Sensual Erotica (Vol. 1): 26 Erotic Stories

by Priscilla West

  We didn’t need to communicate. We both went about unpacking the tyrofoam chips, turning the box inside out, as fast as we could, until Bob was able to lift the doll’s body out. It was really cumbersome because it was life-size, but he hauled it upstairs into the bedroom without too much trouble.

  He put it down on the bed, on its back, and spread its limbs out. Then he sat down in the chair across the room.

  He didn’t need to give me instructions. I stood in front of the bed and looked at the doll. It had a muscular physique, too perfect for an actual man, and maybe even hotter for that reason. I stepped out of my shoes, slipped out of my blouse, unclasped my bra and climbed out of my panties and onto the bed. By now, I knew I wanted it. I wanted to fuck this Real Doll as much as Bob wanted me to, but first I wanted to explore it with my mouth more. To see if the rest of its body was as pliable and fleshy as its lips.

  I started at its toes, sucking them one at a time. It was actually detailed enough to have toenails. The foot itself was structured as if real bones were inside. Slowly I made my way up the doll’s legs, allowing my hands to wander higher and feel the doll’s stomach and chest, to wrap around its side and clench its ass. It had a very nice, firm ass, naturally. What about this doll wasn’t ideal? Then I took the doll’s engorged member into my mouth.

  It was always engorged, unless you changed its cock out for a replacement, but that didn’t bother me. I went right along blowing it, rubbing my tongue along the shaft, teasing the head, lightly biting. All the while, I was fondling the doll’s silicone balls, and also playing with my own pussy. I looked over to see that Bob had unbuckled his pants and was playing with himself, too.

  I slobbered all over that real doll’s huge cock. I drooled and spit, coating it with my saliva until it was slick, wet, ready to slide right into my pussy. The real doll didn’t budge. It didn’t care what I was doing to it. And as I was licking its dick, slurping on its sack, I suddenly realized why I thought the doll was so hot. Bob wanted to see me fuck another man, but that wasn’t what turned me on personally. No, it was the idea that I could do whatever I wanted to the doll, to use it for my own pleasure without even considering how it would feel. It wasn’t going to come too soon, or come too late, or tell me to do this or that. I was going to do exactly what I wanted, and no one was going to stop me.

  I sat on the doll’s face. I smushed its face straight into my warm cunt, grinding against it until I had opened its lips again and managed to work the tip of its silicone tongue out. Then I rocked back and forth, stimulating myself on the doll’s tongue, grabbing its hair with one hand and tweaking my nipples with the other. The doll wasn’t going to tweak them. I’d have to do everything myself. But that’s what made me shiver with delight: by using this doll, I was using myself. My own dirtiest fantasies were my only limit.

  I bent over and sucked the doll’s cock as I kept working my pussy back and forth against its lips. When I turned around at last, I saw that its face was totally covered with my juices. The silicone flesh was shimmering. I decided to pull myself down, dragging my dripping cunt across its pecs and abs, before finally angling its cock against my pussy. Gradually, agonizingly, I slid forward onto the doll’s dick, arching my back from the erotic sensation of having something so big easing into my pussy. The extra-large penis would’ve definitely been too much, but the large size Bob and I had ordered was perfect. It filled me just as much as I wanted, stretching me open, releasing the tension that had been tightening in my stomach. Now, that tension flowed like a sweet drug through all my veins, turning into ecstasy and loosening my muscles as I sat on the doll’s thick shaft, taking its length all the way to the hilt.

  I had to groan from the pleasure. I was fucking a Real Doll in reverse cowgirl. Pumping myself up and down, I could measure exactly how hard I wanted it, how slow or how fast, without caring what my partner wanted. But it wasn’t just masturbation. The doll had the weight of a real man, the presence of one. Its flesh warmed as mine did. I leaned back more, entwining my hands with its hands, resting my head on its chest as I squirmed into the most wonderful of positions.

  I decided to turn around. That way, I could make out with the doll as I was fucking it. As I locked my lips with its again, I could taste my own pussy from the juices I had left behind on its mouth. That was finally enough to send me over the edge. My own flavor, the hard cock in my cunt, the warm body underneath me… before I knew it, my insides were clenching, spasming, and I was flushed with bliss.

  I recovered in time to see Bob come all over himself. He’d disrobed when I wasn’t paying attention, and watching me in the throes of pleasure had made him explode.

  “Oh fuck,” he said. “Goddamn. I knew you’d like that. Didn’t you?”

  “Like it?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure I loved it…”

  “Don’t start thinking that we’re done yet.”

  He stood up and walked over to me.

  “Clean me up,” he said. “Then it’s my turn to fuck my own wife.”

  I did as he asked, licking his dick, his hands, his stomach, all the places he’d shot his load onto himself. And as I swallowed his cum, I started to rock back and forth on the doll’s cock again.

  “How’s it feel to pleasure two men at the same time?” he asked me.

  “I’m not,” I said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “One man,” I said between slurps, “and one woman.”

  He grinned when he understood me.

  “Damn right, one man and one woman! That’s the truth. I knew that I married you for a reason!”

  “Don’t fool yourself. I married you.”

  “Maybe. But I’m gonna be the one to fuck you next, baby.”

  It didn’t take him long to get hard again, especially since he had my continuing performance with the doll to arouse him. The doll needed no recovery time whatsoever. It was ready to please me at my whim, and when Bob joined in the fun, it was ready to please both of us.

  I sucked on its cock as he ate out my cunt. He was cleaning me up just as I’d done for him, and I knew he was enjoying himself because of how eagerly he lapped at my every fold and crevice, collecting every drop that he could find. He buried his nose in my ass as he tongued my pussy. I could feel him wiggling his head, jiggling my ass cheeks. He spanked me, spanked me twice, making the blood rise tingling to the underside of my skin.

  We only took a break when we had to rearrange the doll. Bob pulled it to the edge of the bed, draping its legs over the side, so that when I remounted its silicone dick he could angle his real one right against my asshole from behind. Every time I rose and fell on the doll, I could feel Bob’s manhood sliding up and down between my cheeks. Then, in one elegant movement, I lifted my body higher so that the doll’s dick would slip out, and Bob dipped his pelvis down before thrusting it forward, entering my cunt almost as soon as the doll had left it.

  He proceeded to fuck me, and fuck me hard.

  I’d never felt him move with such power. Our bodies slammed together with every thrust he made, and we slid into one another, covered in sweat and delirious with lust. He planted one palm on my back, guiding me as he fucked me, and continued to spank me first on one ass cheek and then the other. Meanwhile I had my mouth locked onto the doll’s again, and as I bobbed forward and back from the force of my horny husband, my breasts brushed against the silicone body beneath me. The silicone, although it felt like skin, also had just the right amount of resistant texture to catch my nipples, jerk them slightly, and then release them as my breasts rocked back and forth over the doll’s torso. It was so stimulating, impossibly stimulating. I could feel my areolas pucker as my nipples hardened from the friction. Waves rolled through my muscles, heightening every sensation, multiplying every pleasure, and soon I was lost in another body-wracking orgasm that left me powerless to even clench my fingers.

  I was just another kind of doll, and as Bob kept on fucking me, it felt like I was being used again, unable to move or do anyt
hing from exhaustion. But it didn’t bother me. It was fantastic. When Bob came again, flooding my pussy with his cum, he collapsed on top of me, on top of the doll, and we remained like that, panting together, in the afterglow.

  “Baby, that was amazing,” Bob told me. “Thanks for my birthday present. I’m really glad you gave me what I wanted.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I gave you what you wanted, too.”

  “I honestly didn’t think you’d go through with it. You surprised me.”

  “I surprised myself.”

  He had his naughty schoolboy look again.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so pleased,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, honey, you might not realize it, but now you’ve got some competition in the bedroom!”

  “Hey! Wait a minute!”

  Needless to say, our Real Doll was a welcome new houseguest, and our nights were never boring after it arrived. You can get pretty creative with three people in one bed, even if one of one is silicone-based!

  Sweet Revenge

  by Jennifer Simms

  I unlocked the door and turned the sign around so that it read “Open,” feeling as I did so the same thrill I experienced every morning. Having my own shop after working for Tracie for four years, as much as I’d loved working with her, was an indescribable high. Now it was all on me. I did the buying, the layout, the planning for sales and special events. And here I was in the big town after helping Tracie grow her business back home. I’d always felt I was meant to come here, and it was going well.

  The boutique was exceptional--the business reporters and the people from the Chamber of Commerce had seen that right away. With my gift for choosing just the right Fair Trade goodies and imports and my fashion sense, I was creating something that was drawing customers from all over. It was a huge relief every time somebody actually made a purchase. I was still a little freaked out by my own boldness, but little by little, I was starting to accept the possibility that I was, in fact, damn good at this.

  I knew that insecure feeling was a ghost from the past, and it was something I’d learned to deal with in therapy. I knew that a great many people who go on to do quite well later in life were bullied in middle school. Most of my best friends these days hadn’t fit in perfectly back then. We were the square pegs being forced into round holes, the ones who walked around with targets on our backs: the poets and artists and entrepreneurs.

  Not everyone had been as lucky as I’d been. In seventh grade, my parents had realized that all the advice they gave me about being myself and holding my head up wasn’t really going to solve the problem. But the problem wasn’t really me--it was them.

  It had escalated quickly. Raven-haired Chelsea Britton had invited me to sit with her at lunch, and I had said no thanks. I hadn’t meant anything wrong by it. I had a project I was working on, and I intended to keep reading through lunch period, that was all. It wasn’t until I happened to glance up from my library book on fashion design and happened to see Chelsea pointing at me that I realized there might be more to it.

  Chelsea was plainly talking about me. As I watched, she said something to her number one sidekick, Jen Woodleigh, and Jen responded--I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the whole table of girls burst into giggles. I’d seen enough of how this crew operated that I was pretty sure them pointing and giggling wasn’t a good thing. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach a knot began to grow.

  But I had been sadly unprepared for their next move. I shouldn’t have been, I guess. But for those of us who don’t possess a Mean Girl attitude, their logic isn’t anything like logical. So when Ted Westlawn had come up to me in the hall two days later, I hadn’t connected it to the fact that Chelsea and her crew had been giving me weird looks ever since I’d declined the invite to lunch.

  “Heya, Nikki.” He’d been plausibly casual. “What’s doin?”

  I might have been somewhat lost in my own geeky little world, but I had certainly noticed Ted. You couldn’t avoid him. He was the co-captain of the eighth grade football squad and the head of the debating club, and the adults seemed to be constantly showering praises on him like he was some classic ideal scholar-athlete destined to save the Republic from Doom.

  Which under normal circumstances would have been a turn off. But in Ted’s case it was mitigated by the fact that he was just simply too smokin’ hot to ignore. Just because I didn’t want to play the normally accepted social games didn’t mean I was blind--or that I hadn’t begun, at twelve and a half, to wonder what it might feel like to be alone with a guy.

  And Ted, I will admit, had his place in my wonderings. He had jet black hair and blue eyes and a sleek body, ripped but not bulky.

  So when he asked me what was doin’, I stumbled through an answer. And when he asked me to meet him outside the MobilMart that night, my heart jumped.

  I was hooked. All they had to do after that was jerk the line. I showed up at the MobilMart in my best Levis and what I thought was a cute top. Ted was five minutes late, but when he got there--we were sitting on a picnic table outside the store--I was tongue tied and overly impressed. After all, it was the first time a guy had invited me anywhere.

  “So,” he said, “are you interested in history?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “Why?”

  “Because I think we’re making history right now.”

  “What- um- I don’t think we’re the first people in history to meet at the MobilMart.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re right. But it’s definitely the first time in the history of Mallotville that an ugly slut like you has been invited out. Anywhere.”

  It took me a few seconds to actually absorb his words, to comprehend what was going on. The whole Chelsea/Jen lunch table crowd materialized out of nowhere and burst into insane giggling. Part of my brain was just going Really? REALLY? But my heart was reeling.

  “You...You. You completely fucking suck,” I said to Pretty Boy Ted. But it might have been less than impressive because I did start to cry. They had their moment, and it was the end of my social life in middle school. When middle school finally ended about a thousand centuries later, my parents had arranged my admission to White Dove Parochial, and I wasn’t fool enough to object, even if it was all girls.

  At WDP, I had thrived. And while I’d been winning a scholarship to the Design Consortium, I’d gotten a little help from Mama Nature. My breasts had developed a C-cup heft and my naturally long legs had firmed up nicely. Even without boys around in school, I had become pretty sure I wasn’t some ugly anything, let alone slut.

  I brewed a pot of coffee and sat down at the desk next to the display case to do some accounting. But before I could get too deep into the math--never my favorite part anyway--the chimes on the door tinkled and a customer entered.

  He’d aged well, damn him, filled out in all the right places. A leather jacket over a silk shirt and tie suggested prosperity. Our eyes met, and I expected to see a shock of recognition there but none came.

  “Morning,” I said, biting my tongue hard against the sudden anger that rose up bright and hard in my throat. Twelve years had passed, but for a moment, I was back in that convenient store parking lot. I wanted to hit him. Wanted to throw him out of my shop. But the fact that he had no idea whose tits he was ogling was just too priceless. I decided to bide my time and see what happened.

  “Morning,” he said with a grin. “I’m looking for a gift for somebody who loves all this kind of hippie crap. Maybe you could help me out.”

  His shoulders and chest might have filled out nicely, but his manners clearly hadn’t kept pace. Hippie crap was as inaccurate as it was unkind; the local jewelers and candle-makers and weavers whose work I displayed among the racks of silk and cotton imports were highly regarded, and I was lucky to be able to offer their work at good prices.

  “If you’re looking for crap, the mall’s about six miles north of here,” I shot back.

  “Geez, did I say that?
I’m inexcusable. No, seriously, I need a present that’ll make a really great impression on my boss’s wife. She’s not the mall type. They asked me to dinner, and I can’t bring wine--he’s straight edge or an alkie or something.”

  “So you need a hostess gift.”

  “Exactly. How much are these?” He gestured to a display of candles in rich jewel tones.

  “Those are $7 for a pair. They’re hand-dipped.”

  “They smell funny. And if I only spent seven bucks I’m not sure it’d make the right impression.”

  “Well, over here I have some fancier ones. These run from twelve to twenty.”

  Without seeming to consider much besides the price, he picked out a candle molded in the shape of a bear. As I wrapped it, his eyes were on my breasts.

  “So,” he said suddenly, “if I took you to lunch, would you forgive me for my tasteless remark when I came in here?”