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Welcome to our "smut" library. Here you will find various information articles and exciting stories dedicated to voyeurism. We welcome erotic fiction from our visitors. Notice that we add points to authors for every story we publish.

Her (13 July 2010)

She sits at the bar alone. Beautifully alone. Her, not her loneliness. A man leaves the seat next to her and I take it, quickly. I don't let too many opportunities pass me by.

Her skin is like butter. Her long, dark, luscious hair falls to the shoulders. It also falls in front of her face, I wonder if even her eyes, so I couldn't see her face very well. I can see part of a dark eyebrow, and an upturned, feisty looking nose.


She seems intent on staring into her drink, I assume to dissuade idle conversation. There is something, something I can't put my finger on, about her. Something indefinable. An impassioned something. Her glass is empty.

Her blouse is buttoned to the neck but I can see enough of her breast through the flimsy material to tell she has no brassier covering her soft and beautiful breasts. She wears a short skirt, which has ridden up her thigh. Her evening slippers look like whore's shoes, 3 inches and almost nothing at all. The seam of her hose, running up the back of her legs is perfect.

"Hello," I say. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She turns her sultry eyes on me, and from this angle I can see both her nude tits and a hint of the red garter that holds up her stockings. Her eyes are glassed and I realized that she was truly impassioned. Lusting.

"I wouldn't mind, a drink." She speaks with an educated tone.

"What would you like?"

She smiles, and I think I see a melancholy there, too, somewhere in those charming grey eyes, "a champagne cocktail would be fine."

I smiled into her glazed eyes and said, "I'll get you one."

I turn and there just happens to be a bartender right in front of me. Isn't it strange that with a full bar, and only two bartenders on duty, that this man has the time to be at our beck and call.

"The lady would like a champagne cocktail," I say to the man.

"And for you, Sir?" I could feel the familiarity.

"Nothing for me. Thank you. I can't stay."

I watched him move away. I turn and stare at her for awhile. The rings on the third finger of her left hand twirls as the fingers of her right hand flicks them. They are studded with diamonds which sparkle in the warm, soft glow of the room.

The barman delivers the drink to her and I pay from the cash I have in my pant's pocket. It doesn't leave me much, but enough for a cheap dinner in the café, maybe.

She picks up the drink and brings it too her lips. I can't see if she's actually drunk any of it when she puts it down.

She turns to me.

"Thank you for the drink." She looks me up and down, as if she's just realized that I have a body as well as a pocketbook. "I'm sorry that you have to go."

"I'm sorry too," I say.

I stand up but I don't leave, not yet. I turn and look at the dance floor. It makes up at least two thirds of the room and is bathed in revolving colored lights. The colors of the moment are blue and green. Barmaids hustle between tables with laden trays of drinks for the merry makers.

People are doing some kind of hip hop dance that I don't know and don't want to know, to some music I can't relate too. As I watch, that tune ends and a ballad fills the room. Most of the people leave, but a few softly sway to the tune. This is more to my liking.

I turn back to her.

She sips her cocktail with her left hand. Her ring flashes in the bar lights.

"Tell me something," I say, behind her, which spins her around on her stool and now I can see that not only is she braless. She is panty less also. I continue, looking in her eyes, "did I hear a stirring in your pot? Or, was it possibly mine?"

"Polite men don't say things like that to nice girls," she pouted.

I stared at her, "do you dance?"

On the dance floor behind me, the soft ballad continued, and people still swayed with each other.

"Of course," she said, then turned around on her stool and sipped her drink.

"But," she said to the barman, who was watching us. Then she looked over her shoulder, "not with you."

The bartender walked away, trying his best not to laugh.

I felt my blood boil. "But I bought you a drink," I vexed.

"I know," she lamented.

I left her there. Sitting there. Drinking the drink I'd bought her, while the vultures converged.

About 20 minutes later I finished the very dry hamburger I had in the café. I was lamenting that I should have paid the extra two dollars for a cheeseburger. But I hadn't. I rose and left. I walk by the bar and slowed.

She was dancing with a tall and willowy man. His legs seemed of rubber. He pulled her to him and she went to him gladly. Pressed her nakedness, only covered by a thin outer layer of clothing, to his torso. They twirl, and he pulls her back close to him. If possible, even closer.

I watch them leave the dance floor. They go to a booth. I enter the bar and sit at a table where I can see under their's. I watch him hands. He places an arm around her shoulders and pulls her too him. I watch his hands. The hand attached to the arm around her shoulders moves down to her breast and he twists her nipple through the material. Then he slips his hand inside her top and I can see the material bunch up as he twists the nipple itself. I watch her head drop and see her mouth open and I know she is moaning. His other hand distracts me as it pushes her skirt out of his way and he finger fucks her for a long time. I watch as she orgasms several times. She starts to rub his crotch and he stops her, pulling her up. He pulls her by the arm and she follows him from the bar and through the lobby and to the elevators. He seems in a rush, or maybe angry. He keeps punching the button until the elevator comes. When it does, he pulls her in.

They are kissing, their tongue's playing with each other, before the elevator doors completely closed.

I walk to the elevator doors myself. I'm much more patient than him.

I go to my room. I read for an hour, a book of no consequence. Then I take a shower. I'd just dried myself and combed my hair, was just about to put my pajama's on, when I heard the key in the door.

Her hair is very mussed. Her lipstick grossly smeared. Her stocking were around her ankles. Her legs had wet man juice running down them.

I looked at her as she smiled at me.

"Hello, wife," I said.

"Hello, husband," she said.

She kisses me with abandon. "I'm going to shower quickly, Okay?"

"Okay," I smiled at her.

Ten minutes later she comes out of the bathroom drying her hair. She is so beautiful. She kisses me and we hold each other tight. She has sated my fantasy.

I placed her naked body on the bed and ran my hands over her breasts, her belly, her mons. I put my fore finger into her pussy, quickly adding the middle finger and I pushed them in and out of her wet hole. I took my thumb and massaged the button clit that poked out at me and after a moment I added my tongue to the mix. She bucked up into my face and hand and came several times.

Then I rode her. We fucked all night. My dick has never been so thick, so long, so hard. As I plunged into her, and out of her over and over again, I noticed that she, too, has never been so over the top sexually as that night. It will live in my memory forever.

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