Everything Erotic Volume I

by C. J. Ellisson

  But of course, it would have been a lie. Her husband was just a man. He worked, he came home, he slept. An ordinary existence. Sometimes the effort of containing herself within the bounds of its normality made her want to scream.

  This was all about her. She filled a part of herself hidden from her husband, her friends, even herself, for most of her life.

  How had it come to this? This nameless, emotionless sex? Why had it taken sex to stop the little voice inside of her from screaming out loud? Yet this, it seemed, was exactly what she needed.

  It started with an innocent curiosity. At least, as innocent as it could get. She had been flicking through her local paper when she got to the ‘singles’ and ‘women-wanted’ adverts at the back. She couldn’t ignore the flicker of excitement the ads stirred within her. What if? What if she dared respond to one of them?

  But she knew she would never dare contact someone so close. What if they recognised her, or her them? No, it would have to be someone a good distance away.

  That was when she realised she was actually considering the practicalities of it. Could she really do it? Sleep with another man, or woman, or even a couple, with no strings attached? Again, there was that little buzz of excitement and she squeezed it tight inside of her.

  She would get what she wanted; to fulfill that dark, secret place. To be the person she hid away.

  To her husband she acted the respectable woman. She could never say to him what she wanted. She could never tell him that she wanted him to push his finger into her ass, or to fuck her with something hard and blunt.

  But to a stranger? To someone she would never see again – well, then maybe she would be able to say whatever the hell she liked.

  So at first she just answered some adverts, making sure she would have to travel to reach them. Naturally her husband asked where she was going, and suddenly her capacity to lie was a brazen as her recent actions. Friends – ones she insisted he had met, only now forgotten – were invented to visit.

  The first ‘date’ had been a couple. For some reason this had felt easier, the intensity spread out over three instead of being focused on two. Filled with anxiety that they would not want her once they saw her in the flesh, she had spent too much money on sexy, yet classic lingerie. But as soon as she saw the look in both of their eyes her worries vanished. She was their fantasy. They wanted her as much as she needed them, and the fact held her and gave her the confidence she needed to go through with it.

  It had been her first time with another woman, though she had fantasized about it often. It had been so very different; the cautiousness, the curiosity. How, when the woman had slipped her fingers inside her, she had whispered into her ear, ‘is that okay, am I hurting you?’ Words a man would never have even bothered thinking, never mind saying. Her only answer was her moan of pleasure and the way she had sunk deeper onto the other woman’s hand.

  The man had been like most men she had been with; selfish and rough. She had not wanted that.

  But when it was over and she was on the train heading home to her husband, she had to clamp her thighs together to stop the waves of her orgasm rippling through her again, like an aftershock. Walking back through the train station she held her head high, storing her secret inside of her like a little nugget of hope. She felt stronger, tougher, sexier.

  Within the week she had answered another one. A single man this time. It had been better, and she had allowed some of the words she had kept clamped inside of her out of her mouth. Lick me here…Fuck me from behind…Let me suck your cock. He, also, was too eager at first, but when she started telling him what to do he quickly became her willing slave.

  He had wanted to see her again. She had told him ‘no’. The sex had been good, and she wanted more, but not with him. The same person could lead to attachment and that was the last thing she wanted. She had attachment at home, and look where that had got her?

  Her confidence grew. She started propositioning strangers face-to-face.

  Standing in the queue at the supermarket, she saw the young man in his mid-twenties check her out as he stood behind her. She leant in close to him, whispered in a barely audible voice;

  “You can have me if you want me.”

  She had seen the look of shock on his face, how his cheeks had coloured at her suggestion. He bustled past, embarrassed, but that did not faze her. Her confidence was too high to be dashed. Instead she found she enjoyed the thrill.

  The young man would not be her last.

  She propositioned the man on the train; the woman who had glanced at her in a certain way on the street. So far none had accepted, but she enjoyed watching the surprise on their faces, that these ideas could come from such an ordinary person.

  She wanted to put in an advert of her own, but she was terrified her husband or a friend would see it. Her anonymity was the key to her success. No names. No details. Just good hard fucking, and then walking away.

  It was like a drug, a fix. Once she had started there was really no way she could stop. It occupied her thoughts constantly. Her husband questioned the new bounce in her walk. Her excuses for her absence grew more tenuous, but her husband’s late hours and after-work drinks meant that he rarely missed her. Maybe if he had been home more…?

  But no, it was too easy to blame him. If it had been his fault then surely she would have been craving his attention, wondering if all of his late nights were what they seemed. If he had not worked late then she would have found some way around it. Excuses – a girl’s night out, visiting relations, going to the gym or taking an evening class.

  He just made her deception easy.

  She sat at a low table in the bar, fiddling with the stem of her chilled glass of white wine. The outside of the glass had clouded with condensation and she ran a finger across it. It gathered and dribbled, reminding her of sweat on a lover’s torso. Her stomach was filled with nervous anticipation and she lifted her glass and took a long drink, hoping to drown the nerves.

  On the table, beside the glass, was her purse; a purple silk scarf looped around its handle. The scarf was more garish than she would normally wear, but it was her calling card. It was how the man she was meeting would know who she was. Her rule of total anonymity meant just that – no names, and certainly no photographs. It was too easy for people to find you on the Internet these days.

  She felt eyes staring at her from across the room. Her stomach turned in that slow, lazy flip of excitement. Hoping to look both sexy and demure, she looked up and locked eyes with the tall, dark-haired man standing, staring at her, on the other side of the bar.

  Her husband.

  Her cheeks flushed with the anxiety of the guilty. Instantly her brain conjured up her excuses for being here; a friend cancelled at the last-minute, her son was sick. Then she saw the guilt reflected in his face. His eyes flicked to the purple scarf tied around her purse and he looked back up at her, his face wide with surprise.

  The realisation of what that look meant. His recognition of what the scarf meant.

  He was her date.

  He could have denied it, of course. He could have blamed his presence on meeting a client from work, ignored what her being there with the scarf tied around her purse meant. But what would have been the point? Already a web of lies and deceit was all that was binding their fragile relationship together. What was the point in carrying on day after day with this kind of knowledge hanging over them?

  He crossed the room and stopped at her table. Her fingers trembled, her heart thumping.

  “I don’t know what the etiquette for this is?” he said, always the refined business man, even in this situation.

  She shook her head slightly in amazement. “I never thought…”

  “You had it in you?” he finished for her, a wry smile touching his mouth.

  She looked up at him and shrugged. Me either.

  “So what now?” he said.

  Suddenly that little spark of bravery took over. “You came here for something
,” she said. “Don’t you want to finish what you started?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. Again it was as though he was seeing her for the first time – really seeing her, who she was, not just who he had imagined her to be.

  Maybe the same was true for her.

  “What? You mean…”

  She picked up her glass and drained its contents. Grabbing her purse, she pulled off the offending scarf and let it float to the floor. She did not wish to ever see it again.

  Without another word she walked from the bar and to the small, independent hotel next door. She had already checked herself in, so she just gave a small nod to the girl behind reception and headed straight to the elevator, her husband and date, hurrying along behind.

  In the elevator three glass walls mirrored their true selves back at them. They stood, awkwardly, waiting for the doors to ping open. She told herself to grab him, to kiss him like they did in the movies, but she couldn’t quite find it in her. Instead they stood, apart, their hands at their sides, fingers twisting, hands clenching. And when the doors finally opened they both breathed a sigh of relief and hurried down the corridor towards the room she had booked, and he had inadvertently paid for.

  She fiddled with the key-fob, sliding it in and out of the lock, waiting for the light to turn green, wishing for the more simple days of using a regular key. In and out, in and out, the little slip of plastic went. He watched, trembling with anticipation.

  Finally the light turned green and they burst into the room. She slammed the door behind her, and he grabbed her and pushed her against it. He kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue probing, full of anger, but also need. She returned the kiss, touching the inside of his mouth with her own tongue, little teasing snake-like darts, then deeper.

  She tore at his clothing, pulling his jacket from his shoulders, his shirt from his chest. She kissed her way down his neck and then bit his shoulder, too hard. He pushed her again, winding her against the door, making her gasp for breath. Then he too lowered his head and bit her on breast. Their punishment to each other.

  She groaned in both pain and desire. Pulling up her own skirt, she grabbed his hand pushing it between her legs. She knew she was wet. The expensive lace damp between her thighs.

  He continued his journey down, getting to his knees. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, but she didn’t care. He put his face against the damp lace of her panties, his tongue pushing against her most sensitive spot, and she held the back of his head, pushing him harder against her.

  His tongue lapped at her, creating a friction. She wanted to feel him inside of her. Reaching down she pulled the panties to one side, such a tiny slip of lace. Then his tongue was pushing between her folds.

  His hands reached up and grabbed her ass, pulling her even harder against his face, his tongue reaching deeper.

  She moaned again, her fingers knotted in his hair.

  “Do it,” she said. “I want you to fuck me.”

  He got to his feet, loosening his belt, unzipping his fly. He was harder than she had ever seen him before and within a moment he pushed inside of her. She gasped for breath. He kissed her mouth again and she could taste herself on him, that musky scent of woman.

  She clung to him as his movement became more frantic, his own breathing heavy in her ear. Her orgasm was just moments away and she clung to its wave like a life-boy.

  And this time they rode in together.

  When it was over they held each other, panting into each other’s skin. Neither of them knew what was going to happen now. Was this going to be the start of something, or the end? She had no idea. Maybe they could get through it, now they both saw each other for who they really were. Or maybe they would find they did not like these new people, that they could not live with the deceit they had both already encountered.

  Either way, life was real now.

  The dark, secret place was no longer a secret.

  Shades of Crimson

  By Nickie Asher

  Victoria

  Andre brushed in the last bit of shading on his interpretation of Victoria’s nearly transparent wrap, the only thing she wore, and stepped back to admire his work. The painting did the curvy young woman justice.

  She arched her back, jutting perfect breasts upward.

  He quirked an eyebrow and felt his fangs trying to make a surprise appearance. Holy crap. If he didn’t get a grip on himself, another human would bust him again before he turned six months old in his new life, or more accurately, his new unlife.

  Tossing aside the wispy bit of fabric, Victoria lay back on the antique lounge she’d posed on for her portrait. She brushed back waves of blonde hair before letting her hand fall to her breast. Gazing into his eyes, she stroked over one hard nipple.

  Andre’s growing cock pressed against his confining pants.

  A smile curved her lips as she lifted one leg, drawing up her knee, while the other leg dangled off the lounge. Her hand traced down her flat belly, over her mound, and touched the glistening skin peeking at Andre.

  His fangs throbbed, his balls ached, and his stomach gave a jabbing reminder that he had things to attend to besides painting naked women.

  He’d never had trouble getting laid, but now it was ridiculous. Every female he encountered wanted to bang him. Not that he minded. And it sure as hell made getting a meal easy.

  He reached her in three strides and scooped her into his arms. “I think we can find a better place for this.” He wasn’t going to fuck on a delicate piece that barely supported his models.

  His lips found hers, tasting her honeyed flavor as he carried her through the apartment to the bedroom. Breaking the kiss, he placed her on his bed. She drew up her legs, reached between them and languidly stroked her index finger along her wet slit.

  His fangs lengthened. He willed them away.

  “Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to join me?” she asked while dipping a finger inside her pussy. She pulled the digit out then thrust it back in.

  His cock and fangs certainly thought it was a good idea.

  He shucked off his shirt, letting the well-cut garment fall to the floor. His shoes and socks followed. Kneeling on the bed beside Victoria, he captured one large breast then stroked his thumb over her nipple. Moaning, she threw her head back.

  Andre lightly pinched the hard bud before sucking it into his mouth. Gasping, she pressed forward, giving him a face full of soft breast. He laved the peak, swirling his tongue around it. Victoria curled her fists in his hair and tugged.

  He nipped and she let go. Her hands ran over his bare chest, continued on, stopping when they reached his jeans. She popped the snap before sliding the zipper down. Warm fingers eased inside the opening and curled around him before squeezing gently.

  He groaned.

  Releasing him, she moved on, shoving his jeans down over his hips. His prick sprang free. She eyed its length; her tongue darted out, moistening her lips.

  How good that hot tongue would feel on his dick.

  “My, he’s a big one,” she purred, reaching for him again.

  His fangs hurt.

  Stroking over his cock, the motion slow, measured, her nails scraped lightly. Arching his back, he moaned. Holy Christ, Victoria wasn’t only beautiful, she knew how to pleasure a man.

  Plucking at his Levis, she said, “Get rid of those and lie down.”

  Panting, he stripped off the offending jeans before crawling back on the bed. Victoria eased down between his legs. After capturing his sac, her thumb caressed the globes. A shudder ran through him. His cock jerked in response.

  Smirking, she bent over him. Her lips closed over his swollen head, trapping him in warm, wet, bliss. “Jesus, don’t stop.” Grasping the sheet, his hands curled into tight fists. She took him in slowly until his entire length was sheathed in her hot mouth. Easing back, her teeth gently scraped along his shaft.

  His hips bucked while he stifled the urge to cry out in pleasure. Her tee
th were killing him, but he didn’t want it to stop any time soon. She bobbed on his slick member, her hair spilling over him in a silky curtain that begged to be touched. A sweet cherry-almond scent clung to her long locks.

  Shit! He had to stop her before he came too soon. He pushed her away with a gentle hand to her shoulder. If he didn’t cool down, he wasn’t going to get a chance to get inside her. Not unless she wanted to stay for another round. Which wouldn’t take long, but he wasn’t nuts about having someone hanging out. He liked to screw, and feed, then send them on their way with smiles on their faces.

  His thoughts turned to Madison, his neighbor. He would make an exception for her any night she wanted. With her, there would be no “we’re done, now please leave.”

  “Andre?”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry.” Now was not the time to be fantasizing about his neighbor when he had a warm, wet pussy ready for the taking. “I was just caught up in the moment.”

  She sat on her knees, waiting for him to take the lead. He pushed her back on the bed and positioned himself between her legs. Inhaling, he took in her erotic, sweet scent. Her swollen pussy glistened with readiness to receive him inside her. Stroking his hands down the insides of her firm thighs, he pushed her legs further apart. As he bent over her, his hair fell over her crotch.

  She giggled. “Your hair is even longer than mine.”

  Andre tucked it away behind an ear then traced his fingers over her hot flesh. He bent and flicked his tongue along her slit, tasting her sweet berry-like flavor. Licking upward, he teased her clit. She groaned, rewarding his efforts.

  Wanting to make it good for her, his tongue fluttered, pressed, then swirled around her nub.

  “Oh God, Andre,” she cried.

  He licked back to her opening and pushed his tongue inside her.

  Gasping, Victoria sank her hands into his hair.