Phaedra Torres
The Four O’Clock Set
Sleep Well, My Love
Crime of Passion
Summer Swelter
Worship
Life’s a Beach
Amends
What Then?
Hurts Syndrome
Sponge Bath
Layover
Money Shot
Playing with Dolls
The Novice
What I Want
Years May Go By
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Phaedra Torres
Digressions Into Erotica
The Four O’Clock Set
Stiletto is a dancer, stuck with the early afternoon shift. She makes the best of it, butis it really worth it?
Dead stares through acrid haze-I hate this place in the afternoon; clinking, sweat-soaked long necks, gin-soaked businessmen leaning on the rail or laying back in their chairs, legs spread like they have something to offer.
Gentlemen, I give you Stiletto!
I burst through the curtain and strut to center stage, daring them to look at me.
Cupping the pole between cool palms, I sway my hips in time with the base line that pounds the air and let my gaze circle the room. Searching faces, selecting my prey.
Only a few are focused-eyes traveling up and down my body as I slither around the pole. There you are. I see you with your wad of bills and poorly veiled anticipation all but dribbling down your chin. Let me just slide the straps of my bra down my shoulders, holding my arms close to my body while I finger the clasp between my breasts.
I pause, asking with my eyes, ‘shall I let it fall?’ I press in and up, so that when the hook is released, my nipples spring into liberation.
See how the pole fits between my glittery tits? Watch me now, when I slide down to the floor. I’ll squat, knees bent and thrown wide, and bounce, bounce, bounce, slap my ass against the stage.
Is that you underneath me? Feel my skin smacking against your soft belly? Your six pack? Your jutting hipbones? Is your cock straining to pummel me? Oh yes, I can feel it, and I close my eyes.
Shall I throw my head back and let my hair trail up my vinyl coated calves? Let your eyes follow my thigh; let your mind wander over the shimmer of my boots, glistening red with oil and sweat.
Here. I’ll bend back, place my shoulders on the floor, arch my belly into the air, grasp the six-inch spikes of my heels like handle bars and grind my clit against the cold steel.
I’ll sit up then, and dare you to throw your money on the stage so I can belly crawl your way, slinking like a panther. I gather the wadded bills in my teeth, grasp them between my fingers and run them down my body. Your gaze is glued to my fingers as they delve into that little sequined triangle of fabric-a flimsy barrier between you and paradise.
Watch my hand linger there, fingers fluttering over what surely must be wet just from looking at you. You’re all man, and I’m all shudders and sighs at the thought of what you would do, what you could do, if only you could reach out and lay your hands on me, plant your lips against my flesh.
But not today, not right now. Right now, as the music fades, I’ll stand with pouting lips and apologetic eyes, and back slowly away until I disappear behind the heavy curtains.
Forty bucks. I hate this place in the afternoon.
Sleep Well, My Love
Do you ever wonder just how well you know the person sleeping next to you? It’snot always sex that makes a scene erotic.
It’s cold, my steel-though I caress it lovingly, cup it to my cheek. While holding it so, I can hear the succulent screams longing for release, and I savor them with eyes closed. I know every nick, every crevice, each millimeter of the paper-thin edge. The handle has worn to fit my fingers and no others. This is my blade. This is my mighty dagger. And you will know it, too-more intimately than me, and I am envious of you.
I’ll lay its full coolness against your chest and watch the ebb and flow of each breath; rise, fall, rise…fall. So peaceful, so quiet, so precious you are to me. I’ll trace the soft underside of your jaw with my blade’s exquisitely pointed tip. As you turn away, I am compelled to connect the dots from freckle to freckle on your shoulder-but lightly-just a spider’s web bejeweled with crimson dew. I am overwhelmed with visions of the luscious parting of your skin in the singing wake of my beloved razor’s edge.
But tonight is not for you, lover. Tonight, I will lay my steel aside and watch you for a while, let the heat of your body soothe my pains, quiet my visions, and carry me to join your slumber. There will be other nights. Sleep well, my love.
Crime of Passion
A hasty trip to a quiet hall at a party can be murder.
Look at you, all sleek and cool. Your image slices through the crowd-the only crisp visage in the blur of cocktail-soaked minglers.
I can’t help but gravitate toward you-your pointed gaze pulls me in. I step forward.
You step back, urge me to follow without saying a word, and I tremble when you slip into the shadowed hall.
So awestruck am I that I glide after you, craving your darkness.
Your hand wraps around my throat and snatches me away from the safety of the crowd.
We swivel, and I am back against the wall, my knees on your hips, one of your hands cupping my ass. You devour me, leaning in to pin me with your weight.
Your other hand drops from my throat and skitters down my flank. Your forearm hooks beneath my knee and you hoist me higher. Rigid fingers delve between my thighs, which your searing hips have forced wide.
Ah! I cry out as your fingers drive into my clenching pussy, while your thumb surrounds my clit in tiny, agonizing circles. Your ministrations release a cloud of pheromones, and my nostrils flair to savor our mingled scents. You inhale deeply and your knees buckle, forcing a hiss from between your clenched teeth.
I feel the heat long before you stab me and plunge again and again. I’m gasping and screaming and crying out for mercy- please! Oh, please! There is no mercy in you. You power into me, every thrust raking textured wallpaper across my spine.
My fingers fumble through your hair, down the back of your neck, and clutch at your collar, struggling for purchase, fighting a losing battle.
We slip down the wall, tangled together, shoving, lurching into one another; our sole focus the point of connection. We are both sticky and slick, and each thrust comes with a squelch and a smack.
My neck is bent, chin tight to my chest, hips thrust into the air. We grunt like the carnal creatures we are, and hold our bodies taught and still, save for our pelvises; grinding against each other, pulling apart with harmonized groans, drawing together with deliberate precision. Oh! Oh, just… right… there…
My whimpers quicken, sharpen, deepen, as if each breath is coming from further down inside me, gathering strength, rolling up my core and filling the back of my throat to overflowing. They boil out of me. My lips open wide and Oooooh! I howl as though the moon is hanging ripe above our heads.
One last gasp-for all I’m worth; I shudder against you and sag to the tiles.
You straighten and stand above me. Smiling triumphantly, you leave me to my last tremors and sighs.
You slip into the night and I am soaked, helpless, weak, and holding on for dear life.
You slay me.
Summer Swelter
If you can’t beat the heat, match it.
Summer swelter and I sprawl across perspiration soaked sheets, awaiting the mass of angry clouds on the northern horizon. Weak puffs of ozone-laced breezes filter through the window, and I peel my body from the bedding, angle my sticky flesh in their direction, and will the air to stir.
I slide my gaze to the chaos gathering against a patch o
f creamsicle sky. My mind wanders idly through images of you, each as drenched in sensation as I am drenched in sweat. Distant crackles of lightning spark a silent movie in my mind. My eyes drift shut.
I trail my fingers lightly across my collarbone. You kissed me there, coaxing sweetshimmers up my throat to escape my lips.
The rolling thunder is remote and still whisper quiet-someone coughing politely behind a raised fist; or the soft sounds from the back of your throat when the pleasurebecame unbearable. I feel your keening now as jolts, and my muscles jump with pangs of liquid heat, distinct from the heavy smolder in the air.
Here at last, the wind picks up, sighs through the screen, draws with it the moisture from the room. At once I can breathe again, cool and deep. I see you suckling greedilyat my breast, grasping my nipple between your teeth, flicking the captured flesh withthe tip of your tongue-and as I held your head to me, my chest swelled to match yourhunger. My fingers flutter down to clutch at my breast and knead frantically. But my hand does you no justice.
I can almost see the steam rising from my body. The inches of skin on skin between my arm and torso begin to sizzle, and I am forced to pull my hand away. I drop my forearm across my damp brow and cover my eyes. I see your tongue trailing down mybelly, your intense gaze capturing my own. My abdomen quivers with the memory.
You grasped the button of my jeans between your teeth and released it with a flickof your head. My breath escaped me.
Your fingers curled around the waistband. Thumbs hooked in the belt loops, andyou tugged slowly at the denim. Your hot breath covered the tender skin beneath. Awry smile lit your eyes, and you kissed me, full and wet, tongue splayed against myclitoris. Flames shot through my belly, contracting my muscles, yanking my shouldersfrom the bed. My legs flex and extend, shifting restlessly, wanting you.
My hands have now fallen to the bed, clutching fists full of soggy sheets. You touchedme, tentatively at first, just the pad of your thumb, your other arm slung beneath myhips, holding me in position. You lowered your mouth to me, following your thumb,tongue and fingers-seeking, invading, conquering. Agonizingly tender. My breath comes in hitches and gasps. My eyes flash open. I marvel over the effect a mere memory can have on the here and now.
I focus on the boiling clouds that are now just above, reminiscent of writhing bodies beneath layers of gauze, and my eyes flutter shut once again. You loomed above me andteased my throat with your lips until I could no longer catch my breath. You droppedyour head, watching your body lower to mine. I watched as well, and raised my hipsto meet you, my legs circling your waist and hooking in the sway of your back.
Toying with me, or yourself, you dabbed at me, watching the head of your erectiondisappear beneath the wisps of pubic hair, only to draw it back and watch it descendagain. A growl tore through my clenched teeth, and I pulled you down with all of mymight. You chuckled softly and with a thrust of your hips, you were inside me. Mutualsighs of relief hissed between us, accompanied by the sharp slap of our bellies colliding.
Full force, it hits me. My body rises off the bed, and everything inside me gathers, coils and surges from every pore, almost painfully, until I am hollow and weightless.
I sink into the sheets, roll onto my side and allow the storm’s clean air and white noise to lull me to sleep.
Worship
The gift for the man who has everything.
Sit upon your throne, and I’ll kneel between your knees. Timidly, I’ll turn my big green eyes up to you, moisten my lips with the very tip of my tongue, and beg you silently for permission to proceed: ‘May I? Please?’ as my body shudders with desire for you.
You may rest your head, lean it back against the velvet cushions, drape your arms along the padded rails and close your eyes.
I’ll release the sash on your fine silk robe…there, that’s better. If you’ll allow me just a moment, I’ll gaze upon you in all of your glory, drink it in and save this vision for later, when I will use it upon myself. My mouth is watering at the sight of you. I want to touch you, just graze my fingernail across the very tip-but I won’t-not just yet.
Instead, I’ll slip my palms from your knees, up your thighs and gently part your legs so that I may lean in to you. I can already taste you on my lips. It takes all I have not to devour you in a frenzied rush, but this moment is to savor, and I promise, I will pace myself. Your shaft is not quite solid. I have not yet earned it, but the pearl of moisture sparkling on the tip beckons me, and with hot breath I’ll advance upon you, inhale you into my mouth, and roll your swollen head across my tongue.
Now, I must use my hands, if only to hold myself at bay, and I grasp the base of your rod with one hand, cup your sack with the other. I can’t hold back. My body is overtaken with the sweetness of it all, and I gently sway my hips back and forth. If you were to touch me at this moment-just to cup your palm around the swell of my bottom-my legs would dissolve beneath me.
However, this moment is for you, so leave your hands where they lie, and I’ll begin to run my tongue up and down your shaft in lazy circles. I can’t keep my lips from wrapping around it. I shimmy my head to jam you inside my mouth, until I’ve taken in every millimeter. I swallow, and swallow again, creating a vacuum chamber. My tongue never stops slathering you while I’m holding you gently between my teeth. I release you and blow cold air across your slick, tender skin.
I grasp you in my fist, and follow my mouth, slide my hand around and up and down, and lick and suck and nip. A moan rumbles from deep within me, and when I come up for air, my breath hisses between my teeth.
I flip my hair away from my face. Will you hold it back for me? Will you close your eyes or watch me? Watch me, please. I promise I’ll hold your gaze-mine liquid, pleading, begging for praise-is this good? Does this please you?
I can feel your buttocks clenching. You rise in your seat and squeeze your eyelids shut…I could do this forever.
A sound escapes your lips. I sway my hips, pump my head faster, and you moan again and clutch my hair between your fingers, crush my face into your belly while your muscles jerk over and over. You thrust your cock into my mouth, bruise the back of my throat with your powerful orgasm. My body quakes. The sheer joy of bringing you over shatters me.
If you’ll allow me, I’ll collapse for a moment to catch my breath. I’ll rest my cheek against your thigh and watch the aftershocks twitching through you.
I want more…but this isn’t about me, so rest your hand on my head as my signal to leave, and I’ll rise, slowly back away, and disappear into the shadows.
Life’s a Beach
Being a single mother is no day at the beach. Sandy finds an unexpected treasureon her trip to the shore.
My bare thighs peeled from the hot, sticky car seat, and my children tumbled out the passenger door. Clutched in their sweaty hands were pails stuffed with shovels, rakes, goggles, floaties, and nose plugs. A day at the beach: what a concept. I checked the contents of my bag, making sure I had everything a mother would possibly need in any given scenario-which, as it turned out, boiled down to fluorescent bandages, sunscreen, juice boxes, and peanut butter crackers. Fine.
Now I only needed Mommy’s bag. This one contained the latest wisecracking female detective novel, sunscreen that didn’t smell like bubblegum, a large blanket, and a few icy cold beers tucked into a miniature soft-sided cooler. Scoff if you will, but Mommy needed a break. And there wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in those three cans of brew to numb my super-refined Mommy senses; adrenaline can do wonders for a buzz.
I slung both bags over my shoulder, grabbed my boom box and bumped the car door shut with my hip. I could see the kids running headlong at the water, and prayed they already heard my voice in their heads screaming, Stop!
I chuckled when both screeched to a cartoonish halt at the water’s edge and peered over their shoulders, willing me to Hurry up, Mom! Good boys. I’ll be there when I get there.
I stumbled through the sand, trying to look languid and effortless l
ike they do in the commercials. I saw a few heads turn my way. It’s fun to pretend they’re noticing me-for maybe a second.
My boys dumped a good deal of their belongings in a heap at the foot of the Life Guard…er…super-tall chair thingy. Not exactly the spot I would have chosen, but it was hot, and my back already hurt from leaning to the side to counterbalance the thousand pounds of beach paraphernalia. So I dumped my burdens in an equally unceremonious heap and began the preparation stage of relaxation.
As I snapped my blanket in the breeze and let it fall to the sand, my attention wandered toward the splintery, whitewashed ladder to my immediate left. My gaze hit the top of the ladder and kept going, and oh, my goodness. Some very tanned toes hung over the edge of the platform. Above those sprawled miles of very tanned shins, which led to knees that were resting so far apart I could see right up the leg of the baggy red swim shorts. Oh!
It was suddenly very loud inside my head, what with the blood rushing to my face and all, and I realized my attention had been fixed for an unnecessarily long time. I realized there was an entire person attached to ‘that very spot’, and my gaze snapped to a very tanned face and into very green eyes, which were looking directly at me. There was a bemused smile beneath. It made me feel ‘oogie’, as my eight-year-old would say.
In an attempt to save a tiny bit of dignity, I busied myself preparing my little oasis, wishing it wouldn’t be obvious if I were to pack up my stuff and lug it to another location far, far away. But it really would, so I grabbed my book, spread out on the blanket, and turned my music on, nice and low. My gaze flicked over the top of the book every so often, to see my boys obediently staying in the shallows, splashing and giggling and running. I smiled to myself. What good boys-and what a nice early bedtime it will be tonight!
Digressions Into Erotica Page 1
