Sins of my own
“Is this a dildo?” I choked. Literally.
His fingers were wrapped around my throat, squeezing and relaxing as he taunted me with his command. His body was big against my curves as he slammed my head against the headboard with his rapid thrusts. My hands, reaching out to brace myself, slipped and dropped behind the pillows when I found the thing.
The thing. Yes. A sexual toy. At first glance, it looked like a pink dildo till I pulled it out for a closer look.
“What the…” I turned to him. His cock was still stuffed in my tight, wet pussy, and we both stared in shock.
To be more precise — it was a vibrator. A nine-inch pink version of the Big Daddy Panasonic handheld massager, which was, at one point, a dying product that was revived after some Japanese housewives discovered its other special uses, and that product became a hit in their intimate relationships.
The OG was the size of the club and the length of my arm. H bought it long ago after reading reviews and had me try it. When I first opened the Panasonic box, I was thinking — no way I can fit that in my pussy.
“No. You don’t put it in,” said H. “Turn it on and put the tip on your clit and pussy.”
“Oh….” The vibration was intense. “Oh…what the…” My teeth were chattering, and I swore I felt sparks of electricity jotting through my pussy and spreading to the rest of my body.
Clit numbing with the properties of a robotic arm. And so my review of OG was — it’s okay. It took me far too long to cum, too heavy to lug along overseas, and like its smaller vibrator bros, none was suitable for my kind of orgasm.
I was Team Good o’fashion dildo. Or better yet, give me my East Asian, average-sized young dick.
Back to that pink vibrator. It was not mine. Neither was it his.
“Omg. It’s your sister’s…” my voice shook. Every day was a first, as always.
His eyes shot black, and my cheeks grew hotter than it already was. My ears were burning. It felt illegal. My mind already warp speeds ahead. My fingers were wrapped around her pink staff like I was a Prophet-unseeing the events of the past and future.
“In-law…” He added with a smirk. Knowing him a little then and more now, our minds were in sync — more connected than I’d felt with guys I met, less than H, who could predict my next ten steps before I even take one.
I could see her in my mind because I’d been replaying his Hinge vids more than a dozen times to watch and listen to him sing. Yes, I was a little more than obsessed. Don’t know why.
Yes, it was hers. She was smiling in my head. We were fucking in her bed. We were having sex in his married brother’s bed.
It was his idea. My guy was very bad. I was beginning to realize that his depth of perversion was no end and happily surprised that I had chosen right. A deep, dark cave to be explored and to be pulled and taken forcefully into his embrace.
My guy said it was because I was too loud, and all his neighbors could hear my screams and moans, especially if we were in his bedroom by the front door.
And so fucking in his brother and sister-in-law’s bed was the best idea.
I held onto her vibrator in one hand, unsure if she had cleaned it before leaving on her vacation, and braced the headboard with the other hand. He pounded my pussy hard and obliterated my walls.
I came harder than I did before. His breath strangles my neck, his voice in my ear. I’d said before his voice could take me from 0-60 in lust. And that time, our voices, body thundering, bed shaking, world spinning, sent me into a lightning storm of squirts, ended with him pouring his cum till we both soaked the bed.
The bodily liquids had both of us jumping out of bed and rushing to get the sheets cleaned. It was a pity because, like the teenagers we were behaving, we didn’t get to enjoy the sexy aftermath or rounds two and three.
That day of the sis-in-law sparked some thoughts I’d not considered. I won’t deny I’d imagined a swap, and I usually didn’t care for it, and neither was I interested in playing with her, as I told all the guys who asked.
“I’m very straight. Don’t make me punch the other girl in the face. A queen doesn’t share.”
Everyone has a sinful thought at some point. A line drawn on sand, moving, wriggling — a snake on a beach, as we gave excuses for our bad acts.
Breaking rules and rebellion added spice. As I said before, sex is part animal procreation and part power play. Actually, committing a crime like incest takes the cake. I won’t cross that line because it doesn’t interest me, but young stranger guys are my favorite dessert.
“You are responsible for your actions,” H said.
Yes. I am. Sex is so fun. It is addicting. A drug I can’t get rid of.
“It’s time to go back to adulting,” my guy said. After he’d fucked me as I cooked him my special spicy noodles. My tease naked in an apron worked too well. The curves of my big ass were handfuls too much to resist.
Sexual fantasies keep us from our stress and sad lives. His cock moves in and out of me, and his teasing lips brush my skin with a slow tingling death.
Ever since I yolo-ed, mom and son kinks were the most popular theme. Many guys wished they were mine; making babies in my womb and cuckolding the husband gave them thrills.
Mother and son, brother and sister, brother-in-law and sister-in-law, father and daughter. Further down the list — best friends’ betrayal, bosses’ sex.
Maybe I do want something more intense. Something more naughty, more than just outdoor sex and people-watching. How far can this guy take me? How far am I willing to sin to feel my pussy tingle?
In reality, crossing that line means no turning back. That relationship can’t be saved. The damage is done. If we look into ourselves, maybe we are screwed up. We cause turmoil, and from there, excitement, and after that crash and burn, we get to feel, and from the ashes, something rises.