Readerotica - Free Erotica for Your eReader

by PriveCo Inc.

  “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 o
pen 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 choco
late 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.