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  ADULTS ONLY

  Seven Erotica Shorts

  Also by Bebe Wilde:

  The Weaker Sex

  ADULTS ONLY

  Seven Erotica Shorts

  Bebe Wilde

  Abernathy and Monroe

  Adults Only: Seven Erotica Shorts. Copyright © 2011 by Bebe Wilde.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and articles. For more information, email [email protected]

  Published by Abernathy and Monroe.

  eBook ISBN–13: 978-0-9845352-8-6

  eBook ISBN–10: 0-9845352-8-4

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  For the Bad Girl in All of Us

  Contents

  Slow Motion

  Do You Love Me?

  Night Sex

  The Three Mistakes

  Bad Girl, Dirty Talk

  A Bigger, Better Tomorrow

  Watch Me

  Slow Motion

  “I want to fuck you,” he says.

  He’s over me, then he’s between my open legs. His beautiful head, bald from a recent shaving, is shining in the light. He looks up every so often so that his eyes can meet mine before they go back to another part of my body. As usual, my pulse begins to quicken just at the sight of him, at his lean body, at his sculpted face and his beautiful, masculine lips. He is tall. He is dark. He is handsome. He is mine. Somewhat.

  I know what he wants. I know I can stop him if I want to. I know I can make him crawl. I want to make him crawl. I need to know his devotion.

  It’s beautiful, this head between my legs. I touch it gently then push it back down when he tries to glance up at me.

  I like to tease him.

  He is totally naked. The shadows from the moon cast delicate rays of light all over his body so that he appears to be someone from a dream. And, maybe, he is.

  His body is taut with passion for me. Only me. His penis erect, ready to fill me. His eyes yearning and resentful. He hates these games. He says they make him feel small. So be it. Now he knows how I feel.

  He pulls back and away from me. I let him go without a struggle.

  I am fully clothed. I sit on the couch, my legs are still open. I tease him by moving my legs this way and that. The rest of my body is at ease, not tense like him. He takes my body in with his eyes once again. He wants his hands on me, all over me, all over my body. He wants to consume me, to worship my beautiful face and my breasts. He wants me, me, me, me, me. That’s what he wants. Right?

  “I want to fuck you,” he says again.

  He reaches up my skirt and yanks the panties from my body. He tosses them over his head and they land near the muted television set. They are wet with my need for him. I grow embarrassed. I want to hurt him and the wetness between my legs is an indication of my weakness.

  I push him away but he has noticed the change in my body. He knows I want him. He knows it won’t be long. His eyes rest on my nipples, naked under the sheer fabric of my blouse, and he stares at them, hard. He can see the outline of my nipple piercing, something I acquired for him. He likes to bite at the ring and pull it back. The pain I experienced when I got it reminds me of the pain I experience with him. That’s why I keep it.

  I cross my arms.

  He sits back and smiles. He knows what to do to me. He knows how to turn me to jelly. I want to shrug it off as a something that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him. I know he doesn’t want to hear it. He only wants to slip his fingers into my slick, wet vagina. Into my pussy, into my cunt. He wants to play with me a little, to feel all that I have to offer. He wants to fuck me, no more, no less. It doesn’t have all these connotations with him. It’s merely a function; just something he wants to do. He doesn’t put all this brainwork into it.

  Why should he?

  But I want to make him pay first. I want to make him work for it. I know his ways. After we’re done, he’ll leave. He won’t stay to hold me, to kiss me, to tell me that he loves me. He won’t stay. He’ll leave softly, in the same manner that he came. A few days later, I’ll receive flowers and a note: “Same time next week.”

  And I’ll be here—waiting, wanting him. Listening for his footsteps and then his slow, almost hesitant knock on the door. I’ll be waiting, wanting, needing him. God, how I hate myself for needing him.

  Slowly, his hand makes its way up my leg then rests flat on my pussy. He doesn’t move it because he knows the heat from his fingers will soon drive me wild. I can feel the heat off his fingers, so strong it almost burns. They wait, those fingers, with urgency for my next movement.

  I smile down at him. I’ve tired of the game, too. He is mine now. For one instant, he is truly mine. He doesn’t belong to anyone else but me. That’s why I let him come back. That’s why I let him treat me the way he does. That’s why I let him use me. But for right now, I get to call the shots. He needs me to manipulate him. He needs me to hold back. He likes it. It keeps him returning to the security of our time together, suspended in time for one instant to become one. One. One with each other. One alone. One outside each other we always seem to float.

  I can’t stand it any longer. Slowly, I unbutton my shirt, giving him his own personal striptease. His smile deepens. This is his favorite part.

  The shirt falls off my back. I sit in front of him almost naked. I sit as still as a cat about to pounce on a mouse.

  His eyes meet mine. All I see is his lust for me, for this moment, for the fucking that will ensue. I glance away, then back. Other than the lust, the want, no emotion stems from him. His penis, hard as a rock, gives off a slight quiver. He doesn’t love me, I know.

  His eyes devour my breasts.

  I know that I am truly a whore though I don’t take any money from him. But I am a whore, imprisoned by this passion, this love I feel for someone who feels nothing, absolutely nothing for me. It angers me, but there isn’t anything I can do about it.

  I place my hand on his shoulder to hold him back. He squirms under the weight of it as I press harder. He wants my breasts now, he wants to touch them, fondle them, kiss them, and make them his own playthings. He wants to feel their softness, the skin is so soft, so unlike his own. He touches my nipple ring, pulling it back a little before he takes a tiny bite at it. This sends me over the edge. He wants me, or maybe, he just wants my body.

  I close my eyes and anticipate what is to come. Automatically, I tense, for he is rough and uncaring when it comes to fucking me. He doesn’t care at first about pleasing me. It’s all about him getting in and getting what he came for.

  He takes me then. He takes my body, my cunt, my vagina. My soul. He takes what he wants and gives me pleasure without knowing he does so.

  My soul is above me now as he slides into me, then pulls back. Now he is teasing me. Making me want him. Making me give in.

  I grab his shoulders and hold him still for a moment. I feel the tightness of my vagina as it holds his body in mine. And it holds him in me.

  Him. I want him. Only him, with the beautiful bald head, shiny in the light, with the dark, dark eyes which say everything I need them to say now, which beg me to let him move on. To let him have me.

  Me. Him. Us. One. We are one now. One. This is our moment. Now we can love each other as we were meant to. As the orgasms in our bodies cry to be unleashed, to be released. To be set free. But I don’t want it so soon. I put my hand on his shoulder again to halt him. He stops moving and stares
into my eyes.

  I want him for another moment. I want that moment to convince him. In that moment he can truly love me, like the way I lie to myself about loving him.

  But he is a man. He kisses my hand off his shoulder, taking one finger into his mouth to tease me. The sweet, soft, tickling sensation sends me into a frenzy. As always. I am so predictable.

  I begin to move again. He joins in. He moves over me, lays me back and he starts fucking. Quickly. Softly. Slowly. Quickly. He is about to come. He is about to leave me again. But right then, we are in sync; we are in motion together, in slow motion.

  I forget about everything else and concentrate only on my pleasure. My legs come up and around his waist. I grab his shoulders and we move more quickly. Soon we are bouncing up and down on the couch, which makes a squeaking sound.

  All at once, we rise, our bodies pressed closely together as we are released into the magical land of freedom only our souls can give us.

  One.

  Then, he’s gone. He’ll be back next week, same day, same time. The same thing will happen. Then he’ll go away again.

  I whisper, “Please, don’t come back,” knowing full well that he will, knowing full well that I want him to.

  Do You Love Me?

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling and let out a sigh. He had to ask this every other day, which was more than a little annoying. Did I love him? Well, no, I didn’t. Why couldn’t he just let our relationship be what it was and all it was…was? It was just about the fucking. And that’s the way I intended on keeping it. I’d been in enough relationships to know that I didn’t want another one. Not just yet anyway. And marriage? That was also something I definitely did not want to do again. I shuddered just thinking about it, about the fights my ex and I had and about the silences and… No. I wasn’t going to go through that again. Not even for him.

  I turned to stare at him and sighed again, this time in a good way. He was so cute. I mean, damn! What a good looking man! His hair was getting blonder with the summer sun and his skin tanner. His muscles were leaner, too. He sailed whenever he could and that gave his body a good workout, which made it that much easier to look at. He told me we suited each other. He loved my looks, my beauty. He told me this daily. He especially loved my smallish but firm breasts. “Don’t ever get a boob job,” he told me once. “Why not?” I’d asked. His reply? “Because you don’t want to mess with perfection.”

  And that’s what he was to me, too, in a way. Perfection. So, why couldn’t I love him? Had my heart gone cold or something? Any girl would be happy to have this handsome man in her bed.

  “Katrina?” he asked.

  “What Jack?” I replied.

  “Why don’t you love me?” he whined.

  Could he be more pathetic? Could he be? No. He couldn’t be. Maybe I was too hard on him, too much of a bitch, but this guy… He just got on my nerves. He was nice. Ugh! He always held doors open and brought me flowers and did everything right. Maybe I just wanted some guy to treat me like shit so I could respect him.

  I was such a bitch. Sometimes, I hated myself for being mean to him. But why? I didn’t want anything but sex from him. Why did he have to go and make this into this other thing, make it lead somewhere I didn’t want it to go? Why couldn’t we just have some fun and let it be?

  “Let’s not start,” I said nicely and wanted to get up and go for a drink of water. I was parched. Sex did that to me.

  He was very quiet for a moment, then he rolled over on top of me, grabbed my head between his big hands and hissed, “Do you love me? I need to know.”

  And what good would it do? I could lie. I could tell him I didn’t love him and let him go and allow some other woman to make him miserable. And the next girl he dated would make him just as miserable as I had. And that’s because he wanted that. He didn’t demand respect and because he didn’t, he got this—this misery of loving someone who didn’t love him back. Sorry, but that was just the way it was.

  “Tell me,” he hissed.

  At first I didn’t know whether to laugh or take him seriously. I decided to laugh. I shook my head at him, pushed him off of me and got up from the bed. The summer wind was making its way through the open window causing the room to feel humid. I crossed over to shut it, then started out of the room again. As I did so, I could feel his eyes boring holes in my back and then I heard him jump off the bed and head towards me. He grabbed onto my arm and tried to halt me. I shoved him away. The next thing I knew, he had thrown me down on the floor and climbed on top of me, straddling and binding me.

  I still didn’t take him seriously. But he was beginning to piss me off.

  In my defense, I did think he was joking around. Even as he produced some rope—where the hell did that come from?—and began to tie my wrists, I thought he was joking. He never did stuff like this. He came over, we fucked, and then he left. That was the way it always worked. At least until now.

  I started, “Where did the rope come—?”

  He grabbed for his jeans, a few feet away where he’d dropped them before joining me on the bed, and pulled out his handkerchief. I just stared at him and couldn’t believe it when he stuffed it in my mouth. Bastard! Gagging me? I tried to beat at him, at his chest, but as my wrists were tied, I couldn’t do much but try to worm away. But then… Then this sensation came over me. This peace, this calm and then a wave of excitement. What was going on?

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

  Did I? Did I want him to stop? I thought about it for a few seconds and before I could stop myself, I shook my head. That would be a negative. No. Let’s keep going. Let’s see where this was heading. I mean, why not? I remembered a conversation we’d had a few days earlier and this subject had come up. I had told him it might be something nice to try. I’d said this slyly with a wink. I guess he’d been listening. This was most certainly something I liked. Yeah, I know some others wouldn’t, but this, this feeling of being restrained and of not knowing what was going to happen next… Well, it was very tantalizing. And it was good to know that he’d been listening to me, as well. Good boy. It’s always nice to spice things up.

  “We can stop now,” he said, staring at me intensely.

  Before I could help myself, I shook my head again. No, please proceed. Let’s go. Let’s do it. Let’s get to it! Now!

  “Sure?” he asked. “It’s up to you.”

  If I hadn’t been tied, I might have hit him. I shook my head once again, this time with impatience. He got it. He knew it was okay. Permission granted! Come on!

  “Now,” he said. “Do you love me?”

  He was out of his fucking mind. Seriously? He was going to go to all this trouble and still stay on the same topic? Uh, no. Change the subject now, please. Let’s get back to this, to whatever this was or was going to be. I couldn’t wait to see where this was headed.

  “Huh?” he asked and gave me this really intense look.

  I shook my head. I didn’t. I didn’t love him. Sorry. We’d only been seeing each other a few months and though I liked fucking him and all that, I wasn’t in love. He needed to get over it.

  He started to feel me up, his hand going between my legs. I had to admit, he was turning me on and I could feel myself going wet. I could feel the tension in the room and it only added to the excitement. What was he going to do next?

  Then I understood. He was going to finish tying me up with the rope, that’s what he was going to do and that’s exactly what he did. He tied me up. He bound me and I lay there and allowed it, wondering all the while where this was going to go. I didn’t struggle and I didn’t question. I just accepted and there was freedom just in that.

  I didn’t know he had it in him to be honest. But I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

  After he was finished tying my feet, I was very turned on. I wanted it. Here I was bound and gagged and I was turned on. Who knew? It made me feel… Well, I don’t know. I liked it. What
was he going to do now?

  He began to rub me. I just laid there and took it. I wondered what he’d do next after he was finished pawing at me with his big hands. It was very exhilarating just wondering that. What was he going to do next?

  I didn’t care because at that moment his hands were sliding between my breasts, which were wrapped tightly in the robe. That felt so good. Just so good. He leaned down and licked my nipple, just licked it. I shuddered from the sensation; it was so nice. It felt so good.

  I was getting wetter as his mouth made its rounds all along my body, all over it. He gave me several good kisses before his head settled between my legs and there he began to eat at me, suck at me, lick at my pussy until I wanted release so badly I thought I’d die if I didn’t get it. He began to finger me as he licked and sucked and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter as he did that, as he played with me, as he stared at my cunt, as he took everything in about it. As he worshipped it.

  It was too much and before I knew what was happening, I felt the orgasm come at me and explode within my body. If I could have let out a scream, I would have. But I was gagged and the sound died in my throat, making it sore.

  After I was spent, he started to put his hard and throbbing cock into me but he stopped and said, “Now can you tell me?”

  He was still terribly deluded.

  He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine, staring into my eyes. I stared back and felt something snap inside of me and then I felt this massive amount of emotion pouring out and then… I felt love. I think it was love. Maybe it was just lust. I didn’t know what I was and I didn’t care. All I knew was that I wanted his hard cock and I wanted it bad.

  He chuckled then because he knew he had me. He had me in the palm of his hand. I would have agreed to do anything at that moment, anything, even if it meant ironing his shirts or scrubbing the kitchen floor, I would have done anything. And he knew it.