The Gypsy Chronicles Ch. 01

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

This is my first submission to Literotica.

The below is not full of chandelier swinging kinky sex fests. In fact there is no sex. That’s said, it does set the stage for a sexual adventure that I never conceived, continue to enjoy and which I am now putting down in writing.

I hope you enjoy what follows.

*****

I have a friend, a great friend, a friend that’s a girl. Well she’s a woman. A beautiful smooth brown skinned lady of curves with long black hair, brown soulful eyes and a great sense of humour, who exudes sexiness and sensuality. She’s smart too. Her name is Gypsy. Well actually it’s not; she just used to have a gypsy styled dress and an exotic look so I gave her the nickname shortly after we first met.

“Cool, she sounds great, So what’s the problem?” You ask.

It’s the fourth word in the first sentence… “friend.”

Friend as in the old fashioned sense of the word. Friend as in the one you call, before your lawyer, if arrested at three in the morning for something ridiculously embarrassing. Friend as in the person you hold up there with close family members whose interests you put before yours.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not the traditional Friend Zone issue. We have had our time together but that was over ten years ago. Friend zone frustration would kill a guy after that period of time. You can’t wait ten years to once again indulge in the kind of mind blowing sex that made your eyes water, your legs weak and your muscles ache from the exertion.

Over the last ten years she has had her boyfriends and while I have not had anything resembling a serious relationship, there have been liaisons of one type or another.

So, you see she really is a friend, albeit one that is beyond hot and turns men’s heads in a way that is almost comical. I take great pleasure if the two of us are out and people assume we are an item. It is a great boost for the ego when all men want her, all women want to be her and then they look at me thinking, “how the hell did they get together.”

Gypsy is also an unrelenting flirt. She’ll sway, smoulder, smile, place a touch here, give a look there and say the right words to leave me barely hanging on to myself control. She knew that she was safe to do it and that I would always remain the gentleman. She knew that she turned me on, but she was always blissfully unaware of exactly what we get up to in my dreams and fantasies. That was until recent events took a turn for the better.

Gypsy knows what she is, Beauty personified and sexiness defined. She’s not big headed about it, it’s a simple fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, water is wet and Gypsy is beautiful, sexy and generally incredible to look at. Did I mention that she’s smart too?

She lives for music and dancing. With the right encouragement; typically some wine, the right music and me beseeching her to do it, Gypsy will dance for me. At my place or hers, she has her own little routines that blow my mind, put a bulge in my pants and make life good.

I take a lot of pictures of her, she’s beautiful and a great subject. The occasional phenomenal picture becomes her profile pic for a while, the rest just sit on my lap top, I have hundreds, she loves the attention and always poses, pouts sways and acts up for the camera.

We spent New Year’s Eve together last year. For various reasons neither of us wanted crowds. So as we typically do, we sat, drank, laughed, ate (she’s also an incredible cook) and enjoyed each other’s company. Gypsy was talking about a dress she bought, maybe a strange thing to talk to a guy about but she knows how I look at her.

“Try canlı bahis şirketleri it on for me” I said, her jeans and T-shirt although admirable are not my favourite things to see her in.

Oh wow, an emerald green, ankle length, figure hugging, low cut representation of awesomeness. She somehow manages to hit the sweet point of combining elegance, sexiness, sophistication, power and passion quite easily.

“You look incredible” I told her, “breathtakingly sexy.”

She thrives on compliments from me. Again it’s a matter of friendship; she knew that I am not trying to get her into bed. Did I think about it? Oh hell yes, but her friendship means everything to me, so I never did do anything outside of my fantasies. To this day if I tell her how good she looks it is for no ulterior reasons, it’s just plain honesty.

“Here, let me try another one on for you,” She said with a perfect smile. One that I know means she is going to once again, start to play the unobtainable, untouchable object of my desires.

She knew it got me worked up, turned on and looking at her with unbridled lust and want. She loved the attention. For me the payoff was that I found her far better inspiration than logging on and thumping one off to a cheesy porn clip.

What followed was a fashion show of note, ranging from the classically elegant to a slutty little number. That one had me rearranging the way I sat, have a subtle grab down my pants when she was turned away, pull my erection up to my belt and relieve the discomfort of its previous angle.

The folder on my laptop from New Year’s Eve has 127 pictures on it. Some blurred, some poorly lit, you know how it is with a live subject, but some are incredible. My favourite is the one of her leaning over and blowing a kiss in that emerald green dress. All breasts, ass, curves and beauty.

It was only a few weeks later that she was around at my place. I managed to get a slightly tipsy Gypsy up and dancing for me. Yet again I watched in awe and snapped away taking pic after pic. She had a low cut very short summer dress on, with skin tight pants covering her shapely legs.

So there I was snapping away as she danced when she adjusted her top. As she pulled the top of the dress away from her I took the camera and pointed it down towards her cleavage. To be honest I was shocked, not only because of my boldness, but also at her when she laughed said something about me being a perv and carried on dancing as though I had done nothing.

I carried on snapping away until she came to sit down. A soft sheen of perspiration on her face and the top of her chest. I snapped some more pics of her pouting, blowing kisses, giving seductive stares and so on. Pretty much par for the course. Until out of nowhere I said “I’ll give you four grand for a pic of your boobs!”

Now, Gypsy has financial issues that are simply staggering. Very little are as a direct result of her actions, but they are there. I am always loaning money to her. Well we call it a loan but I never need it back. I joke about her earning it in dancing, cooking and her company. I get paid offshore and could easily take care of everything, but she has pride issues.

But we are friends! So where the hell did;

“I’ll give you four grand for a pic of your boobs!” come from?

I was totally shocked; it was as if the filter between my brain and mouth had just been switched off. I waited for the impending slap around the face, shout of disapproval or her walking out the door. She is a very hot blooded woman. Quick to temper and one to whom fury is not an unknown concept.

Against canlı kaçak iddaa all my expectations, all she did was adopt a thoughtful expression and after a couple of seconds said, “hmmmm, nah” and pouted for the camera again.

“Six grand!” I said impulsively without a thought and wondering what had happened to that damned filter and my mind.

I got another thoughtful expression an “oh, ok.”

Ecstasy, terror, wonder, fear, an incredible feeling of WOW, a feeling of desire so far beyond hornyness that words cannot describe it. “Is she serious, nah, she won’t do it, she’s testing me, seeing if I am bullshitting about all this friendship stuff” I thought.

That was until she slid back on the sofa, pulled down the top of her dress showing more cleavage that I had seen on her in ten years and said “there you go!”

“errm, ahh, no your boobs” I said wondering what the hell had overcome me tonight, but realising I had not gotten slapped thus far and that I was beyond the point of no return.

“What? You mean my boobs? In the flesh?”

“errr yeah” tense getting ready for an explosion of anger, a slap or worse.

“O.K.” as she went to pull down more of her dress.

“Could we do it in the bedroom?” I said cautiously.

“oh, O.K.”

And that’s where it started. Sexier than ever, the smiles, the pouts, the suggestive lip licking and tongue, all while rolling the bed as I took pictures. Slowly the dress came off revealing a strapless bra. At this stage I was beyond desire in a place I truly didn’t understand. Conflicting emotions, utter adoration, intense hornyness, fear of going too far with her, but yet the wont to see how far it would go.

“now the money shot,” I said hoping for little more than a quick glimpse of those magnificent breasts.

It’s time to take a moment aside now and describe Gypsy. Mentally, as I alluded to, she is one crazy lady, in the best possible way I should add, but crazy nonetheless. Physically, well I’ll try, but you would need to see her to get the full picture.

Simply incredible. A petite 1.55m, 40 that looks, on a bad day 30, but usually far less, beautiful shiny black hair, brown soulful eyes, a coffee type skin tone that defies description, a truly awesome ass, curves that inspire song, a neck that has to be kissed and lips that just shout beauty. And those tits. Oh those tits. You know the saying, more than a handful is a waste, well these are the perfect handful, with dark brown nipples that all but demand to be sucked, tweaked, caressed and worshipped.

Top all that off with a wiggle when she walks and a giggle when she talks and you have, to my mind at least, total physical perfection. Did I mention how smart she is too?

Slowly the vest came off, “Oooo, there is a bit of extra weight since I last saw her in this manner,” I thought and you know what? All that bit of extra did was create even more to admire.

The bra came off so fast and the pillow up to cover her that I caught the merest glimpse before I could click the shutter and capture them for posterity. I literally had stars in my eyes, my blood pressure peaked, I was not far from needing a sit down, a rest and possibly a paramedic. More squirling around on the bed, pouting, blowing kisses and so on while that pesky pillow allowed only a hint of the magnificence behind it.

In a second she jumped up and enveloped herself in the curtains, again before I could get a picture. Swirling, dancing, teasing. All the time all I see is that beautiful skin, her curves all topped off by that beautiful, sultry, sexy face. Until…

In a ballet type pose, there she canlı kaçak bahis was in all her magnificence. Beauty personified and sexiness defined.

The camera sounded like a damned machine gun!

Dancing, posing, an angry face here, a childlike innocence there, that tongue licking her lips seductively, until she stopped and just stood there with a smile on her face.

How I did not throw her on the bed and fuck the living daylights out of her I don’t know. How I managed not to reach out I’ll never understand. You know what I did? It’s too ridiculously soppy that I’m almost ashamed to say.

I knelt down in front of her, pulled her towards me and kissed her belly. I love that belly!

“Gypsy” I stammered “y… y… you are magnificent, I have fantasised about this for years, I err… wow… fuck I don’t…

She just laughed, sat on the bed and said, “that was fun”

As is the way with us, we chatted and laughed about what we had just done. I felt incredible relief at not having overstepped her boundaries and still having a fun friend, rather than the foul mouthed Tasmanian devil that I thought my actions would provoke.

In the end we went to bed, well she went to bed; I had an issue to take care of before I got in. A five knuckle shuffle as they say, a shower and then in to bed beside her, listening to her breathing and reliving the night.

If she stayed at mine Gypsy would typically sleep fully clothed, if we are at hers its shorts and a T-shirt. We slept together for years. It was never sexual, it was just convenient.

I woke the next morning with my arm over her and my hand resting on that marvellous belly. Her gentle breathing telling me she was still asleep, until…

“gerofff” and “go away” in a gentle humorous manner.

A cup of tea for her and coffee for me, not a word about what happened last night. I thought I should bring it up and asked her;

“Are you sure you are comfortable with me having those pictures?”

“What pictures?” She was obviously not a tipsy Gypsy last night but a full on drunk one. She does tend to hide it very well.

I showed her the pictures on my lap top and with a slightly puzzled straight faced look she said “yeah no problem.”

I got the distinct impression that she did not want to admit that she didn’t remember what we had done, or that she was in some way not in control of herself. Indeed she told me a few days later that she didn’t remember the photo session immediately, but that it came back in bits and pieces the next day.

Around a week later we met up and it was obvious, she liked the memory of what we had done. Well maybe not the memory, but certainly the pictures and asked me to send a few of her favourites.

So with her surprising open mindedness about the whole incident, I thought I would push my luck once more.

“Listen, Gypsy I want to ask you something,” I said getting back the squinting eyed suspicious look I expected; “I used to write, years ago, and wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah” she said.

“Well it was erotic literature” I told her with some, albeit unnecessary embarrassment, “What happened the other night, the photo shoot, really got me going. So I wrote up a story, just for me, but I’m thinking of writing again.”

“You used to write dirty stories,” she said somewhat incredulously.

“No! Not dirty, erotic,” I said a bit defensively.

“And?” she enquired, squinty eyed and suspicious again.

“Well I want to write but I want to write about you, not exactly about you, but using you as the inspiration. I just wanted to ask if you would mind?”

“No, not at all, you can write about whatever you want” she said giving me the answer I hoped for.

“If I showed some of them to you would you read them for me?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’ll read them she said.”

And that is how all of the what follows started.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32