Archive for the ‘Boudoir Stories’ Category

Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: July 3rd, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

 

Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday

 

 

 

Story #3      In Flight – Part II

 

…Continued from Part I… 

“Oh, so apparently I’m not the first person you’ve seduced en route…I mean, well, I didn’t exactly mean…”

“Am I seducing you?”

“Sorry, I guess that was the beer talking, or wishful thinking,” he stammered.

“Okay, so let’s say I am. Are you game?”

Russell had to think. He didn’t know why, but he just did. This is part of my problem, he thought to himself. I think too much. Shit.

Excusing himself, he rose, the Molson Canadian making for a hasty escape. Andie stood too, while Russell edged past her. Their bodies made a point of making contact, sending sparks of electricity through his loins. He wondered if the same was happening to her.

He made his way past a cranky elderly woman two seats behind them and a fussy child in 21B, to queue for the lavatory. A man wearing a pale blue turban began talking almost immediately, about the weather and the recent US election. It was going to be a long wait.

The vacant sign illuminated and a sinister looking guy with dark hair and a long, black beard, walked out. Russell’s eyes followed the man to his seat where a pretty young woman sat bouncing a laughing baby on her lap. His eyes moved from the family to the top of Andie’s auburn hair, barely visible above the red and blue patterned seat back. He considered for a moment her bone structure, her fine features, those silky legs. This was a traveling guy’s dream come true, to be seated next to a beautiful woman, especially one who was clearly interested in him. He couldn’t believe his luck. But he wasn’t used to such come-ons, and found he was at a loss for how to ‘man up’ so to speak. He had sort of manned up since he had first laid eyes on Andie, his organ stiff and throbbing. Was it her forwardness or her striking beauty that threw him off his game? But who was he kidding? He never had a game. Russell was a simple kind of guy expecting a simple kind of woman to carry him through the stages of a ‘normal’ relationship, through marriage and children and personal growth, as their bodies shifted from limber and taut to flabby, worn and wrinkled, their minds slowly dissipating until finally their memory dissolved into nothingness. Russell shook his head, trying to rid himself of the awful picture he was painting in his head. Why did he think life was expected to be that way? Why?

Finally Russell returned to his seat, sliding as he should in between rumpled coats and magnificent magazine-covered legs.

“So tell me,” Andie said, looking up at him as if he hadn’t been away. “Have you ever had sex on an airplane?”

Russell’s mind began racing again, but this time in an entirely different direction. What was this woman up to? Any man would want to morph into him right now, knowing full well that getting laid was a no-brainer. He could become a full-fledged member of the  mile-high club, whatever the fuck that meant. Actually fuck was the point, wasn’t it?

She was squeezing lime into her drink. She sucked on her fingers to avoid getting lime juice on her suit. It would stain. Her lips were wet, dripping. He wanted to lick them for her, like a puppy. He was getting used to her frankness, and he was thinking he should play, could play this little game too.

“No, I haven’t actually had sex on an airplane. Have you?”

“Hmmm,” she teased, running her tongue around her lips in slow motion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, trying desperately to come up with a plan. Two can play at this game, he thought, but shoes really did tell a lot about a person, and his Clarks slept peacefully underneath his seat, too shy to emerge. He shoved them further back until they hit the feet of the person behind him.

She stared at him long and hard, her eyes penetrating. Her knee itched to peel back the layers of fabric protecting his skin from hers, her hands, resting gently on her magazine, yearned to reach up and dig deep into the thickness of his lofty curls. Just then the cabin bell chimed. A voice came over the loud speaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent into New York’s JFK International Airport in fifteen minutes. The captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. At this time, we would like to remind you to return to your seats and ensure that your seat belts are securely fastened and your seat backs and tray tables are returned to their full, up-right position for landing. If you are still enjoying our in-flight service, please, finish up as quickly as possible so that our flight attendants can come around and collect headsets and any garbage you may have.” 

Andie’s eyes bore into him.

“We would like to take this opportunity…” the voice droned on…

Russell stared back, a piercing gaze, sweaty palms. Two can play at this game, he repeated to himself. They didn’t touch, except their knees, still warm against each other. But keeping their hands-off was causing a big stir inside.

“Now, please sit back and enjoy the remainder of our flight. And again, thank you for flying with United.”

He leaned closer, his face nearing the nape of her neck, his warm breath teasing, and picked up something that rested on the outside arm of her seat. A soiled napkin. He waved it around as if he surrendered, dropped it into the stack of empty plastic cocktail cups waiting for pick-up on her still open tray table. He remained there, leaning over her warmth. Just feeling her close to him made his flesh quiver. He wondered if she could tell, if she could see his erection. Andie didn’t move, nor speak. Russell’s heart was racing, and he felt sure she could sense it. Breathing was hot and quickened, and he was stuck there, hovering over her like a helicopter waiting to either pounce on its target or return to base. The want, the need to stroke her cleavage, bury his face into the depth of her bosom was almost too much for him. Heady perfume tempted his mouth toward her neck, ready to lunge at her, vampire to blood. Oh, yes, he would suck – suck until her tender skin was red and tingling with gratification, until she cried out for more. She would be at his mercy then, letting him rip open her blouse, pull down that lacy bra, take the fullness of her breasts into his mouth and suckle, while he undid her skirt and slipped it down over her shapely hips. She would help him, unable to resist his desperate manhood. Climbing on top of her, he would take her, right there in her seat, thrusting his muscle into her moistness, satisfying their burning desire. With an urgent yet gentle touch, Russell would finally feed her insatiable longing.

The plane began it’s descent, nosing downward heading for New York. Russell was jolted out of his moment of mental seduction. The attendant in the dark blue uniform was back. Plastic bag in tow she whisked up the empty drink cups, crumpled peanut wrappers, napkins.

“Do you mind if I hang on to this?” Andie gestured a cup with ice still in it. The attendant nodded agreeably. Russell quietly deposited his two empty beer cans into the open bag, acknowledging the pleasant attendant with a reticent smile. A baby near the back of the plane began to cry, ears aching from the pressure. The cranky old woman a few rows back began demanding attention from one of the flight attendants in a louder than normal voice.

Andie fiddled with her blouse. Unbuttoning her top button, she began flapping it back and forth. She reached her hand down to adjust her bra strap, bare breast under lace slightly exposed. She rubbed her throat.

“Are you warm?” she suddenly asked him.

Don’t stop, he thought. She brushed loose hair from her face, but it fell back again. She sucked on the ice cube from the cheap plastic cup. She fanned, fiddled, rubbed her silky moist skin. Russell watched, wanting to touch, wanting to know her inside and out. He inched closer to her again, felt his heart beating fast against her arm. Her smell – woman, with a touch of Channel and gin, drew him in once more, urging him to taste the sweet salt of her female odor, squeeze her round voluptuousness, bite those brown nipples peeking out from beneath lace until she arched up to meet his full and wanting lips. She’d spread her legs and let his tongue do the rest until she cried out, not stopping until they were both spent, collapsed in a heap of hot and exhausted bodies. Just then her hand reached up to find buttons. Closure. Cooler now. That was that.

The cabin lights dimmed. The engines bellowed. The landing gear was lowered and with all the heat and commotion the plane floated effortlessly to touchdown on the tarmac with lights that stretched straight into darkness. Andie’s gaze was now facing the seat in front of her. Eyes forward, reading about the safety features of the Boeing 737 Airbus as it taxied into the terminal. Seat belts fastened, they did not speak. Then she turned, toward the window, toward him.

“That’s my favorite airline.” She was pointing to a large 747 aircraft, its name scrawled in script along the shiny metal siding.

“They have the best food and the best in-flight service of all the long-haul carriers.” She said this with an air of confidence. He stared at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the huge craft.

Their plane lurched ever so slightly. The cabin lights came on and a flurry of activity ensued. People, luggage, coats, cell phones, all eager to disembark. They remained in their seats. Side by side.  Andie turned, reached across his lap.

“Excuse me,” as she grabbed her jacket, still resting on the seat by the window. She pulled it toward her, brushing lightly against his chest. “Thanks.” She smiled, too close to his face for comfort.

Eventually they too had to disembark. Bags re-claimed from overhead bins, coats helped on, perfunctory, without words, without touch. They left the aircraft in an orderly fashion, despite their better judgment. They approached the front of the plane, the weighty door now open. Ramp-way to New York City.

As they reached the cockpit, several flight attendants were gathered around to bid farewell to the passengers. It was customary. The pilots could be seen through the cockpit door, half ajar. They had landed. It was safe. The crew was laughing, patting each other on the back. A job well done. Yes, it had been a safe flight. Very safe.

“Can I give you my number?” Andie whispered into his ear as they stood in line to exit. Time was of the essence. She snatched a pen from the flight attendant’s station at the exit door and scrawled a number on a napkin. Clean, unused, she stuffed the napkin affectionately into his breast pocket with a pat.

Russell thanked the woman in the dark blue uniform that had served them during the flight.

“Have a great stay in New York,” she said to him. She smiled. It was her job to smile. Andie passed the line of cheery attendants, catching their glances.

“Bye Andie, honey,” said one of the flight attendants from First Class. “See you on the Miami flight. Friday isn’t it?” There was a pause as the crowd started pushing forward.

“Hey, what’s the hold-up? Some of us have planes to catch,” cried an irate passenger from the back of the line.

“Okay Shirley, see you Friday,” answered Andie, avoiding more than just the courtesy. She moved down the aisle.

“Hey Andie, nice to see you taking a day off for a change,” said the co-pilot in the cockpit doorway as she passed by.

“Yeah, long overdue. See ya next week, eh?” He blew her a kiss. Russell was dumbstruck.

“Well, Andie,” he said glancing over at her. “I believe you have some explaining to do. That is your name, isn’t it? Andie?”

Andie was looking straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the situation or by Russell’s feelings. Single file they strode up the jet bridge into the bustling glare of  Terminal 3. Then she turned to him.

“Yes, yes Russell, I do owe you an explanation. Have you got time? I don’t know about you but I’m famished.”

Russell smiled, not waiting, not thinking, he grabbed her hand and they walked, side by side, into one of the busiest airports in the world.

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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: June 26th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday

 

Story #3      In Flight – Part I

 

Russell picked up the in-flight magazine from the seat pocket in front of him. The cover had a picture of an azure colored sea stretching out beyond a white, sandy shoreline. The sand was glistening, as was the water. In the foreground a sexy young couple was frolicking in the foamy waves. Of course they were. She was blond. She had very white teeth. He looked like a hockey player, built like a brick shit-house. Honestly. The caption below their froth covered feet read ‘Daze In Sun Soaked Cabos’. Russell thought they could have done better.

Russell had brought some solid reading material with him, a novel by Rushdie, and a GQ as back-up if the book didn’t work out. He never knew what kind of mood he would be in. Planes were stuffy, claustrophobic. He was easily agitated, needed a distraction. Good reading material or sleep. Much needed sleep.

“Do you mind if I put my jacket with yours on that empty seat?” she asked, reaching across his un-buckled middle. Her voice was smooth as caramel and stuck to him, hard.

“Sure, no problem,” he responded, feeling softness brush past. “As long as no one sits there, but it looks like a pretty quiet flight.” He glanced over at her. The smell of Channel No. 5 lingered.

They settled into their seats. He in the middle, she on the aisle. Their coats lay silently by the window, unable to look out.

“So do you live in New York?” she asked.

“No, not me. I’ve only been there one other time. A rookie.” She said nothing. He chuckled nervously. “No, I hail from Winnipeg originally. Prairie boy. I’ve been living in Vancouver the past few years, but I’m being transferred to Toronto as we speak. On my way to New York on business. It’ll be a much easier commute from Toronto, don’t you think?” He was babbling and knew it.

“I see.” The pause was palpable. “I’m originally from New York,” she said. “Brooklyn. I’m moving to Toronto within the year.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” Russell said.

“Sir, please fasten your seat belt and return your seat-back to its upright position.” The flight attendant smiled as she moved down the aisle. Russell glanced at the woman beside him. She was already buckled-up. A magazine rested open in her leggy lap. Half glasses perched on the bridge of her finely sculpted nose. Sophisticated, he thought.

He locked his seatbelt into place, a familiar click. His seat back lurched forward with a thud. Again he glanced her way. He was hoping for more conversation but she was thumbing through Fortune magazine now. He felt stupid. He pulled out his Rushdie while the plane inched its way along the tarmac.

“I love this part,” she suddenly announced. “You know, just before take off, the engines humming, the anticipation, the restless quiet.” She leaned across him toward the window, peering over the top of her glasses, her eyes following the red and blue lights that were lining the runway. The lights flickered randomly, illuminating their faces, on and off, on and off. He noticed thin smile lines around her eyes. Faint wrinkles. Soft pink lipstick melted ink-like into tiny puckers around her full lips. At least ten years his senior he thought. Wow, did she look great. A sudden rush of adrenalin ran through him as her shoulder fondled his.

Full throttle, the 737 Airbus began to streak down the runway. Engines whirring, the plane wobbled then surged forward, up and up. There was a gentle grinding sound as the wings were adjusted for changing air currents, lifting the aircraft higher. Her left hand gripped the inside arm rest. Her right hand lay relaxed on the open magazine in her lap. He wanted to take her hand, hold it between his to comfort her, maybe more. There was a picture of Steve Jobs staring up at her, but her eyes were drawn to the passing low-lying clouds. His eyes drifted to her neckline.

“Why don’t you take the window seat,” Russell suddenly offered. “It’s empty and you seem to enjoy looking out the window.”

“Oh, god no. No thanks. I’m actually afraid of heights, and I don’t want to disturb you when I get up to use the lavatory.”

Russell wasn’t about to move. He settled into his seat, waited for the seatbelt sign to be turned off so he could recline. She returned to her reading.

Rushdie was boring him. He wasn’t in the mood for its headiness. He needed something lighter. He pulled the GQ from his worn brown leather briefcase, putting Rushdie to rest for the time being, and began flipping. Glossy photographs jumped off the pages, beautifully coifed male models, handsome actors. Well-dressed wealth and success. He read an ad, the ABSOLUT best. The picture of vodka on ice looked refreshing. He was thirsty. Was the lime real or airbrushed, was what he was thinking. And what about the ice? One never knew. He looked more closely at the model. Female, and ABSOLUTely stunning. Holding her glass of airbrushed Vodka with lime and ice, he knew right then and there she was airbrushed too, and he was not a rocket scientist. Nevertheless, she reeled him in.

As if reading his mind, the flight attendant pulled up with the beverage cart. He noticed the seatbelt sign was no longer illuminated and people were moving about the cabin.

“Thank goodness,” the woman beside him remarked, flicking a shock of dark hair from her face as she looked up. “I’m parched.”

“Would you like something to drink ma’am?” The cheerful attendant asked.

“Yes, I’ll have a double G & T with a twist, easy ice.” She smiled up at the flight attendant standing poised in the aisle. She was wearing a navy blue skirt with matching tailored jacket. Conservative but effective. Blond hair was pinned in a tight bun at her nape, her white blouse buttoned to the neck, exposing little, revealing a lot. Aviator wings were pinned to the jacket lapel, the Canadian flag sewn onto the left shoulder.

“And peanuts. Do you have any of those great honey roasted peanuts?”

“I sure do.” The attendant placed two cocktail napkins on their side-by-side trays followed by two miniature bags of peanuts.

“And you Sir?”

“Oh, I’ll have a beer.” Somehow he didn’t feel that was a classy move, but it was too late. “Uh, do you have any Molson…Canadian?”

Drinks were served, peanuts opened. The woman’s knee brushed against his twill pants as she adjusted herself in the cramped seat. Besides the delicate mother of pearl earrings dangling from two small lobes, she was wearing a grey linen pantsuit. Just enough wrinkle to look elegant. Good fabric that linen, he thought. Sexy. Confident. The shoes she wore were now kicked off and under the seat in front of her. They were strappy things with a low heel and gentle point to the toe. You can tell a lot by a person’s shoes, his father had once told him when he embarked on his first job interview. He was fourteen at the time. Now he looked down at his own scuffed pair, feet still firmly planted inside. Clarks. Damn practical shoes, and comfortable too. He popped one off, then the other, tucking them discreetly under his own seat. Russell was grateful he had had plenty of clean socks in his drawer that morning. He had used a scented foot powder, and was now grateful for that too. Things were looking up.

That said, he was keenly aware that he, and his shoes, were far from being any kind of fashion statement, at least not the kind he wished to be making now. And what about his suit, if you could call it one? Khaki pants, brown corduroy jacket, golf shirt, a gift from an office golf tournament three years ago. Everyone had gotten one. His hair sat rumpled atop his head after he neglected to get a haircut the Tuesday before he left. His buddy had offered him tickets to see the Canucks play the Red Wings and he had opted instead for that. He now regretted the decision. At least he had hair, he considered in his own defense, peering at the shiny bald head poking up from the head rest in front of him.

“By the way, my name is Andie.” She turned to him, pressed a soft hand into his and squeezed firmly.

“Oh, how do you do Andie?” He replied, caught off guard. “I assume that’s short for Andrea?”

“That’s right. Andrea is more formal, a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?” They both took a gulp of their drinks.

“I suppose. Pretty though.” He smiled.

“My name’s Russell, Russell Peirce. People call me Rusty.” He paused. “Actually, not really.” He laughed awkwardly. She remained silent. “They sometimes call me Russ but really I’m mostly just Russell.” Now he looked away, clearly having difficulty.

“That’s a good name. Solid, you know?” She smiled, relieving him of his nervousness. “So Russell, do you travel often?”

“Frequently, yes. I’m an IT guy. I seem to be mostly in and out of Toronto and New York these days, with some travel to Chicago and Montreal. You know how it is?” His voice trailed off.

“It must be hard leaving family behind,” she ventured.

“No, no, not really. Well, yes, I suppose…sometimes. I have a friend, a girlfriend. But we’re not living together or anything. We’re not married.”

“But you are together, I mean you sleep together, right?”

Russell shifted in his seat, paused and turned to look directly at her. “Are you always this frank with people you just meet?”

“You’ll get used to me.” She smiled coyly and sipped from her cocktail straw.

Russell turned his head, casually looking out the window. Andie turned the page of the magazine. White noise engulfed them as Russell’s mind began to drift in the thick cumulous clouds below.

“So tell me,” Andie began again. “Do you like your work, your job?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great. I love dealing with people. I’m a real people person.” This was not true but he was bursting with new confidence, the beer settling some of his anxiety. “And the travel, well, I don’t mind the travel much. I enjoy seeing new places.”

“Isn’t it hard on your relationship? Doesn’t your girlfriend mind?” She swirled the ice around in her flimsy plastic United Airlines cup and took a swig of her G & T, abandoning the straw.

Feeling uncomfortable, Russell glanced around him. The guy across the aisle in 18D was deep in conversation with the woman beside him. Was she his wife, or was she another woman traveling solo? Beside them in 18F sat a young woman in her twenties with bleached spiked hair and dark coal eyes. White plastic coated wires trailed down from her ears. With closed eyes, she seemed transformed by the music that resonated from the pink encased iPhone in her left hand. He imagined her listening to The White Stripes or maybe The Foo Fighters. Beside him, Andie swirled her drink, watching the ice go round and round.

“I don’t really know if it’s hard on our relationship or not,” Russell finally answered, looking out into the vastness. The sky seemed to dissolve discomfort, like watching TV or the flames of a fire. “We’ve only been together for a few months.”

“Really?” Andie seemed genuinely interested. He swallowed the last of his Canadian. The attendant in the dark blue suit swung by with a second round. Just in time.

“One more double G & T with lime and ice for the lady, and one, no make that two, Molson’s for moi. I’m okay with peanuts thanks. How about you Andie?”

“Do you love her?” Andie put the question to him while the attendant dutifully filled their order, placing peanuts on her tray.

“Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I know, but women want to know these things.” She let out an audible sigh. “We’re very needy beings, Russell. We like to be shown and told how our men feel about us. It’s really very simple.”

There was silence now. The flight attendant placed two ice-cold cans of beer on the tray table in front of Russell, and two mini-bottles of Beefeater gin with a fresh cup of ice, in front of Andie. He cracked open one of the beers and took a long swig from the can. Outside clouds blanketed their world.

“Where are we anyway, over Canada?” Andie asked.

“Couldn’t be. We have to be in the US by now. My guess is we’re just over Syracuse, just over Lake Erie, see?” Russell pointed out of the oval Plexiglas window to what appeared to be a swath of blue through patches of clouds. “Wonder what the weather’s like down there?” He looked at his watch. It was five pm, Eastern Standard Time. He noticed she had removed her glasses and had placed them, folded, on the tray table in front of her. The magazine remained open, smooth knees jutting out from behind furled pages. Don’t touch he thought, but couldn’t help examine every detail of her velvety skin, imagining the feel. He gave his head a shake.

“So, what about you?” he asked, coming out of his reverie and turning to face her.

She laughed heartily. “What about me?”

“Fair’s fair. What’s your story?”

“I’m single, a single mother of two teenage boys. I live alone in my tiny Manhattan loft.”

“Nice.”

“Yes, it is. My sons come over every weekend to stay with me, and usually once during the week too. Otherwise they live with their father. They are 16 and 18. Good looking boys, sweet boys.” She looked away, into the aisle this time. “I work a lot. I have no pets to complicate my life. I eat well. Don’t smoke. Probably drink too much. I like the Red Sox, the Rangers, espresso in the morning, chocolate gelato at night, especially after sex.” She paused just long enough to take a long, satisfying sip of her drink. A small dribble appeared on her lower lip and began to make its way down her chin. He wanted to lick it up, but instead watched as she dabbed it with her cocktail napkin.

“And sex? Well, I’ll take that when I can. That sort of thing doesn’t come along as often at my age, if you know what I mean.” He thought maybe he did, but he wasn’t sure. Beer almost empty, he held the can limply in his hand.

“Wow. That sounds like a tale told often,” he remarked, not sure what else to say.

“It is. I travel a lot.” Her words hung in the stale air.

“Oh, so apparently I’m not the first person you’ve seduced en route…I mean, well, I didn’t exactly mean…”

“Am I seducing you?”

“Sorry, I guess that was the beer talking, or wishful thinking,” he stammered.

“Okay, so let’s say I am. Are you game?”

 

 …to be continued…

 

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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: June 19th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

 

Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday

 

Story #2 – Susan Gets Her Groove Back – Part II (Refer to last Tuesday’s blog for Part I)

 

Susan looked baffled. “What, so you’re telling me it’s been…it’s been a while since you’ve…”

“That’s right, smart-ass.” He took his hand away, but kept his knee pressed against hers, and leaned in. “Look, you may think I get all of the women all of the time, but I don’t. I’ll admit, I do get a lot of attention, but I’m picky, very picky. You have no idea what the woman my age or younger are like.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Well, let’s suffice to say, they are not my type.” He looked deeply into her hazel eyes. “I am attracted to sexy older women.”

Older? As in old?”

“Older as in mature, intelligent, worldly. Women of substance. To be frank, I’m bored otherwise.”

“Seriously…bored? I can’t imagine what could be boring about hard bodies to a twenty something male?”

“It’s not about the bodies, and I’m thirty something, by the way. Thirty eight to be exact, but numbers mean nothing to me.”

“Right.”

“That’s right.” His hand slid under the table to find the hem of her skirt, which he slowly pushed up until he felt the skin beneath. Her heart raced. His fingers stroked the smoothness of her inner thigh, not venturing further, but mere touch was enough to create arousal. Susan lost the ability to hold on any longer, and in the heat of the moment, her hand jerked and the glass filled with red wine spilled across the table, into the lap of her linen skirt, and onto the floor.

“Oh, shit. Look what I’ve done!” she said, standing up in a panic, completely exasperated from her clumsiness, and from being so turned on by this…this young hot man.

“No worries, Susan,” Charlie said as he grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the middle of the table and began mopping up the burgundy colored liquid. “Come over to the sink. Let’s get that off your skirt before the stain sets.”

He guided Susan to the sink, his hand gently pressed against her tailbone, but she could feel his fingers moving toward the curve of her firm butt. “I’ve heard that salt works.” She looked at him quizzically. “Salt,” he repeated. “You know, if you load salt on spilled red wine, it soaks it up and takes away the stain.”

Charlie left Susan at the sink and began to open cupboards. “Here we go,” he said at last, presenting a full carton of iodized salt from the pantry. “Now, let’s lift this up to the counter so I can pour this stuff on,” he said, grabbing the damp fabric. It would be easier if you took your skirt off, but I guess that’s not going to happen.” He looked up at her, a glint of hope in his eyes.

Susan began unfastening the hook of her skirt, but stopped and stood back.

“What am I doing? I can’t do this,” she said, suddenly realizing where this was going, where it could go.

“Why not?” Charlie asked. “Are you worried about your friend?”

“No. It’s not that. She knows I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. But…”

“But what? Are you wondering if this man in front of you, who is interested in you and is decent, is going to do right by you?”

“Oh, c’mon. What does it matter. I’m sure this…this performance is what you do to get women all the time. The deep, sexy voice, the suave come-on. I can’t believe I’m falling for it.” Charlie looked amused.

“Oh, so you think this is an act, that this is my MO for getting a woman to bed? Hmm, I guess you’re just another one of those injured females that lumps all us men into one package and labels us.” Susan blushed and looked down at her feet.

“You’re right,” she said looking up into his blazing eyes. “I have no right assuming, but you have to admit…”

“…Have to admit that you’re hot and I’m incredibly attracted to you, and if we don’t get this skirt off, that stain is going to set.”

Susan smiled, and relaxed a little. Tentatively, she reached behind and began unzipping her skirt until it was loose enough for her to shimmy out of. Once over her hips, it slid easily down her legs and fell in a puddle at her feet. She stood motionless, her eyes following as he crouched down to pick it up. His hand traced the path of the fabric down her thigh, then calf, then ankle, letting his face and lips follow his trail. He remained on the floor gathering up the skirt, while he buried his face between her legs. She placed her hand on his head and dug her fingers into the thick crop of sandy hair, pressing him against her. She shut her eyes, shut out the rest of the world beyond this room, beyond this moment, and breathed deeply.

Just then they heard a door open and footsteps coming down the hall. Charlie stood up and spread the soiled skirt on the counter, took the container of salt and poured a generous amount on the wine stains. Susan yanked her t-shirt down to cover her panties and moved away from him just as Liz entered.

“Oh,” she said, somewhat startled. “What’s going on here?” A heartbeat of silence echoed the sudden tension in the room.

“Oh, Liz,” Susan said, trying to compose herself. “I’m so embarrassed. I spilled my wine.” Liz stood for a moment, taking in the scene. “Uh, Charlie’s getting the stain out for me.” Susan felt as if she looked like a schoolgirl caught in the act. She picked up a magazine from the counter, a House & Garden, and began nonchalantly flipping through the pages while walking back to the table.

“You are a klutz, Susan, I grant you that,” Liz said. “Here.” She tossed Susan an apron. “Put this on. I see our friend Charlie knows all the tricks of the trade.” Liz said, eyeing the salt.

“You bet I do.” He winked, then returned to the task of spreading generous amounts of salt on the garment.

“So, how’s it going with the taxes?” Susan asked, steadying her voice.

“Oh, great,” replied Liz. “We’re almost finished. Now, what was it I came in here for? Oh, yes, I need a phone number.” She went to the telephone and looked in a book that lay open beside it. Then she copied a number and turned. “We’re almost there. You two okay to hang out a little longer?”

“Sure,” Charlie said for both of them.

“Suse, you know where the wine is. Open another bottle. I’m going to want a glass or three when this is all said and done.” She smiled and headed back down the hallway. As soon as they heard the door close, Susan was up and Charlie met her halfway as they fell into a full on lip-lock. Tongues swirled in a sensual dance of want and need, shirts lifted in a desire for discovery. Susan lost all abandon, letting Charlie feel every inch of her supple, yearning. She reached down and had no trouble finding his.

“We…can’t…do this…here,” she said, almost breathless.

“I know,” he said between kisses. “Let’s get out of here.”

Charlie ran back to the sink, grabbed her damp skirt and handed it to her. Laughing, partly because this was so absurd, and partly because this was the most fun she had had in years, she wiggled into it, while Charlie hindered her ability to zip it up by fondling her in places she hand’t been touched in longer than she cared to admit. Again, his eager, wet lips found hers and they kissed so fervently that she thought they might do it right there on the spot.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and, skirt sliding down her hips, ran together out the front door into the night.

 

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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: June 12th, 2012 by Madison Lake 2 Comments

 

Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday

 

Story #2 – Susan Gets Her Groove Back

“Hey Mom, hey Susan, how’s it going?” Matthew went over to his mother who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of red wine with her neighbor and best friend, Susan. He kissed her on the forehead, then leaned over and kissed Susan on the cheek. “How’s life, Suse?”
“Real good, Matt. Thanks for asking. You?” Matthew smiled. “Great, thanks. The new job is working out, life with Serena is good, if you know what I mean,” he winked at Susan. “No complaints.” He turned. “Oh, Mom, Suse, this is my friend, Charlie.” He gestured with an elaborate bow to Charlie who was standing by the front door. “Charlie, the ladies.”
“Hey, Charlie,” the two women said in unison, and laughed. Susan took a sip of her wine.
“Mom and Suse have been friends for years,” Matthew said, opening the fridge and grabbing a couple bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The cap hissed as he twisted it off, then handed a bottle to his friend.
“Pleased to meet you, ah…”
“Liz, call me Liz.”
“Pleased to meet you, Liz,” Charlie said with an infectious laugh, extending his hand toward Matt’s mother. “And, pleased to meet you, too, Susan.” His hand reached out to hers and their eyes met. She smiled nervously and pulled her hand away from a hold that lasted much too long, or was that just her imagination? She felt undone by his gaze, and she didn’t know why. Charlie took a swig of his beer, but his eyes remained on hers.
“So, what are you two beauties up to this evening?” Matthew said as he opened the pantry and pulled out a bag of tortilla chips. He opened the bag, emptied the contents into a bowl, and placed it on the table.
“Oh, not much,” his mother replied. “You know me, all dressed up with nowhere to go.” She laughed. “My life story.”
“Ah, c’mom, Mom. You used to go out almost every Friday night,” he said, pouring fresh salsa into a dish and setting it down beside the chips. Matt pulled out the chair beside Susan for his friend, then he sat down beside his mother. Susan could feel Charlie’s knee brush up against hers. It sent shivers through her body. She took a sip from her wine and realized she had been drinking steadily, nervously, and her glass was almost empty. She looked over at her friend sitting across the table talking to her son, and wondered if she, if they, noticed. Suddenly, Charlie was refilling her glass. His hand touched hers lightly as he did.
“So, you guys have been neighbors for a long time, huh?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. Young men this good looking should be illegal, Susan thought as she checked him out from the corner of her eye.
“Yes, we guys have been neighbors for twenty one years. Since Matt was seven.”
“Sorry, I was being grammatically careless,” Charlie corrected. Susan smiled. “So, what do you do?” he asked her.
“I’m director of marketing at Thresh Allen.”
“Really? Very cool.”
“Very cool, and very busy,” she replied with a chuckle. “And you?”
“I’m a junior partner at Braun and Gallant, the law office downtown.”
“Really? she said, stunned. “How old were you when you started, twelve?”
“Very funny,” Charlie said with a genuine laugh, again his eyes twinkling. “I look younger than I am, always have. I’m actually ten years older than Matt. We play hockey together, that’s how I know him.”
“I see,” Susan said, feeling warm. Matthew and Liz had been engaged in conversation but suddenly joined in on theirs.
“Oh yeah, is Charlie telling you how we met? He literally crushed me into the boards during the first game of the season,” Matt said, swallowing his beer. “I haven’t been the same since.” They both laughed. “And of course he’s built like a brick shit-house, so I wasn’t going to retaliate.” Susan stared at him. Yes, he sure is built, she thought, checking him out. Solid yet lean – and wow, is he handsome.
“Will you two excuse us for a minute?” Liz asked as she stood up. “Matt has to help me fill out those damn tax forms. I’ve been putting it off for weeks.” She paused. “You okay,” she asked, looking over at her friend. “We won’t be long.”
“No problem, Liz,” Susan replied, scooting them out of the room with her free hand, while the other hand held her wine up to her lips.
“Yeah, no problem,” agreed Charlie. “I was just about to ask Susan to tell me stories from your long-time friendship.”
“Oh, we have some good ones, that’s for sure.” Matt and Liz left the room, leaving an undeniable electricity hovering above the kitchen table.
Charlie stood and walked behind Susan’s chair. She could feel his solid, six foot frame brush past her, feel his sexual energy. His hand touched her shoulders as he passed. She held her breath while he closed the window and walked back to his seat.
“You looked like you might be a little cold,” he said.
“Thank you.” Her groin began to tingle.
“So tell me, is there a Mister in your life?” Susan blushed at the question, and saw a grin cross Charlie’s face.
“No, no Mister, as you call it. Liz and I were both single moms together. Good support, you know?” Charlie nodded.
“So, there’s no one in your life?” he asked again. She looked at him coyly, absentmindedly rubbing her neck and cleavage. Charlie couldn’t help but notice.
“Not anymore. My kids are grown and gone, like you.” She offered him a teasing smile. “Well, I guess they aren’t as old as you. Uh, how old are you anyway?”
“Old enough,” he said not missing a beat.
“Oh, come on now, you can’t be serious?” He stared at her with his piercing blue eyes.
“I couldn’t be more.” He reached out and stroked the hand that cupped her wine glass. Her fingers were smooth against his large, rough ones. She looked up, feeling weak, breathless. She wanted to talk to him, to say something, but words were locked in her head, and would not escape her lips. His fingers brushed loose strands of her dark brown hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ears. They lingered there, playing with her ear lobe, grazing her smooth, thin neck, which, without thinking, she craned toward his touch. What am I doing, she thought, but couldn’t stop if she tried. His hand slowly crept down toward the open collar of her crisp, white blouse, where just enough lace from her bra peeked out. While her hand remained unmoved on her wine glass, her breath was quick and erratic. Now her entire body tingled, and she could feel the sensation of warmth in her panties, a feeling she’d missed, a feeling she’d been longing for.
“How long has it been, Susan?” Charlie asked in a smooth, deep, seductive voice, his hand reaching toward her plump breast. Susan’s breath caught.
“What? How long since what?”
“You know,” he continued, gently stroking her soft skin. Susan laughed, and pulled away, but just slightly.
“Long enough, smart-ass,” she said to him with a flirty giggle. He returned her good humor.
“Good, then we’re on the same page.”

…To be continued…

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Peel it off…

 

Photographer: Anonymous

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If you’d like to be a contributor to our Wednesday photo day, please email your formatted shot to madlakepages@gmail.com with all pertinent information.

 

 

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