Tracy came up the back stairs after her husband left for work. It was Wednesday, at last, a hard day to wait for, the only day she had off from her job while he worked.
Her long chestnut hair was fixed in a pony tail. Her face freshly scrubbed, no make-up. She wore a man’s large flannel shirt, yellow and black plaid, her long, shapely legs bare.
We greet by touching fingertips affectionately, touching lips in a brief and conspiratorial kiss.
“I come to you pre-fucked,” she said wryly. “He threw a quickie into me this morning. I made him pull out and cum in my mouth, though.”
“Yeah?” I said, playfully drawing back.
She chuckled, “Don’t worry. I brushed my teeth.” We went into the living room together and she went to the sofa. “He didn’t make me climax,” she said. “I’m really horny. Nothing like a slam-bang and a mouthful of jizz to get ya started in the morning!”
She sat and spread those long legs, displaying her gorgeous cunt. Never any panties on Wednesday, it’s a bit of a tradition with us.

As she unbuttoned the flannel shirt, I opened my jeans fly and released my genitals. My three-quarters erection quickly rose to salute her electric presence, her lean olive-skinned body, and her solid pelvis with its thick brown roll of succulent labia.
We are not having a relationship, except that of friendship. With us, its all about orgasms. Actually, it’s about masturbation. Weeks earlier, I met Tracy in a small neighborhood bar and we bought each other a drink.
She told me right away that she was married and she was just hanging, she wasn’t in the bar to be picked up.
She said, “Wednesday is vibrator day for me. Once I get a little buzz going, I’m going to go buzz my clit silly.”
“I know what you are talking about,” I said. “Later, I’ll be doing much the same thing, except in my case I’ll be jacking off my dick–and thinking about you, by the way.”
“How sweet!” Tracy said, smiling. She touched my arm. “Pop a big wet juicy one for me!”
“Hey,” I said, “they can’t tell us we don’t have

plans.”
That afternoon I completed my project successfully, stroking for a good hour and a half to porn dvd’s, and thinking about the wholesome twenty-two-year-old with the sultry edge and quick brown eyes, before I went into frenzy mode and let fly a scattershot shower of the old funk juice.
Ten minutes later, I yanked off another load, and ten minutes again after than, still another couple of decent squirts. Finally, maybe half an hour after that, with some effort I managed to cum once more, only a dribble, but I was at peace.
Tracy went out of mind until I bumped into her on the back stairs of my building while we both were taking down the trash. We were startled for a moment. Of course, we didn’t know we lived in the same building.
“Small world,” I said.
“And full of coincidences,” she said. God, I liked her eyes.
It was a Wednesday morning.
“Would you like to come into my kitchen for coffee?” I said.

“I can only stay a minute or two,” she said.
We had an Irish coffee at the dinette table.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s vibrator day, isn’t it?” I said.
“You remembered,” she said with a limp wave of her slender, expressive hand.
I was studying her while trying not to appear too creepy. She was gorgeous, the rich light brown of her smooth skin. That day she was wearing a baggy, college logo sweatshirt that came down just far enough to cover her trim ass.
“So, did you do it?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Pop one for me.”
“Oh! Sure did! Three or four times, as a matter of fact,” I said.
“Wow! Like a fourteen year old!”
“Well, it’s not my personal best, but then, I haven’t been training like I should.”
She laughed. Tracy has a great laugh, lusty and girlish at the same time.

She said, “Can I tell you something? Now don’t take this as a come-on or anything, but I’m not wearing any panties right now.”
“Nobody wears panties on vibrator day, do they?” I said.
Again, she laughed.
Under cover of the kitchen table, I reached down and straighten out an uncomfortable kink. “I think you just gave me a hard-on,” I said.
She smiled to herself.
Moments passed in silence, and more moments. Tracy dipped a tapered fingertip into her Irish coffee and drew something on the Formica table top.
It was an erect penis with balls. She dipped her finger again and added ejaculating cum droplets.
She slid her chair back from the table and raised her deep dark eyes to mine. “Wanna see my invisible undies?” she asked.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“You could jerk off if you want to, in front of me. I wouldn’t mind. But,” she said, raising her palm flat toward

me for emphasis, “don’t try anything funny. I only want to watch, then I’m taking my excited self back downstairs. Back to my toys.”
Tracy slid her chair back further, turning away from the table. I stood, reveal my ungainly bulge. My hand trembled a little as I unzipped. Tracy stretched open her long legs, leaning back and sliding her ass forward a little to show me her cunt.
The sight of it sent a shock of pleasure through me that surely registered on the Richter Scale.
“I’ve never jerked off in front of a woman who wasn’t my girlfriend,” I said, already slightly breathless.
“That’s good,” she said. “Nice to know I’m not living in the same building with a sex offender.”
She touched her cunt lips, massaging gently and sensuously, and I masturbated. My attention narrowed into tunnel vision, blocking out everything except her.
“God you have a strong effect on me,” I said. “I’m there already. I could go off any time. I’m sensitive as hell. God…”
Tracy’s heavy-lidded gaze remained for a long time on

my hand riding up and down my cock shaft. Now and then she raised her eyes to look at my face, then lowered them again.
“I can’t hold it back much longer,” I said quietly.
“Go, baby,” she whispered, pulling open her labia for me.
I said, “Could I get you to do one little thing for me?”
“Like what?” Tracy said.
“Take a piss on my kitchen floor. Right there, the way you are, just piss for me,” I said.
She said nothing, but I saw a twitch in her moist hole, and then the soft inner flesh push slightly outward. Her handsome face went slack with the pleasure of release. A ribbon of sun-yellow pee shot into the air in a high arc and fell splashing onto the tiles like the heavy, warm raindrops of a summer afternoon squall.
I jacked fast and hard, cutting loose completely, shooting my semen globs high. They fell into the fast-spreading pool of urine on the floor, to swim there like white worms.

I couldn’t have been happier.
Afterwards, my partner in crime laughed evilly. “You asked for it,” she said. “Now, you have to clean up the mess.”
She stood up and was out my back door with a quick, two-syllable, “By-ye!”
Now, we have been getting together every Wednesday for several weeks.
I help Tracy celebrate vibrator day and she makes sure that I don’t neglect my jerking off.
We have never actually had basic sex together, intercourse or oral. She almost never touches my prick, brushing it in passing, at most. There are certain acts that she associates with cheating, and wrapping her fingers around a cock is one of them. I don’t mind. I’d be taking care of those duties anyway, if she wasn’t there.
Also, we don’t really kiss. Touch lips, that’s as far as it goes, and that only in greeting, never during playtime.
I am her official masturbation assistant. I play with her cunt, I lose myself in her cunt, I immerse myself in

the heat and the odors of her amazing and wonderful cunt. I have a relationship with her cunt.
I cater to it, bring it presents. I love it. I always work with my prick and balls out of my pants, but often in my concentration I’m not hard, and I don’t bother to starting masturbating until after she leaves.
Usually, by then, I’m dripping, my sac is swollen with pent cum, it’s so brim full it’s seeping.
Today, slim and trim in her bright yellow and black plaid shirt, conveniently pre-fucked by hubby, and having had a breakfast of jizz, Tracy is eager to get straight to the bedroom.
I have a nice little shrine to in there–a large collage with hundreds of photos of her sexy cunt, and a small table where a variety of battery-operated vibrators are always ready.
She tosses her shirt to the floor and lies back, legs wide open, her hands resting palm-up at either side of her head.
“I’m ready for my treatment, doctor,” she says. A pang of guilt perhaps strikes, she such a sweetie, and she

suddenly hikes herself up on one elbow, her brown nipples already erect. She says, “Are you tired of always doing me? Do you want me to…do something for you? I’m not promising anything, but…”
I look at her, spread out naked and loose on my bed, willing to let me explore her body any way I please.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
She changes gears and falls back onto the mattress. “Well, get back to me on that, will ya?”
Today, I begin by lick her anus. She has a nice little bunghole. While I can’t really lick her clit for a prolonged period of time, because that would be oral sex, she lets me freely suck sphincter. She loves, loves, loves it and, apparently, I’m the only person who’s ever zeroed in down there.
Past Wednesdays, she’s had several awe-inspiring orgasms using fingers and a vibrator while I suckle her asshole. After one of those, my head is drenched because I encourage her to let loose and pee freely when she cums. At first, she was reluctant, not because she wasn’t aroused by

the idea, but she thought she might get into the habit and slip up sometime with her husband, who is conservative.
Now, she takes the chance.
“Hey, he never makes me climax, anyway, hardly ever, so how’s he gonna know?” she said one day.
“He sounds more like your father than your husband,” I said.
“Hey, you, shut up,” she said. “Just get me that big three-speed one, and the little one that has a flat, nubbly end and sounds like an angry bumblebee.”
“Sure that’ll be enough?”
“No. Get the blue egg, too, for mah butt.”
That was memorable, but again, back to today. Today, as I lick her asshole, cupping her firm cheeks in my hands and probing the perfect corrugations of her shitter, Tracy shivers.
“You cold?” I say.
“No-oo,” she replies, two-syllable. After a while she said, “I did something else this morning.”
“Mm?” I said.
“I gave myself a enema.”

“Mm.” I said. “Hm!”
“I douched, because I didn’t want there to be any husband molecules in my vagina for you…”
“Mmk-you.”
“Then, I thought, what the heck, do the back door, too…”
“Mm-hm!”
I was getting the message.
I took a breather. “You are so anal,” I said, “though not in the convention sense of the term, as it has come to be used.”
She shoved my head back down, a little roughly, if you ask me. But I raised myself to my knees, then got off the bed.
She lay dead. “Did I fuck up?” she said.
“Have you ever fucked up with me?” I asked. “I’m not your husband. Just shut up for a second, I have an idea. I’ll be right back. Masturbate while I’m gone.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
In the living room I put on a tee shirt and jeans and

shoes and went down to the corner grocery. I bought a banana, two bananas, one soft ripe one with black spots for eating and one still firm for fun.
And a newspaper.
The thought that Tracy might not be there when I returned made me hurry back. But there she was, waiting for me on the bed. Watching a daytime soap.
“You’re supposed to be masturbating. I hope you haven’t cooled off.”
“Don’t worry,’ she said, waving her fingers to shush me, eyes on the TV.
The scene ended, the music came up, and she switched it off with the remote.
“Where’d you go?”
“Store. I got a banana and I’m going to stick it in your ass.”
“I’m getting hungry–can I eat it afterwards?”
“No, that one’s mine,” I said. “Here’s yours.” I gave her the ripe banana.
We were both aroused, very.
Tracy peeled the banana and didn’t fail to circle her

lips around it for my benefit, then also for my benefit, playfully bit the tip off with her white teeth.
“Let’s see how anal you really are,” I said as I dived back down home.
Tracy pulled her knees back and apart. I licked her. I worked up saliva and lubricated her, pressed my lips to her tender star and she relaxed her ass muscles for me, all resistance melting away, the tart door to hell opening, yes. Yes, we understood each other.
That connection thrilled me. I peeled my banana–well, you know what I mean, I mean the banana–drooled some saliva on one end of it and began the job of inserting it the wrong way up Tracy’s back exit.
She lay still, breathing, focusing on keeping herself open. I collected more saliva and spit on it until it glided right down the runway and disappeared into her freshened dark place.
When it was completely swallowed up, not a trace left except for a bit of sauce, I tickled her tight little gateway to another world.
Tracy moaned. A long, low, guttural, moan of otherworldly pleasure.
I grabbed a vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to her clit. She wailed in ecstasy. She screamed staccato shrieks of orgasm and with each outburst her cunt gushed.

Tracy came up the back stairs after her husband left for work. It was Wednesday, at last, a hard day to wait for, the only day she had off from her job while he worked.
Her long chestnut hair was fixed in a pony tail. Her face freshly scrubbed, no make-up. She wore a man’s large flannel shirt, yellow and black plaid, her long, shapely legs bare.
We greet by touching fingertips affectionately, touching lips in a brief and conspiratorial kiss.
“I come to you pre-fucked,” she said wryly. “He threw a quickie into me this morning. I made him pull out and cum in my mouth, though.”
“Yeah?” I said, playfully drawing back.
She chuckled, “Don’t worry. I brushed my teeth.” We went into the living room together and she went to the sofa. “He didn’t make me climax,” she said. “I’m really horny. Nothing like a slam-bang and a mouthful of jizz to get ya started in the morning!”
She sat and spread those long legs, displaying her gorgeous cunt. Never any panties on Wednesday, it’s a bit of a tradition with us.

As she unbuttoned the flannel shirt, I opened my jeans fly and released my genitals. My three-quarters erection quickly rose to salute her electric presence, her lean olive-skinned body, and her solid pelvis with its thick brown roll of succulent labia.
We are not having a relationship, except that of friendship. With us, its all about orgasms. Actually, it’s about masturbation. Weeks earlier, I met Tracy in a small neighborhood bar and we bought each other a drink.
She told me right away that she was married and she was just hanging, she wasn’t in the bar to be picked up.
She said, “Wednesday is vibrator day for me. Once I get a little buzz going, I’m going to go buzz my clit silly.”
“I know what you are talking about,” I said. “Later, I’ll be doing much the same thing, except in my case I’ll be jacking off my dick–and thinking about you, by the way.”
“How sweet!” Tracy said, smiling. She touched my arm. “Pop a big wet juicy one for me!”
“Hey,” I said, “they can’t tell us we don’t have

plans.”
That afternoon I completed my project successfully, stroking for a good hour and a half to porn dvd’s, and thinking about the wholesome twenty-two-year-old with the sultry edge and quick brown eyes, before I went into frenzy mode and let fly a scattershot shower of the old funk juice.
Ten minutes later, I yanked off another load, and ten minutes again after than, still another couple of decent squirts. Finally, maybe half an hour after that, with some effort I managed to cum once more, only a dribble, but I was at peace.
Tracy went out of mind until I bumped into on the back stairs of my building while we both were taking down the trash. We were both startled for a moment. Of course, we didn’t know we lived in the same building.
“Small world,” I said.
“And full of coincidences,” she said.
It was a Wednesday morning.
“Would you like to come into my kitchen for coffee?” I said.

“I can only stay a minute or two,” she said.
We had an Irish coffee at the dinette table.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s vibrator day, isn’t it?” I said.
“You remembered,” she said with a limp wave of her slender, expressive hand.
I was studying her while trying not to appear too creepy. She was gorgeous, the rich light brown of her smooth skin. That day she was wearing a baggy, college logo sweatshirt that came down just far enough to cover her trim ass.
“So, did you do it?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Pop one for me.”
“Oh! Sure did! Three or four times, as a matter of fact,” I said.
“Wow! Like a fourteen year old!”
“Well, it’s not my personal best, but then, I haven’t been training like I should.”
She laughed. Tracy has a great laugh, lusty and girlish at the same time.

She said, “Can I tell you something? Now don’t take this as a come-on or anything, but I’m not wearing any panties right now.”
“Nobody wears panties on vibrator day, do they?” I said.
Again, she laughed.
Under cover of the kitchen table, I reached down and straighten out an uncomfortable kink. “I think you just gave me a hard-on,” I said.
She smiled to herself.
Moments passed in silence, and more moments. Tracy dipped a tapered fingertip into her Irish coffee and drew something on the Formica table top.
It was an erect penis with balls. She dipped her finger again and added ejaculating cum droplets.
She slid her chair back from the table and raised her deep dark eyes to mine. “Wanna see my invisible undies?” she asked.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“You could jerk off if you want to, in front of me. I wouldn’t mind. But,” she said, raising her palm flat toward

me for emphasis, “don’t try anything funny. I only want to watch, then I’m taking my excited self back downstairs. Back to my toys.”
Tracy slid her chair back further, turning away from the table. I stood, reveal my ungainly bulge. My hand trembled a little as I unzipped. Tracy stretched open her long legs, leaning back and sliding her ass forward a little to show me her cunt.
The sight of it sent a shock of pleasure through me that surely registered on the Richter Scale.
“I’ve never jerked off in front of a woman who wasn’t my girlfriend,” I said, already slightly breathless.
“That’s good,” she said. “Nice to know I’m not living in the same building with a sex offender.”
She touched her cunt lips, massaging gently and sensuously, and I masturbated. My attention narrowed into tunnel vision, blocking out everything except her.
“God you have a strong effect on me,” I said. “I’m there already. I could go off any time. I’m sensitive as hell. God…”
Tracy’s heavy-lidded gaze remained for a long time on

my hand riding up and down my cock shaft. Now and then she raised her eyes to look at my face, then lowered them again.
“I can’t hold it back much longer,” I said quietly.
“Go, baby,” she whispered, pulling open her labia for me.
I said, “Could I get you to do one little thing for me?”
“Like what?” Tracy said.
“Take a piss on my kitchen floor. Right there, the way you are, just piss for me,” I said.
She said nothing, but I saw a twitch in her moist hole, and then the soft inner flesh push slightly outward. Her handsome face went slack with the pleasure of release. A ribbon of sun-yellow pee shot into the air in a high arc and fell splashing onto the tiles like the heavy, warm raindrops of a summer afternoon squall.
I jacked fast and hard, cutting loose completely, shooting my semen globs high. They fell into the fast-spreading pool of urine on the floor, to swim there like white worms.

I couldn’t have been happier.
Afterwards, my partner in crime laughed evilly. “You asked for it,” she said. “Now, you have to clean up the mess.”
She stood up and was out my back door with a quick, two-syllable, “By-ye!”
Now, we have been getting together every Wednesday for several weeks.
I help Tracy celebrate vibrator day and she makes sure that I don’t neglect my jerking off.
We have never actually had basic sex together, intercourse or oral. She almost never touches my prick, brushing it in passing, at most. There are certain acts that she associates with cheating, and wrapping her fingers around a cock is one of them. I don’t mind. I’d be taking care of those duties anyway, if she wasn’t there.
Also, we don’t really kiss. Touch lips, that’s as far as it goes, and that only in greeting, never during playtime.
I am her official masturbation assistant. I play with her cunt, I lose myself in her cunt, I immerse myself in

the heat and the odors of her amazing and wonderful cunt. I have a relationship with her cunt.
I cater to it, bring it presents. I love it. I always work with my prick and balls out of my pants, but often in my concentration I’m not hard, and I don’t bother to starting masturbating until after she leaves.
Usually, by then, I’m dripping, my sac is swollen with pent cum, it’s so brim full it’s seeping.
Today, slim and trim in her bright yellow and black plaid shirt, conveniently pre-fucked by hubby, and having had a breakfast of jizz, Tracy is eager to get straight to the bedroom.
I have a nice little shrine to in there–a large collage with hundreds of photos of her sexy cunt, and a small table where a variety of battery-operated vibrators are always ready.
She tosses her shirt to the floor and lies back, legs wide open, her hands resting palm-up at either side of her head.
“I’m ready for my treatment, doctor,” she says. A pang of guilt perhaps strikes, she such a sweetie, and she

suddenly hikes herself up on one elbow, her brown nipples already erect. She says, “Are you tired of always doing me? Do you want me to…do something for you? I’m not promising anything, but…”
I look at her, spread out naked and loose on my bed, willing to let me explore her body any way I please.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
She changes gears and falls back onto the mattress. “Well, get back to me on that, will ya?”
Today, I begin by lick her anus. She has a nice little bunghole. While I can’t really lick her clit for a prolonged period of time, because that would be oral sex, she lets me freely suck sphincter. She loves, loves, loves it and, apparently, I’m the only person who’s ever zeroed in down there.
Past Wednesdays, she’s had several awe-inspiring orgasms using fingers and a vibrator while I suckle her asshole. After one of those, my head is drenched because I encourage her to let loose and pee freely when she cums. At first, she was reluctant, not because she wasn’t aroused by

the idea, but she thought she might get into the habit and slip up sometime with her husband, who is conservative.
Now, she takes the chance.
“Hey, he never makes me climax, anyway, hardly ever, so how’s he gonna know?” she said one day.
“He sounds more like your father than your husband,” I said.
“Hey, you, shut up,” she said. “Just get me that big three-speed one, and the little one that has a flat, nubbly end and sounds like an angry bumblebee.”
“Sure that’ll be enough?”
“No. Get the blue egg, too, for mah butt.”
That was memorable, but again, back to today. Today, as I lick her asshole, cupping her firm cheeks in my hands and probing the perfect corrugations of her shitter, Tracy shivers.
“You cold?” I say.
“No-oo,” she replies, two-syllable. After a while she said, “I did something else this morning.”
“Mm?” I said.
“I gave myself a enema.”

“Mm.” I said. “Hm!”
“I douched, because I didn’t want there to be any husband molecules in my vagina for you…”
“Mmk-you.”
“Then, I thought, what the heck, do the back door, too…”
“Mm-hm!”
I was getting the message.
I took a breather. “You are so anal,” I said, “though not in the convention sense of the term, as it has come to be used.”
She shoved my head back down, a little roughly, if you ask me. But I raised myself to my knees, then got off the bed.
Tracy came up the back stairs after her husband left for work. It was Wednesday, at last, a hard day to wait for, the only day she had off from her job while he worked.
Her long chestnut hair was fixed in a pony tail. Her face freshly scrubbed, no make-up. She wore a man’s large flannel shirt, yellow and black plaid, her long, shapely legs bare.
We greet by touching fingertips affectionately, touching lips in a brief and conspiratorial kiss.
“I come to you pre-fucked,” she said wryly. “He threw a quickie into me this morning. I made him pull out and cum in my mouth, though.”
“Yeah?” I said, playfully drawing back.
She chuckled, “Don’t worry. I brushed my teeth.” We went into the living room together and she went to the sofa. “He didn’t make me climax,” she said. “I’m really horny. Nothing like a slam-bang and a mouthful of jizz to get ya started in the morning!”
She sat and spread those long legs, displaying her gorgeous cunt. Never any panties on Wednesday, it’s a bit of a tradition with us.

As she unbuttoned the flannel shirt, I opened my jeans fly and released my genitals. My three-quarters erection quickly rose to salute her electric presence, her lean olive-skinned body, and her solid pelvis with its thick brown roll of succulent labia.
We are not having a relationship, except that of friendship. With us, its all about orgasms. Actually, it’s about masturbation. Weeks earlier, I met Tracy in a small neighborhood bar and we bought each other a drink.
She told me right away that she was married and she was just hanging, she wasn’t in the bar to be picked up.
She said, “Wednesday is vibrator day for me. Once I get a little buzz going, I’m going to go buzz my clit silly.”
“I know what you are talking about,” I said. “Later, I’ll be doing much the same thing, except in my case I’ll be jacking off my dick–and thinking about you, by the way.”
“How sweet!” Tracy said, smiling. She touched my arm. “Pop a big wet juicy one for me!”
“Hey,” I said, “they can’t tell us we don’t have

plans.”
That afternoon I completed my project successfully, stroking for a good hour and a half to porn dvd’s, and thinking about the wholesome twenty-two-year-old with the sultry edge and quick brown eyes, before I went into frenzy mode and let fly a scattershot shower of the old funk juice.
Ten minutes later, I yanked off another load, and ten minutes again after than, still another couple of decent squirts. Finally, maybe half an hour after that, with some effort I managed to cum once more, only a dribble, but I was at peace.
Tracy went out of mind until I bumped into her on the back stairs of my building while we both were taking down the trash. We were startled for a moment. Of course, we didn’t know we lived in the same building.
“Small world,” I said.
“And full of coincidences,” she said. God, I liked her eyes.
It was a Wednesday morning.
“Would you like to come into my kitchen for coffee?” I said.

“I can only stay a minute or two,” she said.
We had an Irish coffee at the dinette table.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s vibrator day, isn’t it?” I said.
“You remembered,” she said with a limp wave of her slender, expressive hand.
I was studying her while trying not to appear too creepy. She was gorgeous, the rich light brown of her smooth skin. That day she was wearing a baggy, college logo sweatshirt that came down just far enough to cover her trim ass.
“So, did you do it?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Pop one for me.”
“Oh! Sure did! Three or four times, as a matter of fact,” I said.
“Wow! Like a fourteen year old!”
“Well, it’s not my personal best, but then, I haven’t been training like I should.”
She laughed. Tracy has a great laugh, lusty and girlish at the same time.

She said, “Can I tell you something? Now don’t take this as a come-on or anything, but I’m not wearing any panties right now.”
“Nobody wears panties on vibrator day, do they?” I said.
Again, she laughed.
Under cover of the kitchen table, I reached down and straighten out an uncomfortable kink. “I think you just gave me a hard-on,” I said.
She smiled to herself.
Moments passed in silence, and more moments. Tracy dipped a tapered fingertip into her Irish coffee and drew something on the Formica table top.
It was an erect penis with balls. She dipped her finger again and added ejaculating cum droplets.
She slid her chair back from the table and raised her deep dark eyes to mine. “Wanna see my invisible undies?” she asked.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“You could jerk off if you want to, in front of me. I wouldn’t mind. But,” she said, raising her palm flat toward

me for emphasis, “don’t try anything funny. I only want to watch, then I’m taking my excited self back downstairs. Back to my toys.”
Tracy slid her chair back further, turning away from the table. I stood, reveal my ungainly bulge. My hand trembled a little as I unzipped. Tracy stretched open her long legs, leaning back and sliding her ass forward a little to show me her cunt.
The sight of it sent a shock of pleasure through me that surely registered on the Richter Scale.
“I’ve never jerked off in front of a woman who wasn’t my girlfriend,” I said, already slightly breathless.
“That’s good,” she said. “Nice to know I’m not living in the same building with a sex offender.”
She touched her cunt lips, massaging gently and sensuously, and I masturbated. My attention narrowed into tunnel vision, blocking out everything except her.
“God you have a strong effect on me,” I said. “I’m there already. I could go off any time. I’m sensitive as hell. God…”
Tracy’s heavy-lidded gaze remained for a long time on

my hand riding up and down my cock shaft. Now and then she raised her eyes to look at my face, then lowered them again.
“I can’t hold it back much longer,” I said quietly.
“Go, baby,” she whispered, pulling open her labia for me.
I said, “Could I get you to do one little thing for me?”
“Like what?” Tracy said.
“Take a piss on my kitchen floor. Right there, the way you are, just piss for me,” I said.
She said nothing, but I saw a twitch in her moist hole, and then the soft inner flesh push slightly outward. Her handsome face went slack with the pleasure of release. A ribbon of sun-yellow pee shot into the air in a high arc and fell splashing onto the tiles like the heavy, warm raindrops of a summer afternoon squall.
I jacked fast and hard, cutting loose completely, shooting my semen globs high. They fell into the fast-spreading pool of urine on the floor, to swim there like white worms.

I couldn’t have been happier.
Afterwards, my partner in crime laughed evilly. “You asked for it,” she said. “Now, you have to clean up the mess.”
She stood up and was out my back door with a quick, two-syllable, “By-ye!”
Now, we have been getting together every Wednesday for several weeks.
I help Tracy celebrate vibrator day and she makes sure that I don’t neglect my jerking off.
We have never actually had basic sex together, intercourse or oral. She almost never touches my prick, brushing it in passing, at most. There are certain acts that she associates with cheating, and wrapping her fingers around a cock is one of them. I don’t mind. I’d be taking care of those duties anyway, if she wasn’t there.
Also, we don’t really kiss. Touch lips, that’s as far as it goes, and that only in greeting, never during playtime.
I am her official masturbation assistant. I play with her cunt, I lose myself in her cunt, I immerse myself in

the heat and the odors of her amazing and wonderful cunt. I have a relationship with her cunt.
I cater to it, bring it presents. I love it. I always work with my prick and balls out of my pants, but often in my concentration I’m not hard, and I don’t bother to starting masturbating until after she leaves.
Usually, by then, I’m dripping, my sac is swollen with pent cum, it’s so brim full it’s seeping.
Today, slim and trim in her bright yellow and black plaid shirt, conveniently pre-fucked by hubby, and having had a breakfast of jizz, Tracy is eager to get straight to the bedroom.
I have a nice little shrine to in there–a large collage with hundreds of photos of her sexy cunt, and a small table where a variety of battery-operated vibrators are always ready.
She tosses her shirt to the floor and lies back, legs wide open, her hands resting palm-up at either side of her head.
“I’m ready for my treatment, doctor,” she says. A pang of guilt perhaps strikes, she such a sweetie, and she

suddenly hikes herself up on one elbow, her brown nipples already erect. She says, “Are you tired of always doing me? Do you want me to…do something for you? I’m not promising anything, but…”
I look at her, spread out naked and loose on my bed, willing to let me explore her body any way I please.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
She changes gears and falls back onto the mattress. “Well, get back to me on that, will ya?”
Today, I begin by lick her anus. She has a nice little bunghole. While I can’t really lick her clit for a prolonged period of time, because that would be oral sex, she lets me freely suck sphincter. She loves, loves, loves it and, apparently, I’m the only person who’s ever zeroed in down there.
Past Wednesdays, she’s had several awe-inspiring orgasms using fingers and a vibrator while I suckle her asshole. After one of those, my head is drenched because I encourage her to let loose and pee freely when she cums. At first, she was reluctant, not because she wasn’t aroused by

the idea, but she thought she might get into the habit and slip up sometime with her husband, who is conservative.
Now, she takes the chance.
“Hey, he never makes me climax, anyway, hardly ever, so how’s he gonna know?” she said one day.
“He sounds more like your father than your husband,” I said.
“Hey, you, shut up,” she said. “Just get me that big three-speed one, and the little one that has a flat, nubbly end and sounds like an angry bumblebee.”
“Sure that’ll be enough?”
“No. Get the blue egg, too, for mah butt.”
That was memorable, but again, back to today. Today, as I lick her asshole, cupping her firm cheeks in my hands and probing the perfect corrugations of her shitter, Tracy shivers.
“You cold?” I say.
“No-oo,” she replies, two-syllable. After a while she said, “I did something else this morning.”
“Mm?” I said.
“I gave myself a enema.”

“Mm.” I said. “Hm!”
“I douched, because I didn’t want there to be any husband molecules in my vagina for you…”
“Mmk-you.”
“Then, I thought, what the heck, do the back door, too…”
“Mm-hm!”
I was getting the message.
I took a breather. “You are so anal,” I said, “though not in the convention sense of the term, as it has come to be used.”
She shoved my head back down, a little roughly, if you ask me. But I raised myself to my knees, then got off the bed.
She lay dead. “Did I fuck up?” she said.
“Have you ever fucked up with me?” I asked. “I’m not your husband. Just shut up for a second, I have an idea. I’ll be right back. Masturbate while I’m gone.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
In the living room I put on a tee shirt and jeans and

shoes and went down to the corner grocery. I bought a banana, two bananas, one soft ripe one with black spots for eating and one still firm for fun.
And a newspaper.
The thought that Tracy might not be there when I returned made me hurry back. But there she was, waiting for me on the bed. Watching a daytime soap.
“You’re supposed to be masturbating. I hope you haven’t cooled off.”
“Don’t worry,’ she said, waving her fingers to shush me, eyes on the TV.
The scene ended, the music came up, and she switched it off with the remote.
“Where’d you go?”
“Store. I got a banana and I’m going to stick it in your ass.”
“I’m getting hungry–can I eat it afterwards?”
“No, that one’s mine,” I said. “Here’s yours.” I gave her the ripe banana.
We were both aroused, very.
Tracy peeled the banana and didn’t fail to circle her

lips around it for my benefit, then also for my benefit, playfully bit the tip off with her white teeth.
“Let’s see how anal you really are,” I said as I dived back down home.
Tracy pulled her knees back and apart. I licked her. I worked up saliva and lubricated her, pressed my lips to her tender star and she relaxed her ass muscles for me, all resistance melting away, the tart door to hell opening, yes. Yes, we understood each other.
That connection thrilled me. I peeled my banana–well, you know what I mean, I mean the banana–drooled some saliva on one end of it and began the job of inserting it the wrong way up Tracy’s back exit.
She lay still, breathing, focusing on keeping herself open. I collected more saliva and spit on it until it glided right down the runway and disappeared into her freshened dark place.
When it was completely swallowed up, not a trace left except for a bit of sauce, I tickled her tight little gateway to another world.
Tracy moaned. A long, low, guttural, moan of otherworldly pleasure.
I grabbed a vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to her clit. She wailed in ecstasy. She screamed staccato shrieks of orgasm and with each outburst her cunt gushed.

Tracy came up the back stairs after her husband left for work. It was Wednesday, at last, a hard day to wait for, the only day she had off from her job while he worked.
Her long chestnut hair was fixed in a pony tail. Her face freshly scrubbed, no make-up. She wore a man’s large flannel shirt, yellow and black plaid, her long, shapely legs bare.
We greet by touching fingertips affectionately, touching lips in a brief and conspiratorial kiss.
“I come to you pre-fucked,” she said wryly. “He threw a quickie into me this morning. I made him pull out and cum in my mouth, though.”
“Yeah?” I said, playfully drawing back.
She chuckled, “Don’t worry. I brushed my teeth.” We went into the living room together and she went to the sofa. “He didn’t make me climax,” she said. “I’m really horny. Nothing like a slam-bang and a mouthful of jizz to get ya started in the morning!”
She sat and spread those long legs, displaying her gorgeous cunt. Never any panties on Wednesday, it’s a bit of a tradition with us.

As she unbuttoned the flannel shirt, I opened my jeans fly and released my genitals. My three-quarters erection quickly rose to salute her electric presence, her lean olive-skinned body, and her solid pelvis with its thick brown roll of succulent labia.
We are not having a relationship, except that of friendship. With us, its all about orgasms. Actually, it’s about masturbation. Weeks earlier, I met Tracy in a small neighborhood bar and we bought each other a drink.
She told me right away that she was married and she was just hanging, she wasn’t in the bar to be picked up.
She said, “Wednesday is vibrator day for me. Once I get a little buzz going, I’m going to go buzz my clit silly.”
“I know what you are talking about,” I said. “Later, I’ll be doing much the same thing, except in my case I’ll be jacking off my dick–and thinking about you, by the way.”
“How sweet!” Tracy said, smiling. She touched my arm. “Pop a big wet juicy one for me!”
“Hey,” I said, “they can’t tell us we don’t have

plans.”
That afternoon I completed my project successfully, stroking for a good hour and a half to porn dvd’s, and thinking about the wholesome twenty-two-year-old with the sultry edge and quick brown eyes, before I went into frenzy mode and let fly a scattershot shower of the old funk juice.
Ten minutes later, I yanked off another load, and ten minutes again after than, still another couple of decent squirts. Finally, maybe half an hour after that, with some effort I managed to cum once more, only a dribble, but I was at peace.
Tracy went out of mind until I bumped into on the back stairs of my building while we both were taking down the trash. We were both startled for a moment. Of course, we didn’t know we lived in the same building.
“Small world,” I said.
“And full of coincidences,” she said.
It was a Wednesday morning.
“Would you like to come into my kitchen for coffee?” I said.

“I can only stay a minute or two,” she said.
We had an Irish coffee at the dinette table.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s vibrator day, isn’t it?” I said.
“You remembered,” she said with a limp wave of her slender, expressive hand.
I was studying her while trying not to appear too creepy. She was gorgeous, the rich light brown of her smooth skin. That day she was wearing a baggy, college logo sweatshirt that came down just far enough to cover her trim ass.
“So, did you do it?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Pop one for me.”
“Oh! Sure did! Three or four times, as a matter of fact,” I said.
“Wow! Like a fourteen year old!”
“Well, it’s not my personal best, but then, I haven’t been training like I should.”
She laughed. Tracy has a great laugh, lusty and girlish at the same time.

She said, “Can I tell you something? Now don’t take this as a come-on or anything, but I’m not wearing any panties right now.”
“Nobody wears panties on vibrator day, do they?” I said.
Again, she laughed.
Under cover of the kitchen table, I reached down and straighten out an uncomfortable kink. “I think you just gave me a hard-on,” I said.
She smiled to herself.
Moments passed in silence, and more moments. Tracy dipped a tapered fingertip into her Irish coffee and drew something on the Formica table top.
It was an erect penis with balls. She dipped her finger again and added ejaculating cum droplets.
She slid her chair back from the table and raised her deep dark eyes to mine. “Wanna see my invisible undies?” she asked.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“You could jerk off if you want to, in front of me. I wouldn’t mind. But,” she said, raising her palm flat toward

me for emphasis, “don’t try anything funny. I only want to watch, then I’m taking my excited self back downstairs. Back to my toys.”
Tracy slid her chair back further, turning away from the table. I stood, reveal my ungainly bulge. My hand trembled a little as I unzipped. Tracy stretched open her long legs, leaning back and sliding her ass forward a little to show me her cunt.
The sight of it sent a shock of pleasure through me that surely registered on the Richter Scale.
“I’ve never jerked off in front of a woman who wasn’t my girlfriend,” I said, already slightly breathless.
“That’s good,” she said. “Nice to know I’m not living in the same building with a sex offender.”
She touched her cunt lips, massaging gently and sensuously, and I masturbated. My attention narrowed into tunnel vision, blocking out everything except her.
“God you have a strong effect on me,” I said. “I’m there already. I could go off any time. I’m sensitive as hell. God…”
Tracy’s heavy-lidded gaze remained for a long time on

my hand riding up and down my cock shaft. Now and then she raised her eyes to look at my face, then lowered them again.
“I can’t hold it back much longer,” I said quietly.
“Go, baby,” she whispered, pulling open her labia for me.
I said, “Could I get you to do one little thing for me?”
“Like what?” Tracy said.
“Take a piss on my kitchen floor. Right there, the way you are, just piss for me,” I said.
She said nothing, but I saw a twitch in her moist hole, and then the soft inner flesh push slightly outward. Her handsome face went slack with the pleasure of release. A ribbon of sun-yellow pee shot into the air in a high arc and fell splashing onto the tiles like the heavy, warm raindrops of a summer afternoon squall.
I jacked fast and hard, cutting loose completely, shooting my semen globs high. They fell into the fast-spreading pool of urine on the floor, to swim there like white worms.

I couldn’t have been happier.
Afterwards, my partner in crime laughed evilly. “You asked for it,” she said. “Now, you have to clean up the mess.”
She stood up and was out my back door with a quick, two-syllable, “By-ye!”
Now, we have been getting together every Wednesday for several weeks.
I help Tracy celebrate vibrator day and she makes sure that I don’t neglect my jerking off.
We have never actually had basic sex together, intercourse or oral. She almost never touches my prick, brushing it in passing, at most. There are certain acts that she associates with cheating, and wrapping her fingers around a cock is one of them. I don’t mind. I’d be taking care of those duties anyway, if she wasn’t there.
Also, we don’t really kiss. Touch lips, that’s as far as it goes, and that only in greeting, never during playtime.
I am her official masturbation assistant. I play with her cunt, I lose myself in her cunt, I immerse myself in

the heat and the odors of her amazing and wonderful cunt. I have a relationship with her cunt.
I cater to it, bring it presents. I love it. I always work with my prick and balls out of my pants, but often in my concentration I’m not hard, and I don’t bother to starting masturbating until after she leaves.
Usually, by then, I’m dripping, my sac is swollen with pent cum, it’s so brim full it’s seeping.
Today, slim and trim in her bright yellow and black plaid shirt, conveniently pre-fucked by hubby, and having had a breakfast of jizz, Tracy is eager to get straight to the bedroom.
I have a nice little shrine to in there–a large collage with hundreds of photos of her sexy cunt, and a small table where a variety of battery-operated vibrators are always ready.
She tosses her shirt to the floor and lies back, legs wide open, her hands resting palm-up at either side of her head.
“I’m ready for my treatment, doctor,” she says. A pang of guilt perhaps strikes, she such a sweetie, and she

suddenly hikes herself up on one elbow, her brown nipples already erect. She says, “Are you tired of always doing me? Do you want me to…do something for you? I’m not promising anything, but…”
I look at her, spread out naked and loose on my bed, willing to let me explore her body any way I please.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
She changes gears and falls back onto the mattress. “Well, get back to me on that, will ya?”
Today, I begin by lick her anus. She has a nice little bunghole. While I can’t really lick her clit for a prolonged period of time, because that would be oral sex, she lets me freely suck sphincter. She loves, loves, loves it and, apparently, I’m the only person who’s ever zeroed in down there.
Past Wednesdays, she’s had several awe-inspiring orgasms using fingers and a vibrator while I suckle her asshole. After one of those, my head is drenched because I encourage her to let loose and pee freely when she cums. At first, she was reluctant, not because she wasn’t aroused by

the idea, but she thought she might get into the habit and slip up sometime with her husband, who is conservative.
Now, she takes the chance.
“Hey, he never makes me climax, anyway, hardly ever, so how’s he gonna know?” she said one day.
“He sounds more like your father than your husband,” I said.
“Hey, you, shut up,” she said. “Just get me that big three-speed one, and the little one that has a flat, nubbly end and sounds like an angry bumblebee.”
“Sure that’ll be enough?”
“No. Get the blue egg, too, for mah butt.”
That was memorable, but again, back to today. Today, as I lick her asshole, cupping her firm cheeks in my hands and probing the perfect corrugations of her shitter, Tracy shivers.
“You cold?” I say.
“No-oo,” she replies, two-syllable. After a while she said, “I did something else this morning.”
“Mm?” I said.
“I gave myself a enema.”

“Mm.” I said. “Hm!”
“I douched, because I didn’t want there to be any husband molecules in my vagina for you…”
“Mmk-you.”
“Then, I thought, what the heck, do the back door, too…”
“Mm-hm!”
I was getting the message.
I took a breather. “You are so anal,” I said, “though not in the convention sense of the term, as it has come to be used.”
She shoved my head back down, a little roughly, if you ask me. But I raised myself to my knees, then got off the bed.
She lay dead. “Did I fuck up?” she said.
“Have you ever fucked up with me?” I asked. “I’m not your husband. Just shut up for a second, I have an idea. I’ll be right back. Masturbate while I’m gone.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
In the living room I put on a tee shirt and jeans and

shoes and went down to the corner grocery. I bought a banana, two bananas, one soft ripe one with black spots for eating and one still firm for fun.
And a newspaper.
The thought that Tracy might not be there when I returned made me hurry back. But there she was, waiting for me on the bed. Watching a daytime soap.
“You’re supposed to be masturbating. I hope you haven’t cooled off.”
“Don’t worry,’ she said, waving her fingers to shush me, eyes on the TV.
The scene ended, the music came up, and she switched it off with the remote.
“Where’d you go?”
“Store. I got a banana and I’m going to stick it in your ass.”
“I’m getting hungry–can I eat it afterwards?”
“No, that one’s mine,” I said. “Here’s yours.” I gave her the ripe banana.
We were both aroused, very.
Tracy peeled the banana and didn’t fail to circle her

lips around it for my benefit, then also for my benefit, playfully bit the tip off with her white teeth.
“Let’s see how anal you really are,” I said as I dived back down home.
Tracy pulled her knees back and apart. I licked her. I worked up saliva and lubricated her, pressed my lips to her tender star and she relaxed her ass muscles for me, all resistance melting away, the tart door to hell opening, yes. Yes, we understood each other.
That connection thrilled me. I peeled my banana–well, you know what I mean, I mean the banana–drooled some saliva on one end of it and began the job of inserting it the wrong way up Tracy’s back exit.
She lay still, breathing, focusing on keeping herself open. I collected more saliva and spit on it until it glided right down the runway and disappeared into her freshened dark place.
When it was completely swallowed up, not a trace left except for a bit of sauce, I tickled her tight little gateway to another world.
Tracy moaned. A long, low, guttural, moan of otherworldly pleasure.
I grabbed a vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to her clit. She wailed in ecstasy. She screamed staccato shrieks of orgasm and with each outburst her cunt gushed.
And the banana shot from her asshole like a torpedo.She lay dead. “Did I fuck up?” she said.
“Have you ever fucked up with me?” I asked. “I’m not your husband. Just shut up for a second, I have an idea. I’ll be right back. Masturbate while I’m gone.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
In the living room I put on a tee shirt and jeans and

shoes and went down to the corner grocery. I bought a banana, two bananas, one soft ripe one with black spots for eating and one still firm for fun.
And a newspaper.
The thought that Tracy might not be there when I returned made me hurry back. But there she was, waiting for me on the bed. Watching a daytime soap.
“You’re supposed to be masturbating. I hope you haven’t cooled off.”
“Don’t worry,’ she said, waving her fingers to shush me, eyes on the TV.
The scene ended, the music came up, and she switched it off with the remote.
“Where’d you go?”
“Store. I got a banana and I’m going to stick it in your ass.”
“I’m getting hungry–can I eat it afterwards?”
“No, that one’s mine,” I said. “Here’s yours.” I gave her the ripe banana.
We were both aroused, very.
Tracy peeled the banana and didn’t fail to circle her

lips around it for my benefit, then also for my benefit, playfully bit the tip off with her white teeth.
“Let’s see how anal you really are,” I said as I dived back down home.
Tracy pulled her knees back and apart. I licked her. I worked up saliva and lubricated her, pressed my lips to her tender star and she relaxed her ass muscles for me, all resistance melting away, the tart door to hell opening, yes. Yes, we understood each other.
That connection thrilled me. I peeled my banana–well, you know what I mean, I mean the banana–drooled some saliva on one end of it and began the job of inserting it the wrong way up Tracy’s back exit.
She lay still, breathing, focusing on keeping herself open. I collected more saliva and spit on it until it glided right down the runway and disappeared into her freshened dark place.
When it was completely swallowed up, not a trace left except for a bit of sauce, I tickled her tight little gateway to another world.
Tracy moaned. A long, low, guttural, moan of otherworldly pleasure.
I grabbed a vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to her clit. She wailed in ecstasy. She screamed staccato shrieks of orgasm and with each outburst her cunt gushed.
And the banana shot from her asshole like a torpedo.