Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Fuck me!”

The echo, the plea in my wife’s voice, the insistent growl of her eager submission, those words excited me hard, almost terrifying me as they cut my soul. I loosened my grip, letting Andrea’s golden locks start to slip from the hard knot of my fingers. She moaned low, with a melted wanton glare in her pale blue eyes. I turned to look out the window. A dim reflection stared back at me.

“Is he out there?” I asked softly.

“Who?” Andrea asked, suddenly nervous.

“You’re mine,” I said, tightening my grip on her hair, drawing her head back. Her mouth opened and her eyes closed.

“Fuck me,” she purred.


Eight long years had passed and I had almost forgotten. Almost forgotten that hot summer night when I stepped onto the back porch at my parent’s house, weary of the mini-drama that played on the big twenty-four inch television. The stars sparkled as I bathed myself in the serene darkness of the calm before the storm.

A flood of yellow light poured forth in a flash, casting a long geometric shadow over the lawn through the chain link fence that divided my parent’s back yard from the house beyond. I couldn’t help but cast a glance at the view through the panoramic window. I couldn’t help but stare as a young woman stepped boldly into the lamp light. I couldn’t help but gasp, seeing she wore a black silk chemise.

I held my breath as I realized the woman was the good wife Jane. I had met her a few times, even greeted her calmly when I had been cutting our lawn. Jane was still young, no more than twenty five at the time, a shy girl with a pretty smile. I was only eighteen. Jane laughed happily, reacting to someone out of my view.

“Do you think so?” she asked, teasing the hem along her thigh. Insects buzzed a steady beat in dark trees, but Jane’s voice rang clear above the drone, through some open screen.

I nodded my approval as I watched her, enraptured, and without thinking I pushed my jogging shorts down. Jane’s husband, Ted, crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa, facing me. Suddenly anxious to stay out of sight, I ducked down behind the pine railing, peeking over the edge as Jane bent over to turn on some music. Her chemise lifted slightly as she fiddled the controls, offering me a quick glimpse of the final curve of her bottom. Ted smiled and drank from a tall glass of beer.

I thought I had completely chased those memories away, but I can still recall the way Jane looked that night with photographic clarity. She started dancing as the music faintly hummed, stretching her long legs, tossing that silky gown with each bump of her hips, giving me short peeks at her round little backside. Jane’s ass never looked so delicious under the loose blue jeans she wore when she was tending her garden. Teasing her husband, she let the thin straps fall from her shoulders. The supple wings of her shoulder blades fluttered gently as she showed Ted her breasts. The silk gathered at her waist and then slipped to the floor. I bit my lip, wanting her ass, tormented to madness by the first flash of the dark curls below.

Jane turned with a smile. I will never forget that wicked grin as she rubbed her ass in Ted’s face, squeezing her tits almost angrily. Her dark nipples pulsed toward me with each contraction of her hands, enticing me forward, making me ravenously hard. Jane licked her lips and ground her backside into Ted’s face.

She seemed to orgasm, smiling at me in my dark hiding place. I stroked my young cock furiously. I had never seen anything like this before. Ted stood up. He laced his fingers through Jane’s dark mane and yanked her head back.

“You’re mine,” he snarled.

“Fuck me,” she said.

I watched as he did, and I soon watered the lawn with my lust brewed concoction. Time passed, an hour at most, but an eternity of images burned into my head. Ted extinguished the light. I pulled my shorts up over my still throbbing prick and went to indulge in gushing wet dreams of my neighbor, Jane.

I saw her the next afternoon in those loose blue jeans, bent over to tease her dahlias. To my experienced eye, plain Neighbor Jane now faintly glowed with the simmering fever of the bawdy Slut Jane and I found myself staring nervously, smiling and coughing as I pretended to weed the lawn. My mother laughed when she saw me sitting on the grass, jerking a dandelion out of the ground. I ignored her amusement and continued sneaking peeks at sweet Jane.

I had no plan, no scheme, no intent, but my glands assumed control of my being and I soon found ways to speak to Jane, to ask her questions, give her advice, chattering helplessly about anything that came to mind. I found myself in her path when she needed some help, when something heavy needed pushing, when some high branch needed pulling. Jane smiled prettily and said as little as politeness could modestly bear. I had watched this woman fuck ecstatically a few nights gone by, but in the light of the day, Jane still appeared a shy, beautiful girl.

A fated afternoon led me into her house. I cannot remember what task had brought me into the marital sanctum but I quickly recognized the play room from my recurring dreams. Jane brought me a glass of lemonade. I thanked her. She smiled at me. I reached for a stool she need at the same moment she reached, bringing us for one instant too close. I could almost taste the tart heat of her breath as she lightly laughed. I kissed her. She moaned. I laced my fingers through her dark hair.

“You’re mine,” I said. Her eyes opened wide, melted darkly.

“Fuck me,” she said.

Two days later I sat on my parents back porch and watched the sun go down. Jane and Ted’s house erupted with anger, cries, a harsh symphony of accusations and denials. I listened, painfully, scared as I waited, expecting to hear my name burst into their howls of complaint. A door slammed. Jane cried. I turned away, trying desperately to extinguish my tears.

An hour went by, silent, brutal, lonely. Satisfied the episode had finally ended, I exiled myself to my room, burning with shame. Their house was soon sold. I tried to forget. I forgot.


I spent a lazy hour after dinner lounging on our sofa, skimming through a short novel my brother had recommended, when Andrea joined me. I hardly even noticed her entrance at first, staying with the prose long enough to finish one more sentence and then looked up to acknowledge my wife. At my first glimpse of Andrea, my eyes opened wide. Then my heart skipped a beat and the breath fled my body.

Andrea can look simply ravishing. She did.

It was about half-past eight. The bright summer sun had only just set and the wide stretch of sky I could see through our picture window had been painted with a stroke of deep crimson. Andrea

turned on one and then another of the lights in the room, transforming the glass panes into an array of translucent mirrors. Her silk dress tickled up the back of her thigh as she reached for the second switch, testing my imagination with a flurry of hungry naked dreams. Living with Andrea is a sensual feast and I have become a shameless glutton. “Hi, honey,” I said as I closed my book and set it aside. Andrea smiled as she pulled some CDs from the rack and flicked on the stereo.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to listen to some tunes.”

“That’s great,” I said with a smile. At her command, a slow, sultry rhythm filled the room. Andrea walked over to the window and cupping her hands around her eyes, she peeked out at the night sky. Leaning over, the lace tops of her stockings crept into view, stealing my attention. Andrea slowly swayed her silk-encased bottom from side to side.

As I leered salaciously at my young wife, a glimmer in the yard caught my eye, a quick burst of motion outside, something like the shimmer of a white t-shirt before it ducked down behind the hedge. I shifted on the sofa, trying to find a better angle, wondering if I had really seen anything. An anxious reflection stared back at me.

“What was that?” I said softly.

Andrea moaned softly and a shiver seemed to caress her body. I tried to look past her, through the reflected shadow of her deep blue dress and into the night, but Andrea turned, obstructing my dim view with a wiggle of her hips and a flip of her hem. Black satin panties hugged her firm bottom in that quick instant before the dress dashed back down to swing lightly across her lean thighs.

“Sure you don’t mind?” Andrea said as she strolled past me, saucy and cool. I nodded, wondering if she would pull the drapes, curious if she had seen the fleeting apparition outside. I squinted slightly, still nervous as I studied the dark shadows of the night’s descent once more, anxious to chase the spectre from my thoughts. Distracted by the woman before me, I quickly decided there was nothing to be seen. “A squirrel or bird,” I said to myself. “That it is and nothing more.” Andrea smiled knowingly and I suspected she had been playing with me, teasing my fear-torn love of exhibitionistic thrills.

Her silk-clad thighs stole and held my attention as she followed the music’s slow rhythms, Andrea dancing, enticing, conjuring lust filled desires with each swing of her legs. I stared raptly, hypnotized by the shudders of flesh, her breasts wobbling as the drum beats grew faster, cascades of her girlish inhibitions falling like a sudden shower of rain.

I leaned forward to catch her, to draw my angelic beauty into my arms. Turning, she pressed her bottom to my lips and I kissed the rich crevice of flesh, teasing her with deep licks. Andrea laughed

and shuddered, giggled and ground herself into my kiss. I stood and laced my fingers through her long golden tresses.

“You’re mine,” I groaned.

“Fuck me,” she said.

And I did.

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, nsfw, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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