Tag: Romance (erotica)

Flash: Shhh

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

The woman beside him was exquisite. Glendur admired her dirty-blonde hair, the light scattering of acne scars on the face, and the perfect three triangles of white skin setting off the mild sunburn from yesterday’s extended beach excursion. Female beauty without artifice. Non-existent among his people, impossibly rare among humans.

Glen had been grooming her all week as she and her college friends discovered the exotic playground called Miami. The youngest and purest of the group, she simply was a morsel he could not ignore. Her friends sported dyed hair of the goldest blonde and truest reds and wore layers of makeup over perfect skin. This little one was the group’s pet. A single unassuming dandelion among hothouse roses. Where the others spent hours shaving, trimming, plucking, and styling hair, she had been curled up with a textbook, prepping for when the holiday ended. The others debated about every article of miniscule clothing worn, she tossed on whatever clothes were on hand to cover her chubby body. The others had three suitcases each, she had three outfits for Spring Break.

He had bought her the bikini yesterday. The pooch overhang displayed, her perfect “mother’s apron,” enticed him all day to kiss her generous belly. He managed to contain the urge until he brought her back to his hotel; even so, he still spent most of the day stroking that generous expanse of skin.

The naiveté clung to her throughout their lovemaking. A magical time including the gift of her virginity. How she came to her senior year in University without discovering her inner passion, left him speechless at the stupidity of mortal males. He would treasure the gift given freely without enchantment, charm, or even mundane alcohol influence. A complete and fully formed Ewer was now permanently available to him in peace and in battle because of her gift. Should human males be so careless with all their women, Gledur could easily refill his Cellar. The initial rush of the Iron World crushed many Ewers, emptying Racks from everyone’s Cellars, before his people learned how to prevent such calamities. Crafting new ones was all but impossible among Iron’s atmosphere of swinging swords and grinding gears.

He needed a way to return the gift. She did it freely so he had no obligation, but even so he felt some. He had spent over five months restoring a slightly cracked Ewer using energy from the Miami’s club scene’s carnal exuberance. To have one never before his, strong and whole, was a gift beyond measure.

Mayhap he could convince her of her true beauty. How long would it take to change the self-image on one female for the better?

More time than he had. She was leaving in the morning.

His fingers danced along the white triangle edge. The red skin sensitive to touch from the burn, the white flesh sensitive to touch naturally.

Her lips parted in a satisfied sigh. He cupped both breasts and pinched the nipples. Her eyes opened in surprise. Smiling assurance at his newly minted non-virgin, Glen brought one hand down to the other white triangle of skin. This one centered with a blonde thatch lighter and truer in color than the hair on her head. He dug into the curls, a nimble fingers parted two folds of skin seeking her most sensitive nub.

The world blinked as she moaned.

Someone had crossed his threshold without permission.

Few had the power to do so without emptying several Ewers, blatantly extinguishing the protections. A whole Rack would be needed to actually destroy them. Only royalty to whom he owed fealty, and those on duty for royalty, had the power to slip through without him opening a way. A royal assassin could qualify, as would his mother. Glendur did not want to meet either.

The woman was writhing on the bed, staring at his face as his finger unconsciously continued the task he had had appointed to it.

His thoughts were darting through his options when his glamour began to slip. Only royalty could do that. They, the most beautiful of all the Fey, forced all others of their Kin and Kind to appear without illusion. Too many magics had hid weapons and poisons in the Misty Past.

His mother then. Or a sibling.

He managed to restore a modicum of his glamour, but the woman had noticed the difference. Even now his ears were more pointed, his eyes were more slanted, his eyes shifting to green. She was panting, short breaths passing over his lips. Fear of and passion for the unknown.

He barely needed to draw from a Ewer to regain his glamour. A sibling it was. One of the jealous ones. They were all jealous. And dangerous. Only one of the twelve had time for his fascination with mortal flesh.

He brought his finger to his lips, licking the moisture from it before pressing to his lips. Further in his suite, someone deliberately dropped something. Whomever was here did not want to barge in, but did want an audience quickly. The woman nodded her understanding, mimicking his actions by bringing a finger to her lips before Glendur rolled off the bed.

Mouthing “stay here” and again pressing the finger to his lips to indicate silence he left the bedroom suite. Closing the door reluctantly behind him, he fully dropped his glamour. His sibling did not need to know how his powers have grown from his Miami experiments. He or she would find out soon enough when he challenged for the throne.

(words 924 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/12/2013 for the 7/1/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; republished new blog format 11/25/2018)

Flash: The Caxinourilor

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

Frenetic energy washed the gathering as two strangers entered the court. Dieter tasted it back in his throat; the flavor did not carry the crazed insanity of the newly turned, which worried him. As the Caxinourilor for Regele Leopold, he was introduced to every childer at his or her rising. These two were outsiders, young without a master, at a time he did not need any further complications.

Status-climbing Jeannette reached the couple first. The cold emotional energy of the older vampires carried curiosity, but none would risk the social stigma of naïve inquisitiveness. Only his rare gift of empathy let him realize they cared at all about the strangers at their door. Younger kin stared openly, but left the initial confrontation to Jeannette and Dieter.

Jeannette sniffed. Her First Gift after the change was hunting scent and had the added advantage in her mind of being condescending those beneath her.

The two young things were so wanna-bes, it hurt. The boy face was unlined, but more importantly to his new species, his eyes were young. Dusty baggy jeans hung low, but not the new modern low, more like the eighties. So just about thirty years, old enough to leave a master with permission, but young enough to be nothing but trouble. The girl was in a similar neo-Goth outfit, a look finalized and sharpened in the nineties. Modern gladiator spiked sandal-boots, with short-shorts and a black tube top. Lanky hair hung to the newcomer’s waist.

For a moment, Dieter imagined digging into it, holding the neck bare for nibbles and licks. He froze his face so his attraction to the girl would not show. Interesting, he had not felt sexual attraction since he past his century mark. Was her First Gift seduction?

 “And who might you be?” Jeannette welcomed the two without an ounce of Southern hospitality.

“Bert,” the lad extended his hand. “And this is my sister Hilly.”

Jeanette looked at his hand like Bert was offering a dead, bloodless fish. He paled slightly before swinging it towards Dieter.

Taking pity on the child, the enforcer shook it firmly. “May I ask if those are nicknames?”

“What? Oh, yeah, we heard the South is more formal.” The boy and girl shared a short glance. “I’m Hildebert and this is Hilda.”

“Oh, you are twins.” Jeannette relaxed a little, her underlying confusion fading. The scents must have been close to identical.

“Have you traveled far?” Dieter extended an arm to the buffet chained to the wall.

“Not really, just from Philadelphia.” Bert answered for the pair as they walked through the crowd. “Red-eyes are great.”

“You flew?” Jeannette asked.

“Sure.” The boy halted in the middle of everything. “Wait, we need to pay our respects to the honcho. Can’t eat his food without doing that.”

“The king.” His sister interjected. “Sorry we aren’t good with the language yet.”

Jeannette disappeared into the gathering. Leopold did not hide his annoyance with her preening.

Spying Leopold in his black, carved antique chair, Dieter led the couple over. They immediately sank before him, clumsily, but at least coached in proper protocol. “My liege, may I introduce Hildebert and Hilda, lately of Philadelphia?”

“We are pleased to welcome you to Our Courts. What draws you to Our Lands?” Short and thin by modern standards, Leopold’s voice still resonated with authority.

Bert responded. “We wish to stay for a time, Your Eminent-iness. A year and a day.”

A year and a day was a sanctuary request. What threats were these two bringing to his door? thought the enforcer.

“Such a request is within Our powers, so long as you abide by Our laws and rule. If not, Our Caxinourilor will see you do not need the sun to turn you into dust.” Leopold dismissed them with a wave of his hands.

Ancient court manners directed Dieter to offer an arm to help Hilda up. Her bare hand on his felt like a brand. Bullocks, he did not need this. Never expected it. And certainly never wanted it. His eyes narrowed when she showed no matching reaction. At her age, she should have jumped out of her skin.

Dieter dropped her hand as soon as manners dictated. He scanned the crowd deeply a second to make certain no one noticed. He did not need anyone to come after his dragoste in retaliation for a punishment he had enforced for the Regele. “If you do not have a place to stay, may I offer my abode as shelter?”

The woman looked at her brother. “Thanks man, we’d appreciate the offer.” Bert again spoke for the couple.

“Then let us be on our way so you can be settled comfortably and safely before dawn.”

***

The place was not his true safehouse. As enforcer, Dieter often guested newcomers until they could develop their own nest. The fortress resembled a simple house from the outside, but gave him plenty of protection via traps and electronic monitoring to secure Leopold’s host responsibilities.

By the time they arrived, the burning on Dieter’s hand had settled into his gut. The woman was on the edge as well, though strangely in more control than the enforcer.

“You,” Dieter growled at her brother, “go. Down a flight, second room on left. Blood’s in room. Don’t leave until nightfall. All the security measures are up, and I don’t need you killed. And you…” Dieter gripped Hilda hair, using it to direct her movement, pushing her back, breaking the plaster when they hit the wall.

Her fangs bit into his tongue while his nipped her lips. Blood raced through Dieter’s system, leaving every cell ignited with passion and life. He vaguely remembered ripping her shorts off, while her legs pushed his trousers down his hips. He speared her, uncaring if her brother had left the room or not. Within seconds, he pulsed in her, continuing the circle of blood and life. Deep within her, mind and body, he sighed, collapsing into unconsciousness.

(998 words – originally appearing at Breathless Press 12/1/2013 for the 10/7/2012 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format 10/29/2018)

Flash: Leroy

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

“So is the wedding reception finally over?” Leroy asked from the hotel chair when Polly entered. 

Polly ran her eyes over the interloper. His tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a smooth muscular chest. The man thought he was God’s gift to women, and Lord help her, so did she. “How did you get in?”

He nodded to the open second door in the room, the one that allowed adjoining hotel rooms to visit without going into the hallway. Of course, Karen and Giles would put them together. They didn’t know she had sworn to a strict “No Leroy” diet two months ago.

The man just moved in and took over her life whenever he was around. He demanded every last inch of space and every thought. Like right now, his tuxedo jacket was thrown on the hotel table and his cufflinks were in her earring jar. She could see his suits and luggage on his bed in the other room, but he had to enter her room and marked her space as his as well.

She may have been able to handle his dominating presence, except he also left just as abruptly. Whenever she thought the storm which blew him in was settling down, a vacuum would appear. His absences were never explained, nor his returns. And she could no longer live like that. Five years was enough.

Trying to put iron into her voice, Polly commanded, “Well, you can just go back the way you came in, Leroy.”

The lamp kept half his face in shadow, but the half she could see lit with smoldering determination in reaction to her juvenile attempt to take control. He lowered his left leg from where it was propped on the chair and slowly stood. He was a short man, only five eight, but his charisma poured to fill the corners of the room. Polly barely controlled the step back; she was not going to give ground to this man, never again.

His gaze raked over her body. The bridesmaid gown was a horrendous vibrant pink lace over royal purple satin which seared the eye. If one ignored the hue, the cut flattered her. The strapless gown used an inset corset to push up her bosom and hug her hips. The flowing satin and lace sheathe brushed the floor, hiding the five inch spikes the wedding party had used to bring her five foot frame level with the rest of the bridesmaids. Karen’s sister, Gloria, had worn flats and everything looked great for the photos. Staying in the shoes through the reception was a new type of torture. But it was that or look like a child playing dressup in her mother’s gown.

Her red hair was in a simple twist complemented by Karen’s bridesmaid gift of waterfall crystal earrings. No necklace or bracelets adorned the extensive bared flesh. A fact Leroy took advantage of by tracing one finger up her arm, making a slow circle and continuing it across the upper curve of her elevated breast. She had been having difficulty breathing all day because of the corset, now Polly stopped mid-inhale.

“Why would I want to do that after all the trouble I went to to get an invitation to the wedding?”

Polly could feel her mouth drying as he continued to draw his fingers across her chest. “Because… because…”Each pass his fingers went higher, dancing over her neck, and lower, almost dipping below the pink lace. “… this is not…” His lips claimed hers before she could complete her sentence.

Heaven returned in a tornado of emotions. Polly lips opened in invitation; she couldn’t stop herself. Leroy’s tongue slipped into the unguarded passage. One of his hands came up to grip the back of her head, the other slipped over her breast. His mouth demanded surrender and she turned over the white flag, running her hands up his naked chest to circle his neck.

Using the kiss to control her, Leroy slowly turned her around and backed her against the hotel bed. She toppled willingly onto the soft surface. His cocky smile started as he tossed his shirt on top of the tuxedo jacket and cummerbund.

She panted trying to regain control, but felt more and more slip away. Each squeeze of the corset driving her cravings higher. The inside fabric roughened her nipples. The constriction activating the subliminal fight or flight programming. This man was bad for her. So dangerous. She didn’t know where he had been or what he did for a living.

As he lowered his trousers, he revealed the one thing she did know beyond a shadow of a doubt. Leroy wanted her, and only her. He kept returning to her for the same reason she kept taking him back – they were addicted to each other. His cock stood strong within a nest of black. He kicked the pants under the bed.

He continued to rule her as he unhooked her garters to remove her lace underthings. Laying his broad hand over her trimmed red curls, Leroy asked, “Anyone else?”

“No Leroy, never.” However much she wished or wanted to walk away, any other man paled in comparison. He filled her thoughts when he was in her life and when he wasn’t.

Polly tried to regulate her breathing. Then he sunk into her. She had been wet and ready as soon as she had seen him in the room. He always did that to her. He pumped into her quickly, rushing them over the edge. Later tonight he would go slow, but initially he always claimed her body within moments of them meeting.

Tomorrow or the tomorrow after that or another tomorrow, when he left again, she will rue her lack of willpower. Today, she would ride the storm.

(words 964 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 5/22/2013 for the 9/9/12 Sunday Fun; republished new blog format 10/14/2013)

Flash: Popsicle

Erin Penn

(unknown origin)

She couldn’t keep her eyes off his lips. Each pass in and out drove her nuts. He knew how much she wanted it, how much she needed it. The scent on his breath just made the cravings worse. She could taste the bitter sweet flavor when she kissed him.

How dare he finish the fudgesicle without her! It took every last bit of her diet willpower not to steal the stick out of his mouth and suck the last of the ice cream off. The jerk had better find a way to repay her.

(words 94 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 5/19/2013 for the 2/26/12 Sunday Fun – Kept the picture this time – I do not know the copyright permissions. If you know the origin or the copyright, I would like to know. – Thanks!; republished new blog format 9/9/2018)

Flash: Bowman

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Bowman reviewed the duty assignment screen wistfully. His unit-individual number was followed by a blinking active, in-port code, and after that was a duty code he was beginning to know far too well. No change from yesterday. Meaning he got to mop floors in the Mess … again. He grabbed his undress yellow blouse and made his way to the Port Kitchen, arranging the securing sashes before stepping out of the empty barracks.

His severed hand, a minor injury by modern standards, had held him up just long enough to miss the 94th Infantry Division’s deployment. The tattooed private inhaled as he walked into the cooking area. He had to admit after all the times he had been on brick rations, being around live food was nearly worth the monotony.

It did not make up for the loneliness.

He wondered who was left to cook for. The last remaining divisions using Squamata Port mustered out yesterday for the Orion Theatre. All the support staff except for a few old-timers went with them. He never did get to adequately thank the doctor who screwed up his nerve reattachment badly enough that even after the second and more successful surgery was completed, he had to go through physical therapy.

Stripping out of as much of his uniform as one could tweak regulations, Bowman tied an apron over his already kitchen stained trousers and made his way to the ticking sounds of rapidly moving knives. “So Fatso, what are we mutilating today?”

Rounding the corner, Bowman saw a perfect heart-shaped butt snugged in mustard yellow weave. His eyes made their way up a back bare of everything but two apron loops. His fingers twitched for a second as he contemplated untying the loops. A blond by the military fuzz adorning her scalp. Damn, he loved blonds.

“That would be Colonel Fatso.” Replied a heavenly contralto, with an unmistakable undertone of command. “And breakfast will be vegetable omelet.”

Served him right for forgetting Faraday had been on one of the outgoing ships yesterday. “I am so sorry, Sir. What do you want me to do, Sir?”

“Apology accepted; been in kitchens before.” Watching her julienne the potatoes, Bowman had no doubt about that claim. “Second, it’s Dame. Air Force not Army – civilized people have genders. Third get the food. Net closest to the entrance. Put all three meals there when got vegetables last night.”

Bowman looked at the officer’s profile out of the corner of his eye while pulling on the environmental suit. Her small breasts popped over the top of the apron, tangerine nipples puckered tight. Her face was young; she could pass for his age. Her golden-hued eyes gave away her home sector of Orion, pushing up Bowman’s age estimate from nineteen to twice that. His eyes dropped to verify her origin, sure enough, a Rigelian parasite had replaced the pinky and ring fingers on her left hand.

After a second staring at the red veins pulsing with human blood visible through the translucent green skin, Bowman discovered he was caught staring. Cold gold chips met his blue eyes, “Do you have a problem, Private?”

“No, Sir … Dame.” Normally he wouldn’t add more, the Army did not like explanations – either getting them or giving them, but he had heard Air Force was a little different. “I just haven’t seen one before. Not in person, Dame.”

She sighed, “Get the food and we will let you closer look. Can’t have you making an accident staring.”

Wanting to break the tension and trying to gauge the officer. “Does that count for the boobs too, Dame?”

A laugh escaped her. A surprised look crossed her face like she didn’t laugh much. “Get in the airlock Private. … And no. Men having accidents over knockers is inevitable. Nothing can be done to help there.”

“Getting in the airlock, Dame.” He sealed the door and starting doing what his superiors constantly grumbled was his defining characteristic. He started thinking.

While moving the food to from the cold storage nets located on the skin of the port habitat, he went over the puzzle represented by the new person in charge of the Mess. An Orion in a Sol uniform, Air Force in an Army Port, Colonel cooking in a kitchen where the highest officer since before today was a lost second lieutenant, a new person after the base has been emptied, – and most importantly – the sexiest woman he had ever seen. Whatever was about to happen in the Snake Rut was big and very, very secret.

The big question: Could he avoid the shit fan about to hit, while also getting a chance to hit on her? Rhetorical really, he admitted as he started the airlock cycle to return inside. No way would a mud pounder be able to avoid any shit fan, let alone the size that this one seemed to be. And no way would he be able to jump that high of a grade let alone fuck another military branch.

(words 837 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 3/25/2013 – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; republished new blog format 8/12/2018)