True Sex Stories E-Book

Gia Maria Marquez

• Herausgeber: Between the Two
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

True Sex Stories

Leseprobe

© 2015 True Sex Stories

All rights reserved.

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 © 2015

First Edition 2015

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

True Sex Stories: The Complete Collection

Sick of this Shit | The Most Disgusting Sex I’ve Ever Had

I Wanted Him To Take Me

Double-Teaming My Best Friend’s MILF

My Husband Cheated | ...With Another Man! | by | Abi Dalziel

I’m Wearing My Wife’s Panties

My Teacher Gave Me a Ride After Prom

TRUE

SEX

STORIES

Six Titillating Tales

EDITED BY

GIA MARIA MARQUEZ

Sick of this Shit

The Most Disgusting Sex I’ve Ever Had

By

A. Notty Miss

This is a true sex story. I’m writing it anonymously because it’s pretty gross and I wouldn’t want word getting back to my boyfriend that I’ve shared it with the world.

I’m not really sure where to begin. I guess I’ll start by saying I’m a twenty-two-year-old girl and I’m dating a sixty-five-year-old man. No, that’s not the disgusting part. I know you’re thinking, “Boy oh boy, that girl’s got daddy issues up the wazoo!” and maybe I do, but that’s not the gross part of the story.  Not even close.

Actually, John (we’ll call him “John” because that’s a common name) is damn good in bed.  He’s even better than a lot of the young guys I’ve been with, not that there have been many young guys.  The thing about younger men, when I used to sleep with them, was that they fumbled around a lot and then it was over really fast.  I never had an orgasm with a man until I started sleeping with John.

The best thing about having sex an older guy is that they’ve been around the block a few times. They know what women want and they’re not afraid to take it slow. 

I think patience is the big difference.  Young guys always seemed to think that if they didn’t tear off my panties and stick it in me within five seconds of getting me alone in a room, I would regain my sanity and run away screaming. 

They never seemed to understand that I was into it.  I was there to fuck and I was looking for a good time.  It’s like they thought they were scamming me.  Stick it in her quick before she notices, then take the orgasm and run.

Young guys didn’t seem to realize I wanted an orgasm too.

With John, it’s all about me.  If I’m not happy, he’s not happy.  Sometimes I get the sense he feels like he’s living in a dream.  How many old guys can take a twenty-two-year-old out to dinner and then back home for dessert without offering her cash upfront?

Some people think I’m a gold-digger.  My own mom called me one, once.  It’s not true.  I like John for who he is, not what he gives me. He does give me presents sometimes, but that’s not why I date him.  John could be a penniless pauper and I’d still love him.

Maybe that’s the key difference: I really do love John. I don’t think I loved any of the younger guys I slept with.  I think I was infatuated with some of them, but that’s about it.

The first time I went to bed with John, we almost didn’t fuck at all.  I know what you’re thinking: he couldn’t get it up. Nope, that wasn’t it at all.  His cock was like tree branch jutting out from his body by the time I begged him to put it in me. 

He’d been kneeling beside my little bed for the better part of a half hour, licking my pussy, sucking my clit, and giving me the first orgasm that wasn’t by my own hand.  Then another, then another.  I lost track after I came five times by his mouth.  His talented tongue knew just when to slow down, just when to lay off for a while, and when to pick up the pace again and go at me so hard I exploded.

After five orgasms, my clit was huge.  My arousal made it so wildly engorged it stuck out between my neat pussy lips like a tongue.  It felt so thick and hot and throbbing I couldn’t close my legs, but I also couldn’t stand any more licking, any more sucking, anymore teasing or stroking or rubbing by John’s masterful fingers.

I begged him to put it in me.

“But you said you’ve had enough,” he replied, in a tone that could have been teasing, or maybe not.  I wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously.  He said, “You screamed that you’d had enough.”

That’s when he stood on his creaky knees, obviously trying to hide the pain he felt after kneeling for half an hour on a hard floor.  His back cracked, but his cock stood like a soldier ready for battle.

“It’s only my clit that’s worn out,” I told him.  “My pussy isn’t.  My pussy wants more.”

At first he said we should perhaps leave it for another day.  Maybe he was nervous because we hadn’t discussed birth control or sexually transmitted diseases or any of those topics responsible adults are supposed to talk about before they go to bed together.

He didn’t have to worry about me, though.  I was clean as a whistle and on the pill.  And I trusted him because he’d been married for a million years.  He hadn’t had sex with anyone but his wife, and hadn’t even had sex with her since before she got cancer.  He’d been a widower more than five years before we got together. So it had been a long time for him.

When he put it in me, I knew I’d never go back to young men.  John’s cock pulsed against the tight walls of my pussy, like a heartbeat in my most sensitive spot. He felt huge in me, even bigger than he looked, and the slower he moved the larger he felt. 

Spreading my thighs with his palms, he slowly inserted himself into me.  This was a new experience, remember.  Every other guy I’d been with had banged me hard and fast, right from the start.  It had always hurt, because my pussy was never quite ready for it.  Pussies grow, just like cocks, when they’re aroused.  Pussies want to accommodate cocks.  They know how, but it takes a bit of time, and John had given me that time by eating me for half an hour.

When he’d buried himself balls-deep, my pussy was hungry for action.  He pressed his palms so hard into my thighs I knew there’d be bruises there the next day, and I was glad because that way I’d be able to relive the amazing sex he was laying on me.

My pussy hugged his cock so hard he grunted shamelessly as he ploughed me.  I knew he liked fucking me by the way his face contorted as he did it.  When he twisted his fingers around my thighs, digging them into my skin with enough force to make me scream with pain as well as pleasure, I knew he was about to come.

Burying himself to the hilt, he blasted his load deep in my pussy.  Then he pulled out, reached for my hand mirror, and showed me my tight little snatch dribbling his cream. There was so much of it it drizzled down my ass crack, pooling against my hole.  I’d never seen anything like it.

Until that moment, I’d thought of John exclusively as a distinguished gentleman.  Now I knew he had a perverted side just below the surface.

But nothing could have prepared me for what happened a few months later.

Actually, before I tell you about that, I’ll tell you about an event that preceded the most disgusting sex I’ve ever had.

We were in my living room.  We started kissing on my couch, fooling around.  He stuck his hand in my pants, I stuck my hand in his.  He was hard.  I was wet.  We rubbed each other’s bits for a while, but I got it into my head that I wanted to suck his dick, so I pulled down his pants and gave him a quality blow job.  He came pretty fast, considering his age, but when he got up after to use the bathroom, he left something behind.

On my couch.

There was a smear of shit on my couch.

My stomach turned.  I think I was less disgusted than embarrassed, to be honest.  This guy was my boyfriend, for lack of a better word.  My boyfriend had just smeared poop on my couch cushion?  What, did he not know how to wipe his ass?  Was he really that old?

Before John came back into the room, I covered the shit smear with the fleece throw I keep in the living room for cold winter nights. The fleece happens to be brown, which was convenient, but my couch is a sort of taupey-beige.  It took three tries to lift that stain.

After the shit smear incident, I didn’t respond to John’s phone calls for a week.

Yes, I know how immature that sounds.  I realize he was worried about me when I didn’t answer him back, but all I could think every time he left me a voicemail was, “You left shit on my couch!”

I suddenly saw him differently.  He aged 50 years in my eyes, and all because of that disgusting stain.  I was embarrassed for him.  I was embarrassed for me.  Did he know he’d done it?  Probably not.  He probably had no idea why I’d suddenly gone stone cold.

Two things happened: I felt bad, and I missed him.  That’s what made me eventually call him back.

The next time we saw each other, things returned to normal.  I let myself forget what had happened on my couch.  We’re only human, after all.  We all have bodies that do weird, messy things at times. So what?

No big deal.

Everybody poops.

And then the thing happened: the most disgusting sex I’ve ever had.

It started out pretty normal.  John always loved shower sex, and so did I.  After the incident on the couch, anything involving water seemed pretty safe.

John is retired, but he does volunteer work a few days a week.  One afternoon I met him there as his shift was ending and he drove me back to his place.  He’s not super-rich or anything, but his house is really nice.  His master bath has been recently renovated, and it’s got one of those great shower stalls with glass doors and room to move around.  The floors are maybe slate or something (I don’t know tiles) so they’re not slippery, and neither are the walls.  I’m never afraid I might fall, the way I feel when we fuck in my shower at home.

So, that day—the day of the most disgusting sex I’ve ever had—John asked me if I’d like shower with him.  Well, sure!  Why not?

How I’d live to regret it...

Everything seemed fine at first.  Everything seemed normal.  We broke out the white soap and rubbed it all over each other’s naked bodies.  John loves it when I lather up his dick and stroke it all sudsy like that.  He held me tight and squirmed against me as my slick nipples slid around his chest.  I wriggled in his grip, not to get away, but because it felt so damn good to rub my body up and down his.

Then I went back to his dick.  I wrapped one hand around his shaft and the other around his balls.  I squeezed his squeaky-clean erection and wrangled his big bouncy nut sack.  His skin was white with soap bubbles.