151 Reasons - Sex Stories

151 Reasons

There's a common misconception that the female of our species is illogical. Taken at the macro, day-to-day level that may appear the case, but over time they are actually the most logical creatures on Earth. With logic comes predictability. And if the output is predictable, the input can be manipulated to deliver any response desired. And do I have desires. Take the barista over there for example. The rakish, pretty redhead, hair tied back in a bun. The one who flashes me a dimply smile when I catch her eye over my mid-morning cappuccino. That's Alina from the Ukraine, studying English part-time at the uni. Father's an independent film-maker, mother's an actress. Neither I've heard of. But despite having the means to pay for my own drink, this one's “On thee house", proudly stated in heavily accented English as I reached for my wallet. I made a fuss, but she insisted. Why? Because last month I fucked her until she didn't know which way was up. And there's nothing wrong with her pronunciation of four-letter words when her head swished side-to-side in a tangled cherry halo against my pillow. She almost had no need of a bra, but I'd taken it off anyway, if only to suck and bite her perky nipples. Her underwear, functional and utterly superfluous, was flung aside with her jeans moments after crashing into my apartment. She was a wisp of a girl, so light, so fragile. I carried her to the bed, crawled between her willowy thighs and there I stayed, listening to her shrieks under my ...

... expert tongue. Teasing and bringing women to orgasm is my natural drug. The urge to please swells through every fibre of my being. The sight, the sound, the smell is intoxicating and fuels my cock to capacity. By the time I sank into Alina's dripping centre, she was already 2-0 up. Loud, horny and scraping skin from my back beneath purple nail polish, she rasped hot breaths into my ear with each savage thrust. An absolute delight to fill with my boiling come and watch it ooze from her soaking red entrance, distended petals hanging open, the shape of a crucifix. Quite fitting given her religious background; information I'd gleaned during our first encounter, not fifteen feet from where I'm sitting. The key, I've found, is observation and knowing what to ask without it appearing an interrogation. Making ridiculous suggestions is my favourite method to give her a chance to make corrections: "Lemme guess: you study… marine biology, right?" Boom! Conversation starter. Another thing I tried on her: "Bet that woman's tattoo hurt," nodding at one of the patrons. Alina's eyes gave her away, even before she confirmed her lack of ink. With nothing adorning her body save for a cute pair of cat-shaped earrings, she was 90% likely to be affiliated with a faith. Once I'd ruled out Catholicism, it defined how many occasions I needed to spend with her before talking her into bed. Three is indeed the magic number, thank you De La Soul . On our third coffee shop "date" I'd suggested a bar. Two ...