Readerotica – Erotica for Your eReader
Published by Smashwords.com
Copyright 2011 PriveCo Inc.
Readerotica – Free Erotic Stories for Your Electronic Reader
About Readerotica - Vibrators.com
Chapter 1 - Flying Through China - Susannah Indigo
Chapter 2 - The Chocolate Dream - Taylor Stone
Chapter 3 - Go Large - Mike Kimera
Chapter 4 - Second Hand - Chris Bridges
Chapter 5 - The Lucky Dick Club - Diane Fisher
Chapter 6 - Bacon Lola & Tomato - Janice Callisa
Chapter 7 - Five States - Cheyenne Blue
Chapter 8 - God of Fuck - Isabelle Carruthers
Chapter 9 - Pillowbook Tale - Adrianna de la Rosa
Chapter 10 - Ratatouille - Susie Santiago
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Chapter 1 - FLYING THROUGH CHINA
The tea-light candles are tiny and white and encased in gold. “Light six of them at a time,” Jack said when he gave them to me. “Six is the sacred number of Aphrodite, the goddess of love.” I laugh when he says things like that, but I listen. “Bathe in salted water scented with roses, my love,” he said, “like a gentle ocean bath, and imagine that the water is the sacred fluid that will endow you with all the powers of love.” He gave me tiny packets of bath oil filled with rose petals, but somehow he forgot the salt. Morton provides that from the cupboard—iodized, of course.
The candlelight flickers on the ceiling as I drop my robe and lower myself into the steaming water, pretending that he is here watching me while I practice. After our first night together I told him I would try everything for him. That was the night when he touched a part of me that I had thought was lost. He took me to his loft and removed the clips from my long hair and began to dance with me. He lit candles all around the room and danced me to the end of the night. I wanted to be a dancer when I was a little girl, but somehow never followed through on that dream.
Jack brought out secrets in me, he whispered to me of the magic of tantric sex, and then he had me blow out all the candles but one and made love to me slowly while I wrapped my legs around him and sat on his lap on the hardwood floor.
“I will try everything for you,” I whispered when we woke up the next morning—surprising myself with the words, with the wetness between my legs just from looking at him, and with my desire to climb up on top of him while he was still asleep. “Wanton” is not a word anyone ever used to describe me. “Yes, you will, China,” was all that he said then. I just had no idea where he’d make me start.
There are so very many things I’ve never tried in my life: I’ve never worn a corset, I’ve never eaten a truffle and I’ve never touched another woman sexually. I had no idea that I wanted any of these things until I moved to the town of Boulder and met Jack and then made friends with Annie Braverman and her partner Sam. Annie has a closet that makes me blush.
I slide my hands under the water and feel the curve of my hips and the hardness of my thighs. I look at my body through Jack’s eyes, watching my nipples grow hard and rise above the water. I’ve had these large nipples ever since I was a teenager, and I used to be so embarrassed by how they’d poke out against everything and grow hard from the touch of the material.
“You will learn to go topless around the house, China,” Jack said, “especially when we’re cooking. There is nothing better.” I could think of a couple of better things, like aprons, but cooking is the height of sensuality to me and I’m good at it. I used to read books by M.F.K. Fisher when I was a teenager, and she wrote all those sensual things about food and hunger and for all I know maybe she did because she went topless, I don’t know. Yes, I said to Jack, and yes, and yes. I feel like Molly Bloom when I’m around him. Yes. Yes. I seem to be saying this to him all the time. But I want what he has. Yes.
My pussy hair is full and pale red, just like my very long hair that I always keep in a braid or tied up so that nobody notices it. Jack is always taking it down. He loves that I’ve hung onto that part of me from my strange childhood, and he loves that I’ve kept my name. My full name is China Sunflower Thomas. One read of this name and people can almost guess what year I was born. My parents lived on a commune and were never married—at least not to each other. A hundred times I’ve considered changing my name, but have never gotten around to it. My childhood only made me turn out conservative—I’m an accountant and live in a proper condo in the foothills of Boulder. I hide my long, wavy hair in a bun for work. I pay my bills on time; I read serious fiction; I go to church.
“But you’re only twenty-six years old,” Jack laughed when I told him these things. “You’ve forgotten to live.” I looked at him sitting in my office as I sorted out his messy financial affairs when he had the nerve to say that to me. I wanted to smack him, but, looking at him, I flashed on my childhood at the Grand Lake Cooperative and suddenly I couldn’t say a word. Long hair, knowing eyes and a great beard. A free spirit. He was definitely not my type. The only problem was that as he sat across from me at my desk and humbled himself to my calculator, I found myself crossing my legs to try to ignore the fact that just by looking at me he was making me wet.
In the candlelight of my bathroom none of it seems to matter. The only thing that’s important is that I learn to bring myself to orgasm with my own hands, no vibrator, no man; that I keep stroking my clit in this way that feels so right, that I close my eyes and learn how to lose myself enough so that I can do this in front of Jack some day.
“Sex is all about the transference of power,” he told me, and somehow I knew he was not talking about my Hitachi Magic Wand and the electrical outlet in my bathroom.
“When you master this first challenge, China, we can start down the path to the secrets of high sex.” I want the secrets and I want the touch that I have right this second that makes me know I am indeed related to the goddess of love in some very distant way, and I want to smell like roses and see the flicker of tea-lights in my dreams every single night.
And of course I want to do all this before Jack comes over at eight, and Annie and Sam arrive for dinner.
I do not cook topless. Nor do I wear a corset that pushes my breasts up to the sky. I do skip my bra and wear a soft cashmere sweater that matches my hair, and I know that my nipples will stand out for Jack sometime during the evening and this will make him happy.
“Take your hair down,” Jack murmurs with the first kiss of my neck. When I hesitate, he takes the clip out of my hair, and I find I am enjoying this game of deciding how we will arrange my hair every time we greet. When he comes over he brings me roses, pale orange roses that he says look like me, sometimes a single rose, sometimes two dozen; he brings music; he brings wine; but mostly he brings so very many kisses. I started having sex on the commune when I was thirteen, but somehow the art of kissing and flirting and teasing got lost in the mix of free love and the constant nudity that embarrassed me every single day and the birth control my mother handed to me at fourteen.
Jack kisses me, he just kisses me, and I want to take more than my hair down and climb up and into this man and stay warm forever. Maybe it’s the way his beard feels against my cheek, maybe it’s the way his tongue is exploring every inch of my mouth, maybe it’s the feel of his hard cock up against my jeans or maybe I’m just turning into a slut.
“Let’s cook,” he says with a smile, pulling away from me. “The wait is always worth it.”
Easy for him to say. For all I know, he can probably just light one single tea-light candle, turn on the hot water for his bath, touch himself and come before he even gets to the cold water. I think I’ll ask him about this someday, if I can ever find the words. Words about sex rarely cross my tongue. When he talked about masturbating, I told him, “I can’t even say that word, I hate it,” and I even hated having to admit this to him. “That’s cool, China,” he said. “We’ll just call it something else. Let’s call it ‘flying,’ because sometimes it almost is.”
When Annie Braverman enters a room the light shifts. She’s ten years older than I am, but she has an air of eroticism around her that makes me envious. She wears long flowing skirts and leotards and beaded earrings that dangle down below her chin, but she’s not exactly pretty in any conventional way. She has a basic natural Colorado kind of look, with long dark brown hair, or actually “espresso” colored hair as she told me once, direct from the bottle. She says she used to be a blonde and hints at having quite a past, but I can’t imagine Annie anywhere but right here and now, bringing energy to this room. Her lover Sam lives in San Francisco and is tall and dark and Jewish and seems smarter than anyone else I know, but he is still a bit of a mystery to me. I do so like to watch when he looks at Annie like she’s his own personal angel just come down from heaven.
“I brought you strawberries, China,” Annie says, “dipped in white chocolate.” Even her food offerings seem sexual.
Jack and I finish cooking and leave Annie and Sam in charge of the music and the wine. I only blush a little when Jack can’t find the salt and I have to sneak into the bathroom for it. Annie talks at dinner about her two adopted kids. “Raising these kids to be capable of joy and laughter and intimacy, that’s my thing,” she says. “My other passions right now are . . . let’s see: Red Rocks at sunrise, struggling to learn aikido, helping people through my work, feta cheese omelets, hot-air balloons, and poetry.”
Sam puts his arm around her and raises his eyebrows.
“Of course, Sam, too — goes without saying,” she says. “It’s Sam’s eyes that I love the most.” She reaches to kiss him and there’s a level of intensity in the way their eyes lock and know and smile and I can barely stand it.
When they finally break apart, Annie turns to Jack.
“You know, I think everyone should know their passions and keep them in focus. How about you Jack, what are your passions?”
“Passions? I guess I’d say making my pictures, making love, making connections. And then — snowboarding at Winter Park, good jazz, China. And baseball.”
At least I come before baseball. Man I hope she doesn’t ask me this question. What could I say — making money? Getting to work on time? Filing 1040s? Alphabetizing my bookshelves?
“How about you, China? I love knowing this about my friends.”
Only Annie can ask these kinds of questions without having people laugh and make jokes about it.
“Well . . . um . . . cooking . . . and, Jack.” It sounds so lame.
“China’s been taking flying lessons,” Jack says with a smile to help me out, and I think I might kill him.
“Yeah, right — not really,” I laugh and reach to kiss him instead of kill him, trying to act like Annie. “And you, Sam, what are your passions?” A master of diversion, that’s me.
He’s ready. I think a person would have to be ready to be with Annie. “Music. Words. Annie and her kids. Writing. San Francisco. Sushi. Leather. Four-poster beds. Brunettes. The Victoria’s Secret store on Broadway. Foreign films, Rome, skiing the back bowls at Copper Mountain. Baseball . . .”
Sam is only stopped by Jack’s discovery that they both love the Cubs. I have a feeling he could have gone on all night and I’m impressed.
“Yeah,” I offer. “I had to entice Jack away from watching that big Cubs game tonight for this dinner.”
The guys look at each other, check the clock, then eye the TV off in the corner.
Annie laughs. “Go ahead and watch the rest of it, you guys. China and I will just lock ourselves away and do girl things, like maybe try on shoes.”
I sure hope she’s joking, because even my shoes are boring. We pour more wine and wander off to my bedroom while the men grab the remote and hit the couch.
“So, China, what’s with the flying lessons?” Annie asks as we settle in to talk. She doesn’t miss much.
I break down and tell her everything. How hard all of it is for me, all the things that Jack gives me, how uptight I feel. She just smiles.
“All that sensual stuff is good for you, I think, but what do guys know? I’m an expert at flying every which way. Remember, Sam lives a thousand miles away. All you need is a woman tutor. Those who can, teach. A tutor, darlin’, and then you need a good hard fantasy.”
Oh man, it was hard enough coming up with passions, and now I have to dig up a fantasy?
“I don’t really have any fantasies, Annie, except for Jack. But thinking about him during this just makes me nervous.”
“No problem, China. I’ll loan you one of my fantasies to try on. Kind of like sharing clothes, except after you try it on to see if it fits, you can keep it if you like. I’m fond of fantasies with faceless men, you know, the kind of guy you never cook with, or fight with. The kind of guy who doesn’t know that the TV even exists while you’re in the room with him.”
Annie locks the door, lights the candles, turns off the lamp and lies down on the bed beside me. “Close your eyes, China.”
“But the guys are out there. This takes me forever, Annie.”
“It won’t. Trust me. You have to find the wildness deep inside of you. I’ll even join in.”
I peek, and Annie is lifting her skirt next to me and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do. She wears nothing underneath and she has no hair at all on her pussy and it’s beautiful.
“You can watch me, China, or we can put a scarf around your eyes to help you lose yourself and take off.”
I want to watch. I suddenly can understand why Jack wants this. I take my jeans and panties off as she instructs and I lie back and spread my legs. She props me up with the pillows so I can see, but I notice that she has closed her eyes and is touching herself.
“There’s a man,” Annie says, “who has come to me after midnight almost every night of my life. He is tall and has long, very black hair. I don’t know him, but I know he wants something from me and that he has to have it. He scares me sometimes. Touch yourself in any way that feels right, China, and I will tell you what he wants from you tonight.”
Annie is not exactly touching me, but she is only inches away and I swear I can feel her skin.
We lie at right angles so we can see each other. Her voice is like velvet when she says, “Don’t say a word, China, just touch yourself and listen to my story.”
You are lying on the beach in St. Croix and it is very hot. You’re wearing a white bikini and you have a tan along with your freckles. Everybody gets a great tan in my fantasies. You are stretched out on your blue beach towel that says ‘San Francisco Ballet’ across it in big letters. I am there with you, but I have left to wander down the beach to find us something to drink. You lie on your back with your hat over your face, but you can still tell that suddenly your sun is gone. When you take off the hat and look up he is there, standing over you, and he is tall with pitch black hair and soft brown eyes. You know him. It’s the same man you chatted with on the airplane, and who you have seen everywhere you go around town. He looks at you expectantly, and you can’t help but notice that he is fully dressed here on the beach.
“I’ve been watching you, China,” he says, and you think about moving and getting up but you don’t. Instead you look around and can’t figure out why there is suddenly no sun, no people, no noise, nothing except for this man staring at you.
“May I join you?” he asks sitting down right next to you, so close that he is just barely touching your skin, and you are hot all over again.
“Yes,” you whisper, because what else can you say.
It begins to rain, a gentle but steady rain here on the island. All you can see is the rain and the man and he moves until he’s blocking the rain from your face and he is inches away and he kisses you.
You think maybe you should get up and take this man to your room or maybe you shouldn’t, but then he says “Don’t move, China. I want you right here.“
The rain is not cold, but his hands on your legs feel like the sun and you move into his heat.
He asks you why you are wearing such bright red lipstick here on the beach and you say you don’t know, but then you remember your friend Annie made you put it on, and you remember that it is called ‘Scarlet Begonias’ and it is the same color that she put on your fingernails and your toes. You tell him this. He runs his finger across your lips. He begins to draw down your chest with his finger and stops just above your breasts.
“Take your top off,” he says, and you slip it off and arch your back for him like it is the most natural act in the world and you have known him forever. You’re sure that this is what you were born for, to lie here on the white sand with rain falling all around you and a man with black hair and strong hands lying on top of you and protecting you from it all.
“Spread your legs,” he says, and you move underneath him and say “yes” and you try and think of his name but it doesn’t seem to matter now. “Do you want me to fuck you, China?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you think his voice is coming from somewhere out there in the rain. His hands run down from the curve of your breast over your belly and he is taking off the bottom of your bikini. He kisses you where the softness of your red pussy hair meets your wetness, just one single kiss. He lies back on top of you and you can feel his hard cock pressing into you.
You forget that you are here in the rain and that you barely know this man and that there must be other people out there somewhere and that if the rain stops they will all see you. It somehow doesn’t matter because all there is in the world is the sensation of every inch of your skin pressing into his and it seems that this man belongs inside of you but somehow you have to find the words to say yes.
“Yes,” you hear from somewhere in the rain, and it sounds like your voice but it is not, it’s your friend Annie’s voice and she is there next to you with her hands on your ankles and she is saying “yes,” not to him but to you, “yes China,” she says, “yes,” like she is reminding you that you like to wear lipstick, and “yes,” like she is reminding you that you need to let go, and “yes,” like she is the only one who can tell you that you need to say yes to this man and this feeling and this place and that it is all okay and that of course this is what you want and what you need.
“Do you want me to fuck you, China?” the man asks one more time, and it is barely a question. He holds your wrists together over your head and as soon as you say “yes, fuck me” you can feel Annie’s hands on your ankles and she is spreading your legs wider for him and watching. He begins to enter you, so slowly that you think you will die from the pleasure and your lack of control and then he is driving into you hard and fast and you hear Annie saying “yes” over and over and you are with her and with him and you hope everyone in the world is watching and feeling exactly what you feel.
I hear Annie moaning and coming to her own story and I am coming with her and I think maybe she really did have her hands on my ankles, but I’m not even sure where I am. It is all so amazing and I am laughing and hugging her. Real hugs, the one Jack calls the melting hug, where your whole body embraces the other person.
Annie laughs with me. “Hey, it works for me every time. Get dressed, darlin’. I think we’re way past the 7th inning stretch out there.”
As soon as Annie and Sam have gone for the night, I hurry to find Jack, who is in the kitchen cleaning up. I can’t stand it. I turn off the water, wrap my arms around him and whisper to him.
“I need you to fuck me.”
His eyes widen, but I give him credit for not laughing.
“Did I hear you right, China? Say it again.”
“I need you to fuck me, Jack.” I’ve never said that to a man before in my life. I pull my sweater off over my head and kneel in front of him and undo the belt on his jeans.
“Louder, China.” I can hear the smile in his voice and I take his hard cock in my mouth and wrap the words right around it. “Fuck me, Jack. Fuck my mouth. Fuck me everywhere.” I want to take him so far inside of me that I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m dripping inside of my jeans and I need him there too. I feel positively . . . well, wanton. “God, fuck me, Jack, please fuck me, here, in the kitchen.”
He is on me in a flash, and lifts me up and turns me around and takes off my jeans and lays me across the counter. “I guess this is not the night for learning the gentle Streaming Process, is it, baby.” His hands are hard and good on my ass and my thighs and he is spreading my legs back around his waist and wrapping me tight and all that floods my brain is fuck me, fuck me, Jack. My face is hard on the cold counter and he is standing behind me and when his cock slides all the way into my pussy hard and fast I begin to come, and he drives me harder and harder pulling me back against him and I know, I know, I know all the secrets of the fucking universe and he never stops until he comes so far up inside of me and reaches me in places I didn’t even know were there.
When I wake up at three a.m. and reach for Jack across the bed, I know what I want. If a woman wants to come for a third, or is it fourth, time in the same night, what on earth does this make her—a nympho? Just wanton? Or maybe even—interesting?
Jack struggles awake as I kiss him, long and slow with my tongue deep in his mouth, the kind of kiss I forgot existed for me, and there are dark men and strange women with beaded earrings dancing in my head, but mostly there is Jack weaving through it all, waiting, smiling, surprised.
“Jack, darling . . . ”
“What?” he whispers from his half-awake state. I light the two candles on the nightstand and climb back into bed and pose for him.
“Watch me now.”
###
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(continued)
Chapter 2 - The Chocolate Dream
I walked by The Chocolate Dream every day for months on my way to work and resisted entering. Oh, I stopped and looked, like everyone did. In my case it was more at the girl behind the counter than the window display. But I am a man who has mistaken lust for love one too many times in life, and thought I had learned my lesson well.
In the window: tiny chocolates in the shape of skiers, chocolate-covered cherries decorated like nipples, a layered chocolate cake smothered with strawberries, a curvy cake resembling a stripper, and a rather large chocolate dildo decorated suggestively with dripping white icing. Behind the counter: long thick black curly hair, overripe breasts, a short skirt, and those over-the-knee stockings that can drive a man to school-girl fantasies. Also behind the counter, a bearded, older man who appeared to be either the owner of the bakery or the woman's father.
It was such a simple and safe routine—leave for work, read the paper on the train, walk down 15th Street and stop and stare at her thighs while pretending to lust for chocolate. Proceed safely on through the day with fantasies sweeter than sugar.
So you can imagine my surprise the day the chocolate dildo disappeared.
I thought perhaps I had only dreamed it all. The entire erotic display was gone. Proper little candy boxes lay open on the red doilies. A three-foot tall wedding cake towered over them.
What could I possibly do? A man has to know why things happen. I opened the door and went in.
The stockings came toward me. "Hi, I'm Allegra, can I help you?"
Allegra? How well it fit her. Her voice was as soft as wind chimes on a slow summer day. Her tiny black and white plaid skirt swayed in front of me like a breeze. A girl who can make you think those kinds of thoughts is not to be taken lightly. I looked closer, and I could see that she was not a young girl at all, but a regular adult, like I was supposed to be.
"May I help you?" She looked a bit wary at my silence, probably from having seen her share of perverts admiring the window display.
Yes, I thought. You can tell me exactly how many inches of thigh are bare between your stocking tops and your hem. Or you could just let me measure with my hands.
Instead I muttered dumbly, "Hello. I see your dildo has disappeared."
She laughed. "Yes." She looked me up and down, and I could feel her taking in my three-piece suit and my monogrammed briefcase.
"You're a lawyer?" she asked.
Man, I hate that it shows. The worst part is that it shows even when I'm in jeans. It's been killing me for fifteen years now. I once dreamed of being a great writer, saving the world with my journalistic exposés on the way to glory. I think I was afraid, and law school seemed a safer bet. I made up the excuse for myself that a legal education would help with my dreams. But it's difficult to save the world when you ride the train and kiss ass to rich people all day long.
"Yeah, I'm a lawyer." I wanted to take this Allegra in my arms and run off to a new life. Either that or just bend her over the bakery counter and pull down her panties and kiss her from her stocking tops up to her ass.
"I have problems," she said with a frown. It was really more of a perfect pout.
Problems were my life. Just once I wished a client could prance into my office and tell me they needed me even though they had no problems. But problems involving pretty girls and missing chocolate dildos at least seemed interesting.
I checked my watch and made the decision that would affect the rest of my life. "Tell me what happened. A burglary?"
"Come on in the back," she replied. I followed the swaying skirt through the rear door.
"I'm Bret, by the way. Bret Dublin." She shook my hand and I never wanted to let go. "Where's your boss today?"
She lifted her cute ass up onto a desk and laughed at me. "My boss? You've watched me every day through that window and you thought he was my boss?"
Stupid didn't quite describe my feeling. "He's not?"
"You gotta' watch those stereotypes, Mr. Dublin. I own The Chocolate Dream. Zach is an artist that does work for me. He was one of my teachers in art school."
She flipped on the radio to a beautiful rendition of Sarah Vaughan moaning about 'ain't misbehavin, savin' all my love for you. So I asked Allegra to dance. I don't know what I was doing dancing this young woman around the back room of a bakery when I should have been at my desk meeting old Mrs. Carey to discuss how to safeguard the millions from her estate, but there I was. And she was with me all the way. Fred and Ginger. Or maybe I just dreamed it.
"Tell me about what you do, Allegra." I know I was at least much closer to her, like up on her desk with my thigh pressing against her bare one while I surveyed her high-tech back office. A couple of computers in one corner and a constantly buzzing fax in the other implied a little more business going on than just wedding cakes.
"Ah, Bret, I make dreams come true. Of the chocolate variety. Most of my business is mail order -- custom chocolates for any occasion."
Have I mentioned I love chocolate? Allegra was talking about chocolate dreams like they mattered, and I vaguely remembered having my own dreams once.
"Marry me, Allegra."
"What?"
"Marry me and give me back my dreams. I'll solve all your problems."
Some girls would have walked away. Allegra hugged me. And then she told me I was crazy.
"Come see the kitchen, Bret baby."
I knew I could fall deeply in lust, or even love, with a woman who would call me "baby" ten minutes after she'd met me. I put my arm around her waist and she didn't take it away. Visions of bare thighs coated in melted chocolate filled my mind as I followed her to the kitchen.
Candy molds were everywhere. Sports shapes, holiday symbols, and every erotic image possible. Dildos, cocks, nipples, pussies, couples intertwined, little handcuffs, and slinky gartered legs.
"We make everything here. I've never turned down an order. I just call Zach and he fires up a mold in his studio. People love the sexy chocolates the best.”
"So, what happened?"
"It's a long story. It started when I got a letter from that 'Moral Superiority' group. You know, the ones with their noses in everyone else's business? Come home with me tonight and I'll tell you the rest."
Waves of lust overtook me as I sat in Allegra's kitchen and watched her at the stove. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed up against her while she talked and cooked.
"So," she said, pressing back against me and letting me pour wine from my glass into her beautiful mouth. "The letter comes in one day. It says that city laws prohibit pornography businesses within 700 yards of houses, schools, or churches. We're downtown, right? And there are no churches within three blocks. But it turns out that almost empty building on the corner with a couple of little shops upstairs used to have a small private school on the ground floor, and is still licensed for it. Now, I don't think I traffic in pornography, I traffic in food and dreams. But it scared me enough to take down the display and start worrying about the back room chocolate-toy business. They just want to shut me down."
"Hmmm, " I answered with my lips heading down to her bare neck, "You do need my help."
She turned and kissed me. "I do."
"But," she added, "I asked my own business lawyer and he just said that technically they're right, and I should take away all visible signs of anything anyone could consider obscene. I've never had one single complaint about my shop from anyone before this. People love the display."
"Why do you think I can do anything for you, Allegra?" I knew exactly what I could do for her, and I wanted to do it right there on the kitchen floor.
"Truth?"
"Of course."
"Because every day when I watched you watch me through the window, I thought you looked like a man with imagination. I always wondered who you were. And what your hands would feel like on my bare skin."
Love. This couldn't be just lust. My hands traveled quickly to her ass and cupped it and lifted her up toward me. "Turn off the stove, Allegra."
She obeyed and turned back to me and I lifted her up and wrapped her legs around my waist. I kissed her deeply and spun her around, ending up by her big black leather sofa. I whispered what I wanted while I started to unbutton her blouse. "I want to bend you over the back of this sofa, baby, lift your skirt, and spend all night traveling from your toes right up to your heart."
She kissed me softly and said, "No, Bret baby. Not yet."
I knew what she wanted. I had listened to her story about how her grandfather opened his bakery in this building in 1925, and how it was failing when Allegra took it over from her mother. This location was her life. She lived above the shop in a refurbished loft and planned to stay there forever.
I stayed awake at night searching for a solution. I knew they would frown on pro bono work for dildos in my office.
Allegra made me dinner every night for a week, and we talked about what she could do to fend off the problem. She lit candles and played soft jazz and she put her hand on my thigh during dinner and said, "I know you can figure it out."
She was a tease, this Allegra, but an honest one. The night I came up with the absurd yet creative idea about how to hide the erotic chocolates as religious symbols she offered to show me what a woman could do with a chocolate dildo. She raised her skirt and leaned back against the pillows on the floor and spread her legs. I watched from the sofa above as she teased herself with a chocolate dildo that closely resembled my own hard cock. When she slid the chocolate into her pussy I felt like a teenager about to come in my pants.
"Dessert?" she offered afterward, handing me the chocolate for a bite. Chocolate never tasted quite like that before. I don't know why she trusted me so much to control myself, but she said she could read my character, and she was right. Plus, the waiting was powerfully intense.
The night we drew up the detailed blackmail plan she invited me to spend the night. The plan included a lengthy list of conservative women, and men, who had made purchases through The Chocolate Dream, complete with addresses and credit card numbers. I still have this list somewhere, with the title "Conservatives for Chocolate." In the end it smacked up against both of our ethical standards, but she still invited me to sleep with her. No sex, but wrapping my arms around Allegra's naked body and spooning her close and whispering each other asleep still rates as one of the all-time best erotic moments of my life.
I researched every possible angle. We laughed about the law. No porn near churches? "Right," she said, "they're some of my best customers." But I knew she was scared about losing the whole thing.
I met with several lawyers wise in the ways of pornography, and they said she was out of luck. The statute would never be repealed, because who wants to agree to thrust porn on innocent children or churchgoers? And there were no exceptions to the statute. All anyone had to do was subpoena her records and chart out just how much of her business came from dildos and nipples, and she would be closed down.
In the meantime I was fascinated watching her orders come in. A woman in Iowa placed an order for a private fundraising party—I looked at the fax as it came in:
4
dz dildos
3 dz mini-handcuffs
6 dz white chocolate cherry
nipples, individual pkgs.
1 8" dark chocolate dildo, ribbed
Allegra
was nonchalant about these orders; I was either on the floor with
laughter or deep in erotic dreams at night picturing this secret
world of chocolate kink that I had never known existed.
We considered moving the shop, the obvious answer. But to be legit, she would have to file a statement with the new community that she was in the business of selling pornography, and she refused. I couldn't blame her. She also refused to locate anywhere near the known porn strips. The truth was that the 15th Street location was her heritage, all she had left of her grandfather, and she was going to live out her dream right there one way or the other.
The night she offered to paint my body with warm chocolate was the night I knew what I was going to do. My ethics were going to have to take a short vacation while I solved Allegra's problem. There was no way I was ever going to let her go. Ever.
She took a soft brush and made a design on my torso with perfect warm chocolate. Then she licked it off slowly, and it was like a dream. I lay back and closed my eyes as she worked her designs down my body, one at a time, stroking and then licking. It took forever, like all good dreams do. When she reached the design on the tip of my cock and licked it all off, I fed her everything I had mixed in with the chocolate in her mouth. She was beautiful, and she was hungry for me, and I wanted to feed her for the rest of my life.
I met with old, rich Mrs. Carey in my office the next morning. I told her I had the perfect, the only, the most profitable location for her idea of opening a restaurant with several trendy boutiques up above. It was easy. I told her that her grandchildren would be taken care of for life, and that they would think she was the coolest grandma on earth. I have no idea if this was true, but it seemed like a good dream to have. She authorized the check and I offered it to the school-building owner the same day. He couldn't refuse; he even snickered to me that he couldn't stand kids anyway and his own dream was to open an X-rated video store down on Colfax. Licensing paperwork was completed and filed, and the details assigned to my paralegal to finish up. I arrived triumphant at Allegra's loft at six sharp.
"Sit down, Allegra. We're having chocolate for dinner."
I placed the papers in her lap and let her read with delight while I got ready and talked about my plan.
"Tonight's mine, baby. And so are all your tomorrows." How I loved that she could inspire me to say things like that.
"Yes," she said softly, agreeing to everything I said.
When she returned from downstairs with all the extra available chocolate toys I asked her for, I was ready. I showed her the large chocolate handcuffs tied with ribbons that Zach had made for me. We both knew she could just bite her way through them, but we both knew she wouldn't. I undressed her, laid her belly-down on the bed, fastened her wrists to the brass headboard and settled in to eat.
The taste of the inside of a woman's thighs coated with juices and chocolate is only surpassed by the joy of finally holding the ass you have dreamed of tight in your hands and discovering that lust and love can be exactly the same thing.
I placed the order with Zach this morning for the wedding chocolate forms, all quite sensual and erotic. Allegra doesn't have much time for the details of our upcoming celebration, since she's busy working on the new Chocolate Dream franchising I helped her put together. I, on the other hand, have what seems like all the time in the world as I sit in my small office space over the shop and spend my time writing and helping Allegra with the legal end of the business. My firm was most generous when I left, and every lawyer in the place envied my escape. I sent them all their very own box of chocolates as a parting gift -- little chocolate desks with little people handcuffed to them. Some of them stop by here often, to visit the Dream.
###
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(continued)
Chapter 3 - Go Large
I watch my new lover as she studies her body in the mirror. I am in the adjoining bathroom, and she is not aware that I can see her as she hefts one breast, pouts and splays her thighs to display the sticky evidence of our recent coupling.
Lois has a substantial body, and she revels in it. She knows that she looks much better naked than clothed. Her pale skin is soft and smooth. No bones are visible, only bold curves and luscious folds of flesh. Her nipples are psychedelic pink snowcaps atop mountainous breasts. The space between her formidable thighs and the escarpment of her belly is thickly forested with shiny dark hair.
Yet it is the warm pastures of her buttocks that I yearn for, to sink my fingers into that elastic flesh and feel her strength, to lower my mouth to her upraised invitation and navigate by tongue the dark, aromatic crevasse.
We have been lovers for only two days. I am infatuated.
I shouldn't even be here, but my secretary, Sarah, who mothers me even though I am older than her, engineered this working vacation. Having decided that I had been working too hard, she accepted an invitation for me to attend a technology briefing here in Cannes. Even more deliberately, she booked me on a Sunday flight although the conference won't begin until Tuesday. Even in November, this is a pleasant place, though a little empty. I could almost believe that all the fashionable people left when they heard I was coming.
But wait. How rude of me. Here I am sharing this story and I haven't yet introduced myself. My name is Clarke Kent. No Really. My mother was a slightly scatty woman who chose the name because it sounded familiar. She had no idea of its provenance.
At 39, I have never been married, although I have had two relationships with women and one rather discouraging hour with a prostitute.
The first of my lovers was Joan. She and I were at school together, but she left me after 4 years. I was a nice man, she said, "but boring." After Joan, there was Sally. We worked together, and she wooed me and bedded me, then left me to move to a new position in the company's New York offices. She said I was too afraid to grab hold of life, and that was the end of Sally. Mandie, the prostitute, just said "Never mind, luv -- it happens to people all the time." She even offered to charge me a lower fee.
I tell you this so that you will realize that, even when I take my glasses off, I am not Superman.
Two nights ago, I found myself in Cannes, dining alone in the hotel restaurant, with a romantic view of the sunset that seemed completely wasted on me -- and Lois came into my life.
"You don't mind if I join you, do you? I don't speak French and I like to talk while I eat." All of this was said as she seated herself between me and the setting sun.
She was wearing a red T-shirt dress, big but still clinging to her form. The words, "GO LARGE" were printed across it at a 45 degree angle, in huge jagged black letters. As I struggled for a suitable response, trying not to show how pleased I was, I was transfixed by the nipple of her right breast. It formed a prominent punctuation mark in the center of the letter O.
"And how did you know I spoke English?" I asked.
She laughed and said, "Well, you could hardly be French."
She noted my raised eyebrow (too many Roger Moore movies in my youth I'm afraid) and understood the interrogative interjection that it was meant to be.
"Well, Watson, firstly you have no wine on the table," she explained. "Dining in France and drinking only water with your food is like getting to an orgy and then declaring your celibacy. Everybody wonders why you didn't just stay home. Secondly, there is the matter of the clothing: this season's GAP you-can-wear-this-without-offending-anyone range of casual wear, not a typical French choice. But, the most obvious sign of course is the English language copy of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' that you've put on the table to keep people from joining you."
"!" I said, silently.
"I take it you're here for the conference," she continued. "You have that nerd-made-good look. My name is Lois. Lois Lewes. My mother valued alliteration."
She looked away from me, summoned the waiter by raising her hand and, in the process, rearranged the topography of her dress. I couldn't take my eyes from her breasts. I knew it was rude, perhaps even pathetic, but I was hypnotized by the sheer mass involved.
"That was your cue. You're supposed to tell me your name now," Lois said. "My face is up here, by the way. "
"Clarke Kent " I said, and my cheeks reddened as I struggled to keep my eyes focused above her neck.
"Yeah, right. That's a new line. I haven't heard that before," she laughed.
"No, really, it's my name," I replied, with an it's-not-my-fault tone.
"Cool. Now I feel like one of those characters in 'Magnolia,' linked by some huge chain of coincidence that challenges the nature of free will. Watch out for flying frogs."
Now it was my turn to laugh.
"I'm rather afraid that our waiter, who probably hasn't seen the movie, thinks that you've just used a derogatory term in reference to French pilots," I said.
"Screw him."
"I'd rather screw you," I said.
The moment the words left my mouth, I wondered who had said them. I wanted to look around for the culprit and give him a good thrashing. The easy, rapid pace of the conversation, combined with the impact of Lois's physical presence, had made me giddy. What had I done? I almost expected her to toss my glass of water in my face.
"I'm sorry..." I started, lamely.
Lois was no longer smiling. She was looking into me, carefully, as if searching for something. I felt like she was the one with X-ray vision, and I had no secrets. With speed surprising for her size, her hand moved under the table and found my erection. The sun seemed brighter than ever. I breathed.
"Oh," she said. "If this is you on mineral water, just wait until we get to the Bordeaux."
Then her hand was gone, back on her side of the table, but the place where she had touched me still tingled, and I knew there was now a wet spot on my GAP easy-fit chinos.
The conversation slowed to a canter after that. Over the next three courses, I learned that Lois was an MIT graduate, with technical expertise that made her a hot property in the telecommunications market. Like me, she was here for the conference. Unlike me, she had no intention of attending. She was going to "scalp some data," as she put it, give her name to a few recruiters, and have a damned good time. In our conversation, there was no mention of a significant other.
I charged the bill to my room. Lois checked the room number and said, "We'll go to my room. It has a better view."
I paused, surprised. Women don't react this way to me. Oh, sure, they have dinner with me, because I'm a "nice man," and a good listener. But, at the end of the meal, it's traditional for them to find someone who will show them a good time.
"Are you sure?" I said, sounding prim and ever so English to my own ears. "We've only just met…"
"No," she said. "So far, we've talked. We'll meet when we get to my room and take our clothes off." The waiter chose that moment to pick up the bill. I blushed.
Lois was standing now. "So, have you changed your mind?" she asked. "Or are you waiting for us to be formally introduced?"
She was smiling, but I glimpsed some vulnerability there. For once in my clumsy life, I did the right thing. I kissed her. Then I did it again.
Her room was a suite with a beautiful view of the Mediterranean. I didn't notice. As soon as we entered the room, Lois pulled the dress up and over her head. Her body glowed, and I was blinded by the heat from her. She smiled and knelt in front of me, unzipping my trousers without comment. I was about to have oral sex and I hadn't even had to ask, never mind beg. Then I came, all over her hand. I was mortified.
Lois laughed, a hearty, full-blooded sound, still holding my shrinking cock. If she had let go at that moment, I think I would have run from the room.
"Well, Clarke, that was faster than a speeding bullet," she mused. Grinning, she licked my sperm from her hand. "Now, let's see if we can find the man of steel." She moved her mouth onto my cock and flicked the underside with her tongue.
I should have been ecstatic, but in truth I was deeply depressed. I knew what would happen now. I would stay soft, she would get frustrated, then angry. And then she would tell me that I was a nice man, but it was time for me to leave.
"Ah," Lois said, sitting back on her heels, letting go of my cock. "It's like that, is it?" I felt dismal. She had gone from lust to leave in a couple of seconds.
She stood up. I took a last look at her glorious body and prayed that my limp flesh would choose that moment to show its appreciation. It didn't.
"I should go." I said.
"No," she replied. "You can't go until you come; and you will come."
"What?"
"I know what you need. We'll soon get rid of the Kryptonite effect. Just leave it to Lois." She folded her arms and let one hip jut out. "Now STRIP," she ordered.
No one had ever spoken to me like that. It felt weird. It felt good. I undressed. Lois tapped her foot impatiently as I started to fold my clothes, so I just let them fall to the floor. After a few moments, I was standing naked with my hands demurely held over my shrinking genitals.
"Put your hands behind your back and kneel", Lois commanded. I didn't question, but did as she asked.
Lois reached out and grabbed my nipple, twisted it briefly. "Good boy," she said, pushing her thumb into my mouth. I suckled obediently.
"I'm going to tie you now, Clarke." Lois was circling me, and from somewhere produced three scarves. She used one to tie my hands behind my back, pressing her breasts against my shoulders. Her luxuriant pubic fur brushed against my hands as she bound me with the scarf. Still pressed close against me, she folded a scarf and placed it over my eyes, tying it securely behind my head.
I felt excited, yet surprisingly relaxed. I gave myself up to Lois and her three scarves. Thus blindfolded and bound, all I could do was wait.
I must have sighed. Lois whispered in my ear, "One more, and you are mine."
Her fingernails scraped over my chest, down my belly. I felt her fingers move around my balls, pulling down gently but firmly. When she tied the final scarf there, my cock rose like a balloon filled rapidly with helium.
"You're mine now Clarke, until you come. And that won't happen for a long time yet."
Her voice was in front of me now. "Open wide, Clarke."
I did, and my mouth was filled with the satin-smooth warmth of her breast. She pushed into me until I was overcome by her flesh. It became difficult to breathe, as she held fast to the back of my head with one hand, and twisted my nipple with the other. But it was wonderful. My cock was so hard now that it throbbed in time with my pulse.
"Much better," Lois purred. "Now let's see if you're a good fit."
She withdrew her breast, allowing me breathe but gaping blindly for more flesh to suckle. Effortlessly, Lois pushed me onto my side, then rolled me onto my back, trapping my arms beneath me.
I smelled her cunt as she lowered herself to my mouth, and then I tasted it. Tangy. Salty. Like the earth and the sea combined. Without waiting for her command, I started to lick. Her thighs tightened against my cheeks. Her moans reached my ears as tremors rather than sounds, each one exciting me more. Just as my tongue began to tire, she moved down my body and took a firm grip on my cock. "Is it a bird? Is it a plane?" Lois murmured, stroking my swollen flesh with each question. "No! It's Supercock!" she proclaimed, lowering herself onto me at that instant.
Her muscles were a surprise, holding as tightly as a handshake, but slick and hot. Lois rode me and rode me, and then rode me some more. She was relentless, and I was her flesh dildo, her sex toy. And I loved it.
As she felt her orgasm approach, she released the scarf that bound my testicles. My cock erupted. I found myself yelling "YEEEEEEEE GODDDDDDS." I had never come so forcefully before. Never.
Lois pulled off the blindfold and the light hurt my eyes. When I finally was able to look at her, she smiled down at me, pink and sweaty.
"Well" she said. "Do you still want to leave?"
"It would be rude to leave now," I responded. "I've only just come."
After two days of room-service and continuous sex, I'm exhausted but happy. Lois is just getting
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