Five-Minute Erotica

by Carol Queen

  My gloved hand knocks, wanting in.

  Carefully, I dance with her lips, waltz with her minora, majora. She leads, naturally. She takes my hand with her cunt and shows me herself. She opens w-i-d-e, says hello, invites me in. I bow, caress, and take a first step. One finger, with a come hither action. Not a lot. Not a lot at all—just a first step, one finger through the threshold. I hand one finger in her pussy, her cunt, her vagina. One finger inside her, feeling the heat of her, taking her temperature from inside—a special, intimate, inside.

  She nods, I nod, and we take another step; both listening to the music she makes.

  Two is small. Just two.Two is a little number—just one and one. I move them inside her, feeling around, getting to know this special place, feeling her interior architecture. I feel a rough spot (G), the narrowing, slick walls (to cervix), the hard jab of bone under, the tight muscles over, the way her lips move, the way they won’t.

  Lube and more lube. She shines, glimmers with it, looking red-mirrored with the slickness, and her own slickness as well.

  I note the smile she gives me, with the rise and salute of her clit. Some women like it touched, during this, some don’t. I ask, and she nods, so I do: bathing her bead with a careful rotation of my thumb.

  Then—three.

  Still a small number, a little number.Three isn’t a lot, but the tightness has started.The play of one and one and one isn’t as flexible as just one, just two. It’s harder to move now, but I have a feel for the land, for the flow of her lips and walls. I slowly turn my hand, rotating it slowly, pushing gently, massaging but not forcing her muscles, cooing with a special kind of sign language to her cunt, pussy, vagina: No one here who doesn’t love you, no one here who means you any harm. Let me in and we’ll dance . . .

  Three fingers, bent together: turning slowly, pushing oh-so-gently at the strength of her cunt. Not forcing. Complying, yes; easing, yes; massaging, yes; enticing—oh, yes! She opens wider, slowly allowing me passage in. Her door yields to my three long, reaching fingers.

  Inside, within, I tap her G-spot, feeling its corrugated pleasure. Within, I explore the architecture of her interior.

  More lube, some conversation. I ask and she answers: all is well. I stroke and ring her clit, making her smile wide and magical.

  Four. When all you have is five, four is a big number. Actually all you do have is four—five is the thumb. Four now inside. Four fingers in a squeezed duckbill, forced so my tips touch together. Four inside, pushing gently but still firmly, firm but still gentle: Inside her.

  Fingers are long and thin, pointed and supple (aside from the small nuts of their joints)—I perform an origami of my own hand: collapsing it, curling my fingers, cupping her from inside, sliding and dancing within her. The hard, literal, part is next, knocking on the door, wanting to be let in.

  The hard part is next. I tell her as much.

  She breathes, controlling the pain and pleasure that has painted her in reflections of sweat, preparing herself for the reverse birth—taking someone in rather than pushing someone out.

  The hard part is the thumb and bones of my hand, the knuckles. I watch her face, hypnotized by her beauty and bravery, amazed by the dance of delight that flickers and swells over her eyes (closed in concentration, open in amazement and near shock), lips (blowing bow kisses, hissing past the pain), and nose (buttoning with the rest of her face). Bathing her clit with my lube-shiny thumb, I ask, polite and civil, if she would be so kind as to allow me into her most inner of sanctums.

  Her yes is silent but obvious: with a few gentle turns of the hand, she relaxes and allows me the space and time and delight to push those last few inches in. The hard part is over, the knuckles are through.

  Welcome.

  This is it: I am inside and filling. This is it, one hand within. The rest is icing on the desert: I have to do is close my long, long (sometimes too long) fingers around my thumb. Fisting ... still too rough and violent. I am inside, within—that says it all.

  I watch the pleasure and the pain (more former than latter) dance on her face as I slowly, slowly, slowly turn my hand with a gentle twist, rubbing my knuckles across her G-spot.

  Yes, it’s my hand, my fingers, my gentle pressure behind it all—but she is in control: she can say “yes”, “no”, “stop”, “slow”, “out”. I would, of course, because even though it is my hand it is her temple I am walking slowly into: a supplicant, a respective worshiper: Whatever you say, Goddess.

  Then she does say it—after quakes of pounding comes paint her even more with reflective sweat she clenches down on my hand, arches her spine. She says “Out” and I do, telling her to push against my hand, to squeeze me out as I gently withdraw.

  Then I am.

  I clean up, kissing her hot tummy. I rub her from breasts to legs, from arms to cheeks, from the top of her head to the dimple of her navel. I put a warm blanket over her and hold her while she drifts towards sleep, falls towards exhausted slumber. I follow close behind, having come much deeper from my hand—from being within—than ever from my cock.

  Sod

  BY GREG WHARTON

  I had to get out of the room. Last night was the viewing, today the funeral. I had been cooped up in the motel room playing dice games with my mother and father for two nights now. I needed some fresh air. Or a drink, or a fuck. A vision of Mike’s face popped into my mind, and my cunt trembled, catching me off guard. I’ll settle for fresh air, I thought, as I excused myself and left the room feeling more than a little flushed and embarrassed.

  We had all come together for the funeral of my grandmother, the family matriarch. Death was about the only thing that ever brought us all together from where we’d scattered through the years. So here I was in Richmond, Indiana, where once upon a time my family all grew up, married, bred, and died.

  I had long been gone, and although I kept up with parts of my family, I had lost contact with the rest. I hadn’t seen my cousin Jeremy and his wife for 20 years.They were the only ones to stay in Richmond. He and his wife, the same age as me at 37, already had three daughters, a son, and a granddaughter. One daughter married and pregnant with her second child, and the second daughter, Cindy, a senior in high school and already engaged.

  Engaged to Mike, easily one of the most beautiful men I had ever met.

  A car slowly tailed me down the dark street. Should I be worried in Richmond? Yes, I quickly decided. I was ready to break into a run when it pulled up beside me and I saw Mike’s face grinning at me.

  “Where you off to?” His smile and his car kept even with my continued walk.

  “I needed some fresh air.What are you—”

  “Have you ever seen a sod farm?”

  “A sod farm? No, Mike, I don’t think so.” I stopped and gazed into his large clear eyes. A sod farm? Oh, he was so beautiful.

  “Hop in, I’ll take you. What else you got to do? It’s all right, come on!”

  Well, I had wanted some fresh air, and it was my last night in Indiana.Why not? I climbed in the car and squirmed as I thought about the other thing I had wished for earlier. Not a drink, that suddenly dropped lower on my list.

  The first time I saw him was at the viewing, where relatives and friends are supposed to find closure with death.This family tradition left me feeling depressed and nauseous as relative after relative, stranger after stranger, filed in to stare at Grandma’s pale body. We stood around for three hours making small talk, avoiding the subject of my recent divorce. I did my best at playing the good daughter for my parents, spending most of the evening trying not to burst into tears.

  I didn’t talk to him until towards the end of the evening. Mike, tall, dark, and built like a bull. Solid. Strong. Handsome. Mmmmm. Look at those hands, such nice large hands. Thick fingers, shiny nails. Out of high school, but so young. Shame on me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was magnificent.

  I asked the young couple their plans, and tried to sound interested as my cousin’s little g
irl shyly talked on, while I stared into his pretty brown eyes, wishing I were still that young.

  It was amazing: the tender young grass was so soft under my bare feet. Mike had insisted I take off my sandals before walking more than two feet into the dark field. The sod was like downy hair. My soles were tickled as I gingerly walked over the moist grass. He grabbed my hand, and my body shivered as I felt his large warm palms. I was instantly wet, and felt the once-familiar itch that I had been ignoring since Charles left me. He tugged my arm, and we ran from one end of the field to the other, then fell panting on our backs as we stared up at the sky rich with stars and a large crescent moon. The moon is never that large or bright in Chicago. I realized how much I missed seeing the stars at night.When was the last time I looked up?

  His hands were quick, and had my skirt pulled off before I could object, even if I had wanted to. I didn’t have anything on underneath and was ready to come just from the sensation of the baby grass against my bare skin.

  His large finger slid in easily and was soon followed by his tongue. Well, he may have looked young, but he had the right technique. The rush hit me. Nothing but his finger inside me, his tongue on my clit, and the grass up my ass. My legs shook. I gripped his hair and cried out. He didn’t stop until I had ridden the largest orgasm since, well—since before I even met my now-gone husband.

  “Fuck me,” I gasped when he came up for air.

  “I sure would like to, Michelle, but I can’t. I’ve promised myself, and Cindy, I would stay a virgin until our marriage night.”

  “A virg—”

  “That doesn’t mean that we can’t have more fun, though!”

  He gave me an evil smile as he pulled my shirt off, then gripped each of my nipples between his fingertips, pinching softly as they hardened under his touch.

  A virgin? The way he just got me off? Is he for real?

  I was truly stuck for words as I watched him stand and quickly strip off his clothes, then climb over me, positioning himself on all fours with his mouth at my cunt and his cock aimed down at my face. He slipped his finger back into me and his cock into my mouth.

  His cock was fat, no, more like muscular. Like him. Large, solid muscle. I pulled it out of my mouth and gripped it with both hands, wondering if he and his soon-to-be wife did this. I stuck my tongue out and licked its head.While he continued to finger my cunt, his lips and tongue explored my clit. I opened wide and started pumping my mouth around his cock, trying to keep time with him.

  My second orgasm was building, and he hadn’t tired of my cunt yet. Lucky Cindy! His body was straddling me now, and though numb, my face and mouth had become accustomed to his cock’s deep thrusts. The skin on his cock was so smooth, and

  I could feel the huge veins that ran up his length rubbing against my lips and tongue as he forced in and out. His balls bounced roughly against my nose and forehead as I felt the welcome new sensation of a finger worming into my asshole.

  I screamed out again as the field shook under me, but was muffled by the thick cock in my throat. I did the only thing I could think of; I licked, then worked my finger into his asshole too. His whole body twitched and he shot into my throat, not missing a thrust. When he was done I rolled him off, so he was kneeling beside me. I licked my finger again and slid it back into his ass, then harder, and licked at his cock as he watched me in wonder. I felt like worshiping it, like he had me. I wiggled my finger back and forth, and lapped at the veins still bulging out the length of him.

  The force of his ejaculation actually made me think that maybe I really was the first. No, I couldn’t be. He hadn’t said that. He just meant he hadn’t fucked. Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me.

  “Are you really a virgin?” I asked between slurps up his length.

  He grinned at me, but didn’t answer. Instead he rocked hard against my fingers probing his ass, and surprisingly, within minutes rewarded me with another mouthful of his come as he howled out like a wolf at the moon.

  We lolled together in the field for a long time and watched the stars without speaking. I felt such peace for a change and wanted to just curl up beside him and sleep, but we both knew that we should go.We dressed slowly, watching the last of each other’s grass-stained bodies disappear, then walked silently back to his car. I took one last look at the sky, and closed my eyes, making sure to remember each star.

  My sleep was deep my last night in Richmond. I left for an early flight back home feeling more rested, better, than I had in years, and yet still sad.

  As I watched my parents wave at me from the airport window, I felt overwhelmed by bittersweet emotions. My grandma was gone, and I was leaving my family. How many years until the next time we would be pulled together by death? How many years will pass before I see parts of my family again?

  And Mike. I could still smell him.When would I see him again? Would I see him again?

  I couldn’t decide which would bother me more, hearing news that Mike and my cousin’s little girl got married, or that they didn’t. Either way, I would never forget the sensation of baby grass on my bare skin.

  Spank Me

  BY RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL

  “Spank me.” The words hovered at the edge of my mind, ready to burst forth in release, but I held them back for a few more moments. They’d waited there long enough. I was still nervous, even though I’d been mouthing them, thinking them, fantasizing them, wanting to say them, for two months, but so far had let them remain a part of my dream world rather than my actual life.What would happen after I said them, after I asked my boyfriend, Darren, to fulfill this most treasured of fantasies? Would he laugh? Would he be excited? Aroused? Horrified? Angry? Confused? I had no idea what his reaction might be.We’d been dating and sleeping together for a little over a year, and our relationship and sex life were happy, pleasant, fun. There was nothing to really complain about, but I was looking for something more. Something very specific.

  For the past few weeks, our fun but routine sex life somehow hadn’t been enough.We’d both come in the same predictable ways (me on top or alternating oral sex), then I’d lay awake while Darren slept, dreaming of being sprawled across his lap, one of my flimsy skirts hiked up over my hips, my panties pulled tightly between my cheeks, and his hands slapping me, making me squirm, making me hot. It was all I could do not to bring his hands up to my cheeks, to try to communicate my desires telepathically, but something stopped me.We’d never talked about spanking or anything kinky in the past, so perhaps it was foolish of me to think he’d be able to intuit what I wanted. But foolish or not, I wanted him just to turn me over and bring his hand down hard on my ass, and keep on doing it until he was ready to stop. I tossed and turned, wiggling, dreaming of my butt on fire, red with heat and passion.

  Darren finally awoke, and could tell that I was in a bit of an agitated state. He reached around and tweaked my nipples while he licked the back of my neck and sighed into my skin.This felt heavenly, but right then I was looking for a little bit of hell. I pushed my ass back against him, feeling his hard hot cock against my cheeks. I reached around and brought his hand from my breast downwards, placing it on my ass and moving it back and forth. I turned around and kissed him deeply, my own hand sliding down to his ass and giving a squeeze. “Darren, there’s something that you can do that would make me so happy. I’ve been lying here for the last hour thinking about it and it’s making me so wet and so excited.”Then I looked him in the eye and said, “I want you to spank me.” I wasn’t simpering, or overly breathy, but I wasn’t quite as bold as I’d have liked to be. I sucked in my breath as soon as the words were out, worried that I’d made a mistake by entrusting my most treasured fantasy to my most treasured person. My heart felt like it was about to beat right out of my chest. I could feel it thudding and pounding with the kind of nerves I usually only get at the office, but now I was feeling that way in front of my boyfriend, my lover whom I could trust with anything. At least, I hoped I could trust him with this.

  He star
ed at me for a minute, and started to open his mouth like he was going to speak, but then he didn’t. He turned me over so I was lying across his lap, and I could feel his cock poking against me, hard and firm and eager. I did what I usually do in that situation, sliding back and forth against him, trying to provoke him. But it didn’t have the usual reaction. He pulled my hair so that my head lifted and I was staring right at him. “None of that for now, I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”The fierce tone of his voice sent shivers running throughout my body. I put my head back down, nervous and excited at once, a small smile peeking out despite my resolve to be stoic and calm. Then his hand came crashing down on my ass. It was nothing, and everything, like I’d dreamed about. It tingled and hurt for a moment, like I’d expected, but then I started to feel warm all over, craving more of the same rough treatment. I felt a shot of desire run through my cunt, leaving me feeling like I truly had a desperate hole to fill.Then he did it again and I felt my whole body go liquid, relaxed, melting. I let out the tiniest of moans and twisted, squirming with the thrill of his smacks.

  I could tell from the way he grunted as he did it that he was both annoyed and turned on. He doesn’t usually like it when I decide that things are going to change; he likes some time to ease into any new developments. I know that, but there was no way for me to tell him gradually; this was an all or nothing deal. From then on, I let my body do the talking. And I guess it was getting my message across pretty well, because I felt his hand continue to spank me, again and again, working up a rhythm as he went faster and faster, each blow blurring into the last and the next. I could feel a new kind of heat rising from my skin. It hurt, but mostly it felt hot, a delicious, addictive heat, and I kept wanting more. I twisted my head around to get a peek, and saw his hand come slamming down into my skin, over and over like a racquet hitting a ball swiftly and precisely, knowing exactly where to strike. I turned back around and shut my eyes, afraid of what I might do with the sensations that had just swept through my body as I watched him. The more he spanked me, the more I wanted him to. I glimpsed another peek, this time at his face, furrowed in concentration. His cock was still pressing against me, hard as could be. I wriggled against it happily, glad I’d finally gotten the words right.