Victorious

Victorious
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“You’re feeling frisky tonight,” Vicky said.

I lifted her nightie and licked her nipple, delighting in the slow metamorphosis as the pale ring of flesh grew thick and dark under my tongue. I love Vicky’s nipples. I wrapped my lips around the stiffness and sucked gently, squeezing her soft tit below.

“Mmm,” she moaned, putting a hand through my dark curls, pressing me close. “What’s got into you?” I slipped a hand between my wife’s warm thighs and teased her tangle of curls.

Ed, my boss, had walked into my office that morning and dropped a huge volume of reports on my desk with a bang.

“Derek,” he said, “I need you to run these over to Edgewood.” I looked up from my calculations and wrinkled my brow, wondering why he was bothering me, with the Sands project deadline threatening us all. “I know, I know,” said Ed. “But this is critical. The board has to see these reports, pronto.”

“Send Al,” I suggested, anxious to get back to my work before I lost my train of thought. My eyes went back to survey the penciled scribbles I had left.

“You know I wouldn’t bother you if I could help it. They’re going to cut our funding if you don’t convince the directors we’re getting positive results with the IA3.”

“Ed,” I said sternly, trying to intimidate him.

“Derek, I’m not fucking around. They’ll pull the plug and your paycheck will bounce. Mine, too. 1643 Fern Lane, in Edgewood. Get over there and make them understand.” I put down my pencil and sighed.

“All right. Just don’t start bitching at me when the Sands project misses deadline.”

“Terry said he’ll give us some more hands. Don’t worry about Sands. Just make them understand. I’m counting on you.”

I drove out to Edgewood. I assumed I was going to the Cedermore Offices, but that was on Elm. I stopped in a gas station and checked a map. Fern was half a mile south, in the residential part of Edgewood. I raised an eyebrow and drove over to the house. Mansion, I should say.

A butler answered the door. In all my life, I have never rung a doorbell and had a butler greet me.

“Madame is expecting you,” the old man said. I gave him a curious look. I hadn’t expected that, either. I should have asked Ed more questions.

 

I was led into a large living room, sparse in furnishings but exquisitely elegant. Windows covered almost the entire south wall of the room, absolutely bathing the room in bright sunlight.

“Hell of an air conditioning bill,” I said, laughing.

“Yes, sir,” the butler responded. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks,” I replied.

A young woman, maybe thirty, wearing a scanty blue bikini top and a thin cloth wrapped around her waist, climbed the stairs onto the deck outside the window. She fumbled with a gleaming brass door handle and stepped inside.

“Hello,” she said, approaching me directly and extending a dainty hand. “I’m Ellen.”

“Derek Williams,” I replied, still clutching the reports Ed had dropped on me.

“Good,” she said. Her tits jiggled slightly as she spoke but I tried not to look. “Jerry called to tell me you were coming. We’re not satisfied. I’m not satisfied.”

“I think . . . ” I said.

“You can satisfy me?” Ellen said with a coy laugh that kindled a fire in my blood. Her eyes were dark and sultry, gleaming as they looked me over. I held up the reports.

“I think . . .”

“You think a pile of paper is going to do the trick. I don’t want the numbers. I want to know what, exactly, the IA3 is performing and a serious projection of its capabilities.”

“It’s rather technical,” I said, wishing I had accepted the drink.

“Ha!,” said Ellen gaily, sitting down on a pillowy beige sofa. She patted the seat next to her. I sat down, cautiously, placing the reports gently on a glass coffee table. “Try me.”

I began explaining the aims of our research. Ellen seemed to listen, for her eyes remained fixed on me. I tried to meet her gaze, but speaking about high energy physics and looking into those seductive eyes proved more than I could manage. I moved on to describe the experiments we had performed, when a bead of sweat drifted from her throat down gently between her large, well-tanned breasts. I wondered if she wore the bikini top by the pool, for although the occasional sigh invariably shifted the small triangle of blue, the white line of a modest breast never appeared. Her nipple hardened under the fabric as I stared. I tried to restrain my panic when I realized she caught me looking.

I began to discuss the results of our work, the prototypes we had undertaken, the success we had with those embodiments. Ellen

leaned back on the sofa, comfortably. I paused, but she insisted I go on. The wrap fell loose, exposing the blue bottoms of her bikini between her lean, tan thighs. I swallowed dryly. The scent of a woman’s arousal, the spiced musk of passion, suffused the cool air. Ellen scratched an itch at the blue fabric’s edge. I started to explain my expectations of the IA3 when Ellen sat up.

“All right,” she said. “I understand. You’ve done an excellent job and I don’t see any reason to continue my objections. I think you should have abandoned the diffraction experiments after the second failure – it seems to me it was obvious the gold ions weren’t going to do the trick, but I’m not going to fault thoroughness. Hindsight is always easier than foresight.”

My jaw probably dropped. I had opposed continuing the diffractions in the lab, but I had been careful not to comment on Ed’s blunder to Ellen. I felt a sudden surge of attraction, for beyond the physical beauty that this mostly naked Sylph evidenced, beneath the sultry dark eyes that seemed to mark me as prey, she gleamed sharper than any woman I had ever encountered, at least in my overly masculine field of study.

Ellen smiled and gently tickled the swelling furrows of her pussy through the thin fabric of her bikini bottoms.

“I’m impressed,” she said, “but I’d like to be satisfied.” Staring hard into my eyes, almost gleeful at my frozen shock, Ellen pulled the top of her bikini away from her breasts, exposing the deeply browned mounds, tipped with hard dark nipples, begging for my attention.

I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know where I found the courage. I stumbled as I took to my feet.

“I’m sorry,” I said, nervous and aroused. I almost ran as I made my exit.

As I drove back to the office, I worried. I knew I couldn’t prove anything about the episode, and I didn’t know if Ellen would cut our funding.

Ed greeted me at the door.

“Excellent work, Derek,” he said, pounding me on the back. “I knew I could count on you. Terry said the motion has been dropped and we’ll get paid.”

I nearly collapsed when I heard the news. Dread had been torturing me mercilessly for twenty minutes.

“He also said you left the reports at the director’s.”

“Send Al for them,” I said, making my way back to my office and closing the door.

 

Coming home, the first glimpse of Vicky and the kids sent shivers of delight through me. I love her in so many ways. All through the evening, I kissed and pawed my beauty. I had never been more glad to be home.

“You,” I said, letting her nipple loose from my lips. “You excite me.” I moved over her, kissed her cherry lips. My stiff prick teased her thighs as they spread. I plunged myself into her warm cunt and felt tears roll down my cheeks.

I had faced temptation, and I had won.

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of 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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