Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




A Game of Whores

His name was Tom. He'd been checking Natalie out all night, watching her as she drifted around the party from conversation to conversation, none of which she actively took part in, satisfied to simply nod her head along as others spoke, laughing or grimacing at the socially appropriate times. Not that the looks she received were desperately, or anything, far from it.

He was handsome and well-built, and he had the confidence that came along with such traits. Desperation was not a feeling that came naturally to him. Beautiful men had a sort of obtuse way about them, as if by virtue of their appearance, they could wander into nearly any situation and expect positive results. This one was no different. If she was to accomplish her goal, he would have to be coaxed into an unfamiliar state.

Flashing the occasional smile, she had teased him as she flitted from person to person, moving closer and closer to him, as if they were on some predestined path of intersection, then turning at the last minute to refill her wine glass or to respond to an imagined summons from across the room, holding off, in some cases, to the point that he had actually opened his mouth to speak to her a couple times before his words died in his mouth as she suddenly darted off, seemingly oblivious to him.

This dance had only increased his interest, and as the night wore on, she found his gaze upon her more and more. Eager to add to his fascination, Natalie found ways to reward him the more attention he paid her. Nothing too obvious, it wouldn't do to appear too wanton, just a bit of eye contact and the wetting of lips, an uncrossing and re-crossing of her legs while sitting on the couch that took perhaps a bit too long to complete. She worried that the latter, a maneuver that, while cliché and a bit crass, had served her well in the past, may have been a bit too brazen considering her lack of underwear, but the man, nonetheless, responded well, and soon found excuses to wander over to her side of the house, even sitting next to her on the couch for a time. Thankfully, the music was loud enough that it made conversation almost impossible, which is precisely why she tried to remain mostly in the area of the stereo, which cranked out a mix of danceable, lyrically vapid songs.

Still, he was persistent, and at one point, she almost lost points as he leaned in unexpectedly and attempted to shout, in the least intrusive way possible given the circumstances, a greeting into her ear. Natalie had only just been able to duck out of the way, pretending to find something abruptly interesting on the floor before standing and quickly extraditing herself from the potentially ruinous situation.

The rules had been set forth rather clearly: absolutely no talking.

It might have seemed strange, ridiculous even, to anyone paying particularly close attention: this woman, butterflying about the room in a snug, powder blue dress, holding a wine glass, wordlessly socializing via demure looks and body language. Not that anyone had much cause to pay Natalie particularly close attention, apart from how well that powder blue dress clung to her in all the right places, as almost none of them actually knew the tall big-breasted blonde. In fact, the only people at the party—which was, as a sign outside proclaimed, a celebration of Jen and Tom's fifth year wedding anniversary—who knew her were a pair of females, a curvy Hispanic girl named Maria and a lithe redhead named Annabelle, who watched appraisingly from the corner of whatever room Natalie's dance of seduction took her to make sure she followed the rules, and who were similarly unfamiliar with the rest of the guests.

The only other person that had seemed to notice Natalie and the effect she was having on Tom was, of course, the woman of the hour herself, Jen—Tom's cute, if unremarkable wife. This was not unintentional, as Natalie had been sure to orchestrate as much of her silent dance as possible in clear view of the other woman, who had handled it fairly well in the beginning but had soured considerably as the evening progressed and her husband paid less attention to her, frequently wandering after the foreign woman in blue. The results of this building jealousy, also purposefully constructed, was that Jen began drinking larger and larger amounts of wine and shooting dangerous, and progressively more booze-addled, glances in the direction of her partner, who, in the fine tradition of men who have caught the smell of potential pussy, was absolutely oblivious.

This growing discontent finally blossomed after Natalie brushed by the, now less than happy, couple on her way to the snack table, careful to discreetly grope Tom in the process, a move that caused the, by now flustered, man to turn his entire body to stare after her as she passed, ignoring his wife, who had been in the middle of speaking, in the process, and sending her, after a tight-lipped not-quite-quiet-enough string of profanity directed at her husband, stomping off to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Tom, red-faced and awkward, quickly followed, and the guests, who rapidly became uncomfortable with the developing situation of Jen yelling through the door while her husband tried, quite unsuccessfully, to calm her down by whispering palliatives in a voice just shy of total emasculation, began to disperse almost immediately.

So complete was the discomfort, that when Tom wandered back into the living room almost fifteen minutes later, barred from his own bedroom by a wife who had become inconsolable with anger and largely incoherent with drink, Natalie was the sole remaining visitor. She was also, unabashedly naked other than a pair of white heels.

Tom, who had been drinking beer all night, and who had just experienced perhaps the worst fight in his five-year marriage, was dumbfounded by what he saw. The mystery woman, who had seemingly been flirting with him all night only to spin away at every opportunity, now stood completely revealed before him. He had thought her dress, which now lay in a pile at her feet, had left nothing to the imagination, but now that she was free of it, he found himself thinking of how little it did her justice.

Natalie was tall, with a taut stomach and long, shapely legs that rose up to a thin waist. Her eyes, blue and sharp, which had lead him all night, now met his unflinchingly. Classically beautiful, with elegant features and lustrous blonde hair that ended just north of her large, luscious breasts, she harkened back to the blonde bombshells of the old pin-ups. Tom would have told her so but he found his mouth uncooperative, which was lucky for Natalie, as that would have ruined everything. Before he could find his faculties, Natalie closed the distance between them, her heavy tits swaying as she walked. With great deliberateness, she pushed her right index finger firmly against his lips, and then made a "shushing" noise before she moved her mouth to his, lightly kissing him around her finger.

Tom wasn't a bad man, not really. In five years of marriage, he had never strayed, and he had been propositioned more than once. Good-looking men were always in demand, but Tom had always stood his ground, not that it hadn't been difficult. Standing there, in front of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, he fully intended to hold the line, as he had done before. Sure, he had flirted, and, truthfully, he had liked the attention, had enjoyed the cat and mouse session with this picture-perfect blonde temptress, but enough was enough. He would send her on her way and figure out some way to make this up to his wife.

Tom thought this even as Natalie dropped to her knees, even as she unfastened his belt and tugged his jeans to the floor. To his credit, Tom even thought it as he reached his hands down to stop her, to help her to her feet. It wasn't until her wet mouth found his already growing excitement that he found his assurance, and resistance, greatly reduced.

Tom, as it turned out, had never had his cock sucked by someone like Natalie, and he found himself thoroughly unprepared for the experience.

Sure, he'd had blowjobs, more than his fair share: sloppy backseat sessions in high school, daring college exploits, the eagerness of a loving wife. Natalie, however, was something different. Natalie was a breaker of men, better, stronger men than Tom. Hers was a purposeful passion, schooled and practiced, and the feeling of her mouth on his cock was a revelation. She worked it with purpose and efficiency, her hand reaching up to stroke as she glided her lips seamlessly along the head and shaft. There was an elegance about her even as she sucked cock that made the other women Tom had experienced seem clumsy, arduous and taxing.

By comparison, this strange woman seemed practiced in all aspects of pleasing him, and she taught him what it was to be truly pleased, and she looked somehow even more beautiful while doing so.

He opened his mouth to compliment her, but, sensing this, Natalie stared up at him with a stern expression and clamped her hand firmly around his dick in warning. Rules were rules. Tom understood the message, if not the reason behind it, and immediately hushed.

Natalie moved her hands along Tom's thighs, caressing as she sucked, eventually coming to gently cup his balls with one hand. She played him like this for a time, until he throbbed at full capacity in her mouth. At which point, she stood, her hand still firmly on his erection, and used it to guide him back to the couch. After he was settled, she gathered herself, and slowly, smoothly, lowered herself onto his hard-on.

Tom's hands instinctively found her hips, but he applied no pressure, sensing, somehow, that he had nothing to offer her but his compliance. Relieved of the need for control, he sat on the couch and resolved to enjoy the show.

He watched as her pussy, covered in immaculately trimmed, fine blonde hair, engulfed his cock in centimeters. After what seemed like eons, her pussy swallowed him to the base of his cock, then, slowly, exactingly, she lifted herself back up, the pink lips of her beautiful sex clinging to his shaft almost tenderly, before descending once more. After the third time, she added a slight roll of her hips, squeezing Tom's dick in a way that threatened to bring him to an embarrassingly premature orgasm. Still, the pace was slow enough that he was able to hold on, so slow that it was nearly torturous.

Every few minutes Natalie would add a new kink, a different undulation, she knew he was close, but she was confident in her ability to control him, to keep him right on the edge. Natalie was nothing if not a perfectionist. Fucking was an art to her, an act of control, and nothing turned her on like pushing a man along the exact path she wanted. She would make sure that Tom never got over this, that for the rest of his life he would think of her whenever he was inside his cute little wife. Natalie wanted his allegiance, the undying loyalty of his lust.

She looked into his eyes and smiled as she rode him; she could see the guilt there, and she relished it. There was a race inside of him, as conscience chased lust around his mind. Natalie wanted to make sure it never caught up, that it couldn't. She wanted to haunt the man, for the ghost of her pussy to torment him for all of his days.

She picked up speed until she was fucking in honesty, her ass slapping against Tom's thighs with each complete motion. He wouldn't last long, but she didn't care; it was almost time. Tom began to moan and she clamped one hand over his mouth to make sure he couldn't speak. Her body flowed now, a demanding question pulling and clawing at the man underneath her. Tom didn't need his words to answer; she could see it on his eyes.

There was no guilt in him when he came, no thought of his wife or of stopping the woman on top of him. Instead, there was only overwhelming pleasure, and the unexpected, poignant realization that this woman, this goddess in blue, had somehow ruined him, that he would never again feel this good. He felt fear, and panic, and undisguised need.

Natalie saw it, all of it, bubbling up in Tom, consuming him, and she came, deep and hard and satisfyingly. The muscles of her cunt shook and tightened around his cock, forcing every drop of cum into her. Not content to let him go so easily, she continued to ride him, long after he had stopped moaning into her hand, after he was simply an object beneath her. Like a carnival ride, she slowed in measures, gradually removing each added motion in reverse order until, finally, raising off him, slowly, so slowly, until his almost limp cock slipped out of her with a moist sound.

Still having not spoken, she casually redressed while Tom watched her, a distant, slightly confused look on his face. He sat silently on the couch, pants still around his ankles, as she checked her hair and make-up in a mirror on the wall. It wasn't until she was at the door, hand gripping the knob to leave, that he finally hazarded a question.

"Am I ever going to see you again?"

The rules of the game having been fulfilled, Natalie was no longer under any compulsion not to speak. Still, she said only two words before blowing him an exaggerated kiss and walking out.

"No, dear."

Maria and Annabelle, having left with the others to give Natalie space to work, were waiting when she got to the car.

"So...?" The first asked expectantly.

"Fifteen points," Natalie answered proudly.

"Fifteen still seems high," Annabelle chimed in argumentatively.

"Five for him being married, five for it being on their anniversary, and five for seducing him without talking." Natalie reiterated the scoring system.

"I still think you planned this. No way we just happened to pass this house. With the sign and everything? I'm calling bullshit."

"Don't be such a bitch, Annie. You're just mad because you're losing."

"They looked just alike! I still say they were father and son. That should have been twenty!"

"Not according to their driver's licenses."

"No need to fight, bitches," Maria interjected. "It's my turn, and I'm going to smoke both of you."

"Listen to this slut," I laughed. "Thinks she invented the blowjob, or something."

"Alright," Annabelle asked, still with a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Where to?" His name was Tom. He'd been checking Natalie out all night, watching her as she drifted around the party from conversation to conversation, none of which she actively took part in, satisfied to simply nod her head along as others spoke, laughing or grimacing at the socially appropriate times. Not that the looks she received were desperately, or anything, far from it.

He was handsome and well-built, and he had the confidence that came along with such traits. Desperation was not a feeling that came naturally to him. Beautiful men had a sort of obtuse way about them, as if by virtue of their appearance, they could wander into nearly any situation and expect positive results. This one was no different. If she was to accomplish her goal, he would have to be coaxed into an unfamiliar state.

Flashing the occasional smile, she had teased him as she flitted from person to person, moving closer and closer to him, as if they were on some predestined path of intersection, then turning at the last minute to refill her wine glass or to respond to an imagined summons from across the room, holding off, in some cases, to the point that he had actually opened his mouth to speak to her a couple times before his words died in his mouth as she suddenly darted off, seemingly oblivious to him.

This dance had only increased his interest, and as the night wore on, she found his gaze upon her more and more. Eager to add to his fascination, Natalie found ways to reward him the more attention he paid her. Nothing too obvious, it wouldn't do to appear too wanton, just a bit of eye contact and the wetting of lips, an uncrossing and re-crossing of her legs while sitting on the couch that took perhaps a bit too long to complete. She worried that the latter, a maneuver that, while cliché and a bit crass, had served her well in the past, may have been a bit too brazen considering her lack of underwear, but the man, nonetheless, responded well, and soon found excuses to wander over to her side of the house, even sitting next to her on the couch for a time. Thankfully, the music was loud enough that it made conversation almost impossible, which is precisely why she tried to remain mostly in the area of the stereo, which cranked out a mix of danceable, lyrically vapid songs.

Still, he was persistent, and at one point, she almost lost points as he leaned in unexpectedly and attempted to shout, in the least intrusive way possible given the circumstances, a greeting into her ear. Natalie had only just been able to duck out of the way, pretending to find something abruptly interesting on the floor before standing and quickly extraditing herself from the potentially ruinous situation.

The rules had been set forth rather clearly: absolutely no talking.

It might have seemed strange, ridiculous even, to anyone paying particularly close attention: this woman, butterflying about the room in a snug, powder blue dress, holding a wine glass, wordlessly socializing via demure looks and body language. Not that anyone had much cause to pay Natalie particularly close attention, apart from how well that powder blue dress clung to her in all the right places, as almost none of them actually knew the tall big-breasted blonde. In fact, the only people at the party—which was, as a sign outside proclaimed, a celebration of Jen and Tom's fifth year wedding anniversary—who knew her were a pair of females, a curvy Hispanic girl named Maria and a lithe redhead named Annabelle, who watched appraisingly from the corner of whatever room Natalie's dance of seduction took her to make sure she followed the rules, and who were similarly unfamiliar with the rest of the guests.

The only other person that had seemed to notice Natalie and the effect she was having on Tom was, of course, the woman of the hour herself, Jen—Tom's cute, if unremarkable wife. This was not unintentional, as Natalie had been sure to orchestrate as much of her silent dance as possible in clear view of the other woman, who had handled it fairly well in the beginning but had soured considerably as the evening progressed and her husband paid less attention to her, frequently wandering after the foreign woman in blue. The results of this building jealousy, also purposefully constructed, was that Jen began drinking larger and larger amounts of wine and shooting dangerous, and progressively more booze-addled, glances in the direction of her partner, who, in the fine tradition of men who have caught the smell of potential pussy, was absolutely oblivious.

This growing discontent finally blossomed after Natalie brushed by the, now less than happy, couple on her way to the snack table, careful to discreetly grope Tom in the process, a move that caused the, by now flustered, man to turn his entire body to stare after her as she passed, ignoring his wife, who had been in the middle of speaking, in the process, and sending her, after a tight-lipped not-quite-quiet-enough string of profanity directed at her husband, stomping off to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Tom, red-faced and awkward, quickly followed, and the guests, who rapidly became uncomfortable with the developing situation of Jen yelling through the door while her husband tried, quite unsuccessfully, to calm her down by whispering palliatives in a voice just shy of total emasculation, began to disperse almost immediately.

So complete was the discomfort, that when Tom wandered back into the living room almost fifteen minutes later, barred from his own bedroom by a wife who had become inconsolable with anger and largely incoherent with drink, Natalie was the sole remaining visitor. She was also, unabashedly naked other than a pair of white heels.

Tom, who had been drinking beer all night, and who had just experienced perhaps the worst fight in his five-year marriage, was dumbfounded by what he saw. The mystery woman, who had seemingly been flirting with him all night only to spin away at every opportunity, now stood completely revealed before him. He had thought her dress, which now lay in a pile at her feet, had left nothing to the imagination, but now that she was free of it, he found himself thinking of how little it did her justice.

Natalie was tall, with a taut stomach and long, shapely legs that rose up to a thin waist. Her eyes, blue and sharp, which had lead him all night, now met his unflinchingly. Classically beautiful, with elegant features and lustrous blonde hair that ended just north of her large, luscious breasts, she harkened back to the blonde bombshells of the old pin-ups. Tom would have told her so but he found his mouth uncooperative, which was lucky for Natalie, as that would have ruined everything. Before he could find his faculties, Natalie closed the distance between them, her heavy tits swaying as she walked. With great deliberateness, she pushed her right index finger firmly against his lips, and then made a "shushing" noise before she moved her mouth to his, lightly kissing him around her finger.

Tom wasn't a bad man, not really. In five years of marriage, he had never strayed, and he had been propositioned more than once. Good-looking men were always in demand, but Tom had always stood his ground, not that it hadn't been difficult. Standing there, in front of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, he fully intended to hold the line, as he had done before. Sure, he had flirted, and, truthfully, he had liked the attention, had enjoyed the cat and mouse session with this picture-perfect blonde temptress, but enough was enough. He would send her on her way and figure out some way to make this up to his wife.

Tom thought this even as Natalie dropped to her knees, even as she unfastened his belt and tugged his jeans to the floor. To his credit, Tom even thought it as he reached his hands down to stop her, to help her to her feet. It wasn't until her wet mouth found his already growing excitement that he found his assurance, and resistance, greatly reduced.

Tom, as it turned out, had never had his cock sucked by someone like Natalie, and he found himself thoroughly unprepared for the experience.

Sure, he'd had blowjobs, more than his fair share: sloppy backseat sessions in high school, daring college exploits, the eagerness of a loving wife. Natalie, however, was something different. Natalie was a breaker of men, better, stronger men than Tom. Hers was a purposeful passion, schooled and practiced, and the feeling of her mouth on his cock was a revelation. She worked it with purpose and efficiency, her hand reaching up to stroke as she glided her lips seamlessly along the head and shaft. There was an elegance about her even as she sucked cock that made the other women Tom had experienced seem clumsy, arduous and taxing.

By comparison, this strange woman seemed practiced in all aspects of pleasing him, and she taught him what it was to be truly pleased, and she looked somehow even more beautiful while doing so.

He opened his mouth to compliment her, but, sensing this, Natalie stared up at him with a stern expression and clamped her hand firmly around his dick in warning. Rules were rules. Tom understood the message, if not the reason behind it, and immediately hushed.

Natalie moved her hands along Tom's thighs, caressing as she sucked, eventually coming to gently cup his balls with one hand. She played him like this for a time, until he throbbed at full capacity in her mouth. At which point, she stood, her hand still firmly on his erection, and used it to guide him back to the couch. After he was settled, she gathered herself, and slowly, smoothly, lowered herself onto his hard-on.

Tom's hands instinctively found her hips, but he applied no pressure, sensing, somehow, that he had nothing to offer her but his compliance. Relieved of the need for control, he sat on the couch and resolved to enjoy the show.

He watched as her pussy, covered in immaculately trimmed, fine blonde hair, engulfed his cock in centimeters. After what seemed like eons, her pussy swallowed him to the base of his cock, then, slowly, exactingly, she lifted herself back up, the pink lips of her beautiful sex clinging to his shaft almost tenderly, before descending once more. After the third time, she added a slight roll of her hips, squeezing Tom's dick in a way that threatened to bring him to an embarrassingly premature orgasm. Still, the pace was slow enough that he was able to hold on, so slow that it was nearly torturous.

Every few minutes Natalie would add a new kink, a different undulation, she knew he was close, but she was confident in her ability to control him, to keep him right on the edge. Natalie was nothing if not a perfectionist. Fucking was an art to her, an act of control, and nothing turned her on like pushing a man along the exact path she wanted. She would make sure that Tom never got over this, that for the rest of his life he would think of her whenever he was inside his cute little wife. Natalie wanted his allegiance, the undying loyalty of his lust.

She looked into his eyes and smiled as she rode him; she could see the guilt there, and she relished it. There was a race inside of him, as conscience chased lust around his mind. Natalie wanted to make sure it never caught up, that it couldn't. She wanted to haunt the man, for the ghost of her pussy to torment him for all of his days.

She picked up speed until she was fucking in honesty, her ass slapping against Tom's thighs with each complete motion. He wouldn't last long, but she didn't care; it was almost time. Tom began to moan and she clamped one hand over his mouth to make sure he couldn't speak. Her body flowed now, a demanding question pulling and clawing at the man underneath her. Tom didn't need his words to answer; she could see it on his eyes.

There was no guilt in him when he came, no thought of his wife or of stopping the woman on top of him. Instead, there was only overwhelming pleasure, and the unexpected, poignant realization that this woman, this goddess in blue, had somehow ruined him, that he would never again feel this good. He felt fear, and panic, and undisguised need.

Natalie saw it, all of it, bubbling up in Tom, consuming him, and she came, deep and hard and satisfyingly. The muscles of her cunt shook and tightened around his cock, forcing every drop of cum into her. Not content to let him go so easily, she continued to ride him, long after he had stopped moaning into her hand, after he was simply an object beneath her. Like a carnival ride, she slowed in measures, gradually removing each added motion in reverse order until, finally, raising off him, slowly, so slowly, until his almost limp cock slipped out of her with a moist sound.

Still having not spoken, she casually redressed while Tom watched her, a distant, slightly confused look on his face. He sat silently on the couch, pants still around his ankles, as she checked her hair and make-up in a mirror on the wall. It wasn't until she was at the door, hand gripping the knob to leave, that he finally hazarded a question.

"Am I ever going to see you again?"

The rules of the game having been fulfilled, Natalie was no longer under any compulsion not to speak. Still, she said only two words before blowing him an exaggerated kiss and walking out.

"No, dear."

Maria and Annabelle, having left with the others to give Natalie space to work, were waiting when she got to the car.

"So...?" The first asked expectantly.

"Fifteen points," Natalie answered proudly.

"Fifteen still seems high," Annabelle chimed in argumentatively.

"Five for him being married, five for it being on their anniversary, and five for seducing him without talking." Natalie reiterated the scoring system.

"I still think you planned this. No way we just happened to pass this house. With the sign and everything? I'm calling bullshit."

"Don't be such a bitch, Annie. You're just mad because you're losing."

"They looked just alike! I still say they were father and son. That should have been twenty!"

"Not according to their driver's licenses."

"No need to fight, bitches," Maria interjected. "It's my turn, and I'm going to smoke both of you."

"Listen to this slut," I laughed. "Thinks she invented the blowjob, or something."

"Alright," Annabelle asked, still with a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Where to?"

game   whores  

Apr 19, 2018 in femdom

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