Erotica Readers & Writers Association
Home | Erotic Books | Authors Resources | Inside The Erotic Mind | Erotica Gallery
Adult Movies | Sex Toys | Erotic Music | Email Discussion List | Links


Story Gallery | Treasure Chest




Erotic Fiction
Queer Fiction
Kinky Erotica
The Softer Side
Quickies
Flashers
Poetry

The Best of 2013

Naked Grief
by Arthur Chappell

Sister
by Robert Buckley



Archives

By Aspire
Parking in the 60's
Nice Ass


By B.K. Bilicki
Penny's Worth
Someday
Long Goodbye


By G. Gregory
Fuck Mountain
Free Falling at ...
Queen of Temptress Moon


By J.T. Benjamin
Wilberforce The Cunning
7 PM At Mickey...


By Lynne den Hartog
Different strokes
Memories


By Richard V Raiment
Honeyed Tongues
Richmond, Dear Park


By Robert Buckley
The Night the Stars..
Corner Booth
Waking Katie...
The Long Ride Home
Leah And The Eagle
The Shades of Gray
The Nice Guy
Wait Along
The Love Song of...
The Courtyard
Its Been Going Around
Dancing with the Banshee
Jumper
The Last Thing You ...
Compassion
Coffee
Julie's Ankles
Angel

Time in a Bottle
by Rose B. Thorny © 2007



Dark, liquid amber.

Amber preserves, they say. Insects trapped in the viscous ooze, captured by a twist of fate that impelled them to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They fight it. Do they understand, know that time has run out? The resin engulfs them, hardening around them, wresting the life force, handing them eternity on a deadly golden platter. Ageless, no more struggling.

My amber doesn't harden. It remains warm and liquid on the journey from the bottle into the glass thence past my lips and burning down my throat to sit in my gut trying to melt the black ice of emptiness, to ignite a fire that frightens away the spectre of the cold grave.

Unlike the insects, I'm still fighting it.

Where are you?

The image of you framed by the French doors to the balcony, back lit by the morning sun glancing off the sea, is as clear as if it were burned into my retinas.

A hot, salty breeze fluffed your sun-streaked hair, the silky locks my hands so recently grasped. You stood there defiant, daring time itself, one arm out straight propping you against the door jamb, the other bent, hand resting on your hip. My god, you had the sauciest expression knowing I couldn't keep my eyes off your cock. It swung like a boom when you moved. Never underestimate the resiliency of the twenty-year-old penis.

It had already charted every part of me, probed each snug harbour, and was ready to go around the world and explore again.

And I? I was more than willing to allow you passage into every port.

Lying there amidst the rumpled sheets, downy quilt half-slid off the bed, I could still feel the pressure of you inside me. I was shameless, beached atop the bed legs spread wide with your cum seeping out of me. It was sticky on my thighs and cunt and along the furrow of my ass. And it wasn't enough yet.

I rolled over and drew up my knees, spreading my thighs and raising my ass, undulating, rocking like a moored vessel, extending the invitation.

"You have permission to come aboard," I said. "Be a good mate and do your duty. I want my deck swabbed again."

You laughed and it was deep and musical and it rippled over me and made me throb. I worked the muscles in my cunt—clenching, relaxing, clenching, relaxing—knowing the sight of it was pulling you towards me again.

"Ma'am, you are insatiable."

Now I laughed. Ma'am. I hadn't even told you my name, though you could check it on the manifest, if you wanted to.

I wonder...do you lose track of the names? Do you even care about the names? Or are we all just so much fuckable aging meat? Well, no matter. You seem to enjoy your work; all of it. You more than earn your tips.

You certainly didn't balk at boarding me once more.

"In the ass, sweet Nathan. I want you in my ass again. The sun is nowhere near past the yardarm and I want you to fuck me till it is."

And how eager you were to accommodate. You dipped your fingers into my cunt and slathered the remains of our previous couplings over that hole that wasn't quite as tight and resisting as it had been the evening before.

It was one of the ports you'd found in the storm. I was glad it stormed; it kept your captain from putting out to sea and he gave you the impromptu shore leave. I was more than happy to have you wash up on my shore.

I gasped and moaned loudly feeling you probe with your finger first, forcefully, the way you already knew I preferred it. Oh, you are a quick study, Nate the Mate.

Then your cock pressing against the sphincter, like a belaying pin, blunt and hard, polished hardwood pushing into me. I made the screaming groan you said you liked to hear, not because you wanted to hear it, but because I couldn't stop myself. You dived deep and I felt your balls slap against my pussy.

Almost three times your age, but I'd never felt anything like that in all my years. Jeezus, the way you rammed into me, your fingers digging into the flesh of my ample hips, the bed rocking like a ship in a storm straining against its moorings. Long, hard plunges then rapid urgent strokes and the final lunge as the tide of our orgasms surged and drowned us both.

Two more times you plowed into me like the schooner you sail breaking through the rollers. You attended me fore and aft. The sea may be your mistress, but I gave her cause to be jealous that day.

We showered, lathering each other, playing with the foam in all our crevices, still exploring, always exploring. I scrubbed you down then gave you my parting gift. You didn't care about the cold tiles against your back as I knelt and took your delightfully flaccid cock in my mouth, sucking it to rigid attention once more. Able seaman indeed!

My farewells were inarticulate moans and cries, muffled by your flesh filling my mouth and pushing into my throat. One more time you spilled your salty brine into me.

You put out to sea on the evening tide. I saw you raise sail, could almost hear the creaking wood. I watched the schooner disappear around the headland. Another cruise. Another lonely, aging lady?

I have the souvenir you left me. Your tiny schooner encased in glass. Ship in a bottle.

Where are you?

Dark, liquid amber. If I pour it very slowly, it will last. Like time in a bottle.

_______
© 2007 Rose B. Thorny. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Rose B. Thorny? Read her bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.


Authors live for feedback!
If you enjoyed this story, please send comments to
Rose B. Thorny

[Filigrie]



  E-mail this page


Search ERWA Website:

Copyright © 1996 and on, Erotica Readers Association, Inc.
All Rights Reserved World Wide. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or
medium without express written permission is prohibited.

Archives

By Wimzcicle
Neighborhood Watch
Little Thing Called...
Male Seeks Lady...


Too Little, Too Late
by Daina Blue

The Unfair Maidens
by Helen E. H. Madden

Splashing Corn
by J.D. Coltrane

Lefty and Toffee
by Julius

Orbiting in Retrograde
by Kathleen Bradean

Lost and Found
by Mike Kimera

The Violin
by Nick Nicholson

It's So Much Easier
by Riccardo Berra

Duck, Duck, Goose
by Rod Harden

Time in a Bottle
by Rose B. Thorny

Only Kissing
by Savannah S Smith

Cocos Locos
by Valentine Bonnaire

A Letter to Margaret
by William Dean