Archive for erotica

PYOP-7

7

“Have you started your midterm paper yet?”

You hadn’t even realized that Mike knew you were there. He is slouched in the easy chair with his eyes half-closed and a bottle of beer clutched in one hand. He has been idly leafing through a stack of magazines: American Journal of Physics, Sports Illustrated, Journal of Applied Physics, Playboy.

“Started?” you say, “Well I guess technically I’ve started…”

“Yeah, I figured.” He yawns cavernously, tossing a physics journal onto the shag carpet on top of the centerfold. “I haven’t either. Figured I’d just bust it out the night of.” He swallows the dregs of his beer. There is another one close at hand. With a practiced twist, he pops it open one-handed. “I’m pretty certain Sullivan doesn’t read papers anyway, just scans them for keywords and phrases and grades based on word count.” He takes a big swallow of cheap, mass-produced beer. “Sullivan’s sort of a douche. Have you read his book?” Mike rolls his eyes.

On impulse, you sit down on his lap. It is broad, firm, and comfortable. It is a lap that was made for sitting on. One of his ridiculously thick, Popeye arms automatically comes up around your waist, hugging you. It feels nice.

“You know what I wanted to do with my life?” he asks, semi-rhetorically.

“Play football.” You say.

“Yeah, play football professionally.” You can feel his dick underneath you, through your skirt, through his jeans. It feels pretty nice. You wiggle your butt, more-or-less subtly, and you can feel his cock respond. “But if that didn’t pan out, and I always knew the odds were pretty long, I wanted to be a writer. I want to write fiction, maybe write a novel about sports. My old man was like, ‘No way Mister, you’re getting a degree in the hard sciences.’ So here I am, doing physics. I don’t even really like physics.”

Meanwhile, Mike’s big, meaty hand has found its way up between your knees, up underneath your skirt. Underneath you, his cock seems to be made of tungsten-carbide steel. You wiggle your butt again, deliberately stimulating him, and you feel his breathing change. His hand is stroking, softly stroking the front of your panties under your skirt. It feels very nice.

“Hey,” he says throatily, “Do you suppose I could go down on you?”

“What…? Here? Now?”

“Sure.” Mike is still petting you through your (now seriously moist) panties, and it feels delicious. “Who’s going to care? Them?” The Delmsey twins are sitting in a far corner of the room, facing each other, completely absorbed in a complicated game of Cat’s Cradle which you are pretty sure is an expression of knot theory.

“Them?” His hand moves up and down, stroking you through the thin fabric. Your pussy is drooling, your clit is screaming. On the couch, Lara Cunningham and Professor Sullivan are all over each other, sloppily making out.

“Anyone? I’d love to taste you.” His cock is about ready to burst the fly of his jeans under your butt. There is a roar from downstairs: the Martians, to no-one’s surprise, have been dominating World War II, but now the Vikings, allied with the Comanche, are making a surprise comeback.

Do You:

Let him eat you out, right there in the common room? *Go to 20

Suggest that you retire to someplace more private? *Go to 13

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PYOP-8

8

Much like the house’s feline namesake, the party is both dead and alive. At a large, plywood table down in the basement, the math department is taking on the physics department in a rowdy, highly-modified, caffeine and cannabis augmented, time-travel version of Axis and Allies.

The rest of the house is dark and relatively quiet. A few people are hanging around on couches and comfortable chairs, nursing drinks and chatting amiably.  Sacchidananda and Paul conveniently disappear, leaving you socially stranded. You look around for someone to talk to.

There is Professor Sullivan, forty- or fifty- something, looking comfortably rumpled and drinking whiskey out of a large glass. It is for his lecture class that you are writing that all-important midterm paper. Or, more accurately at the moment, not writing it.

There is Mike Gauss, a nineteen-year old ex-football player who is both very smart and a total meathead, and who is only here because his dad insisted he stay in school after he got cut from the varsity football team, and physics is the subject that comes easiest to him.

There are the Delmsey twins; quiet, weird, and almost spectral, engaged in some intense private conversation.

There is Lara Cunningham, a freckly redhead with small angular boobs and a wide butt who, it is rumored, gets her good grades by boinking professors both male and female. You know Lara, and she is no dumb bunny; but she is also kind of lazy and projects an image that is kind of slutty. So maybe it’s true.

Do you:

Screw this and go home? *Go to 21

Hang out with Professor Sullivan? *Go to 5

Go talk to Mike? *Go to 7

Sit down with the weird Delmsey twins? *Go to 9

Make conversation with Lara Cunningham? *Go to 11

Go looking for Sacchidananda and Paul? *Go to 15

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PYOP-9

9

The Delmsey twins, Fay and Ray, are not identical twins, but they are so similar you have difficulty telling them apart. One is male and one is female, but you aren’t sure which is which. They are dressed in matching salmon jumpsuits and grey sneakers, and their blonde hair is cropped short. Their skin is so pale that it is almost translucent, and their eyes are ghostly blue.

As you sit down next to them, one pulls out a loop of twine from a jumpsuit pocket and they start looping it around their fingers, passing it from hand to hand in a complex game of Cat’s Cradle.

In class, they usually function as a unit; they are lab partners, and often when called on one will begin answering a question and the other will finish.

“We’re testing out String Theory,” one of them (Fay?) tells you, and they both giggle excessively as if at some private joke.

“To see if it works,” the other one explains. This may be Ray, the voice seems more masculine. “I think it’s a zero-sum game, but she disagrees.”

The twine is getting more and more twisted and knotted between their ten long, skinny, meticulously manicured fingers. All of a sudden the hands are removed, and it falls to the floor, a single, unbent loop.

“Do you feel like watching us fool around?” Fay asks.

“We’re really horny,” Ray explains.

“We don’t like other people touching us,” Fay says, “But we like to be watched.”

“It helps us get off.”

“Want to come upstairs with us?”

Do you:

Go upstairs with the freaky Delmsey twins? *Go to 12

Go home and work on your paper like you should have been doing all along? *Go to 21

Look for someone less weird to talk to? *Go to 8

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PYOP-10

10

You are stumbling around in the dark. The grues will feast well tonight!

*Go to 1

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PYOP-11

11

You go over to Lara, who is a year ahead of you, two years older than you, and more than a little bit intimidating. She gives you a little half-smile which is impossible to read, but she doesn’t tell you to go away, so you sit down next to her.

“Have you finished writing your midterm paper for Sullivan’s class yet?” you ask.

“Naw,” she yawns, “I never do anything before the last minute. Besides, I’m pretty sure Sullivan doesn’t bother reading papers: he just scans them for key words and phrases and grades by word count. Have you read his book? The man is kind of a douche.”

You have read his book, and you largely agree with Lara’s assessment. “Did you really sleep with him?” you blurt out, and immediately regret it.

Lara rolls her eyes and takes a big swallow from her beer. “Sheesh, you screw one lousy professor, and you get yourself a reputation. I fuck whoever I want, whenever I want, and I don’t make any apologies for it. And I get good grades because I’m smart, and because I work hard.”

That isn’t actually entirely true; Lara is the queen of turning work in late and missing labs; but she is smart, there is no doubt about that, so point taken.

“Hey,” she says, setting her empty beer bottle on the floor, “You wanna see something funny? Follow me out back.”

Without waiting to see if you are going to follow, she gets up and heads for the back door. You watch her ass wiggle as she walks, soft and jiggly in those loose, faded blue jeans. There is a lot of surface area. For the first time, you realize why she gets so much male attention: it’s not because she has a swimsuit-model’s figure, she doesn’t. It’s the attitude.

Do you:

Follow Lara, her wiggly butt and her big fat attitude, out back? *Go to 2

Ditch this nonsense and go back to your dorm, where you have a fancy new vibrator, fresh double-As, and a paper to write? *Go to 21

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PYOP-12

12

You follow the Delmsey twins up the stairs to the second-floor game room, an oversized closet with a carpeted floor and an X-Box, a Playstation, a Wii, and a tricked-out PC. Just as the three of you come up the stairs, the game room door opens and Sacchidananda and Paul make their exit, hand in hand, looking sweaty and rumpled. Fay and Ray exchange looks and giggles; Sacchidananda flashes you a shy and self-satisfied little smile. She has really nice boobs, you realize You’d never really noticed before.

Into the tiny room, and close the door behind. You stand in the corner while Fay and Ray curl up on the beanbag together, touching and kissing like a pair of lovers. Which, you realize with a sudden start, is exactly what they are.

The pink jumpsuits are shed like snake skins. Underneath, they are wearing matching grey undershirts and briefs. You had them backwards: the one you thought was Fay is actually Ray, and there is a prominent bulge threatening to bust out of the front of his tight underwear.

The twins are locked together, grappling like a pair of wrestlers, mouths mashed together, limbs intertwined and roving. Underclothes come off almost violently.

They are both skinny beings, with long narrow necks and hollow chests. The ribs are visible under taut skin so pale that you can almost see their internal organs. They both have wild fluffs of blonde hair under their armpits and between their legs. Fay has very small breasts with pink, puffy nipples that stick out eagerly. Her pussy bulges out hungrily between her svelte thighs. Ray has a six-pack abdomen, though that is more due to an absence of body fat than an excess of muscle tone. His erect cock is huge, bordering on ridiculously big; the shaft has a 90 degree twist that skews the purple, bulbous, nectarine-sized head sideways. His furry balls are compact and drawn up close to his body. You wonder if he is going to fuck his sister with that outsized cock. You wonder if it would actually fit inside her.

As far as you can tell, they are now completely oblivious to your presence. Your hand finds it’s way up your skirt, down your panties, slowly petting your pussy, which has become extremely wet and slippery. Your clit feels distended, swollen in an obnoxiously delightful way.

They quickly reconfigure themselves into a ‘69’ position. Ray is on the bottom, his cock pointing up like some freaky albino totem pole. Fay is on top, her legs spread wide, her butt thrust up, her blossoming pussy poised just above Ray’s waiting face. She pauses, looks up, gives you one long, solemn, unreadable, look, and then she dives in.

Ray is slurping at her vagina with a vigor that is impressive. His face is crushed into her muff; he grips a pale ass cheek in each hand; you can hear the wet sounds of him licking and slurping at her like a cybernetic pussy-licking machine. How he can breathe while he does that is beyond you, but he keeps his face buried in her wet cunt, and she is clearly enjoying the ride, wiggling back at him, bucking up and down and writhing back and forth.

Even after she peaks, coming in a silent, rigid, almost reptilian rapture, he doesn’t stop, though he does slow the pace down a little. Now it is Fay’s turn to concentrate on pleasuring him.

She doesn’t take his cock in her mouth: it fairly obviously wouldn’t fit. Instead she licks it like a giant popsicle, tracing her tongue along the bulging vein that runs up the underside, following the twisted architecture of his cock all the way to the gasping pee hole. She kisses the head, lavishes her tongue all around, tracing every ridge, then retreats back down the shaft, nuzzling his ball sac and below, down between his muscular, tight cheeks.

Fay glances up, half-smiles at you almost shyly. Your own finger is knuckle deep in your hot, slick cunt. She takes one long, bony index finger, licks it seductively, and then slides it straight up Ray’s asshole.

She finger fucks him with one hand and jerks him off with the other, his fat ripe cock head balanced on her waiting tongue. You can hear his moans change in pitch and timbre, slightly muffled as his face is still pressed hard into his sister’s pussy. Suddenly, he disengages from her, arching his back and throwing his head backward, his face a rigid mask of ecstasy.

You slide down the wall into a sitting position, your legs spreading naturally apart. Your red-and-green striped panties dangle from one ankle. The twins watch silently, owlish, hand-in-hand, as you masturbate for them, plunging your fingers hard and deep up your pussy until you can stand it no longer, and then abandoning all restraint and rubbing your aching clit fast, fast, faster, until you come, gasping and sobbing. It is one of the strongest orgasms you have ever experienced.

“That was nice,” says Ray.

“That was nice,” confirms Fay, squeezing his hand and giving her brother a fond look. Pearly white semen is still leaking out of Ray’s much diminished cock. “We should do that again sometime. We should let her watch us fuck.”

“Yeah” Ray says, “We should. But right now we should get back to the studio. We’ve got a paper to write.”

Almost in a daze, through a fog of endorphins, you watch the twins get dress and leave. You shake your head and pull up your panties. Your pussy is still wet, your clit is pleasantly tender. You also have a paper to write.

END

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PYOP-13

13

“Why don’t we find somewhere a little more private?” you say, eyeing his athlete’s body hungrily. Blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. They’d look nice in a crumpled heap on your floor. “Like my dorm?”

“Ah, I’m not sure that would be such a great idea,” Mike says, “I’ve got a girlfriend back home in Oshkosh, and we’re trying to stay monogamous.”

“But you’re allowed to eat pussy?” you say skeptically.

“Yeah, as long as I tell her all about it. We have phone sex and play on webcam together. I can pretty much do whatever I want, but she’s the only one who’s allowed to touch my dick.” He smiles sheepishly. It’s a cute look for him. “Come on,” he says, “we can find somewhere more private here in the house if you want.”

You try the upstairs game room, an oversized closet with a carpeted floor and an X-Box, a Playstation, a Wii, and a tricked-out PC; but it is already spoken for: Sacchidananda and Paul are naked on a bean bag on the floor, a twisted, sweaty confusion of brown and pale appendages. You should have realized, but had never really comprehended, that she had such big boobs. Really nice big boobs.

So you end up locked in the upstairs bathroom. Fortunately (and surprisingly as Schrödinger’s Cat House is populated almost entirely by male undergrad physics majors) the bathroom is clean.

“Are you allowed to kiss girls?” you ask, pressing yourself up against him. His cock is sticking out the front of his jeans like a uranium fuel rod.

“Not really, but I’ll make an exception.” Mike pulls you to him, kissing your lips hard, grinding his crotch against you, squeezing your butt. You kiss him back, grinding right back against his hardness.

You step back, pulling your grey cami off over your head, exposing your breasts. “Didn’t you say something earlier about eating me out?”

Mike puts his huge, meaty hands under your armpits and with no effort whatsoever, lifts you up and sets you down on the sink. Your legs spread apart and your skirt rides up. He grins fiendishly, and kneels down, sticking his head between your thighs. You can feel his hot breath on your pussy through your panties; his stubble tickles your bare flesh. You lean back, resting your shoulders against the mirror, and idly run your fingers through his close-cropped brown hair.

He tugs, you skootch up your butt, and your panties are off, lying in a green-and-red striped little heap on the tile floor. Your pussy is open and drooling, and he proceeds to torment you, sweet torture, barely touching you with the tip of his tongue, traversing up and down and back up again, flirting with, but not actually touching, your swollen clitoris.

Finally, he relents, dragging the flat of his tongue up your sopping-wet pussy, spreading your lips, burrowing up inside you. Your clit feels like a carbon-oxygen white dwarf star about to collapse into supernova. You rock forward, offering yourself up to him, pressing your overheated cunt against his face. He responds eagerly, licking faster and more aggressively.

Now your fingers are curled up in his hair, struggling for purchase, trying to pull him in harder. Your legs are kicking over his broad shoulders, your toes are flexing and curling involuntarily. He is concentrating on your clit, flicking it with his tongue like a baby cat greedily lapping up milk, one big finger is pressed up against your asshole, and his thumb is invading the entrance to your pussy, and you are coming, coming hard, all over his face, and you could give two shits if the whole house hears about it. The orgasm is so intense, if it weren’t for his strong hands, you would be shaken off your perch on the sink. You back arches, and your body shudders again and again, as waves of pleasure wash over you, spasming your cunt and making your clit twitch delightfully. Your nipples are hard and pink, your chest is flushed, and your breath comes in gasps.

He stands up, smiling, pleased with himself. Your wetness glistens on his lips, chin, and nose. He unbuttons his jeans, lets them slide down before stepping out of them. His erection is bulging out of his tight-whities. He gives you another grin, cocky almost, and pulls his underwear off. His cock springs out, quiveringly hard and pink, drooling clear, sticky pre-come like a leaky faucet.

“I’m not allowed to touch your dick, right?”

“That’s right.” He grasps his cock in one hand, pointing it at you like a gun, stroking himself pensively.

You get up off the sink and maneuver yourself behind him. You are both reflected in the mirror in front of you. His cock is standing rigidly up; it isn’t the biggest one ever, but it does look delicious. He is still wearing his white button-down shirt. You put an arm around his broad chest and press your still-wet pussy against the back of his thigh as he slowly jerks off.

If you move your hips just so, you can stimulate your clit against the back of his muscular leg. You let one finger explore down the base of his spine, down into the cleft between his buttocks. His ass is strong and taught. When your fingertip finds his anus, he groans softly, masturbating faster, pressing himself back against you.

You withdraw, bringing your finger to your pussy, which is once again wet as an over-ripe peach. You slide your finger up inside, getting it nice and slippery, then return to his butt crack.

Your finger invades him. He is moaning out loud now. His asshole is tight, hot. Your finger is buried up inside him, fucking him from behind. He is jerking off now like he means it, lost in ecstasy, his balls jiggling, his ass humping back against you, and you are riding his leg, slick with your juices, approaching a second orgasm of your own.

He comes with a shout, pumping and pumping and not stopping, his pearly-white come splattering onto the mirror. His asshole spasms, squeezing your finger tight, impossibly tight. His orgasm sets you off and you ride the back of his leg blissfully as he milks the last drops of thick, viscous semen from his wilting cock.

“Is your girlfriend going to hear all about this?” You ask as you pull up your cami and retrieve your panties.

“Every single juicy detail” he says, “Thank you for everything.”

You shake hands, an oddly formal gesture, and then part ways. You head back to the dorms, where your midterm paper awaits, stubbornly unwritten.

END

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