A Thousand Orgasms: Erotica Collection

2 I lose privacy privileges again a few days later. I smashed the mirror in the bathroom and cut a wrist with a shard. I'm not suicidal, but I do have a masochistic streak, it would seem. I tell myself it's to annoy him, to damage the goods so that when he's finally used me up and returned me to my father, Dad can see the physical toll. Secretly I just want to see what he'll do. In the initial minutes, he's rough with me. He catalogues the immense flow of blood flowing from my wrist, the puddle at my feet, the paleness of my face. "Shit. What did you do?" He tugs me out of the bathroom. I'm shaking by the time he pushes me down on the bed. "Stay," he orders, as if I could go anywhere else. He leaves the room only to return a minute later with a first-aid kit. That he has such a thing at all strikes me so bizarre that I can't repress a laugh. I receive a glare. "You really need stitches." He treats me. It stings terribly, but it's what I deserve. Or so he keeps tell

I stood up and observed his body. The guy was incredibly handsome, with a well-maintained physique. There he was, lying down, completely at my mercy, waiting for me to act. As I stood, I swayed gently, running my hands down my hips and squeezing my breasts while wetting my lips. He was captivated by the spectacle and began to masturbate. I crouched down and replaced his hand with mine, giving the skin of his penis a slow, deliberate massage. I opened his legs and began to graze his feet, then his thighs, with my breasts. I gently brushed his cock and moved up, my nipples tracing his body until I placed my breasts on his face. Then I took out my tongue, starting at his forehead and tracing back down, licking his face, his lips, his neck, his chest, his navel, and the inside of his thighs, finally reaching his ankles. From there, I returned to his balls, which I licked gently, and ran my tongue along that phallus. "What are you doing?" he asked, a mix of alarm and pleasure in his

It was barely after five p.m., but the sky was so clouded over that hardly any light was filtering in through my balcony door. I blinked, momentarily unbalanced, and let my eyes adjust. Aside from my laptop, all the ambient light in my apartment was gone. The clock on the stove was black, the LED on the TV had disappeared, and the hum of my refrigerator had gone quiet. A power outage. "Great," I muttered. I waited for the backup generator to kick in, but when a few minutes went by and it hadn't, I strode to the door and looked into the hallway. None of the emergency lights were on there, either, so I had to assume the generator was busted, too. Sighing, I closed the door. My laptop battery was a third full, so I drained the beer I had, opened the unlit fridge to quickly grab another one, and sat back down at my kitchen table. Within moments of cracking the new beer, my cell phone rang. "Hi, Lyla," I said without looking. "The power's out," she said. "Yeah." "What am I supposed

No amount of sales numbers in the world could stop me from imagining where those had been. I stared for a moment, then glanced up at Meg. She was bent over another box and facing away from me, so I started to close the box very slowly, hoping she wouldn't notice that I opened it. When she suddenly straightened up and whirled around with a triumphant cry, I nearly knocked it over. "Found it!" she declared, turning the flashlight on. "Great!" I said a little too enthusiastically. "Awesome!" Meg smiled, her face relieved and finally relaxed. "Thanks, Owen," she said. "You're my hero." I laughed uncomfortably, still trying to distract myself from the toy box, and started edging towards the door. "I dunno about that. Just helping out a neighbour." Her smile didn't fade, but some of the sparkle faded from her eyes. "Well, you're a really good neighbour." "Keep that in mind in case I throw any rowdy parties," I joked. "Being your upstairs neighbour, you'll get the brunt of the

I sat on the edge of her bed and slid back. Moments later she joined me, crawling on top of me and spreading her legs so she was straddling my hips. I groaned as she dipped down, kissing me again, and this time when her breasts pressed against my chest, I let myself relish in the feeling of them. I wanted my hands to be everywhere on her, but I started with her hips. I gripped them lightly, using them as leverage to grind her body on mine, exhaling heavily at the gentle friction against my cock. A breathy giggle was my reward and she shifted her hips, making me groan again. I brought my hands up her sides, feeling the curve of her waist that I'd been dying to touch since seeing the belt of her pink robe cinched around it. Then her ribs, my hands moving along the thin fabric of her tank top and feeling the rise and fall of her quickening breath. The underside of her breasts skimmed the tops of my fingers. "Can I...?" "Yes," she breathed. The weight of her breast in my palm was hea