It’s All in the Words By Charles E.J. Moulton

I sat behind that incredible looking chick, flabbergasted. There was no other word I could use to describe her. Those humungous knockers, luscious like juicy watermelons. Enjoying the sight of her astounding boobs not only raised my dick about three feet, she had my heart racing like crazy. Dive into that cleavage, boy, I thought to myself, and vanish. Move into Chrissie’s wet and pouting little vagina forever.

I know, I know, I really was supposed to be concentrating on work. This short conference had a bunch of us together from the theatre that had not done the show before. Chrissie had been assigned to brief us through the moves by the way of a video of last season’s premiere. So I wrote down my notes in the textbook, moves and intensions and so on, but all I could think of was throwing this fucking cockteaser over the desk and ramming my hard penis into her pussy from behind, watching her voluptuous bumcheeks wobble like Jell-O as I thrusted toward a five-gallon-of-sperm-climax.

Even worse, she wore a tight blouse that really showed off her curves in such a delicious way, her bra pressing down upon her voluptuous titties under her striped shirt, pressing so hard into her Victoria’s Secret and so bad into her meaty boobies that I literally saw her rack eagerly hoping to hop out onto my happy prick.

And then the belly free bit, the open skin-space between her black blouse and her beige pants. A little bit of cuddly flesh, revealing enough to leave something to the dirty imagination: the wet dream of ripping off those cute little trousers, showing off two peachy apricotlike buttcheeks, welcoming enough to make me wanna fuck the shit out of her real hard.

That blonde, flowing hair, that friendly smile, those sexy dimples, that happy-go-lucky and very open dickpleaser-personality. All of that made me wonder how many men she had fucked and sucked or how many men – and women, for that matter – had wanted to fuck and lick her lucious little pussylips.

I bet you want dick real bad, you dirty  crumpet, I felt like telling her.

Her ass, oh, how it molded into those pants. Perfection. I really sat there, imagining myself reaching into her flower-decorated panties, fingering her throbbing and dicklusting pussy. As I seriously took notes, trying my best to concentrate on work – damn, boy, work, work, work, damn it – I imagined this slut sitting naked on her desk, spreading her legs, opening her three rows of wavey pussyfolds, showing me the pink inside of her wet cunnilingus, asking me to eat her vagina. In my dreams, she sat on my face and I drank her cunny willingly, drinking litres of clitjuice in the process through a five foot straw. How’s that for a smoothie? Holy cow, she really had me by the balls.

I walked away from work that night absolutely confused. The only damn thing I could think of was how to get into her beige pants. Fucking that hot cockteaser was probably the best thing that could happen to any horny man. I knew, however, that I could not fuck her. Okay, I would have adored to. But a married man does not fuck around, even if I had enjoyed daydreaming of having Chrissie’s pouting little lips surrounding and devouring my squirting cock. That face covered in cum. How wonderful was that? Wow. That’s how wonderful.

Okay, I told myself, take a cold shower, calm down, do some math, buy an algebra book, for God’s sake, do your taxes, anything just to get that cocksucking little whore Chrissie out of your mind.

I noticed that writing a made up story about Chrissie in my smartphone app sort of healed the aching testosterone levels. It felt, inside, like I really had fucked that babe long and hard, perhaps even sticking my schwanz into that teasing bitch’s butthole for a whimper and a squeeze, turning her office desk into Cock Ewing’s Giant Hot Dog Rodeo Ride.

Gee Wiz, I desperately needed a cigarette.

Whew.

There’s a hole lot of fun a red blooded wanker can have without ever being unfaithful.

It’s all in the words.

What did I need now?

Oh. Okay. Maybe a wank.

Or fucking my wife.

Oh, yes. Indeed. My wife.

The world’s best cocksucker.

She really knew how to please a man’s long dick.

So nice and easy coming home.

I feel my dick growing now.

I gotta go and get myself some really hot and wet little pussy.

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Adventures Of A Sex Addict: Tributes By Mr E

Based on true events.

For those of you who have never heard of tributes in a sexual deviant/perve context let me explain:

Women/ladies/pornstars/wanna-be pornstars, models, horny girls; post suggestive and damn right erotic photos of themselves on social media: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, you know the ones. Most of these photos are nudes, some are headshots with bare shoulders, some are full-length body shots. And everything in between. Some cater to fetishes, so there are hands, there are feet photos, there are breast photos, and even close-ups of other lady parts. I think you get my drift.

So, the ladies post the photos. Then they wait.

Then the retweets start to flood in. The comments. And the likes.

Men take these photos, the head-shots, the boobshots, the nudes, the nakeds, the feet, and the knees (don’t ask me!), they print them out and they offer tribute. In the form of sperm, spunk, jism. They cum on the photos and then post photos of them back on social media.

Some of the girls like to have a little competition, posting their naked photos and giving “prizes” to the fastest shooter.

There’s a girl in London I follow on twitter. She seems to spend most of her day having her face spunked on. In real life, not just tribute. She invites men from Tinder to cum all over her face. Normally she likes more than one, so she’s properly covered. Her boyfriend joins in when he’s available, but when he’s not she’s not exactly fussy.

She makes videos. Sells them on manyvids. She does pretty well, judging from the jewellery, the Gucci shoes, the Porsche she drives. Her name’s Mariah, or at least that’s what she calls herself. Originally from Italy, but living in London most of her life, she makes money as an independent pornstar.

She’s one of many such girls I follow on twitter and Insta, along with hundreds of other pornstars, webcam girls, and escorts.

Mariah had a competition the other day. She posted while I was trawling through some porn pics and vids, so I thought I’d give it a go. I was there, looking at the photo on my ipad and printing it off, stroking away at my cock, when someone posted. The photo all spunked over.

I was too slow. My printer was still printing out, dammit.

I contacted her via direct message. Asked her if she’d be interested in meeting up. She told me a price. I thought it was a bit steep. I only wanted to cum on her face, I could get full sex for half that.

Sometimes I wish being a sex addict was cheaper. Actually quite often. I’d already spend two hundred pounds on webcams that month, and three on escorts, and it was only the tenth.

I needed a cheaper option.

There was this girl at work. She was cute, blonde, a bit chubby, but with big boobs. If I didn’t have a girlfriend, or if she didn’t know I had a girlfriend, then I may well have tried to shag her. As it was we were friendly. I knew she’d given a blowjob to one of the contractors, she knew I’d had sex with a woman older than my mum. We’d somehow got to the subject of sex and shared some stories, obviously I had plenty, and we’d bonded.

She was having a hard time at work, so I arranged a meeting and we had a chat. She told me how she felt. I listened and tried to comfort her. Eventually, fifteen minutes in, we started talking about sex. She was having it off with a married Frenchman who told her he didn’t like her having sex with other men. I told her about the tributes.

She was always complaining about how poor she was. I told her I wanted to do “live tributes” if only I could find the right girl. I said I’d pay, may be £50 for the right girl.

I left the seeds to grow.

A couple of weeks later I contacted her again. Told her how horny I was. Said I wasn’t getting any action at home and I needed to have a wank.

She asked me what I was going to do about it. I told her I couldn’t do anything in my open plan office. I asked her if she was busy. I asked if she wanted to earn some money.

She said no, and yes. She said she would meet me.

At lunchtime we rendezvoused. I took her to a meeting room, we locked the door and we sat down with a table between us, staring at each other for a moment.

“I’m not sure about this,” she said.

I pulled out my erection. Then my wallet. I put the money in her hand. She was just staring at my cock in shock.

“I’m going to wank, if you want to take off your top that would be so fucking sexy. I want to cum for you,” I told her, and then starting stroking my dick.

I left my trousers on, my cock pocking out through the zip.

She watched me for a few moments, then pulled off her jacket. She got comfortable on the chair. Then she pulled her top off over her head. She sat there half naked. Her full breasts barely contained by her well-fitted bra.

“Damn you are sexy,” I said to her and started stroking harder and faster. The head of my cock bobbing towards her.

She smiled and licked her lips as she watched me wanking.

I watched her, maintaining eye-contact as much as possible, but checking out her big round breasts. She squeezed them together for me. Then pulled one, then the other, over the top of her bra.

I stroked my cock harder and faster. The energy was building. I could tell this wasn’t going to last long. Being at work, the possibility of being caught, doing something with a friend, someone not my girlfriend, all added to the excitement.

I stepped towards her, my thighs hitting the table.

“So sexy,” I murmured and then groaned as my spunk shot across the table towards her. She looked down at my spunk, made a quick disgusted face and then stepped away.

She put her breasts back in her bra, pulled her top over her head while I wiped up the mess. A pocketful of tissues that I’d brought along coming in very handy.

I gave her a peck on the cheek and said: Same time next week?
She nodded uncertainly.

We flirted every day until we met again. It was three session of my wanking until she finally got completed naked for me. She was self-conscious and it was cute. We were standing there staring at each other. My cock in my hand, her fingers inside her pussy. Mutual masturbation is slightly weird, but fun. Standing there watching someone else cumming for you is still fucking hot though. Orgasms, like yawns, are contagious.

It was the fourth time that she let me touch her. I grabbed her boob and she gasped. The next time I got sticky fingers and licked her nipples.

The sixth time I bent her over the table and we fucked. It was hard and energetic. I pounded into her as fast and hard as I could. She groaned with pleasure as I leaned over her back, my fingers rubbing her clit as my cock sunk deep inside her. I grabbed her hips and pulled her into me while I thrusted. There was no way I could get deep enough inside her. I kissed the back of her neck and she swiped my face away with her fingers. Too much like boyfriend/girlfriend. It just made me thrust harder and faster inside her, trying to batter my way into her womb. One of my fingers hovered near her arsehole, but I didn’t push my luck.

I spunked all over her arse. I didn’t give her any money that time, we decided it was too much like prostitution if I paid her for sex.

Then she got a boyfriend.

She said she couldn’t have sex with me anymore. I asked her why, and she said we shouldn’t be doing it. It wasn’t fair on our partners.

We still did the tribute. Just no touching this time. I gave her fifty pounds again. She even let me cum on her tits every now and then, for old time’

Between a Beginning By Peter Baltensperger

If it hadn’t been for the rain, the man with the black umbrella wouldn’t have gone for a walk in the park. He was very particular about that, as he was about so many things. It was a simple cause and effect sequence, the way it had to be and always was. He also liked to attach beginnings to beginnings, endings to endings, the ways of all things. It was also for that reason that he only went for a walk in the park when it rained and he could take his black umbrella with him, another particularity in the grand motion of the universe.

He walked along his customary path, his umbrella pulled down over his head. He didn’t need to see anything: he knew where he was and where he was going, his security. Yet he let one side of the umbrella slip upwards, perhaps from a sudden gust of wind, and turned his head. What he saw was a gazebo in the middle of the park and what appeared to be a beautiful young woman dancing under the roof, like a prima ballerina, he thought. It could well have been a coincidence, or perhaps a synchronicity, he still wasn’t sure about that even afterwards. The only thing he knew for sure was that the woman was important in some mysterious way.

Even though he was reluctant to stray from his gravel paths, he stepped into the rain-soaked grass and sloshed his way over to the gazebo. The woman stopped dancing. He handed her his umbrella, but the woman didn’t know what to do with it. Without closing it, she stood it against the bench and let the rain drip down on the wooden floor. He would have done the same thing, except that he had better things to do, one of the vicissitudes.

The woman eyed him curiously. He wished her naked and she readily complied. She was only wearing a simple, loose shift. She quickly pulled it over her head and stood naked in front of him, proud, full breasts, a sensuous triangle of wispy blond hair even though her hair was black, long legs. She folded her shift carefully into a square and put it on the bench next to the umbrella. He took off his clothes and tossed them on the bench on the other side of the umbrella. There was no time for details in a night like that. He stepped up to the woman and took her into his arms, pressed his body against hers. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, hungry skin against hungry skin.

His twitching penis pressed urgently against her belly, but she detached herself from him and walked out of the gazebo and out into the rain. He wished her on her back in the wet grass with her legs spread as wide as she could, only to see her bend over backwards until her hands touched the ground. He was looking straight down on her pussy with the raindrops bouncing off her rosy labia. She inched her feet apart very slowly so as not to lose her balance but to open her pussy for him as much as she could.

He put his hands under her buttocks to hold her up and keep her balance in her precarious position. Then he dove right in and licked the raindrops off her fragrant offering, delighted in the aroma of her juices mixed in with the rain, probed her with his tongue until he could hear her utter a throaty moan and her legs began to tremble. Without hesitation, he found her protruding clit with his tongue and started to lick it and rub it until she went into groaning convulsions. He fondled her for a while longer to help her through the rushes of her orgasm until her body slowed down again and she sighed deeply with satisfaction.

She didn’t move from her acrobatic position, so he kept holding her in his hands and brought his erection to her rain-soaked, juice-drenched opening. She shuddered in his hands and he slowly pushed into her until he had buried himself in her silky-smooth cave. She held completely still so as not to disrupt his penetration, then began tightening and relaxing her internal muscles in unison with his excited thrusts. It didn’t take him long after that to shudder and shake himself and gush his ejaculate forcefully into her.

No sooner did he withdraw from her comforting cave than she righted herself and stood face to face with him. She told him she was a professional contortionist and loved the rain, rather unnecessarily, he thought. But he told her that it was cute of her to tell him that. She also told him her name was Gloria, even though he didn’t know his own name himself. He kept looking for it wherever and whenever he could, but he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not even the gazebo helped, or his pulsing erection in her excited receptacle, another one of those unpredictable moments in the cosmic rotations.

He wished her on her back again in the wet grass with her legs wide open for him, but she began folding herself into a pretzel instead until he could barely tell one body part from the other anymore. The rain was falling all around her, droplets were dripping off her from all over her body, and she calmly pretzeled herself into an incredible enigma. He kept trying to figure out what was what and which way was up, but he didn’t get anywhere until her head appeared from between two limbs and she looked up at him with a proud smile.

She opened her mouth wide in a gesture of eager anticipation and beckoned him with a hand that suddenly appeared out of somewhere. He went down on his knees and brought his erection to her full lips. He put his hands on her contorted body, for his balance as much as for hers, then slid into her mouth and let her suck him. Her agile tongue was all over his penis, licking his tip and his shaft and sucking him with her eager lips until his second orgasm welled up inside of him and he emptied himself into her once more.

There wasn’t anything he could do for her the way her body was intertwined, but she uncoiled herself until she stood on her shoulders with her legs straight out from her pelvis. He had never seen anything quite like it and he made sure he enjoyed every moment of his second excursion into the wonder that was her pussy. He licked her carefully to savor all the different tastes, touched her with his fingers to feel the delectable contours, penetrated her to feel the soft insides.

She didn’t seem to be getting tired or feeling uncomfortable in her unusual position, so he took his time with his explorations and only concentrated on her clit when she began to shiver and groan. He reached down and for the first time was able to hold her breasts in his hands, then fondled her nipples at the same time as he sucked at her clit. He could feel her mounting excitement, the tremors rushing through her body, and he sucked her clit as vigorously as he could. Before long, she shuddered through her second orgasm as well.

Again he held on to her for a while to help her savor her joyful release. When her body stopped trembling and her moans faded away into the night, he let go of her to let her come down from her upside down position. She briefly folded herself into a tight ball, then jumped to her feet and stood in front of him once more. They took each other into their arms, dripping with rain and overjoyed from the mutual experience. One of these days, he thought, pressed against her luscious body and shivering with absolute delight, he really had to make a concerted effort to find his name, just for the security and the balance of it all.

The Hangover Cure By Holly Day

Pete was at the door, banging louder than anyone had a right to at nine in the morning. Anna ran her fingers through her knotted hair as she marched to the door, feeling horribly and defiantly unattractive as she marched to the door in her sweat pants and faded t-shirt. “That was quick,” she said as she let him in, rubbing at some of the cat hair that was sticking to her clothes. As if on cue, Max poked his head from around the corner and proceeded to slithered around her ankles, putting even more cat hair on her than she had just removed.

“That’s a nice cat,” said Pete, leaning down to scratch the big orange tom. Max arched his back in delight and rolled over on Pete’s feet a few moments before running off to hide in the kitchen. Pete straightened up smiled at Anna. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together like he was about to do something important and organized. “You ready for my great hangover cure?”

“Sure,” shrugged Anna. “So long as there are no eggs or tomatoes involved, I’ll try anything.”

“Good,” he said brusquely. He waved at the couch and ordered, “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll be just a minute.”

Anna obediently went to the couch and sat down as Pete went into the kitchen and began opening and closing refrigerator and cabinets doors noisily. “You need any help in there?” she called out, nervous as to exactly what this hangover cure would entail, since she was sure there wasn’t anything but a couple of cans of soup and half a carton of milk left in the kitchen.

“Nope!” answered Pete, poking his head around the corner, waving a frying pan at her. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Sounds good,” said Anna. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She wondered if Pete would be angry if she just fell asleep while he was making whatever the hell it was that he was making in the kitchen.

“Put this on,” said Pete, suddenly close by. Anna opened her eyes blearily and saw him standing in front of her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of black fabric. “Put it around your head so that your eyes are covered. C’mon,” he said when she started to protest. “It’s part of the cure.”

“Oh, God,” said Anna, taking the piece of cloth from him and tying it around her eyes. “What in the world could you be getting ready to feed me that you don’t even want me to see it?”

Pete laughed and patted her gently on top of her head, like she was a puppy or a stupid child. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is guaranteed to work.” Anna could hear him walking away once more, heard the front door open for a moment, then close again.

“Shit,” sighed Anna, closing her eyes. The blindfold made everything nice and dark, just like it was nighttime. At least it would be easier to fall asleep with it on than without. “Did you go home already?”

“Nope, I’m still here,” said Pete, very close this time. “I put my bag outside the door so that the cure… ingredients…. would be a surprise. I wouldn’t want you poking around and discovering all my secrets this early on.”

Suddenly, cold hands slid up under Anna’s sweatshirt, up her stomach and gently cupping her breasts. She jumped back a little bit, suddenly very awake. “Whoa,” she said, reaching up to pull off her blindfold. One of the hands moved away from her breast to stop her hand and push it gently back down to her side.

“Shh,” said Pete. “It’s my world-famous hangover cure.” He kissed her, prying apart her sticky lips and licking all the early-morning fuzz from the inside of her mouth and even her teeth. His tongue filled her mouth to capacity, his kiss sucked the air out of her until she felt light-headed and empty. She closed her eyes and lay back against the couch  feeling his mouth move from her lips to her neck, his gigantic hands squeezing her breasts almost too hard.

“This is your cure?” she giggled when she could catch her breath again. “I have to warn you, I’m a real lousy lay when I’ve been drinking, and even worse the next morning.”

“Shh,” said Pete again. Anna felt him tug at her pants, and instinctively grabbed one of his hands. He stopped tugging and said, close to her ear, “Any time you want me to leave, just take the blindfold off. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing it, if I’m in the middle of it and you take it off, I’m gone.”

“Okay,” answered Anna. She let go of his hand and let him tug her cat-hair-covered sweat pants all the way off, sliding them down to her ankles and slipping them off over her feet, one at a time. Anna waited to feel the hands that would pull her t-shirt up over her head, preparing herself to help keep the blindfold from slipping off with the shirt, but it never happened. He left her socks alone as well, so that her feet were warm and comfortable while the tiny hairs on her legs stood up in goosebumps from the drafty apartment, making her feel a little like she did when she was at the gynecologist’s, naked save for a paper gown and a pair of rolled-down tube socks.

“Open,” Pete ordered, pulling her knees gently apart with his incredibly warm hands. Everywhere he touched on her skin grew warmer simply from being in contact with him, and Anna wished he would touch other parts of her that weren’t so warm, like her chilly calves, or the naked parts high on her thighs that seemed to catch just about every breeze in the apartment. She could just imagine how wonderful it would feel to have him simply rub her legs up and down with those gigantic, warm hands, like the way she’d seen people do to hyperthermia victims on TV, how they would warm her whole body up, put her right to sleep.

She was so engrossed in thinking about how nice it would feel to be so comfortably warm that when he put his finger in her, she actually jumped a little in surprise. The finger disappeared, and Pete asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” waved Anna, angry at herself for scaring him and his finger away. “It just startled me. I wasn’t expecting it, for some reason, although that sounds like a really stupid thing to not expect.”

“Good,” said Pete, and this time, she felt his mouth on her cunt, his tongue pushing the lips of her labia apart and finding her clit. She floundered with her arms until she found his head between her legs. Her immediate impulse was to push him hard into her crotch, but, instead settled on patting the top of his head, tousling his hair a bit in the confusion, before putting both her hands behind her head and burying them in her hair where they couldn’t get into any more trouble. She grabbed her own hair tightly and pulled until her fingernails dug into her palm, spreading her legs apart to that nothing down there could possibly be neglected.

Pete continued his steady lapping, settling into an obvious but pleasant reinterpretation of the alphabet, moving fluidly from a distinguishable “A” to a slightly-muddled “B” and an almost useless “C,” and back again with a very effective “D.” Around “G”, he stuck his finger into her one more, a little rough, a little fast. Anna winced, immediately trying to make her expression look more like ecstasy than mild annoyance, trying to ignore the jagged hangnail she could feel dragging against her insides as he did so.

A few moments later, the finger disappeared. Anna could hear paper rustling, some shuffling, more rustling. The tongue disappeared, and something thin and cold slithered inside of her, about as thick as a finger but much longer. Pete pushed against he until the thing as deep as it could go, warming up as it retracted, and back in again, deep enough that Pete’s knuckles pressed against her clit, his fist wrapped around the thing inside her. Then the tongue was back, picking up where it left off, and Anna clenched her muscles around the hard, cold object, wishing she had more.

Almost as though he could read her mind, Pete pulled the thing all the way out of her, and replaced with another cold object at least twice as big as the first. Anna felt her insides spreading around the thing, wider until she was almost positive that whatever the thing was, it wasn’t supposed to go inside her. Pete pushed her legs open even more, throwing one of them over his shoulder as he worked, and resumed licking at her engorged clitoris, gently pulling and pushing on the oversized object lodged inside her just a little bit in, just a little bit out, until she was wet enough to take the whole thing in.

Anna felt the orgasm starting up deep inside her, felt the walls of her cunt  bucking helplessly, her head full of fireworks as her muscles exploded. Pete held the object in place as her body tried to push it out of her with the force of her climaxing, held it in place until she was lying back against the couch, hands twitching, toes digging into the short acrylic carpet fibers. “You want another one?” he asked from somewhere far away. “Are you ready?”

“Gu,” said Anna, waving one of her hands vaguely, unable to speak. “Hm,” she added. Pete apparently took this as a yes and set to work all over again, patiently reapplying lube to his fingers and the dildo as Anna drifted in an out of consciousness, exhausted, wondering if he would take offense if she just fell asleep while he was diddling her. After a while, she came again, not as explosively this time, but longer and more beautifully. A sunrise flooded the corners of her tightly-closed eyelids, cartoon birds twittered in her ears, and Pete was gently shaking her shoulder, asking if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Why?”

“You just got so quiet there,” he said. Anna felt him touch her hair, and then the blindfold was off. “I thought maybe you’d passed out or something. Girls do that sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I know,” she said, grinning. “Nope, I’m here. I’m okay.”

“How’s your hangover?” he asked. He leaned in and kissed her long and hard, and if she hadn’t been so completely worn out from the waist down, she would have totally fucked him.  “I find cunilingus really is the very best hangover cure,” he added.

“So much better than tomato juice or raw eggs,” agreed Anna. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him as gratefully as she could without giving the impression that she actually wanted to have sex. “I do so love being a girl!” she whispered in his ear before falling back down on the couch and drifting off to sleep.