Hot Stories for Cold Nights

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  But it did seem to be spinning slowly. As she watched, the painting dissolved into the form of a man. He wasn’t looking at her, rather standing in profile in what looked like a bedroom. Okay, she told herself, no more pepperoni pizzas for you!

  He was there, however. She blinked and he remained, combing his hair in front of what must be his dresser. There was a lamp, a wristwatch, a wallet, some bills and change, and three books on it and everything looked very real. She rubbed her eyes but the image didn’t fade. Rather it seemed to gradually grow larger until it filled the picture frame.

  The man stood quietly, dressed in a long-sleeved black polo and dark jeans. As she watched, she realized that he was truly gorgeous, wavy chestnut hair that curled over the neck-band of his shirt, a truly perfect profile with a straight nose and beautiful lips. She couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes and finding out seemed important. She moved off the bed, but as soon as the angle changed, the image faded and all she could see was the original black-and-red abstract design.

  “Dumb,” she said out loud. “What nonsense.”

  Ellie wandered into her mini-kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge, and filled a glass. She carried it back into the bedroom and again gazed at the painting. And that was what it was. A painting. Only a painting.

  Stretched out on the bed again Ellie reached for the TV remote. When she glanced at the painting once more, it dissolved and the hunk was there again. Now he turned to face her, seeming to fumble for something. A TV remote. It was as though she was gazing at him from out of his TV.

  She took a moment to admire his face. Classic lines, deep brown eyes, arching eyebrows, and a firm chin with a deep cleft. God, she thought, he’s really fabulous. He had wide shoulders and beautiful hands, with long, graceful fingers.

  Sipping her beer she followed his movements as he settled on his bed to watch TV. He made himself comfortable, feet facing her, and grabbed a beer from his bedside table. He sipped, and so did she. It was like sharing something.

  Time slipped by and eventually he flipped off his TV and stood at the foot of his bed, giving her a great view of his well-developed physique. He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it off over his head.

  Great chest, she thought, with lots of curly dark hair. He had well-defined biceps and muscular shoulders. He unbuttoned his jeans, then turned and disappeared from view. Damn. Just when things were getting good. Bathroom, she thought. Tooth brushing and the like. It helped to control her developing lust to think of him doing mundane stuff like that.

  He returned and, while she watched, almost drooling, unzipped and pulled off his jeans. He stood in all his glory, wearing only a pair of black briefs, with no doubt about the treasure beneath. He wasn’t erect but he did fill out the front of those black briefs really well.

  She knew she was panting but she controlled herself as best she could as he turned and gave her a great view of his butt. Wow, what a butt, firm ass cheeks that moved provocatively beneath his cotton shorts as he walked away. Then the light went out.

  Shit, she thought. I might just have to have more pepperoni pizza tomorrow night.

  Reluctantly she stood, removed her clothing and climbed into her bed, naked between the cool sheets. Just before she turned out the bedside light, she gazed at the painting, but it was again merely red-and-black swirls.

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING SHE TRIED TO STAY IN THE LIVING room and resist the temptation to see whether Mr. Black Briefs was there again. Hell, she thought, why resist? She wandered into the bedroom and again stretched out on the bed. The painting dissolved and he was already there, this time in a kelly green shirt and chinos.

  He was sooo hot. He absently combed his fingers through those luscious waves and Ellie could almost feel the strands beneath her hands. Again time slipped by and soon he stood and turned off the TV. Had she spent an entire evening just watching him? He pulled off his shirt and she reached out, almost able to feel the smooth contours of his chest. Then he rubbed his palms over the exact spot her hands were reaching for and for a moment their fingers were superimposed.

  Then slowly, sensually, his hands stroked down his belly, her hands following. It was as though he felt something more than just his palms and his eyes closed. He unbuttoned his jeans and her palms followed his over the thick line of hair that arrowed down from his navel. His pants slid to the floor and his palms cupped his balls through his black cotton briefs.

  She was touching him. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She actually felt him beneath her hands. How? She had no clue, but she was touching him. She knew it, and so did he. Ellie watched as his cock grew hard, making a delightfully enormous bulge beneath the dark fabric.

  She kept one hand where it was, but slipped the other beneath her own khakis and found her mound. Her fingers rubbed her clit through her nylon panties. It was like mutual masturbation. He rubbed faster, and so did she.

  Suddenly he pulled off his briefs and wrapped his fingers around his erection, stroking the length of him as she watched, and felt. She moved her hand beneath her panties and found her sopping clit.

  She watched as his strokes got faster and his hips rolled. Then she saw semen erupt from his cock and cover his stroking hand. She came, too, waves of pleasure spearing through her.

  Heart pounding, almost unable to breathe, Ellie closed her eyes and minutes later, when she opened them, the painting was back.

  Disappointment filled her. He was gone. Would he be there the following evening? She almost wept.

  THE NEXT MORNING SHE DRESSED IN FRONT OF HER PAINTING, then slowly walked out toward the bus stop. And there he was, standing, waiting. It was him! She was sure of it, same wavy chestnut hair, same body, a body she now knew so well. He turned and looked at her, but there was no spark of recognition. And why would there be?

  “Good morning,” he said, politely.

  “Good morning.” It was all she could do not to stutter.

  “I’m new here. This is the stop for the number four bus, isn’t it?” His voice was as sexy as she’d expected.

  “It is. And welcome to the neighborhood.”

  He now looked at her fully. “Thanks. It seems like it’s a pretty nice area. Do you take this bus every day?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled, unable to make her brain behave. “I’m Ellie.”

  “Nick,” he said and extended his hand. “Maybe I’ll see you again from time to time.”

  You sure will. I’ll see to it. “Sure. That would be great.”

  Oh yeah, she thought. Oh yeah!

  At the Office

  ANGELA WAS A DATA-ENTRY CLERK FOR A LARGE INDUSTRIAL firm. That Friday afternoon she got a call from the guy who was repairing her home computer, telling her it wouldn’t be ready until the middle of the following week. “Damn,” she muttered when she hung up. She felt totally cut off from the world when she couldn’t get her email, and personal use of the office machines was absolutely forbidden.

  She looked at her watch then glanced around the office. It was almost six and there was no one left at any of the desks. Since it was after working hours, she decided that no one would be monitoring computer use so she clicked over to her email server. Along with several chatty letters from friends and one from her sister, there were several notes forwarded from the site server, each with the same idea.

  Hey, blue-eyed girl, how about another story? It’s been much too long.

  I miss your stories, blue.

  You said you’d upload another tale this week. It’s Friday. No story.

  It was both flattering and frustrating. She wrote erotic short stories, good ones if the comments from readers were at all reliable. She usually uploaded at least one piece of erotic fiction each week, but since her computer had been sick she hadn’t been able to. She’d carefully backed up all her completed tales onto a flash drive then deleted them from her hard drive. It would never do for the repair guys to read her hot, erotic fiction. What would they think of her? She had the drive in her wallet
and she could upload any one of her tales, but from her office? Her manager would go ballistic if she ever found out. However . . .

  What the hell. She took a deep breath then decided that she would log on from someone else’s desk, pop in her flash drive, upload a story, and no one in the front office would ever be the wiser. Of course! It was the obvious solution.

  She found the little drive in her purse and inserted it into the USB port on Madge’s desktop in the next cubicle. Clicking on Explore, she listed the drive’s contents. Maybe “Jennie’s Hot New Romance” for this week.

  She logged on to the fiction site, entered the required user name and password, and began the process. As she watched the screen, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Angela. What’s going on? Personal stuff?”

  She immediately recognized the voice. Harry Masters was one of her coworkers and they had been carrying on a light office flirtation for several weeks. She whirled around and tried not to look guilty. Harry was really cute, tousled curly brown hair, deep soulful eyes, and a nice warm grin that made dimples appear on either side of his mouth when he smiled, and he smiled often. And he was sexy as hell. Actually he was the fantasy inspiration for several of her pieces of fiction.

  What could she say? “Yeah. My home computer is on the fritz. I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

  “Why should anyone mind?” he said. “It’s after business hours.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL—UPLOAD ANOTHER?

  She moved to pull the flash drive from the port when Harry looked at her suspiciously and said, “What the hell is that? You’re at Madge’s computer. I hope you haven’t put some kind of virus on the system.”

  “No, not at all,” she said with a light laugh. “It’s just a bit of fiction I put on a story site. Anyway the company antivirus software would catch anything bad. Don’t worry.”

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I don’t mean to seem overly intrusive, but I’m sure you realize how careful we have to be about viruses and spyware.”

  She grinned. “Of course, but it’s nothing like that.”

  “I really don’t want to tell anyone about this, but I don’t want to lose my job if something bad happens.” He slowly shook his head. “You’ve got to understand. The word upload scares the hell out of me. Exactly what did you just do?”

  Embarrassed, Angela was reluctant to show Harry her story. “Like I said, it’s just a short story. I write bits of fiction that a friend of mine posts on the web. Really, it’s nothing that might harm the system.”

  His face softened. “That’s great,” he said. “Satisfy my curiosity. Let me glance at what you just did, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “See the story?”

  “Sure. I like short stories.”

  Suddenly she felt her face flush and heat rise all over her body. “It’s a little personal. Can’t we just let it go?”

  “Personal, huh?” His smile widened and he lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Now I’m no longer as worried. Instead you’ve got me intrigued. What could it be that makes you so uncomfortable?”

  Resigned, unable to get out of this situation without showing Harry her story, she clicked on the message and the site upload page appeared. “See? Just a story.”

  “ ‘Jennie’s Hot New Romance,’ ” Harry read out loud. His laugh was warm and rich, flirtation back in his eyes. “An erotic story, perhaps?”

  She couldn’t keep her face from heating. “Sort of. Like the title says, romance and stuff.”

  “Good for you,” Harry said. “I love a well-written piece of fiction, and I never knew we shared something like that. What site do you write for?”

  She told him the name, hoping that he wouldn’t realize the true nature of her tales. No such luck. His face brightened and his smile showed his even, white teeth.

  “You write for that site? I love that collection,” he said, now totally blowing her mind.

  “You’ve been to the site? You read erotic short stories?”

  “From time to time,” he said, looking a bit abashed. “What’s your screen name?”

  Reluctantly, she said, “Blue-eyed girl.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You wrote, ‘Mandy’s Honeymoon Night’?”

  Her own smile widening, Angela said, “Sure. You read it?”

  “What a small world.” He thought, then said, “And ‘Office Politics’?”

  “Right again. I can’t believe the coincidence. You read my stuff.” She’d written “Office Politics” as a result of a vivid fantasy about Harry.

  “Nice writing. I fantasized about that story a lot, and put you and me in it.”

  Her entire body heated. “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all. When the couple did it on the conference table, I pictured you with your skirt around your waist and your naked pussy just waiting for me.”

  Angela swallowed hard. She’d had the same fantasy about him. She couldn’t utter a single word.

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Want to try it?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “We couldn’t.”

  “Why not? The office is empty and the cleaning folks don’t arrive until late. We’re consenting adults, and we’ve been flirting for quite a while. I find you very attractive and I hope you find me at least passable.”

  “More than passable,” she blurted out. “But . . .”

  “I’m not usually into casual sex, but thinking about that story has made me curious, and I can tell you’re turned on by it, too.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom, and waggled it in front of her eyes. “This way we will know before we start dating whether we’re sexually compatible.” He winked. “The story fits this situation. Let’s not let this coincidence go to waste. Let’s see whether it will work as well in reality as it did in your writing.” He paused and, when she hesitated, he added, “Come on. Be a sport. What could it hurt?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh, amazed and charmed by his audacity. He reached out his hand and held it there. Slowly she raised her own and placed it in his.

  “Conference table?” she asked as they walked down the hall.

  “Right. Like in the story. Did you write that one from experience?”

  “Of course not. I never did it in there.” She looked down slightly shy. “Have you ever done it in there?”

  Harry opened the door to the large room with its upholstered chairs and huge, highly polished table and almost dragged her inside. “Not until now.”

  He kissed her until she was feeling almost drugged, then he removed his jacket, tie, and white-on-white shirt, draping them over the chair at the end of the long, oval table. “This way it’s like old man Jenkins is watching us.”

  Although he didn’t have the bodybuilder physique she’d described in her story, there was little fat on him. Without another word, Harry unbuttoned her blouse and took it and her bra off. Angela stood a little straighter, hoping to expand her 34B breasts, praying that he’d like what he saw. From the expression on his face, she knew he did.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Very nice, indeed.” She wanted to behave like the characters in her story did, acting bold and sure of themselves while undressing their partners, but she couldn’t get her fingers to cooperate. She tried to unbuckle his belt with fumbling digits but he pushed her hands aside. “No need,” he said. “This is a little new to me, too.”

  They kissed again for a short while, his kiss thorough, deep, and sexual, a prelude to what they’d agreed was to come.

  He unzipped, unfastened, and unhooked both of them until they were completely naked. She looked him over, wide shoulders, well-defined waist, long legs sprinkled with light brown hair, pretty good build, and an average-size cock, not yet fully erect.

  He grasped her around the waist and lifted her until she sat on the edge of the mahogany surface. It was cool and slippery beneath her cheeks.

  He tu
rned to the chair with his clothing over it. “How about this, Jenkins?” he said. “She’s really lovely, isn’t she? However, you can’t have any. She’s mine.” Just when she began to think he’d taken this all a little too seriously, he added, “For right now at least.”

  He played with her breasts and nipples until she was gasping for air, then he leaned her back on the table. She barely noticed the cold, hard wood beneath her.

  He grabbed the condom, unrolled it over his now-hard dick, and pulled her forward by the hips until her ass was at the very edge of the wooden surface. Then he found her opening, parted her inner lips, and slid his cock into her slippery channel. God, he feels good, she thought.

  Slowly he withdrew then slid in again. After a few slow, smooth thrusts he lost control and began to ram into her, filling her to perfection. Then she began to slide backward across the slick wood. Realizing what was happening but too far gone to care, he grabbed her beneath her knees and she grasped the edge of the table, hanging on tightly.

  Over and over he pounded into her until he came, hips pushed forward, grasping hands digging small furrows in her skin.

  Eventually he pulled out and removed the condom. He gazed at her then smiled, wider and wider, until his rich, warm laugh filled the room. Although she was a bit sexually frustrated, she couldn’t help joining him until their laughter echoed off the walls. It took a few long minutes until they both calmed. “I’m so sorry,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “I got a little carried away and when I couldn’t hold you still . . .” He chuckled again.

  “I know and it’s okay. In my story it was all so easy.”

  “It didn’t live up to my expectations either. I know you didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I did.”