An Eye Full

An Eye Full
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“I’ve got to run over to the bank, Gary. Keep an eye on things for me.” Ted saluted as he pushed open the backdoor of the restaurant.

“Sure, Ted,” said the young cook, tossing his spatula with a flip through the air. The heavy door slammed shut. “A dee os.”

Gary turned and opened the tall chrome refrigerator behind him, and inspected the boxes of frozen meat. “Should be plenty,” he said to himself, considering the evening ahead. He worked his way around the kitchen, checking for lettuce, bread and potatoes. He stirred the chicken stock on the small stove and took a quick taste.

“Hi, Gary,” said June, tying her red apron behind her waist. Walking around the chrome counter, Gary grabbed the thin brunette and kissed her. “Gary!” June said emphatically, laughing in his grasp. “Not now.”

“Ted’s gone. No one can see.” Gary nibbled her throat

“Not now!” she said, twisting free of his pawing hands. “Don’t make me report you.” June glared menacingly at the sandy-haired youth. Gary smiled stupidly.

“Aargh. You’ve won this battle, Miss Harper,” he said dramatically,walking back to start working on his soup. “But tomorrow night,after the movie, you’ll be singing a different tune, I think. Eh, my pretty? We shall see. We shall see.” Gary looked back at the waitress, and raised his eyebrows.

June straightened her black skirt beneath the thin apron and twisted her smile, as if questioning his provocative conclusion. “Tomorrow’s another day,” she finally said, and pushed the swinging doors to take her place on the floor.

“I’ll see you wanting me, my bony legged wench.” Gary said, remembering quite well the night before last when June had come over to his apartment, when she had simply thrown herself on him. Gary breathed deeply, indulging his hunger by recalling vividly the image of June straddling him on his sofa, grinding her cotton panties over the ridge beneath his trousers, lifting her t-shirt up to press her little tit in his mouth. Gary sighed and looked out the rectangular gap at the restaurant floor. June stood wiping ashtrays, talking with Alicia. If only Steve hadn’t picked that moment to come home. Gary adjusted his prick through his trousers as he stared at the thin girl, imagining the scrawny body beneath her uniform.

Gary put down his spatula and walked back to the men’s room. Closing the door, he unzipped his fly and fished out his heavy dick. A thick stream of piss shot into the bowl of the dingy toilet with a gurgle. Gary sighed as he relaxed in the release. He shook his sturdy prick when a door slammed. Gary smiled. Reaching over, he turned off the light and knelt down, carefully working his head beneath the small sink. His paper hat fell onto the floor. Gary pressed his eye to the jagged hole in the plaster surrounding the silver gleam of pipe. The trap felt cold against his cheek as he twisted to get a better view into the ladies room. She tossed a gym bag against the far wall and reached up to unsnap her jeans.

“Maureen’s changing her clothes,” thought Gary, “Sweet Jeezus.”

Of all the waitresses, Maureen was the Queen. Gary licked his dry lips, watching as she unzipped the deep blue denim. Absolutely gorgeous and unbelievably bitchy, Maureen invariably collected twice the tips any of her colleagues managed to get. She was invariably attentive, thoughtful and sickeningly sweet to the patrons. Gary longed to kiss the soft pucker of her belly-button as the creamy triangle of tummy appeared from behind the opened fly. Maureen tormented the rest of the staff with demands, insisting on perfection, tongue-lashing any bus boy who dared to complicate her mission.

She reached back and began to pull the jeans down from the back, slowly over the tightly gripped hips. Red welts of constriction marred her waist where the denim had bit her smooth skin. Gary twisted a little more, pushing his face hard against the wall, letting his cock hang into his hand’s grasp. The matted jungle of her pubic hair finally slipped into view and the jeans began to descend more rapidly. The thick scent of sex permeated the small bathroom. Gary’s prick turned to steel.

Maureen stepped out of her jeans, while Gary stroked his cock steadily, amazed at the vision. She stood up straight and folded her jeans. The lips of her cunt were a dull red, puffy, wedged between the crease of her lean thighs. Maureen placed her folded pants on the toilet and stood a moment. Gary held his breath. Long, delicate fingers played with the patch of golden fine hair, combing the curls with her coral pink nails, working the snarls from the floss. Gary noticed a faint white stain, a dried dollop of salt just below her navel. Maureen rubbed at her pussy, a quick furious flurry and when her fingers moved away, Gary stared at the pink nub of her freshly aroused clit.

“Mmm,” Maureen murmured, grinding her hips slightly, “tonight he’s going to lick me, or that’s the end for him. I won’t be left unsatisfied forever.” Gary jerked his cock wildly.

Maureen turned around. Gary’s heart pounded with a dangerous intensity as he stared at her round, high ass, white and gleaming in the sharp incandescent light. She leaned over to unzip her gym bag, pressing the scarlet lips of her pussy thick between her creamy thighs, glistening damp in the furrow. Maureen bent down further and a short burst of air erupted from within her pink hole. A thick white drop drizzled slowly down her thigh. The dark dot of her asshole winked between the heavy globes of her bottom. Gary felt the excitement welling within him, anxious to explode.

Maureen stood up and stepped into her black skirt. As she lifted the linen up over the roundness of her ass, Gary noticed the heavy pink stain of fingered slaps over the creamy flesh of her right cheek. “Oh my my” he said, imaging some hung stud fucking Maureen from behind and smacking her pretty bottom. Maureen zipped the skirt and turned around as she adjusted the waistband. Gary smiled, realizing the import of the crimson circles below Maureen’s knees. She sat down on the lid of the john and pulled black thigh-highs up the length of her lean legs.

Maureen lifted off her t-shirt as she stood again. Gary shifted to get a peek at the dark circles of her nipples, tightening in the cool air. Her heavy breasts hung low, full soft liquid tits drooping as she picked up her starched white blouse and lace bra. Gary rubbed his hard prick angrily as the last glimpse of Maureen’s beautiful secrets vanished behind the cups of her brassiere.

“She’s not wearing panties,” he thought. “Wouldn’t the guys go wild if they knew that.” Gary stroked himself, delighted.

“Gary,” said Ted as the door opened and a flood of light rushed into the dark bathroom

“No,” said Gary, trying to hide his throbbing cock while he stood. He smacked his head hard against the sink and fell back onto the floor with a scream of pain.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” he heard Ted shout. Voices of howling laughter and enraged shrieks echoed through Gary’s aching head. Another light went on. Someone shoved him deeper into the bathroom and helped him to stand. The door had been closed, but the laughter continued to pour through the thin wall. “Get your pants on and then get your ass into my office,” growled Ted.

Gary sat down in the plastic chair, his face blazing with shame, his thoughts lost in the buzz of confusion. Ted began to yell at him, profoundly, angrily, seriously, speaking a language of fury that Gary hardly understood. He heard Ted tell him he was fired and he stood up to go. The other cook, Jack, ran over as Gary picked up his jacket.

“Were you peeking Maureen? I want to hear.” Jack whispered quickly.

“Back on the line, Sampson” howled Ted.

“Lucky shit,” said Jack with a laugh.

Gary walked between the racks of cups, glancing over at the floor of the restaurant. June glared murderously at him. Gary tried to think of something to say, but pushed open the back door and stepped outside.

As he walked home, Gary’s spirits sank. A dry wind bit at his face. He climbed the stairs to his apartment. Everything, it seemed, had gone wrong. Gary dreaded looking for another job, applications and interviews which would want to know why he had been fired. He could still hear the laughter, could still feel the heat of his shame. June would never forgive him. She cared too much about appearances to let something like this slide. Gary tossed his keys on his dresser and fell despondently into bed.

“Fuck,” he said. “What an awful day.” Gary hugged his pillow for a moment, trying to drown out the sound of the mocking laughter, the ridiculous moment when he’d been lying on the dirty bathroom floor, his dick shriveling with the pain, hearing the girls screaming at him, furiously.

And he remembered the bend, the beautiful moment when Maureen had bent over to pick up her skirt, when the lips of her pussy shimmered just two feet away, so wet, so hungry, so soft and so fine. Gary unzipped his pants and he smiled.

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The Cauldron Bubbled

The Cauldron Bubbled
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

The doorbell rang. I glanced toward the clock. Two hands converged to mark midnight. A green-faced witch in a short black skirt whisked away to answer the door.

A genie in the guise of a Persian princess batted her dark eyes at me, taking advantage of the witch’s absence to flirt with my attention. A nearby bandit in a cowboy hat teased his revolver, as though to remind me that he had could defend his pride. I marked the swell of the genie’s breasts, a surge of lust forcing me to take my chances with the gunslinger.

“Good evening,” a Romanian Count intoned. A tall and silent geisha bowed slightly.

“Howdy, partners,” spoke the cowboy.

We sat surrounding a round oak table, six Halloween tricks tense with hungry excitement. I struck a long match to start a small fire. A gentle blue haze of sweet smoke wrapped loving arms around us all, easing our tensions in a whisper of laughter. I gazed at the witch; she smiled at me.

“I was at this big blowout Halloween party,” said the genie, “and I went upstairs to find a bathroom. I walked past a door, when I heard something fall on the floor with a crash. The sound startled me, you know, so I stopped. Through the door, I could hear creaking and rustling and groans. I thought maybe someone was hurt, so I reached for the knob. Just as I started to say something, this voice started moaning, almost chanting in rhythm. I pushed the door open slightly and peeked inside. She was saying, ‘fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!’ And he was.”

“Did you join them?” asked the Count.

“No!” said the genie.

“Would have been fun,” said the witch.

“No, but I left the door open and ran into the bathroom,” said the genie, blushing, “I could still hear them fucking. I couldn’t believe how excited I was. I started playing with myself. A few minutes later, I was the one moaning. I came so hard.”

“Mama,” said the cowboy.

“So, when I’m done, I open the door and this woman is there, the girl I saw fucking, standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, just waiting. I was so embarrassed. Then she smiles at me, licks her lips, and says ‘fun party.’ I couldn’t believe it.”

“What did she look like?” asked the Count.

“Big brown hair, I don’t remember,” said the genie. “But she had an ass that looked like a big scoop of ice cream.”

“Yum,” said the cowboy.

“I love watching people fuck,” I said

“And I like people watching me,” said the witch, softly, almost to herself.

The conversation fell off as fantastic visions seduced our thoughts and soon the three ladies escaped to the next room to change the music. I talked with my fellows about nothing important before giggles of excitement in the other room caught our attention. Curious, we peered around the corner.

The witch, the geisha and the genie danced together in the dim light, strangely joyful as they cavorted in the shadows. The visions of female forms in motion sufficed to capture our interest, but then the Count spoke a low, “oh my.” A moment later, I saw what he saw; the thin geisha was kissing a thick pink dildo as she danced. The genie giggled nervously, thick strands of black hair coming loose to veil her dark eyes. The big-breasted witch shook gleefully.

Taken by surprise, I felt stunned. I stood motionless, breathless, charmed by this sudden eruption of possibilities. The women seemed as though they couldn’t help but move, paying absolutely no attention to the Count, the cowboy or me as we moved into the room.

Emboldened by the steady gaze of the Oriental girl, the blue-eyed witch danced provocatively, using the thrust and sway of her voluptuous curves to tempt and tease the quiet geisha’s cock.

“Sweetness,” muttered the cowboy.

The genie reached over to lift the witch’s black skirt, revealing bold flashes of the bright green panties hid beneath. The geisha knelt down before the excited witch, their eyes locked in a fiery stare. A pink tongue darted out to tease the rubber cock. The genie shivered and laughed, holding the witch’s skirt at her waist. The thick dildo slid into the geisha’s tiny mouth, slowly descending until her ruby lips surrounded the furthest reaches of the false dick.

“Do it,” said the Count.

The witch said something that I couldn’t hear. The shiny dildo touched a crease in the sequined green cloth. The witch gasped sharply. After a momentary shiver subsided, the witch began to gently tease herself on the prick’s round head. The genie squeezed her titties hard and groaned.

“I don’t believe this,” the cowboy whispered. “In-fucking-credible.”

The witch suddenly lay herself down on the carpeted floor, and raised her hips up high, tempting the geisha with a swaying field of green. The genie giggled as she pushed her own pants down; her pussy was shaved bare. The geisha writhed between the witch’s lean thighs until she caught several sequins with a bite of her teeth.

“Yes,” the Count said with a thick Romanian accent, as he unfastened his pants, unleashing a cock nearly as large as the geisha’s play toy. His dark stare darted from woman to woman as his strong hands stroked his thick tool.

The genie danced thoughtlessly, nearly motionless as she watched the women at her feet. The cowboy tugged loose the buttons holding his fly. The genie rubbed her naked cunt, letting a thin finger push her swollen lips apart. Jeans rustled to the cowboy’s ankles. The genie moaned with a giggle. The witch noticed the Count’s hard prick and groaned hungrily. The geisha tugged at the sparkling green panties, drawing them down the witch’s white legs. The cowboy pulled his boots off and tossed them aside with a clunk. The genie knelt above the witch’s face, still rubbing herself intensely. The Count moved behind the geisha and lifted her robe to bare her narrow hips. The dildo teased and the suddenly sank itself deep into the witch’s pussy. The cowboy stood to offer his cock to the genie. The witch started to squeal when the genie covered her mouth with a cunt.

The geisha stroked the big pink dildo in and out of the witch with a rhythm that grew harder and faster as the Count matched each stroke with one of his own, his thick cock driving into the geisha’s pretty cunt. The genie devoured the cowboy’s prick as the witch’s tongue lapped between her swollen pink lips. Flesh met flesh in a churning sea of rolling motion; cocks and cunts, lips and tits, cowboys and witches, genies and vampires, geishas and ghosts, pirates, wolfmen, fucking and sucking and squealing and laughing.

I rose, pleased with the vision I had conjured. The wizard waved his wand.

The cauldron bubbled.

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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.”

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Mistaken Identity

Mistaken Identity
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Brandon stopped to check his hair in the mirror. Dark eyes surveyed their own pale cheeks with a self-satisfied sorrow. He pushed a long lock of black hair behind his ear. A creative urgency shook his thin shoulders and Brandon turned sharply profile, striking a haughty pose. Pleased with the image he presented, Brandon began to look for his notebook.

Rising from the small clutter on his walnut vanity, Brandon systematically searched the cream and beige room for his black leather journal. The dark object sat boldly on the nightstand, eclipsing the tails of the red numerals of his digital clock.

In the sparkle of illusion
Focusing confusion

“Let’s go,” said Carl, walking into Brandon as he turned out of the staircase. Brandon stumbled slightly, while Carl bowled forward.

“I’m ready,” said Brandon, clutching his leather binder to the billowing white shirt over his thin chest.

“You look like Blake,” said Carl. “Not like a mask, but with his style. Really cool.” Brandon looked at the clock, lately uneclipsed..

“Let’s go,” said Brandon in a quiet voice, affected to sound like Blake’s precise diction, a sorrow-laden voice appropriate for his worldly looking visage. “They wait.”

“Excellent,” said Carl, following his dramatic friend out the apartment door.

Brandon took a deep breath of the sultry night air, feeling the aura of Blake in his blood, breathing in the same warm breeze.

“He’s out there, tonight.”

“We’ll never see him,” said Carl the unbeliever. Brandon’s shoulders shook and he laughed. Blake was in the air.

“We might,” Brandon said coolly, teasing the sound of Blake out of himself.

“Where?”

“I know a guy. Bunch of industry people are going to be partying at the Hilton. He said Blake should show up.”

“How are we going to get in?” asked Carl the dubious.

“We just act like we belong. Who’ll know who we are?”

“Yeah,” said Carl standing outside the passenger door. “We belong. If we don’t belong, who are we?”

“Whatever we believe.” Brandon’s intonation conjured vision’s of Blake on stage.

A half-hour of mingling brought Brandon sitting, almost sulking, in a comfortable lounge chair near the ventilator of one of the rooms. Carl talked to a tall busty redhead about the problems of managing an outdoor festival. Brandon opened his notebook.

The steady drone of twilight
Drowns promises of starlight

“Hello,” she said. Brandon turned to look at the perky blonde who had taken a place, leaning on the table beside him. He twirled the cap back on his pen and flipped his notebook closed. Bright blue eyes danced as they watched him.

“Hello,” Brandon said, flattered and happy.

“Are you?” the nervous blonde spoke quietly.

“Blake,” he said unconsciously. She bit her lip and moaned softly. Brandon’s eyes went wide as he realized what he had said without meaning.

“I thought so,” she said, gaily. “You play guitar with that band, don’t you?”

“Sing,” said Brandon, flipping back his hair in a characteristic motion, erasing the cloud of his deception by transforming it into an exercise in acting.

“I saw you guys play the Roxy in Bedford and you were great. Good guitar.” She bubbled her enthusiasm.

“Sing,” said Bradford, although she wouldn’t have cared if she had heard.

“You should, you know, play something for us. I saw some instruments over by the bed. Are they yours?”

“No, no,” said Bradford. “We should go someplace quieter, where we can talk.”

“We can talk here, but if you want to go somewhere else, I’m all yours, Blake,” She spoke loudly. Bradford blushed. Carl looked over and smiled. The tall redhead rolled her eyes.

Bradford took the pretty blonde’s arm and led her into the hallway. Peering in an open door, Bradford found a vacant room. He closed the door with a sturdy click.

“Can I show you my pussy before I suck you off?” she asked with a purr. Bradford nodded as she lifted her long skirt to her waist and pressed her gold satin panties down. “I’d like you to lick her, just a stroke of your tongue on my clit. When I listen to your music, I’ll feel your tongue right there.” She pushed a pizza carton off the bed and lay back, her knees high atop lean legs. Brandon stared for a moment, stunned at the brazen image of her wet pussy spread in invitation. He pushed his tongue where her fingers led him. She squealed as a lusty river poured from her swollen lips. He licked the soft folds of her labia and she grabbed his hair hard, pulling his tongue sternly against her erect clitoris, her legs spread harshly wide. He pushed a finger into her ass. She pulled hair from his head as she came.

“You like my ass?” she asked. Brandon sighed, unzipping his trousers to set his rigid pole loose. “Wanna fuck my ass, Blake?”

“I’ll fuck your ass, bitch,” Brandon said in his best imitation of Blake. It sounded hollow as she rolled over on the bed. Her asshole glistened wet after the savage bout of head. Brandon pushed his hardness into the tight grip of her ass. She shuddered and began to rock in the rhythm of an orgasmic butt fuck. He smacked her creamy bottom with an open hand. “Fuck,” Brandon said.

“Oh, oh, tell me you love me you bastard,” she said. Her convulsive asshole teased his prick.

“I love you,” he said, a poor imitation of Blake. “I love you,” he said, better, as he smacked her firm bottom.

“You’re fucking my goddam ass, Blake” she howled, rubbing his dick ferociously within her muscular hole.

“I love you,” he said, a perfect replica of Blake as he seized her waist and pulled her harder against his fuck. She played with her clit.

“I’m going to come,” she shouted, “with Blake fucking my pretty girl ass”

“I love you,” Brandon said, rather sincerely. He stroked her trembling flesh steadily, driving each moan to new heights.

“Come in my mouth,” she said. “I want to taste you.” Brandon lay his throbbing prick, a curved scimitar, against her lips.

“Suck me,” Brandon said slowly.

“I’m your fucking bitch,” she said coldly. “Let me drink your seed.”

“I would fuck you forever,” he said as his dick vanished into her mouth. “I love you.” He pushed deep into her open throat and taking hold of her golden curls, he teased his dick in the depths as she struggled to breath. Her breasts hung low, heavy and fertile, fluid with each subtle motion of their fuck. Her tongue tormented his cock with excited tickling. “I love you,” he said and he poured his love in warm spurts into the pink softness of her waiting mouth.

“Mmm,” she said, licking her lips. Brandon fell back into a chair, stunned. Spreading her legs toward him, she licked her finger and teased her stiff clit. “You let me know if you want some more.”

“Hmm,” Brandon said, wilted. She swung her body over and pushed her ass at him.

“I loved the way you fucked my ass, Blake,” she said, wiggling her backside.

“Oh,” Brandon said, wanting to get up.

“C’mon,” she said, waggling her rump too provocatively to resist. Brandon stood. The doorknob rattled. “Sarah?” a voice in the hallway yelled.

“Sarah?” Brandon asked.

“Nope,” she said.

“We’d better go,” he said, troubled by the intrusion.

“Let me give you my number.”

“Sure,” Brandon said.

“When are you guys leaving town?”

“Soon,” Brandon said quietly. “Too soon.”

“Call me,” she said, fixing her panties. “You owe me an ass fucking. See you at the show.” She rushed out the door.

Brandon looked in the mirror. The Blake hair styling had abruptly bloomed into a much more noticeably Brandon-esque look. Brandon smiled. Maybe Blake would pay her the ass fucking. Brandon felt his shoulders shake as he imagined the scene. Blake breathing the same air, sucking the same clit, fucking the same ass.

Brandon pushed a lock of black hair behind his ear and went looking for a way to get home.

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Faster than Light

Faster than Light
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Gossip spreads faster
Than light dares to travel
Words whispered sound
Out louder than bells
The blush of exposure
Never quite fades

“You don’t believe me?” Rick asked.

“Well, no. I guess not,” said Brian.

“You think I’m going to lie about something like that?”

“Of course you would. Depends what’s at stake, but if you had some scheme in mind, you’d say just about anything, Rick.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Rick, I’ve known you, what? twenty years? You’d sell your Mom to get some skirt. Remember when Judy was coming down for the weekend and you told Liz that you were going in for surgery . . .”

“All right, all right.” Rick’s grin confessed to the charge. “But I’m not shitting you this time. I saw Tommy boffing Cheryl.”

“Cheryl Sanders?”

“One and only.”

“You’re a liar. What’s the angle?”

“Look. Hey, Steph. Come over here.”

“Rick, Brian. What’s up?”

“Rick says . . .”

“Wait,” Rick interrupted. “Let me remove all doubt.”

“About what?” asked Stephanie.

“How long have you known Cheryl?”

“I don’t know. Six years?”

“Do you think she’d cheat on Jerry?”

“Never. Not in a million years. You going after married women now, Rick?”

“Nope. Not Cheryl, anyway. Jerry’s a friend of mine.”

“Didn’t stop you when Angie . . . .”

“All right,” interrupted Rick. “I just have one question. Does Cheryl have a birthmark on her tit, right there?”

Steph slapped Rick’s jutting finger away from her breast. “Well,” she said.

“A lopsided heart?”

“Yeah. How did you . . . Rick, did you . . . ?” Stephanie’s brow tensed angrily.

“No,” Rick said emphatically. “I went back to the house to get my other pair of sunglasses.”

“Time to trade the early morning pair for the mid-morning ones?” asked Brian with a smirk.

“Mark sat on the one’s I was wearing while I was swimming, funny boy. Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Shut up, Brian,” said Stephanie, as she sat down in the warm sand.

“Thank you,” said Rick. “I went back to the house and just as I reached for the back door, I thought I heard Cheryl say, ‘Fuck me, stud.'”

“Oooh,” said Stephanie, leaning forward.

“I stopped dead in my tracks. There was some rustling and a faint moan. Then I thought, I just saw Jerry go with Steve and Allison up to the boardwalk. So then I’m thinking that I must have been wrong, it couldn’t be Cheryl.”

“But it was,” said Steph, anticipating.

“I slowly got down on my hands and knees. I started to crawl toward the window. Then Cheryl shouts, ‘What a hot cock!’ She was really excited about it.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Stephanie. “Cheryl? I’ve never heard her say anything dirty.”

“I couldn’t believe it either. I thought one of the guys had brought some bimbo back to the house. So I crept closer and peeked in the window.”

“That is so twisted,” said Brian with a smile.

“I wish I had my camera. Now, that would have been twisted. Anyway, I peek into the back bedroom and there’s Tommy sitting on the bed with his trunks at his ankles and Cheryl’s kneeling in front of him, sucking his dick.”

“Wow,” murmured Stephanie. “I wouldn’t have guessed she’d do anything like that. She always blushes and runs off when we talk about fucking.”

“Well, Cheryl may not talk the talk, but I don’t think it was the first time she’d sucked dick. Very enthusiastic performance. Beautiful titties, too. Bigger than I’d noticed before, and big dark nips. And a birthmark.”

“That’s Cheryl,” Stephanie confirmed, nodding.

“So then,” Rick said in a low voice, “she pulls down the bottom of her swimsuit and wiggles her white butt while she’s going down hard on Tommy’s dick. I thought I’d blow a load, just watching”

“Rick,” said Brian, blushing. “I don’t think we need to know all the details.”

“Shut up,” said Stephanie. “Is he big?”

“Not bad,” said Rick. “I mean, it was pretty long but slender. I’m no judge of meat, but Cheryl seemed to like it.”

“Mmm,” said Stephanie, licking her lips. “I wonder if . . .” Manicured nails scratched a gnawing itch under her bikini.

“Well, you’d better get a piece before Jerry finds out,” said Rick. “Can you say ‘justifiable homicide?'”

“You can’t tell Jerry,” said Stephanie, suddenly serious.

“Not me,” said Rick. “But I’ve never seen a secret like this one kept quiet long.”

“You guys tell Jerry and I’ll mess you up,” warned Stephanie.

“Capisch. So Cheryl’s going to town and I’m thinking Tommy’s going to blow but then Cheryl climbs on top of his rod and jams it into her pussy. She was so wet I could smell it.”

“Wow.”

“She starts riding like she was galloping to freedom. Tits bouncing, Tommy’s groaning, Cheryl’s just spewing obscenities; “Fuck, suck, bitch, cock, fuck, dick,” and then she squeals so loud I thought the whole gang was going to come running up from the beach to save her.”

“What’s up?” asked Liz, sitting down between Stephanie and Rick.

“Rick caught Cheryl fucking Tommy.”

“No way,” said Liz, her eyes lit up.

“Sure as shit,” said Rick.

“Does Jerry know?” asked Liz.

“Not yet,” said Brian.

“Not ever,” said Stephanie, the menace returning to her voice.

“What about Terri?” asked Liz. “Aren’t she and Tommy a thing?”

“Naw. She dumped him a while back.”

“Good for her.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Someone told me that she was . . .” Brian’s voice trailed off.

“What?” asked Stephanie.

“She was seeing someone else.”

“Where’s Jerry?”

“He wanted some fries.”

“Here comes Cheryl.”

“You guys just shut up. Okay? Let me talk to her.”

“I want to know,” said Rick.

“In your dreams,” said Stephanie.

“You’ll tell me everything, Steph, or I’m talking to Jerry.”

“Okay. Now just shut up.” Stephanie growled at the gang in the sand and then turned to the figure descending from the sparse hill of sand dune. “Hey, Cheryl. Have you seen Tommy? I need to talk to him.”

“Um, no,” said Cheryl, blushing.

Liz and Rick fell over in an explosion of laughter. Brian got up and shading his eyes, looked toward the distant boardwalk.

“I need some fries,” he said, shaking his head and taking hold of his prone friend’s shoulder. “C’mon Rick, let’s get something to eat.

“Sure,” said Rick, wiping his eyes with a sand coated hand. “But you don’t call me a liar anymore.”

“Shit,” said Brian. “That’s the least of your worries. Let’s go.”

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The Scene

The Scene

 

Felicia looked at her watch. He was late. Her looking-glass hung on the wall. She caught her reflection in the smudged silver surface, and smiled warmly, her confidence bolstered for an instant in a moment of self-admiration. Butterflies tickled her stomach. Felicia twirled a soft yellow curl, nervously.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Felicia scurried back into the belly of her rooms, refusing to let him imagine she waited. In her bedroom, she steadied herself with a hand on the bedpost. “One, Two, Three, Four,” she counted, clearing her thoughts of anxiety. His knock fell upon the hollow door.

“Five, Six, Seven, Eight,” she continued. Casting a glance in her dresser mirror, admiring the clean lines of her blue silk blouse, Felicia reached up and removed the gold hoops from her ear lobes. She heard the front door open. Felicia smiled.

“Felicia?” Jack Stark’s reedy voice drifted lightly. Felicia left the bedroom, distractedly replacing her right earring in the lobe it had just left.

“Oh,” she said as she encountered the young producer.

“My, aren’t you beautiful?” he said. Felicia blushed slightly and fastened the second ring of gold.

“Jack?” she asked in feigned surprise. He looked at his watch, wrinkles forming on his high brow.

“Didn’t . . .” he began to ask, but Felicia cut him off with a furtive kiss.

“You look great,” she said. His sandy hair grew thin over a strong, tanned handsome face. Sharp eyes were contrasted with soft lips, which he nibbled at constantly. A black wool sport coat draped over a creamy Perry Ellis knit shirt and black cotton slacks that lightly hugged his lean legs. Italian shoes needed a polish. He clutched at his black planner, and buried his left hand in a pocket. Felicia felt and fought a touch of disappointment. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, following her into the small kitchen. Felicia opened the cupboard to take out two glasses, putting away the crystal vase that sat on the counter. Another cupboard tendered a bottle of scotch.

“How’s the show?” Felicia asked, leading Jack through the dining room and into the living room. She caught her reflection in the glass of the framed Chagall print, and adjusted the hem of her skirt.

“Great,” said Jack, sitting on the sofa. “We should recover our costs before next weekend.” He smirked. “That’s when the fun starts.”

“Did you get to see any of it last night?”

“Sure, sure. Most of the third act and the beginning of the fourth. The manager was having trouble with his accounts, but I got that straightened out.” Jack fondled the ruffle of a pillow. Perturbed, Felicia threw back her drink and sat the glass down abruptly on her cherry coffee table. Jack looked at once to Felicia and met the steady gaze she meant to convey her annoyance.

“And . . .”

“Oh, Felicia, you were fabulous. I thought it went without saying. You’re the reason the show is doing so well. I remember once, when you finished the speech about ambition, the whole theater was dead silent, and I turned to Louis and said, ‘she’s got them mesmerized,’ and you did.”

“Thank you,” Felicia said with a slight curtsey, glowing in the warmth of his praise.

“You know what was even better? The scene with you and Linda. There is this electric chemistry between you two that just burns.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Felicia, picking up her empty glass.

“Louis told me he’s concerned she’s thinking about leaving the show. I had a talk with her last night, after the curtain calls.”

“I’d wondered where you’d gotten off to.” Felicia walked over to the stereo and turned it on. Billy Holiday began to sing a sorrowful melody. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Louis has some ideas he thinks will tempt her to stay. He has a new script he wants to work on.”

“Really. I’ll be interested to see it. Something for me, I hope.” She glanced in the mirror, pushing a lock of her hair to let it fall naturally past her ears.

“I think so. I haven’t seen it yet myself. I’m sure we’ll find something for our big star.” Jack rose from the sofa and went to Felicia’s side. She turned away from his gaze.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his hand drifting down her silken sleeve.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, turning brightly to smile for him. “I don’t know how I’d cope without you.” She put her arms around him and pulled his body near.

“You’d probably find some other producer to enchant,” he said happily as he teased her with a kiss. “Some good looking bloke with more money and more hair.” Felicia laughed and ran her hands through his fading locks.

“You’ve got more than money and hair,” she said, kissing him lusciously.

“Hmmm,” he said, “there is always that.” Felicia stroked Jack’s trouser front. “I’ll bet you could find someone . . .”

“No,” she interrupted, “not like this.” His fly descended smoothly and her fingers slipped inside.

“No?”

“You have a perfect cock,” she said, licking her lips and extracting the serpent from its clothy lair. Jack’s prick stood hard in her grasp.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly as Felicia knelt to suck his rigid stick, teasing him into soft moans of pleasure with the play of her tongue.

“Yummy,” she said, and with her hands on his butt pushed his thick flesh deeply between her lips.

“Ahh,” he said excitedly. “I want you so badly.”

She stopped and smiled invitingly. “Then take me.”

“Grrr,” he said, twisting around to kneel behind the blonde actress. He lifted the hem of her skirt over her lace pantied ass. “Whenever I watch you on stage,” he said, yanking down her panties to expose her white bottom, “I imagine doing you this way.” Felicia lifted her head, and tossing her hair to the left, looked back at him.

“You do?” He spread her knees slightly, working his way closer.

“This is the best,” he said, plunging his cock into her damp pussy.

“Oh,” Felicia moaned, dropping her head between her arms again.

“You have a perfect ass,” he said, rocking in and out with a slow, steady pace.

“Absolutely a . . . ,” he said, his voice fading. He grabbed the fleshy cheeks and squeezed as his rhythm grew fiercer. Felicia rocked back against the waves, dancing between the sorrowful rhythms of old blues and Jack’s insatiable hunger. “Perfect ass,” he gasped.

“Fuck me,” she said.

“Yes!” he bellowed, and in the awkward stumble of withdrawal, shot a fountain of watery cream over Felicia’s rocking backside. As he fell back to swim in the lethargy of spent desire, Felicia crawled around to kiss his cum drenched prick, bidding the erection farewell.

The kissed, gently, tenderly and he rose.

“You are so beautiful,” he said softly.

“I love you,” she replied. She stood and adjusted her skirt, wiping wet spots of his semen into the cloth.

“I’ve got to get down to the theater. I’ll probably be busy all afternoon, but I’ll drop by your dressing room, probably after the show. I’ll have Louis send you a copy of the new script.”

“I appreciate that, Jack. I really do.” Felicia smiled sweetly and walked Jack to the door. They kissed and he left. Felicia stared at the closed door a moment, then turned.

“That went well, I think,” Felicia said. She walked back into the living room and tossed the pillow back onto the sofa. “He’s still mine,” she told herself, picking up his half-emptied glass of scotch and drinking it down. The dark alcohol burned in her throat. Felicia caught her reflection in the small mirror and she frowned. Her mascara was smeared grotesquely over her left cheek and her hair jutted up, tempest tossed. “Son of a Bitch!” the actress screamed and with a furious throw of the glass, she shattered the antique mirror.

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A Christmas Present

A Christmas Present
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

She tore the wrapping paper carefully, aware that the layer of red and green print differed only superficially from the sheaf of papers beneath.

“This is it?” she asked excitedly. “You finished it?” He nodded with a self-indulgent grin.

“Last night, while you were shopping with Tanna.”

She flipped the bulk of pages. Words leapt out from the text, teasing her attention. “Can I read it now?”

“Give me a kiss first,” he answered with a smile. She eagerly met his lips and kissed him deeply. “I’ll pour some coffee,” he said, rising while she flipped to find the first paragraph. She moved to the sofa and nestled under the reading lamp to drink her first sip of prose.

He pulled two ceramic mugs from an oak rack and poured a flow of aromatic dark liquid as steam lifted up to warm his hand. He returned to the living room to find Angie absorbed in the pages he had given her.

Realizing after a moment that she wasn’t going to notice him offering her the mug, he put it down on a cork circle on the table beside her. Angie shifted and sighed. Steven sat down in the green lounge chair and picked up the book his sister had sent him.

He wondered how non-readers picked out the books they give. The back cover promised nothing. He smiled and tried to read the dull but well-meant gift.

Angie shifted again to lay across the sofa. Steven looked up from the novel and watched as she lifted her knees. While her right hand held his manuscript a few inches from her face, her left began to tug at her white cotton nightgown until it slipped over her knees and down her thighs.

He watched raptly as the soft pink of her pussy peeked into view between her lean legs. Unconsciously, he licked his lips as she tousled her light brown muff.

“Mmmm,” Angie purred as she teased her swells and folds. Steven smiled, wondering where she was in his story. A finger dipped between her aroused lips and emerged with a glistening of juices.

“Ooh,” she said emphatically with a quick wet rub. At that, Steven knew exactly where she was. That paragraph had been written especially to light Angie’s fire. She pulled her hand away from her clit for a moment to lift and drop the page to the floor and as quickly found her place again.

Angie’s hips lifted slightly as she played herself and read, thrusting in a slow rhythm as her hand ran knowing circles before stopping to grab a fiery burst of sensation. Steven watched her eyes as they scanned the typescript, pausing at intervals with the glaze of excitement, almost closing before they focused once more to down another draught of his bawdy tale.

“Oh, my God,” she said and closed her eyes, her hand burning furiously over her sopping wet cunt. She plunged two fingers in with reckless excitement and then rubbed doubly hard and fast as her moans welled deep within.

The mass of papers fell chaotically to the floor as Angie lifted her ass high off the sofa as she trembled and thrashed and squealed and teased her thick pink clit through the throes of an explosive orgasm. The foolscap scattered over hardwood as Angie relentlessly came.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she said as she settled back into the cushions, giggling with each remaining convulsive twitch. After a deep sigh, she looked at Steven with a grin.

“How far did you get?” he asked.

“Page three,” she answered dreamily. “Is it all like that?”

“One hundred and twenty pages, all for you,” he answered. “If anything, the story starts slow. Merry Christmas, Angie.” He lifted his coffee in a toast.

“Merry Christmas, Steven,” she seductively, already looking for page four among the scattered sheets below.

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