Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  She’d told herself she hadn’t but, after what had happened the day before, she could no longer trust her instincts. Any of them...

  It had started innocently enough. She’d been perusing the new Coleman’s Coffee account well after hours, checking up on Eric’s progress when she’d called him into her office for a simple update.

  Okay, so it was late and she had been a little hard on him, but somebody had to be. She’d asked for the changes two days earlier; 48 hours had been plenty of time for a talented graphics designer like Eric to make such simple changes.

  He’d walked in all attitude, a gleam in his eye that made her weak in the knees despite her firm resolve to keep things professional between them. He stood a few inches taller than her, all 180-pounds of him, that closed cropped skull gleaming under the fluorescent lights of her office, his rich brown eyes mischievous and eyeing her provocatively.

  She’d tried to keep her cool, tried to stay in control, discussing fairly but firmly the changes that needed to be made when, out of nowhere, his posture… changed. She couldn’t help but notice the erection growing in his tight khakis; and growing and growing.

  She tried to keep their discussion professional but, she knew, she should have sent him away right then, before the thickness in his pants was so distracting she could hardly keep from licking her tongue and reaching down to stroke it.

  Already she could feel the dampness spread between her legs as he ordered her to shut the door and lower the blinds. It took the last of her will, the last of whatever dominance she was hoping to maintain, to refuse him. When he kissed her, so suddenly, lips warm and soft and firm and wet all at the same time, she could barely stand.

  It was almost a relief when he ordered her out of her clothes. She stood there, small and half-naked before him, his glistening brown eyes alive and alert as he devoured every inch of her exposed skin. She had nearly come just from the way he looked at her, shoulders broad, waist narrow, young face smooth and unlined and hollow cheeks darkened by an extra day of not shaving.

  By the time he had her strapped to her desk and was cutting away her underwear -- her two hundred dollar underwear! -- she was panting for him, desperate and greedy and unashamed. Boss or no boss, she was a woman and he was a man. Her pussy ached to be full, to be crammed and pounded in a way it never had before.

  And even as he tongued her nipples until she was literally dripping, even as he moved her body around the desk like a butcher sizing up a piece of meat, his eyes were still hungry and adoring. Even in his roughness he was still boyish, a kid playing with his dad’s tool box, barking orders even as he begged for permission to touch, tease and taste her.

  Which didn’t meant to imply he wasn’t all man. He had her right where he wanted her, from the minute he walked in the office. She was ripe and wet and willing and pliable beneath his expert tongue, to say nothing of his long, thin fingers. He made her come so forcefully, so quickly, she was still hoarse from moaning in pleasure and abandon, from the silent screams that threatened to burst her straining vocal chords.

  And that was just with his fingers. Scratch that, with one finger. She had openly gawked when at last he’d had enough and stripped off his pants, thick, fat cock straining from his shorts and then they, too, hit the floor. His naked body was nearly hairless and unflawed. He stood between her legs, not an ounce of fat on him, six-pack abs glistening from where he’d pressed against her thick, wet pussy and come back covered with her juices and the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin.

  She didn’t care. Even when she had finally broken free from his pitiful bonds, the sensation of powerlessness, of being taken, of being unable -- forbidden, even -- to touch him made the anticipation and sensation that much more intense.

  At last he’d rolled her over, so sodden she could feel the juices drizzle down her legs as she lay, trembling, face down on her own desk as he slid his long, velvety cock in and out of her moist ass cheeks. She had wondered, idly, if he’d poke her there but even in teasing her he had been respectful, if forceful.

  When he finally slid into her, all six, seven, eight, had to be nine inches of him, she had nearly choked with passion, with pleasure, with sweet, tender pain. Her hands gripping the side of her desk, his fingers toying with her thick, puffy nipples once more he had plowed into her until she’d come who knows how many times.

  They’d both been covered in sweat and still she craved more as she slid, down and down his cock, her ass grinding against his flat stomach as he pounded into her, again and again, until at last his gushing geyser splashed against the walls of her glistening cave, and she lay there, frightened by her abandon, threatened by his forcefulness.

  When she’d rolled over, taking in every inch of his glistening, naked body, wet and slick with sweat as if he’d just stepped out of a pool, his beauty had overtaken her. She’d yelled at him, swore and threatened until at last he’d come to his senses and, dressing quickly, retreated through the door.

  She’d sat there, naked and sated, until her sweat dried, until his cum and her juices thickened on the inside of her thighs, until the air conditioning kicked on, and brought her back to her senses. She had dressed quickly, panty-les, bra-less, driving home feeling naked and sure she’d be stopped by the cops for enjoying herself so damn much.

  She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even had so much as a glass of wine before tumbling, naked, spent, ruined, ravaged, blissfully into bed.

  Now she sat down heavily at her desk, panting just thinking about him, pussy wet -- again! -- from the thought of his fat prick pounding inside of her. She’d never been a fan of rough sex, but the thought of being ordered around, pinned face down against her desk, hands tied and powerless to stop him as he took her, roughly, from behind made her squirm against her leather chair all over again.

  She’d worn a skirt today, gray and pleated and chaste and knee length, but with her Friday thong panties hiding playfully underneath. The blinds still lowered, the door shut firm, she hiked up her skirt and played with her luxuriant, wet pussy hair. She couldn’t believe how moist she was already, how greedily she spread her own thighs and teased her already throbbing, wet clit into a frothy lather.

  She could hear the slick sound of her wet fingers against her moist pussy lips as she gathered that moisture to spread across her feverish, quivering mound. She yearned to have his cock in her mouth, to feel his balls in her hands, to have his hands all over her, inside her.

  She’d never wanted anyone, anything, so badly. She put her feet against the desk, legs up high and spread wide, ass off the chair and hovering in mid-air as she fingered herself with reckless, wild abandon.

  How could he be better at fingering her than she was at fingering herself? With endless years of empty beds and ex-boyfriends who found her too demanding, masculine or forceful, she should have been an expert at pleasuring herself by now. But until Eric, sex had never been a big deal to her. Not this big a deal, where she sat openly at her desk like some live webcam hottie toying with her own pussy. And, well, after Eric… he had ruined her for her own hands.

  She bucked and seethed, trying desperately to find the rhythm as at last she applied just the right pressure, two fingertips back and forth against her grinding mound, faster, faster, slower now, gentler, then faster, faster until she burst, biting her lip, bucking wildly as she came two, three times before she finally came back to her senses.

  Her eyelids fluttered as she slid her cotton panties back over her dripping wet snatch, drying her inner thighs with tissue from the bottom drawer of her desk. While it was open, she slid several items from her briefcase inside, tongue licking her lips wildly in anticipation as her drawer quickly filled to where she was afraid it might not close.

  When at last she squeezed clear sanitizer onto her hands and pulled back her hair, she was shocked to find she hadn’t even bothered to check her email yet!

  * * *

  The day seemed to stretch out forever. Even having come in nearly two hours
late, a first for him, Eric watched the clock tick by in endless agony. His cubicle mate, Phillip, eyed him curiously just after lunch.

  “You okay, bro?”

  Phillip was forty-ish, balding, with dandruff on his glasses but insisted on acting like a forever-twenty-one-year-old.

  “Sure, why?”

  Phillip shrugged, pushing his glasses up his greasy nose. “No reason, it’s just… I thought you’d be fired after the Ice Queen called you on the carpet yesterday afternoon.”

  A flash of panic coursed through his veins. “You… you heard that?”

  Phillip’s eyes widened. “Dude, the whole floor heard it.”

  Eric swallowed dryly. “All of it?”

  “Well, I mean, the part about the Coleman’s Coffee bloopers. After that, we all pretty much snuck out as fast as we could. Collateral damage and all that.”

  Eric breathed a sigh of relief and dug into his work. He was deep into the Coleman’s account fixes again, knocking off items from his to-do list when he heard Phillip creak out of his desk chair.

  “You wanna catch a beer with me and some of the guys down at Callahans?” Phil asked, backpack dangling from one shoulder.

  Eric looked up to find the sky outside the big office windows darkened by early evening. “Huzzawhatzit?” he asked, running his hand along his mostly shaved scalp.

  Phillip knocked alongside his noggin playfully. “It’s Friday, dude, quitting time. Well past, as a matter of fact. We’ll save a seat at the bar for you, just in case.”

  Eric watched him go, waving him off with a “see you there” grin even as he shifted in his seat to accommodate the semi-erection pressing against his zipper.

  One by one, he watched as the last of the employees shuffled off for the day. He waved, absently, cock already straining against his clean gray jockeys as he sat back in his chair, luxuriating in the anticipation that came from knowing he was going to fuck her; again.

  Harder this time, angrier, than he had before. That is, if she didn’t have a SWAT team on standby just on the other side of her office door. He stood, lazily ambling through the long row of cubicles that led to Amanda’s massive corner office. The door was closed, as always. She had an “open door” policy; that is, if you knocked first.

  Eric shoved the door open and found her sitting there, hair up, reading glasses slung low on her delicate nose, desk covered with the artwork for the new Simpson’s Shaving Cream account. His nostrils flared at the scent of her perfume, and there was a moment there, just before she raised her eyes and looked at him, where he just marveled in her absolute, intoxicating beauty.

  Her white collar was stiff and open at the neck against her short gray blazer that matched her long, pleated skirt. Her small breasts were tight against the stiff material of her blouse, her throat flexing as at last she found the voice to speak. “What took you so long?”

  Her voice was coarse, demanding, but soft and vulnerable as well. His balls were already sore from what he wanted to do to her. He was prepared to demand, confront, apologize, anything, but instead he sputtered. “W-w-what did you just say?”

  She stood, slipping from her jacket and walking toward him. Her voice was lower, her lips already thick and wet. “I said… What took you so long?”

  They were face to face now, thanks to her sensible gray heels. She reached down and cupped his balls with one hand, shutting and locking the door behind him with the other.

  “Are… are you sure no one else is here?”

  She leaned into his ear, breath hot and thick against his neck. “I don’t care if they watch, Eric.”

  The sound of her voice saying his name made his prick leap against his already damp drawers as she inched around and kissed him, hard, breath warm and minty as her hands reached down to unclasp his belt.

  “Hey,” he ordered, trying to find the authoritarian voice that had worked so well on her the day before.

  She just chuckled, lazily, biting his lip forcefully. “You had your fun yesterday, Eric.” She pushed him away, yanking his pants down and helping him step out of them, along with his shoes and socks. “Now it’s my turn.”

  “But… but…” he stammered as she led him to the leather sofa in the corner of the room. “You kind of liked when it was my turn.”

  She pushed him down, straddling one knee between her long, velvet legs. Her panties were drenched, her pussy hot and thick against his bare thigh as she looked down at the bulge in his shorts.

  “I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy my turn, too, Eric.”

  * * *

  Amanda looked into Eric’s eyes. They were so brown, so open, so vulnerable. She smirked; she was going to enjoy punishing him as much as he’d enjoyed punishing her. She leaned into him, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt and feasting her eyes on his bare torso as she tossed his clothes aside. She sat up from his thigh, deftly slipping off her thong panties one leg at a time.

  His eyes fluttered open and shut as she slid back down onto his firm, almost hairless leg, grinding her wet snatch against his upper thigh and gently stroking his erection through his damp gray shorts. He grew harder, thicker, longer as she teased the tip from the waistband of his underwear.

  It was purple and fat and slick with pre-cum, the skin like velvet in her hand as he gasped and moaned with pleasure. She shoved her damp thong in his mouth, watching his eyes flutter open as she wagged a “no, no” finger in front of his eyes.

  “You don’t want anyone coming in here and catching us, do you?”

  He shook his head, and she took pity on him, gently pulling the drenched cotton panties from between his lips as he gasped. “I…” he confessed, looking deeply into her eyes. “I kind of liked them.”

  She chuckled and shoved them back in, watching his eyes bulge as she returned her attention to his purple, swollen cock. Her blouse hit the floor as her bra joined it and she unbuttoned her skirt, too. The pile of clothes at her feet grew until she kicked them away roughly, sliding down his leg until the swell of his knee jutted against her bare ass.

  She ground her pussy against his leg as she bent to drown his cock, throbbing and waiting, with her kisses. It tasted as she’d imagined, soapy and salty and wet as she licked its tip dry and slid the first three inches of him into her mouth. She put her hands on either side of his belly, watching as his eyelids fluttered and his nostrils flared while she slid her lips around him, taking in as much of him as she dared before sliding back, then down again only to gobble an inch or two more.

  With her free hand, she cupped his balls, already sweaty and moist from their juices as she fondled them, first gently and then roughly. She liked to watch his face react, wincing in pain and pleasure when she was rough, eyes fluttering each time she slid his cock deeper into his mouth and then released it before swallowing him again.

  He reached for her then, to gently ease her away and she stood, abruptly, stalking away from him, not caring how her naked ass looked from behind as she opened her bottom desk drawer to take out one of the treats she’d planned for them.

  He had yanked her sodden thong from his lips by then, dropping it to the floor with the rest of her hastily piled clothes. “A jump rope?” His voice was hoarse, his prick swollen beneath his bare, white thighs.

  “I told you it was my turn.” She pulled his hands back, up over his head and gently knotted one end of the rope around his wrists. Still naked, body glistening with sweat, she walked to the desk behind him and tied the other end to the bottom leg. There was slack, but not much. While at her desk, she took out two more treats out of the bottom drawer and hid them behind her back while walking across the room slowly, lazily, feasting her eyes on his defenseless body. His boyish face looked blissful between his raised arms.

  Returning to him, she sank to her knees between his legs. “Now just try to stop me,” she croaked, liking the husky, demanding tone of her voice as he watched her take his prick in both hands. It was dry, and she used the tube of warming lube she’d br
ought from the desk to drizzle a long string of clear liquid along the length of his glistening shaft.

  He sighed as she took one finger and spread it from the base of his prick to the tip, then around his balls and in the thick thatch of rich, dark pubic hair that rested at the base of his narrow waist.

  He sighed contentedly, easing down toward her as much as his tied arms would allow him. When he had to stop, he spread his long legs gently as she increased the rhythm as she used her right hand to stroke his cock. The glistening oil grew warm as her rhythm increased, faster, tighter, rougher, his thick balls dangling as his ass crept off the leather cushion completely, slapping against one thigh as she jerked him until his tip was glistening and the shaft was throbbing, pulsing with each stroke of her hand, his white belly quivering, short of breath, ready to explode at any moment.

  Just as he was about to explode, his breath coming out in short gasps, ass bucking against the seat, balls slapping against his thigh, she stopped, completely. His dick throbbed, purple and dripping with oil, chest covered in sweat as she leaned back behind her, reaching for the small wooden paddle she’d picked up at the 24-hour adult store on the way into work that morning.