...or even a lot of group sex. How about eight whole rocking stories about group sex? Are you down with that? I am. The poll will run until Wednesday at midnight. Be sure to stop back here soon for a brand-new contest. Oh, and if you're a matador in disguise (or if you wrote one of the sexy bull stories), please claim your fame here.
Entry #1: Schoolyard
I called them together in the room from my tattered Lisa Frank address book. The one with the sparkle ponies in purple. Now the three men stood before me. I didn't think any of them would come. Not from the glory days of pulling my pigtails on the playground. Now they would play with my nipples. My clit. My hair. My hip. Skin was no longer a boundary. I didn't have cooties anymore.
Each took an inhale of breathe, choppy over my land-line receiver. I could feel them shake their heads, then a soft baritone request. The boys were stripped in my apartment living room. I gave my best vixen inhale, that false bravery to put inside myself and I strutted.
The first one met me halfway. His cock had already lost it's shyness as he pulled my black ponytail, leading me to the couch. The familiar thump of my knees sounded distant. Men's scent, heady,thick, choked my panting mouth now that they couldn't see me breathe. I was anonymous with my head turned towards the wall. A hiss of breathe as someone bit my labia, hot pleasure dancing in my cunt. A jerk of my shoulder as one of them mounted me from behind. Hands fingering my nipples, a mouth locked around my cunt. Nails racked down my back. It all melded together in one forethought of touch. I pictured them three way calling each other to see what they would do, and then I came.
Entry #2: Body Soup
We taste delicious, all together. Like salt covered candy, tangy and sweet. I want to eat us all up, before we disappear.
There's Jerry and Joe and Pete. And then there's me, in the middle, waiting for that sweet slide of sticky cock, right where I'm aching the most.
I divide and conquer. I chop Joe into pieces with my tongue, as soft as it is. Slick stripes all over his body until he’s neatly dissected for my delectation.
Then Pete, stirred by my stirring fingers up his spine, then down, to that split few people have ever dared to go. He whines for me, like something stretched to its limit.
And finally Jerry, who I’ve longed for long enough, in liquid dreams that leave me soaking and throbbing and unable to wait. I can’t wait any longer, Jerry: I just have to eat you up. And if I eat you while others put their groping hands all over me and in me and everywhere, well that’s all right. There’s enough food for all.
Entry #3: Little did I know
I blame it on heartbreak.
It was my senior year of college and I had recently broken up with my boyfriend of 3 years. My flat mate was tired of the tears.
She was sick of watching me let the world go by. She persuaded me to don my shortest of short shorts and outline my eyes with black kohl for a night out.
Little did I know what was about to transpire.
I was in my own little world which often happens when I am on the dance floor when I was tapped on the shoulder by this incredibly hot bloke. I had spotted him before in one of my classes. He asked to join me and I shrugged nonchalantly.
A few more dances and a few too many wines later, he was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. “Little do you know,” he whispered, “I have wanted you for so long.”
Minutes later he was grabbing my hand and leading me down the alley to his flat.
We were ripping each other’s clothes off while kissing on the couch. My shorts dropped to the floor and his tongue traveled down my body. I was awash in sensation. One orgasm floated into the next. I couldn’t tell when one wave of pleasure ended and the next started.
Suddenly I realized there were more hands and soft, wet tongues roaming all over me. I opened one eye to see that his two flat mates had joined in. I all but purred and hastily closed that eye.
Little did I know… they had come in an hour before.
Entry #4: The Divorcee Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even
"Greedy," they call her. One year since her husband left and this is what her new lovers call her. She had loved him, fiercely, but now that it's over she can admit they'd always been mismatched in bed. Ten years of her sex life gone. No wonder she's so hungry now. Famished. She always wants more.
It's a mystery where most fantasies begin, but this one she remembers. Flipping through some magazine and oh. That picture. Nothing was showing, even, but her imagination seized upon it. How it would feel to have that many hands on her. The cocks, the mouths. She'd stopped breathing, thinking about it.
Tonight isn't going to be quite like that, she knows. She isn't lithe and untarnished anymore, and neither are they. But the details still inspire. The arch of her back, his thigh solid against her. Strong fingers stroking her jaw and working their way down the back of her jeans. Soon he'll lift his head and suck on her nipple, bite down. In a moment his hardness will nudge her lips apart and slide home. She will be laid bare, spread open, pinioned, stretched. She will take him in, and him, and him.
Does it count as being taken when you give yourself so freely? She wonders how many it would take to quiet the clamor inside her. She doesn't want oblivion. She just wants to be here, now. She wants to wake up. She wants those years back. She wants, she wants.
Entry #5: UnWashed Denim
Feet. Bare feet. Legs. In denim. Legs. More legs. Even more legs. Velvet. Sofa. Legs. Denim. Faded. Legs. Rumpled. Legs. Cut off. Bare legs. Rolled up. Legs. Arms. Skin. More skin. A shirt. Unbuttoned. Arms. Skin. Closed eyes. Bare feet. Ankle bracelet. Arms. Navel. Nipple. Hair. Short. Hair. Long. Arms. Hands. In hair. On back. Neck. Skin. Lips. Parted. Closed. Meeting. Skin. Denim. Undone. Soon. Skin. Fingers. On zippers. On skin. Lips. On denim. Wet. Hands. On skin. In denim. In. Around. Hard. Skin. Legs. Around. Under. Over. Lips. On navel. On navels. On nipple. On nipples. Around skin. Soft skin. Hard skin. Smooth. Denim coming off. Smooth. Legs. Around arms. Around lips. Pressed. Lips. Into. Legs. Together. Into. Skin. Wet. Around. In. Pressed in. Closed eyes. Tight. Pressed tight. Into. Fingers. Pressed into. Here. There. Here. Again. Hard. Hard skin. Pressed into. Here. There. Again. Wet. Skin. Again. Wet. Velvet. Again. Wet. Denim. Wet. Lips. Wet. In. Arms. Legs. Lips. Denim. In pile. On floor. Again.
Entry #6: Two Kinds of People
I had been the last to join that day, but never again. From then on, not only would I be the first to accept an invitation, more often than not I would be the inviter.
As I tasted each one of them, I came up with ridiculous body lotion boutique names for their flavors. Dirty Denim for Blake’s thick cock. Tidal Basil for Kim’s wet cunt. Jason’s asshole tasted like Rainsoaked Sidewalk. Kim’s was simply Coffee Shop. When Blake came in my mouth, it was Gulf Squall.
From that day forward, I viewed the world differently. The entire population had been reduced to two kinds of people: those who stuck to only flavor and those, like me, who tried both. It was just like Kim had said. I could love both. I could love it all. I could love the feel of my cock in Kim’s ass and I could love the feel of Jason balls-deep in mine. And I had loved it all afternoon that day, long after we had parted; the dull ache of entry lingering for hours, like he was still in me. Call it Phantom Cock Syndrome.
And it was perfectly clear to me afterwards, in a way it wasn’t when Kim had tried to convince me, that I had been searching with one eye closed. I had effectively lopped off fifty percent of my opportunities. It was clear to me now that there were, indeed, two kinds of people in the world.
Entry #7: Hot As Hell
It was hot.
Hotter than any day in her memories and those were considerable.
She felt a twinge of bitter gratitude for her lack of corporeal form. Her elegant house had been chopped into units decades ago. It no longer breathed.
Frustrated, she drew on the excess heat and paced the halls of her home. A cold pocket of air followed, stirring curtains. Her cold footsteps left condensation in her wake.
She drifted through walls, ceilings, floors.
The Jamisons ignored each other in 1A.
Harriet Filmore touched herself under the cold needles of her shower across the hall.
In 2B Vera and her lover quarreled again. It would be hours before they made up, fucked. She’d come back then.
But it was Lily Brant of 3A, who drew Elizabeth. The heat was astonishing at the peak of the house, but less so than the view that greeted her.
The slut twined between two men on the couch, wanton, demanding. A third sprawled on the floor, cock in hand. Their bodies glistened.
Elizabeth absorbed the heat, her body drawing form. She hovered over the lone man, his nipples pebbled as she sucked the warmth in. He arched as her touch cooled his cock, eyes closed. Lily’s voice thickened the air around them.
“I want you inside me.”
Elizabeth echoed Lily’s words.
The men moaned in concert.
He slid into her cool cunt. Elizabeth shuddered.
The heat grew.
His orgasm shocked her, scattered her before she came.
Her personal hell continued.
Entry #8: The Game
I hit the jackpot as far as hot neighbors go when I moved into this apartment. A trio of gorgeous guys live across the hall from me. On the first day, they helped me move my old green sofa up three stories to my living room.
That summer I saw a lot of the guys, but not as much as I would have liked. Since having all three of them sweating in my apartment that first day, I had pictured them there with me every night. And not one at a time. All three of them would lift me and carry me up the stairs, just like they did the couch, toss me onto it, and then take turns pleasuring me.
One weekend I found out they all loved to play poker. I invited them over to play five card stud. We started off playing for laundry money, dimes and quarters. I kept pouring them drinks, strong whiskey sours. Soon it has easily transitioned to a game of strip poker. Two of them were quickly without shirts. Then the other lost his shirt. I lost my shirt, my flip flops and my bra. Once all three of them could see my sweet round breasts, the poker game was over. One carried me over his shoulder to the couch. I was lying on top of one, his mouth on my tit, while I kissed the other. The third patiently waited his turn on the floor.
Gosh, there was something I think I needed to do.... Now, who was it?
XXX,
Alison
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