The view from the Moon [part 2]

[Part1](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/4ywthb/the_view_from_the_moon/)

The restaurant offered the embarassment of the choice – from weird to sexy, everything was on the menu.
A full table of college kids had just come in, the guys wearing the flashy, super bright clothes in fashion this year – still nothing that could in any way capture capture Johna’s attention as much as the girls, five of them in a mix of skin and hair colors, heights and shapes. Johna felt pure envy for these kids.

“If I think of the amount of effort it took me to get even a glimpse of a tit back home…”

By their side a tall, blonde woman in her fourties twitched her nose at the ruckus made by the students.
She was wearing a headdress that looked twice as expensive as all the clothes Johna was wearing put together.
The two younger men sharing her table wore
tailored suits and the deferent expression of someone talking to his boss – ah, a buisness dinner.

Could he get used to all of this?

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Categorized as Erotica

The view from the moon

The inspiration for this story is Heinlein’s “The moon is a harsh mistress”, a book I have never read, so read at your peril. The story os incomplete bit I will gladly finish it if someone is interested – as always, feedback is much appreciated.

~~~

“Can I take your order sir?”

Johna almost left out a yelp.

He had lifted the menu to cover his face and had made a conscious effort to isolate himself from the restaurant around him. He dared to look at the owner of the voice, a short freckled girl a couple of years his junior. Her smile was polite but he could glimpse a shadow of amusement in it. His embarassment was obvious and the girl had probably seen this same scene a hundred times before. E muffled the name of the first plate he could see on the menu and looking down he handed it over to her. He almost chocked on his tongue. He had forgotten of the mirrored floor – his attempt not to look directly at her had backfired.

She was a natural redhead, apparently.

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Categorized as Erotica

Willing Prey

He was a kind, caring man and for that she loved him. He tried to be equally gentle as a lover and that she appreciated – but she was secretly extremelly glad of how thoroughly he failed at it. He started softly, almost fearfully, caressing her like a brittle glass vase – time a few minutes and his caresses turned more aggressive, his soft breathing heavier – by the time he had gotten her naked – a process that had signed a death sentence for quite a few pieces of lingerie – he was barely able to form a full sentence. His hands now grabbed her more forcefully, his kiss were almost predatory and the very notion of him waiting for her consent to take her sounded risible.
Without as much as a warning he would turn her over, grab her firmly and get inside her with a satisfied animaleque grunt – the only reason why that rough, forceful penetration never hurt was that by then she was always completely drenched. He kept going, the only sound in the room her welping, his growling and the rithmic slapping of skin agains skin.
She could feel him contracting and drawing close to his orgasm, which when it came felt in some way even more satisfying than her own – he came inside, always insde, pressing his pelvis against her and making sure not a single drop was spilled. He then collapsed exhausted on her back – in that position they laid together for a few minutes, regaining their breath and enjoying each other’s touch. She could feel drops of him dripping out of her, so copious, so warm.
She dipped her fingers into what was left of it and smiled – truly, there was no more sincere compliment to her sex appeal that a woman could receive.
As his breathing became more regular he regained his composture. It was fascinating to look at him in the eyes while that happened. She had learned to pinpoint the exact moment when he came to his senses and she always made sure to reassure him with a kiss and a sweaty, warm hug that everything was allright, only for them to fall asleep together like that.
In the morning, she would make sure to stay in bed until he had left, always covered head to toe by the sheets.
As he was gone she would always stand up in front of her elegant full figure mirror, looking at herself, checking for the occasional bruise or sometimes a bitemark with something not unlike pride and savouring the thought of being in his greedy hands again the next night.

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The price of a promotion

A short reluctancecohercion piece that kinda came up on its own while watching a movie – not my usual piece of cake but I thought I would share – feedback is welcome!

~~~

He caressed her, savouring her unease as he felt the muscles of her thin legs tense as she resisted the impulse to dart for the door.

She picked a condom from her handbag and handed it to him, her attempt at displaying nonchalance in doing that ruined by the trembling in her hands and by her inability to look at him in the eyes for more than an instant.

He was clean, and so was she – he had access to her medical files.
And she, on the other hand, knew of his obsession for health and cleanliness – she knew just as well that the risk was nonexistent. The condom was just a last attempt at putting some barrier between herself and what she was about to do, a little lie to be able to watch herself in the mirror tomorrow morning. Make-up for the soul, so to speak.

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Categorized as Erotica