Stocking Fillers - Erotica by Mouna Lott, T.H.Rusty Page B

it,' he
replies, his eyes wandering dangerously low.
    'Well then, I
think I have just what you need, follow me'.
    Smiling as she
turns around Michaels eyes wander down to the green foil like skirt
as it barely contains her ass. He's followed far worse he thinks to
himself. She leads him round the corner to what he only can think
is the loading bay, pallets and boxes strewn everywhere.
    'So....do all
the late night shoppers get this treatment?' he asks.
    'Oh shut up
and get in here,' she orders.
    Pushing him up
against the side of a small office she kicks the door shut and
jumps on him, grabbing his arms in the process.
    'We don't have
a lot of time,' she whispers to him as her lips brush his ear,
nibbling slightly as his hands follow round her body.
    'Fine by me,'
he hastily replies, his hands feeling down her body to the edges of
her skirt.
    Her hands get
to work in the same way, following down his body and working away
on his belt. Their kisses are hard, lustful, an explosion of
passion. For every connecting kiss there are several that end in
small bites, licks and bruises. There is no pandering to romantic
notions here.
    'Pick me up,
now!' she orders again, locking eyes in that way that means
business.
    'Yes
ma'am!'
    His hands
reach down and hitch the skirt high, feeling the curve of her ass
as his fingers hem around the edge of her panties.
    'Side tie
baby.'
    He needs no
more incentive. Quickly undoing the sides, her panties flutter to
the floor, maybe this was where the bow was really.
    Her hands have
also worked their magic on his lower half, his trousers just
'magically' now lying around his ankles. Her hands are warm to the
touch, making short work of his ever increasing manhood. He could
have thought about anything right now and it wouldn't matter, he's
getting hard and it is good. Her hands slide up and down his shaft
slowly, massaging him again and again. He can feel the blood drain
from his body in to his cock, aching to be used. His fingers ease
her pussy open to prepare her, and she doesn't need much. His
fingers are already wet as he slides one in, the whispers of hair
pointing him to the good spot. He can feel the heat radiating off
her pussy, begging for more.
    In one
movement she hops up on Michael and kisses him deeply, wrapping her
legs around him high up his body. His hands move to his own cock
and lead it to the sweet spot, much to her joy. He eases in to her,
feeling her muscles let him in, but only just. His eyes roll back
as the feeling over comes him, her body doing everything in its
power to pull him in. He feels his cock shudder and grow to it's
limits, filling her and causing her to moan out wildly. He can feel
her legs tighten around his sides as he pushes deeper in to her.
She picks herself up and begins to really push down on him, her ass
slapping down harder and harder. She kisses him harder and harder,
the pace quickening as their bodies work in unison.
    'You back here
Eve? We've got people waiting,' a voice calls out.
    Both of them
freeze in an instant, and before they know it they are giggling to
themselves. She pushes down on him a few more times, slowing the
pace as they look at each other. Sliding off him she keeps her eyes
locked.
    'Well, I guess
I better get back out there...see you at home?'
    Michael smiles
at her, brushing her cheek.
    'Of course,
but could you do me a favour?'
    'Honey we
don't have time to finish,' she laughs.
    'Not that you
minx...but could you get me a present for Auntie Violet?'
    She smiles at
him one more time before kissing again.
    'Merry
Christmas baby.'

 
     
    Ghost of Christmas
Past
     
    by
    Mouna Lott
     
    The first time
I ever did it was at the back of a beach in a pine wood. We were
both on family holidays. We were both eighteen and about to go off
to college. That one idyllic summer of love. We proclaimed our love
to each other under the starry sky. We made love outdoors. The
rough bark against my back, our fumbling impatient fingers. The
intoxicating