Erotic Short Stories by JuicyPeach Erotica

The memory of us together last week hits me again, right in the middle of a quarterly report I should be finishing. The way your cock felt sliding into me — thick, demanding, hitting that spot that made my vision blur. I squeeze my thighs together under my desk. My panties are already damp. This is the fourth day in a row I've left work early for this very reason, and my manager is starting to notice. But the truth is, I don't care.

By the time I get home, I've already unbuttoned my blouse. The door of my flat clicks shut behind me and I'm urgently stripping everything off, leaving a trail of work clothes across the living room floor — blazer over the couch arm, skirt puddled on the rug, bra hanging off a dining chair. I fall onto my bed with my legs spread and my fingers already circling my clit. My pussy is soaked. It's been soaked since that morning I woke up alone in your bed, the sheets still carrying the scent of us and the primal events that happened throughout that night.

I rub myself in slow circles, eyes closed, trying to recreate the feeling of you inside me. Two fingers slip in easily. I'm wet enough that the sound fills the room — that slick, obscene squelch. I fuck myself harder, curling my fingers toward my belly button, searching for the angle you found so effortlessly. My hips buck off the mattress. My large breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples hard against the cool air. I come but it doesn’t relieve anything. It’s quick and unsatisfying, like scratching an itch that only moves deeper.

I try again. And again. By the third orgasm, I'm lying in a mess of tangled sheets, thighs trembling, pussy still aching. My fingers tired. The release is there but, it fades in seconds, leaving behind something hungrier. Needier. Primal. I stare at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, and I know what I need. Not my fingers. Not my vibrator. I need YOU. You. Specifically, your cock — the weight of it on my tongue, the ridge of the head catching on my lips, the way it twitches when I take you deep in my throat.

I check my phone. 6:47 PM. You close the shop at eight.

I shower. I shave well… everything. I stand in front of my closet, naked and bare, water still beading on my skin, and pull out a light spring coat — the same blue as my eyes. It hits mid-thigh so I don’t bother wearing anything underneath. I button it to the collar, check myself in the mirror. From the outside, I look professional. Composed. The kind of woman who has her life together. My dark hair falls past my shoulders almost to my waist, still damp at the ends. My lips are bare — I want to taste you without interference.

The drive to your shop seems like it takes forever. Through it I am hyperaware of the leather seat against my bare ass, the seatbelt cutting between my breasts, the cool air from the vents drifting up under my coat. My nipples are so hard they ache. Between my legs, I can feel myself getting wet again — something I can't control when I think about you. I press my thighs together and the pressure sends a strong pulse through my clit that makes me inhale sharply through my teeth.

I pull in across the street two minutes before closing. Through the shop's front window, I watch you flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. You're going through your end of the day habits, moving with that unhurried efficiency I remember from that night — the way you took off my clothes like you had all the time in the world, like you were unwrapping something you intended to savor. My hand drifts to my thigh, fingers pressing into the bare skin just above my knee. I stop. I force myself to wait. To watch you lock the register, straighten the chairs, pull down the security gate halfway.

I cross the street. My heels clicking on the pavement. The night air slides up under my coat and licks at my bare pussy, and I shiver — not from cold. From the anticipation. From the deliciously filthy thrill of what I'm about to do.

I push through the door before you can fully latch it. You turn, startled, and I see the recognition land — your eyes widen, then narrow, then drop to the gap in my coat where it's fallen open just enough to show the inner curve of my breast.

"Peach." My name in your mouth sounds like a warning.

I don't answer. I let the coat drop. It pools around my ankles in a soft heap of blue, and I stand there in nothing but heels and a smile. The streetlight filters in through the window. My nipples are tight and erect, my breasts full, rising with each breath. I watch your gaze move down my body — over the flat plane of my stomach, the gentle swell of my hips, the slick shine forming between my thighs.

"You've been avoiding me," I say as I step closer. The click of my heels on the tiled floor echo in the small office. "I called. You didn't answer."

"I was working." Your voice is rougher than I remember. Your hands hang at your sides, fingers curling and uncurling.

"So was I." I close the distance between us. My fingers find your belt buckle — the metal is cold against my knuckles. I look up at you. My full wet lips parting. Without another word, I drop to my knees, unbuckling your belt with shaking fingers. Your zipper comes down with a metallic hiss. I pull you free — loving that are half-hard already as I begin to gently stroke you as I look up at your face. The weight of you fills my palm. I wrap my fingers around the growing base and stroking upward, slowly, reveling in the feeling of you beginning to throb under my touch. The head darkens, flushes. A bead of precum forms at the tip, and I eagerly lean forward to lick it off. The luscious taste —pure salt and skin — floods my wanting mouth.

Slowly I begin to pull you in. My lips stretching around the head, my wet tongue swirling, softly tracing the ridge. You're too thick to take all at once, so I work my way down inch by gorgeous inch, jaw aching, wetness pooling at the corners of my mouth. My hands grip your thighs for balance, nails digging into the denim and I begin to feel the sting of tears from your girth. I don’t care. All I want is you deep in my mouth, in my throat. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Above me, I hear your breath catch — a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. I pull back, gasping, a string of spit connecting my lower lip to your cock. Still looking up at you as your hand comes down to my jaw, thumb tracing my swelling lower lip.

"You missed me," you say.

I answer by taking you back into my mouth, deeper this time, until I feel you hit the back of my throat. My eyes begin water more, but I don't stop. I bob my head, setting a rhythm — slow pull back, tongue flat against the underside, then sink forward until my nose presses into you. My breasts jiggle with each movement, nipples brushing against the rough fabric of your jeans. I can feel my pussy now dripping onto the floor, the heat of it glazing my inner thighs.

Your hands tangle in my hair. Not pushing — just guiding and holding. Your hips start to move, shallow thrusts that match my rhythm. I moan around you, and the vibration makes you groan, low and deep. My eyes roll back as I reach down between my own legs, fingers fervently finding my clit. I'm going to come just from this — from the taste of you, the feel of you in my deep in my throat, the delectable sound of my own sucking and slurping to the background of your ragged breathing.

But that's not what I came here for.

I take you as deep as I can and hold it briefly before pulling off,  gasping before I move to stand on unsteady legs. I turn around to face the street window, placing my hands on the glass as I bend over, looking back at you over my shoulder. "Fuck me," I say. "Please."

You immediately step forward. (I love that I didn’t have to ask twice.) The thick head of your cock nudges my drenched entrance, and I push back hungrily, needing you inside me in a way I’ve never felt before. You slide in — one long, slow stroke that fills me completely and stretches me to the hilt. I cry out with a loud moan, as you grip my hips pulling me against you. 

Neither of us cares who can see. This is all that exists for now. That moment when logic and desire can’t connect, in the most euphoric way. Your thighs slap against my ass with each thrust. My moans and whimpers are loud — I can't help it. My breasts bounce with every thrust, nipples dragging against the cold glass. You reach around and cup each one, thumbs rolling my nipples as you continue to pound me, unrelenting. My pussy clenches around you so hard you hiss.

"Harder," I beg. "Please — harder —"

You oblige me. The pace turns feral, as do my screams. I feel you bottom out with each thrust, that deep ache that borders on pain but quickly dissolves into pure pleasure. My orgasm quickly starts to build — I can feel it coiling and tightening, taking me to the brink.

"I'm close," I gasp. "Don't stop — don't —"

My pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, and I scream out your name. You follow seconds later — I feel you throb inside me, then the hot rush of your cum filling me, spurt after spurt, until it spills out around your cock and down my trembling thighs.

We stay like that for a long moment. Your forehead rests between my shoulder blades. I can feel your ragged breath hot on my skin. Inside me, you soften slowly, and when you finally pull out, I feel your cum slide down my inner thighs — warm, thick.

I turn around to face you, my legs still shaking. I pull you in to kiss you — slow, deep, knowing you can taste yourself on my tongue. Your hands find my waist, steadying me.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I whisper against your lips.

You pull back. Your thumb traces my cheekbone. In the dim light of the closed shop, with my coat still pooled on the floor and your cum dripping down my legs, I realize I don't know what happens next. I don't know if this was the end or the beginning. All I know is that the ache is gone — replaced by something blissful, complex and absolutely gorgeous.

I pull you in for one more lingering kiss, tongues softly delving in a slow, languorous manner. When we finally break apart, breathless and smiling I see something in your eyes that wasn’t there before—a genuine look of…caring? Maybe more like a connection. I’m not really sure but I know I like it. 

You run your thumb along my jawline, your eyes searching mine. "So," you ask, your voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, "when can I take you on a proper date?" I can’t help but smile. I don't wonder what happens next. I know. I pick up my coat, buttoning it slowly, and walk out into the night air with your warmth still inside me, now knowing this is only the beginning.

*Help me find a name for this one? Leave your thoughts in the comments. And misbehave for me!

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