The Purge - Sex Stories

The Purge

... sloppy and noisy, so I lapped her juice like a greedy kid with a bottle of milk and listened to her moan. ‘Play with your tits for me?’ I asked. She squeezed them together and dug her nails into the skin, dragging the points across her nipples. I pushed my tongue onto her cunt, circled it then flicked the hood of her clit, looking up as she bounced both tits from the tips of each teat. They grew into long, dark humps, which she pinched between her fingers and ground in circles like she was sprinkling salt. And she was flexible. I’d forced her legs open to full straddle splits, her arsehole gaping. The brown hole tightened when she came, gripping my finger and drawing it deeper inside. Her writhing and moaning wound me up, so I wanked one off below the couch. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like me?’ she asked when my flaccid dick dangled at her lips. ‘No, it’s not that. I think your gorgeous, Kate. It’s just...’ I stared at the wet patch on the carpet. ‘You knocked one off already...’ she guessed. ‘It’s fine, give me a minute.’ I grabbed my dick and jerked it back and forth, ‘Tickle my balls.’ I said, ‘Yeah just like that... that’s it.’ I looked down at Kate, I had to give it to her, she tried. But my aging dick hung like a limp Bratwurst so I retired from her hold and we called it a night. ~ Kate sat on the chair by his bed and tucked her handbag between her legs. ‘Still have me at your beck and call, don’t you Duncan.’ She lowered his gown and checked the scar, ‘Sewed you up good, ...

... didn’t they? How’d you survive this one, huh?’ He’d shit himself before she’d arrived. The faeces seeped into the corners of the bed sheet, and Kate fought to replace them. She ran a finger over the stitches and pressed her nail into the wound. ‘Oops. Does that hurt you, baby?’ It wasn’t premeditated, meeting Duncan. Just an opportunity. The stories about town were right – he was a pathetic old millionaire with a penchant for blondes and she’d hooked him in a single cast. The disappointment she’d felt the night they’d met was implausible; he’d spunked on the floor and she’d cleaned it up. Here she was, still wiping the shit from his arse, feigning the role of the perfect house wife to fool everyone but him. ~ She played hard-to-get. I didn’t mind the game; she was using and drying out and I knew she’d only last a week. She’d had a poke in my wallet the night we’d met and helped herself to a fifty. Heard she liked the smack, but it didn’t bother me. I fancied the whore and she was good at washing dishes. ‘I’ve missed you, baby.’ she’d whined on my doorstep. ‘Where’ve you been all week?’ ‘At mums, she’s been sick.’ Her lies always stank of shit. She could use a lesson or two in the art of duplicity. My vice was that she only had to part those panty-less, slender legs and like a fool I’d take her back, dry-humping her cunt until I spunked in my pants. I gave it to her rough, the way I liked it, for five years before she’d said enough was enough. Her cunt had swelled, her thighs ...