Robin Michelle Writes











Lisa slid down into the hot steaming bath, enjoying the pulsing of the jets against her tired aching body. She’d been waiting for this bath all week long, through meetings and arguments and messes that apparently only she could clean up. Coming home, she’d lit some aromatherapy candles, opened a fresh bottle of moscato, and let the tub fill. Dan had promised he’d leave her alone until she was out of the tub. Past experience led her to believe she’d get maybe twenty minutes of alone time before he came bursting in, needing her for some stupid thing that he really should be able to take care of on his own. So she was making the most of what time she did get. Relaxing music was playing, calming scents filled the air, and a cooling mask covered her eyes. Lisa sipped her wine and released a deep sigh.

It’d hadn’t been more than maybe fifteen minutes when Lisa felt Dan running his hand along her leg.

“Dan, come on, you promised to leave me alone.” She didn’t hear him respond, but his hand stopped. For a moment. And then it was joined by a second hand, wrapping around her other leg.

“Dan, I said stop!” Lisa tried to pull her legs away from him but the hands just tightened their grip. She reached up to remove the eye mask, to look him in the face, but then her arms were grabbed and pinned down. “Dan?”

Lisa fought the rising panic, focusing on what she was feeling. Clearly not hands, though they gripped her. They slid over and around her body smoothly, wrapping around her arms, her legs, her waist, holding her down in the tub. She counted – one, two, three, four, five, six… At least six, but maybe more… Three or more people? But she didn’t hear anyone. And really, whatever was grasping her, it didn’t feel human…

Tentacles. They felt like… tentacles.

Lisa wiggled, but it was no use – they only tightened more.

The tentacles on her legs pulled them apart while the ones around her waist moved up her torso towards her breasts. The touches were not in any way menacing. In fact, they were calming, soothing. Lisa felt herself relaxing into them, trying to think of it as an odd massage.

That worked, kind of, until they reached her breasts. The feeling was… arousing. The tentacles curled over and around her breasts, and she finally felt what could only be suckers on her nipples, pulling and squeezing them. Lisa whimpered as her nipples hardened and she felt a corresponding tingle in her pussy.

This was so not right, but she was trapped, unable to get away. She tried calling for Dan, but immediately a tentacle was there, covering her mouth, preventing her from crying out. And her body was betraying her, responding to this wrongness with arousal, no matter how much her mind fought it.

Another tentacle writhed its way up between her legs. The tip of it found her clit and stroked and rubbed. Without conscious thought, Lisa arched her hips, pressing forward against it, pleading wordlessly for more. The creature slithered yet another tentacle between her thighs. This one didn’t stop but slid right into her through labia lubricated by her arousal. And it kept sliding in, filling and stretching her until there wasn’t room for more. Then it started moving, pulsing.

Oh, god, she thought, I’m being fucked by a monster… and I’m enjoying it… Lisa gave up and gave herself over to the sensations, drowning in the caresses of the many tentacles wrapping and filling her body. She felt her orgasm building, rising to a higher peak than she’d ever felt before. At the moment of release, Lisa let go… and dissolved into foam.

**********

“Lisa? Lisa, honey, it’s been half an hour… Can I come in?”

Dan stopped just inside the bathroom and stared in horror as foam covered tentacles disappeared down the drain of an empty bathtub.



{1 April 2014}   Americano

I never learned his name, but thought of him as Americano as that was the drink he ordered every morning at the torrefazione. I watched him rush in, dressed for work in a fine suit, silk tie, and Italian leather shoes, briefcase in hand. He’d place his order imperiously, no ‘per favore’ or ‘grazie’, just a blunt “un Americano”. He’d check his watch while waiting for his drink, practically grabbing it from the baristo’s hand. I was amazed that nothing was ever dropped or spilled.

Even with this rude behavior, or perhaps because of it, I found him incredibly interesting, wondering what he did for a living, was he married (no ring), was he in fact American? As good as he looked in a suit, would he look as good in jeans and a t-shirt… or naked?

I envisioned and tried scenarios where I might be able to find out. I could follow him; or bump into forcing him to slow down. Or maybe get in line behind him and try to strike up a conversation. Following ended when he got into a taxi. Bumping into him just caused him to curse at me. And he completely ignored all of my attempts to talk with him.

Then one evening, while out for a head clearing stroll, I watched him exit a taxi and walk into a building just down the street from the torrefazione. As I passed him unlocking the entrance, I took a chance. “Good evening.”

He whirled around, grabbed my arm and forced me into the entry way, pressing me against the wall. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

My heart was beating so fast, my breathing was so rapid and shallow, the shock of his behavior so alarming, that it took me a moment to even begin to formulate an answer. He shook me, his hands gripping my arms so tightly I knew there’d be bruises.

“I-I’m not following you. I-I-I just recognized you from the torrefazione. I’m only trying to be nice.” I tried to wriggle free from his hold. When that didn’t work, I glared at him.

He stared at me as though trying to read my mind, then sighed and released me. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Rough week.” He passed a hand over his face, and I noted that his suit was rumpled, his tie loose, his expression one of fatigue.

“I truly didn’t mean to startle you,” I started as I moved away, back towards the street, “I’ll just leave now, okay?”

“Yes, yes, good night.”

I didn’t look back, but I could feel him watching me as I walked down the street towards my own apartment.

I never saw him again. A few days later, after noting his absence in the mornings, I walked back to the building he’d been going in to. It was locked up tight with a large ‘For Let’ sign in the front window. I thought back to that night, remembering his body against mine as he pressed me against the wall… I was pretty certain that was a gun I’d felt.



{1 June 2011}   Squeak!

Here’s my offering for Ruby’s #WankWednesday prompt of #squeak. Head over to her blog, The Erotic Notebook, to read more contributions.

********

*squeak*

*squeak*

*squeak squeak*

*squeak*

*squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak

squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak

squeak squeak*

“Stop!”

“What? *gasp* Now? *pant*”

“Yes, now. Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what? You’re moans of pleasure as I pound into you and nibble on your neck? Yeah, I heard those.”

*squeak squeak”

“I said stop – don’t move. I know I heard something squeak.”

“It’s just this old bed, babe. Once we’re done here, I’ll see about tightening up the joints *lick*”

“Would you please take me seriously. I know I heard something – not the bed – squeak. Right… by… my… ear.”

“Baby, hold still, don’t move, don’t turn your head, don’t….”

“AAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! Oh my god oh my god it’s a mouse, on the bed! Off off off!! Get off of me! Let me up! Oh my god oh my god oh my god yuck yuck yuck!”

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“Oh for the love of… put the pillow down. On the bed you dolt, not in front of your penis — unless your cock is made of cheese, I’m sure it’s not interested in it at all. Help me catch it. Damn, it’s fast. Ack. Crap. It’s heading your way, catch it catch it before… it… jumps… off… the… bed. Great. Now we’ll never find it. “

“Where’d it go? I can’t stay in here if there’s a mouse in here. What if it climbs back into the bed while we’re sleeping and and nibbles on — on — things. You have to find it, catch it!”

“Oh good grief. Get some crackers and a box or glass — I’ll lure it out, catch it and toss it outside.”

Half an hour later with the slam of a door.

“There, it’s gone. I’m going to bed.”

*squeak squeak*

“Seriously?”

“Babe, you’re my*nibble nibble* hero *lick lick*”

*giggle”

*squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak*



{4 May 2011}   Skating Around the Issue

Here’s my offering for Ruby’s #WankWednesday prompt of #skate. Head over to her blog, The Erotic Notebook, to read more.

******

We’d been skating around the issue for weeks, maybe months, but most definitely in the weeks since we’d sold the house. It was more in what we didn’t directly say, than in anything spelled out. Would we have one last fuck? One last time to seal the ending of our marriage and life together.

In no way would you describe our divorce as amicable, certainly not at the beginning. I’d truly surprised him when I filed and gave him the papers. Our marriage had not been the best, we’d both had our issues with each other, the things we wanted in our lives didn’t always mesh. But we held it together, at least until the kids were grown. As husband and wife we really didn’t belong together, however we made pretty good friends. And the sex, the fucking was almost always good (we never ‘made love’, it was always sex or fucking). So based on the friendliness and good fucking, he thought we’d go on together. I knew better. Needed better.

I filed; we fought; we cried; kids cried; he moved out; we started separating belongings, fighting even more over who got what. Things calmed and we worked together to prepare the house for selling. It was more than either of us wanted or needed, with only one child still at home. He found a place nearby, I made the decision to move to the coast, making a new start for myself away from our shared history.

And here I was, our divorce final and the house sold. I had suggested we meet one last time at the house for one final walk through, to make sure we really truly had gotten every last thing out. My expectations were that we’d do more than just walk around in the house — I suspected his expectations were similar. I’d brought a blanket and put several condoms in my purse; we’d been separated for over a year and was under no illusions that he’d been celibate.

Arriving before him, I wandered from room to room, remembering. Regretting that I’d never convinced him to be more adventurous — we’d never fucked anywhere but in our room and bathroom. I thought of how fun it would have been if he’d bent me over the living room couch, or the ottoman in the family room. Or laid me out on the dining room or kitchen tables. Countertops. Washer and dryer. Stairs and the landing. So many missed opportunities — because of him and his surprising prudishness.

I sat on the stairs facing the front door and waited for  him. My thoughts drifted, my imagination fired…

He came strolling up the walk, pausing for a moment when he saw me sitting there. Coming inside, he closed the door. We made small talk as we started in the basement, checking all the closets and cupboards, everywhere something might have been stashed. But we’d been thorough and found nothing. Pausing at the base of the stairs, things got awkward for a moment. We laughed. We went to hug good-bye and found ourselves frantic to get out of our clothes. We paused long enough for me to lay down the blanket and to toss a condom at him. He looked a little surprised at that, but put it on. We were rabid — clutching, grasping, groping, kissing, biting, licking. He twisted my nipples and bit my shoulders. I grasped his cock and squeezed and stroked. A hand moved behind me, squeezing my butt before spanking it. I gasped, and pulled harder on his cock in reaction. Keeping the one hand on my ass, he moved his other around to my mound, and slid it down between my thighs, pushing them farther apart.  A finger slid over my clit and into my cunt, spreading my wetness over my labia then up to coat my clit. He surprised me then by pushing me down on to the stairs and bending down between my knees. He rarely ever went down on me this way — he usually positioned himself so that I could pleasure him at the same time. But not this time. He quickly inserted two fingers, fucking me with them while applying tongue and teeth to my clit and lips. It didn’t take long for me to come hard, squirting all over his hand and down his arm. Withdrawing his fingers, he flipped me over, pushing fully into me with one hard thrust. My nipples brushed carpet as his hands gripped my hips tightly and he pounded me without pause. Very quickly I heard the change in him breathing that indicated he was about to come. It pushed me over the edge again, and I screamed my orgasm into the stairs as he came…

My phone rang, jolting me out of my reverie. It was him. He wasn’t going to make it. I picked up the blanket and my purse, and walked out the door without a single backwards glance.



Just another average ordinary Monday. Get up, feed and water the cats, shower, dress, bus then train to work. As I walked the mile from the train station to my office I wondered what I’d find waiting for me, how many emails and voicemails had been left for me on Friday. I’d called in sick. Of course, I hadn’t really been sick, just needed a break from the nonstop attention.

“Cairi, I don’t know what I did, but now I can’t find my start bar.”

“Cairi, what are all these marks in my document and how do I get rid of them?”

“I know I saved the spreadsheet before turning off my computer, but now it’s not where I put it.”

All day, every day, and I wasn’t even the computer support tech. Nope. I was an analyst, supposed to be spending my time collecting, reviewing, analyzing and reporting data. But I’d helped one person with their computer issues and suddenly I’d become the “go to” person. Even my boss constantly called me into his office to help him with his “computer” problems. I couldn’t help but wonder where the company had found these employees, how in this day and age there were still so many people out there who had no clue how to work on a computer. Seriously, there had even been more than one employee who hadn’t known how to turn on their computer, let alone actually work on it.

With a deep sigh, I pushed open the door.

“Oh, good, Cairi, you’re back,” Stace the receptionist blurted the moment he saw her. “I’ve been trying since Friday to print Dave’s schedule but I can’t seem to get it to work. Can you take a look at it for me?”

“Hi, Stace. Email it to me, and I’ll see what I can do, ok?”

I knew what the problem was — Stace never selected a printer — but there was no point in explaining it to him. I’d tried, several times, before realizing I spent more time trying to get through to him than it took to just do it myself.

Being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, I continued to my office. The best thing about being with the company as long as I had was that I had an actual office, with windows and a door, not a cubicle. When I needed to, I could close the door and shut out distractions. Which was what I did then. I needed as much uninterrupted time as I could get to go through and prioritize all the waiting emails and messages.

I hadn’t even made it through the voicemails before there was knock on the door and my boss, Dave Lewis, walked in and plopped down in one of the chairs facing my desk.

“Hey, Cairi, glad you made it in today. Have you had a chance to review the email I sent you on the Pearson project?”

As with everyone else in this company, no ‘how are you?’, “how was your weekend?”, “did you enjoy your day off?” I took a deep breath.

“Hi, Dave, nope, not yet. I haven’t even made it through all my voicemails yet. Can I let you know when I’ve looked it over and then we can discuss it?”

“Um, yeah, sure, just I really need you to get back to me before lunch. I’m meeting Rob Pearson then and I want to have all my ducks in a row.”

“Sure, Dave, moving it right to the top of my ‘to do’ pile,” I forced a smile and hoped that Dave didn’t note that my smile didn’t quite reach my eyes. One day off had clearly been nowhere near enough.

With a hearty laugh that proved he hadn’t noticed, Dave stood up and walked out of my office, pausing in the doorway.

“Oh, and when you get the chance, Stace seems to be having some sort of printer problem. He can’t get me my schedule — would you please see if you can help him with that? Thanks.”

And he was gone, leaving the door open behind him.

I debated just leaving it that way, but after only five minutes of overhearing multiple office conversations, including Dave’s conference call on speaker, it was clear that if I was going to be able to focus on any work, the door would have to be closed. Another deep sigh and I pushed myself up and out of my chair and shut the door, making sure this time to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign out.



{21 April 2011}   #Tilt

Inspired yet again by Ruby’s #WankWednesday, here’s my take on the prompt #Tilt. (And yes, I know it’s late, but I did start it on Wednesday :-p )

**************************

#Tilt

I groaned as I carefully lowered myself into the chair. I knew the chiropractor would ask if I knew how I’d thrown out my back.

I did.

The Tilt-a-Whirl at the fair.

Too many times on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

Too much sex on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

But he didn’t need to know about that. And I was old enough to have certainly known better.

I tried to relax as I waited, and my thoughts drifted back to the weekend…

Davis and I hadn’t been dating long and we were still deeply feeling that new relationship energy. You know what I mean… The “we want to fuck like bunnies every chance we get” energy.

It was the county fair and going sounded like fun. Holding hands while wandering through the grounds, checking out the animals, crafts & foods, listening to the music, going on rides, stealing a quick kiss, grope, stroke or fingering whenever & where ever we could.

The weather called for a sundress, so once I ditched the panties, Davis had full access. And he took full advantage, especially as night fell & the crowds thinned.

We discovered that some of the best shadowy areas were along and around the midway. The spacing & various shapes of the rides left dark nooks and crannies scattered throughout the area. We were tucked away in one, kissing and doing all we could to bring each other right to the edge, when I noticed the Tilt-a-Whirl & a crazy thought crossed my mind.

We’d already ridden it a couple of times, so I know which way the centripetal force would push as it whirled. I also knew from watching it that the people riding were not really visible to anyone watching because of the speed, spinning & the way the cars were shaped.

I pulled Davis’ ear down to my mouth with one hand while I gripped and stroked his stiffening cock with the other.

“Let’s fuck on the Tilt-a-Whirl.”

He groaned and his cock jerked in my hand. I slid my thumb over the tip, feeling the precome beaded there.

“You keep doing that and we won’t make it anywhere, let alone onto a ride.”

I removed my hand and straightened my dress while he adjusted his clothing as well. Then we headed to the Tilt-a-Whirl.

While waiting in line, we quietly discussed how we might make it work. We decided I would take the position where I’d be pressed into the wall and Davis would be above and pushed into me.

Didn’t work so well. Davis was pushed into me all right. Enough to suffocate me and bang his head on the wall. His cock never did more than just brush over my lips.

Back in line. Maybe if  I stayed in the corner but turned around for doggie… Nope. We kept sliding off the seat.

And another try. This time Davis took the corner and I climbed up on him, facing him. Success! We could barely move ourselves, but didn’t really need to as the twirling of the ride forced our bodies into motion. I squeezed his cock tight with my cunt while he fingered my clit. In mere moments, we were clutching each other, stifling moans and cries with kissing while we came.

The buzzer indicating the ride was ending broke our reverie. We quickly disentangled and straightened our clothing before exiting. But based on the look the operator gave us, I’m pretty sure he knew what we’d been up to.

Davis and I continued to kiss and grope as we made our way out of the fair and to his car, his come oozing out of my pussy, leaving trails down my thighs. It was perfect. So perfect in fact, that we went back and did it all again the next night, too.

Which is why I was now waiting to see the chiropractor. I really was too old for these sorts of sexcapades.



{23 March 2011}   #WankWednesday ~~ #Spare

Written in response to Ruby Kiddell’s #WankWednesday challenge. Visit her blog, The Erotic Notebook, for more.

Spare

Right now, at this point in time, I have nothing left of me to spare to anyone else. For any reason. So when I say yes to fucking you, you need to understand that fucking is all it is.

It is not about romance, or love, or even friendship. I don’t want to know your name, what you do, or anything else about you. Your intelligence and education are important only as they apply to your ability to give me what I need. Only that you’ll fuck me until I’ve had enough. It is not about me wanting to please you, to be what you want, to make you come hard. It is purely for the physical release that I need.

The only reason I’ve said yes is because I need your body, your mouth, your hands, your cock to bring me the release I crave. No fantasy, no toy can satiate my lust as another body can.

I will use you, as long as I need to. I will tell you what I need you to do. How to start at my neck, licking and nibbling, and then work your way down, making sure to spend adequate time on my breasts, teasing my nipples to rock-hardness with both your mouth and your hands. If you’re doing it right, my heart rate will accelerate, my breathing will become audible and rapid, and I will feel each tug and twist and pinch of a nipple not only there but also as an increasing tingling in my clit. I will start to gasp and moan, softly at first, as my arousal heightens and my cunt swells and moistens.

Placing my hands on first your shoulders, and then your head, I’ll guide you down further, until your heated body rests between my legs. There should be no hesitation as you spread me open and lower your mouth to me. You’ll use your tongue to lick along my slit, from bottom to top and back again, pausing now and again to circle and press on my clit, to suckle my labia, to probe and fuck.

As my moaning increases and my body moves in reaction to your touch, you’ll slide one, then two fingers inside, curving them just right to find my swollen and sensitive g-spot, then stroking and pressing while your mouth and tongue continue to work my clit. I can feel the pressure building, my legs are shaking, my breathing ragged as each moment you bring me closer to the edge. Rational thought has fled, replaced by increasing tension and sensitivity until with one overwhelming burst of energy, I come, flooding you and the bed with my juices.

You barely give me time to catch my breath before you flip me over and pull me up to my knees. I hear the sound of the condom wrapper tearing and feel your body shifting on the bed as your roll it onto your cock. Without a word, you place your hands on my hips, gripping fiercely, fingers digging into my flesh. For a brief moment, I feel the head of you cock pressing against my slick swollen labia, then with one hard thrust  you are fully inside. I gasp as you stretch and fill me and push back against you, feeling your belly press against my ass. I try to rise to my hands, but you remove a hand from my hips and leaning forward,  you press it into my head, forcing me to stay down. Your roughness serves only to make me orgasm again, a scream bursting out.

But it’s not enough, yet, and you know it. So you keep thrusting, sometimes fast and hard, sometimes slower and easier, but never stopping your movement. And I come and come and come again, until my breath is raspy, my hair is matted with sweat, my skin flushed. Behind my closed eyes, I see flashes of light, starbursts with each deep thrust. My legs are shaking, barely able to support me. So you go back to gripping my hips, forcing me to stay up, forcing me to take each of your thrusts, until finally, finally, I hear your breathing change, I feel your cock become harder, hotter and larger, stretching my sore cunt just enough more so that as you shake and pound me with your orgasm, I also come one last long screaming time.

We both collapse, but not together. There is no cuddling. No snuggling. No basking in the afterglow. I don’t even turn to look at you. To do so would somehow make this more real, more meaningful than what it was — a fuck just for fucking’s sake. So, once my breathing slows, I rise, I dress, fix my hair and makeup, and leave, sparing no more time on you.



{17 January 2011}   Dirty Talk

“Tits,” he smiled as he slid his hands over and under them, flicking her nipples with his thumbs.

“Ass,” she countered, grabbing and squeezing his as she pulled him against her.

“Cunt,” he breathed, releasing a tit and slipping his free hand between their bodies and into her slick heat.

“Cock,” she moaned, stroking and guiding his towards her yearning cunt.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he thrust forward and in, feeling her heated cunt contract around his hard cock as her hips rose to meet him.

“Oh, yes, fuck! Fuuuuck!” she echoed, ’til her breath was taken by orgasm and his faded with his own coming.

In post-coital bliss, she curled up against him, “I told you talking dirty could be fun.”

His only response a soft laugh, a kiss to her head, and a smart pat on her ass. She grinned, sighed happily, and snuggled in closer.



et cetera