Public Sins (Exhibitionism Erotica)

by Dalia Daudelin

  As I stimulate all three men, I become more and more horny. I don't want them to cum like this, and so I pull myself off of Michael's fuckstick again and stand up.

  “Fuck me. Now.”

  The three men look at each other, trying to decide who goes first. Much to my relief, Sam steps up. His thin but long dick is rigid and purple with lust- he must not masturbate. I lay on the bed, right next to my cheating husband, glancing up at him with a wicked grin as I spread my legs and give the other men complete access to my sex. “Come on, Sam. Ram it in me, I like it rough and my piece of shit husband hasn't given me a good lay in months.”

  For the first time ever, I see the puppy dog looks that are normal for Sam vanish and lust takes over. Grabbing my legs and placing them on his shoulders, he enters me like this. It's a completely new sensation that has me gripping my bed sheets in surprise, gasping and almost trying to wiggle away. It's as if I'm a virgin all over again, tight and over excited. His long cock easily hits my cervix, and as he begins to hump me, I can't help but cry out in ecstasy. “Oh, god, yes! Fuck me harder! Make me your slut!”

  I feel the bed shift and watch Sawyer climb up on the bed next to me, jacking himself off. I watch with curiosity and intrigue as he comes closer, wondering what he's thinking. Of course, I'm extremely excited as soon as I see him straddling my face, letting his dick slap my cheek as he does so.

  “Open up, whore,” the man says, his Southern accent making it even sexier. I open my mouth and allow his penis to slip between my lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael jacking himself off, watching the two men fucking my cunt and my mouth.

  Sawyer starts humping my face almost as hard as Sam is humping my pussy, but Sam is getting close to cumming, I can tell. His grunts are getting louder, his hands gripping my hips tighter than before. He rams himself deeper and deeper into me, my sopping pussy gushing my girly cum as I ride an orgasm. I can't scream with this big dick in my mouth, but I normally would.

  Sam's fucking becomes erratic, going faster and faster as he grunts and yells an occasional, “fuck yeah!” My pussy almost can't take it. Finally, his long dick pulsates and spurts a huge amount of fluid deep into my womb, coating my entire pussy with his cum.

  It's not long before Sawyer is cumming down my throat as well, and I eagerly swallow every drop of this perverted man's sticky, salty cum. The more I take, the sluttier I feel. I wonder for a moment if James is enjoying the show, but who the fuck cares? I'm getting the orgasms I need that he wasn't giving me.

  As Sawyer gets off my face, I can tell Michael's ready for me. Before I can stand up, he grabs me by the hips and flips me over, slapping my ass firmly. “You look in your pussy husband's eyes while I fuck you raw, bitch. He needs to see you enjoying my cock.”

  I look up into James's eyes, seeing him pleading with tears. Oh yeah, I think to myself. He fucking regrets cheating on me now. I wiggle my ass for my new lover to enter, impatient and horny. I resolve to put on a damn good show and really drive home to James that he should have never cheated on a hot piece of ass like me.

  But my mind goes blank, my mouth and eyes wide open as Michael's big black cock slowly enters my pussy. I clearly underestimated the size of him. He's filling me completely, stretching me to the point that I'm worried I might split open. “Oh god, yessssssssss” I hiss as he bottoms out, the head of his thick slab of meat resting on my cervix, the pulsating mass stimulating my g-spot even without moving.

  He thankfully gives me a few minutes to adjust before pulling out and slamming himself back in. My mouth is hanging open, myself completely unable to control any part of my body as that cock forces me into one long orgasm through the whole ordeal, the stretching being too much to bear. My fingers scratch deep into the bed sheets, but my eyes stay firmly on my moron husband, the hurt in his eyes only making the fucking that much better.

  I buck my hips back, making Michael's slams even harder. He picks up his speed, his huge muscles propelling him into the fastest, hardest fuck I've ever gotten in my life. I hear his balls slapping against my pussy and the squish of his dick fucking my sloppy pussy, and I smell the sex of all three of us. The other two men are again hard and jacking themselves off, enjoying watching me get fucked by this gigantic black man.

  I can't take it, the whole thing is just too much. I'm screaming in ecstasy and orgasm, my body a convulsing mess as Michael continues to force himself into me, fucking me harder and harder until finally he shoots thick ropes of cum into me with a force I've never felt before. The two men also cum then, shooting onto my body and my bed, leaving me a cum-covered mess, lying next to my husband as I shake and quiver with orgasm.

  When I finally come to, the other three men are gone and James is still crying. Pushing myself up from the bed, I scoop two fingers into my pussy and take a glob of the cum from it and into my mouth. I look down at the cheater below me, his sobs audible now in the quiet room.

  “You will never cheat on me again,” I say. “Understand?”

  The helpless man nods, completely broken and miserable.

  “Not only that, but you are going to let those three men come over and fuck me whenever I want. And you're going to watch it and like it, you whimpering pussy. You're my bitch now. You are here for my sexual gratification. There will be no more staying late for work. Got it?”

  He nods again. I consider untying him then, but decide instead he can wait. I go over to our shared dresser, ignoring his shouts of anger as I walk down the hall and into the bathroom, where I take a hot shower and wash off my new lover's cum. Her mind wanders to the hot night she just had, and her hand wanders down, rubbing her sore but still horny pussy. Hopefully, James will be ready to fuck her once she's clean.

  Spanked in the Lap of Luxury 1

  Blackmailed by Her Sadistic Billionaire

  Dalia Daudelin

  Forty dollars and eighty three cents and a crystal figurine in the shape of a butterfly hide in my apron pockets. I look around me, checking to be sure that Mr. Rodin isn't anywhere that he can see me as I pick up a beautiful aquamarine ring that once belonged to his late wife. I slip it into my right pocket where it joins the figuring.

  My sister's birthday is coming up, and she's going to be 16. I promised her I'd buy her a video game console, and I never break promises for my sister. I wasn't always a thief, of course.

  In fact, before the housing bubble burst, my whole family was well off. I was in college, in my second year of studying business when the economy tanked. Nearly everyone in my family was laid off or lost customers or otherwise lost their source of money. At a time when we most needed help, we all lost the people who could help us. We were poor, and my parents could no longer pay for my schooling. Now, I'm forced to be a maid.

  I was extremely lucky when Julian Rodin offered to hire me as a maid. He used to be a local politician, and when my dad worked in real estate he sold Julian Rodin his second house. That was a few years ago, and now Julian is extremely wealthy because of some good investments. When he found out how much my family was suffering, he found my mother a job as a secretary at a friend's law firm and invited me to become a maid. He even promised to pay me fairly.

  And I guess he has. Fairly for a maid at least. I work hard, though, cleaning this million dollar home with its 3 floors, basement and huge garage. Some days I feel like I should just ask to move in, since I spend so much time here.

  I had hoped to go back to school with this money, finish my degree and open my own business, but there's no chance of that happening. No, Mr. Rodin doesn't pay me nearly enough. I can just barely afford my small apartment, which is within walking distance of this mansion because there's no chance I could afford a car.

  So I pilfer some things here and there. My pawn shop never asks questions about where I get these things, they just give me the money I need to pay for such luxuries as food and my electricity bill.

  It's not as if I have something against Mr. Rodin. He's just a bit stingy with money and would ne
ver consider giving me a raise. He's never caught me stealing, and has never indicated that he even notices the things I've taken. Never has he asked me about the things that have gone missing.

  Because of that, I've become more bold about it. Instead of stealing forgotten trinkets from the back of his closets, I'm stealing things left out in the open and with much more value. Still, he says nothing.

  Slipping into one of the many bathrooms on the ground floor, I wipe down the sink and toilet before heading over to the nearby kitchen. Every time I open the fridge here, I'm surprised by how empty it is. Mr. Rodin eats out fairly often, though, so it's understandable. Rinsing off a recently used plate, I put it into the nearly full dishwasher and start it. My eyes dart to the clock on the oven as I raise my arms and stretch, my right elbow popping. It's barely even 5 PM and I'm already finished cleaning!

  Tightening my pony tail, I tug on a few strands of my long black hair and make sure my hair is up tight. I step into the hallway and walk down the long red carpet to he library at the very end.

  Mr. Rodin is typing away on his computer as I step in.

  “Ah, Sophia,” he says, smiling as he looks up from the screen. He has high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. I always wondered why he never went into acting. He looks a lot like the villain from that recent comic book movie when you catch him at the right angle. He's tall and handsome, and always seems to be busy with something intellectual.

  Music drifts softly from the sleek white computer on his dark mahogany desk, a classical piece that he plays often. I look around the room to be sure it's still clean. This is the first room I lean while Mr. Rodin eats his breakfast so that I'm not in his way while he works. Still, it always smells a bit dusty from the old books lining the walls and sitting haphazardly on tables around the room.

  “I believe I'm done for the day, Mr. Rodin,” I reply, bowing my head and stepping my leg back for a curtsey. It's old fashioned, but I'm used to it. It's how he prefers to be addressed, and I'm in no position to deny him that.

  “Ah, I see,” he replies. “Well, I had something I wanted to discuss with you, so if you wouldn't mind sitting down?” His hand pats the chair next to him. The cushion is plump and covered with velvet.

  I hesitate for a moment, pressing my hand against the goods in my apron. They shouldn't be too obvious, so I smile and walk around the chair. Sitting down, I cross my bare legs in front of me. Another part of the job: I'm only allowed to wear dresses. It's a bit humiliating, but I do it. I've actually come to enjoy it, wearing a dress makes me feel a bit free.

  “I feel awful even asking you this,” he starts, leaning forward and putting his hand over mine. “But I can't seem to find my gold cufflinks and the camera I bought two Christmases ago. Would you happen to have moved them while cleaning, or seen them anywhere?”

  I gulp and feel my heart jump. Oh god, I hope he can't hear it pounding against my chest. Those cufflinks brought in $200 to pay for my ridiculous electricity bill two months ago, and the camera was worth $500 when I sold it on Ebay. That bought me some new dresses and shoes as well as a month's worth of food. My hand is still covered by his, and I find myself worrying that he might be able to feel my pulse. I smile and shake my head, pulling my hand back and willing my heart to slow to a normal pace. “No, sir. I haven't seen anything like that.”

  He leans back, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. Mr. Rodin looks like a pouting child as he leans like that, a few errant black hairs dashing across his forehead. “I see. That's very unfortunate.” We both remain silent for a few minutes, until the awkwardness gets to me while he continues to pout.

  “Ah, well, I have to get to shopping...” I say, starting to stand up.

  “Yes, I forgot your sister's birthday. Well, one more thing before you go. Could you take a quick look at this for me?”

  He presses his hand against his computer screen, turning it to face me. On the screen is 4 photos. It takes me a few moments as I scan them to realize they're all of me. Black and white photos that look like stills from a video camera... My eyes widen. Each of the photos show me stealing something. Did Mr. Rodin install security cameras?!

  Mr. Rodin shifts in his seat. “Now, if you had confessed to me, if you had been honest with me, things would have been much more simple. I would have fired you and sent you on your way.” His voice is deeper now, like a dog's growl. Dread washes through me. “But since you lied to me, more drastic measures are called for.”

  “Mr. Rodin, please! I'm so sorry! Please don't call the police!”

  He scoffs at me, crossing his arms and frowning. “I very well should call the police. But no, I won't do that right away. After all, your dad is a friend of mine and we wouldn't want him to see these photos, would we? And I don't want to shame him by sending his eldest daughter to jail. If you don't want to be put behind bars, you're going to have to do absolutely everything I tell you to do.”

  My heart skips a beat and my eyes widen. Is he saying what I think he is?!

  “To make this easier on you, and because I'm such a good guy, I'll also give you a raise. But only if you do absolutely everything I tell you to do, without question and without attitude.” He moves in close to me, looking into my eyes. His cheekbones look sharp in the lighting. “Do you agree to my terms, or should I call the police?”

  I can't move. I can barely breathe. My hand comes up to my chest and I lean over, trying to force air into my lungs. Mr. Rodin picks up his cell phone, his lips again pressed into a hard line. He swipes his thumb against the screen. “No, wait!” I yell. He stops, his eyes flicking up to mine. “I agree.”

  His lip twitches into a wicked smile. I feel nauseous and my head feels fuzzy.

  “Stand up.”

  As I scramble to my feet, he stands as well. Next to him, I am very short. He grabs my arm and forces me to turn around, facing his desk. Pressing against my shoulders, he forces me to bend over until my breasts press against the desk and my ass is in the air.

  Warm fingers press against my inner thigh, kneading into my skin. I want to move away, to turn around and slap him. That's not an option. A small gust of air flows over my ass as my skirt is flipped up and over my ass. For a second I'm thankful that I wore my best panties today. They're pretty and pink, bikini-bottom style.

  Mr. Rodin's hands knead into my ass cheeks, and rub over them gently. It's kind of like a massage, which I can't help but enjoy after a few hours of cleaning. When he pulls my panties down, though, I clench my ass cheeks together and gasp. My hands ball up into fists and I close my eyes, waiting for his next move.

  WHACK!

  The first slap on my ass brings me painfully back to reality. The second knocks the wind out of my lungs, forcing me to gasp again. Mr. Rodin brings his hand down over and over again, pummeling my ass until tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks. “Please, stop!” I cry, sniffling. I try to get away from him, but his strong hand grabs my arm and keeps me painfully still as he spanks me.

  “You don't get to tell me when to stop, you slutty thief!” WHACK! WHACK! Each word is punctuated with another slap. “I'll stop once you've learned your lesson!” Again, he slaps my ass with my force now. I squeal and cry, in the back of my mind knowing my butt's going to be bright red and painful for hours after this punishment.

  Even further back in my mind, I secretly like it.

  The spankings stop, and for a brief second I'm allowed to catch my breath. My butt cheeks sting so bad I can't hold back a few sobs. His hand gently, tenderly caresses my ass cheeks. It hurts, but it's soothing at the same time. Moving down slowly, his fingers press against my vulva, sliding up and down my pussy lips. “You're shaved. And wet, too.”

  He slaps his fingers against my vulva, just hard enough for it to sting. Circling his fingers around my clitoris, he presses hard. I wiggle my ass in response, enjoying the feeling. I blush, and I moan.

  But then he slaps my clit with two fingers. The pain and pleasure mix and force me to orgasm instantly, my toes
curling and my teeth clenching. He pulls his hand away from me, spinning me to face him. My knees wiggle beneath me, because they are weak. He presses down on my shoulder.

  “Suck my cock.”

  I'm mortified, my mouth dropping open, but there's nothing I can do. I slowly go down to my knees, my mouth at the same height as the tent in his pants. I become acutely aware of the fact that yes, I am actually wet. My panties are still down around my thighs, and my wetness threatens to drip down my skin and onto the floor. And who would have to clean that up? Certainly not Mr. Rodin.

  I watch Mr. Rodin's hands unbutton his pants, the brass button of his black slacks popping out of the hole. Slowly, he pulls the brass zipper down. Zzzzzip! And down come his pants, leaving him in boxer briefs, a steel gray color and tight enough for his bulge to be obvious. There's a small wet spot where the tip of his cock touched and left a bit of precum, evidence of his arousal. From a foot away, I can smell his manliness. It's clean, but still masculine.

  Still, despite my horniness, I don't want to put him in my mouth. I whimper and look up at him with pleading eyes, which he ignores. I resist when his hand presses against my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, the ponytail now loose. He sighs, pulling back that same hand and snapping it against my cheek. The slap shocks me.

  “Stop resisting,” he commands.

  Tears sting my eyes again. I allow him to push my head forward. My mouth opens and I stick my tongue out slightly, wetting his skin as his large, hard cock moves into my mouth. I press my taste buds against his skin, swirling my tongue against him. He twitches, and lets out a small moan. I slide my tongue all around the base of his cock, stimulating him the way I read about in the fashion magazines I browse while shopping. Slowly, I let his shaft penetrate my throat.

  I'm surprised to find I don't have much of a gag reflex. He presses my head down, burying my nose into his pubic hair. My mouth has completely engulfed his prick. I hold my breath as long as I can, but still he doesn't let up and I start to struggle. Eventually, he lets me up to breathe, giving me a moment to collect myself.