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Dusty Archives: “Spontaneous”

I’ve decided to occasionally dig up an old post from the archives – I thought I’d pull up an erotica piece since I just haven’t been able to write those anymore. Originally published under “Erotic Fiction” from Nov 09

When I’m driving long distances alone I either listen to music, or think. This trip I let my mind wander on its own.

It took an old, familiar route that day – a route I try not to go down willingly anymore. But so be it.

And the old, familiar throbbing and wetness between my legs followed quickly behind, enjoying this re-visit. I didn’t expect this, I tend not to of late. And so the trusty bullet vibrator that used to always have a home in my handbag was languishing in the toy drawer back at home. Little damn use to me, there, two hours away. Soon my lack of patience and my growing need dictated that my pulsing clit would not, could not be ignored.

I glanced around at the easy traffic on the winding four-lane suburban highway as I undid my jeans. But soon my hand was tired from the combined efforts of rubbing tights circles and pushing space in my snug jeans. It’s not an easy feat to push one’s panties and jeans down ass and hips while driving, but I did it. My long shirt covered my tummy and cunt but patches of pale skin was visible at my hips and the tops of my thighs, should a passing motorist of the correct height happen to glance over and inside my car.

I discretely but roughly rubbed tight circles around my clit, through a slickness that isn’t common. I kept feeling the nearness of orgasm but couldn’t quite tip over the edge. I passed the first of a long stretch of scattered-about “adult stores” and wondered if they carried a suitable bullet vibrator. But I didn’t even slow down, I didn’t even give it a second thought.

Until the next seedy store. By which point my frustration and need had ratcheted up another notch. They boasted videos and viewing booths, though, so I didn’t even slow down.

By the third store I lost my nerve and thought that surely I could wait for home.

When I saw the signs for the fourth store, though, I once again considered it with more weight. My middle finger was pruney from its extended soak in my wetness. My chest and face were flushed, my brow knitted in this look of begging mixed with frustration. I kept the pleasure level at a steady 8 and 9 but I couldn’t get to 10.

I lost my nerve when I saw the fifth store because it just looked too busy with pickup trucks and dirty older cars.

The sixth and final store. Now or never. Or at least another 90 minutes which felt like forever. It looked empty, boasted a wide selection of items and looked only moderately seedy. I pulled into the lot. I got out of my car and through the door as quickly as possible before I lost my nerve or too many people passing by saw me. It took me a minute to find my way to the two aisles of sex toys, and another minute to do a visual scan for my necessary aide. I saw only unknown crap brands but picked up two that looked like they might work. I grabbed a 4-pack of AA batteries and went to the counter. Unlike my last experience, long ago, with this sort of store the guy behind the counter wasn’t scary. He wasn’t intimidating or creepy. In fact he was fairly normal, under 40 and average looking. He stared at my purchases for a moment – or was he staring at my fingers, which I just now realized probably still smelled of pussy juice and looked like I’d been in a bathtub too long  – and then asked if I was buying them both. I paused before I answered “Yes….unless I can put batteries in them both and see which one is better”. I didn’t expect him to agree but he did.

With fumbling fingers under a watchful gaze I slid the cardboard backing from the plastic bubbles to extract the vibrators. I put the batteries in them both at the same time, turned them on and found a clear winner in the “vibration intensity” category. I put the lesser one back in its packaging and told him I’d be buying the other one. With a teasing look he said “Gonna wear this one home are ya? Want me to just toss the packaging out?”. I blushed and finally looked him in the eye and confirmed that yes, I’d be using that one momentarily. He didn’t move to ring my purchases up so I prompted him with “that’s all I need, thanks”.

“If you use it right here, right now, I won’t charge you for any of it” he said.

My mouth open, I didn’t have a response right away. I waited for him to carry on with ringing me out, assuming he was joking, but he just waited for an answer.

“No way in hell am I getting naked or partially naked for you, can I just buy these please?”

“This looks small, has a cord….you don’t need to show any skin at all.” If he had said this with a leer I would have left. But he kept with that half-serious half-teasing attitude until my guard dropped.

I looked around the store, saw only one guy trying to hide towards the back and not be recognized.

“Where?” I asked.

He nodded at the counter, pushed some displays aside and said “Here”.

Fine. What the hell, right? I didn’t live in this area and sure as hell would never return here. I hoisted my butt up onto the counter and, bullet in hand, I laid back. Hand down my pants, the bullet found its home and I turned it on high. I gasped as the vibrator woke up my clit. I closed my eyes and let my mind go back from whence it came as I ground the buzzing bullet to my clit in slick circles. I was intent on coming as quickly as possible. It felt like forever but was likely just mere minutes until I felt the certainty of orgasm approaching.  As soon as I was safely “there” and my climax crested I slowly opened my eyes. I couldn’t focus through my haze but I could tell that both men had been watching. I tried to tone it down as much as possible but I couldn’t prevent the involuntary rapid breathing, little  moans and spasms of my body. It was another minute before I regained my senses enough to fully remember what the situation was; when the clarity hit I silently removed the bullet, zipped up my jeans and hopped off the counter. When I glanced at the guy who worked there I could see he was still grinning but my bravery was gone…..and so was I.

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Posted by Lilly | 7 Comments

Fucked by a Stranger

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this bizarre, twisted fantasy. The roads leading to it were different, but the end result the same: a stranger fucking a very willing me in my bed in the dead of night. I would never see much of him. Perhaps the strangers intent had been rape but instead he’d happened upon a half-naked horny girl……(me) one who was already wet, already willing and able. These fantasies have roots in a time when I didn’t fully understand the mechanics of sex but I knew I wanted it. Before I even knew how to pleasure myself properly, I had firm belief that this rough stranger could please me.

I’d wondered how I could live out this fantasy…make it reality and yet still make it safe despite the underlying danger in it. Even if I’d spoken to the man before online I still wouldn’t *know* him and be able to trust him. Trust that it would be just him that night. Trust that he wasn’t a complete psychopath. I came close once to setting something up but I chickened out at the last minute. I don’t think I could safely pull this off without involving a third party. A third, trusted party who would vet the stranger and who would keep a far-away eye on the scenario.

I pictured myself waiting for the stranger in one of those picnic pavilions we have here in parks. Sitting on the top of a picnic table, facing away from wherever he would be coming in. I would be wearing a summer dress and nothing else; easy access to a shaved cunt and braless tits just about to pop out of the top of the dress. I would hear his footsteps and not see him. I would feel a heady mixture of equal parts fear and arousal take over my body. My body would be humming in anticipation of his touch as his footsteps drew closer. He wouldn’t say a word to me. Just come up to me and……

(you finish it…..)

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Posted by Lilly | 12 Comments

Puppet Master

The party was winding down, and the previously half-lit rooms of the venue delved back into only barely-lit as it changed from the party back to just being a bar/restaurant. As I stood with friends I spied a couple making out like high school kids. I had chatted up the female half of the couple numerous times during the party and she was, indeed, cute and kissable. They weren’t hiding, but they were off in the corner with his back to the wall, in between a few small, short drink tables scattered about to look like a hip version of someone’s living room. They quite clearly were fully absorbed into their kissing and had no cares what was going on around them. Adding to the mix was that they were, to put it bluntly, drunk.

Conversation around me continued and I occasionally joined in but I kept watching the couple. Mostly I was wondering if they were going to be so lost in their kissing that they would forget their surroundings and get a little more interesting. Finally after another fifteen minutes had progressed and they were still locked in teenage kissing, I grew bored of them and my surroundings. I grabbed myself another drink and casually, slowly, headed over near them. Closer. When I was right next to them and they still did not notice, I put my lips to his ear (loud music, you know) and whispered “Touch her boobs, I bet she’d like that” and I backed up a foot.

Without breaking from her lips, and giving no indication that he’d even noticed me consciously, his left hand drifted up from her waist, slowly. He dragged his fingers along the underside of her large breast, tentatively, teasingly. Her body responded in kind, subtly writhing and asking his fingers to explore more. Thankfully the guy wasn’t a complete moron and he continued to boldly squeeze, caress and fondle her tits through her cute t-shirt. When he presumably found her hard nipple he pinched through t-shirt and bra….she broke the kiss to groan and screw up her face in this gorgeous mix of pleasure and pain, her eyes still closed from the kissing of moments earlier. In a haze of overstimulation, alcohol and lust, she opened her eyes partially and in a few seconds her gaze settled on me. I just smiled at her….a slow, knowing, power-hungry-lust-driven smile. I thought about perhaps whispering a command in her ear, but I figured that her partner in crime there wasn’t in any need of coaxing or more arousal. So instead, I suggested to him and only him that “You know, it would be easier to pinch those nipples if her t-shirt and bra weren’t in the way…..why don’t you push them aside?”

He resumed kissing her as a means of distraction, perhaps, or just to simply return to the kissing. The hand on her tit dropped back to her waist and hovered there, just under her shirt, just touching flesh. With both hands he slowly inched her t-shirt up her belly and finally stopped when the front of her shirt was just barely exposing her bra-covered tits. More groping ensued, and then as I instructed, the bra shoved upwards as well exposing her heavy, pale tits. I can’t even tell you how badly I wanted in on the action, to run my tongue around her nipples, but I practiced restraint and just watched.

I watched, as his hands got busy and her breasts were lavished attention. I watched, as pelvic grinding ensued, like two horny kids. I watched, as lust-and-alcohol-drunken kissing continued. I watched, and wondered, if I needed to continue my game and my instructions.

I didn’t, as it were. One of his hands traveled down her body, round her ass and down her chubby thigh, promptly grabbing it and wrapping it around him. This act strained the knee-length denim skirt she was wearing to a restriction that appeared to be painful. Alcohol and hormones cause her to rectify this in a way that made me proud and utterly delighted – she hiked her skirt up to the tops of her thighs, and moved the raised leg from her boy’s legs to one of those low tables. I could see her neon blue thong and whomever should choose to notice the horny couple in the corner would have seen the very bottom of her curvy ass cheeks peeking out from the skirt.

In short order his wandering hands figured out the new development and he shoved that thong so far to the side that it offered her absolutely no modesty, to my glee. A glistening, bare shaved cunt nearly brought me to my knees. The poor girl was so riled up that it only took a few short minutes of his attentions but oh what attentions they were  – his mouth on hers, one hand pinching a nipple and one hand on her cunt, fingering her clit into submission. Watching her come was a beautiful sight indeed. Flushed, twitching, pleasure, pain, sighs, moans, silence, breathing, stillness, recovering.

I left them in her afterglow to join my friends who were finally nearing their slow trek to the door. The cold, brisk night air was very much needed by me.

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Posted by Lilly | 9 Comments

Hesitation

The most delicious part of a perfect kiss is not the pressing of lips together. It is not the claiming, lustful engulfing.

It’s the moment of hesitation. When lips are millimeters apart, when time freezes, when your brain stops thinking and just reacts, just feels.

Perhaps it is the hesitation before lips meet for a first, tentative kiss. Or maybe it’s a hesitation in the transition between small, explorative kisses and giving in to lust. It could be that the hesitation is due to uncertainty. Or fighting a losing battle over lust. With an established partner that hesitation could also be intentional and meant to merely be a maddening tease. Draw out the longed-for moment of contact.

The hesitation is one of those times where so much more is said in the inaction than the action. And I keep coming back to it in my mind, and it is just as prominent in my memory bank as the actual kiss. Recalling the brief second where a whirling eddy of thoughts and wants ran through my own mind is almost more arousing to me now than the kiss that followed.

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Posted by Lilly | 8 Comments

Audible

Living in an apartment complex means a reduced amount of privacy overall. Especially where the balcony is concerned. I’ve often wished for more privacy there, more seclusion, but sometimes the lack of it proves exciting. The apartment on the other side of us is a mirror image, and so our balconies share a wall – the 2-foot wide brick wall separates the balconies from building wall to railing and at least affords complete visual privacy from the balconies in one’s own building. But since we’re visible to 4 other buildings and a portion of the parking lot below, I don’t ever notice many people using their balconies in the warmer months.

We had a rogue very warm day in late fall, a few months ago, the lovely sort that occurs after leaves have fallen and bugs have started hibernation. Evening became night as I reclined on the balcony, reading, but I was so comfortable that I strained to continue reading with no more light than that coming from the sliding glass door behind my head. I heard the noisy, squeaky screen door open and shut on the other side of the brick wall but I paid no mind. I didn’t expect whoever it was to stay out there. But then I heard the muffled, hushed tones of a couple talking and laughing. I tried (of course) to eavesdrop but I couldn’t make anything out. I blocked it out until it changed – to mostly silence punctuated by a random giggle.

I lowered my book to my lap and focused on listening, trying to figure out what I was hearing.

Kissing sounds.

I heard their kissing become more passionate and insistent. Then I heard a giggle from her and a whisper of faux-indignation and what sounded like “someone will see us”. Voyeur interest officially piqued, I went about the task of getting myself from my lounger to the wall as silently as possible. I noticed a faint section of light being cast from their sliding glass door and I momentarily pondered if it was worth it to leave the apartment, sneak around back, and try to spy. I decided against it and instead I stood up against the wall, as close to the railing as I dared. I bit my lip when I heard a little moan from one of them.

A wave of disappointment crashed over me as I heard the squeak of their screen door – on second thought, that was quick….squeak…light off from inside the apartment…squeak again. No, instead of going inside, he just turned off the interior lights and said something to her about it being dark now. Apparently that quieted her fears because I heard the sounds of zippers and buckles and pants with laden pockets hitting the balcony deck.

More hushed giggles, more kissing sounds. A gasp followed immediately by a quiet, restrained moan. I had to make up the images in my head, try to picture what caused that gasp, who’s mouth was on what body part. Or was it even a mouth? Perhaps his fingers found purchase inside her hot, wet slit. Maybe the fingers were lingering above the waist and caressing her nipples, teasing, drawing it out. I decided it had to be the nipples in a teasing fashion because I would expect less restraint if he were rubbing her clit.

I barely realized that my own hand was lightly teasing my own nipple. My eyes were closed so that I could better concentrate on their sounds. Have you ever just listened to the sounds of sex? It’s not like porn, it’s not a caricature or obvious all the time. I stood and listened, trying to determine if the wet sounds were mouth-on-cock, fingers-in-really-wet-cunt, or cock-in-wet-cunt. Either visual was arousing but no, I wanted to try and be right. I strained to hear more; the heavy breathing was a deeper resonance, perhaps it was mouth-on-cock? My guess was confirmed when he gave it away with a “Fuck yes, baby, suck it harder”. I imagined his hands on her head, staring at the sight of her lips devouring his cock, relishing the feel of her warm tongue pressing against the underside.

…….to be continued…..

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