Work Out

06 Wednesday Mar 2013

Tags

cardio, elliptical trainer, erotic fiction, erotica, ginger, gym, quickie, redhead, sex, short story, shower, strangers, workout

They were the only two people in the gym at four o’clock in the morning.

He didn’t know, nor did he care, why she chose to work out on the elliptical machine directly in front of his when there were no less than ten identical units to choose from.

What he did know was that her gym shorts were very small and very snug, and the round, soft ass they barely contained moved with an absolutely bewitching jiggle and bounce with every step. He also knew that the way her long, messy ponytail switched from side to side with the rhythmic sway of her body was hypnotic, and the vibrant orange-red was the same knee-weakening color as a Caribbean sunset.

For a half an hour, he watched her run in place, her movements fluid and graceful. He marked the progress of her efforts through the sheen of sweat that started as a few fine hairs stuck to the back of her shining neck to where it spread into a wide, wet patch at the small of her back and finally tapering down into the cleft of her perfect ass.

He had never seen anything sexier in his whole life.

He didn’t even notice he’d pushed his own workout longer than he planned until she stopped and got off her machine. He kept going, pretending he always worked out a good ten minutes longer than he actually did, realizing he was out of breath, sweating profusely, half-hard, and hoping those escaped her notice as she wiped the machine down. She flashed him another one of her half smiles before going over to the floor mats to stretch, but he kept going, even though his legs were beginning to burn and he could no longer feel his face.

He saw no way to approach her without being the Creepy Gym Guy, so reluctantly he, too, wiped his machine down and allowed himself one last lingering glance in her direction, all the while praying silently that he would manage not to hyperventilate, throw up, or otherwise embarrass himself in front of her. The captivating sight of her body bent gracefully at the waist, her hands running down the back of her freckled thighs as she reached for her ankles caused his dick to twitch uncomfortably, and quickly he went into the men’s locker room before she had cause to call the police.

He retrieved his gym bag from his locker and peeled off his soaked clothes, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading for the shower. He pulled the curtain closed and stood under the hot spray, breathing deeply in the steam and bracing himself with one arm against the cool tile wall. He closed his eyes and let the hot water run over his head and down his shoulders, too tired to soap up.

A cold draft and the sound of the metal curtain rings moving caused his eyes to snap open. She stepped naked into the spray, her hands against his pecs pushing him aside so she could close the curtain behind her. She hooked her finger in her ponytail holder and pulled it free, shaking her head side to side and letting her hair fall over her wet shoulders in a curtain.

She didn’t speak a word to him, and none seemed to be required of him, which, he thought, was a good thing, as he was unable to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. She turned to face him, tipping her head back under the water and leaning toward him. She put her hands around his waist, and the blood flow to his cock that had subsided in his solo shower came back with a renewed vengeance. She pressed herself against him, trapping his erection between their bodies.

Her hands slid over his wet ass, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close. Tentatively, he put his hands on her shoulders and ran them down her strong arms, letting his thumbs graze over her pale pink nipples.

She smiled again and moaned slightly, encouraging him. Her skin was fair and rapidly growing pink in the hot spray, and he was entirely smitten with the dappling of freckles that covered her shoulders and chest. Her breasts were small and firm, and he dared himself to touch them, cupping them gently and watching for her response.

She looked up at him with eyes that were as blue as a summer sky. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could stammer out more than two words of an introduction, she put her wet fingers over his lips. She shook her head, and trailed her fingers through his chest hair, over his abs to his shaft that rose thick, hard, and red from its curly wet nest of hair. She gripped him firmly and stroked, drawing a drop of clear pre-cum from the tip that was washed away as soon as it appeared. He gasped, bending his head and pressing his lips to her neck.

His fingers sought out her nipples and he tugged the hard points gently between the tips. She exhaled, as if she had been waiting expectantly for his touch all along. He let his hands wander lower, exploring her gentle curves. Her body was strong and fit, but her hips were wide and curvaceous, and as his hands slid over her round, full buttocks, he murmured soft words of appreciation into her ear.

She turned in his arms and presented her ass to him, and he took a moment with his hands resting on her alabaster flanks to thank whatever gods may be for the female form. She arched her back, leaning into his body and he pressed his cock against her, sliding easily between the soft globes of her ass. The head of his cock was against her hot center, being tickled by her ginger nether curls and begging for entrance. His arms went around her easily, one hand on a rosy-tipped nipple and the other between her legs, seeking her hard clit and finding it throbbing. He stroked the dainty little pearl gently, letting his cock slide wetly back and forth from behind.

She leaned forward and spread her legs slightly, and it was all the invitation he required. He guided his cock inside her, taking her slowly and letting her feel every inch of his hard shaft. Her legs shook slightly as he seated himself fully. She was tight and hot, and it was his turn to gasp as he felt her muscles clench around his cock. He began to move, stroking her slowly, holding onto her hips and pulling all the way out of her, teasing her clit with the head before sliding back in, not stopping until his balls pressed tightly against her cunt.

Her voice was soft and light, but her words drove him like the crack of a whip. “Fuck me,” she said, and he pulled out, then slid home forcefully, over and over, moving his hips and working his cock inside her. Their wet bodies slapped together, her hot, tight pussy bringing him to a quick climax.

He pulled out of her and with a grunt and a few strokes, he shot his load all over the milky whiteness of her ass. He was still breathing hard when he dropped to his knees and worshiped her, parting her legs further and pressing his lips against her sweet asshole.

He teased her with his tongue, tasting his own cum that basted her tight rear entrance. He dipped his tongue inside her, tasting her sweet, musky essence. She leaned into him, needing release. His lips went around her clit and he sucked gently at it, teasing it with his tongue, massaging it. She pressed against his hungry mouth, grinding against him, and he moved with her, feeling her legs begin to tremble as the first spasms of her orgasm hit.

He held onto her while she came, her breath coming in the ragged gasps and pants that thirty minutes on the elliptical hadn’t been able to draw out of her. She soaked his face with her juices, and he swallowed hard, savoring every drop she shared with him.

She left him kneeling on the floor of the shower as soon as she was able to walk. She slipped out of the shower and by the time he rinsed off and shut the water off, she had gone, with no evidence she’d been there save a row of wet footprints on the black floor.

He dressed quickly and grabbed his bag, running out to see if he could catch her, but when he left the steam-filled locker room, the gym was still empty, and his was the only car in the parking lot.

He opened his mouth to ask the kid working the front desk her name, but at the last minute decided that he didn’t dare, so he put his jacket collar up against the early morning chill and wandered out into the gray sunrise, alone, to get home before his wife woke up.

Metamorphosis

05 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

bear, bestiality, erotic fiction, erotica, Franz Kafka, grizzly, sex, short story, taboo, ursa horribilis

With humble thanks and apologies to Franz Kafka, it is to his memory and great genius that this story is dedicated.

One morning, Maggie awoke from a night of disturbing dreams to discover a full-grown male grizzly bear sleeping on her husband Greg’s side of the bed.

He lay on his side, facing away from her, snoring lightly. The white sheets and well-worn quilt barely covered his wide shoulders, giving her a clear view of the coarse brown pelt grown thick over his entire body. His ears twitched in his sleep, and Maggie raised herself on her elbow to look again, certain that she must still be dreaming, and that her subconscious was only assigning a bear-like quality to his newly grown-in beard, for in truth, grizzly bears did not, as a rule, sleep in suburban Illinois bedrooms—much less hers.

She peered at him more closely, moving slowly as to not disturb him, but the shifting of the bed caused his ears to twitch again, and she found herself smiling at it. But then he stretched, and his long, hairy arm extended well past the edge of the mattress and onto the nightstand where he sent his alarm clock, half-empty glass of water, assorted ear plugs, and a dog-eared copy of Mike Ditka’s biography crashing to the floor.

The bear woke with a start, his long black claws raking the blankets off of him as a low growl issued from deep within his enormous chest. Maggie scrambled away, her legs tangling in the sheets as he turned and looked at her with tiny, glittering dark eyes. She tried to scream but could barely breathe as she fell off the bed and landed in a heap, wrenching her ankle and hitting her head so hard on the oak dresser that she thought she’d throw up.

The bear growled again and moved towards her. Maggie shrieked as she tried to stand, her cry of panic turning to one of pain as her sprained ankle gave way and she fell to her knees, crawling as fast as she could over the hard wood floor. The bear moved faster than she, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was between her and the door, his menacing claws scraping against the wood, forcing her towards the closet and her only possible sanctuary.

Maggie pulled her body into the tight space, clamoring over shoes and pulling Greg’s dress shirts down on her head as she forced the door shut behind her. The bear roared anew, his voice shaking the thin louvered door that was all that stood between her and a man-eating grizzly bear.

She huddled against the back wall, drawing her shaking legs up tightly against her body. Outside the door she could hear him snuffling, his nose against the floor, and she could feel the occasional whoosh of warm breath when he exhaled. He nudged the door and Maggie squealed again, her voice high and terrified, but the louvers held and the latch remained secure. Again, she saw the door bow slightly as he pushed against it, grumbling. She shut her eyes tight and waited for the door to burst into splinters. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she whimpered, her voice sounding small and pathetic to her ears.

On the other side of the door, she heard the tap of his claws on the floor moving away. For a few minutes, she heard nothing save the beating of her own heart in her ears. Then she listened more intently, training her ear to pick up any sound from the bedroom. When she heard nothing, she moved slowly toward the door, wincing at the sharp pain in her ankle, and peeked through the slats.

The bear was in front of the full-length mirror than hung on the back of their bedroom door and seemed to be studying his own features in a very unbearlike manner. He raised a paw far bigger than her own hand to his face and touched his long snout, then the top of his furry head. He tipped his head to the side and raised his ears, perking them up as if he was listening for something, then flattening them against his head. He sat on his round bear rump in front of the mirror, and Maggie suppressed a giggle.

Suddenly and without warning, he raised himself up to his full height and Maggie gasped as his enormous bulk filled the door frame. He looked over at the closet door and Maggie shrank against the back wall, shaking anew at the sight of seven feet of fur, teeth, claws, and bad attitude.

She heard the click of his claws on the floor again and cringed, waiting for the door to explode in a shower of kindling, but it never came. She relaxed her shoulders, took a deep breath, and put her eye to the slats again.

The bear was sitting on the floor at the end of their bed, leaning against the disheveled bed clothes. He was looking at her, and when he saw her face, he lifted his paw and gestured to her.

Maggie blinked, not sure what she was seeing.

She looked again, and again the bear raised a hairy paw and with claws as long as her own fingers, gestured to her in an obvious and very human “come here” motion. He then lay down and placed his nose on his paws in a posture of supplication.

Slowly, she turned the knob of the closet door with a shaking hand. The bear didn’t move as the door opened enough for Maggie to look out. He raised his giant head and Maggie recoiled, so he slowly lay it back down on his paws. He kept his eyes on her, and Maggie didn’t dare break eye contact. She inched forward and then suddenly stopped. She froze, seeing something deep the creature’s eyes that was painfully familiar.

“Greg?”

He raised his head slowly from the floor and nodded, and as Maggie looked into his eyes, she saw the confusion and sadness in their dark brown depths. She crept closer and lay her hand on his head, feeling the thickness of his fur and watched him close his eyes. She didn’t know how it was possible, or why, but this hulk of an animal was her husband, and her arms went around his neck. He let out a soft growl that might have been a purr of happiness as she hugged him, and he lay his head gently in her lap.

As the hours stretched into days and the days into weeks, Maggie grew accustomed to having a bear around the house. He was her same sweet Greg: quieter, for sure, though he had never been a conversationalist. He became adept at using simple signals and signs to let her know when he needed assistance, as he had some limitations as to what he could do with his paws. He learned quickly that a roar of frustration would get her attention, but not to pull that card too often lest he get a flick on his tender ears or snout. He was still perfectly happy to sit with her and watch old movies and football games on TV, letting her feed him popcorn kernels and scratch behind his ears after he licked the butter from her fingers.

She loved his new strength, and discovered as her sprained ankle healed that she could dig her fingers into his strong fur and hold on tight and he’d carry her easily just about anywhere. He loved to be outside, so he’d climb into the back seat of their car and she’d take him for a drive out to the country where they would take long, quiet walks together in the forest. She was impressed with how he used his dangerously sharp claws to climb the towering pines, though she couldn’t watch him dig grubs and other nasty critters out of rotten logs without her stomach turning, and it’s for sure she left him alone when he ran off into the thick undergrowth to do the things that bears do in the woods. And after a day of rambling in the forest and kicking through the fallen leaves, she was happy to curl up next to him in their big bed and fall asleep in his warm, furry arms.

One morning, in the wee small hours just as the sun was beginning to lighten the eastern sky, Maggie was deep in sleep, tossing fitfully with one of the many disturbing dreams that had plagued her since the night Greg had metamorphosed into a grizzly bear. She cried and whimpered in her sleep, soft noises of distress, waking suddenly with a start. She lay in the dark, breathing heavily, trying to come back to reality with some difficulty. She felt the velvety soft fur of Greg’s muzzle on her bare back, rubbing her gently between her shoulder blades, the warmth of his breath tickling the fine hairs and making them stand up. “I had a bad dream,” she murmured into the pillow, relaxing at his low growl of understanding.

“I don’t know why I keep having them, or why they started, but I wish I knew how to make them stop,” she confessed. Greg grunted softly and continued his gentle caresses, and Maggie felt the tension and anxiety melt away. She stretched out as he stroked and nuzzled the soft skin of the small of her back. She could feel his fur tickling the backs of her thighs and she squirmed a bit. It had been longer than either of them was accustomed to since they’d made love, and as he touched her gently, exploring the soft contours of her body, she found herself wondering if such a thing was even possible anymore. Or desirable. Was he still her husband, or just a beloved pet?

She was only beginning to contemplate it when she felt his warm nose following the curve of her ass to the warm, damp cleft between her thighs. She tensed, the logical centers of her brain telling her that interspecies coupling is all kinds of wrong and against every law of nature, but then she felt his tongue brush lightly against the soft curls of her pussy. He had always loved her in that position, face down, taking her from behind, enjoying no part of their lovemaking more than when he would slip in behind her and use his lips and tongue to make her shudder and squirm with desire. She was no prude—it was a point of pride that she had few sexual hang-ups, and the truth was, it felt good. Really good, in fact. Her body told her that if it feels good, it should continue. Her heart told her that the body didn’t matter as much as the heart of the man she married, and with that on her side, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and shutting her brain off, let him use his strong nose to push her thighs apart, feeling a shiver go down her spine at the thought of letting go, and at the thought of what she was letting him do.

He parted her soft folds and slid his rough tongue over the sensitive pink inner skin of her pussy. It was long and strong—definitely not the tongue she was used to, but she had to admit that the change was a pleasant one. He maneuvered it skillfully, seeking her clit and making her arch her back with pleasure at the contact. His nose pressed against her thighs again, the soft fur on his head a delightful sensation as he nudged her legs apart.

It was so wonderfully dirty.

She opened for him, gasping as his tongue ran over her clit to her cunt and dipped into her sweet center. She moaned as he entered her slowly, tasting her and making her shudder as he went into her deeper than ever possible. She pictured him in the deep forest, his arms gripping the trunk of a hollow tree while his tongue dipped into a deep, dark hole and emerged coated with thick, sweet, amber honey. He tasted her with the same relish, his strong paws on her thighs, holding her tight, just the tips of his claws pressing her tender flesh—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel his restrained power and strength. His tongue plunged into her over and over, slowly, drawing out her sweet, musky nectar. She pressed back against his mouth, urging him on, bringing her knees up under her body and granting him every access.

His soft, deep grunts let her know he was enjoying it as much as she was.

When he ran his tongue between the cheeks of her ass in the way he knew was guaranteed to make her come unglued, however, any thoughts of right or wrong, natural or unnatural went right out the window. Only one man knew exactly what would make her whole body tremble with pleasure, and he was taking advantage of his current metamorphosis to its full extent.

She moaned aloud when he pressed his tongue against her tight ass, wiggling it and teasing her until he felt her muscles relax. Gently, he slid inside her, and she moaned again, grabbing at the bedclothes as he used his strong, flexible tongue to fuck her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt. He was in her, hot and wet, deep, but soft. He pulled out and lapped her flesh, then back inside her, using his talented, nimble tongue on every inch of her pink, juicy cunt and ripe ass. She pictured her own juices dripping from the sable fur of his muzzle in the same way the sweet nectar did he savored and enjoyed a bag of fresh peaches, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the mental image.

She was thrusting against him, rocking uncontrollably as he brought her closer and closer to an orgasm. He read her body, and when he knew she could take no more, he ran his tongue from her clit to her ass and on all fours, easily covered her body with his own. His fur was soft and prickly against her back as he mounted her, gently wrapping one strong arm around her waist and pulling her to him. She could smell her own lusty scent on his fur as he nuzzled her neck, his long, sharp teeth nipping very gently at her, the soft animal exhalations as he prepared to enter her driving her wild.

She felt him hard and hot against the entrance to her womb, pausing, the thick end of his cock nestled between her soaked lips. She turned her head to him, rubbing her cheek against his muzzle. “Yes, my love,” she said, and gasped as he filled her slowly, letting her feel every long, thick inch of him. He moved slowly with no sense of urgency, mindful of her fragility and his own power. She could feel the restraint, of the control he was using to keep from hurting her.

Maggie wanted to feel that power. She rocked her body on her knees, meeting each thrust with her own, urging him with her body to move faster, to fuck her harder and deeper. “Hold me tighter,” she said, and thrilled as she felt the sharp points of his claws dig into her soft flesh. He moved faster and she encouraged him. “Harder. Take me harder.”

His breath was hot on her shoulder, his mouth open, and she felt his teeth close on the soft curve of flesh between her neck and shoulder. “Oh, yes,” she said, and he increased the pressure, biting her just to the point of pain. “You’re going to make me cum.”

The words were still on her lips when she felt her cunt explode around his cock, clenching and convulsing. He held her tighter, his claws raking against her skin as he thrust into her over and over, harder and faster, until with a deep roar, he came, his cock erupting inside her and overflowing down her legs. He held her like that and she felt the fluttering in their bodies subside.

Gently, he released her, and she sank exhausted to the mattress. He curled around her protectively and lapped gently at the deep scratches on her hip. She giggled and scratched behind his ears in the spot she knew he had grown to love, while he nuzzled her and she kissed him on his soft, wet muzzle. “I love you, you big, sweet bear.”

Greg growled happily and fell asleep wrapped around her body.

Maggie woke to an empty, rumpled bed, the coarse brown hairs in the sheets and stuck to the insides of her thighs testimony to the new frontiers they had explored the night before. She wrapped herself in her old bathrobe and padded to the kitchen where Greg, as she’s always known him, sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee and eating a piece of toast slathered with honey.

She hugged him and kissed him over and over, holding his face in her hands as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes. She laughed, and cried, and laughed again, and finally pulled herself together to hear Greg’s story.

“It happened the last night me, Neil, Mark, and Bill were were in New Orleans. We’d gone to the game and had…well, somewhere between eight and a hundred beers each, and that was just the warm-up. We hit the town and that was when the serious drinking began.” Maggie nodded and let him finish, knowing all good stories started with a copious amount of alcohol. “We got a little lost and were wandering aimlessly from bar to bar, and then we found ourselves in this little place. I think it was a restaurant, but the details are really, really fuzzy.”

“Yeah, I’m going to just pretend you weren’t looking to score Neil a hooker and ask you to skip to the ‘I woke up as a grizzly bear’ part.”

“I remember following Neil in, and it was…weird. It was dimly lit and there were all these…I don’t know, creepy things everywhere. Dried chicken feet and strangely shaped candles…” he rubbed his eyes trying to remember. “There was a woman there. A big woman. And some men were with her. I don’t know why they were there or what they were doing, but we were totally wasted, and Neil started running his mouth.”

“There’s a shock.”

“I mean, he was bad. He was singing ‘Lady Marmalade’ and really being obscene. Even for Neil. He got insulting very fast and to be honest, Mark and Bill and I wanted to get the hell out of there. I thought Bill was going to shit himself when the guys with her looked like they were going to shut Neil up permanently.”

“Jesus Christ,” Maggie said. “You assholes need a chaperone.”

“True story,” he nodded. “I’m never drinking again, hand to God.”

“So…the bear part?”

“The woman kept the guys from killing us. She was very calm—peaceful, even. She didn’t seem offended or upset at the fact that Neil was practically dry-humping her, and invited us to sit down. She said something to one of the men in French, but I was too drunk to translate, and he came over with glasses of something. I think it was red. Maybe purple? I don’t know. It was strong, though.”

“And you drank it.”

“Seemed the polite thing to do under the circumstances. Especially after Neil asked ‘Where you keep the whores at, Big Mama Jama?’ at least three separate times.” Maggie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Then shit got weird.”

“Oh, ’cause up to now it was business as usual?”

“I know, I know. The table was full of stuff. I don’t know what it was. Bowls with dark things in them. More odd candles that she lit. Little pieces of bone and scraps of fabric and…I think there was a human skull and some hair.” He shuddered slightly. “She was smiling and talking to us, sometimes in French, sometimes in English.” He looked up at Maggie. “You have to believe me when I said all of this seemed perfectly logical at the time. Anyway, she went around the table and asked us about our fondest desires. Neil was still being a douche and I thought something bad was going to happen for sure, but she just kept smiling. And Bill, he was making jokes and trying to defuse Neil’s rudeness some, and Mark kept pinching me and kicking me under the table, though I suspect that was mostly to keep me from passing out on him, if you want to know the truth.

“Anyway, she got to me and I remember her asking what my greatest desire in the world was, so of course I said I wanted to be a Bear. And then she gave me this little cloth doll to hold and told me to close my eyes and wish for it. Then she starts shaking this rattle thing and there’s these herbs smoking in a pot…I figured it was all a load of crap. You know how I feel about religion and wishes and all that stuff. Bunk. But I went with it because those dudes with her…they were hanging back some, but they didn’t look like they were playing. I swear to God, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Then we got back to the hotel to shower, had a few more drinks and caught the red-eye home and the next time I woke up in my bed…well there you go. I went to sleep thinking as a joke how cool it would be to wake up in a blue and orange uniform, and the next thing I know you’re crying and hiding from me in our closet.”

Maggie didn’t say anything at first. “If I hadn’t just spent the last month living with a full-grown grizzly bear, I’d have you committed. Jesus,” she said, putting her coffee cup down.

“I wouldn’t blame you. I was sitting here wondering if I’d just had some kind of mental breakdown. Hell, I’m still not sure I didn’t. I don’t know if I believe it myself. I mean really…voodoo curses or some shit? Hell, I just figured if I was going to make a wish, why not go with being on the offensive line of my favorite football team?”

“I guess the spirits aren’t familiar with the NFL, I guess.”

“Or they’re Saints fans.”

“Jesus, Greg.” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “But then it just ended as abruptly as it started…out of nowhere.”

He looked down as his cup. “Like I said, the details of the whole thing are so hazy and jumbled. She was switching back and forth between languages, and sometimes it seemed like she was praying and other times she’d laugh or sing a little bit…and I was so goddamn drunk. But I’ve been racking my brain for weeks trying to figure out how to undo it, and the only thing I can recollect with any clarity—and that’s not much—was her saying something about having something I desired more than what I’d wished for.” He looked up at Maggie. “I’d have to find something I wanted more, or…I can’t remember. But when you woke up from your dream, I had a clear thought. I missed you. I missed being with you the way a man and a woman are meant to. I wanted to be your husband again, not Winnie-the-Fucking-Pooh.”

She blushed. “I guess you’re just lucky I’m a complete perv.”

He grinned and nodded. “I thank whatever fucked-up gods may be for every kinky inch of you. God, if you hadn’t trusted me last night…if you hadn’t loved me enough to be able to accept me in another form, I’d have been stuck like that forever.”

Maggie smiled and was about to tell him how much she was going to miss his ursine tongue, but before she could get the words out, he jumped up from the table. “Have you heard from Bill? Has he called here?”

“No. Not that I know of. I didn’t check your phone…I didn’t think of it…”

“Shit.” He grabbed the phone and started scrolling through his stored numbers. “Oh, Jesus Christ. I gotta call Bill’s wife. Oh man. Shit, I don’t even know what I’m going to say. How do I explain this? Oh, Bill.” He tapped the edge of his phone against his forehead. “Man, you picked the wrong time to make snarky jokes. Oh, fuck.”

“Greg! What did Bill wish for?”

“To be Patrick Stewart’s toilet seat.”

Good Grades, Part Sixteen

03 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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Tags

erotic fiction, erotica, love triangle, outdoor sex, professor, sex, short story, student, teacher

The hot summer sun burned steadily all afternoon, and by the time it was creeping slowly towards its setting, the humidity had become oppressive. The air was thick and heavy and seemed to cling to everything it touched. Janie stood in the shower as long as she could stand it, rinsing all traces of Dr. Gilbert’s DNA down her shower drain and with it any sense of confusion. She blamed her muddled thoughts on the weather, but in the cold, stinging spray of the shower, with her skin being washed clean, her doubts faded as quickly as her skin cooled. But when she shut the water off and attempted to dry her skin, only to grow even sweatier in the process of toweling off, she had finally given up, resigning herself to the feel of her clothes sticking to her body. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded wetly out of the bathroom, flopping down on her bed with a sigh.

She contemplated walking to the library, or the student union, or any one of a number of buildings on campus that had air-conditioning, but the thought of making the walk depressed and exhausted her, so she lay still, annoyed at the feel of her rumpled comforter beneath her sweaty legs, and stared at the sky that was darkening off in the distance. She watched the beech trees outside her window dance in the breeze, and she breathed deep, smelling rain on the air. She prayed silently that it would bring relief and not push out to sea.

She closed her eyes and thought of Zack, looking forward to spending the weekend with him. Dr. Gilbert was gone, away for the weekend and not around to cloud her thoughts, and as the thunder rumbled in the distance and the breeze picked up, stirring the window curtains with a whispered promise, she concentrated on making him fade from her mind completely. She wanted to let herself fall for Zack and let the feelings she had for him grow, but deep in her heart she knew that it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen while she was still involved with Dr. Gilbert.

Fat drops of water splashed on the window screen as the fast-moving storm moved in, and she lay still in the gloom of the suddenly sunless day, knowing that she should make the preemptive move and end her deal with her teacher. The look on his face when she left his office lingered in her thoughts and she suspected that it had become too complicated for even him. He hadn’t called or sent her a text, and indeed had seemed to leave for a weekend with someone else without a second thought.

That bothered her more than she cared to admit, and only strengthened her resolve.

The rain beat down outside, soaking the green lawns and making the pavement shine like polished onyx. She got up quickly and dressed, throwing on her old shoes and shoving her phone in her pocket. She walked slowly up the street, letting the rain pelt against her face as her sneakers slapped against the wet ground. The roads were empty and the leaves whipped about in the wind. A quick left turn at the end of campus and she was following the curve of the gray ocean, the breakers slamming against the darker gray rocks and erupting in plumes of white, occasionally soaking the narrow paved walking path.

She stopped and watched the waves crash, feeling the fine mist coat her skin. She loved to be close to the ocean during a storm, feeling tiny next to its awesome strength, yet able to stay just out of its reach. With one step too close, the sea could erase her completely. She was close enough to taste the salty spray, yet she would not get close enough for it to harm her.

Her phone rang, and she answered it, turning her back on the waves and pressing it to her ear, letting the hood of her sweatshirt muffle the sounds of the storm as she resumed walking.

“Jane.”

She stopped short for a second, then remembered to breathe, and began walking again.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I thought you’d be on your way out of town.”

“I’m leaving shortly. I want to see you before I go. Can you meet me at my office?”

Janie considered it briefly. “No.” The line was silent so long she thought she’d lost the call. “Not at your office.”

“Where are you?”

She looked around. “I’m about a quarter mile past Seaview, on the walking path. I’ll wait for you here.”

“It’s raining.”

“You won’t melt.”

She heard him sigh softly. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he agreed and without saying goodbye, he ended the call.

She was not surprised to see him walk towards her almost exactly ten minutes later. His head was down against the rain that had begun falling more heavily again since she’d left her room, and he was quickly becoming as wet as she already was. His shirt clung to him and she could see the definition of his muscles beneath the light summer fabric, and his usually neat hair was disheveled where he brushed it back off his wet forehead.

“Are you not familiar with the expression ‘having sense enough to come in out of the rain?’” His scowl was affected, and Janie smiled a little despite herself.

“I have sense enough to know that in your office, you have all the power.”

He shook his head. “That’s not true…”

“Yes, it is, and I don’t want to argue about it with you.”

“Fine,” he capitulated, looking up at the sky. “But can’t we go somewhere less wet?”

She shrugged. “I can’t get any wetter.”

He stepped closer to her. “Want to bet?”

She felt her pulse quicken at his words, and knew he was right. She looked around and led him into the shelter of a rocky overhang. The wind blew right past them, and in the relative stillness of the outcropping, she pushed her hair out of her face and turned her attention from the breaking waves to him.

“I have a couple of questions,” she said.

“I thought you might.

“You’re seeing someone.”

“That’s not a question. And you’re seeing someone.”

She frowned at him. “What am I to you?”

“We already went over this.”

She sighed angrily. “Are you going to make me say the words?”

His smile was not a warm one. “Yes. I am.”

“Something changed between us. In your office. I said…what I said, and you changed.”

“Still not a question,” he replied.

“I’m sick of this game,” she said, her voice rising over the sound of the breakers. “What am I to you?”

“Asked and answered. Nothing has changed.”

Janie found herself growing increasingly angry. “It has. You lost control. I saw it and felt it. You know you did.”

He ran his hand through his dripping hair and took a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. You’re not my girlfriend. What do you want to hear? That I was jealous? That you said his name when I was inside you and it hurt my feelings?” He opened his mouth to continue, then stopped.

Janie felt the pause more than she heard the silence. “Is that what it was?” she asked. “That’s it, isn’t it? I hurt your feelings?”

He sighed. “Let me ask you this: what am I to you? Am I still just the means to an end for you? Do you keep coming to me because you’re buying your grades?”

“No.”

“Then why? I’ll tell you why. Because it’s fun.” He took a step closer and she could feel his warmth even against the cool rain that was still falling. He ran his hand down her wet arm and she shivered. “It’s fun for me, too. That’s all. Dirty fun.”

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Hell, it was probably just a reflex. You caught me by surprise.”

“Surprise.”

He didn’t speak at first, and Janie could see him pull himself into control, almost as if it were something he usually kept contained and had to gather piece by small piece and stow away before he could continue. When he pushed a wet tendril of hair off her neck and let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin, she felt with regret that she had finally seen bits and pieces of the real him, but that they had been carefully retrieved and put away and all she would see is what he allowed.

His voice was low and he leaned his head in to whisper in her ear, his warm breath causing her to shudder again as his lips brushed her ear lobe. “What man wouldn’t be surprised to hear his son’s name at a time like that? I apologize for letting my reaction run away with me. Forgive me?” He kissed her neck and pulled her close. She fought to keep her distance, not sure if he was serious or merely toying with her, but his body so close to hers was making her lose all sense of reason. She pressed her palms against his strong chest and pushed him away with some difficulty, needing distance, but wanting him in a way that made her weak in the knees.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she stammered, trying to protest.

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling at her. “He’s a lucky boy. I should know.” He wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, tipping her face up to his. His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips touching hers as he spoke. “He doesn’t need to know about us.” His mouth was soft on hers, and she gave in to him, parting her lips and letting him kiss her deeply. She could feel his desire, but there was more, a hesitation that made her pull away.

“There is no ‘us’” she reminded him.

He smiled slightly. “Does that suit you?” When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “We can enjoy each other’s company—very discreetly—without there being an ‘us’.” His hand slid down her back and under the soaked waistband of her shorts. His hand was warm on her ass as he exposed her bare skin to the elements. “No demands. No promises. No complications. Just the kind of dirty fun we both like.”

He spun her around and pressed against her. She could feel him working his zipper and gasped as his cock slipped easily between her wet cheeks. His arms went around her waist and his skilled fingers found her nipples, already rock hard. “Oh, God,” she said, looking around, “we can’t. Not here. Not now.”

“Why not?” he asked, his words a low and seductive purr in her ear. “You afraid your boyfriend’s going to find out?” She could hear the amusement in his voice. “I understand he has quite a special weekend planned for you, though I’m not supposed to know anything about it.”

Janie felt herself blush and pulled away from him. He chuckled and tucked his erection back into his pants. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he said, still smirking, and reaching for his zipper. “Don’t put it back? You change your mind?”

“No. Don’t talk about…” Janie’s voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. “I can’t do this if he’s here with us. Between us.”

Dr. Gilbert laughed again. “It’s not a problem for me. But then I’m not the one saying his name while we’re–”

“Enough!” Janie said, her cheeks red.

Dr. Gilbert slipped his hand around her neck and kissed her again. His hand slipped easily down the front of her shorts, through her wet nest of curls and found her clit. She tried to push his hand away, but only managed to hold his wrist while he stroked her, her body swaying with his skillful manipulations. “If you’re able to think about someone else while you’re with me, I can see I’m going to have to ramp up my game.” He slid his fingers inside her, curving them upwards and finding pleasurable spots inside her she never knew existed.

She closed her eyes and rocked her hips against his hand, gripping his wrist so tightly that she could feel her nails pressed hard into his skin. Her breathing was coming in short, ragged gasps, and as he stroked her deeply, she could feel herself break apart. The pleasure radiated out from her clit in rhythmic throbs and pulses and she wanted to tell him to stop, that it felt too good, but then the pleasure rippled inside, racing deep within her and causing her to cry out as a second deeper, harder storm broke. She felt her legs give way, but he held her easily, supporting her as he used his fingers to coax out a rush of warm, musky fluid from her pussy.

She was still shaking, his fingers still deep inside her, when he said with a satisfied smile, “Just remember when you’re in my house this weekend, that his name is Zack, not Ben.”

Good Grades, Part Nine

28 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

complication, conflict, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, novel, short story

Sometimes when I get to writing, I really don’t know where the story is going to go. I just start typing and the act of fingers on keyboard coax the story out of my brain. And as it sometimes happens, what is teased out of the creative center of my gray matter is something greater in scope than I initially anticipated.

This is one of those stories. I try to create a story in media res, which is to say that when I sit to write a short story, I pace it like a short story. But on occasion, I’ll begin writing what I believe to be a short story only to find that it’s an iceberg, and what I have on paper is only the sharp, poky bit sticking up out of the water. And then WHAM. That big icy bastard has snuck up on me out of nowhere and now I’m trying to figure out how to alter my course and navigate that bad boy without getting stove all to cat shit. I have to slow down and that means the pacing changes.

Normally, I’d just write on without mentioning it as it is part of my creative process. I’d just smooth out the pacing, or any other details that stick or need clarification, or fix the continuity of of anything that has changed as the story unfolds, during the editorial process. But since this is more of a stream-of-consciousness kind of a dealie-o, I guess it’s a flaw to which I’ll have to reconcile myself. I hope you, gentle reader, will as well.

* * * * *

The air in the house was stifling, too warm and close already for the time of year and made worse by the crush of too many bodies in too small a space. Janie pressed through the crowd, not bothering to excuse herself since she would be unheard over the loud, thumping bass coming from an enormous set of floor speakers and the oppressive din of voices shouting and laughing over the club music.

She struggled to keep the cheap beer from sloshing out of her red Solo cup as she dodged elbows on her way to the back door. The pot smoke was giving her a headache and she felt if she didn’t get some fresh air soon, she’d scream—not that anyone would have heard her.

The slider door opened onto a back deck as full of bodies as the crowded kitchen, but the air was cleaner and cooler, and despite the cries and whoops from a game of beer pong in progress, quieter. She slipped down the steps to the big backyard, which, being unlit, was relatively empty. A few couples were curled up in the shadows on various pieces of lawn furniture and a group of guys ignored the occasional giggle and groan of pleasure to concentrate on kicking a soccer ball around without spilling their beer.

She walked past, ignoring the comment of “nice ass” said just loud enough for her benefit. She left them all behind, and as she got further from the house, the sound of the ocean took over. At the edge of the lawn was a path concealed largely by the dark and overgrown, leafy bushes. She pushed by them and picked her way carefully down the grassy path to where it gave way to soft sand.

Away from the house there was nothing but moonlight on the calm water, a sky full of stars, and the twinkle of lights coming from the beach houses that ringed the large bay. The tide was going out, and the sea air was salty on the slight breeze. The deep bass of the music was muffled and sounded like a heartbeat from so far away; in counterpoint with the gentle rush and whoosh of the waves on the sand, Janie found it soothing.

She sipped her beer and hugged her arms, wishing for a sweater as the constant breeze dried the fine sheen of sweat on her skin and chilled her, despite the warm evening. She heard a splash from off to her left and turned in time to see a boy walking towards her. His hands were in his pockets and his head was down as he made his way over the hard-packed sand.

“Hi,” Janie said, smiling at him.

“Oh, hello,” he said, stopping suddenly and looking up at the sound of her voice.

Janie smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t expect anyone else to be down here.”

“Me either, to be honest,” she said. “I didn’t think many people knew about this beach.”

He smiled at her. “I grew up playing on this beach. I used to hide in those bushes sometimes. Once, my mom thought I’d drowned. She was not impressed with either my hiding or my seeking abilities.”

Janie laughed. “So, you live here?” she asked.

“Not exactly. I know the people who own the house. They moved, and kept the house to rent to college students.” He looked up in the direction of the pounding bass that had changed tempo slightly and was now throbbing at a quicker pace. “Bad move, if you ask me. But then, no one did, so there’s that.”

“So you’re a local, then?” Janie asked, sipping her beer. “I took you for a student.”

“That too,” he said. “A humble freshman.”

“What’s your major?”

“Social work. What about you? Can I assume you’re also a student?”

Janie nodded. “Fifth year senior.” She paused, then by way of explanation added, “Studying’s really not my thing.”

“What’s your major?”

She shrugged. “Liberal arts.”

He chuckled. “Don’t know what you want to be when you grow up?”

“Not a clue,” she said, laughing as well. “That’s provided I pass all my classes and actually graduate. It’s kind of up in the air at the moment.” The image of Dr. Gilbert spanking her ass to a rosy pink flashed through her mind and she shivered, but not because of the breeze that kicked up and swirled the branches that lined the shore.
He unzipped his hoodie and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said, slipping her arms into the warm, well-worn sweatshirt.

“I’m Zack, by the way,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

She shook it and smiled at his old-fashioned manners. “I’m Janie…Jane.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Janie laughed. “What are you laughing at?” he asked.

“Nothing, really. I like the way you talk.”

He tipped his head and looked at her, smiling. “What do you mean?”

She kept laughing. “I don’t know. Just the way you say things. It’s unique. And interesting. You sound older than you are.”

He shrugged. “Okay, then. As long as you like it.”

“I do!”

They fell silent for a moment, smiling at each other but not knowing what to say.

“So.” Zack began. “How come you’re not up at the party?”

Janie picked at the lip of her cup. “I don’t know. Usually I’d be right in the center of everything, dancing, drinking…but tonight it just seems so…”

“So what?”

“It feels a little like I’ve outgrown it.” She looked at her nearly empty cup of beer and tossed what was left in the bushes. “All of a sudden. And since my roommate is currently letting half the rugby team do body shots off of her and she has the keys to car, I don’t think I’m leaving any time soon.” She smiled at him. “What about you? Why aren’t you up there playing beer pong until you hurl in the geraniums?”

“I confess I am only here under protest.”

“Who’s holding you hostage?”

He laughed. “No one. My dad is concerned that after almost a full year at college I’m not ‘making friends my own age’ so he urged me to ‘go out and take part in college life.’” He punctuated his words with air quotes. “I’m humoring him.”

“But you’re local. You must have lots of friends around still. No?”

“I went to live with my mom after my parents split. I came here on vacations and long weekends to hang out with dad. And when I got accepted here, living with dad made sense, even though he’s worried that by not living in the dorms I’m missing out on some important college experiences.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a gang shower to break the ice, I always say.”

He laughed. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“So technically, you’re a townie, but—“

“But not really. Just another noob trying to see where I fit in just like everyone else.” He glanced up toward the house. “I’m still looking.”

Janie remembered her own freshman year, and how it felt trying to fit in and find her place. “Hey. You want to get out of here? Maybe go get a cup of coffee or something?”

“Yeah, actually. I’d like that.”

They grabbed a booth at the back of the diner and gave their order to the plump blonde waitress. She brought them two thick white mugs full of hot coffee. Janie sweetened hers and dropped in a long pour of cream, but Zack only blew on his and waited for it to cool off.

“You drink it black?” she said, putting down the stainless steel creamer pitcher after he’d shook his head at her offer. “Wow. I thought only old people and Marines drank black coffee.”

He laughed, and Janie laughed with him. He had a great smile, she thought, though his eyes seemed serious. She wondered if it just seemed that way because they were the color of a stormy sky. They conversed easily, like two people who had known each other for a long time. Once or twice she found herself staring at him and felt a strong, sweet rush of attraction flow through her. Her first reaction to it was to flirt, but something about him made her curb the impulse and just let the feeling settle in her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt sure that any artifice on her part would be wholly rejected by him, and the knowledge that she wasn’t required to put on any kind of display for him was comforting, and very attractive. He was intelligent and funny, and seemed to really like her, too, since he kept nodding when their waitress came around to top off their cups.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asked. His face was honest and sweet, youthful, except for those deep gray eyes.

She opened her mouth to answer and then stopped, unsure of her answer.

“Uh…it’s…complicated…?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back in the booth as if doing so would put her at ease. “That was probably too personal a question to ask.”

“No,” she said, reaching her hand across the table and laying it on his. “Not at all. I’m just not sure how to answer it. There’s a guy—”

He nodded and gently pulled his hand out from beneath hers. “It’s okay. I understand.”

She laughed. “Then explain it to me. Because I’m not sure I do.”

He looked confused. “Okay, you lost me.”

She put her hand on his again. “There’s this guy. I like him—at least I think I do. I’m not really sure because I don’t know him that well. He’s…hard to get to know.” Zack nodded and let her continue. “We’re not ‘dating’ or anything, but I’d be lying if I said there was nothing between us. We have a relationship—of sorts—I see him and we’re…” she paused, unable to find the words to describe it. She frowned at her inability to find any positive words to describe her connection to Dr. Gilbert and finally gave up. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Zack thought about her words and she could see he was carefully considering what to say next. “So, if I were to ask you out again some time, maybe for something more than a cup of diner coffee, do you think you might say yes? Or is this thing with that guy more complicated than that?”

Janie thought for a minute. Zack sat patiently and sipped his coffee. As she looked into his eyes, she felt the similar falling sensation she got from Dr. Gilbert, only he wasn’t sitting with her sharing a cup of coffee and talking about his life. She knew nothing of him—where he lived, how he lived, what he did when he wasn’t teaching his classes or bringing her deep powerful orgasms bent over his desk. It wasn’t even a purely physical relationship, since it was entirely unreciprocated. For him, she didn’t even exist outside of his office or his classroom. But within those walls, she was most definitely, passionately his, to do with as he would.

Zack waited for her answer, not rushing or pleading his case. He didn’t beg like so many boys did, or try to captivate her with smooth talk and easy charm. He was simply warm and interesting, and while he didn’t leave her breathless and panting with passion, she was enjoying his company. His hand was still beneath hers, and she twined her fingers in his. It felt comfortable and right.

“I think I would say ‘yes’ if you were to ask me out some time,” she said with a smile.

Was she seeing anyone? Well, no.

Not really.

Keep reading…

Good Grades, Part Three

13 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

adult, coed, erotic fiction, erotica, mature, professor, sex, short story, student, teacher, work in progress

At 4:08, Janie took a deep breath and fixing her face into a mask of willing and eager sweetness, knocked on Professor Gilbert’s office door.

“Come.” He didn’t look up from his desk as she entered. “Shut the door behind you, please.”

She did as she was told and stood just inside the door. She smoothed her short skirt with her hands and tugged the hem of her sweater down, making sure the creamy swells of her breasts were displayed at their best. She frowned slightly when he didn’t stop what he was doing. Still not looking at her, he said, “Have a seat.”

Again, she did as she was told and sat in the low chair across the desk from him. After a very long minute or two, he stopped typing and looked up at her. “You’re late.”

“Am I?” She smiled and waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, just by a few minutes…”

“Nearly ten minutes. Of my time,” he said, getting up and taking a seat in the chair beside hers. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Not a very good start, Jane.”

He was scolding her, but his voice was low and even. He didn’t seem angry, or upset, or even disappointed. He didn’t sound like he was mocking her, either. Janie didn’t quite know what to make of it and she felt herself falter. “I lost track of the time.” She tried to keep her voice light, but even she could hear the note of desperation in her excuse.

“Hmm. Seems to be a pattern with you.”

Fuck. It was not going the way she had envisioned it. “I have a lot going on. I have a full course load…”

“I looked up your records. Made a few phone calls. To say you have a ‘full course load’ is a bit of a stretch, wouldn’t you say? I mean, if you attended more than a handful of lectures or classes in a week, maybe.” Janie said nothing, but she could feel her cheeks growing hot and there was something in his quiet, matter-of-fact tone of voice that made her feel that any argument was going to be futile. She nodded and tried to keep her mask from slipping any further.

“Hmm.” He studied her silently for a moment. “So. What are you offering?”

His directness caught her off guard. “I…I don’t…know…”

“Come on, Jane. When you approached me after class, you had something in mind. You said—with a great deal of eyelash batting and hip twitching, I might add—that you’d be happy to do anything to get your grade up. I’m assuming you didn’t mean attending class or doing extra work, since you’ve barely attended my lectures as it is, and just doing the regular assigned class work seems to be more than you can manage. Leads me to think you had something else in mind. So what was it?”

Janie’s cheeks burned. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

He smiled. “Wasn’t it?”

Janie didn’t answer. He leaned forward and rested his hand on her bare knee. His hand was warm and soft, and she felt goosebumps rise where he was touching her. Slowly and lightly, he ran his fingers over her skin. “So, did you come here to make a specific offer, or were you waiting to see what kind of sexual favors I’m interested in first?”

His eyes were looking into hers, unflinching and unwavering. She felt for all the world that her bluff was being called, only she hadn’t been bluffing. What was it? She blinked, but he didn’t. His dark blue eyes seemed to look right through her and read her very thoughts while his face remained passive and unmoved. She couldn’t read him, and it unnerved her. She shivered, but it wasn’t from fear.

She was aware of his hand on her, stroking her skin gently, mindlessly, though she doubted he did anything without thinking. She could smell the musky spice of his aftershave and could see a small spot on his jawline where he’d nicked himself shaving . She found herself imagining him out of his clothes, picturing him not buttoned-down and well-groomed for class but rumpled and sweating, and her nipples hardened in response.

“How about I go first?” Janie nodded and swallowed hard.

“Stand up.” Janie stood, only noticing then that her knees were wobbling a bit.

“Put your hands flat on my desk.”

She bent slightly at the waist and rested the palms of her hands on the polished wood. He rose and positioned himself behind her. He put his hands on her hips and pressed himself against her ass. She could feel him through his pants, hard and hot, and her breath caught in her throat. “I could take you right now,” he said, sliding his hands down her thighs and gathering the hem of her skirt in his hands. “There’s not much standing in my way, is there? I could slide your skirt up, pull your panties to the side and take you right here, bent over my desk. Couldn’t I?”

Janie could only nod.

“Would you like that?” His voice was still low and measured and the only clue she had to his emotions was the swell of his hard cock pressed against her. When she didn’t answer, he said, “What if I promised you a passing grade? Or would it cost me an ‘A’ to fuck you on my desk?”

His words made her shiver again. “Turn around, Jane.”

She turned and he was against her, pressing her against his desk. “I’m going to need an answer here,” he said, raising his hand and running his thumb over her full lower lip. “I need you to tell me what you want from me, and what you’re willing to do in return.”

Janie looked up at him, into his eyes, and felt herself falling into their cold, blue depths. “I just don’t want to fail another class,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything.”

He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her to him, letting her feel his need again. He bent his head, brushing his lips against her ear and making her shudder anew. “I might ask quite a bit of you, sweet Jane,” he whispered. “But if you please me, a passing grade will be the least of what you receive. I’m prepared to be quite generous, if you hold up your end of our little agreement. Is that acceptable to you?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice choked with lust.

He pulled her close again and she gasped as he wound his fingers in her auburn curls and pulled her head back. Her mouth opened and her eyes closed as she waited for the feeling of his lips on hers.

“Open your eyes,” he said. Her lids fluttered open, her face a question. “One of the calls I made this afternoon was to your adviser. For the time being, she’s agreed to let me take over that job. Until further notice, you answer to me. You’ve agreed to do anything, and I expect you to honor that bargain. So I ask you one last time, are you willing to do anything I ask in exchange for passing grades?”

“Yes,” she said, her knees weak, her lips desperate for his.

He released her, and stepped back, circling his desk and sitting down at his computer again. He looked at the screen. “You have a class at 5:30. Go get something to eat and get to class. Don’t be late.” Janie didn’t move, but stayed frozen, half-seated on the edge of his desk. “Did you hear me?”

She turned. “So…you’re not going to–”

“Fuck you? Not right this minute, no. I just wanted to see how willing you are.” He smiled. “It’s information I needed, Jane.”

Janie stood up straight and squared her shoulders, and smoothing her skirt, she said, “I prefer to be called Janie.”

Without looking up from his computer, he said, “Janie is a little girl’s name. A diminutive. Jane is a woman’s name.” He looked up and smiled at her again. “I have no use for girls.”

She fidgeted a bit, smoothing her skirt again nervously. “So, what do you want me to…do. I mean…if you’re not…if you don’t want to…”

“Fuck you? Oh, I want to fuck you. A lot, in fact. You may have noticed. And God knows you could use a good fucking. But I don’t intend for you to be late for class. You should probably get going, in fact.” He picked up his phone and tapped the screen. “I have a free block of time tomorrow at two. You can come back then.” He looked back down at his computer and began typing.

“Two?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, not looking up. “And this time, don’t be late.”

Keep reading…

Good Grades, Part Two

12 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

adult, college, erotic fiction, erotica, extra credit, mature, professor, seduction, sex, short story, student, teacher, university

She watched him walk up the aisle, not moving until the slam of the heavy door jarred her out of stunned silence. She felt herself blush at his words, fumbling with her books as she collected them and made her own way out into the crowded hallway. Professor Gilbert was leaning against the foot of the staircase reading his text messages, and she saw him laugh. He continued to smile as he tapped out a response. She had never noticed him outside of class before—had never seen him doing the ordinary things people do. He looked up at the sound of the lecture room door slamming behind her and his unflinching gaze made her stutter in her steps. He raised one eyebrow slightly and a faint smile crossed his lips before he turned his attention slowly back to his phone.

She put her shoulders back and and wound her way through groups of loitering students to the small common area. It was packed; the few vinyl sofas and uncomfortable wooden chairs, and even a low table were occupied by students relaxing between classes. Professor Gilbert had thrown her off-balance and she felt a sudden desperate need to get her feet back under her again. She scanned the room quickly, and spotting a small space between a slender boy in a hooded sweatshirt and an older guy, likely a graduate student, she crossed to the two men, putting a little extra sway in her hips than usual. The older man saw her approach and looked up. “Excuse me,” she said, smiling at him. “Is there room for me to squeeze in here between you?”

The boy in the sweatshirt looked up at her and drank in her short skirt and tight sweater and quickly slid over in response, swallowing hard and making as much room as he could for her on the vinyl cushion. She gave him a grateful smile and turned it on the grad student. He smiled back and stood. “Please.” She sat and he perched on the arm of the couch, letting his thigh brush against her upper arm. The boy next to her was staring at her, his eyes fixed on her cleavage. She crossed her legs gracefully with a satisfied smile and looked around.

Professor Gilbert was watching her with his arms crossed and still the barest hint of a smile on his face. He seemed amused at how easily she had managed to get to young men to move aside for her with little more than a sexy smile. Or was he irritated? Janie couldn’t be sure. She took a deep breath and sat up straight, thrusting her breasts out and hearing with some satisfaction the boy next to her inhale sharply. Coyly, she returned Professor Gilbert’s half-smile. His eyebrow went up again just as his phone sounded. He broke into a grin at whatever he was reading and quickly replied, then shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned on his heel, leaving the building without looking back at her.

She wondered who the texts were from and what they said to make him smile like that.

Keep reading…

Good Grades

11 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

adult, college, erotic fiction, erotica, mature, professor, sex, short story, university, writing

I’m starting a new story. This is what I’ve got so far.

*****

Janie sat at her desk towards the back of the vast lecture hall and worried the corner of her notebook with her thumbnail. She watched the clock as the minutes ticked by, adjusting the neckline of her low-cut sweater a couple of times and fidgeting in her seat. Somewhere in the logical recesses of her brain she knew she should be hanging on the professor’s every word, taking copious notes, and working hard to bring her grade up to passing, but it was getting late in the semester. The days were longer and warmer and party season was in full swing.

Sure, she could spend every night between here and finals in the library studying her ass off. She could skip the raging keggers at the Delta Tau house, or attend her scheduled classes instead of spending the afternoon on the lawn of the student center soaking up the sunshine in her bikini. There were all kinds of boring, tedious, and mind-numbing things that would get her grade out of the basement.

There was also extra credit—private extra credit.

She’d passed her freshman English Lit. class with a simple handjob in the professor’s office. One letter to her adviser and she was bringing in a solid C-minus despite not having cracked a book and attending maybe half the lectures. He was old—at least in his fifties—tweedy, and very married. Janie was surprised at how little persuasion she had needed to use. “It’s not what you do, it’s WHO you do” seemed to make perfectly good sense.

Janie squinted down at Professor Gilbert. He was okay enough to look at, if you could get past his uninspired everyday uniform of standard issue Old Navy khakis and a button down shirt. He was kind of attractive, in a nerdy, middle-aged sort of way, but it didn’t keep him from being boring as fuck, droning on about Civil War politics, yammering about state’s rights and federal authority as if it even mattered. Those people had been dead for, like, two hundred years and all that shit was settled. She frowned. History was stupid.

As the last few minutes of class slid away she put on a fresh coat of lip gloss and watched him as he wrapped his lecture up. He wore no wedding ring and she saw no line that gave one away, and Janie carefully calculated that with those Opie Cunningham looks there was no way he was getting enough pussy to turn down any offer she could make.

When the last of the students had filed out, Janie approached him confidently.

Keep reading…

Has the Sexy Ghost Story Been Done to Death?

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, dirty little secret, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, ghost story, literature, mature, novella, romance, sex, short story, sympathetic character, Victorian era inn, writing

Or is there still room for more?

I spend a lot of my writing time, when I have it, scanning the Calls for Submission in the erotica genre. Sometimes I’m lucky and find that I have a story that fits what they’re looking for with little tweaking necessary, and sometimes what they’re looking for will spark an idea.

A while back I got an idea for a story about a sexy ghost. I wish I could say I remembered what triggered it. I posted it bit by bit in the forum where I used to hang out and it was interesting to see people’s reactions to the characters as the story progressed. In a way, I think the plot was driven in part by my trying to elicit responses from the readers. Sometimes I make otherwise likable characters do awful things to see how far I can push it before sympathy wanes.

In the cheating story I wrote for Not Safe for Work, “Dirty Little Secret,” I found it interesting that as the story unfolded, that as the man in the story became a first-degree cheater with a girl half his age, the readers’ sympathy was with him. Considering that many of my readers were married women, I was intrigued that very little–if any–thought or compassion was given to the wife. Granted, I infused her with some of the worst characteristics that most of us are guilty of from time to time. She took him for granted, had lost interest in sex, focused on the kids and ignored him, valued him only as a breadwinner, and used him to get things done around the house. The intimacy in their relationship was gone, and I drew him as a man wanting desperately to connect with the woman he loves but being unable to, so in a fit of frustration, he looks for it elsewhere, and finds…well, not what he’s looking for, exactly, but some truths about himself and his life and he teaches his young partner something about herself as well. She, too, becomes a sympathetic character, and when I looked back and read the posts and the reactions, it still amazes me that a cheating man and the girl who steals another woman’s husband are both sympathetic characters, while the wife–the only victim in the story–was the villain of the piece. Of course I’m simplifying, but in a nutshell, I made something bad palatable. In the end, these two people who have done a bad thing are both still likable.

With the ghost story, I pushed that envelope a bit harder. I set it up so that a woman working in a historic inn meets a ghost who, for reasons that are still a mystery to science and para-science, can only be seen and felt by certain people, and it’s been decades since this particular ghost has had any human contact. I made him awesome. I created him to be the exact kind of man any woman would want to be with. He is a heroic figure, a bit tragic, very romantic, and I set up a love story for the ages. Swoon-worthy, you might say.

And then, I made him do something bad. Really bad. The kind of bad that made everyone reading exclaim, “Oh, no! He DIDN’T!” Yeah, he did. I don’t want to give too much away, but suddenly I yanked the rug out and left the man they really liked and the couple they rooted for stumbling and falling and crashing badly. There was serious backlash against our romantic hero. And the challenge for me, sitting here behind my monitor reading the visceral reactions and being wholly inspired by them, was how to make those same people sympathetic to him again. The challenge I gave myself was to make them fall back in love with my protagonist, despite what he did. They had to forgive him. I was going to make them love him.

In the end, what I like about my ghost erotica is that it’s less about spooky, paranormal coupling and all about real human emotion. Arthur the Ghost, despite his non-corporeality, is still very much human.

The story is all but done. It’s a full-length novel at this point, albeit a short one. Maybe a novella. I’m never sure what the criterion for length is. It currently stands at right around thirty thousand words. Way too long to be a short story, but too short for a novel which I believe is over forty thousand. Maybe when it’s finished and the last two scenes are added and fleshed out, so to speak, it will be a proper novel. Then what? I don’t know.

I keep reading that sexy ghosts are overdone, overused, and folks are bored by them. I don’t wish to be boring. But I wonder if anyone will want to publish or read it. Then again, with the appalling lack of time I’ve had to write these days, by the time it’s done ghosts might be hot again. It’s as true of writing as it is of sex and life in general: timing is everything.

Anyway, you want to read some ghostly smut? Okay, then. So, Kate has come to work at a Victorian-era inn and on her first night in the mansion meets the resident ghost, Arthur. They have an instant attraction and spend a most pleasant night together in Kate’s bed. In this scene, Kate wakes up to the all-too-common “Did I dream this?” feeling, made even more powerful by the fact of, oh, ghost sex. What happens the next morning? Let’s watch.

*****

Kate woke in the morning to the Spring sun reflecting brightly off her white sheets. She opened one eye and squinted at the alarm clock, and with a groan made a mental note to buy shades for the eastern-facing windows before the day was out. She rolled away from the windows, pulling the comforter over her head and burying her face in the soft, feather pillows. She stretched out her arm across the warm bed and froze.

She opened her eyes and looked at the rumpled bedclothes, the dented pillows, and her discarded shirt from the day before tossed carelessly on the wood floor. For a second, she wondered if it had all been a dream. She pulled back the covers and looked down at her nude body. Her normally light pink nipples were a darker purplish color and very sensitive from being sucked on, and she ran her finger over one lightly, causing it to spring to life. In the bright morning light, it was easy to see the already darkening bruises left by Arthur’s fingers on the milky-white skin of her full breasts. She ran her hands over them gently, tracing the outline of each finger. She shivered, partly from pleasure and partly from the early-morning chill in the room, and pulled the covers back up to her neck.

“Oh,” Arthur said, appearing suddenly. He was perched on the arm of the sofa, dressed in another soft, flannel shirt, worn jeans, and a pair of wool socks. “Don’t stop on my account,” he continued with a half-smile.

She looked up at him, startled, and then grinned. “Don’t ghosts ever knock?”

He shrugged. “Only when we want to be noticed. When we want to watch a beautiful woman touch herself, we stay very, very quiet.” He crossed to her and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in to kiss her. When her arms went around his neck, the comforter slid, exposing her breasts. He scooped up the soft globes in his hands, and she winced.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, letting her go.

She looked down. “I bruise like an over-ripe banana.”

He looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry,” he said, kissing her lightly on each breast and rubbing the skin very lightly. “I got carried away.”

“We both did,” she said with a smile, as she shuddered again. “Damn, it’s cold in here.”

He kissed her nipples again, making her squirm slightly as the all-too-familiar tingling in her pussy started up again in earnest. With a smile that was half-promise and half-tease, he pulled the covers back up and tucked them in around her neck. “Oh, why’d you stop?” she asked, pushing her lip out petulantly.

“Because I came up here to tell you that I have a pot of coffee on in the kitchen and a roaring fire going in the dining room fireplace, which was no easy task considering I had to get wood in the house without it looking like logs were floating across the back porch.”

“That sounds lovely,” she said, leaning back into the pillows and smiling contentedly.

“Did you want to come down and get warmed by my amazing fire, or would you prefer to take your coffee up here, madam?”

“I will make myself presentable and join you in the dining room,” she said, grinning as he stood and bowed formally.

“Very good,” he said, kissing her on the forehead and walking out of the room straight through the heavy oak door.

“Show off!” she called after him, and heard his laugh in the hall.

The fire in the dining room was an impressive one, and the dry logs crackled a greeting as she walked into the large, brightly lit room. The floor-to-ceiling windows were full of sunlight, and through the wavy, blown glass panes, she could see the light green buds on the lilacs just starting to unfurl. A small table near the stone hearth was set with a crisp, linen tablecloth and polished silver and antique china gleamed. She sat down in the heavy chair, enjoying the feel of the warm fire on her back, and smiled at the artfully folded napkin on her plate.

“That was fast,” Arthur said, coming in from the kitchen with a silver coffee pot.

“This is lovely,” she remarked. “And the napkin swan? Too much.”

He laughed and poured out the strong, hot coffee into her cup. “There was a housekeeper here once who could make napkins into the most fantastic shapes. And she did it so fast it was like magic. I used to follow her around, waiting for her to do her thing and then I’d study what she did. I mean, I spent hours watching this woman fold linen napkins, and then when everyone was asleep, I’d practice all night trying to get them as perfect as she did.”

“That’s dedication,” she said, sipping her coffee.

He shrugged. “I have a tendency to get obsessed with things,” he confessed, plucking up the swan by one wing and shaking it out with a soft snap before draping it over her thigh. “But then with unlimited time, one needs a fair number of time-killers.”

She chuckled. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair next to her.

“I will,” he assured her. “But first, what would you like to eat? I’m not much of a cook, but I think I could manage toast without much trouble.”

“You’ve done enough,” she said, putting her cup down on her saucer. He quickly filled it and set the pot down. He pulled up a chair and sat close to her, and took her hand in his.

“Kate, I don’t feel like I can do anywhere near enough,” he said, pressing his lips to her hand. “Last night was…” He paused, looking for the right words.

“Yeah, it most definitely was,” she agreed with a naughty smile, putting her hand on his thigh and leaning in to kiss him.

He kissed her passionately, and Kate felt the delightful tingles return. “Breakfast can wait,” she said, forgetting everything else but the feel of his lips on hers.

Arthur’s hands slid up under her wool sweater, feeling her skin through the clinging softness of her silk camisole. He pulled the warm garment up, letting go of her mouth long enough to pull it over her head. He leaned back and smiled, admiring the curve of her breasts beneath her filmy undergarments. “So beautiful,” he said, and lowered his head to her chest, his lips warm against her.

She ran her hands through his hair, holding him as he nuzzled her hard nipples through the thin silk. He pulled the straps off her shoulders, letting them fall on her arms and sighed as the wisp of fabric slithered off her bare breasts. Gently, he took a rosy tip into his mouth, sucking gently and making her squirm delightfully in her seat.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, giggling as his hands worked the button on her pants. He let go of her nipple and looked up at her.

“If you want me to, I’ll stop,” he said, arching an eyebrow playfully.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, leaning forward and pushing him back his chair. She stood quickly and shimmied out of her jeans, sliding them down her thighs while smiling seductively at him. She straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around him. “Where were we?” she asked, slipping her hands around his neck and kissing him deeply. Kate ran her hands down his chest, releasing his lips only long enough to inquire, “Don’t you feel a little overdressed?”

He smiled, and closing his eyes, he made his clothing vanish. His cock was suddenly hard and hot between her legs and she moaned at the sudden contact. He shuddered too. “That feeling right there is the best part of being able to do that little trick.” She moaned her agreement, kissing him on the lips before sliding down off his lap. She knelt on the hardwood floor and cradled his cock in her hands. “Oh, God,” he said with a groan as her lips closed around him.

Kate pressed her lips against the head and let them rest there. She kissed him gently, first on the tip, then down the shaft to the thick nest of dark curls. She ran her tongue along its length and teased the tiny eye with the tip of it.
He leaned back in the chair, his ass nearly off the cushions as Kate pleasured him, his growing desire making her own pussy throb and hum in sympathy. He moaned and twined his fingers in her hair, his firm pressure on the back of her head guiding her speed and depth. He was rocking his hips back and forth, meeting her motions with small thrusts of his own. Her hands gripped him tightly and stroked him hard and fast in time with her bobbing head and sucking lips.

Kate could tell Arthur was close to coming, and she stopped, looking up into his eyes. The sight of her smiling at him, her lips full and wet and her hands still stroking him lightly drew another groan from his throat. She kissed him lightly on the tip, causing his cock to jump in her hand, and she stood, her knees marked with two red circles.

In an instant, his hands were on her hips, guiding her onto his lap. He slid into her easily, and she moaned as he filled her. His need for her was intense, and the feeling of his strong hands urging her on, holding her fast while he directed her movements went to her head in a rush. He was impaling her, hitting secret spots inside her that were making her legs shake with passion.

His face was buried in her bouncing tits, licking and sucking her swollen nipples and nipping the already tender skin. Her thoughts rushed and swirled in her head, hedonistic and wild, blinding her to anything but her need for his cock and his hands and lips on her body.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing against her and breaking apart. Her hands went around his neck as she braced her feet firmly on the floor and rode his cock hard and fast. “Come in me,” she commanded, her voice husky and deep with lust. As if he had been waiting for her command, he groaned and held her fast while his own pleasure exploded and he swelled and throbbed deliciously against her clit.

She leaned her forehead against his, breathing hard and rocking her still-sensitive clit against his pubic bone, shuddering at the powerful sensation. His touch was light, his hands stroking her warm flesh, caressing and adoring her.

Her legs were still shaking slightly when she lifted herself off of his half-hard cock and stood naked before him, her camisole still crumpled around her waist and her cheeks flush from the warmth of the fire and their exertions. With trembling hands, she slipped her arms back into the straps of the thin undershirt and pulled it up, shivering at the touch of the fabric, light as it was, over her hard nipples.

She couldn’t remember a time when a man had so driven her to distraction the way Arthur did. He sat in the antique dining chair, still slumped against the velvet cushions, smiling at her through heavy-lidded eyes. His strong, lean body was as it had been in life; he was the picture of young virility and sated passion, but the eyes that watched her dress were old eyes–eyes that had seen so many things, yet they bore the sadness of one who had seen but been unable to partake. There was another emotion there, she thought, but she couldn’t quite place it. It tugged at her heart.

The chair creaked as he stood, as if to protest their harsh treatment of it. He stood before her in the window-shaped patch of morning sunlight. Gently, he put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head to look at him. She smiled up into his handsome face, and he kissed her. “I never want to let you go,” he said, and put his strong arms around her, holding her close. She rested her head against his chest and sighed with pleasure.

*****

Should I publish it? Or are ghost stories passé?

From “Photo Finish”

11 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, blowjob, erotic fiction, erotica, fellatio, fingering, first time, mature, Not Safe for Work, sex, short story, virgin, writing

This excerpt is from “Photo Finish” from my anthology of short fiction called Not Safe for Work. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. In this story, our innocent but willing heroine is being seduced by one sexy bastard.

*****

He slid his hand up her back, under her long, dark hair to the bare skin of her neck. Her eyes closed and she exhaled as he ran his hands over the soft spot, goosebumps rising on her arms. “You’re really beautiful,” he said in a low voice, leaning in to nuzzle gently on her ear. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

She turned and sought his mouth hungrily, her sweet, full lips open and seeking his. He kissed her passionately, letting his lips tease hers and seeking her tongue with his own. “You’re making it very hard for me to be professional,” he said, his voice a half-whisper between kisses.

He felt her hand slide down between his legs and feel for him, and he shifted his hips so that his erection was more prominent. He moaned softly as her hands caressed him through his jeans. He ran a hand over one of her full breasts, cupping it gently and running his thumb over her hard nipple. It was her turn to moan as he skillfully manipulated the hard point, causing her to squirm in her seat and increase her fumblings in his crotch.

She managed to get his button open and was tugging at his zipper. His cock jerked with anticipation at her touch, and he forced himself to concentrate on her and not yank her inexperienced hands out of the way. He wanted to sigh with relief when he felt the zipper finally give way. Her hand was on him, grasping his shaft through his underwear. He put his hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, not meaning a word of it.

“I want to,” she said, her voice husky with desire.

He smiled. “I just hope you’re not disappointed.”

Eagerly, Andie freed his cock from its cotton restraint. As her hands slipped around his cock and stroked him, he moaned with pleasure, half at the delightful sensation of feeling a beautiful woman stroking his rod, and in part at how ridiculously well the “I hope I’m big enough to satisfy you” gambit always worked.

He continued to kiss her and fondle her breasts, slipping his hand up under her shirt and sliding her big tits out of her bra. He pulled on her sensitive nipples, making her moan in a most satisfying way. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he said, his voice playfully light. “Because you’re driving me absolutely wild.”

Andie smiled at him, the words catching in her throat as he continued kneading the soft flesh in his hands and kissing her over and over. “You’re my first.”

Eric nearly shot his load in her hands.

“I don’t really know if I’m doing this right,” she confessed, looking into his eyes.

He reassured her, first. “It feels so good, baby,” Eric said, and it wasn’t a lie.

“I want to make you…you know…” she began, haltingly.

He forced himself not to sigh or roll his eyes. Again, with the stammering. But there was plenty of time to get her to begging for his cock using all the dirtiest words she could imagine. For now, it was all about getting that sweet mouth around his dick.

Eric took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. “You’re amazing,” he said, “and your mouth is so soft. Maybe if you kissed me…down there.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson again, and for a second he thought he’d overplayed his hand. “But only if you want to,” he added. “I want this to be all about you.”

He watched her reticence crumble as she slid off her seat and knelt between his thighs. He spread them slightly and adjusted himself so that his cock was out and she could get all of it in her hands. He twined his fingers in her shiny curls, cradling her head and whispering words of encouragement. “I want you so much,” he told her as she put her lips on the swollen purple head, his throat tightening slightly at the thrill of it. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

She opened her mouth and took him in, tasting her first cock. He gently stroked her hair, fighting the urge to shove her head down onto him and fuck her mouth properly. There would be plenty of time for that, too. “Oh, baby,” he said, “it feels so good when you suck it like that.” And like magic, she responded, sucking harder and taking him deeper into her mouth. “Oh, God,” he said, meaning it.

For a novice, Andie threw herself into her first blow job with gusto. A simple murmur of direction from him–“Stroke it…yeah…oh, just like that”–and she followed, as easily as she had taken direction in front of the lens, and she was becoming as adept at giving head as she was showing her cunt for his camera. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine what it would be like shooting her while they fucked. The idea alone was enough to cause the cum to boil up from his balls, and with a grunt, he shot his load into her mouth.

To her credit, she handled the unexpected mouthful of cum well, swallowing most of it and only allowing a trickle of it to escape her lips and run down her chin. When he caught his breath a bit, he scooped his arms around her waist and pulled her up onto his lap, wiping the bit of his jizz off her chin with his thumb. “That was so fantastic,” he said, nuzzling her tits and fondling her freely. “Before I take you home, I’m going to make sure you know how much I appreciate you doing that for me.”

He opened her jeans with all the practiced skill that she lacked. In one swift move, her zipper was wide open and his hand was buried inside her soaked panties, seeking her warm cunt. His fingers slipped inside her pussy, stroking her slippery clit and causing her to moan almost instantly. His mouth was on her large tits, sucking those big, rosy nipples and teasing them in his teeth. She humped against his hand, rubbing herself on him like a bitch in heat, and he fingered her skillfully, his fingers working her slit the way he’d worked so many before her.

He pressed his fingers deeper and deeper inside the tight confines of her pants, wriggling his fingers into her virgin tightness with every one of her thrusts. With a cry, her cunt let down a flow of hot, musky fluid over his hand as she came with her second explosive climax of the day. She shuddered around his fingers, throbbing and moaning and clutching him. “That’s right, baby,” he whispered. “Hang on to me. I’m not going to let you go.”

*****

Does Eric turn out to be her Prince Charming? You can read the whole story along with five other pieces of erotic short fiction in Not Safe for Work, available for the Kindle, the Nook, and in paperback.

From “Pottery Yarn”

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, blowjob, Cougars and Jackals, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, fellatio, mature, Not Safe for Work, oral sex, roommates, sex, short story

This is an excerpt from the story “Pottery Yarn”. It’s published in its entire long form in Not Safe for Work–a collection of my short stories–and in a shorter version in Cougars and Jackals, an anthology of short stories by different authors. Both are available at Amazon.com.

*****

His cock was hard and hot between her legs, and she could feel the heat of him through their clothes. Her own pussy was throbbing as she rubbed her clit against him and he moaned a little in the back of his throat. She leaned down and kissed him again, thrilled by the sensation of his big hands sliding over the soft curves of her ass.

She slithered down the front of him, running her hands over his body and kneeling between his thighs. With a flick of her fingers, she popped the button of his jeans open and slid the zipper down slowly, letting her fingertip wander inside and stroke him gently through the soft cotton of his shorts. His cock jumped at her touch. She put her lips to the soft cloth and teased him still more, opening her mouth and taking the head between her teeth.

He gasped with pleasure when she slipped her fingers in the waistband of his underwear and slid them down, exposing his cock. She ran a finger down its length and he shuddered, his hips rising off the cushions in an effort to capture more of her touch, but she withdrew. “Down, big fella,” she teased and with a groan, he relaxed and sank back into the cushions. She lowered her lips to the purple head of his cock and kissed it softly.

She opened his fly all the way and freed his balls, cupping their weight in her hands and running her nails across the sensitive skin. Again, she wrapped her hand around him, letting him throb hotly in her grasp.

She lowered her lips to the purple head and kissed it with a touch as light as a feather. He moaned. She kissed it again, applying more pressure and letting her lips linger on the hot skin for a moment. He moaned again. She kissed it a third time, parting her lips slightly as if she were going to take him in her mouth, only to stop and draw out the anticipation at the last minute.

She tasted his precum, salty and slick. She looked up at him and licked her lips; then, still keeping his eyes locked with hers, she licked the shiny drop off the head, causing him to moan for a third time.

She kissed the head again, then lower, and lower still, leaving a trail of kisses down the hard shaft. She nestled her face in his balls, licking him there and sucking the loose, tender skin of his scrotum. She nipped at him lightly with her teeth, making him squirm—anticipating a pain that never quite came.

His cock bobbed in the air, eager for her touch. She started at the base and licked up the shaft, running her tongue up the whole length, enjoying it as if it were her favorite flavor lollipop. Again, she pressed her lips against the soft, swollen head and opened her mouth slightly. And again, she looked up and sought eye contact. As he watched, she took him into her mouth. Slowly, he was engulfed, his cock disappearing by inches into the warm wetness.

As he lay back and closed his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, she turned her full attention to giving that pleasure. She took as much of him in as she could before letting him slide back out, wetting his cock and making it slick with her saliva. She grasped the base of the shaft firmly with one hand and while the other stroked and fondled his balls, she slowly and deliberately sucked his cock.

She slid it in and out smoothly, pleasuring the head with her mouth while her hands stimulated the rest. He grabbed the edge of the couch cushion beneath him until his knuckles turned white as she fucked him with her mouth. He was moaning often now, and his hips squirmed uncontrollably beneath her. Her rhythm was even, her touch firm, and he could feel the pressure mounting deep inside him. He thrust his hips slightly with each of her strokes—a movement that made her smile inwardly as she could feel his orgasm approaching.

His mouth was open and his breathing was fast and shallow, and his cock was hot and hard as steel in her mouth. In a half whisper, he gasped, “I’m getting close…I’m going to come…”

She didn’t stop, she only looked up at him, and as he opened his eyes and looked at her, she made a noise of assent: a low, throaty hum that told him she knew he was going to come—and soon—and she was ready, willing, and eager for it to happen.

He released his grip on the sofa and gently put his hands on her head, weaving his fingers in her hair. She felt his cock harden slightly, and grow thicker in her mouth. His balls tightened. She took him full length into her mouth, sucking hard as the hot jets of cum hit the back of her throat. He was shuddering at the intensity of the orgasm and the sweet sensation of her hot, sucking lips.

As the throbbing subsided and his body relaxed, she withdrew her mouth from him, sucking every inch of his spent cock, and releasing him with a kiss.

She knelt before him, watching as he caught his breath and tried to recover. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and smiled. “You are amazing,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

“I know,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet, her breasts swaying as she moved.

*****

To read more, check out Not Safe for Work available for Kindle, in paperback, and for the Nook, and Cougars and Jackals available for Kindle.

Eros and the Muse

Tag Archives: short story

Work Out

Metamorphosis

Good Grades, Part Sixteen

Good Grades, Part Nine

Good Grades, Part Three

Good Grades, Part Two

Good Grades

Has the Sexy Ghost Story Been Done to Death?

From “Photo Finish”

From “Pottery Yarn”