Five-Minute Erotica

by Carol Queen

  He heated the shower while I pulled down the Murphy, lit my candles and turned on the soft purrs of France Gall (60s-famed, French sex kitten extraordinaire). “Showtime,” I thought to myself.

  Entering the steamy bathroom, I peeled open the curtain and slowly gyrated my pelvis for Johnny as I lowered my bikini to my thighs. Beads of sand gently scraped my skin as I ran my hands over my freed breasts and down my heated, damp bodice.

  Pulling Johnny’s shampooed head near, I gave him a deep, lustful kiss and gathered a handful of suds for play. Lifting a leg and tracing it in bubbles, then rubbing them over my hips and belly, I danced slowly and my wide eyes coyly stared back at him.

  Eye candy he couldn’t resist. He stroked his cock and watched eagerly.

  With one arm outstretched on the wall to support me, I straddled my legs, arched my back and heavily coated my ass with glimmering white suds. Then playfully slapping my wet flesh, I spanked myself until it hurt and intermittently petted away the sting.

  “Get in here, pleeeaasse,” he begged.

  “Why? I’m having so much fun out here.”The waiting game. Hard-earned wisdom reminded me that frequent acts of immediate gratification create ungrateful lovers. Moreover, the sight of him panting and salivating was too endearing to sacrifice.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and reached down to fondle my clit, pulling me toward the shower. Turning me around he grabbed my hair with one hand, clenched my ass with the other and began to bite my nipples mercilessly.

  “Aaiii … Revenge!” I thought. Just the type I liked. I jumped in the shower and in no time his hard, throbbing sex penetrated my wet, ravenous pussy.

  Johnny was a vigorous screw. Notably the only man I’d ever met who could nearly outdo me in marathon sex.Yes, he was a fucking machine. And he liked to play. He could return any ball I served him.

  His half-tempered cock still inside me, we crab-walked our way to the bed and rang the bell for round two.

  I joked, “You’re almost as good as the lover I had this morning.” I spanked his bright pink ass hard and told him to ride me and fuck me like the whore I am. Ask and you shall receive.

  This boy knew how to move. He was fucking me hard and fast when he grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked my head to the side and whispered into my ear, “Yeah that’s right . . . you are a dirty slut . . . aren’t you? . . .Yep . . . you’re my little fuck-hole . . . that’s right.” He not only fucked like a pro, but he could talk dirty like a porn star, too.

  As Johnny continued to call me his bitch, slut, whore . . . you name it . . . I smelt something remarkably familiar. And it certainly wasn’t Johnny’s cologne. Nor was it the smell of Johnny’s cum. No, this scent was not nearly that enticing.

  Sure enough, I opened my eyes and saw Pete on the fire escape, smoking his Camel Light. He was leaning back on the black metal rail and staring right at me. Eye-to-eye.

  Shell-shocked, I thought, “So much for being considerate of my privacy.” But in an instant I felt more perplexed than offended. My mind told me I should be feeling outraged, humiliated and violated . . . but my body was screaming something else!

  Somehow the way he looked intently into my eyes, the way he didn’t flinch when I caught him looking and the way Johnny continued fucking me as if it were just he and I were all strangely and powerfully erotic to me. What is more, I couldn’t take my eyes off Pete. And I came, immediately, like floodwaters breaking down a dam.

  Johnny was going strong and wasn’t about to stop. My praise for his staying power always motivated him to record extremes. And Pete’s eyes told me he wasn’t going anywhere, either. Our eyes remained fixated as my third orgasmic wave series came rushing in. Pete lit up his third cigarette.

  So Johnny and I fucked, sucked, spanked, licked, whipped, kissed, cradled and caressed one another until sunrise.We even brought out our latex playwear. And Pete was there, watching and smoking, all night long.

  Johnny never admitted to seeing anyone in the darkness. But my hunch is that Johnny knew we were under the spotlight. I swear he performed like he never had before.

  For me, that night was just the beginning. From then on, whenever I fucked in that studio Pete was there. He never skipped a beat. His piercing, magical eyes catapulted my orgasms into a sublime realm . . . every time. In total, 372 times . . . but who’s counting?

  Since then I’ve moved to a new place with much less vigilant neighbors—despite my efforts to gain their attention. Dining naked . . . washing windows in red-lace panties… hell, even vocal sex with a mini-microphone. Nothing seems to interest the dullards. No matter. Pete is imprinted into my mind’s eye forever: His eyes gazing intently into mine with a Camel Light dangling from his quiet, sheepish grin.

  Disco Nap

  BY CHARLIE ANDERS

  Party girls learn the routine after college, when the prospect of twenty hours’ wakefulness at a stretch seems less and less practical. Come home from work Friday evening, eat a light supper and maybe sip some spritzer, then retire to bed for a couple of hours. Emerge at ten, just when the clubs are getting worth visiting. My “disco naps” usually included a facial, followed by an eye mask and enough moisturizer to rehydrate the Sahara. Put Enya on the stereo, burn some incense and clear your mind for the long night among the upwardly, downwardly, horizontally and gyrationally mobile.

  And then I got together with Ray, who hated naps. And discos. He wouldn’t go clubbing unless it was a five-day weekend and someone’s birthday. I had met Ray at a club, so I felt false advertising was at work here.

  “I just want to stay in and watch a video,” he keened. When he started in on that shit, I just made drum machine noises with my mouth until he stopped. “Bfft—ssst—bfft—ssst,” four on the floor, techno-style, the unbreakable chain of beats. He gave up and pretended to dance to my oral rhythm track. He ground his hips against mine, a sly look on his heart-shaped face. O.K., so he did have some good points despite the homebody thing—a gymnast’s body and blue eyes.

  I stopped beat-boxing but he didn’t stop jutting his pelvis into mine, to the four-four meat grinder mix.

  “O.k., cut it out. I gotta crash if I’m going to be up in time to hit 26 Mix by ten—” I pulled off my jacket and blouse and tossed them on a chair.

  “Mmm, bedtime?” Ray inquired, still that crafty aspect on his face.

  “Not that kind of bedtime.” I pulled off my wool skirt and slid off my nylons. Lit incense, turned off but one small light.

  “Romantic,” Ray said.

  I crawled onto the bed. “Sleep now.”

  “Let me just massage your feet.You’re going to be doing all that dancing.”

  Party girls never turn down a foot rub. And Ray was good. So I let him lift my left foot and run his hands over it. “Oooh,” I breathed. His touch sent sparks all over my body—to my belly, my breasts and even my scalp. I shifted to bring my foot a little closer to him.

  “Just think, soon this poor foot will find itself strapped into a narrow shoe with a cruel pointy toe and a spiky heel that will force pressure into your poor arch and toes,” Ray whispered. “What a misfortune to befall such a beautiful, sensitive foot.”

  “Forget it,” I breathed, half awake. “You can’t sway me.”

  He kept finding pressure points that poured warmth into all of my tired muscles. And his hands also caused a stirring somewhere else. I let out a little purring sound and twisted my body.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’m not going to try and talk you out of your plans.You should put on your sexiest little outfit and your hottest heels and get out there and strut your stuff. Everyone at the club needs to see you decked out like a star, a shimmering doll with porcelain skin that everybody just wishes they could taste.You can’t possibly deprive all those clubgoers of the fantasy of their tongues caressing that spot behind your kneecaps and that little area one inch below your belly button. All those party people with their tongues just twitching to make contact with your inner ankle
, just for a second.You can’t possibly rob the club of your hip-shaking sexual rabble rousing, can you?”

  I shook my head. And my hips. I moved my body as if practicing for the club. Ray kept rubbing my foot, but one hand moved up and petted my ankle. Fingers fluttered over that little knob that sticks out over my instep, then the sensitive seam above that.

  I still had my eyes closed. But I wasn’t even trying to sleep. Ray put his perfect smooth mouth around my big toe and used his tongue and teeth to surround it with sensation. I shivered. He licked in between my toes and along the side of my left foot, massaging my right foot all the while.

  “It’s not going to work,” I mutter.

  “What isn’t? I’m helping you prepare for your night out.” I felt tingly and barely aware I was twisting this way and that on my bed. Ray pressed on my instep and tickled my calf at the same time. I scrunched down to give him access to my inner thighs, which he took. Both hands played along the skin from my kneecaps to my pelvis, making me giggle and beg. Then Ray moved his head between my legs and nuzzled. He did this for a while. I stopped pretending to nap.

  Talking wasn’t the only thing Ray knew how to do with that big mouth. Thank goodness. I grabbed two handfuls of sheet and arched my back. His tongue circled, then flicked, then circled again. I almost started to cry.

  Then Ray came face to face with me and kissed me. I bit his neck. He slid on a condom, then ground against me, teasing me with his stiffness. Ray wasn’t much taller or heavier than me, but when he got on top of me he managed to surround and encompass me. It was like I was inside him instead of vice versa. His arms and thighs covered me with frenetic muscles, and his face brushed mine. I saw dandelions bloom in his eyes just before my pubic bone thrust into his and I felt energy flood my body from the middle outward, almost more than I could stand.

  Afterwards, we lay and did the afterglow thing. “So,” Ray said after a few moments in my arms. “Wanna watch a video and cuddle?”

  I broke out of his embrace and headed for the bathroom. “Nah. That was a great nap substitute, thanks. And I still have plenty of time to hook up with the crew at 26 Mix if I start my beauty routine now.” I pushed my face into the bathroom sink with the water running, to drown out Ray’s mock cry of anguish at his foiled scheme. Serves him right for trying to keep a party girl down.

  Give Me a Shine

  BY MELANIE VOTAW

  Shiny black shoes. Bright, glistening, freshly polished boots. These had always been among her favorite things.When she was a little girl, she loved to watch her father get his shoes shined. That fascination stayed with her to adulthood, as she still loved the smell of the polish, the men reading their papers, and the shoeshine guys buffing with old worn-out rags.

  She had recently dispensed with her pumps and decided to wear only boots—short ones, tall ones, black ones, brown ones, white ones—but only boots that needed to be shined on a regular basis. She loved to sit high above the shoeshine guy and feel him inadvertently massage her feet through the leather.

  One day she arrived for her normal shine, but the face that looked up and smiled at her as he placed her shoes on the metal platforms was a new face. Boyish, but strong, he gazed at her with enormous blue eyes and spoke with an accent she could not quite place. “These are very nice boots.”

  “Thank you,” she responded, studying him. “You’re new. Where are you from?”

  “Brazil. I am just here and wanting to go to university, but my English needs get better,” he said slowly, trying to choose the correct words.

  “Your English is very good.” He just smiled and continued stroking her boots with brush and rag. His hands were large with long fingers. His sun-streaked brown bangs fell onto his forehead and bounced as he leaned down between her knees to spray the leather with a water bottle.

  “He can’t be more than 18,” she thought to herself, drinking in his sweet face and strong forearms. She moaned audibly when his work reached a particularly needful part of her tired feet. He looked up and appeared startled. “Oh, it just always feels a bit like a foot massage,” she said, embarrassed. He gave her a flirtatious grin and continued. “I guess,” she chuckled to herself, “their mostly male clientele is careful not to moan no matter how good it feels.”

  Next time she went for a shine, she asked for this same boy. She found out more and more about him, including that his name was Marcelo, that he was 19 years old and wanted to study veterinary medicine. She enjoyed his polite but flirty personality. As the weeks passed, her visits became more frequent and their conversations more personal and teasing. She felt certain he wanted her, but she hesitated. After all, she was 25. “Well, it’s not like I’m an old lady, and it’s not like he’s illegal,” she told herself.

  One day, as she passed a shoe store, she saw the sexiest pair of stiletto boots in the window. They were red and sleek and tall. Even though they were quite expensive, she knew she had to have them. She also knew she wanted Marcelo to shine them as soon as possible. For that, she needed to make them appear used. Laughing at herself, she took them from their box and walked outside, adding a few scuffs and brushing some mud onto them.

  She was always careful to wear slacks when she got a shoeshine, but the next day, she wore a tight dress with a short skirt. She knew he would be able to see her panties when he pulled her feet apart to place them on the metal foot supports. Luckily, her chair faced a wall, so only Marcelo could see what she chose to reveal.

  He seemed stunned when he had to place her feet on the supports, as if he was somehow supposed to do so without exposing her. She pretended as if she had no idea there was a problem, and he placed her feet there, trying hard not to stare between her legs.

  Wanting to leave a little to the imagination, she wore pink panties that were brief but opaque.They continued to talk as normally as possible, but his eyes kept returning to her crotch, only to dart quickly back to her feet.

  “Obviously, he’s afraid to make a move,” she thought. “I guess I’ll have to do it.” Next day, she wore a different pair of boots and an even shorter skirt. She passed by the shoeshine place during her lunch break to find him busy. She asked when he would have time to give her a shine, and he pulled her to him, whispering, “Come back at 6:30.”

  She knew the business closed at 6:00, so perhaps he was ready for action after all! The hours and minutes ticked by at a snail’s pace, but just before leaving her office, she retired to the ladies’ room and removed her panties.

  Marcelo had been trusted to close up shop and was the only one there when she arrived at 6:30 on the dot. He gestured her toward the chair, locked the door, and closed the blinds. She held her legs together and down between the foot supports.When he lifted her left foot, his eyes bulged. He brought her other foot to the platform and, this time, gazed openly between her legs. He bent down and lifted her feet onto his shoulders, kissing the right boot from the ankle to the knee. Then, he drew her knees over his shoulders, as his mouth moved magnetically toward her aching flesh.

  She could feel his mouth tremble slightly as it closed over her labia, kissing her at first the way he would begin kissing her mouth. “We have never even kissed,” she thought, as his tongue swept up and down. “Well, I guess this counts,” she sighed and slumped farther down in the chair.

  What he lacked in skill, he made up for with enthusiasm. His tongue slid and flicked and circled everywhere on her swollen pussy. When he started to suck her clit, she thought she would fall over the edge, but the last thing she wanted to do was rush. He certainly showed no signs of tiring, as he slurped ravenously, drinking her juices, and probing her depths with his long tongue. When she started to hump uncontrollably toward his face, he slid his hands under her hips to support her.

  Just as her orgasm began to take her over, he inserted a finger inside her, and she pumped her hips forcefully upward against him with every delicious contraction. She wondered if anyone walking by could hear their cries. He moaned loudly too, as he simultane
ously came in his pants.

  “Oh, no, you made a mess!” she said, pointing at his crotch.

  “It’s okay. I have clothes in the back.”

  He lifted her up, holding her by her ass, and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he carried her into the back room, where they finished giving each other a very good shine.

  Kinsey Six

  BY THOMAS S. ROCHE

  When I get home, I almost turn around and walk out. I can hear you moaning. It’s almost two in the morning; you said it was fine if I came home by midnight, so I’m pissed. The bedroom door is wide open. I can hear the two of you moaning, and I’ve got a straight line of sight into the bed, where you’re spread open and she’s between your thighs, eating you out.

  We discussed this.We decided it was important to you to keep this partner, to remain lovers with her even though you and I had made a commitment. It’s called poly-fucking-amory, and the most important thing about it is that we keep our agreements, isn’t it? The fact that I’ve come home two hours after you said it was okay, and you’re still fucking like bunnies with the bedroom door open, makes a surge of rage go through me.

  But I watch. I don’t turn around and walk out, because it’s so damn late and I don’t want to go get a motel or kill time at the 24-hour diner.

  And besides, I’ve never seen Cora naked before.

  She’s sprawled out on the bed, hanging over the edge as she eats you out. Her nude body is slender, even skinny, but her hips have just enough swell to make my eyes linger there. She’s got a tattoo of two female symbols intertwined on her lush ass. Her legs are spread and I can see her pussy, shaved and pierced.