Free XXX Sex Stories Blog

It all started when I was working for the City Department of Corrections, where the corrections department only took young adults under the age of 19 years old. Needless to say, there were some really nice looking girls coming in to stay awhile, and my job was to supervise these girls and try to keep them out of trouble.

One night I had the 12:00 am to 8:00 am hell shift (some of the staff hated it) but that night I loved it. There is a policy that we have to abide by which say we have to check all the rooms every hour to make sure everybody is in bed, asleep or at least in their rooms. Since I came in at 12:00 am, I waited until 1:00 am to check all eight rooms. It doesn’t take very long to walk the halls and peep in the rooms.

I proceeded to walk down the hall and checked the first three rooms on the right side of the hall and then worked my way back up the left side. Once I got to the left side, I opened the door of Amber Halls’ room. I peeked in and noticed that her bed was empty. Not a soul was there. I flipped the light on and searched behind the door but still no Amber. I became nervous real fast since this was my shift and I couldn’t see having a runnaway on my shift.

I closed the door and walked up to the staff office and was going to make a call to the Director. As I opened the door, I saw Amber – 18 year-old sweetheart with sandy blonde hair, aqua blue eyes and this wonderful slender body – all muscle – not an inch of fat on this girl. She was standing there with her head cocked to one side and her tight little panties riding her ass. She just looked at me and rolled her tongue around the edge of her lips like she really wanted to suck my already hard cock.

She approached me and gently grabbed the seam of my zipper and unzipped my bulging pants. I was so hot that I could have shot my load in my pants. The experience was too much to handle. I reached around her waist and clutched her tight little butt and rubbed her smooth virgin ass. She was making moaning sounds and whispering under her breath -“fuck me, ohhh, fuck me.” I knew right then I had to slide my sausage in her tight box and fuck her brains out.

(click to read entire story…)

Unlike so many of the bawdy houses of Amsterdam, the building bore no signs. In fact, as I stood in front of the chipped, black door marked #12, I almost thought it was all a practical joke. What did I know was that Hazraj, the strange Turk who, in drunken friendliness at the hotel bar, had insisted, “A whore’s a whore all over the world. You don’t need to visit Amsterdam for that. But…the Anal Sex Circus! There is not another anywhere.”

I rang the bell. Was this really the place — or was he having a joke at the expense of a white British tourist? When the door slowly opened, I realized that he was indeed a friend! Stepping into the interior of the townhouse, it was a though I had stepped through tent flaps and into the most opulent carnival ever.

There was actual sawdust on the floor. The air smelled of beer and popcorn. The big main room had concession stands where they were selling popcorn — delicately laced with hashish – and white cotton candy, also drugged. Beer and liquor were being sold by men in straw hats, red vests, and white striped shirts.

Garish rotary lights whirled a dizzy array of greens and reds into the air. Semi-nude women — black, Asian, and white — escorted the various men as they ate, drank, and laughed uproariously. In different languages, a barker in a derby hat shouted at the back of the room, “Hurry, hurry. Step right up! Come, Come, Come to the Anal Sex Circus!”

If the mad Turk Hazraj had not been so explicit in his description of the place, I don’t know what my reaction to this bizarre spectacle might have been. A beautiful Eurasian girl glided up to me. I ordered a cafe pousse at the bar. In American money, it cost me about $20. I was going to order one more for my “hostess” but reconsidered: “You wouldn’t drink, would you? Just water one of these plants with it.” I slipped her $20 cash instead. “Let’s call it a contribution to the continuing survival of horticulture.”

She dutifully explained the “play” at the Anal Sex Circus. After I finished the drink, I walked back to the back of the room where a man, dressed in imitation of an American carnival barker, guarded the entrance to the upstairs rooms. I bought two tickets ($100 each) which entitled me to see two “shows” of my choice. The tickets were actually more like plastic credit cards.

With insane calliope music blaring down the corridors of this two-story townhouse turned madhouse, I made my way upstairs. In the old carnival midways, you’d walk along seeing the posters for the midgets and fire eaters and freaks. You’d pay to go into the tent to actually see them perform. Here, there were rooms. On each gold-curtained door was a picture of the girl within.

(click to read entire story…)

When this story began, you may remember, I slipped Wanda’s panties and little bra from her basement laundry shoot, took them upstairs to my room one afternoon after school, thinking I was all alone in the two-family house we shared. After I put them on, masturbated, sniffed, and rubbed them all over myself (I was careful not to cum on them, but into my hand, which I wiped carefully with tissues as well); I returned them to her laundry shoot when I started to do my family’s wash for my mother, who had left instructions in a note. While I was in the basement, Wanda came down from her first-floor apartment, aroused me, and led me upstairs to my room again, for my virgin fucking and sucking. I had little reason thereafter to put her panties on, fucking and eating her delicious cunt was far more exciting that masturbating with nylon panties on. I loved cunt-licking far more than anything else sexual I had ever even dreamed about. Now you’re about to read about the second adventure with Wanda and her bisexual husband, Wayne.

The following Saturday night, after a boring, sexless week of impatient waiting, Wayne and Wanda had invited me downstairs for more sex play with them, beginning again at 8:30. My friend Richard agreed to cover for me again, if my parents called, and I had given him Wayne and Wanda’s phone number to alert me to call home or to come home. (I was lucky enough to go until 11:30 again with no call, so the second Saturday night orgy was uninterrupted and wonderful.)

When I knocked on their door at precisely 8:30, two, not one, sexy women greeted me: Wanda, the delicate, and a stranger with big tits, which a jersey top could hardly contain. I wanted immediately to release those jugs from her blouse even before Wanda told me that she was Wilma, her sister-in-law. It was dark in the living room, and again Wanda led me down the hallway to their back bedroom. In the darkened front part of the apartment, however, Wilma grabbed me in her strong big arms, pressed me to her voluptuous chest and french kissed me with the largest, searching tongue that ever entered my mouth. She turned me on good; and I had already come downstairs with an erection. I reached up for her mammoth mammaries, but she forced my hand away from them casually. I accepted that and figured that I could wait until she took them out to show me and to have me suck them later.

(click to read entire story…)

You’ve just turned off your COMEputer after reading all of the messages. You decide it’s time for you to go to bed. As you climb between the cool sheets, I can tell what you’re thinking. I know what you’re thinking.

You can’t see me but there I am. Standing in the shadows watching and waiting. As you turn off the light, I wait patiently for you to go to sleep. My heart is pounding wildly against the thin fabric of the gown that flows over my naked body. Covering all that is there that will make you stiff. I want you. As I watch you drift into a half sleep, I long for you. I move from my hiding place slowly across the room to the bed which you lie upon.

Your breathing is even and slow. I gently nudge against your bed, shaking it only enough to make you turn over to gaze at me with half sleepy eyes. My hands slowly move over the roundness of my breasts, down to my smooth stomach caressing my hips, my thighs. As you watch me you wonder how I have gotten here to where you are, but you really don’t care. I gently crawl on top of the bed just next to you. My fingers rest gently upon your lips as I gaze into your eyes you know what I want.

My fingers move from your lips slowly to your neck as I bend to kiss you with my soft, full lips. Softly and gently my tongue enters your mouth as your arms come and enclose me, pulling me towards you. I can feel your heart beating against my chest wildly. I break the kiss only to slide my lips to your neck so they may lick and pull on the skin where I feel your pulse beating rapidly. My fingers caress your chest, my nails tracing a pattern from one nipple to the other.

Gently flicking it just enough to feel your cock stiffen against my thigh. My mouth soon follows. Leaving a wet pattern with my tongue, I move down to your stomach, slowly. My eyes steadily watching you watching me. As I kiss the insides of your thighs, your cock is positioned directly in front of me, standing there waiting for my mouth to attack it. But I won’t! I want you to feel everything.

I want you to feel everything that is being done to you. My tongue slowly and wetly licks little circles pulling your balls into my mouth, so warm, so wet. The sensation is about to drive you out of your mind.

(click to read entire story…)

Your hand comes to immediate and reassuring rest upon the small of my back, as it unfailingly does whenever you are lying next to me as I stir into awakening. We have shared this moment many times over the years, and this familiar yet ever unexpected gesture continues to move me. I sometimes ponder how a subtle, unabated desire for you has remained so alive and flame-like within me; familiarity so often dulls our sensitivity to the changing beauty of those we love.

We don’t sleep like spoons and our shared time is as sporadic and imperfect as the paradoxical creatures we ourselves are. We part for a time but always come back to each other to share the intimacy again.

Your hand knows (whether you yourself do or not) that I need its warmth, its current, its solidity, to bring my body to life. I have lived much without it, given our penchant for separations, but it is still the current of life to me, that hand on my back; it is my food, my desire, my reason. From your palm to the small of my bark and out through my belly, which rests flat on the surface of the bed, your solar glow begins its slow radiance, suffusing my heart with its warmth, flowing downward like molten lava over my Venusian mound, down farther, down the insides of my legs, stirring like lights the inner spaces below my ankles.

Perhaps you are still dreaming, unaware of this journey we have begun. It is as though your instinct is ahead of you, moving you toward me, drawing you from your solitary flight in the boundless universe of dreamland. I don’t know — can we ever know another’s experience directly? Still, my imagination seeks images of explanation; what is it at your deepest core that knows me? I don’t ask, I feel the current travel from you through me and out again; our molecules, heedless of our possible intent, begin their rhythmic intimate dance.

I listen to the sound of birds outside our room, then the sound of our breathing, now in unison, all of my senses coming alive. This time, this unique and unrepeatable time, I hear the rustling of the sheets as you stir. Moments pass. Your hand changes pressure ever so slightly. Our breathing is slow, rhythmic, relaxed, yet deeper.

My eyes, resisting morning, are still closed and I am awake within that light-darkness. You are wordlessly aware that I am awake; our ritual is silence. We are orphan-close, so far away in this moment from the day which will soon press in upon us. We are farther still from our differences, our troubles, far from who we often pretend we are, even to each other. Do we really even know each other? I think not. Yet, our intimacy is so complete that we are like one being in this quiet time of shared arousal.

(click to read entire story…)