Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  Just as I was about to explode in pleasure, Morgan stopped and removed his hands from me. I gasped and took his cock in one hand and balls in the other. He groaned in pleasure as I satisfied him.

  When I thought he had enough, I removed my hands with a grin. He lifted my legs up so I nearly tipped backwards, and I had to use my arms to keep myself upright. Bending over, he nibbled the inside of my thigh, almost painfully, and I gasped in pleasure. His lips moved over my thigh, to my lower lips, and finally up and down my clit. I filled with pleasure as he thrust two fingers deep inside me and brought them back and forth

  I tried to move my hands to touch his neck and hair, but he pushed them away so that all I could do was moan and beg that he would enter me soon. He didn´t listen, but kissed and nibbled my clit while stimulating me with his fingers.

  I screamed as the pleasure became too much. My fingers finally found his hair, and I held on hard as I came in a flush of ecstasy.

  Morgan tore my hands from his hair and grunted at the pain. His eyes were narrowed at me as if he was still angry, and the sight sent a wave of desire through my body. I moved the milk bottle over the counter with a grin and watched him get even angrier with me.

  Finally the anger became too much for him. He swiped the milk bottle from my hand and threw it on the sink, where it shattered over the dishes. Then he took my hips in his hands and lifted me over to the table. He brushed the plates from it with one sweep of his arm, sending them crashing against the floor. Then he pushed me down on it and tore my skirt off so violently it nearly broke.

  I shivered at the sensation of the cold table against my naked skin. Morgan´s expression was still angry as he thrust deep inside me. I screamed in pleasure and scratched at his back.

  He straightened himself, away from my reach, so I ran my hand from his back and down to his balls. I cupped them in my hand, and Morgan groaned when I squeezed them gently. His movements became faster, harder, and I gasped and bit my lip at the sensation. I could tell that he was taking his anger out on me, and I knew I would do the same as soon as I could.

  Morgan turned me over so that my stomach was pressed flat against the table surface, separated my legs and thrust inside me again. I gasped and tried to move in rhythm to him but was pinned down with his hands on my hips. His breath came in short gasps, and I yelled at him to move faster and faster.

  I sensed that he was about to come, and instead of letting him I pushed him away and stood up. He tried to grab my wrists, but I slapped his hands away. When he moved towards me I ran to the living room, where I furiously threw my shirt and bra on the floor.

  Morgan´s face was flushed when he stood in the doorway, stark naked. He moved his hand back and forth over his cock, and I struggled to contain my excitement at the sight of his perfect body. I placed my leg on the sofa table and began satisfying myself with both hands.

  The sight of me touching myself must have been too much for him, because he rushed forward and grabbed my arms, trying to force me down on the sofa. I managed to tear my hands free and pushed him down into a sitting position instead.

  He grinned and began touching himself again. I growled at the idea of him coming without me and sat on top of him. With a gasp I let his cock slide inside me. I moved on top of him, furiously. He ran his hands along my neck, down to my breasts where he began playing with my nipples.

  I moaned as another orgasm began building up inside my body. He took my breasts in both his hands, and then, as I squealed loudly, he pressed my nipples hard. The sensation was too much, and I screamed as I came on top of him.

  Morgan smiled and bent forward, kissing my breasts and nipples. I sighed and leaned backwards, enjoying his sweet caresses. He moved his hands along my side, tickling my sensitive skin, down to my clit. I shivered and began moving over his hand, touching my breasts and nipples.

  Just as I was about to come again, he took my hips in his strong hands forcing me to stop moving. I moaned in agony and tried to continue, but that only served to tighten his grip. In frustration I pulled at his hands and squirmed on his cock, but Morgan remained still.

  Without warning he lifted me up and turned me over so that my back was on the sofa. He grunted and began thrusting deep inside me while stimulating my clit with his hand. I moaned as the tension began building again. My excitement was stronger than ever, even more now that I could see Morgan´s rippling muscles above me.

  I pulled him close to me and kissed his lips. His tongue met mine and we weaved them together as we both built up for an orgasm. My nails scratched against his back, and I could tell it excited him so I held on even harder. He responded by pushing even deeper and harder inside me, filling me up with his hard cock.

  I bit his neck and felt a great surge through my body when he bit mine in response. The pain of his teeth against my skin mingled with the pleasure of having him inside me to a point where I thought I would burst. He seemed to feel the same, because his grunts became louder and more insistent. Moving faster and faster, we screamed out our anger and pleasure together until we both came.

  Morgan collapsed on top of me and rested his head between my breasts. I ran my hands along his back, worried that I might have scratched him too hard. He fondled my nipples and kissed them gently, and I nibbled softly at his neck.

  "I´m not upset about the milk anymore," he said, amused.

  "Good," I said and laughed. "I´m not upset about the yoghurt."

  "I bought you new yoghurt." Morgan helped me up and led me into the kitchen, where he handed me my underwear.

  "Thank you," I said. "Sometimes I just forget the milk."

  "And sometimes I forget to do the dishes," Morgan said and kissed my lips softly.

  "I know. I don´t know why it makes me so angry."

  "That doesn´t matter," Morgan said. "Not when we can manage our anger this way."

  I grinned and looked at the broken plates all over the floor. "You´re right. Actually, I think I´m pretty upset about you breaking these. How could you? You knew these plates were important to me."

  Morgan blinked in confusion. "We bought them at Walmart last week. How could they be that important?"

  I grinned and kissed him on the mouth. "I´ll explain in the bedroom. It´s time for some more anger management."

  He laughed, and I led him upstairs to enjoy another argument.

  Locker Room Fantasy

  by Priscilla West

  I glance down at my chest, glad that at least the cold December air gives me an excuse for my rock hard nipples. I am relieved no one else can see the other signs of my arousal, such as the fact that I am literally dripping wet in my panties. I’m not wearing nearly enough clothing, just a skirt that hits me mid-thigh and a light sweater--but for what I have planned, it is perfect. Besides, the cold nipping at my skin would help me muster the courage to go through with my plan.

  I cross the quad, waving at a few students that I know, but I barely make eye contact. My desires at the moment do not include stopping to chat with friends. This fantasy… jeez, is it even a fantasy? Maybe this is an obsession. Whatever it is, it has been building for four and a half years, and it is truly now or never.

  When I was a freshman, I hooked up with some random guy during orientation week. He was unremarkable. I barely remember anything about him. But what I do remember was his roommate. They shared a dorm room, and as I was leaving, his roommate entered the room, clad only in a towel. I clearly had fucked the wrong roommate. I honestly hooked up with that guy again just to see if I could find out more info about his roommate.

  I learned he was a wrestler. His physique was amazing, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve dreamt about him fucking me with every single sex partner I’ve had since I’ve come to college. It’s funny; I don’t even remember his face, but I’ll never forget his body. His shoulders were broad, his back was shaped like a V, and the muscles on his torso and his arms… God, his abs were amazing, and I remember a little tattoo of an anchor right below his
belly button. His face escapes me, but I still dream about those abs.

  I actually became a resident advisor in my dorm room, just so I could have a private suite so I could masturbate to thoughts of him. Many a night found me sprawled on my back in bed, one hand playing with my breasts and several fingers thrusting in and out of my wet pussy, imagining that it was his cock bringing me to a series of unending orgasms.

  He must have been an upperclassman, because I haven’t seen him since my hookup with his roommate in my freshman year. I assume he graduated, not that I would have recognized him without his shirt so I could see that little anchor tattoo. But ultimately, it didn’t even matter. I became obsessed with the entire wrestling team.

  I facebook stalked them. I went to a few wrestling events, but not all of them. Word would obviously spread if a girl who was not dating a guy on the team showed up at every single match. But my pulse would accelerate and my pussy would become wet, just watching their bodies move and their muscles strain as they wrestled together. At one match, the straps on one of the guy’s wrestling singlets snapped, and he finished wrestling, completely bared to the waist and glistening with sweat. My God, I practically had an orgasm then and there, on the spot.

  After the matches, some of the guys would pull the straps of their singlets off, exposing their upper torsos, and they would just walk around like it was the most natural thing in the world. I became so obsessed with wrestling, I didn’t even have a type anymore. Whether they were ripped with muscles or just solid and toned, sleek and smooth or covered in chest hair… I wanted them all.

  But I never dated one. I never fucked one. I never had the guts. I think I realized, even then, that to actually approach a wrestler would ruin the fantasy. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I fucked plenty of guys in my years on campus, thinking of our wrestling team every time. I just didn’t want to let my obsession disappear.

  That’s what leads me to this situation. I’m finally graduating, a semester late (even though no one graduates in four years anyway). My dorm room will belong to someone else in the spring semester.

  I’m not planning to fuck one of the players. I just know I have to do something. I have fantasized and obsessed for too long, and I have to have one good wrestling story.

  I walk up to the gym doors, peering through the glass. The gymnasium is empty. Not surprising – most of campus has already cleared out for the holidays. This will literally be the perfect day to do it. Letting myself in, I breathe a sigh of relief that the front desk isn’t manned. No one would even know I was around.

  As though I belong there, I walk down the short hallway behind the front desk to the changing rooms. My plan is simple, but honestly… it seems foolproof. I am going to go into the wrestling team’s locker room, get myself off, and sneak back out. That’s it. I just want to bring myself to an orgasm in the same place where those glorious, gorgeous men I fantasize about daily met, changed, and showered. And if I am discovered, I can feign ignorance. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I’ll cry. “I wanted to get a final workout in before I left campus, but I didn’t realize this wasn’t the women’s locker room!”

  It will work. Girls don’t sneak into the men’s locker room. If I was a guy obsessed with the female volleyball team, this little escapade would be harder. But for me… I’m a cute little brunette who looks as All-American and non-threatening as they come. I will be believed.

  That’s why I wore the skirt. I’m not going to do anything crazy. I am going to walk around, find a quiet place, get myself off quickly while remaining fully clothed, and leave. Piece of cake.

  The wrestling team’s locker room is near the front of the hall. That will help my alibi, if caught. I can just say I went in the first locker room I found. The wrestling coach’s office is directly opposite the door, but it is dark inside. Perfect. That means he is gone for the day, if not the semester.

  “Hello?” I ask as I slowly push the locker room door open. The lights are off, and I reach inside and flick them on. This couldn’t be going better. Literally no one is around. I slip inside and shut the door behind me.

  There is a small privacy hallway in the locker room, a simple turn around a brick wall to prevent anyone walking by the door to see in, if it were open. I slowly walk in the hallway, and as soon as I enter the open locker room area, the smell hits me.

  It reeks. It smells of sweat and deodorant, oddly mingled together. And I have never smelled anything more enticing in my entire life. My pulse quickens, and my pussy aches to be touched.

  There is a long bench down the center of the room, and dark maroon lockers line both walls. At the back, there is a simple sink, two urinals and one stall, a floor to ceiling mirror, and an open shower room. In one corner, a pile of wrestling mats is stacked chest high. There is nowhere to hide in here, but it doesn’t matter. I am completely alone.

  I touch one of the lockers, letting my fingers trail across its glossy surface. It’s locked. Most of them are. But then, I see that locker number 47 has an open lock. Walking over to it, I open it and peer inside. A wrinkled maroon singlet lies in a heap at the bottom. From one of the hooks at the top dangles a jock strap. Worn. Used.

  Am I that perverted? Am I so obsessed that I am about to pick up the jock strap, hold it in my hands, and smell it?

  Yep.

  I can only describe the scent as the smell of a man. After glancing around again to make sure no one is watching me, I slide a hand down to my skirt, lift it up, and rub myself. My panties are literally soaked. They are juicy. I moan and thrust against my hand as I trace my swollen lips. Biting my lower lip, I whimper as I rub the length of my slit, grinding my heel against my imprisoned clit.

  Hurriedly, I put the jock back in the locker and close the door. Leaning against the cool surface of the lockers, I grind against myself hard, moaning as I do so. In my mind’s eye, I picture the different wrestlers I have seen over the years. I can see them walking around the locker room, some with towels around their waist, others completely nude…changing into and out of their tight singlets. I picture their horseplay, towels being snapped at hard, tight butts. I imagine them standing together in the shower room, naked and sharing stories of their latest sexual conquests.

  My breathing is ragged as I rub myself as hard as I can. My panties are in the fucking way!

  I see the stack of wrestling mats again, and it occurs to me that they practice on those. Their sweaty, muscular bodies have wrestled on those mats.

  My decision made, I hurry over to them and quickly climb atop them. They are a bit higher than I expected, but aside from their coolness against my hot skin, they’re surprisingly comfortable. I push my panties down to my ankles, and I touch my feverishly hot pussy.

  I moan aloud as my hand rubs my slick juices around my labia. Even with my obsession, I’m a little surprised at how turned on I am. I part my labia and plunge two fingers as deep into my pussy as I can. Still whimpering, unable to stop my sounds, I thrust my fingers in and out. With my other hand, I find my clit, and I rub myself from side to side. The tiny organ responds to my touch, and I cry out.

  My orgasm is coming; I am so ridiculously close, and I continue to fuck myself with my fingers and rub my clitoris. “So close,” I pant to myself.

  I can’t believe how aroused I am. I still picture the wrestling team, but now, it is their hands on me instead of my own. Their cocks stand out, proud and erect, all around me, as numerous hands cover my body. In my fantasy, one of them, perhaps my nameless crush from freshman year, steps forward with his dick in hand, prepared to slide it into my wet pussy.

  I scream with pleasure as the orgasm tears through me. I feel my pussy literally gush fluid, and I roll over, fingers still lodged inside me, and I grind against the wrestling mats. They must be covered with my juices, and I wonder if the first wrestlers back after Christmas break will detect the faint trace of pussy as soon as they begin practice. The thought sends another wave of pleasure through me, and I grind my pussy into the mat.


  With my engorged clit rubbing the mat as my body moves of its own accord and my fingers still dancing inside me, my orgasm feels like it might be never ending. One powerful contraction after another rolls through me, and at last, not spent but literally exhausted from the intense pleasure, I stop moving and pull my fingers free.

  I rest there for a few moments. I know that someone could have heard my cries of pleasure, and I know I have to get up and get out. I try to get off the mats gracefully, but with my panties still around my ankles, I misstep.

  With a cry of alarm, I reach out to grab ahold of something to stop myself in time from falling face first to the floor. Somehow I managed to land on my feet. However, a second later, I realize that was a big mistake.

  In my tumble, I dislodged several of the mats, and with my feet so awkwardly positioned, I have no solid stance to stop them as they slide off. One moment, I’m standing up. The next, I’m lying on my back, pressed into the floor, with several wrestling mats lying atop me.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” I mutter, irritated at my clumsiness. I try to stand up, but I’m not able to budge. The mats are surprisingly heavy. I try again, but I can’t move.