Carla The Liar - Sex Stories

Carla The Liar

She was horny, as well as slutty, wild, and crazy; that much was evident at first glance. Only two types of women dressed or acted like that in public: wild sluts without dignity and the unattainable. She was braless, her shirt seeming to be intentionally chosen to advertise the lack of brassiere. Nobody randomly picks a threadbare, distressed, tight T-shirt, so thin that you can count the freckles on her torso from several paces away and then forgets to wear a bra. Her tartan micro-miniskirt, so short that her ass cheeks peeked out with each body movement, drew one’s eyes to her shapely behind, sensual legs, and the treasure between them. The flimsy, black thong, even more see-through than her shirt, did little to hide her juicy mound.

Overly-bleached blonde hair, tousled into a chaotic tangle of loose, languid, curly strands, played about her features, giving her a “just fucked hard but still horny” look. Her bright eyes radiated mischief, glowing, blue spotlights offset by too heavy and dark eyeshadow. The woman’s black-lined, crimson lips, in a perpetual pout, seldom ceased spewing profane humor, curse words peppering her tipsy commentary. Still, he was mesmerized, interested, and aroused.

Women like that typically had a dominant wild side, their sexual enthusiasm rivaled only by their insanity. An unspoken truism of the universe is that crazy women are better in bed. His only question was whether her lunacy surpassed the sweetness of her sex. Alex liked crazy, ...

... just not the “afraid to go to sleep around her” variety. He hoped to find out which type she was soon enough.

Alex had no problems finding female companionship, be it for the night or the long term. He was witty, intelligent, and charming, plus he had a nice physique and wasn’t hard on feminine eyes. He’d also dated enough women to have the confidence and poise necessary to draw romantic attention. But she was an attention-whore, the type that constantly needed the warmth of the sexual spotlight. She basked in it, reveling in the long line of potential suitors, all of them vying to win her hand.

He knew the type; she’d let them ply her with drinks, cavorting about while she enjoyed being the center of wanton attention. She’d settle for a guy, take him home for a night of passion, then repeat the process. However, Alex had a thing for blonds and crazy fucks, and she seemed to be both. He was hoping that it would be his night.

Serendipity presented itself in the form of a trip to the bar. Alex ordered an Irish Coffee and was turning toward his seat when he saw her walking backward as she spoke to a group of friends.

“I have to piss,” she announced to her friends as she backpedaled.

All Alex needed to do was to Zag instead of Zig, and she literally tripped her way into his arms. His oversized coffee mug was in his left hand, and the woman tripped over his left foot as she backed into him. She toppled backward, limbs flailing as she tumbled, and Alex stopped her fall ...