Pout Erotica

Bringing my erotica to you...

Friday, January 28, 2005

Pout Erotic-3



Five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Weekend here I come!

I slip the keys in the ignition and push the button to let the top down on my convertible before I inhale the air deeply. Ahhhh. Nothing like the smell of wet sand after a fresh rain. I smile at the sun before pealing out of the parking lot, tire squeal covering up my laughter.

I tell you, Monday through Thursday I’m as low-brow and conservative as they come. But Friday after lunch, I strongly resemble a kid going to Disney World. I can’t wait to leave. Can’t wait to forget about work for two whole days.
I pump up the radio’s volume as "Got to be Real" blares out the speakers. Uh uhm! I love me some old school R & B. Whenever I hear this particular song, my body just starts bopping to the beat on its own. I don’t care where I am, my hips start swaying and my head dipping.

I wink at two young guys in an Escalade smiling at me. They station search until they find the one I’m listening to and we bop heads in unison. One thing about our people, we love us some music.

Dog! I should have known they weren’t going to act right. The driver is now mouthing the words, his facial expressions exaggerated. The passenger is—oh, my goodness!—sticking his finger in his mouth then running it down his chest. Uhmp. Wonder what that means?

I just shake my head before twirling my hand—index finger extended—in the air on the long "Reeal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal-eal!" Then I shoo-doop my butt off with Cheryl Lynn. Ain’t no young busters gonna steal my joy. The Escalade’s horn is now beeping at me. I ignore them while I twitch hips to the final "Da-dump!" We both stop at another light, them beeping, me ignoring.

Wait a minute! Ah snap! This is my jam! I writhe like a snake as "Let’s Do It Again" oozes out the speakers. Ain’t no other song in the world can get me in the mood like this one can.

"Sweet love in the midnight. Good sleep come morning light." Sang, Mavis!

My husband’s face swims before me. I feel the meltdown in my body, hoping fiercely that he is home ’cause I’m sure ready to do "it" again. The Escalade gives me one last beep before speeding past. I’m glad. I was tired of chaps invading grown folk’s space.

"I like the ladies. So fine with their pretty hair." Pop Staples is doing his gig now and I help him along, cruising and smooving to the groove. I reach home but sit out in the driveway waiting for the last "Woo-hoo-a-hooooo." I’m fired up by this time. Davante’s car is here so y’all know it’s on now!

I spring through the door like a bunny on crack. "Baby!" I yell as I drop my keys and walk through the foyer looking for my hunk of burning love.

I hear, "Don’t take another step," coming from the direction of the den.

"What?" I ask, confused. Did something happen? Is something wrong?

The next sound I hear is the opening bars of that set-the-church-on-fire song from The Color Purple, "God Is Trying to Tell you Something." Now, whereas old school R & B gets me hot, gospel music turns my husband on! Yeah, he’s a deacon, teaches Sunday School and the whole nine yards, but I tell you, after church, we don’t go out to eat. Uh uh. We got bizness to tend to at the house, if you know what I mean.

Davante’s shoulder dips around the corner before pulling back. I hear him moaning with the song and my lower body starts leaking.

"Speak, Lawd."

The shoulder dips back into view then the other one. I now realize that he is "choir-rocking" his way to me. And, as I look further, he is wearing only a hip towel. Yeah, baby!

"Speak, La-aw-awd. Speak to me."

Step. Sway.

"I want you to speak to me." His husky tenor ad libbed. "Open your shi-ir-irrt. And let me see."

I rip my blouse open, my see-through bra visible.

"Speak, Lawd." Step. Dip this time. Sway.

I became the background singer for his lead vocals. "Speak to me." I step, sway with him.

"I was so bli-i-ind. Now I just wanna see."

I unhook my bra. "Speak to me."

"Speak, Lawd."

We are only five feet apart when he drops his towel.

"Ah yes, speak to me, baby. Speak!" I yell as I looked at all that nakedness that was soon to be mine.

"Then you spoke to me." He swivels his hips.

My blood pressure spikes my brain cells. "Speak to me! Speak to me! Yes!" I was all off beat but didn’t care ’cause I felt a touch of the Holy Ghost as I watch him swivel again.

"Ah, La-aw-wd! You spoke to me." His fingers trace between my breast.

I didn’t know what he told him, but something told me to grab ahold and work him for all I was worth. I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. He backs me into the wall, lips fused with mine. The song speeds up and he starts grooving me to the beat. By the time we get the fast part where they sing, "He is trying to tell you something!" Davante is pistoning like a champion. My mind floats away as I "speak" and tell him plenty of things with my hips and lips.

I knew he was nearing the end of this short journey when he shouts in my ear, "I’m telling you something, baby! Do you hear me? Do! You! Hear! Me?!" His hips punctuate the words.

"Yes! Baby, I hear you! I hear you!" I scream as the shivers run down my spine and my pelvis staccatos him to the beat.
He grunts.

I moan.
Then louder…

Finally, my legs are let down to the floor and we stand hugging, sweat coating both of us. We rock and hum to "Just a Closer Walk with Thee," cooling down. My body is still throbbing, still tingling as he rubs my back.

Then…the beginning strains of his latest favorite gospel song, "The Devil Don’t Like It Cause I’m Blessed Like That." His hips began swaying and the "heavenly stick" begins rising.

Ah sukey, now!

A smile creeps onto my face as he rubs his chin across my cheek, kisses my neck. He whispers, "Baby, want to go for a two-fer?"

I can’t help myself. "Speak, Lawd!"

Monday, January 10, 2005

Good News

My story, "Possession" was just accepted by Underground Voices for February publication. It is definitely my most controversial work to date. I'm writing it from the viewpoint of a pedophile. You will definitely love it or hate it. Go figure.... http://www.undergroundvoices.com/UVMolare.htm

Saturday, January 08, 2005

Pout Erotica-2

All About D’BNJMN

It was one of those days where I actually considered suicide.
Oh, not for me…for other people in my life. Like the folks at the job that want me to work harder, faster and stay later, but go mentally retarded when I ask for a raise. Then the kids, who I’m convinced are autistic since they only know one word—“Moma!” –screamed at the top of their lungs every thirty seconds or so, waiting to pounce on me the moment I walk in the door.

Today, I try to block them out as they beg for the one thing I don’t have in the house—pizza. Did I say they were autistic? Well, I should have said they have Attention Deficit Disorder. They can only focus their attention when they want something but become deficient when I am demanding them to “Clean your room! Take out the trash! Go to bed!” Damn! Why did I cook the last Digorno two nights ago?

And let us not forget the headliner in this serial called “Life”—my husband. Deaf to their pleas, probably since the television’s volume is turned up to Sonic Boom level, he throws out words of encouragement. “Just go on back to town before you sit down and get tired.”

Can’t he see I’m already tired?

“And pick me up a six pack while you’re there.” Fixing his eyes on me, he leers. “Don’t take too long ‘cause I’m gonna take you in the back room and release some of that tension for you when you come back.” Great. More work.
Here I am living the Great American Dream—medium sized house, two cars—Lexus for him; minivan for me—two kids and a dog. Why does it feel more like the Great American Depression?

My hands clenched and unclenched the steering wheel—a pitiful substitute for my spouses neck. Ohhhh! I’m so frustrated. Why do I always have to go to the grocery store? And why does some must-eat-tonight food always pop up on a day when none can be found in the house?

I looked over the pasture, wishing I was a cow. Nothing to do but graze grass all day, drop a load of shit wherever I wanted to and nobody said nothing. Just let the earth do its thing. I laughed as I remembered the downside—the slaughterhouse. Well maybe I don’t exactly want that life, just a less stressful one.

As I continued my pity party, I noticed a bright red convertible edging up behind me, D’BNJMN on the front license plate. The top was down and I could see a White man wearing shades relaxing, one arm over the back of the seat as he drove.
Damn, he looks cool.

As the car grew closer, I realized that he was a lot older than I originally thought and amazingly, he had his shirt off.

That’s strange.

Looking in the rear view mirror, I could see that he was a tanned man with salt-n-pepper hair buzz cut in military style and his chest was coated in a thick layer of white hairs. His fingers were tapping to the beat of some song I couldn’t hear. Just chillin’, as the kids say. I smiled in spite of my deflated spirits.

I don’t know why, but as I drove, I kept glancing back at him. Staring. Driving. Staring. Staring. Driving. Maybe it was the car…or maybe it was because he was such an unusual site. Most men don’t drive around with their shirts off around here. I don’t know why, but they don’t, and especially not older white men. But there he was sure as the sun was shining.

Reaching a stretch of road that widened into straight-a-way for about a mile, I saw him turn on his blinkers to pass. I tried to act nonchalant as he slowly edged out onto the oncoming lane, taking his time.

As he came abreast of my van, I took a good look into the car. Girl, I almost flipped my vehicle!

Not only did that man have his shirt off, he didn’t have a stitch of clothes on at all! Nothing but skin being fanned by the air. And, he had a humongous erection! It must have been at least eight inches because it stood tall above the bottom of the steering wheel.

This man can’t be white! He must be mulatto or something Latino. Hah! Like I would know what a mulatto or Latin man’s erection looked like.

He glanced at me and lifted one finger in greeting—a pleasant, common how-you-doing everyday kind of greeting—before turning his attention back to the road.

My mouth dropped open at his lack of embarrassment.

The arm draped across the seat was removed and a hand placed around the base of his root. Caressing. Stroking.

Damn! I veered off the road, almost kissing a mailbox. Recovering quickly, I steered back onto the blacktop—estrogen surging; vaginal cells mass-producing coochie juice in milliseconds, the moisture leaking between my lips.

He looked momentarily startled then…he smiled.

My attention was drawn back to the tumescent protuberance as he gathered the tip in his hands, squeezing and encircling it with a fist.

Do you see this shit here?

His car kept pace with mine—twenty-five miles per hour. No faster, no slower. And my eyes kept pace with his hands while occasionally diverting their attention to the road.

His fingers stroked and pulled at his member in leisure. Without me being conscious of it, my fingers begin rubbing and pulling at my own crotch. I wouldn’t have realized it at all, but I suddenly needed to turn on the air conditioner and I couldn’t understand where my other hand was.

Memories of life before the husband and kids sprang to my mind.

Oh, how I remember all the times I rode down this same stretch of road with James, Henry or Bryan, stroking them while they drove and letting them stroke me. One time, I even sucked on one of them…I can’t remember who right now and it doesn’t matter either… and when he came, he drifted into oncoming traffic. The blare of the oncoming car’s horn made him open his eyes and swerve back into the correct lane. It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves back then. Just strolling down memory lane…I tell you, I could have laid back on that seat and brought myself to climax in seconds.

I looked back at the man.

His hand was moving faster now. My hands moved faster, too.

His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his lips. I followed suit.

He seemed to really be enjoying himself. Me too.

On we drove for what seemed like forever, him giving me the show of my life—free—and me trying to prolong the entertainment indefinitely.

Girl, what if he pulls over and asks you to sleep with him? my mind inserts through my lust-fogged brain.

That thought slowed my rubbing hand momentarily.
What would I do?

Hey, it’s not like it’s something I haven’t done before and with the goods I’m looking at…Stop it! Stop it right now! I shake my head.

Looking back at him, I realized that his car was no longer even with mine. I could barely see the object of my fascination and I felt a pang of longing. I pushed down on the gas and my body quieted when I spied his member again.
You are sick!

No, maybe a Peeping Tom, but not sick. And I’m not really a Peeping Tom since he’s got his body on display. I’m just taking what is being freely offered. Nothing wrong with that, is it?

Suddenly, he sped up, trying to get in front of me.

Uh, uh! I ain’t ready for this show to end just yet! I sped up, cutting him off.
He began waving at me. I waved back. Then he waved some more. I waved some more, too. He pointed at me and then down the road.
Is he propositioning me?

My mind was made up in an instant. I pointed at his hard erection and leered like a fool.

As I saw the car abruptly decelerate, I swung my head to look back at it, wondering what was going on then…BOOM!

That was all she wrote until I woke up in the hospital.

The nurse said I’d been in a car accident with a cow. One had walked in the road and apparently I had hit it. The van was absolutely totaled.

When she asked me if I had seen it, I truthfully replied, “No.” Of course I hadn’t seen it because I was looking at the man, hung like a bull, riding in the red convertible. Thinking of this, I asked who had called 9-1-1. I almost fell out of my bed when she replied.

“It was our new pastor, David Benjamin,” she answered nonchalantly.

New pastor! That was a man of the cloth riding around buck-naked, stroking himself in the daylight? That ain’t even right! What kind of God does he serve? Ain’t nobody but the devil! Why, if this got out, he’d be run out of town! Just hog-tied naked and put on the first SUV moving…hog-tied…naked…eight inches hanging free… scared…begging for release…willing to do anything a helpful person wanted for freedom…any thing at all…Oooh! My body squirmed involuntarily.

Clearing my throat, I asked in my most mildly interested voice, “Now what church did you say he was pastoring?”
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Pout Erotica- 1

Welcome to Pout Erotica. Where my erotic fantasy become yours... Let's hit the floor running...


This morning my clit had an "Aha!" moment. That’s right. This heifer has been half-stepping since my divorce six months ago, but this morning, all the hormones, synapses and brain waves converged and that sucker woke the hell up! Straight up! Throbbing. Calling out to somebody’s son.

I rolled around in the bed—squirming, moaning, squishing and moahhhhning some more—before I let those fingers do some serious walking. What can I say? The wet spot could have been a commercial for bladder dysfunction problems. Oh well.

I washed every crevice like I was waiting to feel some dick instead of go to work. I drew the Frederick’s lace up my thighs like somebody was sniffing my cat. I closed the lace over tight nipples that hurt when I brushed against them. Oh, the mind screw I had going on!

I chose a black skirt since I didn’t want the wet spot to be so obvious. And believe you me, if the moisture didn’t stop soon, I would need a pantyliner. Nevertheless, I got my sexed up behind dressed and out the door. I viewed the city through new, hungry eyes. I’d never been on the prowl, but that’s exactly what I was doing, whether conscious of it or not.

I sashayed past the street worker and flipped my hip at the catcalls. Pushing open the door to the office, I cocked my head to the side when Kurt, the older security guard smiled at me. A brother I hadn’t seen before, with a LL Cool J thang going on, smiled too. Shit, he reminded me of this dude I’m met on a website, James L. just not as fine. Note to self: Stop visiting Jame’s website before I lose my mind.

"Must be jelly ’cause jam don’t shake like that!" Kurt crooned and rubbed his goatee.
Now normally, I just played his comments off. Maybe it was the nipples throbbing or the hormones surging or damn-near-James’ sexy ass sitting there making my clit grow into a man’s penis…anyway, I felt the need to respond.

I leaned my C cups, dark valley visible, on the counter and whispered, "Act right and you might get a taste test to let you know for sure."

Kurt’s ass fell straight out the chair!

The new guy and I both laughed as we helped him up. I was so horny, I made sure I copped a feel as I dusted off his butt and squeezed too long on his back. My skirt rode up to mid-thigh when I leaned over to get his dropped pen. I guess they could hear my coochie calling ’cause both of those busters were spouting broomsticks in their pants.

"Ah…let me get to my office and find out what’s going on. You two fine gentlemen have a nice day." I winked before I turned as nonchalantly as my hot behind could.

"Miss?" A deep baritone voice said to my back.

"Yes?" I turned back, surprised to see the new guy with napkins in his hands.

"Looks like Kurt spilt some water on you when he fell. There’s a wet spot on the back of your skirt." He said, hands holding out the napkins.

Yes, it’s wet, but not from what you are thinking. "What was your name again?" I asked, hand reaching for the napkins.

"Jonkent," he offered slowly, licking his luscious lips.

"Nice to meet you, Jonkent," I replied, my eyes roaming over the thick muscles, tight waist and heavy thighs that ought to be able to lock me into a…Shit! I shifted my eyes back to his face. When our hands connected, I tickled his palm with my fingers. You know, undercover booty call.
"Likewise." His eyes made promises. Mine told him to ‘put up or shut up.’ Brotherman didn’t know it yet, but I had a monster down there.

Kurt took this opportunity to cough. "Let the lady get to work, Jon. You don’t need to be standing so close to her," he admonished.

"Oh, that’s all right, Kurt. We were just introducing ourselves to each other." I smiled.
"Yes we were," Jonkent affirmed.

"Well, now you’ve met, so Jon, why don’t you go walk around the parking lot and make sure everything is doing fine?"

"Man, I just walked—" Jon began, confusion in his eyes.

"And you need to do it again!" Kurt snarled, cutting him off.

I watched the power play with interest—young warrior; older, experience warrior. Jonkent sighed, shook his head and smirked before he said to me, "We’ll continue this later."

As the door closed behind Jonkent, I thought I heard Kurt say, "Not if I can help it."

Reaching my office, I breezed in and called out a greeting to my colleague, Amy.

"You aren’t gonna be so cheerful in a sec," she responded.

I stood stock-still. "Why is that?"

"It’s your turn to do the research for this month’s project," Amy replied with a grin that I wanted to slap off her face.

I groaned mightily. Research was done in the "Stacks"—an area of the basement that had tons of old newspapers, books and magazines catalogued and available for our use. I hated the dark area. It was safe, but still, I hated being down in the basement. Shit! I grumbled to myself as I filled a cup with coffee.

"Hey, did you know you had a wet spot on your skirt?" she called out to my departing body.

Jonkent was reentering the building as I picked up the Stacks key from Kurt. He smiled wickedly.

"Need some help?" he offered.

An idea popped into my head. "Maybe. I can’t reach some of the files so why don’t you help me?" I smoozed.

Kurt took this moment to say, "I can help you if you need some help. Shit, anybody can get files off the shelf." The way he said it made me look at him closer.

He was tall and still looking good for a man in his fifties. But shit, I needed something young, hard and able to stand up to this soaking pussy I had at the moment and Jonkent fit the bill. This was heart attack pussy!

I smiled nicely and said, "Thanks Kurt, but I don’t want you to reinjure your back. Let’s let Jonkent get the ones off the top shelf this time, okay?"

He didn’t take that too well, but he couldn’t argue with my logic. He’d been out three months with his back and no way could he afford to have folks seeing him lifting heavy stuff. They’d cut his disability check off. He waved Jonkent on.

I unlocked the door with steady hands. I knew the deal and Jonkent knew the deal. I flipped on the light and started walking towards the back. I expected him to grab me before I’d taken five steps, but he walked behind me and no hands touched me. Guess I’ve got to make the first move.

I turned, prepared to pull him into a kiss when he…walked down another aisle.

Confused, I asked, "Where are you going?"

He pointed up. "The cameras can’t see us over here," he said for my ears only.

"Oh." I was so horny I’d forgotten about the cameras. "I thought you didn’t know the deal."

"Oh I know it and I plan to close it to perfection," he replied as thick hands ran up and down my chest then pulled me close.

I smelled the spicy cologne as I nuzzled his neck. He nipped my ear and my legs began to shake. I could smell my musky odor rising from beneath my skirt and hoped he could too. Fingers slid the skirt up and pulled the lace down. His tongue swirled in my mouth as his tips plucked my clit. I lifted my leg and did the Atomic dog on his crotch. Buttons flew as he pulled open my blouse and I did likewise with his shirt. His lips found my nipples. Damn, it’s been too long! I held his head tight to my breast as I reveled in the sensations.

Spotting a chair, I pulled his head up. "Sit down."

He plopped into the chair. I unzipped his fly and pulled the pants down to his knees.

"Damn." I couldn’t say shit else as I stared at the red-topped dick staring at me. That sucker was big, thick and hard…just like I craved them. When he pulled out the red rubber, I shimmied out of that lace and he held that baby straight as I slid down on the first diggity I’d had in six months. I felt like I was home. His rod filled every nook, cranny and crevice in my love hole. The juice factory worked overtime as I rode, rocked, bucked and kegeled the hell out of Jonkent. My ass was riding high with each stroke and pump. I swirled coming down and squeezed going back up. I was putting the hurt on this dude!


"Girl, you bought to kill that boy. Why don’t you let me help you release that tension," Kurt said in my ear.

Shit! This is my fantasy!

I only missed a stroke as I felt another "Big Daddy" knocking at the back door. Kurt took his time pushing at the sphincter. I tried to slow down, but I’ll be honest, anal sex drives me straight out of my mind. I can’t do shit but fuck like a bunny on crack. This time was no different.

Just as soon as he was in me a few inches, I rocked like I was putting a baby to sleep. On the forward, Jonkent was deep in me, and backwards, Kurt was deep in me. Jonkent sucked my nipples; Kurt pulled my hair and gruffly whispered, "Fuck me like you own this dick, baby." Oooh yeah. He ain’t having a heart attack no time soon.

I sure enough rocked their asses then. Jonkent was gasping and the sweat was rolling down my back from Kurt. I didn’t want this love ride to end!

Then, those jokers tag teamed me. They both stroked deep at the same time. I could feel the tissue straining but damn it, put me in the hospital ’cause I ain’t getting off this ride just yet.
Pump. Jump. Hollering as I felt the needle pricks begin in my feet and move up my legs to…POW! I screamed from the orgasm. They hollered with me as they peaked simultaneously…

In the aftermath, I looked at my clothes and knew there was no going back upstairs for me. I looked and smelled like I’d been screwed. And I had. Deliciously.

"Either one of you got a safety pin in your drawer?" I asked as we walked to the door.

"Nope." They both replied.

"Extra shirt?"


"Let me borrow it."

Kurt looked at me in horror. "You aren’t going upstairs in my shirt are you?"

"No indeed. I’m telling them I’m sick and I’m going home."

"Oh." Kurt said with relief as he removed his shirt.

I pulled Kurt’s shirt over my torn blouse and pushed open the door. They stood back, I guess wondering what I would do next. I stood still and gave them the "look."

"Y’all coming with me or what?" I said with a sexy smile.

They smiled together and said, "Hell, yeah!"

I giggled. I planned to do plenty of riding and none of it was on the road…

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