This fabulous story is written and read by Sundial. This is part 3 in a multi-part series. You can check out part 1 ‘a mouth and a cunt full of cock’ here. And part 2 ‘just for a moment’ here.

Coffee on the terrace, we had such luck with the weather. All blue skies and wheeling seagulls calling to each other, the smell of the sea at the bottom of the hill wafting to us on the light breeze. It felt summery and warm. And we were silent, just being. I was still reeling, still hot and wet with a dizzying ache of emptiness, of denial teasing inside me. With your nails, you stroked the backs of my fingers where they rested on the table. Ohh, and even that light touch sent electricity coursing through me. I thought I might explode with lust.

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This stunning kiss/tease/play story is written and read by Sundial. This is part 2 in a multi-part series. You can check out part 1 ‘a mouth and a cunt full of cock’ here. 

“Stay a moment,” he says, when I rise as well. I stare down at him, looking so desirable where he sits, his cock glistening in the sunlight. “Just for a moment,” he says. I turn, look at you. You grin at me.

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This gorgeous story about sex and sweat is written and read by Robyn of RobynEatsEverything. Note: this is a work of fiction and a fantasy scenario; please don’t approach Robyn in the gym.

As I lift my arms up above my head, I feel a stream of cool sweat trickling down the nape of my neck, finding a cleft in my skin in which to swim lower between my shoulder blades, the small of my back, and into the gape of my leggings to the valley between my cheeks. The dampness of my skin would suggest the aircon in the gym isn’t working today; there’s no frigid breeze relieving my cherry-red cheeks. Working through this set, I’m more aware of other little streams crawling down my body and pooling in the most uncomfortable places; under my tits, my arse, under my belly, between my thighs.

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At one point, mid-fuck, with his wet fingers circling my clit, the man who knows how to fuck me growls something into my ear. I can’t remember the exact words and I hate myself for that, not least because I’m sure if I could conjure them precisely, that particular sentence would make for some truly epic wanks. Forgive me for paraphrasing, I’d fallen deeply into a fuckdrunk haze, but it was something like ‘aren’t you a dirty fucking girl?’, with extra resonance on the ‘girl’, just how I like it. Whatever he said and however he said it, it caused me to absolutely gush all over his hand. Yeah I’m a dirty girl: QED.

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You’ve met this guy before. Possibly the most casual man I’ve ever fucked. Chill. Direct. Horny. Extremely forgiving of the fact that I disappeared for eighteen months into monogamy. The kind of dude who’s happy to pop back when required to deliver great dick without drama. Breaking the seal, if you will. We’re catching up over email and I tell him I’m single now. That I may be emotionally battered but I’ve gained a wicked new story. I don’t outright say that I’d love to get fucked, but he picks up the hint regardless: “Would you like to tell me the wicked story over a pint, then have a ride on my dick?” Fuck yes.

CN: light kink, slapping.

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