To say I was horny would be akin to saying the sun is hot or the ocean is deep. Recent events had launched my libido on a crash course towards full-blown nymphomania. Although I got royally pounded, hard, fast, and deep, I woke up three times in the night with my fingers dancing over clit and turned those fingers into a violent mosh pit of orgasmic masturbation. In the morning, I woke up horny and forced my poor boyfriend to fuck me, bent over the arm of the couch, before I let him leave. It took a large plug up my ass, a huge dildo in my dripping cunt, and another toy on my clit before I was even sated enough to even think about going into work.

Not caring that it was one of the coldest days of the winter, I dressed provocatively, wearing only a flowing, boho-style, gypsy dress, thin enough to drape seductively over my figure rather than to hide it. Warm, fur-lined boots were my only other bits of attire. Not bothering to overly style my hair, I went for big and bold, all puffed out, wind-tossed, looking more like a fiery lion’s mane than my preferred, slightly curled look.

I even let some of my facial freckles show through, opting for stark, slutty makeup with enough eyeliner to headline a punk concert and enough red lipstick to cause a shortage. My doppelganger in the mirror looked like a trashy slut. It was perfect.

Work went slowly, crawling along at an agonizing pace. Most of my morning was spent up in my office, fingering myself. A huge Sharpie stuffed in my pussy while I rubbed the cold, hard steel of my stapler against my clit helped for a moment. The corner of my desk alleviated my burning need for a short while longer.

The new sales representative of our office supply company gave me a call to introduce himself and to chat about my needs. If he only knew. He had a confident, smooth, deep voice that dripped with honey. My honey was dripping; I peppered the conversation with double-entendres and innuendo, fingering myself to orgasm while he talked. I wonder if he figured out that I was fucking myself to his voice.

Lunchtime finally came, after I did at least a half-dozen times, and I told my staff that I was going to take an extended lunch to take care of something “very urgent.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie. Despite the wintry chill, I didn’t bother with my coat. Strutting the two blocks to a little wine bar, never busy this time of day, I hoped that he’d be there.

Mike is his name and he sometimes works the day shift. I’ve seen him there several times. He’s young, handsome, muscular, and safe. He’s also seen my dripping pussy on more than one occasion. I had something different in mind. I intended to give him more than an innocent flash, much more.

Strangers eyed up my too-small, bouncing breasts, my nipples sticking out proudly in front of me. I felt eyes burning into my ass as I strutted, thinking that I heard the screeching of tires locking up as my wiggle endangered traffic. I greedily accepted their leers and stares but I needed more.

He was there. It was also his lucky day.

“Miss Krystal, it may take me some time to serve you. As you can see, we’re extremely busy, today.”

“Hiya Mike, how’s your sexy self?”

I was the only patron in the place. I had to suppress a smile when his eyes locked on my hard nipples.

“Are you looking at my tits?” My accusatory tone had the perfect guilt-inducing timbre.

His face reddened, his eyes cast themselves downwards in shame. They sprung back up when I turned the latch to lock the entrance door and turned the sign around to read “CLOSED.”

“I’m sorry,” he began, ”wait, what are you doing? I’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh, you’re in trouble, all right,” I smiled as my hands reached up to cup my bosoms. “I’m hungry, but not for food or wine.”

Like a cat ready to pounce, I sashayed towards him, opening the front of my dress to reveal my nudity. The dress floated down to the glossy wooden floor as he looked at me, too stunned for words.

I continued. “I’ll give you a choice. You can either fuck me on the bar or behind it; either way I want you to cum all over my tits.” I tweaked my nipples to add emphasis.

Climbing onto the bar top, on my hands and knees, I grabbed his bow tie and pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. He may have been stunned to silence, but his cock had risen to action. My wandering hand soon felt its thick hardness. Wrapping my arms around him, his hands cupping my ass, my cunt-juice soaking his fingers, I used his body to climb down, placing myself behind the bar, strategically against his hard, handsome body.

“I, ah, I can’t,” he protested.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to walk out of here and find somebody who will.”

I didn’t wait for an answer, merely unbuttoned his shirt, delighting at his broad, muscular chest. Kissing my way down his torso, pulling at his belt, then all but tearing his pants off of him, I freed his cock and plunged my mouth over it.

“I can’t believe this,” he chortled.

“Shut up and fuck my face.”

Grabbing his buns in my hands, I pulled his length into me, pistoning and moaning all over his cock. Saliva dripped from my whorish lips; gasps escaped his. I plunged up and down so hard and fast that my neck hurt. I could feel it begin to swell in my mouth. He was close to cumming. Sadistically, I stopped and bent over the washbasin behind the bar.

“Now, fucking fuck me, fuck me, fuck me now. Take me from behind.”

Mike’s hands grabbed my hips. I could feel the tip of his hardness gently probing at the opening of my dripping pussy.

“Not like that. Ram it in, fuck me hard.”

Finally, he thrust all the way inside me. My floodgates opened, soaking his turgid member, my secretions puddling on the floor between my spread legs. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, stronger; the wash-basin was moving with each pound, my moans combining with the scraping noise, creating a symphony of sex.

“Fuck me harder; spank me. Harder. Tell me what a slut I am. Harder, Faster. Please fuck me. Fuck me.”

My sexual victim could do naught but moan. That was fine, I was in a talkative mood.

“Don’t you think I’m a huge fucking slut, coming in here, stripping, and fucking you like a dirty whore? Spank me harder. Spank your fucking slut. I know you wanted to fuck me. Fuck that cunt like it's yours. You own that pussy. Take it. Harder. Fuck me with that cock.”

The frenzied fuck grew frenetic, his moans coming in quick gasps, mine coming out in one drawn-out ecstatic whimper.

“I’m cumming,” he shouted as his flailing arm knocked several wine glasses to the floor, their shattering adding melody to the harmony of our fucking.

Quickly maneuvering around, squatting, I held onto his cock with one hand, pumping it so quickly my hand seemed a blur. My other hand was assaulting my clit, bringing myself near to orgasm.

“Cum on me, you fucking stud. Shoot your seed all over my fucking tits.”

That pushed him over the edge. He unleashed a primal growl to the heavens, his cock erupting. Shooting like a geyser, the first stream of burning-hot cum splashed right between my breasts. The second spurt painted my nipple, covering it in sticky white goo.

The dirtiness of the moment overtook me, causing me to erupt as well. “I’m fucking cumming. Keep cumming on me…” words refused to form as my moans overtook me.

Losing my balance, cum-slicked ass landing on the floor, my orgasm possessed me, blanking me into a void of pleasure then finally letting me breathe, see, and think again. Mike helped me up, allowing me to pause to suck the rest of his cum from his deflating lance. Standing, basking in his lusty stare, fingers playing in the semen covering my upper torso, I gave his cock a little pat.

“Thanks, Mike. I needed that.” Not bothering to wipe his spunk off my skin, I picked up my dress, got dressed, unlocked the door, and headed back to work.

That should hold me over until I get home. As I type this, I can still smell his jizz on my chest.