The Romps and Raptures of R.M.P.: Ten Titillating Erotic Stories

The Romps and Raptures of RMP

Copyright ©2018, Naughty Wings Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, recorded or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of a few brief quotations in connection with a review.

Rebecca Mae Peabody is a pseudonym, and is not related to any other author or person who may be named Rebecca Peabody.

All characters appearing in this work are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published by

Naughty Wings Press

Sedona, AZ 86336

www.naughtywings.com

ISBN-13: 978-0-9726146-4-1

Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Taking Off My Mittens

Hand Job, Male and Female

Lucky and the Ferris Wheel

Fellatio and Intercourse

Lust in the Lemon Orchard: the Obituary that Should have Been

Intercourse from Behind, Light Spanking

The Healer

Rimming, Fellatio, Intercourse

The Forbidden Pleasure

Lesbian, Cunnilingus, Hand Job, Intercourse with Dildo

The Bedouin

Cunnilingus, Intercourse Missionary and Doggie

Champagne in the Library

Fellatio, Cunnilingus

The Consequences of Being Naughty

Spanking, Discipline, Nipple Clamps, Anal Plug, Fellatio, Intercourse from Behind

My Checkmate

Spanking, Intercourse from Behind, Anal Plug, Anal Intercourse

The Conductor

Intercourse, Fellatio, Cunnilingus

TAKING OFF MY MITTENS

MY PRINTER HAD just been repaired, it was sunset, and I was trying to lug it back to the car. The machine was a little bit heavy and the only parking spot I’d been able to find had been two blocks away from the shop. Worse, it was winter. I was wearing my thick coat and a pair of mittens, and I fumbled with the heavy printer while I tried to keep my balance on an icy sidewalk.

He was walking down the street in the same direction that I was, and he noticed me struggling. As he walked past, a vibe sparked between us. I can’t describe it better than that. For some reason, my body seems to be able to detect the men that I can have great orgasms with and lets me know. By a vibe. And this one was strong.

He was tall, pretty solidly built, and he had red hair. Redheads are normally not my type of guy. But hey…the vibe. Sometimes it takes a while to settle in, but in this case, there was no question about it; the attraction was nearly palpable. His features were pleasant and even, with mischievous eyes, a square jaw and a strong nose that was neither too long nor too short.

He walked a few yards past me. Then he paused, turned back, and smiled. His smile was happy and seemed to be saying, I’m interested in you. Are you interested in me?

I’m no beauty, and I’m certainly no Barbie Doll. Even then—for this happened some time ago—I was a regular woman who was cushioned rather than bony, which was not in fashion, and I had a round, smiling face quite unlike the sultry, sullen types that grace magazine covers. On my optimal days, at best I looked cute. My hair was brown and curly. So even though my appearance was okay, it was not as though I could pick up men because I looked hot. But…there was that vibe! He seemed to be sensing it too.

May I help? That looks kind of heavy, he asked in a voice with a delicious Southern drawl.

You bet, I said.

And, of course, it wasn’t about the printer at all. As I handed it to him, we both laughed, making eye contact a little bit too long, and while we walked, we brushed up against one another. And then I knew that he knew that I knew. It was that simple…and one of the easiest encounters I’ve ever had.

On our short walk, I learned that he was a baby photographer, or more precisely, an instructor of baby photography for a large chain of department stores. He normally lived in Louisiana, but he had flown up to our cold winter city to teach a group of new baby photographers the tricks of the trade. Normally I wouldn’t dream about hooking up with a complete stranger. But he had business cards proving that he was who he said he was, and his energy field felt uncomplicated and happy. So I dreamt of the undreamable.

After he put the printer into the trunk of my car, I placed my mittened hand on his arm. He was quite a bit taller than me, and as he looked down at my face, his eyes twinkled. Even though we both knew what we knew, still it was up to me whether to prolong our encounter or to say goodbye then and there.

I didn’t say goodbye. Instead I said something unbelievably bold. To this day, I can’t believe what I said!

I’d love to repay you, I purred. How would you like a hand job? Since you’re not used to our cold weather, I’ll keep the mitten on or take it off, your choice.

He tipped his head back and howled with laughter. Then he looked me in the eye.

You mean it?!

I nodded, lowering my eyes in a shy way. It took a long time for him to reply, and my heart sank a little bit, wondering what in the world had made me speak like that. He glanced at his watch. Then he put his finger under my chin and lifted my face until I was looking at him.

You’re on, he said with a smile. Wow!

All right! C’mon, climb in. Let’s heat up the car first, I said.

He got into the passenger side while I started my car and turned the heater to high. We drove around a little bit to get the car nice and warm. Then I pulled into a park just a short distance from where we had been walking, near the swing sets. Nobody else was there, for it was far too chilly, and the sun was getting ready to set. There were deep pink streaks on the horizon. Jazz was playing on the radio: Sarah Vaughn singing, It Might as Well Be Spring. By now, the car was snug and cozy.

Mittens or no? I asked him, winking slyly.

No mittens, he laughed, adding, I can’t believe this!

After I slowly and deliberately removed my mittens like a frosty strip-teaser, we both took our coats off. I turned off the car engine, and then we raced outside so that we could climb into the back seat. We were acting like a couple of horny teenagers, giggling the whole time.

I was wearing a fuzzy turquoise sweater, and the minute we’d shut the doors, before we even kissed, he reached for the bottom edges of my sweater and pulled it up over my head. With faster breathing, he removed first one of my breasts and then the other from my lacy bra encasing them. He did so gently, almost as if in slow motion, as I held my breath. My breasts are nicely shaped, and not huge, with nipples that are pinkish brown. I have half-grapefruits rather than cantaloupes. Some men prefer that. My sense was that he did. He grasped them, nearly covering them with his hands, and his fingertips caressed and squeezed the skin. As he did so, my breasts turned to gooseflesh and my nipples became happily erect—but not because it was cold! The car was still very warm.

Then, with a happy little shudder, he leaned over and began to suck on the nipple of my left breast. His mouth and tongue worked over it longingly, almost as if moist, taut fingers were pulling and stroking the nipple hard, like little clamps. The feeling was exquisite. He stayed there for a while, obviously liking the sensations. I did, too. Then he turned to my other breast and began to suck even harder on it, as he continued to explore both the softness and firmness of my swollen bosom with his hands. Currents of excited, delighted energy began to flow from my nipples all the way down to the sweet waiting space between my legs. I moaned softly at the mounting sensations that were welling up deep in my belly.

I could tell he wanted to move his face into my lap, but I shook my head.

Not yet, I said.

Looking at me quizzically, he sighed and rose from sucking my breasts to kissing my mouth. His teeth were large and white, and his lips had a nice shape without being too full or too thin. It started off as a tender, close-mouthed kiss, but the sexual vibe between us was so enormous that the kiss quickly grew into something more passionate…and yet, we both kept giggling in joyous anticipation. Some men, when they kiss, cannot wait to jam their tongue inside your mouth; others think they need to suck on your tongue like a vacuum cleaner. Ours was a perfect kiss: not too wet, not too dry, lips and tongue moving just at the right speed. His tongue prodded just a little further into my mouth as he held me closer. I was ready to orgasm right there. As he kissed me, he reached back for my chest, the fingers of one hand rediscovering the nipple of my exposed left breast, squeezing delicately, while his other hand cupped around the right breast.

I had my arms around him, feeling first the back of his head, and then the sinews in his neck. Running my hands over his upper arms. I loved the sensation of the hard muscle that lay beneath his shirt.

He smelled fabulous. He was just a little bit sweaty. I’ve always liked a man who makes love to me to smell like a man instead of a bar of soap; not excessively, of course, but there is something about certain male pheromones—those of a man I am attracted to—that makes my pussy tingle. Added to that slight touch of sweat was the faint smell of expensive aftershave. His breath tasted like peppermints.

This is wonderful, but I promised you something, I whispered finally, panting. You still want the mittens off?

He laughed. Off. I love the feel of your skin, he said.

Then he grew suddenly, strangely quiet and passive, leaning back in the seat. It was my turn to be the aggressor. I unbuttoned his shirt, giving him little kisses on his chest through his shirt as I did so…but not yet on his bare skin. He wore an undershirt and when his shirt was completely unbuttoned and loose, I pulled up the undershirt, exposing his chest and belly. I wanted more, and unbuckled his belt, zipping down his pants. I could see a growing bulge underneath his clothing, but for the moment, I did not touch him there.

He had a hairy chest, and his stomach was muscled with another generous dusting of hair. There was just a touch of a paunchy belly and love handles, and I found them appealing, believe it or not, for to me they were the signs of a mature man who knew how to make love. It was perfect. On top of that, I have always enjoyed a man with at least some hair on his body.

I especially love touching a man’s lower belly, one of my favorite parts of the male physique. For a few minutes I massaged that area slowly and tantalizingly with both hands, teasing as I probed downward inch by inch. I wanted to kiss him around the navel and dart downward with my tongue, but this was to be a hand job, so I contained that desire. Exploring further down, I moved onto the fabric of his trousers, where my hand finally felt his gorgeous hardness underneath. Slowly gripping and caressing his still-clothed penis with one hand, with the other I tugged down his pants and the elastic of his briefs to expose his penis.

It rose into the air. It was thick with a symmetrical head, about 7-1/2 inches long, and beautifully shaped. Curiously, he wasn’t circumcised, although by this time, of course, it didn’t matter.

Can we get your trousers further down? I asked. Although it would have been deliriously sexy to offer him pleasure as he was, I wanted more of a sense of his body.

He lifted his hips and I helped push his briefs and trousers down to his knees. He had a thick mound of reddish-brown pubic hair that also sprinkled the insides of his thighs, which were surprisingly large, strong, and muscular. I reached for the shaft of his penis and encircled it as best I could with my hand, although it was so thick that I was not quite able to reach completely around it with my small warm fingers. Erect, it pointed upwards, bursting into the air with power. Covering the massive hardness beneath, the skin of his penis was surprisingly soft and silky to the touch. His balls had another dusting of reddish hair. They were of modest size, drooping a little, and insignificant bystanders compared to his prick.

Keeping my hand on his cock, with my other hand, I began to trace gentle figure eights on the skin of his balls. Ever so slowly, I began to pump his dick, sliding the skin with my hand up and down, up and down, while simultaneously rotating the whole shaft side to side. He moaned softly. I stopped the movement for a moment, as my index finger then went to the tip of his cock and toyed with the hole, then felt carefully and caressingly all around and under the rim. Meanwhile, my other hand crept from his testicles to massage that soft place between his balls and his rectum. My tongue yearned to help, but instead I kissed his belly, darting my tongue around his navel. A musky scent arose from his crotch; I inhaled it, aroused. Then I returned to my pumping task.

He lifted one of his hands from his side and started to move it towards my pussy in a business-like way.

No, this part is all for you, I said. After all, you were my hero today.

Upon hearing that, instead of completing his movement toward my sweet parts, he reached instead for the hand that had just a moment ago been stroking his balls. Our fingers interlaced while, with the other hand, I continued the regular, deep, mounting strokes. He squeezed my hand, and leaned forward to kiss me.

There was that vibe again. As our lips touched and our tongues explored, both of us began breathing even more heavily. I smelled his aftershave and the tangy scent of his cheek next to his ear, and I felt the subtle roughness of stubble brushing against my face, which is one of the sexiest sensations I know. Now increasing the intensity of my strokes, I returned to kissing his neck. His breathing became increasingly fevered.

Even though it had earlier felt as if it would have been impossible for him to grow stiffer, he hardened even more, and his cock grew huge in my encircling palm and fingers. I was in perfect harmony with him, with an uncanny sense of his growing excitement, and I knew it was time.

I leaned to his ear and whispered, Later, if you want, I’d like to try some other more interesting ways of finishing you, but I promised you this…

I removed my hand from his and cupped his balls, squeezing them ever so lightly and rhythmically. As I did so, I began to pump on his organ furiously, up and down, up and down, faster and harder, moving back and forth rapidly along his shaft all the way from the head down to the root. It was as though my soul sensed the rhythm within him. He moaned and then he came. His whole body shuddered as he did so. The droplets of semen spurted out like white foam onto his belly. I longed to take the head into my mouth, and even more into my pussy (and I wondered how easily it would fit, for he was larger than normal and my pussy is unusually small and tight). But that excitement would come at another time…if there was going to be another time.

When he finally grew quiet, with shoulders slumping and his erection beginning to fade in my hand, I reached into the front seat for my mittens and used them gently to wipe off every drop.

We were done. I kissed him, a pleasant kiss goodbye. While I was tremendously aroused, our contract had been for me to give him a hand