Erotic Stories
Full Moon Over Tidepool
Sean Morrissey Carroll
I hear the wet slap as another damp body presses up against me, my skin soaked in sperm and sweetness. The moon rises high above us. The rock I lie upon is sticky; I can hear slurps and squelches as I am pummeled by wave upon wave of ecstasy. A sigh escapes my throat as I am pressed again to the rock, thrust upon thrust driving me wild.
The smell about me is intoxicating. I bend and twist my neck and relax. So much to digest. My nose draws me in every direction at once. Pheromones, dampness, unspeakable things that excite me, make my pulse quicken. I am here to penetrate. I press my member against bodies that rub against mine. Probing for a hole to fuck. I guide myself to reach for a bend, a crevice, a place to push forth. Some around me do the same; I’m not averse to it. I grunt as I find a place to thrust, pale folds and pink skin glittering with dewy droplets. Further. Deeper.
Bent between two, I am twisted, contorted. A rock and a hard place, hard, so hard. The world turns and spins, revolving around me. I see the moon in the sky through eyes caked with wetness. Have I been here forever? Will this night ever end? The numbness above and the numbness below are my body, I know that. They are part of me even as I am left shattered and torn. I live for this, for obliteration, to feel the hand that caresses my damp belly without knowing who it belongs to, a remnant of when my body was my own, before it was subsumed to the mass now spreading about me as an unending synapse of clenching and spurting and gasping and thrusting.
My tongue flickers past my lips, I reach for my love. Unmoving, held tight, I wait for them to come to me. My pleasure is theirs, I wish for them to use me. I open deeper, held fast at my hips. Swirling around me, so many bodies, I cannot care about them, cannot lose my concentration. I reach my tongue further, deeper, probing, tasting, and exalting in what no one has ever known this deeply.
Three of them I pleasure at once. Mindless, I am autonomous lust. I know only to push, to probe with fingers, to take my pleasure, to make them take it. Wet secretions, mucous, love, and lubrication, swirl together in a heady mix. I press further, watching as they squirm under my reach. I arch my dripping body. I twist, I hold, I go deeper. More, more I give them, pushing further, hearing their cries—of pleasure or pain—I care not. They are mine to toy with.
Clutching a shoulder, nibbling an ear, I crawl across the bodies writhing on the floor. I am of them but not engaged, not bonded with them, a tourist to their lustful pleasures. My body is held tight by hard straps that give me power. I move from one to the next, licking, feeling, touching, my eyes taking it all in, overloaded by the pulsating landscape. I see one I lust after and make my way to them, leisurely, savoring the journey across bodies of all kinds, leaving my trail of wetness where I press my flesh and rub. I leave my taste in their mouths, on their hips, across their hands, on their sex.
Squirming against their hold, I let myself gape. I know they watch me. Pore over every inch my body. Soft touches probe me, here, exposed in the open. I relish their gaze, their eyes, their lips, I swat weakly at them with feigned disapproval. I see them pull back, afeared of my openness to them. I want them. But only those who have to confidence to take what they want can have me. Come get me.
Oh I hurt, I weep, and I spread my fingers wide against the smooth floor. All around me the pumping beats continue, the sighs and slaps and screaming. I am undone, crumpled at the bottom of the heap. A hand reaches, strokes me as I shudder, its owner lying enfolded beneath another’s embrace. I am soft. I am flesh. I am part of the room. I have been stretched and used, my insides pulse with heat. I love it, I hate it, I forget myself, and I am a writhing mass of emotion. I smell this place, ripe tension fixing to burst like a cyst. I cry silently as a hand brushes across my chest, taking what little pleasure I have to give.
I am spent. I lay limp on the pillowy body of my lover. We came as a couple; we will leave as a crowd. My tiny existence has expanded; I explored more bodies than I’ve ever seen in one place. We are but motes upon the lip of existence. My heart beats faster and faster. My eyes dim. I have cum and cum and cum and I have no more to give to my lover or to another. But lust garrisons my mind. I see another I must embrace. Sitting up, leaning forward, hard once again, I fall to the floor and am swept away before my lover opens her eyes to notice me gone.
My red, red speckled, hard, so hard, I press into her flesh with my member. Her soft embrace pulls at me, sucks me off, dismembers me. I am undone. The press, the push, my eyes roll back. The sound, her strength, her muscles pulsate as I enter her. I reach around her folds and curves, searching for purchase to take control. Her grip envelops me. The ecstasy of it all. One snap and then another. The moon glitters in the sky and my eyes flicker out.
Julia Alive
by Tyree Campbell
The mosaic that riveted Rother's attention was not listed in the Pompeii tour brochure. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon in the summer sun of southern Italy, traipsing through the excavated ruins of the Roman resort inundated two millennia earlier by the mad Vesuvius, impelled by his own prurient interest in search of ancient masterpieces of women in various stages of deshabille, swathed in luxury--all in the name of proper appreciation of the art form, of course. Now, at the northern perimeter of the once-buried city, on the back wall of what had once been a bath, a full meter below modern ground
level, he'd found such a masterpiece. Lurid it was, true, but more than that. It was ars vivens incarnate. Living art. And as Rother shifted back and forth, to observe at this angle and then at that, the figures on the wall moved, rather like 3D images. And the eyes--he swore they were following him.
"Higgenbotham!" he called.
In the distance Rother could just hear the ticking of the elderly professor's cane as he tottered across the cobblestones. He hoped Higgenbotham wouldn't spill into the excavation and injure himself. Like most restorative organizations these days, the Pompeii Board of Antiquities operated on skeleton funds, which did not include, apparently, outlays for guardrails. The tourists would have to fend for themselves.
The ticking faded--perhaps the old man had become distracted en route. More often these days Higgenbotham seemed surprised by his surroundings, as if he had just awakened from a sleepwalk. More than once, this had occurred in the middle of a lecture. Impatient, Rother scuffed at the old stone under his feet. How many Senators and sailors had passed through here, bathed here, taken advantage of the facility of seduction. Here it was said that even Julia, daughter of Augustus and duchess of debauchery, had cavorted with men and women. She'd had scruples, though, never having allowed a man to enter her unless she was already pregnant by her husband. "I never take on
passengers," she was reputed to have said, "unless the boat is full."
Again Rother raised his eyes to the central figure, that of a dark-haired, full-breasted woman about to shed the last folds of a robe now faded to rose after all these years, one long sleek peach-flesh leg dipping into the turquoise water to the overt encouragement of two other women and a man who was too patrician in appearance to be a common nauta, a sailor of some rude trireme dallying on a night's liberty. Surely her eyes beckoned to him. Those who had inlaid the fine mosaic tiles had used lapis lazuli for her eyes, and now, after 2000 years of darkness, they probed his libido like lighthouse beacons, luring him past dangerous shoals and sandbars...to what end? Surely the fine stone had been set as her irises for that effect. The mosaicists knew what they were doing.
Julia? Could it be...?
Rother broke the hold of her eyes to glance around. "Higgenbotham?" But he was still alone.
Other figures frozen in the mural came alive as his eyes swept the panorama once again. Three men in full tumescence...one totally naked, another still wearing his legate's plumed cassis, the third clad only in a balteus, the thick belt draped over the left shoulder, the vagina which dangled from the bottom of the loop still containing the two-
edged gladius. A fourth man was undergoing fellatio from a woman kneeling in the pool into which Julia, if she it was, was about to descend. Twenty centuries after the tiny tiles had been laid, the fine craft of the mosaicists still brought the bath participants to life. Even in shadows the stone gleamed. As Rother shifted position, the figures seemed to move, ever so slightly, living flesh from bits of fired clay, aroused to partake of love's sweet pain. As if they were inviting him to join them...
Now Rother glanced around furtively. "Higgenbotham?" he said, hushed. The old professor had insisted on the extended detour to Pompeii from the Etruscan sites north of Rome. So where the hell was he now? Tense as a pubescent boy wondering whether his parents had found the National Geographic magazines tucked between his mattress and box springs, Rother cast a final scan of his surroundings and cautiously approached the mural. So exquisite had been the mosaicists' skill that the depth of the panorama made Rother feel as if he were approaching a true orgy, frozen in arousal for all time by the stone and by the baptism of fire on that August day so long ago. And the figures were all life-size. The woman--Julia?--seemed about half a foot shorter than Rother's five-foot-ten, the men of proportionate size, the legate slightly taller and more massive. Now the figures resembled nothing so much as real persons flung against
the wall, their skin finely cracked by heat and by age, like the shells of hard-boiled eggs that have been rolled to enhance the cracking. Rother lifted his right hand, and spread his fingers...
What if he touched the tiles, the figure...touched her? Where was the harm? Was it any more decadent than engineering a solitary orgasm onto the centerfold spread on the bed? Slowly, with more furtive glances to be certain he was unobserved, Rother placed his spread hand over the woman's left breast, his thumb poised on the dark areola.
The mural, still warm from the sun, passed that warmth to his hand, and from there to his groin. Under his touch the nipple came alive...or was it a tile that had come loose? From this angle the woman's face was tilted slightly upwards, intense azure eyes on fire, crimson lips parted as if in anticipation of a kiss or perhaps on the verge of engulfing his thumb as a prelude to other oral stimulations. Even in the shade, Rother was perspiring. His mind said this was insane, but his body autonomously issued commands to doff his shirt, and his undershirt, and his---
"No!" Rother stepped back, gasping for breath. This was insane. He was driven by academe now, not by hormones. He'd outgrown the secret rendezvous with his hand . . . with the girl down the street whose name he no longer remembered . . . with,
in his early university days, anything that would hold still long enough.
Insane . . .
But . . . it felt so good. For an instant the stone, the tiles, had become Julia, Julia's breast, Julia's inviting warmth. On that hot ancient summer day she had anticipated unlimited coition, and been denied carnal delights by the Fates, by Hephestus and Vulcan. She was still hot, even now.
Naked to the waist, Rother lifted his hand again, less tentatively this time, and less ashamedly. What would it be like, he wondered, to touch her back then . . . actually to touch her body, yes, in that way, yes. Already he was hard with the thought of her, of what she had been about to do on that day, and now he felt discomfort, his member trapped on the way up between thigh and stone. There was only one solution for that problem, and he took it, kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his sweat-stained slacks. Higgenbotham? But he was in the shade, under an eave, and surely he would hear the old man approach. All he wanted was a touch, a feel. The angle with her body was right for his frontal approach. He pressed himself against the wall and absorbed her radiance.
Suddenly he felt a violent surge of intense heat in his groin. Liberated through the slit in his loose boxer shorts, his phallus had entered her . . . he'd known too many women not
to recognize the sensation. She was wet now, whether from humidity or from desire, he did not care which. He felt one leg lift to curl around him, he felt her breast yield under his hand, saw his left arm slip around her protectively, as if to deny her to the others for at least this one union and to pull her even closer to him. And as he clutched at her, trying to spear her, to drive himself deeper into her, she pulled away from him.
The others laughed at him. Someone splashed. And the sounds died.
Rother was too stunned to move. He stood with his back to the world, his head turned toward the right, his erection hidden from the view of everyone save the bathers, and watched while, naked now and glowing in arousal, she stepped into the excavated bath toward Higgenbotham.
"Ah, Julia, there you are, my dear," said the old man.
"It's time for your bath, Senator," purred Julia, and led him away.
Rother stood gaping . . . and gaping . . . and after a while he began to hope a straggler from a tour would stumble upon the mosaic and find him illicitly and deliciously alluring. With no other choice, he was resigned to waiting for liberation . . . even another two thousand years.
MUTUAL ATTRACTION
By Shari Held
Shari's fiction has appeared in dozens of magazines and anthologies, including Between the Covers, The Dating Game, Hoosier Noir, and Yellow Mama.
Annabel Nelson nudged open the door to her condo with one red stiletto and maneuvered her briefcase, groceries, and herself inside. It was nearly nine o’clock. She sighed. Another typical Friday night. As an entry-level junior attorney, she was paying her dues by putting in long hours at the office.
After putting her groceries away, she kicked off her shoes, slipped off her jacket, shimmied out of her fashionably tight skirt, and poured a generous glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. She wandered over to the huge wall of glass overlooking the lake. The lights reflecting off the water were mesmerizing and soothing.
Ah, time to relax. She rolled her shoulders, but it was fruitless. They were too tight to respond.
Only one other condo had a view of hers. It had been vacant until recently and her new neighbor’s windows, like hers, were unadorned. Over the past couple months, watching him – she’d nicknamed him “Mr. Sexy” – was as close as she’d come to having a romantic relationship.
Annabel took another sip of Cab and again glanced toward his windows. Whoever he was, he took her breath away. Most men would give up a year’s salary for his physique. And up
close – she’d seen him at Whole Foods once – his eyes were like liquid chocolate. And, boy, did she love chocolate!
Instinctively Annabel’s body began performing a familiar ritual. Her right hand moved between her legs and she stroked herself through her red lace teddy, all the while imagining it was Mr. Sexy doing the honors. She took a few more generous swallows of Cab before placing her glass on the oversized coffee table. Then she slipped one arm out of her teddy, totally exposing her right breast. Her left hand began alternately rubbing it in slow circles and pulling at her nipple until it grew hard and erect. The heat grew between her legs.
“Too bad Mr. Sexy isn’t here,” she said out loud while stepping out of her teddy. “I’ll just have to be satisfied using my fingers as a substitute for him. But, eventually, hopefully not too far into the future, I’ll have my own Mr. Sexy to come home to. And come with.”
Now totally naked, Annabel lay on her soft, suede couch to finish the job. Her thighs spread wide apart making it easier for her fingers to caress her exposed clit. Gradually she increased the pressure, then she inserted two fingers in her vagina and slid them in and out. As the tension mounted, her body demanded release. She arched her back, lifted her hips, and thrust faster and faster against her slick fingers. Finally, gave a final deep thrust and moaned deeply, her thighs quivering as she melted onto the cushions.
An orgasm, even one she produced by herself, trumped just about anything. But it would be much nicer to share the experience with a lover. Annabel sighed and looked toward her neighbor’s window. His lights were now on.
If only he knew how much a part of my sex life he is. Then again, maybe he does, and he enjoys watching me! Wouldn’t that be a turn-on?
Annabel reinstated her teddy, finished her wine in one gulp, and headed to the kitchen for
a refill. She was so enveloped in orgasmic afterglow she almost dropped her glass when the doorbell rang.
Who could that be this late on a Friday night?
“Coming,” she said as she grabbed her robe from the hook on the bathroom door and tied the belt snuggly around her waist.
She peeked out.
OMG. It’s him. Mr. Sexy.
She fluffed her hair before opening the door.
“Hello, neighbor,” a rich, baritone voice said.
“Um, hello,” she responded, hoping he couldn’t tell she’d just orgasmed.
“We haven’t formally met, but I’m the new guy across the way. I have a proposition for you. Can I come in?”
“Um, sure,” she said, opening the door wide. “You took me by surprise.” She headed to the living room, thinking how strange, but nice, it was that he’d appeared on her doorstep right then. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not what you can do for me, but what we can do for each other,” Mr. Sexy said as he closed the door behind him with a resounding click.
#
Annabel’s naughty side was having so much fun thinking about what they could do for each other, she couldn’t muster a quick comeback. Instead, she took the safe, socially correct route. “I’m Annabel, by the way. Annabel Nelson.” She stuck out her hand to shake his, too late remembering where it had last been.
“It’s nice to meet you, Annabel. I’m Jackson. Jackson Ford.” His eyes lingered on her red
lace teddy, which was clearly visible through her short, semi-transparent robe.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. And further south. Seeing Mr. Sexy up close, touching him in the flesh, and hearing his voice was ever so much better than the image of him she conjured up during her solo love-making sessions.
She sat down on the couch and motioned for him to be seated. “So, you mentioned a proposition?”
He smiled. “But first, I must lodge a complaint. I thought it would only be fair to give you the chance to rectify it before I take it to property management.”
“What? A complaint? Surely I can’t have done anything that would upset you.”
“Oh, but you have.” He paused, then placed a hand on her bare knee. “It’s a matter of the window coverings.”
“Oh, that.” She was so disappointed that he must want her to put up blinds or drapes she barely registered where he’d placed his hand.
No more glimpses of Mr. Sexy in a towel. Damn!
“I always intended to get shades installed over that large bank of glass, but your condo was vacant for a long time. I guess I just got used to it the way it was.” Annabel sighed. “I’ll get someone out here soon.”
His hand moved further up her thigh. “I don’t want you to put more shades up. I want you to take the shades down in the smaller window facing the couch. I want to see everything when you make yourself cum.”
“What?” She blushed again as she realized he’d been watching her and knew exactly what she was doing on her couch. “You saw. . . me?”
“No. And that’s the problem. I want to see you finger-fuck yourself until you climax right
here on this couch. But your shades block my view.”
Annabel had to check to make sure her mouth wasn’t hanging open.
“Let me get this straight. You leave your lights off so you can watch me play with myself?”
Jackson smiled and nodded his head. “Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t watched me, ‘cus I’m not buyin’ it.” He raised one eyebrow. “By the way, even though you turn out the living room lights, there’s enough ambient light from the dining room and kitchen for me to see you watching me.”
God, just let me disappear through the floor.
He knew her dirty little secret. But, hey, now she knew his as well. She wasn’t going to let him make her feel bad about pleasuring herself. She removed his hand from her thigh, jutted her chin out, and replied. “I’ll have to think about that. You mentioned a proposition?”
He cocked his head and smiled as though he were trying to suppress a laugh. “Yes. I think we should take our mutual attraction to the next level. Are you game?”
The man was full of surprises. “Tell me what you envision as the next level. Then I’ll decide.”
“Fair enough. But let’s backtrack a little. Just to satisfy my curiosity. . .” He put his hand back on her bare thigh. “Do you imagine it’s me doing those things to you when you stand in front of the windows and play with yourself?”
She fidgeted and moved further away from him, inadvertently managing to move his hand higher up on her thigh. Nearly crotch level.
“I take it that’s a yes,” he said, a smug look on his face.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She removed his hand. “I just happen to relax by looking out at
the peaceful lake. Water turns me on.”
“Really? Maybe I should invite you over to my place for a shower, then. Just so you know, I have five rain shower heads with remote-controlled body sprays you can direct to different levels. I can even program the system specifically for you and it will remember exactly where you want each spray and what pressure brings you the most pleasure.”
Jesus! The man sure knows how to sweeten the pot.
Annabel wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “How do you know I don’t have six rain shower heads, plus the other luxury items?” She raised her eyebrows and enjoyed a slow, blatant glance at his crotch. His manhood seemed to be waging a war with his slacks.
“Now see what you’ve done to me, you delightfully horny, blue-eyed witch!” He smiled and placed his hand back on her upper thigh, his fingers stroking her, traveling even closer to her crotch. “I think you placed a spell on me.”
Ditto. If his hand traveled one milligram closer to her pussy, she’d peel off her robe, unsnap her teddy, and lie on the couch with her legs spread wide, issuing an invitation no man could mistake.
“If I did place you under a spell, you don’t seem to be objecting.”
“Hey, I’m not braindead. So, do you want to come over to my place for a mind-blowing experience?” He flashed her a wicked smile. “My customized shower, I mean.”
“Only if you promise to wash my back.”
He moved his hand so his fingers were on her crotch and started rubbing gently in small circles. “Absolutely, and any other hard-to-reach areas. My mother raised me to always help a lady in need.” One finger slid under her teddy and right between her legs. It found the nub of her clit and traced figure eights over and around it.
Damn! She had to regain the upper hand fast. She grabbed his hand and held it, looking straight into his chocolate eyes. “Since you asked so nicely, yes, I wouldn’t mind coming over sometime. But for the record, it’s just to see your shower.”
“Fair enough.” He stood up, pulling her up with him and playfully patting her behind. “There’s no time like the present. Why don’t you put something on over that red teddy and we’ll head to my place. How about your grey jumpsuit – the one with the big silver zipper down the front? I’m kind of partial to that one.” He winked.
God, he’s such a scoundrel! And I haven’t enjoyed a scoundrel for a long, long time.
#
Annabel climbed into Jackson’s BMW. And, yes, she wore the grey jumpsuit. She told herself it was to keep him from invading her crotch. Honestly, the man had a one-track mind.
Like I don’t?
Within minutes they arrived. His gadget-filled kitchen looked as if it belonged on Master Chef. A bar was tucked into one corner between the living room and kitchen. His coffee table sported issues of GQ, Men’s Health, and Forbes.
“Have a seat. How about some wine before I take you on a tour? I believe you prefer reds? See how you like this Cab.” He handed her a glass, then plunked down on the couch next to her, arranging one arm on the back of the couch so it lightly grazed her neck.
She took a sip. The wine was jammy and peppery and generated a very pleasant heat in her mouth. Or maybe that heat came from Jackson. He placed a hand on each side of her face and gave her a soft but intense kiss.
“That was um – very nice,” Annabel said.
“The wine or the kiss?” Without waiting for her to respond, he leaned over and kissed her
again. “I’m liking where this is going.” He tugged at her zipper, taking it down to her waist. “How about you? Want to keep going?”
Did she want him to continue? Damn right she did. But she didn’t want him to get too cocky. “Why don’t you show me your shower first. After all, that’s why I came.”
“That’s not true and we both know it,” he said as they walked down the hall. “But I’ll play along. Ah, here’s the master bedroom.”
A king-size bed dominated one wall. Annabel’s eyes swept around the rest of the room and ended up at the window. She’d left her lights on and could see most of her living room. But not her couch.
“So, you stand in here with the lights out and watch me? You’ve seen –”
“Every inch of you. And what a beautiful birthday suit you have.” He nuzzled her ear, then cupped her breasts and kissed them. “I love watching you touch yourself, Annabel, but now that we’ve met, I want more. I want to see you bring yourself to climax. Better yet, I want to participate. What do you say?”
Her body was crying ‘yes, please’ but she wasn’t quite ready to acquiesce. “I think I want to see if that bathroom of yours is as luxurious as advertised.”
Jackson opened the door and stepped back to let her enter.
It was a friggin’ spa. A stone soaking tub big enough for two dominated the center of the room. The marble-clad walls featured several floor-to-ceiling mirrors. And the five shiny chrome rain shower heads in the glass-enclosed shower beckoned her to come and enjoy.
Jackson showed her how everything worked and placed a fresh set of towels on the granite counter.
“Go ahead and try it out.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“I’ll be in the other room checking my mail. It’s all yours, my lady.” He turned and walked away.
It was an utterly sensuous experience. Annabel positioned the sprays the way he’d shown her so the hot water hit her bunched up muscles, releasing the day’s tension.
And now for the grand finale!
She sat on the bench, adjusted the sprays and the temperature, then closed her eyes and spread her labia to expose her clit.
“Need a hand with that?” Jackson asked.
“Hey, I thought you were busy checking your mail.”
“Brought you a refill to help you relax,” he said, holding up her wine glass. “And as I recall, you requested my assistance with washing your back.”
“Come on in, then.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, whipping off his clothes and stepping inside. “I’d like nothing more than to join with you – er, join you.” He smiled roguishly and winked, his glance lingering on her full breasts.
She stared at his engorged cock. “I think you said it correctly the first time – for both of us.”
Jackson pulled her against his body, his hands caressing her breasts and her bottom. “God, you feel good. So soft and curvy.”
She knelt and ran her tongue down the length of his cock, butterfly-flicking its swollen head.
Jackson shuddered and moaned, then pulled her up and kissed her hard on the lips, his
tongue thrusting into her mouth as his fingers kneaded her breasts.
“How about continuing our foreplay in the bedroom?”
Annabel nodded. “I’d say that’s a winning proposition.”
He carried her to the bedroom and lowered her to the bed. As he straddled her, he leaned over to kiss her, then plunged a finger between her legs.
“Ah, you’re so wet down there. I want a taste.” He stood and scooted her down to the edge of the bed before kneeling and sucking her clit until she writhed with pleasure. “I’ve wanted to make you come ever since I first saw you through the window.”
And here I thought this was going to be just a typical Friday night. Annabel surrendered to Jackson entirely, climaxing long and hard.
“My turn,” Jackson said, turning her over. He grabbed her ass and entered her from behind. He thrust, plunging the entire length of his cock into her, then withdrew slowly – again and again. Annabel arched her back as Jackson made one final thrust. She felt his warm cum filling her as she, once again, reached the point of no return.
Fully sated, they both sank back on the bed and Jackson pulled the covers over them. Minutes later, as they lay spooning, Jackson raised up on one elbow, turned Annabel towards him and looked into her eyes.
“Now about that complaint . . .”
THE END
Moonshine Ember
Erotic Short Story by Charles E.J. Moulton
My luciously rich beauty. My fabulous cocksucker kitten.
I secretly wondered if the museum now worked on displaying live and moving artwork. In that case, I would probably have walked up and touched the treasure. What parts? Well, I would’ve started with the knockers and slowly fumbled myself down to her ass. The crowning glory would then be trying out her damp snatch. Ah, artistic bliss. Ah, wet pussies.
The living artwork in question? More opulent than a 9 feet by 9 feet Rubens painting, more tranquil than a Monet, more exquisite than a William Turner and more crazy than a Jackson Pollock galaxy spread. Her beauty certainly outshone most artworks that I had seen in my days. And I had seen a lot of art in my young life.
At that point, though, when I saw her first in that art museum in Vienna, she was all new, all sexy, all cockraising and all flabbergasting.
I would’ve fucked her right there on the spot.
I had done quite a bit of tit examination in my day. Having chosen to specialize on baroque art was no coincidence: my love for buxom vixens really went into the extreme. I just loved big tits and round asses.
This time, I hit the jackpot.
Damn it, I told myself. I had come here to do some research for my thesis, study the details in Rubens paintings, take notes and map out a plan for my literary work. After all, my final exam was coming up and I needed to get plenty of material for my paper. Vienna’s Art Museum provided me with all I needed, including several experienced colleagues with inside information of all those fantastic baroque painting techniques and anecdotes as to who painted what in which of Rubens’ artworks? Snyder, Jordaens, Bruegel?
Rubens’ art was like sexual intercourse: a collaboration.
Well, I put my thesis on hold that spring day. My cock only cared about making itself comfortable inside its new home: her wet pussy.
I had to have her. It was as simple as that. I saw that woman and I was lost.
I wondered why the guards didn’t ask her to stand back and watch the paintings from afar. Her inspection of Rubens’ rather voluptuous and naked second wife Helene Fourment, wearing only a fur, bordered on the obsessively meticulous. Somehow, though, something told me that the guards had hard-ons as well, every male trouser in this room bulging like crazy. I could actually see them drooling.
Okay, I drooled, too. Her tight black skirt embraced her ass in a way that had my sperm factory working overtime. I really didn’t know where to look first: her ass, her boobs or her long flowing hair? It also really did not help that her skirt ended in stockings with patterns of flowers and butterflies, elegantly positioned silvery decorations squirted on the fabric. They reminded me of cumdrops or small droplets of flowing clit juice. It made me seriously wonder if her panties were as pink as her pussy. On the other hand, pussies never had the same color, but all of them tasted good.
I really did try to go back to the studying of the painting. I worked really, really hard at it, too. I even went to the length of actually turning away from the woman and going to another part of the museum just to spite myself. I mean, I couldn’t be gawking at her like a silly sophomore, could I? I mean, I was no teenager. I was close to my Master’s Degree in Art History. An art master with a hard-on? Okay, we men all have hard-ons, but during scientific research? Sexual research, maybe. Stranger things have happened.
No matter how hard I tried, though, and I did try hard, I constantly went back to where she stood. Every time that woman bent over to look at a painting, I swooned. I could see the buttcrack and it sung an aria by Mozart to me:
“Oh, art thou sweet, thou noble derriere. My rock of ages in her cleft so fair.”
It made me want to rip that skirt apart and stick my dick inside her wobbly ass, pumping her like a fucking rabbit, watching the buttcheeks bounce like two balls in unison.
It got stranger and stranger, actually. I kept finding reasons to follow her just so I could study the size of her boobs. As I said, my reputation as a boob-man became renowned even early in high school. My best friend found a couple of copies of Penthouse in my sock drawer in my room, a magazine filled to the brim with big, lucious jugs. We ended up wanking all night, telling my mom that we were working on a school project.
Anyway, after following this incredible woman for about an hour I decided that I really had to fuck her. I didn’t know how, but my cock would definately land in her cunt eventually. Oh, how fantastic she looked when she studied those paintings, her breasts dangling down, her elegant black blouse hugging her tits like crazy. Those things had to be C-cups. D? Mmh, I dunno. Getting my hands on those lucious breasts would, in any case, be like dying and going to heaven.
So, accordingly, I had discreetly glanced over and see if the blouse had a cleavage. When I realized that it did, I tiptoed over to where she stood more than once just to sneak-peek into that wonderful oasis of mammary love and cockteasing bliss.
Long and sensually curved hair, her black locks gently falling across her gold necklace, spilling over those large round earrings. It made that precum pop out of my dick with a happy: “Hello, swallow me!”
I knew what those big earrings symbolized, as well: her love-holes. Sexy women always wore these round earrings to show men how willing they were to fuck. This girl had big round earrings, so I felt fucking lucky.
The lipstick made me feel like shoving my entire manhood onto her tongue and shooting my loud load onto her tonsils, giving her wet stomach the protein dose of its life.
While my testosterone battled with my brain about whether to leave the museum and go home or just study her buttcrack for the rest of the day, her phone rang. Everybody in the room looked up. It wasn’t as if nobody had noticed her. She was probably the most fantastic looking woman in the room, the country, the planet, the universe, whatever. Some chick in the museum, a dowdy looking things, even gave her boyfriend a dirty look for giving that fuckable lady a half-smile.
When the sexy woman’s phone rang, however, it gave that other chick a reason to think how much of a slut this girl actually was.
She didn’t care, did she?
Any man would’ve been unfaithful for Miss Perfect. She knew that.
When the girl threw her head to one side, letting that marvelous head of hers float and dangle and curve and sway, I melted. I think I came twice, actually, my sperm making little squirts in my Gucci underwear.
“Natalie Imrie here,” the woman chirped. Her accent sounded British. Hot damn, I told myself. I am in the hands of an English lass. She gave the caller a sexy laugh. “Oh, yes. Of course. Well, if you want to, sure. Where are you right now?”
This girl spoke with a posh London accent that had me want her even more.
I think I flied and went to Brazil when that woman, whom I had wanted to fuck for over an hour now, actually came and sat down on the couch next to me. Yes, I’ll admit it. I had my notepad and my pencil in my lap and I had written lots of jibberish in silly letters about the paintings I had been looking at, just so anyone wouldn’t think I was just here to study how incredible an ass that woman had.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said and smiled again, throwing me a shot of her Chopard perfume my way just by throwing one of her sexy arms onto the seat next to me. “I’ll go right ahead. No, no, that’s no problem. Well, I’ll see what happens, okay?”
Who was she talking to? Her boyfriend? An associate? Her father?
What was she going to do?
“Maybe you’ll get some good ideas. Yes, dear. I know who you mean.”
The small pause and the obviously sexy chatter by some man at the other end – and it obviously was a man – had me wondering what she was talking about. Was she going to be unfaithful? British girls, however, had the reputation of giving spectacular blowjobs. “Bye,” the woman that I now knew to be Natalie Imrie told bid her caller farewell.
As if she had just been given a signal of some sort, Natalie Imrie with the fantastic jugs turned to me and looked me straight in the eye.
I grew red in the face at first, but then I got lost inside the color of her eyes. They were brown, but with an interesting quality that had me think of ember, the glowing, hot coal made of greatly heated wood. Her eyes glowed like a campfire on the night of a full moon, the moon being the seas of white round her ember iris in each eye. Actually, her gaze made me feel like a werewolf. Natalie looked like a kitten, her long eyelashes curved outwards with more black visible toward the edges of her eyes.
I stammered a quiet: “Hi there!”
“Hi,” Natalie sing-songed, making me tremble. “You American?”
I nodded, giggling, now feeling that I rushed steadily into the welcome parade of Natalie’s cunt. “Yes, I’m from Michigan, but I am studying art here in Vienna. I’m about half a year away from my Master’s Degree. What about you?”
Natalie arched her back, obviously giving me a closer look at those absolute incredible looking breasts. She knew it, too. “I work here.” She shrugged once, glancing over at me with a knowing glance. “I am already finished with my Master’s. I came here a year ago. My mum’s German, although I grew up in London. When I was offered a position here as an Art Director, I took the job. I have the best of both worlds.”
She looked at me for what I really felt to be three hours, although it probably just amounted to three seconds.
“What brought you here?”
Well, although I looked at her boobs all the time and not into her eyes while I spoke, I told her that I had painted since childhood, that my family had taken me on a trip to Vienna when I was a boy and that I finally decided to move here in order to study art.
When I looked up at Natalie, she glanced at me with that disarming look that had me screaming for sex. She started chuckling. Out of nowhere, she put her hand to her mouth and giggled in such a knowing way that I almost felt insulted.
“What?” I asked, feeling ashamed of myself and not knowing why.
“You,” she finally said, putting her one hand with its long red fingernails on my leg, “are so easy to see through. Mr. Transparant.”
My mouth twitched a bit. I now felt insecure. Was she toying with me?
“Why?”
“Mr. Bulge-in-his-pants.”
I cleared my throat, feeling like someone just caught jerking off in a public place.
She shook her head. “What’s your name?”
“Uhm, Kevin.”
“Okay, uhm, Kevin?”
“Yeah?”
“You have been following me around this museum for over an hour!”
“You noticed?”
She laughed even harder now, her boobs jumping up and down as she did. A couple of visitors looked her way as she did, probably thinking she was just a stupid slut and not the Director of the Vienna Art Museum.
“Uhm, Kevin, the moment I walked into the Rubens Room, you made me feel like a
painting by Rubens,” she added provocatively. “I bet,” she added, leaning over to whisper in my ear, making me smell that Chopard perfume even more intensely, “that you have had lots of fantasties about me over the course of this hour. Me, naked, pouring honey over your cock and licking it off with my elegant lips ...”
I started chuckling nervously.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Come on, uhm, Kevin,” Natalie whispered again, now touching my ear with red lips, “you wanna fuck me, don’t you?”
Her sultry gaze had me cum again.
I nodded.
Natalie continued: “I don’t know why I am doing this, but I might be willing to let you inspect my pussy a bit closer.”
She now put her hand on my lap and rubbed it gently.
“It’s shaved, you know.”
I giggled quietly and frantically, if such a thing is possible.
“Where do you want to fuck, Natalie? Here?”
I kept looking behind me, above me, to all sides, just to see if anyone overheard our conversation. Everyone seemed to be busy studying art, while I was studying Natalie’s C-cups. She shrugged.
“Let that be my concern. Fancy a shag, love?”
I giggled again and nodded, feeling like a little schoolboy.
“Then cum!”
Natalie stood up, shook her tits a bit, took my hand, looking like Venus. I literally felt like a school boy being pulled by his mom to art class. Natalie escorted me through the Monet rooms, the Rubens gallery, the Bruegel chamber, past the Van Eycks and Vermeers and Velasquez paintings of the Spanish Habsburg Infantas. When we arrived in a rather posh office with a large chandalier, Natalie closed the large white door and locked it.
Surrounded by silver trays and expensive art, I held a woman’s hand who had been just a wet dream a moment ago. Natalie still had not arrived where she wanted me to be, obviously. She escorted me into an even smaller room, equipped only with a bedlike couch, a nighttime table, a few books and a lamp.
She locked that door, as well, once we came in. I think I lost my nerve, because I started shaking. My legs shook, my hands shook and my shoulders shivered.
And I got the biggest hard-on of my life.
Natalie, who up until now had been amused by me, looked down on the growing bulge in my jeans and couldn’t stop groaning.
“What’s that?”
I shrugged.
“Something for you.”
“Look promising,” she mused. “Is it already Christmas?”
She wrinkled her nose a bit, making her cheeks dimple, her tongue licking her lips.
Slowly, she took a few steps up toward me, her high heels shuffling against the carpet. As she dwindled down upon her knees, her ass swayed in a way that reminded me of a flowers swaying in the wind. Using her long nails as tools to unzip my pants, she made me feel like a lamb on the way to the slaughter. If that hadn’t been enough, she now pulled down the trousers all the way to the ground using only her mouth.
“Holy shit, uhm, Kevin,” she moaned. “It’s huge.”
“9,4 inches,” I said proudly. “24 centimetres.”
Natalie carefully opened her mouth and wrapped her elegant cocksucker lips around my shaft, making little squeaking noises and smacking her lips in the process.
That fabulous sensation made me see stars. She licked my cock, gave me deep throat, sucked on my balls. She was ready to be a submissive whore, letting that game of hide-and-seek go and just become the cock sucking hooker that I knew she could be.
The helmet of my penis was now blue, all of the blood in my body pumping into my crotch. “Oh, ah shuhsst lovvve schucking your cockh,” she mused.
I banged my cock into her mouth, my big tasty cock dripping like crazy. I felt like flying, moaning and groaning in higher and higher tones.
With a thunderous plop and really sexy splash of a sound, it sounded like she had just finished a lollipop, she took out my long dick out of my mouth and wiped off her own saliva with an exclamation: “Show me how good a pussy licker you are, baby. Lick this sexy bimbo’s cunt like a good boy.”
I didn’t have to wait long in order to follow her dominating orders, my dick bobbing in its erect position like a flagpole in the wind.
In fact, Natalie Imrie stripped faster than I have ever seen a babe strip. Her boobs made my dick laugh, sing, holler, dance, squirt, love and cha-cha-cha all at once. I think I disappeared into that cleavage for an hour before moving down to drink me some pussy. I had the feeling that I buried my face deeper and deeper into her clit by the second. So deep, in fact, that I soon only saw her shaved pussy as pink as her knickers.
The sound I made was quite similar to the sound I made when I ate me some spare ribs: sloppy. There were litres of salty clitty juice in there and I was going to drink it all. I laughed to myself, aroused by this amazing sensation.
I heaved myself out of her crotch, my face dripping wet with cunt-liquid. When I thrust my prick into her cunt hole, Natalie sang, actually sang Gilda’s “Caro Nome” from Verdi’s “Rigoletto”. She seemed to ache with excitement, her grunting telling me that every part of her clit throbbing with pain, a pain that she actually enjoyed.
I withdrew my dick and stretched it out into the open air, jerking off like crazy, her insane gaze giving me the impression that’s she was in a sexual trance. Willingly, she crawled about on the couch toward my throbbing cock, looking like a seal, swirling around from her position on her back to a position under my dick, opening her mouth wide and sticking out her tongue, making little squeaking and horny tones.
“Give me your cum,” she moaned, sticking out her tongue. “Come on, baby. Squirt on my face.”
My hand movements now accelerated, my face grimaced, my head bobbing, my dick even bigger and bluer than before. Finally, my cock erupted, a long string of cum skyrocketing into onto her tongue. The second portion shot onto her left cheek, the final dessert of this three course sperm-dinner landing on her nose. Every portion of her face was covered in cum. She licked it all off, swallowing every drop. A stunned silence now came over the room, our mutual copulation inspiring us. The office became our symbiosis, the restful oasis of a green acre that had appeared after the hot fire of lust of our burning desire.
Then, she laughed.
There she was, naked, full of sperm, shouting with laughter.
First, it felt cool. Then, I wondered what she was laughing at.
Laughing with me or at me?
“Man, uhm, Kevin, you were the best fuck of my life. Wait until my husband hears about this.”
It felt like I had been stuck with a pin, my cock almost immediately shrinking down to the size of a peanut.
“Your husband?”
Natalie sat up, rubbing her boobs as she did.
“That was the guy I talked to on my phone when I came and sat down next to you,” she began. “We go to lots of swinger clubs in our free time and keep looking for things to spice up our sex life with. He called me on my cellular and told me to try to get you to fuck me. It wasn’t hard, though. I think he got some good tips in how to fuck me well.”
“He saw me watching you.”
She caressed my cheek. “He’s a security guard here.”
Natalie raised her voice.
“Wolfgang?”
In a jiffy, a back door opened and another naked man wandered in, holding a camera.
In a thick Austrian accent, he said:
“Fantastic fuck, uhm, Kevin!”
Flabbergasted by this turn of events, I started laughing as well.
Not only was Natalie’s husband naked, his equally long cock raised, a film obviously now available on DVD for our mutual viewing pleasure. He had also brought something else with him from the back room: three naked ladies, one blonde, one brunette and one redhead, all of them with huge boobs, all of them ready to have themselves some dick.
I definately knew that if I played my cards right, I could get a job here.
After all, I would have fucking nice colleagues.
Ah, my moonshine ember and her wonderful friends.
Dick and Trix
By David Rudd
Dick cleared their supper trays while Trix snoozed on the sofa. But the noise woke her. She was wearing her bespoke sports bra. It was the only thing that gave her comfort. Even so, the strain on her back took its toll.
“Back giving you bother?” he asked.
“No kidding.” She moved her head to see him more clearly. “How’s the dizzy spells?”
“As long as I don’t think about you, I’m fine.”
Trix began to laugh, but pain arrested her.
“TV?” Dick reached for the remote.
“Careful,” she said. “You could hurt yourself playing with those buttons.”
They laughed again as Dick flicked through some channels.
Ever since Dick had first seen her, those years ago, sitting in the audience, he’d known they were meant for each other. She hadn’t shrieked or cackled like the rest. She hadn’t wet herself when invited to sit on his lap.
Dick patted his pendulous stomach, aghast at his condition. More tub than six-pack.
He stood and dropped his boxers, stumbling free of them. They always chafed, and the doctor had recommended he go al fresco whenever he could.
Languidly, Trix watched him. “That’s not how you used to do it, hon,” she said, batting her eyes. He stood before her, his buddy still impressive, though lost behind his belly.
“And how would you tantalise this particular audience, my tricksy one?” he asked.
Gingerly, Trix slipped a strap from one shoulder, liberating her breast from its mooring. Back in the day, such a reveal would have had men drooling, fumbling in their trousers. In a slow avalanche, the flesh shunted towards her lap, the drag making her gasp. Without her glasses, the bluish, mottled flesh, the livid scarring and the hard, misshapen nipple were invisible.
Dick didn’t see these blemishes either. Still on his feet, he looked across at her, enjoying his buddy’s freedom. After a lifetime of applying traction and vacuum devices, of fat injections and dermal fillers, it was battle weary. The glans had suffered most. Aside from its red and blotchy appearance (a result of repeated vacuum pumping), it had, on one memorable night, been bitten by an over-enthusiastic member of a hen party. “Like coming blood,” Dick had said.
Trix’s bosom had fared better, with only one ruptured implant causing her right breast to wrinkle and fold. The latest saline implants had proven more durable, albeit they were now somewhat lumpy and uneven.
“Sit down before you get overexcited,” said Trix.
Dick carefully lowered himself into his chair, making sure he didn’t trap himself.
The doctor had warned him an erection could be dangerous. The amount of blood needed to rouse his buddy had always made him light-headed, resulting in a few embarrassing incidents, like the time he’d passed out over his steak and chips at a topless restaurant. When he’d come round, Trix had pretended to be jealous. “You never fainted over me!” she’d protested.
Trix winced as she corralled her breast back into the Lycra. “Well, lover,” she said. “Ready for cocoa?”
“You betcha,” said Dick.
With carefully puckered lips, they exchanged air kisses.
A Trace of Nectar
by
James Fitzsimmons
On their way to the chasm, the two couriers passed troubadours, artisans, mimes, and bakers along the East Jorlandia thoroughfare. Sweet tones of dulcimers competed with even sweeter scents of freshly baked cinnamon buns for their attention, but the pair were under a deadline. Elders had chosen these two eighteen-year-olds—Kiln of the West and T'Beth of the East—to courier messages across the chasm during construction of a bridge. Split by a great quake centuries ago, Jorlandia would be made whole again, and today's leg was to deliver final plans for a celebration.
T'Beth eyed Kiln's cool demeanor as they passed a pleasure tent along the avenue. Mimes playfully mimicked the moans coming from inside. Didn't anything ruffle Kiln's manner? Suddenly, she grabbed Kiln's wrist and yanked him into the tent. The dim interior bore the scent of eucalyptus while cooing, panting, and gasping escaped from canvas partitions.
T'Beth saw Kiln's eyes balloon and his jaw drop.
A woman smiled from behind a desk. "Hello, T'Beth. Do you desire a space?"
T'Beth laughed. "No—a henna tattoo. Can you do one quickly?"
"What would you like?"
T'Beth turned to Kiln, pulling aside the fringes of her cropped leather vest and twisting her bare stomach. "What do you think, Kiln? A butterfly?" She rubbed an area under her ribs.
Kiln nodded awkwardly.
T'Beth lay down on a mat, and in minutes the woman had applied the tattoo.
Kiln felt relief after they exited the tent and reached the trailhead. As they corkscrewed down the chasm, he mused, "T'Beth, art does not do work."
T'Beth rolled her eyes, not missing the subtext that sex for pleasure was a sin or a waste of time or both. She pivoted, long braids slapping her shoulders. "Kiln, the bridge is a great achievement—a miracle of the West. Of course, the East couldn't have built it."
"Then of what value is art?"
"Science tells us how the heart beats. Art tells us why." T'Beth grinned, imagining Kiln chewing on that. She surveyed his handsome face, curly brown hair, smooth physique. His endurance on the trail rivaled hers. She concluded their flesh would blend well given the chance. The cataclysmic quake had created two very different cultures, and while T'Beth knew that Kiln excelled at engineering, she also found him kind and courteous, traits males in the East lacked.
For his part, Kiln found T'Beth outspoken and impulsive. In the West, girls kept opinions to themselves, wore bulky clothes, and tied their hair in buns. T'Beth's braids fell down to her waist, and he'd sneak peeks at her tattoo along the path.
T'Beth broke the silence. "Ok, so what of the East's plans for the opening?"
Kiln shook himself from his reverie. "Murals, garlands, bluebell trellis, orchestra—all festive. But a good iron arch would make a grand entrance."
T'Beth laughed. "'Tis so, Kiln."
When they reached the river at the bottom of the chasm, they came upon young women with flowers in their hair, attired in gossamer dresses, dancing along the bank, laughing and kissing. One played an ocarina.
Kiln squeezed T'Beth's elbow. "River nymphs! I've heard of them!"
The woman playing the ocarina stopped blowing and stared at the travelers. "I'm Lial."
"We are T'Beth and Kiln from Jorlandia," T'Beth said. "We've never seen you here."
"We're itinerant naiads," Lial returned, "here to witness the opening of the bridge."
"You know of the bridge?" Kiln asked.
"The reuniting of your cultures is exciting the spirit world," Lial said. "The bridge is a positive force. You should be proud. Please come into the shade and drink." She beckoned them into a cove.
As T'Beth started to follow, Kiln tugged her arm. "Look downriver, T'Beth."
Two nymphs lay on the bank, one with her face hovering between the legs of the other.
T'Beth smiled. "We have time to stay. Let's refresh."
T'Beth and Kiln entered the cove. They sat on brushed stone and drank cool water. As nymphs gathered around, Kiln couldn't look away from the nymph's sheer fabric outlining breasts, belly buttons, triangles of hair.
Lial grinned at T'Beth and asked softly, "Are you and Kiln bonded?"
T'Beth smirked and said under her breath, "No, we're just the arms and legs for the celebration." Then she said loudly, "Some think the bridge looks too functional. Some fear it."
Kiln looked up sharply. "The bridge is perfect, T'Beth. How else should it look?"
T'Beth pulled a pen from a satchel. "This is body ink, Kiln. I'll show you. Turn around."
Kiln spun. T'Beth lifted Kiln's shirt and drew a V from his shoulders to a point at the bottom of his spine. She enjoyed running the pen over his back muscles. "This is the chasm." She drew a jagged line along each leg of the V and added two stick figures. "Here we are on the trail passing rocks and shrubs."
"I see us," Kiln said, eyes closed.
She drew a line across his shoulders. "This is the bridge. These are the great struts and supports. These are rivets." She poked his skin hard with the pen.
"I feel them," Kiln said.
T'Beth began drawing elaborately, covering his back in illustration. "I would add ornaments and scrollwork to the iron rails. Carveouts, benches, flags, banners, performers, food vendors. People traversing the bridge wouldn't miss the miracle of crossing the chasm." T'Beth capped her pen.
Kiln spun around and nodded in agreement.
The nymphs murmured praise.
"You must be exhausted," Lial said. "Would you like to experience trallthorn? It would be our delight to perform it."
Kiln's look turned apprehensive, and Lial began playing her ocarina. The tones had an hypnotic effect, and he relaxed. The nymphs removed T'Beth's vest and Kiln's shirt and laid the pair back. Kiln saw T'Beth's erect nipples. T'Beth eyed Kiln's chest.
"Nectar!" Lial announced.
Nymphs began dripping warm fluid over the young pair's bodies. The fluid, smelling of lavender, made a viscous trail, crawling down their ribs and pooling at their waists, filling the soft curves of T'Beth's midsection and the squares of Kiln's.
Working slowly, the nymphs licked the nectar off each, following the trail as it had been dripped, lapping it up like syrup. Kiln and T'Beth felt like they were floating and, with heads turned toward each other, imagined what the other was feeling.
After the nymphs licked the nectar, the two sat up, warm breeze from the cove's entrance caressing their torsos. Their eyes met in meditative stare.
Lial motioned the nymphs to come away, and they left the pair alone.
Hearts pounding, T'Beth removed Kiln's wool pants, and Kiln slipped off T'Beth's plaid skirt. He kissed her on the lips, his breath mixing gently with hers, their hearts racing together. He nudged her shoulders down, and she lay back. He made a trail of kisses along her stomach, following the same flow as the nectar. He kissed the henna butterfly on her side. Remembering the nymphs on the bank, he ran his tongue along her inner thighs, noting her moaning. He brushed his cheeks over her meadow, breathing in earthy scents, and ran his tongue along her slippery crevice. He became lightheaded, his senses alive, her fragrances reminding him of sage and creosote along the chapparal path. Her moaning increased until she made several gasps. Then she pulled his head up by his hair. He saw her face was flushed and smiling.
She sat up, guided him onto his back, and parted his legs. His instrument was erect, impossibly hard like a girder of the bridge. She ran her hands up and down his shaft, then ran the tip of her tongue along the underside for some time until he was panting and repeating her name. When she sensed he could take no more, she blew a kiss an inch from his erection. When the puff of air hit him he jerked in spasms.
His gasping having slowed to labored breaths, she lay on his chest, listening to his heart. After a while Kiln's eyes widened. "T'Beth, the time! We must go!"
T'Beth rolled her eyes as the two dressed and made for the opening of the cove. Lial was playing her ocarina outside the entrance.
"We can still make the West by dark," Kiln said. "My father's preparing dinner. West Jorlandia stew!"
T'Beth shot a droll look at Lial.
"Go in safety," Lial said.
***
"Twilight falls like a hammer in the West Jorlandia," T'Beth groaned as they emerged from the chasm. Here, curfew prevented activity after sundown. People retired to their homes in cinder block structures. Shops bearing matching facades and lining checkerboard streets closed up and turned off lights. Even in daytime, there were no vendors or performers. No banners or flags. No food booths.
They hurried through the deserted dusk to Kiln's residence. Kiln flung open the door, unleashing a strong smell.
"At last!" Kiln's father, Gralf, blurted from the kitchen. "Come! Feast on stew!"
Kiln dashed to the stove. T'Beth slid off her satchel and spread out the papers on a table in the living room. She dragged her feet as she headed for the kitchen.
Kiln ravenously tasted the stew. T'Beth looked into a pot of broth loaded with shredded meat and bubbling fat. She twitched her nose.
Gralf said, "I'm getting better at my wife's recipe!"
T'Beth knew that Kiln had lost his mother years ago and that Gralf was no cook. But she liked Gralf's company, seeing hints of Kiln's sharp eyes in Gralf's wrinkled orbs, and Kiln's T-shaped build in Gralf's frame, though the father now walked with a cane.
A knock came at the door, and Gralf beckoned in a man looking in his mid-twenties with piercing, close-set eyes. The man stared at T'Beth, and she instantly felt him undressing her.
"Daggett," Gralf said, "please meet T'Beth, Kiln's—"
"Co-runner," Daggett cut in. "Heard of her."
"Didn't know Daggett was coming for dinner," Kiln managed politely, recalling Daggett's trash-talking rumors when Daggett had lost out to Kiln as runner. Daggett had spread that Kiln was petty, dishonest, narcissistic—Daggett's own traits—and that the elders chose Kiln only because he was the son of a guild leader.
T'Beth's eyes flicked between Kiln and Daggett, sensing history.
"The elders have selected Daggett to head bridge security," Gralf said. "I asked him to look over the final plans. Let's dine before business."
They sat and Gralf served stew. T'Beth retrieved several vials from her satchel and sprinkled flakes and powder into her bowl. Gralf raised his eyebrows.
"Spices," T'Beth said, offering the vials to Gralf and Daggett, both declining.
Kiln sprinkled some into his bowl and flashed a surprised look at T'Beth. "A major improvement from a small addition," he said.
Gralf grunted and asked Daggett, "How's security for the opening?"
Daggett said, "There are rumors of a disruption."
"Disruption!" T'Beth and Kiln spouted together.
"From the East," Daggett said. "But rest assured there won't be trouble."
"Mmm, " Gralf said, "you'd think the East would want a bridge. I've seen the East's structures. Walls aren't plumb. Foundations sink. That gutter they call an aqueduct leaks gallons a day."
T'Beth lowered her eyes in embarrassment.
Kiln piped up. "T'Beth's world is quite amazing! Perhaps the West can learn from art."
As Gralf's head popped up, Kiln quickly added, "More stew, please."
Gralf raised an eyebrow and slid the pot. As Kiln reached for the ladle his shirt pulled up, exposing T'Beth's picture on his back.
Daggett grinned broadly. "Ah, I see Kiln has body art."
Gralf's eyes bulged. He hobbled around the table and pulled up Kiln's shirt. "What's this!"
Kiln explained, "T'Beth was describing how the bridge might be more, um, inviting. She was using her art."
"The body is a sacred temple," Gralf said, "not to be violated or shown in unseemly ways." Gralf shot a glance at T'Beth, then continued. "Wash this off now!"
"T'Beth's art is beautiful, Father. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm wearing it."
Daggett raised his eyebrows. "These two act as betrothed, Gralf. Perhaps they have performed the supreme act itself."
"What T'Beth and I do is our concern, Daggett," Kiln said.
Daggett pressed on. "You know the ways of the East, Gralf. T'Beth is attractive and apparently talented."
"Daggett!" Gralf snapped.
Kiln reached across the table and slapped Daggett's face with the back of his hand.
"Kiln, enough!" Gralf yelled.
T'Beth's hands covered her eyes as if in shock, but her heart pounded with affection for Kiln.
"There will be no fighting," Gralf ordered, "and no betrothal. Daggett, you're excused."
Rubbing his face, Daggett sneered at Kiln and T'Beth, then left.
Gralf looked Kiln in the eye, frightening both Kiln and T'Beth with intensity. "Before your mother died I promised her you would be the next engineering guild leader. You may accompany T'Beth down the chasm tomorrow but do not continue to the East rim. Return here. You may attend the festivities next week. But once opened, you are not to cross the bridge or see T'Beth again. You will stay in the West where you belong."
Then Gralf went to the papers that T'Beth had laid out, scribbled his signature without reading them, and retired to his room.
***
Kiln and T'Beth left early the next morning before Gralf awoke. They descended the trail in silence. Kiln did not think he could live without T'Beth, and T'Beth could not see herself with any other than Kiln.
The sound of the river came upon them, and with it, the tones of the ocarina and the chortle of nymphs.
T'Beth ran up to Lial. "There's talk of trouble during the celebration."
"I'm not surprised," Lial said.
"And my father has forbidden me to see T'Beth again," Kiln said. "We must part here."
"He will soften when he sees the great success the bridge will be," Lial offered.
Then Kiln started to tear. "How long may that be? T'Beth, I can't bear to leave you."
"Nor I you, Kiln."
Lial grinned. "You may use the cove to say goodbye until it's time to part." Lial linked their hands and led them to the cove, leaving them alone.
Kiln and T'Beth sat on the brushed stone where they had for the trallthorn. They undressed each other. T'Beth sensed Kiln's hesitation on how far to take his feelings. She kissed him and said, "Let's rehearse the grand opening."
"What?"
"Imagine I'm the bridge. You must inspect me."
She lay down on her back, hands over her head. Pushing with her arms and legs, she arched her body, head upside down, braids dragging on the stone, breasts pointing up, nipples stiff, rib cage fanning.
Kiln sucked her nipples, kissed each rib, kissed her belly button. "The structure's sound."
T'Beth laughed and plopped down onto the stone. Kiln climbed onto her and slid his stump easily into her moist veldt. Kissing each other's eyes, forehead, lips, the pair squirmed in unison until T'Beth made a series of gasps, digging her fingers into Kiln's back. Then Kiln, every muscle in his body flexed, flooded T'Beth's cavern with steaming potion, his eyes rolling back into his head. His contractions continued well after his gift was exhausted, finally sliding off her onto the stone. They held hands, looking up at the ceiling of the cove, their chests heaving.
After a while, they emerged from the cove, nymphs giggling along the bank.
T'Beth and Kiln kissed. Then without looking back, T'Beth boulder hopped the river and began her trek up the slope. Kiln watched her until she disappeared into the switchbacks, then turned for home.
***
Opening day. Kiln, dressed in the golden robes of the engineering guild, led Gralf to a seat near the dais as an orchestra from the East performed an anthem. Banners and flags flew from poles. A mural, fingerpainted by the children of the East, tried to fly away from its handlers, and Kiln caught it and attached it to a rail. His heart started pounding when he spotted T'Beth a few meters away, dressed in sheer gossamer like the nymphs, with flowers in her hair.
"You are so beautiful!" Kiln mouthed, then noticed Daggett snarling from his security station on the bridge.
Kiln took his seat next to Gralf, and an elder began addressing the crowd: "Today, Jorlandia's quest for self meets itself on a new day, when East and West reunite on a day of self-discovery … "
Kiln disliked platitudes and tuned out the speech. He aligned himself in his seat so that he could see T'Beth and she him. Even from a distance, surrounded by people, the sight of T'Beth gave Kiln an erection, and he crossed his legs to prevent exposing arousal under his robes.
Annoyed by Kiln's squirming, Gralf tapped his son's shoulder with a cane and pointed to the dais. "Kiln, attend!"
After a moment, Kiln felt a tap on his other shoulder. He twisted and jumped at the sight of Lial sitting next to him.
"Easy, Kiln," Lial said, "only you and T'Beth can see or hear me."
Kiln glanced at T'Beth, who was staring back, eyes wide, jaw open.
Lial said, "Kiln, all here are in danger. You must act. An explosive has been planted on the bridge in a garland. He who stands there is responsible."
Kiln looked at Daggett, who continued to stare from his post.
"Where?" Kiln asked, now scanning the dozens of garlands draped along the bridge.
"I have marked the way with trallthorn nectar," Lial said. "Only you can detect it. I must go. The gods will be angry if I do more. Good luck." The naiad leader vanished.
Without a word to Gralf, Kiln jumped to his feet and followed the trace of nectar to a bundle of garlands tied at a railing. He hurriedly peeled away leaves and petals, revealing explosive putty embedded at the core of one of the garlands. He estimated if the explosive
ran the length of the garland, it would kill hundreds of people. He looked at Daggett and saw Daggett's stare turn to alarm. Kiln knew a detonation device must be nearby and he followed the garland several meters off the bridge into the West. There he found wires leading away from the garland to a hidden detonator.
Kiln reached for the device. As a children's chorus launched into song, strong hands suddenly twirled Kiln around, and Daggett socked him in the head. Kiln regained his balance and threw an uppercut that caught Daggett on the chin, snapping Daggett's head back. As Daggett unsheathed a dagger and lunged at Kiln, T'Beth appeared behind Daggett and hit him on the back of the head with Gralf's cane, knocking Daggett out.
T'Beth helped Kiln up. "When I saw you move off the bridge, and Daggett come after you, I—"
"Stole my father's cane," Kiln finished with a grin, rubbing his head.
Gralf hobbled up to them. "What the hell!"
"Daggett was right about sabotage," Kiln said, showing Gralf the detonator. "But it wasn't from the East."
As Daggett tried to sit up, Gralf took his cane from T'Beth and pushed the point hard against Daggett's chest. "Down, worm!"
***
Some weeks later, T'Beth and Kiln were resting along the river at the bottom of the chasm. The naiads had moved on, but the young pair would come here to copulate in the cove.
Daggett was awaiting trial. Observers suggested that the West subjugated individuals to the point where a weak person like Daggett could become violent. Kiln despised Daggett and didn't care for theories that seemed to forgive guilt, but he certainly didn't want the bridge incident to occur again.
Gralf had warmed toward T'Beth and told Kiln he may enter the East as he wished. He even suggested that his son rebuild the East's aqueduct as a project. If Gralf suspected the pair of performing the supreme act, he didn't say anything.
Kiln's head popped up. "T'Beth, hear that?"
T'Beth squinted and nodded. "Rapids?"
They walked down the bank a ways, and, rounding a corner of granite, came upon a sparkling pool fed by a waterfall. Small, winged creatures hovered over the pool, two of them appearing to couple in the middle of the falls, levitating in the rushing water.
"River sprites!" Kiln said. "I've heard of them!"
"Indeed," came Lial's voice. Kiln and T'Beth looked around but did not see her. Lial's voice continued: "Follow the bank to the sprite with pink wings. Enjoy!"
"Lial, where are you?" T'Beth asked.
"I'm in the wind, but you and Kiln have befriended the spirit world and may experience the wonders of the chasm. Few humans are granted this privilege. Goodbye, my friends."
Holding hands, Kiln and T'Beth approached the sprite.
The sprite lifted from the bank and hovered, pink wings buzzing. "I'm Electra. You are friends of Lial."
The pair nodded.
"Would you like to hover-float?" Electra asked.
T'Beth and Kiln looked at each other and shrugged. "Yes," they said together.
Electra invited them to recline on the bank. "Lie here and do nothing."
A dozen sprites suddenly buzzed to them, undressed them, and levitated them over the pond. The winged imps licked and sucked the pair's nipples, gently, slowly. Then they took turns licking the soft folds of Kiln's pouch and sucking his pole. They licked the inner plains of T'Beth's thighs and sucked the troll embedded in her garden. The sprites were excruciatingly slow in their work. Kiln and T'Beth took long, measured breaths, not racing to climax as they usually did, and gazed into each other's eyes as they had for the trallthorn. When they finally gasped in gyrations beautiful beyond description, the sprites lowered them to the bank to nap. After a while, the sprites did it to them again.
End
Good Demons
By
Doug Hawley
***
Undercover
Beverly woke up at 2am after doing some ill-advised self-medicating the night before. She heard some scratching and bumping noises and mumbled “What the hell is that?”
A voice which resembled that of James Earl Jones came from under her bed “I’m the night monster”.
A groggy Beverly slurred “No you’re not; I’m either dreaming or you are a side effect of mixing vodka and my migraine prescription. I don’t believe in you.”
“Oh, you will, but if as you say I’m not real, you wouldn’t mind if I get in bed with you.”
“Sure, why not. I don’t have any need for the extra space.” Beverly fell asleep again after what appeared to be a human male in the faintly lit room had crawled in next to her.
When she next woke, she decided no more mixing alcohol and meds, then rolled over and bumped into something. She felt scales on a mostly human body and a normal bald head. The body spoke “Do you believe in me now?”
After a few seconds to calm herself “Still not sure - it could be aftereffects.”
“Do you mind if I convince you?”
“Go ahead.”
The night monster burrowed under the covers and used his long-forked tongue to full advantage while humming the Led Zeppelin song ‘Kashmir’. Beverly had an orgasm which produced body waves accompanied by a mental montage of her favorite times - she cuddled her favorite kitten Batface, had sex with boyfriend Joe in the backseat of a Ford Mustang when she was a teenager, and won a $10,000 lottery.
“Ok, I’m starting to believe. Do you mind if I explore you now?”
“Seems fair. Your turn.”
Beverly didn’t know what to expect between his legs. After his previous masterful performance, she was disappointed to find something soft and small. She asked, “Is that it?”
“Oh, I didn’t know your taste, so I started off small. Try again.”
This time she found an eighteen-inch tent pole. “Umm, if you take requests, how about something in-between?”
“As you desire. Climb on cowgirl.”
Thirty-seven minutes later Beverly asked, “Can you come again?”
“That could have two different meanings, but the answer to both is yes.”
“I mean if I want you to visit again, how do I get in touch?”
“Knock on the headboard three times. Probably a bad idea if you have company. If I’m available, I’ll get here. I do have other appointments.”
“Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Will I have monster babies like in ‘The Demon Seed’ or ‘Rosemary’s Baby’?”
“It won’t happen unless I revise my DNA. We aren’t fertility compatible.”
“Another thing. What do I tell my boyfriend Bob?”
“I don’t think that Bob will mind if you break up with him. My sister is visiting him tonight and has spoiled him for human women, much as you would be disappointed by any human man now. Both of you may want to have fake relationships to give the appearance of normality, but nothing will compare to night monsters.”
***
Angel of the Night
When Bob woke up at 1:56Am, he was surprised that there was a very warm body next to him which smelled of jasmine and musk. He was amazed that Beverly had come to bed with him after their date. He had always thought of her as somewhat prudish. Her perfume surprised him more because he had never known her to wear any, but it was all good. It got better when he felt a hand manipulating his cock in a very non-Beverly way arousing him in a way he had never experienced before.
Wait a minute; he hadn’t had a date with her. “Beverly when did you show up? Not that I don’t like it, I love it.”
A deep but feminine voice with an alien vibrato responded “I’m not Beverly, I’m Night Angel, but you can call me Angie.”
“I brought home a hooker? I don’t remember anything like that.”
“Not at all. My brother and I just like to do favors for deserving people and don’t worry about Beverly; my brother is taking care of her like I will take care of you.”
Bob is stunned and his brain is spinning. Is Beverly cheating on him? What should he think about Angie? Quickly his dick makes his decision for him. “Um, I like what you are doing for me now, is there anything else that you do?”
“Why don’t I take you for a spin?”
Night Angel mounted Bob and pulled him into her. In the pale light she appeared as one of the Playboy models that he had sneaked looks at as a teenager. Tactile exploration showed that unlike the models all of her parts felt original and she had hair where normal women have hair. Her arousal based on her wetness seemed to match his.
Even while the experience was exploding his brain with pleasure, Bob noticed some disturbing things about Angie. She played her vagina like a symphony, vibrating, relaxing and contracting Cleopatra’s grip and changing tempo and theme. When he grasped her buttocks he felt scales rather than skin. Something brushed his inner thighs up to his butt. Her assurance that “Oh, that’s just my tail” didn’t assure him.
When his brain returned to minimal function he whispered “What are you?”
“You don’t have adequate language or knowledge for me to answer you. Let’s just say, that like my brother who likes to be called ‘Night Monster’, we are good demons. We ask nothing from worthy humans but mutual pleasure. As much as you have enjoyed me, I have enjoyed you. Would you object to me calling on you again when we are both free?”
“Uh, no. Could you stay longer tonight? I don’t know if I can go again, but we could cuddle.”
“Oh, we can go again.”
Good to her word, Night Angel had Bob fully prepared in five minutes.
***
Teen Angel
Paul was having another one of those dreams at 3 AM. Since he had turned twelve he had been having nocturnal emissions and since fourteen he had been experiencing embarrassing daytime erections, but no real sex. He had grown used to encountering movie stars or attractive classmates at night, but this time it was somebody he didn’t recognize and didn’t seem entirely human. Whatever it was had a tail and scales on parts of ‘her’ body, but otherwise looked like a girl of his age. As her hand wandered across his abdomen, he immediately ejaculated. She handed him one of the tissues he kept next to the bed for cleanup.
The bigger difference from his earlier dreams was that this partner spoke to him. “The thing that I like about teenage boys is that they rebound so fast. I love teaching sex education.” To prove her point she quickly prepared him for sex. Without any preliminaries, she easily pulled him on top of her as is he weighed ten pounds and inserted his penis in an appropriate location. Her hands on his butt guided him into a slow rhythm for awhile, followed by rapid thrusts and a mutual orgasm.
“Now that we know each other better, I should introduce myself. I’m a good demon that specializes in helping teen boys become proficient at sex. You can call me Teen Angel. I hope that you enjoyed your first lesson. If you agree, we can cover hygiene, erogenous zones, various positions and practices and ways to find appropriate, agreeable partners. What do you think?”
Paul found it difficult to talk, but managed to squeak ‘Sure’.
“One last thing. When you wake up tomorrow, you will think this was a dream, a vivid one, but still a dream. Check your sheets.”
When Paul woke up, he remembered the last thing that Teen Angel said. He found some of her scales in his sheets.
***
The Black Lagoon
Sheryl woke up around midnight to find a roughly humanoid giant monster in her bedroom. As she started to scream the monster tore the covers off her bed and her pajamas off her body.
As she continued to scream the demon roughly rubbed all over her body while lingering on her more sensitive parts. His long forked tongue invaded all of her orifices not stopping until he had poked into both ears at once. Her self-defense training was no match for his strength.
“Continue screaming, that just makes this more enjoyable for me.”
By the time his cruel treatment was completed, her screams had become whimpers.
He then picked her up by her waist as though she were nothing and lowered her slowly onto his organ. The whimpers became moans as they established a rhythm.
After five mutual orgasms Sheryl spoke “God, that was great, but what would you think of a new scenario? We’ve done monster assault a lot. You don’t exist in the daytime, but I’ve got a pool and a white bathing suit for after dark.”
“You’re thinking ‘Creature From The Black Lagoon’? Great. I can become Gillman without scales so you don’t get scratches as in my natural form. If we get tired of that there is always wife at home with pool cleaner when husband works late. Been done too often? If we want to stay dry, you can reinforce the chandelier for something really acrobatic. How about I become a hopeless high school boy and you are the sexy math tutor?”
“I don’t mind the scratches. They lend authenticity and I love the new ear trick”
“See you at your pool 10pm Friday? I’ve got a date with newbie Beverly on Thursday.”
“Works for me.”
“See you then. Love you babe.”
“Love you too, monster.”
***
The Lady And The Snake
The erotic dream Jessie had at 2:36 AM was something new. A cross between a large man and a snake was spooning her before he started anal intercourse. Jessie responded actively and moaned. After five minutes, she began to come out of her dream. In her half awake - half dream state she began to suspect that it wasn’t a dream. She asked “Charles?” – But then remembered her husband had been dead for fifteen years and whatever was in bed with her was nothing like Charles and did something that Charles never did. The arm that was draped over her was twice as large as Charles’.
Jessie was practical to the extent that some of her family and friends were amazed at how well she responded to crises. Rather than scream, which would have done no good, she asked “Who are you and how did you get here?” She had begun to wonder if one of her crazier friends set up the attack.
“First question – I’m a night demon or monster, whichever you prefer. Second question – I came in with you when got back from visiting your friend Judy. I’ll leave when you want me to.”
Jessie ignored the last part “That’s impossible. I would have seen you.”
“No, my people can turn invisible. We don’t even exist in the daylight.”
Jessie knew none of that made sense, but what was true?
“Turn on the light and judge for yourself.”
The light revealed a huge, bald muscular humanoid largely covered with scales. Whatever it was had a flat nose and holes for ears.
Jessie was stunned, but asked “Why are you here?”
“We night demons are benefactors of the human race. I heard your calls with friends about your frustration with dating since Charles died – the bad hygiene, the egotists who thought they were doing you a favor and the sexual duds. I thought that I could help you, but obviously I can’t go on a dating site. I was able to gather your wants and needs and acted on them. If I got it wrong, I can leave now. I’m afraid that you can’t take legal action against a night demon.”
After a long silence, night demon asked “Thoughts?”
“Don’t go yet.”
The night demon stayed for many hours that night and returned every Wednesday.
Little Miss Puffy Lips
by
John O'Donovan
Two blocks from my rented room was the corner liquor store. I stopped in for my daily medicine; half pint of Popov and a twenty-four ounce can of Coors, and that's why they call it, The Conveniene Store. None of that 'lite' shit either, I was light enough already. Two blocks the other way; the beach, and beyond was the sea...the Pacific sea.
I walked to the sea but I did not see the sea. Sullen and horny, songs of self-pity sang deep in my soul, and the pretty boys and girls cavorted in the sand with their laughter and carefree self-assurance. “Fuck you all. I will find me some pussy on the beach today.” I said to myself and no one else...not so self-assured, I had said the same before, and walked the lonely walk alone.
It was one of those gray, shitty overcast days. Coastal cloud cover they call it, but the sun was up there blazing away. One could still get a sunburn, especially a paleface mother-fucker like myself.
The sister... the babe, not bad looking, not that it mattered much. I was ready to fuck a female
duck, a female dog , “If you try to bite me, I will muzzle you.”
She lay propped on her elbows hugging the bare sand, no blanket. I walked past her, didn't look at her, then quick, I turn, she's looking after me.
“Excuse me Miss, do you have the time?” I asked her.
“Sure, I got all day.” She smiled it out in a sultry way. There was passion there, in the voice. An undertone of raw sex. I heard it clear, to say,
“I've been waiting for you all my life, lover boy.”
To her I said, “Care for some company?”
“As long as you share what's in the bag, I saw you tipping over there, you're lucky I'm not a cop.”
“Don't look like no cop.”
“That's how they fool you,” she said, through a small mouth with lips thin and dry. It was plain to see, someone needs to suck on those lips, juice 'em up...puffy...pouty.
There was long dark hair, loose, silken shiny, to hang around her neck where I could see brown freckles emerging and rolling down her bare naked shoulders into a black, one piece swim suit. No duck, no dog here, no muzzle needed.
“Live around here?” she asked.
“Up the street there, I have a room by myself, it's not much, but it's nice and cozy.”
“Lucky you!”
That's exactly what I was thinking... as she sat up on her butt, legs crossed, I sat down on my knees close to her and handed her the bottle. I was in her space, and it felt comfortable; it felt just
right. She took a good hit. I handed her the beer, she took another good hit, and then my smokes were in my hands and she slid one out with her tiny red painted finger nails and slipped the Camel filter into her little pink hole, now soft and moist from the liquor. She looked into my eyes as I fired her up with a flip of my Bic. I said inside my head, “Houston we have ignition.”
To her I said, “It's going to be a nice day after all, want I should put some of that sunscreen on your back?
“That would be nice,” she said, and she rolled over onto her belly. I feasted my eyes on her lovely voluptious ass.
The sun suddenly came out, full and hot, and a cool breeze blew in from the water, and
for the first time since I had been coming down here to the beach, I saw the sea. I heard the waves breaking. It was like a whole new place.
Miss Puffy Lips sat up and broke my reverie, but that was alright.
“Let's get another bottle, then you can show me your place,” she said, casually.
“I'd like that,” I replied, as I took her dainty little hand and hefted her up on her feet.
***
John O'Donovan is an emigrant from Ireland to the U.S. Old and retired, he lives out his days dreaming of the past. He tries to write about it, or some version of it, that may have happened, or did not, anyway, who's counting? He lives with his lovely wife and two lovely dogs in Southern California.