Entries Tagged 'One Night Sex Stories' ↓

“Hello?” she said quietly, yet loud enough to be heard even in the

bathroom.  There was no answer, just the sounds of an empty

street reaching from behind her.  Nobody seemed to be home.

Alexis knew better than that.  Tentatively she walked into the

room, and as her eyes adjusted she still couldn’t see anything but

vague bluish edges of shapes.  A bed, perhaps, a dresser,

maybe.  The drapes were closed and filtered out the streetlight

very effectively.

Her insides perked with curiosity and anticipation. This was going

to be interesting.  Just then, the blanket of silence was pierced

with a joltingly sudden, yet reassuringly soft voice,

“Hello Alexis.  Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

She closed the door behind her and the blackness became

complete.  His soft voice had come from the region where she

believed the bed to be.  She took short, quiet steps in the

direction from whence his call had come, until her knee touched a

soft blanket - the bed.  She reached out and her hand came into

contact with the unmistakable, warm sensation of skin.  It was his

thigh.  She found the entire scenario intensely interesting, and

what made it so was the fact that she could see nothing, all she

could do was feel, and hear, and imagine - and wait for what was

coming next.  At the moment all she could hear was the rush of

the blood in her arteries, and the heat of another body to her

right.

She slithered out of her jacket and tossed it somewhere into the black

void.  She was extremely curious as to how naked this guy really

was.  He had told her he had a few surprises up his sleeve, but

had said no more.  She could tell already it would be a good

night, and slid beside him on the bed.

She lightly stroked his thigh in longer and longer strokes, trying to

find the edge of some clothing, but finding none.  He sat quiet,

letting her explore his body on her own, enjoying the forwardness

of this unique exchange beginning to happen.  The moments

became longer and more intimate as she let her fingertips skim

across his body, feeling its curves and crevices…yet avoiding the

one place that would soon become the center of their witching

hour union.  She whispered into the waiting air, “I like the feel of

your body…you feel so nice.  I’ve been looking forward to this

meeting for weeks.”  At the sound of her confident and wicked

voice, he responded by taking his hand and putting it lightly on

her back.  The touch was electric, both from her anticipation and

from the lack of visual input.  It was her millions of goosebumps

which spoke to her mind now, as he moved his hand in slow,

warm circles.  The anticipation was really starting to get to her,

the maddening blindfold of darkness, and she became inpatient

with this game.

He was there.  They had been corresponding for about a month,

and the plan they had conjured up was flawless.  Though he was

two cities away in life, tonight he was across town at their

meeting place, his laptop communicating with her system from a

motel’s phone line.  Her anticipation and excitement with what

was going to transpire tonight made her type quickly, almost in

jilted lines.

She didn’t waste precious time.  Departing with a final Smiley

from the IRC channel, she turned off her computer and threw on

her leather coat, and her black Docs.  Her natural beauty needed

only to be enhanced with a little eyeshadow and a swipe of glossy

burgundy lipstick on her full, cherubic lips.  Then, with the ease

conceived of familiarity, she opened her basement window and

crawled out, leaving it open an inch behind her, as she had done

since she was fourteen.

The walk across town in the darkness was uninterrupted, crisp,

and refreshing.  Nothing infused her soul with more electricity

than the embracing night, and the ceiling of stars and bone-white

moon above her.  People always looked beautiful and ceramic-

like in the moonlight, as if the ethereal glow washed away any

traces of imperfection on a person’s face - the dark made one

more attractive.  Traffic was slow and sparse downtown at such a

late hour. The lights passed in her peripheral vision like

streamers of red, white and orange.  She smirked to herself at

the thought of what was to come, and her pace quickened.

It had been over three months since she had done something like

this.

At last she arrived.  The red neon sign of the Red Carpet Inn

glinted off the reflecting folds of her jacket, and reflected in red

spheres off her glowing eyes.  Alexis quietly jogged up the stairs

to the second story row of motel rooms.  She knew from prior

experiences which room was number Thirteen, and she stepped

up to it.  Her pale hand raised to knock, and she paused for a

moment an inch away from the door.  Then she cautiously rested

her ear against the door, listening intently.  There was no sound. 

He had brought nobody else with him, as she had asked.  She

glanced at the window and saw no flickering TV light coming from

the apartment. Her hands slid down until her nails ticked as they

found the doorknob, and she tried to turn it.  It opened with a little

pop.  After a pause, she let it drift open and the black maw of

darkness greeted her.

A little while later she finally dragged her cute little ass out of bed,

her tangled locks sticking out at odd angles from her head.  She

looked like a brunette version of Tank Girl, until she ran her brush

through her tresses and restored herself to a presentable state.

She went upstairs and was greeted by the annoying brightness of

the kitchen as she opened the basement door.  Her dad looked

up from the dining room and smiled at her, asking her banaly

about her day.  She gave the usual smiley synopsis, “Nothing

dad.  How was yours?”  She walked over and gave him a  hug.

Alexis went to the freezer and when she opened it, a shelf of mist

spilled out of the box and cascaded translucently down the V

neck of her sweater.   She gave a little half-smile as her nipples

instantly reacted to the cold fingers of air sliding down her shirt.

After fetching a bowl of ice cream, she went and watched some

television for a while with her mother in the living room.  The web

Alexis wove was perfect - she spent enough time with family to

not arouse any suspicion, and the fact that she lived in the

basement allowed her to stay awake to ungodly hours after her

parents went to bed.  She had been doing this for so long that the

slight darkness under her eyes was never noticed. It was now a

part of her package (and a very attractive one at that).

Time seemed to drag tonight for her, but finally one by one the

members of her family trundled up the stairs to their bedrooms. 

Cleverly, Alexis always timed it so she was not the last person to

go to bed, so her deception was even more convincing.  She was

excited tonight and rejoiced when she had the quiet house to

herself, and she could start to do what she did best.

When the last of the footsteps faded away upstairs, she clicked

on her computer and her face radiated in the bluish washing glow

of her screen.  She had the speakers turned off and the only

sound was a whispery whir from the CPU’s cooling fan.  For the

first time in the day, she became intent and completely focused,

her eyes barely blinking as her fingers moved expertly over the

keyboard and mouse.  There were a few clicks of her modem,

and before long she was at the allotted channel on Internet Relay

Chat, at the allotted time - 11:45pm.

Not once would she ever feel any pang of guilt for taking of her

own body, not once did she ever hesitate to explore the amazing

responsive patterns of her sexual self.  She couldn’t quite

remember when she had accidentally discovered the tingling

rewards of caressing her body, but she had been young enough. 

Now it was her relaxing nightly ritual, the surefire way to send her

off to sweet dreams.  It was her little secret, but she knew that

she was far from the only one with this secret.

Alexis took a deep, ragged breath - for her body was telling her

she was getting close to climaxing.  She was nearly at what she

called ‘the point of no return’ and she rubbed her hot clit faster

and faster.  She could feel pinpoint spots of sweat forming on her

temples, and her face appeared somewhat more flushed as she

lay there.  Her breathing, though fairly quiet, was fast and

shallow, and most of all she began to hear the thudding

quickness of her heartbeat racing in her ears.  The blood

pressure pounded in her neck as she began to tense her muscles

all over her body, frenetically moving her one finger and teasing

her sex up higher and higher, to the balancing point.  The tingling,

intensely pleasurable sensations suddenly shot up in intensity, as

she took a louder, quick inhalation.  For half a second her body

was stiff as a rod, and then she breathed almost in silenced

moaning sobs for a few seconds, internalizing the blossoming

passion that now flowed throughout her body in a nice, hot cum.

She took a slow, deep breath and let herself melt into the bed. 

Oh how she loved the afterglow, that intoxicating mellowness that

rewarded her sweaty efforts.  Alexis rolled over in her bed and

pushed the thick blue comforter off her. It was too hot under there

now!  She quickly zipped up her blue jeans and curled over in the

fetal position, feeling dozey.

Her right hand slid up to her mouth, and she lightly licked her

delicious clear wetness off her fingers, smiling to herself, and

then lay there resting for half an hour in the darkness, in total

bliss.

What a naughty little daughter.  But how in touch with herself.

Ever since as far back as anyone could remember, Alexis had

been a very private and introverted person.  She was so kind and

attractive, but beyond the surface, nobody knew anything about

her.  Yet who would have wondered?  It’s not often that one is the

polar opposite of who they appear to be.  Her personality and

lifestyle seemed so unremarkable that not even her family ever

wondered what was going on behind those greenish-hazel eyes

of hers.  Maybe they should have.

She had a tidy little room in the basement of her parent’s house. 

Well, fairly tidy.  Her computer in the corner was immaculate, one

of those new black power machines that almost appeared to

burst out of the redundantly aerodynamic, vented casing.  There

was a lot of paper stacked all over the place; printouts, mostly, of

email and pages upon pages of text that nobody ever bothered to

look at.  One of the first impressions you’d get from her room is

that it was organized disarray - almost like what you’d see around

the main photocopy room in a big business.  But Alexis knew

intuitively where everything was.

Alexis sat on her comfy bed, the blankets drawn up around her

thick sweater as she sat cross-legged and cocooned against the

cold of the basement walls. The ergonomic black phone receiver

rested on her shoulder as she mumbled on the phone with one of

her classmates.  She hated math, and had to get extra help from

friends in order to pass.  But she enjoyed talking to her friends

after school, despite the fact that they always seemed shallow

and inane to her.  What can one expect from other 16 year olds,

right?  A short while later she hung up the phone and finished

with her homework for the night.

Peace - at last.  She reached high above her head in a stress-

bleeding stretch, and closed her eyes as she let herself fall back

on the bed.  Her strikingly iridescent-looking long auburn hair

spread out around her head on the pillow like a cascading alluvial

fan.  She lay there relaxing for a while, her face in pale repose

like that of a person who had just died in their sleep.  She

appeared so serene, with only the occasional twitch crossing the

smooth youngness of her face.

Alexis was not as innocent as she appeared.  Deep in the darkest

recesses of her mind, some incredibly carnal and lascivious

images danced and groped their way into her conscious

thoughts.  As she wrapped her mind around the fantasies at

hand, she quietly undid her jean zipper and slipped her right index

finger around the area between her legs.  The faintest grin

crossed her petulant lips, and you could tell her mind was active

as her eyes moved beneath the shadowy lids - ever so slightly. 

Her fingers traced the outside of her vaginal lips so tenderly,

feeling the dry softness and making a mental note of comparing

that feeling to the changes her crotch would soon be

experiencing.  It would take a little while for her to physically

respond and awaken sexually, but when she did, it wouldn’t take

long for the deliciously slick and warm wetness to begin to

occupy that little slit between her legs.  She always loved to let

her mind wander for unknown dozens of minutes, as she

caressed the thin skin over her clit, letting the sensations build up

slowly yet confidently.  Then some time after she started playing,

she would once again dip her pointy finger into the mouth, and

would usually be greeted with that delectable, hotly-swollen

wetness that put a smug grin on her face as she laid there

dipping her finger into her well of womanhood.   The slick, inviting

readiness of her crotch would spur her on to more intense and

climactic images, as her breath would begin to come faster out of

her heated body.

Again she screamed, and again the thunder, MY THUNDER

spoke, drowning her protests. “No, NOT there, get it

out, get it out!”

I had the power, the storm was mine, she was mine, she

wanted it to hurt and I had called in my storm to make

her feel what she wanted, what she needed.

She had nowhere to go, and no time to get there.  I

was thrusting in her ass, yelling in her ear, “My

cunt, my bitch, my whore.”

Before she could escape my invasion of her ass her

body betrayed her.  Legs that had supported and

balances her body gave out to spasms.  Arms that had

held he body in check on the wall collapsed, no longer

holding her back.

In the pounding rain the full length of my cock

traveled in and out of her ass.  Any more sounds she

may have made where lost in the now raging storm.  But

her body spoke.  And it moved.

When her limp arm lifted her hand to her cunt, her

body said “I like this!” 

When her fingers began to massage her clit, her body

said, “I want this!” 

When I felt her fingers slide into her cunt, when her

knuckles were massaging the bottom of my cock from

inside her cunt, her body said. “I need this!”

When I felt her begin to shake, when I could see her

eyes rolled back and her mouth moving in the drowned

screams of her orgasm, I came.  No porn start stuff

here, this was a primal, bury your cock to the hilt

and explode orgasm.

My cock slipped free of her now spread ass as she

turned and collapsed in the chair, still oblivious to

the storm.  I stumbled backwards, into the bedroom

till my bed caught the back of my knees and I

collapsed there.

I could still feel the power, but it was fading.  Like

the storm my power had risen and burned it self out.

Even as she dragged her self into the room, towards

me, crawling on the floor, I felt it going.

I took her head in my hands and looked at her

contented face and her glazed eyes. She smiled at me,

a smile of contentment, of rightness.

“How can I strip when I am so beat up?”  Her question

was totally reasonable, and totally out of place now.

With the last of my power I looked her in the eye and

told her, “You need to suck my cock clean again.”

As my slut did her work, an old saying came to my

mind: “You break it, you buy it.”  But I think she was

fixed.

Still, what the fuck is her name?

I wrapped my arms around her, crossing them and taking

each of her tits in hand. She screamed again, this

time because she had scrapped her nipple on the wall

and now I was twisting it. Releasing her nipple and

grabbing the whole tit instead, she started thrusting

back on my cock again.  Acting just on instinct I

pinched her left nipple again, then placed my fingers

in her mouth.  

Her mouth seemed confused at first, even as she was

thrusting back on my cock, but then she realized what

I was doing and began to eagerly suck my fingers

clean.  When I took it out she grunted “More” so I

again squeezed her nipple, drawing out more of her

blood, and again I fed it to her.

“Ohghh, I need more, fuck me more, take me more, make

me your slut whore bitch!!”

The thunderstorm was right on us now, the rain had

started, the lighting was flashing, the thunder was so

loud you could not tell where the sound ended and the

trembling in you body began. The gushing of her cunt,

our sweat, the rain all mixed so that we were now

sliding against each other with almost no friction.

“Mine” Thrust. “You are MINE” Thrust. “My Whore”

Thrust. “Slut” Thrust

I was drunk with the power, the control this little

minx had given me!  She was mine! My thing!  My fuck

toy! 

Then the thunder spoke again, and I heard.  The

lightning flashed and I saw.  I was MASTER, all the

power was MINE.  MY WILL BE DONE!!!

I grabbed the back her head and pressed her down

again, down on the railing on top of the wall.  This

time her tits when straight down on the wall, not

dragging.  I had no idea if her eyes were open when I

pushed her, when her head and shoulders where placed

over the edge looking 14 floors down at a pool and

deck.  I will never know at what point she realized

how far down it was.

What I do know is that at that very moment when the

momentum was the greatest, my cock slipped from her

cunt and on the next thrust went up her ass.

“yes” Again, thunder and lightening accompanied her

confession.

“Well is that pussy wet or dry?  I can’t fuck a dry

pussy.”

She got the idea and slid her hand into that well used

and filled slit.  “A little.”

“That won’t work.  Come here to me.”  I stepped back

onto the balcony and took one of the chairs there and

placed it with the back to the railing. 

She hesitated at the door, then stepped out when I

gave her a warning look.  I grabbed the railing with

my right hand, placed my right leg on the chair, and

informed her that if she wanted to fuck again she was

going to have to lick me clean from my ass to the tip

of my cock.

She started with the head of my cock and worked her

way back, licking off the dried remains of my cum and

her cunt juices.  “That’s a good little bitch, go

ahead, you can play with your cunt.”

She responded with vigor and was soon making long

swipes from my asshole to my balls while she spread

the quickly flowing juices out from her hole and

around her clit.

“Do you like storms?”  She seemed taken back, confused

by my question.  I pointed at the clouds, now

flickering almost continuously and she nodded. “Then

get up here and watch.”

I placed her knees on the chair and had her grab the

rails.  It took her no time to figure out that I was

going to fuck her here, in view of the beach and in

the face of the storm.

“Fuck me, fuck me hard, as hard as you can.!”  She

shifted her weight, freeing one hand to grab her

bruised and sore tits.  As I slid home she pulled

hard, harder than I would have on her left nipple. As

my pubic bone crashed into her ass, she slid forward

scrapping her tender tits on the brick railing. 

Another moan escaped her, followed by a slow building

chant, `fuck me, fuck me, Fuck Me, Fuck ME, FUCK

ME!!!” With each repetition I slammed in a hard as I

could, until she grabbed the wall with both hands and

reared back upright against me, limiting my ability to

thrust.

Twenty minutes later we were in a cab.  Fifteen later

we were taking the tour and had gotten to the bedroom.

And she did want it rough.  Her only stipulation, no

anal. “I can’t imagine that it can feel good.” Funny

words from a girl that got off once already on pain.

I am not a sadist, per say.  What I am is a control

freak that wants to be in control of a woman’s

pleasure, however she gets it.  And this was not my

first experience with a woman that needed it to hurt

so good.  It was not the time to break out the toys;

this was a bed, two people and all their parts.

That squall line was coming in fast.  The lightning

was more frequent, and the thunder followed more

closely.  It would soon cover the full moon, although

the false dawn was also climbing the sky.

“I am so sore. How am I going to work with these

marks?”  She caught me off guard.  She was sitting up

in the bed now,  her skin shining still from the sweat

we had made.  Some of the shadows had moved, others

had stayed, maybe grown darker.

“That didn’t sound like complaints I heard earlier….”

FUCK!  I had no idea what her name was. I mean

normally I am bad with names, but I am not even sure I

got hers.

She took my silence for something else and rushed to

add, “You didn’t let me finish.  I am so sore and I

have never cumm so hard or so many times before.”

“Why is that?”  How the fuck was I going to get her

name?

“Look at me, you practically twisted by boobs off, my

nipples, look, you made my nipples bleed.  I know I am

limber but I have never had my legs pushed so wide or

far back before.”

This time it had to be a question, because she was

right, it had been rough and no one would take my word

over that evidence, “And you liked it all?” My earlier

erection had started back down at this point.

“Yes.” She was not making eye contact again. ” That

and, and being called names.”

“Is that right?”  I had nothing to loose at this

point, right?

“yes” She no sooner spoke than a near simultaneous

flash and thunder hit. 

“And you need more, right?  You expect me to fuck that

cunt and make you cum again, right?”

“You are good.  What do you want to drink?”

“Zima.  And you.”

I smiled at the BS and caught the waitress’s eye.  A

few minutes later we both had drinks and hers was half

gone.

“Do you want to go to the VIP room?  The `rules’ are

different there.”

At $300 a half hour, they damn well better be, but I

was not doubling down on that bet.

“I’ve got my own VIP suite on the beach.  It has

better drinks, a better view, and no time limits.” 

Besides, unless I was totally trashed, I had been in

this place for over six hours and it was now pass 12.

And I was already out half my cash for the night.

“But it doesn’t have me.”

“Funny, you have 100% control over that.  You could

change that any time you like.”  She was still

tickling my cock, and probably had a real good idea as

to all that was in there.

“But I don’t want to be the one in control.”

That got her 110% of my cock.  And she knew it. 

“You need to think about the rules, and how you are

going to get around them.”  With that I stood up, took

her by the upper arm, and headed for the couches where

they give the lap dances.  Half way back she pulled me

to one side and pointed out a set of sets that I had

not noticed before.

`These are best. Less distractions, less attention.”

I sat down, and she started her routine.

“Take off you belt.  I may want you to spank me but I

defiantly don’t want the buckle scratching me.” 

My belt draped over my neck, she shook her hair in my

face, looking around in the process.  Before I knew it

she had her hand in my pants and around my cock, which

she proceeded to pull out of my pants leg.

“Not much friction if I left it down there, huh?”

I was not going to disagree.  In fact I was not going

to do much because she shoved her perky little `Bs’ in

my face and started to rub her body against my crotch.

All I could do was grab that ass and hang on.

Before long she had slid down my body and was starting

back up again when she nipped the bulge in my slacks.

Ohh, this was going to be good. She kept right on

going back up, whispering in my ear as she went, “Lick

my nipples!”

When her nipples reached head height I look the left

one in my mouth, licking and sucking.  She reached

down to adjust our contact point (my cock) when it

happened. 

Instead of just hanging all over them and offering,

she was smiling and lightly rubbing her tits, while my

brunette was reaching around from behind her with her

hand working in blondie’s panties.  Not much

penetration, but her clit was getting worked over.

Needless to say, they both disappeared under that pack

of dogs before half our crew got a look at the side

show.

Some time later, not sure when time wise, but I do

know it was after I surrendered my keys, she showed up

in front of me.  I was busy watching this Jamaican

girl prove the old saying, “It’s all pink on the

inside” when I felt a hand on my shoulder and a voice

in my ear.

“Glad to see you are still here.” 

See, I appreciate a professional. She had caught me

watching her show and kept track of our group, or she

was smooth enough risk that line on someone who may

have not been there earlier.  Either way she was good.

 And she smelled sweet.

The wind had dried my skin and thinking about my

memory of the girl laying on the bed had me stirring.

I’m not an exhibitionist by nature, but being in the

open, in plain view of anyone on the beach at 5 AM was

kinds cool.  Let em look.  Besides, I was still power

trippin from what had happened.

“Would you like a lap dance?”

Fuck yea! Right Now! Who knows how many margaritas I

had had, how much snatch I had looked at, but I

managed to get out a slightly smoother response.

“I don’t like the rules here.  To strict.”

The rules for the lap dances were actually pretty

good.  She had to keep her panties on (every girl

would pull them aside when the time was right) and no

touching the pussy.   $20 a song, but after three you

could negotiate.

“Buy me a drink.  I’ve had a great night and want to

unwind.  Then we’ll see about the rules.”

When I nodded she went to sit down next to me,

stopped, looked at my crotch, then smiled and walked

around to my left and sat there.  It was only then

that I realized none of my friends were anywhere to be

seen.  That thought was quickly lost as she put her

hands on my left thigh ( I dress left) and gave my

cock a squeeze. 

I don’t know if it was the thunder or the flapping

blinds that woke me.  Now that I think about it, I had

shown her the view of the ocean from my 14th floor

condo during the “tour.”  Being a single guy in Miami,

the bedroom having the balcony facing the ocean was

just a chance thing. 

Right.

Even with the air on and a steady wind blowing (it is

never still this high up) in was to warm to be under

the covers.  We were both naked.  Her body was shaded

in contrasts, light from the bathroom, the moon rising

over the storm, and shadows - some which were on her

skin, some in it.

Damn.  If you can’t be good, be lucky.

Here I am, an average guy, crappy record at

relationships, reasonably ok looking, working and

playing hard in sin city.  And not getting a lot of

ass. 

It was not a problem of quantity; there are more women

ready to fuck on any given night here than there are

in all of the Midwest. No, the problem was quality. 

As in the qualities I was missing: No ready trust

fund, I work hard for my money.   No ready supply of

drugs, not unless you count fine tequilas and

scotches.  And not ready to provide a sweetheart the

marriage she needs to stay in the US, and bring over

the other 26 members of her immediate family.

So when the guy’s were going to hit a strip club known

for its loose interpretation of the rules, I was down.

 Yea, I knew I was going to blow a couple of hundred

at least, but for here in Miami, that is what I would

have spend by the third date, easy.  At least here I

could see the good before I spent more than twenty

bucks.

More thunder called my attention back to the open

door.  Lightning in the clouds held it there.  Ever

looked at a thunderstorm from the same level? I

stepped out onto the balcony to take in the view. 

The air was not notably cooler, but the wind was

starting to whip up and I felt the sweat chill my

body. Yea, I am an honest 8″, but in this breeze no

one would ever believe it. 

Well, my guest might.  If she trusted her memory.

Considering where I picked her up and what I had to

drink, I was pretty sure I wanted to stick to my

memory for just now.

The place advertised 75 girls dancing.  40 would be

more like it.  But a real nice selection.  Latina

(obviously), in flavors like Brazilian, Colombian, and

Cuban,  black girls from all over the Caribbean and

US,  good old American girls, and lately some

Russians. 

Short, tall, “Why is she working” fat, rail thin.

Real boobs in all sizes, fakes standing up at a D cup

and larger.  The girls worked the floor in little and

danced in nothing.  Only lap dances were given with

bottoms on. 

This one was just what I liked, petite, natural B

cups, dark hair to her shoulders, legal age but not

showing any wear just them.

I had seen her on the stage shortly after we got

there, but lost track of her after her set.  I passed

on three or four offers for a lap dance, instead just

enjoying the show and the last of happy hour.  One of

the guys spotted her again before I did. 

Actually what he saw was a little blond off to one

side of the main stage, working a group of guys up for

some lap dances.  You had to admire her technique. 

        Last week, I was walking away from the hostel when a man approached

   me and asked if I was doing any business.  I thought it was a real hoot

   him thinking I was a genuine prostitute, so I told him he could fuck me

   standing up for a tenner and he handed me a ten pound note straight from

   his wallet.  He offered to use a condom but I snatched it out his hand

   and threw it away saying what’s the point of eating sweets with the

   wrapper on!  He then took me behind a building and shot his hot load up

   me to mix in with all the labourer’s spunk.  Wasn’t that a nice dirty

   surprise?

        My next stop is a wine bar where I head straight for the ladies. 

   There I take my skirt off and massage the semen into my skin before

   running a bowl of water and washing my cunt.  Althought I think its a

   silly shame, some men are a bit fussy about other men’s spunk so I have

   to go through this tidy-up rigmarole.  Sure, I get funny looks from

   women who come into the loo but I just stare back at them and carry on

   wiping my crotch until I’ve finished.

        The bar is one of those chrome and glass affairs with high stools

   ranged around the walls, and attracts trendy singles like flies.  I get

   an empty glass from the bar and sit on a stool so my skirt falls open,

   exposing my suspenders and pubic bush, and its a bad night if I haven’t

   been approached within two minutes.  If its for a quickie round the back

   or in somebody’s car I always return to the bar afterwards and try for

   another straight away.  One week I got screwed four times this way in

   less than half an hour, then shamelessly sat on a stool so my cunt lips

   hung apart and a group of impressionable young girls could see the cum

   oozing copiously from my randy slit!

        Whenever a man takes me back to his place I tell him I’m meeting my

   boyfriend at the disco later so he’ll have to drive me back after we’ve

   fucked, and this story always works.  Its usually after ten-thirty be-

   fore I get into one of the city centre discos, and by then still more

   semen is running out of my sex-loving hole to soak my creamy thighs.

   But because of the subdued lighting nobody notices all the juicy spunk

   dribbling down my stockinged legs, and even if they do its assumed to be

   perspiration or my own randy sex-juices.  I adore feeling the wetness

   run down my legs!

        Discos are like fantasy palaces, where people can pretend to be

   what they aren’t and nobody minds.  Because of this my clothes or lack

   of them don’t stand out half as much, and with all the low-cut micro

   minis being worn, a lot of tits, suspenders and panties are on show.

   The discussion in the Ladies loo is usually whether or not to screw with

   the guy they’re dancing with.  Sometimes they ask me what to do, and I

   always say they should forget the risks, ignore the goody-goodys and get

   as much sex as they possibly can, because its a proven fact that girls

   bodies need plenty of semen to develop a smooth milky complexion and to

   promote their hormones.

        I get a real kick from talking young girls into being promiscuous

   without caring who they fuck, and one lovely petite seventeen-year-old

   went completely cock-crazy after I’d spoken to her.  She’s since joined

   in the swinging scene, screws with absolutely anyone, and simply adores

   being gang-banged.  I also convinced two teenage sisters, who both now

   advertise in several contact magazines, and each wants to be first to

   have had a thousand men spunk inside them.  But I must admit the young

   schoolkids who con their way past the doormen are the easiest converts.

   I must’ve persuaded dozens of fourteen and fifteen year old girls to be

   nice little sluts and love to see their changed appearance after their

   first few one night stands, with their tight micro-skirts and bra-less

   young tits being felt-up all over the dance floor!

        But the real reason why I visit discos is simply because I like the

   raunchy music and atmosphere, although I do get a kick from sucking off

   strangers who sit next to me in the dark alcoves.  If I have a drink in

   front of me I don’t swallow their spunk right away, but let it dribble

   from my mouth into the glass while they watch, then knock it back in one

   gulp.  I never ask their names.  Who cares about names when its cock I’m

   after.  Usually I can persuade one or two men to let me sit across them

   and feed their stiff cocks up my pulsating sheath.  Its great having a

   man shooting spunk inside my cunt only a few feet from the packed dance

   floor, while loud sexy music is booming around the room.

        If no-one asks me to sleep with them I go straight back to my room

   when the disco closes, throw my things on the floor and climb into bed. 

   Instead of washing, I revel in the juicy dirty feeling as God knows how

   many men’s spunk keeps leaking out of my hot cunt all night, and next

   morning I’ll reek of sperm and there’ll be a thick dry coating of spunk

   on my peachy thighs and bum.

        Sunday mornings I spend doing my laundry, but after lunch I always

   pop round to a nearby large house which has been rented by eight male

   students.  They have regular pot-smoking sessions, but drugs aren’t the

   reason why I go there.  Once they get high they don’t care what they get

   up to, so we play a stupid game where I take off my knickers and pull my

   skirt right up before lying on the carpet.  Then they blindfold me and I

   have three guesses at whose cock is in my cunt before the spunk rushes

   into me.

        But one week they fooled me by getting some twelve and thirteen

   year old lads off the playing fields, and of course they all orgasmed as

   soon as they’d pushed their cocks inside me.  By the fourth premature

   spunking I guessed something was up and took off the mask.  I was an-

   noyed at first and told them next time they bring people off the street

   to make sure they’re old enough to fuck me!  Of course, being the jokers

   they are, the following week they smuggled in a sixty-five year old pen-

   sioner and it was ages before he managed to pump his weak spunk into my

   cunt.

        Afterwards I usually make us all Sunday tea, and leave around seven

   to make my way down to the lorry park.  As I said earlier I like to fuck

   my brains out at weekends, and sometimes this makes a great finale.  On

   Sunday a lot of continental drivers stop there overnight, and there are

   usually about sixty or seventy large container lorries parked there.

        Quite simply, I walk up and down the rows of trucks knocking on all

   the cab doors asking if they want to fuck me.  I don’t get all that many

   refusals and I love the dirty feeling as French, Spanish, German, Ital-

   ian and Greek drivers each grab my bum with their filthy hands and shove

   their foreign cocks right up my cunt before shooting more and more and

   still more creamy spunk into my horny young womb.  Yes, Sunday nights I

   just go spunk crazy and make a real pig of myself!

        Pretty soon my stockings are absolutely soaked in spunk as it runs

   thickly out of my cunt and down both my legs, so much so that it starts

   trickling into my shoes as well.  Still I keep on offering myself to be

   fucked more and more until eventually I can hardly walk straight.  Un-

   fortunately, I have to leave the compound at ten o’clock when the secu-

   rity men lock the gates, and it is always with reluctance that I lurch

   back to the University where I just drop into bed to sleep.  Then next

   morning I’ll put my things in the wash and clean myself up before get-

   ting dressed in my “normal” clothes again.

        OK, so maybe some highly moral people don’t approve of my life-

   style, but at least it gets me through the hard slog each week, and if I

   get my degree in three years time it will all have been worth it.  Also,

   the considerable number of girls who have thanked me for leading them

   into uninhibited sex are living proof of its natural beauty.

   Yours very sincerely,  Sharon

    *** This story is based on the experiences of Miss Sharon Henderson ***

        ‘What is life all about?  I wish somebody would tell me, someone

   whose opinion I respect, that is.  Until that happens, I can only be-

   lieve that life is just one hard slog from start to end.

        I’m now twenty-one, and for the past two years my weekly routine

   has hardly changed.  Monday to Friday I study medicine at University

   where I am a live-in student, and the evenings are spent doing tutorials

   or catching up on some writing.  I hope one day to be a hospital con-

   sultant but have a further three years to go in order to get my degree.

        Saturdays I work from ten until six as a checkout operator at my

   local Sainsburys to supplement my grant, which means by Saturday night I

   am absolutely fed up with work.  I’ve found the only way I can cope is

   to just let go and enjoy myself for a few hours, which for me means get-

   ting screwed, hard and as often as possible.

        Since coming up to Cambridge I’ve had sex with an awful lot of men

   and been called a slag many times, but I don’t care.  So long as I can

   fuck my brains out between Saturday night and Monday morning, I can face

   the week ahead with my soul refreshed.  Its so good for the complexion

   too, and the few blemishes that I used to have are now gone, leaving me

   with peachy perfect skin.  I’d recommend any girl to fuck as much as she

   can while she’s young and horny, and ignore the stupid do-gooders who’re

   only jealous anyway.  By now I must’ve persuaded dozens of young girls

   to become as sexually promiscuous as I like to be, and whenever we meet

   they all look really lovely now and are enjoying life to the full.

        Every Saturday after work I cycle back to the hall of residence and

   have a lazy soak in the bath before preparing myself.  When I’ve dried

   myself I rub masses of body lotion into my skin, paying particular at-

   tention to my tits, cunt lips and arse.  By the time I have finished,

   my boobs glow like rich creamy globes, each topped with a rigid brown

   teat begging to be sucked, and as my puffy lips protrude down from my

   cunt a really horny sex-loving feeling starts to permeate my crotch.

        After brushing my hair and putting the minimum of make-up on my

   face, I then dab Chanel 19 onto a few crucial areas of skin before get-

   ting dressed.  The objective is to get noticed, so I don a flimsy pink

   lace-up camisole with suspenders attached, stockings with the words

   “love” and “sex” tracing a pattern up to the thigh, and a very brief

   wrap-over skirt which blows open to the waist.  My full milky breasts

   and hard brown nipples are left completely visible through the sheer ma-

   terial of the camisole top, while sexy high heeled shoes complete my

   wanton appearance.

        To save money I usually catch a bus to my first call, and ignore

   all the looks, nudges and stares from the other passengers.  My destina-

   tion is a working mens hostel in the cheapest part of town.  I’ve become

   well known there for my Saturday night visits and a crowd normally gath-

   ers by the time I arrive at about seven-thirty.  There are two large

   dormitory type rooms and I make my way into one or the other, then take

   off my skirt before I lie back on one of the beds, spread my slendour

   legs wide apart and frig my bare cunt until the juices bubble out.

        The men there are mostly labourers working away from home, and I

   love their down-to-earth dirty language with “fuck” and “cunt” in almost

   every sentence.  Usually, it doesn’t take many minutes of fingering my

   pussy before some of the bolder ones make a move, and I love to just lie

   there while they take turns at pumping hot spunk into my womb.  Ooh,

   just thinking about it now brings a tingle to my randy cock-loving cunt.

   At weekends I’ll fuck anyone to get lots of spunk into me and I never

   care what the men look like as they’re reasonably clean, their cocks get

   hard and they can shoot plenty of cum.

        Last Saturday was about average and of the thirty or so men present

   about a third of them were spunky enough to give me a sound fucking.

   The best night had been a couple of weeks earlier when a crowd of Dutch-

   men swelled the numbers and I ended up having seventeen of them.  They

   were really into dirty sex, which is something I adore, and they took

   turns shoving their sweaty cocks deep into my wet cunt before having me

   suck them off.  I then let their cum dribble out my mouth into a jug,

   and they finally poured it all into a large syringe before injecting all

   their spunk and my saliva deep inside my horny sperm-loving body.

        Their customary routine is to get drunk most nights, and by nine

   o’clock most of them have drifted off to a working mens club nearby, so

   I re-fasten my little skirt and set off in the other direction. 

   Naturally, by then spunk is streaming down the insides of both my

   thighs.  Now I know some girls would use tissues or something to mop

   themselves up, but I like being reminded of sex and just letting their

   juice leak out freely and run down both my legs is the best reminder of

   all.

    She carried a large stoneware mug in each hand, steaming with the frothy,

fragrant chocolate. Handing me one, she announced: “Music we need,” and walked

over to a cassette player. I expected something weird, but was surprised to

hear the strains of bossa-nova and the voice of Astrud Gilberto.

    As we sat, we drank the chocolate and smoked, a kindred vice which somehow

branded us as being of like kidney. Our conversation consisted of the usual

mundacities: school, friends, relations, etc. I found myself becoming warmer,

doubtless because of the beverage and the fact that she kept the flat at a

temperature amenable to her finch. Rivulets of sweat coursed down my sides from

my armpits. I wondered if she detected the rutting-odor of my arousal.

    “Dance?” she invited.

    “I really don’t dance very well” I honestly admitted.

    “Then I’ll dance for you.”

    She danced slowly, her eyes closed; her steps were frugal, her feet hardly

moving from the same spot. She danced more with her hips, hands and head. When

the piece was finished and the next one began, her lips formed a little gamine-

like smile. “Well, looks like it’s SHOWTIME!” she exclaimed and summarily

reached down and pulled the tank-top up over her head. She cradled her small

breasts provocatively in her hands. “Like ‘em?” she inquired.

    The point where two people spontaneously embrace is easier experienced than

written about. Suffice to say, our arms were about each other and our lips

pressed together, tongues flicking, probing, entwining. Norma turned around in

my arms and guided my hands to her breasts. They were firm and her nipples

jutted out in two hardened nodes. As my hands meandered down under the

waistband of her jeans, I found that she was not wearing any panties. She

chuckled at my discovery. “I like to go G.I. style once in a while.”

    By now my erection was both prominent and achingly insistent, a state she

augmented by rubbing her ass against it. Slipping from my arms, she took my

hand and led me into her bedroom.

    The bed had certainly not been made since the morning. She laid down upon

her back, hands behind her head, looking at me as if to say: “Let’s see what

you’re made of.” I quickly undressed, then reached over to pull her jeans off.

    Divested of her jeans, Norma obligingly and coquettishly spread her legs

wide so I could delight in the sight of her sex. There are those who maintain

that “women are all the same below the waist.” This is far from true. Women’s

pussies are as infinitely varied as women themselves are, each unique in its

own way.

    Norma’s pussy was surmounted by a light-colored tuft of brown hair which

formed a perfect triangle. Yet, all her pubic hair was confined to her mons,

little of it extending to her pussy nor down to her perineum. Her engorged,

pouting outer lips were dark red and slightly opened, while her cleft shone

with moisture. It was the closest I had ever got to receiving a vulval smile.

    Out of propriety and self-consciousness, I allowed myself but a brief

moment to visually savor her sex. I laid down between her legs and continued

the ardent kissing which had been temporarily suspended.

    As we kissed, her jonquil-like scent became almost inebriating. From whence

did it emanate? I sniffed her hair, a warm amber scent. Her soft, aromatic

breath was merely an amalgam of chocolate-sweetness and tannic-tobacco. Her

hirsute armpits offered more interesting territory. The hair trapped her odor,

both concentrating it and radiating it like some sort of seductive antenna. As

I greedily licked her sweat, both olfactive and gustatory sensations came into

play. What might I compare her perspiration to? Brine-like, sak­-like, cider-

like; her smell mixing with the odor of my saliva.

    As I switched my attention to her breasts, she enveloped me with her legs,

her lubricious pussy grinding against my stomach. Norma’s areolas had their own

distinctive scent, albeit a subtle, ephemeral one. My tongue delighted in the

tactile sensations her erect nipples afforded. Norma too, seemed to share my

enjoyment, softly moaning pleasure-sounds, her pelvis spasmodically jerking

upwards from time to time.

    Unhurriedly, my kisses moved down her torso, lingering about ribs and

tummy. My mouth serendipitously encountered her navel, not a demure little

hollow but a great crater of voluptuous rugae. My dalliance there caused Norma

to arc her precious body to meet the proddings of my tongue-play.

    “Go down there, now,” Norma hoarsely insisted.

    As my head nestled between her legs, I soon realized that this was the

axis, the veritable nucleus of the woman Norma. My tongue fluttered about the

creases where her thighs met her trunk, then assertively darted full into her

sex. Oh mellifluous, mucoid myrrh which is the ineffable woman-dew! Tastes and

smells of the sea, of musk and must, of urine and clitoral smegma; the feral,

fruity, primal, fermenty, fenny nectar which is the female yin-essence.

    I drank her in as a hummingbird does a flower; a kaleidoscope of steamy,

heady smells, rank and ambrosial, skyrocketed through my head. I hungered for

more. I turned her over onto her belly, caressing and gently kneading her

buttocks. These preliminary palpings were short-lived; with dispatch I drew

apart the cleavage of her ass and post-haste made for her pink-puckered anus.

Here were different smells and tastes. Bitter, mephitic, funky, sour; yet at

the same time smelling mildly reminiscent of certain overly-cloying flowers; a

variance which vacillated between sweet and rank. Thus so was the asshole of my

darling. My tongue slipped past her wrinkled sphincter as I attempted to fully

probe her. Alas, the task was a difficult one. Spasmodic contractions,

punctuated by tiny yelps precluded my love-skewerings.

    Norma turned over onto her back, drawing me up until our yonic parts were

well-met. Reaching down, she clasped my cock and drew it into her warm,

distended pussy. Her breath came in short gasps as she held my sides,

orchestrating my movements. Wanting to prolong her pleasure, I stuffed a bit of

pillow into my mouth, biting down hard upon it. My hand reached around to her

ass, which she obligingly lifted. It was wet with the overflow of her copious

secretions. Gradually, I worked my finger into her asshole. Initially, it was

tight, but I was eventually able to gently coax her anal ring to relax and

dilate. As my middle digit entered its whole length, Norma’s breath sucked in

languidly. Though the base of my finger was being firmly gripped, inside there

was room to move about. I perceived my cock moving in her vaginal canal, and

massaged the barrier which was common to both openings.

    Her final orgasm was overpowering; I could feel the sheath of her vagina

gently gripping my cock, milking it as it were into ejaculation. Within

seconds, I too attained the zenith of my ecstasy. Sperm which had been dormant

for weeks coursed through me into her. I felt the resilient, electrifying

tingle of her cervix against the tip of my cock. The crescendo of my pleasure-

cries, like hers, were guttural and unrestrained.

    Post-coital comments are usually limited; “That was great,” “Was it good

for you?” or some other sort of inanely redundant colophon. Nothing original

like “Quick, gimme a Chinese Restaurant palindrome!” (Answer: “Won-ton? Not

now!”) The best and perhaps tenderest thing to do is to fall asleep in each

other’s arms, wet spots be dammed.

    I awoke to the sound of splashing water. Norma was bare-assed in the

bathroom, brushing her teeth. As I watched her, she let out a little groan,

quickly taking a tissue to wipe something off her instep.

    “Everything o.k. Norma?” I yelled out.

    “Wha?”

    “Everything, o.k.?”

    “Wha?” She shut the water. “I can’t hear you with the water running.”

    “I said, ‘everything o.k.?’”

    “Yeah. Just memories of you–dripping all over my floor.”

    I got up and joined her in the bathroom. She kissed me, and I tasted the

“minty-freshness” of a popular toothpaste. “Here, use my toothbrush.” she

offered. “I gotta wash my smuss.”

    She climbed into the tub, opened the tap, and with the aid of a sponge,

started moiling away at her privates, transforming the whole bath into a

massive bidet. I elected to follow suit in these ablutions. Her damn sink was

high and I had to stand on tiptoe in order to lave my cock and balls. After

toweling down, I brushed my teeth. As I did, I half-wondered about any

fermenting food particles from Norma’s mouth which might be enmeshed in her

brush’s bristles. “What the hell,” I thought, “I had my mouth in worse places.”

    While we were dressing, Norma smiled warmly and pinched my cheek. “You’re a

good lover. A gentle lover. Why not stay the night?”

    “I’d like that, but I have to drive my sister to the airport. She has a

late flight.”

    “Well, maybe next time.”

    “Next time soon, dear Norma,” I confirmed as I lightly kissed her forehead.

    We had a parting cup of tea together, which was prepared by merely tossing

a teabag into a mug and filling it with hot water from the faucet. Norma made

no pretense of being a gourmet.

    Glancing at my wristwatch, I knew that I must leave. We embraced; I kissed

her eyes, cheeks and lips. She led me to the door and before opening it

commanded me to wait. She reached down under her jeans to her crotch. Her

fingers glistened as she brought them up to my face and lightly daubed her

juices under my nose. “Here’s something to remember me by.” Done by anyone

else, the gesture would have been crass, wanton. But done by Norma, it was

tender and loving. Perhaps in some way she was marking me as Her Own.

    As I drove North, Norma was the only thing I smelled, the only person who

occupied my thoughts. There would be a next time. Soon.