Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

As I looked into her eyes, I recognized the fire. I had seen it before, in other women, at other times, and I had grown to fear and respect that blaze of madness. Stephanie gazed hungrily at me, blushing in turn at her own boldness. I stepped back with the recognition. I knew I only had a moment to make up my mind.

We had been friends for quite some time, and in all frankness, I preferred to keep it that way. It wasn’t that Stephanie wasn’t attractive, for she was. I admit to having a sweet tooth for eye candy, so to speak, even in my friends. But years of hard knocks have taught me to recognize the limits inherent in any relationship.

Circumstance had started us down the path of friendship, and we took to it readily. If anything, we both thrived in the warmth of playful companionship, accepting what we shared because there had been no other choice. As Brian’s girl, Steph had become a wonderful friend, thoughtful, understanding and remarkably giving. And part of our camaraderie developed, I think, because there was never any doubt we could burn a wicked flame of love, drink deep a naughty draught of carnal debauchery for as long as our lust lasted. But in my heart of hearts, I knew we, she and I, could not survive the intimacy. Our friendship would surely be consumed in the flames.

So, I was sitting beside this rather pretty brunette, testing my strength, weighing my natural lusty inclinations against several very reasonable reasons why I should simply excuse myself. At first, I tried not to let her captivate me with the gleam in her dark eyes, but my strength wilted in the sweltering heat as I watched her run her long fingers over the blue t-shirt that hugged the swell of her breasts. My heart surged, my lungs folded and my stomach clenched with a bubbling sense of excited fear as the inescapable knowledge that I had to move or lose began to wage war with the supple vision of Steph’s hungry lips. I pondered the ecstasy of defeat while my dear friend’s smile pleaded with me to indulge her, this once, by surrendering to temptation with a kiss.

And I bit into her red delicious apple. My reluctance dissipated like dew in a July sun.

As we shed our clothes, the floodgates poured forth. Her tits rose and fell succulently as she lifted her t-shirt over her head in a graceful second. My mouth watered to suckle the darkened nipples, and she eagerly thrust the ripe pair forward to greet my desire. The subtle scent of her body, the gentle musk, the damp soft sweat,the tickle of faded garlic, the cream of her young flesh, all the sensations she had kept wisely out of my reach suddenly burst through me, and I only wanted to devour her whole.

Stephanie teased me, as we made love, reminding me of incidents we’d known in our months when our sexual appetites had been taunted by our friendly proximity. Like the day when she’d caught me staring at her breasts as she leaned over in her black and white one-piece. Like the night when we’d piled into Rick’s car to drive up to the Baltimore and she’d sat on my lap and wiggled her bum as she felt me grow hard. Like the day when she’d dropped by the apartment and caught me coming out of the shower. Like the evening we’d watched Last Tango and I found myself watching Brian fondle her thighs.

I kissed Stephanie incessantly as we loved, giving this luscious nymph my adoration as well as the fuck she desired. I wanted her delicious red cunt and the squeeze of her thighs and the suck of her tits, but I wanted to woman I had grown to admire to want more than just once, but again and again. We fucked with hard rhythms and wild laughter and I growled as I held her firm in my hands and plunged my rock deep down inside. Stephanie purred and nipped and bucked and flailed and the night grew dark and slipped away.

I awoke the next morning, nuzzling her pillow which filled me at once with the her fragrance, my love, the warmth of knowing I was where I wanted to be. As my eyes adjusted to the noonday sun, I breathed in the dank aroma of our lingering romp, the rich array of scents that spoke more memories than words can impart of our love. I heard Stephanie in the bathroom and smiled.

She stood in white panties, her long hair fallen limp past her unpainted face and I felt the warm glow of realizing that this was what she looked like the next morning. I stumbled out of bed, hoping to put my good-morning erection to good use, and came up behind to kiss Stephanie’s moist neck.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Mmmm,” I said nuzzling.

“Not now,” she replied. “I’m already going to be late.” I looked at the clock and realized she was right. I relinquished my embrace, a finger trailing away from the fullness of her breast and she lifted a contact to settle in a staring dark eye.

I went out in search of my clothes and began to feel the first fears of a newly created sense of jealousy, for I knew this woman as well as I had known anyone, and as I found my jeans and pulled them on, I began to wonder if she could really intend for us to be more than just friends, despite our good fun. I found my shirt and decided to keep my cool.

And soon she was gone.

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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