On Santa’s Lap – Erotica Contest Winner 2007!
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**Update**
Sexy Six has gone above and beyond the call of duty this time! He’s created an audio erotica version of this steamy tale exclusively for your listening pleasure.
So relax, close your eyes, and let Six’s sensual voice take you through his own intimate fantasy. It’s an experience you don’t want to miss…
**
On Santa’s Lap
Written by Six
She sat down on Santa’s lap, feeling the fuzzy, red, fleeced cotton against her bottom.
“Have you been a good girl,” she heard him ask. “Or, a bad one?”
Her hand went to Santa’s chest, resting against the white fluffy cotton trim. She pressed in hard enough to feel his body beneath the bulky suit before answering.
“You tell me, Santa. I thought you knew when we all were good or bad.”
She wiggled her butt on him, spreading her legs just a tiny bit to balance herself. Her panties were wet, and she felt them mash up against his thigh, right above the knee. The suit was thick, but would he notice?
“Well…” he replied. “I’m going to give you a chance to make everything right.” The white gloved hand gently rested on her knee, palm up. She placed her hand in his. “One chance to show me if you’re naughty or nice.”
Her hand in his, she wiggled some more, feeling the wet fabric grow wetter as she squirmed on his lap. “Santa,” she whispered. “My panties are wet.”
“Oh?” the response jolly.
“Yes, Santa,” she said, before turning away from him, her leg slipping over his, so that she was now straddling his thigh. Her back to him, and both her hands on his knee, she arched her back and rubbed herself – her wet panties – along the length of his thigh. She closed her eyes and let a sigh escape her lips as she felt the contact on her pussy.
She continued to rub, feeling the panties start to roll up, the wet fabric brushing against the red cotton pants.
As she pushed back, she felt something other than his thigh, the rolling fabric of her panties, and the warmth of the Santa suit. Her hand reached back as she nestled higher against his thigh – and she felt something hard, poking out from the leg of his pants.
She grasped it through the fabric as her pussy continued to grind against him.
“I want this candy cane, Santa,” she said, twirling her legs around and spinning back to face him. She slid off his thigh, pooling between his legs and on her knees. The red pants had an elastic waistband and she tugged them quickly down to his ankles, around the white-fur-tipped-black-boots.
She giggled at the sight of his boxer shorts – navy blue with a reindeer printed pattern on them. But her giddiness didn’t mask her desire for his cock, her hand reaching right through the fly of the boxers, finding it stiff and ready.
She pried it free from the boxers and held it by the head, the pre-cum smeared against her palm. Looking up one last time, she opened her mouth and puckered her lips around its red shiny head.
Her tongue flicked out and swabbed it, her jaw loosened, and she felt her cheeks press in as she sucked on him. Her hand moved down lower and lower, down the shaft of his cock, and finally resting on his balls as she took him deep into her mouth. Her tongue swaying side to side as she felt him against the back of her throat.
Her hands went to the insides of his thighs and she let her nails dig in as she steadied herself, and pulled her neck back, her lips traveling up the length of his cock before she swallowed hard and buried her head back down.
She purred and moaned her pleasure, his cock in her mouth only making her pussy grow wetter. She grasped his balls and felt them heavy and warm, squeezed in her palms. She let his cock escape past her lips, making an audible pop. Her hand went to the shaft, wet with her spit and rubbed it up and down.
“I’m a bad girl,” she said, her eyes low.
“Why?”
“Because…” she let herself trail off. “Because I told Santa I had wet panties but I didn’t show him. I got greedy Santa.”
She let his cock go and turned around, still on her knees. Bending over at the waist, she turned her head and let her face fall on the white carpeted floor. Her ass was in the air, and she spread her knees apart. One hand reached between her thighs and she felt her fingers on the wet – no, soaked – fabric.
“Do you see now?” she asked, waiting for his response.
She didn’t hear it. She felt it.
Her panties pushed aside. The fabric suddenly cold against the skin of her ass. And suddenly something wet, warm, pushing against her swollen pussy lips. She gasped as it made its way from her clit all the way up to her ass. It swirled and slithered along the length of her slit and pressed into her wetness.
She felt hands at her hips and his nose pressing into her ass as she knew he was licking, sucking, savoring the taste of her juices. Her hands went on his, spreading her ass wider, giving him better access.
The beard had been tossed to the floor, the pants too gone, the coat also discarded. She felt him push her ass to the side, and she rolled over onto the coat, scrambling, her eyes wild with lust. She pounced on him, straddling his hips and lowering herself onto his cock. She reached out and grabbed his hat, placing it on her as her pussy enveloped his cock.
It stretched her wide and rubbed against her insides, the wetness pouring out and around the stiff cock buried deep within her. Her hands went to his chest, her arms pressing her breasts together and she started to buck, rocking her hips up and down before using her legs to bounce up and down.
His cock felt so good, digging deep within her pussy, drawing out even more wetness, the noises slick and wet escaping every time she lifted and crashed back down on his hips. She held onto his chest, feeling his cock rub against the walls of her pussy, slamming deep and scraping as she pushed up.
The white ball at the end of the Santa hat flung and flew from side to side, front to back as she rode his cock hard, feeling the wave of her orgasm building in her pussy.
She grasped and clenched at his cock, convulsing, spasming, cumming hard and fast, squeezing and urging him to cum too. And the first spray making her yelp, the hot cum bathing her pussy, the next splashing deep within her. Over and over each time he twitched she came again, rapid fire, like popcorn kernels bursting one after another.
And as if one final explosion, the flash bulb popped.
The picture was taken, the faux winter scene complete with fake trees, fake snow, giant candycanes, and the elaborately decorated chair Santa sat on. And little by little, the muffled sounds of the mall, the murmur of people talking, the Christmas music spilling into the background, all swarmed and rose back into consciousness.
***
About the Author: Six is a New York based blogger whose amazingly hot erotica is quickly becoming the “talk of the blogging town” (so to speak). As eloquent as he is humble, Six is a self-described “nerd, engineer, and geek” who writes out of sheer sexual compulsion and his unabashed love for the written word. To read more of his edgy, playful, and sometimes dark erotica, visit http://sixelaborates.wordpress.com!
Congratulations and a big Thank You again to Six for winning Speak Sexy’s Erotica Contest 2007!
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Five Sips of Dark Erotica Truly Worth Savoring
This post is darkly sponsored by: Me! Because I love this book so much!
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Finally, Intelligently Captivating Erotica
Is guiltless infidelity possible? What would you do if your husband enjoyed watching other men lust after you? How many moral rules would you break for fleeting moments of depraved sexual pleasure?
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This post was erotically written and submitted by Loving Annie.
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Just you in your work clothes, home after a long day…
And me in my high heels… only in my high heels…
Meeting you at the door…
Ohhhh yeah….
The faint scent of my favorite cologne, Chanel For Men, lingers on your neck.
It intoxicates me, pulls me in to cling to you, and my arms wrap
around you as we hug, caressing your back from your shoulders to your
waist.
You look at me, and your eyes sparkle, that gleaming intensity that
tells me you want me already.
I tilt my smiling face up to you to kiss you hello, those sweet,
lower-lip-sucking kisses we both like so much….
You nuzzle me, feel my warm breasts press against the front of your
chest, and your nipples harden at the same time that the rest of you
does.
Your voice is deep, thick with lust.
“Ah, naughty girl. Such a naughty girl showing up at the door only
wearing high heels… You know what happens to naughty girls, don’t
you?”
“No” I gasp, “Show me.”
I’m so turned on by being naughty like this. By you thinking I’m
naughty, calling me naughty.
Naughty just for you… Only you…
You grab my wrists somehow, pull them over my head, and edge me back
to the wall.
My back against the wall, you push my legs apart with one of your knees.
Ohhhh yes….
I’m dripping wet, and you haven’t even touched me yet. Not there…
Such a naughty girl, all flushed face and heaving full breasts,
slippery core giving off the heated scent of aroused sex, long silky
legs in their gleaming black leather high heels.
You never take your eyes off mine as you reach down and unzip your
pants, pulling your rigid erection out of your underwear…
God, I love your hard-on.
I’m quivering, and my breath is uneven.
I want you, want what you’re going to do to me. Whatever it is.
Holding my wrists up above my head with one hand, you reach down with
the other and begin to finger me, crooking your fingertip back and
forth against the front wall of my already juicy pussy, and then
burying it deep.
You add another finger, and I squirm in pleasure.
“You want me already, don’t you ?” you growl. “Well, don’t you ?”
You want to hear me say it, and your fingers increase their rhythm.
“Yes, ohhhhh God, please.”
I’m not thinking real straight. All I know is that I want you inside of me.
I love it when you’re all in charge like this. It’s so masculine, so sexy.
Makes me feel so feminine. It feels so right.
I can feel the head of your swollen cock, wet with pre-cum, nudge at my entrance.
With one long slow shove, you push your way, all the way inside of me…
And you begin to fuck me, there’s no other word for it, this isn’t
love-making, this is raw passionate sex.
All of your clothes are on, except for your opened fly.
And me, well, I’m naked… Except for those heels, those high high heels…
You pump that gorgeous slick vein-engorged cock up into me, in and out
of me, impaling me on your thick sweet heat.
“oH, oH-OH, oHHHH.”
I’m moaning shamelessly at every deep thrust, loving this, loving you,
loving it.
I come shuddering, panting, and the contractions pull your own intense
orgasm from you.
One last hard thrust and then another, hard, hard, and you empty your
full balls into me, groaning as my inner muscles drain you dry.
Yes… That’s what naughty girls get…. And I deserved it…
I love it when you tell me what to wear before you leave for work in
the morning…
******
Loving Annie is a good girl with a bad side.
Naughty and nice, a clean body and a dirty mind…
Writing vanilla erotica straight from her vivid imagination – And into yours…
******
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The plush black comforter is so soft, so clean against my newly-showered skin. I roll over onto my stomach and nuzzle my face against it, pleased with myself for finally doing the laundry. The gentle flowery detergent scent mixes with the coconut of my shampoo and wafts up to encircle me in its deceptive summer-time embrace.
I close my eyes, shutting out the colder reality of my frosted windows. I’m happy to be so warmly deceived.
I cuddle the blanket closer, pressing its softness between my thighs and against my neck. My relaxed muscles seem to mold themselves to the bed, and I sigh with contentment, feeling very much like a cat who’s found the perfect place to curl up for a blissfully long sleep. But it’s not sleep that’s on my mind…
My thoughts seamlessly drift from one sinister delicacy to the next. I begin to imagine you coming home from work and finding me like this, naked and damp on our freshly washed sheets. After all, it’s already 5 o’clock. You’ll be here within the half-hour…
I glance around our cozy bedroom. The little lamp on our nightstand isn’t very bright, but it makes the maroon walls around it glow. It darkens the edges of objects and creates shadows that spill into the corners. Our friends often comment on our choice of lighting. They think we should buy a brighter light bulb, or add more lamps, but neither of us agree. We like the heaviness of the room. We like the mystery. It’s what makes us different.
I shift against the blanket onto my back, my shoulders propped up slightly by our pillows. I glance down at my breasts, and admire the hardened peaks of my nipples. Lower, my navel shimmers, one lonely undried drop of moisture still clinging to its shallow depths. I tense the muscles underneath so that it spills over, and watch transfixed as it slowly traverses the contours of my abdomen before disappearing into the dip of my waist. The gentle tickling of its journey focuses my mind on more sensual things.
I begin to imagine you secretly standing in the doorway, watching – waiting to see what I’ll do next. Just the thought makes my pussy clench with anticipation. I rest my head against the pillows, close my eyes, and decide to give in to my tactile temptations.
I touch myself lightly with both hands, feeling the raised bones of my hips and the supple skin in between. I trace my fingertips up. Up past the tiny wet trail left behind by the inquisitive drop. Up past the hill of my ribs to the rounded mountains of my breasts. Tentatively at first I graze them. I start at my sides, rubbing the backs of my fingernails around to the fleshy underneaths, never touching the nipples directly as I work my way around and around.
I feel my nipples stiffen, beginning to ache for attention. My body warms with a crimson flush. It radiates from my groin, vibrating through my legs and awakening my toes. I relax deeper into the folds of the comforter, savoring the first real wave of sexual excitement as it washes over me. It causes my thighs to spread naturally, as if by a will of their own.
From the doorway, you’d be able to glimpse the pink of my lips now, maybe even the glistening of my arousal. The thought alone makes my clit throb. I can’t stop myself anymore. I pinch the sensitive points of my nipples greedily, almost roughly. A low moan of pleasure escapes, and my back arches up, pressing my breasts further into my palms.
My hips thrust forward into the empty air above, and I finally allow my instincts to take over. I snake one hand down to my smoothly shaved pussy and gingerly circle my clit once, twice, teasing it out from under its protective hood. I run my middle finger down between my inner lips already slick with my own juices, before stroking it back up. I bring my wetness to my clit purposefully, massaging it into the little engorged bud, knowing it’ll amplify the sensations tenfold. I gasp at the first wet touch, and moan deeply as I begin to make slow teasing circles.
As my excitement builds, I think of you watching me. I imagining you to be the amorphous shadows filling the silent spaces of our room. In my fantasy you have a thousand eyes. I’m exposed to you from every possible angle. I feel predatorily surrounded, wonderfully trapped under the steady heat of your gaze. Your hunger for me becomes tangible. It bites at my thighs and laps at the dampened creases of my soul.
I can feel your voyeuristic pleasure growing as I wiggle and writhe on our bed. I spread my legs wider, and use my free hand to pull my pussy lips apart, opening myself up to you fully and without hesitation. I want you to see me. I want you to want me like this, your cock long and hard, stroking yourself in time to the rocking of my hips.
The thought of you secretly masturbating is enough to make me speed up my own ministrations. My pussy tightens and drips with an unsatisfied desire to be filled by you. I plunge one finger into my smooth depths, seeking some measure of relief, but I quickly realize it’s not going to be enough. I push a second finger in, thrusting them in and out, splaying them apart to widen the penetration.
My other hand continues to toy with my clit, moving a little faster, keeping a solid pace with my invading fingers. I’m no longer aware of my moaning, or the way my body shudders with each new wave of pleasure. I can feel my orgasm sneaking to the surface but it retreats just as quickly.
In the midst of my self-inflicted frustration, I focus on the image of you losing control. I see you coming through the door, your cock proudly displayed in your hand as it sticks out from between your pant’s zipper. You haven’t bothered to take off your clothes, and the look of lustful determination on your face is practically enough to make me cum.
Without speaking, I move to the edge of our bed and turn over onto all fours, lifting my hips high. You stand behind me, take hold of everything I’ve offered, and enter my pussy with one long, firm stroke.
I gasp as you fill me all the way, and my fingers mimic the intensity of your thrust. It’s exactly what I need to come completely undone. My entire body tenses around that one fantastic thought. I cry out your name, riding the orgasm from one gloriously tight peak to the next. I gush with each climax, coating my fingers, dripping my satisfaction onto the bedsheets again and again.
Slowly the thousands of your eyes begin to fade with each calming breath that I take. The shadows return to being just shadows, and I am once again alone in our room. I bring my sticky fingers to my lips, sucking on each one individually, tasting myself and leaving the flavor of my desire lingering in my mouth.
The alarm clock next to our little lamp now blinks 5:23, and I want you to really enjoy your Welcome Home kiss. It’ll be my way of apologizing for dirtying our irresistibly clean sheets…
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It’s been one of those weeks. The kind that drives you mad with stress, with work, with lack of sleep. I feel tight inside, itchy, like I can’t breath. Every nerve standing on end as though waiting…And so I wait.
Days go by and the pressure keeps building. We barely talk. We don’t kiss. Too caught up in everything else that needs to be done. Yet all the while my clothes become too constrictive, and my skin starts to burn.
I look at you from moment to moment, flashes of our last fuck chucked between school board meetings and electricity bills. If you would stop for a second and look, maybe you’d see it. Maybe you’d understand. But you don’t, and I begin to pant.
I run my fingers through my hair. It’s still slippery from my morning shower, and the cool wetness of it sliding between my fingers is a distraction. I look at you again. Hoping.
The heat rushes up my neck to my cheeks, flushing them a soft crimson. Silently, I will you to look up from your books. Maybe if I stare long enough, concentrate hard enough, I’ll be able to control your mind. Like telekineses or magic. I struggle not to laugh out loud. I’ve officially gone crazy.
I hear the blood rushing in my ears, so I close my eyes to block out your image, thinking that’ll help. But it doesn’t, and I see you naked instead. Your hands on my thighs, spreading them roughly. Yanking my clothes off and positioning me on the edge of my desk, your cock poised and dripping.
Still, you make me wait. I whimper, wiggling my hips forward, an invitation. I can feel my own desperation gushing out, dribbling between the cheeks of my ass. I reach out to grab you, to force you inside me. But as my thumb brushes the glistening drop of your pre-cum, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
And it’s you. Not my fantasy You, but the real, physical, fuckable you. Before you can say anything I stand and begin to kiss you. Desperately, hungrily. I don’t give you a chance to protest or to catch your breath. My body is too insistent to care about such niceties.
For a second you try to pull away, but I don’t let you. I wrap my arms around your neck, dig my fingers into your hair and tunnel my tongue between your lips. Finally the tension in your body shifts. It’s the exact moment I’ve been waiting for. Something deep, something primitive in me responds, and I practically growl my appreciation.
Roughly and without hesitation you find my wrists and pin them behind me. It’s your tongue’s turn to explore. As you push into my mouth I can feel your own urgency building. You lick at my teeth, the top of my mouth, biting my lips and nibbling at everything. It’s no longer a kiss, but an invasion, a display of dominance. Your body crowds over mine, and I thankfully yield to its pressures.
You let go of my wrists to pull up my skirt and drop us to the floor. I greedily fumble at your belt, undoing your pants and pushing your clothes down past your knees. You don’t bother to take off my panties, but push them aside instead.
Then suddenly, without warning or preamble, your mouth finds the sensitive hollow where my neck meets my shoulder and you bite down – hard. Every muscle in me tenses with the unexpected flash of radiating pain. And you use that moment of vulnerability, that one moment when my world seems to splinter into a thousand pieces of kaleidoscopic light, to plunge your cock all the way to my core.
Time stops, becomes measured by your thrusts. My hips rise and fall to match your desires. I claw at your back, bury my face against your chest. You lift my legs to get a deeper angle, and I feel my own orgasm raging to the surface. Your fingers sink into the flesh of my hips, and I lean up to kiss you again, wanting to take your very breath into my lungs.
Your moan against my lips lets me know how close you are, so I intensify my efforts, relaxing my thighs and opening myself up completely. I mold my hips against yours as my lust coalesces into one single thread of mounting sensation.
And then you stop, pressing yourself in deep, just pinning me there – and I know what you’re going to do. I whimper even before you do it. Your wicked smile gives it away as you lower your mouth to my ear.
“Say it.” You whisper.
I shake my head no. You press into me again, pinning my hips harder to the floor, rubbing your pelvis against my clit.
“Say it or I’ll stop.” You punctuate your words with gentle licks, flicking the hot tip of your tongue along the line of my jaw, darting into my ear. I try to press against you, try to give myself the release I desperately need, but I can’t. Embarrassment washes over me, and I know you’ve won.
“Please fuck me…” I manage to say between panting breaths. You pull out and thrust back in once, twice.
“Keep going. I know you’re my little slut. Don’t hide it from me. Show me. Tell me. I want you to keep begging for my cock until you cum.”
Tears of frustration sting my eyes, the kind of frustration only honestly revealed secrets can bring. I feel the last of my emotional shields slip and I begin to beg. Words tumble from my lips onto your skin before I can stop them. Words not meant to be spoken out loud.
You reward each of my confessions. The faster I speak, the more you fuck – the more you fuck, the faster I speak. I beg and I beg until I can’t hear myself beg anymore. I beg until the words erupt from a part of my soul I didn’t know existed. Harder, faster, louder we spin.
My body begins to shake, to come apart in your arms. I feel the first wave of your orgasm fill me, and I’m on fire. Your possessive grunts of pleasure and approval fill the spaces around us, overpowering my “please’s” and “Master’s” and “more’s”. Then without my consent you drag me ferociously over the edge of my own abyss.
I plunge. I fall. I fight to stay alive.
But eventually I reawaken knowing that I’ll be able to control myself now…At least until next week.
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Of Water and Women – Hearing the Siren’s Irresistible Call
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~ excerpt from “Fisherman’s Friend,” in Aqua Erotica, p. 186~
Whether it’s a sunset walk along a romantic beach, an intimately prepared bath lit only by the flickering of candles, or a secret rendezvous at a secluded moonlit lake, the erotic power of water is always hard to deny.
There’s just something in the way the ocean moves, like an insistent and greedy lover ravenous to consume. With waves that lap urgently at unquenchable shores. The sound of it building, rising, gathering its strength and its desire into one visually discernible peak. Then, finally, releasing its pent up lust onto the eagerly waiting sand in one incredible crescendo – individual drops foaming, dispersing, and reaching out as though desperately trying to encompass the entirety of its land-bound paramour.
Or perhaps its the gentler variety of affections you seek. Like the cascading, trickling, slow and perpetual tickling of a stream. Gliding its endless array of fingers and lips over the shiny rocks beneath, blackened curves smoothed to eternal perfection by its lover’s wet caresses. It’s babbling seems to whisper to your soul and calls forth your most hidden desires…
And when you add to these already irresistible charms rivulets of salty-sweet liquid pouring slowly over the rounds and sinking deeply into the hidden valleys of a sinuous woman’s body…Well, it’s no wonder the mix of water and women is the stuff great legends are made of.
Sirens…Seducing You to Death
Speaking of legends, one of the most intriguing characters of classic literature is unquestionably the original Femme Fatale – the Siren. Although the image of a siren has evolved from one legend to the next, my favorite incarnation is the sexually unstoppable woman of the water. With their godly beauty and enchanting voices, these women were pure erotic evil, luring sailors to their shores with promises of supernatural knowledge and physical delights beyond earthly imaginations. But for those unfortunate men who heeded their call, a slow and painful death was inevitable.
“If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him home again, for they sit in a green field and warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. There is a great heap of dead men’s bones lying all around, with the flesh still rotting off them…”
~Quoted from Mermaids and Sirens~
Sure, according to Homer’s epic poem “The Odyssey” men literally died from starvation while listening to the siren’s sing because they were too intoxicated with the siren’s ‘voices’ to move (or eat) – But we all know what Homer really meant by ‘singing’ in a ‘field!’ Even a couple thousand years doesn’t change some things!
Still, I suppose I can think of worse ways to die than by the hand or mouth or (you get the point) of a dangerously aroused woman.
The Moral of This Sopping Wet Tale…
Never trust an incredibly sexy woman who understands how to use the power of her alluring charms – especially when she’s naked and wet.
Apparently even the strongest of men, Ulysses not withstanding, can’t pull themselves away from an erotically charged woman who appears out of the murky abyss of her Olympic-sized pool or emerges from the shallow depths of her creamy white bathtub.
If she’s at least 100 yards away from a lake, an ocean, or any other potentially sexual body of water, then perhaps he has a chance. But as soon as those lovely droplets begin to dance their way down her skin or slick her hair back into those sultry strands, all hope for him is lost. He is hers…and she wickedly smiles, because she knows it.
So even though it’s not always fun to be a woman, the ability to indulge our slippery wet selves in every conceivably way certainly is one of the perks!
Some Sex and Water Play Things You May Like:
- Wet: Erotic Adventures in Water
- Aqua Erotica – A collection of 18 water-themed erotic stories from some of the best erotic writers – including Poppy Z. Brite!
- Looking for a Waterproof Sex Toy?
- She’s On Top – Tales of Female Erotic Dominance
- Taboo: Forbidden Fantasies for Couples
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