Short sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Charlotte and Anton

Anton was quiet at last; otherwise Charlotte would never have dared peep into his bedroom without knocking first. However, there was no polite reason for watching him sleep. In fact, reason didn't come into it at all, polite or not. Reason had deserted them days ago when his wife, Charlotte's big sister, fellated her secret lover at the wheel of his Aston Martin until they ploughed into oncoming traffic. Now anything could happen.

He still had a towel bunched on his midriff following a long, hot soak Charlotte had talked him into at dawn. Apart from this, her brother-in-law was naked, his massive frame barely contained by his bed; limbs dangling over the edges. Her stomach twisted. His wife was twice lost to him, yet Anton still left her side of the bed empty.

She should close the door and go. Leave him be. She had texted her husband, Jeff, so they could swap shifts. Anton could be left alone for a few minutes until relief arrived.

But Charlotte didn't move. Despite his lumpen masculinity, her brother-in-law looked like a sleeping child. After a night of bitten, wrenched sobbing, his peace was mesmerising. It enveloped her along with the fragrance of bath salts still warming off his skin. Her own pain seemed muffled while she stood here, watching his chest rise and fall in filtered stripes of morning light, listening to the rolling waves of his breath.

Charlotte hoped her husband had slept, too. God knows he needed to. Jeff did not seem to understand that Anton was the only person who could properly share her loss. Instead, he stewed with anguish over his wife and his best friend, bubbling up with bitter accusations: "I guessed you'd want the night shift... I've seen how you are together... You can't keep your eyes off each other, let alone your hands... There's nothing to keep you apart now." All nonsense. Charlotte had always been utterly loyal to her husband. She was a Leo for goodness sake. Anton too.

Yet here she was, a step closer to her brother-in-law's bed, closing the door behind her.

As she'd prepared for her visit the evening before, Jeff had spat, "Don't forget your condoms." So she had left quickly, in a swallowed temper, and had only brought her toothbrush with her. Not even a change of underwear. Then this morning, after her shower, she'd decided she'd rather go commando than wear the same pair two days running. So it was really Jeff's own fault that Charlotte was naked beneath her summer dress, now, and that same air that slid over Anton's powerful arms and thick fingers also ran, unobstructed, over her secret skin.

Shut into the room, closer to the bed, the hypnotic calm of him doubled. His presence tugged at her middle, urging her closer still. After 48 hours without sleep, and the sleeping pill she had given him, Anton would be oblivious to her. And just as well, because her body had carried Charlotte right to the side of his bed.

Her cheeks prickled and she tapped a bare foot. She should not be here, what did she think she was doing, gawping at her sister's husband, like this? Then a dark and shameful thought occurred. Was he still technically her brother-in-law? She shook the hideous question from her head. Lack of sleep had weakened her resolve. Enough.

Anton's body was captivating, though. Not small and lean like her husband's, but broad and strong and generously proportioned. A body that once moved house for them, single handed, when Jeff had pulled a muscle in the gym. A body that was always ready with a hug, or to toss her into the air.

And he was larger than life all over, according to Charlotte's sister.

An illicit flood of warmth beneath her skirt had her pressing her palms to her legs. She had forgotten what her arousal felt like, how it had the power to drown out everything else. Even the gut-wrenching flashback of her sister's wicked smile – describing her husband with a rigid forearm – seemed dampened by the flush of imagining what lay hidden under that towel. Charlotte bit her lip and crossed her arms over her heart as it thumped at her rib-cage, as if to say, "Go on then!"

Before she knew better, she had slipped the towel off him.

Charlotte swallowed, hand to her mouth to stifle a leaked gasp. Her sister was right, even recumbent, Anton was huge; a little longer than Jeff but much, much thicker. Her hands trembled, a liquid sensation made her squirm and cross her feet.

Then Anton, who had been facing away, groaned and twisted his head on the pillow toward her. Charlotte flinched, ready to spring to the door, but his eyes were still shut fast. He snored softly. She melted, her gaze dancing over his olive skin between the sweet peace of his face and the compelling meat lolled across his hips.

In this position the sun threw her shadow over him, her legs cast across the bed and hips at his head. She fancied her blue ghost projected darkly into his dreams. What would she do in there? In Anton's' fantasy? His manhood shifted in its own slumber, unfurling a little and she wanted to giggle.

Her sister generally complained about Anton and his artisanal poverty, but loved how much her husband adored her, especially the neat folds of her sex. When she modelled nude for him, it drove him wild. Drove them both wild; she relished being so desired that he couldn't even work, that he had to stop and ravish her.

Secretly, the thought of this had kept Charlotte awake quite a few times. The elegant rudeness of it. But then, her sister was supermodel-long and languid, compared to Charlotte's bouncy sex-kitten curves. Maybe that was why, when she tried posing for Jeff – who wasn't even an artist, anyway, he was an estate agent – there was something tawdry about the act. Seedy even, no matter how much effort she made on neat waxing and expensive underwear. Jeff would leer sweatily, and bark instructions: "Squat... Open your pussy... Bend over... Put two fingers in." Then he would insist on posing, too, and then climax well before she did.

On the other side of Anton's bed, opposite her, mirrored wardrobes reflected Charlotte, clothed, standing over Anton's nudity. From that angle it looked like he was modelling for her, or even better, watching her. Drunk on the cocktail of her quickened pulse and sleeplessness, the only place she really wanted to be right now was in his eyes. All of her.

Charlotte pulled up the hem of her skirt, holding it over her chest to display her clipped bush and the hint of rude lips. The pose required little commitment to being naughty, and could be undone in a blink, but looked deliciously dirty. She bit her lip, turned her hips this way and that. The creature between Anton's legs stirred again, weakly lifting its head before flopping back, exhausted. Anton might be comatose, but his gorgeous manhood seemed keen. She pulled her dress off over her head.

Her complete exposure, within arm's reach of the slumbering giant, made her tremble as she ran her fingertips over the undersides of her breasts and teased her nipples, stiffening them. She swung her hips. A snake charmer, charmed by the snake, mesmerised by it.

Gripping her bottom, she pushed her hips toward Anton, shocked at how – in the reflection – the lips of her sex seemed puffier than they'd ever been. Florid even. For so long she had felt withered down there, and dry. She reached down and opened herself up, blossoming for him.

For him.

The admission opened a flood gate inside her. Charlotte spread her sex for Anton. She dripped for Anton. There was no polite excuse for this now. She was lost in her horn, and she loved it.

She turned and presented her bottom, wriggled it, made it wobble and dance. She had a fine bum, round, pert and firm, much sexier than her sister's. And Jeff was right; Anton could never keep his eyes – and sometimes his hands – off it. He even bit her rear once in a silly game in the park, pulling up her skirt and sinking his teeth in. His overexcitement had put him in his wife's doghouse for quite some time, while Charlotte, eyes closed, would loop the moment on those difficult nights when she needed to cum for her husband. She wanted that playful bite again, now. And more. His mouth, pressed to her sensitive cheeks, kissing, dipping underneath.

Charlotte opened her legs and bent over. The explicit view over her shoulder made her clitoris throb, while her pink slot drooled obscenely. The wide gap between her thigh tops shone indecently on Anton's lips, and again, as if in reaction, his member lifted its sleepy head toward her, so alive she covered herself with her hands as if it might squirrel up into her. Then the thought of that, the fat filling of her empty hole, blended with the pressure of her fingers on her bits. She squeezed her mound and relished the exquisite pulse of anticipation it sent through her. She slid a finger along her slick groove and slipped it around her bud. Her legs trembled.

She licked the saltiness from her fingertip. There was really only one way to go, now.

As slowly and gently as she could, Charlotte turned and knelt on the mattress beside Anton's head. She opened her knees toward him, forming a sacred space of her inner thighs and his strong, calm features. His presence radiated over her nakedness, warm as the breath that gently caressed her skin.

Jeff believed that little sisters always craved what their big sisters had. That this was a hardwired, animal trait. Charlotte doubted this was true, but taking her sister's position, now, on this side of the bed, made her feel closer and there was much comfort in that. In fact, beyond sharing her sister's space, now it seemed Charlotte shared her debauchery, too. She rubbed her swollen folds in a small circle, barely inches from Anton's eyes, from his mouth.

"So wrong," her sense muttered, dressed up in Jeff's told-you-so wiry little body. But now Anton was radiating hot as the sun and she was half liquid, her fingers slithering beneath her outer lips on slippery arousal, dipping inside for more.

Charlotte's plan was to release quickly, then dress and go. No-one would ever know. The event would be recorded in Anton's dim dream, only. Maybe it would linger when he woke up, maybe he would wake up ragingly erect and inexplicably picturing her naked and wet... Charlotte sighed. What a thought, her most intimate secret lodged in Anton's subconscious.

But her climax was stubborn, even though her fingers worked quick and hard, with rude, slurping noises, curling a finger inside and rubbing and patting her clitoris. Even when her wetness chilled under his sudden long sigh, she gasped and shivered but still could not cum.

However, being so het-up emboldened her, so when his cock stirred again, and lifted its head higher toward her, she could not resist. She curled over his hips and pushed her lips to the sensitive underside of his tip. Jeff liked to be kissed there – not that she cared to do that anymore – so maybe it would work for Anton, too. It didn't matter anyway, because today was for her. She had no choice; the kiss ached to be born there. The press of his manhood on her lips felt both familiar and alien, being the size of Jeff's, but still soft. Her fingers quickened between her thighs. Dear God, what would this thing be like, hard?

She had to know. She plucked another kiss to it, lingering and firm, and this time was rewarded by a clenching pulse against her lips that made her groan far too loudly. But she was on a mission, and confident that Anton's chemical spell could not be broken easily. This was between Charlotte and It. The Beast. The wakeful part of him would succumb to her will.

She lay out on her side, pressed feet and butterflied knees still holding her gorily open to Anton's face – and the sexy stroke of his breath – but positioning her head closer to his delightful cock. Now she could indulge herself properly, brushing her cheek along his warm, blunt brute. She held softly parted lips to it in drawn out kisses, letting her breath roll over his silky skin.

A judder ran through her body, and she groaned again at a familiar warm tingle balling between her thighs. No! Too soon! She hadn't even got him hard yet.

Having Anton between her legs was too exciting, even asleep. She rolled onto her front, and trapped her hands beneath her pulsing sex. Long, quiet puffs restrained the inner writhing of her orgasm, while she dipped a soft, wet tongue to his member.

She licked him again, checked his face for signs of waking, and then ran her tongue up and down him. Her reflection, as she repeatedly lapped from his plump balls all the way up, looked curiously like a cat washing a kitten. But then again, deliciously, obscenely, not.

Her hungry hips rocked at the fingers wedged beneath her and another warning tremor made her curse her hopeless attempts at stiffening him. She might never get another chance to see him hard. In desperation, she took him into her mouth.

Charlotte's sister was fine featured, with petite, rosebud, lips and she used to complain about how uncomfortable it was sucking Anton. She avoided it as much as possible; a bitter fact that had Anton literally punching walls, now. At the time, Charlotte had joked that there were worse problems than dealing with a big cock, like not dealing with one, but they both knew how silly men became if they weren't seen to every now and then. Jeff certainly turned dark and nasty, and Anton was no exception, often refusing to lick Charlotte's sister if he didn't get what he needed, or worse, withholding his – otherwise wholly satisfying – erection from where she wanted it most. Unlike her sister, however, Charlotte's mouth and lips were so over-sized they called her 'Danger-pout' when they were kids. In fact, if Anton ever seemed short-tempered, her sister would roll her eyes and gasp, "I need your Danger-pout, Charlotte."

As a result, Charlotte had been made to consider this before, usually on her own in the shower, or when sucking off Jeff, but she was still unprepared for the reality of Anton's tautening bulb inside her. She hummed over it, enjoying the deep plugging sensation that made her hole clamour as he steadily pulsed hard in her mouth, forcing against her lips and tongue. Her legs involuntarily splayed and tipped, arching hips up at two plundering fingers, slavering so much at both ends that fingers and hole and cock and mouth blurred into one blissfully liquid, sucked plunge.

She gasped off to see the results of her handiwork. At last. He was enormous and rigid as a tree trunk, veined and bucking. There was no doubt what Anton's dream would be about now, and where it would end. For her at least. She sucked him back into her, swallowed him deep and let her fingers do their worst. Her eyelids drooped and waves of pleasure washed from Charlotte's mouth to her sex and back again, gathering and swelling.

The mirror reflected an explicit scene, indeed: Charlotte nodding her head greedily on Anton's shaft, and fingers slopping and digging at her sex. She had no idea if Anton would be dreaming of her or her sister or someone else and didn't much care, just that – the horror of their waking reality removed – she was desirable enough to stimulate him to such bursting hardness. Even with his eyes closed.

Or so she thought.

Before Charlotte gave herself over to her orgasm, she checked one last time that Anton was still out cold. And found dark eyes smouldering at their reflection. It was only then she noticed the glass of water and sleeping pill left untouched on the bedside table. Bastard! How long had he been awake? She growled loudly but her annoyance was muffled by sucking and no doubt undermined by her display of feverish fingering below.

Then just as it occurred that he had done little wrong, compared to her, Anton grabbed her hips without a word. He lifted her effortlessly over him and shoved his mouth between her legs.

The tender invasion of his tongue made her cry out, along with the naked press of skin along their inverted fronts, but when her whole sex was sucked into his hot mouth she launched at his hard-on with urgent vigour. She was one long pant from cumming and was not doing so alone. Hands freed, she squeezed his balls and rubbed him into her mouth, slurping her tongue round him and devouring his thick meat. She would suck him dry. She would draw out the poison of his sorrow and take it from him. Every drop.

Charlotte's sister loathed cum, but Charlotte had been forced over the years to acquire the taste, for Jeff's sake. She had learned that an enthusiastic swallow could keep him off her back – and front – for months. Once, after Charlotte had seen to her husband with particular thoroughness, Jeff had witlessly gloated about it with Anton, both of them staring at her as he described her filthy eagerness. Charlotte wanted to crawl into a hole, especially when Anton burst suddenly, "Lucky fucker!"

Now he burst a groan into her sex and she hummed on him, a resonance building between them, days of pain drowned by the swelling tsunami of their rush. Charlotte's orgasm was so close it almost hurt to hold it back, a task made impossible by Anton's tongue flickering wetly over her swollen bud, and stretching her hole with a finger as wide as her husband's dick. She whimpered and he growled, arching her up off the bed on the thrust of his hips.

He might be bucking her up and down on him, but she was in control, his unfettered power gripped hard in her hands and mouth. Her rubbing blurred, urging him on while winding her mound on his face. Then suddenly his tongue quivered rigid at her clit, and she shuddered to a grinding halt on his cock and the darkness that had filled her to the brim over these long cold times flared brighter than any day.

They roared together, into each other. Suckling, sealed and muted.

They became one thing, both halves of a heartbeat, jetting pleasure like blood between them from sex to mouth to sex. Charlotte held still, gulping at the frantic, thick heat of his climax, while exploding her orgasm into his mouth. Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks, tears of release and loss and love.

But the pulse of orgasm weakened far too quickly. Their bliss slipped away and Charlotte could not let it go. With her eyes screwed shut and sobbing, she drew hard on Anton's softening member, licking it, kissing it, anything to keep the brightness alive, to rekindle it. Anton too, shook uncontrollably between her legs, hugging her hips to his face and burying his lips in her hyper-sensitive flesh. She pushed back on him, squirming to his tongue even though it hurt. Because anything was better than facing the howling void where her sister used to be.

Then the door opened. Jeff poked his head into the room, smiling, and they all froze.

They said nothing. His smile trembled and withered. Cum and tears dripped from Charlotte's lips, off her Danger-pout, and splashed onto Anton's stomach. Jeff lowered his gaze and slid away, clicking the door shut behind him. Anton and Charlotte returned to each other's need. They never saw him again.Anton was quiet at last; otherwise Charlotte would never have dared peep into his bedroom without knocking first. However, there was no polite reason for watching him sleep. In fact, reason didn't come into it at all, polite or not. Reason had deserted them days ago when his wife, Charlotte's big sister, fellated her secret lover at the wheel of his Aston Martin until they ploughed into oncoming traffic. Now anything could happen.

He still had a towel bunched on his midriff following a long, hot soak Charlotte had talked him into at dawn. Apart from this, her brother-in-law was naked, his massive frame barely contained by his bed; limbs dangling over the edges. Her stomach twisted. His wife was twice lost to him, yet Anton still left her side of the bed empty.

She should close the door and go. Leave him be. She had texted her husband, Jeff, so they could swap shifts. Anton could be left alone for a few minutes until relief arrived.

But Charlotte didn't move. Despite his lumpen masculinity, her brother-in-law looked like a sleeping child. After a night of bitten, wrenched sobbing, his peace was mesmerising. It enveloped her along with the fragrance of bath salts still warming off his skin. Her own pain seemed muffled while she stood here, watching his chest rise and fall in filtered stripes of morning light, listening to the rolling waves of his breath.

Charlotte hoped her husband had slept, too. God knows he needed to. Jeff did not seem to understand that Anton was the only person who could properly share her loss. Instead, he stewed with anguish over his wife and his best friend, bubbling up with bitter accusations: "I guessed you'd want the night shift... I've seen how you are together... You can't keep your eyes off each other, let alone your hands... There's nothing to keep you apart now." All nonsense. Charlotte had always been utterly loyal to her husband. She was a Leo for goodness sake. Anton too.

Yet here she was, a step closer to her brother-in-law's bed, closing the door behind her.

As she'd prepared for her visit the evening before, Jeff had spat, "Don't forget your condoms." So she had left quickly, in a swallowed temper, and had only brought her toothbrush with her. Not even a change of underwear. Then this morning, after her shower, she'd decided she'd rather go commando than wear the same pair two days running. So it was really Jeff's own fault that Charlotte was naked beneath her summer dress, now, and that same air that slid over Anton's powerful arms and thick fingers also ran, unobstructed, over her secret skin.

Shut into the room, closer to the bed, the hypnotic calm of him doubled. His presence tugged at her middle, urging her closer still. After 48 hours without sleep, and the sleeping pill she had given him, Anton would be oblivious to her. And just as well, because her body had carried Charlotte right to the side of his bed.

Her cheeks prickled and she tapped a bare foot. She should not be here, what did she think she was doing, gawping at her sister's husband, like this? Then a dark and shameful thought occurred. Was he still technically her brother-in-law? She shook the hideous question from her head. Lack of sleep had weakened her resolve. Enough.

Anton's body was captivating, though. Not small and lean like her husband's, but broad and strong and generously proportioned. A body that once moved house for them, single handed, when Jeff had pulled a muscle in the gym. A body that was always ready with a hug, or to toss her into the air.

And he was larger than life all over, according to Charlotte's sister.

An illicit flood of warmth beneath her skirt had her pressing her palms to her legs. She had forgotten what her arousal felt like, how it had the power to drown out everything else. Even the gut-wrenching flashback of her sister's wicked smile – describing her husband with a rigid forearm – seemed dampened by the flush of imagining what lay hidden under that towel. Charlotte bit her lip and crossed her arms over her heart as it thumped at her rib-cage, as if to say, "Go on then!"

Before she knew better, she had slipped the towel off him.

Charlotte swallowed, hand to her mouth to stifle a leaked gasp. Her sister was right, even recumbent, Anton was huge; a little longer than Jeff but much, much thicker. Her hands trembled, a liquid sensation made her squirm and cross her feet.

Then Anton, who had been facing away, groaned and twisted his head on the pillow toward her. Charlotte flinched, ready to spring to the door, but his eyes were still shut fast. He snored softly. She melted, her gaze dancing over his olive skin between the sweet peace of his face and the compelling meat lolled across his hips.

In this position the sun threw her shadow over him, her legs cast across the bed and hips at his head. She fancied her blue ghost projected darkly into his dreams. What would she do in there? In Anton's' fantasy? His manhood shifted in its own slumber, unfurling a little and she wanted to giggle.

Her sister generally complained about Anton and his artisanal poverty, but loved how much her husband adored her, especially the neat folds of her sex. When she modelled nude for him, it drove him wild. Drove them both wild; she relished being so desired that he couldn't even work, that he had to stop and ravish her.

Secretly, the thought of this had kept Charlotte awake quite a few times. The elegant rudeness of it. But then, her sister was supermodel-long and languid, compared to Charlotte's bouncy sex-kitten curves. Maybe that was why, when she tried posing for Jeff – who wasn't even an artist, anyway, he was an estate agent – there was something tawdry about the act. Seedy even, no matter how much effort she made on neat waxing and expensive underwear. Jeff would leer sweatily, and bark instructions: "Squat... Open your pussy... Bend over... Put two fingers in." Then he would insist on posing, too, and then climax well before she did.

On the other side of Anton's bed, opposite her, mirrored wardrobes reflected Charlotte, clothed, standing over Anton's nudity. From that angle it looked like he was modelling for her, or even better, watching her. Drunk on the cocktail of her quickened pulse and sleeplessness, the only place she really wanted to be right now was in his eyes. All of her.

Charlotte pulled up the hem of her skirt, holding it over her chest to display her clipped bush and the hint of rude lips. The pose required little commitment to being naughty, and could be undone in a blink, but looked deliciously dirty. She bit her lip, turned her hips this way and that. The creature between Anton's legs stirred again, weakly lifting its head before flopping back, exhausted. Anton might be comatose, but his gorgeous manhood seemed keen. She pulled her dress off over her head.

Her complete exposure, within arm's reach of the slumbering giant, made her tremble as she ran her fingertips over the undersides of her breasts and teased her nipples, stiffening them. She swung her hips. A snake charmer, charmed by the snake, mesmerised by it.

Gripping her bottom, she pushed her hips toward Anton, shocked at how – in the reflection – the lips of her sex seemed puffier than they'd ever been. Florid even. For so long she had felt withered down there, and dry. She reached down and opened herself up, blossoming for him.

For him.

The admission opened a flood gate inside her. Charlotte spread her sex for Anton. She dripped for Anton. There was no polite excuse for this now. She was lost in her horn, and she loved it.

She turned and presented her bottom, wriggled it, made it wobble and dance. She had a fine bum, round, pert and firm, much sexier than her sister's. And Jeff was right; Anton could never keep his eyes – and sometimes his hands – off it. He even bit her rear once in a silly game in the park, pulling up her skirt and sinking his teeth in. His overexcitement had put him in his wife's doghouse for quite some time, while Charlotte, eyes closed, would loop the moment on those difficult nights when she needed to cum for her husband. She wanted that playful bite again, now. And more. His mouth, pressed to her sensitive cheeks, kissing, dipping underneath.

Charlotte opened her legs and bent over. The explicit view over her shoulder made her clitoris throb, while her pink slot drooled obscenely. The wide gap between her thigh tops shone indecently on Anton's lips, and again, as if in reaction, his member lifted its sleepy head toward her, so alive she covered herself with her hands as if it might squirrel up into her. Then the thought of that, the fat filling of her empty hole, blended with the pressure of her fingers on her bits. She squeezed her mound and relished the exquisite pulse of anticipation it sent through her. She slid a finger along her slick groove and slipped it around her bud. Her legs trembled.

She licked the saltiness from her fingertip. There was really only one way to go, now.

As slowly and gently as she could, Charlotte turned and knelt on the mattress beside Anton's head. She opened her knees toward him, forming a sacred space of her inner thighs and his strong, calm features. His presence radiated over her nakedness, warm as the breath that gently caressed her skin.

Jeff believed that little sisters always craved what their big sisters had. That this was a hardwired, animal trait. Charlotte doubted this was true, but taking her sister's position, now, on this side of the bed, made her feel closer and there was much comfort in that. In fact, beyond sharing her sister's space, now it seemed Charlotte shared her debauchery, too. She rubbed her swollen folds in a small circle, barely inches from Anton's eyes, from his mouth.

"So wrong," her sense muttered, dressed up in Jeff's told-you-so wiry little body. But now Anton was radiating hot as the sun and she was half liquid, her fingers slithering beneath her outer lips on slippery arousal, dipping inside for more.

Charlotte's plan was to release quickly, then dress and go. No-one would ever know. The event would be recorded in Anton's dim dream, only. Maybe it would linger when he woke up, maybe he would wake up ragingly erect and inexplicably picturing her naked and wet... Charlotte sighed. What a thought, her most intimate secret lodged in Anton's subconscious.

But her climax was stubborn, even though her fingers worked quick and hard, with rude, slurping noises, curling a finger inside and rubbing and patting her clitoris. Even when her wetness chilled under his sudden long sigh, she gasped and shivered but still could not cum.

However, being so het-up emboldened her, so when his cock stirred again, and lifted its head higher toward her, she could not resist. She curled over his hips and pushed her lips to the sensitive underside of his tip. Jeff liked to be kissed there – not that she cared to do that anymore – so maybe it would work for Anton, too. It didn't matter anyway, because today was for her. She had no choice; the kiss ached to be born there. The press of his manhood on her lips felt both familiar and alien, being the size of Jeff's, but still soft. Her fingers quickened between her thighs. Dear God, what would this thing be like, hard?

She had to know. She plucked another kiss to it, lingering and firm, and this time was rewarded by a clenching pulse against her lips that made her groan far too loudly. But she was on a mission, and confident that Anton's chemical spell could not be broken easily. This was between Charlotte and It. The Beast. The wakeful part of him would succumb to her will.

She lay out on her side, pressed feet and butterflied knees still holding her gorily open to Anton's face – and the sexy stroke of his breath – but positioning her head closer to his delightful cock. Now she could indulge herself properly, brushing her cheek along his warm, blunt brute. She held softly parted lips to it in drawn out kisses, letting her breath roll over his silky skin.

A judder ran through her body, and she groaned again at a familiar warm tingle balling between her thighs. No! Too soon! She hadn't even got him hard yet.

Having Anton between her legs was too exciting, even asleep. She rolled onto her front, and trapped her hands beneath her pulsing sex. Long, quiet puffs restrained the inner writhing of her orgasm, while she dipped a soft, wet tongue to his member.

She licked him again, checked his face for signs of waking, and then ran her tongue up and down him. Her reflection, as she repeatedly lapped from his plump balls all the way up, looked curiously like a cat washing a kitten. But then again, deliciously, obscenely, not.

Her hungry hips rocked at the fingers wedged beneath her and another warning tremor made her curse her hopeless attempts at stiffening him. She might never get another chance to see him hard. In desperation, she took him into her mouth.

Charlotte's sister was fine featured, with petite, rosebud, lips and she used to complain about how uncomfortable it was sucking Anton. She avoided it as much as possible; a bitter fact that had Anton literally punching walls, now. At the time, Charlotte had joked that there were worse problems than dealing with a big cock, like not dealing with one, but they both knew how silly men became if they weren't seen to every now and then. Jeff certainly turned dark and nasty, and Anton was no exception, often refusing to lick Charlotte's sister if he didn't get what he needed, or worse, withholding his – otherwise wholly satisfying – erection from where she wanted it most. Unlike her sister, however, Charlotte's mouth and lips were so over-sized they called her 'Danger-pout' when they were kids. In fact, if Anton ever seemed short-tempered, her sister would roll her eyes and gasp, "I need your Danger-pout, Charlotte."

As a result, Charlotte had been made to consider this before, usually on her own in the shower, or when sucking off Jeff, but she was still unprepared for the reality of Anton's tautening bulb inside her. She hummed over it, enjoying the deep plugging sensation that made her hole clamour as he steadily pulsed hard in her mouth, forcing against her lips and tongue. Her legs involuntarily splayed and tipped, arching hips up at two plundering fingers, slavering so much at both ends that fingers and hole and cock and mouth blurred into one blissfully liquid, sucked plunge.

She gasped off to see the results of her handiwork. At last. He was enormous and rigid as a tree trunk, veined and bucking. There was no doubt what Anton's dream would be about now, and where it would end. For her at least. She sucked him back into her, swallowed him deep and let her fingers do their worst. Her eyelids drooped and waves of pleasure washed from Charlotte's mouth to her sex and back again, gathering and swelling.

The mirror reflected an explicit scene, indeed: Charlotte nodding her head greedily on Anton's shaft, and fingers slopping and digging at her sex. She had no idea if Anton would be dreaming of her or her sister or someone else and didn't much care, just that – the horror of their waking reality removed – she was desirable enough to stimulate him to such bursting hardness. Even with his eyes closed.

Or so she thought.

Before Charlotte gave herself over to her orgasm, she checked one last time that Anton was still out cold. And found dark eyes smouldering at their reflection. It was only then she noticed the glass of water and sleeping pill left untouched on the bedside table. Bastard! How long had he been awake? She growled loudly but her annoyance was muffled by sucking and no doubt undermined by her display of feverish fingering below.

Then just as it occurred that he had done little wrong, compared to her, Anton grabbed her hips without a word. He lifted her effortlessly over him and shoved his mouth between her legs.

The tender invasion of his tongue made her cry out, along with the naked press of skin along their inverted fronts, but when her whole sex was sucked into his hot mouth she launched at his hard-on with urgent vigour. She was one long pant from cumming and was not doing so alone. Hands freed, she squeezed his balls and rubbed him into her mouth, slurping her tongue round him and devouring his thick meat. She would suck him dry. She would draw out the poison of his sorrow and take it from him. Every drop.

Charlotte's sister loathed cum, but Charlotte had been forced over the years to acquire the taste, for Jeff's sake. She had learned that an enthusiastic swallow could keep him off her back – and front – for months. Once, after Charlotte had seen to her husband with particular thoroughness, Jeff had witlessly gloated about it with Anton, both of them staring at her as he described her filthy eagerness. Charlotte wanted to crawl into a hole, especially when Anton burst suddenly, "Lucky fucker!"

Now he burst a groan into her sex and she hummed on him, a resonance building between them, days of pain drowned by the swelling tsunami of their rush. Charlotte's orgasm was so close it almost hurt to hold it back, a task made impossible by Anton's tongue flickering wetly over her swollen bud, and stretching her hole with a finger as wide as her husband's dick. She whimpered and he growled, arching her up off the bed on the thrust of his hips.

He might be bucking her up and down on him, but she was in control, his unfettered power gripped hard in her hands and mouth. Her rubbing blurred, urging him on while winding her mound on his face. Then suddenly his tongue quivered rigid at her clit, and she shuddered to a grinding halt on his cock and the darkness that had filled her to the brim over these long cold times flared brighter than any day.

They roared together, into each other. Suckling, sealed and muted.

They became one thing, both halves of a heartbeat, jetting pleasure like blood between them from sex to mouth to sex. Charlotte held still, gulping at the frantic, thick heat of his climax, while exploding her orgasm into his mouth. Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks, tears of release and loss and love.

But the pulse of orgasm weakened far too quickly. Their bliss slipped away and Charlotte could not let it go. With her eyes screwed shut and sobbing, she drew hard on Anton's softening member, licking it, kissing it, anything to keep the brightness alive, to rekindle it. Anton too, shook uncontrollably between her legs, hugging her hips to his face and burying his lips in her hyper-sensitive flesh. She pushed back on him, squirming to his tongue even though it hurt. Because anything was better than facing the howling void where her sister used to be.

Then the door opened. Jeff poked his head into the room, smiling, and they all froze.

They said nothing. His smile trembled and withered. Cum and tears dripped from Charlotte's lips, off her Danger-pout, and splashed onto Anton's stomach. Jeff lowered his gaze and slid away, clicking the door shut behind him. Anton and Charlotte returned to each other's need. They never saw him again.

charlotte   and   anton  

Oct 2, 2018 in blowjob

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