Free Erotic Stories

A story from my ex

I was leaning over the sink rinsing out the last dish when I sensed a presence behind me. I turned around to look, but my move was preemptively blocked, as he grabbed me by the waist and told me not to move. The length of his body was pressed up against my back locking me between him and the sink. I felt myself involuntarily discharging primitive signals of anticipation. > The views of the window on top of the sink melted away as one of his hands slipped under my shirt and seized my breast with startling force. The other hand radiated an intense heat as it pressed up, urgent, against the front of my thigh using the grip to draw me closer towards his groin. His open palm caught my skirt, riding it up my leg, exposing my skin. > My hands were spread on the counter in front of me. Behind me, he inhaled my scent loudly and kneaded himself against me... hard, slow and deliberate. > My knees went weak when the tip of his fingers reached the edge of my panties, his palm still pressed on the soft of my skin. I caught my breath when I felt one finger fumble with the silk, wet fabric and bear clear up inside me, like a hook keeping me in position. He bit at the back of my neck, breathing heavily through his nostrils like a bull, squeezing my breast, concentrating his stiffness against my bare flesh. > He peeled away his lips and held my ear lobe in his teeth, casually, as his focus switched back to his hands that searched my body for pleasure with increasingly crucial exigency. > I was confused, my breath was shallow and I was shamefully wet. The water dripping from the faucet, the sound of the television in the other room, the fluorescent light, the cold tiles on the floor… all disappeared into the background as he accentuated his intentions, eliminating any pretense of free will. > Now my panties were around my knees, my skirt was castigated up around my waist, I felt the kind of intentional nakedness that is accompanied by a licentious catch in your throat, the one that needs, the one that focuses, the one that wants nothing else but to be torn apart. I felt his thumb open my buttocks, and then I felt him pushing into me, hard and purposeful. Now he was moving inside me. > Words formed in his throat, but he could only produce incomplete mutterings that made perfect sense in the ardent intimacy of sexual abandon. I didn’t even realize I was moaning until he put his hand over my mouth and whispered sharply to shut up. And he was moving inside me. > Without pulling away he turned me, grasping the back of my neck, he kissed me, his mouth was open and wet. His tongue forced my lips open, eagerly exploring me like a male with a female, smothering my cries of pleasure into a muffled knot. My panties fell to the floor and I felt myself being lifted up on the counter, his pants were unbuttoned, his shirt was open, his masculine, warm, hairy chest against me, I fought urges to scream, chocking back emotions that welled up impertinently...and he was moving inside me. > Somehow my shirt had become unbuttoned and my bra struggled to keep my breasts from bursting out. He pulled his mouth away from mine, agape and unfinished, and his moist lips captured my nipple, only to leave it wet and alone moments later, as his tongue trailed back up towards my neck, biting my flesh along the way, and covering my mouth once again. In and out, he kept moving inside me. > I could not decide if I was being teased or rewarded, my frustration grew silent as I implored him to put an end to this torturous ecstasy. > He kept moving inside me, urgently ignoring the world, the problems, the economical crisis, the television, the phone, the dripping faucet, all gone. Just us, exploding together in a blind, white heat that melted our bodies together in the shared convulsing passion.