The Monkey On My Back

She died suddenly and unexpectedly. Everyone around her was understandably shocked: until very recently she’d been so healthy and so full of life. The bug that killed her wasn’t cancer; it was something more exotic than that, and much more virulent. I don’t remember the name. It was one of those diseases from Nigeria or some shit-hole like that that you hear about on the eleven o’clock news and don’t ever really believe in. The way I heard it, she went in to her doctor with a minor infection, and came out of the hospital six days later in the back of a refrigerator truck. I guess it was pretty ugly.

I met him at the Starbucks near University at 6 a.m. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, shell-shocked and unshaved and almost gaunt. For all that, he still looked pretty damn good to me, James Bond on a rough morning. It was nearly the first time we had been alone together. We sat on a couch by a low table piled with magazines near the back, as blurry-eyed college kids lined up for the low-wage barristas. My head was throbbing through a red wine hangover.

He did most of the talking. I mostly just nodded and made sympathetic noises and tried to concentrate on what he was saying, battling the twin distractions of my aching head and my horny, twitching pussy. He rambled, talking about everything and anything other than his wife. I noticed that he hadn’t removed his wedding band. Not yet. I placed my palm softly on his trouser-covered thigh, and he appeared not to notice. I felt a secret thrill, a tingle that resonated up and down my body and left me moist and hungry for more. When the opportunity presented itself, I rested my head on his broad shoulder, a gesture of sympathy and support. He idly stroked my hair.

Emboldened, I slid my hand up his leg until I found his package. He did not pull away. I softly petted him, up and down, back and forth, the way you might pet a nervous cat who had finally consented to sit on your lap but might bolt or scratch at any second. I felt him grow and stiffen under the soft touch of my roving fingers, until he was fully hard inside his trousers and I could feel his entire topography, every bump and ridge and valley. It felt delicious, excruciating, and I was sweating cheap malbec and making a sticky mess inside my panties as he idly rambled, talking about baseball, the weather, the Republican caucuses, the Eurozone mess, anything but the passing of his beloved. All the while I kept petting, and he kept getting harder and harder, until he was straining against the fabric that constricted him, about to burst a seam in his crotch. I finally took his hand in mine and tugged him up and away in the direction of the bathroom, and he obediently followed.

I’ve never been a huge fan of bathroom sex. Frankly, I’ve always thought it’s kind of gross, the lingering smell of old urine and other people’s farts is definitely un-sexy in my book. Fortunately this bathroom was freshly cleaned and sanitized, thank you Starbucks employees! It smelled slightly medicinal, eau de industrial cleaning product.

I sat on his lap for a little while, sliding my rump up and down his jutting, pants-covered erection and letting him fondle my tits through my shirt and bra while I craned my neck around and kissed him. I could tell he wasn’t really into the kissing, so I didn’t force the issue. Soon enough, I climbed down off his lap and got down on my knees.

The floor was tile: tiny beige and grey and white tiles set into grout, each one just a hair crooked, like a monochrome mosaic. I unfastened his fly and tugged his trousers and then his briefs down as he perched atop the toilet. His erection flapped up into my face, hard and swollen and eager.

His cock was gorgeous. It was just as I had imagined it, big and hard and thick and beautifully sculpted, crowned with a fat, moist, scarlet head.

There was nothing subtle about the blowjob I gave him. I simply opened my mouth wide, tucked my teeth behind my lips, and bobbed my head rhythmically up and down, letting the underside of his hot dick slide along my tongue. He seemed to appreciate my efforts, and within a few minutes he was actively humping back, urgently and spasmodically fucking my face. His balls were firm and swollen, like over-ripe fruit, and he was squirming on the toilet seat and making little grunting sounds. I knew he was just about there.

I closed my lips around the bulbous head of his cock and did my best impression of a vacuum-pack machine while I wrapped both hands around his shaft and jerked him off as hard and fast as I could. His whole body went rigid and he emitted a strangled, choking cry, and then he came, squirting gob after gob of hot, salty-bitter semen straight into my mouth. I swallowed, and swallowed again. It seemed like he was never going to stop coming. I kept my mouth on his dick until he was soft, swallowing all his come and then fastidiously lapping up the stray droplets I had missed.

He was sprawled, panting across the toilet, head lolled back, shirt disheveled, his pants around his ankles. I couldn’t believe how much come he had just shot off. It was as if he hadn’t gotten off in weeks. Which, upon reflection, was probably true.

I left him there, sitting on the john, while I checked my makeup in the mirror. Before exiting the restroom, I flashed him a smile and a flutter of my fingers. He looked dazed. I’m not sure he even noticed me leave. Outside, the morning rush was in full swing. I could still taste him in my mouth, and my cunt was swollen and juicy. My hangover felt much better already.


I texted him a few days later, asked if I could come over. He responded ‘ok’, which wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic endorsement, but was all the invitation I needed.

He looked rough. He still wasn’t sleeping, and it didn’t look like he’d even changed his clothes. The kitchen was overflowing with used to-go containers, and there was a small mountain of junk mail on the counter.

As soon as the front door had closed behind me, I pulled my shirt off over my head. I hadn’t worn a bra. I felt brazen and dangerous, an amazon princess. He looked at me questioningly, his eyes lingering on my swaying tits. I told him that what he needed was a good massage, and he didn’t argue.

He took off his rumpled shirt and his slacks, but left his briefs on. He lay face-down on the brownish-orange carpet of his living room, his arms folded under his head.

I slithered out of my jeans and straddled him, nothing but the skimpiest layer of pink cotton between his naked flesh and my horny pussy. I swear, I was already soaking through my panties. For a few minutes, I made a good-faith effort at rubbing his shoulders, which were tight and knotted with tension.

When I felt like I’d done enough kneading to justify calling it a massage, when I couldn’t stand to wait any longer, I gave it up and dragged my breasts up and down his back, nibbling on the nape of his neck. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his undies, and tugged. He lifted his hips to help me.

His ass was pale, and tight and muscular, beautifully shaped. He could have been a male tush-model. His rear-end reminded me of some exotic fruit. I stuck out my tongue and sampled him, licking his fat, dangling balls, and then dragging the tip of my tongue lightly all the way up and down his dark, furry crevice, studiously avoiding his butt hole. He tasted clean and musky, male. He groaned audibly as I licked. I felt a jolt of anticipatory pleasure course through my body. My clit throbbed palpably and my pussy drooled with hunger.

His anus was impossibly tiny and pink, like the knotted end of a balloon. He was closed up tight: a bona fide virgin. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I simply couldn’t wait. I pried his butt cheeks apart, as wide as I could, one taut globe in each hand, and pressed my extended tongue hard against his anus. I was rewarded with a sigh and a squirm as he raised his hips, pressing back against me.

His cock was harder than hard, straining straight out underneath him. I slipped one hand under his body and wrapped my fist around his hot shaft as my tongue continued tunneling, insistently drilling my way up his tight, clenched asshole.

He was up on all fours now, his dick thrusting and shaking like a spear. He was nice and thick, and my fingertips barely touched around his girth. I could feel his pulse pounding in his cock as my tongue invaded his asshole, deeper, ever deeper. I wasn’t moving my hand, but he was humping excitedly, like a boy playing air guitar, and I could feel his cock swelling and trembling against my grip. His butt was finally relaxing a little, and my extended tongue was sliding in and out of his dark, musky hole. His balls rested warmly against my chin.

I withdrew my tongue, and gently but firmly and insistently worked on sliding one wet finger up his ass. He whimpered like a kitten and tried to pull away, but I was unrelenting. His asshole was hot, and impossibly tight, but persistence paid off. He was slick with excitement and drenched in my saliva, and my persistent finger slid slowly deeper and deeper until I was buried up to the knuckle in his ass. His anus clenched and grasped at my finger. He was obviously balanced right on the edge, and obviously hungry for more.

Every muscle in his back was flexed in a gorgeous, sweaty bas-relief. He was a pornographic renaissance sculpture, a greek warrior impaled on my extended digit. My panties were soaked through and through, and my thighs were slick with my own oozing come.

The second finger was easier. He was moaning nonstop, and I wasn’t sure if it was asking for more or begging me to stop, but I didn’t really care either. His anus was becoming more and more pliable as I finger-fucked him, deeper and harder until my shoulder ached with the effort and I was groaning just as loud as he was moaning.

Without warning, he came. His entire body went rigid and I felt his dick spasm in my hand, and he made a cute little strangled noise and shot off, his come jetting out a yard and more, splattering all over the hideous orange carpet beneath him. His asshole squeezed my finger hard, relaxed, and clenched again. His cock trembled spasmodically, his big fat balls gathered up tight, and I milked him, squeezing every last drop of come out of his body.

Finally, I withdrew my invading finger. We were both breathing hard. I think he may have been crying. I pulled on my jeans and put on my shoes, and left him there, lying naked on the floor in a self-made puddle of his own sperm.


The next time I came over, I didn’t ask permission. Sometimes it’s better that way, and this time it worked out just perfect.

I was wearing nothing but my oversized punk-rock biker’s jacket (a relic of James, my first real boyfriend, who never came back to retrieve it after he broke up with me), and a pair of black leather motorcycle boots that came almost up to my knees. I was naked other than that, and a cool wind caressed my buttocks and tickled the fur of my pussy as I stood at his front door, waiting for him to respond to my knock. My nipples stood out hard, and it wasn’t just the chilly air.

My timing couldn’t have been better. Apparently he’d just gotten back from a jog, and he was still stretching out, adorable in a pair of nylon shorts and a sweat-soaked white t-shirt. The look of surprise on his face when he answered the door was priceless: I don’t know if it was my unexpected presence that was the shock, or the outfit; this was a polar opposite of the image I projected at work, the only context he had for me.

The house was still a mess, but not as bad as it had been. He’d thrown away the empty pizza boxes and to-go containers. I bet if I’d looked hard, there were come stains in the orange carpet. He should get rid of that thing anyway, it looked like something out of the seventies.

I unzipped my jacket, jangling with chains and studs, and appreciated the hungry look on his face when he saw that I was naked underneath. Already his cock was making a delicious lump in the front of his running shorts, straining to be set free.

The bedroom looked as if it hadn’t been touched since she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her stuff was all over the place; her clothes hung up and laid out ready for her to come home. The dresser was covered with her cosmetics and a dish of jewelry that was totally not to my taste. There were photographs of them together, wholesome and happy, a picture of republican family values. I imagined that they’d met since high school, exchanged bracelets, dated all the way through college even though they went to school in different states, and married shortly after graduation, but that was all just fantasy on my part. He was pulling off his running clothes, his cock erect, bobbing and pointing at the ceiling. He’d shaved, and his pubes looked freshly trimmed, as if he’d anticipated my visit.

There was a picture of her on the dresser, overlooking the bed. She was pretty in a way, I supposed, her hair coiffed and frosty and remorselessly hairsprayed into position, shoulder pads under her jacket, an artificial looking blush painted on her cheek, and a slight, possibly smug pout in her lips. I wondered if she used to suck his cock. It was hard to imagine those glossy lips wrapped around his veiny, hard, throbbing dick. Her eyes were slate blue behind her glasses, and it felt like she was watching the whole scene unfold. If she were watching, I could only imagine that she would be horrified.

I sucked his dick a little bit, just an appetizer. He tasted nice, salty and clean. He was already leaking pre-come, and I savored the sweet taste. Just for a moment, though.

His dick flopped wetly out of my mouth as I fell onto my back onto his bed, my legs splayed wide, the matte-black leather of my boots in stark contrast with the white sheets. He got down on his knees and licked, just a perfunctory slurp or two up and down my slit, strictly a pro-forma gesture.

I was more than ready for him, hot and wet and wide open and slippery. He penetrated me, slipped his big cock straight up my hungry cunt, and I savored the exquisite sensation of it, reveling in the filled-up feeling, my clit bulging eagerly out. I craned my neck to watch his come-slick dick sliding in and out of my pussy, and crooned out loud with the pleasure of it. He only fucked me for a few moments though, before pulling out, leaving me gasping, and wanting. His slick, wet dick stood straight up, the crown a livid red, harder and more swollen and erect than ever.

I lifted my legs, hugging my knees toward my chest, exposing myself fully to him. He nuzzled the head of his dick between my ass cheeks, bumping up against my anus, and I gurgled incoherently. Now I was the one squirming in agonizing frustrated desire.

It took him a little while to work his cock up my ass. He was big, thick, and he did it right, taking his time. He’d nudge forward a little bit, then withdraw, rub his fingers up and down my juicy slit, spreading joy juice all over his cock and my ass before once more renewing his assault on my anus. By the time he finally skewered me irrevocably, sliding the bulbous ridges of his fat glans up past my quivering ring of sphincter muscles, I was delirious.

He slid a thumb up my cunt and fucked my ass, forceful but slow, like a wildcat oil drilling rig, sinking his cock deeper and deeper into my butt until he was all the way inside, his entire length and girth crammed up my ass, his balls pressed snugly against my butt cheeks. My clit got a little jolt from his thumb every time he thrust, and now he was fucking me faster, sodomizing me, taking his own pleasure and running with it.

His lips were twisted in a grimace, his eyes were scrunched up, his brow furled. He was pounding my ass hard, and I was just along for the ride. Finally, he made a loud, low animal growl, and came. I felt his cock twitch and twitch again as he squirted off inside me, filling my butt to overflowing with his hot semen.

I was limp as a boneless chicken. He extracted his already softening cock from my ass with an audible *pop*, and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving me lying there on the bed, gasping like a trout plucked suddenly from a brook.

I could hear the shower running. I stood up and zipped my jacket and let myself out.

It was cool outside, late morning now, and there were cars and people out. I felt naked, exposed, barely covered up in my oversized biker’s leather. His come was already leaking out my ass, dribbling down the backs of my thighs. I got into my car and drove home, making a sticky puddle of our combined juices on the front seat that squooshed under my butt cheeks as I drove.

I’d whack off all that afternoon and into the night, filthy porn on the computer screen and vibrators and dildos up my cunt, my asshole still too frazzled to be toyed with, my clit swollen and tender and insatiable, visions of his face as he came playing over and over in my mind’s eye, and an image of her face watching implacably over us from her spot on the dresser, prim and disapproving. I’d gotten the monkey off my back, at least for the time being.



  1. ClemClem said

    That’s not so wrong. It sounded so right to me. I’d be there in spades.

  2. ElsieFanny said

    Nice to see you back into the game. Thanks!

  3. Voodoo said

    Thank you for writing again; I’ve been rereading your archives so much that I’ve been considering going to Literotica for something new. Don’t make me do that.

    • elsiewrites said

      Glad you liked it! For goodness sake, don’t go to Literotica, it is the pit of despair!


  4. Tom said

    Wow… what a comeback. Well worth the wait!

    • elsiewrites said

      Thank you!


  5. Random Lurker said

    GREAT to see new stuff from you! (I have followed this blog for a long time, and I’m endlessly amazed at how you manage to put out such a high volume of consistently great erotica. Pretty incredible.)

  6. advizor54 said

    a great story, direct and needful, the strength of two people getting their wants and desires filled with so few words. Love it!

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