Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I hadn’t planned to play at the party but Miguel brought his guitar and so did some guy from Scotland so I pulled mine out and when most of the crowd had cleared, someone turned off the record player and the three of us jammed until it was very late. Half the people in the room were unconscious by the time Miguel packed it in. Ross quit two songs later. I sat alone on the hearth, strumming through some changes, meandering down the frets, dreamily getting lost in the lines.

I finally wearied of my noodling and my fingers came to rest. I looked up to see a woman staring at me with a wicked smile. Everyone else was passed out. She sat on an easy chair, draped lazily over the cushioned arms. I nodded to her and reached for my guitar’s case.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “Keep playing.”

“I would,” I said “but I’m too tired.”

“Too tired,” she repeated in a drawl, stroking a cotton clad breast until her nipple bumped. I stared, wide-eyed. She motioned to the guitar. I took it in my lap and began to play.

“I like music,” she said, lifting her t-shirt until the stiff nipple showed dark against her pale naked boob. I stared hard and played whatever I was feeling. It sounded pretty good.

“Yeah,” she cooed, slipping a hand into her shorts. One of the comatose stirred, twisted and groaned. I played softly, keen on keeping the mood but less interested in waking anyone else up. This was not a group I wanted to populate an orgy. I considered taking the woman away but things seemed to be moving along and I didn’t want to harsh the buzz with logistics. I played on.

One hand squeezed a naked breast while the other pushed her shorts down to her knees. I changed keys and added a bass line. She teased her pussy until her labia burst the folds in a damp effusion of delicate flesh. She rubbed in time with my fingering so I fingered a rhythm bound to get her off, but softly, quietly, as she hushed her moans by biting her lip and shivered as the chorus came to a close.

“Good night,” she said, adjusting her clothes and in less than eight measures, she fell fast asleep.

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 ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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