Tag Archives: sexy literature

The following is a sexy short story that was commissioned by a loyal reader who wanted a specific, French-themed kind of sexy. They know who they are. I hope they enjoy this. If you’re at all interested in commissioning another sexy short story, please contact me. Until then, profiter de l’histoire!

What was it about France that made it so romantic?

American girls like Rose Redman had asked themselves that question more than once. It was just one country in Europe, albeit one with a unique collection of people, places, and culture. It had a rich history and a distinct style. There was a special distinction that came with all things French. Being there just felt different. It carried a spirit that could not be found anywhere else.

Rose, unlike other Americans, had a chance to seek that spirit for herself. At 18-years-old, having just graduated high school, she decided to experience France on her own. It marked the first vacation she ever went on by herself. It was ambitious, but that had never dissuaded her before.

Rose was not the kind of woman who just read about exotic locations. She preferred to experience them first-hand. Some called her adventurous. Others called her reckless. She didn’t care what anyone labeled her. She was her own person. She was going to experience France and everything that made it romantic.

However, her choice to make France her final vacation before college wasn’t just about its romantic mystique. Rose had a more personal reason for maxing out her credit cards and borrowing money from friends…one prompted by tragedy.

“You would’ve loved this place, Mom,” she said solemnly. “You would’ve loved everything about it.”

Rose had been saying those words to herself almost every day since she arrived. Everywhere she went – Paris, Lyon, Nice, Bordeaux, and all their various landmarks – she experienced something she knew her mother would’ve loved. Whether it was a famous building or a snack she bought at a café, she could easily imagine her mother’s face lighting up like the Parisian skyline.

Sadly, Rose never got the chance to share that experience. Eight months ago, her mother passed away after a two-year bout with cancer. The trip wasn’t just about the experience or even the romance. It was her way of honoring her mother.

“I still miss you,” Rose said to the clear blue sky. “We would’ve had so much fun here. Hell, a day at the nude beach in Nice would’ve made for some great memories…funny, awkward, and mortifying memories, but still great none-the-less.”

She laughed to herself, despite the lingering sorrow. Hugging her knees, sitting atop a picnic blanket on a hot summer day, Rose tried to focus on all the wonderful things she’d experienced on her trip.

“Just so you know, I didn’t meet that fancy French aristocrat you’d said I’d meet,” she said, still fixated on the sky. “I met some guys who said I had great legs. Then again, my French is still lousy so they might have been referring to my tits. There were polite about it, though. I still said no when they offered to rub sunscreen on my back.”

She kept smiling at the memory. She could hear her mother telling her she should’ve let them. Like her, her mother was a free spirit. She loved to learn new things and seek new experiences. She just didn’t get a chance to travel much. Between a failed marriage with her father and a career that seemed to change every other month, she didn’t get many opportunities. That didn’t stop her from making plans.

Before she died, she’d told Rose a story about a trip to France she took as a child. She’d even told her that she wanted to take her there on vacation after she finished college, joking about how the country’s romantic ambience would perfectly complement their free-spirited nature. Rose had been looking forward to that trip since middle school. Fate, misfortune, and circumstances just got in the way.

“I know you didn’t want me to mourn you for this long,” Rose said, now resting her chin on her knees. “You told me you didn’t want your death to dampen my spirit and harden my heart. You made me promise to keep seeking love…to embrace it, as I always have. It’s just a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Tears formed in her eyes as Rose sobbed softly into her hands. She sighed to herself and reached for the half-empty glass of wine she had next to her. It came courtesy of the best bottle she could afford and some complimentary cheese, which she had finished.

After nearly a week of traveling the cities, seeing the sites, and lounging on the beaches, Rose decided to spend the last day of her vacation at a winery east of Bordeaux. She even made sure she came at a time when it wasn’t too crowded, opting to skip the tour and just find a quiet place on a hillside overlooking fields.

It was her way of sharing a quiet moment with her mother’s spirit. Gazing out over the beautiful French countryside, however, Rose could feel her heart aching to reach out, but the cloud of her mother’s death still hung over her.

“You always said we shouldn’t hesitate to love, even if it gets us in trouble,” Rose mused as she sipped the wine. “Great experiences come with a price. Maybe that’s why France such a romantic place. People are much more willing to pay that price and take that chance.”

It made sense. The people Rose had met, including the flirty men on that nude beach, weren’t afraid to put themselves out there. For some reason, pursuing love that directly was taboo back home. It was refreshing for someone who’d opened her heart to a lot of people in her life. France was just as open, but for some reason, she’d closed herself off.

“I’m in this wonderful place where I can heal my soul and honor your memory,” Rose said as she stared at her now-empty glass. “After all the places I’ve been and all the people I’ve met, why do I still feel…empty?”

That question had been plaguing her for days now. She was set to fly home the next day. Rose wanted to be able to tell her friends and family that she was at peace. She was ready to move forward and love again. She needed to keep that last promise she’d made to her mother. At the moment, though, it felt like she was failing her.

“You’re a long way from the tour group, mademoiselle,” came an unexpected voice in a deep French accent.

Rose turned to see a tall, older man with a thick black beard, large forearms, and olive-toned skin emerging from a nearby field of grape vines. He wore white shirt, tattered dark pants, and muddy boots, indicating he wasn’t a tour guide. From the looks of it, he worked at the winery, albeit not in the most glamorous role.

“There are far better places for a picnic,” the man told her, “unless, of course, you’re not looking for the best place…just the one where you can talk to yourself in peace.”

“You uh…heard that?” Rose said sheepishly.

“My English is not great,” he said, “but I understand enough to know when someone is speaking with a broken heart. Here in France, we like to think we’re more fluent than most in the language of the heart.”

The man cast her a sympathetic smile. Rose smiled back, but still blushed profusely. She didn’t usually talk to herself and when she did, she had the good sense to be subtle. Then again, subtlety had never been among her strengths

The man didn’t hold it against her, though. He just kept smiling as he sat down next to her. In doing so, she confirmed that the man definitely worked on the front lines of the winery, so to speak. He smelled like he’d been toiling for hours, picking grapes and tilling the soil. Being the kind of woman who appreciated hard working men more than most, Rose didn’t mind in the slightest.

“So how much did you understand?” Rose asked him.

“Enough to know that you came here with a wounded heart,” the man said. “Not a broken heart, which I’ve seen plenty of in my time. Just wounded.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a considerable difference,” he said. “I don’t know if English has the right words for it.”

“That sounds exactly like something someone from France would say.”

“I won’t claim I could explain it perfectly in my native tongue. It would certainly be easier, especially when the wounds aren’t healing as much as you wish they were.”

Rose’s demeanor shifted. She diverted her gaze, as if to hide some of the sorrow she’d tried to put into words moments ago. No matter how much the mysterious Frenchman had overheard, she’d made her pain clear. Hers was a strained heart, one that could still love, but had been hardened by loss. Even as someone who rarely hid her emotions, it still hurt.

That didn’t deter the man. He even scooted closer, giving her an even bigger whiff of that musky scent that could only come from a man who spent his days making French wine. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat, which seemed to make his point.

“I’m Philippe, by the way,” the man said.

“I’m Rose. Nice to meet you,” Rose said with a smile. “Would I be an insufferably rude tourist if I called you Phil?”

“For a woman dealing with a wounded heart, I’ll happily overlook some cultural peeves,” Philippe said. “If I were to guess from your clothing and your disposition, I’d say you’re from America, non?”

“You’re a good guesser,” Rose said, impressed by his perception. “What gave it away? My crude American accent?”

“Not at all,” he laughed. “A lot of Americans love to visit French wineries. Having worked here for over 15 years, I’ve noticed how they conduct themselves. They value freedom, strength, and spirit, but they see matters of the heart as weakness.”

“I want to defend my country, but I feel like I’ve made myself a big enough fool.”

“It’s never foolish to express how much you’re hurting. Pain – whether it’s from loss or picking grapes for eight hours straight – reminds us that we’re alive. More importantly, it affirms that we wish to keep living.”

“I think pain sucks. I don’t care if that makes me an uncultured American. My mother has been dead for almost a year. I thought it would hurt less by now. The whole reason I came to France was to mend it, like I know she would’ve wanted.”

“Why do you think it has not worked?”

“Hell if I know,” Rose sighed. “You’re the one who says French are fluent in the language of the heart. Any chance you can translate for me?”

“I can try,” Philippe said, “but the heart often speaks with mixed messages. Even a full-blooded Frenchmen struggles to make sense of it.”

The tall, older man set her wine glass and snack tray aside. He then sat down in front of her, caressing her face with both hands and aligning his gaze with hers. With such close proximity, she could smell more than grapes, wine, and dirt. Rose could the strength feel his penetrating gaze. It was like looking into a light that exposed all the ugly wounds she’d been trying to ignore.

At the same time, the feeling of an attractive older Frenchman touching her heart racing faster. It also sparked a new heat within her, one that had nothing to do with the hot summer air. As someone who had a lot of boyfriends in high school, but hadn’t so much as hugged one since her mother died, it was intense…as well as arousing.

“I see in you something other than loss and pain,” Philippe told her. “I see a woman eager to share herself with the world, but then the world hit you with something you weren’t ready for. And it hit hard.”

“My mother and I were really close,” Rose said. “I don’t know how it could’ve hit much harder.”

“And when something hits us, we fall. Both the hit and the fall hurt, but it passes. We get back up and we fight through the pain. When we’re struck in our heart, though…getting back up isn’t enough. Just overcoming the pain isn’t enough, either.”

“Well, what else is there?”

Philippe leaned in closer, so much so that his rugged French complexion was all she saw. The beauty of the French countryside, the gentle summer breezes sweeping through the area, and the various activities of a functioning winery became an afterthought. In that moment, he was the sole focus of her world.

“I think it’s the same thing that brought you to France,” he told her, “the one thing that every wounded heart needs before it can heal…closure.”

“Closure,” Rose found herself saying.

“Not just with respect to your mother’s passing,” he went on, “but to the very essence of your spirit. I can already tell you’re someone who likes to embrace the world, but to do that in a world without your mother…you need to take that final step.”

“To do what?” she asked intently.

“To say goodbye, to move on, and to chart your own path without her.”

It was like receiving an overdue message, one scripted by the spirit of her mother, but conveyed through the thick accent of a handsome older Frenchman. In terms of getting the point across, Rose couldn’t imagine anything more effective.

Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat.

A warm gust of wind blew over the French countryside.

A powerful feeling washed over her, as though a blanket of genuine love had washed over her.

It was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes. It was like her mother was giving her one last hug goodbye. At the same time, the presence of a handsome Frenchman in Philippe gave her someone to share in that feeling. Never one to turn away from a powerful moment, Rose broke down and threw her arms around the man before her.

“Merci,” she cried. “Merci, Philippe.”

“It’s okay, Mademoiselle Rose,” Philippe said. “It’s okay.”

She sensed she’d overwhelmed him. That didn’t stop him from hugging her back, sharing in the feeling of the moment. She didn’t hide from the tears or the sobs. For the first time in her entire trip, she didn’t avoid the sorrow. She just took it all in, but rather than lament, she let it act as the closure she hadn’t achieved. It was liberating, as though her spirit could once again soar.

As the weight of those feelings passed, though, other feelings emerged as well. It was not lost on Rose for a second that she was embracing a very attractive man. She also hadn’t forgotten that she’d cut herself off from intimate contact with men since her mother died. For a spirit as lively as hers, it did plenty to rekindle that special inner passion within her.

“Philippe…” she said after her sobs subsided.

“Yes, Mademoiselle?” he asked.

Still embracing him closely, Rose locked eyes with him, just as he’d done with her earlier. Now, she was the center of his world, the only spectacle he saw in the French countryside. As she gazed upon him, she affectionately caressed his unshaven face with her soft hands. Then, acting on that spirit that had longed to re-emerge, she kissed him.

As soon as she tasted those sultry French lips, Rose felt the weight of many burdens lift from her soul. It was like her mother’s spirit had come down to relieve her of them once and for all. In her place, the passion that had been muted by sorrow arose once more. In that moment, she channeled that passion onto Philippe.

“My, my, Rose,” the Frenchman gasped. “You American girls…such intense kissers.”

“You speak the language of the heart. We speak the language of hot kissing!” Rose said, her voice once again full of life.

“Another universal tongue…in a manner of speaking.”

“Universal, indeed!”

They kissed again with greater intensity, embracing and caressing one another under the hot summer heat. Once again, Rose dared to bring passion into her life. With Philippe, though – the strange Frenchman who’d been there at just the right time to mend her wounded soul – she put in extra effort.

She made sure every touch carried meaning, from the way she twirled her tongue with his to the way she ran her hands through his messy hair. Even if his English wasn’t great, he got the message loud and clear. He’d healed her in just the way she needed to be healed. Were they back on that nude beach in Nice, she would’ve done more than kiss him.

As the affectionate gestures intensified, Roes felt him reach up her skirt and feel around her inner thighs. In doing so, it mixed that rekindled passion with a more basic arousal, one that reminded her of the other needs she hadn’t been meeting lately.

“Philippe,” Rose gasped, “your hand.”

“Would you…like me to stop?” he asked coyly.

“Heavens no!” she said without hesitation.

“In that case, allow me to do one more thing that I believe will give you closure…something we, in France, know to be effective at healing wounded hearts.”

“Oh? And what might that entail?”

With a sneaky grin that only a confident Frenchman could offer, he leaned in closer and whispered into her ear.

“Lie down on your back,” he told her. “Look to the sky, think only of your mother’s love, and let my skilled French tongue do the rest.”

The way he said it sounded so sultry, yet so genuine. Rose knew the French – and Europeans, in general – were less uptight when it came to sexual matters. However, she’d never encountered someone who used sexuality to mend a wounded spirit. For someone like her, who valued her unbound spirit, it seemed so fitting.

“Okay,” said Rose. “Do what you Frenchmen do best to cute, American girls in need of comfort.”

He cast her a confident, but reassuring grin. He had a glint in his eyes that said to her that he intended to deliver and, in what might end up being her final French experience, she trusted him.

Doing as he’d instructed, she laid back on her picnic blanket and gazed up at the clear blue skies. In the process, Philippe reached behind and unzipped the back of her skirt so that he could remove it. She didn’t resist in the slightest, even kicking off her sandals in the process. Then, after setting aside her skirt, he removed her panties as well, leaving her completely naked from the waist down.

“Such beauty,” Philippe said upon seeing her exposed lower body. “You American girls are so adept at grooming.”

Rose giggled, but remained focused on the sky above. Her heart raced and every breath became heavy. All the summer heat seemed to collect around her inner thighs, as though her desire for closure had become a ball of heat housed within her core. At that point, only a mysterious Frenchman could unleash it.

Philippe was more than up to the task. As she gazed to the heavens, he carefully pushed her legs apart and trailed his lips along her inner thighs. Slowly, but steadily, he charted a path to the growing heat that was her womanhood. By the time he arrived, she was fully aroused, her folds engorged and her depths aching for his touch.

“Close your eyes,” he said in that thick accent of his. “Think of all the love that your mother inspired…that you wish to carry on in her memory. Focus on that as I focus on making you feel special in this moment of closure.”

It was hard to focus on anything when she was so incredibly aroused, but for her mother’s memory, Rose endured it. Still breathing heavily, she clung to her picnic blanket and closed her eyes while Philippe put that French tongue of his to work in the best possible way.

“Ooh Philippe!” Rose gasped upon feeling his lips on her nether regions.

Like a true connoisseur, the mysterious Frenchman gave her oral sex. He was not sloppy or crude, either. He treated such an intimate act the same way a dignified man would treat fine dining, exercising manners and care. It was a more refined approach to a common sex act…one that evoked a unique blend of sensations, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Clutching the picnic blanket harder, Rose let out more cries of delight to the heavens. Philippe, heeding her cries like a beacon, intensified his efforts. He held her legs apart, probed deeper with that French tongue of his, and tasted her womanly flesh as though it were an exotic treat. Soon, those feelings of sorrow and pent-up desires converged into a burning ball of blissful heat. It was like the remaining shackles on her spirit were about to shatter.

As that heat intensified, Rose opened her eyes. All she saw was a clear blue sky. Under the constant bombardment of pleasure, its grandeur took on greater meaning. In that moment, she felt as though her mother was gazing down upon her from Heaven, ready to bless her with one final gesture.

“I…I’m close. I’m so…so close!” Rose gasped, her voice dazed by the feeling.

Philippe, heeding her call, lifted her hips slightly and smothered her womanhood with an onslaught of oral teasing. He hit every sensitive area with perfect precision, stimulating her feminine features to the utmost. It sent her to the edge of that special cliff where an ocean of ecstasy awaited her. Once there, Rose let her spirit guide her and she dove in.

“Oohhh yes!”

Her moan of euphoria echoed from the depths of her soul into the sky. She was so vocal with her intimate peak that all the angels in Heaven – including her mother – definitely heard her. Every inch of her skin burned with white hot sensations of pleasure, her toes curling and her back arching as she writhed in the feeling.

By every measure, it was an intense orgasm, but it carried far greater meaning beyond the pleasure. As Rose gazed fixated on the sky, her tears of sorrow having since turned to tears of joy, Philippe set her hips down and leaned in so that he could whisper in her ear once more.

“Let that be your final closure,” he told her, “courtesy of a proud Frenchman.”

“Merci, Monsieur…merci,” Rose panted.

He kissed her on the neck again, traces of her feminine juices still on his breath. Rose smiled warmly, but remained on her back, half-naked and staring at the cloudless sky above her. She’d come to France to take the trip that she and her mother never got a chance to share. She saw and experienced many things that her mother would’ve loved…wonderful things she wish they could’ve shared. Instead of honoring her memory, it just felt like she was mourning her even more.

Then, she encountered a very special man in the French countryside. Thanks to him, the sorrow of loss became the relief of closure. Thanks to a mysterious Frenchman, her mother was gone, but her spirit was freed…just like hers.

The following is a sexy short story that was inspired by one of my old college roommates. He had a girlfriend for the entire time we shared a dorm and they had a very overt sex life, to say the least. Enjoy!

Some couples treated sex like an elaborate spectacle. It couldn’t just happen on a whim. They needed to set a certain mood, creating just the right environment for a sensual, satisfying experience. Becky Raven didn’t understand those couples and that was not the kind of sex life she had with her long-time boyfriend, Richard Wyatt.

“Bend over.”

That was all he said to her one muggy Saturday afternoon after walking into the home office of the townhouse they shared. He didn’t offer any details. He didn’t ask whether she was in the mood because he didn’t need to. Richard knew the dynamics/quirks of their sex life as well as her. After all the years they’d been together, they were past the point of words.

Not saying a word, Becky stopped what she’d been doing on her laptop and rose up from her chair. Richards, looking more stressed than usual, stormed over like a man on a mission. Having just gotten home from some unexpected overtime at the office, he had more energy than usual and Becky knew how he wanted to spend it.

Already feeling his lustful gaze on him, Beck leaned over her desk and kicked the chair aside. As soon as her lover arrived, he didn’t waste any time and grabbed the hem of her pants.

“Get these off,” Richard said intently.

Not waiting for a response, he pulled them down to her ankles, along with her underwear. Then, with her pants and panties down at her ankles, he dropped to his knees and started eating her pussy out.

“Ooh Richard!” she gasped. “Rough day at the office?”

He didn’t answer. She doubted he’d heard her. Richard wasn’t easily distracted, especially when he got horny. He also loved giving her oral sex. He once claimed pussy was both his favorite desert and his favorite appetizer. On top of that, he knew how to hit all those sensitive spots in her depths. That kind of insight that could turn a lazy afternoon into a full-blown fuck fest.

Richard must have been hornier than usual, putting extra urgency into his oral sex. While on his knees, he used both hands to push Becky’s folds apart, allowing him to probe deep with his tongue and hit all the right areas. That got all the right juices flowing. Becky, now holding onto the side of the desk, could only moan blissfully as a steady stream of sensual sensations coursed through her body.

“Ohhh!” she moaned. “It must have been a really rough day.”

Richard remained focused on his oral teasing, letting out deep grunts as he gorged on her folds. Becky also sensed him undo his belt buckle and unzip his pants. With one hand still caressing her pussy, he began stroking his cock. It must have already been half-erect when he entered the room because he got fully aroused pretty quickly.

Either something went really wrong at the office or something went really right. He worked in the sales department of an investment firm, which often required people to be intense and energetic. As it just so happened, that was also what got Richard really aroused. It meant that having a functioning sex life with him required that they skip a few steps.

“If it was that bad…just do it, Richard,” she said. “You clearly need it more than I do.”

Her lover definitely heard that. After giving her pussy one last thorough lick, he rose up from the floor, kicked off the khakis he’d worn to the office, and positioned himself behind her. She felt the tip of his rigid dick rub up against her wet entrance. He ached for her sex and the release it offered. With a firm thrust of the hips, he entered her.

“Oh yeah!” Richard moaned. “I need this…so much.”

His member now deep within her folds, he grabbed hold of her waist and began pumping his cock inside her. He didn’t take it slow or steady, either. He went right for the rough stuff. There was no sweet, tender lovemaking. There was just fucking…raw, unfiltered sex.

“Oh fuck! Ooh fuck!” Becky moaned out. “That’s it, love! Fuck me as hard as necessary!”

She clung harder to the desk, bending over more so that her breasts pressed up against her closed laptop. Richard took her vulgar urgings to heart. That was another kink about their sex life. She loved to talk dirty. She was downright crude, at times, even when they made love. Some men found that disorienting. Richard just thought it was hot.

It showed in how he fucked her. He did it harder and faster, rocking the desk and knocking over some files in the process. He also did it rougher, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, another unique kink that heightened their sex. That feeling of hard, manly flesh thrusting in and out of her pussy sent surges of sensations up through her body. Having been lazily reading emails just moments ago, it was quite a change.

That confluence of quirks, on top of whatever sparked his need, helped Richard get to his peak in short order. He wasn’t too quick. Even when he was really horny, he always made an effort to share the joys of sex with Becky. He still made it to that special domain where the feeling morphed from a blissful heat to a raging wildfire of ecstasy.

“I’m coming, Becky! I’m going to…come!” Richard said with a deep grunt.

Becky just held onto the desk, spreading her legs a little wider so that he could get in extra deep when he got his release. His thrusting slowed and his member throbbed inside her in accord with the pleasure. Hot streams of manly juices shot up into her depths, creating a hot, intimate feeling. It contrasted greatly with the hardcore fucking she’d just experienced, but that only made it more satisfying, creating a sense of balance.

Now short of breath and awash in pleasure, Richard withdrew his cock from her and fell back into the office chair she’d been sitting in before he arrived. Still bent over the desk, Becky had to catch her breath too. When she turned to face her lover, though, she smiled.

“Feel better now?” she asked him.

“Yeah…much better,” Richard said with a grin.

“I bet. Since you usually don’t fuck me that hard without a reason, I won’t ask for details. I’ll just assume your brain, your nerves, and your dick were in agreement, for once.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re a damn good girlfriend, Becky.”

“You’re damn right!” she said proudly. “I’d tell you not to forget it, but I’d rather remind you.”

She trusted her lover to fill in the sub-text. He knew as well as she did what had to happen next. As Richard sat lazily in the chair, she stepped out of her pants and took off the light cotton shirt she’d been wearing. Since she hadn’t been wearing a bra, it rendered her fully naked, a sight her lover always appreciated. She let him admire her exposed body in the afternoon son for a brief second. Then, she approached him with a crude request of her own.

“Sit back,” she said, mirroring the same tone he’d used with her.

He did so without hesitation. Still breathing heavily, she climbed onto his lap and kissed him hungrily. As their lips and tongues twirled together, she undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He’d probably worked up a sweat by fucking her and it was probably really itchy.

After getting it off, she tossed the rest of his clothes aside and slipped off the chair. She then dropped to her knees, just as he had done earlier, and focused her attention on his still-throbbing manhood. It had somewhat softened after his climax, but Becky knew her lover’s anatomy as well as he knew hers. One good orgasm after a stressful day wasn’t enough to get the job done.

With that in mind, she grabbed the base of his dick with one hand and began giving him oral sex. A fresh round of sharp grunts followed.

“Damn!” Richard moaned. “This my kind of reminder.”

Becky responded only with a hungry moan, one that let him know that she was still horny. She still wanted a release of her own. It was one of the official rules of their sex lives. If one of them came in needing a good fucking, then they could get it. However, every time one of them got off, they had to give the other a chance to match them.

Sometimes, that wasn’t possible. If the rate at which Richard got hard again was any indication, Becky doubted that would be an issue. Driven by her own burning need, she sucked his member hard, sliding her lips and tongue along the length of his shaft. Just as he knew the intricacies of her pussy, she knew the subtleties of his dick. She knew how to blow him in just the right way to get him hard again.

Most men couldn’t get hard for hours after blowing their load. Others took even longer. Richard was a special kind of man in a great many ways. His ability to keep fucking her after coming was just one of them.

“You ready?” she asked after giving his dick an extra thorough lick.

“I’m ready,” Richard said.

No further assurance was necessary. With his manhood now erect, Becky rose back to her feet, turned around, and positioned herself over him so that her pelvis was aligned with his. She made sure he had a good view of her butt, a sight he always appreciated. She then lowered herself back onto his dick, his manly flesh penetrating her depths once more.

“Bend me over again,” Becky told him. “Fuck me until I come!”

Richard gladly obliged, grabbing hold of her butt and resuming the hard fucking they’d shared moments ago. He showed off his arm strength, guiding her hips up and down so that the folds of her pussy slithered perfectly along his dick. Becky even showed off her flexibility, bending over far enough that she could watch the spectacle from behind. Having not been able to see much when he bent her over the first time, she sought to take in the sights.

“Ohhh yeah! Fuck me! Fuck yeah!” she moaned, her love of dirty talk showing. “Harder! Do it harder!”

Richard replied with more determined grunts, squeezing her butt harder and stepping up the pace. The flimsy office chair could barely hold together, testing her orgasmic efficiency as much as her flexibility. Thankfully, Becky didn’t need to damage any furniture to achieve her goal.

As her inner muscles throbbed with increasing intensity, she felt her orgasm coming up fast. Richard certainly did his part, rubbing her butt just like she licked. He even reached around and fondled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to accelerate the orgasmic process. When it hit, it came at her like tsunami.

“Oohhh I’m coming, Richard! I’m coming!” she cried out.

Just as she crossed that fine line between exertion and ecstasy, her love grabbed her hair again and pulled her head back. It was just in time too because it allowed her to proclaim her ecstasy to the heavens.

She made it a point to be extra loud as she soaked in the euphoria. White hot surges of pleasure coursed through her system, filling her with the kind of raw bliss that could only come with her and Richard’s unique brand of sex. Some might call it kinky. Some might call it rough. That didn’t make it any less intimate.

After the ecstasy passed, Becky let out a content sigh and rose up off her lover’s cock. She then casually sat with him in the chair, their naked bodies glistening in the afternoon son. They were silent for a while, not needing to say much. It might have been the most meaningful trait of their relationship. They didn’t need to sweet talk each other to affirm their love. They already knew how much they loved each other. As a bonus, it allowed them to be more efficient with their sex lives.

“Guess we both needed that,” Richard said.

“Guess so,” Becky said coyly.

“I’m so lucky…having such an awesome girlfriend,” he went on, “one who doesn’t mind me bending her over on a whim.”

“And I’m just as lucky to have a boyfriend who knows how to fuck me right!”

“I’m glad you appreciate it as much as I do,” he said, “because after the day I’ve had, you might want to stay naked for the rest of the day.”

The following is a sexy short story that was inspired by a broken furnace and a handyman that really saved the day. If you are a skilled handyman out there, please know that your sex appeal is grossly under-appreciated. I hope this story will convey that sentiment.

“Damn it! Of all the days for my furnace to break, why does it have to be today?” Delila Preston groaned as she paced restlessly.

She muttered more curses under her breath, hugging her shoulders to protect herself from the harsh winter cold. Looking outside, her windows covered in ice from the latest winter storm that passed through last night, she saw no relief in the dreary overcast. All she could do was put on her thickest pair of sweatpants, her only clean T-shirt, and a hoodie over top of it. She tried to keep moving, but that wasn’t easy in her undersized apartment. She needed real, tangible warmth and she needed it soon.

That need went beyond the weather. It wasn’t unreasonable to say that her life, as a whole, was as broken as her heater. Eight months ago, everything had been perfectly functional. Delila was engaged to her high-school sweetheart, she had a good job at marketing firm, and she lived in a comfortable home not far from her childhood neighborhood.

Then, everything broke. Delila found out her fiancé had been cheating on her. She lost her job when her boss got arrested for an embezzlement scandal, forcing her to take a lower-paying job over 40 miles away from her old home. She couldn’t even move back home because her parents were already caring for her younger brother, who’d just come back from serving in the military and required extra care because of the wounds he suffered. That meant moving into the cheapest, most cramped apartment she could find.

Her heater breaking was just the latest in a long string of things that had gone horribly wrong in her life.

“The coldest day of the year on top of the worst year of my adult life,” Delila muttered as she gazed out the window. “I can get someone to fix my heater, but how the hell do I go about fixing everything else at this point?”

As she wondered that daunting prospect, she checked her watch. Since she couldn’t afford a licensed repairman, she had to rely on help from a co-worker, Mia. She’d told him her brother’s best friend was a real handyman who just happened to owe her favor. She’d been texting him since she woke up and he was supposed to arrive at any minute.

Not knowing if her heater could even be fixed, Delila sighed to herself and planned on drinking plenty of hot tea for the rest of the weekend. For now, at least, curling up under multiple blankets in bed seemed like the only way to keep warm.

After a few more minutes of waiting, she heard a knock at her door.

“Hope this guy knows what he’s doing,” Delila said. “I need at least one thing in my life that isn’t broken.”

Still hugging her shoulders for warmth, she opened the door to greet the hopeful handyman. The figure she saw, however, caught her by surprise.

“Hi! You must be Delila,” a man greeted. “I’m Josh Maven. I’m here to fix your heater.”

“Yes, uh…please, come in,” Delila said.

Her co-worker hadn’t told her much about her brother’s friend. She only said he was good at fixing things. Now, Delila wished she had asked more questions because she never would’ve guessed he would’ve been so cute.

“Damn, it’s cold out!” Josh said as he entered and took off his jacket. “This is a hell of a day for your heater to break.”

“Yeah…hell of a day indeed,” Delila replied.

“If this place is anything like my brother’s old apartment, I should be able to fix it. I can’t tell you how many times he blew that thing out so he could lounge around in his underwear.”

“I hope it’s not that bad.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

Josh sounded way too energetic for a man doing someone else a favor. It was the complete antithesis of her morbid mood. Then, as he removed his jacket, she saw him wearing a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt that showed off bulging muscles that perfectly complemented his burly complexion. Maybe it was just a result of her being so lonely after her fiancé broke up with her, but such a sight made parts of her body warmer by default.

As he set his jacket aside, he took the tool box he’d brought with him and carried it over to the utility closet that stood right next to her bathroom. She’d told her co-worker how her apartment was set up. Josh seemed familiar with it and wasted no time in getting to work. That kind of initiative already set him apart from most of the men she’d known.

“So Mia says you’re quite the handyman,” she said, trying not to get too smitten with a guy she’d just met.

“She only said that because I fixed her car for $100 after some other mechanic said it would cost $1500,” Josh replied.

“Well, knowing what we make in a week, I can see why she’d feel that way.”

“To be fair, the mechanic was an asshole who isn’t in business anymore,” Josh said, “and it was just a filthy spark plug. I’m just a contractor by trade, but even I know how basic machines work. Nobody should get gouged like that just to fix something that simple.”

“If only the world were that fair,” Delila said with a smile.

“If only,” Josh said, smiling back.

Now, she was blushing. Her efforts to distract herself from how cute Josh was did the opposite. Her face was almost as warm as her inner thighs. That might have been a nice way to cope with the cold weather, but it made for an awkward situation. Then again, that was a step up from a broken situation.

Rather than risk heating up other parts of her body, she fell silent and let Josh get to work. She started pacing again as he propped the door open and turned on the light inside the utility room. In just a T-shirt and dirty jeans, he retrieved some tools and went to work. Delila didn’t pay too much attention, if only because seeing him on his back gave her too many lurid thoughts. She also sought to stay out of his way so that he could work without some broken woman like her bothering him.

“I’ve seen these models before,” he said as he took off the panels and started tinkering. “They’re old, but they’re usually reliable. When did it stop working?”

“About three days ago,” Delila answered, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know what happened. One day, I just came home from the office and it wasn’t on.”

“Did it ever make any noises? Did it ever start smelling funny?”

“Nope. I tried adjusting the thermostat. I tried calling the building manager, as well.”

“And what did he say?” Josh asked.

“That he’ll get back to me in a few hours. That was two days ago. I’ve been getting his voicemail ever since.”

“That’s never a good sign.”

“Yeah, I figured that when the neighbor told me he tends to take his time with repair,” Delila said, rolling her eyes. “It’s his way of telling us to call a goddamn repair man and pay for it ourselves.”

“In other words he’s inept, lazy, cheap, or all three,” Josh said with a chuckle.

“Trust me. It’s all three,” Delila said, laughing as well.

It felt good to laugh. In fact, it felt better than it should have and not just because she hadn’t had much to laugh about in months. Just being around someone who wasn’t as broken as her felt refreshing. Him being an attractive man on top of that was just a bonus…a very appealing bonus.

Delila stopped pacing for a moment and turned back towards Josh. He was peering into an open panel of electronics and shining a flashlight into it. She could smell the dust and grime from across the room. It didn’t seem to bother him, though. That just made him more attractive in her eyes. The idea that a man could get his hands dirty and not care had a lot of appeal.

“It doesn’t look like anything is burnt out or damaged,” he said. “If it wasn’t making noise, then I doubt any of the moving parts are the problem. That’s a good thing because it means it must be something minor.”

“I hope so,” Delila said, “but you should know that lately, the line between minor and catastrophic hasn’t been very clear for things in my world.”

“You have my sympathy,” Josh said. “I’m tempted to ask questions, but I’ll resist for the sake of your heater.”

“I don’t mind if you give into a little temptation,” she said under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, looking up from his work briefly.

“Nothing!” she said quickly. “I just said…I appreciate your help.”

He cast her a bemused grin. He clearly didn’t believe her. Delila had always been a terrible liar, especially in the presence of attractive men. Her ex-fiance didn’t like that for some reason. Josh didn’t seem to mind at all. That just made her blush even more.

“I have a theory,” Josh said as he went back to work. “If I’m right, then the only thing you need to fix your heater is a part that cost less than $15.”

“I hope it’s right,” said Delila, “but I’m not sure the universe will allow it at this point.”

“The wires seem to be working. It’s just the thermocouple that’s busted. As it just so happens, I have a few spares from a job I did a couple weeks ago. I’ll replace it and see if that does the trick.”

“Do what you have to do, Josh. If you can fix this, then that’ll be the first broken thing in my life to get fixed in months.”

“Then, I better be right.”

He sounded oddly determined, as though he’d made it his mission to make her less miserable. For a handyman she wasn’t even paying, it just made him even more attractive.

Delila silent again and let him work, breaking out more tools and getting his hands even dirtier. She found herself pacing once more, but not to keep warm. She kept glancing back towards Josh and then at the window. While her body had reacted strongly to the presence of an attractive man, her mind still struggled to catch up. By letting herself think beyond the activity in certain parts of her body, she came to a few realizations.

Everything in her life felt broken, but she hadn’t done a lot to fix it. She hadn’t gotten her hands dirty like Josh was with her heater. She just lamented and fumed about it. She knew how bad things had gotten, but didn’t make an effort to make things better. It put the past eight months in a new light.

“I need to start fixing my own shit,” she said under her breath. “I can’t just assume things will fix themselves anymore.”

Delila sighed again and shook her head. It was a harsh, but overdue realization. It meant she would have to make some major changes that included bold decisions.

As she contemplated what that might entail, she heard a welcome sound. The heater had turned on. It was working again.

“Success!” Josh proclaimed. “It was the thermocouple. Your heater is officially fixed, Delila.”

Those words almost sounded alien, the idea of something in her life getting fixed. They still had a profound effect.

“It’s working again,” she said with a beaming smile. “I can already feel it.”

“See? It was something minor,” Josh said as he closed the panel and got up from the floor. “Things can be fixed if you know what to tweak.”

“Yes,” she said distantly, “I suppose they can.”

She began stopped pacing and stood under one of the heating vents. She could already feel the warm air blowing into the room, providing some badly-needed warmth after several cold nights. Already, the heavy sweatshirt she’d been wearing felt unnecessary. As if to celebrate having something fixed, she took it off and even kicked off her slippers.

“It’s actually getting warm in here again,” Delila said. “I’ll be able to sleep without hiding under three blankets tonight.”

“It’s a good thing too. It’s supposed to get below zero tonight,” said Josh as he packed up some of his tools.

“And it’s all thanks to you,” she added. “You…a handyman who managed to fix something in my life.”

Delila didn’t intend for those words to come off so dramatically, but it was too late. Josh didn’t seem to mind, either. He just smiled back at her, still in those dirty clothes that showed off his manly physique. He was already attractive. Now, after fixing her heater, he was the sexiest human being in the world in her eyes.

As if to acknowledge that feeling, Delila dared to be a little bolder. She shed her sweatpants like she had her slippers and sweatshirt. It wasn’t lost on her that doing so left her in only a T-shirt and a pair of panties. It definitely got Josh’s attention, though.

“Um…what are you doing, Delila?” he asked with a wry grin.

“What does it look like?” she said playfully. “I’m enjoying the benefits of a functioning heater.”

“So when it’s working, you always lounge around in your underwear?” Josh questioned.

“Not always,” she replied, “but when I’m in a certain mood or have a good reason…”

Her words trailed off. Josh, his hands still dirty and his shirt stained with dust, just stood before her in a surprised daze. However, a grin never left his face. He clearly liked seeing her with minimal clothing. That assured her he would love seeing her in no clothing at all.

“Delila,” he said, sounding awkward, yet curious, “if this is your way of thanking me, you should know that’s not necessary.”

“I know it’s not,” she said as she casually approached, sensually swaying her hips with every step.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I’d rather not owe Mia more favors.”

“Mia doesn’t have to know. No one else has to know. I doubt they’d believe you if you told them because what I’m about to do is a complete break in character.”

She sounded like an entirely different woman, one who wasn’t just relieved that her heater was working again. The same woman who’d been so broken when the day began had stepped aside. A newer, bolder Delila Preston took her place.

Josh seemed fond of that new Delila already. He offered no resistance as she walked up to him, slipped her arms around his neck, and embraced him in a way that let their clothed bodies touch. She even made it a point to rub her thigh up against his groin, if only to get his blood flowing in the right direction. He reacted favorably, those dirty hands of his slipping around her waist.

“Josh, you don’t know me very well,” she said to him, “and trust me. Your timing couldn’t be better.”

“I already believe that,” he said, his hands trembling as he felt up her womanly curves.

“Eight months ago, I was a very different woman. I was surrounded by good circumstances – good family, good friends, and even an ex-fiancé.”

“Ex-fiancé?”

“Yes, the ex indicating that something broke…something big. Everything had always been so good. I never had to fix anything. It all just worked itself out. I never thought much of it, but then when just one thing broke…”

She stopped herself as the memories came rushing back. It happened over the course of many months, but it felt like one long breakdown. Her fiancé cheated on her. She lost her job. Her brother has to live at home with their parents while he recovered from his military service. Her heater breaking was just part of that breakdown. Josh fixing it had an impact that went beyond the temperature in her apartment.

“When you come from that world, it doesn’t take much,” Delila went on. “Everything starts snowballing. Nothing works anymore. You don’t know how to fix anything because you’ve never had to. Things just fixed themselves.”

“So…what are you looking to fix now?” Josh said in a curious tone. “Is something other than your heater broken? Because you might need a different handyman for that.”

“Believe me. I’m looking at the best handyman in the world right now. He fixed my heater. If he can do that, then he can definitely help me fix another part of my life that won’t fix itself.”

With focused energy, coupled with the rising temperature in her apartment, Delila leaned in and kissed the burly man who’d gotten a small part of her life working again. He eagerly kissed back, her touch and her gestures drawing him into her impassioned state. She didn’t care that his face was unshaven and his hair was messy. If anything, that turned her on even more.

“Delila,” Josh gasped. “You kiss…like someone who needs more than a working heater.”

“You want to help me fix that too?” she said seductively. “If so, you’re going to need another tool.”

She rubbed her thigh up against his crotch a little harder. Already, she felt a hardness forming in his pants. The grin on his face widened. The man must have had a fetish for broken things and broken people.

“Well, I wouldn’t be much of a handyman if I didn’t come equipped for any job now, would I?” Josh said.

“No. You wouldn’t,” Delila said curtly.

“And just so you know, I didn’t shower this morning and I worked all day yesterday. My last two girlfriends did not like being this intimate with a guy who enjoys working in dirty places.”

“With all due respect to your ex-girlfriends, they’re assholes. A man who enjoys working in dirty places deserves a special kind of intimacy!”

Making clear that his disheveled state was a turn-on, she kissed him again and pressed her body up against his. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hands snuck under his shirt, not at all dissuaded by the dust and grime from the floor. If he were bolder with his hands, he would’ve felt how wet she was between her legs. He was too professional for that, but she intended to communicate that desire in other more obvious ways.

The kissing quickly intensified, morphing into full-fledged foreplay. She pawed his chest while he felt up her womanly curves. As their lips and tongues twirled, she led him over to the living room in which she’d been pacing moments ago. Along the way, they shed their ruffled clothes. She pulled his shirt off over his head and undid his pants. While he stumbled to get them off, she removed her t-shirt, revealing that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

“Wow,” Josh said as he got an eyeful of her breasts. “You have beautiful tits.”

“Tits that need those skilled hands of yours,” she teased.

Delila helped him out of his pants, allowing him to kick off his shoes and socks in the process. She also got his boxers off too, freeing his semi-hard manhood that she had done so much to stimulate. In his full glory, she saw very unkempt, but very manly figure. The fact that he’d used that figure to fix her heater just made her wetter between the legs.

After he kicked aside his pants, they arrived at her couch. Before pulling him into another embrace, she slipped out of her panties. Now fully nude, she guided him onto her couch where they turned their basic foreplay into a heated make-out session.

Showing more initiative than she’d ever shown with her ex-fiancé, she pinned him down and got on top of him, allowing their naked flesh to get acquainted. Hands roamed freely and lips twirled passionately. It led to a state of heated arousal, which felt extra special on such a cold winter day.

By then, her fixed heater had done plenty to warm up her apartment. However, it couldn’t hurt to make some heat of their own.

“Mmm…Josh,” Delila purred as she ran her fingers over his bearded complexion. “It’s still a little cold in here.”

“It is,” Josh said with his hands on her butt as he lay under her. “Want me to take another look at the heater?”

“You could,” she said playfully, “or you could just make hot, sweaty love to me right here on this couch.”

“Well, the handyman in me is tempted to look at the machine.”

“Need me to tempt you any more to convince you?”

“Nope! I already know what needs fixing here.”

With the same energy and spirit he’d shown while fixing her heater, Josh rolled her over on the couch so that she was on her back with her head against the arm. He then hitched one leg around his waist and let the other drape over the edge as he guided his manhood towards her wet entrance. Once in position, he entered her with ease and her womanly flesh embraced him.

“Ooh Josh!” Delila moaned. “My…my sexy handyman!”

“Your handyman…I like that!” Josh said gleefully.

With a real workman’s attitude, he went to work making love to her as only a skilled handyman could. He was a careful and thorough as he’d been with her heater, delivering every thrust as though it were a specific tweak. It set every pleasure-based nerve in her lower body ablaze. She let out loud moans that reverberated throughout her cramped apartment, eagerly supplanting his efforts with passionate gestures of her own.

Her world rocked and so did the couch. His manly sinews grazed perfectly against her feminine curves. It was so hot that they actually worked up a sweat, which was no easy feat in an apartment that had been without a functioning heater for three days. She and Josh still did it, though. Something about that made it even more satisfying.

“Josh! Oh Josh!” she moaned. “So hot! So hard! Oohhh I’m going to come!”

Such fervent, pleasurable lovemaking sent Delila to the brink or orgasm faster than she’d thought possible. Either her sex drive had been broken too or Josh was just more thorough than her ex-fiancé had ever dared to be. She chose to believe it was a nice bonus for a skilled handyman.

When her climax hit, Delila dug her nails into her sexy handyman’s shoulders and threw her head back in a spectacle of ecstasy. She didn’t care that she moaned so loud that she probably startled her neighbor’s dog. She had a working heater and a skilled lover. That was worth celebrating.

“Delila,” Josh gasped. “You…are amazing.”

“I can also…be handy…too,” she said breathlessly.

Making sure she wasn’t the only one putting in the effort, she kissed Josh again and pulled him into another make-out session. She didn’t dare stop their sex at just one orgasm. She barely took time to soak it all in, opting instead to channel her handyman’s dedicated spirit.

With that spirit, their flesh remained united. Their bodies shifted wildly around the couch as his manhood slithered sensually in the depths of her womanhood. Eventually, he ended up in a sitting position with her straddling his hips in an upright position, riding him extra hard. It quickly led to another orgasm for her, but she made a conscious effort to ensure he got his too. When it finally came, expression tensed and his grip on her butt tightened for the final push.

“Oohhh Delila! I…I’m close!” he grunted.

“Yes, my handyman,” she moaned. “Come with me!”

In a final push, she rode him harder, gyrating her hips with a vigor she’d never attempted in her most intimate moments. It helped send Josh over the edge. His grip on her hips tightened, his face contorted, and his manhood throbbed inside her in accord with his release. Seeing him writhe in ecstasy helped her achieve another peak as well, allowing their juices to mix in an intimate heat.

“I think…we’re fixed,” she panted.

“Fixed…yeah,” Josh said breathlessly.

It made for a hot, passionate moment on a cold dreary, day. With her heater going strong, they worked up quite a sweat. The movement ceased and Delila just clung to her handyman, letting him savor his peak. When it passed, she rose up off his member and collapsed with him on the couch.

For a moment, they just laid there in silence, still naked and dazed. The only noise came from the heater, which felt fitting. When it broke, it felt like the last straw for Delila. Now that it had been fixed, thanks to her handsome handyman, it felt like she just took the first step towards fixing her life.

“Hey Josh,” she said, still curled up in his arms.

“Yes, Delila?” he replied, now resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Thanks for fixing my heater.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughed, “and by heater, you mean your actual heater, right?”

“You know what I mean,” she said, laughing as well.

“Just checking,” he said.

“I also meant in general,” she said, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze. “This morning, everything in my life was broken. I only ever dealt with it by lamenting how broken it was. Now, after you helped fix just one thing, I feel like I’m ready to fix even more.”

“Glad I could help,” he said with another beaming grin. “After all, that’s what good handymen do!”