Dirty Erotic Oneshots, Mistress_ Red [autobiographies to read txt] 📗

her wanton heart. And when the teen encountered a genuine size queen, she learned to be careful what she wished for. Lance had been armed with a lethally seductive weapon that reduced even the most demanding vixen to a quivering mass of tangled limbs. 

While Lance might have had to steer himself a bit more slowly into a woman, he never would have given up owning his monster truck of a schlong. Driving a big one was the best feeling in the world. Because after you slid into that tight spot, you could head out on to the highway. You started out slowly at first but the speed naturally accrued. And within a couple minutes, your massive piston would be pumping with the momentum of a 10,000 horsepower engine behind it. 

Lance sensed the force and power of his heavy thrusts. They made a wet, raunchy squelching sound as he plowed into her. Tori stiffened and shuddered each time he hit bottom. Her eyes rapidly blinked as a second orgasm thundered through her body. Whatever tacit hostility she harbored against the promiscuous Lothario had been forgiven and forgotten. 

The source of her forbearance was not difficult to identify. Lance could do things to Tori that other men could not. His lover writhed on the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest like a jackhammer. She cried out his name in breathless ecstasy. Whether or not she might see him again, no one could deny the intimacy of this isolated moment in time. 

Lance also found their reunion inspiring. He vowed to ravish this beauty like no woman had been ravished before. That would be no small feat. The so-called 'The Lance Leo Experience' consisted of an hour of foreplay, followed by multiple hours of intercourse. The virtuoso guided his partner through a multitude of positions, seeking those that maximized her pleasure. Of course, he also took requests. So when Tori asked for doggy, Lance delivered. 

She had been on all fours for nearly an hour when he sensed a vibration on the bed. It emanated from the front pocket of his jeans. The garment lay somewhere behind him. As he continued to pound Tori, Lance discreetly reached backwards to search for his phone. It took nearly a minute to find it. 

"Where the fuck are u?" flashed the screen. The clock read 5:15. Uh-oh... 

Lance picked up the pace and slammed full throttle into Tori's snatch. His efforts pushed her into Orgasm #17. Normally, he would have been delighted by her noisy and enthusiastic response but the message disconcerted him. He tapped out a text while continuing to pound Tori at a steady rhythm. Multi-tasking proved difficult. He couldn't type with one hand and his prick was deflating rapidly. 

"What are you doing?" panted Tori, still recovering from her climax. 

"Listen, babe," he told her with as much contrition as a shameless playboy could muster. "I'm really sorry. I'm late to football practice." 

"Football practice?" she asked. "Isn't today a Sunday?" 

"Exactly. We gotta bear down for the championship," he explained while swiftly pulling up his pants. It took him under a minute to dress. He had practice. Lance often had to make a quick getaway if someone's parents came home when he was romancing a date. 

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?" she asked. The orgasm had muted her annoyance but did not conceal it entirely. 

Lance gave her a perfunctory tongue kiss before running out the door. 

 

 

******

 

Sandra leaned against the side of her van. The parking lot of the library had emptied for the day. She looked at her phone for the tenth time in half an hour: 5:30. She thought Lance stood her up until getting his text a few minutes ago. Still, the message only stoked her rage to a jaw-clenching boil. Lance didn't apologize. He just wrote, "Be there in 15, sugar." Sugar! What a dickhead. 

The Afro-Asian beauty did not suffer fools. With an hourglass figure and a triple-D chest, she invariably bent guys to her will. If any of them got cute, the black belt bombshell practiced her judo skills on their sorry ass. 

Of course, Sandra's propensity to violence had consequences. She already became known as the school psycho even before sending the captain of the wrestling team to the hospital. Next time, he would ask permission before putting his hand on a woman's butt. 

Her date's motorcycle finally rumbled into the lot. Lance dismounted and walked toward her with a smug grin pasted on his face. Despite her angry glare, his manner betrayed no fear. Without breaking stride, he closed in on her for a wet kiss. Her head swerved to the left to give him a faceful of cheek to smooch. 

Sandra normally would have slugged a guy for coming on that strong but his affection had not been discouraged in the past. Though she did not go all the way with Lance yet, they had experimented with each other. She had toyed with the idea of going further today but his casual tardiness infuriated her. 

"Hey, babe," he chuckled. "Something the matter?" 

"You said 5pm." 

"Football practice ran late." 

"Don't bullshit me. It's Sunday." 

Sandra knew exactly what detained him. Lance stank of pussy and perfume. He wasn't even trying to lie. 

"Whatever," she sighed. "Where's your algebra textbook?" 

"Huh?" 

"I said I'd help you study for the exam tomorrow. Where's your textbook?" 

"Aw, damn," he replied. "I think I lost it or something." 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"Sorry, babe. I thought the algebra thing was just like... you know..." 

"A polite way of saying 'let's fuck.'" Sandra snapped, finishing his sentence. "No, if that were the case, I would have called you up and said 'Hey, Lance, come to the library at 5pm so you can fuck me.' And maybe you would have showed up on time. Instead, I just waited here half an hour to do you a fucking favor!" 

Sandra was lying. Obviously, the algebra exam had been an excuse. She even bought Magnum XL condoms so Lance could fuck her that night. But the prospect both excited and repulsed her. Despite a strong physical attraction to him, Lance had been cursed with numerous deal-breakers that left her ambivalent. 

First of all, the two of them did not share a single interest in common. They literally had nothing to talk about. Secondly, Lance was dumb even by Peoria Tech standards. What kind of a senior had to take remedial algebra? Thirdly, he cared about nothing besides women, weed, and football. Finally, Lance was going nowhere in life. 

Though the teen powerhouse excelled in athletics, he did not conform to the stereotype of a typical jock. Lance occupied an even lower rung on the evolutionary scale. He exuded a thuggish vibe with his chain wallet, long hair, noisy motorcycle, and streetwise manner.

 

Had it not been for his stellar performance on the gridiron, the juvenile delinquent either would have been expelled or simply dropped out of school. As for Sandra, she had applied to Stanford and already charted out a career as a tech entrepreneur in Silicon Valley. 

Yet none of this diminished her longing for him. Sandra struggled against this animal impulse but also grew to understand its origins. 

First of all, Sandra liked men... in theory. She dug their strength and courage; the force of their muscular hips slamming into her body; the texture of their stubble brushing against her chin as they kissed. Blah, blah, blah... However, in practice, none of them measured up to her exacting standards.

 

Sandra wanted to be with someone stronger than her, an over-amped alpha male that ferociously protected his mate. Right off the bat, that excluded 99% of men. Even the captain of the wrestling team proved no match for her. While Sandra may have pined for protection, she actually took pretty good care of herself. 

In truth, Sandra did not want a man so much as a superman. She desired a genetically flawless heartthrob of almost comical proportions. Nonetheless, Lance came shockingly close to that impossible ideal. He towered over her at six-and-a-half feet tall.

 

The teenage powerhouse already won bodybuilding competitions against grown men in their 20s. Every aspect of his physique checked a box on her secret wish list: a V-shaped torso, massive guns, eight-pack abs, and a round butt with ripped glutes.

 

And then came the little details. He spoke to a woman in a panty-staining baritone that dripped with testosterone and confidence. His smoldering visage belonged to a shirtless heartthrob on the cover of a romance novel. And she loved those big, strong hands that roved all over her body when they kissed. 

But what really moved her dangled below the belt. Lance had a ten-and-a-half inch cock. Sandra shuddered to think how much she obsessed over this sordid detail of his anatomy. The only reason she even considered dating Lance was due to the size of his penis.

 

Sandra was a highly disciplined individual in her academic pursuits but she had been cursed with a voluptuous body that craved big cock. She wanted nothing more than for a savage manbeast to nail her ass to the bed with his massive fuck club. This primitive urge was utterly irrational and completely inevitable. 

Sandra wanted Lance so badly that it scared her. And perhaps that fear explained why she kept him at arm's length. Sandra's momentary eruption of anger did not curb her desire in the slightest. In fact, it only sharpened the sexual tension that defined their unlikely courtship. 

"Listen, babe," Lance finally answered. "Maybe we could reschedule." 

"Yeah, whatever," she told him coolly. "I gotta go. I have to prep for the SAT's next week." 

Sandra already got a near-perfect score on the tests but that was the best excuse she could invent on short notice. She got back into her van without even a goodbye kiss. As Lance and his motorcycle shrunk in her rearview mirror, Sandra pondered her decision. Had she just dodged a bullet or turned down her deepest sexual fantasy? 

 

 

 

******

 

"Why did she get so mad?" groused Lance. "I was only half an hour late." 

"Do you really need me to answer that?" Morgan asked skeptically as he followed her into a Victoria's Secret. 

Normally, Lance would never have met a chick at the mall. Visits to Morgan occurred in her bedroom. The playboy hooked up with the head cheerleader on Sunday nights. Along with hot sex, she always dished out a generous amount of gossip on the girls he banged that week. That's why Lance really wanted to see her today. He wanted to vent about Sandra. And then fuck Morgan at a motel after she bought lingerie to model for him at Victoria's Secret. 

Unfortunately, his blonde confidante seemed distant tonight. In fact, her attitude seemed to border on hostility. 

"Do you think I ought to apologize to her?" he asked. 

"Maybe you should apologize to Tori," she scolded. 

"Huh?" 

"You sort of hurt her feelings today. She said you skipped after getting your rocks off." 

Actually, Morgan bent the truth just a bit. She heard Lance made her come seventeen times before he skipped. The cocksman got away with murder because of his mad bedroom skills. Lance acted so brazen in his womanizing that no girl took him seriously anyway. The cheerleaders simply accepted him at face value. He was a gigolo that could be enjoyed as a guilty pleasure from time to time. 

For her part, Morgan enjoyed his company between boyfriends. He was shameless but refreshingly honest. And getting fucked by a stallion-hung Adonis definitely beat her vibrator. Nonetheless, someone needed to put him in his place. 

"Lance, we gotta talk," she began.