Sophie Sin's Classics #1 to #6 Read online

  The pounded her with incredible intensity. There was no other way to describe it. The men didn’t stop hammering her without even a moment of pause. She felt her vagina start to warm as the contractions started. She was going to cum.

  The world became one soggy heaven as her vagina squirted fluids out onto Rick’s pelvis. She looked down to see it slide down into the cracks between his abdominal muscles.

  She had never cum from anal with any other men. Tim and Rick were the only ones who had achieved the feat.

  Rick upped the pace even further. The front entrance of his home was filled with the echoes of her ass being slapped hard by their hips.

  Tim was the first to unload. He screamed loudly and unleashed milky loads into her.

  “Don’t let it out,” Rick commanded.

  Tim moaned his understanding and kept his cock in place so that they could keep the cream in the pie.

  Rick groaned. She looked down into his powerful brown eyes.

  “Cum for me, baby,” she begged.

  He tensed and came. Her ass suddenly felt very full as a dozen wads of white goo loaded her up. There were cum babies on board now in her ass and the fathers were grinning happily.

  Rick pulled out and quickly went to the wine glasses. He grabbed one and came back over.

  “Fill it.”

  Tim pulled out his cock and replaced it with his thumb. Sarah came over and squatted over the glass. They waited in anticipation as she squeezed.

  Cum came out in a long flood. Both of them were known for carrying massive loads and the glass was soon half full.

  Sarah picked it up. Tim got himself a glass of wine and they stood three glasses, one cum, two red wine.

  “Cheers!” Sarah said clinking glasses.

  The boys took a sip and smiled.

  She brought the glass up to her mouth and let the cum pass down into her throat. There was so much of it that it made her feel almost ill filling herself with it.

  Salty, sweet, she gulped it down.

  Finally it was gone. She opened her mouth and then smiled as the boys applauded her.

  She followed them into the lounge. There was a porno movie on. It was her last visit here: the one that they had filmed.

  “My ass looks fat.”

  Tim spread her legs up against the couch.

  She looked down. His cock was already hard. She smiled. They were going to do it again so soon. She’d have stories to tell tonight!

  Riding A Gorgeous Wife

  (Cheater Wives Book 1)

  This is a standalone short story and a part of the Cheater Wives series. It contains a happy ending.

  To Cheat Or Not To Cheat

  Harry Harris, 25 years old, drunk at his older brother's birthday party.

  There's a few things that a man shouldn't have to face in his life. Mine is this: Should I cheat or not cheat with the woman sitting directly across from me at the kitchen table of her small suburban home?

  That's not an easy question to answer. Nancy is beautiful: Rosy blond just under shoulder length hair with diamond blue flecked eyes that seem to blaze like stars when she looks at me. Her toned and tanned arms are folded across each other with the long glass of her drink in one hand. They cup her large breasts and push them up and out to nearly spill from the light blue top that she's wearing.

  My eyes are resting on them when, to her left, Jenny, a friend of ours, reaches out and grabs the thin glass bottle that holds the vodka from the pile of mixers in the table. As she does, Nancy glances Jenny's way to ask for some extra in her glass and I feel a light sense of dismay blow over me, which soon subsides when I return to enjoying the rest of her.

  Nancy's skin glows with the freshness of youth. Her cheeks are reddened from the liquor and her love-heart shaped face with its buttoned nose that defines cuteness is turned up in a pleasant expression of enjoyment as Kathy, Jenny's roommate, begins teasing the woman about being much too fond of the drink, the latter drunkenly slapping the table in protest and revealing the truth of Kathy's words in the process.

  I take only a single greedy second, as there are too many others at the table to not be extremely careful in checking Nancy out, at her trim waist which tapers inwards from a top and bottom that are very heavy around the breasts and buttocks.

  Finally, after some time contemplating how a woman could have a waist that trim with breasts that huge, I give myself the moment of enjoyment that I have being holding back from and allow myself to glance at her lips – those incredible lips of hers – which are always so shamelessly full and ever teasing. It takes me far too long to rip my gaze away from them.

  Reaching out and turning my eyes away to hide my lust and indecision, I grab up the vodka bottle that Jenny has just returned from the hard wooden surface of the brown polished kitchen table to slosh a SOLID helping of the spicy liquid into my green and white patterned glass tumbler as thoughts I know I shouldn't be entertaining tear through my mind with demonic aggressiveness.

  The simple thought of kissing those lips is like hell fire to my heart. I can almost taste their sweetness and it makes me wonder... If I stole a kiss (how bad could it really be?), would I find their true flavor to be the same as what I think it would be?

  Nancy throws a hand across the crowded table and pats mine mid-conversation. It breaks me out of my thoughts (something I can say I'm quite grateful for considering how wrong they are) and brings me back to the real world. Those sexy lips are wide in a white flashing smile and the small high pitch laugh that exits her mouth is cute to the point of being too much for me. She asks me a question and I struggle for a reply that is lost in the discussion going on around us when given.

  The group of party goers we are sitting with have gathered together to talk of the past. We are reminiscing about our youth and of those that are important to us. However, neither I or Nancy speak of what every single person at the table knows and is probably thinking: That one piece of history that is lurking in the back of all of our minds begging to be looked at – to be seen and understood – and, more important than anything, to be told. Just as it always does when me and Nancy are together.

  Her sweet laughter continues as a rather lewd story about how my best friend Denny met his girlfriend Joanna in a bar in Mexico 3 years ago. It rises and flows and twists and turns and eventually finishes to be the jumping point for another louder and more boisterous story and another after that as the group tries to beat out the noise of the loud rock song blaring from the stereo in the next room.

  I eye up Nancy as they speak. She's liquored up right now. I can smell the faintest scent of strawberries from the several empty punnets on the table in the middle of the group and the hot scent of cheap vodka on her breath when she laughs. Every time I speak or throw in some casual comment, she always turns and smiles my way. All I can keep thinking is: God is she gorgeous.

  But, you see, the thing that makes that thought truly wrong – taboo – is that she's my brother's wife. Nancy is untouchable.

  Ted has his hairy beer belly out and is jiggling it around to the amusement of those sitting around him in the small living room next to the kitchen. It always kinds of shocks me how ugly my brother has become. I'm tall, brown haired and built; he's fat, balding and often drunk. We rarely get along and Nancy and our family are the only real ties we have. People might call us brothers, but that word couldn't be further from the truth.

  My concentration is on him for a time as he laughs, clowns around and totally makes a fool of himself – beer sloshing from the bottle in his hand to the carpet and his face yanked out into some maniac expression as he tells what is probably a story of him drinking and playing the fool. Honestly, It would be so easy to...

  No, my thoughts intrude, I won't do that to him. He's family, even if neither of us feel that way, and it's his birthday for fuck's sake.

  I quietly shift my hands under the table and grit my fists into lumps of shame against my knees. Unfortunately, between them stands a bulge that is
hard enough to break stone. I bring one hand up only momentarily to grab a hold of my glass of whiskey, twisting my hand into the smooth surface, and down it in one.

  “Another?” Nancy is the one to ask as I plop it down on the table with a clonk that seems a little loud.

  Karen, her best friend, grabs up the vodka bottle with an encouraging smile and belts about three-quarters of a glass worth of the hot spirit into my tumbler before I can decline. I stare down at it and realize the one single truth of this entire situation: I can't do this.

  My chair squeals on the hard wooden floor. One or two of the guests at my brother's birthday party glance up. Their faces show confusion and worry at the strained look in my eyes.

  “I need some fresh air,” is all I can get out in explanation.

  Snatching up my glass, I hustle off before anyone notices the very large lump at the front of my light brown cargo pants.

  Only one set of eyes follows me as I leave the room. They are blue like diamonds and open wide in shocked understanding. I don't see them. I would have run away if I had.

  Being Naughty With Nancy

  Harry Harris, hard and hoping.

  My dick is stiff and throbbing in the floral soap greased palm of my lightly calloused hand. Right at this moment I'm violently pumping it like a crazed mad man on suicide mission to spill every bit of seed I have in my balls into the bathroom sink. The color of it has reached a nasty cheery blossom red and ripe finger marks crisscross the fat shaft. Each mark burns from the intense friction of my jerking and I suspect there will be bruises on my dick tomorrow morning from this.

  I look up to meet my own dark brown eyes in the polished surface of the bathroom mirror that sits over top of the white porcelain sink. They are strained around the corners and my whole face has become tomato red with a light sweat glistening on my brow.

  In the background the desperate slapping of skin on skin echoes off the walls and my forearm muscles of my right arm are swollen and getting to the point where they might tear.

  “Fuck... Please don't do this to me.”

  For all the begging that I've done over the past 10 minutes since coming up here to the second floor bathroom of Nancy and Ted's large home, my dick stands solid, stiff and never ending in its resistance. I've been on the edge of cumming for 3 of those 10 now and it's quite clear that for the very first time in my life I have what most men call 'whiskey dick'. The experience so far has not been pleasant.

  Stuck in a world between cumming and not, I'm yanking on my cock with enough ferocity to tear it off, knowing full well with these things that its either now or never, when there's a sudden polite knock on the large white door next to the toilet.

  “Is everything alright in there?”

  Oh no. This seriously can't be happening...

  “I'm just...” I stare down at my dick. What should I say? I'm dumbstruck by the situation.

  Right outside the door is the very last woman in the world that I'd want to see me like this. Pity I forgot to lock it.

  It swings open a quarter of the way and Nancy pops her head in.

  There's this look on her love heart face that is half embarrassed and half amused. Just looking at her looking at me like that makes my face burn an even brighter shade of red. It takes me a full second or two to slow my hand action down and to come to a complete and miserable halt. This is most certainly the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life.

  “I thought you'd be up here.” The woman slips in, carefully locks the door behind her and turns to stare at me.

  “Ummm...” I haven't put my cock away – heck, I haven't even taken my hand off it. My heart is racing and my mind is blank. It's like someone took a sledgehammer and hit me right square between the eyes. More than that though it's the fact that Nancy is staring at my cock. Her tongue slips out and runs over her luscious lips hungrily. This woman doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by the fact that I have been jacking off in her upstairs bathroom. Not one bit.

  “Don't stop because I'm here,” she says, her tone soft with amusement. “I'm totally fine with watching.”

  Wow... Now this is a side of her that I've never seen before. It sends a quiet thrill through me and, at the same time, scares me silly.

  My grip releases and my hand slides to my side rest on my naked thigh.

  “I can't. Ted would kill us if he saw you in here with me.”

  “What? Because of a few rumors back when we were kids?” Nancy's fists dig into her sides. “Come on, Harry. We are all grown ups here.”

  My throat contracts quite brutally on hearing her of all people say that. I try very hard not to choke.

  The rumors that she speaks of lasted all throughout our senior year of high school and followed us here to this party. The way that Nancy speaks about them is like they were nothing – inconsequential, but she's dead wrong. They are everything: The core of our relationship and what defines us and who we are to each other more than anything else.

  Can she really be that unconcerned about them?

  I shake my head and state quite firmly, “You should go.”

  Nancy shrugs her shoulders and gives me a tiny smile. Instead of leaving the woman slips down to the toilet seat and crosses one sexy tanned leg over the other with the palms of her small hands resting on the upside knee.

  “Not until you are finished.”

  I can already see how this is going to go. When Nancy sets her lips like that – a firm line that seems nearly as straight as a ruler – she can be stubborn to the point of being unmovable. Clearly the woman has it on her mind to not give up on 'watching'. I've encountered this side of her a million times over the last decade of knowing her and I already understand that there's no way of getting through to her what I know I must. That this isn't right – not one bit – and the ones to pay for it will be both of us. If Ted or another guest comes...

  “Yeah, well, I'm done,” I say.

  Nancy's laughter is crisp and sharp with an edge of something indistinguishable.

  “That big hunk of flesh between your legs doesn't seem to think so. Didn't it throb just now when I looked down at it?” Purposefully, she does so. “And, look, now it's done it again. I think your cock wants me to watch.”

  These words of hers... They stir in me a powerful fear. What should I say? What should I do? I'm risking my entire family life here. And, for all it's worth, if I couldn't see Nancy anymore...

  No, I can't think of that.

  The palms of my hands ache. I glance down at them and realize that I've been balling my hands up into fists and that the skin has been cut by my fingernails to the point where it is bleeding.

  Grabbing my waist band and staining the fabric a light red here and there, I rip up my cargo pants. Once inside my dick strains against the cloth such that the front bulges, the seams painfully rip at the tip of my dick and three small spots of pre-cum form around the zipper.

  Nancy raises both eyebrows. “You aren't going to leave like that are you?” Her eyes focus on my dick. “I think people are going to notice.”

  My hands come together again and form two fists that shake violently with the heat of my frustration. I use every bit of my willpower to make them uncontract and release.

  “I can't do this.” I lower my head to avoid her gorgeous blue eyes. My tone drops with it. “I won't do this.”

  Nancy's fingers crease into her light gray and green skirt. “Why?”

  That's an easy question to answer.

  “Because you are his.”

  The woman smirks and raises her nose at me.

  “Are you kidding me, Harry?” She pauses until I meet her eyes. “You know about last year, correct?” Again there is a slight pause that speaks volumes. “I mean everyone knows about what happened.”

  Of course I do. It was Christmas and, as always, Ted went out to get drunk and, in what has become a holiday tradition, managed to get himself arrested. Nancy was the one that had to pick him up, unfort
unately, and the officers who arrested him at the scene weren't too smart about things when she asked what her husband had been up to that resulted in his arrest. The cops straight out told her that he was being a little too verbal with a street whore, which, apparently, he'd purchased services from, but which he hadn't actually paid for yet. No one knows if my older brother fucked the prostitute before he was arrested, but if I had to bet money on it, I'd say he tried but his dick probably couldn't have gotten hard enough to seal the deal. Nancy might not see things the same way.

  “Yeah, I know. Ted's always been an asshole.”

  “You are right there. We also haven't slept together since.”

  That's a surprise. I thought they were active like that. Ted is always holding her and kissing her at the few family events where Nancy, Ted and I were present.

  “I'm, ummmm... sorry to hear that.”

  Her eyes drill into mine – this time so hard that it's like of force of nature. “No you're not.”

  “Sorry?”

  “No you are not, Harry Harris. In fact, I think you are a little pleased to hear it.”

  I deny her words, but my tone tells the lie.

  The gorgeous blond stalks up to me, pops a finger hard into my chest and stares into my eyes with a look like a tiger about to wolf down a hunk of meat.

  “Can you understand how lonely I am?” she demands. “Do you know what it's like having this hang over our relationship?”

  I try to lightly pats her shoulder, but she brushes it away.

  “Ted is an asshole, Nancy. He's always like this,” I repeat as I back away.

  “And now you go and hide up here so you can jerk off over something you should have dealt with years ago,” she continues without looking away. “Don't you think it's unfair? Isn't it just a little wrong in your eyes that you hide from me because of a bunch of silly words people threw around in our last year?”