04 July 2015

Free Erotic Short Story: Rough Ride

I don't know WHAT came over me, but I wrote a normal vanilla M/F story. It's full of hot, rough sex in a realistic setting. No dick girls. No demons or octopus-girls. No gallons of cum and blood. I don't know why. I came up with the idea of writing a free short story for the Fourth of July and this is just what came out. I wrote it quickly, just sorta pounded it out (HA!).

If it makes your panties wet, if you read it one-handed, let me know. If you enjoyed it please share.


 Every Fourth of July, the ritual was everyone around the lake would gather at the boat house. There was a potluck and of course as night fell, the fireworks. For Rachel, it had become an annual exercise in hollow futility. She simply couldn't not go, or everyone would be on her case. When you lived around the lake, you suffered the worst kind of peer pressure imaginable. Grown men and women acting like high schoolers.

That's how it was ever since Geoff never came back from his tour years ago. The triangular folded flag hung above the fireplace, framed under glass. Rachel's love life had expensive watch batteries in it and lay under her pillow. She'd use it more except then she'd have to explain at some point to Nolan who ran the country store nearby why she kept buying batteries. What the hell kind of watch did she have?

For this year's party, she'd gotten it into her head for some reason to make a dessert. She didn't bring it right away, because it was a Jell-O casserole and it would melt in the heat. She sat politely, her Chinette plate in her lap, napkin tucked under it, sporking away at her lukewarm food. Louise, a chatty busybody whom she sat with in order to not want for the appearance of participation, pointed discreetly behind her napkin.

"Look at him," she breathed loudly on Rachel's neck. Rachel tried not to cough from Louise's beer breath. She looked to where Louise pointed and there was no mistaking which him to which she'd referred. In a pack of potbellies and jowls and receding hairlines, his hard lines cut a chiseled figure. Rachel took a deep breath and her heart sped up.

"All mine," said Louise under her breath. She got up, heading for the beer cooler, and walked by him, purposefully on accident dropping her phone and pretending not to notice. Of course, the man bent down to pick it up without an ounce of self-consciousness and Rachel admired his firm backside. A vision flashed in her mind of her digging her heels in under the creases of his buttocks as she wrapped her legs around him, squeezing them with her hands while she pulled him deeper into her and she panted into his neck. She sighed again and crossed her legs. She was irritated at herself, but she also enjoyed the way her lips rubbed against each other when she crossed her legs. She crossed them again.

Louise and the man were talking. Well, Louise talked, the man nodded politely. Louise led him back to her folding chair, next to Rachel's. She was showing him pictures on her phone.

"Whoops, how'd that one get in there!" She giggled and put her hand to her lips. The man looked embarrassed for her and looked away.

"Rachel, this is Brent," said Louise, "Brent, this is Rachel." Louise beamed at her as if to say look what I found, isn't he a catch? Rachel proffered her hand to Brent. When he took it and squeezed it, she thrilled at the calluses on his fingers as she looked into his eyes. He had eyes that looked like they could make problems solve themselves if he stared them hard enough. There was enough stubble on his face so that it wouldn't scratch her skin if she...

"Nice to meet you, Rachel," said Brent. She swore he gave her hand an extra squeeze and brushed his thumb over the top of her hand. As their hands released, their fingers slid against each other to prolong the touch.

"Likewise," said Rachel, and Brent gave her a crooked smile. A smile that could be real trouble. Since nobody was paying attention to Louise for more than a few seconds, she began yammering again. Brent turned his attention to her, but Rachel saw (or thought she saw) a glimmer of impatience in his eyes.

"Well, I'll let you two talk I'm going to go back to the house and get the dessert I made. I didn't bring it earlier because it would've just sat around getting hot and melting," said Rachel, standing and brushing down her sun dress with her hand. She couldn't help but notice Brent's eyes all over her. Was she turning red? "It's Jell-O, it would melt," she explained further, feeling like an idiot. She needed to shut up about Jell-O and get out of there. More than the Jell-O, she thought she might need to drain some batteries.

"You live here?" asked Brent, "I was thinking about looking into the cabin for rent up that way," and he hiked his thumb out behind his shoulder to point. "Realtor said if I really wanted to see what living here was like, I should come to your little Fourth of July potluck."

"Yes," said Rachel, "Other end of the lake," she pointed. A breeze blew her hair in her face and she brushed it aside.

"You gonna walk all that way?" said Brent, squinting at her and making kissable little creases around his eyes.

"Sure," said Rachel. Louise wriggled impatiently in her chair.

"Nah, lemme give you a ride," said Brent. Rachel was about to protest but Brent already had his keys in his hand. "Come on," he said, walking away.

"Uh..." said Rachel. She set her plate down on the chair she'd sat in and gave Louise an apologetic look. If her heart wasn't beating so hard in her chest, she would have laughed at the affronted look on Louise's face. She followed Brent, watching his ass move under his faded jeans. His truck was an old two-tone beater, a workhorse.Unexpectedly, he opened her door for her. No man had shown her such courtesy since... she put that thought out of her mind, smiling at Brent and thanking him. Her sun dress rode up a little on her thighs as she clambered in. She didn't straighten it right away, like she usually would. She didn't try to catch his eye to see if he noticed. She didn't need to.

He settled into the driver's side with a grunt and a sigh and turned the engine over. It was in good shape for being older. It had an old-fashioned bench seat in it, nothing coming between them, no modern consoles with cup holders or other such things. As they trundled along the road which wound around the lake, Rachel enjoyed the breeze and put her elbow out the window. She lifted her sun dress to cross her legs. She may have lifted it a little higher than was appropriate, but only a little. As she crossed her legs she realized she was getting wet.

Just then the truck lurched violently. Rachel slid all the way across the bench seat and collided with Brent. He threw his arm out to stop her from flying into the dash or the windshield.

"Shit!" he spat quietly. The truck moved at an odd angle and there was a whup-whup-whup noise. "Flat," said Brent, "I must've been distracted and not seen the hole." Rachel realized his hand was on her breast. Brent wasn't paying attention to that, he was navigating his truck to the side of the road. The feel of his hand on her awakened something in her she'd tried to keep asleep for a long time. She arched her back a little, pressing her breast more fully into his hand.

"Oh, sorry," he said absently, finally noticing where his hand was. She'd caused enough trouble. She was being stupid, acting like a slut. She needed to get out of there. Brent got out and looked at the wheel. The look on his face was one of resignation and determination combined. Life throws shit your way and you deal with it, the look seemed to say. He hopped into the bed and Rachel heard the clank of tools. She got out of the truck.

"Hey, Brent, look, I'm sorry, I should've warned you about that hole. You don't have to do this, I'll just... I'll just walk," said Rachel. Brent hopped down from the bed with his hand curled around a spare tire. He gave her a hard look that made her melt.

"You just gonna leave me to change this all by myself? Only take a minute."

"No, of course not, sorry, I just feel like this is all my fault."

He took off his T-shirt and handed it to her. Oh Jesus, she thought, looking at him. She wanted run her tongue along all his creases, scratch his skin with her nails.

"I told you I'd give you a ride," he said, "Whose fault is that?" She nodded at him and looked away. He clanked and banged around with the jack and a crowbar. Before she even realized what she was doing, she caught herself holding his T-shirt up to her face, breathing in his fresh musk. She caught herself and put the shirt away from her nose, glancing at him to see if he noticed. He was too busy making her want to lick his back as he cranked the jack up under the truck.

Normally, she despised "plumber's crack," but it was a different thing altogether when the man was Brent. She found herself leaning forward and peering into the waistband of his jeans, biting her lip. It was the fourth of July, so of course it was hot as blazes. As Brent worked, a trickle of sweat ran down his spine and into his jeans. Rachel wanted to catch it with her tongue.

He got the flat off and it started to roll crookedly away. Rachel reached out to stop it, still holding Brent's T-shirt in her other hand. She managed to, but her hand became covered in black soot from it. She looked at her palm.

"Ugh," she said, "Now I'm all dirty."

"No," Brent said as he tightened the lug nuts on the spare tire, "Louise is dirty. You're beautiful."

Now she knew. Do it or don't.

As if she were watching herself in a movie, she sidled up next to him and stood so that with a glance he could look up her sun dress.

"I can be dirty for the right man, Brent." Brent did look up her dress, then. Made it a point to look and for her to see him looking. He looked up at her and squinted in that hard way she'd noticed earlier.

"Show me," he said. Rachel bit her lip and looked both ways up and down the road. No cabins near them, nobody in sight, plenty of foliage for cover. She got in front of him as he crouched before the fixed tire. She leaned against his truck and set her feet apart a ways, spreading her legs. He looked at her eyes and she looked into his. She put his T-shirt over her own neck and gathered her sun dress in one hand. With her other hand she pulled her soaked panties aside. A trickle ran down her thigh.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he set his mouth to her. His soft stubble grazed her. Keeping his eyes on hers, his tongue found her home and entered. She bent her hips forward more. Brent's tongue swiped at her sopping slit in rough vertical strokes. She bent forward and her hair fell about her face. Her lips parted in silent moans, and then not-so-silent moans. It had been so long...

She was panting when, after a final rough flick of his tongue, he stood and grabbed her about the waist. He pressed her against his sweat-slicked muscles, smashing her breasts. His lips and chin glistened and dripped with her juices. She licked her lips and tilted her head up, lips parted. His other hand slipped around the back of her head as he kissed her.

The smell and taste of her own musk on him combined with his own taste, making a powerful aphrodisiac. Their tongues caressed and he devoured her, pushing into her mouth forcefully as his knee pressed into her sex. She not only moaned against him, she shuddered. His hand roamed down and grabbed a firm handful of her ass and squeezed. She ground against his thigh as he bit her lip. If this kept up she was going to cum.

But he pulled away from her. He looked at her with that squint. The echoes of his touches bounced around inside her. She tingled like fourth of July sparklers. She couldn't think. She had no idea what to do other than wait to see what he would do.

"Get in," he said, picking her up by the waist and setting her up on the seat inside the truck. She turned to face forward, absently brushing her mussed hair back away from her face and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There was some banging and clanging as tools were flung into the truck bed. The truck squeaked and rocked as he got in and started it again.

"You live alone?"

"Yes," she breathed.

They drove on a ways more. He put his hand into the crook of her knee and pulled her close, then slid his rough fingers up the inside of her thigh. She put her hand on the inside of his thigh, too, and moved up until she found his bulge. He wasn't all the way hard, yet, but she could tell that part of him matched the rest of him. She squeezed it and raked her fingernails gently across the denim, making him sigh noisily. He gave her a crooked sideways smile.

"Yeah, you're dirty," he said.

"For the right man," she said, squeezing him on each word for emphasis. "For the right man, I'm a total fucking slut." She said it to him like a dare. She couldn't believe she said it, she never even hardly swore. But she couldn't take it back, now.

"We'll see," said Brent, yanking her panties aside and sliding a callused finger into her gushing sex with a wet sound. She threw her leg over his lap, putting her foot out the window on his side of the truck, spreading herself wide for him. He curled his finger up deep inside her and made a "come-hither" motion. She rubbed fast circles around her clit to accompany him. The truck hit a rough patch of country road and she jounced on his finger, moaning loudly. Somehow she'd lost all control of herself and shuddered all over his finger. Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her juices sluiced and sprayed out around Brent's hand, splattering across his dashboard and windshield. She gasped and panted and cried out with her climax.

"Goddamn, girl," said Brent. For a moment she thought he was angry or disgusted with her, but his face lit up in that crooked smile that made her want to have him fuck her stupid. She laughed, panting. She pulled his finger out of her and sucked on it, rasping her tongue over his hardened skin. God, had she needed this!

"Here, this one," she said, noticing they'd come upon her house. Brent turned the truck into the driveway and killed the engine. Rachel opened the door and climbed out. It was all she could do to not run inside. Brent came up behind her and as soon as she'd crossed the threshold inside, his hands squeezed her ass through her dress, and then under her dress.

His hand roamed around her front, cupping and squeezing a breast, pinching a nipple, making her gasp. Then his hand found the back of her head. He twisted and wound her hair around his fist right against the back of her skull. She almost collapsed on the spot like a kitten. He yanked her back against his chest and landed rough kisses down her neck. She reached around behind her to the hard iron pressing against the denim of his jeans.

Controlling her utterly, he pulled on her hair, forcing her to her knees. Well, it wasn't forcing if she wanted it, was it? And she did want it. Yes, she did. She couldn't unbuckle his belt and get his fly open fast enough. His cock sprung free and she buried her face in the crook of his thigh, breathing in deeply the scent of his sweat from changing the tire. It was fresh and ripe, making her ravenous. She swiped her tongue from base to tip. She flickered her tongue across his tip as she stroked it. She plunged herself onto it, pushing it into the back of her throat with each thrust of her head.

But his hand still held her tightly by the hair and he used it to control the pace and depth of his hard cock filling her mouth, pushing her tongue down, teasing her gag reflex every time his head pressed against the back of her throat. He used her mouth to fuck his cock, moving her head faster and harder than she could do it herself. Strings of thick throat spit flung out from her lips and dangled from her chin. He pulled out of her mouth and rubbed her face all over his glistening cock.

"You were coming here to get a dessert?" He said.


"Dessert," said Brent, "where is it?" Rachel was confused at this utilitarian turn of events.

"Uh..." she had to think for a moment. It wasn't easy with Brent's cock standing right in front of her glazed face, "Kitchen." Brent laughed.

"No shit, my dirty little slut. Where's the kitchen?" He still had her by the hair so he lifted her back to her feet. "Walky-walk," he said, pushing on the back of her head. She made her way to the kitchen and he pushed her faster than she really wanted to walk. His other hand pressed on her between her legs from behind. She moaned and half duck-walked, half tripped her way to the kitchen.

The kitchen table was still covered with bowls and implements and things from when she'd made the Jell-O casserole earlier. Brent threw her over the table. In her haste to keep her face from hitting something, she scattered a mixing bowl and sent it flying off the table. The table shook with her impact. Brent lifted her leg up onto the table, making her stand on the other and spreading her wide. He reached over her and picked up a knife. Cold panic raced through her until she realized he was using it to cut away her panties.

Nobody in her life had ever done such a thing to her. She moaned and thought she was going to cum in only a few seconds. Jesus Christ, she'd never felt so hot and slutty in her entire life. She wanted Brent to do the worst things to her, and it looked as if he did, too. Even though she didn't think she could possibly get any wetter, Brent crouched down behind her upturned ass and spit on her pussy. The sound cracked like a firework in the otherwise silent kitchen. She felt it hit her and run down her leg.

"Oh, God, please," she breathed.

"Please, what?" said Brent.

"Put your cock in me," said, Rachel, "Fuck me."

"Fuck you like what?" said Brent.

"Fuck me like a slut," Rachel panted.

"No," he said. She was getting confused again. Just put it in! she screamed inside her head.

"A slut'll fuck anybody. Is that who you are?" he said.


"You're not a slut. You're my slut. Got it?"


"Lemme hear you say it."

"I'm your slut, Brent!"

"That's right, baby, All mine." Funny, Louise had said those exact words not even an hour ago.

He rubbed the tip of his cock against her wetness, lubricating himself, and then he pushed into her, hard, all the way to the hilt, filling her. She was so fucking hot and wet and aching for him that she came almost immediately, shuddering her hips around his cock, crying out into her forearm onto the kitchen table.

He'd never let go of her hair, this whole time. Now he used it and his other hand on her hips to yank her onto his cock as he thrust into her. He set a pounding rhythm. His hips slapped against her ass as he took her from behind.

"Goddamn, you're tight," said Brent. He rammed into her harder, fucking her so hard the table wobbled noisily. Rachel was soaring, laid bare, opened up, inside out. She was panting and moaning so loudly she almost sounded as if she were in pain. But far from it, she'd never felt this good in her entire life. Brent slammed into her, yanking on her hair. The kitchen table shook, and an open bag of confectioner's sugar fell over and spilled out. Oh well. Everything was building up inside her and she started losing control over herself. Her arms and hands shook and randomly jerked about in her ecstasy. She knocked bowls and whisks off the kitchen table and sent them flying. She didn't fucking care, she was going to cum, and by the way Brent frantically sped up, so was he.

He pulled her up by her hair so her back arched and her breasts heaved. His cock pounded her, the slick friction of it igniting her release. Changing his angle, he dug into her, bore down on her. He grunted loudly in time with his thrusts, and so did Rachel.

"Oh, God! Oh, shit! Fuck!" Brent had been fucking her so hard they'd walked the table over a foot towards the wall and pushed a kitchen chair over. It fell with a loud bang. Brent stopped, utterly still for a moment. Rachel held her breath and went still also.

Brent nearly roared as he spurted his cum into her. He shuddered and grunted, thrusting into the cum he shot into her, making her pussy extra wet and slick.

"Yes!" cried Rachel. Brent's climax set off her own. Her pussy quivered around his cock, clenching and squeezing it. Her climax rode her as roughly as Brent rode her. Her body shuddered and shook on the kitchen table. A glass bowl that had wobbled to edge fell and shattered.

"I told you I'd give you a ride," he said, bending over her and kissing the top of her shoulder.


Back at the Fourth of July potluck, everyone loved her Jell-O casserole, even though Rachel herself thought it was gross. Louise shot her dirty looks the whole time, but Rachel didn't care. She looked freshly fucked and she didn't care about that, either. Let people talk. She belonged to the hottest man around the lake. She sat, contented, drinking a cold beer, as Brent's cum slowly leaked out into her panties under her dress. She watched Brent talking with the local guys and knew that, sooner or later, he'd want his dirty little slut again for another ride. 

Hopefully, a rough ride.

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  1. *whimpers*
    They're lucky they didn't break that table...

    1. The table and the mixing bowl will both need counseling after this.

  2. Wow.... To even think about being taken rough vanilla or not is enough to soak ones panties. Arousing read!! Thank you.