Fictional Sex Story

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Fictional Sex Story

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I was seventeen and still a virgin, and life sucked.
It was late and the movie had just let out. I had just started walking when I heard the sounds coming from beside the movie theater. I looked around the corner and my heart fell. It was my neighbors Olivia and her daughter Emily; they were surrounded by four men and it sounded like they were trying to rape them. I dialed 911, dropped the phone and ran towards them.
I kicked one guys between the legs from behind and he screamed and dropped cupping his crotch. The kick was so hard he immediately went into convulsions and start vomiting. When the other men turned, I realized they had knives. I looked around and grabbed a two by four out of the trash bin. I swung the board as I turned and felt the solid thunk as it slammed into the side of one guys head. I moved sideways so the other two would have to step over their buddy.
I slipped on some grease and they rushed me. I shoved the end of the board into the stomach of one of the men and he grabbed it as he fell back. The board tore from my hands as I felt a stabbing pain in my right shoulder. The other guy had stabbed me! I grabbed him and pulled him closer, while my other hand reached down and grabbed his balls.
He let out a piercing scream as I squeezed, twisted and yanked as hard as I could.
I picked mum up from the nursing home on Saturday morning as I did every month. It was what my role as older son was - according to the family, anyway. Before we left, the matron spoke to me and told me that mum’s dementia was so advanced that she was living very much in the past. I said I knew as, for the past few months, she had referred to me as Robert, which was my father’s name. Then again, mum was now 68 and it had been not unexpected. She’d been in the home for five years now and apart from my monthly visits, no one else from the family called to see her. Dad had died fifteen years back and my brother and sister never called apart from at Christmas. She was, I knew, too much trouble for them. Me? Well, I guess I felt a sense of duty to her. After all, she was my mother.
I live about twenty miles away from the home in a small house in a countryside part of England. It’s a lovely, quiet place and - as a bonus - is private in that no one bothers you if you don’t bother them. I’d chosen it after my divorce as being both out of the way as I just wanted to be on my own after that episode. As we drove home, mum kept asking me questions, again calling me by my father’s name. I just responded automatically, as it didn’t make any difference for me to correct her about my own name and the fact I was her son and not her husband. Besides, there was no harm in it and anyway, I didn’t mind. Mum enjoyed the weekends, I think, and what was the harm in pandering to her anyway? She asked where we were going and what we were going to do and I said home, just the two of us for the weekend. She was quiet for a short while and then she asked what day it was.
“Saturday.” I said and thought no more of it. Mum nodded and, not looking at me, said that she supposed I was going to want her to do “afternoon delight” ... I looked at her, mystified. Was this something to do with her dementia? Gently, I asked her what she meant.
She tutted and shook her head, not looking at me as she spoke.
Frightened was more like it. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest with a moshpit tempo.
But still, she didn’t move, hidden like she was in her brother’s closet, peering into the dim room at the writhing forms on the bed.
She couldn’t move now even if she wanted to. It was a new thrill coursing through her adolescent body, a combination of fear and arousal that made her knees shake, and her breath shallow.
Marc had sent her to bed soon after Beth had knocked on the door. Anne had protested, arguing that their parents would have let her stay up another half-hour, but Marc was adamant.
Of course, Anne knew what her older brother was up to. He was going to make out with Beth, give her hickeys, and didn’t want her around causing a distraction. That’s when she thought of the plan to hide in his closet.
I’d taken my shower and was sitting at my desk in my pajamas finishing up some school work before going to bed when the Old Man rapped on the door and then stuck his big, square head inside my room without waiting for me to respond. He never waited. He’d just bang on the door a couple times with his ham sized hand and then open it. I couldn’t even indulge in my favorite hobby, jacking-off, when he was home.
“Come down to the den,” he ordered. “I have a few things I want to talk to you about.” Then he left.
I figured it was another review of my duties. He was supposed to leave for Vietnam in two days and he’d made out lists of the stuff I was supposed to do during the year he was gone. It was all there on the corner of my desk. Sheets of duties. He’d had his secretary at the base type up for him. There was a list of daily duties like clean my room, take out the trash, help Mom with the dishes and make sure the house was locked up before going to bed, and there were weekly duties like mow the grass and clean the garage, and there were monthly duties like trim the hedge and check the oil and tire pressure in the car, and there were even seasonal duties like winterize the car and fertilize the lawn. In addition to all those duties there was also a sheet of Do’s and Don’ts. Do be home by ten on week nights and eleven on weekends. Don’t date more than one night a week, etc., etc.
In the days preceding his departure we had been periodically reviewing these lists, ‘directives’, as he called them, to make sure I completely understood them. Of course I understood them! What was there to understand? You’d have thought I was six instead of sixteen and had an IQ in the single digits.
Her education at Gracely House unleashed desires that Gwen had never known.
Shortly after returning home to Markham Hall, she felt alone and increasingly horny.
She tried to satisfy herself with her fingers in bed or in the woods, but that was only a temporary solution. Her desire for the hard thrusting of a man between her legs was growing.
Thus it was with surging hormones and above-average curiosity that she knocked at her mother's bedroom door. "Come to my room at 10 o'clock," Mrs. Markham said at breakfast that morning. "I'll be waiting for you."
Gwen knocked, uncertain what awaited.
She heard her mother's voice. "Come in."
Turning the knob and pushing inward, she could see nothing. She closed the door and stepped fully into the room. As she did, the first thing she saw wasn't her mother; it was her brother Thad, two years her senior.
He stood facing her, completely naked. His prick stood up proudly and was so red that it had obviously been stimulated just before she arrived.
Although it was not early morning, it was not late either when Elaine heard the doorbell ring. This was a very nice upscale neighborhood, gated and secure. Therefore she wondered, who could be at the door, she was not expecting anyone. And she was basically naked under her robe. Elaine had just placed her coffee cup in the sink and was on her way into the shower when the doorbell rang.
Thinking to herself that nobody other a neighbor lady could be at her door, Elaine decided to answer it, just in case one of her friends needed something. Moving quickly through the living room to the huge foyer, Elaine paused only briefly before opening the door without peeking through the peep site.
There at the entry was a young man, maybe sixteen years old at most, he was well dressed and looked very clean cut, but he was black, very black. He was medium height, well built, maybe a football player type, and dressed in today's bright baggy shorts with matching blue and golf top, you know, that shinny stuff.
IT was the first day of the school holidays. Gemma yawned and turned over in her bed. She'd been going out with Tom for four weeks now, and last night they'd had sex for the first time. Gemma had lost her virginity a couple of months earlier on holiday in Spain, and last night had been the third time she'd had sex. And it had been the third time it hadn't lasted very long. Tom had only lasted about five minutes before shooting his load into her. She wondered how long it would be before she had the pleasure of an orgasm.
Gemma was sixteen. She was about 5ft 6, with long curly brown hair and a slim, sexy figure. She hadn't really thought much about sex before she went to Spain. Her parents had become friendly with another couple and Gemma had ended up in bed with their son. Although he hadn't lasted long on either occasion, she had enjoyed the sensations. The previous week, after reading a girlie magazine, she'd decided to shave her pussy. Tom had certainly liked it, perhaps too much she thought.
She looked over at her clock - it was 09.30. Tom had left her feeling quite horny and she found that her hand was stroking the inside of her thigh as she thought about it. Tom had fingered her a few times since they'd been going out, but masturbation was something she'd never done herself. She let her finger slip across onto her smooth pussy. She liked the feeling of it shaved, and slowly stroked the smooth skin. She lay there for about five minutes, rubbing herself and thinking about the night before. She was now really feeling horny and couldn't resist rubbing her index finger across her clit. She let out a soft moan as the sensation sent of tingle through her body. She rubbed up and down, feeling her pussy start to moisten. Engulfed in pleasuring herself, she slid her finger into her hole. "Mmmm," she thought, "That feels good." She pushed her finger in and out and worked into a steady rhythm. Her pussy was moist now and her finger slid in easily. She rocked her hips back and forth in time. It felt wonderful and she concentrated on the wonderful feelings taking over her body. Desperate to fully pleasure herself, she stuck another finger in. Her breathing intensified and her pace quickened. Her pussy was wet and she could feel what she hoped was her first orgasm starting to build. She stepped up the pace and moaned softly with every stroke. The excitement of fucking herself was taking over her and she added a third finger. She knew she wasn't far away from cumming.


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The best way to get over an awful ex? By hooking up with someone you've wanted for years.
I 've finally finished unpacking. Propping a photograph on the window ledge by my bed, I glance round at my new flat. The plant that Nicki bought me as a moving in present sits next to an empty bottle of Cava and two ancient champagne flutes, remnants of our celebrations last night. A bed, two stacks of books and a bulging clothes rail make this half of the flat look overcrowded already. A second hand sofa acts as a divide between the 'bedroom' and the 'kitchen', consisting of a coffee table, three deep purple floor cushions (borrowed from the café where I work) and a 1970s kitchenette that I can't wait to repaint.
This is my new studio flat containing everything that I own in the world. To a stranger, it might look pathetic, but to me it's perfect.
After a relationship that should have ended a lot sooner, I finally broke up with my boyfriend of three years three months ago. I've been couch surfing ever since I moved out and it feels incredible to finally have my own space. I've craved this opportunity for so long that I don't mind forking out the extra rent for a studio flat. Now that I've finally bagged a serious job, it's time to have a place of my own as well.
The last year with my ex was unbearable. He'd always been jealous, but the further we grew apart, the more suffocating his possessiveness became. If I went out without him I'd have to 'forget' my phone to avoid getting fifty arsey texts and having to reassure him that no, I hadn't danced with any guys, and yes, it was a crap night without him. It got so bad that I stopped wanting to see my closest friends – even a night with Nicki would result in a fight.
But the worst sacrifice I made was losing contact with Tom. Nicki's my oldest friend, but Tom was my closest. I met him at my first Saturday job, waitressing at his Dad's restaurant. He made me laugh on my very first shift and we were inseparable from that moment on, always slinking off on our breaks with bottles of half-finished wine and tasting each course, "just to make sure that it's OK for the customers". Little did I know that my weekend job would inspire my future career. But even then I guessed that my partner in crime would be a friend for life.
Tom is one of those drop dead gorgeous guys that every girl wants to go out with. Predictably, he's had a string of pretty, dull girlfriends for as long as I've known him. There's nothing between us, we're just friends, but try telling my ex that. We had so many fights over Tom that I stopped seeing him and allowed us to drift apart completely.
"There's nothing between us, we're just friends, but try telling my ex that"
Alright, there was one time when I wondered whether anything would happen between us. We'd been on holiday together to stay with his aunty in Spain. We had so much fun spending long, lazy days on the beach, sipping cold beers with countless bocadillos. It was one of the only times in eight years of friendship that neither of us were in a relationship. In fact, I was only there to stand in for a girlfriend he'd broken up with days before.
The night before we went home he dared me to go skinny-dipping. We were sitting on the pier where one of the restaurants had placed a few tables up by the water's edge. I knew he thought I'd never do it and I was more than a little tipsy so I pulled my strapless dress off there and then and jumped straight in. The water was freezing and I rushed to the surface, squealing.
Tom was bent over with laughter. Reaching down to pull me up out of the water, he gripped me in his tanned arms and a wave of electricity ran between us. I hadn't been wearing a bra and, as I clambered up to him, I realised my tiny knickers were see-through from the water. Of course I felt self-conscious, but as his eyes flickered along my body, lingering on my hardened nipples, I almost forgot my embarrassment. I wanted him to look at me, I felt like it was the first time that he'd really seen me. A wave of energy rushed through me, tingling between my thighs. If I hadn't seen the waiter walking over just then, well, I don't know for certain, but I felt sure he'd have kissed me.
I pulled my dress on before I was seen and we sat back down to finish our drinks, but the atmosphere had changed completely. Every other night we'd been howling with laughter and taking the piss out of each other. Suddenly we were quiet, the air between us heavy with expectancy. I remember how excited I felt, but also how frustrated I was that this was only happening now, the night before we went home.
On our way back to his auntie's apartment, he put his arm around me, a gesture that he'd repeated a hundred times, but this one it was different, more tentative, his fingers gently circling my sun-kissed shoulder. My heart was pounding, my senses felt heightened. The smell of salt water in my hair was mingling with the subtle scent of his skin. The humid night air felt like it was closing in on me with sound of music and people and chatting in the restaurants that we passed. Everything was intensified and unreal. My mind was already in his auntie's flat, me sat on the edge of her dining table with him stood kissing my neck, pushing my dress up to my waist and slipping inside me. Tom, my best friend Tom, licking the salt water off my skin and biting down on my breasts.
But none of that was meant to be. His aunty was waiting for us with a room full of friends and neighbours. In front of this crowd of people, we slipped straight back into our familiar roles, Jess and Tom, totally platonic friends.
"Tom, my best friend Tom, licking the salt water off my skin and biting down on my breasts"
I wasn't able to sleep that night though; it was infuriating knowing that he was lying there in the next room, tantalisingly close. I imagined him naked in bed, fighting with the blanket in the heat, as sleepless as me. I couldn't stand it, the desire that he'd awakened in me had to be released. I slipped my fingers between my legs and imagined Tom's strong hands running up my thighs, his hot, hard lips and soft, wet tongue inside me. I bit down on my lip and clenched the sheets. With the thought of him, hard and thick, pulsing inside of me, I reached a shuddering orgasm, before falling into a frustrated sleep.
I kiss goodbye to Andreas and Peter and bolt the door of the cafe behind them as they walk out into the dark night. It's been a long, busy day and they've earned their tips, showing every customer the enthusiasm that we take pride in at Te Quiero. When the owner told me that he wanted to take a step back to start a new venture, I wouldn't stop at the pay rise he offered me, I reeled off my ideas for a renovation and insisted on being made a shareholder. It's a tiny amount, but it makes a massive difference. I no longer feel as though I'm throwing my energy into someone else's project. I'm doing this for me and it's given me the confidence to turn my life around.
"I'm doing this for me and it's given me the confidence to turn my life around"
I walk through to the little back office, checking off the changes I've made with pride. The wall that I've dedicated for local artists to exhibit their work on is constantly changing. A portrait of a proud, moustachioed man with friendly eyes reminds me of Tom's dad. I log in to Facebook at the office computer, welcoming the mindless distraction that will help me to switch off after a busy day. I click onto Tom's profile page and have a flick through his pictures. This has become a habit lately, before I know it, I find I've wasted half an hour looking at pictures of Tom on a beach in Thailand surrounded by bikinied girls, Tom on the back of a motorbike straddling one of his mates, Tom's familiar, magnetic grin, Tom at a food
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