Author: PaisleyBicycle

He i[M]mobilized and [F]ucked me

My husband is so sexy, I’m constantly aroused in his presence. My sex drive is much higher than his, so I can often spend days coming on to him, teasing him, flirting and attempting to seduce him before he gives in to me.

Recently, after a few days of constant flirtation, I was half-crazy with horniness.

While he was working on his projects I trap him in his workshop, blocking the door with my hotwife runner’s body, tracing my hands over his beautiful torso, hips…grabbing his firm butt and pulling him against me. I want him and will not back down. I can feel him growing harder in his pants. My success heightens my desire, I am soon tearing off his pants, revealing his stunning erection. I want to take him in my mouth, I want to feel his extraordinary length slip down deep into my throat, choking me. But he won’t let me. He knows that by denying me my desires he’ll only drive me wilder…make me wetter. Read more »

[FF]riend-sitting

Early Winter 2019.

She’s been texting with this man who broke her heart and he just plays games with her, draws her close then breaks her heart again. It’s awful to watch. But she’s a big girl making her own decisions.

Last night she was supposed to spend the night with him, but he cancelled and then texted her repeatedly about how bored he was. What a guy, eh? She texts me and asks if I could come over and distract her so she doesn’t text him all night. Friend-sit, she called it.

So, me and my drugs and a board game walk over to her place around 7:30pm.

I let myself in.

The room is dimly lit. A bed up is made in the middle of the sitting room. My glasses are fogged. I can’t see properly but I can tell she looks hot, and tell her so. She’s wearing a black silk nightie and black high heels. Light make-up, hair done up. So alluring. She’s half into a giant bottle of wine…I’m wary of her vulnerability and a little concerned about alcohol and consent. So, I sit. We share some weed-infused maple hot chocolate and a joint. She tells me about the playlist of break-up songs that’s playing. We talk. We play Love Letter. I make her practically crawl into my lap when she gets to see my cards, and she loves it. Her hand slips into mine, or down my thigh. Her eye are smoldering. Read more »