Something New for Dinner [MF][mast][oral][married][food]

It was a Saturday in late summer. My wife, Erin, had spent the first half of the summer working full time while attending summer school. This meant working 10 hour days during the week and a full work day on Saturday, plus a mound of homework every evening from her intensive six-week anatomy class. She was beat every night.

So, I decided to take up the slack. Not trying to earn any points or anything, but I only thought it was fair. I know she would do the same for me if our roles were reversed. I only worked 30 hours a week, so I had much more free time, and I used it to help her out. I kept the house clean, did laundry and dishes so there was never a mess when she came home. I cooked dinner in the evening so it was ready when she got home (she couldn’t eat at work since she worked in a clean room). I made lunch for both of us every night to take to work the next day. I did everything I could to help her and make her life a little easier.

Watching [F][Masturbation][Voyeurism]

The wine trickles loudly. In fact, it sounds just like the word – trickle. It irritates me. The purple liquor sounds to state it’s natural, innocuous state of being: just something that trickles. Meanwhile, I am left with an unnatural, corrupting eagerness to empty the entire goblet into my mouth and down my throat.
It should do the trick. It has to. With eyes and ears on me at all times, pulling over next to a couple of tramps or inquiring about a little something special from the bartender is not an option. I need to remember to buy some nutmeg next time the husband takes me shopping.
That car is idling out in the street again; some or other old 80’s station wagon. He sits there, donning his (rather fitting) pair of oversized, gold-framed bifocals. Altogether, it looks like a proper ‘I-touch-children’ starter kit. He’s not old, about my age. And he just sits there, car idling, never moving.
I started noticing him three days ago, late at night. I was going to mention it, but decided not to. He appears at a time when everyone else is occupied with weeknight soap operas. I hate soap operas. He gazes at the house, expressionlessly, the only bit of movement engaged by his eyes as he adjusts them to fix on me when I appear in the front door or a window. I wonder what he’s doing. I feel tired.
___
So, how do I take this? Do I snort it? Do I brew it into a tea? My heart is pounding. Why is my heart pounding? The husband walks past the kitchen. What will I say if he asks? I’ve already lapped up about a teaspoon of nutmeg from the palm of my hand – I told him it was for pumpkin pie, I should probably get started on that soon enough or he’ll get suspicious again. The spice burns, clumping and puffing as I try to stabilise it with my saliva. I take three more.
If only I’d read further than “four to eight spoonfuls of nutmeg can induce a high”, I may have learned the easy way. I want to vomit, but there will be questions. Instead, I lock the door and wrap myself cosily in the sounds of psychedelic black metal, careful about the volume. I can lunge into the creation: Watercolours, always. Just water. Just coloured water and paper.
When I consider the sea of possibilities, the multitudes of techniques and mediums and styles, it always leads me to consider histories and anecdotes of other painters and the sea of endless possibility and I have to stop. This is why watercolours. It is one thing. Maybe tomorrow something else. It feels like I have the flu.
Halfway through the emergence of a tree(?), the nausea begins to tug at the back of my tongue with dryness. I swallow it down, looking around for an empty vessel. Nothing. I suppose there’s no other choice. I swiftly and quietly release myself, and sprint towards the bathroom. I manage to paint the walls of the toilet bowl with little-to-no accompanying sound effects. The husband’s off to bed already, in any case.
I pass the kitchen, catching a glimpse through the window of the station wagon idling under the glow of the street light. His spectacles glimmer in my direction. I slip back into my studio. My heart threatens to break through the sternum; maybe she wants to run off and find a host with eyes that don’t see what these do, and with a brain that doesn’t dissolve the images the way mine is wont to, conducting its own watercolour symphony of life as it appears to be.
The fear vibrates through me. Could he actually see me from that distance? I haven’t the slightest what to do – all I know is that I should not nor want to bring anyone’s attention to it. It is meant for me; I am the object of scrutiny. At least this is all mine. He stays with me; the frames of his glasses glowing from without the darkness I cannot shut my eyes to. I must go to bed knowing he is still there.
He is always gone during the day – I check each morning. I’ve been asked to retrieve the weekly tabloid from the mailbox. The mailbox is affixed to one of the posts supporting and connecting the concrete slabs that wall in the house and front garden. This particular exercise excites me, as the mailbox would be the closest I’ve been to the site of the staring, the watching.
The sight of the space alone is enough to dig out a hollow in my stomach. It is as if he never left, and is merely imperceptible to me now. I poke my hand into the mailbox opening to retrieve the paper, struggle to grab a hold, and reposition myself in order to reach better. My eye is directed to the sudden, silent appearance of the long, slate blue nose of a familiar vehicle.
No eye-contact, not yet. He has been here every day, only hidden from sight. My eyes are fixed in their inspection of the front of the car, traveling back and forth between the headlights, the bumper, trying their best to avoid his face. They soon start to burn. I can no longer evade it. I am paralysed, but I can look up. His face bears no emotion; the half-smile is an empty default setting. The eyes are fixed, as always, on me – never blinking.
I manage to resurrect myself from the state of upright death, and turn to head back into the house. Even as the distance gains between us, even as I step inside, even as I close and lock the door between us, he is with me. I’m trembling, and I didn’t need a glass of wine or a mouthful of nutmeg to get here.
Before I know it, I’m googling the contact number of the local police department on my phone. It takes me the better part of two minutes just to finish typing in the search with shaking, twitching fingers. But I do not want to call them. The terror is coiled around my chest like a python squeezing me down to size. I will not call them.
For the first time in a very long time, life is here. It pulsates, it vibrates, it crawls and it does not go away. The last time I felt this way, I had just then been released from a particularly intense sleep paralysis episode, and was surveying my room for demons by the light of my lamp. I remember the shallow inhalations and the dryness creeping over my eyes as I refused to blink. I remember the sudden impulse to comfort myself, which I achieved by drawing the covers, pulling down my knickers, spreading my legs as wide as I could and masturbating.
I parted my labia with my fingers so that all the intricate, rosy details would be visible to the invisible creatures that sought to torment me. In my delusion, I felt their eyes moving over my exposed, quivering body as I proceeded to massage my clitoris to the point of orgasm. I felt much better, and went back to sleep.
I know what to do.
I scavenge for a scrap of paper and a pen. When finished writing, I head down the hallway, out the front door and straight to the mailbox. I make sure nobody else is present, then I hold out the paper so that my admirer can see it. My head is bowed, but I’m watching him. No expression, only the message I imagine reflected in his spectacles: “Midnight. My window – at the back, on the left.”
In this moment, I am on the outside, looking at me. I feel absent. Or, perhaps I am someone else. I hold up the sign long enough to be sure he gets the message. It is only when I turn and head back inside that the rush of fear streams over me. What have I done? I begin to contemplate the number of heavy items in my studio that can be used as weapons.
The day passes slowly as I absentmindedly complete small household tasks and paint and play with the cat and paint again. It is grueling, to say the least – listening to the minutes tick-ticking away in your head and knowing all they draw closer to is the future, near and far. I’ve become adept at dragging with me this consciousness of time, every day listening to the ticking away, but this is different.
Midnight, on my open converter couch. I set the bottle of whiskey down on the floor next to me. I feel better now. The couch is conveniently positioned directly in front of the window and I am able to draw the curtains without stepping off. Holy fuck! The effects of the booze are nearly cleared from my brain as the bastard startles me, standing there like a mere silhouette in the moonlight, spectacle frames glistening.
I slowly back away, quivering. I slump to the bed, landing on my back as if in a faint. To my luck, I am still slightly intoxicated. I feel I need to, but I cannot keep my eyes off him. I slowly slide my knickers down, and decide to lift the night dress over my head as well. I am completely exposed. My skin ripples with goose bumps as my fingers glide down to spread the lips. I begin massaging myself, watching him watching me. I have to pull away every so often to avoid coming too early.
Next to me, I had set my secret toy: a glass dildo, and though I had never actually grown accustomed to using it, I thought it rather suitable for this occasion. It is plain, and if a light were to shine directly on the zone, my insides would be visible. I continue stroking my clitoris until I am sufficiently wet. He merely stands there, not moving.
I reach for the toy and first caress my clitoris with the tip, rubbing it down, down till it meets with my vaginal opening. I gently push it inside, taking quick breaks to relax and reset my vaginal muscles around it. At last, its entire length has disappeared into me, and the sight of this only arouses me that much more. He moves, as if fidgeting, and out comes a flashlight. He shines the narrow beam of light directly on my genitals.
He likes to watch, and only watch – a silent, black statue drinking in the sight of me getting closer and closer. The only part of me that exists is that which is illuminated while the rest of me trembles in the dark. I dig my heels into the bed and raise my hips as it comes closer and closer. The light follows, as if fixed, as if in actuality streaming from within me.
I’m beaming. I’m beaming brighter. And the world begins to melt. My fingers glide over and back and over my soaked, engorged clitoris. I pause to display her in the bright spot of light, watching him as he watches her. I press gently down on the base of the dildo, hugging it tightly and feeling its pressure against my vaginal wall. Then, I continue. Slowly, gently. My hips roll to the rhythm of my hand and… finally.
I crash back onto the bed, my torso curling up as I contract with the inward pull of the little death, and delight in the sensation of the dildo pushing back aggressively against the contraction. Mouth open, teeth bared, eyes forced open – fixed on him. My feet slide in under me as I thrust my pelvis forward. I attempt to keep my voice inside, but I need to shove the pillow in my face to do so. I stay with it as long as I am able, eyes rolling up and teeth grinding.
When I can bear it no longer, I release myself and feel the warmth of my lungs escape in great wafts. I open my eyes after scarcely five seconds of recovery to see that he had disappeared. I think that is the last I’ll ever see of him.

Someone was watching….[MFF]

I had recently graduated from college and an ex of mine, who had moved away, was in town for the summer visiting her brother who still lived here. I hadn’t seen her in years and she was just a few years younger than me. Since she had been back we went out a few times and fucked after one of those dates. She had changed a lot since we had last hooked up and this was our first time fucking. Back in high school she was a gymnast and had the body to go along with it. Great ass and legs, but no boobs. Now Rachel had grown into a woman. Amazing C cup tits and still with that great ass. One night we were over at our friend Erin’s house drinkin and having a good time. As the night died down we decided too all just chill out, sit around and talk. There were about 6 of us all sitting around. Rachel, who was staying at Erin’s for a few days, went and put on some sweats, just to be comfortable. She came and sat next to me on the couch and brought a blanket with her, as it had gotten chilly. The whole night we could barely keep our hands off each other. Under the blanket she got very handsy. She kept it discreet though, so no one would expect anything. After a while we both couldn’t take it anymore. We encourage every one to leave, and when they did, Rachel insisted that we go in the other room because she had to talk to me about something important. We went downstairs to the room that Rach was staying. It was small, basically just a bed and a small couch in it. As soon as the door shut behind me she was all over me. It was only a few minutes until we were completely naked. I couldn’t take my eyes off of those amazing breasts that I had only recently re-discovered. She was obviously infatuated with my now erect cock. She kissed me long and deep. I felt her hand move down towards my dick. She began to gently stroke it at first. This soon turned to a harder grasp. The next thing I knew, she was dragging me towards the bed by my cock. She slipped into the bed and I followed. She kissed me and I caressed her body. She pulled me closer and closer, inching my hard cock towards her pussy. As the tip felt her hole I could tell that she was already super wet. I slid on top of her and shoved my cock deep into her pussy. She let out a deep moan as she felt my member glide in and out her. Suddenly we heard the door begin to open. It was Erin! We had all known each other since high school and Rachel and Erin were like sisters. She did not seem surprised as to what was going on in front of her. It felt to good inside of Rachel for me to stop, but I had to. Erin, surprisingly, insisted we continue. She walked into the room and went to sit on the small couch against the wall. As she walked over she began to undress. Rachel asked what she was doing and she again insisted that we continue. I did not hesitate to go back to kissing the beautiful girl that lay in front of me. When we both sat up to change positions, we glanced over to the couch. To our surprise, Erin, who was a little on the heavy side, was completely naked with her legs spread. As I turned to readjust my position, she caught a glimpse of my large cock. I could tell by the reaction on her face that was turned on. She immediately began to rub herself. Rachel asked her if we should stop. Erin said no, that she wanted to watch us fuck. I wasted no time and got behind Rachel while she faced Erin. I began to pound Rachel from behind and at the same time watch Erin abuse herself. I could her them both moan as I thrust into Rachel’s wet pussy. When I got close to cumming, I pulled out of Rachel and told her I wanted to cum on her tits. We got in good view of Erin and I blasted my load on her chest. It was what put Erin over the edge and she climaxed unlike anything I had seen from a masturbation. Spent, Rachel and I laid on the bed preparing to sleep until the next day. Again to my surprise, Rachel invited Erin to join us in the Queen bed we were already sharing. Erin and her very large breasts climbed into bed next me while I spooned Rachel. Later on, this sandwich would lead to some more fun……

Sticking my dick in Whaletail [MF] [Oral]

This part contains some uninhibited dick-ego.

So last I left off, I was in a FWB relationship with Crazy, who lived a few towns over. Crazy’s best friend was Whaletail, so called because her signature look was having her thong show above her waistband, much like Lita from the WWE in the late 1990s. She would often wear a g-string under her thong, as she considered the thong to be a fashion accessory and the g-string to be “real” underwear. Some people would call this a “trashy” look. Those people are stupid idiots. It was HOT.

Whaletail was 5’8″ blue eyed blonde with some wide hips, a big butt and D cups. She had a belly ring and liked to show off her midriff. She was much more subdued than Crazy (then again most everyone is), but she definitely fueled Crazy’s fire. She would egg her on and put bad ideas into Crazy’s head.

Personality wise, me and Whaletail had almost nothing in common. It was very difficult to hold a conversation with her when Crazy wasn’t around. Sexually though, we were extremely compatible. One day I was hanging out with Crazy during one of the “on” periods with her baby daddy (thus no fooling around on our part) and out of the blue she said

Laundry Day Surprise. (OC repost) [M&W]

I wrote this a couple years ago… maybe closer to three now. I don’t think it got much exposure the last time I posted. Replies, feedback are welcome.

Laundry Day…

Saturday morning… close to noon, still tired from staying up too late the night before. I get some coffee started then head back to the other end of the house to grab some laundry for the wash.

It’s a beautiful spring day, really warm outside so I pull some windows and the door open, with just the screens on to keep the bugs out.

I live on a quiet street in the suburbs, and mine is the last house before a few empty lots, so I get zero foot traffic. I don’t even think twice about traipsing about the house in my boxers.

I’m 28 years old, about six foot tall, a little too thin but muscular and wiry from working construction all year. I think that I’m considered attractive despite my hawkish nose. I have long hair and about 3 days of facial growth. I need to shave, but don’t much care too. If I have an attribute that stands out, women often tell me that I have nice hands.

I sucked off my roommate’s boyfriend [MF] [Pic]

Hi everyone!

I have talked about this story before in both my snap chat and on my sub-reddit and it never ceases to amaze friends/fans. I usually get PM’s from other people wanting to know more about it, and I finally caved and am writing it now. I do have picture evidence from the event itself, but no gifs or videos this time. Sorry :(

So, I live in a rather nice duplex with my roommate, Tiffany. We both know each other from school, and we jive really well together, even though we are completely different. I am a more free-spirited, sexually open woman while Tiffany is more traditional with her dating and entertaining. I am the type of woman that likes to roughed up while she is more calm and collected.

Tiffany was your typical, average girl with a smallish waist and tight curls. She was incredibly cute, and always made sure to coordinate her clothes. I have always been bigger and chubbier, so I was naturally jealous of her. Even still, our relationship as friends really blossomed while living together, as she had no issue with the way I brought men over.

Books are better than porn [mast]

Hello there, first this is not a erotic story it’s just something that i do and I want to hear from you girls and boys what do you think about that.

When I was younger I was watching porn and masturbated like most of the people. One day a friend gived me a book by Haruki Murakami – “South of the Border, West from the Sun” and my dick was so hard at one scene in book. I’ve just take off my shorts and grab my dick and start jerking while reading sex scenes that Murakmi wrote. Best thing is that masturbating takes a lot longer to finish when reading a book and that’s nice, than just watching a porn movie… when I do that I cum in a one minute. It’s boring.

So from that moment, whenever I want to masturbate I just start to read a book or some erotic story, or just use my dirty mind. It takes a long time to cum but feeling is amazing.

Is there some books that you would recommend to read?

An Unusual Honeymoon Pt 2. [MF][FF][Mast]

That morning tour was interesting, but it was my time with Helena that was really pleasant. The older women were crowding around Stavros and he was flirting outrageously with them, which they were just lapping up. He tried it on with me during an earlier tour but I didn’t give him any time at all. There were a few other women who were somewhat less than impressed and we just seemed to gravitate to each other. Helena was knowledgeable, kind and good company for us. We shared a lunch, then for the last part of the tour, shortened as some of the ladies were supposed to be catching the same flight as Bill, we basically wandered around an archaeological village inside the Mitilini district. I must admit I was surprised at it, the houses seemed small, the streets narrow, but there was certainly something dynamic in the whole place.

An Unusual Honeymoon [MF][FF][Mast]

It has now been two years since I got married to a wonderful man, a doctor. He has been brilliant to be with, even with the sometimes long hours and highly emotional demands of the job. I hope he feels the same way about me as I do about him.

I work basic office hours, so can be there when he gets home, when he leaves for work, when he is called in for an emergency in the middle of the night, when he is so tired after spending hours in surgery; when he just needs someone to hold him and tell him that he is a good doctor and it will be alright; when he needs me. I could go on, but there is no-one else I would rather be with.

Bend me over the counter [F] [masturbation, fantasy]

Decided to try a different writing style. Hope it works for y’all! :)

Once again I’m home all alone. It’s sunny and bright outside, and I have about an hour before I get picked up. I just smoked a bowl and I’m feeling frisky. As I walk through the kitchen I remember a recent conversation about sex on counter tops.

Fantasies begin to play in my mind. I climb the stairs to my slowly, letting my tight shorts rub against me. Those shorts don’t stay on very long though. They drop to the floor as soon as my bedroom door closes behind me. My panties, already wet, join them.

I imagine you behind me, your hands sliding down my belly, over my hips. My hands echo the fantasy. They find my smooth, slick pussy, but in my thoughts you’re teasing me. I lean over, one hand on my bed, the other starting to dance across my clit. I’m dripping, thinking of your hands.

I want more than hands.