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Fleshbot.com’s True Erotic Stories: He Made Me Beg for It

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The Neighbor lay across my bed, his arm wrapped around me as I splayed my fingers through his silky chest hair.  I was relaxed, sleepy, sated from a long weekend of adult frolicking on roller coasters and in our beds.  “I want to have sex every day for a week,” he said out of no where.  “Maybe even 8 days, like last time.”

I lifted my head up to look at him.  “Really??” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered and pulled me back down to him.  “I think it’ll be fun.”  It was a Monday and we had last had sex on Saturday.  “Too bad we didn’t start then!  We’d already be on Day 2!”

I laughed and noticed his enormous erection laying quietly under his basketball shorts.  I gently squeezed it and it pulsed hotly in my hand as he stretched out like a cat beneath me.  I slipped it out and he shimmied out of his shorts and I took the big head in my mouth, tasted the salty drop on top, and thought about how lucky I was to have this man in my life.

The past month and a half have been brutal: Sara’s death, the looming funeral, the funeral itself, and then a  health scare with my mother wherein the possibility of her dying was very real.  And through it all, he was there holding my hand, driving me to the funeral, the hospital, watching my tears fall, soothing my heartaches, and alleviating my fears with hugs, all the right words, and with his magic cock.

That first night of deliberate sex was no less titillating because we agreed on it than any other spontaneous night.  He purred under my ministrations and pounded into me like a colt rounding the last corner on the track.  My pussy squelched its juices, my orgasm bloomed through me, I gripped his arms, his thighs, cried out and hung on again and again as I lay a helpless, humming vessel below him.

Night after night, no matter how exhausted we were or where we were, we connected.  And it being entirely his idea in no small way exacerbated the thrill for me: he wanted this, me, us, it.  I was his slut and he finally had the opportunity to coax me into something.  He was full of bright ideas.

“C’mon, Hy,” he said one night when Peyton was tucked into my bed and I lay on the couch watching Law & Order.  “It’s time.”

I had been dozing when he came over and felt as though every muscle in my body wanted only to melt into the lumpy fibers of the couch.  “Can you just stick it in and count that?” I asked mostly seriously.

“No,” he replied firmly.  “We’re doing this.” And as if to demonstrate he kissed my jaw and trailed his fingers down the lines of my breast and to the dip of my waist.  “Mmm,” he murmured.  “You’re so hot.”

I let him stoke the burn within me mirthfully, willingly.  I wondered what he’d do to me next.

“Get up,” he grunted.

I did.  Slowly.

He pulled my ruffled pajama shorts down to my knees and spread my legs and motioned for me to bend over.  He pulled out his erection and I felt it bob against my bottom then butt against my folds.

I arched my back a little and bore down as we engaged like one of those flying fuel jets and a cargo plane.

He sunk in till he hit my throat, then gripped my hips tightly as he began to move.  My face was pushed into the pillows and my body thrummed the instant we joined like a faking porn-star, only I was for real.   His thighs slapped against the backs of mine and I heard him grunting his satisfaction and pleasure.

“There are people down at the pool,” he said.  I lifted my head to look at the sliding glass door, its long, vertical blinds pulled back half way and creating a sliced reflection where we were, but also a clear view to those below.  I giggled.

My haunch looked round and firm, his big paw laying on it gentle.  I heard laughter and splashing as I watched the man and woman in the reflection move together.  Then I put my head back down and rode the waves of pleasure until he exhausted himself and let me flop back down to Law & Order and a long kiss goodnight.

He almost never cums anymore or even tries.  We used to have a 3 out of 5 rate, but as we’ve grown closer, deeper issues have bubbled to the surface for him.  Not cumming with me, we both realize, though never verbalize, keeps us apart as the rest of us smash up against and into each other.  Sex ends when I am exhausted and pleasured to the point of stupid, not him.  I ache for him, but I don’t blame him.  He gives a lot to me, how could I possibly complain?

On the last day of our sex spell, Day 9, as he pulled aside my black lace panties and sunk back into me I teased him for being so spoiled.  For never having to warm me up, for always having a warm, wet, receptive cunt to slip into with virtually no prep time.  “You don’t have to do anything, but show me your pretty cock,” I panted as he oh-so-slowly ground into me.

“You’re right,” he grinned.  “I am spoiled and lucky.  I used to have to warm up up a woman for a long time to get this thing into her,” and for emphasis he pinned me to the mattress with his appendage buried deep inside of me.

“I can see why,” I stammered and my eyes fluttered to his.  He was looking down at me intently, a slight smile on his bow-shaped lips, his whiskers a light shadow on his boyish face.

He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders, a favorite move of his, and he kept his unbearably slow rhythm.  I started to panic as the pleasure lay out of my reach and I feared its crash upon me, my dependency on his tempo, and my inevitable loss of control.

I felt a trickle of juice spill out of me and run down the crack of my bottom.  I tossed my head from side to side.  “No, no, no, no, no, no,” I blabbered,  “Please…” I didn’t know what I was trying to say.  My hands pushed and pulled at his hips, gripped his broad shoulders, poked at his belly, but his slow, steady pumping, like a dogged Freddie Kreuger stalking his next victim, kept at me and I began to unravel.

“Say, ‘Fuck me,’ and I’ll stop torturing you,” he said calmly.

“No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“Say it.”

I moaned and cried out, my leg twitched by his ear and my pussy gushed involuntarily.  It went on for long, endless moments until I finally whispered, “Fuck me.”

“No, say it louder.”

I said it louder.

“Yell it.”

I whispered it again.

“Goddamnit, Hyacinth, yell it!” he said between gritted teeth while I wriggled on his hook like a worm.

I whined a little whine then said with increasing volume, “Fuck me!” Then even louder, “Fuck me! Fuck me!  Fuck me!”

The hurdle of my embarrassment suddenly cleared he leaped out of his self-imposed control and let loose on me.  I burst into sobs immediately, as I knew I would, and came and came and came like my tears were orgasms and my soul a stuffed and pulsing pussy.

I hung onto my laboring steed and watched him watching me as I melted under his care.  Minutes melted into each other as I convulsed and tumbled down the rabbit hole.  More, more, more.  Too much, so much, just right, enough, enough, enough.

He sat up and stopped then and reached for my Hitachi.  He swung around so he lay on his right side and my legs hung over his hip, his cock still inside of me.  “Here.  Now,” he said gently as he flicked the vibrator on.

I placed it gently on my shaved mound and climbed the stairway to motherfucking heaven.  He squeezed my breasts with his free hand and moaned approvingly as he gazed at his favorite thing: me cumming.  I cracked myself open for him and slammed back into my body, the explosion of orgasm curling through me, then waning quietly away.

We lay entwined as we always do, nestled within each other.  It was calm and quiet in the room.  I wondered how many ways over the months I had expressed my love for him and he for me without ever saying the words.  I could only come up with, “countless.”

That last night I stood up to hug him and said, “I hope to some day make you feel even half as good as you do me.  You truly have no idea how amazing this is.”

He looked at me knowingly, orgasm-less for the night as usual, and nodded.  “You’re right.  I don’t.  Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”  He smiled.  I nodded hopefully, too, my mind whirring with ideas.

“Goodnight,” I said at my front door, my fingers trailed down to his round rear end and gave it a bright, little smack.  “Maybe next time I’ll make you beg for it.”

“Maybe,” he said as he bent to kiss me.  “Goodnight,” and he disappeared next door.

See more hot stories at Fleshbot Fiction. This story republished with permission from A Dissolute Life Means…. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. See more gorgeous smut at X-Art.

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Fleshbot’s True Sex Stories: I Shave My Privates Bare for Him

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By Hyacinth Jones

He played my body like an aged rock star, the strings of my body a part of his own, my notes his own voice and my reverberations deep in his bones.

I lay on my back and my lashes fluttered, the ceiling fan silently whirred.  I briefly thought, “I need to dust,” and then was jerked back by his soft tongue lapping at my pussy.  My newly shaved bare pussy.

I have resisted the trend to make myself look prepubescent for years.  I’ve ranted and raved about it, been stubbornly against it, but The Neighbor’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago and I wanted to do something special for him.  Something he’d never ask for and something I knew he quietly wanted.

“I’ve never been with anyone who’s entirely shaved,” he mentioned to me once.  “I know you think it’s nasty, but I think it’s kinda hot.  Forbidden.”  I’d listened patiently, snug in his nook, and played with his chest hair.

Lina was all shaved,” I said quietly.

“Ugh.  Don’t remind me!”

And that was the moment I made my decision.  I wanted to erase her from his memory banks and replace her with visions of my creamy, smooth cunt, shaved just for him.

I was surprised to realize that the decision felt good.  There was no pressure to conform or to “look like that.”  This was a gift for the man I love.

The night before his birthday I stood under scorching hot water and let the heat soak into my bones.  I filled my hand with cream and spread it on my little patch of hair.  My 5-blade razor made quick work on the top and I pulled and stretched the folds of my vulva to get all the little hairs hiding in the crevices.

Then, despite Dumb Dommes’ misgivings about shaving your own asshole, I bent forward, spread my cheeks, slathered on shaving cream, and carefully lay the razor in my crack and dragged outward until the blades came out hair-free.  I was smooth as a petal now.

As I toweled off I peeked at my handiwork and quickly covered back up.  It looked foreign, weird, exceptionally naughty.  I blushed and got dressed for bed, excited to see him later.  It was a good night, that first reveal.

But now his birthday had long since passed as I lay with my legs splayed as his wicked tongue stroked me.  The bristles of his beard — which he was growing just for me — were soft and scruffy on my inner thighs and plump vulva.  I was in motherfucking heaven.

He sneaked his right hand under my bottom and slipped a curved finger inside of me and my face sparkled with pleasure, my teeth chattered.  I gasped and bucked and writhed, his face clung to my center like a cowboy wearing the biggest belt buckle around.

“I need a break!” I whispered suddenly.  “Oh my God, I need a break!”  I was overloaded, on the brink of total torture, not release.  “Please, holy shit, you’re so good at that, I need a break,” I panted again as he stopped and slowly slipped his finger out.

His face was plastered with a grin and a sheen.

I closed my eyes and prepared to get a grip when I felt his finger slide back into me, only this time it was multiple fingers.  “No,” I squeaked weakly, “I can’t handle it!”  I felt both his hands on my knees spread me apart.  I opened my eyes and saw him standing between my legs, looking down at me like a hungry cat, his cock buried in my pussy to the hilt.  His dark pubic hair looked stark against my bare mound.

I imagined what he saw then: my bare body, white, with no interruptions, large breasts slightly flattened that jiggled with my giggles as I realized he’d done a switch on me.

“I thought that was your finger!” I laughed.

“I’m insulted!” he said as he thrust into me and smiled broadly.

“Multiple fingers!” I corrected myself.

He gripped my knees from underneath and hauled me closer to him.  My bottom hung off the edge of the bed.  He pushed deeply into me and the tingling from my face, which his talented mouth had begun, ebbed and traveled down to my center.  I moaned and floated away on more blooming orgasms  — pink and bright, soft, long, and cloudy — as he increased the tempo.  I let go and bounced along like a leaf on a rapid.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and locked my ankles pulling him closer.  He rammed into me and his giant cock slid up through my belly to my goddamned throat.

My hands twisted in the sheets and arched my back against him when he suddenly stopped and quietly stared at me.  I was confused.

He stooped to pick something up and held up my Hitachi triumphantly.

I shook my head No.  He nodded Yes then added, “You are going to cum with me inside of you.”

He flicked the wand on and handed it to me.  Defeated I draped my crotch with a sheet for a small buffer and pressed the head against me.  I jumped and began the climb and he started to move.

I lost myself then.  I couldn’t tell where he ended and the vibrator began.  He was my everything then.  My pleasure, my pain, my torture, my release.  He thrust again and again and I burst at the seams, light split me apart, my cells detached and I screamed and rolled my eyes like a wild mare as I was obliterated in darkness and light; his cock my anchor to Earth and to love and to life.  I was split apart like Neo with the Matrix and I began to sob uncontrollably as it went on and on and on.

Finally, I fell back into my shell.  It had released me.

He scooped me up and held me as tears spilled from my eyes.  I felt so, so small.  Eternally small.

I cried because I only ever felt this way with this man and it was always slipping away.  I cried because I didn’t deserve the pleasure.  I cried because I did.

He kissed and crooned to me and I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his sweet, clean scent.  I rolled to my back and he stroked my naked mound.  His fingers felt warm, honest.  My silly shaved pussy was worth every blush and every moment of post-feminist guilt I’d been experiencing.   A passport to 45 minutes of losing my mind will always be worth it.

He told me he would be leaving soon and I squeezed him tightly.  Happy to have made him so happy.  He loved it and I loved that he loved it.

And I felt motherfucking lucky.

It’s not every day I have someone for whom to shave my pussy bare.  He’s one lucky motherfucker.

See more hot stories at Fleshbot Fiction. This story republished with permission from A Dissolute Life Means…. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. See more gorgeous smut at X-Art.

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Erotica: Sometimes I Hate My Body

Sometimes I Hate My Body

By Hyacinth Jones

“You ready?” He stood in my apartment, his gym bag over his shoulder. I was dressed in my work clothes still.

“Yeah, gimme a sec.”

He followed me back to my room and flopped down on the bed. Faisal jumped up to purr and meow and twist himself about The Neighbor. I peeled off my barely opaque white v-neck and my breasts bounced.

“Mmmm,” I heard from the bed. I flexed my abdomen and tried to push my insecurities away, focus on this man’s approval. I bent over to roll my skirt down over my hips and sucked in my stomach hoping the swell didn’t pooch out too much.

“That’s right baby, show me those tits.” He watched me beyond the end of the bed as if I were on stage; I clenched every core muscle I owned and stood up straight and smiled as I reached behind me to unhook my bra, trying to look nonchalant and confident. His eyes followed my every move as I tried to morph my body into that of a lithe dancer’s: arch my back, pull my shoulders back, face the audience, be lean and beautiful.

I gathered my workout clothes and scrunched up again to thread my legs into my leggings and cringed at how much I must seem the Michelin Man from the side. I imagined shaking it off, these thoughts invasive and cruel. Where was this coming from??

TN had stretched out on the bed and begun to absent-mindedly stroke his bulge. I tucked my breasts into the little shelf of a sports bra and said, “You know, I was about to jerk off when you knocked a minute ago.” I walked around to the side of the bed. ” There’s still time before class starts.”

The ugly voice inside my head was shouting at me, relentless. I felt awkward in my skin, undeserving, foolish for all of it. Orgasms can be my reprieve from such thoughts. TN didn’t spark them when he dropped by, he’d only walked into a snarling ant pit of self-loathing.

“Well, then let’s get going on that,” he replied as he watched me reach for my Hitachi.

I rested my knee on the mattress and planted my foot on the floor, my left arm straight and strong as I pressed the vibrating head to my crotch. Instantly I was on the magic carpet ride up, up, and up. TN had a front row seat to my cleavage cradled in white, an expanse of belly which I allowed to be whatever it was going to be — though I hoped it looked flat and muscular — and the swell of my hips encased in transparent Lululemon-like yoga pants.

He moaned a little and kept rubbing. I kept my eyes latched onto his hand, then I felt his free hand sweetly trace my breasts. “Is this ok?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm.”

But it lasted only seconds.

Instead he pulled his shorts down and flopped out his erection, big and juicy before me. His hand began to whir and the sound of fap fap fap deliciously filled my ears. My ride was spiraling its way to the clouds, my lashes fluttered, I could see him staring at me as if I were a unicorn passing outside his window.

The orgasm shook me and just before it stole my breath I managed to whisper, “I’m gonna cum!” knowing it turned him on more than anything.

He quickly and neatly replaced his cock beneath his layers of clothes and pulled me into his arms. I hung on to his middle and laughed, waited a minute then pulled my shit together for the gym.

We worked out side by side, muscles bulged, faces red. I stared at myself in the mirror hating every goddamned music-pumping second of it. The orgasm relief had been fleeting — as I knew it would be — I was again beating myself down.

Other women in the class were athletic specimens, all narrow hips and beautifully wide shoulders, firm buttocks and roundly muscled arms. I was…. not.

I caught TN’s icy blue gaze on my cleavage in the mirror more than once, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to protect me from myself. Yes, I thought, I have nice tits, but what about the rest of me?? I resigned myself to the Pig-Pen-cloud of low self-esteem and smiled wanly to the other class members as we put our weights away. I really just wanted to go home and lie down. Maybe die a little, hide under a rock, whatever.

When I get like this, seized by self-doubt and hate, I undoubtedly make a decision that will support this belief. That night, it was making Mac n’ Cheese out of a box for dinner — something I rarely eat, but will always make me feel at once comforted and like a complete failure. I ate 2/3 of the box in bed while watching The Taste, took a shower, and texted TN for our nightly cuddle. I wanted to skip it altogether, but he’d asked me to text him and so I did.

I lay there anxiously, tired, a pain pill shivering through my veins. I heard him snap his fingers through my darkened apartment and appear in my doorway. He removed the kitten, shut the door, turned out the overhead lights and flipped on the closet light for ambiance.

“What’s going on?” I asked, nervous, irritable, feeling like utter and complete shit.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, that’s what.” He came around the side of the bed and dropped his shorts. I reached out for his erection and it bobbed hot, thick, and clean in my palm. I chuckled half-heartedly and rolled away from him, my whiteness stark against the aubergine bedding.

“What are you doing?” he wondered aloud.

“Making you work for it,” I answered. He growled and pounced on me, wedged my knees apart and slid deep inside my body with one easy stroke. His clean strawberry dusted body thrust into my own vanilla scented one and we made a warm body dessert out of two naked people.

I clung to his hindquarters with my legs and wrapped my arms around his broad, fuzzy back; he grunted and kissed my neck and collar-bone. When he sat up to hitch my ankles on his shoulders I refused. My irritation and discomfort with my body had grown — my belly felt rounder — and suddenly, the fucking routine that went missionary-to-folded-in-half-to-orgasms seemed tired and only stoked my irritation.

I slipped my left leg between his knees and turned on my side. He held my right leg with his hand and nailed me to the headboard. I cringed when thoughts of Troy crowded my sad, addled brain — this had been a favorite position of ours. I quickly rotated again to my belly and I heard the soft smacking of our bodies on my bottom and Troy thankfully exited stage left.

From his new vantage point TN brought his free, lead hand down on my flank. Three excrutiating times. I cried out and went rigid, the sting down to my bone, and then I was granted a reprieve when he got a charlie horse and was forced to stop. We laughed at his misfortune and pulled apart.

I lay next to him and rubbed his massive hamstring chatting easily. I was waging a stupid little war with myself and decided to let him in on the secret; I felt shy and worried about opening up to him about my self-loathing and odd flash of low self-esteem.

“I feel really bad, TN. Like out of control. I don’t like the way I look all of a sudden. I hate feeling like this. I feel so stupid and dumb.”

He crooned to me and pulled me into his arms and tried to rationalize my irrational behavior. “Maybe you think you’re fatter than you are because your tits are so big,” he suggested not unhelpfully.

“Maybe…” I murmured.

“Hy, you’re very sexy and I think you’re extremely beautiful: your tits, your ass, especially your face.” I flushed at the compliments and with shame for needing to hear the words.

I thanked him and took a deep breath to embolden me to open up more. “So, there’s something else.” I heard him hold his breath a little. “When I’m in this kind of mood — feeling down on myself — what I really want is for you to throw me around. But,” and his low timbre joined mine perfectly, “I/you don’t know how to let you/me know that’s what I/you want.”

“Right,” I nodded into his chest.

“Well,” he said sitting up quickly. “Telling me to work for it is kind of perfect.”

He grabbed my wrists and I said quietly, “Work for it,” and held his gaze.

He repositioned himself between my legs and I tried to wriggle away, but he had me pinned. I was tired, yet thrilled at this little game before he had to leave and before I passed the fuck out under that rock I’d been pining after earlier.

He slammed into me, stroked me from the inside and nuzzled my neck, gripped my wrists like he was hanging over a cliff and I came once then twice with big, round blooms of pleasure. It was fast and fierce. Perfect.

He pulled out abruptly and I lay there bathed in light from the closet, my thighs rested on the tops of his as he sat on his heels. He ran his hands up from my hip bones to my ribcage and across the soft, mostly-flat plane of my belly. He groaned approval and apologized that he had to go. I nodded assent and assured him I was ready for him to leave.

He came around the side of the bed and wrapped his hand around my throat, tilted my head back as if to give me mouth-to-mouth and gently suckled my lips, his tongue soft and pliant while his hand gently squeezed — a kiss so unlike his usual hard, punishing, immobilizing goodbyes. I melted away into those lips of his surrounded by a little sea of scruff.

And just like that, for that magical moment, the cloud lifted and I felt a bright, shiny love on me, my idiocy be damned. “G’night, Hy,” he said as he left. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“Good night!” I called out after him and then whispered smiling, I love you, as I have begun to do nightly.

The terrible feelings about my body and my looks were there when I awoke the next day and I am still waiting for them to subside. I have committed to health, not looks, and I refuse to fall victim to the old bully of self-loathing. I love my body and what it can do; I love my tits, my hips, my little pot belly. I don’t know where this sucker punch has come from and I don’t know how long it will stay, but I’m going to do my goddamned damnedest to get rid of it. Fuck it to hell.

I’m hoping lots of cuddles and fucking are just what the PhD ordered.

See more hot stories at Fleshbot Fiction. This story republished with permission from A Dissolute Life Means…. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. See more busty belles on the job at Big Tits At Work.

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Erotica Short: True Sex Stories (via Fleshbot.com)

Undressing

By Penny Madeline

x-art_addison_unforgettable_view_part_ii-5-smlNobody this handsome has ever been in my bedroom before.

He gives me a show. Not a pretty-boy stripper show. He gives me an “I know you’re watching and I’m going to let you enjoy it” show.

He undoes each shirt button deliberately, almost fiercely. The revelation of his flat stomach, his golden skin–I’m rapt.

His eyes are fixed on mine as he unhooks his belt buckle. I can see the bulge under his blue jeans. Is he hurrying as he pulls down his pants? But he hesitates before removing his boxer briefs. They’re tented out by his erection. I’m sure he can tell my mouth is watering. I know he’s making me wait.

When he does maneuver his shorts down, it’s an awkward move. His cock gets caught in the elastic, forced down and then freed to spring back up again.

My whole body is trembling with longing. Lay down with me, you extraordinary being. Lay down, you radiant beast.

He doesn’t.

Read more hot stories at Fleshbot Fiction. This story republished with permission from Bird’s Nest Soup. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. See more gorgeous photos and videos at X-Art.

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