Have you read this author, he asked
As he was browsing through the book shelves
She writes amazing erotica
Really, she replied from the other end
And sauntered towards him
Removing the book from his hands
She said, I prefer writing my own erotica
Instead of reading, someone else
She pushed him against the book shelf
And unzipped his modesty
She was teasing, he knew
Yet he was clueless about her motives
Unclasping her lingerie
She tied his hands with it
Baby, what are you up to, he laughed
Hush my love, saying so
She stuffed his mouth
With her pantie
Amused with her actions
He winked at her
She pushed him on the floor
And gyrated her derriere
On his member
He responded
Turgid and raging with fire
Liberating her tresses
She let them fall over her breasts
While her eyes
Sparkled in lust
She was a sight
To be behold
He craved for her flesh
She knew
Yet she lingered
Without any preamble
She slipped herself on his power
And drew him
Closer to her
Beats in sync
Eyes blurring
There they were, cross legged
Amongst piles of literature
She lifted herself and started swaying
On his being
With her breasts swaying
Sweat dripping
Tresses scattered
They both were possessed
Writing their own literature.
©LR
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