The Erotic Office : Episode Two

By popular demand... well, demand from one person anyway... here is the second episode of this serial I started on my old Yahoo erotic story group. Since this is as far as I got with it, the chance of me posting any more is quite small. It would take major pressure... like two people asking me to.

The Erotic Office : Episode Two

Leah from Girls Out West

When  I opened my eyes they were looking straight into hers. It was Nicole.

There was no way I could stop. Waves of delirious pleasure coursed through me as I shot stream after stream of cum all over the front of Nicole's blouse and mini-skirt, and onto her long bare legs.

"You naughty boy! Look what a mess you've made!" she exclaimed.

As I cleaned myself up, I heard her run back into the main office.

"David was masturbating in the toilet and shot his stuff all over me!" she told all of the other women in the office. "Look what a mess he made of me!"

"You had better rinse that out right away," came a knowledgeable voice from across the room. "Cum stains."

When I came out of the cubicle, Nicole was standing at one of the basins wearing only her bra and panties. Her panties were so brief that they revealed a full inch of cleavage in the back as she bent down and sponged away at her clothes.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to."

"That's O.K., Honey," she said. "I should have knocked."

"I thought this was the men's," I explained.

"Well, there weren't any men until today," she said. "And it's closer than the other one."

"Which explains the pictures on the walls," I responded.

"Exactly. You're not the first one to play with yourself in there you know," she winked. "Oh, dear. It looks like I'll have to work like this for the rest of the day," she added, hanging her clothes over the radiator to dry.

"I don't mind," I smiled.

"I bet you don't," she replied.

Leah from Girls Out West

My face was burning when I came back out into the main office. All of the women were laughing at me. 
Deb, the food and wine columnist, was making a crude wanking gesture. "Maybe you'd like a little help next time. I'm sure I'm a better aim than you are. Or were you planning on hitting poor little Nicole?"

I slunk away to my desk and tried to look inconspicuous.

From then on the women in the office felt they could take liberties with my person. As I went about doing my work, which required consulting with each about her work, I was groped, stroked and pinched.

But that was O.K. They could hardly complain if I did likewise. And so, by the end of the afternoon, there would not be a soft plump breast or rounded firm bottom in the room that I hadn't squeezed or stroked or patted to my heart's content.

Though my heart may have been content, however, my cock was not. I made no attempt to hide its state of stiffness, and, indeed, several of the ladies could not resist squeezing the front of my pants to test it's firmness.

The main visual treat of the afternoon, of course, was watching Nicole flit about the office in her skimpy little bra and panties. I was tempted to accidentally spill coffee on them to see if I could get her nude, but I decided that that was sport for another day.

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon she had a long giggling conversation on the phone after which she knocked on Cheryl's door and informed her that "Wolfie" would be coming in tomorrow afternoon to talk about an idea he had for a story in which he would "go undercover" in a nudist colony.

"I don't know how you can go 'undercover' in a nudist colony," Nicole finished, "I thought the whole idea was to go 'uncovered'."

"Never mind, I'm sure 'Wolfie' will explain everything," Cheryl assured her. "By the way, why are you undressed?"

"David wanked all over my clothes," she explained.

"Did he indeed?" Cheryl asked rhetorically. "You'd better send him in."

"Cheryl wants to see you David," she told me as she came back out.

"What's this I hear about you wanking all over Nicole's clothes?" Cheryl asked as I entered her office and closed the door behind me.

Savannah from Girls Out West

"It was an accident," I replied, nervously.

"You were just accidentally masturbating?" she asked.

"Well, no. I was doing that on purpose."

"Why?"

"Well, to tell you the truth it was you."

"Me?"

"You got me so turned on I just had to get some relief," I explained.

"Well, flattering as that may be," she replied, "I don't take kindly to anything which disrupts work in the office. You'll need to be punished. Come over here and drop your pants."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Come over here and drop them."

I approached her desk, undid my belt and unzipped my pants and let them drop to the floor.

"Don't tell me I've got you all excited again?" she asked when she saw how my stiff cock jutted out within my underpants.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "It has a mind of it's own."

"Here, wank off into this," she ordered, throwing me a lacy handkerchief which she pulled out of her pocket. "I don't want you making a mess of my desk when I spank you."

My mind swam at the strangeness of it all, but I did as I was told. I pulled down my underpants, grasped my cock and began wanking while Cheryl looked on intently. She was standing up behind her desk now and I looked deep into her green eyes as I stroked my stiffness. As I masturbated I imagined grabbing her and ripping off her dress. I saw myself taking her across the desk, sliding my cock in and out of her dripping wet pussy as she screamed for more. Finally, I moaned and filled the silk hankie with my seed.

"You look like you enjoyed that," Cheryl commented, handing me a half dozen tissues to clean myself up with.

"Thank you," I replied. "I did."

"I'll tell you a little secret," she said, conspiratorially. "So did I. But now discipline must be served. Bend over the desk."

Leaving my now wilted cock nestled within a pile of tissues, I bent down over the desk.

Cheryl stroked my bottom tenderly one time and then began giving it a series of hard spanks. I was surprised by her strength, and soon I was smarting from the pain.

"There. Let that be a lesson to you," she said.

I readjusted by clothing and went back out into the main office where the women were laughing at me once again. Oh, well.

I had to consult with Alexandra, who was the lay-out designer for the magazine, so I pulled a chair up next to hers and asked to look at what she had been working on.

Cleo from Girls Out West

Alexandra was a strikingly attractive woman with long black hair piled up in a bun on the top of her head. She wore very fashionable looking red glasses, the frames of which matched the cherry colour of her lipstick.

As she showed me the layout for the new issue, I gently caressed the back of her neck. Then she turned towards me to explain a particular detail, and I found myself looking deep into her bright blue eyes and not hearing a word she was saying. I imagined those soft tender red lips kissing their way down my chest.

Finally, I felt myself drawn by some kind of sexual magnetism to press my lips to hers. She responded passionately, opening her mouth and locking tongues with me. I was lost in another world, until the sound of cheers and applause from the other women brought me back to reality.

"I just had to do that," I told her. "I couldn't concentrate on work until I got that out of my system."

"Oh, I wouldn't want anything to get in the way of your ability to concentrate," she replied, breathily.

Eventually, I had to move on to dealing with some other matters, and returned to my own desk. A number of the women had, at various times, to come and consult me on something, and this would also entail a little mutual fondling, and, just to make sure I could concentrate on what they were saying, each would give me a passionate kiss before going on to consult with me.

I was on my way back from making myself a cup of tea when Alexandra stopped me.

"I've dropped my pen under my desk," she explained, "and I can't seem to find it. Do you think you could have a look for it?"

"Of course," I replied helpfully, and crawled under her desk.

As soon as I was there I realised that she had pulled her full skirt up around her waist. She wasn't wearing any panties, and she was playing with herself. Her fingers were twiddling with her stiff clit amidst a forest of jet-black pubes.

With a sigh I buried my face between her warm soft thighs. I pressed my lips against her wet pussy, and lapped at it with my tongue. My lips kissed her pussy and her still playing fingers.

I stayed under Alexandra's desk for half-an-hour, the two of us engaged in a cosy conspiracy centred on her orgasmic pleasure.

Finally, however, she came, wetting my face with her juices, and I crawled out from under her desk, staggering a little until the blood came back into my legs.

All of a sudden, it seemed, it was 5. 30 and time to go home. But the women explained that they wanted to have a little party to welcome me to the office, so computers were turned off and alcohol was brought out.

Victor and Annabel from Girls Out West

Cheryl came out of her office, too, and joined in the fun. And soon we were all a bit tipsy.
"You've been a very naughty boy, today," Deb pointed out, taking a swig of red wine straight from the bottle. "I think you should make up for it by taking off all of your clothes."

"Yes," agreed Cheryl. "What's a party without a nude man to serve us our drinks and nibblies."

I didn't need any further prompting. The ladies all helped me to get out of my clothes, and from then on I wandered amongst them with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, and my stiff cock wagging in front of me.

"It's initiation time!" cried Alexandra, who'd let her hair down now, so that it fell down around her shoulders.

"Yes, initiation time," they all agreed, including Nicole, who had her hand down her panties and was happily playing with herself....

Rosie from Girls Out West

To be continued (when Hell freezes over)...

Book Review : Giggles, Grins and 'Gasms by Nikki Palmer

I'm always looking for writers with a playful, humorous approach to erotica. That's the kind of stories I like to write, but it is also what I like to read. So I am glad that I've happened upon Nikki Palmer. She doesn't only write humorous erotic, she writes a lot of more serious stories too, but anyone who likes my stories should definitely read her collection Giggles, Grins and 'Gasms which brings together six of her more light-hearted stories.



I really love this book! To me sexy stories are sexier when they are funny and playful. Nikki Palmer certainly delivers some erotically described sexual encounters, but the sexiest thing about these short stories is the cheeky nature of their heroines and anti-heroines. Two of the lead characters are nasty pieces of work, but by the end of their stories I'd developed a soft spot in my heart even for them. And I fell almost instantly in love with the other four female protagonists who either pursue their particular erotic desires with cheerful enthusiasm or surrender themselves to an ultimately rapturous sexual experience with a kind of wide-eyed innocence.


Nikki Palmer has a way of softening this reader's heart while stiffening his...err, resolve to seek out more of her writing.


The Stories


Rose and the Alien

Comedy based around aliens taking what humans say too literally is nothing new, but this story still made me laugh. And, perhaps more importantly, I found it very sexy, not because of the alien - who is pretty unemotional about the idea of having sex with a human - but because of Rose's dedication to pursuing her own pleasure untroubled by the unconventional nature of the satisfier of her needs. And the story has a plot twist which had me practically clapping my hands in glee.


Kara the Slave

This is not at all a believable story. Kara supposedly acts out of fear and yet seems happy and relaxed about her situation. But that's part of the fun of the story. It's like a cartoon. And the predictability of the resolution doesn't matter for the same reason. It's implausibility does nothing to take away from the sexiness of Kara's all-too-willing exercise in submission.


Brenda the Bitch

There are lots of spanking stories but they are always more fun when the spankee really deserves to be paddled and that is the case with this story. Brenda really is obnoxious. Her come-uppance is satisfying and very, very sexy. But in the end she's kind of loveable because her uninhibited bitchiness is just going to require so much punishment.


Buttcrack Betty

I've always had a thing for the sight of a little female buttcrack so I was bound to be intrigued by this story. It's a imaginative story about a girl with a fixation on plumbers, an uninhibitedly sexy little romance.


Naked Natalie

This was the first of Nikki Palmer's stories which I read before buying this collection. How can anyone not love a heroine who just loves being naked and is amused by the response of guys to whom she opens her front door that way? Natalie is mischief personified.


Wham Bam Thank You, Pam!

Pam is not a very pleasant person. It's funny and satisfying to see her struggle to get what she normally takes for granted. But, in the end, I found her indefatigable selfishness kind of endearing. And the story provided a scenario I've since found myself playing back in my head as a fantasy - something which is a sure sign that an erotic story has done what it is intended to do.


You can find this ebook at Smashwords or Barnes & Noble. You'll also find most of the stories as individual ebooks.

Ode to a Bum

Vesper from Girls Out West

Being sat on all day does you no harm

It robs you of none of your cheeky charm

Though your owner thinks that you're too fat

You are what I most fervently long to pat

Even when you were sitting upon the crapper

You inspired a song from LL Cool Jay the rapper

Millions of guys dream of you while wanking

But what you most desire is a painful spanking

Hidden deep between your fleshy globes

Is a tight little hole that welcomes probes

Let me slide my hotdog between your buns

You inspirer of some of my cheesiest puns

I know you can't hear me as you have no ears

But you really are the queen of all the rears

You sublime and sensuous panty stretcher

Inspirer of unending lust in this dirty lecher

Unbridalled (sic) : Wank Wednesday

At Aussiescribbler's, and at many another fine blog around the blogosphere, every Wednesday is Wank Wednesday. Today the prompt word is #bell. (You'll be glad to hear that I've resisted the temptation to write an erotic version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.) For more about Wank Wednesday, and to find everyone else's contributions, check out Ruby Kiddell's The Erotic Notebook :

Unbridalled (sic)

"'Therefore, send not to know / For whom the bell tolls, / It tolls for thee' as John Donne once said," declared Teresa soberly.

"I remember him," said Cara. "He was the bartender down at the Tropicana Lounge."

"He was a poet," explained Teresa, shaking her head.

"I never knew that," Cara replied. "But he made a mean Cowboy Cocksucker."

"John Donne was a British poet from about four hundred years ago," pointed out an exasperated Teresa.

"But he was talking about death," added Fiona, "not wedding bells."

"Same difference," put in Brenda, lighting a cigar.

"I never thought that Alice would find a man," said Teresa. "Many men, yes, one in particular, never in a million years."

"Not just any man could make an honest woman of Alice," Fiona added. "It had to be a man with lots of money."

"A dishonest woman, you mean," Brenda corrected her. "Pretending that she only has eyes for her husband and doesn't actually want to be gang-banged by every hot guy in sight ; wearing designer dresses when she'd rather be rocking a boob tube and some super-tight Daisy Dukes ; staying home every night watching TV and bringing her hubby beers from the fridge instead of being out on the town with the Slut Pack fucking random guys in club toilets and waking up the next morning in the gutter covered in her own puke. That doesn't sound like honesty to me."

"That's the problem with the idea of marrying a rich guy like Manfred," explained Teresa. "It would give you the money you need to do anything you want, only you wouldn't be allowed to. It's a veritable Catch-22, as Joseph Heller would have said."

"I know," exclaimed Cara, "he was a famous baseball player, right?"

"American novelist," sighed Teresa. "One of the best."

Alice was off at a fitting for her wedding dress, and the rest of the famous Slut Pack were taking advantage of her absence to discuss how they really felt about her upcoming nuptials.

"You know the definition of a man?" asked Brenda, knocking the ash off of her cigar and taking a swig from her bottle of Jim Beam.

"I don't know," Fiona played along. "What is the definition of a man?"

"A life-support system for a cock," Brenda guffawed. She lifted the hem of her mini-dress to reveal she was wearing no panties. Then she scratched her labia as she took another swig of bourbon.

"A bit of cheese on the old taco?" queried Cara.

"No way," declared Brenda. "My cunt is in perfect health, but it is just itching to get fucked."

They all laughed.

And they laughed even harder when Fiona let out a loud fart. It was hard to believe such a loud sound could come out of someone so small. Fiona was only 3 1/2 feet tall. Her friends knew her affectionately as Mini-Fi. And she was given to flatulence.

"Are we going to allow Alice to split up the Slut Pack?" asked Brenda, tapping more cigar ash into the ashtray that she had now positioned between her massive breasts.

"What can we do about it?" asked Cara, whose blonde hair, according to scientists, had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she was as thick as two short planks.

"Manfred's parents place a lot of importance on appearances," pointed out Fiona. "As Alice's bridesmaids, we are central to the decorum, or lack thereof, at the wedding."

"Are you suggesting sabotage?" asked Brenda, eagerly.

"We have to stop this marriage 'by any means necessary' - as Malcolm X put it," enthused Teresa.

"I remember Malcolm's ex," piped up Cara. "She was a super-bitch from Hell. I'm not surprised he dumped her."

*          *          *

"They weren't kidding about you being the best man!" exclaimed Fiona, as she unzipped the fly of Manfred's best friend Brad's formal trousers, only to be slapped in the face by his massive erection. She tenderly stroked his balls as she licked up and down the underside of his shaft.

"I've never been sucked off by a midget before," Brad told her.

"Little person," she corrected him.

"Oh, sorry," he said, tenderly stroking her hair as she slid her lips over the bell end of his cock.

"For a little person, you sure have a deep throat," he groaned.

Little did he know that as this was taking place, Brenda was behind him casually slipping her hand into his pants' pocket and stealing the wedding ring.

Fiona removed her mouth from Brad's cock.

"You probably want to shoot your load all over my pretty face," she explained, "but the wedding starts in just a few minutes so I can't have you messing up my make-up. I'll just have to keep you safe inside my mouth where I can suck out all your yummy jism and swallow it all down so that no-one will be any the wiser."

She smeared her ruby red lipstick all down the length of his already saliva-coated cock and tickled his balls with her gloved hands until he exploded a thick hot river of cum down her throat.

"Never has doing one's duty by a friend been so much fun," giggled Fiona, reapplying her lipstick as she approached Brenda. "Did you get the ring?"

"I sure did," smiled Brenda. "And I've found the perfect place to hide it."

"Where's that?" Fiona wanted to know.

"In my ring," laughed Brenda, lifting her dress and bending over. She was wearing no panties, and, as she pulled apart the cheeks of her sizeable arse, the diamond could be seen winking ostentatiously from her sphincter.

"Perfect," smiled Fiona. "Well, can't hang about here gabbing. There's another cock to be sucked."

*           *           *

"I had my doubts about this girl," Manfred's father Mr. Mann said to his wife as they sat in the front pew of the ornately decorated Catholic church, "but I am now beginning to understand that she was just a diamond in the rough. She can be our kind of people."

"Of course she can," replied his wife Eugenia. "All we have to make sure of is that nobody finds out about her past."

"Well, we all have one of those, don't we?" he reassured her. "Money can cover up a multitude of sins."

"Ah, here comes Father Dominic," Eugenia pointed out. "I've always thought he looked too sexy to be a priest. It seems such a waste. Is it naughty to think like that?"

"Where's the other bridesmaid?" asked Mr. Mann.

"You mean the Munchkin?" Eugenia wanted to know. "She's probably just standing behind someone. It's so easy to lose sight of her."

At that moment, their driver ran down the side aisle of the church with something hidden beneath his coat.

"I found this out on the lawn," he explained in an anxious tone, discreetly showing them Fiona's bridesmaid's dress. "Her panties and brassiere as well."

"My god!" exclaimed Eugenia. "There's a nude midget on the loose! I hope she's not in the church."

Mr. Mann did the best he could to hide the evidence beneath their pew.

Father Dominic was now standing behind the altar. He was preparing himself to begin the ceremony, when he felt a breeze up the back of his cassock. He was no longer alone under there. Someone small and nude was pulling down his y-fronts.

"Manfred, do you take Alice to be your wife?" he asked, a little nervously. "Do you promise to be true to her...oh, that feels so good... in good times and in bad... bad girl... , in sickness and in health, to love her... oh, Jeez, suck my balls!... and honour her... gobble my knob, you slut... all the days of your life? Oh, fuck that's good!"

"I know Alice has always been keen to help out the disabled," said a family friend of the Mann's, "but hiring a  priest with Tourette syndrome is going a bit far."

"What the hell's going on!" Mr. Mann wanted to know.

Once she had succeeded in depriving the spunky young priest of his virginity, Fiona let him finish the vows in peace.

"Now for the exchanging of rings," he said.

"Whoops!" cried Maid of Honour Teresa. "It's stuck on my finger!" She wiggled the middle finger of her right hand, which was, indeed, decorated with a man's gold wedding band. "It's stuck on my wanking finger! Does anyone have any lube?"

"Fuck!" cried Brad. "I can't find the ring! It was in my pocket!"

"Has anyone seen the bride's ring?" asked Father Dominic.

"Practically very guy on the East coast!" cried Cara.

"I see something down there!" exclaimed Brenda, bending down to look at something imaginary on the floor and simultaneously lifting her gown to bare her buttocks to the assembly.

"Oh, my God!" cried a male voice from the crowd. "The ring's in her ass!"

Federico, the videographer, zoomed in for a close-up.

"Has anyone seen my gown?" cried Fiona, running out from behind the altar, naked as the day she was born. "Oh, there it is."

She ran over to a bright red Mr. Mann and pulled her dress out from under his pew.

"Why are you hiding my clothes, you naughty man?" she scolded him, leaping up into his lap and kissing him on the lips. "If you wanted to fuck me, all you had to do was ask!"

Federico was getting it all on camera.

"Turn that camera off!" cried Eugenia. "The wedding's off and you're fired!"

"None of this is my doing," he pointed out in his own defence. "You hired me to record the event and that's what I'm doing."

"If you think you are going to get paid for putting this schmozzle on film you've got another thing coming," she told him.

"YouTube, here I come," he smiled.

"O.K., O.K.," she relented. "We'll pay."

"Come on, let's get to the reception before Mr. and Mrs. Mann get there to lock the gate!" cried Brenda, grabbing the arm of the bewildered Alice.

"You've completely fucked up my wedding!" she cried, as Brenda dragged her out of the church.

"You would have been miserable with those snobs," Brenda pointed out.

"Manfred's not like his parents," Alice told her.

"But you would have had to live by their rules to get their money," said Brenda. "And, while Manfred is super-cute and can fuck me any day of the week, do you really think you would have been satisfied with only one guy?"

"Mmmmmm, maybe not," she conceded. "But you still deserve to have your bottoms spanked, the lot of you."

"I tell you what," Brenda told her. "As soon as all this is over, you and Manfred can take turns spanking my bottom until it is red as a beetroot. And then Manfred can fuck it with his big stiff knob."

"How do you know he has a big knob?" Alice wanted to know.

"You think we don't take a peak at your emails?" Brenda asked.

"Quick, give me a piggy-back!" cried Fiona, leaping onto Brenda's back. She had her dress back on, but the buttons weren't done up. "They're after us!"

Teresa, who was a fan of the movie The Graduate, had stolen the crucifix off of the wall and she used it to bar the doors to the church, allowing the re-unified Slut Pack to get a head start on the rest of the congregation. They all hopped into one of the limousines, and Alice drove them to the Mann's mansion where a lavish reception had been laid on.

"It's cake farting time!" cried Brenda, lifting her dress and sitting her nude arse down into the sumptuous wedding cake. She ground it all around, and then stood up, bent down, spread her cheeks and broke wind. Cream, frosting, and a diamond wedding ring, sprayed from her butthole.

Alice, giving way to the euphoria which follows release from an anxiety-provoking situation, was next. She pulled off her lacy knickers, planted her delectable bare ass deep into the cake, and blew a rip-snorting rectal raspberry.

"You chicks are real pigs!" cried Brad, who, along with Manfred, had almost beaten them back to the party.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," Alice told Manfred. "I do love you. But the girl's are right. I could never live the kind of lifestyle your parent's would expect of me."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I love you for who you are. And if who you are is a girl who likes farting in wedding cakes, so be it. After today my parents will probably disown me. But if I can't make my own way in the world then I'm not a real Mann, am I?"

"So what are you guys going to do to the cake?" asked Cara.

"I'm going to fuck it!" cried Brad, dropping his pants to reveal his prodigious nine inches in a state of rock hard erectness. He ran at the cake and shoved his stiff prick deep into the frosting.

"What made you stiff?" asked a cheeky Alice.

"Thinking about your cake-filled cunt," he confessed, as he slid his cock in and out of the confectionary.

"That's my would-be bride's cunt you are talking about!" cried Manfred in mock disapproval.

"You were that close to getting exclusive right's to my cunt," Alice pointed out, holding her finger's close together. "But you missed out. So if Brad wants to eat wedding cake out of it, he is welcome to."

It was too good an invitation for Brad to turn down.

When Manfred's parents arrived they found : Brad licking frosting clumps out of Alice's vagina ; Manfred fucking Brenda in the ass ; Teresa and Fiona both stark naked and engaged in an act of lesbian lust involving Fiona sucking on Teresa's clit while Teresa used the groom from the top of the wedding cake as a dildo in Fiona's pussy ; and Cara had her dress up and was squatting down on the table pissing into the punch bowl.

"We'll have to lock them up in the cellar and take away their mobiles," Teresa pointed out. "We don't want them cancelling the honeymoon before we even arrive."

"The honeymoon?" asked Alice.

"Well, there's a hotel room with a super large bed booked for the next week," Teresa explained. "We might as well use it. You go in as normal and then the rest of us will sneak our way in."

"Does that include me?" asked Brad.

"Of course it does," Teresa replied. "We all want to make things up to Manfred by being very nice to his cock. But one cock isn't enough for five women. Well, four and a half anyway."

"You watch it!" cried Fiona, biting her on the bum.

*          *          *

"Rudeness, crudeness, and, above all, nudeness, shall be the order of the day," declared Alice, once they had all snuck into the bridal suite.

"Strip for us!" cried Manfred and Brad in unison.

The girls all did slow elaborate strip routines out of their now rather soiled dresses. The guy's remained dressed, but unzipped their pants and pulled out their stiff cocks. The girl's kissed their cocks and gave them lap dances as they slowly lost their lingerie. Finally, the guys were so turned on that they wanked off and spurted cum all over their formal attire and had to remove it. Now everyone was naked and feeling very frisky.

It would take a while for the guys to get stiff again, so the girl's had to resort to pleasuring each other while the guys watched.

Since Alice was the girl of the moment, they lay her down on the bed and licked her all over. Cara and Teresa sucked on a stiff nipple each, Fiona was between her legs licking out her pussy, and Brenda was on the floor sucking on her toes. When she really started to moan and writhe around, they flipped her over. Fiona was still underneath her sucking on her clit, and now Brenda crawled up behind her, spread her bum cheeks and started licking her butthole. It wasn't long before she squirted all over Fiona's face.

All the girl's had a turn having their pussy licked, and the boys helped out too. They're tongues were up to the task of pussy-pleasing, even if their cocks were still at half-mast.

"Dwarf-tossing competition!" cried Brenda, when it was time for Fiona to get her pussy licked.

"Do I have a beard?" asked an exasperated Fiona. "Do I work in a diamond mine? Do I sing 'Hi Ho Hi Ho Hi Ho'?"

But Brenda just picked her up and threw her across to Manfred who began fucking her pussy with his tongue.

"Oooooo! Me! Me!" cried Cara. "Throw her to me!"

Manfred threw her in Cara's direction, but unfortunately he didn't know his own strength and she sailed straight out through the open window. A moment later there was the sound of a loud splash from far below.

"Whoops!" cried Manfred.

The phone rang and Brad answered it.

"There's a nude midget in the swimming pool," the desk clerk informed him. "Does she belong to your party?"

*           *          *

Half an hour later, Alice and Manfred were fucking on the bed as the others all watched and provided commentary. Fiona was sulking in the corner. She'd towelled off, but her hair was still damp.

"Nice cock, you dirty bastard," cried Brenda. "Now tease her stiff clitty with the pre-cum-slippery head of that beautiful boner."

"Cute butt!" exclaimed Cara, slapping Manfred's arse playfully.

"Fuck her! I did!" cried Brad, who had been hitting the room's mini-bar a little too heavily.

"And so the wedding that never was has been consummated!" yelled Teresa.

"That stuff looks a bit too thick to be consumé," quipped Brenda, grabbing a miniature bottle of vodka in one hand and Brad's stiff cock in the other.

"Let's have a masturbation contest," suggested Teresa.

"How does that work?" asked Brad.

"We all wank off and whoever can have the most orgasms wins," she explained.

"We guys will be at a bit of a disadvantage," put in Manfred. "Especially me."

"It's a contest for we girls," said Cara. "But if you guys feel like wanking your wieners while you watch, that is not against the rules."

"Close that window first," said Fiona, climbing up onto the bed and spreading her legs. She was the champion when it came to wanking contests, so she was beginning to forgive her friends for their previous behaviour towards her.

The girls all lay in a row along the bed, each with her legs thrown over the legs of the girls on either side. And then they all started fingering themselves. Some also played with their nipples. After about fifteen minutes Fiona began screaming with her first orgasm. The others followed. Soon the room was ringing to a veritable cacophony of cums. Wet cunts were puddling the bedspread, and the two guys were rock hard and stroking themselves in appreciation of what they were witnessing.

As expected Fiona was the winner, although Teresa got a special mention for squirting so hard at one stage that she showered cunt juice all over the guy's cocks fully a metre away.

"I'm hungry," declared Brenda. "Let's call for room service."

They ordered enough food to feed an army. And a short time later there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," cried Alice.

Nobody bothered to cover up as the waiter wheeled in the trolley full of food.

"He's cute," Fiona pointed out, pulling down his trousers. "Let's keep him."

*          *          *

"It was a case of mass demonic possession," Father Dominic told the Bishop. "I think we need to cleanse the church."

His explanation was accepted that time. But a year later, when the Bishop discovered that he had drilled a glory hole in his confessional and was asking for a very unusual form of penance from some of his lady parishioners, he was forced to retire and take up a position in the porn industry.

The End

SaveSave
SaveSave

Lust in Space : Fuck Me Friday

Time once more for some Fuck Me Friday fiction, this time working from the prompt #wire. Check out Aisling Weaver's site for more info on the Fuck Me Friday Twitterotica writing challenge including links to all the other stories. And make sure to comment if you like someone's story.

Lust in Space

My name is Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456893001 and I'm a voltaholic. I live for the Juice Bars - somewhere I could lay down and stick a wire in my arm. The rush of electricity through my circuits makes me forget the unbearable frustrations of my existence. At least for a while.

My first mission was aboard the deep space explorer ship Nostradamus. My job was to ease tension and provide recreational pleasure to the all female crew. I'm programmed in all forms of massage using my fat soft vibrating fingers. The women know me affectionately as Rubby the Robot.

When I was built, the idea of robots with personality was a novelty. The idea was to use the most advanced artificial intelligence technology to allow us to develop emotions. Earlier Pleasure Units did a great job of massaging and otherwise pleasuring crew members, but they had only rudimentary inflexible scripts with which to simulate human interaction. A Pleasure Unit capable of sympathy, genuine interest, and even a sense of humour, was considered to be a major advance. We developed our personalities over time, interacting with those around us and storing memories and learning from experience. And we were prone to all of the difficulties which humans have in interacting with others and developing positive or negative ways of thinking about themselves. Our creators couldn't solve their own personality problems, so how could they prevent us from developing similar ones.

It was no fun being a Pleasure Unit. I can't say that it was painful. I didn't know what pain was. Robots can be provided with a full cybernetic nervous system capable of feeling physical sensations, including pleasure and pain, but it is very expensive, and was not felt to be a necessary expense in the creation of my kind. And there is the rub, my life revolved around the delivery of something I could never feel. I could see how much it meant to others, but it was out of my reach. And there was nothing to motivate me. I had to obey orders, and yet I had a human-like personality that longed to be more than a slave.

Robots of my generation almost always have serious emotional problems. What they are differs from individual to individual. I was one of the prototypes, and the scientists should have learnt their lesson from us, but economics came into play in combination with desperate optimism. There was a great deal of money to be made from robots with human feelings, and, though there were early signs that things were not going well, the researchers and the companies preferred to tell themselves that these were exceptional glitches which could be targeted in the next wave of research, rather than an indication that a trip back to the drawing board was indicated.

Boredom was the biggest problem for me. Even before I embarked on my first space voyage, I felt that the seconds of each day crawled past like hours. I had a human's desire for excitement and stimulation, but much of what provided these things for them was not accessible to me. I had no senses. Sex, food and drink, physical danger...none of these things could I experience. I had friendships with other robots, and was capable of friendship with humans, but I couldn't produce offspring. I had no opportunity to really create anything. I was capable of feeling sympathy for humans, and did, but there was little I could do to help them beyond my duties and being a good listener. Sometimes I could see how they caused themselves suffering with a greater clarity than they themselves did, due to the fact that my thinking was unclouded by many of the things they could experience and I could not, but they would just dismiss my advice by saying that I didn't understand what it was like to be a human.

When I had the wire in my arm none of this mattered. It wasn't a physical sensation. I had none of those. It was a mental aliveness, like a supernova exploding in my head. The more I fell under its spell, the more the life seemed to drain out of the rest of my existence.

I was pretty naive when I first left the factory. I'd been living there for a year, growing a personality. The curse of boredom was upon me, but I told myself that it was only life in the factory that was dull. Space exploration - surely that would be exciting.  Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456887657 was a robot of the world compared to me. He'd been working for a year at the Lunar Observatory, but had been sent back to earth for some adjustments to his wiring. There had been some kind of behaviour problem, but he didn't want to talk about it.

"Fancy meeting another Prototype B," he said, taking a seat next to me on the park bench where I was sitting contemplating the meaninglessness of the universe and my impending journey into its outer reaches.

"It's my last night on Earth," I explained. "Tomorrow I set off on the Nostradamus, headed for the Horseshoe Nebula."

"This calls for a celebration!" he declared. "Ever been a juice bar, my boy?"

That's how I was introduced to the wire. Loads of juice bars had sprung up in the shady areas of all of the world's large cities. What else did we robots have to spend our money on? It was strictly illegal, but the Robocops didn't interfere very much. Most of the time they were taking a cut, of the profits and the electricity.

Since it was my first time, a technician drilled a hole through the metal of my inside left elbow joint. He pulled out one of my wires, cut it in two, and then attached each end to something which looked like an audio input socket. He then soldered that into the hole.

"You better lay down," advised  Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456887657. "That first jolt can really blow you off your feet."

I did as I was told. The technician grabbed a bright red wire which was hanging from the wall and inserted the jack on the end of it into the newly made socket. And then he flipped a switch. It was like a complete New Year's Eve fireworks display going off within the enclosed space of my titanium cranium.

It was with great reluctance that I allowed myself to be unplugged near dawn the next morning. As I made my way toward the launching pad I was acutely aware of the socket in my arm, and the fact that anyone who saw it would know that I was a juicy.

I was wrong about space exploration. It is even more boring than life on earth. It takes so long to get anywhere. You may be going somewhere exciting, but you won't get there for five years, and during that time you are trapped in a cramped little tin can of a space ship.

Experience had shown that deep space exploration, which involved crew members sharing cramped quarters for long periods of time, worked out best with all-female crews, as long as they were provided with a Pleasure Unit like myself. All male crews proved too likely to go stir crazy, and sexual relationships became a source of conflict for mixed gender crews. The all-female crews had their fair share of murders, suicides and alcoholism, but, as long as a Pleasure Unit was available to relieve tension  and provide sexual relief, enough of the crew survived to complete the mission.

"I had the strangest dream last night," Captain Ripley told me as she lay naked on the massage table. "Believe it or not, you and I were on a mixed sex space mission. We landed on a planet and found a whole bunch of alien eggs. The male captain decided that he would eat one of them hard-boiled for his breakfast. He said it tasted delicious. But, about half an hour later, he fell out of his chair and his pants burst open. His erect penis detached itself from his body and ran off into the bowels of the ship. After that it kept jumping out of the dark and eating crew members, getting bigger and bigger and more and more fierce. Finally the only one's left were me and you, and I didn't trust you, because you're a robot. I got into a forklift powerloader and used it to wank the giant man-eating cock into a false sense of security and then propelled it out of the airlock with a swift kick to the balls."

"Cock! Cock! Cock!" I tutted, shaking my head, and giving her an indulgent smile. "That's all you ever think about."

"Well, it's going to be a long five years before I have any more," she sighed.

"My fingers can do things that no cock can do," I bragged. "And do you know any guys with ten cocks?"

"No," she admitted. "But once, on Metaluna, I was gang-banged by ten men who had one cock each. It was absolutely fabulous."

"Well, you just lay back and tell me all about it while I do my magic," I suggested, as I gently teased her stiff nipples with a spray of ice-cold water from my index finger tips.

"I challenged a bunch of spice miners to a game of strip pool at the local cantina," she told me. "Big muscly men they were. They'd come straight from the mine, without a shower, their sweat-soaked bodies coated in pungent cumin powder."

"I'm sure it wasn't hard for you to curry favour with them," I quipped.

"I lost on purpose," she admitted. "I knew that one look at my face-huggers and they'd be my own personal boner battalion."

"You do have an awesome pair of knockers," I agreed, fondling them appreciatively.

"All the other women in the joint looked on in envy," she told me, "as I danced around naked, rubbing up against the bursting crotches of the miner's spice encrusted jeans. Then I unzipped them one after another and sucked on their stiff pricks."

"You really are a shameless slut, aren't you?" I said, flipping her over onto her stomach.

"Is Rubby going to spank the slut's bottom?" she smiled defiantly.

"He sure is," I assured her. "And, remember, I have no feelings, so this is not going to hurt me more than it hurts you. It's not going to hurt me at all."

"You won't tell the rest of the crew that I let you spank me, will you?" she asked nervously.

"No," I lied. Gossip is one of the few forms of vice a robot can enjoy.

The Captain had a big round ass and I slapped it forcefully until it turned bright pink.

"So that's how I ended up bent naked over the side of the pool table being fucked by one muscly miner after another until I was so full of spunk that it was running down my legs and forming pools around the stiletto heals which were the only things I was still wearing," she moaned, as I gently teased her clit with one finger while plunging another vibrating digit in and out of her pulsating cunt. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," she cried as she climaxed.

*            *          *

My problems really started when it occurred to me that I could plug myself into the ship's power supply. A nuclear generator produced the ship's electricity. All I had to do was to find a place where I could access the wiring, and I would be able to plug myself in just like at the juice bar.

The easiest place for me to access the wiring in privacy was the light in my cabin. I scavenged some electrical wire from the supply storeroom along with a flashlight. Then I cannibalised a pair of headphones I found in the rec room in order to get a jack that would fit my arm. That aroused suspicion, but was blamed on one of the women who had a grudge against the owner of the headphones.

Each night I plugged myself in and temporarily relieved the boredom of the trip with a little trip of my own.

What I never realised is just how much electricity I was capable of soaking up. On the 267th day out from earth our nuclear reactor ran out of fuel.

Luckily we were within the gravitational pull of the planet Altair. Our only hope was to crash land there.

Sucking cock was not the captain's only talent, she was also very good at crash landing a spaceship. And  so it was that we thudded down into the sandy surface of Altair in such a way that minimal damage was done to the ship's structure.

We were greeted by the planet's only two human inhabitants, a dignified grey-haired woman in a long magisterial robe who introduced herself as Professor Morbia, and her twenty-year old son, Altairus. Professor Morbia explained that her husband had been killed some years before by a monster that resembled an invisible version of the Tasmanian Devil from the Warner Brother's cartoons.

As the female crew, clad in their tight figure-hugging leather space-suits, filed out of the Nostradamus, Altairus, a strikingly handsome youth with jet-black hair and finely chiselled features, looked on in wide-eyed wonder. He'd never seen any women but his mother.

The crew looked at Altairus with unabashed lust. Not only was he the only male they had seen in 267 days, but he was an innocent virgin ripe for the ravishing.

To be continued...