Dirty stories to tell your girlfriend

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I want you to say my name. We are on his sticky green couch, naked, in the middle of the day, and I am riding him hard and fast. I pull him closer to me, shoving my hands in his hair and grinding my clit slow against him. His eyes close and he tips his head back with sheer bliss. I am breathing very hard as I rock myself back and forth, back and forth, waiting for that delicious sensation to rise stronger and stronger inside me.

I wanna hear you come. And so I do. I tip my hips forward in just the right way, giving myself the exact kind of stimulation that makes me lose it, close to the edge, and then I am coming, gasping his name in his ear. I grasp at the back of the couch for balance, because the waves come so hard and fast that I need stability. I really do.

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Once the waves have subsided and I can catch my breath, he pulls me into his room and I ride him backwards just the way he likes, fast, his hands on my ass. He likes to watch his dick slide in and out of me like this. I know what helps get him off: dragging my nails up and down his thighs, cupping and gently pulling on his balls, playing with my tits.

I wanna feel you come inside me. He comes, loudly, and I roll off his dick to lay down beside him, exhausted, blood thumping from toes to tits. I was dressed as Madonna that Halloween. For some reason, the dude I was fucking at the time was obsessed with this costume.

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After a glass or two of whatever Everclear-spiked punch she was serving, the two of us were buzzing. Girls in skimpy costumes flitted about the party, grinding with each other to turn the dudes on. I smiled. Oh, and some little white lacy panties. We found a quiet corner in the house, mostly secluded from the action with just a few costumed acquaintances wandering in and out, and in a flash his hands were exploring the mechanics of my panties while I sipped champagne.

A fuck buddy had recently become a yoga teacher and he had been begging me to attend his class for weeks. Finally, I caved. Clearly he wanted me to stroke his ego and he probably wanted to look at my ass while I bent over into downward dog or whatever they call it — I think yoga is super boring and overrated. But I went anyway and wore the Lululemon leggings I always wear around the house and to the mall, which I knew he liked. I laid my borrowed mat down a few rows away from the front, close enough so he could see me but not too close.

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He smiled, looking surprised as I walked in, then strode over to me. Would you mind if I did some adjustments on your poses while we practice?

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Feel free to touch me wherever you want. I think I did an OK job at the class. Then again, I happened to have an instructor placing his hands on my thighs and hips, guiding me into new poses. The music was just loud enough so he could talk to me when he passed by. At the end of the hour, he passed around a little bottle of oil and instructed us to give ourselves a little self-massage. Ohhhh, I knew what he was doing. I pooled some oil in my hand, then proceeded to rub myself down.

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I want to fuck you all sweaty like this. I nodded. You game? What will you charge me? I might never have attended another yoga class, but I managed to keep up a practice in private. You may unsubscribe at any time. Tell me what you want. More From Thought Catalog. Plan B And Thanksgiving Morning.

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Dirty stories to tell your girlfriend

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