45 Days of Erotica. Day 2. Erotica In Progress.
This scene feels kinda complex. Lots of people. There’s a lot going on. The story has a lot going on itself. Hopefully I can finish it one day and make complete sense of the madness. This excerpt is longer than I normally tease. Hopefully it helps everything digest a little better.
Brie was stunned icy at the sight before her, tongue tied by the
improbable twist that was this vexing situation. It was going down
right there. In the impressive sprawl of that commodious front room.
Right in front of the window, where the quiet, frizzy haired brunette
who posted up like an armed guard yesterday was there again today
with her back to everyone. In that spot, there was a plush ruby red
club chair, occupied by none other than the dapper Kyle Kakeboi. But
he wasn’t alone.
“It’s about time you got here. We were about to start without you.”
That voice belonged to Ivy, the same voice that greeted her mere
seconds ago. She stood behind the chair to Kyle’s right, flanked by
Angel on the left. Both girls ran their hands in the small slots of
his dressy shirt, feverishly caressing his chest and popping buttons
from thread as they moved from top to bottom.
Suddenly, it was like the oxygen around her became dangerously thin
because Brie noticed her chest lightly heaving as she struggled to
pull air into her lungs. Despite being higher than giraffe pussy on
stilts, she had enough awareness to realize there wasn’t a shortage
in air supply, but a boost in temperature. Like steamy fiction from
the erotic mind of Contel Bradford, it was getting Hot
Squinted, glossy, and starry eyed all in one optical glaze, Brie
decided right there that the heinous thrashing TnB dished out was
worth every barbarous lick. She’d suffer so sweetly all over again if
it got her a moment of intimacy with Kyle Oh Kyle. His silky ivory
skin splashed with a hint of cocoa made creamy, pink lips soft and
lush, his entire aura so dreamy. Ethnic experts may have called him a
mut, but in Brie’s hazy view, he was the most physically perfect gift
God ever gave to the world. An oddly balanced mix of German, Italian,
and Chinese blood gave the 18-year old beefcake the naturally
athletic frame, darling face, and sizzling stylish hair that left the
school girls dampened between the legs.
From the hallway that led to Ivy’s personal quarters stalked the
strangest member of the gang, the one Brie called “Cousin It”, jokingly
to herself. There was nothing different about the girl. She was still
barely unidentifiable due to the hanging strands of oleaginous hair
covering her face, still lurching with her head drooped seemingly in
defeat. But one thing stood out. It was the same thing that stood out
about all the girls today. She wore a red dress, not quite as tight
as the one Sam squeezed herself into, yet identical in design, length
proportion, and eroticism.
“Rayven.” Samantha smiled then lowered her head as the
intimidating girl paused before her.
Rayven? “So that’s her name,” Brie thought to herself. “That’s
cute.” She didn’t have time to revel in this revelation for the
girl who once seemed so meek and reserved started to direct traffic.
“Take your spot,” she commanded Sam, then turned to Brie. “You
… enjoy the show.”
Brie swallowed the lump of nerves that accumulated in her throat. But
she wasn’t free of the jitters just yet. In fact, the sensual pins
and needles plunged deeper into her being, giving her prickly
sensations she could feel in the pit of her stomach and further
below. The butterflies stirred faster, rumbled harder as Rayven
snuggled up flush behind her.
“Watch and learn,” Rayven instructed in a confident whisper,
purposely running her sticky tongue along Brie’s earlobe.
Brie never once considered herself a lesbian, but she was forced to
question her sexuality in the presence of her promiscuous new
comrades. Rayven’s tepid, minty breath on her neck sent a chilling
wave of shivers throughout her body. Those shivers became electric
spasms as a pair of long, bony fingers penetrated her shoulders and
attempted to massage away her anxiety. The physical element was pure
magic, but there was also a strong visual component tickling at her
This is so fucking hot! Brie felt that same combination of
tingling and wetness swelling from her kitty as the titillating scene
played out before her eyes. Methodically, Samantha crawled in Kyle’s
direction, scooting forward on her elbows and knees, making her booty
jiggle in jello-like fashion with each blistery lunge towards her
target. Yesterday, Sam treated her to any eyeful, but it caught her
off guard. Today, she wouldn’t dare look away. Instead, she would
luxuriate in this visual feast, lovingly lick those luscious lower
lips with eye lashes and lids, fuck that taut hole between them with her own gaping eyeballs.
“You’re not trying to make me share are you?” Sam asked as she
stopped at Kyle’s knee, just underneath Ivory.
“Don’t be stingy,” Retorted Rose, who was posted at the opposite
knee with Angel hovering above. “We’re fucking inseparable
Samantha. That means we share everything.” Rose’s tone was as stern
as the stiff expression on her face, unrelenting without a splash of
merriment. She kept her eyes locked on Sam, all the while inching a
roaming hand closer to the hard, stretched area of Kyle’s khaki
“Bu … but I wanted to have it all to myself,” Sam whined in the
process of unbuckling the belt that supported those khakis and the
zipper that housed its precious jewels. “I wanted to put it in my
hand and stroke it.” A few seconds of fiddling and she had
immediate access, able to sandwich her hungry fingers around the base
of a rigid, warmblooded one-iron. “I wanted to worship it …”
She borrowed the fluid anticipation oozing from the blowhole and lubricated his shaft as she choked it up and down. Then she leaned her
head into his lap, huffing, heeing, and hooing
passionate whimpers from her mouth over the sensitive skin of his
fleshy, throbbing mushroom tip. Seconds later, Kyle was squirming and
cooing in his seat.
“You’re fucking selfish, Samantha!” Rose scalded, followed up by
a stinging whack on the backside. “But I’ll let you go first …”