15 Erotic Stories BUNDLE: Huge Collection of Individually Sold Short Sex Stories (31 page)

He lay spent atop and inside her, both of them comfortable and not moving.  She played with his hair and enjoyed the feel of his weight on her and the still semi hard column of flesh inside her.  His cum was heavy inside her, coating her with it’s wet warmth.  “That’s not what I came over here to do,” he said, “I didn’t just take it for granted we’d do this again.”  Sharon nuzzled his neck. “But you wanted to, didn’t you? “Yes,” he admitted, but I didn’t want you to think I was taking it for granted.”  “I’m not worried any more,” she sighed, “I know I’m still a good girl.”

By Danica Williams

Copyright
©
2011 Danica Williams

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.

This book contains sexually explicit content and is intended for a mature audience only.

All persons portrayed in this book are over 18 years of age.

It had been months since Lita had stopped drinking, and had been a few months more since she had last seen Jordan. They had shared their lives for five years, and had shared an apartment for four. The last time that they had spoke is when mutual friends were moving them out of their home, helping them divide their property and their connections. Lita had been the employed one of the couple, spending nearly sixty hours a week looking after someone else’s children. Jordan was a professional slacker, spending his waking hours either working on his bike or on her computer playing online games with his other jobless friends or looking at porn. After everyone had helped them clean out their apartment, and the only things left were her, him and some bubble wrap, she wished him luck on whatever he was going to do. He stood there, with his one bag full of dirty clothes, a toolbox full of used bike parts and a blank expression on his face, and wished her the same.

One of the biggest problems that they had had as a couple was his drinking. He would start hours before she got home at nine from work, already slurring his words and missing a step or two. By the time she got him ready for bed, having him piss one last time so he wouldn’t wet the bed, he couldn’t even talk. She never did find out where he got the money for whatever he was drinking: beer that was damned near water, wine that stank of chemicals and small plastic bottles of booze that smelled of gasoline. She figured that since each day the empty cans and bottles would disappear, he must have been recycling—which was the only time he could ever have been called industrious. The irony of the situation is that once the two of them had split and his alcoholism was out of her life, she developed a nasty little taste of it herself.

She got to keep most of the friends from the breakup, though the ones she kept were not that friendly. Most of the guys tried to sleep with her at first, taking her out and liquoring her up—though their plans never worked out because she would leave with someone else. She figured that it was best not to sleep with anyone too soon after the breakup, since there was always a possibility of Jordan getting his act together, leading the way for them to get back together. She would, of course, make out with them. In those early hazy days, she figured she took home probably around twenty guys, though never more than one in a single night.

Having someone to kiss was good, but what she really wanted was to cuddle. With each one, she would tumble through the door of her new apartment, kiss all the way back to her bedroom while they shed their clothing and then would roll around the bed until dawn. She would always give her number to her innocent one-night-stands the next morning, but she would never answer when they called. Each one would only phone her once, and then they would leave her to her desired solitude.

When she finally kicked the drink and would try and remember each man she kissed during that time, she could never remember a face. She did remember other things. She remembered how they would gently kiss her neck, and how they would nibble at her ears. She remembered how they would brush their hands against her nipples, making them hard, and how they would cup her breasts and massage them. She remembered how they would try to slide a hand between her thighs, and how she always outmaneuvered them. She remembered them pressing their stiffness against her back and into her leg as they feigned sleep. She remembered that each morning she would wake up with a stranger who only saw her as an object and not a person.

She would wonder each day as her mind became clearer and her thoughts became sharper what she was searching for all those nights. Of course, she already knew. She was searching for Jordan; searching for the first man to ever really pleasure her; searching for her companion with kisses like sugar and arms that would wrap around her like a big, warm security blanket. Each night when a strange man would press his lips against hers and envelop her in his arms, she would close her eyes and pretend that it was Jordan. If only he would get better, she thought, then I could go back to him.

But in all those nights, whoever shared her bed never transformed into Jordan by the morning. In truth, she vaguely remembered that each morning, the faces had become increasingly ugly, that each man became less kempt and more unruly than one before—an invitation into her bed had become so common it was if anyone was allowed. Months later, when the rotten times were behind her and she was putting all the jagged little pieces together, she was shocked that she had never woken up next to a hobo.

Her road to recovery was filled with stops of self-discovery and an undeterred drive for work. Where before she had worked sixty hours, she spent almost a hundred hours a week watching after her three boys. They kept her busy, with their constant mistakes and misunderstandings, and she took comfort in the fact that their helpless childishness was always more mature than Jordan’s behavior had ever been. Work and more work, on herself and with her job, was building her up, making her stronger and smarter and braver. She got to the point where she thought she might be invincible.

Then she ran into Jordan. She had a rare hour to herself, while each boy was engaged in a different physical activity: Matt was horseback riding, James was practicing his archery, and Carter was at swim practice. She stopped into her favorite coffee shop, the one that she had spent hours upon hours studying at in college, and ordered herself a chai latte to reward herself. She was only two sips into her drink, it still hot enough to burn the tip of her tongue, when she heard Jordan’s voice behind her, calling her name.

“Hello, Lita, how are you?” he asked.

A new sip of latte gave her enough time to compose herself, and then she answered, “I’m really good. Really good. What have you been up to?"

Jordan smiled, and, believing her declarations of well being, answered, “I’m good, too. It’s nice to run into you. I’ve been looking for you for a while.”

With those words, her heart began to race and she could feel the blood coursing through her veins and warming up every part of her. Thankfully, her flush was hidden from him, and she was able to respond, “Why? What’s up?”

“I wanted to say that I was sorry. I behaved horribly towards you the entire time we were together. I was drinking too much and really treated you like shit. Again, I’m sorry.”

Her heart began to beat twice as fast as before, and she thought that she might faint. “It’s okay,” she mustered, “I know it wasn’t intentional, and…”

Before she could say another word, he said “And I need to thank you, too. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have turned things around. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have started my own bike repair shop, wouldn’t own a house—hell, I wouldn’t be getting married.”

Her heart dropped through the floor. She felt like she was going to crash right through the table headfirst—later on she wished that she had and broken her neck in the process.

Jordan continued. “You would really like her, Lita. Hell, she’s so much like you that you two could be sisters.” And he continued. He must have stood by her table for ten minutes, talking and smiling and laughing, but she couldn’t process a word of it. After he had hugged her and left, she found a scrap of paper on her table with a phone number. It could have been his. They could have set up a time to get together for her to meet his fiancé. Though, it could have just been a locker combination. She didn’t know and didn’t care, and she left it there on the table.

That night, she had one long dream about Jordan; about the last time they had had a good time together. They were together and alone, at home in front of the TV, snuggling up under a couple of blankets on her couch. A scary movie was on, and she kept pressing herself closer, seeking safety and comfort. She felt his hand move beneath the covers, and then felt his fingers pressed up against her pussy.

He began to move his fingers tenderly over her pussy, brushing up against her lower lips and fondling her clit. She arched her back, to move her closer to his fingers. He began to slowly slide one after another into her, and started to cover her lips with kisses.

She reached under the covers and found his cock already hard and out of his shorts. They began to stroke each other in sync, like they were part of a two-person band, making music for each other. She felt his lips press up against her, and wished that he would swallow her whole. She felt his tongue in her mouth, then on her neck and traveling down to her breasts.

He pulled her shirt up and began to suck on her nipples, lightly lashing at them with his tongue. His knuckles were rubbing up and down the crotch of her panties, and her wetness was soaking through into the couch. His lips moved from her breasts and down her body, landing sweet kisses every inch of the way down.

When he got to her waist, he pulled her soaked panties off with his teeth, and began to kiss her all about. She felt his fingers plunge into her cunt, pulling out of her quickly and then spread her wetness around, then she felt his lips cover her and his tongue enter in her. She smiled and cried a little, and then she woke up.

The days became hard again, and she thought that she might slide back into her own ways when she got word that the family that she worked for had decided on a surprise trip to Mexico. Though they were paying her way, she would end up working around the clock and have no vacation herself—but anything was better than staying home and thinking.

Within two days of landing in Cancun, the whole family got a nasty bug from a salad bar in the hotel. Since Lita knew better and didn’t eat anything that was washed in local water, she suddenly found herself able to do whatever she pleased. For the first time in the longest time, she felt free, and almost happy.

It wasn’t long before that happiness was noticed by the men at the hotel, in particular a young attendant named Julio. Where Jordan had been scruffy, Julio was clean-shaven; where Jordan was crass, Julio was polite. He was such a completely different man than she was accustomed to she felt instantly drawn to him, and never left his side her entire stay.

The first night she spent with him was a step in the right direction, and every one after that was a leap or a bound. While the family was holed up in their rooms spewing from both ends, Julio showed Lita the majesty of the local sights. The first thing to show her was the ocean, how the waves came smashing down onto the beach, cleaning the roughed up sand away and leaving a smooth and curved surface. She watched the ocean roll in and out, and thought about just like each receding wave took away part of the beach—the sand, dirt and debris—each moment of the night was erasing some of the grime that Jordan had left on her. They sat on the beach until the sun came up and out behind the morning clouds. When they finally were getting up to leave, Julio leaned over and planted a single kiss on her cheek—it was exactly what she needed, no more or no less.

That second night he came earlier, dressed smartly in white linen pants and matching shirt. He took her to town, into one of the most note eateries in a radius of two hundred miles. As her Spanish was as bad as Julio’s English was good, he took the helm at the table and ordered both of their meals. They gorged themselves of three different kinds of fish, vegetables both sautéed and roasted, fresh tortillas along with for different kinds of salsa—each color a different kind of heat. The food and company was so wonderful that she felt tipsy with contentment afterwards, and where normally she would want to pass into a deep and long food coma, she felt energized by her meal and companion and wanted to dance the night away.

She could tell by the way that Julio carried himself when she first met him that he was no stranger to rhythm, but when she got him out onto the floor she was blown away by his talent and moves. He turned out to be an award-winning salsa dancer, so skilled that he was able to instill enough artistry and beauty into both their movements. As he dipped and spun her around, the heat that their moves made began to travel from her skin deep down into her, awakening her dormant womanhood. Every twist and turn created more activity in her pussy, and she could feel herself becoming sopping wet, and then feel all that wetness drip down her legs. The night air was hot and inside the club was hotter, so the myriad of scents camouflaged her own and the sweat on her legs covered her love juices. She left the club feeling exhilarated yet not embarrassed.