Danica Williams - 14 Erotic Stories Bundle

One of the biggest problems that they had had as a couple was his drinking. He would start hours before she got home at nine from work, already slurring his words and missing a step or two. By the time she got him ready for bed, having him piss one last time so he wouldn’t wet the bed, he couldn’t even talk. She never did find out where he got the money for whatever he was drinking: beer that was damned near water, wine that stank of chemicals and small plastic bottles of booze that smelled of gasoline. She figured that since each day the empty cans and bottles would disappear, he must have been recycling-which was the only time he could ever have been called industrious. The irony of the situation is that once the two of them had split and his alcoholism was out of her life, she developed a nasty little taste of it herself.

She got to keep most of the friends from the breakup, though the ones she kept were not that friendly. Most of the guys tried to sleep with her at first, taking her out and liquoring her up-though their plans never worked out because she would leave with someone else. She figured that it was best not to sleep with anyone too soon after the breakup, since there was always a possibility of Jordan getting his act together, leading the way for them to get back together. She would, of course, make out with them. In those early hazy days, she figured she took home probably around twenty guys, though never more than one in a single night.

Having someone to kiss was good, but what she really wanted was to cuddle. With each one, she would tumble through the door of her new apartment, kiss all the way back to her bedroom while they shed their clothing and then would roll around the bed until dawn. She would always give her number to her innocent one-night-stands the next morning, but she would never answer when they called. Each one would only phone her once, and then they would leave her to her desired solitude.

When she finally kicked the drink and would try and remember each man she kissed during that time, she could never remember a face. She did remember other things. She remembered how they would gently kiss her neck, and how they would nibble at her ears. She remembered how they would brush their hands against her nipples, making them hard, and how they would cup her breasts and massage them. She remembered how they would try to slide a hand between her thighs, and how she always outmaneuvered them. She remembered them pressing their stiffness against her back and into her leg as they feigned sleep. She remembered that each morning she would wake up with a stranger who only saw her as an object and not a person.

She would wonder each day as her mind became clearer and her thoughts became sharper what she was searching for all those nights. Of course, she already knew. She was searching for Jordan; searching for the first man to ever really pleasure her; searching for her companion with kisses like sugar and arms that would wrap around her like a big, warm security blanket. Each night when a strange man would press his lips against hers and envelop her in his arms, she would close her eyes and pretend that it was Jordan. If only he would get better, she thought, then I could go back to him.

But in all those nights, whoever shared her bed never transformed into Jordan by the morning. In truth, she vaguely remembered that each morning, the faces had become increasingly ugly, that each man became less kempt and more unruly than one before-an invitation into her bed had become so common it was if anyone was allowed. Months later, when the rotten times were behind her and she was putting all the jagged little pieces together, she was shocked that she had never woken up next to a hobo.

Her road to recovery was filled with stops of self-discovery and an undeterred drive for work. Where before she had worked sixty hours, she spent almost a hundred hours a week watching after her three boys. They kept her busy, with their constant mistakes and misunderstandings, and she took comfort in the fact that their helpless childishness was always more mature than Jordan’s behavior had ever been. Work and more work, on herself and with her job, was building her up, making her stronger and smarter and braver. She got to the point where she thought she might be invincible.

Then she ran into Jordan. She had a rare hour to herself, while each boy was engaged in a different physical activity: Matt was horseback riding, James was practicing his archery, and Carter was at swim practice. She stopped into her favorite coffee shop, the one that she had spent hours upon hours studying at in college, and ordered herself a chai latte to reward herself. She was only two sips into her drink, it still hot enough to burn the tip of her tongue, when she heard Jordan’s voice behind her, calling her name.

“Hello, Lita, how are you?” he asked.

A new sip of latte gave her enough time to compose herself, and then she answered, “I’m really good. Really good. What have you been up to?"

Jordan smiled, and, believing her declarations of well being, answered, “I’m good, too. It’s nice to run into you. I’ve been looking for you for a while.”

With those words, her heart began to race and she could feel the blood coursing through her veins and warming up every part of her. Thankfully, her flush was hidden from him, and she was able to respond, “Why? What’s up?”

“I wanted to say that I was sorry. I behaved horribly towards you the entire time we were together. I was drinking too much and really treated you like shit. Again, I’m sorry.”

Her heart began to beat twice as fast as before, and she thought that she might faint. “It’s okay,” she mustered, “I know it wasn’t intentional, and…”

Before she could say another word, he said “And I need to thank you, too. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have turned things around. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have started my own bike repair shop, wouldn’t own a house-hell, I wouldn’t be getting married.”

Her heart dropped through the floor. She felt like she was going to crash right through the table headfirst-later on she wished that she had and broken her neck in the process.

Jordan continued. “You would really like her, Lita. Hell, she’s so much like you that you two could be sisters.” And he continued. He must have stood by her table for ten minutes, talking and smiling and laughing, but she couldn’t process a word of it. After he had hugged her and left, she found a scrap of paper on her table with a phone number. It could have been his. They could have set up a time to get together for her to meet his fiance. Though, it could have just been a locker combination. She didn’t know and didn’t care, and she left it there on the table.

That night, she had one long dream about Jordan; about the last time they had had a good time together. They were together and alone, at home in front of the TV, snuggling up under a couple of blankets on her couch. A scary movie was on, and she kept pressing herself closer, seeking safety and comfort. She felt his hand move beneath the covers, and then felt his fingers pressed up against her pussy.

He began to move his fingers tenderly over her pussy, brushing up against her lower lips and fondling her clit. She arched her back, to move her closer to his fingers. He began to slowly slide one after another into her, and started to cover her lips with kisses.

She reached under the covers and found his cock already hard and out of his shorts. They began to stroke each other in sync, like they were part of a two-person band, making music for each other. She felt his lips press up against her, and wished that he would swallow her whole. She felt his tongue in her mouth, then on her neck and traveling down to her breasts.