Hi, I’m Jenny, I like to create erotic scenes and characters in order to help me turn on and get off.  I love to enhance and embellish while I lay naked on my futon. My cunt throbbing, my juices flowing and my clit growing,

I can feel myself galloping down an old country road at midnight. My legs opened wide by the girth of the saddle. I visualize my rise in the stirrups. My pelvis rocks and I slide up and down the saddle with a superior glide. The friction excites me and the heat lights me.

I like to dress the part. I imagine a tight fitting cap that binds my hair, a doublet over my ruffle shirt, and sleek jodhpurs fitted into long, slender, black riding boots­­­­­.

So as I strum away under the hood of my expanding pearl, I can see a castle gate up ahead in the moonlight. I whip my riding crop over my horse’s ass in order to quicken the pace.

Once there, I dismount and bang on the port, while I, simultaneously, pound my pillow.

A slot opens after awhile, and a mustache under a pair of beady, dark eyes appears in the shadows.

“Yes sir, how can I be of service?” he says. (I enjoy passing for a man, so I make it so!)

“I have a warrant for the arrest of the Mask of the Red Death!” I yell.

“My jolly good fellow, I know just where he’s hiding.” He raises the barrier and says, “Follow me.”

Traveling down a torch lit corridor, we move to a huge walnut paneled room. Its shelves are filled with books.

He throws a ladder against the wall. Up the rungs he advances. As he ascends, his tremendous cock shows beneath his night shirt.  I am absolutely not interested!

He jumps down and hands me a book. “Here you go. You will find him on page 119. I should know; I created the rascal!”

In my mind, I take that book and turn to page 119. In a picture of the castle galley, I can see the ugly bastard!

I seize the devil and yank him right off the page. I shake him and rip off his mask.

 I feel the surge of wonderment that my manufactured surprise gives me when I behold the beautiful woman beneath. She casts off her red robe to bare herself. I am captured by her exquisitely round breasts and I am completely overwhelmed by her milky white skin, emerald eyes and long flowing red hair.

Of course, I have known in advance how sweet this vision makes me feel as I squeeze my kegel bar within the walls of my pussy.

And still, I delineate more drama so I can receive more pleasure!

Now with tentativeness appropriate to the new situation, I say, “You are…ah… under arrest for crimes against humanity.”

“Wait, no please, you’ve got it all wrong! You are mistaken! You’ve got the wrong person!”

“Stop your whining, you protest too much.”

Or should I delay and make her beg? No, definitely not, my cucci is getting impatient!

I want to be taken immediately and I like it rough. So here goes…

She slaps me across the face. “You little fool, I am not the Mask of the Red Death, I am the Mask of La Petite Mort!"

“Well then, show me what you can do, bitch.”

She knocks off my hat and my hair tumbles down. I then have her pluck off my jacket and rip my shirt down to my waist and strip down my pantalonies and peel off my boots. That foray leaves me as I am without panties and with swollen nipples!

La Petite Mort grabs my hand, “Let’s tango!”

The violin plays and Liana sings Estrela da Terde.

“My love, my love

My evening star

The Moon is rising and my body is waiting for you

My love

I am not certain

If you are my joy or my sorrow”

I feel her face close to mine and I whisper, “Besame mucho.”

She draws me to her body and I can feel her wildness. We are crotch to crotch, nipple to nipple. (Just the way I like it!) She advances slowly like a Tai Chi master, kicks my foot aside and enters her foot between my legs. Her upper thigh tilts my pussy just enough to move me backward, step by step. (In my bed I rub my fattening labium together.)

La Petite Mort withdraws her leg and swivels me left and then right, making the walls of my vagina squeeze and compress. (I follow along in my bed squirting lightly.) Then she ushers me to a karaoke step which she matches by moving laterally. She leads me to a pivot, then a swoon. Continuing, she brings me upright to a pirouette. Twirling and swirling, we tango. She drags me like a ragdoll, lifts me up and throws me towards the ceiling. La Petite Mort supports my hips and guides my legs to grip her shoulders so that my quim lies exposed to her ravishing tongue.  She is lapping, lapping at my pussy door. (In my bed, my Lady Flower is starting to gush.)

She continues making love to me. She somersaults me forward and gives me a kiss. We whirl like dervishes. Our tongues swim and forage together. We collapse to the floor. We are now scarlet gash to scarlet gash. We trib away, slipping and sloshing about. We screw Nuru style and grind on each other. Viscous and thick, our juices mix in a high tide of delight! (Ho!)

We are blood sisters, howling and growling, united by the full moon. We bleed into each other, sharing wounds of bliss. Our copious fluids meet and join us together.

I groan (I’m about to come big!) yet I stop myself so I can hear all her cries and whispers, echoing from so far away. “Besame mucho,amiga…ah,ah,ah”

(Time for the Rabbit, I put it in and turn it on. Baby, you are such a smooth operator! I squirt and splash all over the sheets and books and I am ready to go again but…)

It’s time to take a shower and prepare for American Lit. class and Ms. Green.  I love her. She likes to flirt and wink. Conversely, I haven’t been able to share my feelings or fantasies with her or take things further. It’s a confusing situation except when I’m masturbating. During which time, everything feels so good and clear instead of awkward and strange.  In certain circumstances, I would like her to touch me. Although in class I don’t particularly appreciate it.

When the shower nozzle is on my jewel, there is no ambivalence. I see Ms. Green in her red mohair sweater and her delicate pink sun dress and it gives me the courage to tell her that I want for her to accompany me to the milonga; that I desire to dance with her and that I want to  make love to her. I want my hand on the small curve of her lower back and I want to kiss her deeply.  Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to tell her yet!

When I see her in class she always gives me a wink.  Sometimes she places her hand on my shoulder. Occasionally, she even nudges my foot with hers. But she’s never around after class, always driving away in her purple jaguar before I can get to speak to her privately. Her favorite thing is to sit on her desk, crossing and uncrossing her meaty thighs and coyly observing whoever is most interested in what's between them.

Once she caught me looking and gave me the sweetest smile. She then called me up to her desk, lay her arm around my waist and asked me to analyze a passage that she just happened to be reading at the time,

“a little mermaid lived in a sea closet in the basement of a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.” She wanted me to tell her what the author was trying to say.

“Maybe something about repression,” I said hesitantly. Damn, I was so wet! Admittedly, I was also  uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Correct, my darling” she said emphatically. I remember that her big ojos verde were beaming at me and that Ms. Green squeezed my body firmly with extra emphasis, so much so, that her breasts squished up against me. (Gets me wet every time I think of it.)

Well, with my shower head near, I dream of escorting you to the Tango Queer in Argentina and I would sit you down for a drink of whiskey.  Under the table my foot would caress your calf and climb your thigh until my toes reached your nest and then we would get up and tango to the La Cumparsita with one of my hands on your marvelous ass and my other hand up your slit.

 Anyway, (I remember), once I am finally ready to leave for class, I peek out the window and I see Liz, my best friend. She is waiting at the corner in her yellow T-Bird convertible, all set to drive me to school. When I get to the car she, apparently, senses my restlessness and asks if I’m okay? She really caught my vibe!

“Yeah,” I nod, “class is getting a little intense!” Liz suggests we head for the beach.

“Great idea!” I say, “Let’s go!” We take off.

 I hadn’t seen her lately, so I ask her what’s been happening?

Liz tells me she’s been hanging out with some surfer girls at the beach. She informs me with a wide grin that they’ve been teaching her how to surf.

“Yeah, Liz,” I say, “I like to get up on a board once in a while, too.”

“No, that’s not what I mean, Jenny,” she said pointedly.

She slows the car down and drives off the road and parks in a pleasant shady spot under some coastal oaks, (She planned it all along, no doubt.) Liz gazes directly into my eyes. She reaches over and strokes my thigh and studies my face inquisitively for my reaction. I part my legs a bit. Liz casually surfs her hand all the way up to my muffin. I am positively soaking by the time she reaches her target! (OMG!)

“Jenny” she says, “I…,”

She leans over and opens her lips. I open mine as well. Her kiss tastes like the sea.

“Jenny,” she gulped, “I think we could be lovers,” she says while she skims her hand down to my pussy.

“I agree,” I say as I extend my arm and let my fingers pet her nipples and trace down her stomach all the way to her very wet Lady Flower. Feeling adventurous, I soon add my tongue to her muffin.  Ah, the salty taste of the sea combined with sweet fragrance of the ocean!

In the aftermath, I joke, “I guess surfer girls are pretty good teachers, Liz.!”

“Yes, they most certainly are! Surfer girls are also supremely hot, Jenny, but they are not anywhere near as hot as you!” she says with a great big smile on her kisser.

We embrace and have a good laugh.

Then Liz started the convertible and we headed for the beach again, with the wind blowing freely through our hair and our clothes. The sunshine gleamed brightly through the heavenly blue sky, providing to us the first of many sparkling California adventures.