Sexual Strangers - The Ones Who Fucked Harmoniously

Sexual Strangers - The Ones Who Fucked Harmoniously

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


She often witnesses this man in the bar that she got drunk in last night, but she had never imagined that the next day they would make love the way they do. Intoxicating and passionate.


She often witnesses this man in the bar that she got drunk in last night, but she had never imagined that the next day they would make love the way they do. Intoxicating and passionate.


Submitted: January 12, 2012

A A A | A A A


Submitted: January 12, 2012



I’ve never looked at you in this way before.

The wine that is casually washing around the delicate taste buds in my mouth is acting strongly as a lubricant for desire. It’s altering how I’m seeing you. It’s altering how I want you. It’s altering who you are.

My body is intoxicated; so exhausted, and so abused by the alcohol that’s filling the bottle stationed before me. I want you to devour me. I want you to bring my body back to civilisation.

Who are you anyway? I see you in here on multiple days throughout the week. You always stand in the same fucking place every time you’re in here. You always look at me like you know me. You always look at me like you want to know me. You’re not a small man; you’re a big man – a man who is consumed by several layers of thick skin. Your legs are wide; wide enough to prevent your feet from meeting. You have a gut which is struggling to be kept concealed by, what appears to be, a designer shirt. You have money, then. Yes, you do. You’re what the average critic would call ‘fat’, darling. It’s not a problem, I prefer ‘fat’ men.

I want you to come over here. I want you to come over me.

I’m getting frustrated and impatient. Why are you just standing there, looking at me? Why aren’t you approaching me? What do you want, God damn it?! My hand is reaching erratically for my half filled glass of wine that is soberly standing on the table. I’m not sober. I wish I was. My eyes are heavy, I fail to feel my legs, and my head is repeatedly falling to the side. I feel sexy, but I know that I don’t appear it. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck everyone.

I wonder if you want to fuck me.

You’re staring at me now. I’m attempting to wink at you but it turns into more of a retarded twitch. Shit! Why have a chosen to drink this much on a night like tonight?! I could have had you. I could have face fucked your dick until your sweet cum washed around the inside of my mouth and swam its way down my warm throat - just as the wine is doing. The wine is sweet, but not as sweet as what I imagine your white, runny, delicate cum to be. My vision’s blurring more and more but I still have knowledge that you’re staring at me. What the fucking hell are you staring at me like that for? It’s almost as if you’re examining me; deciding whether you want to violate me through my drunken behaviour. Don’t hurt me. Please don’t make him hurt me. I’m trying to stand but my feet won’t stabilise. I’m trying to stand but my brain won’t allow my legs to. I’m trying to stand but my stomach is turning. I’m fucked. I’m still looking at you, and you’re still staring at me. I see a blurred silhouette of you approaching me. It must be you; the silhouette is large. You’re standing right next to me, on my left, the side that is the most paralytic. Fuck you, you should have stood next to the right side of my body. I can hear you trying to say something to me. I think you’re asking if I’m feeling alright. Or it could be that you’re asking if I’m feeling an early night - a debatable question. The wine has clouded my ears entirely. I feel deaf. You’re holding your hand out in front of me – I’m assuming you’re waiting for me to grasp it. I won’t.

I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid.

Everything is turning dark. My narrowing eyes are hoping that they just need moistening a little more. My head is dropping forward, side to side, everywhere. I’m falling, what I analyse to be as quite elegantly, onto the table in front of me, but I know I look instead like a drunken little slut falling onto the nearest object in front of me because of my inability to control what alcohol I consume. Fuck off, I don’t care. I can’t control myself, I need to relax. I’m pissed.


I’m awake. I’m awake in my own bed. My head! Jesus Christ! How much did I drink last night?! I’m lifting up the covers to see how my abused body has been taken advantage of by some freak roaming the place I was drinking in last night... I’m wearing my night gown. Huh? I’m wiping my hands over my face and through my hair. My make-up has been removed and my hair has been so carefully unpinned and brushed, so much so that my natural curls are revealed magnificently. I’m a little confused, and of course incredibly hung-over. I never usually drink so much. What the hell was wrong with me last night?! I must have drank so much wine that I can’t remember even getting home and somehow mastering the task of preparing myself for bed as though I were sober. It looks like I have a new talent.

That’s what I thought until you walked through the door.

I’m terribly confused, slightly cautious, and somewhat afraid. I’m clasping the bed sheets tightly around my body, fusing my legs shut, and retreating towards where the phone sits on my bedside table. You’re smiling at me - smiling at me as if you know me; as if you want to know me. You’re holding a breakfast tray covered in, well, my breakfast by the looks of things. You look concerned; you look as though you’re too intimidated to walk near me with this tray of, what looks to be, heavenly food. You weren’t too shy or intimidated to approach me last night when I was drunk though, were you? God damn you! I’m curious to know what you did when you brought me home last night. I’m asking “who are you?” “Karl. I’m afraid I don’t have a nickname.” You’re so pompous, and remarkably up your own arse. But...I do quite like it. “And what are you doing in my home? I would be correct in thinking that you took it upon yourself to stay here for the night, wouldn’t I? I’m also enlightened by the fact that for you to have dressed me in my night gown your eyes have indeed browsed my naked body, have they not, KARL?!”

I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, but you’re so casually strolling over to me as though you haven’t heard a word I’ve just said to you. Now you’re speaking. My word, you have a rather alluring voice. It’s so harmonically appealing to my ears, which, may I add; I can now hear out of perfectly fine. Although today my stomach is with no desire feeling the consequences of my illiterate actions from last night. Stupid woman. Your voice is projecting a response to what I just said. I must ignore my urges to vomit. “I’m in your home because of your inabilities to control your alcohol intake, ma’am. I did not see an ounce of the flesh you had covered, erm, not as carefully as you had thought, beneath the dress you wore last night – your neighbour, Carrie? Katie? Whatever her name is heard the, well, rather loud words you were shouting last night as we... I mean, you and I, entered your property. She was concerned, ma’am. I kindly asked her if she would do the honours of seeing to you being transferred into your dressing gown. I am indeed a man, but I am not a pervert! Of course, she asked who I was. But that conversation was easily crushed during her not being able to remove her eyes from my crotch – I think you would agree with me when I say she’s a funny little soul. Oh, and she also unpinned and brushed your hair for you, ma’am. I’m a man, and amongst you being aware of my male presence being inside your home, I’m certain that you’re aware that not many of us are acquainted with the intelligence of unpinning such exquisite hair. This so neatly brings forth my answer to your question of whether I stayed the night in your home. I admit, ma’am, I did set up camp, as it were, but I did so in our lounge. I slept only on the couch, and I did not venture into any other room within your home until this morning, which explains why I am now standing in your bedroom with a breakfast tray covered in, what is perhaps now, a cold and stale fry-up. Ma’am, would you please allow me to place this tray down near you? I’m finding it rather difficult to feel my fingers.”

I’m taken aback, I really am. I believe you, I really do. You speak the English language so perfectly – you must have had a delightful life. But why the fuck are you calling me ‘ma’am’? What the fuck? I need to ask you this in such a way that does not give away my slight attraction to you. You’re a stranger! “Why are you referring to me as ‘ma’am’ you idiot?” “That would be because you have not familiarised me with your name’am.” I note that this is your reply and that you’re finishing with a look of stubborn cheekiness. Don’t push it. “I’m Faye, if you must know.” “Yes. It suits your radiant face. Faye, hmm. Hello there, Faye.” You’re placing the breakfast tray against the bed linen I’m still stiffly wrapped up in, and you’re slowly lifting your arm into a ninety degree angled position. Your hand is opening out – your hands look so soft, but so big. I bet the whole of your palm could grasp one of my arse cheeks fully. But, yes, you’re greeting me with a hand shake I assume. This is much different to how your hand and arm approached me in that place last night; you didn’t show shyness during that. I’m going to shake your hand just for the God damn sake of it. It might make you leave. Your hand shake is so gentle. Are you afraid of hurting me, man? Too afraid to be the man that your stature suggests you are? Pfft. The way you’re, in a deliberate way, moving my hand lightly up and down seems a euphemism for the way you make love to a woman. I’m intrigued. I’m still concerned about why you’re even in my home. I did not give you an inch of permission to enter my home! I hysterically want to tell you to get out, to remove yourself from my land, but my curiosity wants you to stay a little longer. Yes, I admit, you’re attractive, but it’s not as though I fancy you or something stupid like that. Liar. It’s just that I’ve seen you so many times in that place that we were both passing time in last night, and every time you’re there when I’m there I feel as though I want to passionately impress you. You had never advanced upon me before until last night, the night that I got pissed. What a fool! I must break away from this sensuous handshake. I’m urgently tapping my brain to think of something to say to conceal any tension. It’s not a bad tension, only an awkward one.

“W...would you like to take a seat, Karl?” is all I can think to say. My voice is changing; it’s suddenly turning timid and child-like. I always falter in situations that I’m not at all sure how to tackle. Maybe I should have savoured some wine in the pouches of my cheeks from last night, which is reminding me of the windmill inside my stomach tearing away at my guts and up to my throat – the effects of fucking alcohol – although I don’t feel as though I’m going to vomit anymore. Progress. “Thank you, ma’am, I mean Faye”. Your wink is so sexy. “Where may I sit? I would prefer not to ruffle your bed sheets anymore than what I already have....I mean that metaphorically, of course”.

You have a sense of humour. I like it.

“You may take a seat bed, if you so wish”. “A very daring suggestion, Faye” is your comeback. Of course you complete it with a pleasing and somewhat lustful wink in my direction. The Wink: a true suggestion that the giver is asking for eye-contact. I can give you contact from my eyes, and I feel as though I can and will give you body contact.

Your large body falls onto the bed that I’ve been positioned on for the duration of our conversation. You’re reluctant to sit close to me in the same way as one would whilst travelling on public transport. The Sardine effect. You’re sitting close to me, but not so close that our bodies can feel the heat off one another. I still don’t know who you really are, but I’ve seen you so many times in that place. I suppose I’m allowed to get this close to you, after all, even when people are married they never truly know one another. But, I don’t want to pounce on you because then I’d be a slag, neither do I want to sit here and lie through my body language to portray that I’m an incapable virgin. I’m neither; I’m just lonely and in need of a man’s touch.

You’re so quiet, I must say something.

“I thought you were going to attack me last night...” Shit! Why did I have to say that?! You’re reacting with a laugh – is this a nervous laugh or an amused laugh? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned that” is all I’m able to back myself up with, but you don’t seem offended as you’re proceeding to tell me: “I wanted to make sure you were safe, Faye. You could have been approached by any mad fucker, and well, I’ve seen you in there before. I’ve often wanted to ask if you’d care to have a drink with me, but you always seemed the type who would just tell a fat man like me to fuck off.” I’m sharply repeating one of the words you uttered in a loud manner: “Seemed? I note your use of past tense, Karl. Does this mean that after our nearly one hour encounter face-to-face you no longer think so?” Your reply is so appreciative. “You’ve not yet thrown me out of your home, nor have you called me all manner of names. You could have so easily done so, I mean, after all, I am entirely only a stranger from a bar.”

You’re gazing at me so deeply. Your eyes are a gorgeous green, very vivid and prominent. I’m slowly permitting the bed linen to fall carefully from being wrapped so tightly around my shaking body. I’m shaking because this feels so fucking right. Your head is cocked to the side and you’re looking at me in such a way which suggests you’re attempting to convey to me that I do not need to do this. I want to. You’re shuffling onto the bed more, and I’m feeling one of your hands rest upon my leg through the bed linen. I’m pulling the material, that’s stopping me and you from embracing one another’s touch, slowly down from my thumping and shaking body.

My night gown really isn’t the sexiest of garments to be wearing in a situation like this one.

You’re observing my body from top to bottom, keenly spending more time on the area where my breasts are hidden. I’m not wearing a bra, so my nipples’ hardness is far more apparent than compared to any other time. You seem besotted. You’re clearly a ‘boob man’. You’re dragging the thick of your lower lip graciously in between your teeth and letting it rest there as you continue to analyse my figure. I know you want me. I’m resting the whole of my body back against the bed as you’re swiftly removing your shirt with justifying words of “it’s rather warm in here. I trust that you don’t mind if I remove my shirt, ma’am.” I’m not going to answer; I’m leaving you to continue as you started. I’m smiling with approval. You’re a big man, but you’re an attractive one. I wonder if your cock is as big as your frame. Your chest is fully unclothed and you’re forcefully throwing your shirt towards the floor. It is designer, how can you be so rough with it? Will you be so rough with me when your hard dick enters me soon enough?

I hope so.

I’m feeling the firmness of your hand against the bare flesh of my right leg. Your fingers move round to playfully tickle the bend at the behind of my knee. It’s so sensational. Will your fingers create as much sensation when they’re fondling around the inside of my wet, love-thirsty pussy? You’re leaning forward to place your thick, ambient lips against the pale and alcohol-abused ones that are a part of my glowing and needy face. It’s been a long time since a man has touched me so softly and in such a caring manner. Your left hand now reaches up to my right glowing cheek as you’re using you right hand as a basis to lean against the flesh of my leg – you’re squeezing and moving it higher and higher towards my pussy as your face is still gathering towards mine. I can feel your fingers trace their way to the back of my head, and travel through my thick and curly hair; your hands are controlling how you’re choosing to position my head before I feel nothing but utter warmth from your lips around my own. You kiss so firmly and so passionately. I’m overwhelmed by your hands fondling every orifice of my body until you’re now sliding your tongue inside my mouth. You’re using your tongue incredibly well – it’s licking the outside of my lips, it’s pressing itself tightly up against every part of the inside of my mouth. Will your tongue deliver as much pleasure to my pussy when you’re licking and sucking on my delicate little clitoris?

Yes. Fuck me!

Your large frame is pushing up against my delicate one. Your hand and fingers are gliding further up my leg and brush over my wet pussy. I’m not wearing any panties. You’re teasing me so playfully, making me gasp with every little flicker that you’re delivering to my tingling pussy. My head is rested upon your right shoulder and I’m grasping your back for support – the charming sensations moving throughout my body from your touch are mind-blowing and intensely exhilarating. You’re not allowing your fingers to find their way into my sex, you’re just playing. Don’t stop. You’re stopping, but only to permit your hands to wander further under my night gown. Your hands are cold. They’re slowly voyaging up towards my erect nipples. You’ve found them, and they are lustily hard, crying out for you to fondle them. You’re squeezing softly and examining my face to test how hard you can continue to squeeze. My face is pleasured and so are my tits. You’re squeezing more; I’m moaning more. This is fucking amazing. Your hands are moving to carefully grip the end of my night gown before you’re preciously pulling it upwards and removing it from over my head to reveal my naked and horny body. You’re observing, analysing, investigating. The facial expression that’s devouring your face is projecting approval. You’re positioning yourself in a kneeling stance and enabling me to find the clasp and zip of the jeans you’re so stylishly wearing. My fingers are easing the button out of its hole, and sliding the zip down to reveal your startlingly pink boxers. You’re flashing me a shake of your head, a roll of your eyes, and the cheekiest smile yet.

You’re entitling me to perform the act of pulling the trousers that are covering your second most alluring body part, the first one being your eyes, down South to as far as I can force them before the position of your body is becoming a hindrance. You’re rolling over so that you’re lying on the bed parallel to me. I’m not sure what to say. I’m hoping that my silence and stillness encourages you to remove the trousers, from your knees and below, yourself. Your trousers are now disconnected from the your flesh and you’re throwing the dismembered object down eagerly towards the floor just as you threw your shirt down only minutes ago. All I am confronted with is a large and visually appealing man sprawled out on my bed wearing a pair of rather bright pink boxers, and all you’re confronted with is a naked woman that has a vagina covered in glistening pussy juices that you have so precisely wiped around the V-shape of her tempting female area, alongside a pair of glorious breasts that own nipples as hard as the thick dick disguised poorly under your thin and vibrant pink boxers. I want you to remove them; I want to see the wholeness of your nude body. I’m reaching to pull them in the direction towards your feet, but you’re pressing firmly on the elastic strip that is keeping them pressed so tightly against your flaccid belly. My eyes are keen to register the expression on your face – the look of a genuine tease. I love it. My hands are retreating away from your masculinity, giving you right of way to slide both of your thumbs under the elastic bar to slide the unwanted material en route to the correct direction of removal. Your cock is diving out comfortably from under its restraint as if it has needed to escape since the moment you saw my naked body stretched out, exposing its built-up throbbing desire. It is standing tall and swelling more with each blink of my eyes. You’re reaching for it and enveloping it with the palm of your hand, and you’re tugging slowly at it - up and down - provoking your smooth balls to bounce each time. You know that I’m enjoying watching you fuck yourself, but you’re not here to do that. With a turn on your side and a quick parting of my legs I’m finding that you’re now situated quite well in between my legs as I am lying flat out on my back, still. Your weight is adding a grand amount of pressure to my dainty frame; the kind of pressure that brings two people as close together as they can possibly get. I’m enjoying it. Just as I’m beginning to think you’re going to slide your hard dick into my intensely wet pussy you’re moving your head towards it instead. I’m looking down at you and you’re looking up at me. I can see your tongue being pushed out from behind your lips. The tip of your tongue is finely tickling at my moist clit – you’re circling the tip around the whole of my most sensitive and newly expanding area.

My body is pulsating, my heart is racing, and my mind is drowning from this consuming passion. This must be what civilisation feels like.

Your head is buried in my pussy, your tongue working away at its full capability, and I’m looking down at your naked arse. Your tongue action is making my body involuntarily curl with each swift lick at the head of my clit; the most sensitive part of its construction. With each curl to my body I’m squeezing your shoulders and pushing your head down further, and I can see more of your sweet, sweet ass. You have a star tattooed on the left cheek. Nice touch. You’re full of surprises. I can feel myself releasing a loud groan as you suck hard, and simultaneously slide two of your fingers into my sex as you’re sucking. Where have you learnt all of this? Porno? I don’t give a shit, all I care about is how fucking great you’re assembling my body to feel. I don’t want to cum yet. I want to cum whilst you’re inside me. I want to cum in harmony with you. You must be aware of my orgasm approaching, and you’re stopping. Your body is falling missionary to mine; your arms are accepting that they must support the weight of your stature above me as you lower your head to kiss me with thought and emotion. I can feel your hard dick pushing against the outer lips of my, now, extremely love-deprived pussy. I can’t wait any longer, man! Suddenly I’m feeling your thick, hard dick enter me slyly. The bulging tip is stretching away at my tight hole to allow the entirety of your piece to find its way in. It’s a satisfying pain. You’re asking after my well-being; ensuring that I’m okay and maintaining that I still want to continue. I’m grateful for this; it shows that you’re not just fucking me because your body has demanded a release of sexual tension.

I really like you.

The whole of your dick is inside me, and it’s filling me up so perfectly. You’re thrusting slowly, but I want it faster and rougher. I’m whispering “faster, darlin’” sensually into your ear, and your established movements become far less established and somewhat more erratic. My legs are being lifted upwards whilst you’re assigning them to fall over your shoulders. I’m raising my arms in melody with yours until our fingers are meeting and interlocking with each other – you’re involving me in this act in more than one physical way. I’m emotionally and physically connected. You’re thrusting hard as your eyes are following the wash of desire that is filling my gasping face. You love it! I love it! Fuck, it’s good! I’m moaning, you’re moaning, it’s fantastic. My muscles are tightening around your dick, and I’m feeling your balls slam against my arse cheeks. Balls never get much recognition during the act.

This is the best sex that I’ve ever had, and I don’t want it to end yet, so I suggest that we position ourselves into a ‘spooning’ scene. We’re moving around fast, with little doubt. Your hand greets my ass with hard and intensifying slap. “AGAIN,” I’m shouting. You’re hitting my unbalanced skin, leaving bright red hand prints on each cheek. The concern on your face is amusing, but I won’t inform you of it yet. I can’t withstand anymore of this pleasurable pain. I’m willing for you to stop so you can push your warm and loyal body against my rear end as I’m lying on my side with it facing you. I can feel your dick enter my pussy from behind and I’m choosing to give in to your romantic desires of passionate, slow and intimate sexual intercourse. Your hand is reaching round to fondle at my clit, causing my back to arch. I can feel my orgasm nearing as you’re calling out, “look at me, and show me how good it feels.” My neck is aiding my head to turn to the side in order to stare deeply into your eyes as we both cum harmoniously. The breakfast tray that held its place on the bed throughout our love making crashed heavily to floor at the same time as we both grunted out our inner pleasure. The mutual groans sound like a finely composed melody.

I’m laughing as we fall into a lover’s embrace. It’s odd, because, well, you’re still just a stranger. Your next words are the words that truly bring me back to THE civilisation I’ve been waiting for: “Would you care to go on a date with me, ma’am?” “I would love to, good man...but I’m still pissed off that you invited yourself to stay the night at my home.”

Our heads falling back with laughter and correspondence I conclude with, “we’ll be a good team, you and I will...I mean we.”

© Copyright 2019 Phenomenological. All rights reserved.

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