Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Filthy.
From Exotic Dancing to Motherhood
At the age of 21, I decided to quit my hostess job and work at a local strip club. My boyfriend, at the time, fully supported me. I auditioned, got the job, and started that upcoming weekend. I shopped around for sexy lingerie and high heels. No one told me that there’s a specific type of high heel that is made for exotic dancing and I found that out right after my first night of aching feet.
By Amelia Mora7 years ago in Filthy
"Spank Me...Please" (Part Three)
"Let's get in your rig." Leah turned to get into the second row seating of her Suburban, thankful for the tinted windows and the added privacy they would offer while she was inside with Mike. After she had opened the door, Mike grabbed her arm, then drew his body close behind her own. He whispered gruffly in her ear:
By LP Steinbeck7 years ago in Filthy
The Daddy Complex
"Who's your daddy?" It's a question that is used in and to indicate sexy times (especially in pop culture). There is also a group of people, a growing group, that sexualize men who are fathers or who look and act like they could be a dad. What is so sexy about that? There are a few theories, but almost none of them hit on the real reason why dads are so hot, why there is a group of gay men and straight ladies who fetishize them.
By Edward Anderson7 years ago in Filthy
Bear Games
French Bear Game It was September, the “winter,” and Brazil was winding down. I was looking for a new destination and adventure. I had a friend in Paris who invited me to crash on his couch and use his apartment as a stepping stone for Europe. I had never been to Europe before, it was a mix of excitement and sorrow. I was leaving my beloved Brazil, leaving behind such amazing sexual and life experiences. Brazil was hot, adventurous, sweaty, exotic and a cultural wonderland. Now I am entering a new culture, new language and I have no idea what type of women await. Over the first couple days I begin meeting some ladies on Tinder and the conversations are entertaining and French women are witty and playful. As always you narrow your communication down to a few couple and then decide who you want to meet. One in particular stands out to me, she calls me “big bear” which I like. A reference to my body type and how comfortable she is with me. We start calling each other “big and little bear.” It's cute, sexy, and fun. Sadly we don’t get a chance to meet before I head out to Greece for a week. That doesn’t stop our momentum, we both want to talk more and more, we tease and text and banter. You know that feeling when you wake up and she has already sexted you, and you go to bed talking dirty. I would set alarms in the morning so we could play before her work, we were insatiable. Intense descriptions on how I would go down on her, living with my tongue on her pussy. She would respond with detailed descriptions of her tongue teasing my cock, sucking the head and trying to take the whole shaft. We start to exchange naughty photos to go along with our words. She is about 5’5", with a gorgeous curvy body. Curly brown hair, big large breasts that she did not show off on her profile. A nice ass, more petite than expected from her body curves, but tasty. She also has a gorgeous tone of white, milky skin that you want to lick. You learn a lot from a lady while sexting. When the hormones are flashing you learn what she is like when turned on, what she needs, desires, and will ask for. You can also probe what she might want, or what she won't allow. Its obvious she wants to be spanked, she loves to give head and receive oral. She struggles to orgasm, and will tell me how best to make her cum. She loves to be on top and wants to tease my cock and watch me. She says she wants to make me crazy before we finally have sex.
By The Recapper7 years ago in Filthy
Love, Lust, and Lies Chapter 2
Cassie checked her reflection one last time, giving herself a cheeky smile before heading out of the house. The butterflies in her stomach were doing summersaults with nerves and excitement, she could barely sit still as she drove along. She was on her way to gym of course, where else would she be heading on a Saturday morning. She needed her next fix, she needed to see him. It had been a long week thinking over and over that first conversation, reading too much into it and then telling herself it probably meant nothing before cycling back to thinking it meant something again! But it was finally Saturday and very soon she would be seeing him, "I wonder what his name is," she mused, "and what he does? He doesn't look like a manual worker, he seems too refined, maybe a business man?" The thoughts whirled around in her head until she pulled into the car park and then they were replaced by nervous thoughts of what she would say to him and whether she would make a fool of herself.
By Natalie Fraser7 years ago in Filthy
Sir
The rain pounded on the melting city, desperately trying to wash the sin out of the trampled streets. My arm extended from the doors of grand central as I felt the drops collect in my embracing palm. My umbrella shot to life, unruffling its vinyl wings and shaking the sleep off its hinges. As I walked down 42nd, my shoes tapped to the rhythm of the storm while my nose was caressed by the smell of the market, fresh loaves of bread lined up to be slit open, and all sorts of cheeses waiting to be poured over the severed bread, delicious murder. My feet suddenly pivoted as I was crossing Lexington. Like a school boy, I eyed the large building that loomed over me, staring down at me, secretive, mysterious, beckoning even. Sedating the fluttering umbrella, I entered the dark lobby. A distant ding rang through the halls as an elevator somewhere opened. The doorman sat at his desk, face silhouetted by the dim lamp that threw itself at him. His eyes were in one place but his mind was definitely in quite another. His throat, an old carburetor, sputtered as he focused his gaze on me. I nearly expected him to mutter “oil can,” but instead in a booming voice that shook his own frame, he said, “Welcome Monsieur, can I be of any assistance today?”
By Fredrick Morgan7 years ago in Filthy
