love in bed

erotica by j.j.kirnan

copyright 2003-19 jjkirnan all rights reserved

{all nice in me}

“Think you’ve got it?”


“Repeat it back to me.”

“You’ll be seated at eight. I’ll be your waiter. You’ll say to go slow. At the end she’ll want dessert, you’ll put up a fight against it, but then you’ll give in.”


“You’ll order two slices of the gâteau au chocolat, but I’ll bring just one to the table and say it’s the last one. Instead of serving it to her, I’m supposed to put it down for you. You’ll take a bite right away.”


“Then I’m supposed to run away and keep everyone away from your table.”


“There’ll be trouble over the chocolate.”


“Okay, I’ve got it,” said the waiter.

“You have my charge card number. Put the dinner on it. I’ll slip your tip to you in cash when you serve the gâteau.”

“Okay, Mr. Pell.”

The waiter waited. He should have walked away, but instead he waited. Then he asked.

“Mr. Pell, it’s none of my business, I guess, but would you be willing to tell me what you’re going to say tonight? Your punchline? The whole thing’s leading up to some big question or announcement, right? When she gets mad you have the chocolate?”

“Sorry. Private.”

Seeing the look on the waiter’s face, he took pity.

“Are you trying to figure out how to say something to someone?”


“Keep your breathing steady. Realize you’re playing for all the marbles. Reach down in for the most dangerous thing in your gut. No more than seven words. Risk everything.”


Mr. Pell played it well, early that evening, by taking charge. At first, she resisted, claiming it was her turn to run everything, then gave herself into his control when he uttered a certain promise in her ear. He made up the game. The rules. He began giving intimate orders, which were obeyed. He teased in the shower, touching without letting her touch, her hands raised high above her head in imaginary bondage. He ordered her to let him kiss without her kissing back and made her shudder from tenderness in his hands on her undefended ribcage.

The exquisite arc to full bloom required perhaps ten minutes of touching after the shower. Then, he was in. A stroke. Another. Then out, all the way out, that sweet hollow feeling of loss, yes, that ripe male sadness when withdrawing unexpended, a melancholy women do not understand.

Her head fell back. Her arms circled his neck, legs cinching tight around his waist. Her bottom rested on the dressing table, just on its edge. He stood planted solid in front of her.

 Now he lay his organ against the orifice – not in – slipping against lips with the underside of his cock.

“Rub me,” she said, voice thick.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Rub me.”


“Please please please. Oh please, in.”


He passed his hands under her thighs, circled around to the mouth between, put fingers in place on the lips, pulled them apart and pinned them back, laying open the tender flesh. Then he renewed his slithering attack. His organ slipped along the lips and pressed against the glans each time.

“Rub me...”

“What did you say?”

“Rub me. Rub me rub me rub me.”

He let more weight come into play. Oh, luscious sounds. Lust-insanity to penetrate grew gigantic, yet the agony of withholding prevailed. The male ache increased.

His left hand came up from below and tangled in her hair. He guided her head into the position he wanted, flashing his eyes inside hers for a wounding second, then opened her mouth with his, launching a giant kiss, its eroticism uninhibited and voluptuous. Her tongue tantalized, taunting him to chase it around inside the kiss, sometimes in her mouth, sometimes in his. Never, not for an instant, did his cock cease its rub, perfectly positioned against the sensitive folds of her vee.

When she reached the edge of screaming inside the kiss, he stood up taller, forcing her head to bend further in supplication. It brought the underside of his cock more rudely in contact with her bud. He poured his mouth into her above and let his weight tell below.

At the first strong clench of her pelvis, he pulled out of the kiss to watch her face, saw the sure sign of the going, the going before the coming, and soon the sailing afar of body and soul, her breath running away like a horse wild with fright, eyes widening from a shocking vision fast approaching, skin flushing red, and that distinctive scent, like an exotic mushroom steeped in musk.

Her uninhibited bellow shook the walls. “Oh oh oh oh. Oh no, no, no, oh fucking no.”

“All gone,” he said, whispering into her screams. “All gone.”

He continued to caress her ecstatic organs with his cock all through her flight to its shuddering, gripping end, continuing to rub as she floated free, mouth opening to emit lovely descent-vowels, drifting back looking unraveled – no attempt to hasten composure –deliberately letting him see her carnal satisfaction, her love-coated breaths filled with words of endearment, dirty ones and sweet ones.

“That was a good one,” she said with a laugh, eventually, with shiny eyes, still nearly breathless, clinging to his body like a primate on a tree-trunk. “My toes curled good.”

He rocked his pelvis, to keep alive the heat as yin pressed yang. She cooed with each motion, and then looked him straight in the eye.

“My turn now. Do what I say.”

He nodded.

“Put it in,” she said, voice aching and naked.

The tip lowered. The shaft changed angle. He let his weight fall, and the puffed lips parted sweetly. Like a forlorn sojourner finding the way, he slid in. Wet insides encased him. The sweet sadness vanished.

Then she was saying things while his strokes accelerated.

“I love to come.”

“Yes.” Grunting, thrusting.

“I love to come.” So infuriating, her calm salacious talk while he thrashed away. “I love to come, then open wide for you.”

He slammed in hard, many times, until she could not speak, only give gurgling grunts on each stroke. Then he stopped for drama. She whispered in his ear. “Push my legs apart.”

He put both hands behind her knees, forced them up and wide, splitting her open. She cried out with shock. He resumed his thrusting.

“Yes, like that, split me, fuck me. Fuck. Me. Like. That. Like. That. Like. That.”


“Spread me open, fuck me.”


“Deep, deep, fuck me, fuck me.”

He stood strong, planted on the floor, thrusting with power. The sounds and scent of sex surrounded them, bringing him right to the edge of his own going. At the first sign she laughed.

“There. There you go now.”

He passed all striving, setting free his strategies, let them be taken up, swept away. Nothing could stop them from winning.

“Give me,” she said. “Splash me.”

Her hands gripped the vanity table top to brace for it. She shook her legs free from his grip, held them away from his body with strong thigh muscles, more split-apart than ever. This act of surrender sent his stomach falling, falling.

“Right here,” she said. “Wide-open girl. Fuck her.”

A final, massive stroke. His voice roared out. In her vagina the spray deluged the flesh, soaking her, thick and warm. He put it all in, splash after splash.

They stayed joined and finished long, with laughter and looks, deep looks of sex-pleasure, the most intimate truths that can be. They did not avoid the truth reflecting in each other’s eyes. She squeezed. He contracted his shooting muscles to feel his organ pulse inside the slippery warmth.

“This is what you do to a girl,” she said.


“You make her want sex.”


Finally, she eased off the vanity to stand in his embrace, still filled with cock. She didn’t want to let it go, she said, don’t take it out, she said, don’t ever take it out, she said.

He did, though.

Then, he watched to see if she would carry out the plan. Smiling up at him, she reached for the clean black cotton under-thing lying on the bed. With deliberate grace, she pulled the tiny garment on over hips.

“All nice and cozy,” she said, tugging it into place, fitted into the delta. “All nice in me.”

She reached for her dress lying across a chair, an ephemeral aqua, with spaghetti straps. A shudder ran through him when she settled the dress in place having donned nothing else under. Very few women could bring this off with taste and modesty yet still allow a simmering tease for the eyes. After a quick few runs of a brush through her hair, stockings that had their own way of staying up, and silver dress sandals, she was put together, a lovely package with a ripe liquid center.

He savored every detail of this femme dance while slipping into his dinner clothes.

This is how you want it, the echo of a female screaming with sexual joy in your ears, your own libido drained out, its juice soaking the womb of your mate.

She lifted her face to him, glowing with color and heat, the flush of orgasm her only makeup. He knew the primal scent was strong on her skin. So too, for him.

“As you instructed, this is how I’ll be. All evening. Aware of it inside me,” she said.


“Every once in a while, look at me a certain way. Show me you’re feeling it, right then. Specifically. Squeezing.”

“Like this?”

Watching her expression, his chest filled with the thrill of her unashamed daring.



“Let’s go. I hope you’re hungry, this dinner’s going to be really special.”

“As long as there’s chocolate at the end,” she said.