A Friend in Need

A Friend in Need
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“My, my, my you’re wet.”

“I can’t help it.”

“My naughty girl getting naughty?”

“Luck was on my side.”

“So what happened?”

“I ran into Brian.”

“Who’s that?”

“I worked with Brian at Starling for a while. Four years ago.”

“You mean the nervous guy?”

“Brian’s not nervous. You make him nervous. But he’s shy in a cute way.”

“Cute enough?”

“He bought me dinner, just some street food, so we could catch up, laugh about the past.”

“I had some leftovers. The stir-fry was so good.”

“He has a good job but no relationship for like a year. No, none, nunca.”


“So I’m watching him finish his food and I’m thinking I have to help him out.”

“Did you?”

“You know I did.”

“So that’s why your wet.”

“Yeah but he didn’t cum there.”

“Really? Where did he?”

“Here, right in my mouth.”

“Damn hot, cocksucker.”

“Not just once. Three times.”

“Holy hell!”

“I know. He hadn’t been sucked in a very long time.”

“I’ll say. No taste for pussy?”

“We were in his car, in the back seat, so it was pretty cramped.”

“Where were you parked?”

“Some big garage downtown, up near the top, hardly anyone left in the place.”

“Risky. Exciting.”

“It felt like we were all alone so that didn’t even enter into it. Cramped but private.”

“How’d it start?”

“He looked so cute and sad when he finished eating that I kissed him. An electric shock went through him. I told him we should get out of there and he said his car was parked nearby. I figured we’d drive over to his place or something but after he beeped the doors open, he ushered me into the back seat.”

“Shy but decisive.”

“We fumbled around for a while. I’d forgotten how cramped the back seat of a car really is. So I just took off my clothes. Brian squirmed and pulled his pants down.”


“I leaned over and started sucking his cock. I was, well, let me show you.”

“I see.”

“I took him deep, third stroke maybe and he blew.”


“Huge load, just kept coming. I had a time gobbling it down. He hadn’t fucked in a long time.”

“That’s one.”

“I kinda laughed because he came so fast and came so much. It made him shy, a little worried even. I thought I’d have to stroke his ego but then I noticed his hardon was harder than ever. So I asked if he liked getting his cock sucked. He nodded, grinning. I sucked his dick down. He lasted considerably longer but came just as much as before. Fucking fountain.”


“By this time, I wanted to fuck him but in the backseat of the car it sounds like more fun than it is. So after I tried to move around into a position that worked, I noticed his cock still standing tall. So I asked him if he wanted me to suck him off again. So he asked me to suck his cock. I told him to tell me to suck it. Another electric shock went through him. His voice went low and he told me to suck his cock. I went at him like gangbusters and he shot his wad in about one minute. Not as much as before but I’ll bet he could have cum again. Not having sex gives a cock super powers.”

“So much fun.”

“I just hate to see a friend driven crazy just because he can’t get laid.”

“Helping out a friend.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I ran into Star at the pool. Our apartment complex had three pools. It was one of those summer weekends when everyone I knew was doing something else, so I went to lounge in the sunshine, cool off in the water and read. And watch the swimsuited women. Bikinis have always been the best part of any swimming pool.

Star held the attention of two young men. When I arrived, she seemed relieved, as though my appearance had taken a weight off her. I didn’t know her that well but she acted as if we were old friends, even lovers. The two guys barely took the hint and only slowly moved away from the attractive woman but move away they did. When they left, Star leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said. “I thought they’d never leave me alone.”

“Glad I could help.”

Star was fit, an athlete or dancer, tanned to a deliberate caramel, wearing a peach bikini bottom and half of a tank top. Her belly glistened with suntan oil.

She looked at me, appraising me, calculating, deciding. I’ve seen that look before, the intense gaze of a woman deciding that she was going to have me. Her body language changed. She leaned toward me, touched me. She waited on my words, prepared to laugh. Everything about her became attractive.

We started playing cards by the pool. “It’s too hot,” she complained, “Let’s go back to your place.”

“Sure,” I said and we bundled up our gear. She followed me back to the building and up the elevator.

I didn’t have much furniture so we sat on the floor, playing cards.

“It’s too hot,” she said and pulled off her tank top. Pale nipples darkened and hardened small as I stared for a bit. Trying to keep cool, I looked back to my cards and made a play. Star made a point of jostling and jiggling her boobs until there was nothing for me to do but stare, smiling and then laughing.

“I love being naked,” she said.

“Make yourself at home.”

“Let’s see your bedroom,” she said, jumping up and racing down the hall that led to my bedroom. She pushed the door open and with a squeal jumped into the middle of my waterbed. “I love it.”

“Thanks,” I said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed as she wriggled in my unmade sheets. I hadn’t expected company.

“I don’t like fucking as much as I like cumming,” she said with a mischievous smile.

I took that to mean she wanted her pussy licked. Some women hate cunnilingus; other women haven’t made up their minds but some women want a tongue between their labia more than all the cock in the world. I moved into position. Star tore off her bikini bottoms and spread her legs wide.

I know every sweet bit of an aroused cunt, the labia, the clitoris, the pressures and motions and hot spots deep inside. My tongue is pure muscle, capable of extended, extensive and endless lashing. My fingers started slowly taunting her unfurled lips, sliding into the depths, drumming and tickling her through a series of growing orgasms, slipping into her ass and sending her into convulsions of pleasure.

“So nice,” she said when I came back to the bedroom with a snack. “So what are you doing tomorrow?”

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The Jealous Lover

The Jealous Lover
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Jackie pulled the needle through, dragging a thin fiber away from the torn seam until it caught, crimping the loose edges of fabric. With a studious gaze, she lifted the dress slightly up and sank the steel talon another increment along the tear. Pulling, cinching and circling again, she added another stitch to close the gap in the bodice, methodically repairing the violent rent.

A pounding struck the apartment door. Jackie smiled quizzically, skewered the fabric to hold the needle, and set the darning onto a low end table. Another volley of knocks hit the door.

“Jackie!” Tom yelled, his angry voice muffled by the wood barrier.

“Just a second, Tom,” Jackie said as she brushed a loose thread from her lap and pushed a stray lock of yellow hair behind her ear. “Give me a chance.” She opened the door.

Tom pushed past Jackie, determined to assert his presence. Surveying the apartment with rapid looks from side to side, as if hoping to catch sight of some scurrying rodent, Tom turned unsatisfied to cast a mean glare at Jackie.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, calmly.

“I’ll say not,” he said, implying something indefinite in his words.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, stepping toward the kitchen. Tom grabbed Jackie’s arm, halting her.

“You’ve been cheating on me,” he snarled.

“Tom,” said Jackie, pulling herself deftly from his tight grasp.

“It’s true,” he said, his lips twisting in growing fury.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said.

“Damn right.” said Tom, “and they’ve been talking about you.” Jackie’s hands went to her hips. She cocked her head to one side.


“Allen, Jeff, Memphis. Everybody. They told me what you’ve been doing, while I was down in Tulsa.”

“Tom,” Jackie said. “You know those guys are just mean. Why do you let them talk to you that way?”

“I couldn’t stand it,” he said. “Allen said Preston was over here last week.”

“Little Bob? Really? You think I’d let Little Bob in here?” Jackie laughed. Tom turned to look away. Jackie touched him gently on the arm, a finger tracing the bulge of his lean bicep. Tom started to pull away, but then accepted the caress.

“I just can’t stand to think about you being with anyone else.” Tom turned back and stared hard into her eyes. “The guys were laughing and I just couldn’t stand it.”

“Tom, honey,” Jackie cooed, “don’t let them treat you like that. You know they just wanted to set you off. They’re mean that way. Think about it; you wouldn’t lend one of those baboons money. Isn’t your honor worth more than that?” Jackie kissed his rough chin lightly, invitingly.

“I know, I know. It’s just, baby, I can’t . . .” Jackie kissed him. Wanting her, Tom pulled the woman close, lifting her to meet his hungry lips. She let her head fall back as he suckled at her throat.

“I’m yours, all yours,” she whispered and he drew his woman closer, claiming her with passion, his powerful hands pawing at the curves, pulling at her clothes impatiently, wanting badly to have her. In a sudden swoop, Tom lifted Jackie up and carried her into her dark bedroom.

Jackie fell back onto the bed with a bounce and quickly reached behind to unzip her dress. Without pause, Tom took hold of the neckline and yanked the thin cotton down to expose the creamy fruit of her breast. Squeezing a tit in his strong hand, he sucked her nipple hard.

“Ow,” she murmured, running her fingers through his dark hair. Tom reared and pulled her dress down in demanding strokes, impatient to take dominion of the fair woman’s flesh. Jackie twisted and lifted to ease the cloth’s bursts of descent, fiery in her delight to see her man so wildly aroused. Tom quickly made her naked, and threw himself upon her, piercing her wet lips with a flurry of possessive kisses.

“My cunt,” he said, breathlessly. “Mine. You belong to me, all mine.” His prick sliced deep strokes into her quivering sex. Jackie moaned, fixing her soft gaze lovingly into the center of his storm.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours,” she said, surrendering willingly to the fierce onslaught. “All yours, your cunt, all yours.” The pace of their fuck grew with each uttered word, a savage, angry beat of flesh against flesh.

“Aargh,” he screamed, his black eyes furious. Jackie melted as he shuddered inside her.

The passion collapsed into deep, solemn breaths. Tom turned to kiss Jackie, and then stood to regain his clothes. Jackie turned and smiled quietly.

“Are you going?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few things to say to my friend Allen.”

“Well,” she said, picking up her dress, “seems like a waste.” Tom buckled his belt and kissed her again.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

Jackie watched the big man leave. Carrying her dress into the kitchen, she poured herself a drink. The cool liquid soothed her still bubbling excitement. Jackie held up the garment as she went back to the sofa.

“Damn them,” she said, smiling to herself, another seam torn.”

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Literary Fiction
by Lord Malinov

I was sitting with Silver one Sunday afternoon when my phone buzzed abruptly, announcing a text.

“It’s Caesar,” I told Silver. “He wants to know what’s the what.”

“What? What the what?”

“Caesar-speak,” I explained. “I think he wants to know what we’re doing.”

“Didn’t he have a party last night? Shouldn’t he be crashed out somewhere?”

“That sounds right,” I agreed and another text buzzed in. “Here, he says he’s still cleaning up the theater with some of the guys and they want to know if you’re up for a gangbang.”

“Oooo. Today? Right now? I guess I could do that.” Silver started to squirm as she considered the possibility of indulging in an abundance of rock hard cocks.”

“He’s happy to hear that. They have to finish cleaning and get rid of some uptight people, how about four so we’d leave here about three thirty.”

“What time is it? So about two hours? Wow. Now I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“No choice, it would seem.”

“Who’ll be there?” she asked.


“Oh, I like Louis.”

“And Daryl.”

“He’s nice.”

“And Jake.”

“Count me in. I’m definitely there. I really like Jake.”

“Caesar’s the weak link in that chain.”

“He’ll contribute. But I really don’t know if I can wait two hours. That’s the hottest party I’ve ever imagined.”

“I thought you might like it.”

“Have you been plotting again?”

“Maybe. Either way, I’ll take credit for setting this one up.”

“I fucked Louis a few weeks ago,” she said, caressing her moistness. “I had to make a delivery in his building and so I stopped by his place. I thought he might need some help.”

“Helped him out.”

“Like a horny slut. “

“You are the best kind of friend.”

“I’ve never been with Daryl, that I remember. Jake, too, but I’d remember him if I had. He’s yummy. I’ve been waiting to get my lips on that junk.”

Like anyone, Silver has different levels of arousal, everything from slightly amused to full-on fuck beast. I had never seen her so aroused, waiting for this gangbang. She stripped her yoga pants down in the first seconds of the conversation. Her pussy was already pink, dripping wide and slick lipped. I offered her a vibrator but she told me that she didn’t dare touch a vibrator before the party, she was already so electrified. She masturbated with rapid finger strokes and muttered for a solid half-hour.

Finally, she picked herself up from the futon and made her way to the bathroom to groom, asking aloud, what do I wear to a gangbang?

“What do you think it will be like?” she asked but she knew as well as I did what it would be like.

We drove downtown and pulled into a nearly empty parking lot. Silver adjusted her skimpy tight clothes as we walked toward the club door. She checked her hair in the mirrored reflection of the big glass entrance. I pulled a chrome handle and ushered her inside.

Daryl and Louis sat at the bar with a bottle in front of them. Jake was mopping the floor at the far end of the club. Caesar was nowhere to be seen, probably in the back organizing the ashtrays. He runs an tight-knit orderly club.

Silver headed to the back, to talk to Jake or look for Caesar. I sat down with Louis and Daryl.. They poured me a glass of scotch and raised a toast. They were very glad to see me.

We turned to watch Silver talking to Jake. She laughed and pulled her blouse over her head, exposing her tight-nippled, taut pert breasts to Jake. He laughed, put a hand to her left breast and thumbed her aroused nipple. Silver made a low moan that filled the empty club. Caesar appeared from the back room.

“You’re here,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, yeah,” said Silver as Jake kissed her hard nipple. She played with his hair and the gangbang began.

Daryl and Louis left their stools and migrated closer as Silver shimmied out of her tight skirt. Satin panties gleamed in the disco lights for a brief moment, before they crumpled down her thighs and onto the floor. Daryl touched her ass almost shyly and then gave her a squeeze. Silver groaned and wiggled playfully. Jake lofted his hard cock before her smiling face. Silver went to town.

She started enthusiastically, licking the length and sucking in rapid thrusts, expressing her joy in fulfilling her desire to find Jake stiff between her lips. Jake leaned back on a chair and closed his delighted eyes. Daryl stuffed his face between Silver’s full cheeks, noisily gobbling at her asshole and cunt. Louis and Caesar each took hold of a breast and Silver squirmed at the full rush of attention, taking their nearby cocks in her hands. I poured myself another drink and moved in for a closer look.

It took nearly an hour and a half for every combination of cock, cunt, mouth and ass to be experienced. Most of the time, Silver played with at least two hard dicks, often doing the double with one cock in her pussy and another in her ass. Jake enjoyed an abundance of attention from her as she tried her best to keep him aroused and inside her. Daryl had the eagerness of a neophyte, nearly exploding in delight every time she touched him, stroked him, engulfed him, teased him. Louis and Caesar contributed like old pros, knowing their business, enjoying the fucks and sucks but in a familiar orgy veteran’s jaded way.

One by one, the cocks spurted over her, some twice, Daryl’s thrice. Silver danced her way through the fuckings, ecstatic and practiced, knowing where her pleasure hid and getting cocks in position to give her the orgasms she wanted.

Kisses all around as Silver dressed and we left, glowing in the weary burn of pleasures had.

“I hope it’s just like that,” she said.

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The Deal

The Deal
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

The deal, as proposed, seemed likely to touch upon my interests. Easton, who was fielding the offer, had the courtesy to invite me to attend the negotiations in Dresden. Canard Inc. sent a team led by a young hotshot, Paula Hart. She touched upon my interests, as well.

We stayed in a modern hotel. I watched the pair of diplomats wrestle with general disinterest, only flexing my attention into focus when certain subjects arose. The fought and clawed for every scrap of rights, angling for position like only the best deal-makers can. I watched, wary as a cat.

We survived three days filled with excruciating detail, but as the sun began to fall below the boughs, a glass was raised and everything seemed to be anxiously approaching a finish.

“So do we write it up?” asked Ms. Hart.

“I think we have forgotten something,” said Easton. “One last thing.” He shuffled diligently through his papers. Paula blushed and it occurred to me she knew what Easton was talking about. She looked like she’d been caught red-handed.

“What we’ve got is fair,” said Paula, desperately.

“Yes, but what about the derivatives? Yes, that’s it. You list them as your asset here, in the last page, but when did you pay for them up here?”

Paula snarled, cursing under her breath.

“They aren’t worth that much to me,” said Easton. I listened closely.

“So give them to us, to me.” said Paula, sweetly. Within her kind tones I recognized that she, personally, stood to make some real money when Easton signed.

“They’re worth a fortune to someone in Canard’s position. I can’t just give them to you. Pay me what they’re worth.”

Paula froze. Easton sipped a cup of dark coffee, casually. I found myself staring at Ms. Hart as she churned within. Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed fixedly into the candle’s flame. She had counted on a bold trick and Easton had foiled her.

“I don’t have any more to give,” said Paula calmly. I understood that if the deal collapsed, she would get very little.

“I understand,” said Easton. “I’ll find another buyer. Sorry we’ve wasted so much time.”

“I told Sandler it was a stupid plan. Bastard. I could have negotiated the whole thing including the derivatives if I could have played my way, with an open hand. Couldn’t I?”

Paula fought back her tears.

“Surely,” said Easton. “I was eating out of your hand.”

“I could have made the deal, but now, shit.”

“Wait, perhaps we can still bargain.”

“Canard won’t pay any more. They don’t need this.” Paula’s shoulders drooped.

“And yet . . .”

“What would it take?” Paula looked hard at Easton

“You’ll join us at my place at midnight. Type up the papers and I’ll sign the contract before dawn. I’ll give you what you want, Ms. Hart.”

Paula looked at the older man ferociously, an angry beast captured behind violent eyes. She stared with appetite, having realized her hunger for the dark handsome man, at once finding the chance to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat. As she smiled, I could see that Paula wanted very badly to be rich. Easton looked seriously as the pretty young woman shuddered in contemplation. He knew she had no choice.

I returned with Easton to his villa. I expected to wish him well with Ms. Hart and be on my way, but Easton insisted I stay. I suggested that she might not be comfortable with that.

“She didn’t bargain for less. A woman like our Ms. Hart wants to be dealt with firmly. She wants this deal very badly. It’s our duty to make her feel like she’s earned it.”

“How far do you think she’ll go?” I asked.

“It’s a great deal of money. I think Paula would do just about anything to see me sign.”

I sat patiently waiting for the clock to toll midnight. The doorbell rang. Easton escorted Paula into the recreation room. She wore a black skirt and white t-shirt, quite a change from her negotiating attire. Easton read through the contract as he walked to the sofa. I poured Paula a drink.

“You’re very good at this,” I said, handing her the crystal glass.

“Hmm?” said Paula, distractedly. White lace gripped Paula’s heavy breasts beneath the thin cotton shirt.

“Negotiating. You’ve done well with one of the masters.”

“Will he sign?” she asked.

“It means so much?”

“If he doesn’t,” she said, “I get nothing. If he does . . . .”


“It only costs him twenty thousand. It’s worth three hundred thousand to me.” Paula’s nipples tightened as she spoke the figures.

“Paula, come here,” said Easton. He wore his dressing gown. Paula smiled at me and went where she was beckoned. “I’ll sign them at dawn.” Paula grinned lecherously. “Take off your clothes,” said Easton. He sounded amusingly matter of fact, as though he were asking Paula to take a seat.

Paula reached for the zipper on her skirt and with a quick tug, she dropped the leather down her legs. Her t-shirt hung midway down her creamy bottom. Paula had not worn panties. She lifted the shirt over her head, dazzling my aroused interest with a glittering cascade of her golden mane. Easton stared approvingly as Paula reached behind to unfasten her lace brassiere.

Paula stood naked as Easton grinned.

“You’ll cost me twenty thousand,” Easton said. He kissed her left tit. Paula laughed. Easton stepped behind her and draped a beautiful silk scarf over her shoulder. “I’m going to tie your hands. The cloth is very fragile. You could tear it with a sharp tug. But I’m really hoping you will not harm my pretty scarf.” He tied her hands behind her back with the blue and gold cloth.

Paula looked at Easton lovingly.

“Get down on your knees, Ms. Hart,” said Easton, helping her down onto the rug. “Spread them a little more,” he said, adjusting her legs. Easton licked a finger and slipped his wet digit inside Paula. She wriggled at the touch. The blonde hotshot giggled as he stepped away.

Easton took another scarf from his dressing gown pocket and stepped behind Paula.

“You can always quit during any stage of the negotiations. If you entertain us until dawn, we have a deal.”

“I want to get paid,” said Paula. Easton tied the blindfold over her sparkling blue eyes.

“Suck my prick,” said Easton, reaching down to press a long sturdy pole against Paula’s red lips. She eagerly swallowed his fleshy staff, tickling Easton’s erotic thrusts. I watched them frolic, sitting calmly in my chair, amazed at the beautiful pulsations of sex rippling through Paula’s ripe body. I grew ravenous, watching.

“Can you see all right?” called Easton over to me. “Come closer. She’s ours for the night. You should have a look at what we have to play with.”

“But I don’t,” said Paula. Crack! A thin crop came down hard on Paula’s white bottom. “Aaah!” cried Paula.

“Keep my dick in your mouth, Paula,” said Easton. “You want the big prize, that’s the game.” Paula sucked the head of his prick. Easton pulled the knob away and brought the crop down hard. Paula groaned and reached for Easton’s long dick. The leather whip descended again with a whirr. Paula drove his cock into her mouth. “And we haven’t even started,” said Easton, fondling her cheek.

I moved closer to the scene. Three bright pink stripes marked Paula’s firm backside.

“Check out her pussy,” Easton suggested as I leaned in for a look. “Or her ass. Ms. Hart has a pretty little ass. Maybe you want her ass.”

Paula mumbled, Easton’s long pink prick filling her mouth. He stroked his curved flesh sword in deep and then drew almost free of her moist lips.

“No ass,” she said, breaking free of his dick and looking blindly back toward me in the pause before the riding crop fell over her haunches. Paula found his dick and sucked it eagerly.

Easton began to back away from Paula. Once she realized he threatened to pull out of reach, she began to crawl after him on her knees. Easton led her calmly for twenty feet, the head of his dick held tenderly in her mouth. Turning slowly, they moved past the fire place until his prick popped loose. Paula sucked the air, furtively searching for her object. The whip cracked serious blows over Paula’s ass while she twisted and turned to find the stick which would end her torment. Easton laid his throbbing rod against her lips with a cruel stroke. Paula sucked him gratefully.

Easton churned his hips in spasmodic rhythms, teasing Paula into frequent anxious hunts for his dick Her cunt glistened as she leaned forward for the prick. The whip fell as Paula sucked air, harsh stinging blows to her pinkened bottom. She moaned and the whip fell again. Paula dropped her head as the leather stroked her backside.

“Come here,” said Easton, lifting Paula’s hips and pulling them closer. He quickly sank his cock into her shimmering pool. Paula shook her head, dazed and slightly wild. Easton rocked his hips against her flank. Paula moaned louder, almost screaming. Easton whipped her as they fucked. He grabbed her wild mane.

“You want to be rich?” he snarled in her ear. “I’ll make you rich.”

Paula squealed and fucked harder, smacking against Easton as he slapped her fiery ass. Easton groaned and shuddered hard inside Paula’s cunt.

I stood and unfastened my belt. Easton stumbled back to a chair and smiled wickedly. I dropped my trousers.

“No ass,” Paula said warily.

“You cost me twenty grand,” Easton said to Paula. “Worth every penny, my love.” I knelt behind her.

“No ass,” said Paula.

“If I didn’t sign your contact, the derivatives would belong to Mr. Wulf, currently stationed at your rear. I think this little party is going to cost him somewhere around six hundred thousand.”

Paula groaned as I put my hands on her slender waist.

“Fuck my ass,” she said. Her voice vibrated with hungry surrender. “Fuck it, now.”

I pushed down into the soft wrinkle of Paula’s asshole with a sudden slick descent. I grabbed her crimson pink bottom with both hands and drove her with a hard, maddened fuck. Paula screamed. I untied her wrists. The silk was stretched in places but not torn. Paula reached under to rub her clit. The pucker of her ass kissed my prick deliciously with every deep stroke. Paula began to shudder and quake. I slowed for a moment and then fucked Paula harder. She crumpled into a shiver of moans.

I pushed my stiff cock into her mouth. Paula looked up at me, curiously, compliantly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she sucked my thick rod deeply. I ran my fingers through her golden curls and let loose my streams of lust for her to slurp up with delight.

Easton signed the papers. Paula danced, somewhat lasciviously as she paraded them to her Audi. I went back to my office, poorer but wiser. I’ve got a friend who’s setting up a deal. I’m going to help with the negotiations.

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The Poetry Reading

The Poetry Reading
by Lord Malinov

I had been struggling all afternoon with a composition when the phone rang. Tension gripped my shoulders as I rose to answer the phone. I knew the rhythms were weak and I still hadn’t decided whether to fix the verse with rhyme. As the metal bell clanged again, I realized I should jump to the heart of the story and look for patterns there. Sometimes the beginning is no place to start.

My publisher droned when she talked, word after word in an endless, often meaningless stream of syllables. After ten minutes, I finally figured out the gist of her call; a poetry reading for a club at a small university; three hundred dollars, transportation, lodging and food. My first impulse was to just refuse and get back to work on my poem, but I knew I couldn’t. Marge had only agreed to go to the expense of publishing my book of poems after I promised to do whatever support engagements she could arrange. I tried to come up with an excuse, but my imagination has a way of failing at just such moments.

“No,” Marge said emphatically. “I’ve let you out of speaking engagements for your novels, despite Ray’s complaints. Your romances sell enough to give you some clout. But the poetry was a self-indulgent project and you begged me. We’re still seven thousand away from just breaking even, and if the reading sells twenty more copies, you’re damn well going to read.”

I packed my bags, cursing and lost in swirls of images of three beautiful girls in a bedroom while a moron hefted a shotgun authoritatively. I wondered if I could capture the absurdity of that party moment in a poem.

The plane ride was quiet, and I spent the greater part of the flight scribbling lines in my notebook. The old woman beside me kept sneaking peaks and I was tempted to scrawl obscenities to see if I could make her blush, but I wanted to work on the tale of the idiot, three girls and a gun before the reading. For three hundred dollars, they should get at least one virgin piece. Throwing them a bone just seemed professional.

As I marched off the plane, I caught a glimpse of a sign held aloft marked “Malinov.” No one had ever met me at the airport like that before. I felt really cool. Better yet, the placard was held by a rather striking young woman. I pointed to the sign.

“That’s me.”

“Yes. You look just like your book jacket photo. You’d be surprised how many authors look nothing like their covers.”


“I’m Kristen,” she said, holding out a hand. “This is Kim,” she gestured to the woman beside her, who was equally attractive. I smiled at the good fortune. I’d expected blue-haired old ladies. “We’ve organized the reading. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I’m always eager to please my fans,” I lied.

“Glad to hear it,” she said with a purr. I looked ascant at the beauty. I hadn’t expected that.

“We’ll drive you to the hotel, check you in and then get the reading underway.”

“Where will that be?”

“At the hotel. It’s a small club, but we’re eager to hear you read.”

We drove to a nice hotel near the airport. Kristen handed me a key and led me straight to my room. I raised an eyebrow as the ladies followed me in. They told me we should go over my schedule. I put my bag on the dresser and sat down. Kristen jumped onto the big king-sized bed. Kim slipped comfortably beside her.

“What time’s the reading?” I asked slightly shaken by their casual approach to our intimate environment.

“Any time you’re ready, lover.” Kim smiled provocatively.


“Read us some poems. That’s why we brought you here. “My heart began to race. The girls gave me a wicked look.

“We’re the club,” Kristen hastened to explain. “We’ll pay you three hundred dollars. You read us some poetry.”

“Really?” I asked, quite flabbergasted.

“Why not? I hope you don’t mind if we get comfortable.” Kim pulled her sweater up over her head. Kristen laughed as I blushed and unzipped her skirt. I swallowed hard, completely shocked.

“Um,” I said.

“Start with something sweet,” said Kristen, shimmying out of her panties. Kim turned over to kiss her friend’s freshly exposed vulva, lifting her still pantied ass high to wiggle before my eyes.

Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the first poem I’d marked for reading. I cleared my throat and started to speak the rhythmic words. Kristen moaned to the supple beat of words and tongue and my prick began to hurt, swollen stiff beneath the straight-jacket of my jeans.

“I told you he’d probably only want to read us some damn poetry,” said Kim, looking back as I tried to read. I threw down my notebook and tore open my jeans.

“Fuck that,” I said hungrily.

“Yes,” said Kim, wiggling seductively and turning back to lick Kristen’s pussy. I pulled the white lace over her full bottom and exposed the thick lips of Kim’s wet cunt. My prick slipped hard inside her sex.

“Mmmm,” said Kim as I rocked into her. Kristen scooted from beneath Kim’s moan and embraced me from behind, kissing my neck as she ran her hands over me, kissing me hungrily, deliciously.

“I wanted you,” she whispered in my ear as I fucked Kim. “I’m sorry we had to trick you, but I wanted you so badly.” I twisted to squeeze Kristen’s breasts while kissing her and Kim pulled away. Kristen lay me down on the big bed and sunk my cock into her moist cunt. I groaned to see this beautiful woman astride me, the gleam in her eye, the fire across her full, bouncing breast. Kim knelt over my face, setting her dripping pussy over my lips, tempting my tongue to tease her swollen lips and bulging clitoris. Rhythm overtook us and we melted in a fleshy poem of bawdy, naughty rhymes.

I gave them autographed copies of my poetry book, and a handwritten copy of the one I wrote the next morning before they took me to the airport. I felt funny taking the money, but they insisted and besides, that was the reason I had come. I don’t know what that makes me. A poet, I guess.

When I got home, I gave Marge a call.

“How’d it go?” she eventually asked.

“All right,” I said. “I have to say I enjoyed myself. If you have any more . . .”

“Why, Malinov, this is a change of heart. Sure. I can put you on a plane this afternoon. This woman from a small reader’s club in Phoenix has been begging me to get you for a reading.”

“Thanks, Marge.” I said. “I won’t even unpack.”

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Quantum Lust

Quantum Lust
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I don’t usually read the campus paper, but my thermo-dynamics class was canceled and I had some time to kill, so I bought a cup of coffee at the Student Union and there was an article on the front page about the physics program and it mentioned some friends of mine which led me to a review of the new Duke Xstasy cd that Sherry had been telling me about and I just kept reading bits and pieces until I reached the classifieds.

I would never have even noticed Theresa’s ad, except that my girlfriend Sherry’s birthday had started looming on the horizon. Actually, the day was still more than a month away, but I had been warned; Sherry was not the kind of girlfriend who would appreciate being short changed her on her birthday. She’d made a point of discussing the occasion with me a few days before and Sherry made it quite clear that she had expectations; dinner at a good restaurant, some kind of fancy theater event and a present she wouldn’t be ashamed to mention when her parents or her friends asked her what I gave her. Sherry’s what we call a high maintenance girlfriend. I’m not saying that I begrudged her the money. She’s beautiful, sharp as a tack and really lots of fun. I feel lucky to have her, and I couldn’t realistically expect to keep laying a girl like that without laying out some cash. I may be a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I’m a dummy when it comes to the ladies.

Anyway, unless I planned on dumping Sherry, what I really needed a good dose of money to cope with this event and this ad caught my eye; “Art student seeks model, $50/hr (XXX) XXX-XXXX.” Fifty bucks was exactly what I was looking for. Besides, the idea of selling myself to pay for Sherry’s birthday tickled me. In fact, I’m sure I had a big grin on my face when I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee and stroked my pride by imagining getting paid a wad of cash for my rugged good looks.

Then a self-conscious bit of humility made me decide against even considering it, realizing that an artist probably wanted some tall anorexic woman to look disinterested and not some nerdy looking physics student.

Then I became downright excited, imagining my mug memorialized in some classic scene, as a Socrates drinking hemlock or Napoleon astride a wild stallion, or maybe Mozart composing some song.

Then I turned the page of the newspaper, deciding the artist was probably some fey guy who just wanted an excuse to leer at my genuinely masculine form.

Then I imagined the sneer that would cross Sherry’s face when I showed up at her apartment with a couple of daisies and a coupon for a free dinner at Hank’s Diner.

“Hello,” a woman answered when I called.

“I’m calling about the ad, for the model.”

“Oh,” she said a little tentatively. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“Not really,” I said, unprepared to make something up.

“Well, I have someone already,” she said. “It really isn’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Well,” I said, “maybe I could give you my number, and if you . . .”

“No,” she said emphatically, cutting me off.

“Oh,” I said.

“I mean,” she said, “could you sit for me this afternoon?”

“I have class until one-thirty, but after that I’m free.”

“Two, then, yeah, the light’s real good at two.” she said and gave me the address of her studio.

“Thanks,” I said.

“See you at two,” she said. There was a playful sound in this last statement that haunted me all through class.

We were reviewing for mid-terms in my partial differential class, and there wasn’t any question that I needed to be there on that particular day. The math had been systematically trying to escape my grasp, stretching slowly and surely outside of the realm of the truths I could readily imagine. My life had been complicated and between Sherry and paying rent and car trouble, not to mention the rest of my classes, it was getting hard for me to really focus on esoteric transformations. Nonetheless, I felt certain that the mid-term would not take my personal troubles into account. This was going to be a killer exam.

The bottom line was that I had questions about what we had learned, and I needed answers. This review was the last chance I was going to have to get them answered.

So I went to class. I sat in the stiff wooden chair and poised my pencil above my notepad. Soon the professor began explaining things again. I watched carefully as he traced out mystic streaks of white chalk, letting them drift methodically across a green slate board. I copied the wisdom mechanically with dull black pencil marks over the faint blue lines of my college ruled paper. I did my damnedest to focus on the changing heat gradients across a hypothetical bar of iron.

There was some movie I’d seen, I don’t know when, about an artist, Bridgette Bardot, I think, wearing black chino pants that hugged her hips and a white cotton shirt with one shirt tail hanging out and a thick streak of paint across the breast pocket and a long brush in her slender fingers and a wisp of hair reaching across the sultry look in her eyes. My prematurely bald math professor integrated temperature over space and all I could think of was the look of hunger this artist gave as she touched the camel hair to pigment, tracing form across canvas, trails of heat with a family of equations and a fan slowly rotating as I stood exposed before this inspired goddess.

“And then we add the quotient,” was what my professor probably said. “Hot naked cunt-titty-fuck-cock sex,” was what I heard. It was a losing battle. I felt trapped in a raging sea of madness.

The hand on my watch crept around the dial. My thoughts shot off in every direction, distracted by artistic fantasies, ignoring every word said in that essential review. My heart throbbed with a pounding pulse, drowning out every carefully articulated rule, instruction and answer. I could only feel myself becoming part of the creative process, gazed upon, inspiring the gifts of some remarkable young artist. In truth, I wanted this woman so badly that I ached as I sat in the dry air of the classroom. I hadn’t met her, yet I felt certain I would have her, in a swirling sea of clouds, knowing that all creation had devolved into being at the studio at two, because that, to me, is what art had become, integrated over time, divided and resolved. I had never really thought much about art before, but as I waited, I felt certain of the solution; Art means sex. Q.E.D.

And Sherry would have her birthday. Furthermore, she would get exactly what she wanted from me and that would mean even more sex. Fuck partial differentials. Pussy rules.

By the way, I really bombed that test, a badly burned victim of lust.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I was really nervous and excited when I went to Theresa’s studio. I had absolutely no idea what to expect – I’d never actually been to an artist’s studio before – and every time I tried to imagine what it would be like, I’d hear that tickle in her voice when she said that she’d “see me,” and I’d get excited. When I finally knocked on the white door, I could barely breathe.

Theresa isn’t Bridgette Bardot, but she did look like an artist. I mean, what’s an artist supposed to look like? There was paint on her. Physically, Theresa’s fairly small, kind of elfish, with straight brown hair and soft brown eyes. She really wore a white shirt with a big streak of bright blue paint across the top. She was holding a dirty bit of cloth in her left hand; the cloth reeked of paint thinner. Her blue jeans hung low on her narrow hips, almost falling off her, deliciously so, if you know what I mean. The denim was ragged and faded until they were as white as they were blue, with torn out knees. She had blotches of a thousand colors on the back of her thighs. I guessed that she wiped her brushes on the back of her legs when she painted.

“Hello,” she said sweetly. Her eyes gave me a once over and then she looked away. A hint of color touched her pale cheeks. “Come on in.”

I followed Theresa into the studio, which was really just a cluttered room with a concrete floor and big windows along one wall. Sunlight streamed bright through the dirty glass. She tossed the rag in her hand onto a ledge over a dull chrome sink. Then she knelt down and picked up some colored sticks that were on the floor, one after another, without saying a word. I could see the elastic waistband of pink panties where her jeans pulled away from her back when she leaned over. I don’t know why, but this little glimpse of her underwear made me like her.

“What do you want me to do?” I finally asked, feeling a bit awkward standing there watching her.

“Hmm?” she asked. I don’t think she heard me.

“For fifty bucks an hour, I guess I should do something,” I said.

“Sure,” she said. “You’ve never done this before?”

“No,’ I said. “Does it make a difference?”

“Not really,” she said. A little smile touched her face. “I don’t think it does. Might even help.”

“So what happens?” The whole Bridgette Bardot fantasy had melted away by this time. I thought Theresa was sweet and I was ready to help her out.

“You stand over there, and I sit over here,” she motioned toward a tall stool. “I sketch.”

“Really?” I said. “Fifty bucks?”

“We’ll do it for three hours if you’re good. I can afford one fifty.” she said, looking intently at the tip of her pencil.

“Are these your paintings?” I asked, nodding toward some canvases leaning against the wall, smears of red and pink across a white canvas.

“Sure,” she said.

“But if you paint like that, what do you need me for?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pushing a thick lock of chestnut brown hair behind her tiny ear. Her cheeks were again tinged in red. “Sometimes it helps me to work with a model.”

“Well, it’s your dime,” I said. “Over here?” I asked, pointing to a vacant space on the floor.

“Um, yeah,” Theresa said, picking up a spiral bound pad.

“How should I stand?” I asked, moving to the space.

“I don’t want you to pose.” Theresa shook her head.

“Why not?” I asked, surprised by her sudden change of plans and then I felt a surge of anger. I had as good as already spent the hundred and fifty bucks she promised me.

“I mean, I don’t want you to stand still. Just take off your clothes and let me look at you while I draw.”

“Oh,” I said. It was my turn to blush. I hadn’t considered that she might want a nude model. I thought about protesting, but I needed the fifty bucks and besides, I thought, when did I start complaining because some pretty girl wants me to take my clothes off?

As I unbuttoned my shirt, I tried to count the number of women who had seen me naked, since I had grown up. I looked over at Theresa, perched on her stool, staring at me, almost smirking as the pencil in her hand tickled the paper on her lap. I felt stronger realizing that she was enjoying this. Our eyes met briefly, allowing me to feel the flicker of interest in her pretty brown eyes but as quickly she looked down at the page. I unbuttoned my trousers and then quickly pushed my pants and briefs down to my ankles. Better to just get it over with, I decided. Ta-Da.

So I’m standing in this room, completely naked. It was fairly warm in the sunlit room, but I still shivered slightly at first. The place was junky, with barely any room for the kind of romantic fantasies I had been nursing. There was a stack of cans coated in drips of tan house paint to my left, seven or eight long thin boards leaning against the wall to my right, grey cinder blocks piled on top of each other, several mason jars filled with a deeply black liquid, a bunch of crushed silver and red beer cans next to an leaning stack of yellowed newspapers. In the only empty space in the room sat a mousy looking girl on a tall white bar stool, a mere eight feet away, gawking at my naked body while she doodled on a pad of paper.

I scratched myself slightly and felt unbearably self-conscious. I coughed, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her deep brown eyes seemed to be fixated on my dick, which had shriveled nervously. She scribbled relentlessly while she stared.

“Is there some special way you want me to stand?” I asked, just hoping to break the tension by talking to her.

“No,” she said, “just relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” I said. “I’m a little uncomfortable.”

“More than a little,” she said with a laugh. “It’s all right, I’m like a doctor.”

“Really?” I said, taken off guard.

“No,” she replied. “Would you be more comfortable if I took off my clothes?”

“Sure,” I said with a grin that was probably a little too eager. She continued to draw.

“Why are you modeling?” she asked. Her pencil scribbled quickly.

“I need the money,” I said. Now I couldn’t help imagining what this girl would look like naked. Fortunately, thinking this way helped my cock appreciate the possibilities of the situation and as my dick grew to more manly proportions, I felt a little less self-conscious. Her tits were small, but what I really wanted to see was her ass. The rest of her was a bit scrawny, but I liked the curve of her butt. This was starting to get fun. I leaned back against the wall, giving her a good view of my growing erection. I tried to tempt her into getting naked with a lusty stare.

“I figured you wanted the money,” she said. “What for?”

“Girlfriend’s birthday,” I said without thinking.

“Figures,” Theresa said, sounding disappointed by my answer. My erection began to wilt.

“But I really do like art,” I said, hoping to head things in a better direction.

“Me, too,” she replied, turning the page in her notebook. Pausing for a moment, Theresa tilted her head to one side, staring crudely at my body. I turned coyly, again uncomfortable with the feeling of being judged. She smiled, amused by my vulnerability.

“What do you look for?” I asked. Theresa blushed. “In a model, I mean.”

“You’re a good looking guy,” she said with a shrug. “I want someone who makes me feel something. You kind of excite me, which is excellent, in a model, I mean.”

I appreciated the idea of her excitement and it showed instantly. “Is that what you look for?”

“Sure,” she said, scribbling away. “A naked guy is way better than a pot of flowers.”

“I suppose so,” I said, my hard-on starting to really rage.

“I mean, when a dick stands up that way, my focus is intense. It’s not always true, but you have a good dick and I can’t help paying attention to it. I could already close my eyes and trace every vein in that thing. I can focus on the lines and curves of your dick and I’m not thinking about anything else. It’s just me and the dick.” Theresa scribbled furiously as she spoke.

“That gets you off,” I said, fairly breathless.

“It’s a good exercise. I could spend a thousand dollars on art lessons and never focus this hard.”

“That’s hot,” I managed to say. I touched my prick without thinking, stroking myself a bit.

“Glad you think so,” Theresa replied, tearing back another page and scribbling like crazy. She stared with sincere interest as I continued to rub my prick. “Are you an athlete?” she suddenly asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“I didn’t think so,” she said, a little too amused.

“Physicist,” I said, trying to impress her with my mental muscles.

“Really?” she asked.

“Quantum physics.”

“Cool,” she said, looking up at me and adjusting herself to a new position on the stool. Her legs were now spread slightly so that I could see the curve of denim along her inner thigh, and it seemed a darker shade of blue. “What is quantum physics?” she asked, her pencil moving slowly and methodically over the page she held.

“Actually I want to do particle physics. We study to tiniest bits of matter.”

“I like big things,” she said.

“I’ll bet,” I replied, catching the insinuation and rubbing my cock back to attention while she watched intently. “But I get into the deepest recesses of knowledge, figuring out things about the grain of existence, the stuff of life.”

“Cool,” she said. “So you stare into a microscope?”

“This stuff’s too small for that. You can’t see subatomic particles. The best we can do is push them around and measure the affect they have on bigger things.”

“Oh,” Theresa said, staring at me but not meeting my gaze.

“Like we can take an accelerator and smash particles together in a bubble chamber. The particles break into a thousand pieces and when those pieces spin away from the collision, they leave a trail of bubbles in the bubble chamber. By looking at the bubbles, we can figure out things about the particle.”

“Cool,” she said. “Do they have color?”

“No, not really. But they make pretty designs, like the curve of a woman’s bottom, sometimes. I think about that anyway, probably when I’ve been spending too much time in the lab.”

“That’s like what I do.”

“Really? In what way?”

“You can’t see emotions directly. But you can see the affect they have.”

“That is kinda the same,” I said. My cock started rising on its own, without me touching it. Theresa was really starting to turn me on.

“Except my stuff works both ways.” She shrugged a cute shrug. ” I don’t know how to explain. It’s sort of complex.”

“I guess so,” I said. I suddenly had a vision of Theresa taking off her clothes and bending over to wiggle her bare ass a bit. My whole body throbbed.

“The heat in your eyes is just wicked,” she said softly, as though to herself. “I’m thinking if I could capture the way this makes me feel, I could . . . Damn, if I could only . . .” She stopped, licked her lips and breathed heavily. I could tell that she was trying to decide something. I felt faint, imagining what she might be thinking.

“Yeah,” I said weakly, touching myself again, believing all at once that she wanted me to come closer.

“Wait,” she said, putting down the pad of paper. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. My cock throbbed. Theresa started unbuttoning her white shirt. I held my breath, eyes open wide. “Just wait,” she said, finally peeling back the thin layer of cotton. Theresa has small tits, but her dark nipples stood up tall. “There,” she said, picking up her pad again. I looked at her, confused. “Let me see your eyes,” she growled. I stared hard, wanting this woman with all my soul.

Her breasts peeked between her arms, bulbs of soft cream, tipped in hard nuggets of a thick reddish brown. Her pencil raged over the paper, scribbling with a mad intensity that almost competed with the pulse of my heart, lines over lines, nearly ripping the paper, capturing and expressing with a wild brilliance. Page after page turned by. Her naked stomach fell into a series of waves, ripples of flesh down to her low-slung denim waistband. I shuddered with desire, wanting desperately to take a few steps, but stayed, held fixed by her intense activity. I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt her, but madly lusted after her, waiting for her to stop drawing and come relieve my hunger for her touch. The drawing seemed endless, my craving brutal. Each time she looked into my eyes, I wanted to scream. Then a stroke and another stroke and another infernally tempting glance. I felt as though I couldn’t bear another minute, waiting.

“There,” she said all at once and put down the pad with a sigh. My lust went wild, enraging me, urging me to leap across the room and throw myself the topless girl sitting so close. Theresa smiled in a friendly way and then started to button her top.

“But,” I said, barely regaining my composure as the realization that we weren’t going to fuck sent cold streams of disappointment flooding over me.

“Come back tomorrow,” she said, “at two. I’ll see what I can do with these sketches tonight, and then we’ll know what we need to do tomorrow.” She sounded joyful, happy with what she was doing. I shuddered in disbelief and anger. Theresa handed me my trousers. “Get dressed and come back tomorrow.”

“I have a test,” I managed to say as I pulled on my pants. “I can’t come at two.”

“Oh,” she said, turning to hand me two twenties and a ten. “That’s all right. I probably have all I need, you know, enough data to yield results.”

“I want to come back,” I protested.

“Well, we’ll work something out.”

“Tonight?” I said, desperately. “Or after my test, at four?”

“I’ll call you,” she said, showing me to the door. “You’re beautiful.”

Theresa didn’t call me, which wasn’t a surprise since she didn’t have my phone number. I thought about calling her, but it just seemed so cheap, calling to ask if she would pay another fifty bucks to see my dick.

A few weeks later, I dropped by an art show. In one room I found this big painting, pinks and reds on a field of white. “The Stuff of Lust,”was the title. Sherry loved it.

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