Butt Stuff E-Book

Giselle Renarde

• Herausgeber: Giselle Renarde
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Butt Stuff

Leseprobe

Butt Sex: 10 Anal Erotica Stories © 2017 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover design © 2017 Giselle Renarde

First Edition 2017

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Butt Sex

Blowing Smoke

Everybody Knows

Stranded with the Professor

Two for One is Double the Fun

The Other Other Woman

Full to Bursting

Call Me Mister

Five Body Blade

Social Users

Hole in One

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Butt Sex

Anal Erotica by Giselle Renarde

Blowing Smoke

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I noticed her noticing me.

She worked in the vegan bakery downstairs, and you could tell just by looking that her system was in need of a hearty injection of meat.  Not that I could help her, there.

She wasn’t butch, exactly. I don’t know what you’d call her. She wasn’t big or heavy-set.  In fact, she was slim—much slimmer than me. And white—much whiter than me.  She had tattoos up and down her exposed arms, and piercings connecting her nose to her ear by way of a chain. Plaid cut-off top, tight black jeans. Her black hair was always tied back in this bandana type thing, which made her look like a pin-up princess.

Most days she just stared as I walked by.

She’d be out smoking on a raised concrete planter bed near the sidewalk. The smoke irritated my lungs, but I had to walk by her to get to my door.  See, my apartment was a second-storey walk-up above a bakery—the vegan bakery she worked in.  Once I’d opened the door at street level, there was a narrow staircase that went straight up to my place.

I liked living above a bakery. Who needs an alarm clock when you wake up to fresh bread every morning? Not that I bought much there. The prices were really inflated. I tried a pie once. It wasn’t bad, but you could really taste the animal fats missing from that crust.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe If I were the kind of girl who went for vegan pie, I’d also be the kind of person who went for... well... a vegan’s pie. If you get my drift.

One day she spoke to me. 

She said, “Hey.”

It made me jump because she’d never talked to me before. My brain didn’t process the “Hey” fast enough for my mouth to catch up. I couldn’t produce words. I just sort of turned and smiled. Actually, I hardly even a smiled. It was such a small smile she probably didn’t even notice it.

She seemed kind of pissed, like she was expecting a return greeting and I hadn’t granted her one.

When I was inside I considered going back outside to explain that I’d smiled but maybe she hadn’t seen it.

But that was stupid. I’d look like an idiot.

The next time I saw her she didn’t say anything.

I took a turn.

I said hi that time, and she didn’t respond. She just glanced over at me and blew smoke in my direction.

A few days after that she said, “You live right here, eh?”

I said, “Yeah.”

She said, “So why d’you never come in? Why d’you never buy anything?”

“At the bakery?” I asked, even though that was obviously what she meant.

She nodded.

I said, “Oh, I’m not vegan.”

“You don’t have to be vegan to eat our food.  Want to try something? On the house?”

At first I said no, but she wouldn’t accept no for an answer and, anyway, it was free. So I asked for a loaf of bread. I needed bread anyway. It would save me a trip.

She handed me her cigarette and this pang of fear filled my veins. I was so sure my mom would randomly walk by and be like, “Marissa! You’re smoking? I knew this would happen if you moved to the city!”

When the tattoo-piercings girl emerged from the bakery, I handed back her cigarette and she gave me a loaf of rustic brown bread in a paper bag the same colour as my arm.

I asked what kind of bread it was and she said, “Spelt with pumpkin seeds. That okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds great.”

Don’t ask me what spelt is, but I knew I liked pumpkin seeds. Didn’t sound too bad.

I ate it slathered with butter. Not as the vegan bakers intended.

The next day when I came home she wasn’t sitting outside my door, so I went into the shop to say thanks for the bread. She asked if she could get me anything else and I didn’t want to be rude so I bought a chocolate-coconut macaroon. That was really good, actually. Maybe chocolate-coconut macaroons were naturally vegan. I don’t know. I have no idea how they’re made.

After that I tried to avoid the tattoo-piercings girl as much as possible because I felt like I should be shopping at her store more often, but I really couldn’t afford it.

One day I came home to find a “For Lease” sign in the window and a “Closed” sign on the door.

Then I felt really bad.

If I’d patronized their establishment maybe they wouldn’t have gone under.  Although it wasn’t unusual, in my neighbourhood, for shops to pop up and close down again, all in a six-month span. Retail rents were higher than most small businesses could afford. 

I would never want to run my own business.

What surprised me was the sadness in my heart.  I would never see the tattoo-piercings girl again. I missed the smell of smoke outside my door when I came home from work. I missed the smell of vegan baked goods waking me up in the morning.

And then one day I arrived at my door to find a paper bag hanging around my door handle and a slim vegan scrawling something on the back of an envelope.

“Hi,” I said.

This time she’s the one who jumped.  “Oh. Hi. I was just leaving you a note.”

“What did it say?”

She nervously crumpled it up and shoved it in her bag.  “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. I brought you more macaroons.”

I looked to the bakery in confusion. “I thought... oh, I thought you closed down.”

“We did.  I made these at home.”

“Oh wow, that’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

She stood there kind of twitching like she really wanted a cigarette but wouldn’t let herself have one. For a second, my stomach dropped because what did she want?  Did she want to come in? Why was she here? And why bring me baked goods?

So I invited her in. I mean, what are you supposed to do?

I unlocked the front door and told her to go in first which was stupid because then when we’d got all the way up the narrow staircase I had to squish really close to her to unlock my apartment door.

She walked in slowly, looking all around like my place was some kind of mythical fairyland.

“Sorry,” I said, picking up clothes off the floor.

“For what?”

“For the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“This is clean by my standards,” she said, but I kind of doubted that a baker kept a messy house.  “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Be my guest.”

She was already in there when I remembered about the dildo drying on the counter.

My heart felt like it was exploding over and over again, and then it stopped beating altogether.  Just stopped. My blood ran cold. I’d live the rest of my life as an ice sculpture stuck to my couch.

The toilet flushed and she came out of the bathroom holding my dildo like a pink fairy wand.  The weird thing was that she didn’t even acknowledge it was there in her hand. She just sort of waved it around as she told me what a rough time she’d been having since she and Markus split.

“Who’s Markus?” I asked.

When she said, “My boyfriend,” I nearly choked on my tongue.  Then she also said, “We owned the bakery together. Lived together. Did everything together. And then he tells me the spark is gone. Just like that. Spark’s gone. I didn’t see it coming.”

“I’m sorry... sorry... what’s your name?”

“Chantal,” she said, smacking my pink dildo against her palm. “What’s yours?”

“Marissa.”

She held up the dildo. “What’s his?”

Fire ate my face. “I... uhhh... it doesn’t have a name. I never even knew it was a he.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” she said, considering the fake dick.  “Could be anything, really.”

I didn’t want to talk about my dildo. I asked, “Is that why the bakery closed? Because you and your boyfriend split up?”

She shook her head. “I think the bakery could have survived the split, but Markus said the spark was gone from that too.”

“From baking?”

“From baking, from running a business. It’s hard work.”

“I bet.”

She stared at my dildo. I stared at the box of macaroons.

“Should I make some tea?  Or... can I get you anything?”

“Nah.”  She shrugged, tapped the dildo absently against her cheek while she moved toward the front window. “Nice view. It’s like the view we had from downstairs, just... elevated.”

She was standing beside my bed. My apartment was a lot of space, just not a lot of walls. The whole front section was my bedroom and my living room. I had company so rarely it never really mattered.

I said to her, “I’m surprised you have a boyfriend.”

“Had.”

“Had a boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“You just look...”

“Like a lesbian?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged.  “And you don’t. Can’t always judge a book by its cover.  Do you mind if I smoke?”

Yes I minded! I minded a lot. But I said, “Go right ahead.”

She handed me my dildo while she went into her bag, which she’d tossed on the couch.  She didn’t sit with me. She went over to my bed and sat there and smoked her cigarette. There was a candle nearby, and she took it off the dish and used the dish to catch her ashes.

“What do you like?” she asked.

“Like?”

“In bed.”

My breath caught in my lungs. “Oh. I guess... I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. Because me, I’m really specific with what I like and it’s something Markus never wanted to do. He didn’t let me do it to him, he didn’t want to do it to me.”

I nodded, because I’d been there. Sort of. More like the one thing I wanted most was the thing I could never ask anyone to try with me.  It was too weird.

As weird as Chantal.

“What’s your thing?” I asked.

And she told me. She just told me!  “I love rimming. I love getting rimmed. Markus always said he’d stick his dick in my ass, but no way he’d lick it. I let him do his thing because, damn, do I love ass-play... but it wasn’t what I wanted.”

I wanted to run to her and throw my arms around her and say, “Oh my God, you too?  I thought I was the only person on the planet with that kink!”

Instead, I said, “Why are you telling me this?”

She shrugged. I thought she’d take offense, but didn’t seem to. She just said, “You seemed like you’d understand.”

“I do,” I said, just trying to sound supportive.

“You like it too?”

“Never tried it,” I said, which was actually true.

“Want to give it a whirl?”

I nearly choked.

What are the chances some random chick would come to my house, bring me chocolate-coconut macaroons, and offer to lick me ass? That just doesn’t happen.

Still, I heard my voice saying, “I don’t know. We don’t really know each other. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Would it?” she asked, crushing her cigarette butt on the makeshift ashtray.  “Here, tell me where you keep the facecloths.”

“Why?”

Stupid question!

“I’m gonna give your ass a good scrub.”

“Oh my good god.”  I pointed to the linen closet with the big pink dildo and she went to it, found a navy blue facecloth and wet it in the bathroom sink. “For real? This is happening?”

“This is happening.”

She was still fully dressed when she came out of the bathroom. So was I.

“Take off your pants,” she said.

I took off my pants and underwear but I left my shirt on.

She grimaced.  “Top too. And the bra.  Better if you’re naked.”

“Can you get the blinds?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Who’s gonna see?”

I pointed to the condo buildings in the distance. “If anyone in those towers has a telescope they’d be able to look in the window.”

Chantal rolled her eyes. “And the space station might be monitoring you, too.”

I did the blinds myself, then unbuttoned my top and took off my black bra.  Chantal looked impressed. You can tell I’ve got big boobs even when I’m fully dressed. There’s nowhere to hide them. But the thing about big boobs is that sometimes they’re all wonky when you get them naked. Sometimes big boobs look better when they’re covered in clothes. But mine look pretty good naked, too. They’re golden brown and full and round, with small dark nipples that point more up than down.

“Nice,” Chantal said.

And I said, “Thanks.”

She pointed to the bed with the dildo. “Get on your knees.  Point your ass in my direction.”

With the blinds closed and no lights on it was pretty dark in my apartment, so Chantal went around with her lighter, lighting every candle she came across.  Gave the place a romantic glow.  She went back to the bathroom and ran more water on the cloth, I guess to heat it up again, and then returned to rub my ass, getting right in there until I was squeaky clean.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” That was the truth.

She lit another cigarette and pulled my office chair over beside the bed and sat facing my butt. I watched through my knees as she inhaled, then exhaled, blowing smoke between my butt cheeks.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Good.”

“Dry off all that water.”

It was different than standing in front of a fan, though. A different sort of dry. Hot air. Breath and smoke.

She inhaled again and blew more smoke at my ass, closer this time. Then she came in so close I worried she’d burn me with her cigarette. She took a drag, then pressed her lips in a waxy circle around my clean asshole and breathed that cigarette smoke into my body.

“Oh my good god,” I moaned into my bedcovers.

“You like that, huh?”

I could feel her smoke inside my ass. It felt clean. Very clean. And dry.

She did it again.  I closed my eyes and just absorbed the experience, the sensation.  I wanted more of her weirdness, more of her kink.

Placing the dildo beneath me on the bed, she said, “You wet enough to take this baby?”

“In my ass?” I shrieked.

She laughed and coughed, then spanked me with the dildo.  “In your pussy.”

I felt between my legs, bashfully, because it embarrassed me to touch myself while another woman watched.

Chantal breathing smoke into my asshole had turned me on more than I thought humanly possible. Pussy juice leaked out of me in liquid stalactites. I swirled my natural lube to slick my labia, not that they needed much help.

“Okay,” I said.  “That should do it.”

She held the dildo beneath me, balancing it on the mattress as I eased my body down on the fat pink cock. Its tip spread me wide. I only took the uppermost section into my body, because I didn’t want it to punch my insides.

“Is that the best you can do?” Chantal asked.

It wasn’t a matter of best or worst, but I didn’t say that to her.  I just said, “Maybe you can keep doing... what you were doing?”

Blowing smoke up my ass.

She laughed and set her cigarette aside and opened my cheeks with her hands.  It was harder to watch her between my legs with a dildo in the way, but I was able to see her closing in on my clean, smoky ass...

I held my breath as her tongue met my hole.

She didn’t attack it like you’d expect.  That first lick was more of a tickle. A touch. A loop around my smoked pucker.  I tried not to think about what she was seeing back there.  But she seemed to like my full and fleshy ass.  She gripped my brown cheeks hard as she shoved her face between them and moaned.

Her lips touched my asshole. She kissed it loudly. Then her tongue came out and she poked the tip inside my hole, whirling, digging in there, opening me up.

As she worked my ass, I felt my pussy spreading wider. I felt my body sliding down that dildo like a greased pole. It filled me up, sparking a deep sense of lust in my body—lust like I’d never felt before. I wanted to fuck that dick, and I did, taking Chantal’s face with me as I moved on it, hard.

She retracted her tongue from inside my ass, but she didn’t go far. Her hands still gripped my cheeks while her wet tongue slapped my hole.  She was like a painter back there, her sloppy brush slapping me again and again.  Then she growled and got in there like she was trying to gobble my asshole up.  She licked it, she sucked it. I felt her teeth back there and I loved it.  I wanted her to bite me more, bite me harder. 

As I slammed my body down on the dildo, Chantal moved away and grabbed her bag. For a second I thought maybe she was done, maybe she’d leave me all alone with my sex toy.  But I was wrong about that.

She grabbed something from her bag and I asked her what it was and she told me it was coconut oil.  Okay.  Now what did she plan to do with that?

I kneeled on my bed, my pussy full of fake cock, while she pushed down her black jeans and took off her nondescript panties. Her pubes were black, just like her hair.  She lifted off her top. No bra underneath. Just these tiny breasts, mosquito bite nipples.  She was tall and long and slim and white. The opposite of me in a lot of ways.

“You want to try?” she asked, nodding to her abandoned cigarette.

“Oh, I don’t smoke.”

“So don’t breathe it in,” she said. “Just suck the smoke into your mouth and blow it right back out.”

The one time I tried smoking, I nearly hacked up a lung. Granted I was fourteen at the time, but still, it hadn’t left the best impression.  “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

She got in front of me on the bed, arching her back like a cat so her ass hovered just below my face. The position naturally spread her open, not that she had very pronounced ass cheeks. They were beautiful porcelain specimens, not muscular or fleshy, just there.