Little Perversions - Sex Stories

Little Perversions

... something primal and not at all pretty, and I hear myself crying out, loud and unrestrained. Every involuntary spasm nearly pushes you out before sucking you back in. You stare down at my flushed face. “Look at me, Babydoll.” My eyes open and I see you the way I saw you that night at the club, recognizing the need in your eyes because I felt it too. “Fill me up,” I whisper. There’s a freedom in the way we’re moving now. I slide the freshly fucked heel out of my hot cunt and let it fall to the floor. Your hands slip under my back, pulling me up into your space. I can feel your breath against my mouth as you drive into my ass, quickening the pace of each thrust until my nails are digging into the muscles of your back. Your jaw clenches as the first spasm begins. There’s something satisfying about hearing your carnal groan as you empty everything you have into me. “Fuck, yes,” I gasp. “Just like that.” You pull out almost immediately, bending low to suck all your hot cum and milk out of my raw little hole. I squirm as you drink in your fill before you stand and lean into me. My lips part instinctively and you spit the load into my mouth before leaving me with one final bruising kiss, echoing my sentiments. “Just like that.” Later that night, we’re sitting in the leather club chair in my bedroom. I’m curled up on your lap, like a satisfied kitten, heedless of the trail of milk and cum that we’ve left throughout my apartment. Later, while you’re getting dressed to leave, I’ll ...

... distract you by sliding my tongue along every soiled surface. I’ll suck warm milk off red leather, the tiled kitchen floor and even lap at the cold steel legs of the table, drinking each drop from its shiny surface. You’ll watch me, not speaking, taking in all my curves and naked skin, enjoying the way I look back at you, promising more. “Babydoll always wins.” I remind you. “She does,” you admit. “But that only means that I win too.” Sometimes I remember back on that day we crossed paths in early June. You were sitting with her on the patio of some nameless bar and she looked at me with a calculated sidelong glance when I paused to say hello. You didn’t have the decency to look awkward and you didn’t even blush when I reminded you that you’d left your jacket at my place the week before. She was suspicious though, and even though you’d tell her later on that it had been taken off and innocently forgotten at some party or social event that she’d missed, she was already judging me. I was a danger to her relationship. Of course she had no idea that I was judging her as well. She was a danger to my freedom. Who’s to say why one should be more important than the other? We all see things through our own looking glass, don’t we, and at this very moment, all I see is you. My boyfriend will have returned from his business trip tomorrow. He’ll be wearing a beige suit and my red heels will be in a little shoebox at the back of the closet. There will be fresh milk in the fridge and cut blue ...