Vanilla Erotica
"Chores," an erotic sex story by Alice Sturdivant
The voice slid over her shoulder like skin-warm velvet. Sooner than she thought; later than she hoped.
“I could not stay away,” he teased.
Corinne felt his smile in the way his breath tickled the tight spirals at her nape. Glad he came to her first – her resolve to stay from him having thinned some time ago: how long had it been? Three…no, two days? Worse than a drug, Henri was like blinking, like breathing. With a single touch of his lips to her neck, Corinne’s fingers had forgotten the keyboard, the screen, the list. The items upon it.
“I am glad,” Corinne admitted. She knew better than to take his seeming capitulation for anything other than an opening salvo. The dusk and meager light of the laptop screen made Henri’s hands a series of ink-blue shadows and planes, questing down her bare arms, turning on tiny flickers of lust until they met her fingertips. The matching bands there glinted for a moment, then went dark as Henri gently removed her hands from the keys, placing them flat upon the desk, his palms pressing hers into the smooth wood. Reminding her of the time she had done the same to his, ordering him not to move them, lest she stop the enthusiastic sucking of his cock. He had not done so; his hips had been another matter.
“Stand up.” Again Henri pressed his advantage. When they first met, his voice unnerved her; his Senegalese-French accent seemed far too charming for the timbre so deep it was almost guttural. A shared bottle of the university’s best - which wasn’t saying much - merlot, a discussion of poetry, an argument that she’d purposely provoked just to hear him excited, and the gasp-inducing heat of his eyes on her erect nipples as she’d grown aroused just listening to him win, she’d decided his voice, like the man, wasn’t a dichotomy at all, but a promise. Like thunder on a cloudless night.
She obeyed, but slowly. A little bit of a cheat, pushing her ass out as she rose from the desk chair, the excuse of a pair of shorts frayed at the hem, tickling the nut-brown globes of her cheeks , the thick thighs Henri had lain between more nights than not, and the lips of her already-wet quim. His soft hum of surprise – and pleasure – made her smile. Bloody right, she thought.
“Take off your shirt.” Corinne drummed her fingers on the desk: another challenge. The chair rolled from behind her, and was replaced by hard, hot skin. Accepted. The hands left hers, and for the moment she was bereft - until the flimsy cotton tank top slid up her torso, over her naked breasts, her arms, wrists, and fingers, that had left the desk of their own volition. His presence behind her seemed to sear her backside, even as her nipples and the tender undersides of her wrists and forearms prickled with cool air – and anticipation.
“Commençons,” His impatience rumbled down her spine, followed by his fingers. Corinne’s thoughts of victory were erased by the gentle tugging of the waistband of her shorts. Too late she realized the tactical error her tease had cost her: her thighs apart, the fringed seam of the shorts were a far too convenient temptation indeed. Henri’s bare feet quickly braced inside her own, his hands and back bracketed hers against any defense she thought to mount. Her own sighs and sharp gasps of pleasure echoed by his own hums of contented triumph, he delicately tormented her with her own weapons: the shorts, her ass, her clit, the lips of her pussy, her own lust that dampened the cotton easing between her thighs. She could feel the familiar coiling of her orgasm gathering just beneath her skin. “Say it,” he urged, accent as thick as the cock she knew was waiting for her, just out of reach.
RK 12 by Russ Karel available at ObsessionArt.com
And then, even through the haze of want, she knew his mistake. Straightening against him, using Henri’s forearms as leverage, pressing her naked back against his torso, Corinne felt his sigh of not just desire, but relief. With a small smile, she undid the button and zip of the shorts, so sodden with her want that she had to push and wriggle them from her thighs. Henri sounded almost gracious. “Yes,” he said, reaching for her hip and tugging her back onto him, nudging the fat head of his cock between the underside of her cheeks, past the slickness of her thighs, just to the lips of her pussy, where he could feel the heat, the warmth, the triumph…
“No,” Corinne whispered, tightening her fingers on his skin, stilling him.
“Corinne,” he began, the word drawn out like a growl. She felt the slightest tremor in his thighs, the muscles in his arms against hers bunching against the desire to move forward. Against losing.
“What, Henri?” Her own voice, she knew, had its charms as well. A slight southern drawl that reminded him of languid childhood afternoons and days too hot to do anything quickly, he had described it to her during their honeymoon in Charleston. “But thicker somehow,” he said. “Like the air here, in summer.”
“Sticky sweet,” he’d called it. Like her. And then he’d dipped his fingers into her once more to underscore his meaning.
And now she stirred her sticky sweetness around the head of his cock, eyes closed, lips bitten against the word that was building against her teeth even as she tried to seduce him into uttering it himself. Her orgasm was a hot bulb of flesh they both danced around, daring the other to burn against it.
“Corrine,” Henri groaned. “Your cunt is so hot,” He drew out the words, let his accent infuse them. “I can feel you wanting to push back on me, slide all of this cock into you again and again, slow and easy, just how you like it. I know what you need…” Corinne felt a shudder at the words, and instantly stilled her hips lest she do exactly that. The cunt in question flexed almost in mutiny, wanting what she would not take. His cock twitched enticingly. But the quickening of his breath behind her ear was too much of a giveaway; what would have been a thrust was merely a parry.
“You know what we need, Henri, come on,” she answered sweetly. And used the last weapon in her arsenal: “It’s…it’s not even late, and the list…” she nodded toward the dark screen saver of the laptop screen. “only a few things, baby,” Her own voice sounded rasping, pleading. A fitting accompaniment to the thin logic she presented.
“A few things only?” Corinne could tell he was all but gritting his teeth. “You swear?”
She felt him drawing back for the first stroke before she could even answer. “I prom…”
“Yes…” Henri lunged into her, cursing under his breath from pleasure or the knowledge that he’d lost, she didn’t care, could only lean forward and brace herself as he stroked deep, hard, ravenous, just as he’d said. And then their will was one, brown bodies coiling and springing against each other. Give and take indistinguishable; divided forces now toward a shared goal.
Corinne heard herself almost chanting the word as they fucked: Yes, Henri, yes, baby, just like that, please, yes God, oh yes... She was able to say it, now that the battle was won and she was coming around him, the push and pull of will not nearly as sweet as that of flesh. Henri laughed as he spurted into her, that small triumph not gone unnoticed.
They panted, grinning; Henri chuckled a bit at how Corinne’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for the mouse. The laptop screen came to life, revealing the as-promised short grocery list.
Marriage was all about how you navigated the little things, they’d learned. Like chores both of them hated. Like grocery shopping. The first big fight had been not about money, or cleaning, but the trip down to the market for food and provisions, of all things. The subsequent solution hadn’t been to get them delivered, or even to go together. It was a more creative one, and definitely sexier. One that had yet to fail.
“You know the rules,” Corinne whispered, allowing herself to sound just the tiniest bit smug as she pressed the print icon. “First one to give in…”
“Merde,” Henri sighed and kissed his wife’s cooling shoulder. He slipped from her and snatched the paper from the printer, and gave her a playful slap on the ass before he headed across the hall for a shower. Corinne turned her attention back to the list, realizing she’d forgotten to add salmon. There was no mistaking the smile as she opened another file and began another list for next week.
Thrust. parry.
Originally published August 2010