Digressions Into Erotica

by Phaedra Torres

  There’s something about the sensation of wet pubic hair against sensitive skin-a damp, cold, springy cushion between my heat and yours. I grind my hips into your belly, feel the arms of the chair cutting into the undersides of my knees. I grip harder with my legs, and sway and rock, eyes closed, your arms wrapped around my hips, and hands cupping my ass.

  The chair creaks in time to our rocking and fumbling.

  “I’m afraid, my darling,” you manage between gasps, “that this will have to be short and sweet.”

  I don’t bother responding. I’m too busy savoring our coupling. I feel you trembling and angling your thrusts, with each nearly withdrawing completely. The head of your cock hits the upper wall of my vagina and rides against it, all the way to my belly button.

  Your body tenses, and your buttocks clench and rise from the seat. You cram yourself into me, jerking your hips, straining toward the finale. I’m quaking as well, my thrusts violent and intense.

  We make such a wonderful mess together, you and I. So deliciously squishy. I bounce and smile, and giggle and sigh, and ride you until I can’t stand the goodness of it any longer and I have to let some of it go. It starts as keens, the ‘E’ sound over and over.

  You, in my ear-a man never sounds as vulnerable as when he climaxes. The twang of power shoots through me and sweetens the deal. We clutch each other, your head nestled between my breasts and beneath my chin.

  “So?” I gasp as I struggle to regain my breath. “Forgive me?” You huff a couple times, and then lean back and push me off your lap with a grin. “I’ll think about it.” You smack my ass and roll your chair back up to your desk and wiggle the mouse to restart your session.

  “I’m off to the shower, then.” I hug you from behind and kiss the top of your head.

  Just past the doorway, I stop and wait for you to join me.

  Because I win. That’s why.

  What Then?

  Meeting on the Internet, getting to know each other, exchanging pictures, enjoyingeach other’s company? What happens after that?

  So, we meet in a bar, you and me. After all this time talking about it. That’s the easy part. And we’ll maybe order a pitcher and find a table in the back…maybe a booth. I’ll be blushing like crazy and looking at my hands a lot. My fingers will be sliding lightly up and down my beer glass and around the rim, leaving little trails in the condensation. If I have a bottle, I’ll peel the labels off and leave little wads of paper in piles on the table.

  Waitresses love that, you know.

  The whole time, we’ll talk about your trip and the area and what you like, and what I’ll show you and all the other fillers. I’ll respond, laugh, and make you laugh, too. But only with a tiny part of my mind will I be in the “now” of the moment. The rest will be focused on my self-restraint. I’ll try to keep from latching on to you.

  I know you’ll tell me to ‘relax’ a thousand times. And I’ll smile and snicker a little at myself, and tell you I’m fine; I just can’t believe you’re right there in front of me. And, Ican’t believe how much I want to touch you.

  Yes, I will be too chicken to say it out loud. But I’ll be thinking it really hard. The question is, what am I going to do about it? Nothing. That’s up to you. It’s not that I’m passive. My decision has already been made. The rest is your call.

  Maybe you can start by sliding your hand under the table to still my bouncing knee.

  That will probably be all the encouragement I’ll need. The skin that you cover with your hand will sizzle, even through my jeans. The heat will radiate from your palm, up my thigh, and swell and linger, before rushing into my lungs and forcing itself out as a gasp.

  My eyes will roll closed for a second. Will you be expecting that reaction? I wonder what you’ll do?

  That’s up to you, too. But in my image, when I look at you again, maybe I’ll put my hand on yours, or maybe we’ll just get up and leave. Real quick. Yes. In fact, let’s hurry.

  You drive. I don’t care where we go.

  Oh, wait. This is my town, isn’t it? Well, take me to your hotel room. Because that way, you’ll be in your own territory, temporary as it may be.

  What will we say to each other on the ride over? I don’t think we’ll talk much. The air in the cab of your truck will be too thick with anticipation and urgency. It’s going to be awkward in the hallway and outside your door. Still no talking, just half smiles and shy glances as you slide the keycard and get the green light. But as soon as we step inside and the door closes behind us, I’ll stretch my arms up around your neck and we’ll kiss.

  And that’ll be it for us, I think. We’ll be frantic.

  Yes, let’s be frantic. I don’t need romantic eye gazing and heartbreakingly slow foreplay. We can do that later. I don’t even care if we make it all the way into the room, or just end up on the floor outside the bathroom door. Let’s just wrestle out of our jeans and connect as quickly as possible. I may even grab hold of you the second you spring free of your zipper, and tell you to ‘get over here’, and lead you where I want you. Which is right here, inside me.

  How many thrusts will it take? I know it won’t take me long. I know I’ll be thrusting back just as hard. I’ll grit my teeth and grab your ass, and raise my hips to crash and grind against you. And I’ll be on my way.

  You can raise yourself up to your knees and angle my hips, and I’ll arch my back and try not to buck you off. I’ll be all tremors and thrashing, and gasps and cries, and I’ll probably bite your neck when you lean over me.

  After that, I may even be able to hold myself still, enough for you to get just the right friction in just the right places, and that’ll put a hitch in your breath, and soft groans in the back of your throat. I like those. They jolt right through me.

  Your body will be rigid, and tremble above me as you slam into me until you finally explode. That may even put me over the top again.

  Then we can collapse on the carpet, and the tension will be gone, and we’ll be able to laugh comfortably.

  Speaking of comfort, let’s move to the bed. Let’s snuggle and watch a movie or something. I’ll go easy on you. You’ll have had a long drive. We could even sleep for a bit. That would be really nice.

  If I can keep my hands off you long enough.

  Hurts Syndrome

  A foray into the world of BDSM. More of the mind than the body.

  She trembles with excitement at the sound of boot heels striking the concrete outsideher door. The latch disengages with a delicious click, and she quickly closes her eyes,rises and perches on the edge of her mattress, her heart slipping into overdrive as thefootsteps draw near. Her nipples swell and harden. She feels Him looming closer, anda smile parts her lips.

  “Three months tonight, pet.”

  She grins all the wider and reaches for Him, clasps His hips and presses her cheekto His belly. He stands rigid for a moment, but then His body curves around her, andHe bends to stroke and kiss her hair. “You are so precious to me, my little one. Andyou’ve done so well and come so very far.”He stops to take her chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilts her face towardsHis. “You make me happy, and you make me proud-so very proud, pet. And with allyour hard work and exemplary service to me, you have earned a reward.”His hands move to frame her face. His thumbs brush lightly across her eyelids. “Doyou remember, pet? Do you remember ‘Mariah’?”

  ***

  The clock wouldn’t move fast enough, yet Mariah didn’t have time to complete what needed to be done. She had a huge pile of files on her desk, and several more in a drawer beside her, all of which required immediate attention. She just couldn’t seem to get to the point where she closed more files than she opened. There was constantly another phone call, another email, another V.P. standing over her, expecting her to drop whatever she was doing to deal with whatever he or she had on their mind at that moment. Whatever praise she received was hollow and short lived, and only led to higher expectations.

  At home, life was no
better. The clutter of someone shutting themselves off from the world-bags of garbage, dirty laundry, books, crusted food containers-were stacked and piled in front of the doors, and circled around the couch to leave only a narrow path from room to room. Distasteful, but Mariah found comfort in the disorder, in the way it made her house close in around her. Clutter offered no false encouragement.

  Chores and hygiene were obligations Mariah could refuse. She should get the garbage into the can and out to the curb for pickup in the morning, and she should do at least one load of laundry so there would be something clean to wear tomorrow. She should shave her legs. She should get a haircut.

  But she chose not to do these things. And therein lay the power-the power of ‘No’.

  Huddled in her untidy cocoon one night, Mariah flipped through the channels, trying to find something she hadn’t already seen. She paused to light a cigarette and almost dropped her lighter because of the noises coming from her television: a man’s murmuring voice, followed by a sharp slap and a gasp of pain.

  Awe-struck, Mariah’s mouth fell open, and she leaned forward, attention riveted to the screen. A nude woman was secured in medieval-type stocks, her body pinned at the neck and wrists. A shirtless man circled her-murmuring questions, waiting for her breathless nod-then cracked her back with a cat-o-nine-tails. The woman cried out, yet strained towards him when he lightly caressed the welts growing on her bottom.

  The camera zoomed in on his fingers, which slipped up and down the woman’s exposed labia and paused to jiggle her clit. Mariah felt a stirring in her belly, and slid to the edge of the couch.

  The man moved around in front, holding his dick in his hand. The woman turned eager eyes to him and nodded vigorously. He drove his cock down her throat, crushed her face against his pelvis and held her there-until Mariah was gasping for breath on behalf of the poor girl on the TV screen.

  Muffled throaty groans and gurgles accompanied murmurs of encouragement and pleasure. The man pulled out of the woman, leaving a milky string of drool dangling from her gaping mouth. She whimpered and stretched her neck in an attempt to snare his cock with her tongue, her lips. He plunged into her again, this time pumping back and forth while pinching her nose shut. Her eyelids fluttered down, but he slapped the side of her head and demanded that she look at him. Her eyes flew open, and after that, she didn’t even blink.

  Yanking her head back by a fist full of hair, the man pulled out of her mouth, then circled back around, knelt, and shoved his face into the crack of her ass. He pulled back and spat, and a glistening blob of saliva slid between the crevices of her sex. Taking the whip from the floor, he rose and slid his dick into her anus, and pumped for all he was worth, cracking her again and again with the whip, as if he was riding a horse and urging it to go faster, faster!

  Mariah leaned back against the cushions and slipped her hand inside her sweatpants. She was soaking wet, and her clit throbbed at the lightest touch. The man looked like he was ready to come, and Mariah circled her clit furiously to catch up. She pushed her free hand beneath the elastic waistband and crammed as many fingers as she could, twisted them in and thrust them back and forth. As the man on the screen grimaced and clenched his butt cheeks, Mariah cried out and came hard, hips off the couch, pumping against her hands.

  The show ended, but Mariah couldn’t let the moment go. She ran an online search for the term ‘BDSM’. Thousands of sites popped up on the results screen. Intoxicated with the topic, she spent the rest of the evening, and on into the wee hours of morning, perusing as many sites as she could. She visited a free forum last.

  An overwhelming need to experience what she’d seen gave her the courage to create an account. After entering her email address and selecting a password, she arrived at a new screen, wherein she answered a series of multiple-choice questions. When she clicked on the ‘Submit’ button, a new window welcomed her to the site as ‘girl247.’

  Mariah paused for a few deep breaths, and a shiver tickled her spine from her tailbone to the base of her skull.

  In fine print beneath her screen name were disclaimers and instructions. She accepted the terms of use and went to her profile page. She decided against posting a picture of herself, chose an avatar instead, and proceeded to a newbie pool. She had been instructed not to post, but to simply join the forum thread and wait.

  While she waited, she admired her avatar. She’d picked a cartoon redhead with a full build and a black leather hood. Auburn locks spilled from the bottom of the hood, and curled around the neck and over the shoulder. The hands were bound behind the head, the knees bent and strapped tight, holding the body in a kneeling position.

  Clicking around aimlessly, Mariah read the welcome thread: You are known as girl. You will not speak until ordered to do so. You will refer toyourself as ‘this one’. You have no access to the main site, nor will you until you havebeen chosen and given a name.

  She sat for a while, and as the adrenaline ebbed from her body, decided it was time for bed. Just as she was about to close the window, a dialogue box popped up: Professor Hand says: Your name is teacher’s pet. Go to the Novice Room. Await my instructions.

  Mariah’s heart jumped to her throat. She returned to the main forum and saw that a new section had been unlocked for her. It was called ‘In Training’, and featured only one thread: the Novice Room. She clicked on the link and her screen went dark-purple lettering on a black background. She noted her new name under ‘Users viewing this thread’.

  Nothing seemed to be happening, and after a few minutes, she refreshed her screen.

  There was a new post from Professor Hand, a link to a private messaging system.

  Squirming in her seat, she downloaded the application and selected his name from the list of chat rooms.

  Professor Hand: Hello, pet.

  The cursor blinked at Mariah, awaiting her response. She held jittery fingers over the keys, and bit her bottom lip.

  teacher’s pet: hello

  Professor Hand: Are you ready for me?

  Mariah had no idea what she was supposed to say.

  teacher’s pet: ready?

  Professor Hand: Yes, pet. Ready. Tell me you are wet for me. Tell me your pussy is aching for my cock. Tell me your tender flesh is trembling for the sting of my hand.

  She gasped aloud after she read his message and had to close her eyes a moment before she continued. She was trembling, shifting in her chair, feeling a surge of warmth between her thighs. Her eyelids rose, and there was a new message.

  Professor Hand: NOW, pet.

  Mariah whimpered and let her fingers fly across the keyboard. The words she used were none that she’d used before. Not in this context. They came hard, each eliciting a thrill of butterflies in her stomach and chest.

  teacher’s pet: this one has been waiting so long for you. this one cannot believe you are actually here. the answer to all of this one’s dreams. this one’s pussy is aching for your cock. this one is wiggling in her chair, wishing your hands were on her ass.

  Professor Hand: Good, pet. Good girl. You may touch your clit.

  Mariah’s left hand slipped beneath her sweatpants again and pinched her engorged clitoris between index and middle fingers. She moaned at her own touch. More than that, she moaned at his command.

  Professor Hand: That’s enough, pet. Where are you in this world?

  She stopped touching herself and stared at the screen.

  Professor Hand: Answer me when I ask you a question. Answer me quickly.

  teacher’s pet: in the Midwest.

  Professor Hand: Very good. It’s late where you live, yes? I want you to go to bed, pet. Imagine yourself bound at ankles and wrists, on your side, with me behind you, holding you in my arms. You are safe. I am here with you.

  You may sleep. But you have been slow tonight, and that will not be tolerated. When you wake, go to the bathroom and get your toothpaste.

  Apply a dab to your fingers and pleasure yourself. Then come here and await furt
her instructions. While you wait, you may tell me how the toothpaste made you feel. Describe it in detail, pet. Good night.

  The window locked, and Mariah was unable to post a response. It was four a.m., and she was suddenly very tired. She shut down her computer and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. In bed, she nestled her back against her body pillow, clasped her hands beneath her cheek and bent her legs together. She was asleep within seconds.

  ***

  The next morning, Mariah woke before her alarm went off and hurried down the stairs. As she peed, she looked at her toothpaste. She stood, flushed and then took the tube into the living room, where she sat on the couch and considered her task. By the light of day, it seemed a silly thing to do. Besides, this was just a game. How was he going to know whether she did as he’d instructed or not?

  The toothpaste went back to the bathroom, and Mariah made coffee instead. With mug in hand, she sat at her computer. It took her a couple minutes to swallow the excitement in her throat and log onto the chat room application.

  He was already there. The second she entered the room, he sent a message.

  Professor Hand: Good morning, pet. Did you sleep well?

  teacher’s pet: yes, thank you.

  Professor Hand: And this morning?

  The coffee turned to a lump in Mariah’s stomach.

  teacher’s pet: bright eyed and bushy tailed Professor Hand: =) You are precious, pet. And what of your assignment?

  Hmm?

  Mariah took another gulp of coffee.

  teacher’s pet: I didn’t do it.

  Professor Hand: Why did you disobey my orders?

  teacher’s pet: it wasn’t the same this morning. I didn’t feel the same.

  Professor Hand: Do you wish to discontinue our relationship?

  teacher’s pet: NO! No, please? I just don’t know how this works. I guess.

  I’ve never done this before.

  Professor Hand: Oh, pet! I am your first? =) I am honored. Do you have any experience with this lifestyle?