XXXCiting Strangers: Ten Sex with Stranger Erotica Stories Read online

  He said, “Shit. I think you two enjoyed that.” He shook his head. “Why do you do this to me, Paulesia?” She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek.

  “You know you love it, Baby. Besides, what are you gonna do, leave me? It’s my grandpa’s money that pays for this place.”

  “Just ‘cause your granddad left you a load of money doesn’t…” His words trailed off and he shook his head. “Just don’t go bringing a man into the bedroom.”

  “She smiled and kissed his cheek. You’re all the man I need, Baby.”

  She turned her attention back to me. “You okay, honey?”

  I smiled. I wanted to say something beautiful and sexy, but all I could get out was, “Did I get the contract?”

  Paulesia laughed. Marcus looked confused, and she said, “Marcus, this is the lovely lady who will be handling Judy’s wedding.” Marcus didn’t say anything for a while, and then he too erupted in laughter while I giggled and put my head on Paulesia’s shoulder.

  Let’s Get to Know Each Other

  Five Sex with Stranger Erotica Stories

  All rights reserved copyright 2014 by DRC Erotic Anthologies

  DELANEY’S MYSTERY MAN

  A Stranger Bondage Erotica Story

  by Tracy Bond

  all rights reserved copyright 2012 by Naughty Daydreams Press

  The First Encounter

  “Have you ever been spanked by a stranger?”

  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that everything about this situation is wrong. We’re in the back of a crowded city bus that smells like B.O. and gasoline. Babies are crying, children are running up and down the aisles, and old people are either asleep or dead in their seats. To top it all off, I’ve never met this guy before in my life. He’s attractive, sure, but in a strange way: prematurely gray and a physique that shows obvious maintenance.

  “No,” I say shortly, bracing myself as the bus squeals to a stop.

  I see his hand swing downward before I realize what he’s doing. As he palm cracks across my ass, he grins broadly. “Scratch it off your bucket list,” he advises. Then he slips past me and makes his way to the front, nodding at the driver as he steps onto the curb.

  The Second Encounter

  I frown into my cup of coffee. It had sounded good on my way here, but now it just tastes bitter and thin. And it’s cold. Plus, I think there’s something floating in it—holy shit, is that a fly?

  “Is everything okay here?” I don’t notice the waitress standing beside me until she speaks.

  “Fine,” I lie. She smiles and bounces to another table. I can practically feel her cheerful energy sucking the tip from my wallet.

  And then he’s there, right in front of me, with a cocked brow and a flask in his hand. By way of greeting, he takes the top off and pours some amber liquid into my revolting mug. He lifts it to me in a toast.

  “The truth comes out when you’re drunk,” he says with a completely straight face. Then he turns and departs, the coffeehouse door swinging shut behind him. I watch his silver head until it disappears from sight. My eyes turn to the drink in front of me, and cautiously (unbelievably) I drain the cup.

  The Third Encounter

  The hours are going by so slowly that I’m practically falling asleep at my station. Amy and Tee are bundling up in preparation for the wintry cold outside, and Ophelia is nodding along to a song on her iPod. I’m tempted to leave early, even though I’ve only done two haircuts today.

  The door chimes. We all look up eagerly, hoping for either a sudden swell of customers or else the shop owner to tell us she’s closing up early today. It’s neither. Instead, my gaze falls on him, the lustrous-headed man who’s slapped my ass on the city bus months ago. He sees me, and it’s instantly clear he recognizes me.

  “Can I help you?” Dee asks. She’s nearest to him.

  He looks at her. “I need a haircut.” He looks back to me.

  Tee follows the direction of his eyes and smiles at me. “I think Delaney can take care of you. Can’t you, Delaney?”

  “Sure,” I agree, twisting my chair to accommodate him. He walks forward and seats himself.

  Amy and Tee depart into the snowy world outside. Ophelia returns to her music. I’m nervous, but I don’t know why, so I distract myself with straightening my combs and scissors.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he says behind me. It strikes me as a rather…well, feminine thing to say, and I’m so surprised that I don’t hear him slide forward in the chair. Suddenly, I feel his fingers knit into my long blonde locks and tug. It’s not painful; in fact, it’s rather pleasurable.

  And then he stops. I turn to face him, cheeks flushed brilliantly red, and open my mouth to thank him for the compliment. Before I can speak, he interrupts me with a description of what sort of cut he’s looking for.

  The Fourth Encounter

  It’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen the mystery man. I don’t think about him really, but once in a while the door at the salon jingles, I wonder if it’s him coming back for another haircut. He hasn’t returned though. Maybe he thought I did a bad job.

  I tell my girlfriends about him tonight. We’re drinking and I see a man with a similar stature walking around the club, so my mind goes to him. My friends think he sounds creepy. I guess I can see their point of view if I look at the situation objectively. I decide to drop the subject, and we go to the dance floor.

  The music is thumping. I can feel it all the way from the soles of my boots to the roots of my hair. I’m dancing like I’ll never dance again, and between the lights and alcohol, I lose control of my senses.

  I feel a body press up against mine from behind. It’s not uncommon at the clubs, and I’m not altogether bothered. I am, however, inclined to at least take a glance to make sure he’s not an ogre. I start turn my head.

  “Delaney.” The voice is low, rough, and more familiar to me than it should be. Goosebumps spring to life on my skin. My name on that tongue sounds like a melting chocolate ball: delicious, sweet, and somehow lustful. I twist my neck farther to see if it’s the man I suspect.

  Before I can catch a glimpse, though, he seizes my wrists, wrenches them aggressively behind my back, and secures them together in one of his hands. I feel his other hand press on my back between my shoulder blades, urging me to bend forward. I oblige. My ass presses into his crotch, and we dance in this provocative manner for the remainder of the song. I feel him grow hard against me, and I relish in my sexuality. When the song ends and transitions into another, he releases my wrists. They’re slightly sore. I straighten up and turn to face him.

  I can distinguish no particular culprit from the crowd dancing around me. My friends seem to have noticed nothing. I do, however, see a metallic head disappearing into the abyss of clubbers.

  “Wait!” I cry out, but my voice goes unheard over the pounding music.

  The Fifth Encounter

  I can’t stop thinking about him, the strange man with the silver hair and habit appearing and then disappearing from my life for months at a time. How can one person make such an impact with such little interaction?

  I contemplate this. I haven’t been on a date since that night at the club, finding myself lacking interest in anyone but my Mystery Man. When I relieve myself of sexual tension, I imagine his body on top of mine. He has captivated me, this lustful phantom, and I have no idea how to escape his lethal grasp.

  As fate would have it, I look up from my thoughts and see a familiar set of broad shoulders below a scalp of gleaming gray hair. His back is to me. I get to my feet, snatching my purse off the park bench I’d been sitting on, and begin to make my way over to him. Almost as soon as I start to walk, however, he strides away.

  “No,” I protest under my breath.

  My inclination is to throw caution to the wind and run after him, screaming and waving my hands until he notices me. My better sense gives me a swift kick in the ass, however—God, I remember his hand on my ass—and I rea
lize that nothing else could make me look more like a stalker. With a frown, I retreat back to my bench.

  The Sixth Encounter

  My dress is making me sweat. I know I’m obligated to wear it as Tee’s bridesmaid, but in truth, I abhor the thing. It’s a bright, electric blue and floor-length and not meant for anyone in this century to wear unless they’re going to a costume party. Never mind. The reception is almost over, and then I can slip into the hotel sheets that are somehow ridiculously comfortable with my own bottle of champagne and a pay-per-view chick flick.

  “Will you dance?”

  It’s Tee’s cousin, a hideous creature of a man. That’s not to say he’s not perfectly nice, because he is but…come on. I politely decline and decide I’ve had enough. Catching Tee by the elbow, I tell her I’m drunk and feeling like I’m going to throw up, and she sympathetically grants me leave.

  The elevator is empty and silent. I strip myself out of my dress and stand unashamedly in my dress slip, gathering the hideous bridesmaid garment into a messy ball. The elevator stops on the way up to my floor to pick someone up.

  It’s him.

  He locks eyes with me, and I distinguish surprise in his face. I grow self-conscious as he drinks in my scantily clad appearance. My face flushes horribly; I step to one side of the elevator to allow him entrance and give myself an excuse to fumble with my dress in order to cover myself somewhat. I notice he doesn’t press a button when he sees that I’ve already selected the seventh floor.

  We arrive at our destination. He motions for me to exit before him, but I’m hesitant to do this. I can only hide one side of myself at a time with the dress, unless I just break down and put it on. But that would make me look stupid. I frown inwardly, telling myself I already look stupid. Could this be more embarrassing?

  “Ladies first,” he says insistently. I sigh and nod a humiliated thanks to him, then rush out of the elevator. I’m fully aware that my slip is see-through in the fluorescent corridor lights.

  Despite my rushed exit, he falls into step beside me. We walk in silence down the hall. I wonder if our rooms were miraculously next door to each other. Then I wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Then I wonder if he knows I’m wondering about his wondering.

  Things are getting complicated.

  All too soon, he stops at a door. I feel it would be rude to depart without any acknowledgement, not that I want to go about my own business anyway, so I nod politely to signal our departure. He nods back.

  And then he’s kissing me.

  Our bodies slam into the walls in true Hollywood style, passion and aggression and everything. He tastes of beer, and I’m sure I taste of champagne. I smell his cologne. He holds a hand to the back of my head to direct my movement, and I allow him this control. Our tongues are dancing around each other, swirling, slurping, and sucking. He captures my lower lip in his teeth and tugs. I gasp.

  Somehow, he manages to insert his key and unlock the door without breaking our make out session. He backs into the room, pulling me along with him, and I go willingly.

  I’m thrown roughly onto the bed. He moves around the room performing various tasks: dropping his wallet on the vanity, unfastening and removing his belt, kicking off his shoes, digging through his luggage. I watch him with breathless fascination as he does all of these things. He stoically keeps his gaze from turning to me during this time, and I find myself wishing he’d look at me. Hell, I wish he’d just climb on top of me.

  When he finally does look at me, he’s holding something in his hands. I see a flash of silver for the briefest of seconds, and the next thing I know, he’s flipped me over on my stomach and clouted my ass audaciously. I cry out, but he doesn’t respond. I hear him begin to move around the room again.

  I don’t dare move from my designated position, and I’m becoming more and more turned on by the mystique of not knowing what he’s doing.

  I hear him approach my side. I look up at him and see he’s extending a flute of bubbling champagne. I see the light frost on the glass; it’s chilled. I raise myself up slightly and accept the drink, taking a sip. It’s delicious, better than the stuff downstairs at Tee’s reception. He stands by silently, watching me drink. I continue until the glass is drained, and he removes it from my clutch.

  I am left alone briefly again. I hear him discard the flute on the vanity, then I hear a clanking sound. I am about to roll over to look at him when my head is jerked back. The yank of my hair is a statement; he is telling me he is in charge and that I will not roll over or do anything else without his permission. He doesn’t say any of this, but his message is clear.

  Suddenly, his fingers wrap around each of my wrists and tug them backwards. I collapse face-first onto the comforter. Hard, cold metal clasps my right wrist, then the left, and I cannot part them. Handcuffs.

  I should be scared. I should be TERRIFIED. But I’m only driven to a higher level of arousal by this matter-of-fact approach to my imprisonment. There is no consideration, no care, and no emotion. This is purely sex, and it’s a side of sex I’ve never explored. Clearly, however, my Mystery Man is perfectly familiar with the goings-on of such an experience.

  My excitement has mounted to a point of desperation bordering on need. I need him to touch me; I need him to fuck me. But he does neither. I wait, and I wait, and nothing happens. I don’t even hear him moving now. I am tempted to look around the room for him, but I know this will not be met with pleasure. So I wait.

  And all at once, he’s inside me. My soaked cunt swallows his massive cock with little difficulty, and he fucks me hard and fast. I don’t even realize that my underwear is still on until I feel his fingernails scrape my slippery pussy lips in an attempt to hold the panties to the side. He’s thrusting and pumping into me with such wicked force that I’m left voiceless, unable to make a sound of pain or pleasure.

  His dick is throbbing against my vaginal walls. I can feel each throb like it’s my heartbeat, and every one brings me closer to an orgasm I’m sure I can’t handle. His free hand is pressing between my shoulder blades, bending me low, but my ass is high with my cheeks slapping against his hipbones. It’s a fully compliant position that permits him absolute control—and I love it.

  He shoves his full length into me unapologetically.

  “Ahhh!” I shriek.

  “Come for me, Delaney,” he orders me.

  My orgasm is world-shattering. I hear a rushing in my ears similar to a million panes of glass breaking. My body feels like everything and nothing all at once. I see stars, colors, swirls, and smears. The taste of the blanket fills my mouth, but I am too deep into myself to care. When he peaks and ruptures, I’m still coming hard. I think I’m howling and moaning, but I can’t be sure.

  And then I drop flat on the bed, completely void of strength. My trembling slows to a mild twitch. I feel him pull out, and after a moment of fumbling, he releases my wrists from their cuffs. I don’t move them. I don’t move anything.

  There’s yet another moment of his puttering around the room. Then I feel him slide on top of me. The gesture is intimate, as if we are husband and wife of twenty years, fully familiar and comfortable with each other.

  “My name is Fox,” he murmurs into my hair, “and you’re mine.”

  Dominated by a Stranger on My Wedding Day

  A Reluctant Sex Experience

  by Stella Sinclair

  Copyright 2012 by Mmmmore Productions

  “Wait!” I cried as I ran down the street after the limo. “Wait, come back! I’m here now, COME BACK!”

  But it was no use. The car sped away down the street, leaving me standing there in my wedding gown, helpless.

  I only had myself to blame. I had been struck by a bout of last minute nerves and I knew I’d kept the driver waiting for far too long.

  At the last minute I had plucked up enough courage to leave the hotel and go out to where the driver was parked. But the moment I had made the decision to do so, he had started pulling away.


  He must have seen me! I was wearing a huge white wedding dress for God’s sake. Not to mention I was screaming at the top of my lungs, causing my neighbours to twitch their curtains and open their doors in shock and curiosity.

  But, I had already kept him waiting nearly thirty minutes. If I were him, then I guess I’d be pretty pissed too.

  I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. There was nobody else who could take me to the church; I had sent them all on their way already. Bridesmaids, Maid of Honor, the lot!

  I pretended that I needed to fix my hair again, acting nervous and obsessive enough so that they would leave me to it. I knew they would just put it down to wedding day nerves. But the truth was that I was having second thoughts. I wasn’t marriage material. Was I?

  My head was spinning! As I watched the limo drive off into the distance I found myself wondering if it were actually a blessing. What if I had actually just escaped a life of captivity and mundane routine? I would be free to be adventurous and impulsive – free to do all the things I never dared do before.

  But I wasn’t sure if I were simply talking myself out of it. So I simply stood there, silent and still.

  And then, the heavens opened. Rain came crashing down on me, much like my torrent of emotion and nerves had done earlier that morning.

  “God dammit!” I cried, and turned to run back to my apartment. Then another cold realization washed over me. I had forgotten my keys! I wanted to break down and cry – this whole day was just far too much for me! It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life but instead I felt nothing but a sickening anguish and an uneasiness that I couldn’t describe. I took the heavens opening and the pouring rain to be a clear cut sign. I wasn’t supposed to get married today!

  But my thoughts were interrupted, suddenly, as a sleek black Jaguar pulled up beside me, and its window wound down.