Free XXX Sex Stories Blog

Sweetheart, as I re-read your hot letter, I am right at his time eating grapes and I am thinking … of each as one closely resembling your [tag]nipples[/tag]. I touch one (the left one) with my tongue. It is glistening now as I flick my tongue back and forth over it. It begins to harden as my moist tongue probes it. I run my tongue back and forth over it as your nipple starts to elongate and resembles a thick fat eraser as it starts to become engorged. I am now savoring the flavor of the sweet slit of the moist opening in the grape. I know you would help me cup your warm breasts and squeeze it for me, so your nipple protrudes forward. That’s right my Sweet, squeeze it so the nipple stands out and pushes forward towards my mouth. Gee, I just blew a wisp of air onto it, and your teat got a bit more harder. You are so hot tonight my Darling.

I wish you were right here next to me and I didn’t have to imagine that these grapes resembled your nipples. I noticed too that both your aureolas are a darker brown than usual. This is due to you are now getting so hot for me during this foreplay. I savor your nipples again by pushing your left nipple by using my lower teeth to grip just under the bottom of your nipple. Now I can flick my tongue back and forth across your nipple and against the roof of my mouth. Oh yes, Darling I do! I can see that too is starting to drive you WILD!

I know you are starting to get very hot because you are trying to get my member out of my pants. But, WAIT…you want to my hot mouth to push your whole breast into my mouth…yes I know it feels good! You are moaning now…I am trying to push your whole fleshy mound into my mouth. I am slowly sucking it deeper and deeper until my whole mouth is now covering the whole firm fleshy mound. Yes I know if feels so good!

(click to read entire story…)

Well, this is my first attempt revealing experiences that I have never shared with another person (other then when it happened, of course).

You say, “what prompts you to write about this stuff?” Well, the answer is simple. I have read x-rated stories on BBS’, read those HOT stories in the adult magazines, and have lived with the fact that none of that exciting type of stuff has ever happened to me.

In the hope that others will share what they believe to be their benign stories, let me share one of mine…

The year was 1979, I was a college student in Chicago at an extremely competitive school, one where books and studying were the norm. Relationships were for after college.

Anyway, it had been a long, hard semester. I had gotten pneumonia and had had a very tough time completing all my courses on time and successfully. I am sure I would have failed at least one course if not for my friend Melinda. She took notes in class for me and made an effort to get me up to speed enough to complete my final exams.

By the end of the semester I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I looked forward to nothing more than packing up my belongings and heading home for some rest and relaxation… and no libraries.

It was around 8:30pm the night before I was set to head home. I was packing up my belongings and blasting the radio… the most appropriate method of psychological release at the moment. Suddenly at more door appeared Melinda and several other friends and acquaintances, including Tami. Tami lived in the room next to Melinda. With all the time I spent studying and cramming with Melinda it was always a pleasure to admire Tami. She was extremely cute, a year younger and a great conversationalist. Whenever we took a break from studying it was always a joy to sit and talk about everything and nothing with Tami. I had always been interested in her, but never had the opportunity as our relationship was definitely aiming in the platonic direction.

(click to read entire story…)

A co-worker said to me, “Everybody’s got a broken heart story!” I imagine that they do. I had a lot of trouble getting over mine. You’ll never know how many times I wrote this story, reliving the moments described here. This is a true story. In the interest of my good mental health it’s far past time for me to post this story and delete all copies I have of it and be done with it. Don’t ask me for additional copies, real names or real places. Any mail I receive regarding this story will be ignored and forgotten.

April Fool’s Day of 1981 – “Playing the Fool”

I used to work nights at the hospital. I liked how quiet the hospital was on night shift. With only a few duties to perform, I often read all night long. At the end of night shift would come a beautifully still morning, where I could go downtown and take care of daily business before most people were awake.

The only problem with night shift is not being able to sleep with my girlfriend, Jane. Because her schedule was opposite of mine, she had stayed home all night and would go to work later in the day. The only time I had a chance to be with her was early mornings. I treasured these mornings we had together. My future plans at the time included not only mornings together, but living our lives together.

I walked softly down the hall in the early morning light, trying not to wake my neighbors in the adjacent apartments. I opened the door and threw my coat on a nearby chair. I tiptoed to the bedroom door hoping I could slide quietly into bed with my lover, Jane. As I neared the door, I noticed it was shut. As I stood just outside the door I heard a low sounding noise.

I will never forget what I saw next as I walked into the room. That moment will replay in my head for many years to come.
(click to read entire story…)

I think it was the blood that kept my attention, really. Not that there was so very much of it, but it was quality blood. I mean the image. I’m not explaining this right. I mean amidst the almost three dozen rising welts on her back there were only three slashes that were bleeding. I think they were on purpose. But they were bleeding so well. Not a lot, mind you, but attractively.

You see, the blood was trickling in rivulets from these three lashes and running down her back. The scarlet tracks split and joined and resplit as they made their way to her shapely ass. Just in the small of her back they spread thinly into the fine lines and contours of her skin like a red river delta. And surrounding each gash, was a slight red spattering, where the blood mist flew from the lash had settled.

Where not rising or running red, her skin was pale. It was beyond pale, it was white, like snow or alabaster. Like the little cotton puff clouds on a fair day, her skin was. The contrast was shocking.

She hung there, her knees bent, legs unsupportive. Still conscious, but no longer holding herself up, she hung there by her arms. Almost without will. Her head was bent to her chest, and I could see that the strain on her shoulders was tremendous. Yet she hung as she had been told to before the whipping. The fact that she could relieve the pressure on her shoulders but chose not to was unfathomable. Admirable. (click to read entire story…)

Boy, it’s frustrating. This morning, the unseasonably cold temperature and a filling bladder ganged up on my short sleep cycle to wake me at 6:30. And, after I get up, I can’t get back to bed (not that I was particularly sleepy). So now I have to sit here and watch you not log in. Sigh.

I’ll pass the time somehow. Where was I? Kneeling in front of a tree in a park somewhere, I think. You standing before me, the breeze catching your hair and the airy fabric of your skirt. Concentrate on that for a moment — it could almost lift you away, couldn’t it? Perhaps if you held out those arms and breathed in, holding very still, the wind could just pick you up and steal you away with it.

I’ll have to hold you tighter, then; I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. You’re feeling the breeze against your skin, tasting it through the stuff of your blouse and skirt, but you’re also feeling my hands on your bared hips, rubbing them gently to keep you warm. (Which works better? The friction of my palms against your skin, or the delirious feeling you get just from knowing my hands are pressed against you?) And, most of all, you feel my eyes.

I return to kissing your stomach, my lips barely moving but gliding across the silken surface of your stomach, painting it as if with camel’s-hair. It is one of the most frightening, ecstatic things I can imagine right now. It is, in fact, the only thing to surpass the delight I feel at sliding my fingertips around the waistband of your underwear, inserting them slightly underneath in order to taste the wonderfully extra-special taboo of your delta and lower hips. (click to read entire story…)