Once More

Once More
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Mary poured herself a cup of coffee. Carefully daring the first hot sip, she let the rich brew invigorate her spirits. The morning sun shone brilliantly through the pale lilacs of her frail kitchen curtains, sparkling on the chrome faucet, warming the yellows in the patterned tiles. Mary peeked out the window at the yard, stirring with the first impulses of life, and decisively went to open the back door.

The air retained a definite chill, yet after so much time spent locked in the staleness of the house, Mary stepped boldly onto the deck. She curled her pale hands around the steaming cup of coffee as she moved through the shade and into the streaming sunlight. Mary felt her shoulders fall slightly as the radiant heat at once soothed her jangled nerves. She took a deep breath of the sweet morning air, the chilled aroma of fresh beginnings.

“Oh,” she said, leaning against the deck railing and taking another sip of her coffee, “I wish he would have stayed home today with me.” Mary closed her eyes and indulged herself in feeling the sunshine on her face. “What good is all this work if we can’t enjoy a day like today?” Mary sat down on a stiff deck chair and put her bare feet up on another.

She remembered a spring day, although it seemed so long ago. Mary smiled to imagine that day in the meadows, when they had gone to Gran’s for the weekend and the whole field seemed to have awakened from a slumber with the silvery green of new sprouts, tiny blossoms of white and purple. He had held her tight as she laughed and tried to struggle free and when she had broken loose from his grasp and run, he had chased her down in a flash. Mary felt her face grow flush as a chilly breeze poured down from the North. She drank a sip of warm coffee.

The children next door came running between the houses and into their backyard, laughing and falling over themselves as they ran to the swings at the back by the sun tickled hedges. Mary felt a longing in her breast as they called out a rhyme in the tempo of their lift and fall. The older child, a boy of eight, called out insistent commands to his younger sister. Mary laughed when little Sarah refused to obey Tommy’s orders. He raised his tiny fist, threatening his sister and she squealed, “Mommy!” and ran back toward the house.

Mary glanced over at the flower bed at the end of her yard. The tulips were already pushing up their scarlet and yellow blossoms. “I should get over to the Home Center this morning,” she said. “I could spend the afternoon planting.”

Leaning back and closing her eyes, Mary submitted to the bright sunlight, feeling the heat tickle her rosy cheeks. She pushed her tussled hair back, away from her face. Rich blues and greys mingled under her eyelids as she smiled at the scent of a rich spring breath. “Hello,” a deep voice spoke. Mary opened her eyes, startled and sat up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Mary turned to look at the man, leaning over her short white fence.

“James!” she exclaimed. He looked older, but still the same, strong and firm and with a laughing smile.

“Hello, Mary. I’d almost given up finding you.” James pushed down on the thick end post.

“How did you?” Mary asked, pulling at her unkempt hair anxiously.

“Wasn’t easy,” said James. “I ran into Bob Jenkins up at the conference. He pointed me in the right direction.”

“Bob?” said Mary, absently. “It’s been a long time, James.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Can we talk for a while?” James asked.

“Sure,” said Mary, “I guess that would be all right. Just come around.” James vaulted the short fence and walked over the damp lawn and onto the deck. Mary sat up, suddenly aware that she was still wearing her nightgown.

“Nice place,” said James politely as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “I brought you these,” he said, holding up a bouquet of white carnations. Mary took the flowers and breathed their sweet scent.

“Beautiful,” she said, laying the flowers down on the table. “You’re in town for a conference?” Mary asked, blushing self-consciously.

“Yup,” said James, looking boldly into Mary’s blue eyes. “I was, anyway. I fly out this afternoon. I was going to go and visit some of the old haunts, but when I talked to Bob, I had to try to see you. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, James,” said Mary, “I don’t mind at all.” She lifted the coffee cup to her lips, nervously. “Can I get you a cup?” she asked.

“Thanks, anyway, Mare,” James said. “I’ve already had my dose this morning.”

“So how are you?” she asked.

“Good, really good. Always moving forward. You know me.”

“Yes,” Mary said, “that sounds right. Married?” James held up his left hand letting the gold band sparkle in the sunlight. “Kids?” she asked shyly.

“Four,” said James with a grin. “You?”

“No,” said Mary, frowning. “He doesn’t, well, I’m just not sure.”

“Sorry,” said James.

“No, it’s all right,” said Mary. “Brad’s a big kid himself. I have my hands full with him.”

“Yeah. Still, it’s a shame. I always pictured you as a mother.”

“I guess that was why you left me,” she said.

“Oh, Mary, I still don’t know why I did that. We had something.”

“I thought so,” Mary replied. “It hurt.”

“I know,” said James, putting his hand on hers. “That’s why I wanted to come back and ask you to forgive me.”

“James,” she said. “You didn’t need to do that. We were just kids. I don’t even remember the way it ended. I just remember how much fun we had.”

“I tell you what,” he said. “So do I.”

“C’mon,” said Mary, standing up. “Let me show you around.”

“I’d like that,” said James following her lead.

Mary led James into the cream carpeted family room, with tall oak shelves and polished brass fixtures.

“This is really nice,” he said. “A lot nicer than the place we had on Flannery Street.” Mary laughed.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she said. “Although our place had plenty of character. Sometimes I think my life lacks character.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said James. “I think you’ve still got a little character.”

“Well, thank you,” said Mary, surprised at the familiar glow she felt, hearing him tease. “I’m glad I haven’t completely gone sterile.”

“No,” said James, “I don’t think so.” He took Mary’s hand and felt her sigh. Mary missed him more than she’d let herself remember. James drew her around and gave her the kiss she had been waiting for. Mary fell limp in his strong embrace.

“I tried to forget,” she said, as his lips familiarly tickled her neck. “I’ve made myself accept.”

“Show me the bedroom,” James said, lifting her slightly.

“Yes,” Mary said. “Upstairs.”

Strong and fierce, James lifted her into his arms and carried Mary easily up the grey carpeted stairs and into the deep green bedroom.

“Nice,” said James, tossing Mary on the leaf printed bedspread.

“Nice,” mocked Mary, pulling him on top of her. His hand roamed over her gown, the soft cotton barely shrouding the full softness of her breast, the gentle swelling of her tummy. James lifted the hem as he caressed her lean thigh, kissing her moist mouth with feverish passion. Mary pulled at his shirt, fumbled with his buttons.

James drew her shift up to her waist. “Still don’t wear panties?” he asked, tickling her muff and squeezing her bottom.

“Never,” said Mary, smiling as she kissed her lover.

“I’ve missed you,” James said, teasing her nether lips with a finger. Mary struck him with a closed fist on his broad back. James laughed and unzipped his trousers. Mary squirmed under him and hit him again. James leaned back and pulled down his pants, releasing a dark stick based in a tangle of black hair. Mary struck him forcefully on the chest. James put his hands on her pale shoulders and deftly sank his cock into her wet cunt.

“Oh, God,” said Mary, her hands taking hold of his muscular waist. James thrust mightily into Mary, and she threw back her head with the blow. “Why did you go? Oh, please. I’ve always dreamed,” she said softly.

“Once more,” he said. “We deserve this together, just once more.”

Posted in personal, fiction, poetry, writing, literature, reading, novels, short stories, quotes, kindle, books, erotica, literotica, swinging | Leave a comment

Danny’s Girl

Danny’s Girl
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I lived with Danny for a year. He needed a roommate and I needed a room and I could afford the rent. After about ten months, I took a job on the other side of town, so I left. I could still pack my stuff in the trunk and back seat of my car, so moving wasn’t a big deal. I lived in six places in five years. My roots didn’t go very deep.

Danny was a great roommate. I hardly ever saw him. The place was clean. There was usually food in the kitchen. He had a big-ass television in the living room and another one in his bedroom, which was the one he watched. Some of my roommates have drunk copious quantities of beer, but Danny didn’t. Instead, he dated the way other guys drank. So when he was home, he was in the bedroom. They were pretty women, each one seemingly prettier than the last. None stayed for more than two weeks, the next one arriving a few days before the last one was leaving. Danny’s love life was in complete contrast to my own. I didn’t mind. As I said, I only rarely saw him.

Occasionally, I would hear them, moaning through the walls. It is an odd circumstance, to meet a woman a few minutes after listening to her elongated squealing orgasm. I didn’t have my ear pressed to the door or anything like that. Some of Danny’s ladies were loud. I assumed Danny knew his way around a bedroom. It was a busy place.

I, lacking feminine companions of any kind, was in the midst of a long period of nothing more satisfying than arousing thoughts and self-knowing manipulations. Masturbation is a second-rate ecstasy, but vastly superior to a bad relationship. I wasn’t ready to spend time getting to know anyone and I hadn’t any interest in finding strangers to hook up for a quick genital rub.

The computer in my room, supplied with a serious dose of bandwidth, provided me with all the visual and aural stimulation a perverted imagination like mine need to get past the build up of testosterone that inevitably overpowered my mind. I hardly felt any reason to leave my room. Why dress? Why shower? Being a hermit has never been so easy.

The living room, however, had a large sofa, a recliner, a giant television, a bar and access to the kitchen. I had never even seen Danny go into the living room, so the privacy was almost equal to my room. I couldn’t lock the living room door but no one ever opened it. After six months or so, I grew comfortable with my dominion over the living room. I lounged in the recliner in my boxers, munching and drinking and watching cable porn.

So it was, late one Saturday night. A ten minute squeal-fest erupted from Danny’s room while I was watching a basketball game, followed by the sound of a shower and finally Danny’s signature snore. The man could make some terrible snorting noises when he slept. Fortunately, our place was big enough to keep that sound confined to places close to his room.

The woman, I knew, was pretty. She had been in and out of the place for just over a week, long enough for me to see her but without the chance to make her acquaintance. There was something musical about her orgasmic squeals. It was enough to get my imagination working and I soon switch from the Lakers to some soft core, a gentle parade of big boobs and round asses. I stroked my cock thoughtfully.

She crept in silently. I didn’t hear the click of the bedroom door. I didn’t hear the shuffle of feet along the floor. I didn’t hear her breathing. I didn’t see her slip into the room. All my attention was focused on the images before me, playing imaginary scenes of seduction in my head.

She shifted on the sofa, a gentle rustle of thick springs and cotton. I jumped inside and turned to discover the source of the sound, my eyes wide in panic as I suddenly discerned the shape of another human being nearby, my turgid cock immediately shrouded in the folds of my terry-cloth robe. She smiled meekly.

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no, that’s all right. I just didn’t … ”

“I couldn’t sleep and Danny’s snoring horrible in there.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He does that.”

She sat nestled on the sofa, bundled within an oversized robe, probably Danny’s, damp hair fallen to shroud most of her face.

“What are we watching?” she asked.

“Beats me,” I replied, looking back at the television. “Some tits and ass.”

“Sweet,” she said.

I stared mesmerized by the jiggling colors of the quick edit light source, confused by the scene. Who was this woman? Why was she here, sitting in the dark, watching big young ladies strip off their garments and stretch sensuously? Did she want something? Did she want me?

I turned to look at her, again. She watched the video until she noticed my look and smiled. I smiled back. Then I noticed the robe had parted slightly. I could see the fleshy swell of her breast beneath the soft dark cloth of her robe. I turned my gaze back to the television impulsively, not knowing what else to do.

I knew, at times, the stories were true and this seemed to be following the pattern. But I was man enough of the world to know that a roommate doesn’t fuck his roommate’s woman. Sure, for moral reasons, but so much more for practical reasons. Sex can make people crazy. Never live with crazy.

If she jumped in my chair, I wouldn’t have stopped her. I am practical but I’m not made of stone, either. I simply wouldn’t do anything to advance the situation. That was, I felt, sufficiently respectful. I wouldn’t fuck my roommate’s girl, but of course I would let her fuck me.

All of this, I considered in a visionless abstract. I looked at the naked women on TV but I didn’t see them. I turned slightly to check my near neighbor, who seemed mesmerized by the images on the screen. The robe had parted slightly more, exposing the first arc of the deep ring that formed her bulging breast’s nipple. Her hand rose to cover her exposure, I thought but instead she pinched her rosy tip and widened the breach of dark terry cloth.

I returned my gaze to the television, afraid to be caught staring. As the maidens cavorted in a fountain, I suddenly realized that looking at the framed photograph on the shelf beside the television, I could see my companion reflected. Both breasts were exposed and she tickled them playfully.

My cock had maneuvered out of the robe that had only loosely covered my thickened erection. My hand came close, but every touch seemed electric, like a burning fire of arousal, so excited I had become by this unexpected scene. It throbbed uncontrollably, with every breath, with every erotic thought, which I could not escape. I checked the picture frame. She stared in it, at me. At it. She held her breath and sighed.

“Is there anything harder?” She asked.

I sat stunned as the words poured unbelieved into my consciousness. What?

She laughed. “I mean, is there any harder porn on your cable?”

“Sure,” I replied, reaching for the remote. “Plenty of porn.”

“Good,” she said with a soft moan. “I need some cock. I mean, tits and ass are great, but a girl needs to see some dicks to get off.”

“Works for me,” I said. “I usually don’t watch soft core.”

“Me neither,” she said, barely audibly.

Her feet found the floor and the robe fell to her sides, exposing her naked legs and stomach below her full breasts. Her eyes stared fixated on the sex looming large on the screen. My eyes stared at her, the living naked woman caressing herself a few feet away. My hand found my dick and began a slow serious stroke, drinking the visions of arousal in gulps.

“Wow,” she said, her hand thrust into her cunt. I looked up to find she was staring at me, at mine.

“Wow,” I repeated, unable to speak except in harmony. She began to twist and writhe on the sofa, adding perspective to my view, her gaze transfixed on the thickness rising from my lap.

“Hold on,” she said, jumping up suddenly and dashing back to Danny’s bedroom. I opened my eyes wide and breathed slowly, trying to understand what had happened. Pitter patter click. Click pitter patter. She returned, her robe reclosed and leapt back to the place she had left on the sofa. I sat up and draped my robe back over my erection.

“None of that,” she said. “Please let me see.” Opening her robe, she drew a vibrator from the pocket and initiated a low hum. “Watching isn’t cheating.”

“I’m sure it depends who you ask,” I said, for no reason. My cock stood at attention, independently presenting her with the view that she wanted. As my member throbbed, she groaned and began the stifled serenade of her orgasms. I knew she kept her moans soft so that Danny wouldn’t hear over the steady buzz saw of his snores. We could tell ourselves this was good and hurting no one, but we both knew Danny wouldn’t see it that way.

Her labia glistened wetly. Her muscles spasmed erratically. She stared and smiled wantonly. I stroked my cock and watched her thrust, buzz and crumple. My orgasm sprinkled my chest. She laughed as she fell to the floor.

“Good night,” she said, picking herself up and heading toward the bedroom. The door clicked open and shut and voices rumbled gently as I fell asleep in the chair.

Danny didn’t bring her back again. He found some other woman to bounce with. A few months later, I moved out and across town.

I have a dream that some day I’ll encounter Danny’s girl out and about in the world. We share a knowing look as we pass in the night. And maybe this time, I’ll think to remember to ask Danny’s girl for her name.

Posted in books, erotica, fiction, kindle, literature, literotica, novels, personal, poetry, quotes, reading, short stories, swinging, writing | Leave a comment


Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“I’m so tired of winter,” Laura said to herself, rubbing a red fleece jacket between thumb and finger. A wry smile tickled her face as she let a warm spring thought pass by. Laura turned slightly and pushed her way between two overstuffed racks of blouses to reach a thick ring of hanging slacks. Pushing hard on the loops of stiff wire, Laura opened a short space and began flipping the thin strips of black, grey, blue and tan past her hand, continuing her constant hunt for something.

She lifted a pair of pants, royal blue cotton size eight, and then held it beside her hips. Laura hooked the hanger over her finger and resumed flipping dexterously through the garments. Another pair made the transition to her finger, and then another. Laura sighed, wondering if she shouldn’t have gone to look at furniture instead. “I don’t really need pants,” she thought.

A flip of brown tweed revealed a black skirt, out of place. Laura pulled back the fabric to check the size and then lifted the skirt. “Isn’t that cute,” she thought and then frowned. “Where could I wear it?” She held it to her waist. “Short,” she smiled, “with my blue silk blouse and some dark stockings.” Laura’s face grew serious and she looked around. “About five years ago, maybe.” She imagined feeling the heat of Tom’s glare as he ridiculed her for trying to act younger than she was and started to put the skirt back. “Honestly, Laura,” she said to herself, “he’s never done that.” She hooked the skirt’s hanger onto her finger and looked around the clothed walls to find the fitting room.

Weaving her way between overstuffed racks, Laura finally reached the back corner of the department and looked around for some guidance. Walking past a large mound of unfolded clothes and a box overflowing with clear plastic hangers, she pulled the knob of a white slatted door. Laura stepped into the empty square space and tossed her purse and shopping bag on a upholstered box bench. Hanging up her goods, she closed the door.

A large mirror filled the wall. Laura smiled at her reflection as she took off her coat and hung it beside the pants and black skirt. “I still look good,” she thought, turning her hips slightly to study the feminine curves of her body. Watching herself, Laura unbuckled the small brass buckle and unclasped her pants. The beige fabric slid down her thighs and fell into folds at her feet. Lifting up the slacks with her toe, Laura folded and then laid them over her purse. She took another glance at herself in the mirror as she loosened the hug of her cream lace panties. Laura smiled, shyly.

“Come here,” she heard a younger woman say in a deliberate but hushed voice. Laura looked back at the still closed door. “C’mon,” the girl said, slightly exasperated. Laura looked up to realize the walls ended at about eight feet, leaving four more between the cubicle top and the ceiling. Laura reached for the royal blue pants and began to step into them. Another door clicked shut.

“Sit down,” the girl said. Laura closed the waist of the pants and turned to see her bottom in the mirror. “C’mon,” said the voice from behind the glass. Laura stroked the fabric down the back of her thigh. The pants hung shapelessly.

“Am I going to get in trouble?” a deeper voice asked. Laura opened her mouth, astonished.

“She’s got a guy in there,” Laura thought, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

“Yes, you are,” teased the girl. “Now sit down. I’ve got to pick out something for Jack’s party. This is easier and they don’t care.”

Laura slipped off the royal blues and tossed them toward the corner. Pulling a grey pair from the hanger, she leaned over to step into them.

“This is sexy,” the man said. Laura grinned as she pulled on the pants. “You look great.”

“You like?” the girl asked. “Let me put on a dress now.”

Laura turned to look at the pants in the mirror, grinning. “These look pretty good,” she thought. She turned and stood on her toes, pressing the fabric over her bottom. “Nice,” she thought.

“What do you think?” the girl asked.

“That’s great,” the deeper voice replied.

Laura turned again, trying to decide. “The sweater clashes,” she thought and pulled the brown wool over her head. She shook slightly with a sudden chill, jiggling the creamy flesh of her full breasts in their lace encasement.

“I like that a lot,” he said. The girl squealed softly.

“Sit down and let me try another one,” she ordered. Laura nodded to herself and took off the grey pants. “If you don’t sit down, I’m going to scream for help.”

“I’ll tell them you dragged me in here.”

“Who do you think they’ll believe?” she asked gaily. “The big brute or the naked girl?”

“Depends on the jury,” he said, his voice low, almost threatening.

Laura took down the skirt and stepped into it. The fabric squeezed her hips tightly as she shimmied the black cylinder up toward her waist. She wiggled as she worked into the snug hold. “I can’t,” Laura thought, grinning lewdly. “They’re indecent.”

“Wow,” the man said. “You look great.”

“You like?” she asked.

“Wow,” he repeated.

Laura turned to look at herself from behind. “Naughty,” she thought. She bent a little at the waist and caught a glimpse of her panties. “Tom would just die.”

“Scott,” the girl said, the words emphatic and muffled. “What are you . . . ?”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Laura paused. She stood still and stared breathlessly at her own smiling reflection, waiting as the sound of restless motion behind the mirror grew serious. Listening attentively, Laura watched as her nipples tightened beneath the cream lace of her bra.

“Wait,” the girl said. “Let me get . . . .” Her words were interrupted by another jostling and the clang of a hanger.

“There,” he said. “Now just . . . .” The girl moaned sharply. Laura watched herself as she unconsciously lifted the hem of the black skirt and gently touched the crotch of her panties.

“Damn, Scott,” the girl said between breaths, “your dick is so fucking big.” Laura whimpered and pushed her fingers underneath the cream lace.

“You like that, don’t you” he growled. “You like my big dick?”

“Yes,” the girl said, emphatically. “Give it to me.”

Laura rubbed herself furiously, watching herself in the mirror, listening as flesh began to slap flesh in a steady rhythm. Laura opened her mouth as the electric shocks of excitement rippled through her and she felt her knees go weak.

“Damn,” the girl said, “fuck.”

Laura pulled the black skirt up to her waist and pushed her panties down her thighs. Turning, she leaned back against the mirror, pushing her bare ass against the glass. The wall shuddered slightly with each fleshy smack from beyond. Feeling their fuck bouncing steadily against her, excitement poured from Laura’s pussy, drenching her diddling fingers.

“Oh God,” the girl moaned, “give me that cock.”

“Give me that cock,” Laura whispered.

“Aargh,” bellowed the man and the rhythm of his blows intensified and then broke. Laura breathed deeply, on fire with her excitement. The other room quieted with gentle murmurs and kisses and lightly squealed ‘oohs’. Laura closed her eyes and finally pushed herself forward. Hiking up her panties, she smiled to see the half-moon imprint of her bottom on the glass. A shudder coursed her body, leaving Laura smiling wickedly.

She watched her reflection as she danced a few provocative turns in the tight, short skirt. “Too naughty,” Laura said softly and peeling off the skirt, she quickly dressed and left, leaving the navy blues and fashionable greys in a heap in the corner of the room.

The clerk at the register, a young dark haired woman, stood behind the counter folding sweaters. Laura plopped the black skirt down with a delighted smile.

“I am so tired of winter,” the clerk said, pushing aside the pile of thick knitted wool.

“I think spring will be here soon,” said Laura, dreamily.

“Did you find everything you need?” asked the clerk.

“Absolutely not,” said Laura, almost laughing, “but I have a good start.”

“We have some new blazers on sale.” The clerk folded the black skirt and found the price tag.

“Nope,” said Laura. “I’ve got more casual shopping in mind.”

“Can I put this on your Hechts card?”

“Sure,” said Laura, suddenly distracted as a couple walked past the register. Her eyes fixed on the bulging crotch of the young man’s jeans. “I’ll take one of those,” Laura said, almost to herself. The clerk smirked.

“I think we’re out, but I can order one for you,” the clerk said, her voice low. They laughed.

“What I really need is some new lingerie,” said Laura.

“Ours is upstairs, to the right. If you want something, you know, spicy, go up to Rudolph’s on the top floor over by Lechters. They have great stuff.” The clerk winked.

“Yes,” said Laura. “I think spring is on the way.” She signed the draft and took her package. “Upstairs?”

“By Lechters and The Movie House.”

“Thanks,” said Laura. Walking saucily down the wide aisle, she stopped to feel the fabric of a low cut black blouse. “Maybe I should try this on,” Laura said, laughing to herself.


Posted in books, erotica, fiction, kindle, literature, literotica, novels, personal, poetry, quotes, reading, short stories, swinging, writing | Leave a comment

On a Long Drive

On a Long Drive
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Do it,” I said. “I dare you.”

I glanced over at Ellen to catch a glimpse of the lust smoldering in her big blue eyes. We had been driving down the lonely highway for almost four hours, and had exhausted our stores of conversation somewhere after Eldorado. A semi rolled down the road ahead of us, the only vehicle we had encountered in over twenty minutes.

“But . . . ,” Ellen said. Heavy breathing weakened her voice into silence.

“He’s probably falling asleep at the wheel. Wake the poor guy up with some titty It’ll be a rush.”

“But . . . ,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“I’ll pull up alongside him. You flash him your boobs and we’ll zoom off into the next county. No big deal. Just naughty games to pass the time.”

Hearing a soft whimper, I stole another peek at my wife. Ellen stared at me vacantly as she fondled the stiff nipple jutting into the cotton of her pale green shirt. I accelerated, bringing the truck within striking distance.

“What the hell,” Ellen said.

“You’re so fucking hot,” I said, changing lanes and slowly creeping closer to the cab. Ellen bit her lip and smiled painfully. The scent of her musk filled the car. She turned toward the window and lifted her t-shirt, exposing her dark-tipped cream melons. I matched the truck’s speed so we were relatively motionless for thirty seconds. The sudden blast of an air horn roared over the plains. I punched the gas and we tore away.

“Ohmigod,” said Ellen, falling back into her seat for a moment. She pulled the t-shirt up over her head and then squeezed her big tits hard. “Did you see that?” she asked, looking back at the receding truck. “He’s great.”

“You bad girl,” I said, my cock throbbing painfully.

“Slow down,” she said. I lifted my right foot and let the car coast down from ninety. The trucker quickly cut into the distance I had only just established. Raising her eyebrows over a naughty grin, Ellen stuck her head and arms out the window and shook her bare breasts at the trucker, whooping with excitement in the mad rush of wind. The air horn blared in energetic appreciation.

Reaching over, I lifted Ellen’s skirt and fondled her pantied

ass while she urged the trucker back alongside us. Pressing a finger between my wife’s thighs, I found her drenched with excitement. Ellen pulled herself back inside the car, her hair as wild as the look in her eyes. Leaning over to give me a kiss, Ellen pushed her bottom toward the open window. The raging horn shook the meadows as Ellen pulled her panties down.

“I’m so fucking hot,” she said with a gasp. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Tramp,” I said, working my hand down to squeeze one of her tits.

“Give me your cock,” she said in a husky tone that compelled me into action. I fumbled with my jeans, trying at the same time to control the car’s speed and direction. Ellen fingered her wet cunt as I struggled, and the truck roared beside us. After some difficult contortions, I managed to work my steely prick free. Ellen kissed my staff hungrily and wiggled her behind. The horn trumpeted our excitement over the vast plains.

Despite the awkward position, Ellen managed to push my cock deep into her mouth, her backside still aimed out the passenger side. I tried my best to concentrate on the road and keep our speed steady while my prick was being devoured by my ravishing, ravenous blonde wife. The truck suddenly leapt forward and I looked up to see a handsome young trucker leering down through our broad windshield. He shouted enthusiastic encouragements as Ellen licked my rod. I gave him a thumbs up and he pulled on his horn.

“You want to fuck him?” I said. Ellen groaned and sucked. “There’s a rest stop up ahead.” Ellen lifted her head from beneath the steering wheel and licked her lips.

“Really?” she asked.

“Two miles. Get back in your seat and let’s cruise through.”

“I need fucking,” Ellen said, rubbing her clitoris eagerly.

I dashed ahead of the truck and turned on my signal to indicate our intentions. A few seconds later, a large yellow bulb on the right side of the cab began to blink. We turned into the exit and slowed.

<= Trucks : Cars =>

I veered to the right, winding down the driveway of the rest stop. A family ate their lunch at a grey picnic table. Four cars sat parked in front of a well-trimmed brown cabin. A highway patrolman leaned against his cruiser.

“Get down,” I said. Ellen had anticipated my concern and was already laying low. I continued on past the road’s resting travelers and

curled back toward the highway. Ellen pinched her stiff nipples and started laughing out loud.

“You mad fucker,” she said as I sped back down the ramp. “Let’s find a motel. I can’t take any more driving.”

“I’m with you,” I said, struggling to breathe as my heart shuddered in my chest. “Vixen.” The road soon stretched out empty before us. I smiled at my wife lecherously as the long blast of an air horn rumbled in the distance, the blare of a grateful trucker wailing a goodbye.

Posted in books, erotica, fiction, kindle, literature, literotica, novels, personal, poetry, quotes, reading, short stories, swinging, writing | Leave a comment


Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I sell shoes. It’s a totally weird job but I’ve been doing it for years and I’m pretty good at it. And it pays commission so I can rake in a good paycheck with minimum effort. I figure it will pay my way through college and then maybe I’ll open a shoe store. I’m damn good at selling shoes.

I’m not a foot fetishist but I have a good eye for footwear. I am kind and patient and honest with my customers and it has proven to be a winning strategy. I draw people too me. Mostly women. And I like the ladies.

One of the weirdest parts of the job is when women use me as a sex object in exhibitionist play. They shop for shoes in short skirts and reveal their panties or their cooch in quick flashes as I kneel between their knees fitting shoes to their stockinged feet. They breath deep or giggle and usually rush out of the store without another word. The come in all sizes and ages and degrees of sexual attractiveness.  More than once, the peek has been a real pleasure for me. Much more often, not.

I’ve dated several women over the past year but one of the relationships was really hot and then really volatile. She was super sexy and loads of fun but once we started fighting, there was no helping us. I broke it off and she took it badly in a vicious circle of passion. She was on the other side of town, so I was able to stay away and had been able to move on.

“Ding, ding,” said the chime and I went into my shoe selling role instinctively.

“Hey, Kyle,” she said.

“Hey, Janna.”

“I need some shoes,” she said.

“Everyone does,” I replied on autopilot.

“I have a date later. I need some shoes to go with this dress.”

I took a long look at the dress. It was short, more of a long shirt than a dress. It fit her really well.  I couldn’t remember why I stopped dating her. I led her across the store and showed her three pairs of shoes, each a perfect accompaniment to her dress.

I fetched six boxes, a variety of sizes and colors to start with. Janna sat down and I pulled a short stool in front of her, took my place at her feet. I rubbed her feet for a brief second, a sales technique that got away from me. She giggled and I prepared the first shoe.

Her knee swung out and back again and I caught a glimpse of shadowy flesh. Good Lord, Janna, I thought, not here, not now. Old man Walters made some noise in the back, probably kicked a stack of boxes. The storeroom was crowded, getting ready for the holidays. Walters emerged from the back, ready to command some help when he saw I was with a customer. At least Janna was good for that.

She stood up to walk around in the shoes. Standing by the slanted mirror, she lifted her skirt to admire her legs. I caught a glimpse of her snatch. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Janna,” I said as I changed out the shoes. “I’ll sell you shoes but I’m done with you.”

“Shoes,” she said. “I just need shoes.”

She kept her knees apart, almost awkwardly wide as I fastened one pump and then the other. Her pubes were beautifully shorn; her lips just slightly swollen. Erotic but not yet vulgar. A tiny glistening drop of dew appeared along the crease, melting into a spreading sheen. I took a deep breath and she took another stroll in the next candidates.

“How do they feel?”

“Fantastic. I think I liked the first pair better.”

“I thought you might.”

“I miss you, Kyle.”

“I wish I could, Janna, but I don’t.”

“We were good together.”

“No, Janna. We were bad.”

As I took off her shoes, she played with herself, moistening a finger in her mouth and then gently rubbing her naked clit while I worked a buckle. She penetrated herself while I pushed a shoe past her heel. Walker peeked out from the back again and quickly disappeared. She sucked on her finger again when I told her to give this pair a try.

“I’ll wear this pair out,” she said. “I’m already late for my date.”

I wrote up her sale. She wrote her phone number down.

“Call me,” she said.”

“No, no, no. It’s been fun but I won’t.”

“Oh well,” she said. “I may need new shoes tomorrow.”

Every day, she comes in. Every day she buys shoes.

It’s a weird, weird, weird job.

Posted in books, erotica, fiction, kindle, literature, literotica, novels, personal, poetry, quotes, reading, short stories, swinging, writing | Leave a comment

One of Those Nights

One of Those Nights
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

“Excuse me for a minute,” Grant said, touching Janet’s arm and bending close. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Sure,” said Janet gaily, sending him off with a provocative smile. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Watching his broad green back weave through the crowd, she nodded. “Ooh, he is just so fine,” she said softly, shivering slightly.

‘Hey, Janet,” said Rob, stepping into the empty space beside her.

“Hi, Rob,” she said, still following Grant’s progress across the room.

“Great party,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah,” said Janet, finally giving up her quarry as lost and turning to face Rob. “Shelley always has great parties.”

“I was hoping that Deidre would be here. You haven’t seen her, have you?” Rob asked, a sorry look in his eyes. Janet leaned against the wall and turned her head slightly.

“I think Deedee’s in Florida,” she said. “Shelley said her family always flies down for the holidays.”

“Oh,” said Rob. He shook his empty drink, rattling the ice cubes and lifted the glass to drain a few drops.

“Hey,” said Janet, smiling suddenly at the morose young man, “have you met my roommate?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Rob.

“You should,” said Janet. “She’s a quiet girl, but really great. I had to drag her downstairs. Parties aren’t really her thing, but I think she’d forgive me if I introduced her to someone like you.”

“Okay,” said Rob, shaking his glass. “I don’t mind.”

“She’s really smart,” said Janet. “I’ll bet you two would have loads in common. Come with me.” Taking hold of Rob’s hand, Janet began to lead him through the crowd in the living room, back toward the kitchen. Rob followed compliantly.

“Well,” said Janet. “I wonder where she’s wandered off to.” A tall woman with bushy brown hair pulling a warm tray of puffs from the oven stood up. “Monica,” asked Janet, “have you seen Allison?”

Monica looked back quizzically.

“About this tall, light brown hair, skinny, glasses. She was with me at Carol’s shower.”

“No,” said Monica. “I don’t think so.”

“Thanks.” Janet turned back to Rob. “I wouldn’t be surprised

if she snuck back upstairs. Anyway, if I see her, I’ll introduce you to her.”

“Sure,” said Rob, grabbing a warm puff. He juggled it gingerly before popping it into his mouth. Janet slipped past Monica, touching the tall woman gently on the back as she did. “Excuse me,” she said, moving into the dim light of the dining room.

“Janet!” called Shelley, seated on a goldenrod sofa. “Come see my pictures from Cancun.” Shelley shifted down the cushion slightly, making a little room for her friend. Janet sat obediently and looked at the color photographs of Shelley at the beach.

“Here we are getting ready to go out scuba diving,” said Shelley pointing. “It was so warm. I miss the warmth.”

“I do too,” said Frank, “but I’m going skiing next weekend. Just have to make the best of it, I always say.” Janet looked past Frank, toward the front hall, catching a glimpse of a dark green shirt.

“Here’s the boat we went on,” said Shelley, giggling. “See that guy?”

“Excuse me a moment,” said Janet, rising.

“Right after I took this picture, he fell in. It took two of them to pull him out.”

“Ellen,” Janet hissed as she turned the corner past the front hall. “Did Grant leave?”

“Was he the tall one?”

“Green shirt, dark curls, gorgeous.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ellen. “He just left.”

“Shit!” said Janet. She opened the door and looked along the diagonal patterns of the bare hallway. She considered, for a brief moment, running down to see if he was still waiting for an elevator, but closed the door instead.

Retreating to the kitchen, downhearted, Janet fixed herself a drink and soon found herself reliving Shelley’s entire two week excursion to Cancun.

“Well,” she said sadly, “I guess I’d better call it a night.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Shelley in a sing-song voice, slightly delirious with the success of her party.

“Sure, Shell. See you around.”

Janet walked the long hallway and took the short ride upstairs where she walked an identical hallway and unlocked the door.

“Allison probably had a better night than I did,” Janet said and smirked. “That’d be a first,” she said quietly, flipping on the light. Allison’s jacket lay neatly over the arm of the wicker chair. “I’ll bet she didn’t stay twenty minutes,” Janet sighed.


A border of pale light surrounded Allison’s bedroom door and Janet nodded. She considered knocking on the door, to let Allison know she had made it home all right, but shook her head and went into her own room. Janet sighed, deciding she couldn’t really bear a late night chat with Allison who would undoubtedly be full of analytical insight and plain good sense. “Besides,” murmured Janet, “she’d find out I had a miserable time and then she’d feel even more superior. Might as well let her think I had a great time.”

Janet stripped off her dress and quickly pulled her flannel nightgown over her head, shivering in the cool night air. “Oh, Grant,” she said, lying down under her covers. “You would have kept me warm.” Janet clutched her pillow and closed her dark eyes.

A murmur behind her head caught Janet’s attention. She leaned up on her arms and listened carefully. Janet heard a slight moan and smiled. “I hope the little mouse didn’t have too much to drink,” she thought. Another soft sound was soon followed by the squeak of a bed spring and another and then a gentle rainfall of creaks.

“That little vixen,” said Janet, smiling. “Who would have believed it?” A loud moan, distinctly Allison’s, sounded clearly through the wall. Janet sat up in her bed and pressed an ear against the wall.

“Oh, fuck,” Allison said, short of breath. “Fuck me.”

“Where did she learn such language?” whispered Janet. She felt her nipples tighten and the slight charge of arousal.

“Hmph,” groaned Allison as the rhythmic slaps increased their pace. “give . . . me . . . that . . . cock,” she said between creaks. Janet stifled a laugh.

“I wonder if Rob found her,” she smirked. “I never would have pegged him to move so fast. Sounds like he knows his business, though.”

“Yes,” said Allison, eagerly, “harder, please, push that big stick inside me.” A loud squeal erupted from behind the wall.

“Go, girl,” said Janet, lifting her gown and touching her damp clitoris. Bodies moved over the bed and Janet rubbed herself fast when she heard a male groan.

“I wonder,” Janet said and slowly crept off her bed. On the tips of her toes, she made her way to the door and slowly opened it, nervous of creaking the hinges. She stepped into the dark hallway.

His groans grew forceful. “Suck my dick,” he said, his tone hushed but the words came sharply, articulated. Allison’s door was slightly ajar. Janet brought her face to the crack.


His back to the door, the tall, strongly muscled man stood naked, his untanned ass gleaming in the yellow light beside the rumpled bed. Allison’s china white hands reached around to squeeze the sculptured hard bottom, driving his prick deeper into her mouth.

“Grant!” Janet hissed quietly. At once, he turned to look at the door and smiling, Grant winked. Janet reeled backwards, away from the door and in a leap found her way back into her bed. Clutching the covers to her neck, she frowned, her heart beating an allegro.

“Next time,” Janet said, as Grant’s orgasmic moans thundered through the headboard. “I just should have stayed home.”


Posted in books, erotica, fiction, kindle, literature, literotica, novels, personal, poetry, quotes, reading, short stories, swinging, writing | Leave a comment

Bad Sex

Bad Sex
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Ben looked up from his book, a thick black Penguin with age tinted pages. The silver bus, a dusty behemoth with black tinted windows and a guttural engine, pulled into the small station drive.

“There she is,” said a man to his wife. Ben turned to look at the couple, the only other people waiting for the bus. The silver-haired man looked at his watch and then pulled their tickets from his jacket pocket. The wife, a small, tight-lipped woman, held a big orange bag with a hug in her lap. “C’mon, Beth,” said the man, rising. The woman stood slowly, trembling slightly.

Ben closed his book and pushed it into his jean pocket. Diesel fumes belched into the stale summer air as the driver shut off the engine. Ben coughed and stood up, stretching his long limbs high toward the pale blue sky. The sun blazed over the gas station building across the street, starting the early morning with a bright stroke of heat. The driver, a sturdy serious looking man in a blue cotton shirt, opened the door of the bus with a pneumatic rush and stepped out. The couple stood waiting at the bottom.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the driver said. “We’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.” Clipboard in hand, he walked into the station. Ben watched the driver pour a cup of coffee before he leaned over the counter to speak with the big red-headed woman. Ben walked down toward the street, away from the thick blue-grey cloud of hovering smoke.

“I’m going to be in that trap long enough,” he said, squinting as the sunshine bit his eyes. “No reason to rush in.” The grey-haired man helped Beth mount the steps into the bus. Ben looked down the long empty road. “Damn,” he said. “I’ll be glad to get out of here.”

“All right,” the driver said loudly. Ben turned to see him wave. Walking back up the drive, he pulled the old book from his back pocket and clutched it familiarly. The tall silver bus roared to life. Ben lifted a foot up on the black rubber mat as the machine shuddered. “Ready to roll?” asked the driver with a smile.

“Let’s lose this place,” said Ben, climbing into the dark, cool cabin. “Next stop, Paradise.” The driver chuckled and closed the door behind him.

The couple sat in the third row back on the right, behind the driver, close enough to see the road and far enough to have some privacy. Ben nodded to the man as he passed and kept moving down the aisle until he reached the very back. Plopping down on the bluish-grey seat, Ben leaned back and ceremoniously opened his book. At least, he thought, there would be plenty of time to read.

Ben quickly lost himself in the tale of old Russia as the dusty American plains rolled past the tinted windows. The heat of the day slowly infected the faintly cooled cabin of the bus until Ben could feel his t-shirt begin to cling to his chest. He sat up and looked out the window. Flat fields stretched out for miles, broken only by the rhythmic cycle of three oil pumps and a thin line of oaks near the white farm house. The dusty plume of an unseen pickup, hidden by the silver shimmers of wheat, traced a intersecting course toward the highway. Ben shifted to the left and opened his Turgenev.

Twenty pages more had gone by when the bus stopped. Ben looked out the window to see the small station, very like the one they had just left. A sign above the door read, “Rotenburg”. Ben smiled, imagining the abuse such a name would incur. A dozen passengers began to embark. Ben opened his book and stared intently at the yellowed pages. More than anything, he feared the companionship of some talkative yokel during the next three hundred miles. Ben exuded anti-social vibes.

Ben didn’t dare look up, but he could sense the presence of someone nearby, and felt them sit down across the aisle. Sneaking a peek up the bus, Ben relaxed slightly. Everyone had taken a seat. The bus bounced over a curb as the angry engine growled and Ben stared again into the old tale of the disrespectful son.

Miles drifted by and the chatters of quiet conversation began to drone in Ben’s ears. The words seemed to stop and linger as his thoughts faded into a lethargic descent toward sleep. Ben closed his eyes and let the cool pause comfort him. The bus jumped as it changed lanes to pass, and Ben could feel the stiffness growing in his back. Ben shook his head vigorously and stretched.

She sat across the aisle, scribbling in a notebook perched upon her thigh. Ben stopped and stared for a brief moment at the pretty girl. Thick, fine hair of a pale brown that flirted with being blonde hung down past her shoulders. A bony knee pushed out of a tattered hole in her faded jeans. Her dark painted lips seemed to recite something as she wrote. She hunched over her work, shrouding her chest between her thin bare tanned arms, cast in a dull pink t-shirt with a faded tiny bow at the end of her short sleeve.

Ben looked back into his book, holding it so that the title would be visible to the girl across the aisle. He didn’t want to talk to her as much as he wanted her to admire his literary choice. She popped a bubble. Ben looked up. She looked the other way, stretching. Full breasts, firm and round as ripe citrus, pressed forward, clad tightly in dull pink. Ben’s eye’s widened and focused. The circular impression of underlying nipples in the cotton of her shirt sparked a burst of fire in Ben’s blood. She turned back and Ben buried himself in his book.

Ben couldn’t read a single word of Fathers and Sons. It might as well have been written in Russian. He peeked back across the aisle, unable to contain himself. The nipple of her right breast seemed like a shadow under the faded t-shirt. Ben looked back at the book. His heartbeat pounded in his ear. He looked back over, to see the profile of her breast as it jiggled in the steady gentle bounce of the bus ride.

“Magnificent,” he thought, his gaze enchanted by the vision.

“Good book?” she asked, smiling. Ben jumped slightly.

“All right,” he said.

“I can’t read in a bus,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ben said, turning over the book to look at the cover. “Usually I can, but I can’t seem to concentrate today. Probably should have brought something lighter.”

“I just can’t,” she said. “It gives me a headache.”

“I’ve heard people say that,” Ben said. “I don’t have any trouble.”

“You’re lucky,” she said. “Reading would be a good way to kill this ride.”

“Yeah. But you can write?”

“Well, the bouncing ruins my handwriting.”

“I’ll bet,” said Ben, smiling.

“Besides,” she said. “I just jot down words. It’s not really writing.”

“Sounds like writing.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”

“My name’s Ben,” he said, reaching across the aisle.

“Kathy,” she replied, grabbing her purse and scooting over. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Come on over,” he said, pushing over toward the window.

“Going anywhere?” Kathy asked.

“Yeah,” said Ben. “I have a friend in Des Moines.”

“Hey, me too,” she said. “I guess this is a good time for visiting.”

“Long overdue,” said Ben.

“You know what I think,” said Kathy in a hushed voice. “Long bus rides remind me of bad sex.”

“Really,” said Ben, flushed and eager. “I can’t say I ever made that comparison. How do you mean?” His eyes cast a glance down, to see Kathy’s nipples tighten.

“Well,” she said, laughing. “It’s a bouncy ride which seems to last forever. It makes my butt sore

and I feel lucky just to get it over with.”

“The scenery is dull and it makes me sweat,” Ben added.

“The noises are awful,” Kathy added. Ben laughed.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “The bus to Des Moines is a lousy lay.”

“But good company can almost make it worth while.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Ben. “I guess we do what we have to and enjoy what we can.”

“I like that,” said Kathy.

“You have a lot of bad sex?”

“More than I want to remember. You?”

“Hell,” said Ben. “All I can remember.”

“Why do we do it?”

“Bad sex is better, on the average, than no sex.”

“Just barely,” said Kathy.

“Besides, we can’t tell it’s bad until we get there.”

“So you leave a relationship if the sex is bad?”

“No,” said Ben, thoughtfully. “I guess I don’t always. I’m always hoping, I guess, that one of these days she’ll relax and have some fun.”


“I wouldn’t say that. Just unimaginative.”

“Wow,” said Kathy, “that’s it exactly. Boring.”

“How boring?”

“Bam, bam,” Kathy said, jerking her pelvis up with each stroke, “bam bam bam.”

“Ooh,” said Ben, “what a waste.” Kathy blushed and laughed.

“Some guys think a hard dick push is all a girl wants.”

“You want variety,” said Ben.

“Variety,” said Kathy. “Imagination.”

“I’ve had girls reject anything that even smacks of creative.”

“So stupid.”

“You know what the bored cannibal said? ‘Missionary? Again?’”

“Good one. Really? Just lay back and spread their legs?”

“You know it, sister. I have this one friend,” Ben paused. “She absolutely refused to get on top.”

“No,” said Kathy. “I love to be on top. Control the beat.”

“Yeah. I wanted to see those titties bounce.” Ben felt the sweat roll down his cheek and looked at Kathy. She turned away, shyly, and he stared as her nipples hardened beneath the damp cotton shirt.

“You like tits?” she asked in a whisper.

“I love them,” Ben said seriously. “Sometimes I think I could squeeze and suck her tits all night. Just loving them.”

“Oh,” said Kathy gently. She squirmed slightly.

“She won’t let me behind her, neither.”

“Wow,” said Kathy. “But at least guys can get blowjobs.” Ben shook his head slowly, smiling. “Jeezus,” she said. “I didn’t know there were girls like that still running around.”

“More than you’d guess. I’ve had a few who would suck my dick, but they hardly even know how to get started. Only one or two really got into it. None of them will swallow, anyway. I’d love to have a girl who would. One always spit it out. I hated that worst of all. It made me feel filthy.”

“I can’t believe it. I mean, I love giving head.

Really and truly. It’s like playing a musical instrument. You hit the right notes and . . . I love the taste.” Kathy licked her lips. “I swallow,” she said softly.

“Mmmm,” said Ben. “I would, I mean, I love to drink a girl’s juice. The taste of a hot pussy is one of the best things I know. And I’ve known girls who wouldn’t let my tongue near them.” Kathy struck Ben on the arm.

“You’re lying,” she said with a laugh.

“No, I’m not,” said Ben, rubbing his bicep. “She will not let me lick her. She tells me it’s just gross.” He mocked her shrill voice.

“Wow,” said Kathy. “I’ve had head once, I mean real make me squeal head. He left me. I’ve regretted that one ever since.”

“Yeah, good sex is hard to find.”

“Damn hard,” agreed Kathy.

“It’s not just the dull ones, either. Some chicks are just a little weird, you know lots of leather and rubber and shit.”

“I’ve known some creepy guys,” said Kathy. “Although I don’t mind a little spanking and tying, you know, if I really know the guy.”

“I understand,” said Ben. “I don’t think that’s weird. I’ve done a little spanking myself.”

“What bugs me is the power games.”


“Well, some guys seem more interested in being the guy that fucks me. You know, showy stuff, dominating stuff.”

“I had one girlfriend who always wanted to do it in public. You know, at picnics behind the bushes, or at ball games or in the theater. Once she gave me a blow job at a restaurant, getting under the table.”

“No shit?” asked Kathy, her nipples tight, the aroma of her musk permeating the bus.

“It was wild. I think the waiter knew, but he kept cool. She was a trip.”

“I’ll bet. Imaginative.”

“Definitely imaginative.”

The bus rolled rapidly down the long, even highway until it reached the outskirts of Des Moines.

“Look, Kathy,” said Ben. “Do you think maybe you would want to get together, you know, while we’re in town?”

“It’s probably not a good idea,” said Kathy. “I mean, I came to see this friend of mine for the week, and I don’t think I’ll be able to get away.”

“Yeah,” said Ben. “I guess that’s true. Still, I’ve really enjoyed our talk. We should really get together sometime.”

“Are you taking the bus next Saturday?” she asked.


“Change buses and go back on Saturday,” Kathy suggested. Ben smiled.

“I’ll try.”

The bus pulled into the station, a slightly larger replica of the others. Ben looked out the window. Standing on the platform, he saw Susan standing patiently in a soft white frock. He smiled quietly. It had been so long since he had seen her, and Ben tried to feel enthusiastic. Kathy leaned over him, pushing a firm breast softly against his cheek. Ben kissed the supple cotton.

“Ooh,” said Kathy. A tall, muscular boy with sandy blonde hair stood waiting in a white t-shirt and jeans. Kathy leaned back into her seat. She opened her notebook and ripped out a page. Scribbling furiously, she handed the paper to Ben.

“I’ll be at my uncle’s place,” she explained. “Call me in the morning and we’ll see what we can manage.” Kathy put her hand on Ben’s lap and squeezed his stiff prick. He kissed her. Kathy shook her head. “I don’t know how much bad sex I can stand. Call me.”

Ben folded the paper and pushed it between the pages of his old Penguin. He followed Kathy, watching the smooth circles of her bottom as she walked down the aisle. As he reached the doorway, the blast of July heat steamed in. Ben took a quick glance at his book and caught a glimpse of the scrap of white paper hidden within. He nonchalantly pushed the paperback into his pocket, confident. There wasn’t a chance unimaginative Susan would ever read between the lines.

Posted in personal, fiction, poetry, writing, literature, reading, novels, short stories, quotes, kindle, books, erotica, literotica, swinging | Leave a comment