Girl on the Net

Today’s guest blogger is James, who got in touch with me because he wanted to share some of the hot encounters he’s had over the years. This is his first time writing erotica, so I hope you can extend him a warm welcome as he tells you a story about a hot fuck in the dust of his semi-renovated house…

Note: this story involves some surprise pain, but both the author and his lover knew each others’ limits. 

Fucking in the dust

I was in a good place. Thirty five years old, just finished a successful career in professional sport, enjoying good health, and now contemplating my next career move. I had just bought a Victorian terrace property that I intended to do up while I planned my life. I had the freedom to go out, enjoy a beer or three, eat what, when and where I desired and generally loosen the shackles a little. I also had met H.

She was seven years older than me. I met her in a posh wanky wine bar when we were both out with friends and our groups intermingled. Having bonded over why the fuck we were paying over £10 for a glass of wine we began dating.

She was petite, blonde, smart and we got on brilliantly. 

“Can I come over and see the house?” she asked over dinner one evening. 

“Of course,” I responded, “I thought you weren’t interested in it.”

“Whatever gave you that impression? I love old houses, they reek of memories and nostalgia.”

“Not this one,” I told her, “it’s a mess: ex-student house like The Young Ones. It took me two weeks to clear the rubbish out.”

She laughed and flicked her head back, making her hair fall across her face. She didn’t need to do much to turn me on but her easy manner and personality suited my style.

It was a warm day and I had been rubbing down the paintwork when my phone beeped:

Hey, are you at the house, can I come over?

Sure, but be warned – it’s a bit dusty.

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door, so I made my way down the stairs and opened it. There she stood.

She looked incredible, even by her standards. Her hair was freshly highlighted and the tint perfect, her ‘A List’  sunglasses hid her eyes, she wore minimal make up but had lip gloss on which accentuated her cupid’s bow. She wore a blue sleeveless jean dress that had silver poppers, it was mid-thigh length and the last popper and the top three were undone. On her feet she wore white trainers, plain with no branding. 

She leant forward and we kissed hello.

“I bought some beers,” she said, “it’s a hot day, I thought you might need refreshing.”

I closed the door and followed her, she turned into the first doorway she came to, as she faced me she had kept her sunglasses on and she knew she looked good, her confidence made me smile. She put her bag down, took out two bottles and handed me one.

“Twist off tops,” I remarked, “you think of everything.”

“Of course,” she responded, “someone has to look after you.” Then added: “I drive past here nearly every day, I’ve often wondered what these places looked like inside. This house has seen so much, you can just imagine the stories it could tell…”

As we strolled around the house she seemed distracted, almost in awe. I sensed a detachment, as if she had other things on her mind. When we got to the kitchen I was about to ask her if she was OK when she stopped and took her sunglasses off, putting them on the worktop.

She stepped forward and grabbed my hand, then kissed me, hard. I reached forward to hold her but she put her hand on my chest and held me at bay. She took a step back and turned. With her back to me she began to undo her dress, one popper at a time, and when the last one was done she shrugged it off and let it fall on the floor.

She stood there for a moment, then turned to face me: no knickers, no bra, just her white trainers. I drank it all in: her small breasts, narrow shoulders, small waist, slim hips, nipples erect. I stepped forward and kissed her mouth, then turned her around and kissed her neck, my hands running across her breasts and down onto her stomach, her perfect arse nestled against my cock which by now had hardened and was pushing against her.

She lent forward on the worktop, parting her legs. I squatted down and between her thighs my tongue found her wet cunt and I alternately licked her lips, teased her clit and flicked over her arsehole. She was a pleasure to lick – so responsive! – and I hungrily worked her for a while. Hearing her breathing speed up and feeling her hips twitch I knew she was close to coming so I put pressure on her clit, building a rhythm until with a low moan she squirted wonderfully all over my face.

I drank it in.

I stepped up and H spun round, pulling my T shirt off and my shorts down, I barely had time to step out of them when she took my cock in her mouth, greedily wanking and sucking me.

“Fuck my face,” she gasped, and I held her head still and pushed my cock as deep as I could before she gagged, then pulled off before taking me again. Her eyes were red and the slobber was dripping down on her breasts as she stood up and bent over, offering her cunt to me, I slid into her and grabbed her wrists – fucking her hard withdrawing my full length before pushing back into her.

Momentarily I withdrew and turned her around, I lowered my hips and got underneath her, lifting her back so she had to support herself on the worktop. She reached down with her hand and guided my cock into her cunt – she had one arm on the surface and the other around my neck and she leaned into me and bit my lip, hard.

That had the effect of shocking me, so I drove into her again, making her gasp as I reached my zenith: I came, hard. Her cum filled fuck hole gripped my cock as she breathed her orgasm in my face. We stayed, locked for several seconds as our senses recovered and I gently let her down onto the floor. I touched my lip.

“That bloody hurt,” I said.

“Yeah, you deserved it,” she replied.