Everything Erotic Volume I

by C. J. Ellisson

  “I have another surprise first.” Before he could stop her, she pushed away and dropped to her knees in front of him. Struggling to get air into his lungs, he watched as she bunched the fabric of his robe into her fists. His member stood straight out from his body, already livid with arousal. Smiling, she grasped it at the base and then moved her fingers along the shaft to the head.

  A surprise, she’d said. What could he find more exciting than the sight of his woman touching him so intimately? Still, the wicked glint in her eyes promised more.

  “What are you doing?” he gasped.

  “Loving your cock.”

  “With your hand?”

  “Not exactly.” She licked the length of him from the base to the tip and then circled her tongue around the head. Oh… dear… God. His knees almost buckled, as pure, raw need sliced through him. So intense, he’d never last if she continued, and yet, where would he find the strength to stop her?

  “You shouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Damn it, Cara. I’ll come in your mouth.”

  “You won’t do that,” she answered. “You want to fuck me too much.”

  “You have a filthy mouth, mate.”

  “All the better to eat you with.” This time, she slid her lips over him, guiding them down his shaft as far as they would go. He was far too big for her to swallow him all, so she gripped the rest of him with her fingers and pumped.

  “Holy hell, that’s good.” He clutched the railing for support and let her continue. Without him willing it, his hips began to move in a slower version of the thrusts he used in coupling. “I never imagined.”

  She continued, taking him deeper into her mouth. He could hardly keep his eyes open, as his mind kept drifting off into that magical place that led to orgasm. But, he couldn’t allow himself to miss the sight of her lips sliding along his shaft or how his flesh emerged again, moist from her caresses. She would only do such a thing out of love, and though it hardly seemed possible, he cherished her more with every passing moment.

  “I feel as if I’m going to explode.” He groaned as his thrusts went deeper. Enough. He couldn’t take any more without losing himself in climax. “Cara, you’d better… oh… you’d better stop. Now.”

  The instant she released him, he lifted her under her arms and deposited her on the corner of the railing, pushing her into the post behind her back. Both of them struggled for a second or two to get her robe up over her hips. When they had, she reached for his member and guided the tip between the lips of her sex. In one fluid move, he drove himself into her, lifting her off the wood.

  Damn, he couldn’t help himself. She’d pushed him too far. As he buried himself inside her, she clung to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips. His hands cupping her buttocks, he shoved deeper into her sex, all the way to the root of his cock. Miraculous woman, she’d taken all of him and strained against him to keep him inside her.

  As he moved, she tipped back her head and let loose a throaty growl of possession. She did own him, utterly. After this woman, no other could possibly satisfy him, and he’d make damned good and sure that she’d never need another lover, either.

  For now, he had to fuck her. Heaven help him, just fuck her. As his hips moved, he massaged her ass, creating a wave motion—in, out, up, down. Each thrust met her downward motion, their bodies slapping together. Her gasps turned into little cries as she climbed higher, closer to climax. She’d come soon, and he’d feel her spasms as he joined her.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “More. Please.”

  “Hold tight, baby.” He quickened his movements, for his own pleasure but more for her. Everything for her.

  “I’m going to come,” she said. “Oh, God, now. I’m…”

  The words ended in a shriek as her pussy tensed and then burst into orgasm, grasping at him in a mad rhythm. He kept moving the whole time as he surrendered to his own climax. The tension built in his balls and then rushed through him, claiming his whole body. Pent-up lust shot out of him in waves, hot and fast. It seemed to go on forever, the two of them soaring together.

  When it finally ended, he settled her back on the railing and held her against his chest. As she sagged against him and sighed, the aftershocks of her orgasm still fluttered around his cock. Slowly, his heartbeat went back to normal, but nothing would ever go back to the way it had been before. She’d changed his life forever.

  Randy Romans

  Part one – Pompeii’s Glory Days

  By Jaxon Vail

  Fire, brimstone, and molten lava vomited from the center of Mount Vesuvius on August 24, 79 AD. The ash and fire covered Pompeii and buried its victims, freezing the scene of everyday life like a morbid sculpture. It’s a sad story retold to us by historians in devastating detail. But as tragic as Pompeii’s history is, Vesuvius’ poisonous pyroclastic cloud has a silver-lining. The volcano’s swift and merciless destruction allowed us a glimpse into the lives of these Romans. So put away your tissues and dry your eyes, it appears many Pompelians were caught with their pants down, literally.

  Over the last decade, much about the true nature of Pompeii has reluctantly emerged. Whether embarrassed, shocked, or dismayed, the Italians initially locked many of the unearthed relics of Pompeii away in a secret room at the Naples National Archeological Museum. The artifacts were deemed ‘too profane’ for the museum’s delicate patrons. But, in 2000, the collection finally opened to the public—and what a collection it was.

  Those Pompelians were a naughty lot. Penises decorated everything from cups to door-pulls. It’s enough to make a girl quiver with excitement. As a sign of wealth and affluence, erotic frescoes graced the walls of homes and businesses. The Pompelians loved their phalluses, the bigger the better, it seemed.

  Priapus, a minor rustic fertility god, was a favorite in Pompeii. Captured by many artisans, his likeness was recreated again and again in statues and paintings. Each artist obviously felt obligated to immortalize Priapus’ huge johnson, a symbol of his lustful nature. One look at his image and you must believe he was blessed by the gods.

  The god, Pan, also seem to be a favorite character of those randy Romans. In 1740, King Charles III, excited by what treasure his excavation efforts might reveal, was horrified when a particularly playful statue of Pan copulating with a lovely little nanny goat was pulled from a tunnel. He quickly ordered the entire site shut down. Being a staunch Catholic, King Charles found Pan’s lusty endeavors neither comical nor enlightened. Perhaps he lamented, “What happened in Pompeii should stay in Pompeii.”

  Still standing is the oldest brothel in the world, the Lupanare Grande. The name means Den of the She-Wolves—an expression used by Romans when referring to prostitutes. Here, it seems, any type of pleasure could be had. When one entered the Lupanare from the street, they would travel down a long corridor decorated with erotic paintings. Some historians believe the paintings to be a list of options of what was available to the casual customer. Much like a drive-up restaurant, the client got to see the menu before he reached the cashier.

  The brothel walls are carved with Latin graffiti. Over a hundred different references to fucking have been cut into the granite. (Hic ego puellas multas futui), “Here I fuck many girls.” This customer’s bragging makes a person wonder if he inscribed the boast after many visits, or if it was some kind of initiation, much like frat boys hitting the local whorehouse. “Whoo Hoo, Dude, you nailed that old whore. High five.” Another inscription, Felix bene futuis, “Lucky guy, you fuck well” or "Lucky guy, you get a good fuck"), was supposedly carved by a prostitute about her client. It sounds a bit like a bad porn movie. “Oh yeah baby, you’re so good. Yah, yah, you lucky guy, you fuck so well.” But since she scribed the statement in stone, one must believe that the prostitute meant it. It’s one thing to shout it in a moment of feigned passion. It’s quite another to take the time and gouge it into granite.

  Pompeii appears to have had an ela
borate sex trade system. Down and dirty, lavish and expensive, it was all for sale in Pompeii. Rome was the Las Vegas of the ancient times, but Pompeii held its own as a luxury playground for the rich and elite. Famous actors, gladiators, and government members frequented the city. Can you imagine the tabloids of the times?

  ‘After several grueling rounds at the Colosseum, Sparticus Erectus has taken his leisure at Pompeii’s famous brothel, Lupanare Grande. It’s rumored that Erectus keeps several young women and men on his staff.’

  Mistresses, orgies, and concubines were there for the taking. The stigma of same sex relations was not prevalent during this time period. It was as common for a man to be with a man as it was for him to be with a woman. Men with women, women with men, men with young boys, there was no end to the combinations these Romans partook of.

  With the good there is always the bad. Eighty percent of the population of Pompeii was poor. Those less prosperous members sold their services on the streets. Thirteen curbside cribs have been identified in the ruins of Pompeii. These small stone rooms contained only a stone bed. Location, location, location, the saying seems to be true even back then. Positioned around the one hundred and fifty-three taverns of Pompeii, these cribs helped make the sale of sex quick and dirty.

  Penis, penis, penis, you couldn’t say it enough if you lived in Pompeii. From street lamps to statues, those crazy Romans erected more phallic symbols than one race of people should be allowed. Even today, visitors can see the likeness of a penis carved into the paving stones upon which the Romans walked. Veni, Vidi, Vici—I came, I saw, I conquered. Pompeii gives the famous Latin phrase a whole new meaning.

  For more information on Pompeii tune into the History Channel’s History of Sex.

  Sexy History will return in Everything Erotic Volume II.

  Johnny Living Dangerously

  By C.J. Ellisson

  Smoke and tired country music snake their way to me as I push the back door of the bar open. The dim light makes the hallway appear in twilight even though its mid afternoon.

  "Johnny, honey? Is that you?"

  A cigarette-roughened voice calls to me from the manager's open office door. Before I have a chance to respond, a bleached-blond head sticks out and a heavily made up woman scans me from head to toe.

  "Hey, Carla." I answer. "Yeah, I'm checking to make sure the equipment is set up right before our gig tonight."

  "Come on back and see me when you're done, 'kay?" She bats her black spiky eyelashes at me.

  "Sure thing." I walk past the owner and sure enough, her hand comes out to give me a light pat on the ass.

  "Looking good, Johnny."

  There's really nothing I can say to that which won't make me sound arrogant, so I give her a smile over my shoulder and a mumbled thanks as I continue into the main bar area. The stage is off to the left, set only a foot or so off the main floor.

  The drum set with the band's name, Butt Boy and the Receptacles, painted in orange on the largest drum facing out, looks good. As does the wiring, cords, and connections to the two guitars and keyboard. Lead singer for an all-girl band wearing hot pants may sound like a joke, but I'm having the time of my life and hope the string of paying gigs doesn't dry up anytime soon this summer. And since I don't wear the hot pants, I'm cool with it.

  By nine p.m. tonight, this run-down place will be hopping before the customers know what hit them. I wind my way through the tables, nodding to one or two die-hard afternoon drinkers on the way. Back to the narrow hallway and in a few steps, I'm next to the small office. There's a beat-up leather couch, and a tired-looking desk with an armless chair in front for visitors. A tap on the doorframe brings Carla's attention to me. I lean against the opening, waiting to hear what she needs.

  "Come on in, darling. And shut the door." She smiles at me as she stands, smoothing a short, black skirt over her rounded hips.

  I do as she asks and head to her desk. "Having issues with tonight?"

  She runs a manicured hand up the side of my arm and pats me on the shoulder. "No, no issues." Warmth lingers in her blue eyes, a touch of mischief in their depths. "I was wondering how you came up with your band's name?"

  Uh-oh. The campy tongue-in-cheek name was meant as a publicity stunt, but the expression on her oval-shaped face and the lingering touch on my arm tell me she's interested. "It's just for shits and giggles," I answer.

  Her resting hand curves over to my back and trails down to my denim clad butt. "Are you sure? You certainly have a nice ass." She emphasizes the statement with another pat. "I couldn't help noticing in these snug jeans."

  How far do I want to let this go? My secret desire may be to fuck every one of my gorgeous band members in the ass by the end of this summer, but I don't want to mess up our jobs by dallying with an owner who employs us. Word could get out and then gigs may get cancelled.

  "Umm... uh, thanks. The band name really was meant as a goof." I stand perfectly still, wondering where she's going to takes this. Her hand is no longer resting on my ass, but gently caressing, causing my cock to stir and take notice. After all, Carla has enough cleavage on display to tempt any sane man into looking.

  "Like what you see?" Her voice drops deeper as she presses one large, soft breast into my bicep.

  "You're a beautiful woman, how could I not?" I say.

  She reaches out and grabs my left hand, bringing it up to cup her gently. "Go ahead, baby. I've been dying to touch you since the second you came in asking to play."

  Well, this is certainly a first. I'm glad most of the other bar owners are guys or this could get really awkward. Her breast feels full and heavy in my palm, giving slightly as I press gently, searching for a nipple to tease with my thumb. My cock starts to lengthen and harden, wondering if it's going to get to come out and play.

  Carla rubs my growing firmness over the button-fly of my jeans. "These hug you like they were made to fit your cock." She grabs the top edge and pulls the pants quickly, showing exactly why the button-fly is still my favorite jean of choice: quick release.

  Cool air hits the heated skin of my dick as I spill out my pants.

  "Oh, no underwear—you bad boy. You must have been hoping this would happen." She takes a firm grip on my woody, like she's afraid it will run away or something.

  Secretly, I've been hoping to bang Ginger, the spicy, redheaded guitarist that joined the group last week. Fumbling to escape boxers or briefs can ruin a moment. But I always go with no underwear on a day I'm scheduled to perform. Makes me sit up and take notice of the girls in the audience more.

  Carla starts to stroke my cock in slow motions. "Ever hopeful." I get out before a sigh escapes. "That's me." Reaching up a few inches, I peel the clingy red top away from her lush curves, exposing one lacey bra-encased pert nipple.

  I tweak her extended tip, twisting a little bit to test. Some women like things rough, some like them gentle, some like me to lead, some want to be dominated and others still...well they want to "seduce" the young twenty-four year old musician and hope to teach him a thing or two. I never know which one I'm going to be with next and have a repertoire of skills to pull out when needed.

  She moans and presses into my hand. I give her a sharper pinch; close to bordering on pain, and her breath catches in her throat. "Oh, yes. Like that."

  Her strokes slow on my cock and I decide to test the waters in one more direction. I bend a bit to the side and reach around the manager's backside. I deliver a stinging slap to her mini-skirt covered rump. "Don't forget my cock."

  Her body jerks forward on impact, while her grip tightens a bit on my member. "Oh, I'm so sorry." The attention to my shaft resumes and a bit of pre-cum leaks out to moisten the tip.

  Carla bends at the waist, bracing herself with one hand against her desk, to take my cock into her mouth, breaking my grasp on her nipple as she does so. The moment her wet, full-lipped mouth engulfs me, I know I've got her number. She wants me strong and directing, or else she'd be a little pissed at my comment
and not ready to blow me.

  The attractive, early-forties woman is in shape. Her ass didn't have any extra jiggle when I gave it a smack and I pull up her miniskirt to see what she's got to offer. A firm, curvy butt greets my soothing caress.

  "Mmmm..." She mumbles as she pumps up and down on my cock. The head tickles the back of her throat and she's using just the right amount of suction. It feels incredible, but I can't lose track of what I really want—after all, almost anyone can give good head if they try.

  I slip a hand between her ass cheeks, push the slip of her thong aside and plunge my finger into her waiting pussy. Her wetness coats my digit as I slip in, confirming that she's more than ready for our encounter. I pull back a bit and add a second finger to the mix, relishing the tightness of her opening and enjoying the feel of her wet sheath wrapped around my fingers.

  I trace a moist path to her puckered ass, teasing the ring, waiting to see how she reacts. Her attentions on my cock grow more frenzied. If I'm not careful and she doesn't slow down, I could wind up shooting earlier than I'd like. I deliver another sound smack to her ass.

  "Slow down, Carla. You don't want our fun over too soon now, do you?"

  She pulls off my cock, turning her kohl-darkened, lust-filled gaze up at me. "No. I certainly don't." She resumes her former attentions, but much slower, and wiggles her ass a bit to entice me back on track.

  I slip my thick finger back into her pink, tight ass. Hoping I've found an anal sex fan in our new employer. Every now and then the fates shine down on a poor musician. I'll take luck any way it comes. I pump in and out, developing a nice rhythm in time to her slower sucking.