Free Hot Stories for Cold Nights by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

what he had in mind.
    â€œLean back,” he said, and I propped myself on my elbows. He dribbled syrup on my pussy, then rubbed it into my folds. “Okay, the object of the game is for me to find every last drop.” He paused. “With my tongue.”
    Sounded like a plan to me, so I spread my thighs wider.
    Leaning over, his tongue explored, delving into every crevice, driving me totally crazy. Eventually he licked the insides of my pussy lips and dug deeply into my channel with his tongue. “All gone,” he said and I was disappointed he was going to stop.
    Not so. He stood, opened the refrigerator door, and withdrew a bottle of maraschino cherries. “With a cherry on top.” He giggled. “Or inside.”
    As I watched, he pulled out one fruit and touched my clit with the icy globe. “Youch,” I said.
    â€œWell, let’s warm it up.” He pushed it into me, leaving the stem sticking out of my pussy. “Now I’ll see whether I can find it.”
    He did and I climaxed. Hard. Hot. Screaming.
    When I calmed, I said, “Okay, my turn.”
    We switched places, Dave now seated on the counter without his pants and shorts, his hard dick sticking straight up. I thought a minute, then got a jar of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream from the fridge. “I’m going to totally blow my diet,” I said, “and you, too, of course.”
    I covered his cock and balls with fudge, then squirted whipped cream all over, topping the end of his cock with a cherry. I licked off every drop, and then sucked his cock until he came. He tasted like all the gooey sundae-makings and of his salty, tangy come.
    We ended the evening in the shower and made love again, eventually collapsing into bed. “Do you think we can ask your parents for one evening a month?” I suggested.
    â€œI’m sure we can. I just wonder why we didn’t do it sooner.”

Show Me

    â€œS HOW ME,” HE SAID.
    â€œShow you what?” I said, not really having any doubts about what he meant.
    â€œShow me how you pleasure yourself when you’re alone.”
    â€œI don’t—” I lied.
    â€œOf course you do,” he said, calm and factual. “Every woman does and I don’t doubt for a moment that you do as well. I want to see.”
    Okay, let me back up. My name is Sherri and I’m twenty-four. I’ve been dating Connor for about four months and the sex has been pretty good. Although it’s predictable, both of us usually climax, and what more is there than that?
    Connor’s a really nice guy who I met at the office. We started dating and it was maybe five dates before we ended up in bed. Our evenings usually begin with a movie or bowling or time at a watering hole with a few friends. We get home afterward, hold each other, kiss, and press our bodies together. Hands wander and quite quickly we end up on my bed, naked, making love. By the time he penetrates me, I’m wet and ready. We fuck, doze, then he goes back to his place.
    This evening, we started as we usually do. We’d seen an R-rated film with lots of good, hot sex. Both of us were aroused so that, by the time we got to my living room, our kissing rapidly escalated. I pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and ran my palms over the skin of his back. I love his skin, smooth and warm. He works out so I could feel his muscles as my hands roamed over his hard flesh. He pulled my sweater over my head and played with my breasts, eventually burying his face in my cleavage.
    Then he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom and placed me gently on the quilt. God, I was really ready. He pulled off my jeans and the rest of my clothes until I lay there, naked. He was still dressed and I waited for him to remove his clothing and climb up beside me. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Show me.”
    I’m not a stranger to sex, or to masturbation for that