Poor Susan. All dressed up and nowhere to go! She got stood up by her regular Friday evening sex date, and she’s mad about that. Fortunately, she’s got a nice fat thick candle and an active imagination:

The evening should have been good. Hungers had been building for too long a time and should have been satisfied, but that hope was dashed now and the hunger built a raw edge.

With it, came a rush of sexual images, nude bodies in the various acts of love began to writhe in her mind, her body began to feel the touches of hands, fingers began to slide up her thighs and play in her crotch.

Susan was surprised to look down and find that the fingers were her own. It was too late to stop, so she allowed her fingers to play with the too sensitive lips of her pussy, then gave a little groan of passion as a finger moved into her slit.

But it wouldn’t be right, she warned herself. There had been many times when her finger sufficed nicely, but this time, she needed the feeling of a stout cock inside her, filling her and making her squirm.

Susan forced herself to get up and hurry to the dresser. Opening the drawer, she reached under a pile of sheets and picked up the candle. It was something she used only at special times, and this was a special time.

As she walked back to the bed, she caressed it in both hands. Already, it was becoming a cock, long and hard and smooth. It was a big candle, as big as any cock she had ever seen or felt.

On the bed again, the candle lying beside her, the phantom lover began to fondle her body. He did it well, as he caressed breasts and thighs fondly while whispering words of love and passion and raw sex.

“Oh yes, lover, yes! I’m ready for you…” Susan closed her hand around his strong, massive cock. “Oh, my darling lover, I’m so ready, I’ll put it in for you. Oh oh, you’re so big and long, oh lover… oh… oh!”

While the fingers of her left hand parted the moist, pink lips, her other hand guided his prick and she felt the bigness of him forcing entry.

As she writhed in delicious surrender, the big cock pushed farther and farther into her cunt until she was filled. And then, he began to stroke, the smooth piston sliding in and out, spreading the thrill of the fuck through her entire body.

Through her flaring passion, she heard her lover tell in beautifully frank words of the beauty of her cunt and the sweet way she fucked.

And then, all too soon, the big moment was arriving. Her body tensed, poised high, and she was coming. In her delirious joy, she felt the man coming into her at the same moment, felt his hot, rich semen spurting deeply into her cunt and flooding her belly.

It was a wonderful come and went on and on. Each time she thought it was finished, her body would twitch again, the moist walls of her cunt would close around the prick to squeeze it. Her little uncontrollable gasps continued until at last, her body fell back to the bed, limp, tired, but, at last, satisfied.

At the same moment, she withdrew the candle which was, again, a candle. The reality of it spoiled nothing for her. There are women who feel a sense of shame after masturbating, but Susan was not one of these.

A woman who didn’t have a good lover, she believed, was a fool to settle for an inferior lover or to be ashamed of making love to herself.

Getting up from the bed, Susan looked at herself in the mirror as she stood with her feet wide apart. Pressing her hands along the tops of her thighs with just the tips of her beautiful fingers in her crotch, Susan swore she could feel the physical sense of well-being with her fingers. It was a positive thing, a positive joy.

She had bought the candle, two of them in fact, in a gift package at a nearby church. At the time of purchase, she had hoped she looked pious enough to the thin lipped, sere old woman who sold them to her.

Susan had almost told the woman what she was going to use them for. The urge to do so, and to see the expression on the woman’s face, had been strong, but she managed to resist.

Returning to the bed, she picked up the candle, dried it carefully, and returned it to the drawer.

“So long, lover,” she said with a little grin. “I’ll call you next time I need you.”

Closing the drawer, she went into the kitchen, refilled her glass, and, still nude, walked into the living room and settled down with a good book.

From a 1969 stroke book called The Administrator, by Randy Van Horn.

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