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Eros and the Muse

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In the Stacks

23 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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bisexual, cunnilingus, erotic fiction, erotica, flirting, lesbian, lesbian erotica, librarian, library, oral sex, public sex, sex, sexual literature

In a cool, softly lit corner of the adult fiction section, Lauren slid a plastic-covered murder mystery into its spot, reading the shelf and adjusting a couple of misplaced volumes back into their proper order. She ran her hand along the fine grain of the antique oak shelf as she crossed to the window and leaned against the sill. Squinting against the summer sun that streamed in through the tall windows, she watched as a patron walked past the whitewashed clapboards of the Town Hall and crossed the flag-lined main street to the front walk of the library. Her crocheted cotton bag bulged with borrowed books, and Lauren smiled, her heart skipping a beat as she smoothed her skirt and stood. Alana’s visit was always a highlight of Lauren’s week, not just because it offered a respite in the long stretch of weekday afternoon quiet, but because seeing Alana would have been a highlight under any circumstance.

The heavy door swung open and Alana came in, dropping her heavy books on the circulation desk with a dull thud. “Man,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, “It got hot out there today. I’m sweating like a whore in church.” She looked at Lauren in her simple skirt and light summer sweater, “Damn it, woman, how is it you always manage to look all elegant and put together and shit and I always look like an unmade bed?” Lauren felt her nipples harden as Alana appraised her form. “I like the outfit,” she said, smiling. “You got the whole ‘sexy librarian’ thing working for you today.”

Lauren felt a warmth spread from inside her blossom on her cheeks. The way Alana looked at her made her feel both unsettled and aroused. She had an intensity that Lauren was drawn to, yet at the same time she found it a little intimidating, and truth be told, frightening. She knew Alana had no qualms about sleeping with women. She knew Alana had no qualms about sleeping with anyone, in fact, since she was currently dating both her male yoga instructor and her the woman who was the promoter of her indie band.

It was that intensity that drew her, and the unrestrained and unabashed way Alana flirted with her. Lauren had never been attracted sexually to another woman before, but always felt like it was only because in her conservative upbringing in small town New England she may have missed the memo that it was okay to want to kiss a girl. Because she did want to. And badly.

In the back of her mind she still felt like she might be playing with fire, but as Alana moved around the small library checking out the new arrivals and poking through the new magazines, Lauren decided she liked the warmth.

“Oh, come on,” Lauren countered, “you know you’re gorgeous. And you always look great. Even on a day like today you look cool and comfortable.” Lauren loved the way Alana’s long violet skirt flowed and swirled around her bare legs and how the small silver ghunghru bells tied around her ankle tinkled as she walked. Her sleeveless shirt was hand painted and low cut in the front and Lauren could see the fine sheen of perspiration on her sun-kissed cleavage. It was obvious that she’d decided to forego a bra for the day, opting instead to let her large breasts bounce freely under her light top. Her long, shiny hair was caught up off her neck in a loose twist and secured with a couple of carved hair sticks and the fine, curly tendrils that escaped stuck to her damp skin and Lauren swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to kiss her there. She was standing close enough to touch her, to smell the subtle aroma of nag champa and warm, moist places.

As she pressed her lips to the soft nape of her neck, she felt Alana’s breath catch in her throat. Her skin was salty and warm and she felt goosebumps rise under her gentle touch. Alana exhaled softly, and Lauren heard the copy of Yoga Weekly she’d been thumbing through thud clumsily against the magazine rack and flutter to the floor. Feeling bolder, she slipped her hands over Alana’s hips, wrapping around her and pulling her closer.

Alana’s hands were on hers, warm and dry, halting their movement, but not pulling away. “Not that it’s unwelcome,” Alana said, tipping her head back and arching her long neck, “but this is kind of a surprise.”

Lauren smiled nervously. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away, but Alana held firm to her hands.

“Are you?” she said, turning and sliding a hand around Lauren’s waist. Alana’s fingertips brushed lightly over the curve of her ass pulling her close until their bodies were touching and their faces were mere inches apart. Lauren shuddered, goosebumps rising on her arms.

“No,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Alana said. “Neither am I.” Lauren felt her knees go weak as Alana kissed her. Her lips were soft and inviting, not insistent, but offering, and Lauren accepted, tentatively at first, and then with increasing desire as any hesitation she may have harbored fell away.

Alana’s hands were twined in her hair, pulling her closer still, devouring her. Lauren leaned back and found herself pressed against the long, oak reading table. She leaned on it, reaching for Alana and feeling her large, natural breasts through the thin cotton of her top. In the dim, lusty recesses of her mind, she felt a fleeting recognition that it was right, that the curves of a woman felt natural in her hands, and as the cognizant thought slipped away, she cupped the soft globes and sought Alana’s hard nipples through the fabric.

Alana moaned and pulled her lips away from Lauren’s. “Damn, girl,” she panted. “You’re killing me. I’m ready to take you right here in the public library.”

Lauren looked at her watch and smiled. “Hold that thought.” She crossed quickly to the front door and turned the heavy brass bolt and snapped off the banks of lights. “Now we’re closed,” she said, crossing back to where Alana leaned against one of the heavy shelves. “It’s a tad early, but no one will probably be in anyway. It’s too nice out and on a day like this…”

Her thoughts were interrupted by Alana’s mouth on hers, more insistent this time, with an intensity that took Lauren’s breath away. Again, she found herself against the big table, leaning back on her hands. Deftly, Alana worked the small buttons on her cardigan, popping them open quickly and letting it fall open. Her breasts were heaving with desire and she could see her own nipples large and hard through the thin lace bra. Alana ran her hands over the hard brown points so clearly visible under the white lace and pinched them lightly, making Lauren moan anew.

Alana pulled the cups down and let Lauren’s small, perky breasts spring free. She leaned down and took one of the quivering nipples in her mouth and sucked it, smiling as Lauren gasped at the sudden, swift pleasure of it. She could feel Alana’s hands on her thighs, seeking the hem of her skirt and gathering it in her hands, pulling it up and exposing the tops of her stockings.

When Alana’s hand made contact with the garter clasp that held her stockings up, she looked up so suddenly that Lauren’s nipple popped out of her mouth with a jiggle and a bounce. “Oh, this is amazing,” Alana said, sliding Lauren’s skirt up around her waist. The white satin and lace of her garter belt lay against her tanned skin in high relief, and the lace of her panties was already visibly moist between the soft curves of her thighs.

“It’s…well, more practical in summer,” Lauren started to explain, but Alana’s fingers pressed against the crotch of her panties made the rest of her thought go out of her head. She spread her legs, letting Alana touch her through the lace, leaning back as Alana’s mouth again found her nipples and drew on them with long, hard sucks. Alana tugged the panties, pulling them up between her lips and rubbing them against her hard clit.

She kissed a trail down Lauren’s midriff, past her flat, tanned tummy and the bunched up fabric of her skirt. Swiftly, she pulled the crotch of her panties aside and pressed her face into Lauren’s neatly trimmed nest of dark curls. Lauren moaned and lay back on the table, sliding back and raising her knees, allowing her legs to fall apart as Alana’s tongue plunged inside her.

Lauren could feel her own juices flowing as Alana worked her tongue over and inside every inch of her aching cunt. She moaned as two fingers filled her, sliding in and out while Alana wrapped her lips around her hard clit and sucked the hard little pearl, making her writhe and squirm atop the hard table top. She could feel the knot that had been building and tightening inside her begin to unravel, even as in the distance she could hear kids’ voices shouting from the outside, laughing as they crossed the town green to enter the library through the downstairs children’s room.

She knew she should push Alana away, make her stop, but it was too late, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as her powerful orgasm spilled out of her, washing through her pussy and making her whole body buck and shudder. She tried to sit up, to grab her sweater and cover herself, but Alana wasn’t stopping, and wave after wave of pleasure continued to course through her. She was laughing and panting, begging Alana to stop in a low, frantic voice as she heard the sleigh bells jangle against the heavy back door and the sound of kids’ voices being hushed as they entered the cool silence of the library.

Alana stood quickly, raising the hem of her skirt and wiping her mouth while Alana pulled her own skirt back into place and re-did the buttons of her sweater with shaking hands. Alana brushed a stray lock of hair out of Lauren’s eyes and kissed her, letting Lauren taste her own muskiness. Lauren sighed and reluctantly let Alana slip away, trying to compose her face into a some semblance of professionalism as the children’s feet clamored up the stairs. She snapped on the lights and unlocked the door and while Alana thumbed through the yoga magazine she’d picked up from where she dropped it, she settled herself behind the circulation desk and began checking in books.

The Next Morning

19 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, erotic fiction, erotica, lesbian, lesbian erotica, loss, love, lust, mature, sex, sexual literature, short story, shower

This is a sequel to the short story, “In Ms. B’s Bunk“.

“Do you really have to leave?”

Her head peeked around the shower curtain and she smiled at me, her eyes still heavy-lidded from lack of sleep. Her bed-tousled hair was sexy and I wanted to run my hands through it, pulling her close again, feeling her lips on mine. But the drive was a long one, and I was late getting started as it was.

“Unfortunately,” I replied, closing my eyes and tipping my face into the spray, letting the hot water soak my hair and wash the sleep out of my foggy, fuzzy brain. The curtain fell back into place with a wet whisper and I heard the splash of her feet on the tub floor behind me. In an instant, her arms were around me, holding me close, her soft, warm body pressed tightly to mine.

Her hands flitted over my skin, cupping my breasts and tugging gently at the nipples that had grown hard at the sound of her voice. My body had already learned how to respond to her, trained over hours of touching, stroking and kneading. I melted into her, unable and unwilling to resist the touch of her bare skin on mine. Her lips were soft on my shoulder, kissing me in a trail soft as butterfly footprints to my neck, to the sensitive spot behind my earlobe that made shivers run up and down my spine all night long. “It’s going to be awhile before you can come back,” she reminded me in a low voice, her breath warm on my ear.

It was going to be a long time before I would feel her knowing hands on my body again, a long time before I’d hear her soft voice whispering sweet, sexy, dirty words in my ear. It would be a long time before I would feel her precious lips on mine, make her nipple grow hard in my mouth, taste the musky sweetness of her pussy on my tongue. It made my heart ache, and my clit burn.

The snap of a plastic bottle opening brought me back to reality, and I breathed deeply the smell of coconut as her strong fingers worked the shampoo into a thick lather and massaged my scalp. I leaned my head back, letting her wash my hair. Life was so easy with her in control. Part of me wanted to stay and let her take care of me, but there were kids at home who needed me, babies who needed their hair washed, and a husband expecting to put his hands where hers had been. There were people who needed me to take care of them.

The soap ran down my body in thick, white streams, making my skin slick and slippery. She turned me around and I tipped my head back into the spray, closing my eyes against the stinging lather. Her hands were on me again, sliding around the curves of my ass and pulling me close to her. Her soft breasts pressed against mine and I grabbed them hungrily.

Right now she needed me, and for the moment, I was hers.

I gave into the desire. I ran my hands through her hair, feeling it silky between my fingers, pulling her mouth to mine. I tasted her hungrily. In her soft lips still swollen from lovemaking and in her searching tongue, all the passion we had shared, and all the pent-up longing and long-distance teasing before that, and the sweet ache of not knowing when she would be mine again mingled in pulsing currents between us.

I slid my hand between her legs and parted her lips, stroking her clit. She was so ready for me. I pressed her against the shower wall, letting the hot water wash over our bodies. She was slick and tight as I slid into her, hitting her most sensitive spots and making her arch into my hand. With my free hand I played with the silver barbell through her nipple, tugging it gently and making her moan into my open mouth. “What am I going to do when you’re gone?”

I didn’t answer her with words. I didn’t know how to say that she should savor this pleasure and store it up so she could pull it out when she was feeling alone. I kissed her sweet lips and used my hands the way she’d taught me, guiding me patiently over her pleasure centers, showing me what feels good to her over and over again until we slept in each other’s arms.

I no longer needed a map. Our first time–my first time–was far behind me, and I wanted to make this beautiful woman come over and over again. Or at least one more time. I stroked my fingers inside her, curling them deep within, feeling her clench around me. Her breath was shallow and fast, and her hips jerked against me. I needed to taste her again.

I pulled my fingers out of her and she sighed, opening her eyes, waiting breathlessly for me.

I put them in my mouth and tasted her, and she groaned as I smiled.

I knelt before her, running my hands over her curves, trying to memorize every inch of her soft, precious skin. I teased the little nest of curls between her legs, watching intently as she spread her legs for me and put one foot up on the side of the tub. Her shiny pink slit parted, and the silver loop through her plump nether lip beckoning to me. I kissed it and felt her shudder, and I let my lips linger on her sensitive clit for just a minute, before parting the rosy folds with my tongue and tasted her in earnest.

Her hands were on my head, caressing me as I sucked her sweet pussy, licking it, stroking her hard, berry-like clit with my flattened tongue. She was moaning with every breath, pressing me to her, coming too quickly.

I slid my fingers back inside her and she groaned. “Just let go, baby,” I told her, working her cunt hard, probing her deeply. My tongue and lips danced on the center of her pleasure, recalling her gentle direction and no longer needing it. She was mine, and I was going to make her come, make her tremble in my hands and hold her as she spiraled out of control, if only for a blessedly brief time.

My own cunt was swollen with desire and my clit throbbed painfully. I pressed my thighs together, the taste of her juices running over my tongue and down my arm bringing me to the edge. I needed to feel her come for me first. I slipped a third finger inside her, spreading her wider and making her moan and thrust against me again.

“I don’t want to,” she said, her voice husky with desire, shaking her head side to side, even as her hands urged me to continue. “I don’t want it to end.” But it was too late. Her last word dissolved into a cry as she came, her cunt spasming around my finger. Deep contractions and a warm gush of fluid in my mouth, hands in my hair, her leg around my shoulders, pulling me into her center.

Her eyes flashed under heavy lids, and I stood, but she turned away from my kiss. “Don’t,” I said, cupping her chin in my hand and kissing her, letting her taste herself on my lips. Her tears were salty as they fell and I kissed them away. “It’s not forever,” I said, holding her close, letting the water wash over us. “This is just the beginning of our story, love.”

In Ms. B’s Bunk

05 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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Tags

adult, bisexual, curious, erotic fiction, lesbian erotica, lesbian porn, massage, mature, porn, sexy, short story

I don’t know why I’m drawn to her. I can’t pin down what makes me think about her…dream about her…long for the touch of her strong hands on my body.

I’m not a lesbian.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I’m not attracted to women. Most women. But I’m attracted to her. Oddly.

Strangely.

I find her sexuality compelling.

When it got to be too much for me to bear, I sought her out.

I told her what I wanted, how I felt. How she makes me feel. Confused. Amused. Aroused. Oh, always aroused.

Curious.

She invited me to spend the night. In my own room, a quiet place to sit and write with no distractions.

No distractions. Just her. Sexy. Funny. Sweet. Kind.

Sexy.

Sitting with me on the sofa with a puppy draped across our laps. Her large, soft breasts barely contained beneath her simple cotton camisole. Nipples hard, visible…tempting. Both of us knowing why I’m really there, but neither one saying it.

Butterflies in my stomach.

She looks at me and smiles. Dimples make me melt and I smile back, shyly. She takes my hand in hers and just holds it. It’s warm, and soft, but strong. I feel safe. After a minute of not saying anything, she squeezes my hand, and I squeeze it back. She stands, and the dog reluctantly moves, stretching and lying down in the warm spot she’s left. I stand too, and without a word, she leads me to her bedroom.

We stand together, hands clasped.

“I’m nervous,” I confess.

She squeezes my hand again. “Don’t be.”

I don’t move, and she smiles again, that sweet, dimpled grin. “You’ve had a massage before,” she asks, knowing the answer is yes, but I nod. “I’ll go out for a minute. You get undressed as much as your comfortable with and lie down under the sheet. I’ll give you a massage. And if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” I agree, but my mouth is dry.

She goes out and I slip out of my short nightgown. Naked, I lie down on my stomach and pull the sheet up to my neck. I try to relax, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. There’s a pounding much lower, too. Throbbing. Anticipating.

I hear her come in and shut the door with a soft click. The light is already low, and she turns on some music. No words. No real tune. But musical. Soft.

I feel her weight beside me on the mattress. My eyes are closed. I don’t know what she’s doing. I don’t know if I want to see.

I smell an exotic scent. Sandalwood, maybe. Or a spice. I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s nice. Deep, not cloying. Not heavy.

Sexy.

Her hands are gentle as they slide the sheet down just a bit, leaving me covered. Then they are on me. Oily. Slick. Sliding over my skin easily. Firm, even strokes. Almost painful, but not quite. Soothing. Powerful.

My shoulders relax…my neck…my back. The sheet slides lower. I don’t realize she’s moved it.

Her hands work the muscles of my lower back. Not deeply, not painfully. Almost, but not quite. Her hands rub the oil into my skin, making me feel soft and pliable, and I am. Her hands are on my hips, exploring the curves of my ass, and I don’t mind. It feels good. My body feels alive. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want her to stop touching me.

Ever.

Her hands find mine, tucked down by my sides. She runs her hands up my forearms, moving them away from my body and up over my head. Biceps. Triceps. All the muscles I don’t know the names of. She does, and she pays attention to them all, making me aware of them.

Down again, back to my shoulders. Hands on my spine. Hands on my shoulder blades. Hands caressing the soft skin where my breasts begin. My waist. My hips again. Fingers lingering in the warm, deep cleft between my legs, then away before my brain has time to think about it.

I feel the sheet shift and she tells me in a low voice to roll over. I do.

It does not occur to me to do otherwise.

My breasts feel the cooler air in the room and I know my nipples are hard. I can’t see them because I won’t open my eyes, but I can feel them. They are tingling.

Her hands slide up my arms again, over familiar territory, before sliding back down, along my shoulders again, across the flat planes of my chest, lightly around the curves of my breasts. I take a deep breath as her hands gently rub oil into the soft tissue.

Her touch is electric.

I want her in the worst way.

It doesn’t occur to me that it is happening. I am having her. She is having me.

She kneads gently, scooping up the handfuls of flesh and tugging gently on the hard, pink points. Each stroke, each tug brings a sound from my throat. It’s a deep breath. Not quite a moan.

Until it is.

When she is drawing moans, her hands move south, over the soft flesh of my stomach. I frown, feeling self-conscious for the first time.

She speaks, and her voice is low and soothing.

“You’re beautiful,” she says in nearly a whisper, and I believe her.

She leans over me and takes a nipple in her mouth. I feel her teeth, but she doesn’t hurt me. Not quite. Her hands are moving…always moving…and she is running them between my thighs, skimming my soft mound of curls, sucking and nipping at my nipple and making me squirm beneath her.

My legs part on their own. I don’t remember moving them, spreading them for her, but they are open for her.

Offering.

Her hand seeks my warm center, parting the folds and caressing the slick, inner flesh with the same strong, soothing touch. Theraputic touch. My hips rise off the bed to meet her fingers. “Oh, God,” is all I can manage to say as she works my clit with fingers that feel warm as fire.

She kisses me…my breasts…my neck…the hollow of my collarbone…

My lips.

She tastes sweet.

Soft, but strong. Asking, offering…and I answer.

I yield. My lips part, accepting her, a “yes” to every unanswered question.

Yes. Dear God, yes.

I taste her tongue, feel her mouth working mine, teaching it to dance in ways it never has before.

My hips are bucking beneath her hand, wanting more, needing to feel her possess me. She dips into me briefly…one finger…then two…I can feel how wet she is making me…hear the sounds of her fingers inside me, on me, around me…

“Fuck me,” I whisper, opening my eyes only long enough to look into hers. She is lovely.

Lovable.

More kissing. Soft, insistent.

My neck. My breasts.

The soft expanses of my flesh are kissed, nibbled, licked…teased.

Hands move aside, parting my thighs and stroking the sensitive flesh.

Her lips are pressed lovingly against my clit. Again, in her low, soft voice, deeper and huskier this time, “You’re beautiful.”

The room spins as her lips and tongue dance over the sensitive skin. I don’t resist. I can’t. I’m grabbing her headboard, trying to stay connected to reality, but feeling it spinning out of my control.

Her fingers are inside me…filling me deep…her mouth is always moving…sucking and licking…

I can’t hold back. I want to.

I want it to last forever.

Pleasure building inside me like a glass being filled. My breath is coming in short gasps as she fucks me, filling me, pussy filling with pleasure until it can’t hold any more.

And it overflows.

I cry out, writhing beneath her as I come.

Deep spasms rippling through me…pleasure radiating out from my very center…her mouth and fingers working every last pulse, every throb, until I’m still.

But I’m not.

Slowly she slides her fingers out of me and I shudder, breathing hard, hands clenching the headboard.

She runs her hands up my arms and I remember to relax, letting my arms down and putting them around her. She is soft and warm beside me, and I taste myself on her as she leans close. I pull her to me and kiss her, tasting my own muskiness.

I am delicious.

I open my eyes and look at her. She is smiling, and she runs her hands lightly over my breasts, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

Tentatively, I touch her.

Her breasts are full and large and I stroke one gently through the thin fabric of her pajama top. Her nipples are hard and large and I tease them, pinching them in my fingertips. She closes her eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling, letting me find my way.

She is so lovely.

I pull the straps down on her cami, letting the fall against her arms. The soft fabric falls away, exposing the creamy tops of her breasts. I pull her to me, kissing them.

Kissing her soft, sweet breasts.

I take her nipple in my mouth…I’m not sure how hard to suck…what feels good.

I start gently, and she arches her back, so I suck harder.

She makes a little sound, and runs her fingers through my hair. I pull, stretching the soft skin and tugging on the hard point.

She moans.

I look at her. She is smiling.

I am doing well, I think.

She answers me with a kiss. This time she is yielding to me, offering herself, and I accept her.

Gladly.

My inexperience hand…my willing hand…slides over her soft curves.

She is beautiful.

“You are beautiful,” I say.

“Shut up,” she says, but she’s smiling.

I slide my hand into her pajama bottoms and feel her soft mound. My finger seeks her slit, and a slight gasp tells me that I’ve found it. I feel her wetness. She is soaked. Her cunt is ripe and full, and I plunge my fingers into her. It feels good, and she cries out. Pleasure. Need.

Passion.

How hard? How fast? How deep?

Her hand is on mine, guiding me. I don’t need to be gentle.

Firm strokes. Even strokes. Fingers inside.

One…two…

Her clit is a hard, slick berry beneath my fingers and I work it like a tiny cock. She moans, her hips thrusting against me.

She sets a rhythm and I meet it, plunging into her pussy, making her writhe and buck in my hands.

I suck her nipple into my mouth and she cries out, putting her hand on mine again as her thighs close.

Her glass has overflowed too.

I feel her cunt grip me. Fluttering from deep inside.

Then a slow throb and pulse.

Then a deep breath, and her thighs relax.

Gentle strokes, gently used…wet…musky…spent.

We lie together, not speaking. We kiss. We giggle. Our hands touch each other.

Friendly.

Intimate.

Loving.

Lovable.

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"Two well-assorted travelers use
The highway, Eros and the muse.
From the twins is nothing hidden,
To the pair is naught forbidden;
Hand in hand the comrades go
Every nook of nature through:
Each for the other they were born,
Each can other best adorn.”

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

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