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.

Keep Closer, Touch Me More [MFM] [mild voy] [praise kink]

Ryan hauled himself out of bed at the sound of his alarm. He grimaced as he shut it off. Sitting at the foot of bed, he squinted at the bathroom door. Fucking Bentley. He was already in there, taking a shower and being the stupidly productive jackass he was.

As he rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, Ryan heard sluggish shuffling behind him. A warm body pressed up against his back. He felt bad for waking her on the weekends like this. Granted Lilah woke because she wanted to see them off, but he still felt bad.

Soft, dry lips pressed a line of chaste kisses across his back, and he shivered. Lilah pulled away a little to scratch his back gently and methodically. Every once in awhile, she would pause to focus on a certain spot before continuing. He loved when she touched him like this; she was so meticulous and attentive about it. Ryan found himself torn between falling back the fuck to sleep and being aroused beyond belief.

[Mf] the drive (sleep play, blowjob, voyeurism)

It all started late Saturday night, I came to bed late and found myself wanting to be inside my wife. We both enjoy sleep play from time to time and as we explore our sexuality more and more it’s slowly becoming a favorite of mine. My cock was hard when I crawled into bed and the idea of cumming inside her while she slept was all I could think about. I slid my shorts down and stroked myself a few times feeling the precum drip from my cock signaling I was ready. With my other hand I found her hip and slid my hand down around her ass and cupped it firmly through her shorts and separating her cheeks slightly. Sliding my hand down further my finger tips found what I so desired. She was hot to the touch and I could fee a hint of the the moisture I knew would be there. I drew my hand back making sure to trace her petite body up her side to her shoulder, then up to my mouth. I cupped my hand and brought it to my lips tasting my favorite flavor I have ever found . A few licks is all I get before my body reminds me of what I’m truly after, I spit in my hand and again send it on its way down beneath the sheets, in an instant I’m rubbing her little pussy with my prelube making sure that I’m going to slide in fully on the first thrust for good measure I rub my cock down then pull her shorts to the side exposing just enough of her little pussy, i grab my cock again for the last time that night (or so I thought) and move my hips toward hers, guiding my now raging hard on to her sweet little hole. My head finds its mark and I give it a little shake back and fourth to spread her lips, I can feel the heat like the summer sun and I put just a little pressure toward her. Slowly I feel the head slide inside and she begins to squirm beneath my grasp. “slowly “ I whisper in the dark, and inch by inch in what seemed to be an immeasurable amount of time until I was fully inserted, her seemingly motionless body lying next to mine as I fully invade her sleeping body. I whisper again “ what kind of dreams you must now be having “, for a few moments the room is completely still, and we lay there completely as one. With my cock throbbing I slowly pull back for my first stroke. Grabbing her hip with one hand and her shoulder with the other I push back in and feel her arch her back ever so slightly, again I pull back breathing deeply and trying not to wake her I insert myself again and again finding a rhythm and feel myself building close. She lets out a little moan in her sleep and stirring just a bit in mid stroke and she awakens as I bury my throbbing member deep inside her, but to my surprise she turns to me and says “no more tonight “ as she pulls off of me my cock slaps back into my abdomen still dripping precum I grab it and squeeze tight yearning for the feeling that was just there. She lays her head on my chest and drifts back to sleep. I lay there for a few moments analyzing what just happened, and decided to hold it in. After all the load I’m building belongs to her, and it would be selfish to waste it.
The next day I awake only to find she’s not in bed still and my cock is still hard and throbbing. I roll out of bed and start to stretch while looking down the long hallway towards the dining room. She’s awake and waiting for me to join her for coffee, I make no attempt to hide my erection, instead opting for letting it push the fabric of my shorts tight against my body leaving very little to the imagination. “you’ll have to keep that to your self today” she says with a smile as I come into the dining room, “we can see what happens” I tell her sitting down with my coffee. The morning went by fast and before I knew it we were loading our things in the car for the drive home, when she took the drivers seat I had every intention of teasing the crap out of her while she drove the 2 hours but to my surprise when we stopped for gas and I went into the store she had jumped into the passenger seat, my cock jumped to attention at the thought of what she was planning. It didn’t take long to find out either, we had hardly pulled out of the gas station before she was wrestling with my belt and jeans. Her hand pulling me from my cloth prison she began stroking me slowly. Another mile and she was positioning herself to blow me while I drove, at 70mph her head in my lap I was in heaven. She sucked slowly then deeper and deeper stopping ever so often to spit on me and Jack my cock off while she caught her breath. She was getting serious about making me cum and I could tell it was building inside me when I look in the mirror and see a car coming up slowly behind us. I grabbed the back of her head and began to lift my ass off the seat to face fuck her, she knew what this meant and began to play with my balls more and more. By this time the car bind me was in the left hand lane with clear view of what was happening in our front seat I looked over to see a young couple, a typical “modern” couple with the young woman staring at the sight unfolding in our front seat. At first she had a look of disgust but that quickly faded as I could see the want in her eyes as she watched me face fuck my wife, her husband driving along ignoring everything but the road, she had a hand on her breast and I could only imagine where the other had disappeared to. Her tongue licked her lips and she looked even harder, this was too much for me. “I’m going to cum baby” I told my wife making sure that our voyeur could see my mouth as I spoke. It built quickly and came hard as I climaxed I felt my wife take every inch in her mouth and pull back slowly trying to capture every drop, our voyeur laying back in her seat her head facing toward the sky and her eyes locked on the motions my wife’s head made. Like a champ my wife took almost all of it only coming up just before the last blast of cum came from my cock spraying into her cupped hand to catch every last drop. As she brought her head up she licked her fingers clean looking out the window in time to see our voyeur squirming in her seat at the sight of my wife liking her hand clean, enjoying the thought she leaned over and kissed me passionately as I slowed down and let our voyeur slowly pull away. “did you enjoy that?” my wife said partially hinting at letting the young woman enjoy our show. “what’s not to enjoy” I said smiling “ that was hotter than hell.” She slid back into her seat and after a few moments I noticed her sliding her hand down her body touching herself, “when we get home baby I’m going to have to hold you down and please you the way I know you want me to” I said, “ can you hold it in another 45 minutes?” I asked. She groaned in agreement as I started speeding, “let’s try to make it 30…” she said.

[MFM] A fetish that changed my life

I’m from a country where sex is a taboo topic and exhibitionism is almost zero. Although the trend is catching up with people like me, it’s still close to non existent. Me, I’m a huge fan of exhibitionism. The idea of a girl showing off her body and letting people watch her is a mighty turn on. I had a girlfriend who was not into exhibitionism initially but tried it after I pressed and insisted. Showing a bit of the cleavage is in itself considered too much in my country and I convinced her to do it.

So one day, we set out with her wearing a low neck, deep cut tee. Her cleavage was clearly visible to everyone. I enjoyed the amount of looks she was getting. She was shy to start with but looking at the amount of men that wanted her, she was mildly flattered. This gave her some confidence and we tried it a few times after that, having some fun seducing random guys on the road only to disappear soon after, leaving them disappointed. This soon turned into a regular thing for us, showing cleavage, midriff quite often and we were enjoying it. This led to an incident which we totally didn’t expect and led to us breaking up.

An Unexpected Rendezvous [MF] [voy] [cheating] [rough]

This story was commissioned by an acquaintance who always fantasised about catching her two hot workmates fucking. They’re real people based off the descriptions given, but all names have been changed and details left intentionally vague to prevent anybody from being identified. The scenario requested included rough sex, lots of filthy, over-the-top dirty talk, and a specific tone for the ending. Needless to say, the events of this story are absolute fiction.

***

“Dammit, my phone!” Molly checks her pockets, empties out her purse onto the front seat of her car and double-checks the glove tray, but to no avail. It’s nearly quarter to six, and she’s already running late for another engagement. She was supposed to finish work at five, but when the boss says stay, you stay. *At least Sharon was nice about it*, Molly thinks a little ruefully.

Sighing, she clambers out of her car and trots back towards the office. Surely the phone is just sitting on her desk – and hopefully Sharon won’t have gone home yet, so the door will still be unlocked.

The Last Decision, a Star Wars pornfic [SF] [slavery] [domestic violence] [rape] [MF]

ASSTR Story codes: MF, voy, viol, NC, rape, ScFi, slavery, caution, aliens

A short story involving the background of a secondary character from a larger porn I’m writing and will be posting soon. I got stuck writing my main story, and Rakha’s decision to sell herself into slavery nagged at me, so I wrote the details and expanded it into short story.

Disclaimer: This is not intended in any way to claim that slavery, in the real world, is tolerable or not so bad. It isn’t intended to belittle the conditions of real slavery by comparing it favorably with grinding poverty. It’s just a bit of wank material involving a deeply fucked up character.

Legal notice: if you are under the legal age for viewing pornography in your jurisdiction you should stop reading now.

Star Wars MegaFan notice: This isn’t following the stuff from Legends, or even Canon with any real obsessive effort. I’ve deviated from canon when it seemed appropriate or hot, and I only really know the Legends stuff by reading Wookkeepedia because I never got into the old EU.
I do try to make things work with cannon, I won’t be describing Duros as having three heads or anything like that, but if you’re looking for 100% accurate Star Wars porn, these aren’t the porns you’re looking for.

A New Job, A New Adventure [str8] [MF] [VOY]

The air is brisk on her neck as the car door shuts behind her, the knot in her stomach hadn’t lifted on the drive over as she had hoped. The potential of a new job made her nervous, new responsibilities, new people to befriend, and a new boss to analyze her. She had the experience, the references and the drive that anyone should approve of, she kept telling herself the job was as good as hers. She shuffled her blouse and covered the little black lace that was peeking out against her cleavage. She looked like she belonged in the building, hair in a neat bun, flawless blouse that accentuated her breasts, and her pencil dress that hugged her just like she wanted it to.

The parking garage was full of heels clicking on concrete as she headed toward the elevator, she repeated and repeated interview questions in her head as the doors closed and she headed toward the 14th floor.

Look At Me [f] [solo] [exhibitionism]

Beth hasn’t had a good day, she was running late, she was ogled at by her old fart of a teacher and then teased by her sexy older boss at work and all of that on the hottest day of the year, and with her pervy neighbour at the window it’s going to get a lot hotter.

A story about a sexy redheaded coed, voyeurism, exhibitionism and a thick red dildo.

If you like this story please find my others over on wordpress
https://cadabaddonerotica.wordpress.com/

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Look at me

I’ve never been so glad to get into my car. Even though it’s so blisteringly hot I feel the seat burn the back of my thighs, who cares? It’s Friday, it’s the hottest day I’ve ever known and shit, I just wanna get home! I crank the windows all the way open and pop the top two buttons on my blouse, the edge of my bra’s showing but hell, I’ll be moving and it’s too damn hot for modesty.

Opening the windows brings in the smell of hot tarmac. I reach up and undo my hair, the brown’s starting to show through the red dye, I’m gonna have to touch it up soon.

Emma Watson Was Late for the Golden Globes [Str8][celeb][blkmail][voy][reluc]

I actually found this prompt via another subreddit, but took a little too long to get around to writing it. Enjoy.

—-

*Prelude*

“Bloody hell!” Emma Watson hisses as she walks into the gas station convenience store. She was late for the Golden Globes, currently in the process of missing the red carpet, and if her driver didn’t route them properly, she might also miss the award she up for, not that she had any hope of winning, but that, at least, she was resigned to. And now she had to sue the loo, desperately so, which was how her driver somehow got turned around, off the highway, and into area that could barely be called a neighborhood. The place was basically deserted, but the lights were on.

She glanced down at her white dress, short for an awards gown, but still presentable. Thw white of the dressed gleamed in the flourescents as she clicked in her heels over the pavement toward the entrance. Her breasts bounced with each step, free under the front of the dress, tied with a big bow at her collar. The dress was more or less backless but for a narrow stip of fabric that prevented her ass from falling out. She couldn’t have worn a bra if she wanted to, and the designer was adamant that nipple tape would show through the fabric. Instead, as she walked into the shop, her nipples hardened in the blasting AC, and in the brighter light, you could almost see her nipples. “The paparazzi are going to love that.” She thought, grimly.

Giantess Lammy X Parappa: Big-Step-Sisterly Fuckery and Giantess Toriel X Asriel: Motherly Fuckery [Fanfictions][mF][MMFF][Fsub][Fdom][Str8][Bi][anal][bd][bdsm][bst][buk][celeb][fantasy][huml][inc][mast][Mdom][Msub][nc][oral][prost][reluc][sm][voy][shrinking][MindCont][BrainFucking]

Basically, these two are some of the absolute nastiest shit you’ll ever read in fanfiction, but the satire is so freaking hilarious and the writing quality so top-notch that it somehow makes up for it anyway.

Without spoiling anything about them, I can say with confidence that if you ever wanted to see Parappa The Rapper nakedly crawling around on the external surface of Um Jammer Lammy’s brain like Spider-Man and fucking every last square inch of it (as well as a whole multitude of other similarly hilariously wretched and disgusting things including but not limited to characters being gang-raped by the horrifically deformed Amalgamates from Undertale), you’ve come to the right place.

*”MY FUCKING LIFE…” Alphys cried, pouring the remaining contents of her bleach bottle into her favorite beaker and drinking it like a boss*