Project Seduction

Project Seduction
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Hey, remember that blonde last night, burgundy dress, kept talking with Tony?”

“High butt, lots of sparkles?”

“She does real estate.”

“Sure, I can see that.”

“She told me she has a house with a studio on the west end.”

“By the river?”

“That’s what she said.”

“That would be dreamy.”

“She said the studio is gorgeous, big windows, lots of space.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Maybe we can sell some paintings at the Regency show and pay for it.”

“It’s entirely possible. Your new stuff is incredible.”

“You always say that.”

“I believe in you.”

“Maybe she’ll hold it for us.”

“We should go look at it.”

“For real?”

“She gave me her card, is dying to show it to us.”

“We can’t afford that. What’s the point?”

“Take a peek at our future. Besides, you never know.”

“A house with a studio on the west end by the river?”

“Maybe we can seduce it out of her.”

“Offer her sex in lieu of money?”

“Who knows? She seemed pretty randy last night.”

“She’s the agent, she can’t make that deal.”

“Unless she owns the place.”

“Does she?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“So you think she’ll give us the house in exchange for sex?”

“Probably not. But maybe she’s only selling it because she’s lonely, living in such a big space.”

“So she’ll invite us to move in with her?”

“And you’ll get your studio. It’s brilliant.”

“So is she our landlady, our girlfriend or our new wife?”

“A bit of each, perhaps.”

“So you’re okay with another wife.”

“Hmmm. I could be. She was awful cute.”

“She was. No question. She was cute.

“I’ll give her a call, set up an appointment and we’ll take a peek.”

“Start project seduction.”

“We walk around the place, make all the appropriate coos of appreciation, pretend like we can pay cash and see what happens.”

“Push her on the bed and make her squeal with the desire to let us move in?”

“I don’t see it quite that way. We get indulgent in the studio, make ourselves at home, feel what it would be like to work in the space. I mean we aren’t going to drop a big wad of cash on the place until we know it fits our needs.”

“I could get into that.”

“I’m guessing her dearly departed husband was the reason they had a studio. He probably used it to paint nudes of her before he died. You stand behind the easel. I pose. The blonde lady steps out to take a call.”

“Paint, paint, paint.”

“I strip off my clothes, nothing complicated, of course, and relax on a chaise lounge.  You study me and pretend to paint. Our new friend returns with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. We toast the marvelous studio, fully convinced it is a perfect match to our needs.”

“And then we write a check, living in luxury until it bounces.”

“No, then she kisses me, seemingly oblivious to my nudity except for the implied permission is gives her to touch me. Her hands squeeze my breasts. I suck her breath. You put a hand on each of us, caressing and holding the smooth curves of our flesh. Clothes fall away. She licks. You enter. I squeal. She moans. We twist and turn and thrust and fall. Orgasms render us helpless and we fall languishing in a pile of arms and breasts and kisses.”

“Yes. That would work.”

“She invites us to stay, to move in, to be hers. Voila!”

“Do you think it will work.”

“I said ‘voila!’ didn’t I?

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
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