You’re home from your last chance to be wild euro trip. College was over you just graduated and received your doctorate in physics and and you had already received you the job offers and papers to take the bar exam in your relatively small home town. Your father had just been promoted to judge and had been pushing you to become a lawyer for what seemed like your entire life. You were so busy studying and working for straight A’s that the time had flown by and you felt like you never had any fun and that you had missed out on the true college experience. You literally said no to every guy that asked you out and never went to any parties, even though you were invited to every one that took place on campus.. midway through your final semester your friends invited you to join them on a 6 month experience traveling from city to city all over Europe. Even through the entire trip you turned down every sexual opportunity. Not one guy could even get you alone to take a shot. The day you got back and the second you said good bye to all of your friends, it suddenly hit you like a ton of bricks. You were still a virgin! Now that you are done with school your parents have switched from “get your education” to “when are you gonna bring a guy home, when are you going to get married when do we get grand children?” You felt exhausted and deprived of your teenage fun years.
Tag: Wife
I [M] jacked off while a friend [F] watched and masturbated
A few years back I was visiting some friends at an old college friends house; she was one of my wife’s old roommates. We had gotten pretty drunk and the crowd had thinned down to me, my friend, and a married couple that I often post about. We were all pretty drunk and in our underwear. My friend was a large but cute girl, and we were all sitting on the couch playing with her ample breasts that she had out for display. The other girl there was pretty petite, so she was shocked at how large and soft her tits were and couldn’t keep her hands off them. It was a very sexually charged atmosphere and my married friend continually hinted that her husband should pull his cock to show everyone how massive he was. He wasn’t feeling it, so he declined, much to our chagrin. After pulling his wife away, he left us to our own devices and drove his wife home.
“Okay, here’s some blankets for you. I’m going to bed.” My wife college roommate was still only wearing panties and standing in the living room with a pile of sheets in her arm. She helped me make the couch into a bed.
Senior Class Breeding Pt 2 [student/teacher, age gap, gangbang]
The days following their “solution” in the girls’ locker room proved it to have been extremely successful. That week all the girls who had gotten the distraction fucked out of them suddenly were getting As and Bs on tests, turning in completed homework and papers, and *respecting* the three professors. But of course, just getting fucked once could only hold the girls over for so long, and it was only another week and a half before one of the seniors—a pretty little blonde thing—came up to Justin after the bell rang.
Her stance was nervous, big blue eyes avoiding his gaze and fingers playing with the straps on her bookbag. The first thing he noticed about her was how hard her nipples were—he could see them puckered up right through her school blouse, and the little transparency it had showed she wasn’t wearing a bra. They were big and heavy, especially for just barely being eighteen. Justin felt his cock twitch under his desk as he waited for her to say something.
“Um… Mr. Macarthy?” she asked, quietly, as if she was embarrassed. “Can I ask you a question?”
I Fucked My Therapist Pt. 4 (4/5)[MF][taboo]
I sent him a text the night he broke up with me professionally. I sent him a picture of me in Hello Kitty underwear, and he said “I think I’m going to like being friends with you.” God, I wanna cry thinking about it. The release. I wanted to see him as soon as possible. But with the pandemic going on, I knew the possibilities of seeing my still married former psychiatrist were going to be limited. So I got a room at the Chateau Marmont. “To write in.” But he could come over and have dinner with me, if he’d like. And he did.
I got a one bedroom suite with a living room and dining room. I felt like the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. I was impeccably groomed. Waxed, shaved, hair washed, make-up done, starved to death. I wore what he had mentioned in his story, the outfit I wore when I told him about my crush on him. The crush that wasn’t really supposed to be a crush. Just transference, remember? That’s what the videos had said. Something he was supposed to fix. But the outfit. Cream and burgundy plaid skirt, black ribbed Reformation top, black thigh high socks, hair in a 60’s half-up ponytail ala Brigitte Bardot. Underneath I wore black panties and a black lace bra that I knew he would see. I wanted him to see.
He showed up at my hotel door with takeaway dinner. To-go cocktails I wouldn’t drink because I don’t drink. I’m fun that way. It was the first time I had seen him in civilian clothes. Jeans, t-shirt. He looked even taller out of scrubs. I wanted him to push me against the wall of the hotel and stick his fucking tongue down my throat. I didn’t want dinner. I couldn’t have eaten if I tried. I only wanted his cock in my mouth.
We sat at the dining room table, awkwardly, picking at our dinners. I don’t think either of us were really all that hungry. I was too nervous, too fucking horny. He told me nothing was going to happen between us that night. He wanted to be good. He was still married. I doubted that. Why would he come to my hotel room if he wanted to be “good”? Couldn’t eat. Did a magic trick for him. It’s weird, but sometimes endearing. He was a bit of a nerd, and he liked it, watching me struggle to shuffle the deck of cards with my sweaty, anxious hands. We ignored our dinner, sat on the couch and looked for something to “watch.” He showed me pics on his phone of his dog, his friends, what his life was like outside of the office. We got closer and closer. His hand on my thigh, my hand on his thigh. Holding hands. I wanted him to kiss me, but again he said he wanted to be good. No he didn’t. He just wanted to make me suffer. Wasn’t that what he had done up until now? We got even closer. I smelled his neck as he held me close to him. I straddled his lap, and he picked me up and sat me back in my spot. No, he was going to be good. But still, his hands were on me, still he breathed in the smell of my hair. He was teasing me, and I would’ve done anything for him. In that moment, I would have done anything. I was his.
I asked if we could lay down on the couch, we could. Closer. I told him I was going to take off my clothes. I wanted him. And I did. I undressed for him until I was in those black panties and black lace bra. I laid back down next to him, and he couldn’t stop himself then. He put his hand on my stomach, sliding it down and into my panties, feeling my wet pussy for the first time. I could hear him groan with delight. He had me where he wanted me. I was literally in the palm of his hand. I turned to him and said he may as well kiss me now because his hand was down my panties. And he kissed me. Laying down on the couch in a room at the Chateau Marmont. He kissed me. It was happening. I wasn’t crazy. He had wanted me. It was more than a fantasy. It was happening. This was happening.
I asked if he wanted to move to the bedroom. He did. I was dizzy and stumbled my way there, balancing myself with the walls. I hadn’t really eaten much that day, and I was lightheaded from this fantastical reality. Fuck, I wanted him. We kneeled on the bed facing each other, kissing, as he took off his clothes. I pawed at his belt, and looked up at him for permission, he said I could take it off. His pants came off, and he was naked in front of me. His cock was beautiful and thick. I knew it would be. He puffed up his chest, like he was trying to appear buff for me. He was already buff. I thought it was bro-y, but fuck it. I was going to fuck my therapist. Finally. After all these months of fucking agony. My panties came off. We touched and kissed each other until he pulled me to the side of the bed. He was going to taste me. He looked at my pussy, and at me, and said, “beautiful.” He thought my pussy was beautiful. I had imagined him saying those words over and over again in my obsessive thoughts. My pussy was beautiful to him. And he licked me. He tasted me. Put his finger inside of me while he did it. I moaned and squirmed on the bed. I wanted to cum in his mouth so fucking badly, but all the Prozac I was on, that he prescribed me, wasn’t having it. I couldn’t cum, and I laughed it off and said it was his fault. He had done this to me. Put me on Prozac. His name were on the bottles I had packed.
He got on the bed, and I swallowed his cock, gazing up at him with my big, winged eyeliner eyes. His cock in my mouth felt surreal. It was everything I had dreamt of. Hearing him moan, tasting his precum on my tongue. I looked up at him, and he asked me, “so do you want this thing in you now?” I’m not even kidding. Those were the words he chose. I think I secretly knew then that all of this would fall apart. But I said yes, and I laid on my back as he penetrated me for the first time. It took my breath away. A few days ago, this man had been my therapist, and now his cock was inside me while his name was still on my prescription bottles. I already suffered from derealization and dissociation, and I floated out of my body once his cock was inside of me. I don’t remember much else. I do remember thinking it wasn’t as good as I had imagined. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined. But I was devoted to him, and I couldn’t care fucking less. I had finally made it. This was the hill I would die on. He didn’t cum. He said it takes a lot for him to cum. But I think he was nervous. A little freaked out. He had cheated on his wife with his younger, obsessive barely former patient. I would hope he was a little freaked out. But maybe I’m giving him too much credit. We cuddled. We talked, and then he was gone. I didn’t sleep much that night.
The next day, I didn’t do anything but write about it in my journal and lay by the Chateau Marmont pool listening to Leonard Cohen, hoping he’d text me. My life as I had known it was over. That day was the first day of the next phase in my life. A phase where Sean and I met again in the botanical gardens, we held hands, we kissed, and we wondered what we would do next. We talked about our future together. We met again at a beach hotel, at the alleged suggestion of his wife. For him to take a break, but he said that she probably knew I would be there. And we laid on the beach on a bed sheet, he rubbed sunscreen onto my legs. We ate Mexican food, and we made love and laid in bed talking for hours. Yeah, we made love. It was better than the first time. More intense. And I came in his mouth. And he came inside me. Then my husband left me, for reasons that had nothing to do with Sean, but our relationship together was the catalyst. It would’ve happened without him, but Sean pushed it right over the edge. Sean asked for a divorce, and his wife left for her hometown. And it was just us for awhile. After all those months of obsessing. After all those things he had said. After telling me there was a 99% chance it would never happen. After telling me maybe in another life. I was finally his. He told me he knew he was in trouble when he met me. Knew it then, but he tried to fight it. He liked my persistence and the playlist. It was the playlist that made him realize that this was different.
He suspiciously closed down his private practice. He said I didn’t have anything to do with it; he had been planning on it for months. Uh huh. He didn’t make as much money with a private practice as he would elsewhere. His friend, a lawyer, told him he didn’t have anything to worry about with me. He would be safe. When did he ask him? Right before he gave me his story and decided we should be friends. He knew what he was doing. My friend, the one who recommended Sean to me stopped, talking to me. I would learn months later that before Sean stopped treating most of his patients, she had confronted him about our relationship together, and Sean had accused her of harboring romantic feelings for him, too, and reacted as if she were merely jealous. I didn’t understand why she or anybody else would have a problem with Sean and I being together. To me, I had the power in the relationship because I had the ability to end his entire career. But no, that power belonged to him, too.
TRUE STORY – My Psychiatrist Groomed Me (pt. 1) [MF][taboo][erotic thriller]
**I wasn’t sure where to post this story, if you know of any other writing subreddits it may be better suited for please let me know.**
He dragged me to my grave. My psychiatrist. Former. Sean. I’ve been working on the story, but it’s a long one. It’s gutting, but sexy at times. I get asked about it often, but I’m still trying to get through a day without thinking about it first. So many journals I kept to go through, so many things I don’t necessarily want to remember because I get upset when they still make me wet. But god, it really was sexy at times. As you’d imagine a story about a woman fucking her psychiatrist may be. Sexy and problematic and traumatizing. Anytime I become sexually obsessed with someone now, I think, “Sean was supposed to help me, he was supposed to fix this, but he just made it worse.” He did. He really, really did. And that’s what I told the investigators when they asked if I had anything else to add after I identified his cock. I. Had. To. Identify. His cock. But god, I loved fucking him. I wanted it so badly. He should never have crossed the line, though. My entire life has changed because of him. What a fucking asshole. But fuck me.
The autumn before last, I started seeing him at a friend’s referral. I had started having panic attacks in the middle of the night. I’d wake up feeling like I was already dead, hovering outside of my body. I started hearing a voice in my head telling me that I had to die. I had to commit suicide in order to make everything stop. I was in pain. I was terrified. I felt drained and dizzy. And I’d cry for hours scared of my own impending death because I assumed the voice was right. It was an obsession, it turns out. It was an obsessive thought triggered by disassociation triggered by a panic attack triggered by stress and probably too much weed before bed triggered by a sexual obsession with a male friend triggered by OCD that had gone untreated for a lifetime. Up until that point, I had only been diagnosed with OCD, but never did anything about it. I mean nothing other than totally give into it: checking locks constantly, flirtations with eating disorders, the norm. I didn’t care for therapists because I have a thing about being asked too many questions sometimes. I’m also, shockingly, incredibly secretive and private about aspects of my personal life. I do; however, like to be suggestive and drop hints for fun. But the questions. The fucking invasive questions like I’m constantly sitting for a job interview. And they always focus on the wrong things. Like Sean did. But he really chose the wrong thing, didn’t he?
I swear one day, I’ll tell the whole story. Soon. Soonish. He’s still under investigation by the medical board anyway. If they’re reading — hi, good luck. I think he’s in Oregon now somewhere. He’ll never get in trouble because he had a back-up plan. I didn’t, by the way.
I knew I was in trouble when I saw him, though. He was tall, awkward. Eyebrows like Eugene Levy. But in a sexy way. I’m ashamed to say, I once balanced a full french fry atop one of those eyebrows. Wow, having sexual obsessions really is like being fucking possessed. But at first, I thought he was gay. I’m not sure why. He had good arms. 9/10 when a man has good arms, they’re gay. Or maybe that’s just in West Hollywood. But it’s what I’m used to. But I thought he was gay, and I was relieved. I had had sexual obsessions with people in positions of power before (i.e. my relationship with Vincent Gallo), and I figured if he was gay, then I was safe. I usually didn’t obsess about anybody I didn’t think I could actually seduce.
But my friend informed me he wasn’t gay, and I remember thinking, “fuck.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That day I started obsessing. I wanted to stop it before it god bad. I wanted to stop it before I started thinking about all the ways I wanted to fuck him, all the fucking time, until I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Like I am now with the Good Boy. I spent hours researching online “what do you do when you have a crush on your therapist????” And everything I read, every YouTube video I watched, insisted that I tell him because it was called “transference,” and it was a common thing. People get crushes on their therapists all the time. You’re in a safe space, somebody is listening to you, you put all your feelings about other people onto this person. It’ll help to tell your therapist because it helps them treat you. I thought it was a good sign. I didn’t realize this was a little different. But I thought it would help explain to Sean how I got these obsessions. He could see first hand how bad my OCD could get.
And I told him. I wrote him a letter, and I told him. I said this happens sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes. All of a sudden. But when it happens, it kills me. And I know this is what started my panic attacks to begin with. I had a crush on my friend, and I wanted him so badly. All I could do was think about him. Sean’s neck turned red, he seemed flustered. He tried to cover it with his hand. I knew there’d be some embarrassment, but I said I trusted that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. Didn’t want him to transfer me to another therapist because I wasn’t sure if somebody else would take advantage or not. But he was an OCD specialist, and I trusted that he’d know how to handle this. He had already helped my panic attacks stop. I thought he could teach me how to make the sexual obsessions stop, so this would never happen again. I asked if he wanted to read the sexual fantasies I had written about him, so he could see what he was dealing with. And eventually, pretty quickly, he said yes. And I recently learned that he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. I handed him my journal:
Sometimes my fantasies are just acting out the lyrics to “Lemonade” by Nicole Dollanganger with you.
Other times…most of the time…I fantasize about seducing you slowly, building up sexual tension over months until you finally pull me back into the office as I’m about to leave. You close the blinds.
I wonder what you’d feel like inside of me. What your tongue would feel like down my throat. What it would be like to go down on you while you sit in your office chair; the type of noises you’d make as I take you in my mouth. I fantasize about how your cock would feel inside of me as I fuck you on the couch, the sexual tension built up so much that penetration feels unreal it’s so intense. You sit back on the couch as I straddle your lap and ride you.
I fantasize about you pushing me up against the wall of your office and pulling back the crotch of my panties to the side, so you can taste me. You stick a finger inside me as you lick, and I cum in your mouth. You take off my panties and wrap your hands tightly around my wrists as you hold my hands above my head against the wall; and even though you feel like you’re in control, you’re not allowed to cum until I give you permission. And when I finally do, you cum so hard and fill me up until your cum is dripping down my leg.
He told me I was a good writer. And then he tortured me for months before he left his wife for me, then broke my heart, gave me a signed VC Andrews novel, ghosted me, and then left the fucking state.
My First Affair with an Older Married Woman [MF]
After writing my last confession, I realized I’ve long had a thing for married women. In a way, it’s like you truly know someone when you have an affair with them. Or at least, you know a side of them that we normally keep hidden. You both have this hunger you can’t satisfy in your regular life, so you have this secret place with this secret person where you find a little thrill together.
You could say I started early. My first affair with a married woman was when I was on break from my first semester in college. Her name was Ann, and she was the hostess of a local sports bar. We had an immediate attraction, like an anvil falling from the heavens kind of connection. Magnetic. Raw. It’s rare but it happens.
I was meeting up with friends at the bar to play pool. All I did was walk past her, but we both literally turned to look at each other. She was about 5’3” and quite thin with a blonde pixie cut. Colorful flower tattoos, a stud in her nose. She had, I would later discover, fake D Cup tits and a great round ass. Big blue eyes and pouty lips. She looked a bit Russian in the face, and a lot younger than she was, almost childish in fact, but I later learned she was nearly 30.
[MF] She came early, often, and easily, and didn’t want to stop
We met at a wine bar in Westchester outside of where work had sent me, with enough conversation and music in the background to be private but not loud enough to stop us from talking. The scent of her tasteful perfume – and every man’s and half the women’s gazes – followed in her wake. Even though we’d been texting all week and I thought I knew what to expect, what I saw blew me away. I took her in all at once – long chestnut brown hair, lbd cut just above her knees accentuating her slim waist and small breasts, black velvet choker with a pearl drawing the eye to her pale skin and elegant neck, silver earrings and smokey eye makeup framing an impish smile. She glides to my table.
I can see she’d been paying attention to all the turn ons we’d shared that week, because she’s just managed to hit all of them at once. It’s a hell of a way to start my first public appearance since getting vaccinated. It’s even better to do it with company like this.
My hot wife and my daughter’s hotter friend part 3
(Thanks for reading so far. Hope you enjoy this next part. Any female readers comment on where you would like to see the story go. All feedback is welcomed)
Sally and I woke up to the sounds of the girls banging around and getting ready. I put on some gym shorts and she just put on her slik robe. Normally this was reserved for me and the few times we had had house to ourselves as it was pretty short and very thin. She tied the waist string and the robe cut on the inside of both her breast and I could she her hard nipples poking against the fabric.
“Looking to make an impression this morning?” I asked
“Well if she is going to think of me… let’s give her something good to think about” she responded.
“Who’s the naughty one now? I joked back
She just smirked at me and and we went and fixed some coffee. We were both catching up on the news and scrolling on our phones when Candace and Jess came out of her room.
Candace headed to the shower and Jess came to join us at the bar.
Sharing a woman during the blackout
This was years ago, when I was in college, during the NYC blackout of 2003. My gf at the time (now wife) and I were long distance and meeting up between cities and I was living in a studio apartment with two other students, D and C, neither of whom I was really close with. C, super tall, was dating a busty curly haired chick who’s name escapes me but who I’ll call “A” for the purposes of this story. I haven’t seen either of them in years, but I think they got married about five years after this and then later divorced, so idk.
So we have this shitty studio apartment, it’s not very big, and we all sleep on futons that get put into couches when people come over, but it’s cheap enough for students and close the subway. C starts bringing this girl over, one of a couple of girls he was dating, but she’s super into him. She’d text, show up, come upstairs and say hi to whoever, and then the two of them would sneak off to the only bathroom for like 10 minutes and fuck, then she’d head out again, makeup askew.
My hot wife and my daughter’s hotter friend part 2
I climbed into bed with Sally. We were spooning as usual and she was fast asleep. I guess the few orgasms she just had took it out of her.
I was the opposite boat. All that happened throughout the day was replaying through my mind and feeling Sally’s wet used hole pushed against me had me horny and sleepless. Every time I closed my eyes I either saw jess’s small tits, the shape of her pussy printing through her bottoms, that sexy little landing strip or the cum dripping from Sally’s pussy right before I ate her to her final orgasm.
I tossed and turned and tried to wake Sally up for round 2 but she was dead to the world. I finally gave up and got up to get a drink. I walked out of my room towards the kitchen. The house was dead silent. As I got closer to the living room I started to hear some heavy breathing. I slowed my pace and a quite moan found my ears. I stopped with my heart racing. It sure sounded like a girl was getting pleased and there were only 2 girls that could be. I had to know what was happening. I heard another barely audible moan and that spurred me forward. I took a few more steps and then could hear the slightest sound of a viberator. I knew then I was about to catch either my daughter or jess masterbating. I would die to watch Jess and that was enough to push me past the awkwardness that would follow if it fell the other way.