Dynamite Boudoir Tales One
Millie Dynamite
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Dynamite Boudoir Tales One
Sultry stories for late night stimulation
From a View to a Thrill
Sex Serenade for Strangers in G-spot major
A Dream, Wild, and Wicked
She’s a Bully
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2023/22 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Table of Contents
From a View to a Thrill
Sex Serenade for Strangers in G-spot major
A Dream, Wild, and Wicked
She’s a Bully
From a View to a Thrill
Man gets his jollies watching a woman doing the same!
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2022 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
From a View to a Thrill
A story in 750 words!
From his tenth-floor apartment balcony, James Fanner had an unobstructed view of every window of the condos in the building across the avenue. This spying was better by using the two cameras concealed in the planters atop the railings at each end of his terrace.
The day was one of those made slightly dreary by cloud cover. No one lounged nude on their balcony. Most of the women were doing dull chores in their apartments. Cleaning, reading, watching their televisions tuned into boring soap operas, reruns of ancient shows, or insipid game shows. Not one hint of a clandestine rendezvous to thrill him, nor did any of the hot women dress for a long, sexy yoga workout.
He scanned window after window, using both cameras, watching, waiting for something to spawn a little self-gratification.
That was until midday, and the married young woman directly across from James’s apartment picked up a tall glass filled with vodka and ice, and ventured to her balcony. Gazing around while still wearing her pink, lace nighty. With the bottle of Smirnoff’s Vanilla in one hand and the glass in the other, she reconnoitered the two buildings. Ample breasts covered, every so barely, with a delicate lace pattern and silken ebony flesh alive with so much pimpled gooseflesh.
Tall, curvy, with jet-black hair, and a visible ache screaming, this trophy wife didn’t have enough love to satisfy her. For a few minutes, craning her neck upward, down, and across, checking all the windows and balconies for something.
“Umm,” James said, “she’s sure she’s safe from prying eyes now. Go on, bitch, give me a show.”
Lifting the glass to her lips, she sipped the colorless booze, staining the rim of the glass with her bright, ruby red lipstick. She licked her lips and lay on the reclining chair. The chair sat at an angle to the rail. Being she was far enough away, he could see her entire body. All the lovely curves, the wonderful, toned, and shapely legs, and all the ebon flesh underneath the pink lace.
Again, she lifted the glass to her full, luscious lips and, in a long draw, drank down the contents of the glass. Setting the bottle on the floor and the glass on the table, she settled into the chair. Letting recline all the way, she stretched out, running her hands over herself and licking her lips, and she moved as if tiny creatures crawled over her flesh.
James wondered how the middle-aged, dull, white business executive had bagged such a beautiful black woman.
“Money, you stupid fuck.”
Unbuttoning the nightgown, she slivered it over her head, tossing it into the open French doors. She wore no panties and sported only a thin landing strip pointing to her heavenly heart of happiness. The woman coaxed herself, with her hands, with their bright red fingernails, wandered over her body, soft, like a shy man afraid of upsetting the beauty he wants to seduce.
Raising the middle finger of her right hand, she licked and sucked to the base. She moved her hand from her mouth down between her legs. Running around the lips, digging the finger inside herself and her other hand, she touched and pinched the nipple of her left breast. Her hand lulled to one side, her tongue tracing her lips as she let soft moans escape her lips.
He wished he could hear her.
Unzipping his pants and fishing out his hard cock, James stroked. Spitting on his hand, he jacked, and watched, and wished, and wanted to fuck her, and understood he can’t view her and fuck her at the same time.
Her legs squirmed, her hands explored, and her body wriggled about on the daybed. One hand or the other lingered on her quim and probed, moving away, replaced by the other. Her mouth parted in a long, silent squeal of pleasure.
And she continued. Touching, pinching, breast, belly, face, neck, her hands explored as one who was sightless becoming familiar with every inch of a lover. Twisting away, fingers danced over her ass. A hand ran up her back and down the back of her legs. One hand returned between her legs, and she rolled back on her back once more.
With a long, low moan, twitching her legs, trembling belly, and the shuddering of her beautiful, buoyant breast, James realized she climaxed. Without warning, her body stilled. She stretched out, and after a moment, curled into a ball and drifted into sleep.
Sex Serenade for Strangers in G-spot major
The danger of being caught made the music sweeter.
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2022 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Sex Serenade for Strangers in G-spot major
A story in 750 words!
The packed outdoor concert, with people crammed into the stadium, overflowing to cover the football field. My boyfriend and I were close to the stage. Standing in the second row. People to the left of me, to the right of him, shoulder to shoulder. I stood on top of our cooler to gain the best view.
By standing on top of the cooler, I had more room than others. The man behind, well over six feet, his head was to the left of me, about the same level as me. On occasion, I glanced at his face, and his eyes seemed fixed on me.