Straight

"I'll share with you.
I love to fuck,
you give it slow?
I'll take it rough,
baby, I can never get enough."

"I am determined to stay a virgin until I get married, but I am with a guy I truly love and am worried if I can’t satisfy him sexually (without actual sex) he might get frustrated with me. I know guys like getting handjobs…can you give me some tips?" - Ella, Shelby County

"He did not say a word but pressed himself up against me from behind. He pressed me hard so that my breasts were right up against the wall. My eyes had not yet adjusted and I felt fear there in that small space, in the darkness, the pressure of a strange man hot against my back. My breathing sped up, not from passion, but in panic."

"The word fuck means nothing to me, these days. It neither shocks nor thrills. It is simply a word—and an overused word, at that—a word that represents something I used to do, haven't done in months. I am, simply put, starved for sex. And that is how I meet him, here in this sleazy little bar at the corner of Rene-Levesque and Bishop."

"Wet cunt mama digs it deep.
She takes beautiful men
opens the rose and poses."

"I push against him, and I love the feel of my nipples rubbing through my tee against his hard chest. He’s made of wood or marble or cinderblocks. He is too hard to be just flesh and blood. “No I didn’t.” He may suspect I’m lying by the way I grind my pelvis against his beat up Levis. His cock is hard and long and I have to make myself wait like a very good girl. What I really want to do is yank at his fly until it gives way and take it in my hand. And then my mouth."

"Most passengers probably experience a similar encounter multiple times a day. I do too, yet somehow, with each passing day, the touches of strangers were becoming more arousing. I found myself anticipating these hands on me; wanting these hands on me. I found myself manufacturing these encounters when they didn’t happen at the right moments, or with the right passengers. I would lean back into men on the train, enough for them to be able to smell my hair and my perfume; enough for them to feel my taut, round ass pressing against them. On a couple of fortunate occasions, I felt the unexpected, yet highly coveted response of their erections pressing back. I learned not to pull away, but rather, to hold my posture, even when it was terribly uncomfortable, long enough to feel their cocks pulsing against my cheeks."

"If I wanted to, I could wake my lover and lead him to the shower, press my hands to the wall and extend my ass to him, growling for him to fuck me hard and harder still, beg him to press my cheek against the tiled wall and tell me I’m his slut, tell me I’m his possession to take until he is sated. The image is inviting, and I almost give in. I will use his unworthy surrogate this morning, but I know it won’t satisfy the need to have him inside me. It never does."

"Suddenly I’m conscious of the fact that it’s got even warmer in here. My pupils dilate and my skin feels flushed, almost as if it’s too tightly stretched across my bones. Under my somewhat worn and faded cotton tank top, my nipples tighten and stand to attention. Sweat trickles slowly down between my breasts…"

"He wanted her pussy clean: she waxed it. She’d never made herself come: he bought her a vibrator and watched every moment of her first time. Apart for a weekend, he told her to stand at the window naked. The workmen below had cheered. He dressed her up, took her to a strip joint and bought her a lap dance. Her pussy swelled, though she denied any interest. When she refused him her ass, he broke out a wad of hundred dollar bills and laid them on the kitchen table, one at a time until she said, “yes.” On a trip to New York, he surprised her with a sex club and then fucked her in front of fifty masturbating strangers."