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Excerpt for Filthy Erotica 86 - 4 Dirty Stories by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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FILTHY EROTICA 86

4 DIRTY STORIES

Featuring stories from:

Dirk Rockwell

JT Holland

Taylor Jordan

Rickie Sheen

Copyright 2018 by BS Publications

BS PUBLICATIONS

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

DISCLAIMER: These stories are intended for a mature audience only! Contains explicit, graphic sex and language, including rough and aggressive sex, dirty talk, anal sex, alpha males, bdsm, femdom, lesbians, threesomes, and more. Not intended for individuals under the age of 18 or those with a weak constitution. All characters are over 18 years old.

 

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

BANGING THE NEIGHBOR BY DIRK ROCKWELL

DEPRAVED THREESOME BY JT HOLLAND

BACK DOOR SLUT BY TAYLOR JORDAN

POUNDING THE GIRL BY RICKIE SHEEN

 

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BANGING THE NEIGHBOR

DIRK ROCKWELL

 

It was just after 11PM on December 31st when Scott Thompson saw Whitney’s car pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex they shared. He was on the front porch, listening to the sounds of The Mars Volta coming from his living room speakers, a pack of cigarettes on the table in front of him and an ice bucket with two bottles of Blue Moon by his feet. All around him were the sounds of partying, as multiple gatherings of drunken fools used the last day of the calendar year as an excuse to make as much noise as possible.

He lit a cigarette and sat there smoking as he watched Whitney’s car pull into a spot near the rear of the lot. She climbed out, looking even hotter than usual (which was saying quite a bit) and started towards the entrance to the complex, which was right next to his patio.

Whitney was all dolled-up, wearing a pair of high heels and a short green dress that showed off her perfect body—sculpted arms, large, firm breasts, incredible legs that just wouldn’t quit and a washboard stomach. He noticed right away that she was walking with more urgency than usual, as though she was either in a hurry to get somewhere or pissed off.

As she got closer, he could see that her hair was a mussed up and her face was fixed in a scowl. She was pissed off, all right. That was certain. He found himself wondering what had happened but knew he wouldn’t ask. While they had spoken a few times in the six months since he’d moved in, it wasn’t like they had anything even resembling a friendship. A couple of words in the laundry room, a nod in the hall, that sort of thing. Not enough to pry into her personal life as she passed by his patio. Not by a long-shot. Hell, he didn’t know if she even knew his name.

But, as it turned out, she did know it. And not only that, but she made the first move, even though he didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time. It wasn’t much really, just a glance in his direction as she approached the entrance to his left. A glance, followed by a longer look, then a question.

“You’re Scott, right?”

He nodded, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach.

“I’m Whitney.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Whitney’s scowl softened into a shy little smile, as though she was flattered that he knew who she was. “You got any more of those smokes?” she said.

“About half a pack,” Scott replied.

“You mind if I join you for a couple?”

“Not at all,” he said, trying to play it smooth despite the surprise and excitement coursing through his system.

“Cool,” Whitney said, climbing through the bushes towards his patio. “I could really use something to help me unwind.”

She made her way through the bushes and sat in the empty chair on the opposite side of his little patio table. Scott shook a cigarette out and handed it to her. He flicked his lighter open, lit her cigarette and then his own. Then he grabbed the last two beers from the bucket, opened them, and offered her one.

“Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Scott replied.

Whitney took a long pull of her beer and followed it up with a drag from the cigarette. She leaned her head back and made a circle with her lips and blew the smoke into the air. Scott didn’t want to stare at her but found it exceedingly difficult not to. She was just so damn gorgeous, from her silky black hair to her big brown eyes to her petite little nose to her full lips and flawless skin. And from the way she held herself, it was obvious she didn’t mind being stared at; in fact she seemed to encourage it.

Scott’s dick was getting hard just from looking at her. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he said, trying to steer his mind out of the gutter.

“I don’t,” she said. “Not often, at least. Only when things are going really bad.”

“I take it tonight is one of those nights?”

“It certainly is.”

“Guy trouble?”

“Something like that.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Fair enough.”

Whitney took another drag, held it for a moment, then blew the smoke out. “So why aren’t you out and about tonight? You know, it being New Year’s Eve and all.”

“It’s just not my thing,” Scott said. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a good party as much as the next guy, but I just don’t get the whole holiday craze. To me, tonight is just another night. No different than any other.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Whitney said. “I mean, here I was, all dressed up, looking to have some fun—” She finished the rest of her beer, set the bottle down and started to stand up. “But since you’re not interested, I guess I’ll just go back to my place and get my vibrator out.”

Scott nearly spit his beer all over the table.

“Oh, did that get your attention?” Whitney said, acting all innocent despite the look in her eyes that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Maybe just a little,” Scott said, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

Whitney’s mouth turned up in a little smirk. “Yeah, I thought it might. So what do you say?”

“About what?” Scott replied, careful to not presume too much. After all, he barely even knew her.

“About coming back to my place,” she said as though it was nothing at all. “I mean, I know you don’t really care if it’s New Year’s Eve or just another random night, but I do. And I’d rather spent it with an actual live person instead of a plastic battery-powered toy.”

Containing his excitement behind a wall of feigned indifference, Scott said, “Well, I guess if it means that much to you . . .”

“It does,” Whitney said. “So grab your smokes and let’s go.”

 

#

 

Five minutes later they were in Whitney’s kitchen. On the granite counter in front of them was a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pair of shot glasses.

“I’d like you to meet my good buddy Jack,” Whitney said, extending her hand towards the bottle.

Scott nodded towards it. “Hello there, Jack.”

“Have you two met before?”

“Once or twice,” Scott said.

“Jack’s one of my best friends,” Whitney said, picking up the bottle. “He’s helped me through many hard times over the years. Most of my friends are into heavier stuff, but not me. Not often, at least. I prefer my good friend Jack. He always treats me right. Unlike most of the men I know.” She held the bottle up to her face and gave it a kiss. “Ain’t that right, Jack?”

Scott eyed her wearily, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. And whether or not it was too late to get himself out of it. Or if he even wanted to. He’d been with his share of women over the years, but they’d mostly been traditional hook-ups; co-workers, friends of a friend, the occasional drunken one-night stand, that sort of thing. Nothing like this had never happened to him before, not even close. And while he wasn’t opposed to it, he certainly didn’t feel real comfortable right now.

But before he could settle on a course of action, Whitney took matters into her own hands. She filled the shot glasses, then grabbed the nearest one and held it up for a toast. Scott grabbed the other one and clinked it against hers.

“Bottoms up,” Whitney said, effortlessly shooting the Jack.

Scott did the same, grimacing a bit as it went down.

Whitney laughed. “Are you all right?” she said, grabbing the bottle and filling the glasses up once again as she talked.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? It didn’t look like Jack treated you all that nicely.”

“I’ll be fine,” Scott said. And to prove it, he grabbed the glass and threw another shot down, grimacing only slightly this time.

“Not bad,” Whitney said. She shot her glass and started filling them up yet again. Her eyes had a psychotic little tilt to them. Scott wasn’t sure if the butterflies in his stomach were due to excitement or fear. Or perhaps both.

Oh well, he thought, nothing a few more shots couldn’t cure.

 

#

 

Six shots later and Scott was starting to feel the effects of the Jack. Nothing too serious yet, but he knew from experience that it took a little while for shots to fully kick in. Within a few minutes he would undoubtedly be buzzing hard, if not outright drunk.

Whitney was feeling it too. He could see it in her eyes, could smell it on her breath, could taste it on her lips when she suddenly stepped towards him and clamped them onto his. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he replied in kind, all the while trying to keep from thinking too much about what was going on.

Just go with the flow, he told himself. And he did, following Whitney’s lead on everything, from the rapidly increasing intensity of their kissing, to touching, to groping each other. He was just starting to wonder if he should take the lead into the next phase when Whitney pulled back, grabbed the bottle of Jack, and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“So what do you say, Scott? Do you think you can give me what I need?” she said, handing the bottle over to him.

“That depends on what it is.”

“I need to get fucked.”

Scott took a drink. “I think I can help you out with that.”

“You think you can?” she said. “Or you can.”

“I can.”

“I’m not talking about making love, or having sex, or any weak shit like that,” Whitney said. “I’m talking about getting fucked. Hard. Aggressive, rough sex. Can you handle that?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? It may get pretty crazy.”

Scott took another swig of the Jack, then said, “Positive.” And he almost believed it.

Smiling, Whitney said, “Great. Then hold on tight.” She grabbed the bottle out of Scott’s hand and took one more swig, then set the bottle on the counter and dropped to her knees, right there in the kitchen.

“Whoa,” Scott said. “Wait a second—”

“It’s too late now,” Whitney said as she yanked his jeans open and pulled them and his boxers down to his knees without any hint of gentleness. Scott’s cock was already hard; it had been since they’d started screwing around. “I tried to warn you,” she said. “Now it’s too late.”

Scott started to say something but Whitney wrapped her lips around his cock and took the whole thing in her mouth, shutting him up instantly except for the soft, wordless sigh that came from his mouth.

Whitney held her position—deepthroating Scott’s cock, hands gripping his ass, nose touching his stomach—for a full 5 seconds before backing off to catch her breath. One of her hands went to the base of his shaft and grabbed on tight while the other cupped his balls. She spit on his cock and started aggressively jerking him off.

Looking up at him, she said “You like that? You like it when I take your cock down my throat? When I swallow the whole fucking thing?”

Scott nodded, afraid of what his voice would sound like if he tried to talk. But Whitney was having none of that. She knew she wanted, and she was going to get it.

“Say it,” Whitney said, the evil little glint in her eye more prominent than ever. “I want to hear you say it.”

Scott wasn’t sure when she’d flipped from a relatively normal girl to a dirty-talking slut, but it was freaking him out a little bit. He’d had his fair share of sex over the years, but nothing like this. Not even close. It was disturbing. Not disturbing enough to actually try and stop the proceedings, but disturbing nonetheless.

“I love it,” he said.

“Say it like you mean it,” Whitney snapped.

“I love it,” Scott said, more forcefully this time.

“Damn right you do,” Whitney shot back, her hand still working his cock, her eyes still locked on his. “You want me to deepthroat you again, don’t you? You want me to swallow your cock, to stick it down my throat as far as it will go. Don’t you?”

Scott nodded without thinking.

“Say it,” she said again, more impatiently this time.

“Yes,” Scott replied.

“Tell me what you want,” Whitney said.

Scott was buzzing pretty hard from the Jack Daniels but not quite hard enough to completely get over his discomfort. So he reached for the bottle and took another swig from it. Even though he knew it wouldn’t effect him immediately, just the idea that in a few more minutes he’d be drunk enough to no longer care what came out of his mouth gave him enough courage to say the words.

“I want you to deepthroat me,” he said. But apparently it wasn’t forceful enough for Whitney.

“Not very convincing,” she said.

Scott took another swig of Jack. “I want you to take my fucking cock all the way down your throat.”

“Close,” she said, the psychotic look in her eyes now having spread to the corner of her mouth. “One more time and I might actually believe you.”

Fuck it, Scott thought. No reason to hold back now.

One more swig of Jack, then, “Choke on my cock you fucking slut.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Whitney said, smiling like a demon.

She slapped his cock against her face a couple of times then went back to blowing him, her lips moving up and down his shaft in time with her hand, sucking and jerking in unison with each other, choking noises coming from her mouth as she took his cock deeper and deeper down her throat. And then her hands were again gripping his ass cheeks and his cock had again completely disappeared.

“Ho-ly shit,” Scott said as Whitney held his cock in her throat for what felt like an eternity.

Her tongue flicked out and licked his balls and her eyes started to leak tears, causing her mascara to run. She gagged once, then twice, before finally pulling off his cock.

Whitney took a couple of deep, coughing breaths then spit on his cock and started jerking it some more. Copious amounts of saliva covered Scott’s cock, making it slippery as hell.

She shifted positions, sliding her body further beneath his, until he was practically straddling her face. She held his cock against his stomach with one hand while cupping his sack with her other, trapping them in a tight, little pouch. She then proceeded to go to work on his balls, licking, sucking, gargling them, one, then the other, and finally both together.

The pressure was practically unbearable. Scott’s legs were jelly, forcing him to grab ahold of the counter top with both hands to keep from crumbling to the ground.

And then, right when Scott thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Whitney was climbing to her feet. She put her hands on the counter and bent over at the waist, her legs perfectly straight, muscles taut, her tight little ass sticking out towards him, taunting Scott with its perfection. She reached back and lifted the bottom of her dress up, revealing a black g-string, which she promptly wiggled out of. As Scott watched, transfixed, it dropped to the floor. Whitney stepped out of it, her heels clicking on the hard kitchen tiles.

“Well?” she said, her head turned to look back at him. “What are you waiting for? Time to return the favor.”

Smiling, Scott sat on the floor, grabbed one of Whitney’s ass cheeks in each hand, spread them apart, and buried his face in between them.

“That’s right,” she said, pushing back against him and wiggling her ass. “Get in there. Bury your face in my pussy.”

Scott went to work on Whitney’s pussy, lapping at it like a cat drinking milk, running his tongue up and down her snatch, sucking on her pussy lips, sticking his rigid tongue inside her. She started to ride his tongue, lightly at first but then picking up more speed, her moans growing louder with every bounce.

Reaching back, Whitney grabbed a handful of Scott’s hair and pulled his face deeper into her, practically smothering him, forcing him to breath her into his lungs. He did so with pleasure, relishing in the helplessness, getting lost with desire as her wet, musky sweetness intoxicated him further.

Then she was pulling his hair, lifting him up from the ground.

“I need you inside me,” she said, looking back at Scott while she rubbed her ass against his rock-hard cock. “I need you to stick that fucking cock inside me and fuck me like I deserve to be fucked.”


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