The Autumn Diaries by Lexi Maxxwell

I was stroking. He exploded thick ropes of white goo all over my leg. His load was massive and I felt it running down my pretty limb, then down into my shoe. The guy about fell over afterward, regaining just enough composure to come over and start rubbing my tits from under my shirt. It felt great. I felt myself already starting to cum again.  
    My Australian stud gave a mighty heave, yelled something in my ear, then leaned forward and bit the back of my neck. He pulled out and I felt his cum squirt into my still-gaping hole, spilling out and running down between my pussy lips and across my clit. His cum dripped to the floor, and I found myself wondering what the janitor would think.  
    With the spell broken, the customers in the post office started to snap out of their trances. The guy who I’d jerked off tucked his dick back into his pants and picked up his package, which he’d left on the counter beside me. I pulled my shirt and skirt back into place, knowing I’d have to wipe off back in the car or I’d slowly leak cum all over the seat on the drive home. The blue-eyed Australian guy put himself away. The woman stood, tried to pretend that nothing had happened, then gave up, suddenly spinning around marching out of the post office without a word.  
    “The post office just got a lot more interesting,” said the hot guy with the blue eyes in his sexy accent. He looked at the remains of his package, shrugged to indicate that he wouldn’t be mailing it now, grabbed my ass briefly, and left with a nod.  
    I retrieved my package and approached the male clerk. He seemed kind of cute, but I get beer goggles after I cum. He might have been cute, and he might have looked like a goblin. Either way, my pussy was throbbing, exposed to the room air, and still dripping with a stranger’s cum.  
    The maybe-cute postal clerk looked around the room as if he were about to whisper a secret. He said, “I can mail that package for free if you’d like” as his eyes moved from the package to me, then to a door that led behind the counter.  
    I hadn’t managed to cum that second time.  
    “Sounds hot,” I said, approaching the door.

M A Y 14

    WRITING THE STUFF I DO has started to serve a dual purpose, and the timing is great.  
    I hooked up with Sam, exclusively, at the beginning of this year. At first, while I love Sam, I’d been nervous that my intense, bottomless appetite for fresh dick and my desire to have tons of cum all over me, and inside of all of my holes would now go forever unsatisfied. Sam is super hot and amazing with his dick, and I LOVE that dick, and still want it in me all the time. But what of all the dicks I’d be missing? What of all the cum I wouldn’t catch on my face or in my mouth? What of all the guys I met who would have to go home and jerk off rather than of having the real thing and fucking Autumn Cole instead?  
    That had bothered me for a while, but now I realize I can have my cake and eat it too — with “having the cake” being Sam and “eating it too” referring to dream-eating all of that dick I’ve been missing.  
    Writing smut — and, if I could be so immodest, writing it well — is kind of like having a magical power that allows you to fuck all of the people you’ve ever wanted to. When I’m writing this stuff, it’s like I’m actually fucking these guys in real life. And hell, it’s even better. In the scenes I write, the guys always have great cocks that totally satisfy me. They’re never freaky enough to turn me off (not that THAT’S easy), they never have diseases I have to worry about, they’re only in relationships or married if I want them to be (and maybe those wives and girlfriends join us in threesomes), they never smell bad or have nasty back hair or anything else.  
    I only fuck Sam for real, but I can fuck anyone I want inside my own head, and I get to say exactly how it unfolds, and I can do it so real and so well that it’s really pretty close to