Gwendolyn had a whorish reputation, despite her denials contrary to popular opinion. Pointing the finger externally, she blamed the peerage of her youth, branding her promiscuous, wild, dirty, and perverted, for her plight. She lamented their judgment. Never mind that she loved to fuck; both myriad men and a plethora of women have succumbed to her constantly-horny, feminine wiles. Her hot, dripping cunt was always hungry, and it feasted on willing flesh, hard cocks, wanton fingers, and molten pussies.
That’s exactly what it was, a cunt. Gwen didn’t call her vagina a pussy, Kit Kat, kitty, slit, va-jay-jay, or anything else like that. Such monikers were far too tame for her personality—the same sensual, desirous attitude she pointedly ignored when lamenting being labeled a slut. It was her cunt, her slutty fuck hole, her dripping gash. Simply put, Gwendolyn Christina Ardmore was an insatiable, horny pervert whose sexual aggression matched her sullied reputation. That is to say that Gwendolyn didn’t just lean into her sluttiness or sexuality; she embraced it, devoured it, and ran into it with wild abandon, all while bleating that her notoriety was undeserved.
A person’s attitude and personality are subtly conveyed through their wardrobe choices, posture and body language, carriage, and the ephemeral aura, which is a summation of one’s character, giving abstract, untenable clues to our true nature. Some women, and you know this at first glance, are obvious, surly bitches. Others are demure and timid, and a simple gaze will give you an accurate approximation. In Gwen’s case, everything about her screamed, “Horny rebel who likes it nasty, dirty, rough, and constantly.” While some people projected an aura of purity, class, or shyness, Miss Ardmore’s screamed, “Horny, nympho slut.” It didn’t matter what she wore, her entire essence, mind, body, and soul, radiated horny, wanton sexuality.
Fate had dealt her a somewhat winning hand, depending on one’s goals in life. Natural red hair, rare enough in the world to make her exotic, set off her smooth, vibrant skin. Her facial features, with their pronounced cheekbones, green eyes, and somber, thin lips skewed into a perpetual pout, gave her the look of a horny vixen in the midst of a soul-searing orgasm; her visage advertised passionate, heated, uninhibited sex. The rest of her body not only matched but edified and strengthened that initial impression.
Gwen’s body was built for sex. She was tawny in figure, but the young woman sported succulent, ripe, smallish breasts that never required a bra. Fate had been extra generous, giving her puffy areolas and nipples that were constantly erect. On her lithe frame, her B-cups looked largish, as if somebody had pasted overfilled balloons onto a stick. Perfectly shaped, her tits, as she called them, were round and plump, perfect for giving her that undeniable, feminine silhouette.
The woman’s smooth, flat stomach gave way to a nymph-like but extremely sensual lower half. Her slight hips had just enough swell to make her athletic form purely womanish, and her toned, lithe, gazelle legs were topped by a perfect, inverted, heart-shaped ass that stopped traffic. Dainty feet with healthy, always-polished toenails and smooth, sensual hands, capped her sultry, suggestive, slutty mortal coil. Just viewing her physical form inspired rutting desire.
Gwen’s personality not only matched her slutty looks and body; it surpassed them. Her permissive, romantically inclined parents spoiled her rotten, and she was a brat, then a rebel, and, finally, a bratty rebel. When womanhood gave her the tits and ass to attract attention, she couldn’t get enough. Her alabaster-smooth skin became a canvas, inky tattoos covering her back, thighs, and arms. Every stitch of clothing she owned enhanced her slutty vibe, and while she still denied that she was a slut, she definitely dressed, looked, and acted like one.
The redhead’s choices in clothing never mattered, though. Regardless of what she wore, her soul radiated wanton sex, and others picked up on that immediately, treating her like the slut she was. She had a brain, but few people seemed to be interested in her life’s philosophy or vast and varied interests. Her sweet ass received the lion’s share of attention. Accepting but outwardly loathing her fate, Gwen lived her life knowing that sex for somebody such as her was bountiful. Rather than study, she sucked and fucked her way through college, earning her degree on her knees and back.
The gods of fate had decreed that Gwendolyn was put on this planet to fuck, and they gave her the looks, body, mind, and personality to love each and every thrusting, lust-addled second of her existence. Gwen had a whorish reputation, and it was an accurate appraisal. She denied it, for the sake of avoiding the creeps that want to treat highly sexed women like fuck-trash, but it was true. Everything even remotely sexual turned her on. Thinking about sex, talking about fucking, watching porn, reading erotica, or just seeing somebody sexy was enough to send her libido skyrocketing into the stratosphere.
Being a sultry vixen with a slutty vibe and hard-on-inducing looks had advantages. She could fuck anyone she felt like, and she often did. Men, women, groups, and couples all fell before her, begging to taste her cunt, to suck on her tits, or to spank her epic ass. While she publicly decried her reputation, she lived and embraced every accusation that had been whispered about her. If the gossipers had only known that, sexually, she had no limits and plunged herself into sexual encounters with wild abandon, they’d have been stunned.
A trust fund kid, Gwen did not need to work for a living; the money poured in bi-weekly. She idled away her time, combining her love of computers with her love of sex; Gwen web-mastered a couple of adult sites for a few of her online friends. She’d built the sites herself. She also, although infrequently, moonlighted as a cam girl, but that was only when she wanted to get off and didn’t feel like going out to find somebody to fuck. Miss Ardmore didn’t care about the money; she just liked being watched. She also ran a sex advice blog that was slightly popular and even picked up as a feature by a few websites.
Most of her days, however, were spent in pursuit of personal interests and getting stoned. Other than sex, which topped every one of Gwen’s lists, getting lit on some fine, green herb was her second passion. The sultry vixen loved the tingling, euphoric effects, and, of course, getting high made her horny as fuck, so the two pursuits went hand-in-hand, or, rather, finger-in-cunt. To her, smoking the ganja aligned with her rebellious self-image. Society deemed her to be a slut, so she dressed and acted like it. Popular opinion saw her as an attention whore; she adorned her body with insubordinate ink and heavy makeup, dressing to attract other’s focus. Other than everyone thinking that she was a nympho slut, she loved her life, her lavish but small two-bedroom home, and her multitude of pursuits. She also loved “playing the field” to get hot, kinky, wild sex.
Her nights were often spent in pursuit of sexual pleasure. Despite her vehement denials, once Gwen got into a sexual mood, she turned into the insatiable, nasty slut everyone assumed she was. Deep within her subconscious, she knew this, even reveled in it, but she had fooled herself into pretending that she was simply a sex-positive young woman. Gwen avoided the reality that everything got her into a sexual mood, though.
On one particularly warm summer night, the full moon crowding the night sky, her sex drive had exploded into a horny eruption. Her cunt needed to feed. Gwen’s spare bedroom was devoted to her “clothing-whore” hobby and a few other pastimes she enjoyed. Without any conscious thought, she chose a very slutty ensemble. Instinctively, she applied multicolored, slutty makeup, giving her erogenous features a higher octave of overt sexuality. Gwendolyn teased out her hair, making it big and wild, that just-got-fucked-hard look.
Her attire, as always, matched her horniness. Black, leather, adventurous boots enshrouded her feet; skin-tight, midnight-hued tights adhered to her lithe legs and plump, scrumptious behind. A horizontally striped halter, nearly backless with just some colorful strings for a collar, showed off her ink and erect nipples. Other than a tiny, black purse, that was all she wore. Even though Gwen owned a fancy sports car and a motorcycle, she opted to call a private chauffeur. Outwardly, she thought it was because she was very intoxicated, but, inwardly, it was because she wanted to present herself as affluent. A uniformed driver bespoke of wealth.
A club called The Darkness, secreted away in the demilitarized zone between the bustling, affluent city and the suburbs, was her destination. Originally a large church, the previous use of the sprawling complex lent a naughty, taboo feeling to the atmosphere, making it a perfect gathering place for the rebellious, goth types, and others prone to wildness. One of the first places to shift toward a members-only privatization, when recreational drugs were legalized, The Darkness was a bit Boho, a bit Goth, and a very happening place. An orgiastic rave broke out nearly every night, the top-quality booze and drugs facilitating uninhibited attempts at finding willing flesh for the night’s pleasure. It was Gwen’s sort of place.
Gwen was neither popular nor unknown at The Darkness; she was a familiar face among scores of frequently-attending members. Sometimes, she’d just dance or mingle; at others, Gwen was prowling for a hard cock or wet cunt along with all the others. Sexually, she didn’t know what she craved, but the vast and varied perverted miscreants that frequented the club in search of hedonism offered a full menu for every taste. However, before she found her partner for the night, she had to stop at both bars.
On either side of the towering cathedral, a long, ornate bar. One was devoted to obscure, rare, and very expensive liquid refreshments, the busier one dedicated to herbal-infused edibles and smoke. The rowdy, party-like atmosphere affected everyone, and every sort of debauchery imaginable was taking place in the various nooks and crannies, on the balconies, and even on the dance floor. Patiently waiting her turn, she first loaded up “house hookahs,” single-use water pipes sold exclusively for on-premises consumption. One of her favorite drinks was the Atom Bomb, a highly intoxicating drink that was sweet, tart, and glowing with the glow-stick stirrer left in the glass.
She saw him as he approached. As she was leaning over the bar, shouting her drink order to the harried bartenders, he slowed his pace as he walked by, staring at her perfect ass. He was cut, sexy even, so she shot him a demure, knowing smile, acknowledging his interest, then turning her head to allow him to approach. If a guy wasn’t courageous enough to approach her, he wouldn’t be confident enough to handle her sexual kinks.
“Did it hurt?” he queried, raising his voice over the driving, bass-heavy music. His handsome features were smiling, a veneer of poise over his face.
Gwendolyn smiled at that, quickly making her face neutral. “What?” she began. “When I fell from heaven or last night when my lover savagely fucked my ass while flogging me with a cat-o-nine-tails ad telling me what a dirty, perverted slut I am?”
“Um,” he stuttered, flustered.
“Well, you’re hot enough. Tell you what.” Gwen paused and looked him over.
The young man was good-looking enough, and he had enough of a swell in the front of his casual pants to appear to be somewhat hung, but she’d just gotten there and was in no hurry.
She continued. “I haven’t decided whom I’m hooking up with, yet. I’m going to go sit over there,” she pointed, “and then dance a little. Meet me on the dance floor. If I like how you move and how your body feels, then I’ll let you give me your number. Maybe I’ll call you, maybe not.”
She grabbed his hand and tugged it toward her, finally, placing it on her spandex-covered butt.
“If you make me wet, you can spank this ass tonight. I’ll let you fuck all of my holes and shoot your cum anywhere you want.” With that, she turned, jutting her sexy ass out to entice him, and slowly meandered over to the tables, shaking her hips with each step.
Relatively unbothered, Gwen downed her drink and added more volume to the wispy, odorous smoke that clung to the eaves, then stood up, sashaying toward the dance floor. Throngs of people moved to the music, some of them just enjoying themselves, others using the music as a form of foreplay. A group of women, looking as if they were out for a good time, danced in a group near the edge of the chaotically-lit dancing area. The horny redhead, feeling her entire body tingling with arousal, sidled up to them, hoping to entice at least one of them.
“Nice tats,” a tall, sexy blonde screeched at her. The woman was one of the group, and Gwendolyn instantly sensed that the conversational opener was just to introduce herself.
“You like?” Gwendolyn mewed. “I have them all over.”
“I always wanted to get a full sleeve like you, but I only have one, on my butt.”
The music stopped, another song beginning, a slower one, and the two women danced together, getting to know one another as the tall blonde’s friends shrugged their shoulders at her and left. The two women danced, letting the slow-paced dance music move their bodies and spirits. They talked, laughed, and giggled a little, and got more and more intimate as the sensual rhythm drew them together.
Soon, Gwen reached out, her hands snaking around the tall, big-breasted blonde’s waist. The woman reciprocated, the two of them grinding against each other as their hips swayed to the beat. The horny redhead didn’t hold back; that just wasn’t Gwen’s style. She let her hands roam, feeling the woman’s ass, taut stomach, thighs, and tits.
During a lull in the music, the blonde bent down as if to whisper something into Gwen’s ear. Instead of speaking, her mouth sought Gwen’s, and the two locked their lips in a passionate kiss, their tongues exploring the other’s. Feeling the tall woman groping at her erect, sensitive nipples, Gwen let her hand slide under the woman’s classy, high-slit, black evening gown, and she caressed her hot, moist cunt through the stranger’s panties.
“Want to go someplace more private?” she asked. The look in the sexy, tall blonde’s eye let Gwen know that she didn’t want to discuss the latest movies.
“I haven’t decided, yet,” Gwen answered, honestly. “Here.” She handed the woman her phone. “Give me your name and number, and, if I want to fuck you, I’ll text you.”
Not everyone went along with Miss Ardmore’s style. She liked to pick and choose, seeing if anyone really got her motor revving.
“Barb,” the tall woman smiled as she entered her digits. “My name is Barbara.”
“I’m Gwen. Nothing personal. You’re hot, seem fun, and we move well together. I promised this one guy a shot, but I’ll probably text you.”
The redhead turned to go, but the tall woman, who had a surprisingly strong grip, grabbed her, pulling her back. She grabbed Gwendolyn and pulled her tightly against her towering body, her lips closing in for another impassioned kiss. As soon as their lips touched, the blonde’s hand ran under Gwendolyn’s slutty top, and she cupped the redhead’s boobs, squeezing the nipples, which made Gwen moan into her mouth. Not to be outdone, the brazen redhead’s greedy hand dove under the other’s skirt, pushed her panties aside, and Gwen’s fingers began torridly stroking the wetness between the beautiful Amazon’s legs.
The woman’s legs buckled, and she grabbed onto Gwen’s shoulders to keep herself upright. The blonde woman threw her sexy face back, her mouth opening and wailing in ecstatic bliss. Her hips thrust against Gwen’s busy hand, humping into it and rubbing her clit against Gwen’s frenzied fingering. Letting her extreme arousal think for her, Gwen balled up three fingers and roughly thrust into the woman’s sex hole. The warm wetness saturated her hand up to the wrist.
“You like getting fisted in public, don’t you?” Gwen accused. Her tone was lusty, her expression wanton.
As people watched, cheered, and applauded, Gwen gently forced the towering woman down to the floor. She readily submitted, moaning with her own hands caressing her melons. Gwen knelt on the floor between her new friend’s legs, pushing them open. Tugging violently until the fabric tore, the horny redhead ripped the blonde’s classy, sexy panties off her flesh, rending them. She tossed the wet, shredded undergarment to the crowd, then lowered her head, her tongue lapping up and down the writhing blonde’s slit until it stopped at her throbbing clit.
Gwen’s oral talents were legendary, as practice makes perfect. As Barbara cursed, writhed, and moaned, Gwen quickly brought her to a screaming orgasm. While the woman gyrated on the floor, cumming so hard that tears welled up in her eyes, Gwen kept fucking her. When Barb could breathe once more, the tattooed rebel girl withdrew her soaked hand. She rubbed the sex juice all over her lips and chin, licking the rest from her fingers and hand.
“Lick your cum off me,” she commanded. “While you finger yourself in front of all these people.”
Barbara, overcome with horny desire and high on the thrill of public exhibitionism, hurried to obey. She stuck out her long, pink tongue and slowly licked her own pussy juice off of Gwen’s face. The thought that the two were strangers, mere minutes ago, just made her finger herself all the harder. Gwen let her finish to another intense orgasm, then walked away.
Just as she was leaving the dance floor, the guy from earlier intercepted her. “Found you!”
“Your eyes work; how about the rest of your body? A fast song! Time to get dirty and rub uglies to the beat. Follow me.”
The guy reminded her of the stereotypical High School quarterback trope, but she liked his muscles and bulge. Leading him to the dance floor, Gwen wasted no time, one hand immediately shooting toward the man’s crotch, the other wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him in close. Taking the hint, the man assumed that her groping for his cock was permission, so he reached out and pulled down her flimsy, thin top, exposing her round tits.
Taking things one step further, Gwen laughed and stopped dancing. Looking at him with a predatory smile, she crossed her arms in front of her torso, then grabbed the hem of her halter, peeling the top entirely off. She stood there brazenly, her tits on full display, then danced back up to her new beau.
Gwen’s hands soon found the fly on the dark-haired man’s pants, and she unzipped his khakis, fishing out his cock. She kept one hand behind his neck, holding him firmly against her topless body. Her other hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it fast and wildly. As soon as it grew rock-hard under her sexual attention, the horny redhead dropped to her knees and sunk her mouth over his erect cock.
“Really? Here?” he objected.
His protests lasted only a second; as soon as Gwen’s talented mouth engulfed his meat, he shrugged at the club’s patrons and closed his eyes in a state of horny disbelief. Soon, Gwen was bobbing her head up and down his flesh, taking the entire length down her throat and then pulling back until just a small bit of the tip was encased by her overheating lips.
Topless, being watched, which always made her even hotter and wilder, Gwen plunged her head down on his quivering cock as fast as she could, fucking him with her mouth. She stayed like that until the song ended, pulling her mouth off his pole with a popping sound, saliva dripping from her lips and tongue in long, sinewy tendrils.
“You can dance hard, which means you can probably fuck me hard, and I like your big, hot cock. Here. Put your number into my phone; maybe I’ll call.” He did as she asked. “Nice to meet you, Michael. You and your yummy cock.” She walked away.
Gwen finished her smoke and drinks, remaining topless. Less than an hour later, she’d auditioned three others, and she decided to head home and make a call or two.
“Fun evening, ma’am?” her driver asked.
Gwen’s chauffeur, that evening, was a black-haired sprite with a fringed pixie haircut. She looked sexy in her uniform, and the driver’s cap gave her a playful disposition. Her pale skin and black makeup made her seem edgy, on top of mirthful. Gwen was impressed that while she openly stared at her exposed tits and smiled, she kept her professional demeanor.
“Not the best I’ve ever had, but decent. Lots of good choices, tonight”
“Where to?”
“Take me home, please.”
As soon as the driver had closed the back door and Gwen was seated, the horny redhead spread her legs, sitting in the middle of the spacious back seat, and plunged her hand under her inky tights, fingering her molten cunt. Gwen’s’ entire body was vibrating with lust and passion. She flicked her clit as she relived making the sexy giantess orgasm on her fingers.
Miss Ardmore emulated her previous actions, thrusting three, the four, fingers up her own volcanic hole as she tossed her head back and forth, red hair flying, her mouth moaning. She didn’t care if the chauffeur saw or watched; she wanted her to.
“I’m fucking cumming,” Gwen shrieked, moans and spasms possessing her.
As that orgasm subsided, she left two fingers buried in her liquid sex, her other fingers assaulting her swollen, vibrating clit. Her mind dwelled on Mike. He was sexy, respectful enough to wait for permission, and he had a nice cock. The redhead’s fingers plunged into her slit as far as she could get them. Her other hand tugged at her hard, tingling nipples, scratched her stomach, and then pulled on her clit even harder.
She imagined the blonde woman lying before her, shoving her pouring pussy against her mouth while Michael took her from behind. She heard the debasing, dirty things he would call her.
“Yes, yes, yes! Fucking fuck your slut’s hot cunt. Punish me! Make me cum. Own me.” Gwen, lost in desire, screamed her fantasies aloud, fucking herself to another orgasm as the driver watched in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said when the car got to her house. “Same time next week?”
“You got it. You’re my favorite customer. You’re always so much fun.”
“I’m so fucking horny,” Gwen addressed her immaculate abode. “Do I call Barbara for some hot, lesbian love, or do I call Michael and get fucked hard like the slut I am?”
To Be Continued…
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The Red Hot Reader’s Choice Fun: Choose the plot
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Does Gwendolyn call Barbara, the tall, horny blonde, or Michael, the uncertain but willing, sexy, man with the nice cock?
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