My Crazy Girlfriend: Valentine’s Day - How he became the luckiest dude on campus. (Prequel to MCG series) (erotic coupling) By DragonLairReads. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. (4pm, February 14, 2018; at Texas A&M) (Or two years before My Crazy Girlfriend Series starts) My name is Liv, and this is the story about how the worst day of my life changed everything for me. It all started when I got a series of very bad scores back. See, I’m a Chemical Engineering major and to stay in that program you have to keep a really high GPA, and well, Thermo 1 and Fluid Mechanics had both kicked me back low exam scores just the day before. That wasn’t even the worst thing though. Well, it probably was, but it didn’t feel like it. I’d spent a significant amount of money getting ready for a major party. A major party taking place on Valentine’s Day. I had bought this precious slinky green dress. It hugged my figure perfectly and had a plunging neckline. I had made an appointment to get my hair done in loose curls and everything. For a girl so skinny you can see her ribs, I was going to be pretty hot, at least for one night. And it shouldn’t have mattered anyway because I was going to the party with my high school boyfriend. We had come to college together and been dating for three and a half years. But come that afternoon when we were supposed to go to dinner together, he shows up at my dorm room in his coat and pants, tie undone, and his shirt not even completely buttoned. “Why aren’t you ready yet?” I asked, “Come in and finish its almost time to go.” He didn’t move, scratching the back of his head and looking at the ground. “Listen, Liv. I really hate to do this now, but, I think we need to stop seeing each other.” “What are you talking about?” I asked, not processing what he had said. “Get in here and get ready; everyone’s going to be waiting.” “I’m sorry Liv; when we came to college together, I thought it would be fun but honestly the relationship has just felt like work. I don’t know how to have fun with you anymore.” “What the hell are you talking about?” I almost screamed, “Don’t know how to have fun with me? I’ve been nothing but available to you since we got here! All you do is drink and hangout with your stupid fucking frat buddies!” Now I was screaming. I poked him in the chest. “My grades dropped because of it.” “It’s not working for me anymore, Liv.” He said sheepishly “Yeah, dicks usually don’t when you’re that fucking drunk.” I snapped, tears falling freely off my face. “I’m sorry.” He said again. “Get fucked!” I screamed and slammed the door on him. I couldn’t see what happened, but I like to think it almost hit him. I spent the next two hours sobbing until my eyes were puffy and I had blown my nose red. The dress I had gone to all that trouble to get on was practically ruined by tears and snot, at least for the night. The party wasn’t happening, the hair appointment wasn’t either. I never changed out of the dress, I just waited to stop crying and walked in an expensive cocktail dress and Chucks to the liquor store just off campus. I picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and walked back to the sorority house, sitting out on the curb (yes in my new dress), taking swigs straight from the bottle. It was pushing seven in the evening by then. People were ignoring me walking from place to place. Girls and guys together for dates, dances, or parties. I hated all of them. The whiskey was dampening my heartache and it wasn’t as difficult to keep from sobbing in public. I was almost ready to go up to my room and dispose of all of his crap, probably by setting it on fire, when I heard someone talking. “Damn, are you as bad off as you look?” I looked up. It was a boy. Well ok, a young man. He was about my age, and maybe it was the whiskey, but I thought he was kind of cute. The fact that he was cute did not help. “Fuck you dude, I look like a million bucks.” He was holding a pizza box which he raised in agreement. “No contest on th

The Plumber & the HousewifePlumber fixes pipes, and I fix the plumber. By dakotadouglas. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I’m Michelle. Most days I am at home, reading books, various cleaning & decorating, and baking on occasion. Usually if we have any issues, my husband takes care of them, from clogged pipes to cabinet repair to do-it-yourself projects I come up with. On this given week, he was out of town for work, and I woke up in the morning to a thin layer of water leaking out from our mechanical room. I contacted my husband, and he instructed me how to turn off the water, and gave me a number of the plumber he used on occasion so I could get it fixed that day. I called them right away, and they were going to send someone out in about an hour. Until then, I didn’t have much to do with the water off, so I picked up a book which I started last month and figured I could get caught up. As I heard the doorbell, I realized an hour flew by while I was reading, and hopped up to get to the door. Once I opened it, I realized the plumber was a mid-30’s man, broad-build, not muscular but fit; standing there. I enjoyed the view for a moment, and then he asked if I’m Michelle, to make sure he was in the right place. After reassuring him I was, I showed him in and to the issue at hand. As he looked at it, walking through the layer of water, he said he recognized the problem, had to grab a few things from his truck and should have it fixed in about an hour. I told him, “Great, then I can get my shower in, as I hadn’t been able to do that this morning since I turned off the water?”. He said he could bypass the problem for now so I could do that if I needed to. I said that would be nice. After he returned from his truck, he got it bypassed, and let me know. I said thanks and told him to let me know once it was fixed. I headed up to take my shower, while he continued to work. Our bedroom was upstairs, so I headed up there and just flung the master bedroom door open as I headed to the private bathroom. I turned on the water, then got undressed while I waited for it to warm up. Still in my bra and thong, I made sure it was hot, and he was right, it was. Given that, I undressed and stepped in. I proceeded to wash my hair as usual, but as I was soaping, I kept thinking about the plumber and my mind kept drifting to what he would be like out of his uniform. I’m not a “cheating housewife”, but everyone has fantasies, am I right? Anyway, lathering up my body, my mind went in all directions and before I knew it, I was thinking about him walking in on me while I showered. I was rubbing my pussy lips. I decided I should stop in case he actually walked in. So I switched to my usual shaving routine. Starting on my legs, I worked my way up on each one from ankle to upper thigh, then did a quick feel of my pussy lips to see if they needed a shave. My husband loves a shaved pussy so I keep it that way. Less cleanup after sex that way, too. Back to the task at hand, it needed a slight shave, so I ran my razor over it, got it smooth, and rubbed my fingers all around to make sure it was good. That felt way too good! I figured I wasn’t in there that long, so I had time to get myself off, that would keep me from daydreaming about the plumber after I got out. So, I rubbed across my clit and inserted a couple fingers to part my lips and enjoy the heat and moistness. As I fingered myself, I was rubbing circles on my clit until I heard a noise. Raising my head, I saw the plumber standing at the door to my bathroom. I immediately stopped my masturbation and daydreaming, covered some parts and said, “What do you need?” He said he was close to done, but had to turn off his work-around to test it and make sure it was good. I asked if I could rinse off before he did that, and he said yes and stepped away. I was flustered, but managed to do a quick rinse and get quickly towel dry. As I leave my bathroom to grab my robe, I turn the corner into my bedroom and rea

Marlene Starts a Blowjob School - Single Women Seek Instruction In Fellatio Arts. (group sex) By TheDoctah. (abridged) - Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. We finished the wine bottle, well what else were we going to do with it? My wife’s straight-laced friends were getting giggly. The four of us had been having a good time. “SPIN THE BOTTLE!” they shouted at once, before dissolving into giggles. “You want to play spin the bottle,” I asked. "How’s that going to work? I notice that there are three women and one guy at this party, and the guy is married to one of the women. Or have you all gone gay all of a sudden?” Marlene, my wife, spoke up. “No, honey, we have not gone gay. And I don’t want you having sex with these disreputable sluts, I mean, my best friends. But it’s true, you’re the only boy at the party.” I looked at her two friends. Loraine was tall, a dishwater blond with a slim body, and Roxy. Roxy was a short, buxom Italian cutie who could not help flirting, no matter what. “OK,” I said, “What’s the idea then?” “Seven minutes of heaven,” Roxy interjected, and everybody took a sip and laughed. “With me,” I wanted to make sure I was understanding this. "Well duh,” Marlene said. “We already told you we’re not going gay. And you’re the only male person here.” I gave her a sharp look. “And you’re okay with this,” I asked her. "Sure,” she said. “It’s just a game. And I am pretty sure you’ll have a good time.” Understatement of the year. All three women were grinning at me. I asked, “How does this work?” Roxy said; “whoever it points to, they go into the closet for seven minutes and do anything they want. Then they come out and somebody spins the bottle again.“ Marlene: "And since there’s one of you, just us girls will spin it, and see who goes in the closet with you. Marlene & I have been married a long time, and I trust that Marlene, same as me, has not been with anybody else for years. Loraine and Roxy were two of my wife’s best friends. But I had never even flirted with either of them. The ladies were seated on the floor.  Marlene held the bottle dramatically out in the middle of their circle, looked at both her friends, and gave it a fast spin. It stopped, pointing at Roxy. She’s not the shy type but you could see her take a big swallow. "Well, Roxy.” my wife said. “You get seven minutes of heaven with Jacob.” “Yeah,” Roxy said, “You’re sure this is okay?” “Absolutely,” Marlene said. “But look, how about a rule? No fucking in there, okay?” “Okay.” “Okay.” Loraine and Roxy said. “Unless it’s me,” Marlene quipped, and they all giggled. Roxy said, “Okay, here goes.” Now in the hall closet, my ears were ringing, my hands were shaking, my dick was hard. And with Roxy. Are you kidding me? I said, “What are we supposed to –” but Roxy grabbed my head and pulled my face to hers in the dark and opened her mouth and attacked my mouth with her tongue. “Here. let me help you;” she reached behind herself to unsnap her bra and voila, those beautiful breasts fell into my eager hands. She was stroking my cock through my jeans. I could have shot a load right then. I pushed my fingers between her legs and she spread them to let me stroke her over the thin fabric of her pants. Her fingers outlined my penis as they slipped up and down its length, and then we heard a voice call, “That’s six minutes!” Roxy giggled and broke our kiss, reached behind herself and put everything back. I stepped back, hoping my erection would subside before the door opened. “Okay, time!” I turned the knob and pushed the closet door open. Loraine and Marlene were sitting on the floor looking at us. I could see Marlene trying not to look at my face too closely, she was dying of curiosity but covering it well. “You ready for the next spin,” Marlene asked me. I felt she was taunting me. My cock at least was not trying to bust my zipper any more. "Sure,” I said. “I win every round.” “Yeah, you do,” the ladies agreed. Another sip of wine, more laughter, and Marle

The Ball Drops For Sindy - She makes room for him over the holidays. (erotic Coupling) By Baztrachian.  (edited) Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. In her freshman year at Northwestern Sindy had started working at a local coffee shop where she met Ryan. Ryan was five years older than Sindy, on the verge of graduating and merely looking at him made Sindy’s pulse race faster. Ryan for his part was initially unaware of Sindy’s interest in him. But over the course of the year he’d come to the coffee shop to study and he gradually started to notice the cute girl with the blonde hair always staring at him. He found himself appreciating the graceful curve of her modest breasts and her almost ever-present smile. It was a few days before the end of September when Ryan asked Sindy if she’d like to go out for a date sometime. Naturally she said yes. Sindy’s parents were not wealthy but they were well off and when Sindy went to college they made sure she had her own apartment. It was just a one bedroom affair with another room that was her kitchen, dining room, and living room all in one. Where Ryan shared his cramped dormer with two other young men that meant that his dates with Sindy frequently took place at her apartment. Despite the circumstance their relationship was rather chaste. Sindy was always careful to make sure that things never got out of hand and that often left Ryan feeling frustrated. Still, he loved the girl and felt she was worth waiting for. But at the same time he longed to feel her bare skin against his own. Sindy of course had similar feelings for Ryan but she was constrained by her conservative spiritual upbringing and her parent’s expectation that she wait until marriage before getting physical with a young man. Fate stepped in and late in the week before Christmas break one of Ryan’s roommates had left an electric hot plate unattended in close proximity to their pathetic little Christmas tree. Fortunately the ensuing fire took place during the day when almost all of the dorm residents were off at class. The remaining few who were in the dorm at the time safely made it out when the fire alarms went off. Unfortunately the dorm was an old wooden structure and by the time the fire department arrived the building was a total loss. The fire department had no pretensions about saving the building and instead focused their efforts on preventing damage to other nearby dorms. That afternoon Ryan got word that he was now out of a home and that what few clothes he owned had been consumed in the conflagration. The only spare clothes he still had were in his gym locker and these were suddenly much more important than they had been the day before. Ryan texted Sindy and let her know about the fire. It turned out that Sindy had heard about the fire and she was of course pleased that Ryan was safe. But he had nowhere to live for the moment. The two of them agreed to meet for coffee to discuss the matter. With the Christmas break only a day away Sindy asked Ryan if he could handle sleeping on her futon couch while she was away at home. The futon couch was one of those that went from being a couch into being a bed in moments. Naturally Ryan agreed to her terms that he keep his distance while living with Sindy and with only the things in his backpack he went home with Sindy. That evening the two young people went out to gather a few sundries for Ryan to replace the things he lost. Sindy found it to be an intimate experience to shop for toiletries for her boyfriend and she also found herself desiring a more domestic lifestyle. Fantasies of marriage danced around her mind on the walk back to her apartment and she allowed herself a satisfied smile as she realized that it was now ‘their’ apartment. The two of them stayed up later than usual due to the circumstance. They shared a late take out dinner and then got the couch set up as a bed for Ryan. Sindy excused herself to get ready for bed and Ryan listened as she did her evening

Guide For Deflowering a Man - Former fundamentalist begins her ministry to virgin men. (first time) By April601. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. In my early 20’s I dated a guy named Terry. He was a nice enough guy, very respectful and polite. He was my age and not the typical bad guy type that for some reason I seemed to attract or was it I was attracted to? I began dating him and soon realized he was on the more serious side. Honestly, I didn’t expect that he could hold my attention for more than a couple of dates. After somewhat of a wild start to my sexual journey I reached a point of self-respect and I had established a few ground rules for myself that I tried to follow. The first rule being that I tried not having sex on the first date! Well, I tried anyway; bless my heart. If I managed to get by that crucial rule, I had made up a few more hypothetical rules.First dates were limited to heavy kissing only. Second dates limited to touching, exploring. I would allow my date to touch my breasts and I would go no further than rubbing his groin thru his pants. Third dates maybe a hand job. Fourth dates possibly a blowjob, and If we made it the fifth date there were no limits. I thought these were reasonable limits for semi-nice girls, which I considered myself as being. If you haven’t heard how I was still a naive, shelter, fundamentalist virgin when an older married man deflowered me, we’ll need to have that conversation; because it explains a lot of my personal journey and progression toward sexual awareness of myself. It also added to my empathy for others with retarded sexual awareness in adulthood. I remember telling several of my dates these rules but honestly, I don’t ever recall a time when I was able to really stick to them; except with Terry. My first date with Terry ended with us just kissing and making out in his car. It was all pretty tame and controlled overall. He was polite and seemed to respect the limits and restrictions I was trying to follow. Some guys are just terrified of sexual intimacy; and need encouragement and affirmation. Some guys are raised to think that all women view sex as dirty male desires, that women inwardly abhor, and only tolerate in marriage arrangements. After our second date we again began to make out in his car. As things started to heat up with Terry, I reached into his pants to do an assessment of his manhood. I liked what I felt as it appeared to be a good size and worthy of a third date. Never being the patient type, I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. Yes, I know; I broke my second date rule. As I began to play with my new toy, Terry stopped me and said he had something important to tell me. Really? I’m stroking your cock, and you want to stop and talk? This was a first for me. He sheepishly told me he was a virgin! What! Really! He now had my attention. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. I thought maybe he was playing games to entice me into having sex with him. He was a good-looking guy but a bit on the shy side, so maybe I could see it. I guess I must have overreacted as he immediately went limp. I apologized and that was pretty much the end of the date. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Is this good or bad? Should I go on a third date or run? The next day I called my friend Jenny. She always had answers. I told her everything and wanted her take on the situation. Not to be mean but we did have a good laugh over it. Jenny had never been with a virgin before either. We both pondered over it and the more we discussed it the more intrigued we both became. We jokingly came up with the term “Virgin Boy.”  But his sudden limpness was a result of my failure. He needed me to help him overcome his insecurity, and I’d just magnified it, instead. I owed him a do-over, if he’d even let me have another chance. Jenny pointed out that guys think about sex hundreds of times a day. So if I were his first, he would probably then think of me every day for the rest of his life. W

College Sexuality In the 1950s In 1954, an Ohio girl goes east and gets an education. By Erlikkhan. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Dear Mom and Dad,I was really excited to get your letter and hear the news from home. I’m sorry I have not been very good about staying in contact. School is keeping me so busy that I barely have time to write. There really isn’t much to tell that’s new. I still love all my classes and the professors are excellent. My roommate Martha has been so nice to me. She’s from New York and seems to know everyone. This past weekend she set me up on a date with a boy named Brian. His family has a lot of money but he wasn’t at all stuffy. I plan to see him again this weekend.I have a big assignment due so I better cut this short. Please give my love to everyone. I can’t wait for Christmas when I will be able to come home.Love - Nancy “Wasn’t that a sweet letter, Martin? It sounds like our daughter is adjusting to life at Vassar very nicely for a girl who grew up on a farm in the Midwest. And a date with a rich boy from New York! I just hope he’s a nice boy and isn’t trying to take advantage of her.” “Ethel, you worry too much,” Martin replied. “I’m sure Nancy can take care of herself. She’s a big girl.” At the very moment Martin and Ethel were having that conversation, Brian Castle was on top of their daughter pounding his cock straight down into her pussy. Nancy dug her fingernails into his back trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity. It was hopeless. Her pussy exploded in a violent climax. Moments later, Brian pulled out, wrapped his hand around his dripping cock, and pumped spurt after spurt of hot cum all over their daughter’s tits and stomach.Two Months Earlier… Nancy Brown arrived at Vassar in September 1954. She was a pretty blond of average height with big blue eyes and a shapely figure. Her roommate Martha was a short dark-haired girl from New York City with a cute face and a bountiful chest. She seemed nice enough, but had a New York City edge and used more swear words than Nancy had ever heard from a girl. She talked about sex like it was a common everyday topic of conversation. Nancy wasn’t a total prude, or at least she didn’t think she was. She had kissed her share of boys and even let a few of them feel her breasts. It was clear Martha had done a lot more than that. Where Nancy came from, good girls didn’t let boys touch them ‘down there’ unless they were going steady. Nancy had always been curious about how it would feel to be touched 'down there’, and one night used her own fingers to find out. After that, she rubbed off almost every night and sometimes during the day. One time, she even used the handle of a hairbrush, curious to see how it might feel to have a penis inside her. Nancy wondered if Martha had ever gone all the way. The way she talked sure sounded like it. She found out during her second weekend at Vassar. Martha was late returning to the room and almost missed curfew. Nancy was shocked when she arrived in the nick of time with a boy. Boys weren’t allowed to visit girls in the dorm rooms, especially at night. Violation of that rule could get one suspended or even dismissed. Martha didn’t seem to care. “Hey roomie,” Martha said with a big grin on her face. “This is Roger. We snuck up the back way to avoid the old battleaxe. He has a flask of whisky. Do you want to party with us?” “Won’t we get in trouble?” Nancy asked nervously. “Surely Miss Grayson will report us.” “She’s clueless. My older sister used to have boys up to her room when she lived here and never got caught. Come on, let’s have a little fun.” Nancy didn’t want to seem like a prude and took the flask from Roger when he handed it to her. She had never tasted alcohol and choked when she took a swig. They laughed. Nancy’s head was spinning after two more swigs. She kept waiting for Roger to leave so she could go to bed. He didn’t. Finally, Martha stood and took Roger’s hand. “We’re going to bed now,” she

Sensational Massage A new masseuse releases tension in all the tight spaces. By Nyissa. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. She sat nervously in the waiting room of the new masseuse in town. Sarah had her own massage lady, but she had to unexpectedly cancel their standing weekly appointment. Normally Sarah would wait till the following week, but these last few days back at work had been increasingly stressful and her body ached with the tension. Sarah decided to give this new spa a desperate try, before her condition got any worse. She scrolled through her phone, sipping the peppermint tea he had provided while she waited. Not a peppermint tea person, but his sweet smile melted her resistance and she had taken the cup willingly. The foyer was simply decorated, a soft green on the walls with a bamboo water feature that gave the impression of a relaxing rainforest. Soft pan music drifted in from the private rooms behind the curtain. She didn’t notice him standing at the doorway watching her scroll. She stopped on a gif of a male driving his hard cock into the woman on the bed, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Sarah shifted in the seat and began biting her thumb, something she did when she became aroused. He prepared the room and returned to the foyer to collect his next client. As he opened the curtain he saw her scrolling through Twitter. She flipped past various sports posts and liked short story posts and amusing anecdotes. Her scrolling stopped on a sexually explicit gif and he smiled. He watched as she placed her thumb nail between her teeth and bit down. She watched the gif for longer than she intended to, feeling her body respond. She was about to scroll on when she felt a presence in the room. She looked up to see the masseuse peering over her shoulder. She blushed and quickly closed the app. He smiled at her and led her through the curtain to a room at the end of the hallway. Stepping inside she instantly felt the cool air-conditioner. Her nipples responded immediately. She folded her arms across her chest, hoping he did not notice; secretly hoping he did. “Hi, I’m Nigel. What areas of concern do you have?” he asked as he gestured for her to sit on the bed. She breathed deep, composing herself, “My neck and shoulders mostly. They are so tight.” She pushed her chest out, forgetting the excitement her nipples showed, and stretched her neck to demonstrate her tightness. He smiled, “I find that tension can be released from all parts of the body so a full body massage would be best.” Sarah nodded. Nigel began to leave the room for Sarah to get ready. As he walked through the door he turned, “Fully naked please, I just find that is easier and less messy on your clothes.” Before she could respond he was gone. Sarah looked around the room and nervously began to undress. The décor was similar to the foyer, calming green and bamboo ornaments. The massage bed was bigger and wider than she was used to, but she found it quite comfortable once laying down. She draped the large bath sheet over her back and waited for Nigel to return. She closed her eyes and relaxed as he entered the room. The lights dimmed and the music began, a soft Gregorian chant emanating from a speaker in the corner. She breathed deeply as she felt his hands on her feet. He flipped the towel back, uncovering one leg, then applied soft gentle pressure and caresses followed by his fingers expertly pressing into pressure points. She felt her whole body relax, the tension beginning to leave her aching muscles. He moved up one leg, kneading the tight muscles of her calves. She caught her breath as he found each knot, concentrating his knuckles in a circular motion till each released. He followed this up with a gentle caress of the area. His fingers moved to her thighs, pressing into the stiff muscles. “You are very tight in your lower body.” “Yes,” was all she could manage as she breathed through the pain. He worked his way along her right leg, releasing e

Annie Rejects Her Shame; Annie finally rejects her abstinent life and finds how much joy a cock can bring her. By spr1987 for Literotica. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. “Oh my God… it feels so hot in my hand… and how can it be this hard and this soft feeling at the same time?”  These are the thoughts racing through my mind, as I feel a real live cock in my hands for the first time. I know what you are thinking, “You are 19 years old Annie, and you are pretty hot looking… so how can this be the first time you have had a cock in your hands?” First, thank you for saying I’m hot. As a petite red head with a larger than normal pair of tits, I think I’m pretty hot also, but it is always nice to hear it. Second, I was raised in a very religious home, and sex was absolutely forbidden. In fact, my mother even made a habit of checking my panties and bedsheets to make sure that I wasn’t masturbating. Yes, I realize now how twisted that sounds. But it was how I was raised, to think that self-pleasure and sex were mortal sins. Hell, even now I feel guilty every time I touch myself. Not to mention that right now, I am feeling pretty wrong emotionally, about this cock in my hands. Although I am feeling the guilt from years of conditioning, I can’t help feeling a rush of excitement all through my body, as I squeeze and rub this thick cock. I am assuming it is thick. I have no basis for this judgement because, as I said several times already, this is my first cock. All I know is that I can’t get my small hand around it and when I stack both of my hands, there is still all of the big swollen head left sticking out. My God that head looks big. I catch myself thinking that it looks like the helmet of one of those stormtrooper guys from Star Wars. I have to swallow the laugh that is threatening to burst out of me. I trace my fingers around that big helmet, and I am surprised at how smooth the skin is. I trace my finger along the groove in the front and the whole cock Jumps in my hands. I look up at the guy’s face, wondering if I did something wrong or hurt him or something. I see that he has his eyes squeezed shut tightly and his mouth is open in an audible moan. I make a mental note that this is a good thing. At this same time, I feel and see liquid leak out of the cock’s slit. I touch it and I like how slick it feels on my fingers. I rub it between my thumb and finger and relish the slick feeling. Then I run my slick fingers around the smooth cock head. I love how slippery it feels on the smooth skin of the head. I trace my slick fingers all around the edges of the cock’s helmet.  “It is like I am trying to memorize every detail of my fascinating new plaything.” I run my other hand down to the bottom of his shaft and discover his balls. I cup them and feel them move around in their soft wrinkled sack. I roll them around in my fingers, enjoying how they move so fluidly. I sort of ring my fingers around behind them and pull them down, enjoying how the sack stretches tight and I can feel the balls hard in my hand. I squeeze, just to see what this will feel like. The guy almost screams out, “Oh my God, Yes,” when I do that. I make another mental note, that this is a good thing. Then I wonder, what will happen if I squeeze his balls at the same time as I rub my finger along his tender groove? “Fuck yes.” he screams out, as I try this experiment. Well, that confirms my thesis, I smile to myself and continue to gently pulse his big full balls in one hand, while teasing his sensitive head with my other. I think to myself, I am so glad that he likes this because I really love how this feels for me when I am doing it. I start to wonder,  "How the Hell, have I never heard about how amazing cocks and balls feel?“  I have talked with quite a few other girls about their sexual experiences, and I can’t remember a single one telling me how amazing cocks felt in their hands. "I fucking Love this,”  I think to myself as I really concentrate on the feel

Shaping Michelle; Opening up to, and opened by, her tutor. By IAmJohnGalt1. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Life’s twists and turns are never what one expects. When I decided to tutor young students in history, I thought I was just doing something good – for the youth, and for myself. After several years of working at a Big Law firm, I decided I needed to do something that didn’t involve poring over legal documents and old case law. I’d always loved and thrived in history, which was my major in undergrad, and I’d always pestered my professors with questions about legal history during my years at Harvard Law. Teaching wouldn’t pay the bills, hence my pivot towards courtrooms and boardrooms, but it was something I thought would be a nice post-retirement gig. Many of my teachers in high school were former attorneys, which was quite common at Michelle’s upscale preparatory school in Manhattan. Michelle. One of those timeless, elegant names. The Beatles even used it for a song, though I don’t think Lennon had a young, Asian girl in mind when he wrote it. Her family had been referred to me by a colleague, and over the course of her senior year I’d taken her from a struggling student to a pretty good scholar of history. She was no Ron Chernow, but she could at least articulate a good analysis of social movements in Victorian England. When Michelle and I first met, I was struck by her beauty, but I wasn’t necessarily attracted to her.  She was tall and thin, but with a shapely form. Think of a swimsuit model. I think it was the fact that her mother was white while her father was Chinese-American. Michelle was a social butterfly, most definitely one of the “it” girls at her school. She seemed to have it all, or at least all that high schoolers cared about: good looks, pretty good grades, money, nice clothes. Lots of nice clothes. Michelle was something of an influencer; she wasn’t going to be on The Today Show any time soon, but she had a healthy following of fellow preppy cool NYC kids. Vacations in the Hamptons, dining out with friends at the trendiest restaurants. If you grew up in the area, you knew the type. Although she would have been content to live that life forever, and her parents’ money could certainly ensure that, her parents’ values wouldn’t entertain it. When the son of Chinese immigrants and a woman who went from her dad’s small-town Ohio hardware store to a director’s corner office at a major investment bank raise a kid, you better believe they’ll expect that kid to at least get a degree. Despite her seeming disinterest in academics, she was actually pretty smart; “just needs to apply herself more” was a common critique in her report cards. I guess I felt like somewhat of a kindred spirit in that regard; I’d only shaped myself up in college. Over the course of the school year, we’d developed a friendly rapport. Our tutoring sessions were pretty open-ended, and towards the end we’d end up talking a lot about life, her plans for the future, etc. I always saw myself as a mentor to Michelle. Which is why what happened one summer day was… unexpected. I was spacing out in my office after a particularly contentious meeting with a corporate client when my phone buzzed. “hey Milo, I hope this isn’t weird but I wanted to know if you were available this weekend” read the grey chat bubble. I wasn’t sure why she was asking me about availability – she’d graduated high school a month before, and was enjoying her last summer before starting at Bowdoin. “hey Michelle, what’s up?” I replied. Over the course of a few texts, she explained that she missed our conversations and she wanted to catch up and maybe talk about college and whatnot. It seemed a bit strange to me because we weren’t necessarily on texting terms. We’d exchange messages just to set up tutoring sessions, but we weren’t chewing the fat over text outside of that. But hey, who understands teenagers? I didn’t have any plans that Saturday and figured it’d be nice t

Opportunity Knocks Taking care of business afterhours. By WordWright. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I was the new hire, the new Chief Information Officer for the firm. The position was new, but the owner had Big Plans for expansion. I was brought on to implement his vision by improving the hardware and software on which the company operated. As with all things business, you have to spend money to make money. The question was for how much money would I ask and then how much could I get and then how would they let me spend it. That was why I was working on a weekend. I had done my initial survey of the facility, the existing hardware and infrastructure, as well as the current software. I had written up a spread-sheet with projections and now the Chief Financial Officer was going over the numbers with me. Things were not going smoothly. There were a couple reasons for this. One was just the natural tension between the person who controls the money and the person who wants to spend it. The other was that she was knock dead gorgeous and my decision to take the job was instantly made as soon as I had been introduced to her. On that day she wore a flattering business suit, all in blue, including her hose. Her heart shaped face was framed perfectly by her black hair worn down. Her fingers were slender in my grip when we shook hands and I had to make an effort to not stare at her bee-stung lips when she smiled politely at me. I was no kid, I had traveled. I had met Asian women before and had admired their doll-like beauty, their grace, the fashion sense which set them apart, but none had taken my breath away as did she. Yes, I interviewed for the job because I knew I could do it, but I took it because it gave me an opportunity to work with her. I knew jobs would come and go, but she was the unexpected polished gem in a stony life. We had interactions while I went about the initial stages of the task. I learned she was single but lived with her boyfriend, ten years my junior, her “people” were Korean and were still across the ocean, and incredibly intelligent. Each day was an exercise of frustration as I enforced self-discipline, tearing myself away from her presence to prevent her from seeing me as the creepy older guy as well as preventing the work-place gossip mill from grinding out new rumors. We had agreed to meet at the office on this Saturday to avoid distractions and the interference that comes with other people demanding attention with smaller problems during the normal work day. This was the first time I would see her in casual clothes and was eager to see the direction of her transformation. Would her skirt go from conservative business knee length to high above the knee? Maybe a sundress! Shorts and t-shirt? I was dressed comfortably in Levi 501 button front jeans and a simple nonsense logo t-shirt, just as comfortable as I could make it. I had my fingers crossed that she wouldn’t keep to a casual Friday type outfit. That would probably make me cry. She was standing at the door, keys in hand, when I pulled into the parking lot five minutes early. She smiled and waved as I slid into a parking slot next to her sensible, non-flashy car. She had opted for jeans and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled part-way up. I waved back, grabbed a few notes I had made the night before, and left my truck behind, going to meet her. That smile brightened as the distance lessened. “Hey, Jason,” she said over her shoulder, sliding the key into the slot, “ready to go to work?” “You have no idea,” I replied as I took the opportunity to check the fit of the jeans over her bottom while she was pushing the door open. “I’m raring to get started.” She laughed, motioning me inside. Her fingers danced over the security key-pad, preventing our boss from getting a call from the local police about a break-in. “I got that sense about you,” she said as the beeps gave us the all-clear. “What’s that?” She turned to face me, nailing me with the way