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Ever since we got married, I had put up with a lot. My wife, Lucy, was obsessive, controlling, short-tempered and stubborn, to name a few flaws. But I stuck with it because I loved her. I also, at this point, did not believe in divorce or adultery. Thus, I was quite shocked when I came home early one day to find my wife on her knees sucking a big black cock. She slurped as she pulled her mouth away to look at me, and jumped up, attempting to sputter an excuse. I stood dumbstruck for a moment, then simply turned and walked out. She didn’t follow. I can not explain my emotions at this point, for instead of feeling a perhaps natural rage and sadness, I simpy felt empty and cold. One would think that after being so faithful to Lucy despite the endless troubles it took to make the relationship work, and seeing her like that, I would be furious, and ready to go back and scream my lungs out. Instead, nothing.

As I checked into a motel roughly 2 hours later, the bitterness finally began to well up inside me. Eventually this turned to anger, and finally a burning desire for revenge. How could she do this and think she would get away with it? Automatically, my mind began formulating ideas and scenarios with which to get the bitch back. Sitting alone in my room, I decided the best and most…creative form of revenge would be a taste of her own medicine, as it were. Grabbing my keys, I drove to a nearby sex shop and made my preparations…

I knew Lucy would be at home when I knocked at the door a few days later. She had tried to phone me a couple times but I was inconsolable. She answered the door without checking who it was, and when I saw her, a brief moment of pity and hesitation overcame me. I looked up and down her body; she had always been beautiful, with black silky hair and olive skin to go with it. Not to mention her perfect perky breasts, which were all natural and yet full and round. She also had a real hourglass figure, with her curvaceous hips framing her amazing ass. Snapping me out of my daydream, she said simply “I’m sorry.” Another ten seconds passed, and I replied “You will be,” before pushing her roughly inside and slamming the door. I pulled out from behind my back a cloth soaked in chloroform, and shoved it over her face, ignoring her attempts to stop me. I received a scratch to my face, and a sore shin, but she was unconscious. I began to make my preparations. Read the rest of this entry »

Lord knows how long it ago the realty had put up the sign. I could barely make out a faded phone number and the name of the realty selling the property. Right next to the sign was a driveway, overgrown and neglected, that angled up through the hill.
Maybe I had time to explore a little more.
A few minutes later, the drive opened into a small parking lot, full of potholes and weeds, with a large old A frame style building stuck into a clump of trees set at it’s edge, just above the freeway, facing out over the ocean.

Another for sale sign was driven into the flower beds at the front of the building, with a small plastic box attached to the post, half full of mildewed paper flyers. I pulled a flyer from the box and walked around the front, reading. A photo of smiling Clem Jones, the real estate agent, stared out at me from the front of the page. Clem was literally gushing with nifty information about the building - he told me all about the square footage, the improvements previous tenants had made for business zoning, and heck, look at the view.
I was halfway around the place, fighting around some thorny old rose bushes, before good old Clem let me in on an important little secret.
The key to the place was in a little lockbox, right at the front door. And look buddy, here’s the combination. Go right ahead and have a look around.
Crazy how trusting folks out here in the sticks are.
Good old Clem was right on. I found the lockbox, bonked it around a bit to shake off the rust, found the keys, and walked inside to have that look around. The place had been an old surf shop, once. A counter ran the length of the back wall, next to a stairwell leading to a landing that wound around the front room. Another door led off into a backroom. A few moldy posters hung behind the counter area. Trash littered the floor. Thick beams supported the ceiling in the main room, with heavy, metal hooks driven into them at regular intervals. A couple old surf boards had been left behind, still attached to chains dangling from the ceiling hooks.
And Clem was right again. The front windows, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, had a great view of the ocean. I rubbed a little dirt and grime away with my hand, and peered out at the little beach cove across the highway.
I smiled. Perfect.

I followed the family in their blue Volvo for a few blocks and eased into the grocery store parking lot right behind them.
The side trip to the A Frame had taken longer than I thought, and I was hungry. It was almost noon, and my stomach was rumbling. The traffic this morning was brisk. The town was bigger than I’d thought it would be, and every church in town seemed to have let out at the same time. My van idled next to the Volvo at a stop light, and I watched the woman in the passenger seat clip coupons from a newspaper. She noticed me staring blankly her way. I gave her a little shake of the head and a smile. Silly me, all zoned out. She smiled back, agreeing with my goofiness. When the light turned green, I eased into the Volvo’s lane and followed it toward the golden arches down the road. Read the rest of this entry »

**Author’s note** Hi guys, this is for all of the people who’ve asked me to write more on these two; I hope you like it. They’re not completely the same people (well, Sasha is still very much Sasha, but Suzanne is a lot younger and a lot less confident in herself) but it’s something that’s been bugging me for a while and I wanted to see how it would play out. Please let me know what you think! 

Sasha stood off to the side of the soldiers, silentlyscanning the groups of people around him. He wasn’t looking for anyone inparticular, but his eyes settled on a lone figure and suddenly the hairs on theback of his neck stood on end. On the surface, the girl was unremarkable andthe soldiers certainly hadn’t taken any notice of her; however Sasha hadlittle regard for their abilities anyway.

From a distance it appeared that she was dressed plainly,with no visible jewellery or other valuables. She was wearing a flowingred-brown skirt and a sturdy looking pair of boots, and a long, dark grey coatin an attempt to keep warm in the snow. Her hair was loose, almost as if she weretrying to hide her face beneath the chocolate brown strands, but she was stillshivering in the cold.

She was definitely not a native, the shivering was a clue tothat. It was rather a mild day by their normal standards and the sun wasshining weakly through the clouds. Sasha moved a little closer to get a betterlook at the girl, but not so close as to alert her of his attention. On closerinspection her coat seemed like it was designed for form rather than function,as were the boots. Definitely an expensive Western designer of some sort. What was she doing here?

Suzanne was shivering, partly due to the ridiculous cold(even with her warmest coat on), and partly due to fear. She couldn’t believeher bad luck that a hoard of soldiers would turn up and start searching peoplejust when she had been about to leave. She was pretty sure she didn’t haveanything to hide that they could find, but it didn’t matter; she’d heardstories. Thankfully, though, it seemed like the soldiers hadn’t noticed herand she was going to be able to slip away unnoticed.

Or maybe not. She gasped in fright as she noticed one ofthe men walking straight towards her. He wasn’t in uniform but he had arrivedwith the soldiers, and something about the expression on his face told her thatit wasn’t a good thing that he seemed to be taking an interest in her. Perhapsit was the rifle strapped to his back that worried her, or the nasty lookinghandgun that he was carrying pointed at the ground. Oh, god.

Suzanne tried not to look terrified as the man stalkedtowards her, but it wasn’t so easy. He certainly didn’t look very friendly. The words “hard as nails” and “evil incarnate” quickly sprang to mind, althoughhe wasn’t unattractive like most of the men around her. He slowed to a haltabout 10 feet in front of her, motioned to her with his gun for her to come tohim. She didn’t move. He started speaking to her in his language, and herheart started pounding wildly. She was pretty sure he wanted her to go over tohim, but she couldn’t get her legs to work. Read the rest of this entry »

If all the stories posted on your site are true, a lot more girls have experienced gang bangs or trains than I would have thought.

I started college recently and sex seems to be the major topic in the dorm. Girls talk openly about their experiences and fantasies. I’ve met 4 girls who readily admit to having sex with numerous partners at the same time, and quite a few others who, if they haven’t done it, they know of a girl who has. Some of the gang bangs happened when the girls were drunk or stoned, but some were when the girls were fully conscious and willing. Several “gang bang virgins” have told me they intend to experience at least one gang bang or train before they graduate.

I was conscious and willing when I experienced my one and only gang bang. It happened two years ago when I went to spend part of my summer vacation with my older sister. She’s four years older than me, and she was majoring in zoology. One of her professors got her into a summer wildlife study program at a National Park.

My parents wanted to get me out of the city and away from my friends for at least a couple of weeks. I had come home with alcohol on my breath a couple of times and they discovered I was on birth control. I think they thought my sister might be able to talk some sense into me.

From what I understood, she and the other students in her group were pretty much on their own. She got a free room in a dorm, meal passes at the lodge, and turned her field study reports in weekly. Otherwise, the students in her group were considered young adults they didn’t need any supervision. She talked to her advisor and cleared it for me to visit and share her room. It probably helped that my dad, who is loaded, made a sizable donation to the program. Anyway, they packed me onto a bus and sent me to my sister. They decided to send me on the bus rather than drive me so they wouldn’t have to fight with me for 500 miles.

Like I said, she is four years older, and brilliant. She graduated from high school a year early so even though she was only 20, she was already starting her senior year. I love my sister, but I hated the fact that I felt pressure to live up to her legacy. It wasn’t enough that I made honor roll, I wasn’t bringing home a perfect 4 point every quarter. She was a city champion high school swimmer and finished 2nd in regionals. If it weren’t for the flu, she would have gone to the state meet. She went to college on a swimming scholarship. I only finished 3rd in the city trials and lost in the first heat of regionals. That was sort of the pattern. Whatever I did well, she did better. Oh yeah, I didn’t mention that she is absolutely beautiful: She has cover girls looks, a flawless figure, spectacular 35C breasts, and long beautiful legs.

I got on the bus with a certain amount of resentment. When I arrived my sister ran up to me and gave me a long obviously heart felt hug. She turned to two friends who were with her and said “This is my sister, isn’t she beautiful?’ Her two friends were other interns from her study team, a cute guy name Phil and a nice looking girl name Jamie.

We climbed into their car for the ride from town to their dorm in the park. My sister said she was so happy when my parents told her they were sending me to spend a couple of weeks with her. She said it was the first time she was getting to spend any extended time with me since she started college. I thought it and realized she was right. I had spent a good deal of the past 4 years resenting her and hadn’t thought about all the more pleasant times we spent together. She had actually taught me how to ride a bike, swim, and helped me learn to read. When I was 4 or 5, she often read me to sleep and held me on her lap when we watched TV. Was I really mad at her or just at myself for not being able to match her achievements? Read the rest of this entry »

You are unfamiliar with the L.A. streets and somewhere south and east of the airport, you find yourself lost in the dark in a very questionable neighborhood, run down, full of signs in lanquages you can’t read. Suddenly, an old van with a big wooden bumper rear-ends your rented Toyota, driving it up over a curb. When you recover from the shock of the collision, you reach for the door handle, to get out and look at the damage.

As soon as you get out, someone grabs you from behind. A coarse sack, burlap or jute, is pulled down over your head, and your arm is twisted behind you, by someone you can’t see. “Don’t make a noise, Anglo bitch, or you are dead right now.” says a voice which sounds as if the teeth are clenched. In seconds, you are dragged into the van and pushed to the floor. You can feel it back up, stop with a lurch, and then move forward, making several turns, probably turning at every intersection.

Strong hands roll you on your back. Counting hands, there must be at least three men. You feel the hard steel floor of the van against your back; it is a cargo van, no seats in back. Probably no windows, either, you realize. Unless there were witnesses to the ramming and abduction, no one could know where you are.

You feel cold steel against your throat, under the bag which covers your eyes. “Listen, Sweetie, you are going to do everything you are told to do, and you are not going to scream or struggle or talk back; otherwise, you die right now. Understand?” The point of the knife presses painfully into your skin.

“Yes,” you croak, your throat dry with terror. You feel them pulling your arms above your head, and apart. Your wrists are tied to something, maybe the front seats of the van. They are using wire; it bites into your skin. They take your Reboks and tie your ankles, using wire again, pulling your legs straight and apart. You are spread-eagled, entirely helpless and vulnerable. Your breathing is rapid. You are hyperventilating and might become light headed, blowing off too much carbon-dioxide, except that the sack over your head restricts the air flow, compensating for your panicky panting.

You are wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The knife point slides down your neck, until the blade encounters the first button of your shirt. There is a little tug, and the button flies off. You actually hear it strike the metal wall of the van. Men laugh. You smell marijuana.

You can feel another tug at your shirt. The second button is cut off. Then the third. And the fourth, and the fifth, which is down by your navel. Someone pulls the tail of your shirt out of your jeans and cuts the last buttons. They didn’t have to cut them off. You know you can never wear that shirt again. Will you die naked? The flannel is pulled back, baring the front of your body.

The sharp blade, double edged, slides along the midline of your tummy. You wonder, is it drawing blood? How can you be so detached, so clinical? Does it have something to do with being blindfolded by the sack? You cannot see who is assaulting you, so you must concentrate on what you feel. You feel the blade pause, between your breasts, and lift, and suddenly your bra springs away from your breasts, leaving them exposed. Almost instantly, strong, masculine hands grasp your breasts. They are big hands, able to engulf your B-cup breasts, and they are rough, calloused hands. They squeeze and knead your breasts. These men have no respect for your body. Read the rest of this entry »

Last summer my wife and I decided to take a week vacation to a small Caribbean Island. We were taking her younger sister as a High school graduation gift. As background, I am a 28 year old Stock Broker, my wife is a gorgeous 24 year old Marketing researcher, and her 17 year old sister was getting ready to go to a small Eastern College.

Both my wife, Ann and her sister Dawn are blondes with great athletic bodies. They are very close despite the age difference, and I honestly had never looked at Dawn as anything more than a kid sister myself.

Anyway from Florida we took a small 12 seat prop plane to this tiny resort Island looking forward to a week of snorkeling, tennis, and lots of sun. There were 6 other people on the flight, a couple in their sixties, 2 business men, and two other guys who appeared to be from the Islands themselves. Read the rest of this entry »

I had often fantasized about seeing my beautiful wife take on another guy, but thats all it was just a fantasy. That is until last month. Sheila is a gorgeous brunette, 5′ 6″ tall with long gorgeous legs, and the most beautiful set of breasts a guy could imagine. Even after two kids, arobics kept her hot looking as ever. She loves all forms of sex and is quite an expert at sucking cock. She told me it came from her younger days when she would suck off her dates so they wouldn’t get her pregnant. I’m thankful for her oral talents.

During intercourse, we would sometimes talk out our fantasies to each other while my cock was being riden by her sweet pussy. I’d tell her about my desire to see her with another guy. And she’d want to know what I’d like to see her do. And we’d keep it up until we both climaxed stronger than if we hadn’t been talking about those things. After climax it seemed a little dirty to talk about it and never came up unless we were making love. Sheila had two fantasies, one was to take on a black cock. And the other was to be serviced by two guys at once. Read the rest of this entry »

Luke Randall wasn’t exactly what you’d call a good-looking guy, not even half-ways worthy of a second glance from a girl’s viewpoint. In fact as far as that was concerned, there weren’t any girls in Trinity, Idaho had gotten as far as even having a viewpoint as to Luke’s particular existence.

Now nineteen, he had somehow completed his education at Westmore High, his grades having been no more impressive than his peer-ranking. Perhaps his science lecturer had nailed it succinctly when he wrote on Luke’s essay “Atomic Fission: The Post War Challenges”… “Luke, if you ever find yourself within the proximity of a nuclear reactor – don’t touch anything!” Read the rest of this entry »