Spelade
-
On Episode 4 Lynnea tells a few stories about a couple of different callers. One pertains to the comparison of phone sex to being a therapist. The other is just a cute humorous story and very brief. The show also has a horny descriptive blow job segment that you can get your rocks off to.
-
Episode 3 – Lynnea talks about what it means to be a good phone sex “shopper” on the internet by offering advice and tips to callers. There is some important information revealed to think about before you make that phone call. And something dirty happens with our erotic audio story about a gang bang. Oh yes! No music on this episode.
-
Episode 2 – Lynnea discusses a caller’s comment to her about her natural voice, and she expands on the topic. She shares some sex facts about orgasms, penis size, and vaginas too. We have an erotic audio clip of a horny female sensually teasing you about anal sex. And we have the music of Muffin Military with their song Vulgarity Hilarity. Adults Only!
-
Cervical orgasms, sex vacations, and submission—Sarah shares about stepping out of religious shame and embracing her own pleasure.
00:00 Learning how and when to talk about sex
04:06 Risk aware play and leaving space for adjustment
08:15 Checking in with her high libido demisexual self and asking for what she needs
14:50 Navigating purity culture and discovering the mechanics of sex growing up
23:21 Religious loopholes and feeling the freedom to finally explore
28:32 A seven inch dildo and erotic photography on a solo sex vacation
36:04 Celebrating the return of easy orgasms and Sarah’s favorite ways to cum
40:12 Dating online and in Los Angeles
46:58 Creating safe, intentional, and caring connections
53:18 Being queer and eating pussy for the first time in a threesome
57:53 Enjoying pain, sucking cock, and spit play
1:04:29 Seeking a queer Dominant to explore what she needs as a submissive
1:09:04 Casual non-monogamy explorations
1:11:22 Discovering desires on-camera
1:15:48 Turned on by the novelty of new spaces
1:19:04 Helping partners receive pleasure and the joys of listening to her body
📈 STATS | 36 bisexual white femme, sub-leaning switch, ex-Christian, single, non-monogamous, actor, singer, writer, instructional designer, Los Angeles-based, into: sensation play, stimulation, touch, hot words, photography, film, environments
🔗 SARAH LINKS | @sarahekarnes / skarnes.substack.com
🔥 PARTNERS | Make your world a sexier place—get a discount & support the pod!
SDC: A place for swingers to connect
FIRMTECH: Performance-enhancing cock rings | Use the code LOVER for 15% off
BEDUCATED: Learn how to have great sex
BUTTER WELLNESS: Prioritizing prostate pleasure | Use the code LOVER for 20% off
⚡️ WORK WITH WYOH | Explore (y)our creativity: wyohlee.com/links
One-on-one photoshoots, content creation, writing retreats & creative support
🤩 PATREON | Wy’s exclusive updates, stories & the community discord: patreon.com/wyohlee
💸 PLAY | Tickle Wy’s moneykink: 🪭onlyfans.com/wyohlee 🐈⬛sextpanther.com/wyoh
🎙️ BE A GUEST, SHARE A STORY, ASK A QUESTION | Leave a voice memo at sexstoriespodcast.com
🙌 SHARE SEX STORIES
🌈 Explore (y)our curiosity.
🤑 Offer irresistible invitations.
💦 Spread ripples of love.
-
Jenna elevates the ceremonies by supporting the men in need.
By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
The ‘Jenna’ series started last November with ‘Jenna Goes to Church’ episodes; followed by ‘Jenna, the Vicar’s Wife’. Earlier this month we resumed with a couple 2-part stories from Jenna’s series. This is the final 2-part story.
A Royal carry-on at the Cathedral.
The King’s coronation was only a few weeks away. Lots of different events were planned, and the church of St. Michael’s was no exception.
At St. Michael’s vicarage, Reverend Morris was preparing to attend a very important concert at Liverpool cathedral, which was going to be filmed by the team from the popular religious TV programmer, Songs of Praise.
Reverend Morris sniggered as he read an online newspaper headline.
“17th century diary reveals local vicar had an 11 inch penis.”
“I bet he was popular!” He said to his wife.
Jenna laughed. “11 inches? Wow, that is impressive. Of course, it’s not the size, it’s what you do with it that counts.”
“Oh yes. I agree completely!” He put down his phone. “Right that’s enough of that. We must get ready to leave. Gosh, I’m really looking forward to this concert! It’s a real honor for us to have been invited to attend. His Majesty has been visiting several cathedrals this week.
"I’m excited too. Will we actually get a chance to speak to the King?”
“Perhaps, Jen. Not sure if he’ll come round and speak to all of us, maybe a lucky few on the front row, eh?”
“Oh good. Must say, I’m relieved that pregnancy scare turned out to be a false alarm, Simon. I’d just got struck down with a stomach bug. I mean, I want to be a mum one day, but not yet. I’m not ready for such a big responsibility just yet, bringing a new life into the world.”
“You’re only twenty-one, Jen. You’ve got plenty of time. Enjoy the best years of your life! And I just know you’ll be a wonderful mum one day. I want us to enjoy our child when the time comes. You’re so good with Christopher when he stays over.”
She nodded and thought to herself. After all, I feel I still have a lot of God’s work to do, helping the men of the church.
She wasn’t the only one who was relieved. Gordon the organist was overjoyed too. Though after a private meeting with the vicar’s wife in church last week, he confessed that he would’ve “pulled out all the stops” to support her, if it turned out he was the father. Thankfully, the status quo had been restored, and much to his delight, he and Jenna had resumed their weekly “organ practice” on Thursday nights.
Gordon had been tempted to confess a whole load of other things to her, but had held back, when he got the impression she’d already figured out the strength of his feelings, and that put his mind at ease.
Edward Hardwick was nervous. He was standing in for the regular organist at Liverpool, who’d been struck down with a bad case of flu. Edward knew he had big shoes to fill, as the man he was standing in for was a highly respected musician, with countless accolades and credits to his name.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just a regular Sunday service, but why did it have to be a concert where the King will be in attendance? All eyes will be on me. Songs of Praise will be filming. I’m not sure I can cope with this,”
Edward was a brilliant young organist, but was prone to periods of self-doubt and nervousness. At twenty-eight, he was still a bit of a greenhorn, compared to the other organists he’d encountered, and had only just landed his first full-time organist job. The small parish church outside Liverpool where he was now the official organist, was a world away from this massive cathedral.
Edward was sure a more experienced organist and choirmaster could’ve been found to perform here, but the clergy seemed convinced that he was ideal to take on the job. He took comfort from that. He must be doing something good if they’d put this much faith in him. And playing at the cathedral for a coronation concert would look very good on his resume.
Later,
"What a beautiful building this is, Jenna marveled as she and Reverend Morris took their seats in the cathedral ready for the concert. Jenna wore a black skirt suit with a white cotton blouse. Simon was in clerical black, wearing a blazer for travel to Liverpool."I’ve been to Liverpool loads of times but never visited the cathedral. I wonder if Father Aiden has been here? He used to be based at Liverpool before he came to our town.”
“Yes I think he’s attended a few services here. That reminds me, I must email him sometime and see how he’s getting on at the Living Earth Free Church. Last I heard, he’d got engaged to Róisín.”
“Ah, I’m really chuffed for him,” Jenna replied with a smile, remembering her first encounter with the once-miserable priest at the vicarage social last year. She read through the order of service booklet. It was adorned with little golden crowns. The usual collection of familiar patriotic music, Handel’s Messiah, Jerusalem, Rule Britannia, Crown Imperial and of course, the National Anthem.
On the first page was some information about the cathedral organ.
“Liverpool Cathedral boasts the largest pipe organ in the UK, an instrument of tremendous power and majesty, but also of serenity and calm. Its sole purpose is to aid worship by creating a reverent atmosphere.”
“Gordon would be over the moon if he could get his fingers on this impressive instrument! Listen to this, Simon. An ‘Anniversary’ recital is given by the Cathedral Organist each year on the nearest Saturday to 18th, in commemoration of its dedication.
The organ is situated in two chambers on opposite sides of the Choir. It currently comprises 10,268 pipes and 200 stops contained in nine divisions. There are two five-manual consoles; the original one up in a dedicated gallery under the North Choir case and a mobile recital console at floor level. The 'Trompette Militaire’ and the 'Tuba Magna’ stops are the loudest voices on the organ.”
“Makes the organ in our church look like a penny whistle by comparison,” the vicar replied. “I think even Gordon would be a bit overwhelmed if he had to play this whopper.”
“He could play it with ease,” she replied. “Gordon’s the best organist in the world.”
The hall was filling up and the warm humid spring day made the cathedral quite warm. Jenna removed her blazer and laid it over the back of the pew.
Jenna leaned her head on Simon’s shoulder & closed her eyes. Soon she thought back to last night. Organ practice with Gordon had been wild, and those two old tin pipes he’d given her during Lent had been put to good use again.
“Lie back on the stool for me,” Gordon whispered. Slowly, he traced the cold organ pipe down her naked body, before pausing and using the tip of it to tease her erect nipples. She giggled.
“So cold!”
“Delightfully tuned,” he grunted. He moved a finger down and began teasing her clit. Then he pressed a key on one of the manuals.
“Can you sing that note for me?”
“Lah.”
“Excellent! How about these notes?” He played a few chords whilst fingering her.
“Ahh, doe, ray, me; oh my God,”
Jenna breathed harder and faster until she shuddered and cried out in ecstasy, and writhed beneath him. The orgasm rocked through her body like a tidal wave; it was indescribable.
"Always so perfectly in key, Jenna. Very good, very, ah.” Jenna’s bare foot started rubbing his groin, and he struggled to remain composed.
“Open your organ loft, Gordon. I need to perform an inspection.”
As usual, he immediately succumbed to her charms. “At once,” he smiled, unzipping his trousers and freeing his member from his underpants. “I am sure everything is in fine working order, but I might need a little bit of a re-tune.”
“I can help you there,” Jenna said, reaching in she gave a quick kiss to the tip of his fat cock, and began to suck the length, then taking it deeper.
Gordon cried out in delight, and dropped the organ pipe. It clattered onto the church’s stone floor.
“Oh, so good,” Gordon sighed. His words spurred her on, so she varied her technique, flicking her tongue down his shaft’s sensitive underside, then up. She extended her tongue and licked the head of his cock like a lollipop.
“Umm, is my sexy organ daddy ready to give me some of his delicious cum?”
“Ahh, he’s got plenty for his Jen, oh God here it comes!”
Jenna jerked off the organist until he exploded all over her face. She opened her mouth as a huge, pearly wad of his issue landed on the bridge of her nose. A second spurt hit its target, and she quickly swallowed every drop.
“Jenna! Have you nodded off? King Charles has arrived!” Reverend Morris whispered, nudging his wife.
“Umm, oh no, sorry I was just thinking, oh yes, there he is!”
Everyone stood up, as the soon-to-be crowned monarch took his seat and was welcomed by the Bishop of Liverpool. Thus began the usual formal introductions and as everyone sat down, the sound of the mighty organ radiated through the cathedral.
“Our concert begins with a rendition of that wonderful rousing piece by Handel, his Messiah, which was composed in 1741. It was first performed in Dublin on the 13th of April, in 1742 and received its London premiere nearly a year later. After an initially modest public reception, the oratorio gained in popularity, eventually becoming one of the best-known and most frequently performed choral works in Western music.”
“I love the Messiah,” Reverend Morris whispered. “Remember when it was played at our wedding?”
“Sure do.” Jenna’s eyes gleamed.
The music began, but after a few moments, it was obvious that the organist at the console wasn’t quite up to playing the mighty beast that this great pipe organ was..
Reverend Morris cringed as a few wrong notes were played. “Hmm, I don’t think this chap has practiced this enough. Either that or he’s drunk.”
“Well the bishop did say that he’s not the regular organist. I think he’s nervous. Poor guy. I’d be nervous if I had to play in front of the King, and I was being filmed for a TV programmer!”
“Oh dear,” Reverend Morris said, as the unfortunate rendition continued. “This is sounding more like Handel’s Messed-Up Messiah.”
King Charles appeared to be really enjoying the music. “Oh I say. Reminds one of Les Dawson,” he whispered to Camilla. “Splendid entertainer, he was. Dearest Mummy used to love it when he appeared at the Royal Variety Performance in the Eighties. It takes one a great deal of skill to play wrong notes like that!”
Camilla simply nodded, but she wasn’t fooled. This wasn’t meant to be a Les Dawson tribute, but it was certainly interesting.
“Did I ever mention that I often play organ music to my plants?” the King continued.
More error-filled hymns and pieces followed, until the first half of the concert came to an end, and the interval was welcomed by just about everyone, but mostly by the organist.
“Fuck, I screwed everything up,” Edward groaned, shuffling off, his face burning with shame.
Some of the overflow crowd lined the hallway, off the sanctuary. Edward faced the gauntlet of critics as he passed through. “Hey mate, is this some kind of joke?” A man shouted. “Have you even taken an organ lesson? Because that was bloody awful!”
“My three-year old could play better than that!” A woman added.
“My Labrador could play better than that!”
“Shame on you! You must be a republican. Playing like that in front of His Majesty!”
“Look I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” Edward mumbled, rushing away from the crowded hallway. He had to hide somewhere and try and compose himself, or he’d never get through the second half of the concert.
Meanwhile, Jenna had been navigating her way back from the toilets, which was proving to be a bit of a nightmare, due to the crowds and the security measures in place due to the monarch’s visit.
“I definitely shouldn’t be down here,” she said, hurrying down a small corridor. “Uh-oh, this is the vestry. How did I end up here? I’ve got to get back to my seat!”
Hurrying through a curtained area, she walked right into a man clad in red cassock and white surplice, whom she assumed was a vicar.
“Oh, so sorry; Reverend!” She mumbled.
“No I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the man replied. “Um, I’m not a vicar. I’m Edward, the organist.”
“Oh right,” Jenna said. “Well nice to meet you. Um, I think I’m lost. Please could you,” She looked at him and noticed his eyes were red from crying. "Hey; are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Edward sniffed. “Uh, yes, just through there and turn right. Keep right, because the left side is out of bounds because the King’s sat over there.”
“You’ve been crying,” Jenna said.
‘What a cute guy!’
She thought to herself. He looks just like Robert Pattinson. Though she preferred older men, she figured this younger chap was in need of some comfort and a confidence boost. And she never could resist a man wearing church vestments.
“I’ve messed up,” Edward sighed. “Surely you heard how bad I played during the first half.”
“I don’t blame you,” Jenna replied. “I would’ve been wetting myself if I’d been asked to play in front of the King. I think you did great.”
My God, this guy is an adorable cinnamon roll!
“Oh thanks. I was still shit though. Um, are you an organist?”
“Not officially. I’m a pianist and I work at my church’s Sunday school. The organist at my church who I like, er, who I’m friends with, he has been giving me lessons. It’s taken a while, but I can just about stand in for him and do the morning Eucharist. But I still play the odd wrong note or pull out the wrong stops. It’s such a complicated instrument! So don’t feel bad.”
Edward relaxed. “I wish all the members of the public were as understanding as you are. I’ll probably get a grilling off the Bishop later, as well.”
“Ignore the haters. And the Bishop is a man of God, so he should be merciful.”
“Heh, maybe. What’s your name?”
“Jenna. Pleased to meet you Edward! I expect you’ve heard this before, but you look a bit like Robert Pattinson.”
“Yeah. I have. Cedric Diggory playing the organ. You’d think he’d use magic so he could play perfectly and without feeling nervous!”
“Can’t use magic in the Muggle world!” Jenna smiled.
“Heh, are you a Potter fan?”
“Nah, never really got into it. But I have seen some of the movies.”
“Same here.”
“Are you still feeling nervous?”
“Terrified. I have to play the national anthem at the end of the second half. If I play a wrong note during that, well I’m dreading it.”
“I’ll stop you from feeling nervous,” Jenna winked.
“Oh, how do you plan to do that? Do you have some booze?” He jumped as he realized her arms had slipped round him.
“No. I’ll give you something better than booze.” She nibbled at the outside corners of his mouth, teasing him to open for her.
“Open for me,” she whispered, as she continued to place soft kisses.
Edward, who was too shocked to process what was happening, only registered the pretty redhead’s body pressing him against the wall. Unable to move, he simply stood in her embrace, neither accepting nor returning her kisses.
He suddenly blushed even more at the sudden realization that he was becoming erect. This is insane, he thought to himself. The second half is about to start and I’m,
“You’re really sexy,” Jenna murmured, sending shivers down his spine. Edward was powerless to resist her. “Do you feel me?” She asked in a husky whisper, pressing herself against him, “Do you feel how much I want you?” His shyness was an incredible turn-on, and making her terribly horny. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second.
Edward looked into her lovely eyes and bent down to kiss her.
At their sweet contact, Jenna heard Edward sigh contentedly. He reached down and grasped her arse. Suddenly, she felt his tongue enter her mouth, and his erection pressing against her.
“What would you like, Edward?”
“Confidence,” he mumbled back.
Jenna pushed him into a small cloakroom. “To give an organist confidence, I need to inspect his organ pipe,” she purred, swiftly reaching under his surplice and fumbling with the buttons on his cassock. “All these buttons, but no worries, I’ll find a way in, ah, there we go!” She unzipped his trousers and reached inside.
Edward gasped as her warm hand grabbed his cock. It stiffened further in her grasp.
“Oh, what a big pipe you have. It seems like a fine one to play a tune on!” Jenna grinned. These corny organ puns worked so well on Gordon, and it seemed that they worked on Edward too. All male organists liked it if they were complimented on the size of their instrument, surely?
Edward couldn’t believe this was happening. The concert was set to resume in ten minutes but here he was, he just closed his eyes as Jenna worked her magic.
Another delicious-looking cock. Edward was her third organist, after Gordon and Raymond Wilson from Oakwood Road Methodist church. Third time lucky!
Jenna knelt in front him and kissed the top of his enlarged cock. Then she gently kissed all around its head. With long, gentle strokes she licked up and down the length of the shaft as Edward began to moan with pleasure. She took his balls in one hand and began to massage them. His moans increased.
Reverend Morris checked his watch, wondering where Jenna had got to. The second half was about to begin.
“Did she get lost on her way to the Ladies?” He wondered. Most of the guests had returned to their seats and the Bishop was approaching the podium.
“Come on Jen, hurry up, or you’ll miss the start. What on earth is she doing?”
Edward immediately entered her and drew a strangled gasp as he plunged his rigid cock to the hilt. He pulled his hips back so that his cock withdrew partially from her sweet grip. He pushed forward again and buried himself back inside her. He’d been single for a while, and it showed. Jenna moaned at the sensation of this eager young organist thrusting in her. She reached her peak only a few seconds before he spurted his cum deep within her, and when they finally parted, Edward felt like he could conquer the world. Never before had he experienced sex as good as this.
Jenna gave him a kiss and zipped up his trousers. “I think it’s time I returned to my seat.”
“Uh, can I get your email or something? I’m on Twitter, but I don’t tweet much. Are you on there? Hey, I’m the organist at St Paul’s church in Crosby. It has a website. My contact details are on there. What happens now?”
She winked at him and gave him a final kiss. “Now, you go and play the organ like a pro. For King and Country.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. I will!”
Jenna hurried down the corridor, a big smile on her face. The archway to the main hall was blocked by a man in a suit
-
A Christmas Miracle brings them together.
by horny pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Carter has been in love with Mia for years, but it takes a Christmas miracle to throw them together.
Carter stood by his window, one eye on the watch on his wrist. It was just after eleven, that magical hour when most of the traffic died down and the neighborhood in the old downtown area settled in for the night, the quiet creeping through the air with the mist from the small stream to the west of his apartment. Across the road he could see some early Christmas decorations, but he knew that the real lighting up would start in about two weeks.
She would be along soon.
He shifted the threadbare curtain a little to the side and tried to peer down the street, attempting to see her approach sooner, but he knew she would appear around the corner as always, and that he would have no chance to look at her neat little form until she does. He looked at his watch. Another minute had passed.
She would be along soon.
He fretted restlessly when the minutes continued to trickle away, like the incessant dripping of droplets in the back of his mind; a tap that didn’t quite close all the way.
She would be along soon.
And then, finally, she was there. His hands tightened around the folds of the curtain as he watched her round the corner, his very being tightening up in anticipation as his eyes followed her hungrily. She was wearing her dark, mid-thigh-length coat, and he could see her shapely leg taking carefully measured steps.
Her head was bent down, as always, obscuring her features, and he wondered once again what he would see if she looked up. He knew a little about her, her skin was milky pale in comparison to her dark coat. Her hair was also dark, cut in a straight, no-frills bob that reached her chin and was usually tucked away behind her ear. Her arms were always folded across her chest, as if she was trying to get away from her surroundings by climbing into herself. She was a picture of despondency and hopelessness as she walked down the pavement, the mist from the river swirling around her legs with ghostlike tendrils.
She was breaking his heart.
He followed her with his eyes, knowing her pattern well. Under the next streetlamp she would stop, bend over to adjust her shoe in the weak glow, and then continue around the corner to wherever she was going. And he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again. What did it say about him, about how low he’d sunk, that these two minutes of watching an unknown girl walk down the street was the culmination of all his hopes and dreams? That his every day was spent in a state of endless waiting, waiting? He was forever waiting for something, for the night to be over so he can get up, for the shops to open so he can struggle down the stairs with his bad knee screaming in protest to buy coffee and a microwave dinner. For the afternoon to pass so he could sit on the small little balcony his apartment was outfitted with and watch the sun set over the dingy part of the city horizon he was privy to.
He watched her as she stopped on cue, her fingers busily tweaking at the straps of her shoes. More than anything, he was always, always waiting for her.
She got up after a few seconds and his eyes followed her as she proceeded down the street, her pace a little faster now, as if she was suddenly aware of the hour and the fact that she was a pretty girl, walking alone. When he could no longer see her, he pulled the curtains in place and turned around, facing the dingy apartment he owned.And deep down, he knew, the longest wait of all was the countdown of years that would mark the end of his miserable existence.
The Waitress
“What can I get for you?” Mia asked the two men who were sitting in a booth in the back. They were both dressed in similar casual attire, jeans, dark jackets, sneakers, but she knew without asking that they were cops. They had that shrewd look in their eyes, the restless air of inquisitive minds.
Her shoulders tingled and she forced herself not to twitch nervously. They were just out for a meal, maybe discussing a breakthrough or a dead-end in a recent case. Nothing to worry about. Cops and officers came in here all the time for coffee and doughnuts and meals.
They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you.
She chanted her mantra repeatedly in her mind as her fingers scribbled down their order. It was never wise to allow cops, or anybody else, for that matter, to sense your fear. It gave them reason to start questioning things she preferred to remain unquestioned, what’s your name? Where are you from?
Her feet were killing her. Her swollen ankle was throbbing from her earlier slip on a wet floor, and she wanted nothing more than for the day to end so she could go home to Nikita. Her back was no longer aching as much as burning from carrying the heavy trays back and forth, the pain a constant companion in her lower back. She shot a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind the counter as she unloaded dirty dishes in the sink and swiped her tray down where a cup had left a ring. It was a few minutes to ten, closing time was ten thirty, so she had a while to go yet. Angelo had gotten one of the girls to wrap threadbare tinsel around the clock and cash register. Despite the fact that it was clearly older than the shop, it was still ugly and gaudy, a glittery, cheap string of false cheer that did nothing but highlight the shop’s worn-down visage.
She ended her shift at ten thirty with an argument with Angelo, the owner and manager, who wanted her to stay for ‘stock taking’, his term for sexually harassing the girls when there was nobody around to help them. She refused and, as a result, lost her job.
Her heart sank at the idea of finding something new, again. How much longer? she wondered as she packed the things from her locker, over into her bag. How much longer was she going to struggle through life like this? Every day was a fight to survive. There were bills to be paid, a house to clean, a little sister to care for. Somebody needed to put food on the table, needed to make sure the police didn’t discover them and send them back to;
Not going to happen, she thought. No matter what happened, they were never going back to that dark, dark place they’d escaped from six years ago. She was twenty-three now, old enough by law to become her sister’s legal guardian, if they needed to take a legal route for any reason. She could only hope that would never happen. If there was ever any questions, any queries, she would pack up their things and they would leave. Again. They’d done it before, when it seemed necessary, it was so easy to disappear into the night, after all.
She clutched the black carry-all that held an extra shirt, some clean socks, a comb and a few tampons in case she ever needed them unexpectedly. The cheap second-hand cell phone was stashed in the pocket of her coat, where she could feel it vibrate if Nikita phoned her.
She was in a bigger hurry than usual, walking as fast as she could on her sore ankle, and looking around her edgily. The shadows seemed denser, the streetlights dimmer, the air quieter.
She hated this part of the city during the night. It was dark and it smelled like old trash and the murky, filthy water of the little stream on the other side of the dilapidated railing.
She was being stupid, Mia decided. She has been walking this route every night for the past three years, and nothing has ever happened to her before.
She swallowed her fear and walked out from under the tree. The rest had not done her ankle good. It was cooling down and stiffening up and she winced each time she stepped on it. She limped around the corner that would take her down the semi-nice street with the old buildings. Most of them had been townhouses in their hey-days, but they had fallen into slight disrepair since. She imagined living in one of them. It would be warm, and the roof wouldn’t leak in eleven places every time it rained. In the winter, she would light a fire in the living room, and she and Nikita would sit in front of it.
And maybe the sky would rain money and Unicorns soon.
Carter’s 3-Year Dilemma
Carter managed to convince himself not to watch for her again. How much longer was he going to wait for a miracle that was not going to happen? His dark-haired girl was never going to do anything else except walk past his building. He’d considered going downstairs at eleven more times than he could count, but three guesses as to how she would react to a man waiting to talk to her at that time of night. He had tried to follow her a few times, but his knee was so bad that he couldn’t keep up, not without being seen. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her into taking a different route. She was his fantasy, his perfect vision of innocence and beauty and hope. No matter how the weather looked, whether it was a balmy spring evening, or an icy cold snowing one, she walked down his street every single night. He’d been watching her for close to three years now, and he knew that she was off one Sunday a month, always the last one.
He wished, for the hundredth time, that he knew more about her. He wanted to know where she worked, wanted to know her name. Was she married, maybe, with a kid?
It was a moot point, in any case. Even if she wasn’t married, she wouldn’t waste her time on somebody like him, jobless and injured beyond repair, with nothing to give her but his name and an old apartment that used to belong to his grandmother.
He forced himself to stay seated as the clock ticked closer to eleven. It was ridiculous, this fascination of his with a girl he’s never even met. He spent his time building fantasies around her in which she needed his help, and in his dream world, his knee was still in its pre-explosion condition. He was still fit and strong, a Navy Seal who could do anything he set his mind to.
Forcing himself to be realistic, he took a swallow from the beer he rarely indulged in. She was probably married, or living with somebody. Probably had a kid, and took a night job so that she could spend time with the little one during the day. She was probably perfectly happy with her life, and this desire to rescue her was a left-over emotion from his SEAL days where being a hero was part of the job description.
He missed his team.And there it was, the crux of the matter. He missed his team, his friends, almost more than he missed the mobility that had been stolen from him in that awful explosion four years ago. So far, he’d beaten the odds, but for the past couple years, he hadn’t made any progress beyond walking with the help of a crutch. After his time in the hospital and physiotherapy rehab center ran out, he moved back to the city where he had grown up. It was as far away from the base as he could find, and he had needed the distance at the time, not to mention the rent-free apartment his grandmother had lived in until she passed away.
But now, after months of seclusion, the truth was finally sinking in. He was never going to be able to run through jungles and over desert dunes again. His days of scaling mountains and hiding out yards away from the enemy camps were over. No matter how hard he worked, his leg was never going to be up to it again. He was going to have to consider those options the psychologist had tried to talk to him about.
His mouth thinned. Private security: where SEAL careers go to die.
He managed to avoid the window until just after eleven, when he couldn’t take it anymore and he stood up, cursing himself for his weakness.
A few minutes later, the girl came around the corner. Carter felt the familiar constriction of his heart as the streetlight casted a dull glow around her dark hair. She was limping tonight, favoring her right leg, and carrying a black bag in one hand. He frowned, watching her progress with concern. She was definitely stepping gingerly, and she was moving much slower than usual. So much so that he would probably be able to keep up with her if he followed her.
Carter made the decision in less than a second. Grabbing his crutch and a jacket, he left his apartment.On the street
It happened in the darkness under the overhanging branches of a gnarled old tree, where the searching fingers of light could not reach. The gap in the pavement where two slabs of concrete had pulled away from each other snagged at the sneaker on her injured foot and she pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain. She landed awkwardly on all fours, and the sting of scraped palms joined the pain in her foot. She gave a tearless sob and uttered a few choice swearwords. She must look a sight indeed, down on all fours with one leg elevated in the air behind her at an awkward and unattractive angle.
“Are you all right?”
The voice behind her came from absolutely nowhere. Mia swung around as much as was possible for a human in the dog-near-a-fire-hydrant-position and ended up landing on her ass. She scrambled back and saw the man limping closer. From her position on the ground, it seemed as if he was a giant, rising out from the mist, leaning heavily on a crutch and yet managing to walk without making a sound.
“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” she said, holding her black carry-all up like an offering. “But take what I have. Just please don’t hurt me.” Panic tightened her voice.
“I don’t want you money,” he said, stopping at a safe distance from her and holding out his hands to show he was unarmed. “And I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice was deep and soothing, somehow managing to calm her nerves.
“Let me help you up,” the stranger continued. He came closer and held his hand out. She hesitated a few seconds before letting him haul her up. She dusted her palms on her jacket, felt the sting of asphalt cutting into her skin like pieces of brittle glass. The enormous man held onto her elbow as she balanced on one leg.
“Thanks,” she said stiffly. “I hurt my ankle earlier tonight and I tripped on the pavement. I’m fine now, thank you.”
He didn’t reply and for the first time, she looked at his face. The faded street lights were casting mysterious planes over his face, highlighting his features. He had dark hair about a week overdue for a cut, and from what she could see, a strong nose and chin. His eyes appeared to be dark and intense, and his cheekbones were just high enough to make him handsome. His lips, however, looked soft and full and like an exotic dish, one you needed to serve up with strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream and what on earth was she doing, thinking about his mouth like she wanted a taste?
A sudden, unexpected dimple made its way to surface when he gave a small crooked smile, and suddenly he looked much younger.
“My name is Carter,” he said, as if it was important to him that she knew who he was. “I live in that building over there. See the balcony? That’s my apartment. I hurt my knee a few years back and it was bothering me tonight, so I decided to take a short stroll around the block. Saw you falling down. Why don’t you let me have a look at your ankle? What’s your name?”
“Mia,” she said.
“Mia,” he murmured, and for a single moment, it seemed as if he was tasting her name on his tongue, rolling it around his palate like a fine wine he wanted savor and appreciate. He led her over to the railing, and she balanced against it as he got down with some difficulty to examine her foot.
“Do you have first aid experience?” she asked when he started to prod lightly at her swollen ankle. He held her heel and rotated her foot slightly. She gasped, instinctively yanking back when pain shot through her leg.
“Easy,” he soothed, softly stroking. “It’s a really bad sprain. I used to be a hospital corpsman for the Navy SEALS, so I’ve seen my fair share of injuries.”
“You were a SEAL?” she asked and closed her eyes as the touch of his fingers on her leg sent tingles dancing over her skin. His hands were so soft, so gentle, as he tested the tightness of her shoe around the swelling.
“Yeah, but I screwed up my knee in an explosion so I’m no longer active. Listen, you need to get off your foot. It must be killing you.”
“It’s painful,” she admitted. “But I’m not too far from home.”
“Is there anybody who can fetch you?”
“No, only my sister and she’s too young to drive. Not to mention that we don’t own a car. Ouch, dammit, that hurt!”
“Sorry,” he said and got up. “Look, how far do you live?”
Mia looked at him. How far could she trust this man? She didn’t know him, but he seemed; kind, somehow. Gentle.
“About two miles,’ she admitted, and at his glower, looked down at her hands. She got the sense he was angry with her for some reason.
“I’m not letting you walk that far on an injury like that. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
Trusting somebody to help you up after a fall was one thing, but getting into a car with a stranger, leading him to her sister; that would be stupid, and reckless, and many other things she couldn’t afford to be.
“Thank you, but I’ll just call a cab.”
He nodded once. “Come wait inside, at least,” he said. “I’ll give you some ice and painkillers.”
She hesitated as the logical part of her mind warred with the part that was in pain and wanted nothing more than to get off her foot, have some painkillers and let somebody else make the decisions for once.
“All right,” she said after a few seconds. “Thank you very much.”He tried to see his apartment through her eyes, and wasn’t sure what to think. It was small, with an open plan kitchen and living room that was separated by a breakfast counter that held stacks of books on the one side. There were three doors leading from the sitting room. Though it was reasonably clean and neat and didn’t scream ‘poverty,’ it was a clear exhibit of his lack of funds.
She was glancing around anxiously, her eyes darting from his TV to the front door and back to the kitchen, where the dishes were piled neatly in the sink. He saw them linger for a few seconds on the three doors that lead out of the living room and sensed her fear of being trapped. She reminded him of a little animal, cornered and shivering, waiting to be attacked by a predator.
“The bathroom’s through there,’ he said, pointing. “Those two doors lead to the bedrooms. Don’t worry, I set up the torture chamber in the basement.”
He expected her to laugh at his lame joke, wanted to lift her mood, but she just gave a small, tight smile and clutched her tote bag closer to her body.
“Sit here,” he said, cupping one hand under her elbow and leading her to a comfortable wingback chair. “You have an interesting accent,” he said as he went into the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine that was his only indulgence. “It’s very faint, but I have an ear for languages. Are you from Europe?”
She was silent for a few seconds before replying. “My family came to America when I was very young. But yes, I was born in Europe.”
“Your accent is almost Slavic,” he said. “But not Russian. Not quite.”
She didn’t offer any further information, so he pressed. “Are you from Poland?”
“No,” she said, reluctantly. “Georgia.”
“It borders Russia and Turkey, doesn’t it?”
“I; yes. Yes, it does. You’re good with this.”
“Simple matter of geography. So how old were you when you left?”
“I was five.”
He did the quick math. “So you must have left in the time of the civil war in the early nineties.”
She nodded her head and he watched the movement play with her hair. “We first went to Poland, and from there made our way here. My stepfather had some; business associates that -
About Last Night
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Well, she thought almost bitterly as she got dressed in sweatpants and a plain black sweater that was soft and a little loose after her latest, and to date most successful, weight-loss plan. She considered shoes, but settled for her fluffy pink slippers instead. So much for her brilliant theory. She had sat there for hours and hours on the most uncomfortable stool ever, drinking glass after glass of whiskey because she didn’t know what else to order and was too shy to ask.
And nobody; not even one man; had shown any interest in her. The only one who talked at her at all was the hot bartender, who…
The bartender! Of course! That’s why the man had looked familiar to her in her bathroom. His features had been blurry without her glasses, of course, but she was reasonably sure it was him. She was almost a hundred percent certain of it. The only question was; what was he doing in her apartment?
“It’s a long story,” he said when she asked him later, in her kitchen, her hair wrapped up in a towel and perched on her head. His eyes followed her movements around the kitchen as she got milk from the fridge for the coffee and put bread in the toaster. The irony of the morning-after-nothing-happened breakfast didn’t escape his notice.
“I have time,” she said carefully, closing the blinds to avoid all possible sources of light. “Give me the quick version.”“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You were drunk, I helped you home. My keys are locked in my car and I couldn’t get a cab to come get me. That’s it, in a nutshell. And because I know you’re still wondering, I spent the night on your couch, shivering a little. Ok, shivering a lot. It was damn cold. Plus I have a crick in my neck now.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d waken me up, I would at least have helped you with a blanket.”
“I could have used your hairdryer to build a nuclear bomb right next to your bed and you wouldn’t have woken up. You were out cold.”
Another wince.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been that drunk before. I’m really not the type.”“I know,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “You told me last night.”
She chewed her bottom lip nervously. Brandon wanted to take that hot little task over for her. He imagined nibbling on those petal soft lips and cleared his throat a little.
“What else did I tell you?” she wanted to know apprehensively.
“Well, you work in a library, and you can’t lie even to telephone salespeople.”
“Is that all?”
“Not by a long shot. By the way, what does technically mean?”
She frowned and cocked her head in a ‘what do you mean?’ way. “Technically?”
“Yes. When is something technically and when is it; I don’t know, untechnically? Physically? Literally?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and smeared a thin strip of margarine over her dry toast.He cupped his hands around the plain white cup filled to the brim with coffee and leaned forward.
“Tell me,” he said conversationally, sadistically waiting for her to take a bite of toast. “How does one remain a virgin, but only technically?”
She started choking as he’d expected, coughing and wheezing and grabbing her coffee to help the dry bread down the right pipe.
“What?”“Apparently, if you were speaking the truth last night which drunk people seem prone to do for some reason, you are technically still a virgin, but not in a physical sense. I was just wondering how that happens.”
“I told you that? Oh my; I’m so sorry!”
He laughed at the red flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Relax,” he said. “Its fine. I would just love to hear that story. Because there has to be a story.”
“Not really,” she muttered, and then, as an afterthought, “I’m never drinking again.”
“Wise words that has been spoken by many, many people over the years.”
“I mean it,” she insisted. “I honestly can’t believe I told you that.”
“Virginity is nothing to be ashamed of,” Brandon said, stroking one finger down her arm.
“It kind of is, when you’re twenty nine.”
He gaped. “You’re twenty nine and you’ve never had sex? How the hell had that happen?”
“I don’t know, it just; happened,” she muttered. “Or more to the point, it just never happened.”
“There must be a reason,” he prompted.“There isn’t one specific reason, it’s more like a series of non-sexual incidents, strung together by everything from dating sites to five-minute dating games and more blind dates than I can count.”
“I take it none of that worked for you?”
“I met the most interesting people. Like Mike, who was seventy two at the time, and told me he had a granddaughter fantasy he wanted to play out with me.”
“He wanted you to pretend to be his granddaughter?”
She shook her head. “If only. I’m not sure how this would have played out since I didn’t stick around to find out, but I had to play the grandfather. And he was one of the better options.”
Brandon sat back, stunned. “No way,” he said disbelievingly.She nodded. “I’m serious. After him was a series of serial losers; men who couldn’t hold on to jobs and girls and had to borrow money from one loan shark to pay off the next. The type of guys whose idea of cleaning out the trailer means letting a stray dog in to lick the stains from the floor and to put all the porn in one box.”
Oh, he was in deep shit, Brandon thought as he roared with laughter. She had a sense of humor. There was, to his mind, nothing sexier in a girl than a sense of humor.
“And after them?”She frowned. “I met this guy, his name is Stanley, online. We went on a few dates and it didn’t go too bad, till his parole officer contacted me to let me know he was back in jail for harassing little kids at a park.” She winced. “It was messy. The police went through my house, looking for signs of kiddie-porn. Apparently he was part of a child-prostitution and trafficking ring. I had no idea. I got off with a warning, since there was no evidence that I was involved, and he told them that I knew nothing. I suspect they still monitor my internet history every once in a while.”
Helpless laughter rocked through him. No wonder she was still a virgin, if these were the kind of men she stumbled across during her search.
“What about high school?” he asked. “And college?”
She looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in school,” she said simply. “I wasn’t even that shy girl that nobody talks to except when they need help with math, because I sucked at math. Still do, as a matter of fact. I didn’t fit in with any of the clicks. I wasn’t pretty and I wasn’t clever, and I didn’t have any secret talents. The only thing I was good at was reading, and I did a lot of that. But nobody makes friends in the school library, right? Especially not if the girl is chubby and have the fashion sense of a blind nun.”
“Now that part I can help you with,” he said. “Why don’t I go shopping with you and help you pick out a few outfits that will make the, uh, best of your figure?”She looked down at herself. True, she was wearing sweatpants, but they were new and still neat. And her sweater might be a bit too big after her diet, but it was of a good material and had been expensive and it didn’t lose shape in the wash. But his words made her feel downright dowdy.
“Do you remember what I told you last night?” he asked.
“I barely remember you, never mind anything you told me,” she said, stung.
He frowned a little and gazed at her with an intent look on his face that made her wonder if he could see more than what she revealed.
“You expressed the wish to… how to put this delicately? find somebody to enjoy yourself with, but you were concerned that you don’t have the right look and personality to attract men. I merely offered my advice to help you if you wanted an objective opinion.”“Oh,” she said, pushing her plate away from her with one finger.
Actually, what he’d promised was to help her learn to fake it, but Brandon was strangely reluctant to hurt her feelings by telling her that. She was female, after all, and would immediately conclude that he thought she wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, or didn’t have what it takes to attract men like ants to a syrup bottle.
And that was just bull.
Even if he had had almost those exact same thoughts not twelve hours ago.“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked after a few semi-awkward moments of silence.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
“Men are never nice unless they have an agenda.”
He winced. “Ouch. True, but ouch.”
She gave him a small smile. “So what’s your agenda?”
Getting in your pants.
“Maybe I want library privileges.”
She snorted. “Like what?”
Showing you what the reference section should really be used for.
“Maybe I have a fine for a book that’s late. Think you can help me make it disappear?”
Her smile was like the sunrise.
“Are you trying to bribe me?”He leaned forward with a grin. “Maybe I am. Are you corruptible?”
“Certainly not. I’m a good girl, you know.” She was trying hard to look prim and proper, and failing miserably. Her eyes; those bluer-than-the-sky eyes of hers; were filled with laughter behind her pretty glasses, despite the way she was pursing her lips and trying to look chastising.
“All right. So I’ll have to pay the fine, then. How about this? There’s a book I want to read, but it’s on a waiting list. I would love to be moved to the top of the list.”
She pretended to think about it. “That depends,” she decided. “What book is it?”He couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the invitation their flirting was issuing.
“The Art of Pleasuring Women,” he said, wondering if she would accept the unvoiced challenge.
She did, though her eyes widened slightly in scandalous provocation. “Well, now,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I guess I can be convinced. Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to be dissatisfied by your prowess. It would be sad for the poor girl if you didn’t know how to; get things done. You might even say it’s my civic duty to let you have the necessary instruction.”
His throat was a little dry and he lifted his cup to his lips, surprised to realize there wasn’t another drop. “Yeah,” he said. “Education is important. Speaking of education, I think it’s time for lesson one.”
“Lesson one in what?”
He grinned. “Making you irresistible.”Emily twisted her hair into a clip with a practiced movement. Brandon had given her couple of hours while he got a cab to take him home and get his spare keys, promising to be back for her first lesson. She felt awkward when he left, sure it would be the last time she saw him. She knew he thought her plain and uninteresting– he’d basically said it himself in so many words; and he had absolutely no reason to waste his Saturday on her. She was surprised at the desolation she had felt when she stood at her window, watching his cab pull off. He was the first man in a long time to be nice to her. Not many guys would go to the trouble he’d gone too to get her home safely. He’d looked after her as if they were friends, and this morning he’d joked with her and put her at ease, making her forget about the humiliation of her alcohol-loosened tongue of the previous evening. For goodness’ sake, she had told him she was still a virgin. Why on earth had she felt the need to share that with him? Now he would always remember her as that crazy girl who couldn’t handle a few drinks and had no taste in clothes. He was nice, and talking to him had been very nice and seeing him again would be even nicer, but she was not naïve enough to believe he would be back. Still, she couldn’t help taking extra care when she dried her hair and did her make-up. The result was less than satisfactory, to her own eyes. No matter what she did, she would be plain. Nothing could change that. She had never been pretty, nor would she ever be.
“And you’d best make peace with it,” she muttered to her slightly depressed image in the mirror. She threw open her closet and looked at the piles of clothes that had been arranged with military precision, according to color and styles.
It was a bit sad, watching her cupboard. Most of what she owned was either white or beige or cream, or any variation of that. There were blacks and navy blues, and a few browns and greys. Some dowdy shades of maroon and a mourning, drab purple, but that was it.Was this really what her life had whittled down to? Her job was going nowhere, fast, she had no relationships outside her head, and her closet looked like she let her grandmother do her shopping. Why on earth had she bought that grey and brown coat hanging in the back? It was horrible. It was hideous, even if it was made of the finest wool she’d ever touched.
Emily pulled it off the hanger and dumped it on the bed unceremoniously. She grabbed another jacket, a few skirts she was ashamed to say she’d worn more than twice. The heap on her bed piled high as she emptied her closet almost completely. She was feeling slightly frantic by the time she was done with the coats and jackets and started on slacks and trousers. Had she been blind her entire life, to wear this?
“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly said, disturbing her. Emily dropped a faded charcoal blouse on the floor in surprise. Her sort-of friend and downstairs neighbor was staring at the bed, which was covered with clothes, with an expression of revulsion. She must have used the spare key Emily had left with her, because Emily had locked the door behind Brandon. Usually Judith knocked, but Emily hadn’t heard anything.
“You!” said Emily accusingly, bending down to pick up the shirt and holding it out in front of her. “I blame you!”
“For what?” Judith asked, clearly not sure what to expect.
“This is partly your fault,” Emily scolded, shaking and accusing finger at Judith. “How could you let me wear this crap? In public?”Judith stared at the bed, her mouth working a little as she processed the situation.
“I thought you liked it.”
“You should have told me I look about ninety! What sort of friend are you?”
“Em, you always look neat. I thought…”
“Neat! I looked neat. And how many guys want to have sex with neatness, I ask you?”
“Uhm…” Judith cleared her throat. “Clearly, not as many as you’d like.”
Emily threw another armful of blouses; a mustardy floral, a khaki-with-frills and a navy box neck that looked like the wrong end of the fifties; on the bed.
“None, that’s how many,” she said grimly. “How am I supposed to get somebody to marry if I can’t even find a man to have sex with me? What’s wrong with me?”
“There is not a thing wrong with you,” Judith said immediately and loyally. “You just; appeal to a different demographic than the men you meet.”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered. “The men at the senior citizen really enjoy chatting to me on Library Tuesday. They show up by the busloads to come see me.”Judith stifled a laugh. “Why are you taking all of your clothes out of your closet?”
Emily sank down on her bead and glanced at the pile of ugly materials and styles.
“I’m getting rid of it,” she said darkly. “All of it. And I’m going to buy new things. Pretty things. Color, Judith, I need color. Pink and green and yellow. Red! I don’t even have a red dress. Why don’t I have a hot red dress?”“Red’s really not your color,” Judith said. “Or yellow, to be honest. You need to stay away from red and yellow, and definitely no orange.”
“See? Why haven’t you told me this before? Look at me, Judith, I’m a mess.”
Judith sat down next to her. “I guess you always seem so content, so at peace with your life. I used to envy you that. I’m the most unstable person I know, and you just never cared what people thought about you. I had no idea you were dissatisfied. I’m sorry I let you wear ugly clothes.”
Emily gave a small laugh and glanced at the empty hangers in the closet. There were two coats that had passed her test; a truly timeless black cashmere and a really warm, snowy white one she’d bought on sale but hadn’t worn yet because it would get dirty the second she ventured out of her bedroom.
“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I should have realized I need help long before now.”
“What brought this on?” Judith asked, picking up the mustard shirt looking at it shrewdly. “This would make an excellent floor rag, by the way.”Emily laughed slightly. “Nothing brought it on. I’m just; I’m tired of being part of the scenery in my own life, you know? When is it my turn to have some fun? I’ve been waiting so patiently for my life to begin, and look where it’s brought me. I’m twenty nine, I’ve never had sex, and I’m too scared to venture outside this comfort zone I’ve been digging for myself with serviceable clothing and comfortable shoes and not enough friends.”
“Your shoes are really ugly,” Judith said, honestly. “And I promise I’ll tell you from now on if you wear something that doesn’t work.”
Emily looked at her nearly empty cupboard. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll take this stuff to the Salvation Army, if they want it.”“Let me help with that,” Judith said. “I have a car, so it’ll be much easier for me. I know a great homeless shelter that needs donations desperately.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Emily said. “Why did you come here today? Did they drop my mail off in your box again?”
“No, I wanted to ask about that really hot guy I saw coming out of your apartment a while ago. Was he the cable repair man or something?”“No,” Emily said, blushing a little. “He; actually, he spent the night here. On my couch,” she added quickly. “Nothing happened. I was so drunk he had to bring me home from the bar.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “But you never drink,” she said.
“I did last night.”
“Never mind that, then. Oh my word, Emily, you let a stranger sleep over at your house? And you didn’t jump him?”“He wasn’t interested in being jumped,” Emily said. “He’s just; a nice guy I’m never going to see again.”
Judith chewed the inside of her lip. “Leave this stuff,” she said, “and bring your credit card. We’re going to go shopping.”Brandon paced the hallway outside Emily’s apartment. He’d been there for an hour and she still wasn’t opening the door. She was either avoiding him on purpose, or incapable of answering the damn bell, or, most probably, not home.
Which just plain pissed him off. Hadn’t he told her he would be back? She had no business being out when he wanted to see her!He kept walking, following the generic grey carpeting with the navy pattern with his eyes. This was ridiculous. He should be at home, watching sport or having an afternoon nap. He should not be pacing around, waiting for Emily to show up. What was he, a horny teenager who mistakes lust for love?
He forced himself to leave after another half hour. No girl was worth waiting for like this. It was pathetic and sad and told him, more than anything else, how much he needed to get laid. These; feelings he seemed to have caught, were like a disease. Or a virus. And the best cure for unwanted feelings is a good old-fashioned boink fest. He knew plenty of girls who would be more than happy to oblige. It was just such a pity he wasn’t interested in anybody except Emily.
Brandon scowled.“Are you sure about the dress?” Emily asked for the third time, loading the last of the shopping bags into Judith’s car. They’d spent almost five hours straight in the shops, with Judith dragging her from the one shop to the next, picking out clothes and smelling discounts from miles away. Her arms were sore from carrying the bags around, and her credit card had given up screaming in pain ten purchases ago. Instead,
-
Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn’t he stay away from her?
It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.
“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother’s sitting rooms.
“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.
Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He’d seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He’d seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He’d seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn’t do anything else. He’d seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they’d wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He’d seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He’d seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he’d never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody’s lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.
The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn’t ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.
Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.
“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time.
He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.
“It’s closing time,” he repeated. “We’re going to lock up.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I’ll just go then, won’t I?”
“Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home.
She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused.
“To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don’t own a car. Did I steal one?”
He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he’d never known to exist.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?”
“I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.”
“What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members.
“I’m a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn’t diminish the thoughts running though his head.The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.
“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn’t wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.
“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.”
He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way’ would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building.
“How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.”
He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl.
“You don’t live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?”
“Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly.
“A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out.
“Not the same thing.”
“Nope. But on second thought, I’m not sure you’ll find a cab in this weather.”
“That’s right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It’s snowing. Like a White Christmas.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn’t just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.“Let’s get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn’t just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She’d probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.
She didn’t even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes.
“You’re really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.”
“You’re the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You’re like a portable armrest.”
She didn’t giggle at that, and he wondered of she’d heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything.
“I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.”
He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet.
“What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes.
“I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?”
“You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed.
“I’m not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it’s cold.”
He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect.
“I take it you don’t drink often?” he said.
“Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I’ve never been drunk before.”
Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did.
“I’m sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it’s not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I’m no longer one. But I’ve never been with a man, you know?”
Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I’m too shy. Men don’t like that, right?”
“Some do,” he said, because what else could he say?
“Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who’s ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn’t like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That’s why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I’m even boring when I’m drunk.”“You’re not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.”
“I don’t think I’d know how,” she said. “I’m no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can’t even lie to telephone sales people. “
“I’ll help you,” he said impulsively. “I’ll show you how to fake it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. When you’re sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.”
“Like me,” she sighed. “I’m wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That’s my building up there.’
“That’s a gas station,” he said with a grin.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Then it’s not my building, is it?”
“I sincerely hope not.”They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.
“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.”
He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Emily,” she said.
Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he’d ever met.
“I’m Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?”
“Lesson?”
“In faking it.”
It occurred to him then that ‘faking it’ might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she’s with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl’s second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go.
“Okay. Wanna come up?”He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness.
She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere.
“Sure,”’ he said.It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was.
Yeah, because that’s what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought.
“There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn’t. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.
A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave.
He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side.
“You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head.
“Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.”
He made sure she wasn’t too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn’t she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn’t seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn’t allow pets.He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.
She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he’d notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn’t see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like.
He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she’d puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn’t that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?
He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn’t find his keys in his pocket.
It wasn’t in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren’t there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn’t touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!”
He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive.
He was stuck, and he’d be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn’t been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily’s couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won’t remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won’t be upset when he doesn’t show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you’re-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.
She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in
-
His Shared Slut posted by JessicasEroticRambloings ; narrated by Ava;Welcome To Steamy Stories PodcastShe gets a night with a black stud.
Posted by jessicas erotic ramblings. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
One day I got home from work, and my boyfriend had forgot to shut down his laptop. I figured I would do it for him but when I touched the trackpad the screensaver quit and I was staring at a porn website. I wasn’t surprised that he looked at porn while I was out but I was kinda surprised when I noticed it was all videos of white girls with black guys. My boyfriend was as white as white can be so I was certainly surprised to find out what obviously turned him on.
After he got home and we were in bed together I decided to bring up the subject and I asked him why he liked black men Fucking white girls. He was so embarrassed at first but I kissed him and told him I wasn’t angry but just that I was curious as to why it turned him on. He told me his buddy Mike had once told him that he was a lucky guy to be dating a girl like me and ever since then my boyfriend hadn’t been able to get the image of Mike and me having sex out of his head, and that every time he imagined the scene it made his cock hard.
His buddy Mike was a very good looking black guy and the thought that he found me hot kinda turned me on too. Then my boyfriend just blurted out that if Mike was interested would I wanna have sex with him, adding that he would want to watch it happen. I stared at my boyfriend kinda shocked he had just said what he had said but the idea of him wanting to watch his buddy Fucking me just got me so damn hot. I went straight down on my boyfriend and sucked his cock hard until he moaned and spurted cum into my mouth.
Two evenings later he came home and Mike was with him. My boyfriend sat down on the couch but Mike approached me and took my hand in his, lifting my hand and kissing it as he told me that he would love to be with me if I wanted him in return. I glanced at my boyfriend and he nodded his head at me telling me he wanted this to happen. A sudden rush of complete excitement washed over me and I kissed Mike on the lips. He kissed me and immediately started to undo my shirt and push down my shorts leaving me in my little bikini that I had been wearing laying out in the sun.
He took me in his arms as we kissed which felt wonderful as his big arms wrapped around me. He was so strong and fit with an amazing physique. I slid my hands up his chest and held his face as we kissed, his hands running all over my back and over my ass. I glanced over at my boyfriend and saw he was rubbing his hand against the bulge in his pants. I pulled off Mike’s shirt as my little hands slid over his incredibly sexy body. I think my boyfriend was expecting that his buddy was just going to bend me over and shove his big black cock into me and Fuck me like a little horny slut. Mike had other ideas as he stripped and picked me up carrying me to the bed.
He slowly pulled off my bikini and slid beside me on my bed, spooning behind me as his hands slid up my legs, over my tummy, my tits, as I turned my head to kiss him. Umm Mike wanted to make love to me and oh god I wanted him too. He slid his hand between my legs as he felt how wet I already was, sliding his fingers into my pussy as I grinded my ass back against his big hard cock. I reached back and wrapped my fingers around his cock caressing and feeling how big and hard he was. Umm I needed him inside me.
He moved closer against me and lifted my leg as he slowly slid his cock between my pussy lips, oh, I reached back to dig my nails in his side as he slid slowly and deeply filling my pussy with thick cock. Slowly he Fucked me as he held me in his arms, his hands on my tits, sliding all over me as we kissed. He made love to me for so long, making me cum multiple times on his cock as he slowly Fucked me so deep. My boyfriend hadn’t been able to hold out any longer and had cum hard as he stroked his cock. He watched us for a few more minutes then left the room leaving me with Mike as he made love to me all afternoon.
After so many orgasms in his arms it was his turn and he didn’t pull out before cumming so hard and deep inside my pussy. His cock so deep as he moaned and held my tits as he pumped so much cum into me. After laying together for a while I got up and wrapped a silk robe around me saying I was going to make some coffee. I walked down and my boyfriend was sitting at the kitchen table as I poured two cups of coffee. I kissed my boyfriend and said thankyou before I walked back upstairs with the cups of coffee and climbed back into bed with Mike.
By jessicas erotic ramblings, for Tumblr.
Nanny DutiesI get to keep up with the JonesPosted by jessicas erotic ramblings. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
I was interviewing for a job as a live in nanny for a family in the city. I had arranged the interview with Mrs. Jones who had told me to show up without a bra on. That was a bit of a strange request but I did as she had asked and wore a thin sweater with no bra underneath.
I arrived at the house and Mrs. Jones invited me inside. I was feeling super nervous about the interview and even more so because I knew my nipples were clearly visible beneath my thin sweater. She asked me a few basic questions about my previous jobs as a nanny before telling me that her husband, Mr. Jones, would be home soon and that he would be asking me the important questions. She then told me that she was going to be getting me ready for him. Getting me ready for him?
I had no idea what she meant but I soon found out as she opened up a closet and pulled out some rope and a small red silk scarf. Mrs. Jones told me to turn around and put my hands around my back and when I did she bound my wrists together with some of the rope. I asked her why she was tying my wrists together but she just told me to be quiet and then tied the scarf into a gag before fastening it around my head to stop me from talking. She then walked in front of me holding a pair of scissors and proceeded to cut my sweater open from bottom to top, exposing my tits. I gasped in shock as she cut my sweater open but she just said she would buy me a new one and laughed. More of the rope was wrapped around my body above my tits and then tied behind me pinning my arms behind my back. She then smiled and told me I was now ready for her husband’s questions. I had no idea how I was supposed to answer any questions if I was gagged but I was soon about to find out exactly what kind of answers her husband would be looking for.
Mr. Jones arrived home moments later and walked into the room to find his wife sitting next to a bound brunette. He greeted his wife with a kiss and asked her what my name was. She told him that this was Jessica and she was interviewing for the nanny position. He walked up to me and put his hands on my tits as he stared into my eyes. His fingers started circling my nipples and I was amazed how hard my nipples suddenly became under his touch. He seemed very pleased at this response as he smiled and gave each nipple a little pinch before he started to slap my tits with his hand. I gasped into the gag as my hard nipples throbbed from each hard slap from his hand. My nipples were becoming even harder. He then slid his hand down inside my pants and started to rub my pussy through my panties. My eyes went wide as I felt his fingers pressing against my slit through the fabric.
Mrs. Jones then asked him if I was wet yet and he told her that I was starting to get very wet indeed. It was very true. I suddenly felt like I had no control of how my body was responding to his every touch. Mr. Jones then pulled me over to the couch and pushed me down over the side as he pulled down my pants then pulled my panties down around my knees. He spanked my ass and told me not to move as he walked back to his wife. I could see them from the corner of my eye as Mrs. Jones started to unfasten her husband’s pants before tugging them down allowing his hard cock to spring free from its confinement. She rubbed her fingers over his length then put her mouth over his cock, sucking him for a few minutes as he stroked her blonde hair. She lifted her head and I heard her tell him that his cock was ready to continue my interview.
Mr. Jones walked back behind me and I felt him rub the head of his cock along my wet slit. He then said that it was time to discover if I was worthy before he slammed his cock into my pussy, pulling back then taking a few more hard thrusts to get his cock fully buried balls deep into my tight wet hole. I squealed into the gag at the force of his thrusts as his cock fully filled my pussy. He was so rough as he just slammed inside me, grabbing my long hair and yanking my head back as he Fucked me. Mrs. Jones walked in front of me and it felt like her husband was taking out some serious sexual frustration on my tight pussy. Mrs. Jones bent down to my eye level then told me how she had never been able to handle the kind of rough sex that truly satisfied her husband, and that as well as being a nanny to their children I would be her husband’s Fuck toy.
She asked me if I would like that and even though I couldn’t speak because of the gag, the screams I let out as I came all over his huge cock were the answer she was hoping for. My entire body trembled as he Fucked an orgasm out of me. As I screamed he spanked my ass hard and told his wife how my pussy was trying to suck the cum from his balls. He suddenly pulled out as Mrs. Jones knelt down beside me and took his cum load into her open mouth, her husband stroking his cock and groaning in pleasure, spraying his seed onto her tongue.
Mrs. Jones swallowed his cum as I was still bent over the couch with my cum dripping from my pussy. Mr. Jones pulled his pants up and told his wife to hire me as I would do very nicely. After he left she untied me and hired me as their new nanny-slash-Fuck toy.
By jessicas erotic ramblings, for Tumblr.
The BeastA nocturnal visitor wants more womenPosted by jessicas erotic ramblings. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
The moaning had begun hours ago, as it always did, faint and muffled through the numerous walls. At first it had been hard to make out, but steadily it had drawn nearer, and Jess knew it would soon find her. Her mother told her it was only a matter of time.
For months, Jess had to lie awake at night, listening to the screams and moans of her mother down the hall as the Beast visited her. The hall was long and Jess’s was the last room at the end, with her sisters’ rooms ascending in age toward her mother’s. At that distance, only the loudest calls from her mother could be heard, but heard they most certainly were.
At first it had only visited her mother, but the Beast could not be satisfied, and soon her eldest sister, Penelope, volunteered to be added to his visitation routine to offer her mother some relief. Penelope’s yelps and wailing were somewhat more audible than her mother’s, but the struggle was still mostly muted through the walls. Penelope’s sacrifice lessened the burden upon her mother, but it was still not enough for the Beast, and Jess’s mother and sister were always unable to walk the next day.
After a few weeks of this, Susanna then offered herself to the Beast after Penelope, and Jess could hear Susanna call out curse words as the Beast ravaged her, still ravenous after tearing after her mother and eldest sister Penelope. Still it was not enough, and the three women, though now somewhat ambulatory in the morning, still required much rest to recover.
Martina then stood with her elder sisters, and as her room was even closer, though still separated by one last room, Jess could now hear thumping and bumping of furniture against the walls and floor. Their scuffle apparently ranged all over the room, but it did not sound like Martina was able to escape. Still, the four women were exhausted the next day.
Only just weeks ago, Jess’s next-oldest sister Diana, had stepped up. The Beast was actually with her now, and as Jess lay in her own bed listening, the sounds were her clearest preview yet of what was to come. Diana shrieked and grunted as the Beast threw her around, at one point pinning her to the wall just on the other side of Jess’s room. Jess rubbed her clit even harder in anticipation as she listened to the Beast pound away.
She had worked herself up into quite a wet mess between her legs in the past two hours, trying to imagine what delicious torture the Beast was dealing to her elder sisters and mother. Sometimes she would take her fingers away and just lie there, almost able to feel the heavy thumps next door reverberating through the woodwork of the house and into her bed frame, not quite enough to push her edging into an orgasm.
Finally, Jess heard the sound of her sister limply collapsing to the floor as the Beast roared yet another climax. He was not yet satisfied, though, and Jess felt her heartbeat quicken as his heavy footsteps came for her next. They stopped just outside her closed door. Jess lay still, her fingers deep inside her soaked-to-transparency panties, clutching her swollen, juicy pussy, waiting for the right moment.
Then the door opened. There, in the faint light of the hallway, stood the Beast. His brawny body glistened with sweat, and his chest heaved as he panted. His cock hung between his legs, not fully hard but still heavily engorged. It literally dripped with a cocktail of cum.
As his shimmering silhouette moved into her room, Jess twitched in devilish delight, and it sent her over the edge, cumming before he’d even touched her. He watched her spasm as he circled the bed, a fire of delight in his eyes as he took in her writhing body. “Come here, little girl,” he growled, then grabbed her legs and spun her around. Jess gasped as she realized his cock had turned fully erect already and was poking at her tortured labia. He didn’t wait for her to finish her orgasm before he shoved his full length deep inside of her. So Deep.
For an unknowable number of minutes, air wouldn’t enter her lungs. Jess’s hands grasped wildly at random things, trying to get a grip on something, anything. The Beast was inside of her, hammering her, relentlessly invading and filling her, and she just couldn’t breathe. At long last, something unlocked in her chest and she gasped a deep intake of air, its scent a mixture of wood and sweat. Pleasure and pain mingled as one, and Jess now finally understood. It wasn’t just the Beast who couldn’t be satisfied. Jess now knew, as her mother and sisters had for some time, she would never find a lover equal to her stepfather.
Clawing her wits together, she wrapped her legs around his torso, pulling him deeper into her even as he stretched her wider, joining her mother and sisters in their determination to ensure he never found a better haunt.
By jessicas erotic ramblings, for Tumblr.
-
My Summer Job Search posted by JessicasEroticRamblings ; narrated by Ava;Welcome To Steamy Stories PodcastMy new step-dad helps me avoid mom’s mandate.
Posted by jessicas erotic ramblings. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
I was 18 and had just finished my final year of high school. My plan was to go to college in the fall but before then I just wanted to have some fun. I had been so stressed out with schoolwork for the past year and I needed to spend the summer having a good time with my friends before I was off to college. My mother had other ideas and had told me that now I was 18, I had to start contributing financially at home; which I was totally not happy about.
I wanted to have some fun over the summer and not be stuck in some summer job just to make my mother happy. She was such a killjoy and sometimes it felt like she never wanted me to be happy. There ended up being a big fight about it over dinner one evening and my stepfather John had actually stuck up for me and had said there was no need for me to contribute financially at the moment as they were not exactly hurting for money, but to my mother it didn’t matter. She said I had to get a summer job and that was it, end of discussion.
John worked from home so he was around the house all day while my mother was out at work. I liked John and as I lay in bed one morning I started to hatch a naughty little plan of how I could use John to help me avoid getting a summer job so I could spend the summer with my friends without my mother ever finding out. I climbed out of bed and searched through my closet looking for the shortest skirt I could find. I got dressed in a tiny black skirt and slipped on a silky shirt, choosing not to wear a bra underneath. Then I went looking for John.
He was sitting at his desk in his home office reading something when I walked over to him and sat on the edge of his desk next to him. The little skirt I was wearing rode up my thighs even higher when I hopped up onto the desk.
“Hi sweetheart, what’s up?” he said as I noticed him glancing at my little skirt and bare legs before quickly looking back at whatever he was reading.
“Oh nothing, really. Well actually there was one thing I wanted to discuss with you John, if you have a few minutes free for me?” I said as I smiled at him.
“I always have time for you Jessica. After all you are my favorite stepdaughter.”
“I’m your only stepdaughter.”
“Which means you’re my favorite,” he said with that stupid looking grin he had whenever he thought he was being funny. I rolled my eyes at him and shook my head as I noticed he was checking out my little skirt again.
“Anyways. I had this idea about the summer job thing that could make everybody happy,” I said as he realized he had been staring at my legs for too long and quickly looked back into my eyes. “Uh Oh. Jessica’s getting ideas. There’s trouble ahead,” he said and laughed. I smiled and rolled my eyes at him again. There was a lot of eye rolling when John was around.
“Well at dinner the other night you said you didn’t think I really needed a summer job as we weren’t hurting for money,” I said as I edged along his desk a little closer to him.
“Yes that’s right Jessica, you know my job pays very well and we don’t need you to contribute financially but when your mother gets an idea in her head it’s hard to change her mind,” he said.
“Well, this is where my idea comes in John. I was thinking that if you gave me a little money every month so I had enough to give to my mother to convince her I had a summer job, and maybe enough so I could go out and have a good time with my friends, then in return I could give you something nice?” I said to him as I pushed his reading material aside and slid along his desk until I was sitting directly in front of him.
“Something nice?” he asked as I watched him squirm in his chair a little. “What exactly are you asking me, here; or rather, offering me here, sweetheart?”
“In return for you giving me enough money to avoid getting a summer job so I can hang around with my friends all summer, I’m offering you; sex,” I said as I bit my lip and hoped to god he wasn’t going to flip out on me for being this inappropriate with my own stepfather. He just sat and stared at me for what was probably just a few seconds but what seemed like an eternity. Then he suddenly placed his hands on the soft pale skin of my bare thighs and smiled at me. He looked into my eyes as he slowly slid his hands further up my thighs until his fingertips reached the hem of my very short skirt.
“Is this a serious offer young lady? As this kind of thing is way too dangerous to be just said for fun or as a joke,” he said as he stared at me with a very businesslike look on his face. I wasn’t used to this side of John but I was so glad he was taking me seriously.
“It’s a serious offer John. I’m not a little girl anymore. I know exactly what I’m offering you in exchange for money,” I told him as he pulled his hands from my thighs and pushed his chair back a little.
“Come here and sit on my lap Jessica so you can tell me the finer details of your little proposal,” he said as he patted his thigh. I slid off the desk and sat sideways on his lap as he put an arm around my back to hold me. “Ok Jessica let’s get this straight. You are saying that if I give you a certain amount of money each month so you don’t have to get a summer job, you will let me Fuck you?”
“Yes John, that is exactly my offer,” I replied as I could feel his arousal growing as I felt his cock starting to bulge in his pants as I sat on his lap. He slid his hand over my knee and up my thigh, this time not stopping at the hem of my skirt. Sliding his hand beneath it until he was feeling my pussy through my panties.
“I love this idea Jessica but I think I need you to prove you are genuinely serious about what you are offering me. I want you to let me Fuck you right now,” he said as he continued to slowly rub my pussy through my panties while he moved my hair away from my neck with his other hand then started to kiss my soft neck. I hadn’t been expecting things to suddenly accelerate so quickly as I thought he might need some time to consider this kind of offer, but his touches and his kisses were making me horny.
“We can Fuck right now John,” I said softly as I felt his fingers pull my panties aside as he slowly slid a finger inside my now wet pussy. I bit my bottom lip as I moaned from his finger sliding in and out of my pussy. He kissed along my neck then started nibbling on my ear lobe as I squirmed in his lap.
“Jessica honey, I need you to ask me to Fuck you,” John whispered softly into my ear as my pussy was soaking his finger. Right at that very moment I couldn’t believe how much I actually needed him to Fuck me. It wasn’t just for the money. It wasn’t just to get out of a dumb summer job. I was so Fucking horny that I was desperate to be Fucked by a real man.
“John; please Fuck me. please do it to me,” I gasped breathlessly as John suddenly lifted me from his lap and stood me up facing his desk as he kicked the chair away. He pulled my top off then pulled down my little skirt before placing his hand on my back and slowly easing me down until I was leaning over his desk resting on my elbows. He told me not to move as I heard him pull off his shirt then unfasten and push down his jeans. He kicked them off as he stood naked behind me. I felt his hands caressing my shoulders then sliding down my back feeling the softness of my skin. His hands caressed my ass as he slid his fingers between my legs and back up to my pussy.
“Jessica sweetheart, I’m gonna admit that this past year I’ve been noticing how you have grown into a beautiful young woman. I’ve tried to suppress any naughty thoughts I’ve had about you but no longer. I wanna Fuck you girl. I wanna slide my cock inside this pussy and find out if it’s as tight as I think it is,” he said as I felt the head of his cock sliding along my slit. I moaned as he started to push between my wet pussy lips. I could feel my lips stretching around his swollen cock head and oh god I wanted him to Fuck me.
“Oh god, John!” I gasped as the head popped inside me then the first couple inches of cock starting to fill me. He slid his hands to my hips and held me as he pushed a little more. My back arched as John gave me his cock.
“Oh Fuck, your pussy is so Fucking tight. Oh god Jessica. Yes; Fuck Yes!” he groaned as he bottomed out deep inside me. My pussy was so full of cock. He started pulling back and pushing back deep. Just a few inches at first until his shaft was sliding easily inside me then he started Fucking me with his full length. I had never had a guy inside me as big as John and oh god it was heavenly. I was being Fucked against his desk and my nipples were so hard as my tits rubbed against the surface as he rocked me slowly back and forth along his shaft.
“Does that feel good Jessica? Do you love my cock Fucking your pussy my little baby girl?” he asked as I moaned as he Fucked me.
“Oh yes John! I love it. Oh John I wanna cum for you!” I whimpered as he had started Fucking me a little harder. He slid one of his hands to my shoulder then his other hand took a handful of my hair. John Fucked me harder as an incredible orgasm shook my body. I squealed for John as he Fucked me as I came on his cock. Oh god, I had never cum so hard in my life.
“Oh yes.. Cum baby cum! That’s it Jessica, cum for me while I Fuck your gorgeous cunt. You are so Fucking tight!” he cried out as he thrusted deep and hard. I could feel my right leg trembling as my orgasm coursed through me like an electric shock. My mind spinning as my stepfather slammed his cock into my soaking pussy. He pulled my head back harder as he said, “I know you’re on the pill so I’m not pulling out baby. I’m gonna give you my cum, right about; Now! Ah!”
“John!” I screamed as my pussy clenched his cock as he pumped his cum into me. He was thrusting slower but harder as I could feel his seed flooding my insides. He kept cumming and cumming until his thrusts finally slowed and he pulled me up until my back was against his chest. His cock still inside me as he slid his hands up to my tits, cupping them in his hands as he kissed my neck. He held me for a few moments until he pulled out of my pussy. He turned me to face him and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Clean me up, Jess,” he said as he gently but firmly pushed me down to my knees in front of him. His cock was glistening with our combined juices as I did as I was instructed and started to lick up the length of his cock. Tasting our mixed cum as my tongue slid up from the base of his shaft up to the tip. Every time my tongue flicked over the tip his cock twitched and he let out a little gasp. I looked up at him and smiled as I swirled my tongue around the tip.
“Oh you little minx,” he said as he smiled back at me. I answered him by starting to suck on the head of his cock. John groaned so loudly as I sucked him. “Jessica you’ve got me feeling like a teenager again. You’re making me Fucking hard again already.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I said as I smiled up at him.
“Not if you want more cock you horny little minx,” he said as he stroked my red hair. I kept sucking his cock which was now as hard as before as he looked down on me. After enjoying my mouth a little while longer he pulled me up to my feet. He lifted me up onto the desk and stepped between my legs. He placed his cock inside me again and pulled my legs around him. I moaned as he grabbed my ass in both hands and picked me up as I tightened my legs around his waist. My arms were wrapped around his neck as he held me against him with his cock deep inside me. John started bouncing me up and down on his hard cock as I moaned, my head falling back.
“Oh my god, your pussy was made for my cock baby. Umm so Fucking tight. You love it don’t you Jess? You love my cock Fucking your pussy. . tell me?” he gasped as he continued bouncing me up and down his shaft. My fingers were locked together around his neck as my tits bounced up and down.
“Yes; oh John, I love your dick. I wanna cum! I wanna cum!” I screamed as I stared into his eyes.
“Call me Daddy. Call me Daddy when you cum for me. Cum on my cock baby. Do it! Cum for me!” he yelled and I screamed as my pussy spasmed around his cock, gripping him like a vice as my entire body trembled in his arms.
“Daddy I’m cumming I’m cumming!” I screamed as he Fucked me through another orgasm. His cock slamming deep every time he dropped me back down onto his hard shaft. John was gasping and he dropped to his knees with my legs still wrapped around him. He lay me back onto the floor and lay on top of me never missing a thrust into my pussy as he wrapped one arm around my back to hold me while his other hand slid beneath my head to grab another handful of red hair. He stared into my eyes so lustfully then kissed me hard. His tongue pushing into my mouth, kissing me as his cock exploded hot and sticky inside me, pumping rivers of cum into my young teen pussy. Kissing me as he flooded my pussy once more. He broke the kiss then lay against me panting as his cock twitched emptying the last drops of cum inside me. I lay gasping beneath him as my legs let go of my tight grip around him.
“I love you Daddy,” I whimpered into his ear as he lay over me. He lifted up onto his elbows as he looked at me smiling. “I love you too Jessica,” he said and kissed me again. “Tonight we tell your mother you have a summer job as I need to Fuck every single day.
Later that evening as we were all sitting around the dinner table I lied to my mother about getting a summer job and John told her he had agreed to drop me off at work every day and to pick me up afterwards. She was very happy with this news and was even happier when I started addressing John as Daddy. She had hated the fact I had always called him John as to her it seemed like I wasn’t accepting him as my new father, so she loved that I was finally calling him Daddy. She didn’t need to know the real reason he was now my Daddy. While we were talking over dinner I had been rubbing my foot between John’s legs under the table and I could feel how hard his cock was bulging against his pants. It was fun watching him trying to keep his composure as he chatted to my mother.
John and I Fucked all summer long. After my mother had left for work we would Fuck all morning and then John would drop me off at a friend’s house and I would have fun with my friends all afternoon while my mother believed I was working Then around dinner time he would come and pick me up to drive me home. Most times I would give him a blowjob during the drive home as I genuinely loved John’s cock. It was the best summer of my life.
By jessicas erotic ramblings, for Tumblr.
-
Have you ever GIVEN a happy ending after receiving a massage? Today's story is about a businessman making the most of his VIP treatment. The link to this story posted by Reddit user u/ApexErotica is provided below:
https://www.reddit.com/r/YourSexyStories/comments/ukjilx/meeting_scarlet/
Visit the WholesomeIntimates.com and check out the Unlocking Intimacy Card Game!
-
Listen to the full audio erotica story: Night Games 🌹
You don't see your boyfriend much during the week, despite the fact that you live together. With both of you working long shifts and coming home exhausted, it's usually a little tough to get in the mood, but by the time you’re both home on Friday nights, you're begging for each other's touch.
Please be aware that this explicit erotic story is intended for mature audiences. Listener discretion is advised.
-
Listen to the full audio erotica story: Hands On 💆♀️
You've been a regular at that yoga class for what feels like forever, thaks to the instructor who's as knowledgeable as he is good-looking. Recently, he mentioned he's branched out into massage therapy and casually hinted you should drop by sometime. Friendly professional offer or an intimate personal invitation? Lying down on his table, it quickly becomes clear that the attraction is mutual.
Please be aware that this explicit erotic story is intended for mature audiences. Listener discretion is advised.
-
Malcolm sees a naked woman under a waterfall. Read the story on Erotica Lust.
https://eroticalust.com/a-summer-love-affair-ill-never-forget
My debut novel, My Wife and Girlfriend , is available for only $3.99. LIMITED TIME! Watch the book trailer and get more information about the special.
- Visa fler
