I've been thinking about DANGEROUS sex today. It's been a while since I've indulged in that variety of my favorite activity, but I have an irresistible urge to talk about two notable events in my shady past. They both involve the man who was a god to me, specifically, the goat-god, Pan. Pan, the god of debauchery and lust. The man-Pan-god had cast a spell on me, turning me into a demented, lust-crazed slut. We were both married (to someone else) at the time, so it wasn't easy finding a safe place to play. That didn't stop us though; I would have fucked him in Times Square or dangling from a flagpole; anything, any place, anytime...just to have one more, oh please pan-god, just one more flaming, banging, exploding orgasm unlike anything I had experienced or even imagined before. So where, you may be wondering, were the most dangerous places/circumstances in which we indulged ourselves? Oh my, it's hard for me to concentrate on typing right now, I may have to take a bedroom break.
Okay, where was I? Oh yes, driving my old, tangerine-orange Toyota Celica down the highway at about 70 mph, with Pan-man sitting next to me. We had come from the office, and I was dressed up, wearing pantyhose under my short skirt. P-m was telling me what he would like to be doing to my pussy and I was wild with wanting him. Then he reached under my skirt and started exploring. "Hey, you've got a hole in your pantyhose!" And in no time, I did, thanks to his deft, strong fingers. His fingers moved, sliding in my juices, stroking, squeezing, gliding, pulsing until Mount Vulvuvius erupted. Don't ask me how I kept control of the car. I have no idea; but I guess I did, since I lived to tell the tale.
Whew, I'm exhausted. Part 2 will have to wait until tomorrow.