Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  She used one hand to gently lift the band away from his waist and the other to free his cock, which sprang to life, the tip glistening with more dribbling juices as she bent to gently cup his naked balls. His cock sprang to life, quivering as she lowered her mouth at last to welcome its thick, bulbous tip between her thick, wet lips.

  He tasted both salty and sweet, her hand on his trembling belly as he gasped and rocked back in the seat, giving him more of her to swallow until she slid back along his girth and replaced her lips with her hand, gently stroking him until he pressed more insistently against her and she wasn’t so gentle.

  He bit his lip, arching his hips forward as she slid to her knees in the spacious backseat of the giant SUV. She yanked his pants down to his ankles, desperate to be between his legs, slathering his cock with wet kisses, cupping his balls gently, feeling their heft in her free hand as she alternately sucked and stroked his reddening cock with a faster, more intense rhythm that made him bite his lip and squirm beneath her.

  His hands gripped the back of the giant leather seat, his stomach quivered as she reached out to gently push his shirt even higher up his slick, smooth skin. She knelt back, taking him in hand, watching her own and his juices mingle as she gently stroked him from stem to tip and back again. She watched his belly begin to heave, heard his breath catch in his throat, knew he was close to cumming and stopped, watching him quiver and glisten as she sat back, reaching for her panties.

  “Not yet,” she gasped, wiping the back of her hand against her puffy, slick lips. “I have a long night in store for you.”

  He chuckled as she slid back onto the seat next to him. He pulled up his pants and yanked down his shirt but, as she went to put on her panties, he paused, taking them from her. “I like thinking of you without them,” he explained, sliding them into his jacket pocket and waiting until they were both semi-dressed to slide down the dividing wall between them and Harrington.

  “Home,” was all he said, voice thick with desire.

  They sat next to each other, silently, like guilty teenagers, Claudia feeling her bare ass against the leather seat and squirming in anticipation all the way home.

  At last the shimmering lights of Richard’s mansion glistened into view and the electric gate whirred open before them, then closed as they passed beyond the constantly monitored perimeter. The driveway was curving and long, but Claudia already knew they wouldn’t be going all the way to the front door.

  “Here’s fine,” Claudia said, hand on the seat in front of her.

  “Here?” Harrington asked, stopping in front of the pool house. It was hardly that. She’d lived in spacious penthouse apartments smaller than what passed for a “pool house” in Bel Aire.

  Richard looked to her for confirmation and, silently, she pressed her hand between his legs. He quickly croaked, “This is just fine, Harrington.”

  Seconds later, holding hands and staring at the winking of Harrington’s taillights in the distance as it drove on toward the main mansion, Richard looked at her questioningly.

  Leaning in to his ear, she pressed his hand more firmly and whispered, “I don’t want the help to hear.”

  He chuckled and followed her into the pool house, which she often used when he was entertaining international guests or simply out of town on business, preferring her own space to “sleeping over” in the giant, sprawling mansion.

  Besides, she thought as she led him into the solarium. It’s where I’ve been pleasuring myself twice a month since I started this assignment.

  He instantly reached for the lights, but she stilled him with a forceful hand. The solarium was all windows and there was plenty of moonlight. There was a chaise style lounge chair in the solarium, oversized like everything else in the mansion, leather and perfect for what she had in mind.

  She led him to it, pausing to drop his jacket to the floor and unbutton his crisp white shirt in the process. She took it off slowly, admiring his lean physique and broad shoulders as she slid her hands to his waist and freed him from his dress pants.

  He reached for her then but she held up a finger, wagging it in a “bad boy” way and lowering him to the chaise. “It’s time for the future Mrs. Richard Lawson to make a few demands of her own.”

  He smirked, eyes glistening in the moonlight as she gently led him down onto the chaise, face first. From a nearby drawer she pulled a bottle of warming lotion and a small hand towel, hands literally trembling with desire as she spied the moonlight spilling across his half-naked body.

  She was still in her maroon dress, her heels clacking on the imported marble tiles of the solarium floor as she slunk slowly back to the lounge chair, the cool breeze in the room making her more aware than ever that he still held her damp panties in his coat pocket.

  He lay, arms at his sides, awaiting her. She kicked off her heels and knelt on the lounge, hiking her skirt up until her thighs were free, and she could kneel next to him. She poured a dollop of clear lotion into her hand, warming it before applying it to the small of his back. He tensed, sighing, as she spread it around his entire back, sliding onto the chair next to him and toying with the band of his underwear.

  She slid her hands beneath it, gently caressing the small of his back before sliding one leg over to straddle the back of his leg. It was slick with lotion now, warm beneath her as she slid down onto the back of his thigh and ground her wet, naked pussy against it.

  He moaned, softly, grinding his pelvis into the chair as she slid down onto him, waist sliding onto the soft fabric of his underwear, erect nipples hard on the small of his back. He tried to turn over but she chuckled throatily and pushed him back down, inching herself up his body inch by delectable inch. She slid her dress off over her head, impatiently, eager to be naked, free and fucking him, not caring where it fell or what it must look like now, slathered in oil and drenched with her musk.

  She wore only a black lace bra, but not for long. It joined the dress and Richard’s clothes as she inched ever forward, straddling his waist now, slick with oil and her own juices as she slid deliciously against his skin, so warm and soft, his breath coming faster now, harder, as she lowered her breasts to slide across the warm, slick flesh of his shoulders. She peppered his neck, his ear, with hot kisses until he turned his face and sighed contentedly.

  She snatched a kiss from his lips, both of them breathing heavily now as she ground herself more insistently into his back until she could hear the slick sound of skin against skin, her swollen clit tender to the touch and rasping delightfully with each pass of her skin against his.

  At last she paused, too afraid she might come to resist another grind, and eased him over onto his back. He reached for her, eagerly, but she wagged another finger and stretched his hands high above his head, leaving them there as she coated his chest with another fine layer of lotion, which warmed to the touch and coated his flat stomach and bare chest.

  He watched her as she slid back down his body, swollen clit gliding against his thick, throbbing cock, still sheathed in its damp underwear but straining, desperately, to break free. They were both breathing heavily, practically panting, and a thin layer of sweat had started to coat her skin, and his too.

  She rubbed his chest, using her hands on his body to keep her pelvis slightly raised just above his crotch. Even so, his throbbing member strained through the damp cotton to reach it, as if by instinct, the fat, wet tip rubbing tenderly against her quivering bud as she slid, up and down, down and up, until he whimpered for release and she threatened to climax.

  At last she inched his shorts down, bending to swallow his glistening shaft as at last his shorts fell to the floor to join the rest of their clothes, damp and discarded at the foot of the chaise. He spread his thighs to accommodate her, and she knelt between them, bare ass up in the air as she swallowed him, stroked him, toyed with him, teased him to a lather as he ground his skin against the chair.

  At last he could take no more. “My turn,” he said, sitting up abruptly and taking
her shoulders in his hands as he kissed her, hot and hungry, breath hot, face hot, sweat dripping down their bodies as he rose to kneel.

  He slid his cock between her legs, where its girth stretched from her throbbing clit to her tender ass. She slid along it blissfully, eyes fluttering as he kissed her, peppering her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts, and she ground against him, desperate to have him inside her.

  But Richard Laymon had other plans. He slid out from between her legs and, with gentle force, pressed her face down onto the chaise. It smelled of him now, musky and sweet, like his skin and their sweat. There was something alluring about being taken, about being forced, face down, helplessly, to wait anxiously for what he might want or touch or taste or feel or do next.

  She felt his hands upon her back, a fresh coat of lotion slathering her fiery skin as he straddled her from behind. His hands were large but gentle as he massaged her shoulders, her ribcage, her back. She could feel the thickness of his cock against her ass and was desperate for him to use it, anywhere he wanted, any way he wanted, but she lay there, practically panting, as he teased her much as she had him.

  Her mound was wet and lathered against the leather lounge cushion as his hands moved down to encircle her waist, peppering her back with soft, wet kisses as she arched her hips to be taken, to be mounted, to be filled.

  As if reading her mind, Richard touched one cheek, then the other, making her squeal with desire as he gently toyed with the crack of her ass with one hand, his other teasing her throbbing, dripping clit with the tip of one index finger that knew exactly what it was doing.

  She gasped at the sensation as he fingered both holes, picturing his sly, crooked smile as sweat rolled down the small of her back and he pressed deeper inside of her with both fingers, until she ground against them, squealing, coming loudly and forcefully, eyes blinking rapidly, panting and begging for more.

  He obliged as she came once more, grunting, face down in the lounge chair, trying to catch her breath as he gently took his fingers out of her. She rose to meet him, not caring anymore how she sounded as she grunted, her arms weak as she pressed herself onto all fours.

  She reached back to grab him, stroking his thick cock, him slick with lotion, wet with sweat and the fat, red tip glistening with pre-cum as she gently guided him into her, then not so gently slid back onto him. He filled her, and yet she slid back until her ass was flush with his torso, and still she craved more.

  She had never felt this way on a “job” before. Had never enjoyed sex with any of the men she’d pleasured over the years, luring them with her taut, young body until at last she was forced to lay down with them, old hands on young skin, eyes shut tight as she waited, praying for “it” to be over. This time, she didn’t want it to end!

  Now she begged for it, eager for Richard to fill her, to come inside of her, to share with her that most intimate of human experiences. She grabbed her own breasts as he pumped steadily inside of her from behind, grunting, gasping, their voices merging as sweat dripped from his chest onto her writhing ass.

  He grabbed her around the waist, owning her, steadily pounding her, the rhythm growing so intense she came again, dripping now, the sounds of their sex filling the room, moonlight coating their young, sweaty bodies as his hands rounded her ass and threatened to fill her once more.

  She moaned as he toyed with her sphincter, pressing one finger over the puckered crevice as he slowed his rhythm, using the lube and the sweat from her back to guide it in as, both holes filled now, he suddenly increased his rhythm, toying with her as he slid almost out of her, until she felt the fat tip toying with her quivering lips, then slowly back in until she could feel his flat stomach against her, then almost out, then almost in, taking his time, as she panted, wheezing, until at last he filled her one last time, sliding in and she could feel the jerk of him, the twitch and the gush as he grunted, collapsing as he took both hand and prick from her, tumbling next to her as she trembled, falling back into his arms, his chest beating, his hands around her waist as they clung to each other in the night.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, softly, enjoying the heat of his body and the pounding of his heart.

  “Thank YOU,” he chuckled, making her tremble and her sore breasts jiggle.

  She slapped his wet, naked thigh. “Not for that, you jerk.”

  “Then for what?” He sounded seriously confused.

  “For asking me, tonight.”

  His voice grew serious. “Thanks for answering.”

  He took one hand away from her waist then, stroking her hair until at last her eyes grew heavy and she drifted to sleep.

  In the morning, he was gone, not surprising given his hectic schedule. She rose, slowly, to find the shades drawn and her body, still sticky from the night before, still sore and sated, covered with a throw from the nearby loveseat.

  She smiled and rose, grabbing an imported iced coffee from the small kitchen fridge and slinking into the shower, the hot water cleaning the oil and sweat and musk from her still sensitive skin.

  She dressed casually, from a small closet in the guest bedroom, where she kept a few changes of clothes just in case. Soft cotton panties, stonewashed jeans, a breezy cardigan, leather flats. She checked the time and was amazed to find it well past nine. She never slept this late.

  “You never get this laid, either,” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, voice still husky and thick as she finger-combed her long, straight hair.

  Her cell phone was still in her purse, and she checked the messages, not surprised to hear the voice of her contact at Corporate Concubine, Inc. “Claudia, it’s me,” he said, in that same, monotone, sedate voice he always used. “Call me back. I have a business proposition for you.”

  She sighed, raising the blinds in the solarium to find all evidence of last night’s indulgences swept away. The lube bottle, gone, Richard’s clothes, even her maroon dress, all gone.

  “Well,” she sighed aloud, dialing her contact’s number, “he didn’t get to be a billionaire by not paying attention to details.”

  She eyed the early morning light reflected in the long lap pool and dialed her contact’s number by heart. “Claudia,” she said when the call connected.

  “Your client wants to meet,” the voice said abruptly.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Of course he wants to meet me, they all want to meet me, but you said long ago the deal was they’re not allowed to meet me.”

  “This one’s… different.”

  Claudia thought she heard the sound of greed in her contact’s voice, a rare event. “How different?”

  “A hundred grand, on the spot, different.”

  Claudia shook her head, sagging onto the chaise lounge. “You know I don’t need any more money.”

  “You do if this one’s taking you off the market, doll.”

  Claudia stiffened. “How did you… how would you… know that?”

  There was a deafening pause. “I can hear it in your voice. Burnout, romance, dazzle, whatever you want to call it, I don’t imagine you suiting up for too many more missions, if you know what I mean.”

  She chuckled. “If all that’s true, and I do marry for love this time, I certainly won’t need any more money.”

  Another pause. “No, but it’s always nice to have your own secret account, if you know what I mean.”

  Claudia did. And, in fact, the figure, or maybe just a little more, would put her own secret stash at just over two million. That would be serious walk away money, if things ever went south with Richard.

  “I’m authorized to double the amount, if that’s what it--”

  Her voice was as firm and robotic as his. “When and where?”

  She closed the phone and shook her head. Everything about this job was going whacky, it seemed. Why not the grand finale as well? She stood up on wobbly legs, smiling to have been true and rightly fucked for the first time in years.

  Driving into town, her hands around the wheel of her
Jaguar -- her own Jaguar, the one she’d been driving when she and Richard first “met” -- she smiled and wondered what the afternoon held.

  The restaurant was in Malibu. Nothing fancy, but plenty out of the way. She liked that. Maybe this client wasn’t a complete idiot, after all. Though clearly demented, given the fact that he’d gone to much trouble to hire someone like Claudia to sabotage a man like Richard’s success.

  She drove by the restaurant twice, three times, looking for fancy cars or super secret spy mobiles and finding neither. Then again, she was early; Claudia was always early. She drove to the nearest drug store and bought some breath mints, a clip for her hair, another new disposable cell phone -- she went through about three a month -- and a bottle of vanilla hand sanitizer for her purse.

  Then she sat in the parking lot, filing her nails and sucking a mint, wondering if she was making the right decision. Not just about meeting her client, but about marrying the man she’d been paid to humiliate, crush and destroy.