Category: teleiophile

The Sex Addict

The Sex Addict

It probably started with tumblr porn. Masturbating under her sheets late on a hot sleepless night while she looked at the images on the screen of her Apple laptop. Everything interested her. From the everyday acts of mundane missionary penetration to the seemingly endless alternate ways that sexual congress can be consummated. Human beings are nothing if not inventive when it comes to finding ways to reach sexual release.

That was her situation. She needed orgasms. Lot of them. One or two a night wasn’t enough. She would finger herself relentlessly, constantly searching for that one last piece of sublime physical ecstasy before she collapsed back onto the bed in sweaty exhaustion. Finally, her body would overrule the pleasure centers of her mind in deciding that a state of deep sleep would take over until she would wake up refreshed the next morning.

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t a logical person. Her day job demanded that she be a cold factual automaton. Every working day she would sit through meetings where the meaning of obscure legal terms would be parsed and byzantine contractual clauses constructed with mathematical rigor. But after the workday was done, the human being inside her would stop pretending it was an objective calculating machine and demand that her brain be flooded with dopamine. Lots of dopamine. And the most direct route to that was to cum.  Not once, not twice, but many times, repeatedly.

She often wondered why her logical self didn’t push back on these demands by her body. She managed to be rational and controlled for the eight hours of her working day. It seemed though that the need for sexual release in the adult human sex-addict comes second only to the need for food. Orgasms were her heroine, a fix she absolutely had to have, no matter how much time it consumed.

For the viewer of pornography it’s more about seeing the act performed vicariously than being a participant. However, it can get the point where not being a participant isn’t enough anymore and that was when she started to have sex with much older men. The age-gap porn on tumblr had always been one of the most frequent triggers for her deepest, most satisfying climaxes. She could cum endlessly to watching young women like herself being penetrated by men three times their age. Men with large fat bellies. Men with no hair, Men who would be the last person anyone would have ever pictured her having sex with.

But to satisfy her need she soon found herself being fucked by just such a male specimen. And she loved it!

Millennials

Millennials

“A person reaching adulthood in the early twentieth first century” was the dictionary definition of a millennial. His personal definition was a young woman in her early twenties capable of creating havoc in the life of an middle-aged baby boomer like himself. To begin with, there was his daughter. As a single father, he loved her to bits and was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her safe and happy. The problem was that millennials like her were graduating from college and entering an economy that generated jobs, but only of the low paying service kind. With the inexorable rise in housing costs, it was inevitable she would end up living at home rent-free, spending her days either working in Urban Outfitters or socializing with her friends and often borrowing his car and needing some of his money. It was a little frustrating for him but such was the world that his generation had built so it was partly his fault,

Then, one day over evening dinner, his daughter asks an innocent question. “Can my college friend Ivy come to stay, dad? She wants to try for some corporate internships in the city and the commuting distance is so much shorter from here! Please dad?” The name didn’t ring any bells but then his daughter had gained a wide circle of acquaintances when she was studying. The term “friend” could mean anything on a scale from ‘we met a couple of times at parties’ to ‘she was the BFF shoulder i always cried on when I was down’. In the end, he knew his daughter had fairly good judgement when it came to people so he said yes. Could living with two millennials be that much worse than one?

A few days later, he came home to find a strange bag in the hallway and the sound of two young woman gossiping coming from the furthest end of the house. He entered the kitchen to find his daughter and a young woman he couldn’t recall meeting before, sitting drinking coffee around the kitchen table. His daughter stood up first. “Dad, this is Ivy.” The other young woman stood up and offered him her hand to shake. “I’m so pleased to meet you Mister St.Clare. And so, so glad you’ll let me stay here while i go for interviews.” He took her hand in his and held it for a moment while he looked her in the eyes. Her held felt soft and gentle in his and her brown eyes shone with the youthful excitement. She wasn’t exactly a clone of his daughter, but she had a remarkable similarity in her body shape and the way she moved. Her hair was cut in a similar style to his daughters and even the light makeup she was wearing seemed to have been applied in a similar way. He let go of her hand as the two girls spoke excitedly about what they planned to do together that evening. As they spoke, he pretended to listen but was distracted by the memory of Ivy’s hand in his and the physical reaction its touch induced in him. He gazed at her as she talked about all the interviews she had lined up and realized he was strongly attracted to her.

Being sexually attracted to a friend of his daughter’s should have come as no surprise. He was a regular viewer late at night of Internet porn and the porn he loved the most was to be found on tumblr age-gap blogs. There was no better sexual stimulation that looking at images of men his own age with their cocks buried deep inside the pussy of a young woman his daughter’s age. But the fantasy stopped short of the young woman actually being his daughter. The idea of that was something he couldn’t comprehend let alone be aroused by. However, Ivy was not his daughter so being attracted to her seemed totally reasonable.

After the three of them had eaten their first evening meal together, the young women went out to get a late evening coffee together and he decided to go to be bed early. That is, he went to bed so he could masturbate to the memory of looking at Ivy across the dinner table. After he came, he fell asleep but was woken just before midnight by the girls coming back. He could hear their voices as his daughter showed Ivy the guest room which shared a wall with his own bedroom, then the sound of water running from the bathroom. Goodnights were said and the television in the guest room was turned on at a low volume.

Perhaps someone should have told Ivy how thin the wall was between her room and the master bedroom but that night he liked the sound that was leaking through from her room to his. She was watching a late night talk show and as he lay there in the bed he started to masturbate again while he imagined Ivy laying naked in the bed a short distance from his. He hadn’t quite cum yet when the television was switched off and he guessed Ivy would then turn over in bed and go to sleep. Instead, after a moments silence, he heard a very faint buzzing sound, like a mosquito on the other side of the room.

With his erect penis still in his hand he softly slid out of bed and stealthily walked across the carpet to the wall of the guest bedroom. The buzz became slightly louder so he slowly put his ear to the wall at the point behind which he judged the guest bed was located. Instead of just the buzz, he could now hear the sound of soft female moans, moans of pleasure. With his ear stuck to the wall, he couldn’t help but stroke his cock harder. In the bed on the other side, he realized that Ivy was masturbating with a vibrator and as he heard the final heavy breaths of her orgasm, he shot his load onto the carpet. As he crept back to bed, he thought how he’d have to sponge down the carpet stains the next day.

The next morning at breakfast, there was no sign that Ivy had any idea about his eavesdropping the night before. He brewed some coffee and walked around the kitchen table pouring it into the girl’s mugs as they chatted. Ivy hadn’t changed into her interview clothes yet and was just wearing a loose fitting plaid shirt undone at the top. As he stood next to her filling her cup, he was able to look down the front of the shirt and get a clear view of her wonderful bra-less breasts nestling behind the fabric. He knew the memory of those oh-so-suckable nipples would be mental fodder for some intense self-pleasuring later.

He had to go out as well that morning but when he came back mid-afternoon, the house was still empty. He assumed Ivy had decided to spend the whole day in the city so he went upstairs to the guest bedroom. He pushed her door open slowly and his heart beat a little faster as he went inside. He looked around at the unmade bed, the makeup containers on the table and the half unpacked bag on the floor. He went over to the bed and knelt down so he could bury his nose in the sheets and breath in the smell she had left on them. He stood back up and slowly pulled opened the drawer next to the bed. Inside was a pink shiny plastic vribrator. He picked it up carefully by the end of the handle between thumb and forefinger as though he was a detective trying not to destroy evidence. He brought the rounded end of the next toy up to his nose and took some deep breaths. The smell of her juices on the plastic made him rub his cock though the loose tracksuit pants he was wearing.

He was about to place the vibrator back in the drawer as close to its original position as possible when he had an idea. He held it up vertically in front of his mouth and took four long, wet licks that ended at the rounded tip. Then he placed it back in the drawer and slowly closed it again. It was his way being just once removed from actually licking her cunt.

By this time, he’d graduated from rubbing his dick through his sweatpants to put his hand inside them and stroking himself directly. He was standing there with his eyes closed thinking about the sight of her breasts from breakfast when he opened his eyelids and spotted a pair of skimpy white lacy panties on the back of a chair. He went over to them and picked them up with the hand that wasn’t stroking his cock. He brought the crutch of the panties to his nose and took a deep breath. Unfortunately they seemed to be clean but they still smelled of her which made him stroke his very erect cock faster. Then, in a very male moment when the dick starts performing the role of the brain, he let his tracksuit pants drop to his knees and he placed the panties over the head of his penis so he could shoot his load into them.

He was still standing there with his eyes shut, feeling the post-orgasm relief coursing through his brain when he heard the front door open and Ivy’s voice call out. “Hello! Anyone home?!” He opened his eyes and realized she was one flight of stairs away from finding her middle-aged host standing in her bedroom with his trousers around his knees and a pair of her cum soaked panties wrapped around his deflating erection. As he heard her take her jacket off, he thought as fast as he could. He bunched the wet panties tight in his masturbating hand and pulled up his trousers with the other. Then he went towards to bedroom door as she began to ascend the staircase, on the way poking the sticky white panties between the small gap between her bed and the floor. She was half way up the stairs by the time he was outside her room and he managed to say in as carefree a voice as possible. “Oh, hi Ivy! I’m just going to take a shower. I’d love to hear how the interview went later.” He hurried into the bathroom, closed the door and sighed with relief. As soon as he could, he’d have to retrieve those panties from under the bed, wash them, dry them and put them back in her room.

The evening went smoothly. He cooked the dinner while the girls talked about the highlights of their respective days. Then they ate and Ivy said she would do the clearing up. After she took the plates into the kitchen, he was a million miles away thinking about the panties under the bed when his daughter brought him back to reality when she leaned over the table and started whispering so Ivy couldn’t hear her. “Ivy told me she thinks you’re the coolest dad ever! Her own father is a bit of a disaster and she doesn’t see him. I think she’s a bit jealous I’ve got you.” as she said this, the thought of cumming in Ivy’s panties earlier returned to him. “That’s nice to hear,” he replied and gulped down some mineral water.

As before, he went to bed before the girls. He was just dozing when he heard Ivy call out to his daughter. “Have you seen a pair of white lace panties? I can’t find them anywhere!” He lay frozen in his bed as he heard Ivy rummage around beyond the wall they shared. Eventually, she seemed to give up, turn the TV on for a little while and then turn it off. He got out of bed and crept to the wall again, put his ear to it and again could hear the soft buzz of her vibrator. He could tell her orgasm was much more intense this time. Hee heard her whisper “oh god” then “oh my god” as she came. Evidently she had conjured up something really pleasurable in her mind. He wasn’t planning to but he came again onto the carpet as she climaxed and he thought about his saliva being on the dildo she was using to bring herself off.

The next morning, just his daughter came down to breakfast. She told him that Ivy didn’t have any interviews that day so she was going to sleep in for a few hours. He nodded and told her that Ivy could borrow his car if she wanted to go to out somewhere. He was desperate to get Ivy to go out so he could retrieve the panties and having a car available might be a catalyst for this. His daughter kissed him on the cheek as she headed for the front door and said, “Dad, your the best!” With his daughter gone and Ivy asleep on top of the incriminating evidence, he decided he’d go up and take a shower.

He didn’t realize the bathroom was already occupied. He opened the door to find Ivy standing there in front of the mirror wearing a bathrobe. But instead of facing the mirror, she had her back to it and was looking down at something she held in her clenched hand. She looked up at him with a serious expression on her face. He was going to apologize for disturbing her but he was silenced by Ivy holding out her arm to him and unclenching her hand to reveal the soiled panties he had poked under the bed. Before he could formulate some kind of half-plausible explanation, she spoke. “You’re a dirty old pervert, aren’t you Mister St.Clare?” He felt there was no alternative to confessing his guilt. “Yes,” he replied in what he hoped was a repentant voice. “You know what, Mister St.Clare?” she put the panties down and pulled her bathrobe apart so it fell to the floor to reveal her naked body. “I like that in an older man.”

Some hours later, he was laying on his back on his bed looking at the ceiling. He had lost track of time. All he knew was that he was sleepy and could hardly keep his eyes open. Not surprising after the best sex of his life. She seemed to be dozing next to him with her arm draped across his stomach and her head lying against his chest. He stroked Ivy’s hair and marvelled how soft and sensual it felt. It recalled how he had kissed her in the bathroom and she had stroked his cock for the first time. Then they had moved to his bed and she watched her as she knelt in front of him and artfully sucked him. Then he was licking her out before penetrating her young tight pussy for the first time. Bareback because she said she didn’t like condoms, but he finish in her mouth, if he liked that. She said she didn’t want him to get her pregnant. As he had fucked her from behind, she had asked him about coming into her room and asked him what else he had done? He told her about licking her vibrator and he felt how wet she became around his cock as he said this. Then, they had both gone to sleep and woken up for more fucking later. His balls were definitely running on empty.

As he was laying there half asleep, he heard the front door again and his daughter calling. “Hellooo! I’m back!” and he suddenly remembered that the store was closing early that day. He heard her running up the stairs and towards his closed bedroom door. He sat bolt upright and looked at the door, knowing that his daughter was about to come through it to find that he had freshly shafted her young college friend. As he watched the handle of the door turn, he felt Ivy’s hand caress his stomach and, still relaxed, without moving her body, she spoke “Don’t worry Mister St.Clare, she knows.” He was a deer caught in the headlights of confusion as the door began to open. She knows, he thought. Knows what? The door swung open wide and he was soon going to find out…

The Blue Zone

The Blue Zone

The mystery of the world’s “Blue Zones” had fascinated her since she was an undergraduate studying epidemiology. A Blue Zone was where the local population had an average life expectancy which was way beyond what was considered normal. In these regions, reaching a hundred years of age was considered everyday. There were only five blue zones in the world and ever since she had decided to make them the subject of her doctoral dissertation, she knew that the Barbagia region on the Italian island of Sardinia was the one she most wanted to study on a field trip. Partly because of her own southern european ancestry but also because she loved all things Italian. She’d spent time in the cultural meccas of Rome, Florence and Venice and could speak some some simple italian but this was her first time in the heartland of rural Italy.

She flew to the Sardinian airport of Cagliari-Elmas then transferred to a bus to take her to her final destination which was a village nestled in the hills of the Barbagia region. She’d been in correspondence with the mayor of the village for over six months and felt she had everything planned out so she could gather the data she needed and write up her paper after her return. Apparently the village had had regular visits from scientific researchers like herself and they had a very open attitude to helping anyone understand where the secret of a long life came from. Any visitors, whether they be researchers or tourists, helped the local economy. The mayor had said she had arranged a local guide to assist her and he would meet her when she got off the bus.

It was a long winding journey to the village, but she marvelled at the rugged beauty of the countryside as the bus bumped and  groaned over the under-maintained roads. Finally, the vehicle pulled up in small city square surrounded by cafes, shops and a church and the driver called back to her that she had arrived. She clambered off the bus with her bag and there to meet her was Mario. She later discovered he was in his early seventies but despite his advanced age he came towards her with a spring in his step, a beaming smile and a glint in his eye. She held her hand out to shake his, but instead of shaking it, he took it in both his weathered hands and looked seriously into her eyes like she was a long-lost niece he’d never met before. “Eez a pleasure. Sei bellissima! We Barbagians should live longer if such a bootiful young woman comes to see us because of eet.” She smiled back and blushed a little. She wasn’t used to overtly sexist compliments like this from a man fifty years her senior. Maybe Mario wasn’t up to speed with the whole @metoo thing but she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be.

Mario took her bag and as the bus went on its way, they walked together along a narrow alleyway leading from the square to the apartment the mayor had arranged for her. As they walked she explained some of the things she wanted to do in the week she planned to be there. She’d like to interview some of the older people. Ask them about lifestyle. What did they eat everyday? With their permission, take a small blood sample and a DNA swab from inside their mouth. Both could be couriered to a lab on the mainland and she could get the results later. Mario nodded as she talked and seemed to be taking it all in. When they got to the apartment at the top of stone staircase from the alley, he took out a key which he put in the lock and opened the door for her. “You rest now and I come tomorrow morning at nine. We all want you to have a nice stay in our bootiful village.” As he left he ran his hand down the her upper arm then walked down the staircase, turning back once to say, “Buona notte e sogni d’ oro!” As she watched him go, she could still feel his touch on her arm.

Mario was there the next morning on the stroke of nine and she began her research in earnest. He took her to visit some village residents that were already over hundred and she quizzed them about their daily habits and took some samples with Mario acting as her interpreter. She marveled at their good health and sharp minds. At the end of the day Mario took her back to her apartment and once again wished her good night as he walked back down the stone stairs, turning briefly to wish her goodnight with some other sweet Italian expression. After he left, she realized she was becoming very comfortable with Mario around and in a way she wished he could have stayed a little longer.

After a few more days of meeting centenarians, she asked Mario if she knew of a younger woman she could talk to, maybe someone in their eighties, so she could connect the dots of how the aging process progressed during the later stages of life. That’s when she met Dora.

Dora was in her early-eighties and Mario told her she out had outlived four husbands. She asked about his relationship to Dora and he matter-of-factly explained that Dora had been his first lover. “She was the older woman who stole my innocence when I was just sixteen,” he told her a mischievous smile as they arrived at the front door. Dora opened the door and greeted her with a huge hug then stood back still clasping her arms to contemplate this young woman from the modern world beyond. She didn’t speak any English so Mario translated. “She thinks you are very bootiful,” he said as Dora continued to contemplate her. “And Dora wants you stay a long time in our village.” She replied with a polite thank you in bad Italian and they went inside the house.

Dora chatted a lot with Mario as she gave some blood and had her DNA sample taken. Evidently there was still some kind of strong friendship between Dora and Mario. Dora turned to her several times as she rattled on in Italian to Mario, as though she was talking about her. She asked Mario for a translation but the versions he gave seemed to be out of sync with the smiles she was getting from Dora. Once, she heard Dora say “Voglio mangiare la sua figa,” to Mario followed by a hearty laugh. When she asked Mario for a translation, he unconvincingly said, “Dora says only she eez a leetle hungry.” Then Dora leaned over to her as she took blood from Dora’s arm and whispered conspiratorially, “Super Mario,” followed by yet another conspiratorial wink.

As they walked away from the house after saying their goodbyes, which involved Dora hugging her tightly several times and stroking her face as Dora gazed into her eyes, she tackled Mario again. What exactly had Dora said? She didn’t seem hungry at all. Mario thought for a moment, then gave in. “She said she wanted to eat your pussy.” There was moment’s shock that a woman in her eighties could have sexual feelings towards her, but then she realized this could be another aspect of her research. She asked Mario how sexually active the older people in the village were. “Old people like sex too.” he answered, “and especially with you, bellissima!” She felt her face redden a little when she heard this.

The next day, Mario suggested they visit his older brother Luigi who was in his late seventies and could be another subject for her study. When she heard Luigi was married, she assumed that she’d be meeting a husband and wife who were close together in age. She didn’t expect to meet Lydia. After she entered the house, she was greeted by a man who seemed only slightly older than Mario and with the same spring in his step and glint in his eye. When Luigi’s wife Lydia appeared nursing a recently born infant at her naked breast, the age difference with her husband was startling. Lydia seemed in her late twenties although she later found out that she was actually thirty one years old and the baby she was holding for the second she’d had in two years. Lydia greeted her in Italian but with an accent that suggested it was not her native tongue.

She interviewed Luigi and took samples as she’d done with the others while Lydia sat quietly by breast feeding. After she was finished, Lydia spoke in English for the first time, but with an east european accent. “Would you like to come into the kitchen? You can help me make some pasta for lunch.” In the kitchen, she couldn’t contain her curiosity about where Lydia was from and how she had become involved with Luigi. Lydia laughed as she put down the baby and started to roll out strips of pasta dough before putting them into the cutting machine. “I was like you. I came to do research on these people and… well, I never left.” She could hardly believe what Lydia was telling her. Was she in the Sardinian version of the Bermuda Triangle? She asked Lydia how she could leave everything behind? Lydia looked at her knowingly. “When they love you here. They really love you.” She began to whisper just like Dora. “You know what they call Mario?” She had a strong premonition about what Lydia would say next. “They call him Super Mario.” With that, Lydia giggled like a thirteen year old schoolgirl.

That evening Mario took her up to her apartment door and was about to bid her farewell again when she heard herself say something she didn’t imagine she would have said several days earlier. She asked him to come inside. He hesitated but she took his hand and led him into the apartment. Inside they stood facing each other for a moment before he put up his hand to caress her waist. That hand on her body was so warm and comforting, she instinctively slid her hand up his chest and around his neck as they came together and kissed on the lips. She could tell he wanted her and she slid her other hand down to his crotch where something fat and elongated was pushing against his trousers. She unzipped him, reached inside and looked down at what was throbbing in her hand. It was one of the most wonderful erect cocks she’d ever seen, in the flesh or in a pornographic image. As she stroked it, she looked up into Mario’s eyes and asked a question. “Is this why they call you Super Mario?” He replied, but not to her question. “You want to know why we live so long? It’s because we love to fuck so much.”

A few weeks later she sent an email to her university saying that she was prolonging her stay on Sardinia. A few weeks after that, she sent an email to her family saying that she was fine but she’d fallen in love with the place and the people and didn’t know when she’d return. A few weeks after that, as she lay in Mario’s bed, she felt some mild morning sickness coming on. As he brought her a fresh cup of coffee, as he had done every morning since she moved in with him, she reflected on how she had collected the best DNA sample any researcher could hope for, and it was growing inside her.

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