The Fair’s In Town

When I moved back to the small town where I grew up, years after my folks had moved away, it was for many reasons. One of those reasons being, there was no event quite like the County Fair.

Living in the city for as long as I had, I really missed the sights, sounds, and smells of a true county fair. Corn roasting, kids screaming on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the amusing distorted images of the House of Mirrors.

I loved the House of Mirrors. It showed you for who you really were. Beautiful, Ugly. Depraved.

I often recall my experiences in the House of Mirrors as ones of great pleasure. One after hours dalliance taught me the true, raw nature of the carnival. That delicious summer night in my youth opened my eyes, and I learned the real fun on the midway happens after dark.

One such memory quickens my pulse and dampens my panties every time.

There was no greater thrill than to be inside, after hours, stripped down to nothing but ankle socks and runners, and watch my lover, whomever he happened to be that night, advance from a direction I could not readily discern.

His long, thick cock preceding him as seven of him became five, then three, and then finally one. The many versions of him converging into one and then he was there before me. His member pointed at me, like an angry teacher.

It was both a searing accusation and a delicious promise.

I knew I was responsible. My pert breasts tingled, and my eyes were wide with anticipation.

We were gonna fuck.

It was both penance and salvation for the generic sins of youth.

He turned me around and pressed me to the mirror. His hot flesh against mine and I could feel the size of his prick against the plumpness of my ass. He moved his hips and slid his cock along the cleft of my round globes. He held himself there for a long, delirious moment while the heat of our breath fogged the cool reflective surface and obscured our view.

I no longer needed to see. My other senses had awakened and became as one. I gasped as I felt the crest of his turgid shaft part my dewy lips and crash into me.

He raised my ankle to his hip and rocked his hips forward to enter me deeper. With a slow twist of his hip, he screwed his fat rod into my tight canal. He rested his forehead on the nape of my neck and commented on how cute my little socks were. Tilting his hips directly below mine, he pistoned upwards. Pressing deeply, he filled me. I arched back, and he captured my earlobe between his teeth, then licked the sensitive inner ridge sending chills along my spine.

His breath was hot on my neck, and my slavering pussy clenched his fat prick in response, holding it in my silken glove, wringing it and sucking on it with my pouting sopping lips.

Sweat slicked surfaces and fingerprints told the tale of our movements through the mirrored halls. Lipstick here and droplets of overflowing juice there, the House of Mirrors was where, with tits pressed to the glass and his cock ramming me hard, I shook the walls with a thunderous climax.

The intoxicating sound of his cum-soaked flesh slapped against mine, the delicious wet of our shared juices sullied my flushed skin.

We were sweaty and sated, and I loved every second of it.

The fair brings with it the promise of seven days full of candy floss and amusement and seven nights of sweet, sticky debauchery.

Next week, the fair is coming back to town, and my depraved pussy will be the first in line for a ticket.

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