Telling Tales

Telling Tales
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Stuart tickled Ellen lightly, causing her to smile and finally squirm.

“Don’t,” she said, the word almost lost in a laugh. Ellen’s pert nose wrinkled slightly and she pushed him gently away.

“I missed you,” Stuart said. His hand slipped behind her, pulling her closer, pressing her warm flesh against him. Stuart kissed her, tickling her lightly again as he did. Ellen smiled nervously beneath his pressing lips.

“So I see,” Ellen said, rubbing herself along the warmth of his bared limbs. “I would think you’d want a moment to yawn or smoke or something.”

“I’ve got to make up for lost time.” Stuart squeezed her naked bottom in his hand and kissed her freckled neck.

“Mmmm,” Ellen purred, leaning her head back.

“I heard an interesting story last night,” Stuart said. Glimmers of pale moonlight reflected off his darkened eyes.

“Really,” Ellen said, leaning on a hand, perched under her gold hair.

“Yes. The meetings finally ended about nine and after a whole week in that room, I couldn’t bear to spend another evening watching bad television, so I went down to the hotel bar to have a drink.” Stuart lifted Ellen’s left hand to his lips and then paused to admire the shimmering gems on her wedding ring.

“And you met an exotic dancer who kept you up all night telling stories,” Ellen said, freeing her hand from his grasp to punch him on the shoulder, laughing.

“No,” Stuart said thoughtfully, rubbing his almost bruised flesh. “There was this guy, and I don’t know how it started, football scores maybe, but it seems he went to school down at Manchester.”

“Really? What was his name?”

“Joe, or something like that. He was a bit sauced, and I didn’t expect to keep in touch. Anyway, he said he graduated in eighty-eight.”

“Maybe I knew him,” Ellen said.

“Probably not. He sounded like he had always been pretty wild. I’d guess he spent his years on the rock going from party to party.” Stuart paused to suck on her nipple, teasing the thickening circle hard with his tongue. Ellen moaned softly and then pulled back from his kiss, gingerly squeezing her breast.

“You beast,” Ellen said, laying back. Stuart devoured her beauty in a moment with a fierce, hungry gaze, his thoughts swirling in the spray of her fine golden hair spread across the hunter green pillow, the lucent blue of her half-closed eyes.

“We talked for quite a while, you know, one scotch after another, and Joe started telling me about this one party he went to back in eighty-seven. He insisted it was the greatest night of his college years, if not his entire life.”

“I’ll bet,” Ellen said, frowning.

“He was most emphatic about it. There was this girl who really made an impression on him.”

Ellen turned to look inquisitively into his eyes, her brows lifted slightly. Stuart smiled and looked up, mischievous and suggestive. Ellen crawled on top of him and kissed him.

“He said the party was at one of the houses on Monroe. He said she was a Kappa.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I swear, that’s just what he said. He insisted on it. He remembered the sweater.”

“I think you’re a liar,” Ellen said, teasing his firm prick hard with the fur of her lips.

“Joe told me this girl started dancing really nasty, that’s what he called it anyway, and he said his jaw just dropped, watching her swing her ass and her skirt was swaying and her boobs were bouncing and he stood there, licking his lips and she looked up when the song ended, caught him staring and she took his hand and led him out of there.”

“Probably a Gamma.” Ellen said conclusively. Stuart turned her over, laying her down and kissed her tummy lovingly.

“He was pretty drunk, but anyway, he raved about this girl. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big soft tits, great curves, tight pussy with a light golden muff.”

“This guy certainly told you a lot.”

“He was pretty drunk, and I think it was one of the high moments of his life. I had the feeling he’d told the story a few times before.”

“A real gentleman.” Ellen squirmed as Stuarts lips began to tickle her thighs.

“He told me she threw him down on the bed and sat on his face, just grinding it against his tongue and he licked her madly, just from self-preservation and the juice of her cunt poured over his face until he thought he would drown.”

“Mmmm,” said Ellen, her hands caught in his curls.

“He told me she rode him like a stampeding filly, an intense gallop rubbing her clit hard against him, driving him deep while her big boobs bounced with a steady flopping turn, over and over, the rings of her brown tips spreading and tensing as she tossed her yellow mane around and over her icy blue eyes.”

“Oh,” said Ellen lifting her shoulders with a sigh. “He liked that, did he?”

“He told me she dug her nails into his butt as she pulled him hard down, driving him into her hot fiery cunt, pounding while screams of ecstatic delight erupted and wailed and he sank into her wet lips while she fought back the blows.”

“I’m so glad you’re home, to tell me these things.”

“He told me she knelt on all fours and provoked him with a nasty foul mouth to fuck her please fuck her please fuck her so wild, so hard and so wild with his cock in her cunt and smack her white ass with each blow of his prick and squeeze the soft flesh and yank her back hard as he buried his cock in the dripping wet snatch.”

Ellen bit at the pillow, feeling his hand’s sweet caress.

“He told me she sucked his prick hard, drinking him down, taking his stud down into her throat, slurping the flesh with her tongue and her lips and he looked down to see the bell of her waist spreading out to her folded wide hips and the mole at the edge of her round bottom’s valley and the throbs of excitement that wrench from down deep to spurt into her mouth with the raging fires of lust.”

Her arms around him, Ellen kissed him deeply, lovingly, adoring and blissful. They stared deep into a loving gaze.

“You two talked rather intimately.”

“He was pretty drunk. But he said there were some things a man never forgets.”

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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