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.

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

Hurry Up and Wait

I’m supposed to be working right now, but my mind was wandering to sexy things, so instead I wrote this fun little (sort of true) story to spice up your Friday…

My husband suggested the game.

“Every day this week I’m going to eat you out and make you come, and I won’t even take my pants off.”

“And what do you get out of it?” I said.

“The excitement of licking your pussy,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Don’t you want to come, too?”

“Friday. On Friday you return the favor.”

As always, I’m down for his little games.

Monday.

“Pants off, girlie.”

Bottomless and spread on the bed, writhing as his tongue bathes my folds. I come, pulsing with a desire to be filled.

“Fuck me,” I say.

“No,” he says.

Tuesday.

Leaning against the wall, legs spread, my man kneeling between. I can see straight out the front window and wonder if anyone can see me. Gushing on his face, I come with an earthquake that almost knocks me down. My man wipes his mouth.

“Good?” he says.

“So good.”

I grab his cock through his jeans. He moans. Damn, he’s so fucking hard.

“Fuck me,” I say.

He pulls away. He almost looks scared of me. “No,” he says.

Wednesday.

Crouched over his face on the floor in my office. He’s lapping eagerly at my cunt. I’m brimming, swelling, welling onto him. I want so badly to be filled.

“Fuck my face,” he says.

I do it. I grind down on him. He groans like an animal. He gasps. His tongue, his face, his scruff are electric friction. I cry out, shuddering. My cunt clenches almost painfully. I want a cock inside. His cock, or any cock. Frankly, at that moment I don’t care. I buckle, ease out the last drops of my orgasm’s strength on top of him.

Again I go for his crotch, working his button and zipper. I get him out. He’s erect like he’s twenty again: so hard, veins, stiff as nails. He moans like I’m killing him as my cold hand grabs his shaft. He’s wet. So wet for me. I ache to feel that stiffness inside my cunt.

“No,” he says. “Molly, no.”

I can tell his resolve is failing. I could fuck him right now and he wouldn’t resist.

“You have to stop,” he says reluctantly.

I sigh. “Your loss,” I say.

Thursday.

I’m spread-eagled in my reading chair. I have no pants on but a towel is under my hips. My man is suckling at my pussy like it’s the most wonderful dish he’s ever imagined. Meanwhile, I’m reading a book of erotica out loud, the words catching in my throat as I get close. I keep reading, gasping and heaving, until his tongue drives me over the edge. I come, wet and wonderful, my hips bucking against his lips until I can’t breathe. It’s too much, my clit is on fire.

I drop the book as he lazily brings me down with swirls of his tongue.

Friday.

“Your turn,” he says.

I kneel and unzip him. He springs forth, his cock mighty and bold. He’s ready. Beyond ready.

His tip: salty and slick. I take him deeply, as deep as I can. He holds onto my head, caressing me as I give him the pleasure he’s wanted all week. I admire his strength. I would have fucked him every day, but he wanted to wait. I can feel his urgency immediately. He presses forward, driving his head toward my throat. I open, letting him have me. I relax, knowing that he’s been waiting.

He’s so aroused that he’s unbelievably wet. My tongue is slick with his soapy taste. Mere minutes in I can tell he’s on the verge. I want him to cum. It turns me on like crazy. I also want him inside my pussy, but I figure that can wait, just as he’s waited. I give him everything I can afford to give: let him plumb my mouth, scrub my tongue, pleasure himself on my lips. I grab his ass. He’s trembling, stiff. So close.

Come, I think. Come, baby.

He moans. Here it is. I get ready, breathing deep. My heart races. Any second I’ll feel a spurt of his warmth on my tongue, dashing against my throat. He moans again. Here is comes… I’m ready.

Suddenly he pulls out. His cock is so fucking hard it looks painful. I moan.

“Come back,” I say, licking his syrup from my lips.

My man looks at me like he’s never going to see me again. He hesistates, cock bouncing with his pulse. With a groan he pulls his pants up and tucks himself away behind his zipper. The front of his jeans are bulging.

“What are you doing?” I say. My pussy aches. I need his load. I feel empty without giving him a proper finish.

He looks almost dizzy with arousal.

“Just think of how great it will be,” he says. “I think I can hold out another day.”

I remind him that we have guests this weekend.

“Monday then,” he says. “I wonder if I can go another week like this?”

So do I.

Good Game

Since I’m on a bit of a kick of indulging fantasies, I’ve decided to trot out one of my old favorites:

Imagine an entire baseball team all lined up in a row. Baseball players: strong and lean. They’re in line for me. We’re in a wide open place in the middle of the country. A conservative place. Iowa, perhaps. We’re in a baseball diamond lit by stadium lights but all around are cornfields. Pickup trucks line the parking lot. A few lonely souls are in the bleachers to cheer on the home team. The game is over now, so they’re drinking and waiting for the post-game show.

I’m the show they’re all waiting for. The home team has won and I’m the reward. I’m the local beauty, the winner of the local pageant and Miss Sweet Cream Ice Cream Princess.I’m wearing a pale blue dress. I have a purple sash over my shoulder that says “Regents County Fair, Best Pussy 2015”.

I know my duties to the winning team and I’m glad that the opposing team won. It’s a lot more exciting to let the strange men from another white-bread town take a whack at my pussy. The local boys are good, but I longed for some strange, stiff meat that didn’t know my name. After all, I could fuck the men around town any time if I wanted to. Not one of them would stop me from unzipping him, blowing him, riding him until he shot his load up into me with a gasp. So it was nice to have some new bulls to ride me.

There’s a bench in the middle of the baseball diamond. I sit. The wood is cold on my ass. Lean back and part my thighs until I’m spread-eagled in the middle of the baseball diamond. My pussy quivers with heat. I’m begging to be fucked, like a ravenous slut eager for her man meats.

I love sex better than ice cream, or a soothing bath, or the sweet salvation of Jesus. Since the first moment I saw a cock I knew I needed to be filled with them as often as possible. So I was the perfect girl for this job.

Just get the picture in your head: hot, athletic men lined up all in a tidy row, stripping off jerseys to reveal taut abs. Tight baseball pants peeled down, kicked away. Knee-high athletic socks peeled down into a ball and abandoned. Cocks, some long, some thick, some short, all gradually getting harder. Firm calves, powerful thighs, buttocks carved from stone. Erections now stiff with fat heads bulging and dripping at the mere sight of my body. Fucking machines ready to pump my cunt full of their semen.

The hometown team stood off by the fence, a defeated bunch of losers. They watched jealously as the winning team stripped and prepared to fuck me as their prize. The home boys wanted me, too, but they couldn’t have me tonight. I was a special delicacy and you had to earn me. I flashed them a broad smile just to rub it in.

The first player steps up. I’m dripping dew for him. He pressed his purple-pink head, fat and bulbous, between my lips. He presses forward and I feel a ring of flesh opening me, stroking in and out, settling deep. The man groans, finds his rhythm and my hips match his. I catch his eyes, dark and deep. He stares at my jiggling breasts, and then at his erection disappearing into my gushing mystery of velvet folds. I lift my hips to give him all of my sheath, so that he dives deep with each stroke. Thrusts, harder, faster; breath and heart race. He stiffens, and spills, and I moan at his absence as he pulls out. He leaves me yearning, but the next man steps into place, his dark man-flesh stiff and strong. And he impales me with it, I with a moan and he with a shuddering groan as my secret enwraps him.

I glance over at the hometown team. They look so forlorn, watching their County Princess being fucked by strangers. Their pants bulge. It delights me. Maybe they’ll play harder next time to earn a reward in my accommodating cunt.

Man after man the baseball players step between my quivering thighs, penetrating, fucking, cumming. When they pull out they leave a trail of cream dribbling out of me. The cum slicks my cunt for the next man’s cock.

I give myself to them all. Big cocks stretch my pussy. Little cocks tickle my cunt. Some men fuck fast and feverishly, others like the slow dance of a long-time lover. Some like to slap their thick meat on my clit to make me squeal. Some moan, some groan, some grunt. Curved cocks, straight cocks. Each feels different but all feel the same. A bobbing garden of hard pleasure-flesh. I want to milk the joy out of each of those erections, to steal their power for myself.

The ones in line watch me, naked cocks hooked and glistening, eyes glued to my bounding body, ears tuned to my moans. They stroke themselves, keeping those flesh rods stiff and eager to dip into my honey. The men who have already gone gather around my head. I lick their shrinking dicks, sucking the taste of my cunt-juice and the salty goodness of their semen. I smell the funky stank of their balls so close to my face, an unpleasant, tangy smell, but the alchemy of lust makes it like perfume to me. I want to lick the salt right between their legs. I want to taste sweat and cum mingling on my tongue.

“I’m ready to receive you. You’ve earned your reward. Cum inside my cunt,” I whisper to each as my breasts bobble with his strokes. And each man does his best to fill me up with his creamy milk. It leaks out my flaming lips, seasons my sweaty thighs. I’m sloppy with jizz but I want more, more.

“Fuck me like you don’t believe in God,” I hiss.

They grope my breasts, brace my hips, thrust deep and long and strong into me until I’m dripping, arching, screaming. Until my orgasm tears a hole through the fabric of rural boredom. Until my insides are clenching, aching for them to stop, or keep going, I don’t even know anymore. The men keep me cumming until I’m tired, but I’m still not sated. My cunt has left a puddle of cum and lust on the bench, my pussy is full of their slippery spunk. I’ve climaxed more than I can count, but my pussy is still hungry.

“I’m such a slut,” I moan as man after man fucks me ruthlessly — or gently, rhythmically, forcefully. Orgasms flow from between my legs like poetry. I’m trembling, aching; hot, shivery; spread open to receive the gift of their pearls deep in plush, fetid furrows of flesh. Yes, I’m a slut. It’s my true nature, to fuck. I would fuck all day, all night if I could. I would fuck up and down the country roads from Minnesota to Texas, unbuckling the Bible belts and receiving sweaty sermons from their corn-fed meat.

When the men are sated, the coach of the team is last. But he’s not going to fuck me. He kneels down and starts to eat me out. He presses a finger into my asshole up to the knuckle, which is just what I need. He doesn’t care that my pussy is all cummy, his tongue penetrates me, he sucks my folds into his mouth, he flatters me with fast flicks of his tongue-tip on my clitoris. A moment later I’m coming again, a huge orgasm that forces my hips into the air. I let out a guttural moan. When I’ve finished, he slaps my pussy sharply with his palm. My soaking lips make a resounding smack in the night and I scream and writhe as it sends vibrations through my guts.

He pulls out his cock. He’s the biggest of all, but he’s not going to let me have that beautiful cock of his. I beg him for it, but he shakes his head. Instead he stands over me, stroking, his face turning red. At last he cums, splashing his jizz across my belly and breasts in waves. I watch his expression with delight as it twists in pleasure. I arch my back as if trying to catch the falling rain of his semen.

“Good game,” I say to the coach. He gives me a wink and hands me a towel.

Center of the Universe

She was at a party. Music was loud. She was drunk.

She was with a guy. She’d met him fifteen minutes ago. He’d told her his name, but she’d forgotten it. Maybe she didn’t listen. Too drunk to listen. They flirted. She laughed at his jokes. She felt tingly and coy. And impatient.

She didn’t want to play by the rules. Not tonight. Maybe never.

She was wearing a skirt. Short. Cute. Her favorite. He was talking, something about Mexico, she wasn’t really listening. She chewed her bottom lip, feeling urges. She bent, reached under her skirt, and pulled her panties off. She handed them to the guy.

Continue reading “Center of the Universe”

Quick Change

When I was in college I worked in the kitchen for the dining services. They made us wear these cheap, nylon polo shirts. Ugly maroon. They looked good on nobody, boys or girls. Since I took shifts between classes, I always changed in a hurry.

In the back there was a pots and pans room that also had a row of lockers. It wasn’t at all private: there was no door, and people often walked in and out looking for pans. Still, I always just risked it and timed my quick-changes for when I didn’t see anyone coming.

Shwoop! Polo off. Shwoop, t-shirt on. Quick and easy.

One day I didn’t time it quite right. I pulled my polo off and just at that moment a guy walked in. Not just a guy: Nick, a cute guy I had a crush on. I tried to cover up with the polo but fumbled and dropped it.

So there I was in my bra. Blushing like roses. All hot and bothered with embarrassment. And cute Nick couldn’t stop staring at my breasts. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find words.

“Shit, sorry,” I said. Because it somehow seemed like my fault. I covered up with my arms.

“Uh, no, my fault,” Nick said.

He was flustered. He should’ve looked away, to be polite. He was blushing too. But he didn’t look away. He was just as surprised as I was, I guess. I liked that I’d made him blush. No, I loved it. I was hot all over.

“I’ll, um, let you…” Nick took a step backward, but he hesitated in the entryway.

I grinned. The devil got into me.

“Fuck it,” I said.

I reached behind and unhooked my bra, let it slip off my shoulders. Nick stared at my bare breasts, nipples peeking at him. Oh, hell, did the flush hit my cheeks. Because, of course, there was no reason to take my bra off, but for some reason I just wanted him to see my breasts.

His blue eyes widened. I let him stare for what seemed like forever, but was really just a few seconds. I got hotter and hotter, wetter and wetter below. And my nipples were super hard, something that Nick definitely noticed.

I heard footsteps. I grabbed my t-shirt out of the locker and wrenched it on, ending the show just as one of the cooks came looking for a pot. He stopped and glanced at the bra on the floor. He grinned in between Nick and myself and shook his head.

Nick flashed me a smile. The kind that said he might be interested in more. I was too flustered to respond with more than a look, but I noticed the bulge in his jeans. Or at least I imagined it.