Hot times and the Hammy Skillet

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Ass

Samuel caught me after church the other day and asked me to meet him for lunch. I like the way he does that. He’ll sidle up and sort of whisper his request out of the side of his mouth while pretending to smile at all the other people filing out. Then he turns with a look of surprise and says “Oh, Hi there! How nice to see you, Mary!” He reaches out for my hand, just a warm greeting as he would for any other, but he holds it just a moment longer with a look of anticipation till I give him a smile and the briefest, demure nod.

We don’t really need any more words at that point, because we have been doing this for weeks. Sam and I will be meeting at the Denny’s on Cross street on Wednesday at noon. Yes, I know that is across town, but we’re both in committed relationships, and in this neighborhood, reputations matter.

The Delmar Express bus really doesn’t stop much between here and there, and it’s generally pretty empty at this time. So it was today, and I had plenty of time on my hands. Now, I’m not a vain person, and I certainly don’t use much make-up.. ever, but I do carry a small mirror in my purse. So, I checked myself just to make sure there weren’t any strange hairs sticking out or stuff stuck in my teeth. I know Sam prefers natural, unpretentious women anyway but I did not want to scare him away.

The hostess at Denny’s knows us well enough now to know at our favorite spot is the red pleather booth, back in the corner. She seated me with two menus without even asking the number in my party, and asked if I wanted water or coffee to start. I told her I did, and as she scooted away, Sam came brushing past her to our table with his jacket in hand.

“Hi-ya, Mary!” he greeted me with his arms outspread. He embraced me and I encircled his waist. It feels so good to have my body against his, my head comfortably nuzzled in his chest- even if it is only for a few brief seconds. It feels of safety and contentment.. And love. He kissed the top of my head and we slid into the booth.

*****

Niceties exchanged, food ordered, coffee poured; it was Sam’s place to open the conversation, and he opened with this:

“Mary, I think Jasmine Wilson was hitting on me at Mass the other day.” He said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, really?” I said “Why do you say that?”

“Well, she had that dress on. You know the sheer one, that’s a little too low cut for church. When we passed in the aisle, she made sure I could not miss her chest, or her ass for that matter. And she gave me that look like ‘Hey, I bet you would bed me down if you could, so why don’t you try?'”

I laughed, thinking of Jasmine Wilson. Yes, she does that and she does that with pretty much all of the guys.

“No,” I responded, “What I meant was, why do you say that to ME?”

He appeared a little surprised and then he took on a sly smile. “Well, I figured there were two ways you could react, and I wanted to see which way you would go. The first would be to agree that Jasmine is a fine looking woman and you would enjoy being with her as much as I would- in which case, there is a whole new realm of possibility…”

I shook my head from side to side, and kept my face neutral.

He laughed, and continued, “The second would be a look of hurt that I would consider fucking Jasmine Wilson instead of fucking you- and then you would demand that I take you to the nearest bursa escort hotel and make mad, passionate love to you…”

I slapped the table, laughing, said, “And there is third option, where Jasmine doesn’t get laid and neither do you. In fact, that is the most likely alternative, don’t you think?”

Sam shrugged is shoulders, rolling his eyes up and out, while rocking his outstretched hands like he is weighing two cantaloupes. “Ahhhh, yes, of course you’re right,” he said with a grin.

Suddenly, I had a vision that made me shudder. I pictured Sam’s head in Jasmine Wilson’s lap suckling on one of her cow tits, making an unk-unk noise as a trickle of milk rolled down his cheek. Now Jasmine is instructing me with those over-bright red lips that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach… Ick!

Not happy with that image, I inserted myself into Jasmine’s place. Much better.

“So, tell me, Sam,” I asked as I leaned forward, glancing around for looky-loos. “What would you do with these?” I held my breasts on the sides and waggled them up and down. Then I pushed them together so what cleavage I had was clearly visible over my the top of my scoop-neck tee.

Sam was staring at my tits and, deep in thought, he held one finger to his lips, like that would stop some errant words from coming out of his mouth.

“Well, that depends,” said Sam. “Perhaps I should know about them.”

“OK?” I responded.

“Are your nipples large or small?”

“Proportionate,” I answered.

“Are they long or short?”

“Average.”

“Are they sensitive or not?”

“Very.”

“Are they pierced or tattooed?

“Huh?”

“You folks want a refill on your coffee?” asked the waitress.

God, I hope she didn’t see me holding my tits out.

“Yes, please,” responded Sam. The nice waitress carefully refilled our coffee cups and then left the rest of the pot at the table. I looked over and saw her klatching in the waitress station with two other waitresses. I will guess she not only saw me handling my breasts, but overheard some of the conversation too.

“So, to be clear, I don’t have either piercings or tattoos. Do you?” I continued.

Rather than answer, Sam pulled up his sleeve and there on his bicep was a very nicely done old tattoo. The design was a little faded, but the banner below read, ‘From the Awful Grace of God.’ He told me a story about lost love and depression back in college. Oddly enough, that quote was NOT from the Bible, but rather a Greek philosopher, and it signified that, for matters of the heart, we learn through pain. It is God’s way. That tattoo was his mantra.

Wow. I flashed to myself in a tattoo chair with my bare ass sticking out waiting for either a red devil or a my-little-pony. Not gonna happen.

“Well, Sam,” I started. “That’s a side of you I had not seen before, but I like it.” But, of course I had thought about it before- on that imaginary motorcycle trip when Sam had ‘Mary’ tattooed across his back in six inch tall German script. “Frankly, I think I would be more open to a piercing than a tattoo.”

“Really?” Sam asked, “Your nipples?”

“Yes, of course. I like to imagine leaning back in a piercer’s chair while he swabs my nipples, clamps them, marks them with little dots at just the right place… and then pushes a hollow needle through them one at bursa escort bayan a time. Perhaps not quickly. Perhaps long enough the savor the pain. Those little tubes have removed a part of my body and have created a flesh tunnel that won’t ever close. I have imagined very vividly how he threads little barbell studs to wear till when my nipples heal, and I have imagined slipping thicker rings into those holes to hang like door knockers,… for you to play with.”

Sam’s forehead seems a little damp as he has shifts in his seat to better allow for his growing erection.

“Ok, who ordered the Hammy Skillet,” said the waitress with an armload of dishes for our table.

“Er, that would be me,” answered Sam who held up his hand lamely and offered the waitress grimace that did not even resemble a smile. The waitress unloaded our plates, checked the coffee pot and made a bee line for the waitress station, where her friends were waiting for updates.

“Your turn, Sam.” I stated.

He took a sip of water and ignored his food, thinking a little before he spoke. “I can imagine,” he began, “seeing you in a shirt much like the one you have now, but with no bra. Your nipples are hard and poking little points in the fabric, but the rings you’ve added are now clearly visible- cannot be hidden. I want to put my hands under your shirt and feel the cool metal of your rings and the softness of your tits, imaging how they look before I pull your shirt up and over your head. I can see your tits bounce back into place and sway with your hoops weighting down your nipples and glinting in the sun.”

“Oh, so we are outdoors, then?” I asked, and I took a bite of fried potatoes from my plate. I squirmed a little in my seat now as I imagined Sam caressing my bare breasts- imagining him becoming aroused.

“Yes,” he continued. “I want to see thin blue veins under your translucent skin. I want to trace them with my fingers an kiss them with my lips and work my way slowly to your edge of aureoles. I would be exploring whatever little bumps there are with my tongue, tickling the tips of your nipples and flicking your rings up with my teeth as I put my mouth over each one, drawing you into me, massaging the underside of your nipples with my tongue.”

I found myself involuntarily massaging my clit through my jeans. That never works so well, but that’s kinda what I was feeling the need for.

“Well, you know,” I said, taking my turn, “If that was what you were doing with my chest, I imagine I would have two fingers on either side of my clit massaging it up, down, around. I can feel little jolts of energy through my body as it swells and I hit just right spot. Of course, I am wet down there right now, I can feel it. You can probably see from my flushed face that I am imagining you licking, sucking and kissing me like this. I would love to see you naked and erect. I can almost feel your thick cock pushing its way into me.”

“Whoa, girl!” said Sam, holding up his hands. “You are moving too fast, maybe missing some good stuff.” He continued, “You’re already topless, and I would like to hold you from behind, kissing your neck while I massage your breasts and let my hands sink into your pants. I would undo your belt and zipper and push those jeans to the floor so I could feel your wetness, and I could lay my cock against your ass, let you feel its warmth and escort bursa pulse. Then, I would place my hand on the back of your neck and push you down slowly over the back of the couch, and tap your legs apart exposing your beautiful wet pussy for me.”

“Wait! We have a couch outside?” I asked.

“Er,” said Sam holding a forkful of ham, waving it around like a wand. “Hold on. I know. It’s a fence. We’re outside because it’s a farm and there is a fence. A sturdy wooden fence. And we have boots on because we’re standing in grass,” he paused. “How’s that?”

“Good,” I nodded.

“So, I place the my hand on the back of your neck while holding your hip and gently push you down over the fence, exposing your beautiful turned up ass and pussy. I stoop down and look through the fence and there are your tits swaying with gold piercings hanging from your nipples like bull nose rings.”

“Yes,” I jumped in, “and I reach through my legs and pause at my clitoris again. It’s wet and swollen. My middle finger dips inside probing and thrusting. I spread my lips to show you how pink and how slippery wet I am; how ready I am for you. With a little frustration I reach further between my legs and feel your shaft, wanting to pull it in to me. I whisper, ‘fuck me, Sam.’ I feel your hands on my hips as you insert just the tip of your cock into me. Just the tip. Teasing me. I rock back trying to earn more, but you hold it back. It is becoming torture.”

I paused to catch my breath, slumped back in the booth, looking at the ceiling breathing heavy.

“My cock slides into you ever so slowly,” Sam continues. “Your lips part, and the opening widens as you accept all of me inch by inch. I feel you rocking now, backwards and forward exposing my shiny shaft briefly and the enveloping it again. No longer willing to wait, I hold your hips firmly and slam my cock into you, feeling my balls swinging back and forth.”

My turn. “Your balls slap a rhythmic tattoo on me as your thick shaft slides in and out. You’re so intent emptying yourself into me, you don’t notice the powerful orgasm that shudders through my body. I am desperately hanging onto the fence to hold me up as my legs get weak. Finally, I slip down to my knees, and twist around to grab your thick cock. I know it’s a matter of seconds left for you so I pump it, sliding my grip up and down your shaft. A thick rope of semen spurts out of the end of your penis and lands on my shoulder and right tit. Angling your cock a little higher, the second rope splatters on my face and waiting tongue.”

I looked at Sam. His face was as red as I am sure mine was. We are both breathing hard.

“Woof.” said Sam as he exhaled loudly and tousled his hair. “That was pretty damn intense, sister. I think I am going to need a shower.” Then, after a moment, “Can I give you a ride back to the convent?”

I flashed to Sam in shower at the rectory. He’d have the temperature turned up nice and warm with the water pouring over his head and shoulders. His right hand would be on the tile of the shower, leaning forward. His left would be furiously stroking his soapy cock till that stream of cum spurted out… and all the while thinking of me.

“No, Father, I think it is best we find our own way back,” I replied. I had other plans for the bus ride back that culminated with some quiet meditation in my personal quarters. Well, pretty quiet anyway.

“Bless you, Sister Mary. You are a gift from our Father,” said Father Sam.

“You folks ready for the check,” asked the waitress who had just appeared at our table.

“YES!” Sam and I answered in unison.

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