat shoes on, several inches below the, uh, goodies.

Sure enough, he asked me later, after dinner and wine, if I had noticed the new addition to the d?cor? Yes, I had. Did I think I might want to try it out? Well, maybe. He carried it from the corner to the middle of the room. I noticed then how rough the top was, foil and wax and such, and I commented that this would have to be smoother. (I also noticed then how large it was in diameter, bigger than I had expected, and certainly as big as anything I had ever used before.) We decided that, for tonight’s performance, we would put a condom over it. (Yes, we did have condoms way back then, though we didn’t use them very often.) I put on a slinky slip and a dress. He lit the candles and opened another bottle of wine.

I danced as slinkily as I could in the dress, and, over a few minutes, managed to unbutton most of it and then drop the dress. All I had left was a lacy, short, blue slip. And matching bikinis. While dancing around the bottle, I managed subtly to get the panties down to the hem of the slip, and then I suddenly pushed them to the floor and kicked them over to him. I danced up to the bottle, letting the neck of it push on the slip so the material outlined my crotch for him to see. See where that’s going to go? Yes, right in there. With the condom on it, it even looks sort of like a cock. I backed away from it, picked up the K-Y and squeezed a little onto it. I made quite a show of spreading the jelly down onto it as I would onto a real erection. He was gaping with lust.

When I finished my wine, I started seriously dancing up to the bottle. Bunching the slip at my waist until the hem rose above the top of the bottle. I stepped over it and let the slip slide down a little to cover the top. My eyes were closed then, and I didn’t see anything. I just wanted to feel my way around. I bent my knees and moved around to explore the area. I bobbed down and up a few times to center myself over the giant cock, then let my hips settle down onto it until it pushed my lips apart and my hole rested right on it. Jesus, did it feel large. And hard. I relaxed another inch to push down. My pussy was wet, but not open enough to accommodate this large intruder. I relaxed a moment and moved down again. The ring of muscles of my vaginal hole popped open and it came in. God, it was huge, and hard, and a little cold. But mainly huge. Now I settled down more and more to embed it firmly, little ups and bigger downs to get more and more inside.

I had to arch my back and move my hips back to angle my pussy straight down over the shaft of it. Then I could push down as far as I wanted. After a dozen or two strokes, it was in me right to the back of my vagina. I couldn’t push down anymore. So this is what the girl felt in the movie. Or acted, if she didn’t actually do it. She got it right. Her face full of ecstasy. I’m sure mine was, too, ecstasy and a little pain. But don’t they always go together? I pumped up and down, down and up, down, down and up, to feel it hard and grinding in me. Oh, oh, how wonderful. And I can control every inch of its movement, deeper or shallower, hard and fast or slowly just sliding. I sort of came just pumping it. I wasn’t paying any attention to my clit particularly, but then I thought that it would be dangerous to come as hard as I usually do, I wouldn’t want to lose my balance for a second standing over this post.

I opened my eyes and looked at my boyfriend. He was in ecstasy, too. He was staring at me, flaming lust in his eyes, his pants and shorts gone and his cock — only normal-sized compared to this monster I have in me — hard as a rock. I looked down to see what he was seeing. My legs well apart, my knees bent, and this giant post sticking straight up between them, buried in my cunt. I moved up and down again just to see what it looked like, knees bending more, hips moving down to take inches more of the giant cock. Obscene as hell. I looked right in his eyes and pulled up until the bottle left me with a little sucking pop sound.

I went over to him, pushed him down on his back, and climbed on. He was smaller but hotter. More active, more urgent. He held me tight to his chest and we moved slowly until he screamed and squirted. I lay on top of him until he shrank and fell out and his juices dribbled back onto him. We slept a while like that, then got up and went to bed for the night.

(A damned shame all this happened long before home video. I would love to see myself do that. But I’d die if it got out, so it’s just as well.)

That still wasn’t quite the end of it. I did the big bottle a few more times. Not so intense as the first time, a little more mechanical, but I learned to balance and come on it, and that was incredible.

Then one night we were, well, in the parlance of the times, “smoking cigarettes with no name on them.” Wine with dinner, and we opened another bottle after, and a couple joints, and I was thoroughly wrecked. And horny as hell. And then some friends stopped over with more alcohol and more alternate intoxicants. Two guys, frat brothers of my guy, and one’s girlfriend. I knew them all fairly well. We socialized a lot.

We all got wrecked some more and, when we were dancing, I was sandwiched by my boyfriend and the spare guy. And everybody was kissing everybody, and hands were taking liberties, and I had been hot and bothered an hour ago before the others arrived. At one point, I was between my boyfriend, his hands on my thighs *under* my skirt for all to see, and the other guy clamped behind me with his hands firmly on both my boobs. And my guy whispered to me, Wouldn’t I like to do my special dance for him. And he started to pull my panties down. And we swayed there, four male hands kneading me all over in sensitive areas. I was melting. And he kept whispering dirty things to me and nibbling on my ear. And the other guy must have heard and he started asking me to dance, too. And I guess I sort of moaned a yes while one of them was kissing me and the other was cupping my crotch and slipping his fingers into my wetness.

They lowered my panties and took them off, showing the other couple. Somebody got the giant bottle out to the middle of the room. They stood around me, voices encouraging me to dance, dance, dance, but I knew what that meant. It meant fuck. I was ready to do that, too. God, that was so perverted and so private, I can’t believe I did it. I fucked some *thing* in front of a bunch of people. But at the time, I wanted to.

As I got close to it, I closed my eyes and did everything by feel. I had to take some of my sexy pussy slime and smear it onto the neck of the bottle, and that caused a few gasps. Eventually, I got down on it, and pushed it inside, and started pumping away. When I opened my eyes, all the guys had their cocks out, and the girl was playing with two of them. Her boyfriend pulled her skirt up and her panties down, bent her forward toward me, and got into her from behind. The other two guys tried to put her hands on their cocks, but she needed them for balance, so they had to play with themselves. I was off in my little world, fucking that pipe up into my hot box, just fucking and pumping. Both guys quickly came, all over me. And the couple screamed and finished. I rubbed my clit until I came, louder than all of them. And I stood up, and we all embraced, and we flowed down to the floor in a heap, hands and cocks and tits and lips everywhere. When I woke up later, we were all lined up like five cuddling cigars, boy- girl-boy-girl-boy. There were sort of embarrassed good nights mumbled and everyone went home.

I don’t know what the others thought of that night or of me. If I picked up a reputation as the campus kink-slut, I never heard about it. We didn’t really talk about it later, he and I. I didn’t set foot in that frat house again. And we broke up when we graduated a couple months later. And I never mentioned it to a soul, until now, all these years later.

So you can see why *I* was a little shocked when Stan wanted me to take that bottle in the car. At first I thought, Ohgod, my secret is out. How does he know about it? Then I realized that it had nothing to do with me, it was just what he wanted at the time. And it seemed like a good idea because I was so hot and juicy. I must say, it fit better than the previous bottles. Its length and girth are just at the limit that I can possibly take inside without pain (or lots of practice, probably). That huge, hard, glass dildo, and the bumpy ride, and everyone playing with my clit, I came and came and loved it. Dirty girl. Oooh.

Well, that’s it. Tommy, I hope you’re not too shocked. This was all long before we met, and we were different people then. And even recently, who pushed whom into sex play and then sex with others? This all started because you wanted a big client to have his fun playing with *my* T&A.

And, besides, don’t you like secretly having a raging hot babe in your bed?

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