Daisy - Sex Stories

Daisy

... thin sheen of moisture coated his forehead. His short, shaggy hair, which normally covered his brow, was now tightly wound in locks the color of field oats. Loving him felt sexy when he was flustered and grunting beneath her. Even sexier were Pete’s eyes. Under blond lashes, his dreamy blue pair changed violet when desire rolled through and went clear as rain when he looked at her with love. She’d drown in those eyes if she stared too long. It was no surprise why the Doyle boys were a hot commodity in Hollow Creek.

Pete, like all the Doyle brothers, had olive skin tanned by the Kentucky sun. Growing up hard on a farm did that to most of the white men of Hollow Creek. Pete’s muscles were taut, precise, solid as granite, and chiseled to perfection along his shoulders, arms, and torso. Each hard angle on her man had been earned. Years of working side-by-side with his brothers had laid bricks down his abdomen. Daisy loved her redneck. She loved his body. Loved his dick. She loved him and he loved her. Pete Doyle could be every girl’s dream and angst in the Hollow. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth while she slowed her pace, riding his dick nice and easy.

“C’mon baby, give it to me.” Pete grunted against her lips, his teeth clenched. His hands rubbed up her bare thighs and palmed her ass. They were shockingly cool against her now-feverish skin, especially compared to the sweaty heat of the vinyl seat. The loving got so good, she feared the friction of their ...

... working bodies would ignite, combust, explode. Daisy sat back, hands to Pete’s knees, she sped up. Her breasts undulated, stretching the thin cotton of her baby-blue Hollow Creek High t-shirt, nipples hard, aching for his touch. Her throat torched and went too dry to ask for him to touch her; when her lips parted, all she released was a soft pleading cry. Pete could be selfish in how little he gave in return.

This had been one of her many frustrations.

The ’78 Cadillac, with flaking paint and cracked upholstery, rocked on its road-worn tires. The bug-splattered windows––from the day’s travel––fogged over as sweat ran in streams down her temples and the bridge of her nose. The mixed grunts and moans of his desire and her mounting frustration continued. So did the frenzied bounce on his pelvis, grinding her hips on the landing, then bouncing again hoping he’d find her spot once more. Like a flash fire, pleasure and pain became one. Soon the car became flavored with the scent of their sex: intoxicatingly sinful, addictively sweet and exactly what they both liked. Daisy dropped one hand and pressed it flat to his chest. Pete’s labored breathing and the thundering beat of his heart played under her fingertips. For her part, Daisy enjoyed the glide but wanted more. Her heated channel went wet for it. She threw her hips front to back, worked him hard and rode him harder.

“Fuck yeah… ah! Daisy don’t stop baby… ugh… don’t,” pleaded Pete. With an upward push of his pelvis and ...