Amanda Barry - How To Get Nudecams For Under $100

The following story is true, told to the best of my recollections. Ten years ago today I had one of the most incredible sexual experiences of my life. Here’s what happened. I met Molly in the San Fernando Valley. I was working at an art supply store, this gigantic warehouse selling everything from spray paint and acrylics to canvas on the roll. Molly came in on a whim. She decided that morning she wanted to take up watercolor, and I spent an hour showing her various techniques and supplies that she might need. To say that she was simply "pretty" would be unjust. Molly was stunning. She had a dancer’s body, long and lithe, with slender calves and petite ankles which she accented in Grecian sandals. She wore a sundress with a sweater over the top, pulled down off the shoulder at one side to bring the eye across the lines of her clavicle and neck. It was her face, however, that stopped the show. Picture, if you will, a young Angelina Jolie, Molly had those same impossibly high cheekbones, the gigantic deep set eyes, those gorgeous full lips. Now picture that face as softer, easier to smile. Unlike Angie, her skin was a natural olive. And her hazel eyes were so bright, that when she smiled the color became a fiery orange sunset, framed perfectly by her long chestnut-colored hair. Also, it’s important for you to know that Molly was more than the sum of her beauty. She was intelligent, and spoke with a wry, prodding wit. She was poised and kind and down-to-earth. I could say she was my kind-of girl, but really she was every guy’s kind of girl. Throughout our time at the art store, I could feel a chemistry between us. She flirted, but remained aloof. We exchanged numbers, and in the following weeks we texted every other day or so. The conversations were more than friendly, but just as I would work up the courage to ask her on a proper date she would pull back. I wanted this woman with every cell in my body. As time went on I resigned myself that it wasn’t meant to be. That all changed the night of St. Patrick’s Day. I had the day off and I ended up at a dance club in Hollywood with a couple of friends. It was one of those dingy places in the early days of hipsterdom — skin-tight pants and eye-liner and asymmetrical hair cuts. The music rocked and we were having a blast. I texted Molly and told her to come join us. She played it cool and gave me a maybe. So I continued in my reveries, not giving it much of a second thought. Later that night, I was standing in the outdoor patio of the club, watching a band through a crowd of chain-smokers when two hands slipped over my eyes from behind. "Guess who?" a voice whispered in my ear. I turned and there she was. The girl of my dreams had dressed for the occasion. Molly wore a neon green top-hat with rows of green necklace beads hanging down over a tiny black tank top. Her jeans were ripped and they revealed great swaths of flesh on both the front and back of her legs. "Hey, you made it!" I said. I went to give her a hug, but with her hands still resting around my neck, she pulled me in and kissed me instead. I was shocked. Happy shocked. She kissed me hard, and with emphasis, twice, three times, parting our lips enough to taste each other. Her mouth was intoxicating. She pulled away then, smiling, and grabbed my hand. "Let’s get a drink" she said. We went to the main club, to the bar, where we met up with my friend Curtis and his girlfriend Callie. Molly draped her arms around my shoulders as we waited for our drinks. She nibbled on my neck. I held on to her waist, laughing, joking around, kissing her often. To an outsider, we must have looked every bit a young couple in love. I wasn’t sure what brought on this turn of events, but I was happy to keep my mouth shut and ride it out. We headed to the dance floor. The floor was packed with young bodies, and a mist of sweat hung above the room. The DJ blasted a driving re-mix of Interpol’s "Slow Hands" from the club speakers. Molly grabbed Callie and started to dance with her. Callie was no slouch in the looks department herself, a similar body type to Molly, with darker features compliments of her Columbian father. Callie had done some modeling for Playboy and the two dancing together, swaying their hips to the rhythm, turned every head in the place. Their hands started to wander as they danced. Molly grabbed Callie’s leg, right below her ass, and pulled her in close to grind. I danced with an arm on each girl, trying my best not to spill my drink. Molly alternated making out with me and dancing with Callie and before long they were making out as well, grinding and guiding their tongues in each others mouth. Curtis cheered us on from the sidelines. Seriously, I owed him one. As the dancing got more intense and sexual, I noticed that a circle opened up around us. Everyone in our near vicinity was watching us — two knockouts swapping saliva and me in the middle, the luckiest fucking guy on earth. The night went on, and Molly turned her attention back to me. We held each other in the crowded room with barely a foot of space to any side around us. I brought her in close, my hand on the small of her back, and she rubbed her pubic bone firmly up and down my cock. I slipped my hand inside the open space of her ripped jeans, teasing the inner flesh of her thighs with my fingertips. As we moved together, She kept those big hazel/orange eyes fixed on me. It felt like we were the only two people in the world. At one am, Molly stopped and told me that she had to go home. It was as if she had suddenly remembered something vital, like Cinderella at the ball just before she turned into a pumpkin. I told her that I would come with her — she was in no state to drive, and I could call us a cab. She declined. With no further explanation she grabbed her purse and left. It was as if some switch had flipped inside her, and the girl who liked me but couldn’t let herself be close to me had returned. I couldn’t accept it. I walked outside the club in time to see Molly get inside her car. I wish I could have prevented her from driving after drinking, but I thought maybe the next best thing would be to make sure she arrived home safely. I got in my car, and unbeknownst to Molly, I followed her home. I tailed her over the Cahuenga Pass into Studio City to where she lived in one of those four-story cement-box apartment complexes. The apartment garage had a security entrance so I was left idling on the street. I took a deep breath. Was I crazy? Did everything that happened in the hours before happen in some sort of vacuum, and in actuality Molly didn’t want me the same way I wanted her? Then I remembered the taste of her mouth and it gave me courage. I texted her: "Hey. I’m here." She wrote back right away: "What do you mean?" "I followed you home," I wrote, "I’m parked outside. Not ready to say goodnight just yet." She texted back, simply: "I can’t." I laid it on the line. I told her that I had strong feelings for her, more than just chemistry, and that I knew she felt the same way, even if she wasn’t able to come to terms with those feelings just yet. After what seemed like an eternity she replied, "What do you want?" I didn’t hesitate. "I want to be inside you." My phone went dark. one minute. Three. Then, finally "I’ll buzz you up." I don’t remember the walk up to Molly’s apartment, but I’ll never forget the look on her face when she opened the door. Her eyes were wide and lucid, but she didn’t smile. She looked frightened almost and with her lips parted slightly she sucked in a quick breath of anticipation. This wasn’t the girl making out with me on a whim in the club. She knew that we were about to play for keeps. She reached out just the slightest bit with her left hand. I stepped towards her. Our fingers grazed, then clasped, and we collided into each other. She kissed me with fury. Grabbing the back of my neck, pushing her lips against mine til I could feel the pressure in my teeth. My hands cradled her face, stroking her hair as I sucked on her lower lip; Parting her mouth so I could taste it once more. God, I loved her taste. We moved in unison — me advancing, her retreating — towards the bed. In one swift move she vaulted her tank-top over her shoulders leaving only a lace bra. I threw my own shirt on the floor. We fumbled with our jeans, kicking them off as we fell into bed. I landed on top of her, and wasted no time tracing her clavicle with my tongue. She breathed in my hair, digging her nails into my shoulders as she held me into her. Her bra clasped in the front, and after popping it open my hand, I kissed a trail down from her breast bone to her naval. Her breasts were small and firm and her nipples stiffened into pebbles against the gentling rolling of my thumb and fore-finger. I kissed down further, slurping on the point of her hip bone as I guided my thumbs under her panty line. "You’re gonna laugh," she said. "Why?" I asked. "Pull them off." she said. And as I slid her panties down, following them with my fingers past her hips, down the thighs and calves and off her feet, I noticed it. There, just above her freshly shaved pussy, was a tattoo of a four-leaf clover. I did laugh. We both did. It was clearly some sort of spring break disaster of a tattoo, but on this day, with this girl, my luck was truly the luck of the Irish. Molly was completely naked now. I grabbed a leg with each hand, pulling them apart like a wishbone. I wanted her to feel vulnerable. No more second guesses now. With my hands holding each leg in place I kissed her thighs. I teased her with my mouth — nibbling, licking, tracing, sucking — working my way up to and just around her shiny wet opening. Her pussy was immaculate, shaved bald and without a trace of stubble and when I dipped my tongue in I received a mouthful of pure syrup. She was flooded, and her juices, mixed with the sweat of dancing and drinking, were heaven in my mouth. I eased her labia open with my tongue, licking a vertical line from the bottom of her lips to just below the clit. She was moaning for me, making unintelligible exclamations about God and fuck. She was captive to my mouth, and as I grazed her clit, so softly, and so slowly, I released her. She came. Hard. Smashing her pussy into my face. I rode the wave, keeping my pressure firm, sucking ever so lightly on her clit as she bucked and held the back of my head until her hips at once relented, and she fell back in to the bed. She gulped for air, and a thin film of perspiration covered her naked body and gave her skin a glow. I pulled up beside her, my face next to hers. She turned, and reached a finger into my mouth, coated it with my saliva and her juices. She fed the finger back into her mouth, swallowing the mixture. My cock, already at it’s fullest peak, pulsed for attention. Molly flipped on to her stomach and got on to her knees. I got behind her, stroking my cock with purpose. I eased a finger inside her to guide the way. Her pussy was electric, sopping wet and pulsing. I could feel her heartbeat. I fully planned on shoving my cock inside her at that moment, but instead, something strange happened. I pushed my finger straight in, then pulled it out. Molly moaned and pushed back against my finger. I inserted it again, using it like it a dick to fuck her. This time she pushed back harder. I brought my middle finger and my pointer finger together, pushing inside her with two fingers. She grunted, and started fucking them, back and forth, back and forth. She was so wet, so open, that when on the next thrust I pulled out just enough to include my ring finger as well, I’m not sure she even noticed. What I noticed was that she was basically throwing her body back on to my fingers. She wanted more. I pulled out, and quickly gathering all five fingers together slid my hand inside Molly’s dripping cunt. A low guttural sound came from her belly, "Uuhhhnnnnn." She was in a trance at this point, eyes closed, hands braced against the wall as she pushed back with all her might. It was like a spell had been cast on us both, and I pushed my hand further inside her, watching the vaginal wall stretch around my knuckles. This goddess, this perfect woman full of charm and grace, was begging me to fist her. I have never done this with a girl before or since, but that night with Molly, her pushing and me negotiating, I fist-fucked her pussy. Molly was in heat. I tried to move slowly, but she pushed her ass up to my wrist then down to my knuckles in one violent swift motion, then she did it again and again and again. I could feel her build towards orgasm, but this was different then the way she acted when she came in my mouth. There was something some primitive and animalistic at play here. I don’t think she could have articulated if she wanted to, and the sound of fingers squelching in and out of her pussy over and again was met only by a dull droning moan. She stopped suddenly, and with a final cry pushed everything she had against me, coming on my fist. As she subsided, my hand slid out, leaving a yawning chasm with a clear view straight down to her cervix. I wish I could say I was a gentleman and gave her time to recover but I couldn’t last any longer. I rolled her limp, exhausted body on to her back, and in one motion, shoved my cock in to the hilt. She felt amazing. And even though her pussy was distended from my hand, the silky walls enveloped my cock with a sweet all-encompassing wetness. We made love. Softly, and slowly. Like I was taking care to remove all the pain I had inflicted before. I slid my dick out an inch, then two, then all the way back before returning all the way in. She kissed me, just on the lips. A peck, as she brushed the hair out of my eyes. I had the entirety of my body weight on top of her. Her ankles curled around my calves. My elbows held her tightly at her sides, while my arms snaked under her arm pits and over the underside of her wrists, holding her hands all the way above her head and pinning her down. Everything was tingling. I felt the orgasm building in my hips and groin. I pushed deeper, bottoming out at her cervix. The head of my cock in complete alignment, swelling, thickening. She looked up at me, eyes wide, staring into my eyes with incredible focus. I pivoted my hips and with final one thrust unloaded streams of thick cum deep into Molly. She met each pulse, squeezing my cock with her pussy, drinking the cum inside her. In this moment, she was mine. We made love several more times that night, though my memory is bit foggy on the exact details. I do know that it was sweet and gentle and I was happy. I spent the night, and when I awoke, Molly had turned into a pumpkin again. She kissed me, yes, but not in the same way. I tried to make plans and she was noncommittal. I hate to use the word regret, but I felt it radiating off of her. I took a shower and headed home. I was all-in on Molly, but in the days that passed she started distancing herself from me in earnest. I wondered if what we experienced might have been too intense? Maybe I brought out a side of her that she didn’t like? It wasn’t until I did a little social networking detective work that the mystery became clear. Molly had a boyfriend. A long-term, serious, home-town sweetheart, who currently lived thousands of miles away. They were doing long distance while Molly pursued her dreams in LA. What we shared was incredible, but I soon let it go. Molly’s heart wasn’t mine; I was only her mistake. But I still think about her, and the night we shared together. And every St. Patrick’s Day, I remember the gorgeous girl with the four-leaf clover tattoo, and I wonder if she thinks about me too. thecontestyears [1 comment]