The Artist

An aspiring artist falls for a nude model.

By Stopokochac. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Nineteen year old Lilianne was an aspiring young artist. Always a studious bookworm, Lilly, as her friends called her, never had much time for boys. She had never dated a man, let alone been intimate with one. Her only exposure to nude men had been in online porn, and sex ed videos. Throughout her school years Lilly had fantisized about attractive young men from her class, only admiring them from afar, and wondering, "If only?" However, all that was about to change. Unbeknownst to her, her passion for art was about to forever alter the course of her love life.

It was the start of Lilly's second year in art school. This was the semester that Lilly would be taking figure drawing. Lilly made her way to her figure drawing class, anxious over the anticipation of finally seeing the hot nude men, she had always fanticized about. Just the thought of it made her nipples hard, and her genitals moist.

Save World - Get Girl: Part 3

Competition becomes Tittilation.

Based on the post of MsCherylTerra, in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at My First Time.

I completely forgot that I was just in my panties, otherwise I probably wouldn't have sandwiched myself between the seats again as I lunged for the keys. It didn't even cross my mind until I turned the ignition unsuccessfully twice and swore.

"We drained the battery," I groaned. "Shit. My mom's going to be a nightmare about this."

"Uh-huh," came the somewhat-distracted response from behind me, and that's when I realized my ass was basically in Ashton's face.

At least that time I wasn't stuck on the ice scraper. I crawled as gracefully as I could out from the space between the seats, which was not gracefully at all, and looked at him. Lightning picked that moment to flash again, muted by the filter of fog that clung to the car windows. Brightness hung in the air, flickering slightly as it revealed Ashton hurriedly adjusting the front of his boxers. He looked up, alarmed, and I looked down, enthralled by the sight of something very stiff tenting the fabric.

Save World - Get Girl: Part 2

Player 2 arrives.

Based on the post of MsCherylTerra, in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at My First Time.

At no point in the history of time or space would I have thought I'd end up geeking out over The Circlet of Nianus with Ashton Halliday. I mean, at no point would I have ever thought I'd end up sitting in the backseat of my car, chatting excitedly about games we'd recently played and upcoming ones we were looking forward to. There was no reason for me to think we'd get into a heated debate about which Final Fantasy was best, or that he'd have bad enough taste to claim that Final Fantasy VII was better than Final Fantasy VI.

"Next you're going to tell me you think Wheatley is a better villain than GLaDOS," he groaned.

"Of course not!" I said indignantly. "Wheatley's hilarious, but he's a moron. GLaDOS is smart enough to be an actual villain. But the real question is, do you think Cave Johnson is funnier than both of them or are you wrong?"

Ashton threw his head back as he laughed. "We're in full agreement on that."

"Phew," I said, leaning against the door. "It's a good thing you said that, otherwise there's no way we could be friends."

"Are we friends?" he asked.

Save World - Get Girl: Part 1

She's ready for player two.

Based on the post of MsCherylTerra, in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at My First Time.

Player one is me, Ramona Roth. I’m nineteen, blue hair, pierce eyebrow, former president of the student council, virgin.

War is hell, they say, but I say they're wrong.

Hell is insanity, and insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Hell is false hopes and flagrant disappointment.

Hell is knowing that the squabbling of Ilyra, the princess from the far-off planet of Nianus, and Jostok, the snarky-but-pleasantly-ripped humanoid alien soldier from Quighnan, would attract the attention of Izzon's monstrous space beast.

It's knowing that the beast would destroy the vent your plucky band of misfits was crawling through.

It's knowing that you'd all tumble into the cavernous belly of the spaceship with only the last-second triggering of a force-field from your omni-cuff to prevent you from turning into gizzard soup on the space-grey floor.

Camping In Ireland: Part 2

A tale of firsts, set on a rainy camping trip, among young friends.

Based on a post by Josh stone, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at My First Time. 

They stood in the dunes, feeling the sensation returning slowly to their clammy bodies. She grasped the two ends of the massive sheet together, behind his shoulder blades.

Then she stood up on tiptoes slightly, and his thumbs slipped slightly into under the elastic of her pants. She gave a sigh, relaxing into his embrace, and he instinctively pushed her wet knickers down, feeling as they rolled over on themselves as they slipped down her ass. He followed by pulling her wet tee shirt up over her shoulders, where she tugged it over her head, and tossed back by the bags.

She stepped carefully one leg out of the wet panties, returning to the warmth of his arm and pulling him even closer as she did so. Her gentle murmur as his hands felt the shape of her hips and thighs spurred him on, piquing his interest in this new adventure, this new and unusual setting. The absence of wet fabric quickly allowed her pelvis to dry and her body warmth gradually increased. But His wet boxers were still a problem.

Camping In Ireland: Part 1

A tale of firsts, set on a rainy camping trip, among young friends.

Based on a post by Josh stone, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at My First Time. 

The Night Storm

Surrounded by flimsy, billowing nylon, the wind howled outside. The fly sheet occasionally touching the inner when the buffeting storm blew strongly enough, and patches of damp were beginning to appear where the outside was attempting to breach the inner. The light was fading outside and somehow the dankness of the evening was everywhere within. He stayed at the campsite while the others had headed for the village in the coast of Southwest Ireland. Local lads had told of a party, beer, and ‘opportunity’.

Inside her large nylon tent with him, she also lay, the two rather unknown to one another. Her head at the far end, and his head near the zips, forming the door. Their two sleeping bags were zipped up, and they were each warm and safe, escaping as they had into the nearest dry tent they found. Her tent.

The severe weather overtook the two after the rest of the group had departed for a party, in the village.