The Erotic Writer

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Indian Summer

The wind blew her hair off her shoulders and cooled the nape of her neck. It pressed into her chest suggestively, and her nipples hardened. The pavement clicked satisfyingly underneath her boots. Her hips moved as sinuously as they did when she was a teenager.

 

They moved like they did when sex was all fantasy and no flesh…her mind whirred. Indian summer = an older woman’s rediscovery of her sexuality. There’s a story in there somewhere.

She pictured the scuffed little idea notebook in her purse. She’d be writing all through lunch-

A tall, slim man flashed in her peripheral vision and  just like that, her purse was gone.

“Hey! What the hell?” She tried to run, but her boots didn’t let her. He’d taken her license, her credit cards, her favorite pair of sunglasses. Most importantly, he’d taken her notebook.

God damn it.

She felt around her jean pocket for her cell phone, dreading the long afternoon of calls. Her pussy dried up.

Fuck.

<<{{[O]}}>>

That evening, she nursed her spiritual wounds with a glass (or four) of Beaujolais. As she poured again, she heard the liquid sound of a key sliding into her lock. She lived alone, and she was single. No one had a key but her.

(And the purse snatcher.)

She was so languid with drink she didn’t get to the door in time. He filled her tiny foyer. He lifted her purse in front of him like an offering. She grabbed the bat she kept in the umbrella basket.


“I’m sorry. For stealing your purse. Ma’am.” He sounded out of breath. And young.  Her brain was foggy, but she couldn’t disregard his genuine nervousness. She held the bat in front of her and snatched her purse out of his hands. She was right – he couldn’t be more than 19 years old. His long eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones. He made her feel herself with a quick flick of his tongue.

“I haven’t taken nothin’ – your credit cards and your money’s all there. Check and see.” When he took a step forward, she poked his chest with the bat.

“Stay.” There was something missing.

“Where’s the notebook?” He looked at her bashfully, but she wasn’t buying it. “Come on – crumpled red cover, full of writing?” His eyes were the color of root beer hard candy and just as glossy. A shock of blonde hair drooped from underneath his hoodie as he dug in his front pocket.

“This one?” She was happier to see it that she was to see her license and credit cards. When she  tried to take it, he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

“What are ya? Some kind of nympho?” His grip didn’t loosen, but his voice was unsure. He flipped it open.

“I want to push his knees into his chest and watch his asshole tighten, then bite into his silky insteps. I want to rub my cunt against his ass  just to see whether it will wipe that pout off his face…” His voice cracked on ‘cunt’. He blushed.

She tried to explain, but he flipped to another passage.

“...she thought of the way he’d eaten her out earlier – he’d licked on her clit so softly, building up the pressure slowly, a little stream of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth he was so hungry for her… Who writes down this stuff?”

She dove to grab and he pulled her arm over her head. The heat from his hard cock made her stop struggling.

He’d sucked her pussy when she’d finally come for him, his tongue muscling its way into her, opening her for his cock. He hadn’t stopped until she’d come again…” He trembled.

“Are you going to give it back?” He gave it to her, but he didn’t let go of her. The notebook was whole, but it was also sticky. And suspiciously fragrant. A couple of pages of a fellatio fantasy she’d been working on stuck together. He throbbed insistently on her belly, and the grip on her bat loosened.

“Did you like it?” she asked. He nodded. He bucked his hips on her. She could drop him with a knee to the groin… but instead, she moved her leg between his. He smelled like pheromones. And clean sweat. And  crisp breeze and wood smoke and cologne.

Did thieves wear scent, or was it her drunk (horny) mind playing tricks on her?  His leg moved between her own until he felt the heat of her cunt. His eyes flashed.

“Have you ever done any of that?” He let go of her wrist and wrapped his arm around her waist. His muscles rippled underneath the hoodie. Her nipples hardened against his chest.

“Which part?”

“Don’t know…” His face was so close she smelled the candy on his breath. He rubbed her wetness into his pants. “The second bit I just read sounds nice.”

“You like to eat pussy?” He reddened again.

“Love it. ‘Specially a hot, juicy one like yours.” He was a fast learner. She liked that. He lifted the back of her shift slowly and slid a finger into her asshole. He tensed, ready for her to resist. Instead, she groaned. Her hand hovered over his cock.

“There’s other things I can show you.” She squeezed. Stroked. “A lot of things.” His hair brushed her face. His cock was fat and hard like only a young man’s cock can be. She seeped onto his leg.

It had been a while.

“Oh yeah?” He sounded surer of himself. She unbuttoned his jeans.

“Mmmhmm.” She didn’t break eye contact as she nodded. He took a deep breath and rubbed his lips against hers.

The bat clattered on the foyer tile.

About ximenawrites

I undulate in your vision A strange beauty in a world of plastic, collagen and steel The endearing oddball the living, breathing Picasso that you want to figure out but too afraid to venture into my penumbra you cower at the gate, fingering the knob on the door to my most secret place wishing you could find the courage to walk with me love me, just as I am

6 comments on “Indian Summer

  1. willcrimson
    September 24, 2011

    “…his tongue muscling its way into her, opening her for his cock…”

    Nice. Always wondered what that must feel like. I had no idea what to expect. It’s the excitement of being caught, that’s what I like in your version.

  2. Paul
    September 25, 2011

    Ximena,
    I’d be hard pushed to chose, yours or Will’s.
    I like this very much, also the fact that you leave more to my imagination!
    Warm hugs,
    Paul.

    • willcrimson
      September 25, 2011

      Paul, why choose? Enjoy both. :-)

  3. vanillamom
    September 25, 2011

    i was thinking the same thing…no choosing here, no losers…both are winners…the style of these pieces are worlds apart…

    i love the way you describe teh season, the sexual feeling she’s having at the start…and that her purse snatcher was taking control…AND being lead, a bit…

    definitely a dance happening here.

    loved it, loved it.

    You two …need to do this sort of thing more often!!

    nilla

    • willcrimson
      September 25, 2011

      I was thinking of inviting you to join us, Nilla.

  4. vanillamom
    September 26, 2011

    well that’s kewl.

    *smiling*

    i’ll jump in if you want me to!!

    nilla

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The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.

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This blog contains adult material. If you are a minor, please go. If you are an adult, you are welcome to stay but be warned, this blog contains erotic fiction and images - sexually explicit content abounds. The themes sometimes tend toward the darker and weirder corners. Be your own judge when deciding what to read.

The rights to all stories by William Crimson are reserved by William Crimson. The rights to all stories by Monocle are reserved by Monocle. The rights to all stories by Ximena are reserved by Ximena.

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