my first short story collection

Erotic Romances was my first published short story collection, including all 100+ of my stories from 1990 to 2014.


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Project Seduction

Project Seduction
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Hey, remember that blonde last night, burgundy dress, kept talking with Tony?”

“High butt, lots of sparkles?”

“She does real estate.”

“Sure, I can see that.”

“She told me she has a house with a studio on the west end.”

“By the river?”

“That’s what she said.”

“That would be dreamy.”

“She said the studio is gorgeous, big windows, lots of space.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Maybe we can sell some paintings at the Regency show and pay for it.”

“It’s entirely possible. Your new stuff is incredible.”

“You always say that.”

“I believe in you.”

“Maybe she’ll hold it for us.”

“We should go look at it.”

“For real?”

“She gave me her card, is dying to show it to us.”

“We can’t afford that. What’s the point?”

“Take a peek at our future. Besides, you never know.”

“A house with a studio on the west end by the river?”

“Maybe we can seduce it out of her.”

“Offer her sex in lieu of money?”

“Who knows? She seemed pretty randy last night.”

“She’s the agent, she can’t make that deal.”

“Unless she owns the place.”

“Does she?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“So you think she’ll give us the house in exchange for sex?”

“Probably not. But maybe she’s only selling it because she’s lonely, living in such a big space.”

“So she’ll invite us to move in with her?”

“And you’ll get your studio. It’s brilliant.”

“So is she our landlady, our girlfriend or our new wife?”

“A bit of each, perhaps.”

“So you’re okay with another wife.”

“Hmmm. I could be. She was awful cute.”

“She was. No question. She was cute.

“I’ll give her a call, set up an appointment and we’ll take a peek.”

“Start project seduction.”

“We walk around the place, make all the appropriate coos of appreciation, pretend like we can pay cash and see what happens.”

“Push her on the bed and make her squeal with the desire to let us move in?”

“I don’t see it quite that way. We get indulgent in the studio, make ourselves at home, feel what it would be like to work in the space. I mean we aren’t going to drop a big wad of cash on the place until we know it fits our needs.”

“I could get into that.”

“I’m guessing her dearly departed husband was the reason they had a studio. He probably used it to paint nudes of her before he died. You stand behind the easel. I pose. The blonde lady steps out to take a call.”

“Paint, paint, paint.”

“I strip off my clothes, nothing complicated, of course, and relax on a chaise lounge.  You study me and pretend to paint. Our new friend returns with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. We toast the marvelous studio, fully convinced it is a perfect match to our needs.”

“And then we write a check, living in luxury until it bounces.”

“No, then she kisses me, seemingly oblivious to my nudity except for the implied permission is gives her to touch me. Her hands squeeze my breasts. I suck her breath. You put a hand on each of us, caressing and holding the smooth curves of our flesh. Clothes fall away. She licks. You enter. I squeal. She moans. We twist and turn and thrust and fall. Orgasms render us helpless and we fall languishing in a pile of arms and breasts and kisses.”

“Yes. That would work.”

“She invites us to stay, to move in, to be hers. Voila!”

“Do you think it will work.”

“I said ‘voila!’ didn’t I?

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“I ran into Curtis the other day.”

“Curtis. How is he?”

“Doing well. Married. He asked me to sleep with his wife.”

“That was out of the blue.”

“Exactly. One minute we’re discussing mortgages and the next he blurts out that he’d like me to come over and fuck his wife.”

“Did you?”

“No. It tripped me out.”

“Is she a looker?”

“Oh yeah. Here I can show you. Curtis sent me some pics.”

“She’s married to Curtis?”

“I know, right?”

“What’s the context?”


“How did he want you to fuck his wife?”

“I don’t get you.”

“Well, where’s he when the fucking happens?”

“We didn’t go into the details.”

“He could be going away on business and you could be comforting her. He could be in the next room, yanking it while listening. Sitting in a chair, watching. Holding her hand, Doing her. Holding your hand. Crying. It’s all about context.”

“I’ve never thought about it. I never imagined guys wanting their wives fucked.”

“it’s probably not that common but among seven billion humans, everything happens lots.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Yeah. More than once.”

“It seems weird.”

“Sex is weird. People get off to weird things, some weirder than others. There’s lots of objectification and role playing. Part of sex is about getting what you want by being who you can, a compromise of fantasies.”

“How do you know?”

“You try to get some sense of the expectations and see if you can fit the scene in a way that works for you. A husband can be no factor, no deterrent, an enhancement or a total bar.”


“Find out if Curtis is bisexual. That makes a difference, to some.

“Yeah, I should have asked more questions.”

“He wouldn’t have had to ask me twice. Do you have Curtis’ number?”

“Fuck off.”

“Just asking. I think I have it.”

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Old Road

Old Road
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Evan smiled as he waited for the red light to change. The grey interior of the rental car smelled of vinyl, plastic and carpet, the sharp twang of a brand new automobile. Evan liked the distinctive aroma of newness, even when the odometer had already clocked seven thousand miles and the smell had come from a spray can. A map lay folded on the passenger seat. Evan watched the white headlights streaming toward him in the cross traffic and the red cascade as they drove past the intersection.

“Chambers Road didn’t used to have nearly this much traffic,” he said. Evan checked his watch. The meetings at the factory had lasted too long for his taste. He felt bad, leaving Ray and Greg on their own. Evan looked up the Pike, as the road faded beneath the dark shadows of overhanging elms. He’d pointed the guys toward the hot spots, and that would have to do. The light turned green. Evan pushed the accelerator and the car leapt forward.

The Pike lead through some of the old suburbs, and Evan watched familiar houses passing by in the dark, reading the names as the small green street signs were illuminated for a moment by his headlights.

“Ash,” he said, looking quickly down the dark road for a tall white Victorian. “Jack’s,” he said, although he didn’t quite see the house he’d looked for. “Birch,” he recited. “Cary Ann’s.” Evan grinned. “Walnut. The Broger twins.” The Pike turned and slipped down a long hill. New developments filled spaces that Evan remembered as open fields with clusters of houses and young trees. “Jesus,” said Evan. “I’ll bet Whisker’s Pond is gone.”

The old road straightened and narrowed as the town lights surrendered their faint opposition of the night. Evan glided familiarly along the asphalt, between the golden glow of the center line and a dash of white. Warehouses, long featureless buildings stood shrouded in a protective blanket of light, filling a few miles on the left. “Bragg’s farm,” said Evan, shaking his head.

Evan slowed as bright red lights suddenly erupted in the empty darkness, the lever arms of warning gates descending to stop him in the middle of nowhere. Evan smiled, gripping the wheel, and leaned forward to look down the tracks. A faint white light approached rapidly from the distance, growing brighter as the ground began to rumble. “Some things never change,” said Evan, looking at his watch. “The nine-forty-three.” The big Santa Fe engines shook the car as they roared past with a burst of their whistles.


The last car of the long train flew past with a rattle and the gates lifted and dimmed, opening the road to the darkness. Evan pushed the gas pedal down and the car slowly shuddered over the twin pairs of railroad tracks. Evan picked up speed and rolled thoughtlessly along a path he had driven a thousand times before.

A tall pole held the yellowed sign high above the gravel parking lot. “Racks,” said Evan. His heart pounded a strong steady beat as his tires bit into the grey rocks. Two tall pickups sat in the east end of the lot. A half dozen cars lined the west side. Evan pulled up beside the trucks and pushed the gear lever up. He took a deep breath and smiled. “How many times have I done this?” he said. Evan reached for the key, but the car refused to let go. He jiggled and twisted the round plastic head. It wouldn’t budge. Evan turned on the dome light and searched the steering column until he found a button. The key popped out, easily. Evan shook his head and stepped out of the rental car. The door closed with a gentle click, despite the energetic shove Evan had given it.

His shoes kicked the small bits of gravel as Evan slowly approached the building. The neon sign over the door buzzed, same as ever, and the small dark windows had the same dirty sheen. Evan pulled open the chrome and glass door and stepped into his old haunt.

“Sir,” a young woman said, looking up in surprise. “I’m sorry, but the kitchen is about to close.” Evan looked around. The room was filled with tables, each covered with a white tablecloth, folded napkins and the flickering light of a candle.

“Wow,” said Evan. “A restaurant?”

“Sure,” said the hostess. “If you want something simple, I might be able to talk the cook into it.”

“No,” said Evan, looking for signs of the bar he once knew. “Could I just get a beer and sit for a while?”

“No problem,” said the hostess. “You want to sit at the bar or would you like a table?”

“Where’s the bar?” Evan asked.

“Back along that wall,” said the hostess. Evan walked around a tall potted palm and caught a glimpse of the heavy wooden bar that had once reigned in the center. Evan smiled as he saw the scratched brass fittings and faded stain at the waitress station.

“Can I sit over at that table in the corner?” asked Evan. The hostess smiled at the older man and shrugged her shoulders.

“Suit yourself. I’ll tell Deb. She’ll take your order.”

“Thanks,” Evan said and he wandered over to the back corner

of the place. Some of the old signs were still on the wall, the tin plates and even the old wagon wheel. Evan pulled out a chair and sat down.

Evan shook his head as he witnessed the changes that had overtaken his memories. “I guess I should have known it wouldn’t be the same. Hell, nothing else is. Fifteen years is a long time.”

Despite the years, regardless of how many things had changed, as Evan leaned back in the corner, he could still see the old Racks, could still place every bit of the old watering hole. More than that, he could remember sitting there, watching Sam work. Lifting his beer, his eyes glued to the sight of her backside, round and firm beneath the tie of her green apron, perfectly defined in faded blue jeans, hinted at in skirts drifting down to reveal Sam’s muscular legs.

“Oh, Samantha,” Evan said quietly. “I even hoped you might be here.”

“Hello,” said a woman in a white shirt and black skirt, a few strands of her pale blonde hair falling down her cheek. “What can I get you? Kitchen’s closed, but I could probably wrangle something up.”

“Can I get a draught, Bud or something?” Evan looked up to see the simple joy in the woman’s blue eyes.

“Easy as pie,” said the woman. Evan watched as she walked toward the bar, drinking up the saucy sway of her full hips. He remembered watching Sam lift the board as she went behind the bar to put away the clean glasses, after closing, while Evan told her his tales of work and gossip and dreams. Sam had always listened attentively, even while she was wiping up the tables or sweeping the floor. Evan looked at the planks. How many times, he wondered, had he swept these boards, for Sam?

Glasses clinked and the woman pulled back the red handle to fill his beer. Evan couldn’t help remembering the night Sam had sat down on the bar, complaining about all the serving she did and how no one ever did anything for her. Evan had sat himself down on a bar stool, nearby, sympathetic, but hurt that Sam didn’t think he did anything for her. Sam laid back on the smooth varnished bar and Evan had been sorely tempted to touch the soft curve of her full tits held in white cotton just a few inches away. Sam had turned and caught him staring at her boobs and she laughed. Evan could still feel the blush he’d felt.

“Hmm,” Sam said, sitting up and twirling round. She draped her lean legs over the side of the bar. Evan sat mesmerized by the swatch of black panty dotted with crimson flowers nestled between her thighs. Sam put her feet on the brass rail and lifted her butt so she

could scoot the panties out from under her. Evan opened his eyes wide as she slipped them down her legs and he gazed for the first time at her pretty blonde pussy. Sam shoved the panties into his pocket.

“Kitchen’s closed,” she had said, “but maybe I can still get you something to eat.” Evan had pulled her closer and Sam lay back on the bar, her legs draped over his shoulders. He’d kissed her damp lips eagerly, tickling her clit until she came and then again.

“Here you go,” said the waitress, putting the beer on the table. “Two bucks,” she said. Evan reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing the money into her pocket.

Evan watched her as she walked over to the jukebox, the same old neon contraption, or pretty much like it. A lively tune, unfamiliar to Evan, burst from the hidden speakers. “Yeah,” said Evan to himself, “bad music never changes.” The shapely waitress started lifting chairs onto the tables. He had done that, too, for Sam, while she was washing dishes. “The pool table used to be there, though,” he said aloud.

He remembered one night when the jukebox had been blaring through the closed bar. Sam had always liked to turn up the volume after Jack left. Evan wondered if Jack still owned the place. Sam had made a small fortune that night in tips and she had been bursting with excitement. Evan lifted chairs, while Sam sang the popular tune at the top of her lungs and began dancing. Evan had stopped to watch her, and Sam had jumped up on the pool table. Barefoot. Evan stood below, smiling giddily. Sam looked down at him, mischievously, and began lifting her skirt, showing off her white lace panties. Evan’s grin grew. Sam had teased him with bawdy glimpses and then in a giggle, she peeled off her t-shirt and shook her heavy tits. A cream bra strap fell from her shoulder and Sam reached back to unfasten the garment. Evan had stood, amazed, as Sam pranced topless on the pool table.

And she hadn’t stopped there. Sam twirled, bouncing her boobs, teasing her nipples, squeezing them with enthusiastic squeals. Evan remembered standing there, drop jawed as Sam pushed down her skirt and panties to dance naked, her golden pussy glittering moist between swollen lips, her bottom shaking to the beat. When the song finally ended, Sam had collapsed onto the table. Finally sitting up, flush and beaming, she spread her legs wide and had said, “So, anyone up for some pool?” Evan had been glad to oblige.

The beer was warm and slightly unpleasant as Evan drank it down. So many things, he thought, have changed. He wondered how he’d let them slip away.


“Everything all right?” asked the waitress, as her chair turning brought her near.

“Yeah,” said Evan. “I’m just crying in my beer.” The waitress smiled sympathetically and leaned against a pine beam.

“That’ll ruin a good brew,” she said. Evan lifted the almost empty mug.

“Couldn’t hurt this one,” he said with a wink. “I used to hang out here, about fifteen years ago.”

“No kidding.”

“Jack still own this place?” Evan leaned forward.

“Stevens?” she asked. “No one ever told me his first name.”

“No,” said Evan.

“Mr. Steven’s has owned it as long as I’ve been here.”

“Did you ever know a woman named Samantha? Sam?”

“Nope,” said the waitress. “Can’t say I have.”

“She used to work here.”

“I guess a lot of people have worked here since then.”

“Yeah,” said Evan. “Can I buy you a drink?” The waitress smiled.

“Not in this dump. If you hang around while I close, maybe we can go and get a drink at the Oasis or the Marquis. They’re back in town.”

“Yeah, I know.” said Evan. “Sure.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. “It’ll be about twenty minutes. Can I get you another beer?”

“Nah,” said Evan, standing up. “Give me a broom.”


“It may be a new car,” he said with a grin, “but we’re driving an old road.”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I rapped a staccato on the white door. “Come in,” Allison called out from within. I turned the knob and stepped inside the apartment.

“Sorry, Steve,” said Allison, pressing the phone to her breast as she emerged from the kitchen. “There’s a situation down at the office and I’ve got to read these figures,” she held up a sheaf of papers, “to them so we can get the bid in on time.”

I nodded, understanding.

“It should only take about twenty minutes.” Allison smiled affectionately. “Fix yourself something to drink, turn on the tube, relax for a bit. We can go the minute I finish rattling off these numbers.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, heading for the kitchen. Allison gave me a quick kiss.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” She turned and stretched the phone cord into the dining room where the contents of her briefcase lay spread over the dark wood table. “No, June, no problem. Let’s just get this over with so I can go out and forget the whole mess. Yeah. In March we had seven-three-six-four-four in OPS . . .”

I pulled open the white refrigerator door and surveyed the shelves of yogurt, lettuce, milk, grapes, tangerines and celery. Two bottles of mango-grapefruit wine cooler proved to be the closest thing the girls had to a beer. Rolling my eyes, I twisted off the top and took a swig of the pink sugary alcohol. It was almost as bad as it sounds. I went into the living room and flicked on the television.

Time passed slowly. Allison’s voice droned a seemingly endless sequence of numbers, a series that continued long enough to persuade her to use the term “niner” with a casual familiarity. The television yielded news stories of traffic accidents on the other side of town, accusations of financial misconduct among state legislators, game shows demanding intimate knowledge of Chinese geography and detergent prices, and sitcoms of family strife as young teens snuck off to kiss before parents lectured them humorously. I drank another intoxicating dose of carbonated punch.

I didn’t have to piss badly, but when boredom gets severe, even the slightest urge is enough to compel me into doing something new, so I picked myself up off the soft beige sofa and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was mostly open. The light was on. I boldly advanced toward my goal, but just before my foot touched tile, the shower curtain rattled open and I found myself looking in the mirror at Denise, wet and naked, reaching for a towel.

I had only met Allison’s roommate once before, for a few minutes, on my way in as she was on her way out. Denise is cut from a different cloth than Allison. I’ve always dated girls like Allison, quiet, thoughtful, sensitive, simple women. Denise, on the other hand, intimidated me with her strong confident presence the moment I met her. Denise could have run roughshod over someone like me without even noticing. I wasn’t thinking about that, staring at her creamy tits, watching water drip from the tips of her hard brown nipples. I backed away slowly, never relinquishing my view.

Allison is a pretty girl. Denise looked gorgeous. She rubbed the towel over her shoulders and arms, lifting her heavy breasts and letting them fall. Placing a foot on the toilet seat, she rubbed her lean thighs and calves. She roughly teased her brown muff until the hairs formed a soft cushion of curls. Denise bent over. My jaw dropped.

“Well,” I heard Allison say behind me, “that should wrap it up. Are you sure that’s all we need? When I hang up this phone, I’m gone, so you’d better make certain. All right?”

I dashed back into the living room, throwing myself onto the sofa, my heart racing. I downed the remainder of my mango-grapefruit cooler and deliberately slowed my breath.

“Steve,” Allison said as she hung up the phone. “I’m really sorry about that.” She walked into the living room. “One of the new girls took off without closing the door behind her.”

I stood up, wiping my sweaty palms on my slacks. “That’s all right. I know how it is.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Allison said, picking up her purse. “What do you say we get out of here. I don’t want to be around if they call back.”

“Good idea,” I said, casting a glance down the hallway as Allison opened the door. “What do you say we get some Italian food?”

“Mmm, sounds delish.”

As we ate dinner, Allison talked about work. I sat quietly, eating and nodding, my eyes constantly looking in Allison’s direction, but visions of Denise danced erotic provocations as I chewed. The tales of white collar warfare droned past my consciousness to invoke the supple curve of her waist descending into her hips. Allison droned on and I remembered the tickle of Denise’s hair, darkened by water, running over her freckled shoulders. I hardly noticed when Allison asked me what I wanted to do after dinner.

We stopped at the video store. Allison desperately wanted to see some light romantic comedy that had been released. I followed her back to the soft beige sofa and listened to the teasing verbal foreplay of reluctant lovers while Allison rested, cradled in my arms. The bottle of Burgundy and plates of pasta, glazed with a sonorous lullaby of tender expressions, tempted us both drowsily into a gentle slumber.

The front door opened with a burst of white light. I started at the sudden intrusion, and blinked my eyes open. Allison mumbled and shifted to lay across the divan.

“Hey, kids,” said Denise emphatically, her syllables slightly slurred.

“Mmmm,” I said, still half asleep.

“Oh, shhhhh,” said Denise, laughing as she dropped her purse and stepped into the shadows of the living room. “Exciting date, huh?”

“She’s had a rough day,” I said, shaking off the dull throb of sleep.

“Yeah. Tomorrow could be worse.”


“When I tell her about her boyfriend spying on me in the shower.” A sudden rush of adrenalin erased any drowsiness that remained within me.


“Don’t give me that shit, lover boy. I saw you.”

“Denise,” I said, pleading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear. It was an accident.”

“Yada yada yada,” said Denise. “You stood there for five minutes watching me towel off. Got your mojo working and then some.”

“I . . . I . . . I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were so beautiful.” What the hell, I figured. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“That’s more like it,” said Denise. “I really don’t want to cause any trouble between you and princess. But I had kind of a dull night myself. What do you say we have a little tit for tat?”

“But what if Allison . . .”

“No way, bud. I don’t want to make wild with you. I need a roommate more than I need to get laid. I mean, I want to watch you do your nasty business with her.”

I swallowed hard. Denise came across intensely. I didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

“I’ll hide in the shadows while you play with your girlfriend there. I want to see you in action. That’ll make us even, and I’ll forget you ever peeped on me.”

“But she’s asleep.”

“Lift her skirt a little and put your tongue in her box. She’s a little stiff, but I’ll bet a good licking will loosen her up a bit.”

Allison slept on her back. Her cream skirt was already riding her hips a little, and peering down, I could see the puffed triangle of her white satin panties tucked between her thighs. I shrugged my shoulders and slowly pushed her legs apart. Allison stirred slightly and mumbled. I started back from my nervous approach.

“Go on,” hissed Denise.

I pushed Allison’s leg firmly to one side. She shifted slightly, spreading her legs more definitely apart. I put my lips to the white satin cloth, tickling the secrets hidden below. Allison smiled slightly and wiggled her hips. I licked the soft fabric meaningfully

“C’mon, do her,” said Denise.

I gently pushed her panties to one side, exposing Allison’s shy sex. Teasing the folds with the tip of my tongue, I slowly tempted her flower to blossom. Encouraged by success, I lapped at the moistness within.

“Oh,” said Allison, putting a hand in my hair. “Bad boy.”

I licked her juicy pussy with seriousness, taunting her clit as it stiffened. Allison lifted her bottom, bringing her excitement closer to my assaulting attention. A low moan sounded from beyond and I cast a glance into the shadows. Denise crouched in the dark corner, her panties at her ankles, and from the rapid motion of her hand between her legs, I suspected Denise was getting into the show. The white of her eyes gleamed as she watched.

“Oh, Steve,” moaned Allison as she pushed my head down harder, taking her release with each stroke of my strong tongue. “Oh,” she squealed and she shivered. I smiled proudly as I lifted myself from the quivering pussy and wiped the gush of Allison’s juice from my face with my sleeve. I then stared into the shadows for an indulgent moment as Denise played her own pussy, furiously silent.

I stood and unbuckled my belt. Allison sat up and reached forward to help unfasten my trouser and yank the briefs down to the floor. My prick rose up straight and hard. Allison eagerly began to lick my stiff cock. Denise, almost directly behind Allison, stood as well and pulled her black skirt down. Unbuttoning her blouse, she took a few steps to one side, to get a better view of the plunge of my dick into Allison’s mouth. Denise licked her lips, smiling lasciviously at me, and lifted her naked breasts as if inviting me to suck them. I trembled. Denise sat down in a high back chair, spread her legs wide and tickled her clit as she showed me her cunt.

Watching Denise vamp lewdly while Allison sucked on me nearly drove me into fits of insanity and I soon felt myself ready to come in soul-wrenching spurts. Denise sensed my impending explosion and shook her head no.

“Fuck her,” she mouthed and began plunging two fingers as if in demonstration into her own dripping hole. I nodded with a wicked grin and lowered myself down behind Allison, gently easing her face down into the beige sofa cushion as I nestled my throbbing cock head against the swollen lips of her pussy. “Yeah!” mouthed Denise as she moved carefully around to get a better view.

I plunged down deep and inspired by the excitement of my audience, I rocked into Allison feverishly, fucking with all my strength. My hands rubbed her long creamy back and I squeezed her tight bottom. Allison worked a hand below to diddle her clit and I slapped her ass with a harsh rhythm, evoking deep, hearty moans.

“Come in her face,” mouthed Denise, rubbing her own clit and pointing to her cheek.

“No,” I mouthed back, refusing to be bullied any longer.

“Please,” mouthed Denise, fucking herself harder.

I nodded in surrender and pulled myself free from Allison’s quivering cunt. My girlfriend turned to see what I was up to and I pushed my prick toward her, unleashing a sudden stream of juice over her left cheek.

“Oh,” said Allison suddenly and wrapped her lips around my throbbing cock, sucking the rest of my orgasm down. “Mmmm,” she purred, pushing the thick glob of come off her cheek and into her mouth, “you’re sweet.”

I turned and sat on the floor, stars dancing before my eyes. I took a deep breath and sighed. Allison kissed me and nestled cozily in my arms.

“Incredible,” she said, admiringly. “But you know what? We’d better grab our clothes and get up to my room. Denise could walk in at any minute.”

I looked around. Denise was gone. I laughed.

“Yeah.” I slapped Allison’s bare ass as she picked up my shirt. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”

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Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Know what I like?” asked Nancy.

“No,” I said sheepishly.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll have to show you,” Nancy said. I watched the short brunette walk away from me, her thin cream skirt swaying with each step.

Nancy had been showing me all day. Just after Andrea and I arrived, I had been sitting on the couch with Nancy’s husband, Will, watching the game when Nancy bent over to reach a packet of photos, lifting her thin cream skirt just enough to persuade me that this timid sweet friend of ours had come out to play. Her skirt was indecently short and no panties were in sight. I think the most provocative thing I had ever seen Nancy wear, before that day, was a black one-piece swimming suit. On occasion, I have glimpsed the brown shadow of her nipples through a mask of cotton and lace. Nancy’s pretty even when she’s acting prudish, and I’ve tried a few times to loosen Will’s tongue after a few beers.

“If she’s in the mood,” the slightly intoxicated Will had said, “when Nancy feels in charge, she’s unstoppable. If she’s on to other things, she’ll just frown.”

Nancy sat down nearby. I tried to control my burning desire to stare between her lean thighs. I glimpsed a dark curl in the shadows when Nancy suddenly spread her legs and showed me the pink lips of her pussy. I drank a deep stare and then looked to see if Andrea had seen. She watched the television, mesmerized by some instant replay. I turned back, but Nancy had hidden herself again. I studied her lustily, my senses aroused to discover Nancy’s erotic worth. I liked her body, there was no question about my attraction for her firm, high ass and virgin white breasts. I wanted to push my dick into her mouth, let her cocky little smile wrap around my rod. I wanted to grab her mousey hair and show her how to fuck.

“Here,” said Andrea, handing me a beer. I took the bottle and drank. My wife sat down beside me. Nancy leaned over an ottoman, her skirted bottom lifted up. I gasped at the thought of Nancy exposing herself to me again. I lay my hand on Andrea’s thigh and stroked the tanned flesh as I watched Nancy’s skirt slowly rise. Andrea slipped deftly down along the cushion and pushed her damp pussy against my fingers. I felt the wet velvet of Andrea’s cunt as Nancy’s lips glistened feet away.

Will excused himself.

“Know what I like?” asked Nancy, reaching back to rub her bare pussy and looking at me.

“No,” I said, fingering Andrea.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll have to show you.” Nancy winked as she dashed away.

I slipped down onto the floor, to lick my wife’s pussy. Andrea teased my black curls as I tongued her wet spot.

“No panties?” I asked.

“I didn’t think you would notice.”

“I noticed.”

“Everyone always notices. I don’t know why.”

“A woman without panties is living treasure.”

“Anyway, let’s go see,” said Andrea.

“Go see?” I asked, following her up the stairs.

“What Nancy likes. She said she’d show you.”

We stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom. Nancy knelt naked on the bed, Will’s enormous prick in her mouth. Andrea started to rub her pussy. Nancy waggled her upturned bottom, so firm and white, so moistly lascivious in the furrow.

“Fuck me, Steve,” Nancy said, pulling the large staff from her lips. “This is what I like.”

I looked at Andrea. She stared at Will’s cock.

“You do the bitch,” she said. “I’ll take the dick.” Andrea quickly pulled off her blouse as she moved to distract and eventually oust Nancy as first tongue on her husband’s cock. I took my place in the back court. Nancy’s wild when she’s in the mood.

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Mr. Fipps

Mr. Fipps
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Isn’t Mr. Fipps married?”

Pete finished his shrimp. “Single. They divorced about three years ago.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m surprised. It was a huge scandal.”

“No kidding? I thought Fipps was pretty straight.”

“Ha! No, not quite. He had that image but not any more.”

“What happened?”

“She left him and asked for a divorce. He wouldn’t give her one and she didn’t really have grounds. So she took him to court and won. So it’s all a matter of public record.”

“She didn’t have grounds but she won? How did that happen?’

“She was having an affair, met a guy, fell in love, moved in with him.”

“So Fipps has grounds for divorce.”

“But he refuses to sue for divorce or to grant her one.”

“She’s stuck.”

“Except that the whole things was Fipps’ idea. He instigated the affair. She engaged in the affair at his behest.”

“He told his wife to have an affair.”

“Not just once, but dozens of times. Seems that Mrs. Fipps was a randy young lady when they first married. He caught her in bed shortly after the wedding, screwing the milkman or something like that. He didn’t bust in but stood just out of sight, peeping the adultery. Apparently, it really turned him on. But it wasn’t seeing Mrs. Fipps enjoying the company of another man that made him horny, it was her cheating on him that made him wild. She’d cheat and he’d be waiting for her when she came home. Lots of sex. You wouldn’t think so to look at him but they were animals.

“A few years into the marriage, things cooled down. Mrs. Fipps didn’t have affairs because there really wasn’t time in her schedule for dalliances. Natural enough but it started driving Fipps crazy. He wasn’t going to be happy unless his wife engaged in extramarital affairs. So he told her about his obsession. It amused her, so she went along with it, making time in her day to meet a man or two. She was happy, Fipps was happy, everything was hunky dory.”

“This goes on for years. Sometimes she cheats infrequently, once every few weeks while other times she gets busy and it becomes a daily ritual. Decades.”

“So then she meets a guy, falls in love with the fact that he doesn’t insist she have affairs and moves on. He said no and she said yes and the courts agreed.”

“I never would have imagined.”

“Every office has a story.”


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