Erotic Little Spinners - 8 Tales Of Dirty Sex Read online

  EROTIC LITTLE SPINNERS

  8 TALES OF DIRTY SEX

  Featuring stories from:

  JT Holland

  Shane Tyler

  Aaron Grimes

  Scotty Diggler

  Copyright 2017 by AE Publications

  AE PUBLICATIONS

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DISCLAIMER: These stories are intended for a mature audience only! Contains explicit, graphic sex and language, including rough sex, dirty talk, anal play and more. Definitely not intended for individuals under the age of 18 or those with a weak heart! I repeat: 18 and over only!!!

  #####

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FROM JT HOLLAND

  THE PORNSTAR NEXT DOOR

  THE SLUT OF MY DREAMS

  LATE NIGHT LUST

  FROM SHANE TYLER

  POUNDED AND PUNISHED

  FROM AARON GRIMES

  ANAL DEPRAVITY

  ANAL POUNDING

  FROM SCOTTY DIGGLER

  IMPOSSIBLE TO RESIST

  SLUTTY WITH A CHANCE OF ANAL

  #####

  THE PORNSTAR NEXT DOOR

  A HARDCORE NOVELLA

  JT HOLLAND

  DAY ONE

  Holy Shit.

  It actually happened.

  After spending nearly every waking moment over the last couple of days dreaming, hoping, praying and fantasizing about this turn of events, it actually happened.

  I fucked the girl next door.

  Well, truth be told, she did most of the work, but that’s to be expected. Why is that, you ask? We’ll get to that in a little bit. But first, I must digress. Set the scene, so to speak. Put some things on the record. Because, let’s be honest, this journal is going to be the only place I’ll ever be able to talk about any of this stuff.

  That’s the only downside to this arrangement; I have to keep it to myself. Which is kind of a bummer, really. I mean, I just lived out what is quite possibly every young man’s dream—even if they won’t come right out and admit it—and I can’t even share the experience with anyone. Not any of my friends, that’s for sure. It would be all over Facebook and Twitter within minutes. And this is something I definitely don’t want getting around. I can only imagine what would happen if my mom ever found out. It would be the end of the world as I know it. And I most definitely would not feel fine.

  But enough about my problems, let’s get to the good stuff.

  I first noticed her three days ago. I’d gotten home from school just after noon (it was my senior year and I only had a half-slate of classes) and my mom was still at work. I went to the fridge, got myself a Mountain Dew, opened the back door to let the dog out, then headed upstairs to spend a couple hours on the Playstation. But before I could get the game started, the dog started barking. So I looked outside to see what the fuss was all about.

  That’s when I saw her.

  It was impossible not to, really. After all, it’s not every day that you see a stranger lying topless on a lounge chair in your neighbor’s backyard.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I said, not realizing I’d said it aloud until I actually heard the words. As far as I knew, the neighbors were childless. Granted, they’d only been living next door for about a year, but I’d never seen anyone under the age of forty over there. And certainly not this girl. I would have remembered her.

  Even from a distance of a couple hundred feet, it was obvious she was ridiculously hot. A long, thin, perfectly-toned body, great tan, defined arms, sculpted legs, long brown hair, and a impossibly firm ass covered only by a micro-thin g-string bikini.

  I just stood there and stared, transfixed, my dick getting hard just dreaming about getting a closer look at her, let alone doing anything else.

  And then, as if on cue, she turned over, revealing her tits to the sun. On the smallish side but perky and firm, they were absolutely perfect. Not too big, not too small, more than a handful but not too much more. In a word, glorious.

  She reached over and grabbed a water bottle and took a drink, exposing the hollow of her neck, then stretched out and settled into position. She had sunglasses on, so I only caught a glimpse of her face, but from what I could tell it was just as gorgeous as the rest of her.

  I stood there for at least fifteen minutes, just staring and fantasizing, the rest of the world lost to me, my dick pressing painfully against my jeans. Questions bounced around in my head, all having to do with her. Who was she? How long would she be there? Did I possibly have a shot with her? (I knew the answer to this one of course, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind.)

  But most of all, one specific question nagged at me more than anything: Why did she look familiar? Because she did. At first I didn’t believe it. Just wishful thinking, I said to myself. There’s no way in hell I’d seen her before. It wasn’t something I would have forgotten. But that was the thing; I did remember. Somewhere, at one time, I’d seen her.

  I couldn’t pinpoint why she felt so familiar to me. It wasn’t anything specific, not any part of her body that brought up the recollection—not her face, not her great tits, not her tight ass—it was just a general feeling. It was the idea of her that tickled the tip of my brain, brought it right there on the cusp of recognition. Perhaps if I could just get a closer look, I would be able to—

  I was so locked up in my own thoughts that it took me a moment to notice she’d shifted positions again. This time she was sitting up a little straighter and her sunglasses were in her hand.

  With a start, I realized she was looking right at me.

  Holy shit.

  I quickly took a step back, out of her line of sight. I had no idea how long she’d been looking at me or if she could even see me for that matter, but either way I felt a flush of shame—not for looking at her (after all, it was obvious she didn’t care about being seen, in fact probably wanted to) but simply at being caught. I waited about a minute then tilted my head and peeked around the edge of the window to see if she’d had any reaction but she was gone.

  I started to panic. What did she go inside for? Because she was embarrassed at being seen? (Doubtful) To call the cops to complain about a peeping tom? (Highly doubtful) Because the phone rang? (Probable) Because she was simply done tanning for the day? (Likely) Or maybe it was something else entirely. But whatever the reason, she was gone. The show was over.

  After getting over my initial disappointment, I went into the bathroom and jerked off.

  #

  The next day I raced home to hopefully catch another glimpse of her, eschewing multiple requests by my friends to come over and hang out, giving them some lame excuse as to why I had to be home all the while keeping the real reason to myself.

  After arriving home I immediately ran upstairs to have a look.

  Bingo.

  She was out there again, lying on her back, wearing the exact same outfit, (or lack of one, more accurately) obviously either unaware or not caring one bit that I had seen her the day before.

  In fact, maybe it was nothing more than a coincidence, but today her chair was closer to my house and angled differently, so she was facing my window directly. Did she know I was watching her yesterd
ay? Was this just her way of getting her jollies? Teasing me, perhaps?

  Yeah, right, said the rational voice in my head. Keep dreaming, buddy. It’s just a better angle for the sun, that’s all.

  Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. Who knew for sure? Certainly not I. But it didn’t really matter anyway. What did matter is that she was out there again, and this time I was prepared.

  I’d set up a chair in the far corner of the room, allowing me to see just barely over the bottom of the window, and (in theory) making it impossible for her to see me (because of the angle) even if she happened to glance up. I also had a pair of mini-binoculars in case I wanted to get a closer look.

  I closed and locked my door then pulled off my pants and sat down in the chair. My dick had been hard with anticipation pretty much all day, and now that the moment was here it was sticking out of my boxers without even the slightest touch. But that was about to change.

  I don’t know about other guys out there, but for me, if my dick’s hard the urge to stroke it is almost unbearable. And so I started to stroke it slowly, all the while not taking my eyes off the vision of perfection lying in the sun below me. I took my time, working my cock in brief intervals, not wanting to waste a single second of the view by blowing my load before she was done for the day. Occasionally I would use my free hand to bring the binoculars to my eyes for a closer look, but for the most part I preferred the long-view to the close-up one.

  About ten minutes in, she flipped over onto her back. Again she was topless, and again I marveled at the gall it took to sun topless outside in the open. The neighbor’s backyard was surrounded with old trees and shrubbery, and the only decent view to it from another house was from the exact spot I was in right now, but something told me that she didn’t give a fuck either way. The yard could be open to the world and she’d still be lying there half-naked.

  And so I sat there in my chair, periodically stroking my dick while watching her soak up the sun, perfectly content and feeling like I’d won the lottery, when, as impossible as it might sound, things took a turn for the better.

  Her right hand dropped to her bikini bottoms and she started to rub down there.

  At first I wasn’t sure what she was doing. Adjusting the material? Scratching an itch? But after a few seconds of slowly rubbing in a circular manner, it suddenly clicked.

  She too was touching herself.

  Oh. My. God. You have got to be kidding me.

  I fumbled for the binoculars to verify what I thought I’d seen. But when I finally got them to my eyes I realized that from my spot in the chair I didn’t have a real good angle. So I crept up closer to the window, careful to keep my head low, just in case. Pretty soon I was right up against it. I rose up a bit and brought the binoculars to my face. Sure enough, up close, it was obvious.

  She was playing with her pussy.

  My dick got even harder. It was sticking straight out of my boxers, the erection almost painful. I tried to stuff it back inside but it was no use. So I just let it hang out and focused my attention of her.

  And then, just in case there was any doubt, her index and middle fingers slipped underneath her bikini bottoms.

  Fuck me.

  The binoculars slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. But I didn’t bother searching for them. I could see fine without them, perhaps even better, because I could take her entire body in as she enjoyed herself, from her head thrown back in ecstasy to her toes curled up in pleasure as her fingers went to work beneath her panties. With her free hand she started working one of her tits, groping it, squeezing the nipple, slapping it lightly.

  She shoved her panties aside and went to work on herself with more intensity, her fingers moving faster and faster, in and out of her pussy. By now I had given up on my own attempts at austerity and was full-on stroking my cock as I watched her. I was close to the point of finishing but trying to hold off until she was done too. I didn’t want to waste a second of the show.

  And then it was time. Her thrusts slowed down considerably and her body stiffened and her fingers stayed deep inside her pussy instead of sliding back out. Even though the window was closed I could hear the sharp gasp from her mouth as her body shuddered once, twice, three times and then fell still.

  Knowing now that the show was all but over, I too let myself go, spewing my cum all over the wall beneath the window. I dropped to the floor and took a moment to catch my breath before climbing back to my knees to have a peek.

  She had pulled her fingers out of her pussy and replaced her bikini bottom to its rightful place. Her sunglasses were back over her eyes and she was climbing to her feet. I watched as she gathered her things and headed towards the back door of the house.

  Was that a smirk I saw on her face? I could have sworn it was. Did she know I was watching. Had she put on that show just for me?

  No. It simply wasn’t possible. Was it? Did it even matter? Not really. Either she had known I was watching and obviously didn’t mind, or she didn’t know and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Either way it didn’t make any difference to me, as long as she didn’t change up her routine.

  I leaned back against the wall and wondered how life could get any better.

  I was about to find out.

  #

  The next day I again rushed home from school, again got all prepared—chair ready, pants off, binoculars in one hand, dick in the other—and again went to the window to watch the show.

  She wasn’t there.

  Fighting a wave of disappointment, I tried to calm myself down. Just because she wasn’t there didn’t mean she wouldn’t be there at all. Maybe she had some stuff to do and would get her tanning time in later. Or maybe she had just gone inside for a minute to get something to drink, or answer the phone, or use the bathroom. Or maybe—

  The doorbell rang.

  My body stiffened. Could it be?

  Don’t be ridiculous, said the rational voice. It’s probably just UPS dropping off a package.

  Of course. That had to be it. UPS came to the door almost every day to drop something off for my mom. She was always buying shit on the internet.

  Then the doorbell rang again, and this time it was followed with a knock.

  Well, it wasn’t UPS. They would have just rang once then left the package.

  Then who was it?

  I decided there was only one way to find out. So I put my pants back on and headed downstairs, trying desperately to hold a lid on my excitement.

  Another knock as I reached the door. I glanced through the peephole and quickly looked away, as though afraid of getting caught peeking. My breath was caught in my chest and my heart was pounding.

  It was the girl next door.

  Now that she was here, in the flesh, with nothing but a six-inch wide plank of wood between us, the terror crept in. It was one thing to look at her through a window, watching from the safety of my own home, but it was something completely different to have her standing at my front door, waiting for me to open it.

  What now? asked the panicked part of my brain.

  Simple, replied the rational part. Open the door.

  Then what?

  Play it by ear.

  But what if she wants to, you know, fuck?

  Then that’s great, said the rational me. That is what you want, right? To fuck her?

  Yeah, but—

  But what?

  I don’t know, said the panicked me. It’s just—

  Quit your sniveling and answer the door. Chances are she just wants to borrow some eggs or something anyway.

  Yeah, you’re probably right.

  Of course I am. Now open the door.

  So I did. And there she was, standing before me, in the flesh.

  She was dressed casually, in a red, unbuttoned collared shirt, little tan shorts and tennis shoes. No bra. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and she had on very little makeup. But it didn’t matter. She still looked great. So great that my dick was hard. I was shocked
to realize that I found her even hotter clothed than I had naked. But one thing was different. Whatever familiarity I observed the last couple of days when she out tanning was no longer there. I had absolutely no recollection of her fully clothed.

  “Oh, hey,” she said, completely relaxed, totally at ease, as if she was greeting an old friend. “I was starting to think you weren’t here.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just . . . busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Cleaning my room,” I said, realizing how ridiculous it sounded as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

  But she just smiled and nodded her head as if it made perfect sense.

  I just stood there, waiting, oblivious.

  Eventually she said, “So, are you going to invite me inside?”

  “Um, yeah. Sure,” I said, my heartbeat racing. “Come on in.”

  I held the door wide and she walked past me. I glanced outside to check if anyone was on the sidewalk—I didn’t see anyone—then quickly shut the door.

  From behind me I heard her say, “You’re a cute little one, aren’t you?”

  My mind raced trying to come up with a response but when I turned towards her I realized none was necessary. She wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to the dog, who was busy clamoring for her attention. She squatted and starting petting him.

  “What is he, a beagle mix?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s his name?” she said.

  “Kirby.”

  She gave Kirby one last scratch then rose to face me.

  “What about you?” she said.

  “What about me?”

  She smiled as though she was dealing with a 7-year old child. And in a sense, she was. That’s about where my mental faculties were right now. “What’s your name?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know where my head is right now. I’m Scott. Scott Taylor.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Scott. I’m Heather Phillips.” She was looking at me expectantly, as though waiting for something. Recognition, perhaps? Like I was supposed to know who she was.