Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Please come out with us, Daniel. It will be fun for you, I promise.”

“Not tonight,” Daniel said calmly.

“Why not?”

“I have plans, Elise. Maybe some other night.”

“What plans? You haven’t been out in almost two years.”

“I go out.”

“Haunting used bookstores isn’t going out. Besides, we’re just going out for a drink and then to the Avalon Theater. You like plays, remember?”

“I have plans tonight.”

“With whom, Daniel? A date with a book? A woman?”

“Yes. I mean no.”

“It isn’t healthy, Daniel. You’re getting a reputation as a real crank. People are talking about you. My friends are always talking about you. People always ask me when you’re going to start dating again. Just go out with us tonight.”

“You’re sounding like Mom, Elise. Some other time.”

“I’m going to come over.”

“Fine. But not tonight.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I love you, Daniel. I worry about you.”

“I love you, too, Sis.” Daniel hung up the receiver with a sigh. The idea that people were talking about him disturbed him slightly. Daniel didn’t consider himself a crank. The thought that Elise and Jim and Karen were going to talk about him irked him deeply. They didn’t understand what he was up to. No one could possibly understand. “Tonight,” he said to himself, “tonight has to work.”

The sun receded finally beneath the crest of pine trees and the huge space of Daniel’s study filled with creeping shadows, the dull orange glow of a distant sunset giving a ruddy tone to the pale wooden floors. Daniel rubbed his brow. A sense of possession stole over him. He began to pace, walking slowly toward the twenty foot windows that faced the bloody sky, and turning to walk back toward the blazing fireplace at the far end of the hall.

“Two years?,” he asked himself. “Two years, and when will it end?”

Daniel’s boots marked an even interval of time as his walk led him to the deepening night and back to the blossoming flames. A sinister wind stole through slight cracks in the upper reaches of the grand room with a howl. His heart began to thump when his resolve broke down and he stole a lateral glance at the long shelves of books covering the study’s northern wall.

“Once again,” he muttered in surrender. “The last time, again.”

Still trying to resist the allure, Daniel’s dark eyes fixed on a book standing alone behind his desk, an outcast from its mortal brethren, shimmering unnaturally in the nocturnal gloom. “Five hundred times,” he mused as his feet slowly drifted off the well-trod path and toward the dark shelves. “At least five hundred times. This has to end.”

Although the last gasp of Daniel’s resolve had been exhausted so many times before, the same shudder that had rippled through him on the very first night struck him again. The ritual was well defined, but the thrill was far from gone. Tonight, he thought and not for the first time, will be different. Even without the hope that gripped him on this night, there was no bravado in his thought. Every night had been different.

As he touched the ancient leather spine of the tall book, Daniel shook. It had been a week since he had opened the pages, an arduous week of incredible self-control since he had read the mystic words. It was the longest stretch of abstinence that Daniel had endured since he found the book in the tiny bookstore in East Berlin. There had been nights when he read the page three times in six hours. Resistance had been inconceivable, until he had a reason to hold back. Tonight would be the payoff. Daniel spoke a Latin prayer.

The old grandfather clock struck a sweet tone and Daniel nearly dropped the book in fright. Adrenaline poured through his ragged heart and he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. “Good,” Daniel said when he recovered his senses. “Tonight will take every ounce of my emotion. Blow storm!” he yelled.

The book fell open at a touch, directly to the page Daniel sought. It seemed his whole life had become contained in the words stretched across that single piece of parchment. At first glimpse, the words seemed to burn and writhe. Daniel knew he was tangling with ultimate darkness, an evil beyond any human conception. Still he continued. He couldn’t care for good and evil. He could only care for love.

Some nights he had to make a decision before he began, but not on this night. A single name possessed him, ached within him. His eye caught the first word of the incantation. Daniel braced himself, like a patient preparing for the undoped touch that would begin the cut of a scalpel.

“Katrina,” he said, giving in to the passion. “Come to me.” Strange words followed and the spell was begun.

A flame rose from the center of the study, a tiny flicker of orange and a dazzle of white sparks. The fire slowly grew until the heat touched Daniel’s face and called forth a wash of sweat. Smoke poured from the flashes, choking him cruelly. The root of the bonfire spread until ten feet of Persian rug seemed to be feeding the conflagration, flames shooting up as though it consumed a middle-aged pine. The last word left Daniel’s lips and he closed his eyes and turned away from the fierce blast of infernal fire.

A crackle tore through the roar and a cool breeze suddenly caressed Daniel’s burning body. He opened his eyes. A vision of white light nearly blinded him, but still he stared, knowing what sight awaited him. The light dimmed and the spirit Katrina stood before him. Daniel wanted to cry.

Every time she was conjured, Katrina appeared differently. On that night, her long golden hair was tied in ponytails, reminding him of a sweet girl he had met when he was young, a simple cowgirl at a country dance, hoping for a little dance and romance. Daniel had often wondered how much of Katrina’s form came from within him, but there could be no answer. She was always like someone, and yet like no one he had ever known. Katrina was whoever she was. Daniel could know no more.

“It’s you,” she said with a smile. Her voice echoed with the sound of crystal bells and young birds.

“It’s me,” Daniel replied, his heart bursting with longing.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“Do others conjure you?” Daniel asked, surprised by a thought he had never considered.


“It had never occurred to me,” Daniel said, frowning. “When was the last time?”

“I have no sense of time,” Katrina said. “I don’t know.”

“Do you . . . ?”

“They’re foul, twisted men, used to abusing power. I hate them.”

“And me?”

“I long for you, Daniel. You draw me to you.”

“I think of nothing else.”

“I can feel your devotion. It makes me live.”

“My life is in trouble. I have an idea. I need you.”

“What can we do?”

Daniel walked around the desk to where the apparition seemed to stand. Her lean body seemed fashioned of fog, a translucent shimmer in the form of a lovely woman. A silver gown hung from her shoulders. A worried look streamed in beauty.

“I believe we can set you free.” Daniel reached out to touch Katrina. His hand passed through her arm, as though he had grabbed a puff of smoke.

“I’m frightened,” Katrina said. She wanted to cry but no tears would come from her ghostly eyes.

“Trust me,” Daniel said.

“What will you do?”

“Have you noticed,” said Daniel, aching to touch the sad woman he loved so deeply, “that there are times when you seem to take substance.”

“Not really,” Katrina said softly.

“There have been nights,” Daniel confessed reluctantly, “when I have conjured other spirits. I haven’t always known . . . ”

“You’ve conjured other women?” Katrina said.

“Sometimes. Some evil spirits.”

“Were they beautiful?”

“Yes. Not like you, dear Katrina, but in their own wicked way. They seem to know something, or at least believe in it. They have tried to arouse me, to make me want them. And it seems to me that the more that I do want them, the more substantial they become.”

“You wanted them?”

“Lust is a powerful emotion. But I also feared them, and I don’t think lust is enough. I don’t know, but it has always fallen short. When the moment comes that my desire for them subsides, they quickly fade away. It is the nature of lust to dissolve in satisfaction. Love is different, stronger.”

“I see. So if I make you want me, I will be alive.”

“I don’t know. Maybe there is no threshold. But the substance they take is strong – some have even been able to touch me. I believe there could be some way.”

“They’ve touched you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. If I could only touch you, for just a moment, I could forgive everything.”

“I know you, Katrina. I love you as deeply as a man could ever love a woman. I love the sparkle in your eyes and the curve of your flesh. Rouse my emotion, make me want you.”

“How?” Katrina asked, blushing as only a ghost can blush.

“Do you dance?” Daniel asked.

“I think I can.”

“Then dance for me,” Daniel said, leaning back against the mahogany desk and smiling. “What do the foul, twisted men ask from you?”

“They ask me to dance,” said Katrina. Fire seemed to spark in her pale eyes, a desperate hunger that began to move her hips, a lick over her grey lips. “I must do as I am asked.”

“I can’t bear to imagine you in the clutches of some other man,” said Daniel angrily, furious, ready to strike out at any man who would dare intrude.

“They’re handsome men,” said Katrina, picking up her skirt to reveal the smooth lines of her lean legs. Daniel felt his heart begin the throb furiously. “Do you like me?”

“Beautiful,” he replied, tingling with excitement.

“Can I take this off?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Please,” whimpered Daniel, his gaze fixed on her.

“It isn’t hot,” Katrina said as she lifted the robe up. Her wide hips gyrated slowly as she left them bare. Katrina turned to show him her creamy full bottom, a hint of form without color, like an old French postcard of a girl reason tells us has been long since dead. Daniel burned with desire, his attention caught by the swells and valleys of her shadowy body.

“I want you,” she growled as the robe fell to the floor. Full breasts bobbled slightly as though excited by his heavy breath.

“I want you,” he replied, reaching down involuntarily to scratch the tenseness of his loins.

“No,” she said sharply, ceasing her dance.

“What?” he asked, pained.

“Don’t touch.” Her head nodded toward his swollen crotch. “Don’t release your desire.”

“Yes,” he said, wondering if he could really restrain himself. “You’re right.”

“I’ll do the touching,” Katrina said, placing a finger at the shimmering crest between her thighs. “So hot for you.”


“My boobs, too. Do you want to taste my nipples?”


“I’ve always loved you, with all my heart. You make me hungry.”


“My pussy’s so swollen, so moist, so fiery.”


“My ass?”


“I can almost feel your hands on my shoulders, your kiss on my lips.”


“I need you this way, can you touch me, do you want me?”


“I grow richer and fuller. You were right. I will live.”


“I will live and we’ll fuck.”


“I can almost feel you. Do you want me? Do you want me?”


“Come here,” Katrina said, her voice sultry and commanding. “Come kiss me.” Daniel shook in anticipation. Her body seemed almost alive, a woman’s naked flesh, aroused and drawing him near. A demonic look flashed through her eyes, lust overflowing her soft demeanor. Daniel rushed three steps forward and took the girl in his arms.

A kiss melted on his lips with the intensity of kissing a burning hot iron, yet at the same time luscious and sweet, a sudden sense of fulfillment, of holding all love in his arms.

“Lover,” Katrina moaned as she held him tight in her arms. Her body melded to his, caressing him gently as she kissed him with all her soul.

“No,” he said as convulsions exploded inside him. The woman suddenly began to fade. Her touch turned to a cool mist. “No,” he whimpered and Katrina vanished away.

Tears flowed from his dark eyes as Daniel collapsed on the floor of his midnight dark study. A dampness in his trousers echoed the tears.

“Tomorrow,” he said finally, desperate in failure. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow night. One more time, one more try.”

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Just Desserts

Just Desserts
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

It had been a long day at work – I honestly struggled to keep a grip on the developing situation, but for every step forward, I took another three back. The phone kept bringing further complications; Jack had new figures for the gained losses over three weeks of last June and the sand contractor wanted to increase the cost of waiting for fresh water. When the boys in Outland tried to shift the collision vectors, frustration compelled me to unplug the phone. The report had to reach Finnegan’s desk by five and so I indulged in the executive fantasy that time had stopped briefly, determined to simply write my proposal based on the current information. Of course, looking at a static world didn’t help as much as I had imagined. I still couldn’t find a sensible way to apply the rules I thought should govern the case.

At one time, I had hoped to completely escape the demands of the office over the coming weekend. By Tuesday, I knew that was a pipe-dream, but I held onto my hopes, for while they were a rather airy fantasy, I had grown desperate, clinging to whatever dreams of respite I might grab hold of. I gave up on wanting Saturday by pieces – by Thursday it was obvious that I would spend the bulk of that day cleaning up some sloppy paperwork. There was no doubt that I was disappointed, but I knew most professionals can expect to work at least part of Saturday, and I couldn’t hope to do better than most with our contract deadlines approaching.

The defeat of Saturday, because reasonably expected, only stiffened my resolve. I would not work Sunday. As I dashed out the final paragraph of Finn’s report at three minutes after five, I smiled. Sunday might escape. I fought the crawling cross-town traffic home on that hot summer evening, my patience worn achingly thin.

Arriving ninety-seven minutes later at our brick and green suburban dwelling, I struggled out of my wretched commuter’s prison, my back and neck stiff with the tense immobility of long, slow driving. The sun shone brief kisses of freedom as I stretched my arms and sauntered toward the house. With a sigh of real relief, I found Diana sitting on our comfortable sofa, looking exceptionally pretty in a white sundress. Tan shoulders drew my weary attention as they emerged seductively naked, offered with a promising turn. My thoughts lightened as I drank in the view of her tempting cleavage and the twist of her lean legs. Her blue eyes shone up toward my appreciative gaze, and as I prepared to bask in her inviting smile, I discovered there was no way to avoid the pensive thoughts which suddenly struggled across my dear wife’s face. As I opened Diana’s book of soul, I read volumes of uneasy anguish and regret. Something had happened; something unfortunate, at least.

I placed my briefcase beside the oak coffee table and my wife quickly enveloped me with a hug. As I held her firm body in my arms, intoxicated by the scent of her feminine charm, I kissed her neck lightly. At once, she pressed her moist lips to mine with an outburst of passion. I kissed her deeply, lovingly, hoping my lips could somehow erase the trouble that had possessed her. I kissed her and instinctively my hands surrounded the round swell of her ass. I realized that a stream of warm tears moistened my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Mark” Diana said softly, “I screwed up.”

“It’s all right,” I replied on faith. “What happened?”

“I was working on the project for the AIH,” she said, stepping back and wiping her tears away, “and I needed a disk. I assumed the program would just save the file, but it reformatted and wrote over…”

“No,” I said softly, suddenly realizing what she meant. At least twenty hours of work vanished into the aether. Frustration struck me like a torpedo to the hull. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Diana said, and she began to cry in earnest. “You don’t have another copy of the files?”

“No. They’ll have to be recreated from scratch.” Diana collapsed on the sofa in a torrent of tears.

Anger raged through me, but I couldn’t maintain my fury for more than a few moments in the face of such pitiful remorse. Years have taught me that lamenting the passing of what has passed cannot aid the struggle. Perhaps my stoicism is a little cold, and maybe I would live better to give vent to my wraths, but I am only who I am. I forgave Diana and with a pang of despair I wrote off this weekend and the next.

The tragic destruction of my unarchived labor compiled with the strain of the day left me completely drained. We ate dinner in near silence, as Diana looked on for some sign that all would be forgotten, her sad eyes only increasing my despair. I just wanted to go to bed.

“I have something special for you for dessert,” she said.

“I’m not in the mood for treats,” I replied more coldly than I wanted to be.

“I think this will help. Go sit in the family room, and I’ll bring it to you.”

I poured myself a glass of brandy and turned on some Tchaikovsky, ready to drown myself in self-indulgent emotional turmoil. Diana entered and went to the stereo.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said coyly, turning on some funk.

“Whatever,” I said pathetically.

“All right, big boy. Look up. The time has come for us to speak of other things. I did something horrible today, but none of this is going to improve by your sorry indulgence in mere mopery. You’re a man. You’ve been wronged. Do something about it. Why don’t you punish me, so we can get on with our life?” With that, Diana leaned over to pick up a plate of brownies. I watched the verge of white panties crumpled between her thighs as the hem of the sundress rose. Aware she had my attention, Diana lifted her ass suggestively. Something swelled within me.

“Damn right,” I said authoritatively and walked over to where Diana stood. She put a piece of brownie into my mouth. “You’ve been terrible, cruel, wicked.”

“Very bad,” Diana said quietly, trying to muffle a smile.

“What you did sucks. I’m barely holding onto my sanity, and now I’m stuck in that friggin office for the rest of the month, without even a single day to kick back and relax. Only hard work is going to fix what you have done to me, and if I’m going to be forced to pay for your stupid mistakes, I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. You are not going to forget this.”

“Yes, sir.” she replied coyly. She seemed to be determined to make me angry, and I gave in. I took hold of her arm, gripping her bicep tightly and bent her over the desk. She squirmed slightly in my grasp, but kept her face pressed against the oak surface when I released my hold.

I pushed the short skirt up to her waist. Though sensibly enraged, I still paused a moment to admire the vision of a white triangle of thin lace embracing the sphere of her pretty ass. Mad or lusty, for by this time I couldn’t say for certain which emotional state prevailed in me, I took hold of the elastic and roughly yanked her panties down to her thighs. Pale tan lines echoed the stripped undergarments, and with that vision my cock hardened. I drank in the sight; a thick mane of golden hair fell above the arched back which dipped and rose to present the globes of her white bottom, centered by the pink button of her asshole and the already swelling folds of her sweet pussy above her long stiff angled legs.

“You piss me off,” I said as I raised my hand.


“Ow,” she exclaimed. The red imprint of five fingers shone on her cheek.


“I’m going to have to work all fucking weekend”


“You ruined everything.”


Diana brought her hands back in defense, and I furiously pushed them aside, punishing her imprudent denial of my right to spank her with a vehement volley of slaps to her bottom. As I paused to admire her heat-reddened bum, I noticed the thick labia of Diana’s golden-pink cunt, dripping with her excitement.



I dropped my trousers. Diana looked back cautiously during the interlude, and eager to reaffirm my domination, I spanked her glowing ass hard. Taking a stance directly behind her, I pushed my engorged cock into her steaming pussy. Diana moaned deeply as I penetrated, and I slapped her fiery red ass again.

The whole world egged me on as I fucked my beautiful wife hard, without regard for anything but the raging sensation of power and lust, fed by the trembling squeeze of her frothing wet cunt on my prick. I spanked Diana rigorously during the brutal screw, squeezing and pinching the brazen glow as I ploughed the dark depths from behind. Squeals of pleasure mingled with cries of pain, and I felt her exploding orgasm, quivering pulsations of surrender and release as she ground herself wild against my hard rod.

I withdrew my organ, and Diana turned to sigh, but I took hold of her blonde mane and set my wet dick between her lips. She swallowed the meat hungrily, taking it deeply down her throat. I didn’t care anymore – I couldn’t be beaten. Diana reeked of power and beauty, tolerant of no one and nothing, and yet she was eagerly submitting to every indignity, every whim of my exploded maddened mind. I slipped my cock from out of her mouth, and sent a hot stream of white jism into her hair, over her face. I staggered backwards, watching contentedly as Diana licked gobs of semen from her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a satisfied smile. I knew she wasn’t, but I couldn’t remember why.

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One of Those Nights

One of Those Nights
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Excuse me for a minute,” Grant said, touching Janet’s arm and bending close. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Sure,” said Janet gaily, sending him off with a provocative smile. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Watching his broad green back weave through the crowd, she nodded. “Ooh, he is just so fine,” she said softly, shivering slightly.

‘Hey, Janet,” said Rob, stepping into the empty space beside her.

“Hi, Rob,” she said, still following Grant’s progress across the room.

“Great party,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah,” said Janet, finally giving up her quarry as lost and turning to face Rob. “Shelley always has great parties.”

“I was hoping that Deidre would be here. You haven’t seen her, have you?” Rob asked, a sorry look in his eyes. Janet leaned against the wall and turned her head slightly.

“I think Deedee’s in Florida,” she said. “Shelley said her family always flies down for the holidays.”

“Oh,” said Rob. He shook his empty drink, rattling the ice cubes and lifted the glass to drain a few drops.

“Hey,” said Janet, smiling suddenly at the morose young man, “have you met my roommate?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Rob.

“You should,” said Janet. “She’s a quiet girl, but really great. I had to drag her downstairs. Parties aren’t really her thing, but I think she’d forgive me if I introduced her to someone like you.”

“Okay,” said Rob, shaking his glass. “I don’t mind.”

“She’s really smart,” said Janet. “I’ll bet you two would have loads in common. Come with me.” Taking hold of Rob’s hand, Janet began to lead him through the crowd in the living room, back toward the kitchen. Rob followed compliantly.

“Well,” said Janet. “I wonder where she’s wandered off to.” A tall woman with bushy brown hair pulling a warm tray of puffs from the oven stood up. “Monica,” asked Janet, “have you seen Allison?”

Monica looked back quizzically.

“About this tall, light brown hair, skinny, glasses. She was with me at Carol’s shower.”

“No,” said Monica. “I don’t think so.”

“Thanks.” Janet turned back to Rob. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she snuck back upstairs. Anyway, if I see her, I’ll introduce you to her.”

“Sure,” said Rob, grabbing a warm puff. He juggled it gingerly before popping it into his mouth. Janet slipped past Monica, touching the tall woman gently on the back as she did. “Excuse me,” she said, moving into the dim light of the dining room.

“Janet!” called Shelley, seated on a goldenrod sofa. “Come see my pictures from Cancun.” Shelley shifted down the cushion slightly, making a little room for her friend. Janet sat obediently and looked at the color photographs of Shelley at the beach.

“Here we are getting ready to go out scuba diving,” said Shelley pointing. “It was so warm. I miss the warmth.”

“I do too,” said Frank, “but I’m going skiing next weekend. Just have to make the best of it, I always say.” Janet looked past Frank, toward the front hall, catching a glimpse of a dark green shirt.

“Here’s the boat we went on,” said Shelley, giggling. “See that guy?”

“Excuse me a moment,” said Janet, rising.

“Right after I took this picture, he fell in. It took two of them to pull him out.”

“Ellen,” Janet hissed as she turned the corner past the front hall. “Did Grant leave?”

“Was he the tall one?”

“Green shirt, dark curls, gorgeous.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ellen. “He just left.”

“Shit!” said Janet. She opened the door and looked along the diagonal patterns of the bare hallway. She considered, for a brief moment, running down to see if he was still waiting for an elevator, but closed the door instead.

Retreating to the kitchen, downhearted, Janet fixed herself a drink and soon found herself reliving Shelley’s entire two week excursion to Cancun.

“Well,” she said sadly, “I guess I’d better call it a night.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Shelley in a sing-song voice, slightly delirious with the success of her party.

“Sure, Shell. See you around.”

Janet walked the long hallway and took the short ride upstairs where she walked an identical hallway and unlocked the door.

“Allison probably had a better night than I did,” Janet said and smirked. “That’d be a first,” she said quietly, flipping on the light. Allison’s jacket lay neatly over the arm of the wicker chair. “I’ll bet she didn’t stay twenty minutes,” Janet sighed.

A border of pale light surrounded Allison’s bedroom door and Janet nodded. She considered knocking on the door, to let Allison know she had made it home all right, but shook her head and went into her own room. Janet sighed, deciding she couldn’t really bear a late night chat with Allison who would undoubtedly be full of analytical insight and plain good sense. “Besides,” murmured Janet, “she’d find out I had a miserable time and then she’d feel even more superior. Might as well let her think I had a great time.”

Janet stripped off her dress and quickly pulled her flannel nightgown over her head, shivering in the cool night air. “Oh, Grant,” she said, lying down under her covers. “You would have kept me warm.” Janet clutched her pillow and closed her dark eyes.

A murmur behind her head caught Janet’s attention. She leaned up on her arms and listened carefully. Janet heard a slight moan and smiled. “I hope the little mouse didn’t have too much to drink,” she thought. Another soft sound was soon followed by the squeak of a bed spring and another and then a gentle rainfall of creaks.

“That little vixen,” said Janet, smiling. “Who would have believed it?” A loud moan, distinctly Allison’s, sounded clearly through the wall. Janet sat up in her bed and pressed an ear against the wall.

“Oh, fuck,” Allison said, short of breath. “Fuck me.”

“Where did she learn such language?” whispered Janet. She felt her nipples tighten and the slight charge of arousal.

“Hmph,” groaned Allison as the rhythmic slaps increased their pace. “give . . . me . . . that . . . cock,” she said between creaks. Janet stifled a laugh.

“I wonder if Rob found her,” she smirked. “I never would have pegged him to move so fast. Sounds like he knows his business, though.”

“Yes,” said Allison, eagerly, “harder, please, push that big stick inside me.” A loud squeal erupted from behind the wall.

“Go, girl,” said Janet, lifting her gown and touching her damp clitoris. Bodies moved over the bed and Janet rubbed herself fast when she heard a male groan.

“I wonder,” Janet said and slowly crept off her bed. On the tips of her toes, she made her way to the door and slowly opened it, nervous of creaking the hinges. She stepped into the dark hallway.

His groans grew forceful. “Suck my dick,” he said, his tone hushed but the words came sharply, articulated. Allison’s door was slightly ajar. Janet brought her face to the crack.

His back to the door, the tall, strongly muscled man stood naked, his untanned ass gleaming in the yellow light beside the rumpled bed. Allison’s china white hands reached around to squeeze the sculptured hard bottom, driving his prick deeper into her mouth.

“Grant!” Janet hissed quietly. At once, he turned to look at the door and smiling, Grant winked. Janet reeled backwards, away from the door and in a leap found her way back into her bed. Clutching the covers to her neck, she frowned, her heart beating an allegro.

“Next time,” Janet said, as Grant’s orgasmic moans thundered through the headboard. “I just should have stayed home.”


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Poetry Lessons

Poetry Lessons
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Class droned on forever, one of those days of literary analysis where words seem dead and the author’s point seems to be that we shouldn’t waste our lives reading when there are rosebuds to gather. Each click of the second hand came only after a moment’s pause, the slow mockery of a bored tick-tock man. I kept awake and endured. For that, I deserved a reward.

My classroom purgatory lay on the edge of campus, and with unplanned good fortune, my apartment sat just beyond a seedy commercial district which boasted several establishments draped in blue. I pulled emphatically at the solid wood door that granted access to the windowless bar, and stepped into the utterly dark transition of the curtained foyer. My eyes adjusted to the dim light while my ears adjusted to the brash noise of a heavy-metal riff. I pushed aside the curtain and let my senses be dazzled.

Yellow lights sparkled in sharp points of radiance down the length of the small room, echoed by mirrors behind two small stages, the chrome rods rising like pillars to mark each platform’s edge, and half-empty glasses of expensive cheap beer. My attention fixed at once on the girl, wholly naked, not four feet away, shaking her bum in an elderly gent’s face. I walked the narrow aisle, avoiding feet and a tray-laden waitress, still mesmerized by the poetry of soft tits shaken.

Another dancer, a blonde with inflated boobs and a stiff prance, worked the stage further down, but a glance down toward her and another back again made my choice simple and I looked to sit down near the lovely who had first caught my eye.

I found a chair some two yards from the stage, and sat down with a sigh, forgetting in one simple motion the cares of my day. I clutched my notebook in my lap, leaned back in my chair and watched the girl dance.

Pale pink nipples fronted her chest, like lazy wide eyes reflecting each drunk patron’s stare, the dozen glazed expressions fixed between beery gulps. I imagined the girl in a yellow and white sundress, walking through the small park down the hill. She might smile just that way when the breeze lifted her dress lightly, a mischievous gust fought with china hands. I could tell her about the daisies, how they follow the sun.

“Hey, Steve,” said Janine, the weekday’s regular waitress. She has a slight gap between her front teeth and a light scar on her neck which could only be seen when she cocked her head, letting her black hair fall to the right.

“Hi, Janine.”

“How was class?” she asked.

“Dull, dull, dull,” I lamented. Janine’s black halter hugged tight, a size too small at least, forcing her breasts to spill forward to escape. She has a cute belly-button. I told her so. She rolled her eyes.

“Do you want lunch, or a beer?”

“Still can’t afford to eat. Gimme a Bud,” I replied.

“One Bud,” Janine echoed mechanically. A tall business-looking man bumped into the small woman as he tried to pass by. “Hey!” she said suddenly, showing a mean snarl. I shook my head, disapproving of the treatment she so bravely endured. Janine smiled a wry smile and turned away. Her shorts cut off before her bottom had finished, showing small crescents of her behind.

I opened my notebook, looked for a second at a few scrawled words, and closed it again. “Later,” I told myself, and turned my thoughts back to the stage.

The girl wore a skirt and struggled with her top. A primal chant marked the descent of an old Aerosmith tune. I looked around the cluttered bar to see who might come next. A smile erupted as I watched Elise striding forward. My heart pounded as the dark dress she wore tickled my senses. I fumbled with my notebook, self-consciously excited.

Golden blonde hair fell over her shoulders like a mane, a glittering tawdry fountain of white and yellow and twinges of pale red, lit in stark contrast to her black cotton shift. My mouth watered as Elise took the three steps leading onto the stage, her lean legs revealed with each short ascent, parading delicate feet bound in the black leather to tall heels. Exchanging smiles with her predecessor, she led the pack of men below in a brief round of applause.

Elise surveyed us during the rattling bar noise of the song’s intermission, her blue eyes alive in sizing up her prospects. She danced, I knew, in the ecstasy of her own delight, but she also danced for her living, and gave her best where it paid the most. I waited for her gaze to reach mine, anxious to feel the warm familiar smile she would surely bestow on me. I returned her silent greeting with a nod and a simmering sense of anticipation.

The music began, some popular dance song imported from England and Elise began to sway her luscious hips, swinging the hem of her dress in growing arcs. Janine sat my bottle down in front of me.

“Five-seventy-five,” she said. I hurriedly pulled seven dollars from my pocket and handed them to Janine, my eyes reluctant to leave the stage, where Elise slowly lifted her dress to reveal the first glimmers of red satin panties.

“You like belly-buttons, then,” said Janine with a smirk.

“Let me kiss yours,” I said, still staring at Elise.

“Yeah, right,” said Janine. “I’ll give you something to kiss.”

Elise lifted the dress over her head, her full breasts stretching with the lift of her arms, falling back as she shook her long mane loose. Dark rouged nipples jiggled in the stage mirror as she hung her cotton dress from a hook. I took a sip of the cold beer, my vision transfixed on the shudders of her flesh. Elise, free in her blossoming nudity, picked up the rhythm and began to truly dance.

Hers was no excitable schoolgirl’s loose jazz of shakes, twirls and kicks, for Elise had been trained to entertain with her motion, the studied execution of rhythm, form and control. I watched in amazement as she waved her ripe breasts before us in supple provocation. Her shoulders and hips swam through the drum beats. Her eyes told tales, wild and sweet.

Elise bore a remarkable resemblance to a girl I once knew, a pretty young thing with an innocent playfulness and a biting wit, a girl who had teased me incessantly and then dashed away just as the craving to kiss her had finally sent me mad. I spent a wealth of nights longing for that lost chance to caress my sweet Sally, to tickle her fancy, to tease her with kisses the way she’d teased me.

Elise turned her back to me, bending slightly at the waist to wiggle her round pantied ass at my affection. I adored her. She tickled her bare back with the tips of her golden mane, falling between the wings of her shoulder blades, striped faintly with a bikini tan.

“I’d love to see her naked,” the young man confided as we sat at the pool, watching Elise dive into the deep water. I smiled to myself, knowing that I’d never tell him how easily his wish could be granted.

The red satin of her panties shimmered in the gleams of yellow light, as her full bottom quaked in a bold taunt at my weakness. I pushed my wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose, eager to capture every blessed moment of the vision she offered. I dropped my notebook off my lap, onto the grungy floor, but paid it no mind as I refused to relinquish my impassioned stare. Her thumbs slipped under the crimped elastic waistband. I held my breath.

Her lean legs held in a straight line, and she slowly pushed her panties down. My lust fluttered sorely. The moon of her bottom escaped from the confines, folding cloth marking the fading horizon. I ached with hunger, watching her beautiful globes come into sight, further and further in slow exquisite motion. A dark shadow in the deep valley teased me with dirty thoughts of the girl’s living scent. Down the cloth rolled, into a straight rope and the shorn lips of her pussy came at once into view. I sighed a gust of overheated breath. A sparkle of dew gleamed between her pink swollen folds.

With the sight of her luscious cunt, an inferno of uncontrollable desire raged within me, and I felt myself falling at once desperately in love. As Elise turned away, picking up the lost beats of the song with a rapid and studied sequence of steps, I gave myself to a cascade of visions, of today and tomorrow and yesterdays relived, of words screamed in lonely nights, never spoken, dreams never revealed and in a fit of revelry, I let myself imagine boldly inviting her home, kissing her sweet, and making her mine with a ring and a life. And Elise danced, enchanting us all.

“Another beer?” Janine asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “That’s all I can afford.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Well, I hope so.”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Know what I like?” asked Nancy.

“No,” I said sheepishly.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll have to show you,” Nancy said. I watched the short brunette walk away from me, her thin cream skirt swaying with each step.

Nancy had been showing me all day. Just after Andrea and I arrived, I had been sitting on the couch with Nancy’s husband, Will, watching the game when Nancy bent over to reach a packet of photos, lifting her thin cream skirt just enough to persuade me that this timid sweet friend of ours had come out to play. Her skirt was indecently short and no panties were in sight. I think the most provocative thing I had ever seen Nancy wear, before that day, was a black one-piece swimming suit. On occasion, I have glimpsed the brown shadow of her nipples through a mask of cotton and lace. Nancy’s pretty even when she’s acting prudish, and I’ve tried a few times to loosen Will’s tongue after a few beers.

“If she’s in the mood,” the slightly intoxicated Will had said, “when Nancy feels in charge, she’s unstoppable. If she’s on to other things, she’ll just frown.”

Nancy sat down nearby. I tried to control my burning desire to stare between her lean thighs. I glimpsed a dark curl in the shadows when Nancy suddenly spread her legs and showed me the pink lips of her pussy. I drank a deep stare and then looked to see if Andrea had seen. She watched the television, mesmerized by some instant replay. I turned back, but Nancy had hidden herself again. I studied her lustily, my senses aroused to discover Nancy’s erotic worth. I liked her body, there was no question about my attraction for her firm, high ass and virgin white breasts. I wanted to push my dick into her mouth, let her cocky little smile wrap around my rod. I wanted to grab her mousey hair and show her how to fuck.

“Here,” said Andrea, handing me a beer. I took the bottle and drank. My wife sat down beside me. Nancy leaned over an ottoman, her skirted bottom lifted up. I gasped at the thought of Nancy exposing herself to me again. I lay my hand on Andrea’s thigh and stroked the tanned flesh as I watched Nancy’s skirt slowly rise. Andrea slipped deftly down along the cushion and pushed her damp pussy against my fingers. I felt the wet velvet of Andrea’s cunt as Nancy’s lips glistened feet away.

Will excused himself.

“Know what I like?” asked Nancy, reaching back to rub her bare pussy and looking at me.

“No,” I said, fingering Andrea.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll have to show you.” Nancy winked as she dashed away.

I slipped down onto the floor, to lick my wife’s pussy. Andrea teased my black curls as I tongued her wet spot.

“No panties?” I asked.

“I didn’t think you would notice.”

“I noticed.”

“Everyone always notices. I don’t know why.”

“A woman without panties is living treasure.”

“Anyway, let’s go see,” said Andrea.

“Go see?” I asked, following her up the stairs.

“What Nancy likes. She said she’d show you.”

We stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom. Nancy knelt naked on the bed, Will’s enormous prick in her mouth. Andrea started to rub her pussy. Nancy waggled her upturned bottom, so firm and white, so moistly lascivious in the furrow.

“Fuck me, Steve,” Nancy said, pulling the large staff from her lips. “This is what I like.”

I looked at Andrea. She stared at Will’s cock.

“You do the bitch,” she said. “I’ll take the dick.” Andrea quickly pulled off her blouse as she moved to distract and eventually oust Nancy as first tongue on her husband’s cock. I took my place in the back court. Nancy’s wild when she’s in the mood.

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The New Ending

The New Ending
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Bill Tyler sat sadly nursing a beer when the sound of a woman’s voice, slightly intoxicated and very excited, erupted behind him.

“Billy Tyler!” she squealed, “Is that really you, Billy?”

Bill turned his head to get a glimpse at the woman who had ID’d him. He was greeted by a mane of red hair and a pretty smile.

“Sure is.”

“I’m Megan Stoltz!”


“I was friends with your sister, Linda, maybe eleven years ago.”

“Well …”

“You wouldn’t know me, I mean, we weren’t ever introduced or anything.”

“That would explain things.”

“How is Linda?” she asked, taking a seat opposite Bill.

“She’s in Florida.”

“Sounds like Linda. We spent that summer hanging out at the beach. Linda loved the beach.”

“Hence Florida.”


“Can I tell you a story about us?”


“I mean a story about you and me.”


“It’s crazy and I’ve never told anyone else.” She looked around, suddenly aware of who else might be listening. “Let’s move to a booth. Is that okay? This is kind of a personal story.”

“Sure,” said Bill, a bit intrigued and developing an attraction to this slightly crazed and yet delightful woman.

“Over here,” she said, sitting again opposite Bill. Leaning forward so she could speak softly, her breasts presented a deep and luxurious cleavage. Bill began to enjoy the encounter.

“It was summer and you were back from school. I knew who you were but you didn’t know me. Your parents were out of town and I had spent the day at the beach with Linda. You were working at that BBQ joint, I think. You were never around.”

“Sounds right.”

“Linda had way too much to drink, especially after spending all day in the sun, and she crashed out early. I don’t know why, but I was wide awake, sitting in Linda’s room, watching her snore. I don’t even know what I did, watched some television, did and redid my nails. I think I picked up one of Linda’s romance novels and skimmed through it, looking for the sex scenes. My ‘boyfriend’ was in France and I was unfulfilled. I mean horny.”

Bill’s eyes opened wide, surprised by her candor. Megan blushed.

“What can I say? I was horny and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Sure,” Bill said, slightly out of breath.

“It was like one thirty when you came home. I thought maybe it was your parents but they weren’t supposed to be home. I didn’t really think about you living there, so I was curious and a little scared. You made noises, you know, getting stuff from the kitchen and then you turned on the television. I was relieved when you did that, because I figured there was no way a prowler would turn on the television. Then I remembered Linda telling me you were home. So I decided to check it out.”

“Your house had stairs from the upstairs bedrooms along the back wall of the family room. So I’m creeping like a little kid along those stairs until I get a view of you sitting on the recliner, eating a sandwich and watching television. You looked dreamy, kicked back and relaxing. I sighed and you looked around as if you heard me but I was in the dark and so you went back to your sandwich.”

“So you were spying on me.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t help it. You were this hot older guy and I was a horny young woman. I didn’t have the nerve to just walk down and get into your business, so I just hid on the stairs and watched you.”

Bill smiled. “Creepy.”

“Yeah. After you finished eating, you pulled a joint out of your wallet and lit up. I was so shocked, not because I had anything against weed, but smoking right there in your parents’ family room, that was bold.”

“They were out of town.”

“Still, I couldn’t believe it. Then you went over to a cabinet, reached deep inside and pulled out a video tape.”

“Uh oh.”

“Popped in an old video porn and sat back to suck on your doobie. This girl’s mind was blown.”

“I can imagine.”

“People get naked on the television and I’m crouched on the stairs in my t-shirt and panties. You’re just kicked back, getting high. Part of me was dying to walk down, take a hit from you and start a conversation. But with the porno rolling, I didn’t dare.”

“Too bad.”

“Too bad, indeed. You sat the roach down and tugged your pants open. Now there are people screwing on television and I’m staring at this huge erection.”


“I’d never seen anything like it,” said Megan, almost whispering. “I was mesmerized, staring hard at your big dick. I was awestruck and holding my breath. Then you started stroking it. My fingers instinctively moved down to my panties, which were completely soaked by this point.”


“I was matching your rhythm stroke for stroke, rubbing myself in tempo with you. It was a strange, kinky kind of sex.”

“You should have …”

“Of course I should have, but I just sat there watching and fingering. Thinking about it but unable to move.”

“Too bad.”

“Then this scene comes on the porn. It was bad eighties porn. Two women invited over some male strippers and they all got down. One of the stripper dudes goes into a bedroom where the younger sister of one of the women is hiding in the closet. She’s a real skinny chick, probably twenty something but with pigtails so she looks like a younger sister. She’s naked and wants to get it on.”


“So I’m hiding on the stairs, watching you watching this chick hiding and watching the porn guy. It was surreal. Almost cool, in a weird way.”

“I can see that.”

“Except the chick is totally coked up. Talking twelve miles a minute. Dancing around in this horrible unrhythmic way. She couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stand still, but all of her movements are jerky, spastic, weirdly ugly.”

“Coke and sex don’t mix.”

“No they don’t and she proved it. And the film was from the eighties, so there was no Viagra to help the guy out. He is totally unaroused by her spastic actions. She’s grabbing him and pulling at him and talking filth and shaking her butt and he’s as soft as a baby bunny. Everything she tried to do to get him hard had the opposite effect on him. It was the saddest porn scene ever.”

“I think I remember that scene.”

“So I’m playing with myself watching you play with yourself and this coked-up chick is being a complete buzz-kill. Slowly and surely, just like the guy in the film, your sweet dick was going soft. The guy on the screen is struggling with frustration. Your hand stops moving. I slow down. The scene goes on and on.”

“Oh no.”

“Damn right. You fall asleep.”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to Linda’s room and played with myself until I passed out.”


“In the morning, you were gone, probably in your bed. Linda and I went to the beach again and that was the last time I saw you.”


“I’d say so. So I’ve always thought that, in a way, we had a kind of sex.”

“I guess we did.”

“So here’s my thought. We already did it, but it wasn’t very good. So I say, let’s do it again.”

“I’ve got some porn videos and a closet you can hide in.”

“Perfect,” said Megan. “This story needs a new ending.”


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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Do you ever look at naked pics on the net?”

“Sure, Jack. Who doesn’t?”

“Something freaky happened to me.”

“Boss caught you?”

“Not yet. I think IS watches everything we do, but fuck ’em. Anyway, I’ve been subscribed to this site for a few years – really good stuff – amateurs and voyeur.”

“Sounds hot.”

“Ever imagine what it would be like to find pics of someone you knew on the web?”

“Claire in accounting. I know there are pics of her somewhere. I am dying to see those babies bare.”


“Liz? Your wife?”

“In the flesh.”

“No shit.”

“I’m still shaking. Miss, can I get another beer?”

“Me, too. Thanks.”

“I’m flipping through the site and I get to a link marked ‘hot neighbor'”

“What’s the site?”

“Shit, Bob, I can’t tell you now. I’m still way too freaked out.”

“C’mon, Jack. That’s not fair. Everyone else gets to see her bod. Why not me? I’m your best friend. If anyone should get to see it, I should be the one to see Liz’s booty.”

“I’ve seen the same kind of pics a thousand times, some guy with a zoom lens catching some woman out of the shower or sunbathing. Kinda sexy, usually.”

“One of your neighbors took them?”

“Must have been. It was definitely our back yard.”

“What was she doing?”

“Apparently, Liz was sunbathing nude in our backyard.”


“Thing was, she looked so good. I shot my wad in about twelve seconds.”

“More than I want to know, but I’ll bet.”

“I see Liz naked almost every day, but somehow seeing these pictures drove me friggin wild.”

“Do you know who took them.”

“I could guess, from the angles.”

“She’s just lying on the lounger, naked?”

“Hell no. She comes outside in a long t-shirt sorta thing and peels it off to reveal a blue bikini.”


“So then she takes off the top. I had no idea she ever sun-bathed naked.”

“What’s the site again?”

“Then she pulls off the bottoms.”


“Starts playing with herself.”


“Neighbor with the camera is drooling, you can tell. Twenty pics a second, I swear.”

“Jack, I need to see those pics. Have a heart.”

“I ran home and fucked the shit out of Liz. Like six times that night. She thought I’d hijacked a shipment of Viagra.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Damn, no way. Thing is, I want more pics. I wrote the guy who submitted them, begged him for more.”

“He doesn’t know who you are?”

“No way. He said he’d send me some more and hopefully she’ll do it again soon so he could take more.”

“Have you ever taken pics of her?”

“That’s the kicker – she won’t let me. She’s too self-conscious, insecure. Doesn’t know how great she looks.”

“So show her the pics.”

“I’m afraid she’d delete them and never take her clothes off again. No, I have to figure out how to get her naked in the backyard so the neighbor can snap some more shots.”

“Look. I understand your spot and I want to help you. Give me the site. I’ll see what I can do.”


“You suck, man, you suck.”

“The pics were so, so hot. Maybe you could buy the house next door and take some more.”

“Thanks. I think I will. Neighbor.”

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