TABOO TALES(erotica)

I had been out to the restaurant the previous day and picked the table I wanted, in a secluded corner of the verandah with a view over the ocean. The blue Orchid I had chosen for her looked good on the crisp white tablecloth, and a bottle of Marlborough Region white wine was chilling beside our table. She settled into her seat and looked around.

“David,” she whispered “this is lovely. It looks terribly expensive.”

“The owner is in debt to me. I saved his sister from certain death in a plane crash.”

She smiled. “No, really. Are you sure it’s OK?”

“Sure I’m sure. This is a place that you can only enjoy if you share it with someone. I’m glad its you. ” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

She regarded me for a moment. “You are really quite a nice person, despite what they say at work.”

“What do they say at work?”

“That you are fat, lazy, sleazy, untrustworthy and unreliable. Apart from that, not much.”

“I guess that’s just what my friends say. What about the others?”

She laughed. “You don’t want to know. It’s about your fetish for tan-searching.”

“It’s probably all true then.” I waited until the waiter filled our glasses. “Cheers. To friendship.” We clinked glasses and settled down to our meal.

We never did get to the Creme Brulee, or the coffee and chocolates I had laid out on a tray in the kitchen. We were as hot as a pistols when we left the restaurant, and the twenty minute drive was enough to ferment our desire to fever pitch. We almost sprinted from the car to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing from the front door onwards. The doona was flung into a corner of the room and she lay on her back on the bed, her skin dark against the white sheets, looking up at me. Her breasts were firm and she had a neat patch of black hair at her crotch, trimmed into an inverse triangle like an arrow head pointing to the prize. She shifted slightly under my gaze, one thigh moving sideways so I was rewarded by a glimpse of her puss, shielded by shadow. Struck by the eroticism of her pose, I stood watching her for a moment.

She propped herself up on one arm, taking off a gangster accent. “What are you looking at, Buster?”

I smiled. “You know me. I’m bad. It’s the tan fetish.” I let my eyes move over her, slowly, from head to foot. “It’s all over, just like you said. Is it real or can I lick it off?”

“It’s worth a try.” She chuckled, a sexy, throaty sound. “No more dreaming, then. Come and taste it for yourself. Come and be bad on me.”

I sat beside her, leaning over her body so that I could reach her mouth. One breast pressed against the underside of my arm and the nipple burned my skin like the touch of a cigarette. Her mouth tasted of wine and spices, her lips as soft as gossamer. She groaned under me as my tongue entered her mouth, her back arching and her free hand reaching up to the back of my head, holding me as we kissed.

I broke off. “Hold still.”

I knelt over her, my lips moving downwards, kissing the soft skin just below her ear, my nose touching her hair that was spread over the pillow like a band of black satin; then moving down to her shoulder and into the soft hollow just above her clavicle, feeling her thrust her body up against my lips. She groaned, her voice soft.

“Jesus, that’s good. Don’t stop.”

Down to her right breast, feeling the firm swell of her flesh rise up under my lips, the texture of her nipple in my mouth, my fingers caressing the other breast; then down, leaving a faint trail of moisture across the smooth flat belly, dipping briefly into her navel so that she giggled and pushed my head downwards to her mound, the feel of her hair crisp against my lips and the first scent of her puss – a warm, animal smell of arousal and desire. She opened her thighs, legs bent at the knees, and I leaned down, avoiding her clit for the moment, looking to taste and tease the lips of her cunt, sliding the tip of my tongue over them as soft as a sleeping breath, savouring the taste of her.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

She writhed under me, thrusting her hips upwards so that my tongue slipped into her, pushing aside her labia. I felt a gush of moisture into my mouth as she opened, felt it tart against my palate. I stabbed downwards with my mouth, curling my tongue into a cylinder, penetrating the soft flesh. My senses were filled by her: the warm plasticity of her thighs against my cheeks, the mewing sounds of her pleasure, the feel of her hands fluttering at the back of my head, and her taste and smell.

I stood up quickly, rolling her over so that she was kneeling on the edge of the bed, her head and chest flat against the mattress and her butt pushed up and back. I placed my hands on her tight ass cheeks and pried them apart. Her puss opened like an exotic flower and I knelt on the floor and pressed my mouth to it, drinking her in, running the flat of my tongue in long, lapping strokes from her clitoris to the puckered ring of her anus, savouring her texture: from the slick softness of her cunt to the crinkled roughness of her rosebud. I could hear her cries of pleasure, feel her jerking and trembling as I worked at her, feel her puss fluttering and grasping as if to catch my lips and suck them into her body; hard, rhythmic contractions that accelerated swiftly, until, with a wail that just about shattered the windows, she came, bucking against me.

A jet of juice spurted out of her, squirting between my lips so that my mouth was filled with her essence, and as I lapped at her it dribbled out of my mouth and soaked my chin.

“Enough. Oh God, David. Enough. Stop.” her voice was gusty with desire.

I pulled back and stood up. She was still on her knees, legs akimbo, her face pressed sideways onto the bed and her hands clenched, clutching at the sheet beneath her. The light from the bedside lamp illuminated her, so that I could see the sheen of sweat on her back and the darker stains of her juices sprinkled like raindrops on the sheet between her knees.

With a cry of desire I moved forward and pressed my cock against her opening, feeling her push back against me. As I watched, her cunt opened and I sank into her, her lips clutching at my shaft as I slid inwards. She was incredibly tight.

She groaned as she felt me. “God, David. Slowly. Take it slowly. Let me adjust’.

I realised that her cunt was still contracting with the power of her orgasm, and I stopped, feeling the rhythmic grasping as she accommodated me into her body, gradually diminishing as her insides adjusted to my size. In a little while she pushed back to take more, and I slid into her to the hilt, feeling the head of my cock squeezed deep inside her body. Not one millimetre of my shaft was visible. She had it all. Her hard little buttocks pushed against me and I could feel the crisp springiness of her pubic hair meshing with mine.

“Now, fuck me. Start slow. ”

“I will, Susan. I’m deep inside you. Can you feel me? Tell me what you feel.”

“Full. I feel full. Pull out… slowly.” She clenched her puss as I did, so that it grasped at my length as I slid outwards, fighting to keep me in. As the head appeared I stopped.

She was gasping. “Now in. Just a little.” I felt her fingers at her puss, feeling me as I entered her again and stopped, just the head buried inside her. Her fingers squeezed at my shaft.

“Slowly. Slowly. God that’s good! That’s thick.” She pushed up on her arms, her head back so that her hair fell over her shoulders. I reached forward and grasped a handful, pulling her head back with it as I slid further into her.

“Ah yes. Yes! Now faster.”

I looked over at the wardrobe in front of us. The door had swung open and we were reflected in the full length mirror. Susan on her hands and knees, watching me, her breasts bouncing each time I plunged into her, her head back, her mouth working.

“Ah, that’s it! That’s good! Fuck it deep! Spurt into me! Cream me!” Her fingers were busy at her clit.

My own voice, shaky with lust. “I will! I’ll fill you up with my hot cream.”

A roaring in my ears. Every fibre of my being was harnessed to the sole purpose of impregnating her. The tumultuous climb upwards, the moment of time frozen on the brink, trembling on the edge of an endless precipice when all is disconnected from your brain apart from the single burning rod buried deep inside her: and then the crashing wave of orgasm, the boiling jets of spunk spurting like long white ribbons, one after another, filling her grasping cunt and bathing her cervix as she shrieked and writhed underneath me, lost in her own climax.