The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation

by Amira Bradford

  Abigail moaned as he circled the cube around the fullness of each breast. Drawing concentric circles around her bosom, he got closer and closer to her nipples. She trembled in delight as the ice finally reached her sensitive buds. As he carefully rubbed the frozen cube around each one, waves of ecstasy washed over her. Abigail closed her eyes, almost losing consciousness from the intense pleasure.

  She could barely hold still as he ran the ice cube up and down her tummy. Her hot skin, combined with the summer's heat caused the ice to melt rather quickly. As he playfully danced the ice along her skin, the cold water pooled in her belly button before trickling down between her legs. Feeling goosebumps forming, Abigail shivered.

  After a brief pause, the tantalizing sensation of the ice returned. Abigail gasped as the cold object rubbed across her pelvic area. Slowly traversing down onto her pubic mound, she moaned in rapturous delight as the ice cube came in contact with her vulva. Abigail tensed, clenching her hands into tightly formed balls as he rubbed the ice back and forth along her pussy lips. She felt the sexual tension building within, wanting desperately to erupt.

  "Don't stop, please don't stop," she pleaded as the icy massage continued.

  Feeling the frozen cube pass over her clitoris, she bit her lower lip in response to the overwhelming sensation. Her arousal soared as he began rubbing her with the icy substance. His slow circular motions sensitized her clit, awakening the multitude of nerve endings within. Moaning unintelligible utterances, she squirmed in absolute bliss. Her climax was imminent.

  The icy cold stimulation stopped abruptly without warning.

  The ice was gone, completely removed. Confused and angry, Abigail pulled vigorously at her restraints, desperately trying to free herself.

  "Damn you!" she exclaimed bitterly.

  Once again, silence filled the air. After another rather long pause, he broke the vacuum of silence with a simple statement.

  "Self-control," he declared.

  "Maddening," she snorted, "You are absolutely maddening."

  "Breathe," he added.

  Breathing deeply, she carefully listened for his movements in order to ascertain his next move. After a faint rummaging sound, she heard his footstep once again, sparking a multitude of thoughts. Abigail grinned as lascivious thoughts raced through her mind.

  Warm thick liquid being drizzled over her breasts caught her off guard, causing her to instinctively jerk at the restraints. She tensed as he brushed the substance onto her lower abdominal muscles. The brush trailed down across her sex, igniting her passion once again. Her loins burned with desire as the sable-haired brush lightly stroked her clit. She breathed erratically, moaning with increased intensity.

  He paused briefly once again, allowing her to calm.

  She smiled as she felt the soft bristles sweep across her lips. She instinctively ran her tongue along her lips, licking the sticky substance into her mouth.

  "Yum, honey," she murmured, tasting its natural sweetness.

  Before she could say another word, he pressed his lips to hers. His long, hard kisses quickly rekindled her passion. Savoring every moment, Abigail aggressively returned his affections, hungering for him even more.

  She squirmed, rubbing her thighs tightly together as they kissed. Intense heat flowed through her entire being as he tenderly sucked her lower lip. She parted her lips, eagerly accepting his tongue, allowing it to dance with hers.

  "Ohhh," she sighed as his lips worked their way down her neck and across her collarbone. Her heart pounded fiercely as he kissed around the sides of her breasts and licked the honey from them. As his mouth encircled her hardened nipple, her arousal flared. Enjoying the blissful experience of his succulent mouth upon her bosom, Abigail leaned her head back against the tree quickly becoming mesmerized by the enticing caresses of his tongue.

  As his lips crawled seductively down her abdomen, he exhaled his hot breath upon her delicate skin causing Abigail to shiver from the tingling sensation. A burst of sexual energy surged through her lower torso when his lips touched her pussy. She writhed in ecstasy as his tongue repeatedly licked the length of her slit.

  Abigail ground her pelvis against him as his tongue flicked wildly around her enflamed clit. An immense wave of gratification washed over her as he pushed his tongue inside her hot pussy. As he began fucking her with his tongue, Abigail wrapped her legs around his neck, pulling his face into her loins. She was so close to coming.

  He stopped once again, infuriating her immeasurably. But before she could issue a complaint he spoke.

  "What do you want?" he asked sharply.

  "You," she retorted.

  He repeated his question more insistently, "What do you want Abigail?"

  "You Jonathan! I ... um... I want you," she stammered.

  He repeated his question a third time, "What do you want Abigail?"

  Before answering, Abigail paused momentarily to reflect upon the recent events. Finally, she responded to his question.

  "I want you to fuck me Jonathan!" she exclaimed.

  Abigail momentarily lost balance as she felt herself being rapidly turned face-first against the tree. The handcuffs cut sharply into her wrists from the sudden action. She bit her lip, pondering what he might do next. Much to her surprise, he squeezed a line of honey from the nape of her neck down into the crack of her ass.

  Feeling his hot breath upon her buttocks, Abigail quivered in anticipation. Her muscles tensed as his tongue traversed her ass, deliberately licking every drop of the sweet honey from her salty skin. As he proceeded up her spine, the remarkable sensations from his flickering tongue made it difficult for her to think straight, let alone speak.

  "Oh God," she muttered as his tongue hungrily lapped up the honey.

  She sighed as she felt his coarse beard tickle the nape of her neck. His wet tongue moistened her delicate skin as he inched towards her ear. Feeling his breath blowing along the moistened path, she shivered. Abigail gasped as his alluring mouth kissed and lightly bit her earlobe. Hearing his labored breathing, she grinned knowing he too was quite aroused.

  He broke the silence once again whispering, "I'm going to give you what you want, Abigail."

  "Oh!" she exclaimed ecstatically.

  The sound of his deep voice combined with those enticing words made Abigail a little antsy. She fidgeted with the handcuffs as she listened to his clothes being hurriedly removed. Waves of wanton lust washed over her as he pressed his muscular body firmly against hers. She quivered as he rubbed his hardened cock between her pussy lips, coating it with her juices. Aflame with desire, she begged him to take her.

  Abigail clenched her fists, gasping as he penetrated her from behind. Fueling her desire, he buried himself completely in one swift thrust. Her excitement mounted as he thrust his cock in and out of her hot pussy. Lustfully, she pushed her ass backwards to meet his thrusts with perfect timing. The ensuing sounds of their union reverberated throughout the forest.

  Abigail's heard the faint sound of a vibrator before feeling his hand slide down her tummy and over her mons pubis. Her heart throbbed as she felt the penetrating vibrations on her pussy lips. Jolts of pure energy rushed through her body as he stimulated her clit with the little toy. Abigail's eyes rolled back into her head, almost losing consciousness from the intense pleasure.

  She snapped back into reality as his hand grabbed her hair and pulled her neck back to his awaiting mouth. She sighed in ecstasy as his teeth bit into her neck. Her neck now marked, he spoke once again.

  "Now," he commanded boldly.

  "Now?" she humbly asked.

  "Now!" he repeated.

  Abigail needed no further prompting. Her inhibitions now released, she let herself go.

  She vigorously bucked against his thrusting cock. Squeezing her thighs tightly together, she trapped the humming vibrator firmly against her clit. Within seconds, her climax exploded, releasing a surge of primal energy throughout her body. She shuddered violently as the first wave hit her. He
r fingernails dug sharply into her palms as the rhythmic contractions in her pussy and anus began.

  "Oh God Jonathan," she cried as the second shockwave of her orgasm began.

  Her body burst into a series of uncontrolled spasms as the throbbing sensations in her clit exploded outward. Her body was permeated with a multitude of pleasure pulses. Inundated by these powerful sensations, Abigail collapsed against the tree, mentally and physically spent.

  Abigail groaned in pain as the tree bark bit into her flesh. He quickly cut the rope, freeing her handcuffed arms from the tree. She trembled as he scooped her up and carried her over to the blanket. A sense of contentment filled her soul as he carefully laid her upon her side. He removed the handcuffs from her wrists and curled up beside her. She purred contently as his amorous actions rapidly relaxed her.

  Feeling the pool of sticky liquid between her legs, Abigail blushed. She shook her head in amazement, finding it difficult to believe she was so self-centered she hadn't even thought about his needs. But upon ample consideration, she grinned. The voluminous amount of cum between her legs spoke for itself. He too had enjoyed it, rather immensely, it seemed.

  With that pleasant thought, she whispered, "I love you Jonathan" and closed her eyes, joining her lover in dreamland.

  The End.

  Domestic Bliss

  Norman Plunchnik didn't know why he spent each morning lately lying on his back, with his secretary's thighs wrapped tightly around his cheeks, her juices pouring into his less than eager mouth for what seemed like hours. God knows, a five-minute quickie used to be enough. Once he got his rocks off, he could return to work. But no longer. And Pam had become absolutely insatiable. Right now, his tongue felt as though it had spent the last half hour in a blender, and still Pam rocked back and forth violently on his face, the walls of her cunt contracting around his nose as his obedient tongue lapped furiously at the bud of her clitoris. Her gasps were becoming quicker and quicker now. She grabbed his head and forced Norman's mouth even tighter against her mound. She jerked violently, threw her head back on her shoulders, and let out one of her patented shrieks, as orgasm number twenty-three overcame her. Norman wasn't sure why he bothered counting them. A way to relieve the boredom, he supposed.

  He only prayed the new soundproofing he had installed in the office was working. Otherwise, the patiently-waiting Ellen Griebstein was getting quite a show out there in the reception area as she waited to see her mysteriously delayed attorney.

  He wasn't sure why he had begun to indulge in such practices. Certainly, Monica's all too frequent bouts of infidelity had instilled a need for some kind of revenge. And the fact that she had tried to put out a contract on him last year hadn't helped matters. He still couldn't quite bring himself to forgive her for that one. Sure, her lawyers had proved beyond any doubt in court that it had been a clear case of entrapment by the F.B.I. and those bastards on CNN. Were it not for the U.S. justice system's amiable willingness to let any criminal defendant go scot-free if she (or rather Norman) could hire a Dream Team of attorneys to exploit every available legal loophole, Monica would be sitting down in the state prison this minute, right where she belonged, getting buggered alternately by bull dykes and redneck guards, as she deserved. Instead, she was sitting watching Jerry Springer, smoking cigarettes and tossing down whiskey sours back at the house, where she was undoubtedly getting buggered by the pool boy.

  Monica had never quite been the same since their darling daughter Clara, she of the navel ring, barbed wire tattoo, shaved head and chicest of heroin addictions, had run off with those two bikers. No Harvard Med School for her. Still, that was no excuse for Monica's occasionally successful attempts to screw the lights out of every hapless male that happened to saunter by the front porch of their humble domicile, or for hiring some greaseball to pump five rounds of lead into Norman's admittedly defective brain, for that matter. He wasn't quite sure exactly why it was that he stayed with her. Perhaps it was because he suspected that he was at least partially to blame for her insanity. He could have been a better husband, he thought to himself, as he watched the delightfully bouncing bottoms of Pam's breasts, barely visible now as he peered up at them through her pubic hair. She lowered herself onto him more tightly and grasped his hair. He felt the increased flow of her juices into his still famished mouth and the walls of her cunt beginning to tremble against his chin once again.

  Here goes number twenty-four, Norman thought, as he sent his enflamed tongue into even more feverish motion. He sincerely hoped that wasn't the beginning of a temporomandibular joint problem he was feeling in his jaw. As Pam began to shriek once more and threatened to pull the few remaining hairs out of Norman's already depilated head, Normal suddenly realized that he had left the briefs for this afternoon's session back at the house. He'd better drive back and get them right after he took care of the always patient Mrs. Griebstein. But first things first. After all, one had to have one's priorities in order. And he would need to finish taking care of Pam before he could get to Griebstein. He redoubled his efforts, feeling the beginnings of number twenty-six on his tongue. If he worked her hard, he could probably induce the next five in rapid succession. Thirty usually did it. Although the way Pam was lately, you never knew.

  As Norman pulled into his driveway, the first thing he noticed was the mail truck, oddly parked on the street directly across from his house. "Et tu, Cliffy Claven," he muttered to himself as he shut off the engine. Postal workers were known to be a tad testy at times and prone to scattering each other's brains across the mailroom walls with various sorts of automatic weapons. Still, Norman figured it might still be fun to give the two lovebirds a little surprise. He silently opened the door of the house, sneaked through the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs. As he grasped the handrail, he found it to be covered with a sticky substance having the general consistency of cum. He grimaced, wiped his hand on his shirt and continued to make his way to the top of the stairs. Once there, he noticed a trail of slime on the carpet leading from the stairs to Clara's old room, where Monica had taken to sleeping lately. From beyond the door, there emanated a rapid series of Monica's trademark denials and affirmations. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh no, oh yes, oh no..." she panted in seeming indecision.

  Norman pushed the door ajar and was instantly greeted by the unseemly spectacle of the mail carrier's undulating ass as he pumped his way in and out of the obliging Mrs. Plunchnik. The courier's bobbing butt seemed surprisingly tanned and well-toned as it completed its appointed rounds, forming a striking contrast to Monica's pasty, alcohol-soaked flesh. Surely the possessor of such an impressive gluteus maximus could find something better to diddle than his present company, Norman thought to himself as he switched on the light.

  "I must say, you have found a very creative approach to tipping the mailman, Monica," Norman said. He turned to the steroid-enhanced mail carrier. "I came to collect my briefs and I suggest you collect yours," Norman told him, patting him on his well-developed rump. The postman's flesh was strangely oily and surprisingly cool. Norman felt a wave of pleasure come over him the instant he touched the mailman's flesh. He felt himself becoming instantly erect, surprisingly so in view of Pam's recent ministrations back at the office.

  The postman turned and grinned at Norman, as if aware of Norman's state. The irises of his eyes seemed to spiral. Nonetheless, he proceeded to disengage himself from Monica and picked up his clothes. His movements were almost preternaturally swift and graceful. He seemed almost to glide out of the room.

  Monica remained sprawled on the bed, her sagging breasts and potbelly a counterpoint to the postman's perfect flesh. She opened her legs wider, as if to taunt Norman with her splayed sex. "At least somebody around here can still get it up," she informed him, cackling and reaching across the bed for a cigarette.

  Norman grunted and left the bedroom for the office to retrieve his papers, talking care not to step in the fresh trail of slime that led down the hall.

  Heavenly shades of night ha
d fallen by the time Norman returned to the house. He liked to postpone his arrival until well after dark these days. That way, there was a ninety-nine percent probability that Monica would be fully into her alcoholic stupor and he would be spared her usual diatribe. Tonight, for instance, he had eaten a sumptuous dinner of twice-cooked pork at the Hunan Pavilion, while trying to ignore the many eyes pitying him for his single-diner status. He had followed that up with a full hour of fascinating browsing at the CVS store next door to the restaurant, checking out the latest paperback releases and becoming intimately familiar with the contents of various brands of toothpaste.

  Oh well, time to face the music, he thought as he turned off the ignition. As he got out of the Lexus, he noticed a light on in the bedroom of the house next door. He looked up. Sure enough, Helga Anderson was parading around in the buff again, her magnificent rose-nippled Viking breasts displayed to all and sundry with wanton abandon. It was high time he started to get to know his neighbors better, Norman thought. But not tonight. He barely had enough energy to insert his key into the lock as it was.

  As he crossed the threshold, his nose was assaulted with a strange odor. Perfume. Monica never wore perfume. A red glow emanated from the general direction of the living room, the result of Monica's latest experiments with mood lightning. Reluctantly, Norman entered the living room, poised for yet another confrontation.

  Improbably, he found Monica both unconscious and alone. But this was a different Monica. She wore the peignoir she had bought at Victoria's Secret during the first year of their marriage. Her breasts jutted firmly. Her stomach was taut. Her limbs were tanned, with superb muscle tone. Gone were the dark bags under her eyes and the nascent wattle on her neck. She looked truly magnificent, the perfect picture of health (and seduction).

  "I'm sorry about this afternoon," she cooed. "Sometimes, I get so horny. Things haven't been right between us and I miss you, Normy." She gave him a Shirley Templesque pout of the lips and looked up at him with deep, strangely enlarged eyes.