Blushed and Flushed: 12 erotic short stories for women

by Maria Diamante

  Finally, Lynn’s eyes rolled back and she relinquished all control over her body.

  She arched her neck back and closed her eyes and lost all sense of equilibrium.

  She let out a long involuntary cry of pleasure and then began to convulse in waves of what seemed to be a never-ending orgasm.

  She turned over to her side and held herself, quivering for several minutes, riding each surge of pleasure.

  Fabian, on his knees, looked over her, worried. He gently rubbed her arms and thighs as her body and breathing finally returned to normal.

  “Are you OK?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  Lynn finally opened her eyes and smiled, assuring him she was more than fine.

  Her forehead was covered in perspiration, her skin was flushed. She was drained and exhausted, but never felt more alive.

  She tried to roll towards him and suck him again, but he gently pushed her back down and lay beside her. He gently ran his fingers through her hair.

  “No my Cariña, let’s rest. But please, please tell me we will continue this when I return from Spain.”

  On the days that followed, Lynn was walking on air. All her decisions regarding her job, her personal life and her finances we’re now solved. She whipped through all of her papers and essays and gave some of the best lectures of her teaching career.

  She met with her financial planner who was amazed at her savvy suggestions for handling her investments. She sailed through her meetings with her lawyer to discuss the divorce. She even planned the animal shelter’s annual bake sale.

  Sitting with her friends at brunch, they were all in a tizzy about their hurried lives. Each of them talked about seeing their life coach or therapist. One said she was planning on converting to Buddhism. Others talked about the latest self-help books they’re reading, trying to find balance and peace in their lives.

  Lynn sat their quietly listening, when one of her friends abruptly said, “Wait a minute! We never heard about Lynn and her personal trainer!”

  All talking stopped. Silence at the table. All eyes were on Lynn.

  Embarrassed, she paused before she spoke.

  “It was pure poetry...”

  Together and Apart

  She lay in bed, stroking the skin under her breast, watching her lover’s back rise and fall in time with his breathing. She inhaled the smell of sex that filled the room. The coolness under her backside revealed she was lying in the wet spot. Ever so quietly, she rolled on her side to avoid it.

  Her lover sensed she was moving. He briefly woke and rolled over to spoon her. Throwing his muscular arm over her body, he cupped her breast. She tensed as he drifted off to sleep again, but then relaxed when his even breathing told her he was fast asleep. They were separate when they slept. She thought about how two people could share physical space, but remain two distinct entities.

  It was the first night her young lover stayed the evening. They had been having a passion-filled affair since January, but it wasn’t until June that he agreed to stay over. Until that evening, he opted to rise from bed to dress in the middle of the night and return home. Though not her first choice, she did concede that sleeping in the same bed, it was unlikely either of them would get a good night’s sleep. Though they each adored cuddling, they were used to sleeping alone.

  She wiggled her backside into his body and felt his erection stir again. She loved his body. His strong, almost exaggerated masculine shoulders tapering to a small compact behind were so visually appealing. And she couldn’t get enough of running her hands across his chest and along his thick pectoral muscles.

  At times, she found herself sitting across the table from him, gazing in lust at the outline of his shape. Her eyes would travel down his body to rest on the crotch of his faded jeans. They exchanged silent arousal, as she could clearly see the effects of her scrutiny on him, when his jeans suddenly became tighter just below the waist.

  Despite their obvious mutual attraction, she needed to be realistic. Women adored him and she knew she was but one of many women in various stages of romantic involvement with him. They were either sleeping with him, had recently slept with him, or had slept with him in the past and hung around, hoping to do so again.

  She squinted to see the alarm clock. The glowing green numbers blinked 4:55, and she ground her backside into his erection. She could tell he was awake and wanting her again.

  She sighed softly, feeling the heat from him, inspiring her own heat. Her body immediately responded to his touch. He began to touch her nipple, pulling it just the way she liked. She made a noise and moved to allow him greater access to her body.

  He didn’t say anything, but the darkness filled with sound. His movement against the sheets, the rasp of his skin moving on hers and the increased tempo of his breathing all swirled around her. He pulled her closer and she wished she could plaster her body to his, skin to skin, every part touching. She turned and lay facing him, his arms around her, his erection stabbing into her belly. She thrust her breasts against his chest, feeling the roughness of his chest hair against her nipples.

  His eyes were closed and she looked at him. The darkness prevented her from truly seeing him. But she could faintly make out his beautiful lips, his straight nose and a faint scar underneath his eye.

  A strange feeling came over her, as he rubbed his cock against her body. She sensed this was a moment she should remember – that she should take a mental photograph and capture this moment in time. Deep within her, she knew their affair would be short-lived.

  Within him lurked a restlessness. He often didn’t seem to want to be with her and saw her only once a week. She wished it was more frequent, but told herself to accept his passing interest and to take what she could from this temporary diversion.

  He would soon move on to a newer, perhaps younger or thinner or larger-breasted diversion. She would be left with this memory of him, the scent of his cologne on her pillows and the sweet feeling of having been held in his arms as they slept.

  She took comfort in knowing she inspired lust and desire in him. And he fulfilled her vibrant sexuality. He also brought out a sexual side of her she hadn’t known existed. Or rather, a side she had kept tightly sealed, never allowing it to surface.

  She closed her eyes as his hands moved over her body, lost in the physical sensation and shutting out any other thoughts but how his skin felt on hers. She ran her hands along his muscles, feeling the flesh beneath her fingers and the contours of his body.

  He frightened her by making her question her greedy lust, as she could never get enough of him. She often sat in her office during the day, remembering running her fingers over her lips, recalling their last encounter. Stunned that he had the ability to distract her so much at work, she wondered if her insatiable desire was healthy.

  This lust was new to her, and most of the time she embraced it. Or if it did cause concern, she brushed it aside by telling herself it was her age. She was proudly in her sexual peak - middle-aged hormones that were in full stride, causing her to ache for his body. She also told herself that it didn’t matter. She should accept and enjoy these lustful feelings and thoughts for as long as it lasted.

  He rose from the bed, leaving a brief chill of air on her skin as he reached for the condom. Temporarily bereft of his warmth, she kept her eyes closed as he quickly slipped it over his rock hard cock. He then moved between her spread legs to position himself on top of her.

  She opened herself to him, lost in the pleasure of the moment with no illusions of emotion or romance, just feeling his flesh invading her willing flesh. The growing friction caused her to moan and throw her head back in ecstasy.

  He spoke softly, telling her how good she felt and how she made him feel, and his smooth, sultry voice in her ear added to her greed for him. She clutched his shoulders, trying to pull him even more deeply into her body, consumed with feeling every inch of him inside her.

  She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her, his face tensed in an e
xpression of overwhelming pleasure. They locked eyes for a split second, before she felt she had to close hers again, cutting off any emotions associated with such an exchange. Though tempting, she would not allow it to interfere with her raw libido.

  In the darkness she only wanted the base sensations. Nothing else should occupy her mind until they each achieved their release. Yes, they were using each other in a way that primal. And yes, perhaps this would be frowned upon if her friends knew the whole story, but she didn’t care. This was enough connection. The physical pleasure spilled over and filled the glass that would normally be saved for emotion.

  She focused on her body, mentally urging release to come. When it came, her mind went black momentarily. She lost all her senses and awareness for a few precious seconds. Her body felt weightless, like she was floating.

  Opening her eyes and returning to earth, she rejoined the man on top of her again, this time focusing in his body and taking great triumph in the knowledge that she was in control of his release.

  Afterwards, he lay panting beside her, entwining his fingers with hers. Though it had just happened, she was already reliving the moment in her head, knowing it would be replayed over and over at her desk in the days to come.

  She also loved the feeling of confidence that now surged through her. She was secure in her womanhood, happy to have brought him to this weakened state. Drained of energy and needing sleep again, he cuddled against her. This after-moment was bitter sweet. Here, she felt both connected and yet separate.

  Her scent was on his body, as his was on hers. The physical outcome of their encounter was rubbed deep into her skin, soaking through the layers to her very core. She contentedly turned to allow sleep to come, feeling his warmth against her arm.

  She knew that when they woke again in the morning light, he would again turn to her, seeking another encounter. And she would yet again respond to his advances and the cycle would repeat itself – wanting, questioning, shutting out certain thoughts and then allowing the pleasure to be enough.

  Sleep overtook her and they were separate again.

  Hormones

  Testosterone? Bonnie bristled at the idea of having the essence of men inside her body. What would happen to her? How would she feel?

  Her doctor said he was running out of options and thought this would be a good treatment for her recurring endometriosis. He prescribed Danazol - a synthetic form of testosterone.

  Bonnie had lived with this condition for years. There were times when it was just a mild nuisance. But other times it was downright painful; so much so, she would walk down the street and suddenly hunch over in pain. She was in the middle of an aerobics class when a really severe attack hit her. That’s what led her to her doctor’s office.

  She had tried various drugs and other remedies. They helped a little, but nothing stopped the pain entirely. She even had surgery, which provided some relief, but later it came roaring back.

  Testosterone. She couldn’t help but think that was the most evil of all hormones; the serum behind all bad male behaviour. Normally, she would have passionately refused such a suggestion, but the pain was getting so bad, she was willing to try anything.

  Ridiculous images appeared in her head – would she suddenly grow a thick moustache? Would she suddenly have a dense forest of chest hair?

  Her doctor assured her this therapy was safe, but did concede that sometimes patients did experience a deepening of the voice. Great, thought Bonnie, I’m going to be a tenor.

  She talked her situation over with her girlfriends and they couldn’t help themselves. The jokes came fast and furious. They wondered if she would develop a desire to leave the toilet seat up.

  Or would she develop the need to flip madly through television channels with the remote. Would she have an uncontrollable urge to make bodily noises and scratch herself in inappropriate places? Would she lose the ability to ask for directions?

  Eventually, the entire group was in such a fit of laughter, many had to reach for their water because they couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down their faces. Bonnie was laughing just as hard and felt lucky that at least she would go through this medical experiment with an amazing group of friends that, all joking aside, loved her to bits.

  She began taking her medication and looked in the mirror to get a good image of the “before” picture. She was blessed with such feminine curves. Men had always loved her hour-glass figure. She would love to lose a couple of pounds off that ass, she thought as she wiggled it in the mirror.

  She was especially proud of her large breasts. She was a DD, bordering on an E depending on the make of bra. Her friends were jealous, often spending loads of money on fancy bras that claimed to lift, separate or enhance. “Smoke and mirror” bras…that’s what Bonnie called them. Thankfully, she had done a lot of swimming and other sports when she was young, so she had the back and shoulder strength to support such endowment.

  She looked at her long curly hair and, after pulling out the odd grey one in disgust, decided she quite liked the way she looked and just hoped her medication didn’t turn her in a female version of Chewbacca.

  To her delight, her pain began to subside within the first couple of weeks and she found herself feeling quite good. She was sleeping well and just tearing through her work as an editor for a popular women’s magazine.

  She was feeling more confident, almost a little cocky. Sometimes guilty of insecurity, she was now walking down the office with a little swagger. She wasn’t sure if this was because she was practically pain free, or if the testosterone flowing through her veins was giving her a dose of male ego.

  She kept her friends updated and reported that though she felt better, she didn’t have an urge to thump her chest or down many beers in succession. She still very much felt like a woman. Just a more confident woman.

  Later that month Bonnie was invited to a house party. She hadn’t been to one in ages, and she was a little reluctant. Being 39, most house parties consisted of four or five couples sitting in a living room talking about their kids. She loathed hearing about another couple’s adventures with baby vomit. Happily single and childless, she hated such scenes. It reminded her too much of Bridget Jones’s Diary.

  Thankfully, this party was different. It was a throw back to her partying days in her 20s. The house was filled with all sorts of people, younger, older, financial types, artistic types. Everyone seemed intent on having a good time.

  As with most house parties, she wound up spending most of her time in the kitchen, and was a little taken back by one of the guests. It wasn’t his good looks that caught her attention, although he wasn’t bad. She couldn’t believe how fast he inhaled half a brick of brie. Bonnie figured, since she now had the element of man inside her blood, she might as well act like one and make the first move.

  She made her way to the kitchen table and watched this handsome man toss back four or five crab cakes in a matter of seconds when she said playfully, “I’m guessing this is dinner for you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten all day,” he replied blushing, amid chews. He wanted to extend his hand for a hand shake but realized it was covered in dip. He frantically searched for a napkin.

  His name was Patrick. He looked to be in his late 30s. He was by no means pretty, but very rugged and manly. He had a noticeable scar just above one of his eyebrows, and his eyes were intense and fierce.

  Everything about the man was thick – not in a fat overweight way, but in more of a muscular, burly way. His thick neck, thick powerful forearms a huge barrel chest were supported by tree trunks for legs. He looked more like a lumberjack or an oil rig worker. In fact, he was a photographer. Never in a hundred years would she have guessed that.

  In the past when meeting someone new, Bonnie often let the man guide the conversation. But not this evening. She was practically interrogating him, wanting to know where he was from, was he married, was he ever married, did he have kids.

  Bonnie herself was a littl
e surprised at her direct line of questioning, but she was very attracted to Patrick and had no interest in meaningless small talk.

  She managed to pull him away from the food and the two of them found spots on the living room sofa. Yes, there was plenty of conversation around them – lots of stories being told and discussion of current events. But the two of them were content to lose themselves in a private chat. It seemed the crowd around them understood these two wanted to be left alone.

  Within minutes they were on to that big question single people ask when they meet another single person – why are you still single?

  Patrick answered first. As a photographer, his life was anything but 9-5. He also loved travel photography and was often on an assignment. (He also did studio work and weddings to pay the bills.) He liked to move around and see and live in different places. He had lived briefly in Asia and in Europe and still had an interest in living in Australia one day. Add all that up and that wasn’t exactly the solid, steady man most women were seeking when it came a potential partner.