Harold glanced down again at the phone in his hand. The woman in the photo appeared to be rather beautiful, her striking features and dark hair giving her an air of mystery and adventure. Her curly brown hair spilled down over her naked shoulders, her dress delicately draped her over perky, ample breasts. He licked his lips, suddenly dry. He scrolled the image down and admired the rest of her.
The legs that sprang from the dress were smooth and stunning, the subtle curve to the back of her thighs suggesting wonderful things between them. Harold scrolled up again. She had her tongue out and was winking. Even here, people were emulating the internet cultures, although less artfully and with less professionalism, Harold thought with a smirk. Still… He swiped right and looked up. Traffic had been slow all the way home, but it appeared to be clearing beyond the next intersection.
As the light turned green, Harold accelerated in his Fiat Dino. He had the roof off and was enjoying the fresh ocean air on his way home from work. Friday, at last. He was already looking forward to his first whiskey, his first brownie, and the new couch he’d only just bought. Life was good. A single man in his mid-thirties with a stable job and few responsibilities, Harold could enjoy the finer things in life.
Unfortunately Harold, although blessed with rather an overabundance of intelligence, was not so blessed with the art of relationships. Since his birth his family had been drifting further and further apart. Now he was all but alone, adrift on the wind. Fortunately he made enough cash to afford a dog-friendly pad. Life was good. The music on the radio changed and his favourite song came on. The rest of his journey home was uneventful.
At home Harold kicked off his shoes before pouring a drink and getting comfortable on the couch. No use expending the expensive stuff, he thought, sipping on his supermarket whiskey. A small container on the kitchen counter contained a batch of his favourite chocolate chip weed brownies, a nice little tranquillizer for a fun and restful evening. Tonight he was going to enjoy himself. He reached inside and took one of the small confectionaries, popping it into his mouth whole.
The flat was relatively small, with a little balcony at the back; a peaceful little place where Harold could grow a few plants and entertain a small number of guests. The front door led into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a countertop. Harold walked into the lounge and plonked himself down on the couch. On his phone he browsed the movies in a folder on his small pc, hidden next to the couch. Once he had selected the appropriate fair, he pressed play, switching the remote over to the media platform.
Within minutes the projector overhead was blasting out the most obscene images as the footage began, two women, playing with an octopus. Although of obvious Asian origin, there was nothing else that Harold could tell about the women on the screen. They must be in their forties, he thought, as they began to strip. Their dark brown skin, punctuated by erect nipples and dark, soft pubic lips. Very nice, thought Harold, as the sat down and lifted her leg, showing her pussy in all its glory, and round, firm buttocks.
The woman holding the octopus knelt down beside her, leaned in and kissed the sot, wet inside of her open hole, her tongue dancing over the glistening pink flesh. Harold sighed, enjoying the sensation of his manhood stiffening in the confines of his pants. He sighed again, before taking them off. Now he was sitting, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, with his semi-erect member half-hanging from the slit in his boxers. Buttons on boxer don’t count for shit, thought Harold, as he slowly started massaging the soft-skinned tubular mass.
The woman spreading her legs had closed her eyes, laying back on the soft white towel, the other knelt beside her, kissing her thighs and butt hole, while absent-mindedly herding the octopus over her chest and lap. The octopus did not seem to be phased by what was going on around it. Suddenly the woman stopped her kissing, reached for the octopus and grabbed it by its head. She seemed to hold it rather tightly, as it deformed and flailed wildly at her with its tentacles.
The woman kissed the octopus, a long, sensuous kiss, on the side of its head. The flailing stopped and the octopus hung from the woman’s hand. With the other she reached up and extended her index finger. The finger went tracing around the butt and labia of the other woman, who by now was reclining with her eyes closed, a look of utter bliss upon her face. The woman holding the octopus ran her finger around and around the open, glistening hole, then flicked the small hood that formed a delicate little nub above the entrance.
She squeezed it between forefinger and thumb, watching as the skin darkened in engorged lust. The woman on her back emitted a groan and began to play with her nipples. Beep! Harold looked down at his phone on the couch cushion next to him. Lucy! The pigtailed little minx had been invading his mind late at night with her short shorts and her tight tops and her apparent eagerness to get wet and ready whenever he felt any needs. Needs he had aplenty, especially for her alabaster skin and a pull on the black locks that she usually kept tied into coquettish tails with red bands.
Her message said simply, “Wanna hang tonight?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied. Shit. Was that too casual? He didn’t want to drive her off. She wasn’t his idea of girlfriend material, but she undoubtedly had no interest in settling down, not with any one partner any time soon. She had introduced Harold to the idea of sex parties, with her equally adventurous crowd of friends. Obviously not the most savoury of characters, thought Harold, although he fancied a three-way with her hot friend Nancy, an innocent-looking farm girl who could get down at the drop of a hat.
Although Harold was in his late thirties, he never really intended to marry. He wanted to remain single, contributing only to the world in his own lifetime, rather than producing a family and carrying on his legacy in that way. He did not particularly fancy the idea of family, as he had rather lost touch with a lot of his, and had enjoyed the solitude that meant peace in the fractious and tumultuous family environment.
“Nancy wants to come too, iykwim ;)”
“Fuck yes.” Fuck yes, thought Harold to himself. It was on. On like Donkey Kong, or whatever. He shook himself from his reverie as another message came through, this time a photograph. Damn. Lucy and Nancy were naked on her bed, their legs intertwined in a suggestive and intimate manner. Crikey. Harold absentmindedly reached down and pulled his foreskin down over the now purple head of his cock. Nancy had the most adorable little breasts, two soft mounds in her otherwise narrow form, petite, pink buds topping them in their middles.
“We’ll be over in a couple of hours. See you soon! x”
Harold sighed deeply, his attention returning to the spectacle unfolding in front of him. The octopus had been lifted to the pussy of the reclining woman, and the woman holding it was busy feeding it into her hole. The octopus did not seem taken with its new proposed habitat, no doubt due to its warmth and unconventional secretions. However, she persevered, and the animal disappeared into the vagina of the lady in repose. He cheeks flushed as she knit her brow and bit her lip. Tentacles whipped and curled out of her entrance, feeling around her soft mounds of skin.
The woman who had fed the octopus in sat down now, opening her legs, revealing a dark brown pussy. This she smooshed into the pussy of the other woman, holding it over the open hole as she rocked her hips. The octopus could be seen, reaching from one to another, attempting to get a purchase on the smooth thighs. It paused for a moment, then moved from one to the other in one smooth motion. The first woman seemed to cum, her eyes rolling back in her head, her body shaking in ecstasy. Harold looked at his watch. He still had enough time to get ready before the ladies arrived.
Four minutes later he had ejaculated and cleaned himself up, hopping into the shower to wash away the grime of the day and prepare for the pursuits that would ensue. His shower gel smelled cool and smoky, almost herbal. Harold really enjoyed the many notes of the expensive stuff. Richer living was his style. His palate could detect even the slightest nuances in food additives and beverages, which had led to his appreciation for whiskey and craft beer, which he often mixed. The Harold, which Harold had named after himself, was basically a boilermaker, poured not dropped or chased.
The smoky, sweet Irish whiskey that Harold enjoyed worked wonderfully well with the malty, oaty notes of his favourite lagers. One day, he swore, he would have his own little bar, complete with taps, somewhere in his house. Harold smiled as he washed his privates, imagining a modern, sleek house somewhere very, very far away from anything that ran on a diesel engine. The irony was not lost on him that he enjoyed the odd smoke, but turned his nose up at traffic pollution. One recreational, the other incidental, they inevitably lead down the same path.
Harold shampooed and rinsed his hair, taking care to wash behind his ears, and appreciating the feeling of the water on his scalp. A man with a clean ass could do anything, he thought. If you used the right smell combination, you could really hypnotize and entrance anybody. Harold knew, however, that a potent odour served only as a background to a scent. Spraying deodorant on unwashed skin was like painting a portrait on filth. Satisfied with his shower, Harold opened the door and stepped out. The fog-free mirror had been a smart acquisition, thought Harold, admiring himself in it. He had a bit of a beard going, dark brown hair standing out on his already sharp chin. The moustache definitely lent him a mischievous air, he thought.
Harold reached for a towel and quickly set about drying his whole body. While using a hair drier would be ideal, the summer evening temperature would leave him feeling clammy and uncomfortable. He opted for the towel, clean and fluffy, instead. After a thorough drying, Harold glanced back at his reflection, turning his body and flexing his leg. He had good muscle definition, for his level of inactivity. An intellectual lifestyle had him sedentary for large portions of it, although he knew better. His gym membership had only ever been used once or twice, before he realized that being in shape cost actual time.
Now he largely satisfied himself with bodyweight exercises at home. After a brief workout session in the cool, air-conditioned flat, Harold got himself into some comfortable jeans and a light, loose button-down shirt. His feet remained bare, his hatred of shoes preventing him from wearing them around the house.
They would be here soon. Harold tidied up and managed to clear and wash most of his dishes before his phone buzzed.
“Here” the message simply said. Harold switched to his remote app and opened YouTube. Three seconds later his favourite music played softly from the stereo speakers placed inconspicuously at a distance of two meters apart on the floor in front of the screen wall.
With a last look in the mirror that hung in his small lounge space, a wink and a smile, Harold went to open the door. A couple of flights of stairs later and he was on the ground floor, walking towards the metal gate that led out into the street. The ladies stood waiting for him just outside, short skirts and sandals carelessly donned, although he could tell that they had spent some time painting their faces.
Red lips and dark eyes greeted him, not too much, just enough to add that wow! factor that made men weak around their knees and let other women know that she meant business. Nancy wore her hair dirty blond in a bun, her slim face and elegant features laid bare for the world to see.
Nancy had tonight foregone her ponytail look, her hair simply loose around her face. The dark strands fell in devastating beauty around her oval face, her eyes green lights in the particularly dark mascara that she liked. Although in her late twenties, Lucy had never really thought much of the styles and standards of her peers. She considered herself an artist, albeit in the adult media industry.
“Girls! Welcome! said Harold, extending his arms in welcome as he opened the gate with the press of a button. “I hope I have not kept you long.”
“Not long at all,” said Lucy, beaming, as she opened her arms and came in for a hug. “Nancy, get in here!” Nancy obeyed with mock shame and joined in the hug. For a moment Harold was intensely aware of their bodies against his, the differences in smell, softness and the fabric of their dresses.
Lucy wore a dark, purple dress, almost blue. Nancy had on a light blue-green dress that flared when she turned, and a white top through which Harold could clearly see the bumps of her small nipples. Lucy’s bust strained the fabric of her dress, the intricate lines of her bra clearly visible underneath.
“Come in, please,” said Harold and gestured, “this way.” He lead them up the stairs and into the cozy little kitchen of his tiny little apartment.
“Lucy tells me you do well for yourself,” said Nancy, her remark clearly meant as a compliment, but she glanced around her at the tasteful yet definitely manly décor with a questioning look. Harold, noticing her attention, replied, “I like this place. It is cramped, but in a good spot. No noise, beautiful views and safe parking. Maybe I will find a bigger place once I have saved enough for the down payment.” He smiled, beckoning with his hand, “This way, let me show you.” Harold led them out of the kitchen and into the living room. He opened the French window on the side to reveal a secluded little patio.
“Ooh, now that’s more like it!” said Nancy. Lucy came up behind them and said, “Harry, what are we drinking?”
“Your choice! I went booze shopping, everything is in the cabinet by the sink.” He would ordinarily offer to pour a girl a drink, but Lucy would object. She like to help herself, and they knew each other well enough for him to let her.
“Ooh, Gin!”
“Make mine a double,” Nancy answered, “do we have mineral water?”
“Yep!” Harold exclaimed smugly, “There’s some in the fridge.”
He’d guessed right, at least Lucy and Nancy shared similar taste in alcohol. He wondered what else they had shared. Lucy finished pouring their drinks before bringing the glasses into the lounge, setting them down on the coffee table before taking a seat in the armchair perpendicular to the couch and screen. Nancy, who had wondered out onto the patio, now poked her head back in and asked, “Is it okay if we smoke out here?”
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/kesf59/my_very_first_attempt_at_writing_an_erotic_story
You have promise, don’t cut off before the sexy parts it take you out of the mood.