Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  I looked him up and down, a frank appraisal like the one he’d given me. Damn, but he was still hot. Hotter, if anything. And he had no idea of how much I despised him. The possibilities were mind blowing.

  “Nope,” I said. “But dinner might do it.”

  Two days later, I was in the tub, shaving my legs with care, soaking in scented moisturizing soap. My plan was still evolving, but I knew I wanted to be the sexiest woman he’d ever had a dinner date with. The thought had been generating a heat between my legs ever since he’d left the shop.

  That day, I’d found myself trying to imagine him naked and the thought, combined with the crazy situation, made me so excruciatingly horny that I’d actually slipped into the tiny bathroom at my store with a thick candle that had gotten scuffed a bit and wouldn’t sell. Thinking of Ted’s eyes on my breasts, I pulled my skirt up and my panties aside. I was dripping wet and my own fingers were setting off sparks when they got near my clit. I spread my thighs and pushed the candle up into my overheated pussy, fucking myself with it just a little. I stopped when I felt an orgasm starting to build. I wanted to enjoy the anticipation, drag it out for a while. Replacing my snug satin panties to hold the candle in place, I went back out and sat at my desk again, working on the books between customers, none of whom had the least notion that the amiable woman complimenting them on picking out just the right pair of beaded earrings had her cunt well stuffed with warm smooth wax. It was my little secret, and the orgasm I gave myself after the last customer had gone and the door was locked was all the more exquisite because I’d kept myself on the razor edge of desire for so long.

  Now it was almost time for Ted to come and pick me up. I stood under the shower to rinse and ended up giving myself one last orgasm right there in the shower, closing my eyes and leaning on the tiles and letting the ‘pulse’ setting on the hand-held shower head beat my hungry little clit into ecstasy. I wanted to take the edge off my horniness, the better to make sure I’d be the one calling the shots this evening.

  He was on time and looking and smelling wonderful, I had to admit. His Lexus had butter cream leather seats and a fabulous sound system wasted (in my opinion) on the top 40 station he had on. He turned it down and made small talk. He was an underwriter at a branch office of a multinational bank and told stories of the hilarious pranks his office-mates liked to play on each other.

  His body might indeed have matured nicely, but he was confirming my initial impression that his mind had never quite made it out of eighth grade. It didn’t matter that I’d spent a while thinking on what to say if he asked me where I’d grown up and gone to school. It didn’t matter because the man talked pretty much nonstop about his own doings. He obviously thought of himself as the stuff epics are made of. Well, this was going to be one epic evening all right.

  Before we’d pulled out of the driveway, he’d made quite a show of taking his passport out of his pocket and reaching across me to put it in the glove compartment. A handgun in a custom holder and a money clip showing fifties. He mistook my desperate stifling of a giggle for something else--fear, perhaps, or a sudden spasm of lust. “Don’t worry doll,” he chuckled, “nobody fucks with me.”

  Nobody generally fucked with me either, and I really didn’t need a .44 to make sure of it. What an absolute idiot. I was pretty sure that at some point he’d break out some bling-laden little vial of white powder and offer me a snort. Ted Westlawn at 25 was a walking cliché.

  But when he’d put his hand on my knee to “reassure” me by telling me he was licensed to carry concealed, his fingers had lingered and massaged me through the light cotton of my skirt, and I felt it all the way up my thigh. His physical presence--the ripped shoulders, the shimmering black hair, the light musk of his cologne--was as delectable as his attitude was infuriating.

  This was going to be fun.

  Throughout dinner, he continued to riff, laughing at his own jokes and asking me a few questions but mostly talking over my responses. I ordered shrimp scampi and sirloin, and he had the lobster bake. Under the long tablecloth, I felt his foot reach mine. When the waitress cleared our plates and left to fetch a last round of drinks, I was fortifying myself with a couple glasses of wine, while this would be his third martini, and I could only hope his tolerance was high enough to get us back to my place alive. He took my hand in both of his and began doing seductive little tricks, stroking into the sensitive spots between my fingers, lifting my hand to his lips to plant a lingering kiss on the palm.

  No talent for conversation, but his seduction skills weren’t half bad. Under the table, I could feel my pussy getting wet. Wanting cock. Normally I prefer cock with a brain attached. But this was not, strictly speaking, a normal situation.

  In the car, I leaned back in the leather seat. His hand was on my thigh. “How ‘bout we go back to my place and I’ll play that rap CD my friend made for you?” he asked. “No,” I said, and enjoyed watching his face. “No, let’s go to my place instead. I have a couple of toys to show you.”

  When he realized that no didn’t really mean no but more like a yes-with-kinky-possibilities, his eyes lit up, and even more when I gave him a slow smile and let my tongue tease my lips. We were back at my house in record time. His hand was high on my inner thigh, roving in the general direction of my panties. I whimpered and wriggled a little. I was playing a dangerous game here. I wanted him to be convinced that I was so wildly horny for him that he’d do anything I wanted. Problem was, his moves and his body were getting me genuinely horny indeed. If I didn’t watch out I’d end up just jumping on him, letting him do whatever he wanted. That wasn’t my intention.

  In my comfy living room, I opened him a beer and poured myself a glass of wine, put some reggae on the CD player and turned to face him. “So you said you’ve got toys,” he leered.

  “Yep. Quite a collection. See, my mom bought me the entire Hess fire truck collection and didn’t let me open the boxes and-” Once again I had the pleasure of watching his face in utter shock and disbelief.

  “I’m teasing, silly. C’mon in here and I’ll show you what I really mean.” I took his hand and drew him into the bedroom, where I’d laid my trap earlier that day. He laughed. “Such a funny girl,” he simpered in a patronizing attempt at admiration. Yeah, I thought, you don’t know how funny yet.

  “See, I like to play little games,” I told him. I certainly had his attention now. “You wanna be my helpless love slave tonight?”

  “That sounds just wonderful,” he said, pulling me close and running his hands down my back, pulling the cheeks of my ass apart and kneading them.

  “Cool, darlin’. Lie down and let me make sure you can’t run away.”

  “I would have to be crazy to want to run away from you,” he said. I took first his right wrist and then his left and cuffed them to the headboard of my king-sized four poster. The handcuffs weren’t toys. They were police issue. He wasn’t going anywhere until I let him.

  “Ooooh,” he said. “Have I been naughty?”

  “Actually,” I said, we need to have a little talk about that. Didn’t you play football in junior high?”

  “What in the- Yes. But I don’t-”

  “And hang around with Chelsea and Jen?”

  “What the- you know the names of girls I did when I was thirteen? How in the-”

  “Hey, Ted. One more question. You remember an ugly slut named Nikki Browning? That would be me.”

  Boy, his face was really fun to watch after that one. Puzzlement, disbelief, and finally sheer terror. “Nikki, hey,” he said in a syrupy, quavering tone. “I didn’t mean anything by that. The girls put me up to it. You were never ugly.”

  “Oh. So I guess I was just a slut then? That was what made it OK? I was a virgin, asshole.”

  “No, no, I swear, I never thought that either. They actually did it because I said I thought you were pretty cute.” He shuddered. “They said it was a loyalty test.”

  “What a pathetic wimp.”

 
“So what are you going to...Please don’t shoot me. I know you must be mad. I’ll give you $1,000 if you just let me go without hurting me.”

  “So you wanted me back then, huh?”

  “Yeah I did! Please-”

  Just for giggles I reached into my nightstand drawer and took out an old hunting knife that used to belong to my dad. His eyes got even wider.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this,” I said lazily, and I’m going to make it last a while.” I turned the blunt edge of the knife against his skin at his waist and used the blade to cleanly slit that pretty silk shirt up the middle.

  “Aaaaah!” he yelled, as if I had driven it into his vitals.

  “Silly boy,” I said. “Of course I’m not going to kill you. It would be against my ethics. Look that word up sometime.”

  “I’m just going to make you think you died and went to heaven.”

  I put the knife aside and shoved his legs apart, knelt between them, and used my teeth to unfasten his belt and the button on his pants, teasingly running my fingers along his thighs and hips. By the time I got his cock out, it was stiff and leaping in my palm. I blew warm moist breath on it and watched it twitch. Yum.

  I reached into the bedside drawer again, causing him to flinch a bit, but this time I took out a tube of edible lube, the kind that generates heat on contact, and greased up my palms. Slowly, sensuously, I wrapped one slippery hand around his cock at the base and began running slippery fingers up and down the shaft, teasing the tip with my fingernails. He groaned deep in his throat and closed his eyes, thrusting his hips against my hand.

  I continued this torture for a good ten minutes. He was so wildly excited that I felt his balls tense up and nearly explode a couple of times. But no. I wasn’t letting him come until I’d had some satisfaction, dammit. My pussy was drenched.

  I raised my skirt and straddled him, impaled myself on his lovely hardness with a swift thrust that made both of us cry out. Looking down at his handsome form helpless and under my absolute command was almost enough to make me come, but I wanted to take my time with that too. I rocked my hips, building a rhythm that rubbed him hard on my inner walls, just the way I liked it. I pulled my feet up under me and rode him fast and hard until I again felt him come close to orgasm, then relaxed again into the gentler pace that was making that luscious rod caress my G-spot nice and deep.

  “God,” he panted. “My God, you’re...”

  “Sssh,” I scolded him. “Hush up and take your medicine.” I shifted around so that my feet were up by his shoulders, my pussy gripping him like a vise, and rocked back and forth on his rigid shaft until I felt my orgasm beginning to build. Not yet. I wasn’t done with my plan, and if my pussy began to spasm all over him, he’d probably come too.

  Slipping off of him, I reached for one last item from my nightstand, a vibrator with a lovely little clit-stroking attachment. I made him watch as I teased my pussy with it and then slid it inside. Then I took his cock in my hand again and began licking my own juice from it with elaborate swirls of my tongue. He was moaning, almost sobbing with delight by the time I actually opened my mouth and engulfed the head, which felt ready to burst against my tongue.

  My pussy filled with the throbbing toy. I concentrated on teasing him for a few minutes, not letting him go deep. His hips flailed the bed like a hooked trout. Finally, when I felt my clit about to burst with the buzzing caress it was receiving, I got serious: I swiftly engulfed the whole length of his hot, hard cock, right down my throat.

  With a half-groan, half-scream, his cock shuddered and exploded deep in my throat, pumping his hot man-juice straight to my stomach. I growled with satisfaction as I let him slip from my mouth. His eyes were cast down. Gone, it seemed, was the arrogant butthead I'd had dinner with.

  Neither of us spoke for a few minutes.

  “Nikki?” he said finally. “I can't tell you how sorry I am about all that.”

  “Well, you should be. Bullying sucks, yanno?”

  “And of all people...I let myself get talked into bullying the girl I secretly wanted more than anyone. And man, I always did have good taste. You're amazing. Fantastic. Please give me another chance to take you out and get to know you better?”

  I thought about the pretentious arrogance and the show-offy nonsense with the gun and the passport. I thought about how self-obsessed he'd seemed all evening.

  I thought about that big hard rod of his and how it had felt rubbing the back wall of my pussy.

  I would have to think about this.

  Starter Seeds

  by Sherilyn Gray

  After three weeks of watering, soil testing, fertilizing and begging my snapdragons are withering on brownish stems heading toward the light of flower heaven. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Seems like everything I’ve touched has turned to dust.

  This isn’t what I wanted or where I wanted to be in this time of my life. I tried to make the divorce into a “new beginning” the way all the books say. I pasted the quotes about closed doors and opened windows on my cubicle wall. I joined a gym, bought a new house and started a new life just like Dr. Phil advises viewers all the time. I even dug out this flower bed beside the fence thinking bright cheery flowers would symbolize the promising future I was going to have now that my husband and his new-lover-former-assistant are out of my hair. But everything’s dead!

  “Why are you dying?” I scream at the flowers in frustration. Hot tears of regret, pain and helplessness roll down my cheek as I sink to my knees and pound helplessly at the selfish soil unwilling to give my flowers life. “All I want is some beauty in my life. Why can’t you do that? Why can’t you just give me some beauty?”

  “Starter seeds,” Harry says with sudden and startling clarity. Unaware he was watching me over the small garden fence, I jump up and hastily wipe the tears from my face.

  “Hot out here,” I chuckle, praying he doesn’t figure out those were tears and not beads of sweat falling down my face. Even with the sun behind him I can see his blue eyes shining with his easy smile. He must have just come in from work as grease stains cover his large masculine hands and his work sleeves are still rolled up revealing his toned forearms and showcasing his tight biceps. Harry is my new friend, and the neighborhood Adonis.

  “Too hot for these fragile flowers,” he says knowingly then softens his voice. “And, maybe, too hot for you.”

  “I’m okay. It’s just been a rough year so far and I was hoping the summer sun would make things more light.” That’s the most revealing thing I’ve ever said to Harry. I watch for signs of his repulsion at my weakness or worse – pity. But he just keeps smiling at me then points to the pale pink splotch on my arm.

  “If you don’t use some sunscreen you’re going to be red, not light,” he advises. “Anyway, what you needed were starter seeds. You grow them inside until they become strong and then you expose them to the world. It’s too late to start them for this summer but by fall you can start some for the spring.”

  Harry walks back to his garage and I can’t help but stare at his beautiful butt as he goes. I owe him a lot. He’s the one who really started bringing me back to life. John and his new-lover-former-assistant had really put me through the ringer. The first time I caught them, it as a “fling” and we went on a couple’s vacation; the second time it was a “setback” and we went to counseling; the third time it was a reality and we went to divorce court. I came out with the savings account, a box full of photos of a man I didn’t know anymore, and so little self esteem I could store it in a thimble.

  I bought this cute little house in the burbs, changed jobs so I didn’t have to deal with prying eyes and tried to begin again. But it’s hard when you eat alone at night and fall asleep with the TV on really loudly because you’re trying to drown out the voice in your head that’s saying, “Maybe it was you.” I lost myself for a while. I barely left the house, let my body, hair and interests go and just existed on self pity and Chinese take-out. Then, I noticed Harry. B
uilt and beautiful, he was always puttering around the garage workshop and the yard. Ginny pays almost no attention to him but I can’t understand why. If he were my man, I’d ride that ride every day and twice on Sundays.

  Suddenly, I started caring again. I re-started my workouts, bought some lovely sun dresses and found every excuse I could to be outside. Harry would wave or chat and Ginny started coming over for coffee. She’s somewhat annoying, but harmless. A casual wink or glance from Harry would make my heart triple its pace and one morning as we were both walking to our cars he said I looked lovely. I floated on clouds all the way to work.

  “It’s harmless flirting,” I tell myself. I want to believe that. But the truth is, with every wave of my fingers and toss of my hair I am intruding on someone else’s marriage, and I know what that feels like. So, I try to rein it in. But then I catch him peeking over my fence to catch a view of my legs or looking at breasts while I’m pulling weeds and I start enticing him all over again. The last week of summer we hit an apex.