Eveline's Strangest Journey Ch. 27

She giggled to herself as she slowly undressed. She'd been daydreaming about what she wanted to do to him all day. Just the thought of his hands caressing her skin caused tremors through her body, even though it was 83 degrees today. Slipping onto the bed, she felt herself heating up at the thought of her man's strong arms wrapping around her, his masculine scent permeating her nostrils and his heart-melting smile looking down at her. Her fingers lazily massaged her left nipple, already diamond hard from her naughty thoughts. The other hand slipping down between her legs, her fingers feeling the slickness of her arousal, the wetness literally dripping out of her. Closing her eyes, her hips already moving in time with her hand, her fingers rub her swollen pussy lips. Those fingers tracing their way up to her already puffy clit, and with a simple graze of it, a small orgasmic spasm shoots through her. With her eyes closed and her breathing becoming more ragged, she smells him b

Part 1 of this story was the beginning of my day at the health club. It started with a conventional swim and ended up with me being spit-roasted, well used, and put away wet in the sauna. From the sauna I managed to stumble my used, cum soaked body to the showers. The shower stalls are large, equipped with a bench, multiple shower heads, and a shower wand. They are also private. I make my way in, adjust the water to a hot, soothing spray, close my eyes and begin to enjoy a good, long soak. I begin soaping my body getting every last nook and crevice clean. I fill my hands with the liquid soap, bend over and give my ass a full cleaning including probing my opening with my fingers. I adjust the shower wand for maximum flow into a single pulsing stream and bend over. This is amazing. It feels like I'm fucking my ass with a stream of water. My cock starts to stir. My hands find their way between my legs as I soap and stroke by balls and cock. It's now as hard as it has been at any

The dream always began with distant music, a pennywhistle or pipe playing a rhythmic, insistent tune. Her heart beat faster and she hurried into the woods, dodging between bushes and branches as she strained to hear and follow the music. There it was, off to the left. She slipped down a bank to the edge of a brook and grasped a branch to get her balance. Then she saw him, in a clearing across the water. He was a small man, perched next to a clay jug on a fallen log, sunlight streaming into the glade and lighting up his face and bare chest. He had a small pointed beard and powerful shoulders and he played his pipe with rapid clever fingers. She stopped and stared, catching her breath. His legs were hairy and naked and ended in hooves. On his head were the nubs of two tiny horns. He noticed her and looked up, catching her gaze but not slackening his song. He stared at her appraisingly, then the corners of his eyes and mouth lifted. He had the face of a joker from a deck of cards, only

"Bitch what you need to do is get a life! Shanda, you are not the first woman to be divorced with kids and you won't be the last. I bet Chad somewhere laying some dick down while you all up here working and taking care of grown ass kids letting your last good years pass you up on some Ms. Independent shit. Girl I keep tellin' yo ass you ain't got to fall in love with these men just get you a boo, get the dick, and move around just like they do us. Period!" I roll my eyes at the phone. I have heard this line from my best friend Renata at least once a month since my divorce was finalized four years ago. "Fuck I wish my sorry ass baby daddy could scoop Aiden up, shit bitch I would ball the fuck out, straight cut the fuck up in these people streets. Shit I wouldn't know how to act." "Bitch really, you do that now," I laughed. "True, true girl a bitch gotta live. You know my motto: YO fucking LO!" My name is Shanda Carson. I am a 35-

Chapter 9 So, we made sure to leave Becca a great tip ... and to let Wayne be the one to have the first-time experience of actually giving it to her. Her eyes really bugged as she saw it, too. A twenty percent or twenty-five percent tip was one thing, but a FIFTY PERCENT TIP? Hot damn, she was impressed by it. He was definitely her hero by now, and luckily for him, she didn't know his horrible past with waitstaff. Not yet. There were still restaurants that all but banned him for life for past awful conduct. "Wow, that feels good! I can't believe what a difference ... most waiters avoid me like the plague and I swear that sometimes, cooks have spat in my food and drink. I just couldn't prove it. This is a helluva good feeling! And I got at least a date out of it. A first date, no less. I'll just have to go to a place where my reputation isn't trash. Getting rid of the stench of being a bad tipper will take a while, won't it?" Wayne had the decency to

This is a 750-word story in the same vein as "The Hard Climb" by Bebop3 and "750 words to Say 'Fuck You'" by Cagivagurl. Hope you enjoy. Today was the conclusion of Jack Hamilton's trial for aggravated assault, a felony. He had beat up a man in cold blood. That was a fact established by many eyewitnesses. During a convention June 18, he had calmly walked up to Calvin Johnson, and hit him with the butt of a rifle three times: once between the eyes, once in his mouth and once in his groin after Johnson fell. He then dropped the gun and laid prone on the floor until police arrived. Interrogated, he admitted everything. Asked about motive, he cited Ecclesiastes 3:1-8: "There is a time for everything." He refused any more explanations. The media - especially the internet - click-baited its coverage as "A Perfect Time" assault and speculated the attack was sexually related. The defendant, who often cited the same verses, was in his late 3