Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“I ran into Curtis the other day.”

“Curtis. How is he?”

“Doing well. Married. He asked me to sleep with his wife.”

“That was out of the blue.”

“Exactly. One minute we’re discussing mortgages and the next he blurts out that he’d like me to come over and fuck his wife.”

“Did you?”

“No. It tripped me out.”

“Is she a looker?”

“Oh yeah. Here I can show you. Curtis sent me some pics.”

“She’s married to Curtis?”

“I know, right?”

“What’s the context?”


“How did he want you to fuck his wife?”

“I don’t get you.”

“Well, where’s he when the fucking happens?”

“We didn’t go into the details.”

“He could be going away on business and you could be comforting her. He could be in the next room, yanking it while listening. Sitting in a chair, watching. Holding her hand, Doing her. Holding your hand. Crying. It’s all about context.”

“I’ve never thought about it. I never imagined guys wanting their wives fucked.”

“it’s probably not that common but among seven billion humans, everything happens lots.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Yeah. More than once.”

“It seems weird.”

“Sex is weird. People get off to weird things, some weirder than others. There’s lots of objectification and role playing. Part of sex is about getting what you want by being who you can, a compromise of fantasies.”

“How do you know?”

“You try to get some sense of the expectations and see if you can fit the scene in a way that works for you. A husband can be no factor, no deterrent, an enhancement or a total bar.”


“Find out if Curtis is bisexual. That makes a difference, to some.

“Yeah, I should have asked more questions.”

“He wouldn’t have had to ask me twice. Do you have Curtis’ number?”

“Fuck off.”

“Just asking. I think I have it.”

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Paint Job

Paint Job
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I was fired for reasons not entirely my fault. Be that as it was, I found myself without income and a fairly aggressive debt schedule. I had to find a job quickly. I started calling up the people I knew.

Nothing was helping until I found the number of a friend I hadn’t seen in several years. He was unconventional, to say the least, but rather successful at it. I couldn’t be sure he’d remember me but I didn’t have anything left to lose.

I called him and he remembered me. I told him my troubles and he offered to help. The job he had in mind wouldn’t start for a few weeks, which was a problem for me, or more particularly, for my creditors. I told him so. He asked me if I could paint houses. I told him I could. He asked me to paint his house.

I arrived bright and early at his house, a plush joint in a gorgeous neighborhood. I was suddenly intimidated, not so much by the success but by the sheer square footage of the houses. I could paint but some jobs are too big for one man, alone. I hoped for the best and rang the bell.

His wife answered the door. A few years younger than me, she looked beautiful. She was kind. They only wanted three small bedrooms painted. She knew it wouldn’t take me three weeks to paint the rooms but she promised to find some other work for me, to keep my bills paid. Her husband had filled her in fully on my situation.

Maybe he knew I was dying of horny. I have a feeling he was the kind of guy who would notice.

She was wearing a low cut blouse and some high cut shorts. My bulge tested my jeans. I knew I was going to have a hard time concentrating on my work. She came in with a clipboard and started to speak formally, like a supervisor at a morning pow-wow.

“I’ll assign your tasks for the day. Get the job done. No funny business. When I’m happy with what you’ve done, we’ll quit for the day. I’ll pour you a drink and we’ll get to know each other. But you keep working until I’m completely satisfied.”

I told her I understood, ma’am, taking my cue to react like a guy on the job. She smiled and became the warm woman she had been at the door. She put a hand on my arm.

“Sometimes, things are going to get hard. You have to play by the rules.”

I smiled and agreed and then, all at once, in a half-second or less, she tugged at her shirt and deliberately flashed her left nipple. Smiling wide, she left me to my task. I went to fetch the tools and paint from the garage. The time flew by.

She brought me lunch and sat with me as I ate, talking. She’d changed into a sundress that was more provocative than the shorts, if only because it seemed more innocent but was rife with teasing peeks. She was smarter than I expected, for whatever stupid prejudicial reason I didn’t expect her to be intelligent. She seemed to readily understand things that no one has ever understood about me. I began to be envious of my friend, coveting his wife’s ass and all that.

I did an especially good job, painting the room. It wasn’t very large and so I made doubly sure everything was done right. I could have finished about noon but it was nearly four when I told her it was finished.

“Not til I’m satisfied,” she said.

She inspected the room thoroughly and seemed surprise to find it done so well.

“You’ve done well. I’m quite impressed. There aren’t many people who can perform at that level.”

I assured her that I was one of those people, who can perform, at that level.

“Let’s have that drink,” she said and led me to her bar. I don’t know what she fixed me. I had worked up a thirst.

We talked and drank and talked and drank. She is a very pleasant person to talk to. My friend understood my situation and had explained it to her well. She told me that she and my friend were swingers and enjoyed sex recreationally. It all had to be done for fun and condoms were mandatory. Who was I to disagree?

Soon I’m kissing this attractive woman, her nipple against one palm, her ass squeezed by my other. The first time was a swirl of lust, her sucking my dick, spreading her legs wide, slipping in from behind, lying together, everything I needed in every way I could imagine.

I went home and got some sleep. I was back at work bright and early.


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Old Road

Old Road
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Evan smiled as he waited for the red light to change. The grey interior of the rental car smelled of vinyl, plastic and carpet, the sharp twang of a brand new automobile. Evan liked the distinctive aroma of newness, even when the odometer had already clocked seven thousand miles and the smell had come from a spray can. A map lay folded on the passenger seat. Evan watched the white headlights streaming toward him in the cross traffic and the red cascade as they drove past the intersection.

“Chambers Road didn’t used to have nearly this much traffic,” he said. Evan checked his watch. The meetings at the factory had lasted too long for his taste. He felt bad, leaving Ray and Greg on their own. Evan looked up the Pike, as the road faded beneath the dark shadows of overhanging elms. He’d pointed the guys toward the hot spots, and that would have to do. The light turned green. Evan pushed the accelerator and the car leapt forward.

The Pike lead through some of the old suburbs, and Evan watched familiar houses passing by in the dark, reading the names as the small green street signs were illuminated for a moment by his headlights.

“Ash,” he said, looking quickly down the dark road for a tall white Victorian. “Jack’s,” he said, although he didn’t quite see the house he’d looked for. “Birch,” he recited. “Cary Ann’s.” Evan grinned. “Walnut. The Broger twins.” The Pike turned and slipped down a long hill. New developments filled spaces that Evan remembered as open fields with clusters of houses and young trees. “Jesus,” said Evan. “I’ll bet Whisker’s Pond is gone.”

The old road straightened and narrowed as the town lights surrendered their faint opposition of the night. Evan glided familiarly along the asphalt, between the golden glow of the center line and a dash of white. Warehouses, long featureless buildings stood shrouded in a protective blanket of light, filling a few miles on the left. “Bragg’s farm,” said Evan, shaking his head.

Evan slowed as bright red lights suddenly erupted in the empty darkness, the lever arms of warning gates descending to stop him in the middle of nowhere. Evan smiled, gripping the wheel, and leaned forward to look down the tracks. A faint white light approached rapidly from the distance, growing brighter as the ground began to rumble. “Some things never change,” said Evan, looking at his watch. “The nine-forty-three.” The big Santa Fe engines shook the car as they roared past with a burst of their whistles.


The last car of the long train flew past with a rattle and the gates lifted and dimmed, opening the road to the darkness. Evan pushed the gas pedal down and the car slowly shuddered over the twin pairs of railroad tracks. Evan picked up speed and rolled thoughtlessly along a path he had driven a thousand times before.

A tall pole held the yellowed sign high above the gravel parking lot. “Racks,” said Evan. His heart pounded a strong steady beat as his tires bit into the grey rocks. Two tall pickups sat in the east end of the lot. A half dozen cars lined the west side. Evan pulled up beside the trucks and pushed the gear lever up. He took a deep breath and smiled. “How many times have I done this?” he said. Evan reached for the key, but the car refused to let go. He jiggled and twisted the round plastic head. It wouldn’t budge. Evan turned on the dome light and searched the steering column until he found a button. The key popped out, easily. Evan shook his head and stepped out of the rental car. The door closed with a gentle click, despite the energetic shove Evan had given it.

His shoes kicked the small bits of gravel as Evan slowly approached the building. The neon sign over the door buzzed, same as ever, and the small dark windows had the same dirty sheen. Evan pulled open the chrome and glass door and stepped into his old haunt.

“Sir,” a young woman said, looking up in surprise. “I’m sorry, but the kitchen is about to close.” Evan looked around. The room was filled with tables, each covered with a white tablecloth, folded napkins and the flickering light of a candle.

“Wow,” said Evan. “A restaurant?”

“Sure,” said the hostess. “If you want something simple, I might be able to talk the cook into it.”

“No,” said Evan, looking for signs of the bar he once knew. “Could I just get a beer and sit for a while?”

“No problem,” said the hostess. “You want to sit at the bar or would you like a table?”

“Where’s the bar?” Evan asked.

“Back along that wall,” said the hostess. Evan walked around a tall potted palm and caught a glimpse of the heavy wooden bar that had once reigned in the center. Evan smiled as he saw the scratched brass fittings and faded stain at the waitress station.

“Can I sit over at that table in the corner?” asked Evan. The hostess smiled at the older man and shrugged her shoulders.

“Suit yourself. I’ll tell Deb. She’ll take your order.”

“Thanks,” Evan said and he wandered over to the back corner

of the place. Some of the old signs were still on the wall, the tin plates and even the old wagon wheel. Evan pulled out a chair and sat down.

Evan shook his head as he witnessed the changes that had overtaken his memories. “I guess I should have known it wouldn’t be the same. Hell, nothing else is. Fifteen years is a long time.”

Despite the years, regardless of how many things had changed, as Evan leaned back in the corner, he could still see the old Racks, could still place every bit of the old watering hole. More than that, he could remember sitting there, watching Sam work. Lifting his beer, his eyes glued to the sight of her backside, round and firm beneath the tie of her green apron, perfectly defined in faded blue jeans, hinted at in skirts drifting down to reveal Sam’s muscular legs.

“Oh, Samantha,” Evan said quietly. “I even hoped you might be here.”

“Hello,” said a woman in a white shirt and black skirt, a few strands of her pale blonde hair falling down her cheek. “What can I get you? Kitchen’s closed, but I could probably wrangle something up.”

“Can I get a draught, Bud or something?” Evan looked up to see the simple joy in the woman’s blue eyes.

“Easy as pie,” said the woman. Evan watched as she walked toward the bar, drinking up the saucy sway of her full hips. He remembered watching Sam lift the board as she went behind the bar to put away the clean glasses, after closing, while Evan told her his tales of work and gossip and dreams. Sam had always listened attentively, even while she was wiping up the tables or sweeping the floor. Evan looked at the planks. How many times, he wondered, had he swept these boards, for Sam?

Glasses clinked and the woman pulled back the red handle to fill his beer. Evan couldn’t help remembering the night Sam had sat down on the bar, complaining about all the serving she did and how no one ever did anything for her. Evan had sat himself down on a bar stool, nearby, sympathetic, but hurt that Sam didn’t think he did anything for her. Sam laid back on the smooth varnished bar and Evan had been sorely tempted to touch the soft curve of her full tits held in white cotton just a few inches away. Sam had turned and caught him staring at her boobs and she laughed. Evan could still feel the blush he’d felt.

“Hmm,” Sam said, sitting up and twirling round. She draped her lean legs over the side of the bar. Evan sat mesmerized by the swatch of black panty dotted with crimson flowers nestled between her thighs. Sam put her feet on the brass rail and lifted her butt so she

could scoot the panties out from under her. Evan opened his eyes wide as she slipped them down her legs and he gazed for the first time at her pretty blonde pussy. Sam shoved the panties into his pocket.

“Kitchen’s closed,” she had said, “but maybe I can still get you something to eat.” Evan had pulled her closer and Sam lay back on the bar, her legs draped over his shoulders. He’d kissed her damp lips eagerly, tickling her clit until she came and then again.

“Here you go,” said the waitress, putting the beer on the table. “Two bucks,” she said. Evan reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing the money into her pocket.

Evan watched her as she walked over to the jukebox, the same old neon contraption, or pretty much like it. A lively tune, unfamiliar to Evan, burst from the hidden speakers. “Yeah,” said Evan to himself, “bad music never changes.” The shapely waitress started lifting chairs onto the tables. He had done that, too, for Sam, while she was washing dishes. “The pool table used to be there, though,” he said aloud.

He remembered one night when the jukebox had been blaring through the closed bar. Sam had always liked to turn up the volume after Jack left. Evan wondered if Jack still owned the place. Sam had made a small fortune that night in tips and she had been bursting with excitement. Evan lifted chairs, while Sam sang the popular tune at the top of her lungs and began dancing. Evan had stopped to watch her, and Sam had jumped up on the pool table. Barefoot. Evan stood below, smiling giddily. Sam looked down at him, mischievously, and began lifting her skirt, showing off her white lace panties. Evan’s grin grew. Sam had teased him with bawdy glimpses and then in a giggle, she peeled off her t-shirt and shook her heavy tits. A cream bra strap fell from her shoulder and Sam reached back to unfasten the garment. Evan had stood, amazed, as Sam pranced topless on the pool table.

And she hadn’t stopped there. Sam twirled, bouncing her boobs, teasing her nipples, squeezing them with enthusiastic squeals. Evan remembered standing there, drop jawed as Sam pushed down her skirt and panties to dance naked, her golden pussy glittering moist between swollen lips, her bottom shaking to the beat. When the song finally ended, Sam had collapsed onto the table. Finally sitting up, flush and beaming, she spread her legs wide and had said, “So, anyone up for some pool?” Evan had been glad to oblige.

The beer was warm and slightly unpleasant as Evan drank it down. So many things, he thought, have changed. He wondered how he’d let them slip away.


“Everything all right?” asked the waitress, as her chair turning brought her near.

“Yeah,” said Evan. “I’m just crying in my beer.” The waitress smiled sympathetically and leaned against a pine beam.

“That’ll ruin a good brew,” she said. Evan lifted the almost empty mug.

“Couldn’t hurt this one,” he said with a wink. “I used to hang out here, about fifteen years ago.”

“No kidding.”

“Jack still own this place?” Evan leaned forward.

“Stevens?” she asked. “No one ever told me his first name.”

“No,” said Evan.

“Mr. Steven’s has owned it as long as I’ve been here.”

“Did you ever know a woman named Samantha? Sam?”

“Nope,” said the waitress. “Can’t say I have.”

“She used to work here.”

“I guess a lot of people have worked here since then.”

“Yeah,” said Evan. “Can I buy you a drink?” The waitress smiled.

“Not in this dump. If you hang around while I close, maybe we can go and get a drink at the Oasis or the Marquis. They’re back in town.”

“Yeah, I know.” said Evan. “Sure.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. “It’ll be about twenty minutes. Can I get you another beer?”

“Nah,” said Evan, standing up. “Give me a broom.”


“It may be a new car,” he said with a grin, “but we’re driving an old road.”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Come on,” said Kathryn, “we’re almost there.” The young man she held upright as they stumbled slowly along the hallway muttered incoherently, and groaned. Plodding steps brought them finally to the apartment door. Kathryn heaved Brian against the wall and tried the door knob. It turned easily and Kathryn sighed. She pulled his arm across her shoulder and pulled him into the dark.

“It’s a good thing you’re so skinny,” she said, leading him down the barely lit hall toward his bedroom. She pushed his door open with a shove of her hip and with a final effort pulled him into the darkness. Catching her foot, she tripped and fell onto the crumpled surface of his bed, pulling her drunken charge on top of her. Brian mumbled, groping at Kathryn’s thigh.

“Not tonight, big boy,” she said, shoving him over and bouncing out of bed. She leaned against the door frame. “If you’d stayed sober, we might have . . . ” Brian shifted to hold onto his pillow and moaned. “You’re right,” said Kathryn, smiling. “Not even then.”

She closed his door and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light. The harsh white radiance made her blink as she sat down to pee. Kathryn shook her head, relaxed by the release. “I should have known he was getting romantic about me again,” she said. “I should have put an end to it before he started drinking.” Kathryn stood and looking in the mirror, teased her hair. “One o’clock,” she said. “Too late to go back out, really.” She shoved her brush back into her purse and flicked off the light.

Cast a glance back at Brian’s door, she let herself play with a naughty thought. “He wouldn’t even know,” she mused but shrugged her shoulders and headed back toward the yellow beacon of the still open front door. Taking hold of the knob, she stepped into the hallway, but a glance back into the apartment caught her attention. Someone slept on the sofa. Curiosity mixed with boredom and she stepped back inside. A young man lay stretched out, his dark curls propped up on the near arm, his feet pressed hard against the far.

Kathryn stepped over to take a better look. Although his face hid in the shadows, she felt a strong attraction to his slumbering features. She paused a while to stare, admiring his handsome visage at her leisure.

“What a dish,” she said gaily to herself. Thinking of Brian passed out in the other room, she leaned close to the man’s face, smelling his faint breath. “And not even drunk,” she said. Kathryn kissed his lips, lightly. A smile glimmered across his face. “Mmm,” she said with a shiver.

Kathryn stood back a moment, pondering, feasting her senses on the strong youth. Her nerves trembled as her imagination rollicked over the lean limbs and firm jaw. She reached for the light just behind his head and carefully unscrewed the bulb, turning it slowly until it fell loose into her hand. She put the glass piece down on the end table, where it rolled silently from side to side. Kathryn went back over to the front door and put her purse down on the floor.

“I’ve just got to,” she said, and lifting up her suede skirt, she took hold of her black lace panties and pushed them down her thighs, past her feet and dropped them into the open top of her purse. She slowly closed the apartment door, bathing the room in darkness.

After taking six careful steps forward, Kathryn felt for the floor as she went down on her knees. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the blackness until the dim outline of the sofa finally took shape before her. She crawled to the center of the sofa and carefully brought her hands to the cushion. Gently searching, she found the thick curved surface of his legs and with gentle, easy strokes, she located the bulge she’d hoped to find.

Softly running her fingers up and down the undefined lump of flesh, Kathryn evoked a shifting response that thickened the mass. She teased the place cautiously. A rigidness evolved as she followed the natural line, until a hard rod had developed. “Mmm,” she purred, and finding a cord, she gently pulled. The sweatpants fell loose. Kathryn slowly uncovered the stiff cock. Pale light from the window reflected off the dark flesh. Lifting the pole slightly with her warm fingers, Kathryn took the head, slightly salty, into her waiting mouth.

The young man moaned and stiffened, pushing his prick deeper into her wetness. “Oh, Angie,” he muttered, putting a hand on her shoulder. Kathryn smiled broadly and tickled his dick with her tongue.

“Hey,” he said, shaking his head. “Who are you?”

“Meow,” Kathryn said, licking the tip of his cock.

“Pretty kitty,” he said laughing, running his hand through her hair, ashen in the pale light.

Kathryn sucked his prick with a hungry rhythm, suddenly realizing that the faint shadows of this young man reminded her of another time, another night. He had the same dark curls and she had kissed him in the black of night.

“Come on,” she had said to the youth, taking his hand and dashing them both through the hedge and away from their friends. He followed tittering with glee as they ran down the hill and into a nearby field. The others kept on walking the other direction, oblivious to their escape. “Over here,” she had said and flopped them both down in the tall grass.

The clouds were thick that night and she could hardly see him as he leaned over to kiss her, to drink those sweet innocent lips with the first bursts of passion that had been welling in her soul. Kathryn had wanted him, felt his hand on the tense swell of her breast, felt the press of his thigh over hers.

A flash of lightning revealed the hunger in his eyes. The boom of thunder in the distance and the voice of their worried friends drove the youth from her clinging embrace. They had run back toward the car as the rain began to fall.

Kathryn smiled nostalgic as she sucked another young cock, anxious to drink up the young man’s lusty flow. A rogue hand lifted her skirt, kneading the uplifted flesh of her ass, and she leapt with a sudden shock as a finger grazed her wet lips.

“Hurry,” she said, turning around to let his fingers tease her swollen pussy. “Please fuck me.” He slipped from the sofa, behind her, and taking hold of her waist pushed himself into the fiery storm of her cunt. Kathryn moaned, the heat of his rhythmic prodding welling higher with each fierce stroke.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, as he drove himself deep, as she felt his love coming. He yelled at the sight of her pale ass below and she shuddered from within as thunder announced the breaking storm.

The young man fell away, sitting back on the dark sofa. Kathryn leaned forward to kiss the young man.

“God, that was beautiful,” she said. He reached up to turn on the light. Kathryn stood. Rain began to patter on the window panes.

“Wait,” he said, turning the switch in a rapid series of clicks. Kathryn opened the door, pulled down her skirt, picked up her purse and blowing him a kiss, vanished into another stormy night.

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

The door lurched open as Stephanie reached for the knob.

“Well?” said Liz, excitedly pulling her friend inside her apartment.

“I got it,” said Steph, breathing hard and holding up the small grey camera. Liz grabbed the offered device and dashed down to hall. Steph leaned over, putting her hands on her knees and smiling while she tried to steady her racing heartbeat. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Well, let’s hope it wasn’t in vain,” said Liz, pulling cords from behind her entertainment center. “Tell me what happened.”

Stephanie turned the corner and stepped into the kitchen. “I need a beer,” she called out.

“In the fridge,” said Liz, tracing a line and then plugging a cord into the video camera.

“Mark took off for Syracuse at four and just as he was ready to drive off, I suddenly told him that I’d left my notebook up in the apartment. He gave me one of those looks, like he was in a hurry and what was I doing to his schedule and he started to head back into the building, but I smiled and told him just to give me his key and that he could just drop by my place on his way back Sunday.”

“Sounds good,” said Liz, her head pressed against the wall as she reached behind the console to make a connection.

“So I let myself in their apartment and put it right next to the mail.” Stephanie pulled a video tape from her purse.

“You even recovered the evidence?” asked Liz, smiling. “Excellent.”

“I had to. I want to save it for Mark’s birthday.”

Liz laughed. “You’re so sweet.”

“Besides, I don’t even want to imagine what Rick would have done with it. Given copies to all his buddies, probably. Anyway, I had the hiding place picked out, and with two hours to myself, I made a few adjustments to help make the mission more successful.”

“All right. Now all we have to do is rewind the tape.” Liz stepped back while the camera whirred. “Let me get a beer and we’ll see what we got.” Steph followed her friend into the kitchen.

“Rick came home about six and putzed around for a while. I watched him from the corner of the room, nestled in behind some boxes. Finally, he stopped at the dining room table and looked through the mail. When he put the bills down, he picked up the video. I started taping then. I thought it made a good introduction.”

“Mmm, aren’t you quite the artiste,” said Liz, plopping herself down on the sofa and aiming the remote toward the equipment to begin the playback.

The television screen sparkled and wavered before fixing on the image of a young man standing next to a glass table, leafing through an assortment of letters. Rick pushed a strand of sandy hair out of his face as he frowned at the bills. Casually tossing the envelopes over the smooth tabletop, Rick reached over to pick up a video cassette. He turned the white label up so he could see what it said.

“To Mark, XXX,” Rick read, laughing. “Hello, nurse!”

“Ooh, he’s such a prick,” said Liz.

“As we shall clearly see,” said Stephanie, taking the space beside her friend.

Rick grinned lasciviously as the camera followed his short walk over to the television.

“He didn’t even hesitate,” said Liz, excitedly.

“I told you he wouldn’t.”

The television within glowed warm and Rick smirked as he found himself watching Stephanie, dancing in a short skirt and leotard.

“Mark, you lucky bastard,” Rick said, turning off the tape player.

“What?” asked Liz, bouncing on the sofa. “Where’s Prick going?”

“Just wait,” said Stephanie. “Big Ricky wouldn’t disappoint us.”

Rick reappeared with a plastic bottle in his hand.

“What’s that?” asked Liz, leaning forward to try and read the label.

“I think it’s baby oil,” said Stephanie, giggling. “Rick intends to watch our tape in style.”

“Ooh,” moaned Liz as Rick unzipped his black trousers and pushed them into a heap on the floor. His cotton briefs quickly followed. Rick turned, adjusting the pillows. Liz squealed. “God, but I love that ass!”

“Mmm,” said Stephanie, refusing to let her gaze wander.

“C’mon, Rick,” Liz called out. “Take off the shirt.” Rick picked up a remote control and sat down on the sofa. He lifted his shirt up over his head. “Yes!” said Liz. “That’s my boy.”

Rick leaned back and watched, grinning as Stephanie’s image danced on the screen before him. The camera’s view of Rick zoomed in to take a closer look at the dark staff lying restless in his lap. The slender serpent shifted and slowly thickened as muffled dance music churned in the background. Rick teased his cock playfully, extending its length with faint, familiar touches.

“Oh,” said Liz, “this is incredible. I can’t believe it.”

“I was holding my breath, watching him,” said Stephanie. “I was so afraid I was going to knock the boxes over.”

The view receded, showing Rick sitting naked with a rigid dick. His chest muscles tightened slightly and he thrust his pelvis up. The cock strained and his dark, hairy balls surged.

“I think he likes you, Steph,” said Liz, giggling.

The camera turned to check out the image on the television. A vision of Stephanie’s bold teasing came into focus as she slipped the cranberry leotard from her shoulders, bringing her bare white breasts into view. The camera quickly turned back to Rick. He squirted a large pool of shimmering oil into his hand and ran the juice over his hard prick.

“Steph,” Rick said, rubbing himself furiously, “what pretty titties you have. Oh. Show me those nipples, girl.”

“What a prick,” said Stephanie, short of breath.

“Oh,” said Liz, her fingers working her way under her short skirt, “what a fine, fine dick.” Rick slowed his pace, tickling the length with his fingertips as he watched the image before him intently.

“I’ll bet this is where you started showing me your . . . ?”

“Yes,” said Stephanie, fingering herself, mesmerized by the naked dick on the television screen. “He’s watching me . . .”

“Oh, this is just wicked,” said Liz, her face flush. “I can’t stand it any more.” She lifted her bottom and pulled off her black and pink flowered panties. Steph glanced over to watch Liz spread her creamy thighs and rub her fingers madly around her glistening wet cunt. Stephanie shuddered slightly and then pulled down her own damp panties. An electric current ran through her when she touched her burning clit.

Rick stroked his dick fast and bit his lip.

“Oh, you fucking bitch,” he said, angrily. “I’d make you suck me with that pretty kiss. I can’t believe how hot you are. C’mon, show me your cunt. That’s right, Steph. Tease that little clitty for me.” Rick savagely stroked his turgid cock.

“Wow, Steph, you had him going,” said Liz.

“He had me going. Can you hear me breathing on the tape? I was going wild, crouched behind those boxes, doing myself just like this, watching him wave that nasty thing.”

“Yeah. Show me your big ass, Steph,” Rick commanded. “Man o’ man I’d sure put that pussy to good use, little girl. Tell me you want it. Oh, yes.”

“I couldn’t believe how hot you were, showing me your stuff like that . You are such a bad girl.” Liz twitched slightly as she spoke.

“I couldn’t help it,” said Steph. “I wanted to get him hot.”

“Hot,” said Liz, lifting her bottom while rubbing her cunny.

“Steph, I’m gonna give it to you,” Rick moaned. He stiffened and trembled slightly, stroking awkwardly. Thick white spurts shot from the tip of his throbbing prick, spraying over his chest and belly. “Ah,” Rick moaned. The camera closed in to fill the television with the last shudders of his dripping stick.

“Yes,” screamed Liz, delightedly. “Encore!”

“Oh, man, I need a fuck,” moaned Stephanie, laughing.

“What happened after that?” Liz asked as the screen went grey with static.

“He went back into the bathroom. When I heard the water running, I jumped out of my hiding spot, hit the eject button, grabbed the tape and slipped out of the apartment.”

“Did he come after you?”

“I never looked back. I just ran until I reached my car and then drove.”

“Wow,” said Liz. “What do we do now?”

“Call Rick,” said Steph. “I think we owe him a party.”

“Yeah,” said Liz. “Give me the phone. I’ll ask him if wants to help us make another tape.” Stephanie laughed.

“I’ll bet he will. He’s such a prick.”

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Slow Ride

Slow Ride
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I was almost late for work when I rushed to catch the elevator and squeezed myself into the mass of humanity within. It was just after the new year, when new directives, new programs and new protocols were in effect. I didn’t dare be late. People were watching me.

I work in a tall building, near the top floor and a glance at the control panel confirmed my worst fear; the slow elevator would be stopping at nearly every floor on the way, discharging one or two passengers and then waiting an unexplainably long period of time before the doors closed again. I checked my watch, sighed and then resigned myself. The elevator would go only as fast as the elevator would go. I was a prisoner of my fate.

At the first stop there was jostling as people near the back pushed forward to leave when the door opened. I turned around as I let someone past to see if anyone else behind me would be wanting out and looking to move back since I was in for the long haul.

First I saw Jessica. Then I saw Max. Some strangers chatted about their weekend but we were dead silent. No one dared to look anywhere. We immersed ourselves in thought.

The last time I saw Jessica and Max was at our company holiday party. I walked in on them, in the coat alcove, half naked and fully guilty. I know her husband and I know his wife and they all know each other. We’ve all known each other nearly ten years now. Maybe this had been going on longer but I had no idea. My first reaction was pure shock.

I had never seen Jessica naked. She’s a very attractive woman by any standard and I’d many times admired her curves and cleavage and legs and smile and occasionally fantasized about the charms she hid fairly well. Until that day, when everything she still wore had been pushed aside, uncovering breasts and nipples and bottom and cunt. My view of them lasted maybe eight seconds. The image is burned into my memory forever.

Sometimes our memory invents lots of details to fill in the things we didn’t really see, so it is possible that I’m remembering Jessica naked as prettier than she really is but, honestly, who cares. In my mind, she’s a first rate bird and I’ll forever live in awe. I don’t think that will affect our work relationship but who can tell and how could it not. We shall see, I guess.

At the second floor, another passenger gets off and I move as far away from my coworkers as I can, instinctively distancing myself from their problem. I saw it as their problem. I wasn’t fucking in the coat closet.

I’d seen Max naked before, changing for swimming and the lot, so that wasn’t as much of a shock although I’d certainly never thought I’d be seeing him on the job. The memory of his buttocks thrusting into our esteemed coworker is proving hard to shake. Some parts I’d really rather not remember but they’re stuck in my mind nonetheless. Damn them.

At the third floor, three people got off and it became difficult to avoid eye contact. Both Max and Jessica soon looked down at their shoes. It seemed the best course of action, so I copied their approach to being completely uncommunicative.

I wished for a moment that I wasn’t there, not simply to avoid the awkward ride but because I felt sure these two adulterers had some talking to do and limited opportunity. Unless they had already had the conversations, on the sly over the holidays, when spouses were simultaneously out of the house or something. What were they up to? I felt like I didn’t even know them any more.

Was it a drunken bang in a mad impulse when a stroke of privacy overcame their already eroded morality? Had they been carrying on for months, behind our backs, secretly meeting and putting cock to cunt while we let ourselves be fooled by their cool demeanors. Days or years?

Another floor, another passenger disembarks and the tension in the air gets tight.

By this time, I had become suspicious of everything I knew. How did they behave at the party before this happened? Did they act too warm or too cold at the office? Were they staying late, coming early, taking long lunches? Sporadic memories left me with an infinity of theories.

Finally, it was just the three of us and staring at our shoes didn’t seem to work any more. I looked at her and she looked at him and he … we looked at each other for a split second, let our eyes wander and focused again.

It occurred to me that they might take revenge on me, witness to their crime. I wouldn’t have thought so but I wouldn’t have thought Jessica would be bare breasted and wet when I went to get my coat. I didn’t think I had anything to fear but I didn’t know either.

I felt sure the best thing for everyone was to pretend it didn’t happen. They were too drunk and it wouldn’t happen again. That would be the easy way. I could only hope.

I looked up again and Jessica caught my eye with a smile. The aroma of musk filled the elevator.

“I’m thinking threesome,” she said. “Anyone else?”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“You almost done? Everyone’s gone.”

“Almost. Five more minutes. Wait for me?”

“Sure.” He dropped his bag and slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall. “What are you working on?”

“It’s a piece for Jerri.”

“For a show?”

“I don’t know. He’s working with a new composer.”

“Straighten your leg.”

“Thanks.” She walked over to the piano and restarted the music.

“I can’t get those reaches right, near the end.”

“Keep on,” he said. “You’ll get it.

He watched her as she danced, seeing her as he rarely did, isolated and up close, dancing for herself, unconscious of even his gaze, inwardly focused to bring out the sequence as choreographed. Beauty amplified under the microscope of isolation, the look of her, stretching and reaching, thighs, stomach, arms, fingers, beyond the pale, into the light.

They’d been in the company together for more than three years but he’d known her longer than that, he reflected. When they first met, she was a stick of a girl, still awkward and stiff but pretty in a way that was disconcerting, like she wasn’t real, almost. Beauty isn’t uncommon among dancers; there is a standard, normal kind of excellence and there was an interesting in the almost perfect flawed sort. She represented neither, just beautiful with a golden glow of grace.

When she went to the piano to restart the music, he moved to the piano bench to take over those duties, so she could dance.

A turn suddenly made him aware of her left nipple, a slight bulge and darkening of her thinly stretched leotard. Following the gentle swell of her breast through the movements became a mesmerizing pattern of lifting, swooping, falling into a delicate weightiness, rising as a breath, descending in a spiral of sweet passion.



The line of her stomach stretched and stretched, pulling tight slowly until it released, crunched into shallow waves of spandex hugging her writhing torso. Through his eyes he could feel his hand running along the lean lines, supporting and guiding and feeling, softly feeling with the turn of her body through his hands and into his arms. He shifted on the piano bench.


She bent to the ground, flexible as a human can be, the elegant sphere of her well-toned bottom raised high, higher, leaping to float across the space, mirror reflecting mirror reflecting the incredible undulations of her flesh, spreading, exposing, her lean thighs fading into her round buttocks as her loins bulged barely contained by the strained spandex cloth.

“Again?” he asked as she collapsed to the floor.

“I hate this piece,” she said. “I hate it so much. I know, I know, I’ll love it in the morning but for right now I want it on the record that I hate this piece.”

“Duly noted.”

She picked up her bag, turned to him and curtseyed. “Thank you for waiting and thank you for helping.” She smiled, noticing the erection in his shorts.

He bowed slightly. “And thank you.”


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