Red Hot: Chapter One - Sex Stories

Red Hot: Chapter One

Gwendolyn had a whorish reputation, despite her denials contrary to popular opinion. Pointing the finger externally, she blamed the peerage of her youth, branding her promiscuous, wild, dirty, and perverted, for her plight. She lamented their judgment. Never mind that she loved to fuck; both myriad men and a plethora of women have succumbed to her constantly-horny, feminine wiles. Her hot, dripping cunt was always hungry, and it feasted on willing flesh, hard cocks, wanton fingers, and molten pussies.

That’s exactly what it was, a cunt. Gwen didn’t call her vagina a pussy, Kit Kat, kitty, slit, va-jay-jay, or anything else like that. Such monikers were far too tame for her personality—the same sensual, desirous attitude she pointedly ignored when lamenting being labeled a slut. It was her cunt, her slutty fuck hole, her dripping gash. Simply put, Gwendolyn Christina Ardmore was an insatiable, horny pervert whose sexual aggression matched her sullied reputation. That is to say that Gwendolyn didn’t just lean into her sluttiness or sexuality; she embraced it, devoured it, and ran into it with wild abandon, all while bleating that her notoriety was undeserved.

A person’s attitude and personality are subtly conveyed through their wardrobe choices, posture and body language, carriage, and the ephemeral aura, which is a summation of one’s character, giving abstract, untenable clues to our true nature. Some women, and you know this at first glance, are obvious, surly ...

... bitches. Others are demure and timid, and a simple gaze will give you an accurate approximation. In Gwen’s case, everything about her screamed, “Horny rebel who likes it nasty, dirty, rough, and constantly.” While some people projected an aura of purity, class, or shyness, Miss Ardmore’s screamed, “Horny, nympho slut.” It didn’t matter what she wore, her entire essence, mind, body, and soul, radiated horny, wanton sexuality.

Fate had dealt her a somewhat winning hand, depending on one’s goals in life. Natural red hair, rare enough in the world to make her exotic, set off her smooth, vibrant skin. Her facial features, with their pronounced cheekbones, green eyes, and somber, thin lips skewed into a perpetual pout, gave her the look of a horny vixen in the midst of a soul-searing orgasm; her visage advertised passionate, heated, uninhibited sex. The rest of her body not only matched but edified and strengthened that initial impression.

Gwen’s body was built for sex. She was tawny in figure, but the young woman sported succulent, ripe, smallish breasts that never required a bra. Fate had been extra generous, giving her puffy areolas and nipples that were constantly erect. On her lithe frame, her B-cups looked largish, as if somebody had pasted overfilled balloons onto a stick. Perfectly shaped, her tits, as she called them, were round and plump, perfect for giving her that undeniable, feminine silhouette.

The woman’s smooth, flat stomach gave way to a nymph-like but extremely ...