Aspian Master — Emma Paul

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 27, 2012

Aspian males were larger then their human counterparts. In fact, the shortest Aspian Mila had ever seen, towered over her at a mere six feet ten inches.  She kneeled at her masters bed, head down. Her long brown hair covered her eyes as she snuck glances to see him pace back and forth.

The long corded muscles of his legs flexed with each step. Mila licked her lips, remembering how those hard limbs held her legs wide apart while her master sunk his ample inches into her eager flesh. Five years ago, when she’d first learned of her fate as a pet, she thought her life over. However, she’d learned to love the physical demands of her position.

After the Aspians had defeated Earth and assimilated it into their empire, Aspian males soon discovered the appeal of human females. Unlike their own women, human females were delightfully receptive to Aspian sexual needs. Also, the diminutive physical appearance was highly arousing to the Aspian men.

Mila had first seen an Aspian female three Earth years ago, when her Master’s selected breeder arrived to mate during her fertile cycle. Every three years or so, the women go into heat. She was a hulk of woman. The Aspian female’s size was equal to if not taller than her Master.

Mila would have mistaken the woman for a male had she not seen her breasts and cunt when the Master fuck her. The whole mating ritual had taken a little over an hour, from start to finish.

It was as impersonal as taking a piss.  Her Master’s breeder was cold and un-emotional. Aspian females didn’t seem to enjoy sex for pleasure. Mila found it so ironic since the Aspian males were incredibly sexual.

Perhaps the Aspian women with their muscular, thick boned bodies and broad facial features simply held no appeal for them. Human females seemed to fill a specific void for the males and Mila wondered if things where always so undemonstrative between Aspian sexes.

He turned suddenly and Mila felt a shiver of anticipation shoot down her spine. In his current mood, the fucking would be hard and hot.

“Mila!”

She snapped her head up, then quickly lowered her eyes to the floor.

“Crawl to me Mila…”

He was sitting in the armchair across from her. She noticed the scales, which contoured down his spine and over his hipbones, continuing until they completely covered his ten-inch cock, glistened with the spicy secretions of his arousal.  He was built like a human man, but much larger.

His yellow reptilian eyes dilated to large black oblong circles. He had hair that fell down his back in a mass of thick ebony silk. His grayish skin was smooth around his cheeks, nose and mouth. The points of his ears poked through the black strands framing his angular face.

Mila had not considered him handsome at first. However, the longer she remained in his presence the more his visage softened to her eyes.

She crawled slowly, as she knew he liked. When she reached him, she leaned her upper body down until her head brushed the floor and lifted her ass up in the air in invitation. She had been trained to pose this way every time her Master entered the room or summoned her to him.

Cool fingers stroked the back of her head, a second before grabbing a fist full of brown curls and hauling her up to her knees so that her face was positioned directly in front of his crotch.

The thick column of flesh in front of her dripped with sticky peppermint tasting lubrication, secreting from the scales covering it. Mila waited. Her breath became shallow and she felt the trickle of pussy cream seep from her cunt. She licked her lips…feeling somewhat impatient…please let me taste…suck…mmm…

She dare not speak her thoughts. The last time had awarded her several hours of confinement in the cage.  Too long to go without his cock. He was deliberately forcing her to wait, but she knew his need was much to potent and he wouldn’t last too long without her hot mouth wrapped around his dick. With a groan, he shifted his hips forward and laid his head back against the chair’s headrest.

“Suck…”

Mila leaned forward and grabbed his cock by the base. Her small hand looked like it was trying to wrap around a giant salami. His girth was so great her fingers couldn’t touch. She brought the tip to her mouth and licked the tiny hole at the tip. His penis didn’t have a mushroomed head as human males did, instead it was more funnel shaped with the top thinning slightly to form a blunt point.

It didn’t matter to Mila; this cock had brought her unimaginable pleasure. She slid her lips further down, using her tongue to lap at the smooth diamond shaped cock-scales. He sucked in his breath as she managed to swallow him a little more then halfway. Her other hand stroked the underside of his scrotum, where a tiny gland was hidden that drove Aspian men into a frenzy. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently.

“I don’t want to come yet my pet.”

His voice was gruff, yet Mila could hear the humor in his tone. With a movement too quick for Mila to comprehend, She was across the room lying in her slave swing face down. The contraption supported her abdomen with a wide soft leather strap. It had columns built around at four corners, placed about four by four feet apart.

Her wrists were quickly shackled to the posts in front of her and her ankles to the ones in back. Her Master flipped up the back of the swing and positioned it so that her head could rest, relieving the strain on her shoulders from being suspended in air by the shackles.

He moved behind her and pushed the two rear columns forward so that it forced her legs to bend, knees outward and her thighs to spread wide.

When her positioning was to his satisfaction, he stepped back and walked a circle around her. The slow predatory way he moved caused shivers of expectancy to travel Mila’s body. The tingling jolts of arousal settled below her waist and she felt the lips of her sex swell open.

Juice spilled from her cunt as he came to stand between her splayed thighs. She felt his demon eyes focused on her pink pulsing pussy. Her breathing became choppy and she whimpered once.

Thwack! Silence!”

Mila bit her lip to keep from screaming as the stinging pain of his heavy handed smack soaked into her left ass cheek.

She almost gasped when his hands gripped her hips firmly. Her body shook. She tried desperately to stay still, however the need coursing through her was so intense that she couldn’t help pressing her ass up and humping against the tip of his cock.

Thwack! Thwack!

This time she did cry out.

Thwack!

Biting her lip to the point of drawing blood, Mila managed to remain quite. A few seconds passed, before his hand stroked the burning flesh of her ass.

“There, there…now I will fuck you…is that what you want…”

Mila didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her body was so tense with unreleased arousal that her mind was in a spin. She couldn’t form a coherent thought let alone speak.

However, her Master was demanding.

He fisted her long brown hair and yanked her head back, making her arch painfully toward him. He bent forward, brushing his lips against her ear.

“…I said…” he pulled her back further causing her to cry out again, “…is that what you want pet…for me to fuck you…”

Mila forced her pounding heart to calm. With a shaky breath, she tried to answer him.

“…Y-yessss…”

He yanked her hard…Tears filled her eyes…

“Yes!”

One more yank…

“Yesss…what my pet…”

Mila heaved deep breaths…her body shaking from pain, but more from the uncontrolled throbbing arousal pumping straight to her core.

“Y-yes, Master..p-please…mmm..Fuck me!”

He released her head and squeezed her hips, a second before impaling her balls deep in one swift stroke. He waited. Mila knew what he was waiting for. She pressed her ass back against him letting him know that she was ready for a hard ride.

___________________

Emma Paul is a favorite author here on Every Night Erotica, read her other stories here.

Emma Paul is a writer of Erotic Romance, Paranormal and Sci-fi Romance. She lives in Connecticut and spends most of her waking moments ploting out her next wild and sexy tale. Her books are available through Renaissance eBooks, Inc.  Sizzler Editions, Amazon, fictionwise and Adult Ebook Store. More from Emma can be found here: http://emmapaulwrites.blogspot.com/.

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The Masquerade — Robert E. Petras

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 26, 2012

Carleton masqueraded as the Big Bad Wolf and his wife Mary, Little Red Riding Hood, but the costume pairing was the only thing they had come to being a couple for the last two months.  No matter how hard Carleton huffed and puffed, he could not get inside Mary’s pants.

And damned if she didn’t look hot, playing hostess to their friends, parading around in that skimpy outfit—in fishnet stockings and high heels yet.

Mary lost 45 pounds the last two months, becoming thin and fit the first time since she had the eldest of three children ten years before.  She had never lost any weight until now, and Carleton had fantasized fucking a skinny woman ever since, especially his wife.

Every time he tried to approach Mary for sex the past two months, she said she was too exhausted from working her job, exercising at the gym and from starving herself.  In truth, Carleton suspected she was banging her personal trainer, whom she had invited to the party, the bohunk in the caveman furs with a toy club and life-sized plastic doll, one arm draped around the doll, the other around Mary’s shoulders.  Her chestnut hair cascaded halfway down her back, the longest it had been since Carleton met her.  To him, her emerald green eyes glistened “fuck me.”

Mary rose from the living room couch and headed for the kitchen, Carleton presumed to flirt with another single guy she had met at the club.  This hunk was wearing a trench coat and was flashing a robber cock.  From a portable rattan wet bar in the corner of the room, Carleton mixed himself a Jack Daniels and Coke and then headed for the entertainment room, where mostly married couples were hanging out.

Carleton stood there observing the harmony of their body language.  The happiest couples mirrored one another, their gesticulations in perfect sync.  He was stirring his drink mechanically when Minerva, one of Mary’s closest friends, sidled over to him.  She was wearing a black burqa.  The head covering was solid back obscuring her face except her teasing blue eyes; below neckline the burka segued into semi-transparent material, allowing the viewer to feast on a large pair of phony boobs, which Carleton suspected were close in dimension to the real pair.  Despite her face being covered, Carleton pictured in his head her silky blond hair and full pouty lips.

“Mary is being quite contrary,” Minerva said.

“I blame myself,” Carleton replied.  “I could have paid her a lot more attention.”

“She’s getting plenty of it now,” Minerva said.  “Feeling guilty?”

“No, disappointed mostly.  It had always been a fantasy of mine to do it with my wife thin and trim. I had another about her shaving down below.  My fantasies are just what they are—fantasies.”

“I shave my pussy.”

“That’s just how I fantasize about you.”

“You fantasize fucking your wife’s best friend?”

“When Mary was at her heaviest and we were having sex, I fantasized I was screwing you.  Again, just a fantasy.”

Minerva brushed the back of her hand along the inside of his thigh. “Why fanaticize when you can have the real thing?”

“Really?”

“Yes, wait for me in the billiard room of your garage.  I’ll come out when I feel it’s safe.”

“What about Mary?”

“I’ll check up on her.  But the last I saw her she appeared ready to be double-dicked by the flasher.

While Carleton waited in the billiard room, he was so excited he couldn’t make the simplest of shots.  Finally, the door swung open.  Inside stepped Minerva, and she gracefully bent over the pool table and swept balls away with one arm.

Carleton hiked up her burqa, exposing Minerva’s beautiful round ass.  He stepped back and examined her the way an artist would a painting in progress.  That bald pussy of hers was a masterpiece.  He thought his cock was going to bore through his leotards and wolf shorts.

In a few moments he was fucking his wife’s best friend, her pussy so wet she must have been starved for hard cock. And he could wrap his arms around her hips and then some, drilling deeper.

A shadow swept over the back of Minerva. Carleton twisted around. Little Red Riding Hood had invaded the House of Big Bad Wolf.

But under that scarlet hood was the fuck-me-too grin of Minerva.

The woman wearing the burqa undid her veil.  “Heaven rewards those who have patience,” Mary said.  She then resumed her doggy style position, as did Minerva, beside her, hip-to-hip, naked, her body exactly how Carleton had fantasized it.

He gawked at the two masterpieces for a moment while pretending to chalk the end of his dick and then said, “This gives a whole new meaning to ‘rack them up.’” Then he broke.

____________________

Petras is a graduate of West Liberty University and a lifelong resident of Toronto, Ohio.  He has had more than 50 stories published in a variety of genres, including erotica, sci-fi, horror, satire/humor and literary. Robert can be found here: http://bpetras.blogspot.com/.

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The Pussyholic Part Three — Julius

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 25, 2012

Did you miss Part One or Two of this sexy story? Read The Pussyholic Part One and The Pussyholic Part Two.

“Fine by me.” She got to her feet and went to the mini-bar, opened it and bent to look at the contents. She knew he’d be gazing up her short skirt at her ass. She liked the idea. ‘You’re quite the little slut Sooz,’ she said to herself.’

“Another beer?”

“Beer’s fine.”

They were quoting the book almost word for word she realised and said, “Cocksucking’s thirsty work.”

She carried two bottles back to where he sat. She bent to pick up his briefs giving him a look down her blouse and noticed his eyes were drawn there. She handed bottles and underwear to him. “Don’t cut your hand, I can never open those silly screw-off tops.”

“To book-signings.”

“To erotic writers,” she said. They clinked bottles and drank.

Suzanne picked up the book and read silently. Her thighs closed and she took her bottom lip under her top teeth. She was suddenly looking forward to the next pages.

She glanced at her watch.

Simon noticed and his heart sank. Hating the words, he said, “Is it getting late?”

“Late? Would you like me to go?”

“Lord no! I’m sitting here praying you’ll stay.”

She tapped the open book with her finger. “Leave? No, let’s at least finish the chapter?”

He turned towards her and she looked down. His cock was noticeably longer and fatter. “I think perhaps he wants me to stay,” she said quietly.

Simon glanced down. “Yes, we both do.”

Suzanne took off her watch and put it, face down, on the small table at her elbow. “There, time is on hold.”

She drank three swallows of beer and sensed she had a slight buzz. She’d not eaten since she’d left her apartment. “Mustn’t get too drunk, anything might happen.”

“Indeed, just about anything.”

“Back to the story?” she asked.

“By all means.” He held out his hand and she passed him the book.

He read, ‘Maureen knelt astride his lap and reached for the top button on her blouse.’

Suzanne took another swallow of beer, put the bottle down and stood up. She turned, knelt astride his lap, her ass on his knees and reached for the top button of her blouse.

Simon licked his lips. He was going to get to see those breasts.

With the last button undone she opened her blouse and shrugged it off. Her bra was a lacy, white affair. It was low cut and gave her delightful cleavage. His cock responded. She reached behind her and unfastened the hooks. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and the bra joined her blouse on the sofa beside them.

Her breasts were big and looked delightfully heavy. His hands moved of their own accord, he badly wanted to touch.

“They’re too big,” she said quietly, as if she feared he’d think so too.

“They’re beautiful,” he said with a sincerity that made her close her eyes and smile.

The nipples were big and dark. They jutted from their dark surrounds. He thought they begged to be loved.

“Are you a breast man too?”

“Too?”

“Well the hero of your tale says he’s a pussyholic.”

“I guess I’m both. How could I not love those?” he whispered.

She reached down and took his hands and placed them on her breasts.

They were so soft, so heavy, their skin like warm silk. He cock was rigid again. Jutting up between them. He circled his palms on her nipples and she moaned, squirming her ass on his lap. He kept his hands moving and she began breathing through her mouth.

He took his hands away and looked. Hers were the biggest nipples he’d seen. Erect now like his cock, they just had to be suckled. He took her right breast in both hands and lowered his head. With his lips round the nipple he sucked gently and teased with his tongue. He felt an awful urge to bite. He did, trying not to hurt her.

She moaned and her body went rigid. She scrambled off his lap and sprawled on the sofa beside him. With one hand she pulled up her skirt and clamped the other over her mound and began rubbing herself.

He watched and knew they were about to stray from the story. He wanted his cock under those panties and into her heat and he knew with an awful certainty that she wanted it too.

But some strange perverse part of him wanted to follow the story, to tease them both by prolonging this first encounter. He would, if he could, stay with the plot.

He knelt in front of her again. Her thighs were wide spread. Her little white panties had tiny blue flowers on and he knew she’d put on fresh ones when she’d visited the bathroom.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Her hand clawed the panties to one side baring herself to him. Her pubic hair was almost coppery. She held herself open and wetness gleamed. Helpless, he plunged his face into that wetness; his lips found the top of her cleft, found the prominent bud of her clitoris. He’d barely touched her with his questing tongue before she came.

She humped and bucked under his mouth. Somehow she got her legs up on his shoulders, her heels grinding into his back. Her thighs clamped his head and she just fucked his face. She was wet and hot and Simon had to fight for breath.

Her hands were on the back of is head, pressing him into her and she just kept coming. He thought he’d drown or suffocate.

Finally she subsided and he managed to get her feet back on the floor. He raised himself. She seemed to glow. Her body had a sheen of sweat on it. Her big breasts moved wonderfully as she fought for breath. Her pussy gaped, shining with her juice and his saliva. Her panties were drawn to one side. She couldn’t have been more fuckable.

When she gasped, “Please …,” her meaning very clear.

Simon moved awkwardly closer on his knees and she writhed her ass until she was all but slipping off the sofa. His cock slipped into her in one steady thrust.

His earlier orgasm made his second a struggle. With his hands under her ass he fucked her desperately. She squeezed her breasts cruelly with her hands, like in a porn movie. Just as he was wondering if he could make it, the first tremors began inside him. He was going to come, he was going to come. With each thrust there was a slap of him against her and he was saying, “Yes!” with each thrust.

Her mind and body caught his rhythm and in sweet unison they came, her first contraction, his first spurt. He thought his whole being would empty into her through his cock.

Her pussy walls milked at his spasming cock, the ripples sucking him empty. The contractions of her pussy seemed to go on forever. She was sobbing he was gasping for breath. They were both near exhaustion.

There was no post coital tenderness from either of them. They were beyond that. He sat on the floor between her feet as if he’d climbed a thousand stairs. Suzanne was sprawled, perhaps asleep, perhaps unconscious. Their combined juices oozed from her, out of her pussy, down the cleft of her ass and onto his knee.

He gazed at her big nipples, the strands of sweat-wet hair across her face and hoped she’d never leave.

Her eyes flickered open and she looked down at him. She sought words but found none. They just looked at each other. He ran the backs of his fingers gently across the wet curls of her pussy.

“What an incredible thing this is,” he said softly. “Mustn’t let it catch cold.” He gently pulled the panties across to cover her mound.

She sighed, took a deep breath. “Will you read the whole book to me?”

“Now?”

“No silly, now we rest. Read to me tomorrow.” She sounded half asleep.

“What do we do when it’s finished?”

“You write me another and another and …” she began snoring softly.

____________________

You just read the conclusion of Julius’ sexy trilogy if you missed any of the first two parts go here to read more .

Julius says this about himself: “ I love writing what I call smut, been writing it for years. Sometimes, to me anyway, written erotica is more arousing than visual. If others get a charge from my stories, that’s a bonus. So, let me know what you think of a story, good or bad. I promise to reply.”

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The Gifts — Olivia London

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 24, 2012

Mona looked at her checkbook balance and started to cry.

“Eight dollars,” she intoned, talking to herself as she did in times of trouble.  “Eight dollars to my name.  How can I possibly buy a gift for my darling Desmond?  Our five year anniversary is tomorrow.”

She was tempted to throw herself down on the sofa and wail like a banshee.  That’s what she would have done in the past but with Desmond around no matter how bleak life seemed, she just couldn’t revisit the familiar locus of self-pity.  One look at her lover’s sweet countenance was enough to send her heart floating on a buoy of hope.

Mona and Des were no strangers to hard times.  Mona once earned money for books by working as a lab rat, as in, she was the rat.  For two solid weeks, the penniless girl stood in queue with other destitute Seattleites to accept a dose of a previously untested medication, a crushed form of a mild stimulant that for many of the recipients, induced bruxism as a side effect.  The rat would have gnawed her way out of there through the walls and under the floorboards even, if she could have thought of any other way to earn fast cash legally.

Des knew the ignominy of standing in line at a food bank, having no way of conveying dented cans of food other than public transportation.  Imagine the young man’s dismay when he discovered all the perishables had already died tragic deaths and the date stamps of the canned soups and beans expired sometime during the Reagan administration.

Life had improved somewhat, but still, the couple struggled, mainly because they were both “creative types” determined to eschew reality at all costs.  The cost was high but for them, it was the only way to live.

There were two things Desmond and Mona held dear, as dear as if these material goods had been born of a sacred vessel and vouchsafed to them for safekeeping.

When Desmond took to the road on his motorcycle he felt he could live forever.  He’d had the bike for as long as he’d known Mona, five years, and in all that time he never once forgot to cover his most prized possession with a tarp.  The machine was a gleaming ode to sex; Desmond’s fondest memories of fellatio involved Mona going down on him while he straddled the cherry-colored chassis.  He even named his bike Maud, after the Irish beauty who spurned W. B. Yeats.  The way Des saw it, he Maud and Mona had a nice threesome going on; lots of men had it worse.

Mona was proud of her camera collection which included a Nikon that had once reputedly belonged to a famous photographer.  Mona had the eye for photography but not the patience.  No matter how dutifully she cleaned her lenses, a stray hair or speck of dust marred every print she pulled from its bath.  She longed to take a photography class but school costs money as does everything else on the planet.  She never touched the Nikon, letting it rest in situ with the dusty box her Aunt Moira had used to coax it across the country for its final home.

 Every Friday night Des and Mona treated themselves to pints and pies at their favorite Irish pub.  Cater-corner to this pub was a trendy men’s clothing store where Des often stopped to admire a black leather motorcycle jacket.  It was from this store Mona emerged the day before their cherished anniversary with a plastic garment bag hooked over her arm.  She smiled with complete and total happiness, not feeling a scintilla of remorse for what she had done.  She could certainly live without a camera collection if it meant holding on tighter to Des as he commandeered the roads with greater verve wearing his sexy new jacket.

On a rainy Saturday in November, Des and Mona would celebrate their fifth anniversary.  Mona was so excited she failed to notice the empty parking space near their apartment building, the one typically occupied by Maud.  She waited by the window for the familiar revving of engines and was surprised when her lover walked in, quiet as a cloistered nun.

She immediately fell into Desmond’s embrace, running her fingers through his black hair.

“Des, darling!  Look what I bought for you.”  Mona handed Des the box with the jacket.

“Ah,” was all he said, after tearing off the wrapping and soberly examining his gift.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, love.  I do.  It’s a grand jacket.  But wait and see what I have for you.”

Des handed an envelope to his girlfriend.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A tuition voucher for a year of photography classes.  With that special Nikon, you’re sure to be more famous than what’s her name.”

And now Mona did wail like a banshee for a thought occurred to her that she could not bat away; she instantly guessed how Des afforded such an extravagant gift.

“Oh, Des.  What happened to Maud?  I didn’t see her parked outside.”

Seattle’s sexiest Irishman smiled and took a seat on the sofa to deliver the inevitable news.

“A bike is just a bike, love.  You have a gift that needs nurturing.  Selling a motorcycle doesn’t seem like a big sacrifice when you truly love someone.”

Mona sat next to her boyfriend, taking his hand in hers.  “Des, I sold my camera collection to buy you that cool leather jacket.”

Des smiled.  Then he laughed.  Mona laughed, too.  Then she unzipped the fly of Desmond’s jeans and told her sweetheart to lean back and get comfortable.

“You’re the greatest gift in the world to me,” Mona murmured near her lover’s ear after kissing his neck and face.  “Every moment with you is a blessing.”

Desmond used his elegant fingers to comb through Mona’s long, blond hair as she licked the tip of his penis with tender devotion.  She imagined her lips pouring sugar over his erection, turning the crest into a sweetmeat she could have sucked on all day and all night.

She squirmed in her torqued position, the crotch of her panties already scrunched into a wet filigree she could feel taunting her labia.  Nothing turned her on more than going down on Des.

Releasing the tip with a small plosion, she let her lips glide down to caress and kiss the cobs, taking care to cover Des’s entire priapic package with love.

The timbre of her lover’s voice reverberated with approval and that was all the encouragement she needed to settle in for serious deep throat.  She sucked the length of him entire while all troubles floated away and she allowed herself to savor this precious gift.  She would maroon herself on this phallic island, an isthmus of pleasure that had been hers for the coddling for the past five wonderful years.

Des anointed Mona with his warm semen then they took a long shower together.  Later they would make love but first they’d go off to the pubs to enjoy a few pints. 

It was their anniversary, after all.  They had a lot to be grateful for.

____________________

Read Olivia’s other sexy stories published on Every Night Erotica, here.

Olivia London is the author of the story collection San Francisco Lovin’ published by Renaissance E Books.  Titles available frome Xcite Books include Lesbian Love 3, Healthy Addictions and the erotic paranormal story Soul Bumping.  Ms. London lives in Seattle.  The author may be reached at olivialondonstories@gmail.com

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Eve — Anon

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 23, 2012

In my fantasy, you are perfection made flesh, an illusion that I have spent the better part of a year creating, designing, reformatting, perfecting. You are everything I want in a woman: soft silky hair that you are not ashamed of, despite its curl, piercing brown eyes that always see the real me, legs that are long, lean and generous in parting. Yes, you are perfection, truly a vision. I have named you Eve, for you are the first, the most perfect.

I step forward, my hand trembling at the gravity of what is going to happen. My nerves finally settle down; I touch my computer monitor, my spider leg fingers cause a rippling on the screen.

“Soon,” I whisper, “Very soon. Until then,” I lower my pants to free myself. Like my fingers, it is long and thin with a slight curve, my fingers go around it perfectly. I groan and focus in on your face. I toy with myself for a minute, I alternate between a fast and slow jerk. My breath turns ragged, I zoom out of your face, I move down to your legs, toned, tanned and smooth. I feel my hips jerk; I’m close, so close. With a final tug, I explode; my fluids going everywhere, I feel it hit my chest multiple times, as I go temporally blind from the pleasure. My eyes flutter as I lazily reached for the off button on my computer.

____________________

This is Anon’s second story published here on Every Night Erotica, read Mantis Girl.

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Love In The Aisles — P.J. Rosier

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 22, 2012

I knew when I first saw her that she had that certain something that so appealed to me.   Partly it was her appearance: tall and athletic, well-built, red-hair and with freckles too, but nothing ‘little girl’ about her.  She looked like the sort who played soccer or some other contact sport; pretty face, lots of character.  And partly it was her manner, confident and at ease with herself.

I hadn’t expected that when I visited the supermarket.  Love hadn’t been on my shopping list.  I’d come there to buy wine and fruit but I’d found milk and honey.  It just strikes you, you know?  I felt my stomach turn over and those butterflies began to flutter around in there.  Oh, and I felt breathless and my palms began to sweat.  I’d got it bad.

In fact, I’d seen her before.  A few weeks before, I’d seen her chase a shoplifter out of the store.  He ran and she ran after him; she was very fit.  Caught him too, a teenager, so a little younger than her – I reckoned her to be in her early twenties, same as me.   She held on to him and marched him back to the store.  Pretty damn cool, she could look after herself.  I’d seen all this but hadn’t thought too much about it until now when, wham, it hit me.  I loved her, simple as that.

But what was I to do?  I’m not bold about these things and I didn’t want to be rejected – who does?  But I reckon in life that you regret more what you didn’t do than what you did.   And lost chances, ‘if only’, they are the saddest of all words.

So I went up to her.  She was wheeling a big cage of goods out to the shelves to stock-up.  Pretty heavy by the look of it but she had no trouble.  I told you she was strong.

“Excuse me,” I said.

She turned and smiled.

“Can I help you?”   Such simple words; she might have said anything, but to me they felt like that fabled honey dripping down my throat.

Up close, I could see every freckle and the wave of her red hair from tip to root. Entirely genuine, not a trace of artifice there.  And the strong thrusting breasts pushing at the store uniform of candy-striped blouse.  Yes, an athletic bra would be needed for anything vigorous.

I dragged my mind back to the here and now.  She was staring at me, a quizzical smile on her face.  How long had I been staring at her?

“Ah, umm, look, you don’t know me or anything but I’ve seen you here a few times and I really would like it if we could meet up one evening, a drink or club or something.  Sorry, this sounds awful, you’re probably not interested.  Doesn’t matter if you’re not.  I didn’t mean to trouble you.”

I knew I was gabbling but what could I do?  Fool, fool, a little voice inside me said.  How to look stupid!  Would I ever dare to go back to the store again?

I saw her tongue emerge briefly to lick her lips.  It flickered out and back and instantly I had an image of it inside my mouth caressing my tongue.

“Yes, OK, why not?  When do you think?”

Oh god, she said yes!  I couldn’t believe it!

“Err, tomorrow night, perhaps?”

“Mmm, OK.  Meet you, where?”

“What about the ‘Sheep and Shearer’ public house just down the road, about eight?  I’ll book us a table for a meal if you like?”

She stared at me and I thought, oh god, I’ve blown it.  Too heavy, too much, too soon.  A dinner on a first date.  Probably not even a date to her, just a friendly drink.  After all, I didn’t know her taste in partners, lovers, call it what you will.

“Thanks, that’s great.  I’ll try to stay hungry!”  And she winked!

Then, “Oh, I don’t know your name…..”

I told her.  I didn’t need to ask hers.  The store name badge said she was Dawn.  Pretty, I thought.

The next night I agonised about what to wear. I felt so nervous.  I didn’t want anything too smart for a pub restaurant and I didn’t want to be seen making a big deal out of it in case it was just a friendly bite to eat to her and nothing more.  Still, I couldn’t afford to look scruffy.

In the end, I settled on an open-necked shirt and blue jeans but smart and clean, quite well tailored, with a bit of room for any waist-line expansion due to the food.  I walked down to the pub; being in town it was not far from where I lived.  I ventured in nervously.

I was a little early so got a drink and sat at a table watching the door.  Two minutes after eight she walked in.  She looked round, smiled and came over.  She was wearing a T-shirt top, plain white and smart enough, a knee length black skirt and matching tights.  At least, I thought they were tights, but as she sat and crossed her legs, I realised they were hold-ups, the lacy tops becoming visible against the white skin of her thighs.

I nearly fell over my feet getting up to buy her a drink.  Then we went in to have our meal.

We chatted of this and that over the starter, main course and sweet.  Don’t ask me what we ate, it was a bit of a blur.  But I remember what we talked about.  How she was studying accountancy at evening class and hoped to get day release from the supermarket to work one day a week unpaid at an accountancy firm for experience soon.  I said how I was a technical writer, freelance, and sometimes wrote other stuff too – like this (but I didn’t mention this really, of course!).

After the sweet, I took a deep breath and said “How about having coffee back at my place?”

She smiled, “Yes, great, I’ve got the car outside”.

She had already told me how she lived in a village a few miles outside town so had had to drive in.  Going back to my place was only a couple of minutes drive.

We went in, sat down; I made the coffee, we drank it and made small talk again.  I had absolutely no clue as to how she felt about me: were we just new friends, did she even like me much, was being lovers a ridiculous thought?

We finished the coffee.  She stood up and so did I.  My mouth was dry, should I ask to meet again?

I was sure my voice would squeak.  “I really enjoyed that, Dawn.  Perhaps we can meet up again?”   Oh, too cool, too cold, damn, damn!

“Come here, silly.”  She opened her arms, I stepped forward and she held me by both shoulders and kissed me full on the lips.  I was stunned, I couldn’t react at first.  Then I opened my lips and felt that tongue in my mouth, just as I had imagined.

Both my hands were clasped around her waist.  I felt her release one of my shoulders and her hand slipped down my front, brushing my chest.  It stopped at my jeans where, with a quick twist, she undid the little stud at the waistband and eased down the zip. I felt her fingers slide inquisitively inside and grasp me gently there.

As I might have guessed, her hand was warm and smooth.

Her lips moved to the side of my head, to my ear.

She whispered, “Gorgeous cunt, Helen, I just knew you’d be soaking by now.”

____________________

Read Peter’s other sexy stories here on Every Night Erotica.

Peter Rosier is a British author who has had work published in paper form (Mammoth Books, Sensorotika Press, Meat Grinder Press, etc) and on-line including Ruthie’s Club and Oysters and Chocolate.  Work has also been scripted for Hong Kong television and performed on stage by fringe theatre in London.

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Double Vision Part One — Lucy Felthouse

By smartypnts1 | Published: January 21, 2012

Becky and Paul shared most things – as an open-minded married couple, this included sexual fantasies, many of which they acted out. A Lance Corporal in the British Army, Paul did wonders for Becky’s uniform fetish. However, as much as she loved and trusted Paul, Becky had never divulged her number one fantasy.

Tonight, however, Becky had decided to bite the figurative bullet. Paul would be home in about 20 minutes. She pulled the new negligee out of her top drawer and slid it over her shoulders, letting the fantasy unfold in her mind. She imagined Paul, with several other men dressed in uniform, surrounding her.

Becky pulled the matching skimpy panties up, wondering how damp they might become before he even came home. The squaddies in her fantasy moved in on her, quickly pulling her clothes from her. She imagined eager, masculine hands caressing her skin, her limbs, her breasts.

She walked around her marital bedroom, lighting candles, imagining the sordid positions her military gang of lovers would assume. They might force her to her knees, here, at the end of the bed, each taking pleasure in her mouth. They would bend her over the front of the low dresser here, taking turns entering her.

Becky sat on the end of the bed and pulled on her tallest heels, picturing her own body lying prone, her lovers touching, kissing, and fucking her. She indulged in her fantasy for only a moment more before she stood to look in the mirror and assess the finished product.

Becky’s fantasy was a minefield for so many reasons: it broke the couple’s rule about bringing other people into their sex life. Plus, she didn’t fancy any of Paul’s mates, and if the authorities found out, there could be an awful lot of trouble. So Becky had kept quiet, letting her fantasy scenario play out only in her head. But she had realized that just because she told Paul about it, didn’t mean that anything had to happen. After all, they hadn’t acted out all of the fantasies they’d previously divulged; they were happy to just talk about many of them. This could be one of those fantasies. She applied a sheer pink colour to her lips and blew herself a kiss in the mirror.

Becky heard the key turn in the door and ran down the stairs. Paul was grinning even before he came in, but his grin widened when he saw what she was wearing. He was clearly in for a good time this evening. She took his hand, wordlessly, and pulled him over the threshold and towards the stairs – barely giving him enough time to shut the front door.

Clomping up the stairs in his heavy boots, Paul thought, as he often did, how lucky he was to have Becky. Many of the guys he worked with complained that their sex life had dwindled the longer they’d been with their partner. Of course, Paul and Becky weren’t quite the rampant teenagers they’d been when they got together, but they still had sex several times a week. And it was rarely a single-position repetition of the last time they’d done it.

Paul knew that Becky loved him in uniform – she often accosted him on his return from work and dragged him straight to bed. Being a man, he certainly wasn’t complaining, After all, it was really no different from him getting off on her wearing sexy outfits – much like the one she had on now.

Becky let go of Paul’s hand and sauntered to the bed. She turned and sat, looking at him. As her gaze raked him from top to bottom, he felt his cock beginning to stir beneath his combats.

Becky took in the delicious sight of her husband and felt her pussy pulse in response. Everything, from the regulation boots to the beret on his head, screamed “fuck me!” And that’s exactly what Becky intended to do.

“Come here, gorgeous,” she said, in what she hoped was a seductive tone, “let me look at you.”

Paul moved towards the bed, his cock rapidly hardening in anticipation. Becky reached out and grabbed his belt, yanking him towards her. Immediately, her hands grasped his t-shirt and untucked it from his trousers, sliding it high up his torso. Her lips met naked skin. She kissed his smooth, muscular stomach, then licked him, her tongue riding the ridges of his six pack.

Playfully, she poked her tongue into his belly-button. She could feel the heat emanating from his groin and couldn’t wait to get her hands on his cock, but she knew it was worth waiting for. She slid her hands up to his nipples and tweaked them, grinning into his stomach as she felt him flinch. She released his nipples and moved her hands back down his body, purposely dragging her nails, not-so-gently, across his skin as she did so.

Without hesitation, Becky undid Paul’s belt and combats, almost drooling in anticipation of what was beneath. And Paul had a surprise of his own – nothing. He’d gone commando today, so that all Becky had to do was reach down and manoeuvre his prick out of his trousers and into her waiting mouth.

Paul groaned at the sensation of his wife’s hot wet tongue on his bell-end. She licked the shiny, purple head like it was an ice cream, lightly flicking into the tiny hole at the end and lapping up his pre-cum. Paul reached down and tangled his fingers in her hair for leverage. Smiling inwardly at her husband’s impatience, Becky reached round to his buttocks, grasped them tightly and pulled him towards her, causing his cock to slide deeper and deeper into her throat. Soon, she could take no more and it took all of Paul’s concentration not to come as he felt her gag reflexes tighten around his shaft.

“Babe,” Paul said, his voice husky with lust, “you’re going to have to stop that or I’ll come. It feels bloody amazing.”

Sliding his dick slowly out from between her lips, Becky replied, “Well, that’s kind of the plan.”

“I know, but I wanna come inside you – eventually.”

“How about you return the favour, then?”

Becky slid Paul’s shaft deep inside her mouth one more time, then back out with an audible “pop.” She lay back on the bed, crossed her arms behind her head, and looked at her husband with a lecherous smile.

Paul instantly dropped to his knees on the carpet and shuffled closer to the bed. He grabbed Becky’s ankles and pulled her so she was positioned with her ass on the edge of the mattress. He removed her tiny, frilly knickers, pulling them over her legs and off her feet, then he spread her legs wide. Dipping his head between her thighs, he inched slowly towards her pussy, purposely teasing her, like she had him. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent of her, his cock leapt in response. Then he exhaled, sending a caress of warm air over her labia and clit.

Becky gasped at the sensation; her legs involuntarily drawing together. Now she could feel Paul’s head against her inner thighs, his green beret tickling the delicate skin and its badge digging into her. She didn’t care. All she really wanted to feel was his talented tongue dipping into her wetness, coaxing her to orgasm.

He didn’t make her wait much longer. Paul slid his hands underneath her, cupping her ass and pulling her pussy onto his face. He brushed his face against her skin, the roughness of his stubble making her squeal and wriggle in his hands. He smiled, then drove his tongue into his wife’s pussy. She tasted and smelled divine – Paul never could get enough of giving Becky head.

As he licked, sucked, and nibbled at her vulva, Becky’s gasps and moans became louder and more abandoned, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before she came. Adding a finger to her pussy, he coated it thoroughly in her copious juices, and smeared them on her asshole. Knowing what was coming, Becky’s anus twitched, as though trying to grab his finger. Stroking gently but firmly, Paul introduced his digit to her back passage, continuing to tongue her clit.

Once she’d relaxed a little, Paul pumped his finger in and out of Becky’s tight hole. He felt it grow tighter and grip his finger, and with a final suck of her sensitive nub, Becky was spiralling into orgasm. Twitching and moaning, Becky came hard, Paul continuing to lick her until the contractions died down.

He clambered up and joined Becky on the bed, pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair as she recovered. She looked up at him and grinned lazily, still basking in the afterglow of her climax.

It was now or never.

“Sweetie,” she said, looking coyly up at him through her lashes, “you know how you said we can tell each other anything?”

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

“You know how much I like you in your uniform, right?” Not wanting to give him a chance to reply, she continued, “Well, I’ve been keeping this one quiet for a while, but I sometimes think about group sex – with squaddies.” She paused. “I know it can never happen, but it makes me horny thinking about it.”

Paul remained silent. He had a faraway expression on his face, and Becky wondered what he was thinking about. Suddenly, he snapped out of it.

“You dirty bitch. Being serviced by different men gets you off, eh?”

Becky looked up, alarmed, but then she spotted the smirk playing on his lips.

“I’d quite like to share you out actually. My sexy wife sucking and fucking different cocks, all the while knowing I get to go home with you.”

Pouncing on her and tickling her, they laughed and playfully wrestled until Paul ended up straddling his wife, pinning her wrists down. They quickly resumed where they’d left off before Becky’s confession.

*

Days later, Becky’s fantasy was the last thing on her mind as she wound her way down the aisles of the supermarket. She had a delicious meal planned for Paul, and was consumed with the upcoming line up of recipes. She hummed a tune as she drove home and unlocked the front door, propping it open so she could bring in all the bags. She flipped on the kettle and headed for their bedroom to take off her shoes before putting the shopping away.

It wasn’t until she pushed open the door that she noticed something was amiss. However, before she could take anything in and make sense of it, Paul appeared from behind the door with a blindfold in his hands.

“I gotta surprise for you babe. Let me put this on.”

____________________

Come back one week from today to read Part Two of this sexy tale. Read more of Lucy’s sexy stories here.

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story – so she did. It went down a storm and she’s never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

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