Introduction
I am Chaney Denton, and these are my stories. Some are bizarre, some are simple, some are so intense you might not be able to handle them. I live for sex, and I'm damn good at it. I am not a whore, call-girl, or a victim. I'm an educated woman with endless means and a sex drive to match. Is it real or fantastical? Does it matter?
Origins.
I think it all started the summer I turned eighteen. In fact, the day I turned 18. On that birthday I was home alone and bored out of my mind. My family didn't really care about birthdays. We weren't close. I was looking for something to do, I started snooping around the house, poking my nose in nooks and crannies, secret cupboards, and drawers I had never bother to open. We lived in a huge house. My dad was rich; a brilliant businessman who could sell anything. And, of course, the family money. Our summer house on the coast was built in the early 1900s, built by a notoriously paranoid collector, endlessly afraid of whatever conspiracy his addled mind concocted. As such, no one really knew the extent of secrets the house held. This, of course, occupied me for hours on the hot summer days I found myself alone with nothing to do, which were many.
On this day, I broke into my dad's liquor cabinet and poured a glass of scotch. It was gross, but I sipped it anyway because it made me feel grown-up and started wandering. I didn't find anything much until I stood outside the door of my older brother Chad's bedroom door. I wasn't allowed in, of course, but no one was home, and no one would be for a while. My parents were at some garden party with their friends, and Chad was in Europe, probably drinking himself stupid on a yacht. No one would ever know. So, I opened the door.
The curtains were drawn against the hot summer sun glinting of sand, giving the deep blue walls of the room a heavy, sultry feel. Huge walnut furniture and old paintings of ships in the sea alluded to an occupant far older than my twenty-two-year-old brother. My stepmom wouldn't let him change anything in the room. She liked the house to have a classic, old feel: a stark contrast to our ultra-modern townhome in New York City.
I rummaged through drawers and armoires, under the bed, in the desk, and under the carpets where I knew there were secret hiding places. I didn't find anything other than a huge stash of pot, which I generously helped myself to, stuffing edibles and joints into my bra, since my tiny shorts didn't have any usable pockets. I had my own (better) hiding places for things like this, and I was happy to rehome some of Chad's supply. Irritated and even more bored than before, I slouched against the drapes of one window. 'Seriously, this is some shit' I thought. I flung my arms out in a useless display of anger. And something clicked where my hand hit the wood paneling to my left. A wicked grin twisted my lips 'Score!'
Inside the hidden cupboard, I found stacks of magazines. Dirty magazines. Of course, I knew these existed, I was eighteen after all. I had played with myself since I was a kid, finding ways to touch my body which made me feel good. Really good. But I hadn't ever actually looked at pornographic material. Unless music videos counted, or the occasional "sex" scene in a movie. I guess I thought I was a good girl, using my own imagination and ingenuity. I reached into the hiding place and pulled out one of the magazines. I don't remember if it was a Playboy, Esquire, Penthouse, or...well take your pick, there are a million of them, and there were probably a few hundred magazines in here. All I really remember is opening the shiny pages and looking at a woman spread before me. She was totally naked. She was biting her cherry-red bottom lip suggestively, eyes staring boldly into the camera. Her breasts were full and heavy, falling slightly to the sides, nipples erect and deeply colored. Her legs were spread wide, her fingers snaking down her inner thigh toward her soft, velvety pussy, lips spread and waiting. Immediately I felt heat traveling across my thighs and between my legs. My face flushed. I turned the page.
The same woman was pictured, this time being bent over a shiny yellow classic car. Her breasts splayed on the hood, legs and round bum spread, displaying her juicy sex and the perfect, tight hole just above it to the camera somewhere behind her. She looked back over one shoulder, towards a man in the foreground. He was pictured from the chin down, facing towards the sex goddess, belt hanging from one hand, his expensive trousers open and suit jacket thrown on the ground to the side. His toned, bronzed arms straining the thin fabric of his white shirt, displaying every tight muscle and sinew. He was ready to take everything she presented to him and more with his, as I imagined it, heavy, throbbing cock. I swallowed hard. I needed that cock with every part of my hungry young body.
The sound of a lawn mower from next door broke me out of an erotic coma induced by yet another magazine from the stacks in the cupboard. I blinked. The bright, shiny covers lay all around me. My panties were soaked, and a deep, throbbing ache had taken over between my legs. "Maybe even just moving will make me cum," I thought. But I didn't want all of that pent-up excitement to go to waste. I had to do something about it. I slowly shuffled all the magazines into a pile and back into the secret space in the paneling. Slowly, so slowly, I stood up and made my way over to the window. I pulled back one of the heavy drapes and peered outside. Across the expanse of our back yard, pool, and tennis court, I noticed a tan, shimmering body across the fence into the Summerset's pool area.
A man, heavily bronzed from the beach sun, was mowing the grassy area near the pool. He had dark hair and his muscles were taught, rippling while he pushing the lawn mower in front of him. His ass was cupped by his to-tight jeans, and just above his belt line were two deep dimples, accentuating the god-like status of his body. I dropped the curtain. The Summerset's hadn't moved in yet for the summer. The house was empty, and I was alone. So was he, it appeared. I stepped over to the mirrored wall in the bedroom and took stock. The full curve of my firm butt cheeks peaked out from beneath my too-short denim shorts. Round and perfect. Legs not too long, but toned and shapely, the perfect complement to my 5'4, curvy body. My shorts hugged low over my hips, perfect oval belly button showing off a femininely soft, shapely abdomen. The thin white crop top I wore showed off the black bra holding full firm breasts which bounced softly when I walked. Especially when I wore a deep v-neck like I was.
