Stepping Over the Line

Stepping Over the Line
by Lord Malinov

I reached for the phone reluctantly. The ring caught me mid-thought but it was almost as if I knew it was coming. I tried to control my nervousness as I spoke my hello.

“Hey, buddy, can I meet you for lunch?” Rob asked, his question sounding more like a demand than a request.

“Sure,” I answered, at once analyzing my friend’s tone for hidden meanings.

“Riggo’s at twelve?”

“Sure,” I replied.

I hung up the phone slowly, my whole body shaken by the sudden reality of my situation. The day before had begun so ordinarily, but somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, I had crossed a threshold. I didn’t go see Julie deliberately. I never planned even a word of our brief encounter. It just happened. And now at twelve, I felt certain, more was going to happen. What that more might be consumed my thoughts as the next three hours dragged by.

Rob and I had met for lunch at Riggo’s at twelve regularly, twice a week more often than not over the last seven years. There was nothing strange about the way he called, nothing unusual about the way he spoke. I tried to tell myself as I sat staring out the window of my office into the grey winter morning that I had no reason to think Rob knew what I had done.

He stood in front of the orange neon light that spelled Riggo. Rob had gained size over the years, although he had always been a hulk of a man. Lunch, for Rob, was a serious event. Meals, I should say. Rob ate hungrily, although he never seemed to weigh more than a man of his build should. I stepped up bravely. Rob slapped a heavy arm around my shoulder.

“Dan,” he said heartily. “I’m glad to see you. Today I feel great, and it’s good to have a friend to share my joy with.” I greeted him with a smile and we stepped inside the cozy restaurant. A young man showed us to our table and Rob spoke terse instructions for wine and bread as he unfolded a napkin expectantly onto his lap.

“I had a meeting this morning with the Commissioner. Did I tell you he called and asked me to help him with his trade project? I gave him the figures he needed and we discussed the contracts. I think we might be able to wing another deal out of this.” The waiter brought a basket of warm bread and Rob had begun buttering a piece almost before the wicker hit the table. The young man offered a perfunctory glance at the label and began to open the Chablis. Rob nodded while he chewed a bite of bread.

“Porter has a new secretary. Did I tell you? Mmmm,” said Rob. I wondered if he meant the bread or the girl.

“No,” I told him.

“Pretty girl. Young. Nice eyes. I talked to her yesterday after lunch for a little while. Really good butt.” Rob shoved the remainder of the bread in his hand into his mouth just as the waiter offered him a taste of the wine. Rob hurriedly chewed the hunk of bread while nodding at the waiter.

Our lunchtime discussions usually revolved around tales of Rob’s women, their appearance, his approach, their seduction, and his conquest. Today, I was doubly glad to hear him start on plans to dine at another table. The fact that Dan cheated on Julie so lavishly had started the whole mess. Knowing his thoughts were occupied by some secretarial ass comforted my guilty mind.

“Excellent,” Rob said, holding up the glass for a fill. The waiter poured. “Anyway,” he said, “I’m going up to Boston next weekend and I’ve already got Porter’s permission to ‘borrow’ some help. I’m looking forward to this one. Good tits.”

Rob looked forward to them all. He devoured women with the same relish he had for buttered bread. My thoughts drifted back to yesterday.

I had dropped by the mall on my way back from a meeting with a client because I needed some socks. It was one of those things where the whole universe seems to conspire; Driving down the freeway, I reached down to pull up my sock and with the first tug, the nylon tore. Even before I had finished cursing the fabric, I realized I was approaching the exit for the Oak Forest Mall. I laughed as I recognized the good fortune of proper timing and pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of one of the large anchor stores.

Five minutes later I had paid for a bundle of socks and sat down in one of the chairs of the shoe department to change my worn socks for a new pair. As I wiggled my toes, I looked up and saw an attractive blonde woman looking over a pair of cream pumps.

“Julie,” I said at once. Her blue eyes rose and discovered me.

“Dan,” she said sweetly, “what a surprise.”

I told her about my socks and she told me about her shoes and we walked along until the aroma of brewed coffee inspired me to ask her to join me in a cup.

“Sure,” said Julie. “I’ve been on my feet too long.”

I don’t know if I would have said so yesterday, but the truth is that I have had a serious crush on Julie for a long time. There is something about her that just melts my heart. We sat talking over coffee, about I don’t know what, and as we laughed and remembered and speculated, despite years of devoted friendship with Rob, I found myself horribly in love with his wife.

So I was sitting in this coffee shop, staring into Julie’s placid blue eyes, trying to imagine some way to make her understand my feeling of affection, trying to elicit some small hint of encouragement from her, when Julie began to speak endearingly about Rob. A black shadow stole over my soul as she told me what a wonderful husband and father he was, and I felt cursed with envy and hate.

“He was in a meeting with Allen until after eleven last night,” she said. Something evil possessed me.

“But Allen’s in Prague.” The color left Julie’s face. I tried to rope her heart with an endearing gaze, but a frown stole over her lips and she shuddered slightly as she gulped down the last sip of coffee. She looked at her gold watch.

“Anyway, Dan, it’s been good seeing you.” Julie stood up and held out a hand. I took her fingers warmly, and she reached for her packages and almost ran away.

“Good,” bellowed Rob as the waiter brought large plates of spaghetti to our table. “I’m starved,” he said, almost drooling with excitement. He plunged his fork into the steaming pasta before the waiter’s fingers had released the plate.

I took a bite of food. Dan nodded happily and beamed, a red stain of sauce already coloring his lips.

“Just incredible,” he said. “Speaking of which, I have got to tell you about last night. In all my years of marriage, I have never had such a night.”

I choked on my food and grabbed for the wine, washing down my sudden stroke of nerves with long gulps of the Chablis. Dan looked concerned, and took another mouthful when I nodded my improved condition. My heart raced.

“I came home about seven-thirty last night. I had a meeting with Rogers that wouldn’t end. I was starved. I thought I’d be getting a casserole and a sandwich, but I opened the door and wham! Veal Parmesan.” Rob let the words roll deliciously off his tongue and took another mouthful of spaghetti.

“Mmm,” he continued before swallowing. “The whole table was covered with dishes, artichoke hearts and clams and potatoes and a big loaf of fresh bread. I could not believe it. I sat down at the table without even taking off my coat.”

“Jules walks in from the kitchen, and then I got suspicious.”

“Why?” I asked, gently touching my lips with my napkin.

“I figured her mother was coming. What else would make her get all dolled up and fix me a feast on a Wednesday night? She has to be buttering me up for something. Anyway, she’s sly. She just told me she loved me and begged me to eat up.”

“Probably her mother,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what I figure. But with a plate of hot veal in front of me, I wasn’t looking in a gift horse’s mouth. It was incredible, you know the way it just melts in your mouth, but you know what was even more unbelievable?”

“No,” I said, taking a piece of bread.

“I have this mouth-watering feast set out in front of me, and after a few bites, I’m staring at my wife’s tits. She had on this silky blue shirt that hung down low, and she leaned forward with her elbows on the table and my eyes just fixed, right there. Who’d have believed it?”

“Not me.” Rob laughed hard.

“Never in a million years. After dinner, she tells me to go into the den and relax while she cleans up. She’s a peach. So I go sit down in my chair, kick up my feet and Julie brings me a cigar. Julie. How many times has she wrinkled her nose like I was a disgusting pig because I lit a cigar? She snaps the lighter and lets me puff. I figured I was in heaven, and picked up the remote to see if I can find a game. She took the remote out of my hand. I think, here it comes, thinking now is when she tells me about her Mom, but you know what Jules said?”


“‘Let me entertain you,’ she said. She slinks over to the stereo, wiggling her hips, and turns on some of that new dance music. I take a deep whiff of my stogie and figure, what the hell. Then Julie starts to dance.” Rob smiled devilishly, and downed a glass of wine.

“You remember Angie, a girl I was messing with a few months ago? The nasty one? Always wanted me to finish by coming in her face?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Last night, Julie could have taught her a few things. I was almost embarrassed watching her. She started out dancing and that was all right, but then she starts stripping off her clothes. I tell you what, I’d almost forgotten what an excellent body Jules has. She was just wicked, bouncing her big titties in my face, squeezing them in her hands. Julie’s nips become tight little nubs when she gets horny, and she’ll squeal when I bite on them. She loves to have her tits sucked.”

Rob piled spaghetti on a folded piece of bread and shoved the mass into his mouth, mumbling his appreciation. I looked into my plate, flushed.

“So I’m sitting back, enjoying my private show, and Jules pushes her skirt down and I start thinking if she’s going to act this way, her mother should visit more often. Then Jules bends over to push down her black panties, and I’m looking up her ass and then the lips of her cunt with a little tuft of golden hair curled underneath and Jules starts bending at the knees, you know, spreading her pussy open while she’s diddling her clit. She has beautiful full lips that just unfold when she gets excited.”

“Wow,” I said, nervously looking at my watch.

“I know,” said Rob, mopping up his plate with a piece of bread. “Then she starts begging me to fuck her, which I did, and the whole time she’s telling me how much she loves my dick and how she’ll do anything for me, and how crazy I’m making her and I start imagining new things to try and she’s fucking ready to do anything I say. I fucked her tits, fucked her mouth and then,” Rob paused, and whispered, “I even fucked her ass. She’s never let me do that before. I tell you, Dan, it was fantastic.”

“Uh huh.” I picked up my coat as the waiter put the bill on the table. Rob reached for it.

“No, this is on me. Good fortune needs to be shared. I don’t know what got into Julie, but I hope she gets into that mood again. I could stay married with a wife like that.”

I left Rob in a daze, my heart aching, bruised and torn. Some days you can’t win for losing. Some lines just shouldn’t be crossed.

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by Lord Malinov

The best peek I ever stole happened one night when I was up late partying with my friend Alex, smoking in his bedroom and talking bullshit. His parents were out of town, and we were taking advantage of the luxury. After three years of college life, we knew what it felt like to be poor. Two days with unlimited access to a bar stocked with liquor and a kitchen stuffed with food was damn close to paradise to us.

That afternoon, Alex and I were lounging by his pool when I heard girls’ voices inside the house and turned to look.

“Who’s that?” I asked Alex.

“Sister,” he said, taking a sip from his bourbon and coke. “She goes to State.”

“Oh,” I said, picking up my drink for a sip.

“She’s hardly around when she comes home. In and out,” said Alex, and as he predicted, the girls disappeared and were soon forgotten.

We went to a party that night, saw a few people, but it was one of those nights when absolutely nothing seemed to be happening, so we went back to Alex’s house. About one-thirty, we were pulling bongs in his bedroom, talking stupid shit when I heard noises downstairs.

“Who’s that?” I asked nervously, feeling a twinge of paranoia.

“Sister,” said Alex lazily, his eyes closing. “Theresa.”

“Is she cool?” I asked. “Should I put it away?”

“Fuck, yes,” said Alex in a soft smiling voice. “She’s a party girl. If she finds our dope, she’ll smoke it all.”

Relieved, I loaded the bowl with a hard kernel of weed and set it on fire with a suck. A sweet grey trail of smoke lifted heavenward. My lungs full of heat, I offered the still smoldering bong to Alex. He didn’t move, his eyes having fallen firmly shut. I held my breath for a while longer and then let the rich cloud erupt into the room. The swirling shadows filled me with a sense of quiet as I gazed into the dim light. Then my stomach growled.

“Let’s get some food,” I said, shaking Alex slightly. He groaned, resisting my impulse to motion. I picked myself up and headed out the door.

When I opened Alex’s door, I immediately noticed a faint flickering blue glow coming from one of the doors down the hall. Curious and nervous, I closed the door as silently as I could and took slow gentle steps toward the open door. I moved like a cat as the room came into view, first catching sight of the small television that showed images of some energetic band in a frenetic display. A little further, and I saw a thick shock of black hair on the bed. She lay on her stomach, with her head turned away. Motionless, she seemed to be already asleep. I slid further down the far wall of the hallway, increasing my field of vision. To my delight, I soon caught sight of a ribbed grey tank-top that covered half of her back, the naked curve of the small of her back, and the bulge of her round bottom under her grey cotton panties. My heart pounded so loudly as I stared that I nearly passed out. I drank in the erotic view, greedily wishing I could somehow see more.

“Cindy?” a girl’s voice whispered. I nearly fell over from fright. Another girl walked into my sight. I froze motionless, afraid to even blink. A tall, blonde girl in purple flowered panties and creamy white skin stopped at the edge of the bed. “Move over,” she said, giving her friend a small shove. Cindy obliged with a roll toward the wall and Theresa climbed onto the bed to lie beside her, both girls on their backs under the flickering glow of music video light. I bit my lip. Theresa was an ordinary looking girl, but her naked tits were gorgeous, falling only slightly as they stood in youthful firmness, turned upward. “Goodnight,” she said softly, with a tender weariness.

“Sweet dreams,” said Cindy, turning onto her side to face the wall, jutting her grey-pantied ass against Alex’s sister. It seemed to me that Theresa smiled slightly and soon her nipples tightened, lifting her breasts slightly with each slow steady breath. Excitement smouldered fiercely in the dark night, a tension of self-awareness that slowed time and made each faint movement meaningful. The girls were drawing closer, testing the pretense of sleep with subtle daring. Finally, Theresa turned to mimic Cindy’s sideways curl, to feel the full length of the girl nestled against herself. An arm moved across to pull the girl closer. I stared hungrily at the wide swatch of purple cloth pulled in an angle between waist and thighs, framing Theresa’s youthful sweet ass.

Things transpired at a snail’s pace, at least that’s the way it seemed. At some point I decided I could hold myself steady more easily if I went down to my knees, and while the girls moved together with the tense patience of a tiny raindrop descending a window pane, I lowered myself to the floor in the hall. Theresa’s bottom moved in gentle ripples, a supple stirring that would have been imperceptible except for my intense gaze. A hushed and involuntary moan emerged sweetly from one of the girls and I closed my eyes, so furious was my lust at that moment. The grind of Theresa’s hips quickened and I without a thought, I began to unzip my fly.

As I tugged my pants open and wrapped my hand around my excited cock to give it a few hungry strokes, Theresa suddenly jerked herself up. I nearly fainted in the panic that swept over me, but before the burst of fear could compel me in any direction, the tall young blonde pulled Cindy over so that she laid face-up. Theresa quickly straddled her pretty friend. I didn’t move a muscle, my fingers clenching my dick tight. Theresa eagerly rubbed her panties against Cindy’s in tiny excited thrusts, satin brushing cotton to everyone’s delight. I quietly stroked myself to the verge of insanity. Yanking up the tank-top to expose Cindy’s tits, Theresa shook her own big boobs and squeezed the smaller cousins, causing Cindy to throw back her head and moan loudly. I yanked on my cock furiously, out of my mind.

All at once, Theresa jumped off the bed. Lust overpowered me. Another second and I would have stood up to go to her, greet her, grab her, share the wild fits of lust that were boiling inside me. Theresa turned her back and pushed down her panties with an anxious motion and then leapt back onto the bed, again straddling her friend but this time turned toward the foot. Theresa’s bare ass gleamed with the blue glow of the television as she lowered it over Cindy’s giggling face.

“Oh, God,” Theresa squealed with a shudder and twist. Cindy reached over to pull the pelvis closer to her face. Without moving her hips at all, Theresa yanked Cindy’s panties down her legs and over her feet. Then as she thrust her face eagerly between Cindy’s spread thighs, Theresa tossed the panties away.

The grey scanties floated my direction and landed in front of me, just inside the door. The girls moaned and shook, hands clutching, faces buried, squealing and thrashing. Without a thought, I reached forward to grab the discarded panties. A jolt of electricity went through me as I realized they were completely soaked. I held the drenched cotton to my nose and took a deep breath. A fierce orgasm began in that instant, clenching my balls, pushing me down and I’m sure I groaned loudly in the instant. The spice of Cindy’s sopping hot sex shot through me. Instinctively, I thrust her wet panties in the path of the spurts of my cock, pouring my excitement into her panties, mingling my lust with hers.

As the first rip finished tearing, I opened my eyes and stole another look at the girls. Theresa’s head was turned my way as her tongue reached down rhythmically to tease Cindy’s clit. I shuddered deeper, still coming, as her gaze devoured me. Beyond control, I continued stroking my cock until the last sensations escaped. A wicked smile touched Theresa’s lips before she turned back to pleasuring her friend.

I dropped the panties and fled to pass out on the floor of Alex’s room.

I woke up around ten the next morning. Alex was still sawing wood in his bed, so I went downstairs to see if there was any coffee. Theresa stood in the kitchen, drinking a cup, in a t-shirt and little else.

“Want some coffee?” she asked, lifting her mug in invitation. Her blue eyes smiled.

“Sure,” I said. Theresa reached up to fetch a cup from the cupboard, lifting her t-shirt slightly. She wore nothing underneath but a pair of grey cotton panties.

My tired eyes opened as wide as they could. Theresa handed me a cup of black coffee.

“Oh,” she said, realizing that I was stealing glances at her legs. She lifted the t-shirt slightly, enough to give me another glimpse of her panties. “I stole these from Cindy. Do you want them?”

“Excuse me?” I said, choking on a sip of hot coffee. Theresa pushed the panties down and tossed them toward me again.

“Next time you should knock,” she said with a laugh. The faint bulge of her big nipples pushed out under the white cotton of her shirt.

“Damn,” I said.

“Right,” Theresa said as she started out the door, heading back to her room. “Once was pretty lucky. But what are the chances there will be a next time?”

Theresa laughed as she disappeared and a moment later, Alex stumbled into the kitchen. I looked blankly at him, completely unable to think.

“What?” he asked. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing I didn’t miss first,” I finally said, shaking my head. “Good as a mile. Damn.”

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Bearing Gifts

Bearing Gifts
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

The summer after our second child was born proved the most sexual three months of all our lascivious years together. Pregnancy left us both starving for uninhibited pleasure and as two intelligent creative adults, we had no trouble finding means to satisfy our carnal desires.

I had started my regime of writing Diana daily when she was still in the hospital, and found it a marvelous way to make her anticipate my return home from work. Accepting the inescapable sleeplessness that comes from constantly feeding a newborn infant, we simply resigned ourselves to the advantages of foregoing sleep altogether and in the heat of a wicked July wore no more clothing than feeding a baby requires.

At the office, I cunningly prepared a hundred brochures for “Byron’s Head Shop” which promised cunnilingual expertise for the low, low price of five dollars per oral orgasm. As a summer promotion, each customer received free panties with every visit. I put my clever advertisement in every book, magazine, drawer, cupboard and table our house held, delighting in the embarrassment I caused any guests who dared invade our lusty privacy. With only one customer, I made about two-hundred dollars the first month, although I think I spent three hundred on panties. I was never very good at business, but I did know how keep my customer satisfied. Maybe I should have bought a bigger truck. .

When autumn returned along with my second year of night school and a baby who would sleep through the night, we found ourselves searching for new modes of expression in our mutual lust-quest. One day I came home from class to discover Diana quite excited. After the children were in bed, she took me to our bedroom, where she hooked up the video camera to the television.

“Let me show you what I made for you,” she said as she slipped beside me on the wide bed. “I had fun making it.” Picking up the remote, she pressed <Play>.

The view focused on a white porcelain toilet standing alone in a small family bathroom – our downstairs bathroom with dusty pink walls and dark pine cabinets. After a few moments, the lower torso of a woman entered the space, looking delicious in a red silk blouse, tight black leather skirt and dark stockings. Supple hands reached under the short hem and dropped white lace panties down her lean thighs as she sat down on the gaping seat. The tinkle of pee gently filtered from the speaker before she reached for a few sheets of paper. As she pressed the folds of downy softness between her legs she slightly spread her thighs and when she let the paper drop into the abyss below, she continued to rub the neat swelling hidden slightly by the blonde muff. Leaning back against the fixture, she moaned.

As she began to prepare her exit, she noticed a naughty comic hidden in the back of a magazine rack. The lace panties were quickly pressed down past her knees and onto the floor as she began to play earnestly with herself, looking through the erotic drawings. The comic fell to the linoleum floor as she found the stiff nub of her clitoris and spread her legs wide. I watched in amazement.

She reached into her purse and withdrew a small vibrator which quickly began to play a rhythm over her puffy lips, murmuring as it slid down and over and finally into her feverish maw. One hand played the head while the other drove the buzzing phallus deep inside.

Withdrawing the vibrator she lifted herself slightly and pressed the narrow point of the cream colored stick against her asshole and moaned wildly as she plunged the member into that darkness. She rubbed her clit viciously and groaned in orgasmic spasms.

Thus spent, she lifted her panties up again and after rinsing the vibrator in the sink, returned it to her purse. The light dimmed and again the empty bowl sat quiet, innocent of all that had gone before.

“Wow,” I said. “That was incredible.”

“Wait,” she replied. “There’s more.”

The light brightened and then faded again, focused on a moist blonde cunt spread open above a down comforter while two fingers teased her rigid clit. The full pink lips gaped slightly as she reached out of view to produce a natural looking dildo and brought it against her slick pursed lips. With a deft motion she slid the thick rubber staff inside her and she intently pounded the wide soft peach root against her wet furred opening. As the excitement began to take her breath, she pulled the glistening cock out again and poised the rod up from the white bed spread. Turning her back to the lens, she rose above the arrow and with a quick descent Diana began to ride, her ass bearing down to swallow the dildo deep inside in her scarlet pussy and up again to let the rubber prick head linger at her anxious portal.

The scene changed suddenly as a strobe light lit a gleaming white bathtub while Madonna’s “Erotica” began to pulse nearby. Diana stepped into the flashing white light and pulled the removable shower nozzle from its holder and slowly and sensuously moistened her creamy skin. Methodically showering, she doused her golden hair until it clung to her shoulders, black in the pulsations of light. Diana teased her dark nipples with the shower spray and then aimed the watery staff at the light floss below her soft stomach. She quickly leaned back against the tile wall, pressing her pelvis forward to catch the aquatic lick against her anxious clitoris and then teased herself in the sudden splashes of white. Her lean legs spread wide and Diana looked wantingly into the camera as the waves of pleasure caught her and she began to moan. Her body twitched as she surrendered to the long rush of orgasm and the music swelled as a thick white fog softened and embraced her trembling delights.


“I want to take more video,” Diana said seriously. “But I’ll need your help. Good film is hard to make without someone behind the camera.”

“I’m your man,” I said. I’m sure glad that’s right.

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“Relax,” Terri told herself. “Loosen up. He’s just a guy.”

Terri rapped on the wooden door and stood listening. A moment passed in silence and she knocked again. Pushing down on the brass handle, Terri opened the door a crack.

“Mark,” she said quietly. The door swung open gently and Terri peered into the office. An empty chair sat behind the large walnut desk. Terri glanced at the memo she had brought Mark and shrugged.

“I guess I could leave him a note,” she explained to herself, a little disappointed. “He can call me if he has any questions.” Terri stepped inside Mark’s office. The heavy door swung slowly shut with a click.

Intimidated by the calm silence of the young manager’s office, Terri quickly placed her memo on the center of the desk’s green blotter. Taking a pen from her jacket pocket, Terri looked for a pad of note paper, but the wide open desk space offered nothing of the sort. Terri quickly checked her pockets for something to write on and finally sat down in the large executive desk chair with a shake of her head.

“He must write on something,” she said, reaching for a drawer. As the dark wood compartment began it’s gentle slide outward, Terri paused and looked up nervously. A photograph in a gold frame, two men, one younger, one older, both strikingly handsome, stared smiling from the far side of the desk. Terri pulled the drawer open and quickly rifled through the stack of papers until she reached a yellow legal pad nestled beneath last week’s quarterly reports. Pulling it free, she flipped past twenty pages of handwritten notes until she reached a blank sheet and tore it loose.

“Mark,” Terri wrote. “Here’s the Jenkins memo. Call me if you have any questions. Terri.” She scrawled her name with a self-satisfied flourish, hoping the new manager would be as pleased with her work as Franklin, the old regional director, always had been. Terri folded the long canary-yellow sheet and slipped it under the paper clip that bound her memo.

Picking up the legal pad she had borrowed, Terri started to return it to the place from whence it came. She hardly looked down, but in a flash, a dash of words caught her attention.

> excited gleam in her eyes

The tight rush of a masculine script leapt off the yellow page. Terri felt her heartbeat race as she started to read from the top.

> Jenkins – unsatisfactory, reorganize, consider bringing in two
> people from the Walters account to support – Allen, Frank???

Terri smiled with a glance at the memo planted in the center of Mark’s desk. She had concluded that the Jenkins account should be reorganized, that additional people be brought in to help. Allen had been her first choice as well. Terri returned to the legal pad, skimming the paragraph on a meeting that had taken place two weeks earlier.

> The woman (Name? Mary?) working on the Jenkins memo
> could probably manage the whole project. Call North for update.
> She seemed sincerely interested in bringing the team around,
> hampered by the short staff and Franklin’s attitude that the whole
> thing would wait. When I spoke to her about looking for new
> ideas, I was impressed by the excited gleam in her eyes. She
> wants to make this happen. That’s exactly the kind of attitude we
> need to make this project work.

Terri’s smile spread full across her face. Looking up to the youthful man in the photograph, she nodded her thanks and blushed.

> Beautiful, really. I can’t let her looks influence my evaluation
> of her performance, but she presents the kind of image that would
> go far in Seattle. I’ll wait to see the memo before making any
> decisions about that meeting. Tough call, two weeks in close
> quarters with a woman like that could wreck havoc on my reason.

Terri held her breath. She never dreamed that they would consider taking her to Seattle for the corporate conference. A thrill ran through her and she flipped the page.

> Two suites, Stacy needs to make reservations. Sander’s can’t make
> it, going to Geneva for ASCOM. Steven or Terri. Steven knows the
> numbers. Terri’s really the better choice. Fuck that would be
> hard to manage. No way I’m going to concentrate on the new range
> of pharmaceuticals with those tits sitting next to me.

Terri felt her nipples harden as she tried to decide if she should be offended by such blatant sexism. She stole a glance at the photograph, Mark looking like a boy next to his grey-haired father.

> Can’t forget Reno – disaster – working with Jackie on the Magruder
> systems. We hardly lasted two hours in the hotel before that
> hard-working missy was grinding her twat on my cock. Mmm, sweet
> memory, if only Robinson hadn’t found out. Terri seems different,
> anyway, hardly any sexual chemistry there. No flirting. Husband?

Terri bit her lip, more offended by the sudden dismissal of her sexuality than she was by the unprofessional comments about her breasts.

> No ring. Some flirtation, maybe. Saw her lean over to examine
> the copier, flash of silky thighs, maybe a trace of lace panty.
> Don’t know if she knew I was behind her. My cock took notice.
> Fabulous ass. I should take her to Seattle with me. I wonder if she would go.

Spreading her legs slightly, Terri scratched at the tight elastic band of her stocking and slowly pushed her skirt slightly higher until she could tickle her satin draped pussy. “Mmm,” she whimpered.

> Either way, I lose. Screw her and who cares about the biotech.
> But it we go and manage to control ourselves, how am I going to
> concentrate? I can’t spend twelve hour days for two weeks sitting
> next to a beauty like that and not waste every fucking minute
> dreaming about those titties. I would be insane after the first
> few hours.

“Yeah,” said Terri, rubbing herself vigorously. “Drive you crazy.”

> I couldn’t survive the late night planning sessions, sitting in
> our suite going over the figures, or dinners with clients and Terri
> in a silk dress with Johnson pouring Saki and toasting success and
> riding back in a taxi, half drunk and giddy with victory and ride
> the elevator to the twelfth floor together and goodnight at the
> door, see you at tomorrow’s meeting on international sales.

Terri brushed the satin to one side, drawing a finger between her moist cunt’s lips.

> “Your room or mine” and lift the dress to see those silken thighs
> and lace panties, pulled off that sweet ass, press my cock inside
> to prove that teamwork makes us go and suck her pretty titties and
> let her suck my cock.

“Lick my cunt,” moaned Terri.

> Spurt my cream on her cherry lips, good job, good night, kiss
> Jenkins goodbye.

“No,” said Terri, sinking a finger deep inside as she rubbed her clit furiously. “Read my memo. Jenkin’s is easy. Fuck Jenkins. We can handle that shit. Fuck me, Mark.” She looked at the young man in the photograph. He smiled lecherously. “Fuck me,” she said with a gasp.

> I have to take her. No way to explain not taking her. She’s too good.

“Great,” Terri said. “Fucking great.”

The handle on the door slowly twisted. Terri felt a mad wave of ecstasy pass through her and then held her breath. The door swayed inward. Terri shoved the pad into the open drawer and pulled down her skirt.

“I’ll let you know,” said Mark to someone in the hall as he backed into his office. “I just hope she’s done with that memo.”

“Mmm,” said Terri, taking a deep breath. “Right here.”

“Terri,” said Mark.

“I was just dropping off the memo. I think you’ll find we have Jenkins well in hand.” Terri handed him the sheaf of papers.

“Excellent.” Mark lifted the yellow note and skimmed over the first page. “Fantastic. I think we’re of one mind on this.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” Terri said, stepping past Mark to reach for the office door.

“Yeah,” said Mark, still reading. “Wait. Tyler wants you to go to Seattle with me. Can you arrange your schedule for the fourteenth to the twenty-seventh?”

“I think so,” said Terri with a smile.

“Great,” said Mark, putting the memo on his desk. “I think this will be perfect. We’ll need to go over this later today. Good work, Terri.”

“Thanks,” she said with a blush. Terri vanished down the hallway.

“Sweet girl,” Mark said to himself. “Nice perfume. She just needs to loosen up a little.”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Andrea Miller unlatched the front door with a twist of the key. A dry breeze tossed strands of her long yellow hair across her round face. Reaching up, Andrea pushed the fine threads away from her sad pale eyes and hooked the faint lock behind her ear. Turning into the warm wind with a frown, Andrea glanced at the empty grey street below.

“He’d better not be late again,” she said quietly and her voice sounded hard and brittle. Andrea dropped the key back into her purse and stepped inside the dark, stale room. Her thin shoulders slouched wearily as she kicked off her shoes. Andrea nudged the door with a light shove that only barely brought the latch shut with a slow, tentative click.

“I wish there was a radio,” Andrea said, leaning back in a thin-legged chair, kicking gently at her purse. Her soft lips twisted slightly as she noticed a dollop of dried tomato paste on the breast of her linen dress. Andrea picked at the broken scab of sauce and brushed away the crumbs. She shook her head and sighed as she heard footsteps approaching. Andrea stood.

Kevin Muller flooded the room with a brief burst of sunlight as he opened the door and stepped inside. Andrea stood still and watched his dark shadow eclipse the harsh radiance outdoors. The door swung slowly shut behind him, the darkened room bringing his strong features into view.

“You’re here,” Kevin said. “I didn’t see your car.” The tall, thick man pushed his notebook onto a feeble table and shoved his key back into his trouser pocket. Sitting down on the edge of a faded yellow sofa, Kevin untied his black shoe string. “Do you want to open the blinds?”

“It’s too hot,” Andrea said, watching his fingers wrestle with a hard knot. “It’s better this way.”

“Dark?” Kevin asked, wrenching his shoe off his foot and dropping it onto the stiff carpet. He looked up at the shaded windows, the brilliant glow of light surrounding the black silhouetted stripes.

“I like it this way,” Andrea said quietly.

“Whatever,” Kevin said dully, untying his other shoe. He stood and followed Andrea into the bedroom. Reaching behind her back back, Andrea began to unzip her dress. Kevin felt a pang of appreciation as her pale shoulder blades came into view.

“Andrea,” he said. She stopped before the foot of the bed and looked at him. A faint smile trickled over her lips.

“What?” Andrea asked, amused.

“I wish,” Kevin said, pulling at his green and gold tie. “It’s hot.”

“Very,” she murmured. Andrea’s dress slipped gently from her shoulders and she stepped carefully out of it. Holding onto the collar, she lifted the garment up and then tossed it gently over the back of a brown upholstered chair.

Kevin looked hungrily at her round belly, softly rolled over the waistband of Andrea’s simple white panties. Unbuttoning the front of his cream tinted oxford, Kevin stared, almost enchanted, as the triangular cloth stretched round over Andrea’s backside.

“I wish we had a radio,” she said, reaching behind her back to unclasp her white brassiere.

“I don’t,” Kevin said, pulling off his slightly damp shirt. “I couldn’t bear the voices from outside.”

“I’d just like some music, maybe,” Andrea said. Peeling the thin cloth from her heavy breasts, she twisted her lips slightly. Kevin shook his head and smiled. Andrea squeezed her white breasts, kneading the faint red pinches where the tight bra had bit in.

“I like our music,” said Kevin, dropping his pants in a heap on the coarse carpet. “I like to hear every little squeak and moan.”

Andrea lay back on the bed and arching her back, pushed her panties past her bottom and down her thighs. Kevin pushed his white briefs down to the floor. Andrea lifted her feet upward, pointing her toes toward Kevin, her panties rolled at her knees. Kevin reached out and taking hold of the cloth, he smoothly slipped them over her calves and past her small feet.

Andrea spread her legs and ran her fingers through the soft golden muff. Kevin descended into the deepening angle between her thighs and Andrea lifted her bottom up off the thin beige bedspread, opening her dark pink lips to meet his smiling kiss. Kevin touched her damp flesh with his strong tongue and Andrea moaned.

“I’ve missed you, lover,” she said as he began to lick her with long, loving strokes, drawing the fire into her pussy, swelling her with excitement. Andrea pushed herself down, tickled by Kevin’s teases, trying to escape without really escaping, anxious to submit but not quite daring to give in. Kevin slipped his hands around her full ass, and pulling her cunt closer, he lapped the juice inside her.

Andrea began to sing softly, taking her rhythm from the steady strokes of his tongue. “My lover’s my lover because I’m loving his loving,” she cooed slowly, “nothing I won’t do because there’s nothing I ain’t done.” Andrea squeezed her breasts in tempo, lifting her hardened nipples with each beat of his tongue over her clit. Tension welled inside her and Andrea forgot the song.

Kevin pushed his legs under him, onto the bed as he drove Andrea onward with his tender melody. Tightening her bottom, she arched her back and pushed back against him to squeal a shiver of release. Kevin smiled as she shuddered and lifted himself forward to plunge his hardened prick into Andrea’s shivering lips.

“Your pussy is so sweet,” he whispered as he sternly stroked his way deep inside.

“You’re sweet,” she echoed, lost in the tremors of her ecstasy.

“I love you,” he said, fucking her with serious intensity.

“Love,” she said, her eyes still far away.

“I’ll love you forever,” he said, kissing her in a burst of savage passion as the words escaped his troubled lips.

“Forever,” she demanded. Kevin groaned and in a maddened thrust, Kevin lost the beat. Andrea wiggled underneath him playfully and he resumed a slow, deliberate push and pull of his wet cock into her wet cunt.

“So beautiful,” Kevin said, kissing the sweat from her brow. Andrea wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

“I love you,” she said.

“Hush,” he said, stroking her golden hair. They fell into a quiet slumber, wrapped in an embrace.

Andrea woke and pulled herself free. Stepping into the tiny bathroom, Andrea wet a washcloth and gently wiped the mess dribbling down her thighs. Kevin stirred and sat up.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I hate this.”

“So don’t do it,” Andrea said.

“Not that,” Kevin said, retrieving his underpants. “Leaving you.”

“You couldn’t take care of me,” Andrea said quietly.

“No,” he said, “I couldn’t take care of myself.” He pulled up his black trousers and zipped them up.

“No, you can’t,” said Andrea, picking up her bra.

“I know you don’t love me,” Kevin said thoughtfully, pulling on his shirt, “but I don’t know why you pretend you do.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping I’ll figure it out.” Andrea leaned over to fit the white cups over her breasts.

“By profaning the emotion?”

“Something like that,” Andrea said. She turned her panties around forward and stepped into them.

“Maybe you’re just being cruel.” Kevin picked up his tie.

“Cruel?” she asked.

“Tormenting me for loving you.”

“Bullshit,” Andrea said, pushing her head through her dress. “You don’t love me either.”

“I do,” Kevin protested, staring intently into the mirror as he tied a double Windsor, “but I don’t know why.”

“Yeah,” said Andrea, walking out of the bedroom. “Why.”

Kevin followed her. Andrea picked up her purse and opened the door. Sunlight flooded the bare room.

“Wait,” he said. She turned and kissed him.

“I’ve got to go,” Andrea said, but paused. “Maybe that’s why.”

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Nana’s Bed

Nana’s Bed
Supernatural Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“You said everything’s haunted. What about the bed? Did he sleep in a haunted bed?”

“He never slept here. No one could sleep in that bed.”

“Why not?”

“That’s Nana’s bed.”

“Nana? Someone’s grandmother?”

“Bah. Nana was the name of a very celebrated courtesan in nineteenth century Paris. She was an famous actress, sort of, appearing on all the biggest stages. She was incredibly beautiful when she was twenty and that was her only talent. She’d go on stage naked, as a Greek goddess or with some such excuse and the crowds went wild. After that bubble popped, she slept with many many men. You could call her a whore or a courtesan or whatever but mostly she was shrewd. And more than a little horny.”

“So the bed’s seen a lot of action.”

“Especially with Falconi’s box in the room.” We all shifted, tense at the mention of the erotic artifact. The fate of the box had still not been decided.

“I can vouch for this haunting. Every night, late, one or two, after the Opera and subsequent parties wound down, the bed begins to creak in a steady rhythm that gets louder and sometimes faster over a period of time lasting from two minutes to an hour. Sometimes people hear moans, too. I didn’t hear any moans.”

“So you spent the night here?”

“No, it also happens in the afternoon, sometimes. Life of an opera star, I guess. Get up late, screw, do a show, screw. Apparently she screwed a lot.”

“My kind of lady.”

“I believe she died in the bed, as well. Probably why the energy remains so high.”

“The bed has an energy?”

“Falconi’s box kind of drained us all, so you can’t feel it so strongly but it definitely has a sensual pull, makes you want to jump on it and bounce.” My cousin blushed, having done just that when we arrived. I’ve always thought it would make a great bed for a honeymoon suite, help the new couple break the ice and who needs to sleep on their honeymoon? Just an idea.”

“What would we get if we sold it?”

“A few thousand – some of the woodwork is exquisite but mostly it’s just old. Unless you found another erotic paranormal collector. Find one of those and you could name your price.”

“Or we could keep it and, like you say, make money with it.”

“There’s lots of potential for making money with this stuff. A museum would be appropriate but there are other ways.”

“Something to think about, eh, cousin?”

“Can’t sleep in the bed, so I’ve got no use for it. No room, either.”

“So you heard it, the bed creaking?”

“It lasted for about twenty minutes. Slow and steady for a while, then it seemed to get excited and creaked fast for a while and then a few furtive stabs later, it quit. Damnedest thing. Like listening to a roommate doing his girl but there was no one in the bed. The bed didn’t move either. Just really loud spring squeaks.”


My cousin sat back down on the bed, bounced a little. “I do like it,” she said. “It’s a good bed.”

“Not for sleeping.”

“No,” she said, a bit dreamy. “Not for sleeping.” I thought I heard a moan.

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Return of the Witch

Return of the Witch
Supernatural Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I eventually ran into the model who had portrayed the witch in a coffee shop near one of my publishers. I had driven to an unfamiliar part of town to pick up a check and when I arrived, I had been asked to wait an hour while the publisher spoke with someone in Vienna. Rather than sit uncomfortably in a folding chair, I took off and found the coffee shop down the block. And there she was.

She’d been to Europe, on model business or on witch business, I’m sure I’ll never know but for the three weeks she was gone, I became a wreck. The experience of taking her pictures had drained me, the persistent visions of creatures in motion, in her dress, in her flesh, I couldn’t get the images out of my mind.

Then I began editing the photographs and soon realized that the beings I thought I saw continued to writhe between the pixels of the digital images. I couldn’t stop seeing them, twisting and turning, as I worked, amazed at this phenomenon of action in a static representation. Triumphant and distracted, I proudly showed some of the photos off. No one else saw what I saw, in the darkness of her black velvet dress, in the pale cream of her belly and thigh. Just nothing.

They showed concern at my frustration, I’d been working too hard, an optical illusion genetically accessed, perhaps said the scientist among us, but I couldn’t stop seeing the creatures grasping angrily alive and no one was more concerned than I was. What madness had I contracted? I spent sleepless nights staring at her visage, praying she’d return my calls.

Finally, she answered. I told her about the hallucinations I was having and after a bout of inappropriate laughter, she promised they would stop. I looked over at the omnipresent picture on my screen and for the first time in three weeks, I saw nothing out of the ordinary; a woman in a dress.

I’d told her I was going to send her part of the bonus I’d been paid for the witch photos we’d taken.  She thanked me and I thanked her; I couldn’t help being grateful, being paid extra for turning in work I’d barely participated in creating, witnessed perhaps.

When I saw her in the coffee shop, I looked her over carefully but there was nothing moving as though alive in her clothes or her flesh, at least not where I could see. In fact, she looked strangely normal that day, more normal, I would say, than really seemed possible, as though she’d cast a spell of normalcy that worked very, very well. Be that as it may.

I’ve assumed that the woman is a witch. She’s never told me so but that’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Maybe it’s all the opium I’ve been smoking, but she seems like a witch to me.

I wanted to discuss our success with the witch photos, for they had been extremely successful, more successful, I have to admit, than any other photos I’d ever taken. People really dug them. The conversation flowed naturally, my excitement feeding her excitement, bold ideas and brave ambitions flooded our heady senses.

But I really wanted to discuss the spell she had cast on me; I appreciated being released from her mesmeric grip, I was relieved to be free from an insistent obsession to watch her naked living flesh. My mind burst with questions I didn’t dare ask. I don’t know why I didn’t dare. You have to understand what it feels like to be in her presence. I’d never want to piss her off.

She could do it again. She could make it worse. She could destroy me. I know it. And I pressed on.

It was clear she was a dangerous companion but I like living near the edge, and, God help me, she attracted me.

Made bold by our success, I invited her to come by the studio, to take more shots, going through the motions, never dreaming she’d agree. This was clearly a world-class model and I’d been lucky to get one session with her. I felt sure she had work in London or Milan.

To my surprise, she said yes, proposed dates and times and made me promise to call her to firm up details. When she asked me what she should wear, she spoke with a wry smile that somehow told me that she had already decided for us. Now I’m not the kind of artist who easily hands over creative control of a project. I’m usually a dictatorial ass about these things, really. Not with her. I told her to wear whatever she wanted.

My mind immediately went to the details, the questions that needed to be decided before anything could happen but a look into her dark eyes silenced me. I will do what Simon says. The experience would unfold, I heard myself tell myself. I watched her walk away.

She was wearing jeans and t-shirt when she arrived at the appointed time. It wasn’t the kind of costume I was expecting but I resolved to make whatever she chose work for us. Then she laughed and told me that the costume was in her bag, that she thought walking around in classical witch regalia would draw too much attention. I told her that she didn’t know the neighborhood. She laughed.

She asked me about the backdrop and all the props we had. I told her that I put them away because I thought they were too cartoonish for the realism she brought to the role. She told me that was nonsense, that the environment helped to bring the witch out of her, cheezy though they were. I went to fetch the cauldron and broom while she changed into a witch.

As I gathered props, she yelled “crystal ball” from the other room and I added the large crystal sphere to my box of witch goodies. I hung my medieval forest backdrop and arranged the lights. As I turned to go and check on her progress, she entered the room.

Again, she transformed from ordinary young woman into a living, breathing witch, this time in long skirt, corset, cloak and brewer’s hat. I know it sounds trite but on her, the Halloween costume became somehow authentic. I believed she was a witch, although I had already come to believe that, but she looked the part. A pretty witch, no warts on a misshapen nose this one, but not a good witch. I could feel the bad energy surrounding her as she rearranged my props.

She suggested that I move one of the lights over and turn another one down and I did as she said, which is not the sort of thing I would usually do. I couldn’t help myself. I did as I was told. I stood behind the camera and watched as she adjusted her sleeve and then smiled.

I couldn’t take enough pictures. The camera could only respond so fast. I couldn’t capture every angle. I could only be one place at a time. I moved and shot, moved and shot. She twisted, turned, writhed and arched, every expression on her too lovely face contorted to perfect the passing expressions of a bona fide witch going through her courses. Not a moment of her modelling was unusable; I, or maybe it was the camera, seemed to know exactly when to shoot, always from a perfect angle with the light just so. Again, I wasn’t sure I was participating so much as being used. I felt like I was doing her bidding. The entirety of the art was hers.

The woman in the coffee shop was lovely; the dressed-up witch was stunning. Even so, as beautiful as she began, as she stripped away the layers of clothing, her beauty intensified; a flame became a fire became a conflagration became a raging inferno devouring a state’s forests and a visit to hell. That’s how pretty she was, stripping away her stockings, her panties, her bra. Pretty as hell if we can take my metaphor more literally than is usually the custom. Burning lava and brimstone blazing hot hot hot.

The series of photographs depict a woman in constant transformation, changing frame by frame, forcing perspectives and stretching muscles so that continuity in costume was the only thing connecting some captures. The long lean lines of a dancer’s legs would be seen plump and maternal seconds later. No one has ever questioned my use of a single model but I suspect it is because they assume there are hours between each take. I would have taken hours to accomplish the effect.

She didn’t hold back and the camera caught everything. I have seen as much of her as I could see of any woman, in a few hours, brief but intense.

They weren’t commissioned and I haven’t sold them yet. I don’t know if I want to, although I’m sure she expects her share, so I should. I don’t know. I don’t think I can. Nothing moves this time but I still can’t stop staring.

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