Grinding – Erotic Fiction

Grinding – Erotic Fiction

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We are delighted to welcome a new contributing author to our blog with this week. We love having some sexy erotic fiction for you and so were delighted when Chloe offered to write something for us. This piece will hopefully help take your mind of the daily grind of life and instead get you in the mood for some other types of grinding!

There’s fiction in my hands and filth on my mind. 

I sit astride him as he lounges on our bed, legs splayed and bare, so my hips are notched to his without any space to spare. My soft thighs frame his thickly muscled ones; my toes tucked just beneath them for warmth. We sit like this often enough, particularly in this quiet hour we both cherish in the middle of our otherwise hectic days. 

The idea is that we spend some time with a hot drink in a quiet room, reconnecting however feels best that day. Conceptually, I think he probably meant something along the lines of reading a book or watching a show. Maybe even having a chat.

Realistically, I’m usually just hoping he’ll fuck me. 

That’s definitely what I’m hoping now as I pretend to read the book in my hands. It’s one I’ve read a thousand times, so I’m not missing much- certainly not enough to distract me from grinding so slowly against him that he may think I’m just trying to get comfortable. 

Whether he knows what I’m up to or not, it’s clear his body understands my unasked question.

Will you play with me? each rhythmic grinding of my hips whispers to his.

And if the stirring of his cock against my thin panties is anything to go by, I think I’ll like the answer. 

I turn the page and roll my hips with more intention; he notices this time. 

“Can I help you?” his voice is rich and smooth, like velvet against bare skin, as he peers at me over the top of his phone. 

My eyes go wide and liquid, grinding my hips once more to mimic the movement as I shrug my shoulders. 

I hold myself in place, my gaze captive in his and bodies pressed tightly together. The fabric barrier of his joggers isn’t thick enough to hide the fact that he’s fully hard now.

His dark eyes are lit with mischief, near sparkling with the glow of afternoon sun that bathes the room as he lowers his phone to the table beside us. His gaze holds mine and his movements are deliberate as he brings his free hands to my thighs.

His movements are slow and measured. 

In turn, my heartbeat is quick and erratic. 

As he squeezes my thighs, we both look down to watch his fingertips press into my skin. There’s something about the way my flesh always yields to his touch that makes it hypnotic, and as he moves his hands up toward my hips, he leaves a trail of touch-print tingles in his wake. He reaches the hem of my hoodie, tugging it up to bracket my hips when those hands of his, and when he does, he notices my surprise for the first time. 

“Naughty,” he tells me as he traces bare skin where my panties should be. I think he might mean it as an admonishment, but the hitch in his breath and the want in his voice tells me that it’s a very welcome surprise. 

I give up my charade and lean forward to set down my book. I’ll need both hands for what comes next. As I shift back, grinding against him he feels the heat of my bare pussy through his clothes. 

He groans, cock twitching against me, and I grin.

One hand planted on his chest, I roll my hips with slow intent. Grinding now without pretence, our eyes locked on one another as I hump him like a horny teenager. 

I feel his laugh more than hear it, a deep rumble that vibrates from his chest and through my palm. The depth of his amusement is echoed by the flutter of my pulse and my own anticipation as he asks, “Are you after something then, love?” 

I am, but I’m not sure he’s quite gotten the full picture of what it is I want yet. I lean back, hips grinding against his so I caress the length of his shaft with my body as I right myself.

From my hoodie pocket, I fish out the next part of my request. 

It dangles from my finger like gilded hedonism. The soft silicone is in sharp contrast to the nubs rising from the flat base of the spade-like toy through which my finger is looped. 

“Ah,” realisation lights his eyes as he reaches between us, “Fuck, you have good ideas.”

Suddenly, he is just as eager as I’ve been. Time seems to slow as everything speeds up. His fingers hook into the waist band of his joggers and boxers as he tugs, thighs flexing just enough to make space for me to lift my hips so he can remove his clothing without removing me. 

His bare cock springs free, and I’m salivating at the sight of it. The anticipation of what’s to come is almost too much to bear. Fist wrapped around his cock, he strokes himself once, then once more as he tries to take the toy dangling from my fingertips. 

I pull it backward, unwilling to give it up just yet. This task is one I’d very much like to undertake myself. I wrap my fingers gently around his wrist, and his fist opens, releasing his slick, swollen cock for just a moment before I slide the toy over him, fitting the soft material to him like a cock ring. 

It is, in a way. But it’s so much more, and it’s that “more” that’s got me so wet my thighs are damp with need as I splay them farther and rise to my knees above him. 

“May I?” I ask sweetly, my voice dripping with as much innocence as I can muster while looking like the picture of sin. 

I hover over him, wet pussy spread open by the splay of my thighs, hair falling into a face that’s flushed with want. I planned this, and I’ve been thinking about it all day. There is no denying who is the one in power here, as I focus on steadying my breathing while he pretends to think. 

1-2-3, I count in my head to measure my breath so I’m not panting. I do not make it to four before he nods and, without leaving time for me to react, he tugs me down, sinking in to the hilt in one smooth thrust that takes us both by surprise with the slick wonder of it. 

I gasp, he groans. My body clenches around him as he pulses inside me. Filled. A perfect fit.

And this is only half the fun. 

He draws a ragged breath and I follow suit before I begin to move- a gentle little grinding of my hips and tensing of my thighs that mimic the way I teased him just minutes before. 

But this time, it’s my own body that’s being lit up by the tease. 

The toy reaches the places his cock cannot while he’s inside me. He fills me, stroking and teasing my needy pussy as the texture toy slips between my pussy lips and tickles my clit. Each thrust and grinding roll brings a new tease, a new sensation. Every textured spike offers a different indulgence. One licks and teases at the bottom of my clit as two slide between my lips in time with the slow slide of his cock. Every movement is millimetres, never more than an inch, yet the explosive sensation feels like an entire universe unfolding against me. 

I gasp, and grind. He grips, and groans. 

We move together in time with the spill of the sun and the soft, slick sounds of our urgency fill the room. It takes almost no time for me to lose track of the thrusts and the sensation, utterly overwhelmed by each lick of the toy pinned between our bodies and heat of his cock filling me up. 

I whimper, and the sound is so many things- needy, pathetic, sexy as hell. More than that, it’s an ask, and it’s one he answers without words. 

His hands begin to knead me again. My thighs, my hips, my ass- each press of a fingertip into my skin another punctuation of a thrust and tease. 

Cock.

Toy.

Hands. 

I don’t know where to focus, or how to stop focusing on it all. It’s too much and not enough at once. Everything, and everywhere, and my need can no longer distinguish what is giving me the most pleasure. Just that I want –

“More,” I gasp, grinding against the toy more desperately, pressing down onto him, so his cock fills me more fully. 

He spanks me. Once, twice; punctuating thrusts that are harder, more intentional, more indulgent. 

I moan, trying to find the breath and sense to whisper please- to use my manners like a good girl- but I don’t make it there before he’s growling, his swear filling the room like the sounds of our sex and the sunlight surrounding us. 

He spanks me a third time, the warmth on my skin blooming and somewhere in the back of my mind I take note long enough to wonder (hope) about a handprint remaining when we’re done. 

That wonder is lost to the edge of my oblivion and the orgasm taunting me, just out of reach. I press into him harder, grinding my hips once more against him as my eyes lock on his. I don’t know if he sees the desperation or if he’s just lost to his own, but it doesn’t matter. 

He grips my hips, fingers digging in as the spikes on the toy lick at my clit and my lips and his cock fills me with the same intensity that the sounds of our fucking fill the room. 

“Come for me,” he says, holding my eyes to his, and my body to his. His. I am his. My body, my pleasure, my will. 

This moment. 

I come, pussy contracting around his cock as he swears once more before he’s coming too, filling me up with thick pulses of pleasure and power and his claim over me. It’s the last real thing I am aware of. Fireworks behind my eyes, or within them- I’m not sure any more. There is colour and sound, an explosive symphony of pleasure that radiates from the tease of the toy still stroking my clit and outward, from head to toe. 

My body tingles and my mind goes blank, orbiting somewhere near the warmth of the sun or maybe another universe. I’m not even sure it matters. Time doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the feeling of his cock, and this toy and those hands grounding me to the intense pleasure that’s just blown my whole fucking world apart and put it back together again between ragged breaths. 

I’m panting when the world comes into focus again. My hands on his chest, curled against him, and my hair falls into my eyes. He’s grinning up at me, lazy satisfaction, and a smug smile tugs at his lips. 

I lean forward, gently pressing a kiss to that smug mouth of his as I push up to my knees, hearing the pop of suction that fills the room as his cock leaves me. It’s lewd and lovely. 

The sun still streams in through the windows. 

My coffee is still hot. 

It is still the middle of the afternoon, and there is work to do. 

Or maybe I’ll read that book. 

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