Not My Type - Sex Stories

Not My Type

... right. Nobody else has an arse as good.

I peel her cheeks apart and slam into her darkness.

She groans and urges me to finish in her. “Yeah? You like dirty don't you? You filthy fucker.”

I grit my teeth and hiss, “Yess. I love it.”

“Your wife not into this?”

Guilt isn't meant to be a motivator, but it somehow drives me on. “No.”

“See? Told you. Not happy.”

I piston harder. “I am.”

“Fine. Unfulfilled then.”

Yet again, it was hard to argue. My wife is wonderful. And heavily pregnant with our first. But she flat refuses to try anal. Or get up to anything outside the safety net of the bedroom, beyond holding hands or kissing in public. Zoë, however, wants to experience everything. Prefers anal. And the riskier the better.

“Am I your dirty bitch?”

“You’re my filthy fucking girl. My anal loving slut. And I can't get enough of you.”

“Yeah. Fuck me.”

Her moans increase and I lean forward, snaking my hand over her mouth. Haul her half upright, dig the nails of the other hand into her rump and pull her repeatedly onto my girth. I'm getting close.

Circling my hand round her hips to zero on her pussy, she squeaks when I cup it. Bucks into me as the heel of my hand grinds her clit. She huffs into my palm, my fingers seeking and sliding inside her soaked cunt.

I roughly finger her. Time each thrust so as I vacate her butt, my fingers plunge deep. It drives her wild to have both holes filled one after the other, and her movements become ...

... erratic.

Somehow, she makes it impossible to experience shame, disgrace or remorse. I ought to be drowning in it. Ought to control the urges I have around her. Be the better man. The guy I promised Robyn I'd be. But everything evaporates when Zoë walks past.

She sees her body as a colouring book, which is about as far removed from what I find sexy as makes no difference. Yet she makes it work. Wears self-confidence like the youthful scent that chases her around, endorsed by some D-List celebrity who once appeared on reality TV. She did tell me. JCool or Pow or Wow or something. Yes, JWoww, that was it. It had been alluring, yet on the periphery, only catching my attention properly when we first fucked. And only captivating me as I moved in close to hiss in her ear after pinning her to the wall by her throat.

She’d stalked into the office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the blinds. “Larry’s such a dick.”

I stopped pecking at the laptop. “What's he done this time?”

“It's what he’s not done.”

I waited. Eyed her as she plonked herself in one of the chairs across from my desk and leaned back. Her mini skirt rode high. Higher when she slid her feet further apart. It wasn't the first time she'd taunted me with her body but was the first time she'd done it without underwear. I held off as long as I could but the draw of her parted thighs won, leading my gaze to her mound. And what a mound. Puffy, shaved lips, tight as a button, glimmering with arousal in the office ...