Breaking Up is Hard

Breaking Up Is Hard
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Note: I wrote this almost three years ago. Seems like yesterday.

Fiction is made up stuff. This tale is fiction. I’m serious, Mark. I made this up. . . .except the part where I called you a fool. That part is true. You were a damn fool.


As the floundering ship sank, I was pulled into the whirlpool.

I’m almost embarrassed I let it happen, and yet all things considered, I won’t complain about the turn of events. Life sometimes makes things happen that maybe ought to happen, and I don’t know that we have all that much say in the matter.

Normally, I would have saved a story of my love life for a night on the town with my best friend, Mark, instead of blabbing the whole thing to the fictional underworld, but under these particular circumstances there are advantages to confessing to an anonymous crowd.

It was a Friday, and I was wrapping things up in the office, pulling a few more documents to check over, writing my initials a few more times, and dodging two of the clerks who were working in tandem trying to tag me with a dog case. The phone rang and I hesitated, not really anxious to open another can of worms, but there was still thirty minutes to kill, and there was always the chance it was a personal call. I had no plans for the evening, and was hoping that would accidentally fix itself. Accidents happen.

“Steve Kahl,” I said, trying to sound busy, just in case.

“Hi, Steve,” she said. It was a sad sultry voice that sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “This is Karen.”

Six weeks ago, my best friend Mark broke off a long term relationship with Karen. I liked her – I always had – but Mark had a penchant for roving after young women, and as the lies got thicker and the excuses got lamer, I started advising him to stop being stupid, get it over with and break things off with Karen. I knew I should have minded my own business, but if you can’t meddle in your friend’s life, when are you ever going to get a chance?

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“No, I’m just wrapping things up.”

“I mean tonight. I really need someone to talk to.”

“Look, Karen, ” I said, proving I had some loyalty, “I don’t think that would be such a good idea. Mark is a close friend, and . . .”

“I know,” she said sorrowfully, “I don’t want to cause any trouble. It’s just that I’ve always considered you a pretty good friend myself, and I just thought maybe you could help me understand everything that’s happened.”

I know I should have said “no” and let her find another way to cope with my wayward friend’s poor taste. I could easily come up with a dozen reasons to keep myself from this denizen of trouble. But I’ve never been one to walk away from a hornet’s nest, especially when it had so much potential to blow up in my face, especially when it involved an attractive woman looking for a sympathetic shoulder. I’m not a good person, but I live a rich life.

I held my breath when I rang the doorbell. Footsteps preceded the shift of wood, and Karen stood in the doorway, demure and alluring, her eyes alight with mischief, and a barely audible “Hello, Steven,” on her lips.

When I had first met Karen nearly ten years before, she had been as thin as a wisp, strung out on reefer and Bowie. Time had served her well, as a few extra pounds helped her from the junkie look into something a tad more feminine. Dark eyes drew me into the apartment, and soft hips neatly captured in a jean skirt sat me down on a sofa. A drink appeared in my hand and a thick joint touched her red lips.

“I’m tired of trying to hold myself back.”

“That’s good,” I said weakly, wondering how far my moral obligations of friendship ran. Karen tossed her thick mane of dark brown hair into a unkempt mess around her pretty, round face.

“Mark treated me shitty,” she said carelessly. “We both know it.”

“He is who he is – you knew that – and he only did what is natural for someone like him. Look at his dad; like father, like son, they say.” I said, my eyes caught staring behind the top button of her white cotton blouse, into the deep cavern of cleavage.

“You’re his friend and I respect that, but I also know you did your best to make him treat me better.”

“You deserved better,” I said truthfully, somehow feeling I had fallen into a trap. I made no effort to free myself and she passed me the thick piece of weed. I took a deep drag, and watched the slow spread of her thighs, waiting for that first glimmer of panty. She stopped just shy, and stood up.

“Did you know he wouldn’t fuck me?” She swayed to the slow mambo of a soulful Santana song.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I think he told me every time you two had sex. You know Mark. He loved guy talk.” I blushed, remembering the intimacy I had witnessed by hearsay. “I know it’s a little twisted, but I really liked those particular stories. And I gathered the shop had closed when he never mentioned doing it with you anymore.”

“I couldn’t even get a rise out of him, toward the end. I guess the other girls we’re wearing him out.”

“He’s always been a bit of a fool.” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt, an emotion which was quickly washed away as Karen undid the top button of her blouse.

“Once I even dolled up real nice for him, playing the tramp because I was getting so goddam horny, and do know what he did? He looked up from his fishing magazine, rolled his eyes and told me he was tired. I thought I looked great.” Karen lifted her skirt and whirled her ass, a round bulb of creamy flesh covered in baby-blue lace, swirling before my eyes in a hypnotic circular motion.

“He told me. I smacked him upside the head when he told me that story.”

“Did you? I’m surprised he told you. He should have been ashamed. I guess he did tell you everything. Hell of a lot more than he ever told me.”

“I haven’t been able to get rid of the image since.”

“What image?”

“Of you in a white lace teddy with garters and stockings, lips dark and sensuous, eyes burning with a gleam of lust.”

“Steve.” She spoke low. “You’ve been thinking of me, dressed like that, ever since?”

“Yeah,” I told her with an embarrassed grin.

“Well . . .”

Karen took hold of her shirt front and ripped it apart, sending tiny white button flying across the room. Her breasts, round and full like two Florida oranges, jutted toward me, eagerly, almost menacing me with the sharp nubs of hard, dark nipples. I reached out my hand and gave her full left tit a squeeze. The fruit felt ripe, and I drew it into my hungry mouth. A glimmer of perspiration tasted salty as I suckled her warm bosom.

“I’ve been a fool,” she said between soft moans. I tossed her down on the sofa, and smiled.

“Yeah, I thought so,” I told her. I pulled her thin panties out from under her tight skirt. I pressed my tongue against her scarlet clit. She tasted of fire, swirling in moist desire.

“Forgive me,” she said in a dark voice.

I lapped the dark chasm of her cunt, kneeling before this delicious, beautiful woman, devouring her sensitive heart, so long ignored. I drowned a finger in the burning hole while I felt her release years of maddened passion. She screamed wildly, pulling my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, pulling me into her.

I sat back to admire my handiwork, her cunt pulsating still with the final gasps of her orgasm. Karen was a deliberate, thoughtful woman, and I had known I could trust her to enjoy herself. I undressed myself slowly as she studied me with her smoldering gaze. When I dropped my shorts to release my angered rod, she quickly sat up and took it into her lovely mouth.

Her lips rang the shaft and her tongue played a tune along the length. I had seen Karen for so many years as a friend – a woman of a friend – a woman I had best not consider, and seeing her this way, with my cock in her mouth made me wild. I wanted her to suck me, to know that I wanted her, to feel my power as I gave her back to herself. I wanted to ease her doubts and help her live.

I lay her back onto the sofa, and buried myself into the warm confines of her furry opening, pumping this vixen with all my soul. I withdrew and rolled her over so I could take her from behind and admire her round buttocks and long back, sweaty and capturing loose strands of her dark mane as she flailed her head from side to side. I put my arms around her to squeeze her tits, feel their loose sway as they rocked to my beat.

I lay myself down and drew her on top of me. Karen smiled in a spark of nasty delight as she guided my prick into her pussy and began to take the bouncing ride. I firmly grasped her ass to help sustain the raging pace of our fuck, and salivated as her titties bounced, the milky-white mounds taking their own pleasure from our congress. I looked into her dark eyes, so warm, so intelligent, so friendly, so full of desire and devotion and of love, and I lost my control and shot my passion deep inside of Karen.

My cock was still inside her as she kissed me, and we kissed and fucked until dawn.

The only thing I can’t figure out is how to tell Mark. He’s bound to find out, and the best thing would be for me to tell him. I just don’t know how. Breaking up is hard to do

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The Band Practice

The Band Practice
Literary Fiction
by Lord Malinov

“The guys are coming over.”


“We’re just going to jam, work through some of the new songs. They’re fixing the A/C at the clubhouse and Denise’s parents are in town.”

“Should I go out? I don’t want to get in the way.”

“It might get too noisy, but you won’t get in our way.”

“I could be distracting.” Something in her voice told me she was sporting a mischievous smile.

“You could definitely be distracting. But I don’t see that as a bad thing. The guys need something to excite them at this stage. We’re sounding kinda dull.”

“So you’re angling for some distraction?”

“Why else would I bring the guys around?” Now I was the one who was smiling.


“Put the drums over there. We’ll plug the amps in over here.”

“Can I get you guys anything?”

“Bring us some chairs from the kitchen, Hon.”

Stacey had only appeared for a moment in the doorway, but that quick flash of feminine presence had been enough to stop the entire band in its tracks. The swish of her loosely flowing skirt brought the clatter of moving instruments to a sudden eerie silence, like a breath held from the swing of disappearing hips in an extended pause. With a laugh, the quiet ceased and the chaos grew into an excited chatter.

“Can I get a hand?” she yelled from the other room. The guys simultaneously and in unison applauded, whistled and catcalled. My band is a bunch of smart-asses.

“Take it off,” the drummer shouted in the midst of the cacophony. The rest of the guys joined in the chorus playfully as they herded helpfully toward the kitchen. One by one they grew silent as they realized that she had taken off her top. A tense calm took over as they stared, taking in the unexpected sight of her naked breasts.

“Whoa,” said the bass player in his sultry Barry White voice.

“Take it off,” sang out our vocalist, regaining his senses and seizing at the rare possibility with a daring carpe diem. Stacey began to swing her hips promisingly and the rest of the guys took the opportunity to vocalize their parts in the classic stripper tune. Da dum dum dum, dee dum dum dum.

Stacey swayed and turned, with each swing lowering the waist of her skirt another fraction. The music swelled and thickened, rhythmic and harmonic variations growing with each millimeter of exposed flesh. I held my breath, smiling broadly, enjoying the moment, enjoying her joy and enjoying the scene I felt certain was on the brink of happening. The skirt suddenly dropped to the floor, leaving a thin thong to hide her damp folds of salacious flesh and a soundly naked bottom.

“Is that a microphone in your pocket,” she said as she brushed the bulge of our singer’s pants, “or are you just glad to see me?” Nervous laughter abounded. The narcissism of our front man took control and he unzipped his fly.

“Why don’t you take a peek and see?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, never giving him a chance to reconsider the invitation, Stacey fell to her knees and began to fish within his jeans. A fleshy flute popped into view and as quickly disappeared into her wanting mouth.

“Wow, wow wow wow” said the drummer in rhythm with the bob of her red haired head as she began to play the sturdy instrument. “Wow wow.

“Give me some loving,” murmured the guitarist as he fondled the broad curve of her naked behind. A skilled finger slid down the crack of her ass and began to diddle the moistened triangle of cloth. Stacey moaned low as she sucked and she writhed, arching her back, inviting the touches. The bass player reached for her pendulous breasts, squeezing the bulbs and pinching her nips. Cocks popped into view and she grabbed all she could reach.

A rotation ensued, from before and behind, the guys taking their share and changing smoothly at the bridge. You could tell they knew how to play together, in synch and in rhythm. Stacey took all she could and groaned during the choruses.

For at least a good hour the erotic melody played. With an excess of dick, we took turns at rest, providing the vocal soundtrack to keep the action sharp. Solos and duets, trios and quartets. Stacey played instrument and the band practiced on her.

After a full round of loads were spent in her mouth cunt and ass, the band picked up the chairs and returned to the lounge, to sit in a quiet and meditative state. I think we eventually played some gentle blues but after a few stanzas, the rock began to roll.

Stacey appeared in the doorway, dressed in a silky chemise. The music was moving and she began to move too.

“Encore,” she said in a soft sultry voice. The guys knew the rule and picked up the tune. Practice never ends.

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“I can save you, traitor,” the Princess hissed. “My father wants to believe in you and I can persuade him.” She paused and gave her prisoner an inviting look. “There is a condition. You must renounce Aida and marry me.” A fierce, determined gleam in Theresa’s eyes spoke volumes. She slammed her notebook down on the table for emphasis. Silence let the noise echo.

“I cannot,” Scott replied weakly, unprepared to offer up the noble surrender of his life. He looked up at the woman. “Never. I love her.” The emotion in his voice trembled.

“Good,” shouted the director enthusiastically. “Perfect, Theresa. Scott, you need to speak with more courage and conviction. But I think you two have the right idea. Let’s break for lunch and when we get back we’ll do some more improv on the scene. Think about what has happened in the script and what will happen next. I want each of you to understand your characters completely before we start singing.

“Actors,” grumbled Scott as he stepped off stage.

“C’mon,” said Theresa, taking his hand and pulling him behind her. Scott followed, a little disturbed to be submitting to the demanding mezzo-soprano in front of the rest of the cast, but not quite daring a fit of independence so early in the production. Once they’d escaped the curious eyes of their fellows, he accepted her command with a ready eagerness. Theresa opened the door to her dressing room and showing him in, she locked the door behind them.

“I had the caterers bring some trays back here. I thought we could discuss our scenes while we ate. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” said Scott, sitting on a loveseat.

“Good. I’d hoped you would accommodate my flights of fancy. I am so anxious that this production go well, and with you as our tenor, I think our show will be delicious.” Theresa twirled and sat beside her leading man.

“Thank you,” said Scott, reaching for a sandwich. “I meant to thank you before. I know you’re the reason I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” said Theresa, laughing. “You deserved the role. Who else could play the passionate general with so much strength, so much verve, so much voice? I don’t think there was ever any choice.”

“Still, with you father producing the opera, I mean. You . . .”

“Daddy’s indulged me in choosing the role, but he wouldn’t throw away money, even for me. Only the best were chosen for this show.”

“And you chose Amneris? I mean, why didn’t you take Aida’s role?”

“Don’t kid me, Scott. I’ll be lucky to hit the B flat. Don’t even dream about me hitting high C without a whole lot of orchestra drowning that screech out. Besides, I think I can understand the spoiled daughter role better than most.” Scott sputtered a heart-felt laugh, choking back the sandwich and his fear of offending the lady.

“Fair enough. I’m going to be struggling myself. Maybe you can get the caterer to bring us an extra bottle of brandy before the show to loosen our chords.”

“Hmmm,” said Theresa, putting her china-like hands on Scott’s shoulder, playfully. “I wouldn’t want us getting too drunk to control ourselves.” Scott smiled with a twinge of anxiety and took a bite of his thick hunk of Italian bread.

“No,” he said, his mouth still full, “I wouldn’t think more than a sip would be necessary.”

“Still,” said Theresa, her hands moving down the tenor’s chest, “we don’t have to maintain too much control.”

Scott felt himself draw away from the aggressive touch of his companion, anxious to keep her good grace and yet unprepared to give himself up so easily. Her hands fell down to tease his thigh, and he stood up suddenly.

“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked.

“Sure, mon general. Let me pour you some of my favorite wine.” She leaned over to retrieve the bottle from beneath the serving trays. Ice water dripped from the French label. “Could you open it, please? I’m all thumbs with corkscrews.” Scott nodded shyly and took the bottle from her hands. He turned the metal spiral into the cork. Theresa rubbed an unashamed hand over the crotch of his trousers. Scott blushed and pulled at the cork. Theresa unzipped his fly.

“Mmmm,” she said. “I’m going to like working with you.”

“Theresa,” he said, putting the bottle down and turning away slightly. She took hold of his hips and drew him closer.

“Pour some wine,” she instructed him, boldly fishing in the darkness of his pants. His cock fell softly into her eager fingers. “Hmmm,” she murmured. Scott reached awkwardly for the glasses. Theresa pulled his thickening member from the confines of cloth. Scott poured the wine. Theresa suckled his prick.

“Oh,” he said nervously, feeling the rush of adrenalin and unbidden excitement in his blood. She pushed the stiffening rod deep into her mouth. He put a hand through her silky hair.

He thought for a second of Andrea. She would never forgive this.

As Theresa slipped her tongue wet over the length of his prick, the mezzo-soprano began to hum. “Theresa,” the tenor moaned. “Don’t,” he said, his voice trailing softly as she sucked to the first line of their impassioned duet. She continued to play and lightly sing. Scott found himself gently intoning his lines as they arose in the succession of rhythm and fevered emotion. Theresa suckled and sang and fondled and played. Scott felt the heat rising in his neck and his head. As her notes rose higher, pleading passionately for him to forsake his love, to live, to survive, he felt his excitement bubble. He was Radames. He would triumph. Amneris would make him king. She swallowed the fountain of lust.

She licked her lips with a smile. Scott again offered her a glass of wine and this time she took a sip. Scott poured another glass and tossed it back in a gulp. He tried to look at her, but felt deflated and ashamed.

“Mmmm,” Theresa said energetically, paying his reluctance no mind. “A good rehearsal, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um, yes. Theresa?”


“Thanks. I mean. Thanks.” A knock came at the door.

“Back on stage, please.” a voice spoke.

“C’mon, lover. Let’s show them how this scene should be done.”

“Yeah,” said Scott, weakly, “with courage and conviction.”

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Midnight Snack

Midnight Snack
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Jim wiggled the edge of his fork through the sugary pie. The soft buzz of insects, coming clear through the screen windows, serenaded the dark night. Slipping the tines beneath the crust, Jim lifted the morsel into his mouth. The sweet decadence of pecans and corn syrup melted over his tongue.

“Mmm,” Jim sighed, his calm, satisfied smile lit only by the faint glow of a humid summer moon.

The sound of footsteps shuffling closer aroused Jim’s fading attention. He looked up to discover the slow approach of a woman, her white nightdress glowing slightly in the dim corridor.

“Ellen,” Jim said quietly. The sleepy woman looked up and pushed her bangs away from her eyes.

“Hey, Jim,” Ellen responded, hardly lifting her slippered feet.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked. Ellen continued past him to the refrigerator and pulled the door. The white light within shone brightly. Jim held his breath, attentively watching as the silhouette of Ellen’s naked body took shape beneath her thin cotton gown. She leaned over, shuffling the crowded array of jars, bottles and plates of leftovers, while Jim studied the faint shadows of curls under the arch of her lean thighs, and the heavy swells of her loosely hanging breasts. Ellen pulled out a bottle of beer and pushed the door closed with a bare foot as she twisted off the cap.

Jim sighed, teased by the tingling within his boxers. Ellen pulled out a chair and sat down.

“It’s so peaceful,” he said softly. “Quite a change.”

“Crazy day,” said Ellen, lifting the bottle for a swig.

“I always have trouble sleeping in a strange bed,” Jim said, pushing away the last bites of pie.

“I know,” said Ellen. “What a day.”

“Debbie did a really good job with the party. I can’t believe how good everything was.” Jim rubbed his bare belly. “I shouldn’t have eaten that pie,” he said, smiling.

“I can’t even think of food,” said Ellen. “I ate too much already.” She took another drink.

“Maybe I’ll have one of those. Might help me sleep.” Jim stepped over to the refrigerator and squinted into the bright light.

“I had the wildest dream,” Ellen said softly. “I had to get out of bed, just to calm myself down.”

“Nightmare?” asked Jim, sitting down beside her.

“No,” she said slowly, “I wouldn’t call it that.” She took a sip of her beer. “It was more like a . . . .” Ellen smiled.

“Hmm?” Jim asked, grinning.

“Well, it was arousing,” said Ellen shyly, blushing in the dark.

“Tell me,” said Jim, leaning forward.

“I was in this big castle, and like there had been a party,” said Ellen.

“Pretty much describes the day,” said Jim.

“Yeah, but this was one of those old stone castles and I was walking down the hallway, feeling lost. There were big red and black tapestries, you know, the kind that have big battles woven into them and there were huge guys, like suits of armor like standing guard with long pikes and spears.” Ellen leaned back and took a drink of her beer. She sat the empty bottle down on the table.

“Sounds erotic,” said Jim, coolly trying to encourage her to go on. Ellen stood and walked over to get another beer. Jim leaned to one side, giving himself a better angle to gaze at the profile of her hardened nipple. Ellen sat down with a lazy sigh and leaned back in the tall wooden chair.

“I opened a door,” Ellen whispered, “and Jeff and Alice were inside the room, fucking like dogs.”

“Wow,” said Jim, “I would love to have seen that.” He could barely make out the dark ring of Ellen’s left nipple through her white gown.

“I know,” said Ellen. “They just looked up, smiling and I closed the door. Then I went into the next room, and Carol was sucking on Mike’s prick.” Ellen’s voice darkened as she tried to force the naughty words out.

“Are you sure it was a dream?” asked Jim, chuckling. “Maybe this anniversary party is just wilder than we expected.” He put his hand on Ellen’s bare thigh. She laughed and moved slightly forward so that Jim’s fingers reached higher.

“I don’t think Carol’s ever sucked Jeff’s dick, much less anyone else’s.” Ellen said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t really think,” Jim said, his hand creeping up Ellen’s thigh, “really?” She spread her legs a little more.

“Nah, she’s pretty inhibited,” Ellen said as Jim’s fingers grazed her moist lips.

“What a waste,” said Jim, his thoughts elsewhere.

“I opened the door to Ted and Debbie’s room, in the dream, and you were there.”

“Really,” said Jim.

“You had your tongue in her cunt.”

“Mmm,” Jim said, slipping a finger along the damp folds of Ellen’s pussy.

“And I woke up with my hand, right there.”

“I see,” said Jim, dipping into the moist pool.

“And,” sighed Ellen, “I just had to get out of bed, or I would have . . . and there’s just so many people around . . . I didn’t know if I could keep myself quiet.”

“Hush,” said Jim, slipping down onto the floor. Ellen scooted forward to kiss him with her wet pussy. Jim slipped a strong tongue up her sultry lips.

“Oh, God,” she whispered anxiously, spreading her legs wide. “What if someone comes down?” She put her hands lovingly on his thick curled hair. Jim lapped at her pussy earnestly. “Wouldn’t that be a scandal?” His tongue teased her clit and then sank between her lips.

Moonlight shimmered through her light hair as Ellen focused her thoughts on the sensations of Jim’s furious lick. Tensing her legs, she pushed herself against his lips, anxiously bringing herself closer to the touch she sought. Jim closed his eyes and drank the musky juices that poured from Ellen’s cunt.

“Eat me, Jim,” she moaned, pushing herself against his fast tongue. Jim smiled as the shudders of escape ran rampant through her body, the quivers of release drenching his face in her sweet scent.

“Wow,” said Ellen, shivering as Jim cast a lusty glance up to her. “That was just what I needed.”

Jim lifted himself off the linoleum, his boxers tented by the hard staff within. Ellen reached up to tease Jim’s anxious prick, but sat back quickly as the sound of footsteps approached. Jim sat down and pulled the plate of pie back.

“Oh,” said Debbie. “It’s you two. I thought I heard someone.”

“Yeah,” said Jim. “Midnight snack.”

“Mmmm,” said Debbie, opening the refrigerator. “Sounds good.”

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Mr. Fipps

Mr. Fipps
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Isn’t Mr. Fipps married?”

Pete finished his shrimp. “Single. They divorced about three years ago.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m surprised. It was a huge scandal.”

“No kidding? I thought Fipps was pretty straight.”

“Ha! No, not quite. He had that image but not any more.”

“What happened?”

“She left him and asked for a divorce. He wouldn’t give her one and she didn’t really have grounds. So she took him to court and won. So it’s all a matter of public record.”

“She didn’t have grounds but she won? How did that happen?’

“She was having an affair, met a guy, fell in love, moved in with him.”

“So Fipps has grounds for divorce.”

“But he refuses to sue for divorce or to grant her one.”

“She’s stuck.”

“Except that the whole things was Fipps’ idea. He instigated the affair. She engaged in the affair at his behest.”

“He told his wife to have an affair.”

“Not just once, but dozens of times. Seems that Mrs. Fipps was a randy young lady when they first married. He caught her in bed shortly after the wedding, screwing the milkman or something like that. He didn’t bust in but stood just out of sight, peeping the adultery. Apparently, it really turned him on. But it wasn’t seeing Mrs. Fipps enjoying the company of another man that made him horny, it was her cheating on him that made him wild. She’d cheat and he’d be waiting for her when she came home. Lots of sex. You wouldn’t think so to look at him but they were animals.

“A few years into the marriage, things cooled down. Mrs. Fipps didn’t have affairs because there really wasn’t time in her schedule for dalliances. Natural enough but it started driving Fipps crazy. He wasn’t going to be happy unless his wife engaged in extramarital affairs. So he told her about his obsession. It amused her, so she went along with it, making time in her day to meet a man or two. She was happy, Fipps was happy, everything was hunky dory.”

“This goes on for years. Sometimes she cheats infrequently, once every few weeks while other times she gets busy and it becomes a daily ritual. Decades.”

“So then she meets a guy, falls in love with the fact that he doesn’t insist she have affairs and moves on. He said no and she said yes and the courts agreed.”

“I never would have imagined.”

“Every office has a story.”


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Turn Around

Turn Around
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Driving home at two AM, I began to wonder why.

She’d asked me to stay with her and I wanted to stay, to spend the night, to finish what had been started, to lounge in the beauty of our evening together until dawn broke and I smelled the sunlight in her hair as she slumbered in my arms. But I left, started the long drive home. Found myself wondering why.

I met her three weeks ago, installing a telephone line. She lived way out of town, the furthest reaches of our territory, beyond the furthest customer I’d serviced. I was in the office when she came to arrange service. I gave her the form and she wrote her name and address and number. I snatched the form and scheduled the service call for myself. I wanted her the moment I saw her. She was fine, my kind of fine.

A week later, two weeks ago, I drove out to her house to install the line. She looked beautiful, smiling wide when she answered the door. We spoke briefly at the office and she didn’t know I would be doing the service call but she seemed delighted to see me. I did the install efficiently and gathered my tools. She offered me a soda. I sat down and took a drink.

This business has taught me about people. I know about how people get lonely and just want to talk about anything with anyone. I know about people with wants and desires, who will push and pull in strange ways to get to some unspoken personal goal. I know about friendly and angry and impatient and nurturing and excited and repulsed and adored and abused. I know how people are. This wasn’t like that.

We got along like old friends. We spoke the same language, mostly. We remembered the same things. We took an interest in each other. The soda lasted almost two hours. I had to get back to the office. I asked if I could call her. She hoped I would.

I struggled hard to play coy and somehow managed not to call her for three days. I didn’t want to frighten her with the explosive attraction I felt for her. I knew I had to play smart. I basked in the warmth I still felt from being near her.

When I finally called, it was as though I’d never left. We picked up right where we left off. I immediately realized I could have called her anytime and she would have been glad to hear from me. I had wasted three days, playing a game that we didn’t play. I cursed myself and vowed to stop wasting time. I asked her out.

We were going to go to dinner and a movie but we never left the restaurant, talking over coffee until the staff nudged us out. I took her home and left her with a kiss. There was a half-hearted mutual desire to end the evening in bed but the late hour made it seem too foolish to pursue further. She invited me over for dinner. That was tonight.

She cooked. I fixed us a drink. We talked and ate and talked and drank. Music played. She sat down beside me. We kissed.

She touched me where I needed to be touched. I squeezed every bit of her body in my hands, exploring, devouring, adventure, knowledge, every moment discovering a new playground. She sucked on me as I prodded and caressed her wet entrances to a calypso beat. All passion welled within me, heated desire and a completion in yearning. Everything I wanted, I had. Everything I was, she loved.

We twisted and turned in damp rigidity through every relevant facing, laughing through bursts of loving needs. Orgasms hit us like lightning, seconds that passed in hours in the release and enfolding of everything we were, together. We collapsed and laughed and couldn’t quite stop.

I don’t know what made me get up and leave. Maybe it was all too much, too much feeling, too much spent. I felt confused, disoriented, almost afraid. I gathered my clothes. I wasn’t even thinking.

She asked me to stay. I mumbled something, my keys already in hand. We said goodbye.

I drove away. I asked myself, why did I leave.

And I turned around.

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On The Horns

On The Horns
Literary Fiction
by Lord Malinov

The funny thing is that I met Tracy a long time before Alan did. She worked in my department at Falco a few years back, for about five months, starting in the summer. I didn’t know her that well, but I certainly noticed her. She was the prettiest girl in the office. I was just getting serious with Elaine when Tracy started working. In fact, Tracy made me nervous. She was really pretty and she always smiled at me.

I probably didn’t handle it very well, when Tracy worked with me. She’d try to make small talk and I’d panic. She’d smile and I’d look away. I was just afraid. I had been so certain that I wanted to be with Elaine. I knew that flirting with Tracy would cause me trouble.

Maybe it would have been better if I’d given the thing I was building with Elaine a good shake. Maybe it would have fallen apart then, and I’d have saved us both some grief in the long run. Maybe we would have been more realistic and fixed whatever went wrong a long time ago.

But that’s water under the bridge.

Maybe I’d be with Tracy now, maybe I could have pulled off her panties last night. Maybe she’d love me.

Even though I was running away from her with my tail between my legs, I was sad when Tracy quit. I had to struggle to resist her temptation, but it was better than not being tempted. She would wear skirts that always made me stare at her lean legs, wishing the hem would creep a little higher. She could make even a simple blouse look provocative. Some of her shirts would dare me to sneak glances down the front. Others would just hug her boobs tight, leading me to imagine how they might look when she pulled the shirt off. Sometimes a gap would spread between buttons, exposing the lace of her pretty white brassiere.

Then she would smile and say hello. I’d blush and scamper away.

But she quit in the fall and I forgot all about her.

Elaine and I were engaged the next summer, and we set the wedding for a year later, which would have been the Saturday after next. My lease ran out in June and I suggested we move in together, give the marriage a trial run. Elaine refused to even consider it.

Alan was a friend of Paul’s and he needed a roommate, so we took this place in Frisco. The rent’s a little high, but the amenities are nice. He’s been a decent roommate. Alan plays a dozen sports on as many teams, and so with the parties after the games, he wasn’t home much at all. I liked that. Elaine spent lots of time at our place.

Then one Tuesday night, I came home late from work. I dropped my briefcase by the door and went into the kitchen to fix a drink. I thought Alan was playing basketball or hockey that night. I heard a soft moan and peeked around the corner. Alan was kissing a girl on the sofa. Only the timing was surprising. When Alan was home, it was usually to kiss a girl. I retreated into the kitchen.

“Hey, Brian,” Alan said a moment later.

“Yo,” I answered.

“Do you know Tracy?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, ” I said and then walked into the front room to find Tracy smiling beside my big roommate. “Oh,” was all I could add.

“Hey, Brian,” Tracy said. Her skirt had crept up high, exposing the silky sheen of pretty white panties between her lean thighs.

My life has been a mess ever since that night.

Alan brought girls home to kiss fairly regularly, but in the nine months we’d been living together, it was rarely the same girl twice. Tracy broke that pattern. Three, four nights a week, Tracy would be there. Saturday afternoon gave way to all weekend.

Elaine met Tracy, once or twice, right at the beginning. I don’t think she paid any attention to her, no more than she usually paid to any of Alan’s “bimbos” as she bluntly called them. She didn’t like Alan. Elaine had other things on her mind by that time. She was deciding to call off the wedding.

It was a big deal. Not so much because it was hard to break up with me, but because her parents had already spent a fair amount of money in arranging the nuptial ceremonies. They fought. I gave up quickly. Elaine always made decisions seriously. When she did change her mind, I knew that was for good.

A part of me was glad. I don’t think I ever really wanted to be married. Not to Elaine, anyway. It just seemed like the thing to do. When we broke up, I felt lost but not really sad. I didn’t know what to do next. I wasn’t ready to meet other girls. I just stayed home.

Slowly but surely, Tracy became a part of our household. I’d wake up and go to the kitchen. She’d be eating cereal at the table in a t-shirt and panties. Her hair would have a tangled knot in the back and her nipples would rise and fall under the cotton. We’d talk. I think she found me a pleasant change from Alan in that regard. He’s not much of a talker. I’m not afraid of her anymore. She doesn’t seem interested in me.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about her more and more. I look forward to talking to her, especially when Alan isn’t around, if only for a few minutes. I’m always hoping for glimpses of her body and I’ve been rewarded. She’s so casual, so immodest, so relaxed. Elaine was never relaxed about being naked.

Of course, Tracy is Alan’s girlfriend. I’m pretty sure he’d get violent if he thought I was after her. I was keeping my cool pretty well.

Last night, I came home at like six and crashed. I hadn’t slept much the night before last, working on this project, and then we ended up having to crank all day yesterday. I finally came home and just fell into bed.

When I woke up, it was maybe one in the morning. I went into the hallway and heard Tracy giggling. There’s a mirror by the front door, and I can see Tracy in the glass, dancing. I could see the back of Alan’s head above the sofa. He reached over and started unbuttoning her shirt. Tracy laughed and then helped unfasten the buttons. She danced a little while in her bra and black skirt. Finally, she reached behind her back and unclasped the bra.

I’d had hints, brief peeks, but her boobs were unbelievably beautiful, luscious and creamy, sensual and perfect. Large dark circles formed her nipples, and with each bounce of her dance the circle closed, tightening and pressing outward. A slight tan delineated the mounds from her chest, even in the dimly lit room. I wanted to kiss them. Tracy squeezed them in both hands and gave a low moan that made me ache inside.

Alan said something I didn’t hear. Tracy turned to wave her backside at him. Reaching to the side for a zipper, she shed the dark skirt, revealing a white triangle of sheer cloth hardly covering her bottom. She moved gently, hypnotically, rhythmically swaying her ass. The elastic started to descend the wide curve. Alan reached over and Tracy bent as the panties slid down her long legs.

My cock grew rigid in my hand. Tracy knelt down and sucked on his. I leaned back against the wall. Her head bobbed over his lap. He placed his hand on the back of her head and groaned. I bit my lip and stroked myself silently, slowly.

I thought for a moment about kneeling behind her, pushing my cock inside her. My arousal grew uncontrollable. I kept myself from coming.

All at once, they rose and headed for the bedroom. I dashed back into my room, carefully closing the door. I laid down on my bed. Soon the creaking of bedsprings started, fast and furious. Her moans tore through my heart.

I have to leave. I must get away. Jerry has a cabin. I’ll go live there. This can’t go on. She isn’t mine.

It isn’t fair. I knew her first.

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