42 Filthy Fucking Stories (60 page)

Brandi started to pump her hips back and forth as she began fucking her friend on the couch. Shivers raced up and down her spine at the sensation of Tim's fingers splayed into her ass, squeezing and caressing. Poor Brian had been replaced in mere hours after breaking up with Brandi, and she loved it like a new life. Her hips pumped faster and she had to grab onto the back of the couch to keep her balance.
 

Their moans echoed loudly through her house, as years of latent lust exploded between them, neither ready to cum or willing to stop.

Brandi could feel Tim's cock throbbing deep inside of her and knew he was nearing his climax. She wasn't ready to relinquish her pleasure, so she slid from Tim's lap, then down between his legs, curling her fingers around his bigger-than-average shaft and rubbing its spongy head all over her face. Brandi inhaled deeply, reveling in the musk of her juices as she smeared them across her cheeks and lips.

The one thing Brandi could say about Brian was that he helped her overcome some of her inhibitions. She would often gag at the mere thought of taking a man's cock into her mouth and the idea of tasting her own cum would turn her stomach. Not anymore. Brian had turned her into a sleazy cock-whore and she loved it.

She tightened her grip on Tim's shaft as she took it slowly into her mouth. The taste of her pussy on his flesh drove her wild, and soon she had all eight inches of his cock laying flat against her tongue. She moaned into his dick as she started bobbing her head slowly up and down, her tongue slurping along the length of his under-seam.

Brandi was on fire and could tell by Tim’s involuntary sounds that he was enjoying every inch of her naughtiness. She wrapped her forefinger and thumb tighter around Tim's cock, stroking it with every movement of her mouth. Brandi watched him grimace in pleasure, turning her hotbox even hotter.
 

Brandi felt Tim's cock start to throb harder in her mouth. He would cum soon and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not that she wanted to. Her own body tingled, begging for her much-needed release.
 

Brandi popped Tim's cock from her mouth and crawled up on the couch, lifting her ass in the air and resting her elbows on the back cushion. She looked at her best friend with a smile full of sin, then wiggled the white of her ass.

“Fuck me hard, baby,” she moaned, reaching down and rubbing her enraged clit. “Fuck me, Tim! Punish me for being a slut!”

For a second Brandi thought she had gone too far as she looked back at Tim's shocked expression. He'd never heard filth from her mouth before. She started to regret it, but it was only a moment before regret flew from the window.

Tim moved like an animal pouncing on kill, grabbing her hips and forcing his cock inside her pussy with one powerful thrust. Brandi gasped at the sudden assault on her dripping slit and fought to catch her breath, as Tim rammed his shaft madly inside her, his hips slapping her ass on repeat, harder and harder until she was seconds from cumming.

“Cum for me baby!” Brandi wailed, working her clit in tandem with Tim's plowing. She forced her ass back against him with each thrust, impaling herself deeper and harder on his angry cock. She could feel the inferno inside of her burning hotter and hotter as her orgasm slowly built from her core. Tim's thrusts grew even faster and harder; a man possessed. Brandi hungered for his seed deep inside of her.

Tim's thick dick grew thicker inside her pussy, hot enough to melt as he started to cum. The violence of his sudden explosion threatened to rip a hole through Brandi's entire body. She felt the heat of his seed seeping into her body as he pumped his sticky, hot jizz deep inside of her. She clenched around his shaft as her whole body soaked in the intensity of pleasure; the heat of her juices exploding in waves as she hovered above the crest of her orgasm.

After their waves of pleasure subsided, Brandi pulled herself from Tim's semi-soft cock and smiled. They collapsed on the couch and stared at each other.
 

Tim and Brandi curled together on the couch, kissing lightly. Brandi wondered how deep their friendship was going to get.
 

XXX

The Thursday Deception
 

Kirstin glanced in her rearview, again. She didn’t think she was being followed, but the last three months of Thursday deceptions had given her a nervous, semi-permanent tick – constantly adjusting the mirror, jerking her neck at every other light to check the traffic behind her, and taking every unlikely turn on the alternate route provided by the snotty British lady on her GPS.

Kirstin’s paranoia had nothing to do with a fear of being caught. She stopped worrying about being found out a month into the affair. Getting caught was a matter of when, not if. The Thursday deception was worth the inevitable, but Kirstin still had to live with the semi-constant terror of wondering what Alan would do when the discovery was made. Whatever he did to her, Ricky was worth it.
 

Kirstin wasn’t just obsessed with Ricky; she was obsessed with the affair itself and the freedom it bought. Rick’s dick was delicious.
 
Kirstin craved his cock and the cum inside it constantly. He filled her in a way Alan hadn’t managed in years, if ever. He could go two or even three times in their two to three hour trysts. But it was more than the swell of St. Peter and the pulse in her pussy that kept her engine purring.
 

It was the secret itself, filling her with adrenaline and the belief that maybe she could leave if she wanted to-- maybe she could gather the courage to run. Finally believe Ricky that she deserved to be happy, and that Alan only had the hold on her that she allowed him to have. Over the last few months her thoughts had drifted from,
I can never leave
to
when will I make my escape?

Kirstin knew their split was inevitable, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to leave Alan before he found out and made it a part of the bloody aftermath. Problem was, getting found out could take days, weeks, or months. Alan wasn’t stupid, and Kirstin had been careful, but the asshole had been suspicious for years before he had any reason or right to be.
 

Kirstin kept a special burner phone for calls and texts to and from Ricky. The phone was password protected and registered under another name. She had a separate email address and only checked it from the burner phone. And Ricky’s name was F. Soren in her phone’s contact list, somewhere in the middle of three dozen phony names and addresses.
 

She had taken every
 
precaution in the beginning but had grown increasingly sloppy. The heightened risk added to the pleasure. It was as delicious as the sex and the high lasted longer; started early and stuck around long after all the sticky had been licked up.
 

Kirstin was just minutes away from the hotel, feeling the sweet burn between her legs, matching the flush on her face, widening her smile, and hardening her nipples. She took her right hand from the wheel and rubbed her three middle fingers against the thin lace of Ricky’s favorite pair of panties, the pair he’d shot his third load into last Thursday, so Kirstin could wear them unwashed through the weekend, feeling the crust of his cum against the short curly hairs of her cunt.
 

Alan wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t smart enough to pay attention to Kirstin’s panties, on or off. When Alan wanted to fuck, he ordered Kirstin to strip and bend over the bed, couch, kitchen table, or any other surface that happened to be close to his hardon, then he would take her furiously from behind for the four and a half minutes or so needed to work his cock into a spray of white scum.
 

Alan was ill-tempered and angry; jealous and petty and small; quietly controlling, and a pillow over the squirming face of her happiness. Living with him made life a lingering prison, and Kirstin’s Thursday escapes were now what she breathed for. She couldn’t wait to be rid of Alan forever and ride into the sunset with Ricky. Even if that meant getting caught.
 

Ricky was kind to her from the first moment they met, crashing into one another in
Drips
, the trendy coffee shop on State Street. Kirstin was reading her Kindle and sipping at her still too hot morning mocha when the sun-kissed stud dirty blond paid for his coffee and approached the table beside her, his mind obviously somewhere else. Kirstin looked up just as he tripped over her purse, sitting on the floor by her ankle. The sun-kissed stranger stumbled, spilling his coffee and causing Kirstin to leap from her seat to avoid the scalding heat. She shrieked as she accidentally slapped the cup from his hand, spilling the rest of the milk-splashed coffee into a quickly spreading pool, soaking into the Spanish tile floor.
 

They stared at the pool, then raised their eyes in tandem and held their shared gaze. He grazed her arm and pointed at her bag, he tried to make words but couldn’t. They both started mumbling, until they finally fell into a sudden fit of giggles which quickly escalated into uncontrollable roaring laughter.
 

The stranger shooed the approaching barista away, then he and Kirstin cleaned up the floor together. She bought him another cup of coffee, and he invited himself to sit and share the morning at their table. His name was Ricky, he told her after their first minute talking. They spoke for another 15, before he disappeared from her morning.
 

The next day, and every weekday to follow, Kirstin made her usual stop at
Drips,
sipping her morning mocha, catching up with her Kindle and keeping her eyes on the door, trying to forget the prison at home that left her defending her every decision.
 

At first, she only saw him occasionally. She was religious with her visits, and often stayed longer than she should have waiting for a glimpse, but he was far less consistent. She made it in five days a week. He was there two at the most. They would exchange friendly smiles and extra-long hellos, small talking around their life and work as Kirstin danced around the truth of her life’s lie.
 

It was somewhere around Kirstin’s fourth month of morning
Drips
when she finally convinced Ricky she was worth a daily visit. A current passed between them, crackling through her body. She could see the fire burning in his gray-blue eyes, and she was certain he felt the current, too, probably in his cock.

His face was mostly dimples as he turned his eyes to the floor. She could feel Ricky’s want, though it was nothing like Alan’s hunger. Alan made her feel like a fuck hole, and nothing more, which meant that most of the time she would rather soak her own digits than let Alan dip his dick. But Ricky’s eyes were different and made a promise she longed to see them keep.
 

As Ricky was leaving
Drips
that day, she rose from her seat and walked him to his car for a long hug goodbye. As she pushed her tits into his chest, she felt the swell of his cock pushing against her. He smiled and said he’d see her the next morning.
 

Their exchanges grew longer, went much deeper, and happened every day. They started discussing their lives outside the small talk, though Kirstin still said nothing about Alan. Five minute surface conversations turned into bottomless wells of discussion, as they strolled
 
up and down State Street until their paper cups were empty.
 

Eventually, she told him about Alan. He stared into her sapphire eyes and swore that she didn’t have to be unhappy. His lips were suddenly on her forehead, and her breath went suddenly missing. That was it, at least that day. But it wasn’t long before they added the Thursday deception to their daily visits to
Drips.

Kirstin tapped the brake, checked her rearview again,
 
made a sharp right and a quick left into the parking lot of Holiday Inn Express. Ricky stood like always, his smile lit and arms crossed, leaning against the back wall, waiting for her to park.
 

She wanted her world to harbor nothing but him. She felt the flush in her pussy and knew he’d be flooding it soon. She threw the car in park, killed the engine, quickly gathered her things,
 
climbed from the car and ran to his arms.
 

Ricky pulled her to him, drawing her scent to his nostrils.
 

She loved him.
 

Ricky quieted her soul, while Alan crushed it with angry quiet.
 

They hurried into the hotel, through the hallway, and into the elevator, braiding fingers as the small box climbed toward their personal Heaven on the fourth floor.
 

The elevator came to a padded halt, and they stood in pregnant silence, waiting for the doors to part. The ran into the hall, turned left, and raced toward the door. The muffled sounds of their shoes padding the carpet sent shivers up her spine.
 

Kirstin had both dreams and nightmares of this hallway – dreams of the Nirvana inside, and nightmares about reaching the door and turning the knob, only to be pulled back by Alan’s clawing hands. Just inches from sanctuary and pleasure, Alan’s talons would close tightly around her wrists and yank her back into the black of despair.
 

But there was no nightmare today, just her and Ricky and the two hours before them.