On the Beach, Part 14

Author’s Note: This story continues from Part 13

Most men would have been happy to fuck me for a few nights and then send me back to my studies and out of their lives. Elie was not most men. He also didn’t seem to be in any hurry to fuck me at all, even though I was literally begging for him to take me.

I showered when we returned to his flat,  my mind leaping ahead to feeling his weight on top of me. But Elie was full of surprises, and as I would learn, getting what I wanted from him was a privilege that I would have to earn.

When I emerged from the shower, naked and ready to devour and be devoured, I was shocked to see that he wasn’t alone in bed. He lay back, his strong arms behind his head. Asha curled next to him, her head bobbing at his waist, clearly giving him a blowjob. I froze. For a moment, I couldn’t think, but I could hear the smacking sounds of her mouth on his cock. The action was hidden by her curly hair. Elie was luxuriously tan, but Asha’s skin was an even deeper brown. She was naked, her thin body gorgeous next to his.

Jealousy and confusion roiled in my gut. I took a deep breath. I’d wanted an adventure in sex, and I was getting one.

Elie opened his eyes and smiled at me. He was clearly enjoying what Asha was doing with her mouth. Again I felt a twang of jealousy, but I took a deep breath and let the feeling boil deep in my belly. I’d promised to trust him, which meant I had to be comfortable getting out of my comfort zone. Look at the day I’d already had: naked in public, sex in a bookshop, dancing nude in a fountain, and attending an erotic theater. This was more variety than I’d experienced in my whole life, and I was hungry for more.

“Come,” he beckoned me, patting the bed next to him.

I sat. Asha paused for a moment and smiled up at me. Her lips were wet and her chin slick. Her green eyes stunned me. She looked blissful and my heart caught in my throat. What a beautiful woman! I felt unexciting next to her raw sensuality.

“Tara,” she said, her voice soft. “Kiss me.”

I hesitated for an instant, then leaned in. Our lips touched. Her lips were slippery with Elie, I could taste him on her. A sharp twang shivered up my spine. Her scent of vanilla and musk filled my nostrils, along with the heady aroma of sex. Our tongues touched, flirting lightly as the kiss deepened. Arousal awoke in my belly.

After a few, sensuous moments, Asha pulled her lips away. She held Elie’s impressive cock at the base, and without skipping a breath Asha slipped his cockhead into her mouth, and then lowered her mouth slowly onto his cock. My eyes widened as she took all of him, right down to his hilt. Unbelievably, I saw how his cockhead filled and opened her throat. Her command of the gag reflex was nothing short of incredible and I was sincerely impressed. I also knew without a doubt that I couldn’t give Elie a blowjob half as good as Asha. Again, jealousy and insufficiency twinged in my gut.

“That’s amazing,” I said.

Asha looked up and smiled. “Much practice,” she said.

I kissed her again, savoring the slickness of her lips.

“On your back,” Elie said, patting Asha’s head.

They shifted, Asha on her back, legs spread wide open. I glanced at her pussy, pink and wet, before Elie lowered himself on top of her. His cock was thick with need, and he pinned her beneath him, sinking deep into her. Asha moaned and I felt very weird. Elie fucked her with slow and deliberate tempo. Each stroke sounded wet and lucious. My pussy responded with eager heat. I was aroused, and I also felt very left out of the fun. I watched Elie taking her, listened to Asha’s delighted moans, and tried not to sink into the feeling of being abandoned. After all, just a few minutes ago I’d been in the shower, ready to fuck Elie myself, yet here I was watching him fuck her instead.

I took a deep breath. I did feel jealous of her, but I told myself to enjoy the sensation. My curiousity outweighed the jealousy. I did enjoy the sight of his cock disappearing into her, the pleasure that was clearly shared between them. I lay back and watched. I felt jittery and jazzed up.

“How do you feel?” Asha said while Elie thrust on top of her. She tilted her head to see me.

“I’m okay,” I said.

She let out a sigh as he sank deep inside and then withdrew.

“Are you jealous?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“Embrace that feeling,” she said. She gasped as Elie thrust. “Pay attention… Ah… Jealousy and arousal are close cousins.”

Her noises turned me on. I took a deep breath and paid attention to the sensations flooding my body, especially that tickle of jealousy. I noticed how it sat low in my belly, and realized that Asha was right: the actually jealousy felt almost identical to the restless want of horniness when I divorced it from the context of the situation. It was a revelation. I relaxed, sank into my body, and tuned into the sights and sounds of Elie and Asha fucking.

They took their time. Elie’s strokes were slow and sweet. Asha seemed content to arch herself toward him, savoring the slip and slide of his cock. I ached. The jealous feeling spurred me on. I spread my legs, pleased that Elie turned to sweep his burning gaze over my body, fixating on my pussy. I reached my hand down to the curls between my legs, but Elie shook his head.

“Watch, but don’t touch yourself.”

I groaned. “You’re killing me,” I said. I could barely stand the need to touch myself, but I restrained myself. I settled on teasing my nipples, which Elie allowed without comment, watching me with a smile. Granted, this only served to turn me on further, but I needed to do something while I watched them.

I could tell Elie was close. The flush on his face, the way his neck strained, were dead giveaways that he was going to come. He pulled out of Asha. His cock was angrily erect and slick with Asha’s juices. He waved me forward. It took me only a second to realize he wanted to come in my mouth. I went down eagerly, my mouth watering — anything for some action! I pumped him with my fist, his thick head in my mouth, my tongue massaging his glans. He tasted and smelled like the richness of Asha’s pussy. I loved it. I slobbered on him, ready to receive, and he released with a groan, clutching my head. Wave after wave of thick jizz spurted into my throat. For a second I was drowning, swallowing his syrup, trying to keep up with the volume. I liked cum but this was a lot!

I continued to suckle him, cleaning his shaft, until he started to wilt.

“Good job,” he said. “Now finish her, too.”

Asha smiled at me and spread her thighs invitingly. She cradled my head in her hands as I dove between her legs. She was gushing wet, and I could taste Elie in her. I moaned, so aroused I could barely stand it. I suckled and kissed her cunt, lapping at her with the blade of my tongue, trying to get as much of her in my mouth as I could. Asha thrust her hips and guided me with her hands. Her climax came suddenly, and I cried out with her as I felt her inside clench against my tongue. I couldn’t help but rock my own hips, my pussy twitching in response to her pleasure.

“Very good,” Elie said, smiling. He patted the small of my naked back and I thrummed at his touch. Maybe it was my turn?

Asha gasped, her face soft with pleasure. She smiled like the sun. “Tara, you eat cunt like a professional,” she said.

I blushed at the compliment. “How do you know I’m not one?” I said.

She laughed. “I suppose I don’t. I thank you for trusting us. Are you having a good time?”

I paused. I nodded. I was having a great time.

“I understand what you mean by jealousy,” I said.

“Yes. I’ve always found that it heightens my feelings of lust. I guess some people find it unbearable, but that’s not been my experience.”

I understood. I’d enjoyed the sex with Elie and Asha in a different way than if I was the one being fucked. I liked it. I could be a part of it without needing to perform. But now I just wanted to get off.

“Can I come now?” I pleaded.

Elie considered. “You’ve been very good today, but I want you to experience something special, and for that I want to make you wait.”

My heart sank. I didn’t think I could stand it.

“Anticipation is the best pleasure,” Asha said. “Can you see how far you can go without having an orgasm? Wouldn’t you like to try?”

“I already feel all wound up,” I said.

“You’re only just getting started,” Elie said.

To be continued…

For Dinner

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CC-0 via Pixabay

“I want to suck you,” I say, pulling at the zipper to his jeans.

My husband doesn’t argue, helping me tug his pants down. I push him back on the couch. Pale wintry sunlight streams through the window.

I slip his underwear off his hips and his cock emerges from hiding, chubby but not yet hard. I dive my head, taking a deep breath of his musk, and take his penis in my mouth. This is my favorite, when the dick’s still soft and dry, small enough to take fully. Salty, tangy, and a little soapy-sweet. I love feeling him thicken on my tongue, hearing his little moans, knowing I’m doing that to him.

This isn’t an exploratory mission. I’m here to do a job. I suck and slurp. My chin is soon wet and my husband groans with delight. He holds my head. I know he wants to thrust deep but resists so as not to choke me. I do it for him, taking him as far as I can stand. I choke myself on his cock, knowing that he loves it. His gasps make it all worth it.

It doesn’t take long. I know his triggers and I use them. I let go of the base of his prick and finish him with my mouth alone. He spills, a hot reward for my efforts bathing my tongue. I swallow what he gives me. I suckle his fat, sensitive tip. He hisses, the nerves all so sensitive now that he’s come.

I sit back and wipe my chin on my sleeve. He gives me a glowing smile. I don’t want to fuck, just needed to give him my mouth as little treat this afternoon. He wouldn’t have asked but I was eager to suck cock.

“What do you want for dinner?” I say.

“Pussy,” he replied.

A smile twitches at the corner of my lips.

On the Beach, Part 13

Author’s Note: It’s been a long time since this story started, inspired by a prompt from Besos de Cuero. I haven’t given up on the story yet, it’s meandering toward some kind of climax.

The previous episode is here.


“Tell me about your day,” Elie said, sipping his red wine.

We were in a dim, cozy restaurant not far from his flat. The aromas of roasting meat and spices tickled my nostrils. I wore a sleek, black dress that we’d bought today during the naked shopping trip. I was naked under the dress, my nipples tight and obvious through the thin fabric. I was high as a kite after the joint Elie and I had smoked, and more than a little tipsy from the sweet wine in my glass. Was this my third? I couldn’t remember.

I smiled mischievously. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened,” I said.

“You are lying,” he said, grinning back.

“Yes.”

“Tell me everything,” he said, leaning in. I caught my breath. He was so attractive, and there was something about him that was… different. A hint of command in his voice that made me shiver in my very core.

I took my time, letting the story of my day spin into the fragrant night air like an erotic web. My voice was soft so he had to lean close to hear me. Elie was very attentive, as if every word I spoke nourished him. As I told him the story, wet heat bloomed between my thighs. He was especially interested in my feelings.

“Did you enjoy being bared in front of everyone?” he said.

“Yes,” I gasped, taking a mouthful of wine, letting it roll over my tongue.

His gaze was unwavering.

“Tell me, Tara — how far can I push you?”

My tummy twisted with a fearful excitement. What did he have in mind?

“I don’t… I’m not sure.” I blushed.

“You have so much potential,” he said. “For pleasure.”

Ah, I flooded at the tone of surety in his deep voice.

“I’m intrigued,” I said, cocking my head coyly. “What did you have in mind?”

“I would rather show you than tell you,” he said. “Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” I said. I’d already decided to trust him.

“Good. There is a theatre I’d like to visit with you. Will you be my date?”

“Of course. Am I dressed okay?”

“Don’t worry about what to wear,” he said.

We ate a meal dripping with sweet and spice, chicken so tender it was like dessert, sauce so luxurious that I lost myself in the savor. I was heady with wine and sensuality. We took our time, laughing and talking. I told him intimate details I never thought I’d share with anyone, and he listened with the utmost attentiveness. I felt like a goddess when I was around him. I wondered what he saw in me?

After dinner, we strolled through town. The breeze up my skirt was refreshing on my bare ass. I felt free and uninhibited, not to mention drunk. We passed a fountain and I pulled my black dress off over my head, squealing as the cold water ran over my skin and tightened my nipples. I was thrilled by the small crowd of onlookers that gathered to watch the bare American playing in the fountain.

Elie chuckled at me as I stepped, dripping, from the marble pool.

“Well, now you’ve got to dry,” he said.

My teeth chattered, but the night was warm and soon enough I was dry enough that I could slip my dress back over my head. We’d attracted a small following of men (and a few women) capturing videos and pics of me, or just taking the opportunity to stare and comment. A young man with his friends approached as I pulled my dress on.

“Beautiful,” he said with a thick accent. “You are, your breasts, very nice.”

His attention made me feel absolutely giddy. I knew I was out of control, and I savored the feeling.

“Thanks,” I smiled. I pulled down the straps of my dress, popping my breasts out for him to see. I laughed at how his eyes widened, his gaze immediately on my chest. His friends, five or six strapping young men, surrounded us. Elie took a few steps back, seemingly interested in seeing what I would do.

“Kiss them,” I said, pinching my sensitive nipples.

“Ah?” the young man said. His friends exchanged comments in another language.

“Suck them,” I said, squeezing my breasts and making kissing sounds with my lips. I glanced at Elie, worried that he might disapprove, but he looked amused.

The young man leaned in tentatively. He cupped my breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, and then dipped his lips to my nipple. He sucked the tender bit of flesh and I let out a sigh, and then took more of my soft tit in his mouth. His friends closed in around me after the initial ice was broken, their hands all over me suddenly, jockeying to get my nipples in their lips. Hands groped and squeezed, caressed my abdomen, and then lower. They were eager and prying, excited by the strange thrill of a willing foreign woman. It was overwhelming: the sucking of my tits, a man kissing my mouth and then another, and then a third, someone tugging my dress down, hands prying between my thighs and cupping my ass. Fingers sought my holes ungently. I let out a little cry.

“Okay, it’s enough boys,” Elie said, his voice firm.

They lads reluctantly peeled off of me. A few more moments and I wondered what would have happened? They would have fucked me, certainly. I could see their boners awkwardly bulging. My heart raced. I wouldn’t have said no, but here we were in a public street. I pulled up my dress, blushing with lust and a thrilling embarassment. The crowd of onlookers had only grown. They seemed to love this show I was putting on. I wondered what the point of the dress was at this point?

“Very nice, lady,” the young man said. “Can we visit you… later? Maybe we, you know…”

I glanced at Elie. He arched his eyebrows at me, challenging me. “That’s up to you,” he said softly in my ear.

“Give me your number,” I said to him, wondering what the hell I was thinking.

“Well, what has gotten into you tonight?” Elie mused as we walked away.

“Nothing has gotten into me all day,” I said, laughing. “That’s the problem.”

He smiled. “Trust me, I’ll eventually give you everything that you want. Isn’t it more fun to wait?”

I was thrumming. “Yes,” I admitted, practically skipping with pent-up energy. “I’m having the most fun today.”

He took me by the hand and led me to an alley. At the end of the alley was a little red door. Elie knocked and the door opened. The woman wore a pair of gold panties though her generous breasts were bare, and her skin sparkled with gold glitter. Her eyeshadow was shimmering gold as well, but her hair was jet black and perfectly straight. I tried not to stare. She smiled at me as we entered, and rested her hand briefly on my forearm.

“Welcome,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

in-the-club

Elie led me into a darkened club. It was like a theatre, except there were no seats. The audience stood and mingled. Many were in some state of undress, or wearing outlandish fashions (I saw a woman dressed as a mermaid). Some seemed to be wearing lingerie. I saw a grass skirt and coconut bra and a man in a medieval suit of armor, except the codpiece was missing and instead he displayed his cock and balls. Loud music was playing and everyone was drinking.

“I thought you said this was a theatre?” I said, speaking loudly over the music.

“The show hasn’t started yet,” he said.

Elie seemed to know many of these people. He mingled, keeping me close to him and introducing me politely to everyone. He bought me another drink.

The music stopped and the crowd cheered. A man walked out of the audience and up on stage. He was handsome and eccentric — platinum blond hair accented with black eye shadow. He wore a bright blue bodysuit, like the ones that swimmers wear. Once the applause died down, he began to peel himself out of the suit, finally standing naked. He stood proudly, with eyes closed. I gazed at his naked physique. He was gorgeous.

Music with a heavy beat began to swell. The man parted his legs and put his palms together like he was praying. He stretched toward the sky until his body made an “A”. His cock hung heavily, his erection beginning to swell along with the beat. I was fascinated by the lean strength in his torso as he reached for heaven.

A woman stepped out of the audience and climbed up on stage. She was thin and gorgeous, with silky black hair. She wore a pink bodysuit just like his. She stood in front on him and peeled herself out of her clothing. When she was naked there was some applause from the audience. Her breasts rose and fell with her breath. I could see her excitement from where I stood, and it excited me, too.

She stood in front of the man, spread her legs, and bent at the waist, holding her ankles. Her hair trailed on the floor. I was amazed by her flexibility, she must be a yogi, I thought. She held that pose, perfectly still. She let her hips rest gently against his in such a way that her pussy was inevitably against his genitals.

The music continued to grind, but those two held their pose like statues. I couldn’t imagine how much strength it must take to keep those postures. Then, after many minutes, I noticed that she had begun to move her hips imperceptibly. She let go of her ankles and with agonizing slowness — such core strength! — she also reached for the sky. But she did not put her palms together as the man had done. Instead, she made a “V” with her arms. Now I could see the man’s erection between her legs, pressed against her flesh. An erotic thrill raced through my body.

The man began to move his hips, slow as molasses. His rock-hard cock pressed upward against her pussy. She held perfectly still, arms upheld and eyes closed. It seemed like forever (I suppose it was ten minutes), but he kept his perfectly even and languorous pace. Never once did he falter, or thrust faster, or show any signs that he was intensely aroused — except that his erection was magnificently fierce. Now I could see it glisten as it slid between her folds, dripping with her moisture. I was dripping, too. I couldn’t remember ever being so horny.

I marveled at his control. I knew he must want to penetrate her, to ease his lust in her flesh. She was so wet his cock would meet no resistence. But he was like a robot, unmoved. I was the opposite, practically jumping out of my skin with the need for an orgasm.

Then, out of nowhere, the man came. His cock emerged between her thighs and spurted. The cum shot prodigiously far. A gasp of delight and applause rose from the audience. I was amazed at how intensely this man ejaculated. Yet he never stopped, never slowed, and no moan escaped either him or her during the entire performance. After a minute or two, the man stepped away from the woman and squeezed back into his bodysuit. The woman still stood with her arms and legs spread, eyes closed, perfectly still.

I watched her, entranced. The music changed. A deep bass shuddered through the stage, so low that I could feel it more than hear it. She didn’t move, but I could see her body reacting. It was as though she was experiencing extreme arousal, although there was nothing I could see that stimulated her. Her chest was flushed, as were her cheeks, and her nipples jutted. I could see from here that she was soaking wet, glistening with lust. She never moved, but I could sense the tension winding up inside of her. I could see the extreme discipline she was using to hold still.

The bass dropped and she came. It was… incredible. No one touched her and she barely moved. She never cried out. Her body quivered only slightly. But the energy washing over her was almost palpable. I thought I could feel her orgasm ripple out through the audience. Her face was stoic with barely a twitch of her lips, but her pussy gushed, moisture trickling down her legs. And then the amazing thing happened. I let out a gasp, and then a sharp cry, as I felt the spasms of a sudden spontaneous orgasm ripple through me. Even as I was briefly consumed by the pleasure I heard other women coming all around me.

I sucked in a deep breath. I’d never come in such a way before and I was staggered. Elie propped me up since my knees had gone weak.

“What was that?” I gasped when I had breath again.

“An orgasm,” he said.

“It’s impossible.”

“You think so.” His smile was infuriating.

There were other acts. I was morbidly fascinated. A woman sat on a dildo so fat it seemed impossible and channeled an ancient Egyptian spirit. She didn’t look human after she was “possessed”. Of course, I didn’t believe any of it, but it was still amazing to witness. If she was faking it, she was an excellent actor. The demon worked her into a frenzy, fucking the dildo with a fury. I almost couldn’t watch, appalled at how deeply — and roughly — she took the wide tool. It must’ve been painful. By the end she shuddered and climaxed, and her orgasm seemed to jettison the spirit from her body. She crumpled to the stage. I thought she was dead, until with a great gasp her eyes popped open. She took a bow and solemnly walked off the stage. Shivers ran up and down my spine.

A skinny woman with no breasts and a bare pussy blew a skinny man with a tiny penis. When he was fiercely erect, she stopped sucking and jerked his little cock until he came. Immediately after, she went down on him again and in no time, he was hard again. Again she jerked him until he spurted and once again she went down. Each time he came the audience clapped a little louder. His face twisted with a kind of pain I’d never seen. It aroused me even as it unsettled me. Over and over she made him come. I lost count at a dozen times. He kept going, seeming to have no trouble repeating, no more than two minutes between ejaculations. His tiny cock was bright red and stiff as a nail, and the titless woman milked him until he could bear no more.

Then the tiny woman took all fours and a lineup of men fucked her while her partner watched. The men all wore peculiar masks with feathers and horns. I don’t know how many men penetrated her, but one after another they took her from behind, filling her with their cum until it ran down her legs. Her nipples were amazingly plump and stiff on her otherwise flat chest. When the last man had finished she straddled her partner’s face — the one with the small cock. He eagerly lapped at her pussy as if it were his favorite treat, and she came hard on his face, shrieking and shuddering. The man’s cock was intensely erect the entire time. I loved watching the flush cover her chest as she smothered the man with her cum-dripping pussy.

It was a night of bizarre sexuality. I’d never imagined anything like it. The sights and sounds unsettled me, but I was also deeply aroused. It was like watching some pagan rite from the ancient past, or a sexual circus.

I took Elie’s hand. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach his ear.

“Please take me home and fuck me,” I said.

He smiled. “I’ll take you home.”

The story is continued in Part 14.

Nancy Friday Dies

I had no idea that Nancy Friday had died. I cannot express how much My Secret Garden meant to me. Or, I should say, means to me. Just last week I was rereading parts of the book, marveling at how revolutionary it was. It was my entry point into sexual fantasy, of that there is no doubt. I wrote (a tiny bit) about it in my post First Sexy Books.

Will Crimson has kindly given permission to reblog this thoughtful post about Nancy Friday. I encourage you to read it, and if you’ve never picked up My Secret Garden, perhaps this would be a good time to read that as well.

The Erotic Writer

Nancy FridayNancy Friday, if you don’t already know who she is, is a journalist who published My Secret Garden. The book is a collection of women’s erotic fantasies, published in 1973. Long before the Internet, her book gave voice to women’s sexual fantasies and, as such, caused both outrage and enthusiastic support. Until Friday’s book, the erotic voice was largely confined to men. That women had erotic fantasies came as a shock to many.

I first read Friday’s book when I was roughly 13. The realization that women fantasized too, and that their fantasies were strangely mirror images of mine, was a revelation. When I imagined cornering a girl in a dark corner and forcing her to orgasm on my own, I was shocked to read that somewhere there was a girl who was fantasizing about the boy would force her into a dark corner, warn her to be…

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A Slut Like You

This is the companion story to A Slut Like Me. This story was written by Will Crimson in response to the request that I wrote for him, and is also 500 words long.

Livia’s hips brushed mine. Her back was turned. She was dancing to music loud enough to make eggnog ripple. Livia was a cute girl: sharp wit and lips glistening with men’s sighs. But there was another woman I was looking for: shy, hiding in corners.

“Is this yours?” I’d asked.

“Stop it!” she hurried back to her desk.

“It’s good.”

She flipped over the ruled tablet. “What do you want?”

“I forgot.”

“Jesus H!” She gave me a look, then shooed me back to my desk, making sure no one else had noticed. That story, full of words like cock, cunt, and slut, and that little bit of temper. Whatever corner she was hiding in, I wanted to find it, and wanted to explore that other world she was living in.

Then I saw her. She had her gaze set on Tor. Why shouldn’t she? He was flashy the way Livia was flashy, but in all the wrong ways. I knew it. She didn’t know it. She was just a few steps away. I reached for her elbow but not before swinging hips landed on the floor, on her ass, like Thérèse Dreaming, her thick-framed glasses on the tip of her nose. She pushed them back up.

“You okay?”

I helped her up. She was still looking for Tor — a guy named after a browser. Hey! I shouted. She looked at me, straightening her glasses — surprised, disheveled, flushed, loose strands over her ears. “You don’t want him!”

“What?”

I leaned in closer so she could hear me. “You don’t want him,” I said again, then quoted a line from her story. “You want a slut like me.”

She gaped. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

She looked exasperated, like I’d walked into a story, uninvited, and glared at me defiantly: “So you know what I’m thinking about right now?”

Fuck it.

I leaned in, reached round her, a hand at the small of her back, the finger’s tip of my other at her throat. “You’re thinking me, on the balcony, right now.”

She didn’t answer. We were both the unsalaried employees nobody paid attention to. A little smile turned the corners of her lips, a sudden decision, and she guided my hand downward. I softly pinched her nipple. I could feel, but couldn’t hear the little exhalation.

“You want a slut like me?” My fingers were pressed into the pleated cotton between her thighs.

She turned, she pulled, and then I steered—up the stairs and to the second floor balcony, fresh air, shadows. She turned as if to kiss, but we weren’t teenagers. I turned her back round, lifted her skirt, bent her over the railing and curled my tongue into her cunt.

“Sweet Jesus!” she gasped.

By the time I stood behind her, she was watching Tor again, but when I put a finger in her mouth, she sucked on it, and when I drove myself upward, into her from behind, her grip tightened on the railing.

A Slut Like Me

This is an erotic request from Will Crimson. He was the first to respond to the Bonus section at the end of my tediously long post on Creative Commons. This story is exactly 500 words long, and Will has agreed to write a response from the other perspective.


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Photo by FotographieLink, with modifications. CC-0 (Public Domain)

I sipped eggnog, hiding in a shadowy corner of the warehouse, observing the chaos of the office party. Music thundered, killing even the possibility of conversation.

I adjusted my bra strap. My eyes were on Tor. I’d positioned myself to spy on him, trying to screw up the nerve to ask him out.

I wanted to fuck Tor. It wasn’t complicated.

I watched him across a sea of people. He talked to a slim woman I recognized from HR.

You don’t want her, I said silently to him. You want a slut like me.

I took a deep breath. My heart raced. I needed to make a move. I wanted to say, I want you inside me. Too forward?

“Go,” I said to myself, clenching a sweaty fist. “Go.”

I jostled my way through the crowd, my eyes glued to Tor. His admirer’s back was turned toward me, and I felt a violent urge to shove the pretty blond bitch.

Just then I was knocked to the ground, like instant karma for wanting to push that girl. Some inebriated sonovabitch. He hadn’t even realized that he toppled me and he kept on dancing. Jackass.

A shadow leaned over me. I stared. He looked like a goddamn Greek god. Let’s call him Apollo.

“You okay?” he said, helping me up.

I nodded, glancing at Tor.

“You don’t want him,” the guy shouted over the music. “You want a slut like me.”

I gaped.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

He’d pulled those words right out of my head, like threads from a fraying pair of panties.

“What am I thinking now?” I said, barely breathing.

He leaned in. “You’re thinking me, on the balcony, right now.”

He was right. I took his hand and guided it under my skirt. Never mind the people around.

“You want a slut like me,” I said as his fingers caressed my heat through the fabric.

I kissed him, my mouth hot and eager. He was too cool for desire, waiting for me to break apart on his shoals. He had a key to open something inside of me that I didn’t know was locked.

The second-floor balcony was dark and quiet on one end. Apollo leaned me over the railing. He pulled down my panties and suckled my cunt like an overripe fruit, making me moan as I watched those fools dancing and grinding down below.

“Sweet Jesus,” I gasped, grabbing the railing.

A tremor in my core buckled my knees. Just a foreshock, warning of the gathering earthquake.

Behind me, the man pulled up my skirt. He parted my buttocks, admiring my asshole. I didn’t look back. I knew he was going to fuck me and was eager to be taken.

As he penetrated me, I spotted Tor on the dance floor rubbing on that girl. Apollo’s cock drove deeply into my cunt, summoning a slippery orgasm. I clutched the railing while I watched Tor slip his tongue to the woman from HR.


The Request

The plot: You, woman, have your eyes on the perfect guy. It’s been a while since the last relationship. Finally, you’re in the same room as him. You’re at a party, or social function, or in a crowd in a street at Mardi Gras, maybe you’re wearing a mask. Maybe everyone is? You’re going to approach him. You know he’s single. And just about when you’ve screwed up your courage, there’s a guy who’s had his eye on you. He gets to you first. What do you do? Do you tell him, no? He’s cute too. And suddenly he’s a lot cuter. You’re torn when he pulls you, just the two of you, into a hidden nook for a clothed quickie, a sudden and insistent quickie that could turn into something more. But do you stop him? Or do you let him claim you? Do you claim him? Do you tell yourself you’re not really in a relationship yet. Which way does new love explore. 🙂  ~Will Crimson

Martha & Paul (HIS & HERS )

This story is an experiment with two perspectives. Each is 69 words long. 

HIS:

Her name was Martha, an old-fashioned name for a modern girl, with the looks of an innocent but the soul of a succubus. Every day when she got home she peeled off her panties, hiked up her skirt, and sat down on the couch with her pale legs spread. She was pink and ready, and I loved the slick silk of her pussy, so wet and hungry for cock.

HERS:

His name was Paul, a skinny man with a hooked penis. We lived together in Venice for a sweet summer. I was also fucking a muscular Italian man every afternoon in secret. The Italian liked to finger me brutally to orgasm before pumping me full of jizz. Paul loved the musk of my sweaty furrow. He eagerly fucked me, never realizing. Hungry, my devious cunt feasted upon his betrayal.

Remains
Photo by Sacha Federowsky (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)