Dust off that unused word-processor put your pervy mind to work. Celebrate the art of erotic literature with the 4th Annual Liberator Lusty Lit Erotic Fiction Contest. Submit your short story by December 1st for a chance at winning a $500 shopping spree on the Liberator website.
I turned my attention to the other side of the room. My husband Bill was sprawled on a Liberator Esse. He was blindfolded. Fred’s wife Fran and her twin sister Flo had been taking turns fucking him. At the moment, one of them — I think Fran — was sitting on Bill’s face, and the other — I think Flo — was riding his cock.
Mike complied with “Judge Marie’s” ruling, raising no objection, lying back and resting his head on the Liberator Wedge pillow. She dispatched her thong straddled his torso, resting her moist, freshly waxed pussy on his stomach. “The court must examine some important evidence, but is concerned you are incapable of remaining motionless during the examination. If you move, you could be held in contempt.
Without missing a beat she takes my cock right into her mouth. Ecstasy. She grips me firmly as she works the shaft with her lips, licks the sensitive part and runs her hand up and down my leg. The light of the TV illuminates her breasts and eyes as she looks up at me. It took a second for me to realize once again that we were at a party and there had to at least by 5 or 6 people watching us.
All of a sudden Sky came out of the bathroom completely naked walking toward the master bedroom. Because she was going away from him down the hallway she didn’t see him standing there. “Holy shit,” he thought as his dick got instantly rock hard. What the fuck are they doing? He was frozen in the hallway. He’d have to walk by the bedroom to get to the office. “Fuck me” he muttered to himself. How was he going to do that? Plus, his curiosity was killing him.
My brush flits under your arm, then to each nipple in turn, back and forth, teasing until they stand firm, wanting more. Straining against your bonds, you feel my brush moving between your breasts, tracing a slow serpentine path to your navel, dipping in and around, moving back and forth playfully, ever so slowly, inch by inch towards the neatly trimmed hair below.