Stories To Turn Me On Novels & Stories

Jennifer: Shrug emoji. I decided to take a different tack. This time, rather than pick safe, general stories, I chose a bunch of different categories and sent my favorites from each. One was romantic, about a couple falling in love. The next was about a wife who sleeps with another man. Another had a husband bringing in his best friend for a threesome. I chose one that had some bondage (not my thing, but I picked a story that was highly rated). I sent a Lesbian story and a Gay male one (again, I relied on the ratings). I linked a story about watching two people have sex in the woods, and one about a girl riding a sybian for the first time. I skipped two categories: nonconsent and incest. As

Until then, I was trapped here, touching myself for strangers and counting every tip. I slipped a hand under my t-shirt, idly playing with my nipple as the movie played on. The ache between my legs was already coming back. I kept teasing my nipple under my shirt, rolling it between my fingers as the couple on the TV fucked passionately. My pussy was getting wet again, that familiar ache building. The money from the call still had me buzzing… $700 just for riding a dildo and moaning like a slut. I wondered if HotFantasy88 would message again soon. Part of me hoped he would.

She noted how “it only takes about 5 minutes of flirting or about 30 seconds of ‘accidental’ rubbing or touching for the little head to take over the big one.” God, hearing her stories made me ache. It’d been years since I’d felt anything more than a vibrator inside of me. Hearing her tell of sucking off would-be CEOs—or even the spoiled stepson of one—made me yearn for a real dick. A real fucking cock that could pulse and throb, read me, become one with me, and then release all of that pent-up passion deep in the parched throat or in my now moist, warm pussy.

She looked comfortable, like she owned the place. “Getting late, Matt,” she said softly. “You look tense. Why don’t you tell me a story? Or better yet, let me tell you one.” She started talking in that low, husky voice. Stories about late-night deals, fast cars, and men who thought they could control her. Every one had a dirty edge. How she once made a rival boss beg on his knees. How power felt better when it came with pleasure. Matt listened, pretending it was just work, but his dick stayed rock hard the whole time.

"Hillian told me everything about you. How you look when you cum. How long you’ve been untouched by the old man. How you touched yourself in his room that day. I listened to every word he told me." My throat had gone dry by now, I looked from one face to the other. Hillian squeezed my hands. "I’m asking you again. Do you want this? From both of us." I should have said no, I should have stood up and walked out. Instead I let my body answer first, I could feel myself getting excited. I had never had sex with two people before. It had always been a fantasy I kept private, but now it was standing in front of me actually playing out in real time. "Yes," I whispered.

I felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely under his control in the middle of the room where millions of dollars were negotiated every day. "Open for me," he commanded. I didn't hesitate. I pulled my legs back, hooking my heels over the edge of the table, exposing myself to the harsh fluorescent lights above. Vincent stepped into the space I’d created, his body a wall of heat. He didn't use finesse. He didn't use a condom. He guided himself to the entrance of my heat and pushed in with a slow, agonizing force that made me cry out, the sound bouncing off the glass walls.

She picked up the vibrator, turned it on high, and pressed it directly against my clit without mercy. Monica straddled my face once more, lowering her pussy to my mouth. "Make me come," she ordered. I licked and sucked desperately, my own pleasure building under the relentless vibrator. Tasha pushed three fingers back inside me, fucking hard and fast. The plug twisted with every thrust. My moans vibrated against Monica's clit.

Ch-2 --------------------- Me: "Mom, the job of the man of the house is to make the babies, and the man of the house is dad; he was just called away on an emergency. I am going to turn around and do these dishes and I expect you to be back upstairs when I turn back." [I turned on the hot water and grabbed the Ivory Liquid. Just then, I felt something indescribably fantastic. Mom had nakedly closed on me; she rubbed her throbbing nipples against my back, moving side to side. I moaned in pleasure. In spite of my self-control, my cock lurched, bobbed, lurched, and sprang to iron-hardness, ten inches of tempered steel. My balls swelled, soon hanging down, drooping with an excess of pent-up passi

"Was it him again? The Lion King?" I let out a long, frustrated groan, leaning my head against the cool glass. "Every night, Bridge. The eyes, the tattoo... he was touching me in places I didn't even know I had. I woke up so wet I had to change the sheets. It’s getting ridiculous."

She held still, breaths shallow, every nerve alight. Emboldened by her lack of protest, his touch intensified. Bella, in a feigned sleepy wiggle, shifted back closer, her bum pressing against his crotch. She felt it immediately—his dick, fully erect, hard and throbbing through his pants, nestled against her. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the quiet room. Gotcha, she thought triumphantly, a thrill running through her. Now what? Your move, stranger. The tension hung thick, her body humming with anticipation, mind a whirlwind of forbidden excitement.