one night stand
Dear Diary: I’m so horny I could fuck a horse!
Diane paused to read the entry she had just printed into
her diary, a wicked little smile bending her lips. Suddenly
inspired, she added: Make that two horses, please, WITH
BIG DICKS!
It was a warm day in early August. Diane lay on her stomach
in her bed, dressed only in a t-shirt and a pair of baggy gym
shorts. A cool breeze wafted in through an open window,
smelling of honeysuckle and damp earth—the fragrances
of the country. Now Diane dropped her pen to the bed, and
with her eyes closed, slid both hands beneath her hips.
Her fingers immediately found her horny spot, and she pushed
down hard with her hips, once, twice, three times.
She was going to masturbate. Diane knew it at once, and had
known it ten minutes earlier when she turned the lock on
her bedroom door. All day long she had been on “red
alert, ” as her friend Lisa liked to say, her thighs
and pussy alive with hunger. And now...now she was going
to make things worse. She could use her fingers, or she could
use the special antiperspirant bottle she kept in her drawer.
Two hours later she would only be hornier than ever. What
she wanted, needed, for once in her life was a man. No, forget
the man: all she needed was a hard cock, warm and pulsing,
with plenty of jism to pump into her ripe, virgin little
pussy. Let her ride on that for, oh, say a month, and she might
even be sane again.
Diane had worked her fingers into her shorts and was prodding
gently at the little button of moist flesh in her crotch,
her hips working slowly around and around, up and down.
One finger poked at her pussy hole, pushed into it. She shivered
and pushed with her hips, and suddenly it was as if a wall
were coming down inside her. For months she had been toying
with a thought too dangerous to contemplate, not really
thinking it—just playing with it. Now it came into
her mind clear and unrestrained. What she needed to do was
get out of Pisga, away from all the cattle farms and the Bible-toting
boys with blocky haircuts and the TV commercials urging
you to try the new weed ‘n feed with the patented baloney
additive. She knew exactly where she wanted to go, too:
Los Angeles, where her horny, beautiful cousin Susan lived
these days and could provide her with a room and a bed for
a while.
For years, much of the family’s table talk had been
about Susan and the way she was “rather liberal with
herself, ” as Diane’s father liked to say.
Diane had long ago decided that in plain words Susan was
a slut, which exactly suited her needs. Even if Susan did
have a high-powered job now and had given up some of her wild
ways, she would understand it if her younger cousin seemed
to have a different guy in her bedroom every night. She could
do her own thing, and there would be no harsh words between
them.
Realizing she was now too horny only to use her fingers,
in a single quick motion she flipped over on her back and
stripped off her shorts and panties, then kicked them toward
the door. By the time they fell to the carpet she had her drawer
open and was clutching at the special antiperspirant bottle
with the rounded cap.
The bottle was large, and sometimes it hurt going into her,
at least at first. She doubted if that was going to be a problem
this time, though. Thinking about moving out to LA and getting
her pussy full of cock on a nightly basis had made her even
more wet than normal.
With a quirky little smile that would later guarantee her
all the sex she ever needed from adoring males, Diane lay
back on the bed and very deliberately positioned the bottle
at the mouth of her pussy, pushed once, gently, then slammed
it up inside her.
Across Diane’s room from her was her dresser mirror;
she looked into it and saw an eighteen-year-old girl with
long blonde hair, her feet spread wide apart and her hips
lifted off the bed, the butt end of a glass antiperspirant
bottle sticking out of her pussy.
Smiling at herself in the mirror—she always liked
the way she looked at these times—she worked the
bottle in and out, in and out, going faster and faster, her
eyes never leaving the mirror. As she pushed the bottle
into her, her ass pumped up and down, keeping rhythm. From
far off she heard the doorbell ring. Diane listened to it
with a slight feeling of regret. Lisa had said she’d
be over in a couple of minutes, which was now.
She had to stop, only she noticed she didn’t.
Only the night before she and Lisa had stayed up talking
about this and that, but mainly about boys and sex, sex,
sex. The more they had talked, the more excited they had
gotten, and toward the end of the evening they had been sitting
on her bed wearing t-shirts and panties, and the room had
smelled of wet pussies.
“I swear, Diane, your pussy smells ripe enough to
eat, ” Lisa had said, and laughed.
Diane remembered she had said, “Yeah, but you know
there aren’t any boys in Pisga that eat pussy. This
is the deadest place in the whole world.”
To which Lisa had replied, “Well if you want somebody
to eat your pussy, you should let me do it. I’ll bet
I’d be good at it.”
After that they had talked about eating pussy for quite
a while, even discussing different things they could do
with their tongues, but for some reason talk had been as
far as it had gotten. Too scared, Diane thought. What we
needed was something to give us a shove.
The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time. Deep
in her hips an orgasm was building, a warm pleasant feeling
that threatened to take control of her thoughts, her feelings—her
hands.
Abruptly, without thought, Diane slammed her ass onto
the mattress and squeezed her pussy tight. She worked the
bottle in and out, slowly, the feelings much more intense
now because of the greater friction.
One more. One more.
She was losing it, about to orgasm. An orgasm would be fine,
she thought...but talking to Lisa in the mood she was in
now, before she orgasmed, would be much, much nicer. She
would be horny out of her mind, and Lisa was always horny.
Who could tell what would happen.
Her fingers worked the bottle, again and again, taking
her further and further into danger.
She stopped. With icy resolve, Diane plucked the antiperspirant
bottle from her gushing pussy, wiped it on her t-shirt with
a grin. The bottle went back in its drawer, she into her shorts—forget
the panties—and in less than a minute she was down
the steps and at the front door, horny and sweaty and breathing
hard, her pussy still trembling on the verge of an orgasm.
“That certainly took long enough.”
Lisa stood in the doorway, her bare sun-tanned arms held
across her chest in a comical impatient-Indian pose.
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