Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  “No!” I gasped, moving closer.

  “I’m telling you Audrey, ask her—she says he was there, on a chair, with a big erection—stroking himself! Don’t tell her I told you, but she said that she was bewitched by his naked body on the screen and the sight of him masturbating. Even though she won’t admit it, I think she was playing with herself—”

  “Jodie! Don’t talk about Stef like that—it’s highly disrespectful,” I said, twisting with jealousy. “Imagine if that rumour got out!”

  “It already has; apparently he heard her and turned around—that’s when she screamed and Betty saw her running out of his door.”

  “What—Betty saw her?”

  “That’s right, Stef ran right past her, buttoning her pants up in the corridor.”

  “What a load of cobblers!” I told her. How could such nonsense be possible, and everyone just carry on today as if it had never happened, and without consulting me? It just didn’t add up. What would he be doing leaving his door open like that, enticing Stef into his room—she was far too old for him, and not even that pretty.

  As the day went on I couldn’t get it out of my head, and Betty had even confirmed what she saw. It was driving me mad and I didn’t know why—I suppose I just felt that it was my duty to get to the bottom of the matter, and besides, I had lots of work to finish for the upcoming exhibition. I decided to stay behind and work late.

  For a while it seemed like I was the only one there, and I was getting tired, so I packed my things up and left them on my desk while I went to the bathroom. On my return, I noticed a messy painting on top of my things. It looked like something a child would do with painted handprints, only these weren’t handprints. I picked it up and turned it sideways, trying to work it out. The style pointed to one person—Tim. I felt a flutter of excitement, and then anger; what gave him the right to sneak in here unannounced, leaving this crap on my desk?

  When I got to his room the door was closed, but I could see a light on. I gave a light knock and waited, but there was no reply. The fact that my heart was speeding up gave me a sense of danger, but what was I afraid of? It wasn’t me who was in the wrong; I was the adult in all of this. With a click the door was open and I pushed it to a slit, searching the interior with a squinted eye. I recoiled, and then pushed the door open further—he was naked! His torso was covered in green and red paint—the same colors he’d left on my desk, and he was rolling different body parts on to a sprawling canvas. For a moment I was overcome with guilt; that I was trespassing inside his private world, but then I thought about Stef and how it must’ve been true. I watched his tanned body as he worked, rolling his forearm into the paint, and then carefully pressing it down, his muscles flexing under the bronze of his back. He was like a work of art in himself; physical perfection of the human form. After a while I couldn’t remember what I was there for—I felt like a naughty school girl again, but I couldn’t help myself. Longing to believe that he knew I was there, I tried to imagine how he’d call me in, pull my dress over my shoulders and paint me with his hard flesh.

  Then it happened. I was standing on my tip toes, trying to see if he had any underwear on, hoping for a glimpse of his buttocks, when he started touching himself, and playing with his crotch. I couldn’t believe it! In no time at all it had extended into view and was waving around as he milked it to life. The sight of the foreskin slipping back over the purple head, made me close my eyes against the temptation—this was wrong, and if I allowed myself to go any further, I’d be lowering myself to Stef’s level. I found myself awash with desires I’d left behind in my youth, and as they raced around my panties I found them hard to contain—like the most exquisite form of nostalgia. As I watched him roll his erection into the paint it was almost too much; the backs of his thighs tightening down to his calves as the paint oozed underneath it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand back and watch for much longer, so I quietly pulled the door closed and gathered my belongings.

  Throughout the next day in the studio, I didn’t say a word—not wanting to risk bringing anyone else into it. If there was something untoward going on, then it had no place here, but as far as I knew there was no evidence to suggest that what I’d witnessed so far was merely artistic. I kept out of all discussions with the girls, averted any potential clashes with Tim, and again stated a work-related case for staying behind.

  When everyone had gone I realized that I hadn’t even brought in the work that I needed to finish—to be honest most of it was already done. I found myself doing a loose sketch, as I daydreamed about Tim, wondering if he had his penis out again, and if he did, whether it was possible that he could be caressing it for me. As I carried on sketching mindlessly, I began to accept the fact that I was attracted to Tim—deep down I yearned to make a compromise, to recognize our equality for once. I wanted to show him my body. After all I’d already seen his, and it was—

  “Nice work.” It was Tim.

  I froze and realized I’d been sketching a picture of him, from the angle of the previous night, with an exaggerated erection in his hand. “Thank you,” was all I could manage, as I felt the pressure rise to my face. I tried to hide my embarrassment by carrying on with the sketch, as if I was too busy for him.

  “I wanted to ask your advice on my latest piece of work, if you’re not too busy?” he said, leaning on the table and looking into my face.

  “What is it?” I asked, feigning mild impatience.

  “It’s an experimental performance piece—that’s about all I can tell you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have time.”

  “Very well, I’ll have a quick look, but I have to tell you that it’s really not my thing.”

  “Thanks Audrey—despite what you might think, I really do respect your opinion.”

  I didn’t say anything to that, as I thought I might struggle to hide my pleasure at those words. I followed him inside his studio and noticed my heart speeding as he locked the door, a hot flush passed over my upper body as he turned to face me.

  “Don’t worry—it’s imperative that nobody disturbs the execution of the piece.”

  I tried to smile back, but just found myself staring at him, the flush concentrating to a hot pulse in my panties, building the swell with every beat. He led me into a candlelit room and my breathing increased in anticipation of an act that seemed so alien, so far removed from my adult life. I watched as he altered a lighting umbrella, dimmed the glow and pointed to a mess of wax on a canvas. “What do you think?”

  “Tim—I don’t, I can’t really appreciate this as real art, but at this time, I’m willing to keep an open mind.”

  He turned and stroked the hair away from my face. “Audrey, that’s exactly what I was hoping for.” His hands worked at my collar as I stared into his youth. My panties tightened around my trembling mound, as I willed his flesh all over and inside me. The dress fell from my shoulders and soon my bra came away as well, his eyes narrowing with desire as he feasted on my breasts and raised pimples across my blotchy skin.

  “Lie on there,” he said, motioning to a makeshift bed in the corner.

  It felt liberating to be finally going along with his wishes; in a way it felt like relief, like it was what I’d wanted all along, but had been too afraid to admit. I kicked off my shoes and watched him obediently with my thumbs in my pants; he nodded and I pushed them down, exposing the damp patch of my panties. I could hardly stand it—I needed something to fill it up and relieve the desperation. If he wasn’t there I’d have crammed my fingers in, but I was saving it all for him; the touch I’d been dreaming of. He was removing one of the candles from its holder and I was a little suspicious, as he hadn’t started undressing yet. Then he tilted the candle, spilling some hot wax on my stomach, making me jolt.

  “What the hell are you doing!” I said, thinking that he’d brought me here for the humiliation. “That bloody hurt!”

  “Shhhh” He kissed my pouting lips. “Try to enjoy it.”

  I lay back do
wn, wanting to trust him. He traced his fingers gently across my skin, over my inner thighs and up the sides of my torso as I anticipated the contrast of the hot wax. It fell and fell again, sharper in other areas and I closed my eyes and felt it burn differently across my body, enjoying the attention he was paying as he painted my pale skin in the soft light. His hands were at my panties and I raised my hips so that he could slide them off and so that he could be closer to my dribbling hole. I splayed my legs and reached down, as the whispery air cooled the exposed wetness of my labia.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Leave that to me.”

  The heat splashed on to my inner thighs and I groaned at the sensation, wanting to feel the burn on my dirty lips. My skin felt tight as I writhed on the bed, feeling the hard wax resisting in places, breaking and cracking in others—my whole body was involved. I noticed it had stopped landing and I opened my eyes to see him kneeling either side of my face, lowering his naked body onto mine. I felt his breath between my thighs, as he traced his wet tongue around the wax shapes.

  “Your cunt is fucking drenched Audrey.”

  I moaned and tried to push it in his face, but he held my thighs flat down, so that I couldn’t move. His kisses were barely noticeable at first, and then I could feel them sucking up the sides of my vulva with each kiss; stretching the soft skin and letting it spring back, kissing it again and gently biting the edges and pulling at them. He finally kissed the wet centre and traced his tongue down; parting the outer lips with light pressure and lapping at the slimy sap. As the kisses grew harder he probed into my mess, slurping at the forbidden layers inside. My clit trembled against each glance of his whiskery chin. His body squirmed flat against mine and I felt all our contact between the wax, cracking and spreading. He was hot against my face and I opened my eyes to find his balls against my forehead, and his bulging cock across my chin. I snuggled into it and sought out the end, freeing my hand so that I could bend it into my mouth. It was so stiff that it would hardly move, but I managed to aim it in and push the skin back to reveal its throbbing smoothness. He hissed against my thighs and pushed deep into the side of my cheek, tensing and fucking the makeshift cunt of my mouth.

  Every time I felt his tongue focusing on me, I lost my concentration and the rhythm failed. It was so overwhelming; fluttering over my clit one moment and sucking it in and pushing it out with his tongue and licking it long and flat and tracing around it with the point and kissing it, kissing it…

  I managed to keep his cock out of my mouth long enough to say, “Tim—get inside me, I can’t hold it much longer.”

  He crawled between my legs, kneeing them higher and pushing deep inside my hole; filling me as far as it would go. I kissed and sucked my salty cream from his mouth, savouring the mess I’d made and feeling like a disgrace to my standing and status as he forced the pride out of me with his relentless cock. My fingers worked through his hair and held his face close as I licked and worshipped and begged him with my eyes.

  He smashed into me like a jackhammer, sending my breasts into a dizzy blur with the frenzy of his loins. Finally he exploded deep inside, and I squealed at my lack of capacity—the come squeezing back down between us and out of my stuffed and contracting cunt as it sucked up all it could take.

  I lay there, feeling the sperm run out of me, as he tensed his softening cock inside.

  “What are you doing?” I groaned, as I felt him lean to the side.

  He clicked something shut and gave me a tape. “Giving you the finished piece” he said.

  “You sly bastard!” I said. “Get the hell off me!”

  “Don’t worry—it’s the only copy, and it’s yours. Nobody will see it.”

  I took the tape and placed it under my back, feeling safer and calmer. “You sure?”

  “Well, unless we watch it together.”

  I finally understood, and let myself smile back. “We’ll have to see about that,” I said, considering the artistic worth of the piece, and what it’d be like to watch it whilst fucking him again.

  Bonding with the Babysitter

  by Sherilyn Gray

  “Some thirtieth birthday this turned out to be,” I grumble to myself as I pull into my driveway. I had no big plans; single fathers seldom get to make big plans. Still, I had hoped to at least have a quiet birthday dinner at home with my son, and instead, my dick of a boss makes me work three hours late. On my birthday. On a Friday, at that. I’m sorely tempted to dust off my resume and start looking for a new job, but I know I wouldn’t find another job that could match my current salary. And that aside, this isn’t exactly the best time to be looking for a job. I know I should be thankful I have a job at all.

  On the list of things I am thankful for is that my son Billy’s babysitter, Robin, was available at such short notice to pick him up from school. I see her yellow VW bug sitting in my driveway, and I know that for a college freshman, giving up her Friday afternoon to babysit Billy for me until I get home from work is a big sacrifice. I’m sure she’d rather be out having fun with her friends than spending time with a five-year-old. This was a big imposition, and I purposefully swung by the ATM to pick up extra cash to tip her well for her trouble.

  Fortunately, Billy loves Robin, and from what I can tell, she seems to love him, too. She has been babysitting the little guy literally his entire life. Robin was just thirteen when she started sitting for him. It isn’t easy for anyone to be a single parent, let alone a guy who had never even been around kids and suddenly found himself a widower with an infant. Even when he was a screaming infant, Robin had a knack with him. I’ve told her parents many times I don’t know what I’ll do when Robin decides she can’t babysit for me anymore. She assured me that I pay better than any part-time job she could get and that she’ll be around as long as she’s going to college. I hope so.

  I smile as I get out of my car, knowing that I’ll at least have a relaxing evening of playing video games with my son. The day is already picking up.

  “Daddy’s home!” I call as I let myself in.

  In the next second, I hear a flurry of commotion from the kitchen.

  “He’s here!”

  “We’re not ready yet!”

  “What do we do?!”

  “Go do what we planned!”

  A split second later, Billy comes racing out of the kitchen, an oversized apron tied around his body and flour decorating his cheeks and hair. “Happy birthday, Daddy!” he cries.

  I kneel down as he races into my arms. “Thanks, little man,” I say as I give him a big hug and pick him up. He breaks down into giggles as I carry him into the kitchen by the waist and upside down.

  “I need my sous chef back!” Robin calls as we enter the room. I obligingly set Billy down, and he races over to her side.

  In that split second, I’m almost rendered speechless by a flash of a future that wasn’t meant to be. A gorgeous redhead, wearing a pink apron, is cooking in the kitchen with my son. I never imagined, five years ago, that the redhead would be my babysitter.

  I then notice, a moment later, that this gorgeous redhead with the surprisingly shapely body is my son’s babysitter. What happened to the beanpole that used to watch him? Puberty was definitely kind to this young girl.

  “You okay?” Robin asks.

  I realize I must have been staring for a few minutes, so I shake my head and smile. “My birthday just got a whole lot better.”

  “It was Robin’s idea,” Billy said. “I wanted to get take-out pizza.”

  “Well, I think a home cooked meal seems even better,” I answer.

  Robin shoots Billy a goofy look. “Told you so.” The way these two interact really warms my heart; the affection between them is apparent.

  “You can go get cleaned up,” Robin says, giving me a look over the shoulder as she and Billy return to their cooking. “Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t mind finishing up so you can head out for the even-” She cuts m
e off before I can finish.

  “Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes,” she says again. She points a wooden spoon at me and says, “Don’t make me undress you, put you in the shower, and bathe you myself.”

  Billy giggles at her threat. My response is to put my hands up in mock surrender and retreat from the kitchen. However, in the privacy of my bedroom, I have to will my erection away. My mind easily conjures up an image of a shapely redhead, the face and body some amalgam of Robin and my wife, standing naked with me in the shower, her firm breasts pressed against my chest, as she slowly soaps my body. Her hand with the soapy loofah starts at my chest and works down my torso until she starts off washing my cock but then…

  I shake the image away. What the hell is wrong with me? Robin is a kid. She’s…

  The rational part of my mind, the same part that knows I haven’t gotten laid in a long time, chimes in with an undeniable fact. She’s in college. She used to be a kid. She’s a woman now.

  I’m tempted to masturbate in the shower, but I don’t. Later tonight, after Billy goes to sleep, I’ll lock myself in my bedroom, find some internet porn, and masturbate until I’m satisfied. It’s a pretty typical routine for me. I try to date, but most women are scared off by Billy. That’s fine. I don’t want a woman who can’t handle me having a kid, and at the same time, I can respect that. I’d rather a woman run away than get close enough to meet Billy and then hurt us both. That’s why I’ve never introduced a single woman I’ve dated to him. None have stuck around long enough.

  But God help me, what I wouldn’t give to just have a good one night stand or even better, a friends with benefits arrangement. My right hand is getting old. I don’t even want to think about the last time I actually had sex. It was definitely over a year ago. My balls ache just thinking about it.