Archive for erotica

Letter to the Editor

Karl the Plumber rang my doorbell at 11:15.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and I was already half-stewed. I should have been drinking absinthe, but I couldn’t afford the stuff, so I was making do with green Kool-Aid and cheap gin.

I knew it was Karl the Plumber because he was overdue for a visit; and because he’s the only one who ever rings my bell other than the UPS guy and the Jehovah’s Witnesses; and when Karl rings the bell, he leans on the buzzer, making one long, aggressive tone.

He looked rough, unshaven, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.

I handed him my thumb drive, and he plugged it into his laptop, scanning quickly through the accumulated files.

“Good stuff,” he grunted, unplugging the USB memory stick and dumping it into the right hand pocket of his black jacket. He pulled out a billfold and carefully counted out five-twenty dollar bills, laying them out neatly on top of my kitchen table, right next to the bottle of gin and the half-empty pitcher of Kool-Aid.

“Is that all?” I asked, “You got anything else for me?”

“What do you think?” he asked, unzipping his trousers and fishing his penis out.

I gulped down the last of my drink.

He was still flaccid. His cock reminded me of a tequila worm, big and fat and soft and wrinkly; uncircumcised, the pink head peered malevolently out from beneath its fleshy hood. His testicles hung down, fat and heavy and hairy. He stood next to me as I sat, and slapped me across the face with his dick until he was hard.

I took him in my mouth. He tasted musty, sweaty, male. I wanted to swallow him whole, but he took me by the hair and pulled me away.

It’s not that he possesses an especially big cock. It’s the attitude that’s intimidating, that always takes my breath away. My pussy was juicy and slick with anticipation.

“Where do you want it?” Karl asked.

“In my cunt,” I whispered, starting to pull my t-shirt off over my head.

“Don’t,” he told me, “Stay dressed.”

Karl the Plumber took a step back and started taking his clothes off, neatly, orderly, draping his jacket over the back of a chair, folding his shirt and pants and stacking them on the seat. He always carries a gun, and it gives me the creeps. It is a small, ugly, black thing that he keeps in a holster, tucked deep into his armpit. That too came off, and was hung off the back of the chair.

At last Karl was naked, and his dick stuck straight out like an exclamation point.

He cleared off the kitchen table by the simple expedient of turning it over, tipping it ninety degrees so that gin and Kool-Aid and twenty dollar bills spilled across my kitchen floor. My glass bounced off the linoleum, but did not break. He returned the table to its more conventional orientation, and picked me up and bent me over the table top so that my breasts were squished flat through my shirt, and my face was pressed hard against the wood-grained formica.

He yanked down my sweat pants and slapped my bare ass hard, so hard that I yelped despite myself. That made him chuckle, and he did it again, just out of spite.

He pried my butt cheeks apart and spit on my exposed asshole, and then I knew what was coming, for sure. I clenched my teeth and tried to relax and get ready for it, but he was already cramming his erection up my ass.

I whimpered out loud, something between a ‘Yes’ and a ‘No’. It didn’t matter really; I was onboard this freight train now, for better or for worse, and the knobby head of his penis was shouldering its way roughly through the tight ring of my anus. It hurt, it hurt a lot, even through the insulating layer of alcohol, and I had to force myself to breathe.

Karl the Plumber fucked my ass hard and deep, showing me no mercy, no shade of tenderness, no consideration at all. I might have been a fleshlight in some anonymous, generic hotel room as far as he was concerned; just some soft, warm object to jerk off into. Karl grasped my face with his big, meaty hand, covering my mouth and nose so I couldn’t get air into my lungs. He gripped me so hard my teeth cut into my own cheeks and I tasted blood in my mouth. He jammed himself deeper and deeper into my poor, maltreated posterior, harder and harder, grunting with each thrust. My pussy was drooling wet; my clitoris was excited and erect, and absolutely bursting with frustration. The weight of his body was pressing me into the table, and each time he lurched forward I got a jolt of electric pleasure in my clit.

I felt him come in my asshole, his big dick twitching back there as he pumped into me, his bony hips pressed hard against my buttocks. He held me like that, frozen in ecstasy, for a long long moment, and then he was done.

He pulled his cock suddenly out of my ass and released my face, letting me fall gasping to the floor. I lay there in a pool of alcohol and green sugar-water, wheezing and coughing violently, my grey sweat pants around my ankles. I even threw up a little bit, and spit blood onto the linoleum.

Karl got dressed quickly and efficiently, and left me like that, prone and twitching, pants around my ankles. He went to the bathroom to take a piss, and I heard him flush. Then he was gone.

Eventually I got up, cleaned up the mess, and poured myself another drink with shaking hands. I lay down on the couch and ate a grilled cheese sandwich and half-watched Mexican soap operas with the sound turned off, people going through the flamboyant motions of life, love, and scandal, as Karl’s semen slowly leaked out my asshole.

I had bruises on my ass, bruises on my face, and my anus was sore and tender. I fell asleep there, in a little puddle of his liquefied come, with the television on.

I didn’t get off then, but I did later.

I masturbated that night to an incredibly intense orgasm, fingers crammed up my pussy and gliding over my clit, replaying the whole scene that morning over and over in my mind in vivid Technicolor, slowing down and zooming in on the juicy details. It was the kind of orgasm that wracked my entire body, seemed to go on and on forever, cresting and then building cresting again, and when it was done my thighs were weak and empty and my fingers were coated in my own sticky come.

I compose and collect and revise, I cut and paste and borrow and steal and revise again, slowly filling up the thumb drive, and I wait and wait, and I wonder when Karl the Plumber will visit me again.


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Midterm Maelstrom (a Pick-Your-Own-Poison Adventure)-1


It is Tuesday night, and that crucially important midterm paper is due at ten o’clock on Thursday morning, a deadline that Professor Sullivan has been emphasizing for weeks now, and in no uncertain terms. A hard, sharp, non-negotiable deadline. You have sort of started writing the paper; ‘started’ in the fuzziest sense of quantum mechanics.

You haven’t been properly laid all semester, and when your cell phone rings, your clitoris positively twitches with anticipation. Maybe it is Tomas calling. Tomas, your high school boyfriend, who is now a continent away, studying volcanology at the University of Washington. His sex life is equally non-existent. He is in the same horny and frustrated boat that you are. Perhaps he could be coaxed into another hot and steamy phone-sex session. Maybe he could even be convinced to do some webcam action with you. Your pussy salivates slickly into your panties at the thought.

But no, it is just your friend Sacchidananda calling to see if you want to go with her and her boyfriend Paul to a party over at Schrödinger’s Cat House.

Do you go out with them?

*if YES: go to 8

*if NO: go to 21

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You are standing behind Lara, out on the back porch. The back yard is overgrown with tall grass and weeds: the physicists and future Nobel laureates who live at Schrödinger’s Cat House have more important things to do than mow the lawn. Things like modifying Axis and Allis for invaders from Mars and time travel rules.

It is sort of chilly out here. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust, for you to see what Lara is pointing at.

Professor Sullivan is out back, leaning against the trunk of a big old maple tree. His shirt and jacket are still on, but his trousers are around his ankles. Mike Gauss, the football jock, is kneeling in front of him, stark naked, pale in the dim starlight.

As you watch, Mike lavishes his tongue up and down Professor Sullivan’s erection, cupping his balls, and finally opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock. Sullivan’s hands are on Mike’s head, gripping his short brown curls, forcing his head all the way down into the professor’s crotch. All the way over where you are, on the porch, the sighs and slurps and gurgles are fully audible.

“That is so hot!” you whisper in Lara’s ear, and she nods emphatic agreement. She is standing so close to you that you can feel her body heat. Your fingers meet and intertwine. You find yourself suddenly switched fully on, turned up to eleven. You wonder just what exactly Lara has got going on underneath those baggy blue jeans and that oversized t-shirt with the caption “Mmmm… Pi”

Mike’s head is bobbing up and down like an animated GIF. Lara squeezes your hand. Her wide hips press up against your own, and you become intensely aware of the beating of your heart. You can feel your pulse in your clitoris, and you squeeze your thighs, mashing your juicy labia together, further exciting your horny clit.

Suddenly Professor Sullivan pulls his cock out of Mike’s mouth. He has a long and skinny penis; Mike’s equipment looks to be smaller but more aesthetic. Sullivan starts slapping Mike across the face with his wet dick; back and forth, back and forth.

“I wonder what his locker room buddies would say if they could see him now!” you muse out loud. The hot moistness between your legs is quickly becoming intolerable, and the fact that Lara Cunningham is pressed up against you is not helping matters.

“I wouldn’t mind watching him and his locker room buddies going at it” Lara says. Her hand has somehow slipped up inside your skirt and is softly stroking your bum underneath your green-and-red striped panties. It feels nice, and you press yourself harder against her. “I bet they get into all kinds of antics in there they don’t tell us about…”

Out under the big maple, there is some argument going on. Professor Sullivan doesn’t want to; Mike insists. Finally Mike wins out, and Sullivan digs a condom out of his jacket pocket, tears open the package, and rolls the latex sleeve down his long, skinny dick.

You raise your arms over your head, and Lara, on cue, lifts your grey cami up and off, tossing it aside. The night air is cool and makes your already sensitive nipples stand up like high beams. She kisses you, hard and aggressive, like a boy would kiss, only with softer lips.

Now the professor is down on his knees, licking Mike from behind, stroking his thick cock. You watch enviously, but distractedly, because Lara is in the process of removing your skirt and panties. It feels wild to be naked like this, under the stars, as Lara touches and kisses you up and down your body.

Professor Sullivan gets up, looking faintly ridiculous naked from the waist down, still wearing his ugly brown suit jacket, and slides his condom-sheathed cock between Mike’s taut butt cheeks. You get down on your knees at Lara’s direction. You can smell her excitement through her jeans, feel the heat of her pussy near your face.

There is a loud moan as Sullivan penetrates Mike’s ass. Both guys are crooning, groaning, grunting. They’d better keep it quiet, you think, if they don’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood with their fucking.

You are fingering your own pussy now. Your boobs are hanging down, swaying with every motion. You are shockingly wet between your legs, your thighs are sticky with your own juice.

Professor Sullivan is pounding Mike from behind. You idly wonder what that long, skinny dick would feel like in your own ass. Mike seems to be taking it admirably well, back arched like a cat, humping back against the professor.

“I think Mike’s going to get an ‘A’ this semester,” Lara whispers in your ear. Mike may be a jock, but he is no meathead; you are pretty sure he is quite capable of earning an ‘A’ without taking it up the butt from the professor. But you don’t say anything, because Lara has begun tracing her fingers up and down your slippery, excited pussy, and the feeling is exquisite.

When her wandering fingertip finds your anus, you jump. She doesn’t ask permission, but permission is freely given. Her burrowing finger feels strange and erotic back there, invading you from behind.

You are rubbing your own clit right now, riding a wave of pleasure. Lara’s tongue finds your anus, licking, darting inside and all around. You don’t know if you’ve ever been this wet before in your entire life. Her finger (or is it fingers now?) returns to your hyper-excited asshole, plunging inside, aggressively entering and stretching you. The feeling is out of this world.

How many fingers has she got going on in there now? Lara is finger-fucking your asshole hard and deep, and you can just barely stand it; the feeling is weird and uncomfortable and just this side of painful, and it is driving you hard onto a massive orgasm.

You are rubbing your clit in time with her fingers sodomizing your tender asshole, you can hear her panting and grunting with the effort. Your poor pummeled anus feels like a lotus blossom, the center of the universe. Your face is pressed hard into the wide wood slats of the porch. Your orgasm goes off like a hydrogen bomb, wracking your body, curling your toes, making you cry out with the pure intensity of the pleasure. Lara fucks your ass throughout, only stopping when you collapse, a sweaty, flushed, quivering mass of flesh on the back porch floor.

She grins at you like a big, self-satisfied cat. Out back, Mike and Professor Sullivan have gotten off and are cuddling gently under the tree.

“May I do you now?” you ask shakily.

“Some other time Babe,” Lara says, “I’ve got a paper to write.”

She leaves you alone, and you get hurriedly dressed, retrieving your scattered clothes from across the porch before Mike and the Professor come back inside. Your anus is tender and buzzing, your pussy is sopping wet, and there is a big goofy smile on your face that just won’t go away.


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Leaving your little grey cami on for the time being, you pull off your skirt and panties, tossing them aside, and lean up against the tree, legs spread apart, presenting your posterior invitingly for him. Professor Sullivan rolls the condom down his long, skinny dick, and comes up behind you, nuzzling your neck, and teasing the outside of your pussy with the end of his dick.

He rubs his latex-covered cock up and down the length of your slit until you are the one who is moaning with desire. He spreads your cheeks apart, exposing your moist ass to the cool night air.

“Are you ready for it?” he breathes in your ear.

“Yes!” you exclaim, antsy with lust and impatient anticipation.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he slides his cock up your drooling pussy, until he is all the way inside and his wiry pubes are pressed up against your bare ass.

He fucks you and you fuck back against him, finding a rhythm, savoring the excruciating pleasure under the dome of unblinking stars. It starts slowly, then accelerates, faster, wilder, until both of you are out of control, fucking like pagans on Beltane eve.

His finger finds your asshole and slips up inside your tight anus, pushing buttons and driving you past the brink. As his cock fucks your pussy and his finger invades your ass, you come, snarling and writhing, fucking back against him with everything you’ve got, crying out into the night air.

You feel him feel him thrust hard one last time, and then you feel his cock pulsate inside the condom, and with a drawn-out raspy gasp, he comes inside you, pressed tight up against your rear end, squeezing your breasts tight and panting in your ear.

He is out of breath. He fumbles his pants back on, still wheezing.

“Ok, alright. That was fantastic!” he says as he tucks his shirt in, “Did you get to come too?”

The spent condom lies discarded in the tall grass, leaking semen. One of you should probably pick it up and throw it away. Your pussy is deliciously juicy and tender, and you are still pleasantly high on the post-sex endorphins.

“Now don’t think that just because we’ve had sex you automatically get an A… Though I suppose after this I could hardly give you worse than a B+!”

Professor Sullivan, you think, is kind of a jerk. Kind of a douche bag, really. Perhaps you should get back to your dorm and buckle down on that paper. Now that the itch has been scratched.


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I know you’re horny, but don’t be an idiot. He’s old and skeevy, and you have no idea how many horny undergrads he’s fucked. Wrap the rascal.

*Go to 3

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Professor Sullivan is wearing brown corduroy pants and the kind of brown jacket with patches on the elbows that professors always seem to wear in movies. He has unruly, curly hair, bushy eyebrows, and a mustache. He seems pleasantly surprised that you decided to sit down next to him.

He seems pleased when you tell him (more-or-truthfully) that you enjoy his lectures; he seems even more pleased when you tell him (less-truthfully) that you loved his book The Space Between Spaces: A Survey of Subatomic Particles Elucidated for the Intelligent Layman.

He reaches over and touches your forearm, and the unexpected contact makes you jump. He tells you that he has noticed you in class before, and that you are a very bright, possibly even brilliant, and despite yourself you blush. He takes a sip from his drink, and tells you that you are also very beautiful.

Lara Cunningham looks up from across the room where she is helping the Delmsey twins solve a complicated problem in knot theory involving transferring a piece of twine from one set of fingers to another, and gives you a highly significant look.

Professor Sullivan stretches lazily, and suggests that you step out back with him to smoke a cigarette. When you tell him that you don’t smoke, he asks if you’d like to go out back and gaze up at the stars together. Lara gives you another look, a smile that you cannot read.

Do you:

Join Professor Sullivan in the back yard? *Go to 17

Excuse yourself politely and go home, where there is a paper waiting to be written? *Go to 21

Extract yourself from the conversation and find someone else to chat with? *Go to 8

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It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

*Go to 1

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