Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

The sun was setting so I picked up my paints and went back to my canvas. I had a view of the beach that stretched on for miles. I had a telescope next to me, to help me pinpoint details. The diminishing light gave me about  an hour to work so I went at it.

The weather was good but it was the dinner hour and so the beaches were deserted. That wouldn’t last long. I painted studiously. A couple ran onto the beach and picked a secluded spot to lay out a picnic. I had an excellent view of them, just beyond a dune. I turned my telescope toward them. They unpacked a dinner and three bottles of something. Sake perhaps. They were eating sushi. They were probably eating sand too.

They kissed for a while after they finished their fish. It was too dark to work on my painting but I could see them clearly. They stripped down to shorts and a bikini top and ran into the water. He was still wearing his watch but I was too far away to be heard giving warning. I hoped it was waterproof.

They splashed around like young people do in the ocean. They weren’t that young, maybe thirty and change. I caught the gleam of a ring on her finger and found the band of gold. I’m betting they were married. I’m betting not to each other.

Call me cynical but I don’t believe married couples would have a sushi picnic on the beach while dozens of restaurants are beaming with neon a few hundred feet away. These were people with no where to go. Desperation bears discomfort.

They finally run back from the water to their blanket, a bit winded and wet and chilled as the sun is fading and the winds cool. A wrap does little to remedy the situation but they don’t seem to care as they sit staring. The kissing resumed and hands began to peel away wet cloth, his and hers. Sand had already stuck to patches of their bodies and as they bared more skin, more sand clung to them in weird patterns. I crossed myself and prayed they knew better than to do what they were doing.

He was shriveled from the cold but desperation lifted his spirit in defiance as she fondled and then suckled his dick. Every few moments was interrupted by a need to spit away the sand in her mouth but eventually the offending grains were gone and only the breeze contributed more.

The dinner lull was soon ending and people began to walk along the darkening beach, not far away from where the lovers cavorted nakedly. Before long, they took notice of the people wandering past them.

When a loud couple, arguing and gesturing to beat the band, came close to them, I thought the lovers were frightened, that they were going to grab their clothes, dress hurriedly and dash away into the night. But after an initial tremble of fear, they suddenly seemed spurred on by the presence of others, taking delight in the prospect of being watched or caught or witnessed or joined.

Now if, as I had by now assumed, they were adulterers, their reckless exhibitionism would border on the insane. A policeman routinely walked the beach with a big flash light and an inquisitive nature. I could see him now, just a bit further down the beach, headed their direction. Maybe he would notice them and maybe he wouldn’t, but given the multi-faceted consequences they would face as law breakers and publicly outed cheats, I would think they’d be shy of being exposed.

It wasn’t too long before they started doing what they shouldn’t, rubbing genitals vigorously with sand but I guess love and lust and excitement is enough to forget the scratches of pain and proceed with a right thorough banging. Which they did.

During the course of this bang session, they attracted the notice of a small crowd. Young people, old people, some yucking it up, some snarling in disgust. No one lingered for long to watch, their bodies strewn with sand and sea weed reduced a youthful attractiveness to a quest for fire ugliness. Finally they finished and began to adjust their accoutrements, pack up their bag and blanket and start a slow trudge, arms entwined, back to civilization.

Twenty yards away, the police officer darted his flash light here and there. Five minutes longer and they would have been caught. It was a romantic night for cheating.

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Clean Up

Clean Up
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“You were expecting me to fuck Caesar, right?”

Silver had gone down to the theater where Caesar lived. He hosted swinger parties in his home, which happened to be an empty theater. There had been a change in management at the swingers club and a concern he had been a part of was now entirely his. He had a party scheduled in two days and the outgoing swingers had left the theater in shambles. Silver had gone downtown to help him clean up.


“Whew. Because I did. We never really talked about it, I just assumed that was your plan.”

“Indeed. He needed help with the club but he also needed help.”

“I did some cleaning. And I helped him out.”

“Was it fun?”

“It’s been so long, what, like three years. I enjoyed the chance to play with him again.”

“How did it go?”

“I picked up a whole bunch of cleaning supplies and drove downtown. I carried my bucket and mop and shit in the back door just as two big women, from the Swirl, were leaving. They never even looked at me, they were so busy with their animated conversation. The door snapped shut behind me and I headed up to the loft. Caesar was expecting me.

“I thought he might be. I’ve been hinting, he’s been hinting. You know how Caesar is. The more I talk to him the less I know what he’s talking about. But I think we understood each other.”

“I showed him the supplies I brought.”

“Did you bring your kitty?” he asked, smiling like a man who hasn’t been laid in a year.

“Want to pet my pussy?”

“There was probably more clever banter but shortly after he stood up, his pants fell to the floor. I found a comfortable spot to kneel and sucked him off in a few minutes top.”

“I can’t believe it,” he said after he groaned hard. “No one’s ever made me cum like that, so fast.”

“I’m really good.”

“I can see that,” he said.

“I could see that he was still raring to go. I doubt he’s been fucked in a year. His relationship with Sondra was nothing but fights for years. They’re not together but she’s part of the Swirl so she isn’t entirely gone either. Weirdest shit I’ve ever seen. Sondra’s not pretty, either.”

“I wouldn’t do her.”

“So we made our way back to Caesar’s bed. He was like a kid in a candy store, moving from position to position. He’s still cautious about condoms which I appreciate.”

“As do I.”

“So I sucked him off some more, climbed atop him, he’s begging me to cum and cum and cum. He climbed on top to jam his prick in my cunt. I was sloppy wet by this time. It’s just been so long since we fucked and I have missed his dick. Not too big. Just right for some things. Like my ass. He jumped on my ass and pumped until he collapsed with a feeble groan and a shudder.”

“Good job, Caesar!”

“Then I cleaned the floor of the main room and came home. Some other women showed up to finish the job. The Swirl women aren’t too pretty, either.”

“No they are not. Hopefully the party will have some newcomers.”

“I could get into that.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

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Anything But

Anything But
by Lord Malinov

“And here you go.”

“That was quick. Did you get laid?”

“I almost didn’t.”


“I went up to Caesar’s loft and got the stuff. We started talking and he flirted a bit but then he cut it off.”

“I can’t do anything,” he said, indicating our bodies. “I promised myself.”

“That’s cool.”

“So we talked some more and I could tell he was getting uncomfortable. So I told him goodbye, suggested that another time might be favorable and went down the long dark stairs from the loft to the back door.”

“Promised himself?”

“Who knows. Probably Sondra again. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Just as I hit the crossbar on the theater back door, I heard him racing through the darkness. I took two steps outside and up the stairs when he smacked the door back open.”

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go. I can’t be stupid. I would be so sorry.”

“So he led me to the room by the backdoor. There’s a bed in there.”

“The Swirl parties have been getting wilder lately.”

“I put my purse down and sat down on the bed and his cock was in my mouth, steel hard.”

“I love fucking you, Silver,” he said, full of sincerity. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

“I barely had my pants down when his dick pushed in. He fucked real slow, going on and on about how much he loved fucking me. I tried to maneuver into a position that would be a little bit comfortable but his fuck lust was so strong that he hardly moved, throbbing more than thrusting. When I finally worked us into a workable position, he fell apart, groaning and shivering and shaking and saying ‘fuck’ over and over again.”

“He likes you.”

“I left him there on the bed, condom on his cock. It was fun but rather unsatisfying.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

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Love and War

Love and War
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Mark laughed when he opened the door. Brian stood sheepishly at the threshold, and then held up his offering, half a case of brown bottles. “Yeah,” said Mark, stepping aside, “get in here before the beer gets warm.”

Brian pushed the rattling box onto the counter, tore away the perforated top and reached familiarly into a small drawer to retrieve and deftly wield a chrome bottle opener.

“There are some mugs chilling in the freezer,” said Mark, watching as he leaned against the door frame. Brian pulled open the upper compartment, releasing a misty stream of cold. Reaching in, he threaded his fingers through the rings of the glasses.

“Nice,” Brian said, pouring the pale brew over the lip as the air froze grey on the seal of gold leaf impressed on the glassware. “When did you get these?”

“Rick and I went up to Manchester,” Mark said, “maybe, a month ago?” Brian handed Mark the glass topped with brown bubbling foam and then knelt down to transfer the rest of the bottles onto the bare shelf of the refrigerator. Mark took a drink and sighed. Brian looked up at him sadly, and tossed the flimsy cardboard at the trash can. Standing, he picked up the other glass from the counter and carefully filled it with beer.

“Peace?” Brian asked, holding up his icy mug. Mark’s dark eyes glowered and he slowly raised his glass. A dull bell clanked as they met.

“I heard she dumped you,” Mark said, nodding them out of the kitchen. Brian followed as Mark went over to his stereo cabinet and started leafing through some old vinyl records.

“Yeah,” Brian said, smiling without pleasure.

“What happened?” asked Mark, pulling out a red and black record jacket.

“Same old story,” Brian said and he took a drink. “She ran off with someone better.” He laughed gently, amused by his soft jab at the both of them.

“No way,” said Mark, pulling the album carefully from the paper folds. “I’ve met the guy. Steph’s taste has been on a serious decline, well, since she left me.” He placed the record on the old turntable and set the needle on the spinning track.

“Yeah. I just don’t know what her deal is.” Brian sat down on Mark’s blue leather chair and leaned his head back, wearily.


“Are you all right?” asked Mark. “I mean, you should have known better than to get too serious with her. Steph’s not a girl you get involved with like that.”

“I know,” said Brian. “The whole thing was just a stupid mess. I still can’t believe I let myself treat you the way I did, and after all that, she’s off with some putz from Carrollton.”

“It’s the way she is. You know? Steph likes to be in the center of things, watching guys bash each other over her. It’s part of her thing. Look at what she did to us. I mean, we were acting like kids.”

“God knows I was,” said Brian, sitting up. “I’m really sorry, man.”

“Beer down the pisser, my friend. I’ve had a little down time to work my way past it, and once I realized that the losing part was really inevitable with Steph, I was almost glad to have passed the baton to someone who deserved a little fun.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Brian. “It’s like the time you gave me the flu.”

“Well, be careful what you wish for. I didn’t make you steal her from me. You’re the jerk who blew off our friendship for a pair of tits.”

“Ooh,” moaned Brian, “but what a pair.” Mark offered his glass in toast with a smile. The ring of empty glass sang.

“Another?” said Mark, reaching for Brian’s mug.

“You know what?” asked Brian.

“What?” Mark called back.

“Steph really made me crazy. It’s almost like I’m coming down from a long, wild trip. She did something to me.” Brian walked over to the kitchen and took his fresh beer from Mark.

“You don’t have to tell me, brother. I have been there myself. She had ways that would drive the best of us insane. Wait,” Mark said, stepping over to the stereo and turning a knob. The wail of an electric guitar filled the small apartment. “I love this.”

“Heartless,” Brian muttered. “How true.”

“What?” asked Mark, turning the song down again.

“True,” said Brian, lifting his glass. Mark sat down on the blue chair and leaned back.

“I’ll tell you what, man, I’m glad you’re back, but I’d throw you out in a second just to see those titties again. Mmmm,” Mark licked his lips and laughed. Brian sat down on the carpet and leaned back against the wall.

“Sweetness,” he said, thoughtfully.


“There was one time,” Mark said, “Did I ever tell you this?” Brian shrugged. “Steph was over and we’d been going at it most of the afternoon. I always loved that about her. She could give a whole day to getting off. Anyway, she was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of Crunch and all she’s wearing are these little black panties. I was in the shower, because we were going out that night. You remember, that was the night we all went over to Steve’s and watched a movie and Liz was having a big fight with Rick.”

“Okay,” said Brian, slightly flushed by the memory.

“Dan dropped by, the way he used to, just a knock and then he just walked in. He goes to the fridge, gets a beer and then I guess he heard the shower so he goes and just sits down in front of the tube. Steph’s still sitting there, eating her cereal. Dan finishes his beer and goes around this way to get another one and he sees Steph sitting there, with those big tits staring him naked in the face and BAM! Dan walked right into the wall. I came running out of the shower and Dan’s rubbing this knot on his head, his face all red and starts telling me he’s sorry as he’s running out the door.”

“What did Stephanie do?”

“I looked over at her, and she’s still eating her cereal and she just shrugs, like ‘beats me.’ I could not stop laughing.”

“That’s how it felt, when I first saw her. Like a blow to the head.”

“Man, could she. I’d kill you, my friend, for one of her blow jobs. You know the ones I mean. God help you if you don’t.”

“I know,” said Brian, smiling despite himself.

“Our girl Stephanie knows how to kiss a dick. Am I not right? One minute your standing there minding your own and the next she’s got her mouth all over that puppy and no matter how hard I tried to hold back, she would be guzzling another load. Tell me if I’m lying, but Stephanie Rogers has a wicked tongue.”

“I’m a witness,” said Brian, laughing at his friend’s forthright portrait. “You tell no lies. There was one time when I was sitting on her bed and you know the mirror by the bathroom door?”

“Oh, God,” said Mark, “The mirror!”

“She crawls over, naked and steamy hot, and starts sucking my prick and I look over at the mirror . . . ”

“That ass and that pussy staring right back at you.”

“I swear, I came in twelve seconds and then I came again.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Mark said, raising his hand for a slap. Brian smacked their palms together. “She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it.”


“I tell you. The vision is still burning in my mind,” said Brian, “her perfect round ass, lifted and just spread apart so that I could just see her little asshole and the dark pink of her lips, all swollen and glistening with those fine curls and the little folds of pink flesh inside and she’s bending just a little with each stroke of mouth over my dick. Ah,” Brian said, sighing to mourn pleasures lost, “fuck.”

“What’s her number?” asked Mark, picking up the phone.

“No way, man. She’s in Williamsburg with the putz. Besides she’s still more mine than yours.”

“Says you,” said Mark, laughing. “All’s fair.”

“Yeah,” said Brian raising his empty mug in toast. “Here’s to losing the war.” With a clink, the friends’ glasses rang true.

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I spent half my life, waiting for this moment. Wondering if all my dreams could come true. Allison smiled as she sat down across from me.

I had known this woman well, a dozen years ago, a blossom in the springtime of my life. If I think back on those days, my thoughts swim around Allison’s kind face, her pretty blue eyes, her soft golden hair, creamy smooth shoulders, slender, sigh, arms. And after all these years, Allison looked nearly the same; a little harder, perhaps, faint wrinkles tickling the corners of her eyes, a little less glimmer and bounce in her hair, a few pounds filling out her womanly curves. Lovelier, in a way, than the day we first met.

When I first met Allison, I spent almost a year completely obsessed by her. I thought about her constantly. Just fourteen, I was very much a boy and my heart raced pubescently. I blush to recall wandering in shy, slow circles around our neighborhood, desperately hoping fate would let me catch a glimpse of this pretty girl as she made her way home from school. There were days when I would stake out her path, lying hours in wait, just because I thought I might earn a single sweet “Hello.” Even at fourteen, I cut a sorry figure.

As it does all things, time eventually cured me of my unrequited infatuation for Allison and I soon aimed my heartache toward other girls wandering the streets of our small town. But through them all, I always kept a fond eye on Allison. I don’t think she ever knew I was watching her. Allison had a busy life and hardly looked my way.

High school swept us along and I never had the chance to forget Allison. We both enjoyed a modest talent for singing and so we spent at least one hour of class together every school day during those four years. She was in my Spanish class, too. Anyway, we always sang together, but we really couldn’t have been more different. I became a shy bookish baritone and Allison rose to the rank of marvelously popular alto. Teenage politics being what they were, I kept a respectful distance, although I did venture to spend a few lusty daydreams ogling her during dull moments of our choir’s practice.

Making our way to the state college, where I studied physics but kept singing for the sheer pleasure, a lucky turn of events made us friends. During the first week of the spring semester of our sophomore year, I grabbed a cup a coffee and somehow found a seat in the crowded student union cafeteria. Two minutes later, Allison was wandering the same dining room, looking for someplace to sit and eat. Catching sight of a familiar face, she asked if she could join me. I almost choked on my coffee, trying to agree. Allison laughed and sat down.

Allison’s schedule that semester included an hour break between her music theory classes and our choir’s daily rehearsal. I had no academic reason to be on campus just then, but sentimental affection drew me into her path, and led me to grab a table for us before the wave of students could steal them all. Our little conversation soon turned into a daily ritual. Before a month went by, I had grown overly enchanted by Allison’s smile, once again.

The brief hour we shared became the high point of my day. We took a break from the rigors of study with laughter and gossip, especially poking fun at the pompous tenors and gaudy sopranos who raged during practice as if nothing else mattered, a pastime frequently shared by altos and baritones world round.

After a few months, Allison seemed to really warm up to me, filling me in on the juicy details of her social adventures, her complex web of friends and foes, and eventually let me into her private thoughts. I soothed her constant worries about her perpetually wayward brother, and wisely counseled her through struggles with her tightly laced parents. I even dared to listen when she complained about her oafish boyfriends, gnashing my teeth jealously while smiling sympathetically.

Our relationship managed to grow beyond our habitual cup of coffee, and from time to time I would go shopping with Allison at the mall. She said she liked my taste in clothes. Once, I even loaned her twenty dollars when a cute blouse went on sale. Allison never paid me back and I loved her for that.

But through it all, I remained a friend. Allison had blossomed into a truly ravishing coed at twenty and dated only strong, handsome, witless young men who always drove fast, expensive cars and wore Italian shoes. One day, with a little edge on my attitude, I asked her what they talked about, she and her fashionable brutes.

“We don’t,” she confessed. “That’s why I have you.”

I gnashed my teeth, jealously, and smiled. By this time, I loved Allison dearly and refused to let pride make me relinquish the crumbs she offered. I needed my time with her at any price.

Then there was a dance, something truly special, some Kingdom by the Sea cotillion, and I accompanied Allison to the mall to help her pick out her gown. Rod, who drove a Stingray, I think, had asked her to the ball and Allison nearly swooned every time she said his name.

I fought waves of nausea, as we walked the aisles of the department store looking at the racks of satin and chiffon. I knew I was being asked to wrap my love in finery that some other man would open, sacrifice my tender feelings so that she could squander them on a brute. But I was also powerless to deny Allison anything she asked.

She picked up two dresses and tossing them over her shoulder, Allison motioned for me to follow.

“Stay right there,” she ordered as she closed the latticed door of a small dressing room. My stomach ached as I listened to the rustle of fabric. “Here,” she said, opening the door. Her blue eyes shining, beauty struck me hard. I wanted to fall to my knees and swear my love. “Zip me,” she said smiling, turning around.

I could hardly move a finger. The breach parted down the full length of her back and as I pulled the zipper toward me, I could see the swell of her bottom hugged by a pair of cotton yellow panties. I stared at that intimate vision for only a second, but burned it so deeply into my mind that I can still recall the soft curve with technicolor brilliance.

“What do you think?” she asked, turning a quick circle. I tried to breathe and swallow.

“Stunning,” I said, finally.

“I think so, too,” she said with an eye on her image in the trifold mirror.

“Wow,” I said, a sincere ejaculation.

“All right,” Allison said. “Let me try on the other one.”

Again she slipped into the dressing room and I stood where I had been told to stay, obedient puppy that I was. The door swung close but then drifted slowly open, a few inches at most. Allison had her back to me as she stepped out of the gown. I felt flush with a lusty fever as I drank the illicit vision of her full-pantied bottom, the supple bend at the small of her back, the long stretch of her legs. Allison turned to retrieve the second gown. She wore no bra and a supple breast hung heavy below her outstretched arm, as a faint nipple tightened slightly. Allison stepped into the gown and finally looked through the gap between the door and frame. She blushed and I blushed. Stepping toward me, she turned her back.

“Zip?” I raised the zipper. “Well, what do you think?” she asked calmly.


The night of the dance, I sat at home in the dark with some angry rock roaring from the stereo while I started on a bottle of Scotch I had borrowed from home. I remembered the half-dressed vision of Allison I had managed to steal. I tried to forget. I remembered the long talks we had. I tried to forget. I remembered wandering the streets of our home town, ready to give up everything, only to hear her greet me. I took a long drink and tried desperately to forget.

The phone rang. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but after the third ring I picked up the receiver.

“Steven?” Allison said.

“Allison?” I replied. She burst into tears. I tried to calm her down, tried to get some reason out of her, but she cried harder. I listened to her sobs for a long time, patiently, repeatedly saying, “It’s all right,” like a mother rocking a crying baby. Finally she calmed down a little.

“Can I come over?” Allison asked, sounding more like a little girl than the bold confident woman I had come to know.

“Sure,” I said. She hung up the phone. Ten minutes later, she knocked at my door. Allison was a sight, her make-up smeared by the damp tissue in her hand, the gown exchanged for a grey sweatshirt and jeans, her golden mane still floating angelically in a well-arranged coiffure.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Can I have a hug?” she replied.

I wrapped my long arms around her. In the six years I had known her, I had never seen Allison look so fragile. She held me tight, resting her cheek on my chest. I patted her back and told her it was all right.

The story was old and the details depressing and after I poured her a drink, Allison walked me through the whole ordeal – the argument, the rude phone call, the gossip, the other woman, the jilt, the wait, the final cruel realization that Rod wasn’t coming. Allison spit nails, sobbed relentlessly, laughed with a demonic fire in her eyes and shrank into fear, pain and loneliness. By two in the morning we had extinguished half the Scotch and she was nestled in my arms. A pregnant pause caught us looking into each other’s eyes and the magnet’s pull of an overdue kiss suddenly drew us together.

I’m not exactly proud of what happened next, for it seems clear in retrospect that I took advantage of Allison. I never planned anything, or even considered what I was doing. I held a beautiful woman in my arms, one I had loved for many years. The scene that followed remains one of the best moments of my life, one I have treasured for twelve lonely years, poring over each perfectly memorized detail with an archeologist’s particularity. Sometimes I wondered if she remembered any of it. At any rate, I did.

We kissed for hours, like adolescents who think they have invented the sport, and eventually my hand found the bare flesh of her waist under her loose grey sweatshirt. My fingers curled around the warmth as I drew her closer still. Allison’s eyes were closed and she exhaled heavily, sad and surrendered as I started to fondle the soft swelling of her breast. She laughed when I tickled her nipple.

Actually, I remember several versions of our motion from the floor of my living room into my bed. Sometimes I think I picked her up and carried her. Other times, I led the way and she followed. I think my favorite pseudo-memory is of following her into my room, smiling hungrily as she stripped off the sweatshirt and pounced into bed. Dawn was just beginning to color my bedroom window.

“Come here,” she said, excited and happy, kneeling on the mattress and unbuttoning her faded blue jeans. I crawled onto my bed, grinning madly. Allison fell back and stuck her legs toward me. I started pulling on the frayed cuffs, drawing the denim from her uplifted limbs. Allison laughed as the jeans slid past her feet, twisting with the last release to lay down on her stomach, her bare ass forming a plump little hill. I kissed the back of her thighs, ascending slowly. Allison moaned and then rolled again to let me kiss the tops of her thighs. I stole a peek at her soft brown muff.

“You know what I really like?” she asked with a shy giggle.

“No,” I said, still kissing, “but I can probably guess.” Allison spread her lean legs and I quickly worked my way to the junction, to kiss the soft pinkness of her blossoming flower.

Licking Allison’s pussy sorely affected me. A thousand night’s fantasy suddenly erupted in the unfolding of her pretty sex. I nearly came in my shorts, taking that first long lick between her swollen lips, drinking the dew that tasted of pure Allison, feeling the shudder of excitement as I teased her stiff clitoris, her ass cupped in my hands, her laughter and moans mingling in my head. I pushed my tongue deep into Allison’s cunt, wild with devotion and lust, stroked steadily while a river of her desire, desire Allison felt at my touch, poured over my chin to drench my hands, my sheets, my soul.

“Oh, God, Steven, Yes,” she groaned, pulling my hair to force my lips against hers while my tongue tormented her clit. Allison squealed and shook and ground me down hard against her shudders before she finally yanked me away to let the orgasm fade.

“Roar,” she said, rubbing her spread pussy between aftershocks. I pushed down my shorts and pulled methodically on my throbbing hard prick, staring at the naked goddess before me, illuminated by the glowing fires of dawn. Allison moved herself around to kiss the crown of my cock. At the first touch of her lips, I baptized Allison with six years of wanting, thick streams pouring over her cheeks, over her lips, down her bare breasts, into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” I said, horrified. I still don’t know why the sudden release mortified me. Allison laughed hysterically as she wiped her face with my t-shirt and nestled herself in my arms.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word,” she sang, resting against my chest. I tried to find the harmony, but grew confused. I quickly drifted into sleep. When I awoke, Allison had gone.

I called her, but she didn’t answer. I waited at the Union, but she never showed. I saw her at choir practice but she kept away, never looking at me, always keeping people between us. I cornered her once and she shook her head, her face flush with shame and dashed away at the first opportune moment. I gave up, knowing what had happened. A moment’s ecstasy cost me more than I could bear to pay.

Once the semester ended, I didn’t see Allison. I stopped singing. I focused on my other studies and graduated at the top of my class. I took a job doing research, published some papers, patented some inventions, started a company and in a decade built a small empire.

A late night at the lab left me hungry. I stopped at an all night restaurant and ordered a steak. Two minutes later, Allison walked in. I recognized her at once. She sat down across from me.

“How have you been?” I asked. The touch of sadness in her azure gaze spoke more than the simple, “All right.”

“You?” she asked, the single word touching a forgotten chord in my heart strings.

“I’ve been getting by,” I said.

“Did you ever . . . ?” Allison asked, her voice trailing off before she finished the thought. I knew what she wanted to know by the coy smile that followed.

“No,” I said. “I haven’t had time. I haven’t let myself get close enough for that.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Surely you’ve been married,” I said, noticing her naked ring finger.

“Twice,” she replied. “Catastrophes.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. She smirked, a rude smile of hers I had almost forgotten.

“You haven’t changed,” she said. “Well, you look older and smarter.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

“So what have you been up to?” she asked. I traced the long trail I had traveled, holding back a few of the details. I didn’t want to make Allison feel bad.

“That’s great,” she said when I reached the end. “I always knew you’d make something of yourself.”

“That’s funny,” I said. “I never did.”

“No, you didn’t think much of yourself back when I knew you.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I always thought you were a genius. You want to know how I knew that? You intimidated me. No one else could. Not a soul,” Allison said, seriously. I laughed with a snort.

“Me? I was a buffoon.”

“No, don’t even say that. I thought you were incredible.”

“But,” I started and stopped. Allison looked at me quizzically.

“What?” she asked.

“But then why did you leave me?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t stand . . . I just had to. I was afraid. You would have left me.”

“Never,” I confessed.

“No, you would have. You had these ideas, that I was some kind of princess.”

“You were.”

“No, I wasn’t. Don’t you get it? That wasn’t me. That whole thing you had was just you, thinking about me. You kept looking at me, but you never saw me, not for me. Once we, well, you know, I knew you were bright enough to figure out that I was just a pretty girl and that you deserved more than I would give you.”

“I don’t buy it, but maybe,” I said, “you could have stuck around to find out.”

“I know. Don’t you think I know that. I’ve thought about that night with you for years, regretting the fact that I acted like such a stupid bitch. Everything was just a mess for me that semester. Nothing was working out and then this thing with you and I couldn’t bear to get dumped again.”

I paid the check and we left together. Neither of us said anything about it, we just did. She smiled as I opened the passenger door of my car, a fast sports car, just her type. Now that I think about it, my shoes are Italian, too.

I took her back to my place and poured us a drink. Allison wandered through the apartment, ten times the size of the last one we had been in together. She walked back to my bedroom and I followed. She sat on the bed.

“Come here,” she said, laughing. I crawled up beside her and we kissed. Memories competed with passion as I tasted her sweet lips. Pausing, Allison pulled my shirt over my head and fiddled the button of my trousers.

“I didn’t get very far last time,” she said, pushing down my briefs. “Think you can hold back for ten seconds?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a smile. “You still excite me.”

“Mmm,” said Allison as she slipped my prick into her mouth. So much had happened, so much had been lost and her tongue teased the length of my staff while I knelt on my bed and wondered if this would just be another night for us both to regret. I caressed her golden hair as she suckled my senses, remembering the pain, thinking about what she’d said, that I would have left her, that she was just a pretty girl, that I deserved something better.

Allison lifted her skirt and I saw the thin yellow cotton panties that covered her firm bottom. The orgasm welled deep within and I said her name over and over as I poured my soul into my Allison.

“How’s your brother?” I asked as I laid back to catch my breath.

“He’s in jail,” she said. I laughed and then apologized. Allison kissed me gently and laid her cheek to my chest.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word,” I sang softly. Allison picked up the song, in perfect harmony. “Daddy’s going to buy you a mocking bird.”

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Across the Line

Across the Line
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

We are swingers, my wife and I, and have been for a long time, since the beginning, in fact. We met at a swinger party.

Swinger means a lot of different things to different people. For me, it means we enjoy recreational sex and our relationship is strong enough to understand the joys of sexual attraction. We enjoy sex the way some people enjoy tennis. We don’t worry about our marriage falling apart. We’re a thing.

So while I have a casual attitude toward sexual play, I have a very serious attitude about relationships. Once a couple starts to lie to each other, the swinging is over and the cheating’s begun.

My wife brought a woman from work over to our house on Friday. She’d told me about her before. She had a husband who was really good looking and really nice but also really religious and a prude to boot. All they had, Erica told me, was minimalist procreational sex. And he didn’t plant very often.

I wasn’t thinking about any of this when I stepped out of the shower and walked into our living room while drying my hair. I wasn’t aware Erica had come home until I heard a stranger say, “No one’s ever licked my pussy.”

Of course, I’m hanging dong and realizing there is someone’s in front of me with a towel in front of my eyes and there is an ongoing discussion about a strange woman’s genitals.

My thoughts in a jumble, I lowered the towel and saw the pretty woman seated before me, her eyes fixed on my hardening pecker.

“Please, allow me,” I said, suddenly suave.

I am sexually experienced, so I know well that this was a miracle. I stepped out of the shower and an attractive stranger was pulling off her pants to spread cunt on my living room chair. I gave her the full treatment, didn’t tickle or nothing. She came fast and repeatedly, just what you might expect from a woman who hasn’t had any sex for a long time. She was close to passing out when I finally retreated, a shallow whimper almost begging for more.

We had made plans to go to a wild party that night, which is why Vanessa came over, so Erica could take her to the party. While Vanessa lay in a stupor on the chair, I shaved and Erica started preparations for the party. Erica mentioned Vanessa’s husband and I gave her a frown. She knows I don’t approve of cheats but what was done was done. Not only had he never licked her pussy, she’d never sucked his dick. Or any dick. I was blown away. Vanessa was at least thirty.

“I want a gangbang!” Erica shouted. Vanessa looked aghast.

We went to the party. I didn’t have anything more to do with Vanessa. We ran into a few friends and Erica had her gangbang, worked herself into a frenzy on three cocks. Vanessa ran off with another guy we know. Big dick. Quite a place for her to start.

Erica said they got together three or four times a week and then he moved into her apartment complex and they are together constantly. Hubby still doesn’t know. Vanessa said she’ll leave him if he finds out. She’s not going to give Bob up.

She is way across the line.

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Mile High

Mile High
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I had to get up early to get to the airport in time for this early flight. I have the row of seats to myself, which is always a treat, but the plane is almost empty so today plenty of space is the norm. Despite the light load, the crew moves as determined and efficient as though the plane were loaded. The safety presentation goes on like a big show although the audience is sparse and sleepy. We start to roll and the sun slowly rises in the East.

I could have slept in late today, should probably have stayed in bed. Erica waits for me in Cleveland and I hate to disappoint her. She’s been waiting for four years for me to come and take her away but all she ever gets are these daytrip visits. Sometimes I want to question her motives, why does she do it, why does she put up with it, what does she want from me? But I don’t because I don’t think I’d like her answers. I’d rather things just went on the way they have been.

Rise, rise, rise, the plane slants upward, slowly climbing above a thin layers of clouds to greet the sunrise in a chilly blaze of glory. I’m excited to go see Erica again today, happy to be able to take her in my arms again, eager to feast on the erotic banquet of her nubile flesh. Thinking about her, about the joys that await my arrival, I find myself squirming in my seat. I’m a good looking guy but Erica is heavenly. I can barely believe that she’s waiting for me.

When I met her, four years ago, she wasn’t in a good place. A series of young men had used and abused her good graces, squeezing the ripe fruit and leaving the rind behind. I know Erica saw me as someone stable, a reliable and sturdy man of solid good looks and a sound financial foundation.  We saw each other frequently at first, mostly because business frequently took me to Ohio. The last few years had reduced our contact to monthly and less often, a situation that did nothing to reduce our passion but did plenty to increase our appetite. The less often we saw each other, the hungrier each visit became.

I couldn’t wait to see her, but lately the desire has been more sexual than personal. Our visits were less frequent and now were becoming shorter. Weeks became weekends became days became hours. I’ll see her today for about three, maybe four hours. Six hours on the plane, two hours of business and four hours of fucking with Erica. We might get lunch together, depending how the meetings go, but probably not. I’ll swing by her place. We’ll share a drink, tear off our clothes and a few hours later, slowly dress and make excuses. I’ll promise to be back soon and promise someday I’ll stay. But I won’t.

I can’t help but feel ridiculous, flying halfway across the country to squeeze a boob and grab an ass. I didn’t have to go to Cleveland today. I could have made more money going to Albany. I let Frank have Albany so I could see Erica. Is an afternoon of slap and tickle really worth eight thousand dollars? I know Erica likes me and everything but wouldn’t she have preferred some of that cash to my sweaty thrusting? Why am I doing this?

When I was younger, I didn’t have these doubts. A chance to screw a pretty lady wasn’t something I would have ever passed up. I would have been to the airport early, pushing the staff to let me board. I would have sent notes to the pilot asking him to hurry things up, get into the jet stream, put some pedal to the metal. If there was a line for the taxi, I would have started running instead. I was eager. I was determined. I knew what I wanted and wasn’t going to waste time getting there.

I still crave her. I still want her badly. I can’t even think about her pretty pussy and tight ass and voluminous breasts without getting bothered. Everything about Erica excites me. As I fly along the morning landscape, rushing past miles and miles, rapidly getting close to my rendezvous with the luscious siren, I can feel the heat building within me. Nothing will stand in my way. I must have her.

But then I look at myself, a middle-aged man, lofted into space by jet engines drinking rocket fuel, speeding my way from airport to airport, just to get my dick played with and I start to feel foolish. So much trouble to scratch an itch, one that quite frankly could have been taken care of with some porn and a shower. I want Erica but I don’t love her. I don’t even really like her. I don’t want to go to lunch with her. I dread the conversation. We are too far apart to share anything. We only want to escape.

Forget our troubles in a naked paradise. Forget our lives as we toss and turn and thrust and moan. Forget our responsibilities in a darkened room, rolling in the sheets. Forget our names. Forget our plans. Forget tomorrow. Forget everything and touch a human being.

The steward pours me a cola. I thank him with a nod.

Sitting here, flying at ridiculous speeds, I suddenly have the feeling that I can’t do this any more. I feel myself getting old. I feel myself grasping at straws. No amount of sex is going to restore the past. No physical love can take the place of the romantic love I actually need. Erica is putting off the inevitable. I’m wasting my time and, worse yet, I’m wasting hers.

The plane begins to descend. I’m going this alone.

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