To promote my new collection, Encounters, you can now read story #1 in full, right here!
If you like it, consider viewing my other samples or purchasing the collection through asblackauthor.tumblr.com. (Bear in mind, the story is available with proper formatting there!)
Soft white carpet greeted Monica's toes as she padded silently out of the bedroom. The young man on her leather sofa snored softly into the cushions, and the warm glow of morning sunlight crept in through the blinds. The city hadn't yet woken up, save for a flock of birds gliding past the floor-to-ceiling windows. She made her way over to the kitchenette, which sat neatly in the corner of the penthouse apartment's wide living-room. The hem of her long white dressing-gown whispered as she moved from carpet to cold linoleum. She stifled a yelp at the sudden chill, as she did every morning. Hurrying over to the kettle, she flicked the beloved coffee-switch and hopped onto one of the tall bar-stools at the kitchen counter. She leant an elbow on the countertop and gazed out the window, waiting for the water to boil. A smile curled her lips – still stained cherry red – as she let memories of the previous night wash over her.
The heat of the bar, the stifling air; thick with bass tones and cloying sexual tension. The air outside had hit her like iced water as she fled with him into the taxi.
Monica hummed contentedly to herself. No headache! she must have worked off the hangover in the hours after the taxi ride. The morning numbness in her fingers melted away as she warmed her hands on the kettle. The sun was well and truly rising now. In the orange light she could just about make out smudged handprints on the glass.
Cold on her palms as his hands raked down her back, his hardness deep inside her, sweat rolling down her face.
She shivered slightly at the flash of memory. It had certainly been a good pull. She rose to her feet and turned to the fridge. There was a squeak as she pulled it open, and the man on the couch let out a groan.
Loud and deep as he thrust into her, his fingernails digging hard into her ass, his teeth on her neck.
Monica allowed herself a sudden intake of breath at the vividness of the flashback. It was a struggle to keep the smile from her face. She withdrew a carton of grapefruit juice from the fridge, along with some milk and a packet of bacon, and dumped them on the side. Her hand groped around in the lower cupboard for a bag of bread and took that too. Spinning round to the glass cabinet, she deftly pushed the fridge door closed behind her with her bum. She picked out a couple of highballs and a mug, setting them next to the empty bottle of rum on the counter.
Burning as it slid down her throat.
She poured out a glass of juice for herself and one for her esteemed guest, before falling back onto the bar-stool and turning her mind to the day ahead.
“Let's see,” she murmured to herself, raising five fingers in front of her eyes, “two hundred words for TV Guide before lunch,” she pushed a finger down. “Six hundred words for Natalie later on,” she knocked down another, “and still got that editorial to do…” she grimaced over at the door to her study, lowering a third finger. “So then it's just the essay for whats-his-name and I can get back to the good stuff,” she felled the last two fingers just as the kettle started to bubble noisily. She rested her chin in her hands and smiled. Not too bad today.
Monica worked freelance these days. She'd made enough money from those trashy horror novels to pay for a good few years of rest and relaxation. No big projects, no major deadlines, no worries. Life was good. She finally had the free time she'd been so desperate for in her twenties. That meant more nights out, more drink, more music. More men. Plus she was free to work on her own projects. Sure, she'd got a few novels published. She had a fanbase and a website and all the things a 'real' writer was supposed to have, but she still felt like she wasn't all the way there yet. Every morning another piece of her dream story slotted itself into place inside her head, and every evening she tried to sit down and write it. Really write it.
Unfortunately, Monica was easily distracted. The stories coming out of her study recently certainly weren't classic material.
Click. The kettle turned itself off. Monica slid her mug towards it and started spooning in instant coffee. The aroma of strong black coffee quickly perked her up as the bubbling froth reached the top of the cup. A dash of milk, and voila; consciousness was served.
She gazed at the sleeping man while her coffee cooled down. He dozed, spread-eagled, sporting a full-on morning erection. Not a particularly impressive figure at the moment. She almost couldn't believe he was the same man from last night: the towering, confident figure with a hand on her waist and a dirty whisper in her ear. She remembered how he'd looked her up and down with those piercing green eyes and grazed a cool finger across her exposed neck, chuckling at her quiet gasp of pleasure. His lips on hers, their tongues brushing each other, his teeth biting softly on her lower lip. She turned to jelly in his hands, and when he placed one on her ass and the other in the small of her back, pressing his big, warm chest against hers, she knew he was the one she wanted. By the time he pulled up her skirt and bent her over the kitchen worktop, she was already soaked. His strong hands and soft, hot tongue did nothing to help her recover.
Monica broke from her reverie with a start, realising that her heart was pounding and her chest was flushed. She wasn't the kind of woman who could rein in her imagination easily. Underneath the dressing-gown her chest heaved, and her breathing had grown heavy. She could feel a warmth in her crotch and knew that she'd gone too far this morning. Without thought, a hand fell from the coffee mug and crept to her leg.
“I've got work to – ahh,” she murmured to herself, “mmhm.” She ran a finger lightly over her lips and felt their warm wetness. She let her mind wander back to the night before, remembering the delicious pain as he pulled her hair from behind, pushing her body back down onto the cold countertop. He'd entered her slowly, leisurely, his hand firm and strong in the small of her back as he guided himself inside. She was so wet that he didn't struggle to push his hard cock all the way in on the first thrust.
Morning Monica moaned softly as she played with herself.
Midnight Monica cried out with pleasure as a stranger fucked her, hard and deep.
Morning closed her eyes and started rubbing a nipple through her gown.
Midnight screamed and writhed as he pressed his fingers to her clit.
Morning tensed with arousal and teased herself with a trembling hand.
Her breath grew shallow as she rubbed herself harder and harder. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. Monica felt as though the breath was being squeezed out of her. The gown fell away from her legs as she ground her ass into the seat, desperate for greater pleasure. She slid pleasingly over the smooth surface; her juices soaked the bar-stool and ran down its steel legs to the cold floor. She was openly panting now, her robe hanging free from her shoulders and her breasts resting on the counter-top. She moaned and gasped with barely-contained ecstasy as her back arched and her hand furiously worked her clit.
“Uhn- come onnnn, ahhh,” she groaned, tantalisingly close to the edge. Her arm was growing tired, but her need was intense. From her parted lips there came a single, laboured cry – and she collapsed onto the counter. No good. She burned with arousal, but she needed more. She shivered, sweating, still struggling for breath. Toes curling with frustration, Monica sighed and reached for the coffee.
She couldn't help it. These last few months she'd been so sexually charged it hurt. It only took the smallest provocation – a firm handshake from a sexy client; a glimpse of them sneaking a look at her breasts; even the smile of that cute boy who worked downstairs – anything could set her imagination off. Even the tattooed girl next door had started appearing in her dreams. Monica knew there wasn't much work she could get done in this state. She took a long sip of lukewarm coffee.
Suddenly, there was a whistling from behind her. Monica jolted with surprise, her heart slamming in her chest. She cursed quietly to herself, before retrieving her phone from the pocket of the dressing-gown. Text. Texts? Twenty-three texts. Unknown numbers. As realisation dawned, a smile crept across her face. She'd almost forgotten. She rose to her feet, coffee in hand, and started wandering the room, flicking through the messages. Anonymous messaging was a new hobby she'd picked up. Working from home certainly had its benefits.
tie you to the bed and tease you with my tongue until I've got you screaming for more
A soft noise of approval rose in her throat. She flicked through a collection of filth, growing wet again as she read the responses to last night's story. Leaving a phone number had made her nervous at first, but it seemed to be paying off. So many strangers, all wanting her. She read their dirty confessions one by one, allowing her mind to run away with the possibilities. Each one wanted a turn with her; to use her, abuse her body and call her names. This one wanted to lash her to the bed and fuck her mouth until he came. This one demanded she kneel in front of him and beg for his cock. This one wanted to ride her from behind and slap her ass red raw. This one- wow. Monica slipped the phone into her pocket; she'd save the rest for later, when she didn't have a perfectly good lover lying right in front of her.
She raked her gaze over his dozing body from top to bottom. Still ragged from last night, he lay with his jeans unbuttoned and his shirt hanging open. His black hair lay tousled about his face, and his stubble added to the roughness of his face. He looked less imposing in this state than he had when he was standing over her with hunger in his eyes. She laid eyes on the pulsing erection that ran down his trouser leg, stretching the denim visibly. In some ways, he remained quite impressive. Monica considered for a moment, trying to decide what she wanted. Her man lay blissfully unaware of the growing sexual tension in the room, his cock twitching in his sleep. She watched as his lips moved ever so slightly. Monica wasn't the kind of woman to deny herself pleasures, and his mouth looked soooinviting.
She stalked over to the sleeping man, letting her robe slide off her back as she went. Naked and horny, wracked with anticipation, she leant over him and placed her mouth on his. The kiss was soft and restrained. Tenderly, she ran her tongue over his lips, softening them up for herself. He sighed deeply, not quite stirring yet. Drawing herself up, Monica placed one foot on the cushions next to his chest. Turning her body downwards, she placed her other foot past the end of the sofa and slowly lowered her pussy onto his lips.
The feeling was incredible. She struggled not to cry out as he breathed over her, his tongue lazily grazing her crotch. She resisted the temptation to grind her cunt into his face, savouring the delicate ecstasy of his touch. Instead she rocked back and forth on his tongue, moaning more deeply with each gentle thrust. It wasn't long before her muscles turned to jelly and she had to draw back, or risk collapsing onto him and prematurely ending the game. Shaking, she crept down to his waist and fell to one knee in front of his throbbing bulge. With one hand, she lightly pulled apart the last couple of buttons on his jeans, exposing a triangle of his bright blue underwear. She stared as it throbbed and pulsed inches from her face, straining to get free. She took a finger, and lightly caressed him through the material. His cock jumped at the touch, growing more engorged as she approached the tip. Gently, she eased the denim down and over the head.
His erect cock sprang up with surprising strength when she freed it. She could make out the outline clearly through the soft cotton pants he was wearing. A vein bulged on the side, showing just how desperate his body was for release. Monica shifted her head up slightly and gripped the waistband between her teeth. Slowly, leisurely, she dragged it downwards; gradually exposing the hot, dark flesh beneath. She felt his heat on her cheek as his dick pressed against it. When he finally burst forth, she was ready. He let out a ragged moan as his cock slid into her mouth. She savoured the sound. Her arousal spiked at the thought of what he might be dreaming about. She moaned in turn as her tongue swirled around his member, her head bobbing slowly up and down as he thrust gently into her mouth.
Monica raked a hand down his chest. She sucked him. The sight of his muscular torso rising and falling faster as she quickened his heart was an intense turn-on. He responded to every little twist and turn she forced on him, getting ever harder and slowly returning to the waking world. Each little grunt and intake of breath as she blew him heightened the thrill, and soon Monica knew that she couldn't tease herself any longer: she needed to get fucked.
Character limit! For the full story, visit asblackauthor.tumblr.com!
EDIT: I'm an idiot and posted the wrong URL for my blog. Corrected.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/219top/morning_at_monicas_in_full_mf_cougar
Quite good. Quick CC, though, you used the phrase "turned to jelly" twice within just a few paragraphs.
damn.
I posted the wrong url. It’s actually asblackauthor.tumblr.com. Go there to read the rest!
Thanks, will take that on board!