Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Drunk/Drugged, Magic, Slavery, Heterosexual, Fiction, Horror, Paranormal, Cheating, Revenge, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Spanking, Rough, Interracial, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Food, Cream Pie, Spitting, Size, Hairy, Violent, Workplace, Nudism, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Bitch and Dicking like to fuck each other..............

"So what are you putting on tonight, nasty Miss Bitch?" That is my best friend speaking there. Courtney Vaccaro. She has got dark red hair, lovely and adorable lips that I have kissed and licked up with my own time and again, and her body itself—it is brilliantly and wonderfully curved and shaped up nicely and attractively in that all too magnificent and sexually arousing way that I cannot help but ogle and gawp at incurably. Would she mind sharing another passionate, fueled-up kiss with me tonight? Would she really?

I am naked. But I don't mind still. I walk gracefully and delicately fine and undisturbed by anything at all towards her, and once I have reached where she is seated and entrenched down right there on my large and freaking awesome bed, I lean and stoop myself down towards her to place and inch my lips just a few breaths away from hers.

"Can I go on like this? In my brilliant birthday suit? I think it will be fine and fantastic, don't you think so yourself, Vaccaro?"

Her eyes are pleading and imploring on me another more. "You can go on there like this you feel like it, candy babe. I won't mind it—honestly."

"Good. Now kiss me. Real and gently slow and still."

She looks right into my expectant eyes, puzzled, horrified and perplexed up. Of course! I mean what I am saying and demanding for here. It is not like I am not straight. Rhys is the man to blame here for all of this. Ever since I met him in my life, everything about me has simply been upturned upside down. I don't want to do it, but I just catch myself doing it time and again. Shit him for all of this!

Excellent! Courtney does exactly just what I tell and order her to do. Her lips run and skim over mine, tickling and arousing me up, whipping me with all too much high flush excitement and agitation on the other hand that seems like it is going to poison my blood and throw me off straight into the fuming and overheating lake of hellfire.

"Stop now," I tell her mid-way, biting and clenching her lip a little bit too tightly with mine. Enough has simply been enough for now. I pull back from her and go on to dress myself. I glance back at her once I am standing still before the huge mirror. She is feasting and admiring up my huge, flawlessly shaped butt behind there. I also have full, rich-size breasts that she can't help but at often and repeated times stare and blearily make a nasty damn envious face at. I don't get it. She is very much gorgeous and eye-dazzling in her buck naked birthday suit, and yet she tells me time and again that she would like to dress and attire herself in mine instead. Just what the heck is all this?

We have not kissed actually. But bit and nibbled up each other's lips. This is what silly, lame girls do. Not because they are mean and horribly wicked, but because they are simply being good girls thrown and hurled off into the nasty impious saint-girl-gone-Leviathan mood. Girls touch each other frequently and even on some indecent—or I should rather say sexual?—organs. I have seen it before. I am still seeing it again. Hey, wait a minute, what are you hiding right there under your bra? Come close here ... lemme check it! It might be my ass hole smearing cream which I have been looking for all day long. Hey, what is that thing bulging and swelling out in your panties? Don't tell me you have grown a big giant dick and two happy littlie stubbly scrotums too? I mean my baseballs have just gone missing, and there might be hidden and concealed right there inside your vulva.

"That dress fits in too tightly actually, Tori. Am I right?" Yes. That is what she—Courtney—thinks about it. Heck! To hell away with it! Isn't she supposed to know that I am meeting ... an Incubus? This is what he wants from me. I just want him to love and adore him. He solely wants to tie me up on his bed and spank shag me all night way long till the eventual dawn of the dreary day itself. I want him to love me ... he wants me to fuck him. And there is no simple hell way on Earth I am going to allow that to happen. No way possible!

My dress is all violet and ruddy-like in color. It hugs and clasps on to my flesh and skin all too tightly and dearly. Yes. My behind and breast-filled up chest is all too perfectly clad and enshroud up. This is how we are going to stay for the whole of this night. I don't know if I will come back to sleep over here at our own apartment. Rhys might demand and bid me to sleep and spend the night over at his villa ... and it is what I indefinitely and precisely have to do if he coughs out so. Precisely!

"And the shoes? You think high-heels will suit any much better?" Courtney is asking me this vaguely and candidly worried sort of. She mustn't worry at all really. I will be okay like this. I will walk all too perfectly and soundly well and not let myself trip and tumble down to the ground, and even though it is all too dark out there and totally lightless anything, I will be supernatural—I promise. I don't mean to say that an eclipse has taken place out there. It precisely and definitely has not. At all...

"And for goodbye to your dearest friend? Aren't you going to share another deeply and passionate kiss with her even this time around too?" I ask her this coolly and all too calmly and straightforwardly. She draws closer towards me and bites and nibbles at my lips even this time again. I pull my tongue deep and more deeper into my mouth so that I can let a few driblets and trickles of saliva from her swim over into my desirous and eager mouth. Then we are finally and eventually done with ... and off my way I go to see my man himself. Courtney will be calling up his boyfriend, Gavin Dunks, I guess. Maybe I am correct—or maybe I am wrong really!

I find Rhys Dicking seated down there by himself close to the blazing fireside on some lush and highly expensive sofa of his. I am already late, I know. I should tell him that I am actually and deeply very sorry for this inconsiderate and foolish misdeed of mine. First, I strut ahead up till I am standing before his very unblinking eyes so as to kneel and bow myself down before his kingly-like presence. Then I look up right unswerving direct into his eyes with my mouth dropped and sagging wide open, and after I have done this, I stir and move myself way close and more closer to him while caressing and stroking kindly and steadily unhurried his manly and woman-arousing chest. His eyes brighten and flare up with all this. I can see the fire of lust and sex burning and devouring right deeper into the depths of his priceless soul. Those feelings and torments of lust ... they are what he precisely and exactly wants to be furnished and afflicted with right this particular moment.

"Dicking, I want to sincerely apologize for turning up here this late and behind time."

He stirs, then blinks his eyes suddenly and abruptly at long last. I don't exactly know how he does it. He just does it anyway. It is all done and carried out too fast and nearly almost indescribable that I do not even step-by-step follow what is taking place here. Snappily fast, he tugs and pushes me away from him, going on to brutally and in a cruelly seemingly manner hurl and chuck me down undeviating towards the floor. There is a wool carpet spread down here, where I hit and thwack my head wonderfully and brilliantly enjoyable instead of it being painful and stinging-like. He is then fast right there on top of me, his flesh and body touching me, hugging mine to be exact so that I don't feel any more cold and like I am freezing bit by bit.

"Dicking," I say and whisper his name for a second time.

"Yes, Bitch." I am Tori Bitch. This is my name. Don't think that I bitch and dick around with men and playboys alike of all sorts and types. Bitch is both my surname and last name. My father had it, and so did my grandfather, and grand-grandfather carry it too. They are all dead and inexistent anyway, except my dad himself. Rhys here is named Rhys Dicking. Dicking is his truest birth name. I wonder—why we of all people in the world have to be named and labeled up like this? Why us specifically?

"I love you," I say truthfully from the darkest bottom and pit-less-breath of my very own heart. Rhys surveys and looks around my facial expression and glance. He can see that this is the whole unreserved truth. I love him ... and he wants me too on the opposed hand. If only he was not any Incubus. If only...

"I am hungry, Bitch, have I told you this?" Yes! We don't call each other by our first names but surnames we prefer our surnames instead. We are like the worst perverse and wicked kind of a couple to ever have being. Dicking is hungry. Okay. His kind feeds on only one thing—sex, and not any form of physical and touchable food. Of course! They do eat and play around with food inside their mouths. But that never makes them really and to the last hilt full. They always want sex for bodily satisfaction and nourishment, always for breakfast and lunch and closingly super. If they don't have it, they will as good as fall into the most ever painful state starvation until they in the very end die.

"You are hungry, my dear?"

He nods his head in perfect and total agreement.

"Let us go to your bedroom then. I will feed and nourish you there. What is your say to that? Don't you like it, or does it sicken and turn your stomach up?"

His lips touch and brush their way past my mouth. Steadily and wonderfully slow and brilliant too! He knows how to do it so well and perfectly. This is how things should every time be between the two of us. Sweet with sugar and candy and honey combined and put in. Ohhhhh! I think I see the stars. They are peeking and peering down at us right up from the heavens above there. They are smiling and grinning at each other even. "No, Bitch," Dicking suddenly pulls away from me to eventually and at long last say, "You can feed me right here in this living room, just close to this fireside where it is so hot and comfortable, you know?"

"I want to do it with you in your bedroom."

"I said we can fuck each other here, Bitch!" Oh damn! He is so authoritative and madly furious about it. I only look and gaze wordlessly at him. He then clears things up, "I am the master here—do not ever forget it. And you are nothing but my slave!"

"I am not your slave. But your servant, Dicking!" I growl and howl out at him too.

"If you wish it being that way!"

I crawl away from his clutch and gasp so that I can hurriedly seat right close to him and look deeply and straightly into his eyes. Something is not right—I can tell and smell. "What the fuck are you hiding from me, Dicking, huh?" Just those yelled out words are as suffice and as much as is needed to confirm and verify that he is hiding and concealing something from my knowledge. Just what exactly could it be?

I stand up quickly without bothering to delay and then quickly head off straight into his bedroom. He gets up speedily and hurriedly and promptly runs and chases after me. I reach there just in time before he does catch up with me, and then I throw and toss his door open after discovering that he has not left it locked and bolted up. My eyes wander and survey inside here, and there she is lying down on his bed—some stranger woman with beautiful long black hair that I do not even know, tied and fastened up to his sheets and duvets, and absolutely and every imaginable inch naked too. She looks surprised and terrified at seeing me. Is she his bitch? Screw her if she is!

I turn over to Rhys. My eyes are angry and madly fuming all because of him and his secret. "What is that dog doing there on our bed, Dicking?" I ask and demand of him.

"Our bed? It is my bed, Tori."

"Of course it is our bed. Before you went on to tie and fasten her there, you have did the exact same to me so many times than I can keep count of. Or am I lying? I am the one that you have fucked and dicked up a number of times, even more than you have done to her. Or maybe I am so wrong. Damn you for this at any rate!" With this, I walk and stroll my way out of the hell-seeming room.

No, no, No! I do not run or flee away. This is not over and done with yet. I am back soon, wielding and clutching on a sharply and razor-edged knife in my own un-trembling hand. Rhys is all too frightened and terribly shaken up once he sees it. He doesn't even bother or dare attempt to draw close towards me. He knows what I might thoughtlessly do to him, so he fearfully keeps his distance and space away from me instead and—I merely hope—pray for the poor soul lying down there nervously on our bed. Yes! This bed is mine too! I am its owner also. As I approach her and look down at her, she immediately starts to cry. I haven't threatened or let alone beat or slapped her up. As her mouth is all bound and made fast, I can't exactly hear what it is that she is helplessly and tearfully saying out to me. I just free and loosen her up from there and then tell her to run and flee her way off. I have Rhys pay her $400 in notes and then eventually warn her not to make her way back here if she wants and wishes to ride more dicks in her life. She is horribly frightened and seriously tormented; she quickly grabs her clothes from the closet and then dashes her way off without dropping any contact card or ID to her rich client.

Phew! That was too bad. Now I have Rhys here left alone to deal with. Threatening him with the knife I am holding, I tell him, "Lie down on this fucking bed, will you, Dicking?"

He without haste or any postponement does like I have told him to do. I go on to close the door, then walk towards him, and to finish with switch off the lights before I position and seat myself right on top of him. Yes. This is how an exceedingly precious night deserves to be ended. Don't you agree so?

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