Mike Took Off His Coat ...
Sex Story

Sex Story

Mike took off his coat and glanced nervously around the room. The red light cast eerie shadows against the grotty walls; the king-sized bed with unhygienically stained sheets that sat in one corner seemed to be watching him through the seedy perfume-haze. Mike walked over to a peeling cabinet and poured himself a large scotch. The footsteps on the stairs were getting louder.
Mica entered the room. She was wearing black fishnet stockings and very high red court shoes. Her barely disguised suspender belt showed hideous stains and her visible panties were in need of repair. She fiddled with her leather-look mini dress.
"Would you mind?" she asked Mike, motioning to the ominous zip that went from the top of her ample bosom to the wetness of her lower regions. Mike, with trembling fingers, obliged. The whiteness of Mica's bouncy large breasts was startling and Mike instinctively put his head between them as his hands fumbled with her underwear. He could feel the bulge in his trousers and it was becoming unbearable. Sweat trickled down his flushed cheeks as she slowly unfastened his belt.
"Ooh, who's a big boy, then?" purred Mica as she freed Mike's trusty weapon. Licking her lips suggestively, she dropped down on her knees and very gently began to lick his throbbing testicles. Her smudged red mouth clamped itself firmly around Mike's ample manhood as he groaned and lost his fingers in her hair. Removing her mouth, Mica dropped onto all fours.
"Stick it to me hard, loverboy," she groaned, motioning to her dew-drenched pussy.
Mike plunged his whopper into her moistened love tunnel and thrust hard. Shuddering, they reached climax together.
"That'll be ten pound fifty," said Mica, wiping his sperm off her thighs with a tissue.

Paris The Pilchard

Once upon a time there was a miniature pilchard called Paris. He came from a long generation of slow developers, which was lucky when he wanted to get into a very small hole.
One day Paris was drinking lemon tea when he suddenly noticed a peculiar coloured fungus behind the toaster. On closer inspection he found it to be a transfer which had somehow been placed there by an absent-minded biology professor. On finishing his elevenses, Paris embarked on a shopping spree. He purchased a very fetching umbrella but had a somewhat difficult time locating a pair of shoes in a matching shade of indigo.
He ate some toast and swam away to Portugal to work in a hamburger factory.

December 1994

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