The Imp of Perversity

One drink too many.

The Imp of Perversity.

So Goddamn horny.


He clearly wasn’t that into me. We just didn’t have any chemistry. We’d met through an online dating service; he claimed to like candlelight dinners and old movies and long walks on the beach, which should have clued me in right away. But at the time I had a fluttery heart and dreams of falling in love. And of course I was horny, horny as I could ever remember being, and it had been a particularly long dry spell. So I had high hopes when we met up.

I was late, but I recognized him easily enough. He didn’t look that much like the picture he’d posted — but who does? Anyway, there he was, belly-up to the bar, his jacket piled on the empty stool next to him, and he was looking around expectantly, conspicuously checking the time on his cell phone and monitoring the door. He was wearing a shirt and tie and drinking a martini. Not that I have anything particular against martinis.

He wasn’t a bad looking guy, just the opposite in fact. We just didn’t click, that’s all. We were from two different worlds; he was divorced, he was climbing the corporate ladder, he was interested in cars and sports and he came across smarmy, as if he were trying to sell me something. He was unfailingly charming and polite, but I had the distinct impression that he would have been just as polite and charming if he were foreclosing on my mortgage. I don’t know what he thought of me and my freelance-techie-rock-climbing-cartoon-drawing-porn-writing-punk-rock ways. Probably not very much. The whole date reminded me of going to a friend’s wedding and being seated with her fiancé’s best man’s older brother who is a lawyer and with whom you have absolutely nothing in common. The conversation got off to a few stuttering awkward false starts before mercifully tanking out entirely.

We did have one thing in common. We both had quite a bit to drink, very fast. To give him credit, he did try to extract himself discretely; after three crashingly awkward rounds (I was swilling red wine, he was guzzling martinis), he started to get up, said something about have to get up early for work in the morning. I should have let it go at that, but the Imp of Perversity was sitting perched on my shoulder, whispering loudly in my ear: “You need to get laid, my girl, laid in a big bad way!”

I bought him another round, flirtatiously rubbing my foot up against his calf.

He finally got up from the bar, unsteadily bipedal. He really had to work in the morning, he really had to go, it was really nice to meet me and all, we should definitely stay in touch. He was slurring his words. I accompanied him out to the street and hailed a cab.

He wasn’t really into kissing, but he did let me play with his cock through his slacks during the taxi ride over to his place. It was fun. I liked what I felt going on in there. My panties were moist under my little black skirt, and my clit hummed obnoxiously.

His place was on the millionth floor of some high-rise in a part of town I never frequent, a neighborhood with a lot of art galleries and salons and wine shoppes, and nary a tattoo parlor or a pizza joint to be found. The apartment was nice, I suppose, tasteful; modern and sleek, lots of glass and chrome. Sterile. It reminded me of a hospital. I looked out the window, a magnificent view of the city at night.

I maneuvered him, not altogether against his will, into the bedroom and onto the bed. There was a painting on the wall that looked like it had been picked out by a professional decorator. I clambered sloppily on top of him; he was going to get kissed on whether he wanted it or not.

We got undressed in fits and starts, two drunks fumbling around, pawing at each other in the semi-darkness. I guess I had his attention by this point. He had a decent body on him. He must have been an athlete once, in high school; perhaps he’d been a swimmer. His hands were large and fleshy and the nails were carefully manicured. I tried to picture one of those hands, drenched in lube, fingers squished together like the bill of a duck, being shoved brutally up my gaping, spread-open cunt. It was kind of hard to picture.

It took quite a lot of time and concentrated effort: licking, nibbling, stroking, and massaging, to get his cock fully erect, but the end result was well worth all the work. This guy was positively hung! I’m certainly not any kind of a size-queen, but there is something just so visually pleasing and… satisfying about a nice big fat cock. I did my level best to swallow him whole, relishing the taste and texture of that hot, hard, smooth, thrusting appendage in my mouth. He responded appreciatively, moaning something incomprehensible, maybe a name, and humping eagerly back at my bobbing mouth, threatening to trigger my gag reflex.

I pumped his thick shaft as I sucked, gripping it the way I’d grip an upright pole on a crowded subway. Meanwhile, my other hand explored him, gently fondling his balls, delicately tickling his perineum, letting my probing fingers invade his tightly puckered asshole until he flinched away.

My panties were drenched, the crotch soaked through and through. I got up from the bed and retrieved a condom from out of my jacket pocket. I tore the foil package open, and as gracefully as I could (which was not very), I rolled the latex down his quiveringly hard erect shaft.

I unsnapped my bra, tossing it in the general direction of my jacket. Now the only thing I was wearing was my yellow and black striped bikini panties. I straddled his cock, dragging the thin, damp material up and down the length of his condom-sheathed penis. I’m not sure who I was teasing more that way, him or me. It felt absolutely delicious.

Enough teasing. His cock was moist and slick with my juices. I adjusted my position, pulled the crotch of my panties to one side, reached down between my legs and grasped his dick, taking aim, and then lowered myself slowly onto him, savoring the sensation of his gigantor cock invading my body, filling me up and stretching my drooling, famished cunt.

I rocked up and down, back and forth, grinding my clit against his pubic bone as his cock slid in and out of my pussy, past the soaking-wet fabric of my panties. My tits shook as I bounced on him. When he was all the way up inside me, when my cunt was mashed up against his neatly trimmed pubes, it felt so good! I had needed this for a very long time.

I could feel the orgasm building up inside me, and I egged it on, bouncing on his dick faster and harder, more and more frantically, His cock was making sexy slurping noises as it slid in and out of my juicy pussy. I was breathing hard and raspy, pinching and pulling and viciously twisting a nipple with one hand, while the other was busy down the front of my panties, furiously working my agitated clitoris as I ground my cunt down on his enormous cock, my eyes screwed shut with the effort as I went for the gold.

My orgasm was like an over-inflated balloon: my body was straining, stretched to the limit and beyond, building bigger and bigger, almost ready to… KAPOW!! Holy Shit! I threw my head back, arching my spine as I came, my whole body shaking as the pleasure exploded through me, making my toes curl and my breasts blush mottled red. My finger never stopped moving on my clit.

When the last tremors of orgasm finally passed, I removed myself gingerly from his cock, which was still a granite column of hardness. I bent over to kiss him. His eyes were closed and his head lolled slightly to one side, and he was snoring softly. He had fallen asleep.

I kissed him on his smooth, sweaty chest, right between the pectorals, and quietly climbed off the bed. I pulled off my soaking wet, come-drenched panties, and left them were they fell, on the hardwood floor next to his bed. I collected the rest of my clothes, peed, and let myself out into the city at night, making the long, drunk, lonely, cold journey back to my apartment in Brooklyn.

Tired, but still buzzed and horny, I fell naked into my own rumpled, unmade bed. I possessed an anatomically-correct double dildo, exquisitely molded in blue silicone. I hoped to find somebody, someday, to use it with; but for now I was flying solo. I slipped one end of the dildo in my still-wet pussy, and buried it to the hilts up my cunt.

The other end of the dildo projected obscenely up and out from my crotch, bobbing up and down like the bowsprit of a sailing vessel in heavy weather. I lifted my ass up off the sheets, arching my back and pointing my silicone cock at the ceiling. I grasped the blue toy with one hand, sliding my fist up and down the shaft, exactly like a guy jerking off. With the other hand I reached down and around, spreading my butt cheeks and penetrating my come-slick asshole with two fingers. The jerking-off movement felt amazing inside my stuffed-full pussy, and had the effect of mashing the toy up against my sensitive clit. I jerked myself to one, and then two more blissful orgasms before slipping into a deep, deep sleep that lasted a very long time and ended with a pounding headache, a bad taste in my dry mouth, and a thick, thick fog of lonely depression.


A while later, I found myself living with my then-boyfriend. James was a good guy; smart, funny, kind, and patient, and something of a firecracker in the sack. He didn’t have much in the way of stamina, but he was possessed of an amazingly short turn-around time; the guy was virtually multi-orgasmic. And always horny. He only really liked penis-in-vagina sex though; my boy wasn’t at all what you’d call kinky.

He was a rare specimen: a genuine Nice Guy who played guitar and put down the toilet seat after peeing, and gave great backrubs, and cooked. A real keeper.

The Imp of Perversity, however, had other ideas. On Wednesday morning, after I had kissed James goodbye and watched him head off toward the subway and the architect’s office in Manhattan where he worked, I took a shower, changed my clothes, retrieved my car from the perfectly good parking space I’d secured Monday night; and headed off, not to work, but across the Verrazano Bridge and Staten Island and off into the hinterlands of New Jersey.

About an hour into the flat, semi-rural country of South Jersey, I pulled into a long gravel driveway. A hand-lettered sign proudly proclaimed ‘Morris & Son Contracting’. Two Chevy pickups were parked in front of the double-wide, both of them old and beat up. One was older and rougher-looking than the other. It might once have been red under all that rust. There was an NRA sticker on the bumper, and a USMC decal on the window. The other Chevy was blue, had monster-truck suspension, and fake bullet-hole stickers up one side, and a pair of fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview.  Good, they were home.

Bobby Morris was a contractor, a home builder and handyman; but work was slow, and he could be found at home and unemployed more often than not. His son Jeff, a narrow-eyed, shady-looking 19-year old high school dropout helped his dad out when there was work, and supplemented the household income with a little burglary and petty larceny. I think he was also a drug dealer, in a small way. I made it a point to ask no questions, and as a result I was told fewer lies.

Father and son had matching flat-top crew cuts. Bobby Morris was short and broad, built like a bulldozer. Jeff had an ugly tattoo of a scorpion on his neck, with blurry, illegible words above and below it that may have read ‘LETS FUCK’. He was tall and skinny, like his mother.

A long minute after I knocked, the door was opened by a sour-faced Mrs. Morris, her long black hair pulled back into a severe, tight bun. She was wearing an old-fashioned looking dark grey dress that wouldn’t have been out of place at an Amish funeral. She didn’t smile when she saw me, but she did let me in.

A television was blaring away unwatched. I walked in past a couple big-screen TVs, a stack of car stereos, an electric guitar, a small safe, a dorm-sized refrigerator, and a shoebox full of iPods.

Bobby Morris grinned when he saw me, downing the remainder of his beer in one long swallow and crumpling the can. It was not yet ten in the morning.

“Looky here Son, we got us a visitor!” Jeff was sitting at the kitchen table, meticulously rolling joints with his long stringy fingers. He’d rolled a dozen or so already. He looked up at me and grinned toothily in a way that was equal parts creepily-disturbing and creepily-sexy. He very deliberately wet a rolling paper with a long, slow stroke of his long, long reptilian tongue, his slitted eyes locked directly on mine, and I felt a sudden thrill of adrenaline rush through my body.

I went into the bedroom and got naked, lying flat on my back on top of the sheets with my legs dangling off the end, just the way I knew they liked it. Mrs. Morris came in and quietly took a seat in a straight-backed wooden chair next to the bed.

Maybe five minutes later, Morris and Son walked into the bedroom, smelling of whiskey and marijuana. They disrobed together in front of me, and I appreciated the show. Old Bobby Morris had a bit of a paunch, but he took care of his body, and young Jeffy worked off excess nervous energy by pumping iron in the gym. A lot of iron, lately, from the look of things. He had a six-pack that wouldn’t last through his twenties if he didn’t seriously clean up his act, but for the moment it sure looked nice, along with the rest of him.

Bobby climbed up onto the bed, grinning widely, and began feeding me his already hard gracefully curved uncircumcised cock. His fat balls swung heavily back and forth as I licked and sucked his penis. Meanwhile, Jeff had crawled in between my legs, my thighs were resting on his shoulders, and he was getting busy putting that freakishly long tongue of his to good use. I’m not sure he’d ever even heard of a clitoris — he certainly didn’t know where that particular piece of anatomy was located — but his probing, slurping, slithering tongue felt just exquisite nonetheless. I felt Mrs. Morris’ cold sea-grey eyes boring into me as I gobbled her husband’s cock and her son noisily ate out my pussy.

After a couple minutes, father and son traded places. Jeff’s dick wasn’t as big as his Old Man’s, but that was ok by me. I could get the entire length of it into my mouth, my nose pressed into his kinky black pubic hair, his ball sac nudging up against my chin. I let one finger slide up between his muscular buns, tickling his asshole, and he grunted happily, fucking my mouth like a pussy.

Meanwhile, Bobby was skillfully eating me, a master craftsman plying his trade. He penetrated my cunt with several thick fingers, concentrating his tongue on my straining clit as he fingered-fucked me, pausing now and then to slurp my drooling pussy, dragging his tongue all the way down my slit and in between my ass cheeks. I was in heaven.

I don’t know how long that lasted, not long I guess. Next I was flipped over, rolled onto my hands and knees with my tits hanging down and my rump thrust upward. They clambered off the bed and rolled condoms on, their hard cocks waggling comically as they moved back into position.

I glanced over to one side; Mrs. Morris was sitting impassively in her chair, spine straight as a steel girder, hands clasped in her lap, rhythmically squeezing her thighs together under her dark grey dress. I knew that was her method of masturbating.

Bobby took me from the front end, Jeffy from behind, fucking my pussy hard with his condom-sheathed cock while I sucked his dad’s dick. Sucking a condom-covered dick isn’t my favorite thing in the world, but I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Then they switched off, Bobby sliding his big dick up my hungry cunt while Jeff presented his cock for me to suck on, the latex covered with my own tangy come. They traded places again after a few thrusts each, and then traded again, and again; tag-teaming me until I was a dizzy mass of quivering jell-o.

I would have liked to have them dp me, to have Bobby underneath me with his large fat cock buried in my cunt while Jeff jammed his more reasonable-sized dick up my asshole; but I wasn’t the one driving this particular train.

“Oh yeah Pop, this bitch is really milking my dick! I’m not going to last much longer!” Jeffy blurted out from behind me.

Abruptly, both penises were withdrawn. The condoms went flying, and I was presented with two hard, naked cocks to suck upon.

My mouth was crammed full of dick, hot, urgently thrusting dicks. Drool leaked out the sides of my mouth onto their balls. My jaw ached, but I was way past caring about trivial details like that.

With both hands, I pumped their shafts as hard and fast as I was able, my tongue swirling around all that delicious, sensitive male flesh in my mouth.

Something deeply perverse in me loved the incestuous way father and son’s dicks were rubbing up against each other in my mouth. They were a pair of rednecked fag-haters, macho men, and here they were totally getting each others’ rocks off.

I’m not sure which of them came first, but the one triggered the other’s orgasm, and my mouth was suddenly flooded with hot, salty, bitter semen that spilled out from between my lips and dripped down my neck and spattered all over my tits.

I didn’t shower there; I just toweled off and got dressed under the stony gaze of Mrs. Morris, and then drove back to the city. The skyscrapers of Manhattan stood like a petrified forest, glowing orange with the remnants of the setting sun.

James was waiting for me when I got home, arms crossed and an uncharacteristic frown creasing his forehead. He’d gotten off work early.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” he told me, “You didn’t answer your cell. I tried calling your clients, and you weren’t in the office. They said you called in sick.”

What was I supposed to tell him?

He broke up with me like a gentleman, of course: we were on different life paths, he’d always cherish the memory of our time together, he’d like to stay friends, blah, blah, blah.

I jerked off that night with my double-dildo, and imagined using it on Jeffy, fucking his tight little redneck ass while I came over and over again, my hand wrapped around his hard dick and my tits squished up against his well-muscled shoulder blades.

I was alone for a long time after that.


Tilly was new, an intern at one of the offices where I worked. She had a dancer’s lithe and skinny little body, a cherubic face, and a slight southern accent. She wore pink ribbons in her stringy dyed-blonde hair without one shred of irony. She painted her fingernails a different color each week and her eyebrows were constantly raised in an arched look of surprise. She had bangs and brown roots and the sexiest little ass. She was almost painfully cute, and she was way, way too young for me. She looked like she was barely out of high school, though I knew she was an undergrad.

Lazy Friday afternoon, and I watched her tush wiggle in a faded pair of blue jeans. God bless casual Friday! That butt of hers looked good enough to eat!

‘I wonder if she’s got a boyfriend,’ I thought bitterly, ‘I wonder if she lets him fuck her in the ass.’

Call it good luck on my part, or call it stalking, but we left the office at the same time, and shared an elevator down to the street. I felt schlubby and gauche in my t-shirt and jeans; she looked perky and angelic in her own. She was wearing a lavender v-neck shirt that matched her nails, and her boobies stood out underneath it like a pair of half-tangerines. I wondered for about the millionth time what she was wearing inside those jeans. I felt old, old and perverted. The elevator car was uncomfortably claustrophobic and the air inside seemed hot and thick.

We left the building together, navigating the crowded sidewalk, walking and talking. We were headed right out of my way, but I didn’t care. Tilly and I were chatting away like old chums — she even put her arm in mine, making my pussy twitch with joy. Before this afternoon, we’d probably spoken a dozen words to each other. Now she was telling me her life story.

She was originally from Louisiana, had moved to Kansas when she was 10, and then she’d move to North Carolina where she’d gone to high school. Both her parents were in the military. She was a sophomore in college, majoring in pre-law and minoring in modern dance. She wanted to be an environmental lawyer, and was doing a semester in New York toward that end. Her boyfriend back home had just broken up with her.

“Aww, what a shame! Why’d he go and do that?”

She blushed the same shade pink as the ribbons in her hair. “I think it was because I was too kinky for him” she admitted. My pussy twitched violently.

We talked a little bit about sex. I found myself telling her about some of my past adventures: the corporate stuffed shirt who fell asleep underneath me (she giggled at that); James and his amazing re-upping penis; playing Chinese handcuffs with my two Jersey rednecks (she giggled some more). She confided in me that she liked it rough, and that she wasn’t very experienced, and that she thought she might be bisexual. My pussy twitched again, and I could feel the squishy wetness going on in the crotch of my panties.

“Hey, where are we going?” Tilly suddenly asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I was following you.”

“Well I thought I was following you!” Tilly said.

My better angel whispered in my ear: “Take it easy girl. Take it slow! Don’t fuck this one up!

But the Imp of Perversity perched on my shoulder, whispering louder and more insistently: “GO FOR IT!

I took a deep breath. “Wanna come out to Brooklyn with me? Hang out for a while?”

“Sure,” she said, hugging me quickly, “But I can only stay for a little while.”

Together, we scrambled up the stairs to my apartment: five echoey flights up a converted factory building. My place was a mess, as per usual. I hoped I hadn’t left any sex toys or pornography lying around out in the open.

“Wow, your place is huge!” Tilly exclaimed.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked, “Would you like a beer?”

“Sure!” Tilly smiled at me.

I took her hand in mine and squeezed. She squeezed me back. I pulled her in close to me and kissed her softly on her soft, pretty lips. She kissed me eagerly back.

We stumbled, half-falling onto my battered old red couch. I landed on top of her. We kept kissing, kissing hard, tongues intertwined. Her hands found their way up inside my shirt and started feeling my tits up through my bra.

I returned the favor, slipping a hand under her lavender t-shirt and inside the cup of her bra, feeling the cool, soft flesh of her smallish boob, teasing and pinching her erect nipple.

My pussy was warm and sticky between my legs. It felt like my wetness had soaked through my panties and all the way through my jeans as I tugged Tilly’s shirt off over her head and unsnapped her frilly white bra. She had a flat tummy and two perfect little gravity-defying breasts.

My own shirt came off, my bra went flying. Tilly attacked my breast like a girl on a mission, sucking and nibbling and pinching my nipples until they stood out like a pair of thumbs.

I fumbled with the buttons of her fly, tugging her jeans down around her ankles.

Long hours in the office I had speculated about what Tilly might be wearing under her work pants. There was never a panty-line or a waistband to be seen. Now I knew why.

“I don’t usually like to wear panties” she told me shyly, “They feel… constricting.”

There was a fluffy tuft of soft brown hair crowning her pussy. Her plump outer lips came together in a neat seam. She had the cutest little pale ass.

I dove in, tracing my tongue up and down her slit, coaxing her clit and inner lips out and into the open. I slid a finger up inside her pussy as I concentrated on her tiny little clit. Her pussy was very wet and very tight and tasted a little bit like honey; but salty, sexy and clean. I lapped at her clit and fingered her pussy until she violently squirmed away from me.

“Too much, too much! Stop!” she grinned up at me, “Are you trying to kill me or something?”

I unsnapped my own jeans and pulled off my skull-and-crossbones pirate panties.

Tilly looked at me a little nervously. “I’ve never actually done this before,” she said, “with another girl, I mean. So let me know if I’m not doing it right.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” I said, reclining on the couch cushions and splaying my legs wide.

She did do just fine, and she looked pretty as a picture doing it, lying flat between my thighs, with her fine dirty-blonde hair falling all over my lap, and the pink ribbons shaking as she licked. Her energetic tongue and enthusiastic but unskilled fingers felt great, pushing me obnoxiously close to the edge, put it wasn’t going to be quite enough to get me there.

“How was that?” she asked as she came up for air, her blue eyes shining happily, and her glowing face slick with my wetness.

That,” I said with feeling, “Was fantastic! I really want to fuck you now, if that’s ok with you.”

“Sounds fine by me,” she drawled sweetly. Her hand was busy between her own legs, fiddling squooshily in the warm, wet territory beneath her soft little muff.

I retrieved the blue double-dildo from the drawer in my computer desk. I felt suddenly shy and awkward as I slipped one end up inside myself. The other end stood out from my crotch like a pornographic weathervane.

“You look so sexy like that!” Tilly exclaimed, “I want to suck your dick!”

She dropped to her knees in front of me, her head bobbing up and down on my silicone cock. It was quite a visual spectacle, she looked beautiful doing that, and it made me want to grab my camera, but the fact was it didn’t actually do much for the restless, gnawing hunger in my cunt. I took her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet, spinning her around so that her backside was facing me.

The windows in my apartment are huge multi-paned affairs, a hundred years old most likely, and in all probability the glass is original. Some of the panes are cracked and warped, and many of them are loose in their mullions.

Anyone in the neighboring buildings or down on the street who happened to look our way would have had a fine view of the action. Tilly was facing the window, bent over with her hands on the sill, her blonde hair spilling down over her face, pink ribbons dangling; me behind her with my hands on her hips, my nipples pointed excitedly up and out, my tits jiggling as I maneuvered, my tongue stuck halfway out, caught between my teeth as I concentrated, taking aim. Every light in my apartment was blazing away; we were porn stars.

With one hand, I guided the bulbous head of my blue silicone cock to the pouting, drooling entrance to her pussy. She was shockingly wet. Clear come leaked out of her in long sticky strands. Her pretty little asshole seemed to wink at me.

I nudged the dildo in between her petite lips and pressed gently forward. I was surprised at how easily the toy slipped in. Her body just opened up to accept me, and with one long smooth push, I was buried in her cunt, the soft flesh of her ass pressed up against my tummy. My clit bulged and pulsated with excitement. I was fucking her!

“Oh my goodness,” Tilly gasped, “you’re fucking me!”

I sure was. I grabbed a big handful of her hair and started rocking my hips back and forth, fucking her and fucking my own horny, wet pussy at the same time. The friction was working wonders on my clit, driving me insane. I fucked her harder, faster, and harder still.

Tilly was making little moaning sounds as I pounded her, and the dildo in our cunts was making sexy squishing noises as we moved. Fucking her was hard work! If I were to make a habit of this, before long I’d have buns of steel!

On impulse, I smacked her left asscheek hard, WHACK! She yelped, and I was pleased to see a livid red raised imprint of my hand on the pale globe of her buttock. WHACK! I smacked her other cheek just as hard with my other hand, leaving a twin hand-shaped welt.

She was fucking back against me, at least as hard as I was fucking her from behind.

I traced one finger down her spine and in between her jiggling butt-cheeks where my red handprints were slowly fading, exploring down into the dark unmapped territory of her ass. My fingertip grazed her anus, and her gasping noises seemed to increase in pitch and volume. I wet my finger and pressed it into her tiny puckered little asshole, up to the second knuckle. She was very hot inside, and impossibly tight.

“Fuck my ass!” she growled back at me, no trace of shyness now, “Fuck my ass, fuck it, fuck me in the ass!”

I pulled the dildo out of her pussy with a -pop-. It was completely coated with her come. I spread her ass cheeks apart. If her pussy was a rose in bloom, her anus reminded me of a dandelion bud that had not yet flowered. Her asshole was tiny, pink and crinkled. There was no way that big blue dildo was going to fit up that little hole.

She was holding her cheeks open for me. I nosed the head of the dildo against her anus and pressed forward, pressed harder. The resistance was intense. She grunted, and her asshole suddenly opened up and swallowed the fat knob that was the stylized head of my dildo. I felt a surge of horny adrenaline: I was actually fucking her ass now!

“Gentle… gentle… don’t move… oh yeah…” she whispered “Oh yeah… a little more… more… oh yes… fuck my ass!”

I slowly worked the dildo further and further up her asshole. She was tight, but now the fattest part of the dildo was inside her, and she kept pushing back against me at least as hard as I was shoving into her, which made for some exquisite friction and sensations with my own pussy and clit. The whole scene was absolutely outrageous, one of my favorite fantasies being acted out in 3-D living color: me fucking the sweet little ol’ object of my latest crush straight up the pooper, on display for the entire city to watch. It was deliriously freaking hot, and I could feel my orgasm coming on. It was going to be a doozy too!

Finally, the toy was completely buried in her ass. I rode my end of the dildo like a cowgirl atop a bucking bronco as successive waves of pleasure washed over my body, steadily increasing in amplitude and intensity.

I reached underneath her and found her fingers already busy on her own clit. I reached past her strumming fingers and inserted two of my own up her drooling pussy. She was sopping wet, and I could feel the big dildo moving inside her asshole, which was indescribably sexy.

I went a little crazy as I started to come: one hand grasping her pretty blonde hair, yanking hard, the other hand finger-fucking her pussy ‘til my arm and shoulder muscles ached; I rode the dildo sticking out of her ass like a wild woman, bouncing up and down on it with a vengeance, driving her down to her knees beneath me. Someone was screaming and I realized it was both of us.

“I’m coming! I’m coming! Oh shit, I’m fucking coming!”

We both were. Bucking and shaking and gasping and snarling and cursing and twitching and sighing, we collapsed in a sweaty quivering heap on my floor.

I disengaged myself from my end of the dildo, leaving Tilly’s half still buried in her asshole, the part that had been up my cunt projecting obscenely out, slick with my come.

She was lying on her side, still panting and trembling. I stuck my head between her thighs and started licking. I had never encountered such a wet pussy before ever in my life; my own cunt or anybody else’s. The entire area down there; vulva, butt, and thighs, was drenched, soaked in her slippery salty tangy come.

Tilly squeezed me tight between her strong dancer’s thighs, halfway suffocating me as I desperately licked, bringing her to one more full-body orgasm. Her screams literally rattled the window panes.

“I should get going” she said, pulling on her clothes as I watched, naked and semi-dazed, sitting on the couch, basking in post-orgasmic glow, “I’m supposed to go out for dinner with my roommate and she’ll be wondering where I’ve gotten to. I’ll call you soon, I promise!”

And then she was gone, slipping out of the apartment and letting the door slam shut behind her.

I closed my eyes. She wouldn’t call. She’d never speak to me again. Now she knew I was a complete and utter pervert. Me and my horny pussy… Oh well. My hand snuck between my legs, caressing the gooey, slippery moistness that was still oozing liberally out. Oh well. It had been worth it. Totally worth it.

I proceeded to wrap myself around most of a bottle of halfway-decent red wine. My pussy was too tender to jerk off with the dildo, so I had to make do with a buzzing vibrator on my clit. I woke up late on Saturday morning with a crick in my neck and a killer hangover and a bad case of the lonesome blues.

My cell phone was ringing: that was what had woken me up.  I found it, buried under the couch, just before it went to voicemail. It was Tilly.

“Hey,” she said, “I hope I’m not calling too soon. I just wanted to tell you that I had a fantastic time last night… and… um… I was wondering if you’d like to hang out some more this afternoon?”

I sure did.



  1. Leah said

    Though there are dearer, the Imp of Perversity is often a companion and corrupting influence for me as well.

    I like the images in your story. The orgasm as an exploding balloon never occurred to me. I would that I had a Tilly in my life.

  2. Prospero said

    Lovely as always! I love starting my day with a new one of your stories. It… um… gives me a lift. 😉 Really liked sections 1 and 3; the hicks didn’t do it for me. But, about section 3, can you really fuck like that with a double-dildo? Curious, that’s me. I certainly want to think you can. Or have, or could, as it were. Bye!

    • elsiewrites said

      Prospero, I was thinking of a toy along the lines of the Nexus, Feeldoe, or Share. I don’t think a traditional porno style double-dong would probably have worked very well in that particular situation… Hope I didn’t cause any confusion.

      • Prospero said

        LOL No, no confusion. I pictured exactly which toy you meant. I was just curious whether you (or anyone else) knew whether or not a woman could actually fuck another woman with it. For the STORY, it absolutely works! I just wanted to know if you knew. 😉 Love the story, either way.

      • elsiewrites said

        Got it. The answer to that question is an emphatic “yes”.

  3. Monolithicbrown said

    Very VERY good multi-story orgasmic fest. Solid foundations on all the stories, each with it’s own flavor, and each so damn memorable. Loved it! great work.

    Sidenote: I love how you seem to have a bisexual feel for sex. You don’t sound at all straight in the choice descriptions and actions that occur in your story. Kudos to that bit of underlying style.

    • elsiewrites said

      Thank you! I guess I have been on a bit of a guy-on-guy kick lately; but I think my work has always been about blurring gender roles and expectations, and the universality of sexual desire. It’s a dull gate that only swings one way!

  4. Chrissy said

    You never fail to surprise and arouse. A wonderful wordsmith. I’ve read them all.Thank you, thank you for my wetness…Ummmm

    • elsiewrites said

      Thanks! I aim to please…

  5. Elsie, what can I say ‘The Imp of Perversity’….I actually saved this for my Saturday afternoon read when I could be relaxed and just enjoy. Again, the characters, imagery and dialogue is just first class – perfection. I agree with Leah about ‘the exploding balloon’ – a fantastic description. It does remind me a lot of when you do actually have your fingers inside a girl as she is about to orgasm and you feel her insides do balloon out while the area around your fingers gets tighter.
    The blurring of gender roles I love. I love the idea of the girl who lives with her boyfriend and drives out to New Jersey for nothing more than a fuck, to sate the Imp of Perversity…the girl who meets a guy she does not particularly find attractive but will not let the opportunity of a fuck pass, has a delightful moment when she realises he has a beautiful cock and then actually describing the colour of the panties was just that special piece of detail that keeps you hooked to your writing.
    The only thing that does not work much with me, I have to admit, are areas of incest as this does nothing for me. However the fact that you write about these blurred areas which such passion excites me.
    I am a huge fan as you know Elsie and I adored this and you should be commended for such an incredible piece of erotic writing.
    I do hope one day you will formally publish yout work.

    • elsiewrites said

      Thank you for all the high praise! I’m always glad to hear that you enjoy my stories– that means that I am doing my job! Re: the incest thing, I’ve never hoped or tried to be all things to all people; rather I expect to offend everybody at least once. Pick and choose what you like! I also hope to someday be actually published. I think my stories would lend themselves well to e-book format, as well as good old-fashioned ink-on-paper.

      • A fantastic answer Elsie…as once you start to write with your audience in mind it is the death to your creativity. I have every confidence you will be published.

  6. ElsieFanny said

    Thanks for a fun story. The Tilly half of the story is a great turn-on. Some of your previous ones had me braced for a sad (or at least ambiguous) ending, but I am glad that the Imp doesn’t screw things up with Tilly as your protagonist screwed her.

    The rednecks don’t do too much for me either, but not because I mind the quasi-incest. (Some of your actual incest stories are among my favorites.) Not that it seemed unrealistic; in fact, it reminded me of some people I knew growing up in the border South. While a bit less plausible, I did like the American-Gothic Mrs. Morris’s voyeuristic-yet-repressed masturbation aside as an odd little touch. However, whatever that part lacks in turn-on potential is more than made up for by the way it doesn’t set the scene for your next plot twist. I am pleased that you give us a bouncy young intern for a hot, exhibitionist frolic instead of the downward spiral I had been expecting.

  7. intheclouds said

    How kind of you to to give us this treat. If a lover had written this for me I would love her so much more. Since you are a stranger I can only thank you and praise your language. Your style is ignorant to pornoscriptic cliches in a degree that is a satisfaction in itself. When you write about the same organs and actions it feels much more real and believable. I relish your imagination and the egoistic nature of your protagonist. She does not prented to be someone else just to get some company. And so does your story not keep us in a false safety of a world without problems. I also want to give you some feedback about aspects that could be improved, at least from my point of view. The redneck family would be more believeable if there were hints how their narrow minded life style works with their open minded sex life. Why don’t they have jealousy, fear or shame? Why don’t they draw her into their daily family power struggles? Of course it would not be sexy if they did. But I dont see why they don’t, which makes them unbelievable. Why does the protagonist feels safe enough there? How does her city connect to their dwelling – does she fly a plane to get to them? Anyway, your story helped me feel that I really had a weekend 🙂

    • elsiewrites said

      Thank you for your kind words! I hear what you’re saying about the second part, the strange redneck family. I’m a great believer in leaving out information, leaving it up to the imagination. People are weird, twisted, and contradictory. I strongly suspect that there are jealousies and power struggles going on within that family; the narrator is only an occasional visitor, so we don’t see that too much here. Perhaps they have a twisted story all their own, but I’m not telling that one here. Our narrator drove to New Jersey from her home in Brooklyn, against her own good sense, because she is horny and perverse. She probably met these people through craiglist or something similar, and she probably won’t stay very involved with them for the reasons you mention. They are, to her, only a passing fancy. I admit that it is a fine line to walk, too much versus too little information. I personally really like that scene, but if it isn’t believable for you… In any case I’m glad you like my writings generally, and I certainly welcome the feedback!

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