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Authors: Amelie

Tags: #sex, #erotica, #mf, #ff

Alphabetical Orders

BOOK: Alphabetical Orders
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Alphabetical Orders

Amelie

Published by e-ROTICA, 2014.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ALPHABETICAL ORDERS

First edition. September 17, 2014.

Copyright © 2014 Amelie.

ISBN: 978-1310385995

Written by Amelie.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

A is for Andrew

B is for Brian

C is for Call the Midwife

D is for Dawn

E is for Eric

F is for Face Time

G is for Gail

H is for Harry Harding

I is for Ice

J is for Janus

K is for Kitchen

L is for Lipstick

M is for Massage

N is for Nails

O is for Oh My Gosh

P is for Pearls

Q is for Q.T.

R is for Raspberries

S is for Snow

T is for Tattoos

U is for Ulrika

V is for Venus

W is for Weddings

X is for XTC

Y is for Yes

Z is for Zut Alors

A is for Andrew...

 

for those who have loved to love

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

M
aybe it was turning forty that made Simon curious, who knows?

He’d never asked about sex before and suddenly he was pestering me about all sorts of things. What did I like? Was there anything he could do better? Did he ever do anything that turned me off? That kind of thing. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he kept at it. In the end, I had to throw him something. 

“When you’re giving head,” I said, “take your time. Keep a rhythm going for a while so I can settle down.” I bought him a copy of Cosmo. We read the article on foreplay together. It suggested a man could use his tongue to trace the alphabet on the softer parts and that if she hadn’t had an orgasm by the time he reached Z, he could maybe write out a poem or some sexy words.

He was keen to give it a try straight away and it definitely worked for me. I’d not had such a good time since we were married.

He still wasn’t satisfied though and kept at me with the questions.

What kind of things did I think about when we made love?

“I just think about things I’ve read in books,” I told him, “and things we’ve done together.”

Of course it’s not true, but I don’t want to break his heart.

As he slips his head between my legs and gently inserts a finger, I get ready to lose myself while he takes me for another lesson in alphabetical order.

I feel his tongue circle an A.

A is for Andrew

A
ndrew used to come over to clean the pool every Thursday in the summer of 2007. At first, I didn’t pay him any attention. All I had to do was to let him through to the back and let him get on with his business.

It wasn’t until the temperature broke all state records that we really met. He came to the back door and asked me if he could have a cold drink to keep him hydrated. I said, “Sure you can, come on in.”

I went to the refrigerator and took out a carton of lemonade and a couple of glasses that I was keeping in there to stay chilled. I filled the glasses with ice and poured the lemonade over.

When I turned around, he was sitting at the table.

I let my eyes wander around his body. Boy, had I been blind. The guy was gorgeous. I mean, drop dead. Without his shirt, I could see the tone of his muscles. A drip of sweat ran down from his hair, along his beautiful neck and across the firm, flat chest of his. His nipple was hard, so when the sweat rolled over it, it changed direction slightly. It slipped its way down into a line of hair that perfectly split his tight stomach and carried on right down to the belt of his jean shorts. I’d have given anything to have followed that sweat to where it was going. Just anything.

I passed him the lemonade and he looked at it with his frost blue eyes. “Thanks Ma’am,” he said, all Southern and romantic. It sent a shiver down my back that ended up right in the middle of my womb.

Andrew didn’t drink it right away. He rolled it over his forehead and then touched it gently against his smooth chest. I was so jealous of that lemonade I must have looked green.

He gulped it down in one and had another and we talked about the weather and about him working his way through college with the cleaning company.

I was hoping he might get round to talking about his girlfriends or about the way I was feeling neglected stuck indoors all day while my husband went to work, but we never did. He just finished up with his drink and excused himself like a real gentleman.

He never came inside again, but when I think about it now, we always have the conversation we never had. I go over and sit next to him. My hand reaches over and touches his skin. It’s hot and soft. I feel the taught muscle under his skin quiver as I stroke. I scratch his neck lightly with the tips of my perfectly manicured fingernails and let my lips whisper my desire into his ear.

B is for Brian

B
rian was my first. I’d never have picked him to take my cherry, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Truth is I’d been trying to lose my virginity for months. I was going out in the skimpiest clothes I could find. I’d snogged married men in the backs of trucks and played spin the bottle at parties. I got close a few times, too. There was the cowboy who had his fingers right inside my panties when my mum came out onto the porch to see what was going on. And there was the boy who came over on the German exchange who got me all hot and bothered and then tore a hole in the condom when he was opening the packet with his teeth.

When Brian took me out to the cinema, I made sure I took a whole pack of condoms and didn’t let him touch them until I got one onto his manhood.

I have no idea what movie we went to see that night. We spent the whole night on the back row exploring each other. He had my hands inside my bra before the adverts had even finished. Not that I minded. He did this thing with my nipple that was kind of like a pinch but wasn’t so hard. It got me so horny I would have let him take me right there on the seats if there hadn’t been other couples nearby.

After the show was over, he took me for a walk to the woods at the back of the church.

We got to necking. He was all over me like an octopus and I let his hands go wherever they wanted.

They were up inside my halter-neck, stroking the back of my thighs, pinching the bottom of my ass. Eventually he slipped a finger inside me. I remember the gasp that came out of my mouth. I was so wet down there his finger was able to get deep without him even trying.

I pulled open the buttons of his shirt. He wasn’t anything special, but I didn’t care. I leaned in and gave his nipple a bite. I don’t know if he liked it or not, he never said, but his cock turned hard as iron when I reached down to find him.

I did the condom thing this time. I ripped the packet carefully with my teeth and got the taste of rubber in my mouth. Then I pulled out the condom and reached down to find his shaft. I pinched the end just like we’d been shown in school. I’d done it so many times at home on bananas that I could have managed it without looking.

He had my panties down round my ankles and I rolled over onto my back and waited for him.

He was over me like a rash.

I felt him push inside.

I wasn’t to know, but he wasn’t well-endowed. Still, he was plenty big enough for me that first time.

I didn’t think it was as bad as some of the girls had told me. In fact, I was just starting to have a real good time when his body jerked and it was all over.

He smoked a cigarette when we were done. He told me a few stories, but he never laid another hand on me that night.

When I think of it, I always go to the moment when he lies on me. The second before he’s inside and my heart’s beating like a train. That’s the bit I like to remember. The part that turns me on.

C is for Call the Midwife

I
got into this series on the TV. It’s terrific. It’s even got me thinking about having children. Seriously.

When I told Simon he almost choked to death.

He’s never wanted children. That was part of the deal when we got married. To him the world’s all about money. He dresses up in his suit every day. He leaves for the bank before I’m awake and comes back for dinner. He likes everything clean and tidy and in its place.

‘Work hard, play hard,’ is his motto. What he really means by that is that he gets to play golf all weekend and has a pool in the yard and only drinks the finest wines. Having a baby would only mess that up.

And he says he likes me the way I am. Lithe and tight. Not a stretchmark to be seen.

I’m something he can carry on his arm when he takes me out so that he can show me off at the club or at parties or when we’re at the beach. I guess I can understand that. I’m comfortable with my figure the way it is, too.

“You’ve got to be kidding, right” he managed to say after a glass of water and a little sit down. “Is this just because of that serial of yours? I’ll tell you what. We’ll watch something later that will change your mind. We’ll give it a go and talk about it then.”

I didn’t think he meant it, but he did. He came down at 9 o’clock and took the remote control. He flicked channels and up came the titles for One Born Every Minute.

I’d seen the ads for the show. All that panting and screaming always put me off, so I never tuned in. Now I had to sit through it so that Simon could remind me why we won’t be having children.

There were two couples. One of the mothers-to-be was only just eighteen. She was gorgeous, sitting there in her hospital gown and making jokes about everything. The other was an older mother. It was her third child only for this one they were worried about the birth on account of her age.

The thing is I got quite into it. Even when the birthing started.

The young one was a hippy. She didn’t want any meds or anything. She just let her boyfriend suck on the gas and air. He was a stick of a lad who looked like he needed it. That, a good steak and a couple of days in the sun.

She knelt up on the bed and pushed her hands against the wall while she panted and moaned. It was awesome watching her. She took off her gown when she got too hot. All she had on was this skimpy vest that clung to her full breasts and finished at the top of her bump. When the baby popped, I almost cried. They put the baby straight on her chest after he’d been born. It was beautiful.

The other lady had no problems. She lay in the birthing pool just as if she were in a Jacuzzi on a cruise ship. Her tee shirt was tight and wet and her nipples shouted out through the fabric. When the time came, she just opened her legs and pushed and dug her nails into her husband’s hand. The head came out and the baby just sat there for a while. I started to panic. Didn’t they know the baby couldn’t breathe underwater? As it turned out, it’s OK. The baby doesn’t breathe until it comes out into the air.

It was lovely.

I was all ready to tell Simon that I definitely wanted a baby of my own when he came over.

He didn’t speak.

Instead he took my hand and pulled me up. He took me over to the middle of the room and ushered me down to the floor. I knelt down and he moved behind me, pushing me off balance ever so gently so that I had to hold on to the coffee table.

I felt his hands on my hips pulling at my skirt. It didn’t budge. I went to help him with the catch, but he’d already given up. 

He reached up and pulled my panties down to my knees.

I heard him unbuckle his belt. The sense of anticipation was unbelievable. I wanted him like never before. My pussy throbbed for him and needed something to squeeze.

His zip came down next and within a moment he was there inside me.

I heard myself moan as I thrust into him. I pushed hard off the coffee table and drove hard.

He was lunging like a warrior into me, hard and fast.

He was panting and swearing under his breath. “Fuck,” he kept saying. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Harder,” I told him. “Faster.” And he did.

The pleasure built up inside me until I couldn’t bear it any longer. I needed release. I reached down and put my finger on my clit. I didn’t even need to rub. My orgasm exploded through me like an earthquake. I got a second wave when I felt the heat of my man burst into me. We shuddered together for a good few seconds before he collapsed on top of me.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he told me later. “All those spread legs and that girl screaming like she was having great sex and I just needed to screw.”

I didn’t care what it was. It was extraordinary.

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