By Andreia Rodrigues
Copyright ©2024
Nobody knew Emeline was writing that kind of story. No one could have imagined she possessed the vocabulary for it—not her ex-boyfriends, nor her therapist. This explained why she felt at ease writing erotica in the public library of Derbyshire. She always chose a seat against the wall.
Although concealing her writing was manageable, masking its physical effects proved more challenging. Once her profound emotions were transcribed onto the page, she would stop typing and scan her surroundings. Could anyone detect the longing smoldering within her? Could they see the flush on her cheeks, sense the restlessness between her legs?
Through her writing, she channeled her desires into fictional characters: frustrated housewives, marginalized older women, young ladies who didn’t meet conventional beauty standards. These characters found solace in Emeline’s stories and a deep sensual fulfilment with imaginary men close to them: the postman, the bus driver, the lawyer. Her writing was raw and explicit. It had to provoke a reaction within herself; otherwise, how could it possibly stir others?
In crafting her sex scenes, Emeline allowed her body to respond to the lust ignited by the words. Often, she would finish a scene and dash to the restroom to appease herself. When she felt the excitement needed to be reserved for her writing, she would stuff tissues between her legs, fearing that the moisture might dampen her skirt. Her arousal in those moments was so violent that she could understand why some women might engage in encounters with men they didn’t even find attractive. That fever, that craving, had a hint of madness.
One afternoon, overcome with desire, Emeline closed her laptop and rushed outside for fresh air in the library gardens. The day was sweltering; the scorching sunburned the skin and drove people to seek shade. Although Emeline had been born in South Africa, she was no longer accustomed to such intense heatwaves. The heated atmosphere swelled her sex even more. Seeking refuge behind a blossom tree, she removed her underwear. The warm breeze caressed the sensitive skin of her vulva, mingling her arousal with beads of sweat.
Following the shade of the oak trees, Emeline meandered to the edge of the park, heading towards the gardener's cottage. She had occasionally seen the gardener, a young man with a robust red beard and serene eyes. He always greeted her with a broad smile and a cheerful “Hello.” That afternoon, he was seated by the door with a can in his hand. From a distance, Emeline could make out the muscles of his torso, straining against his white t-shirt as though attempting to escape the fabric.
Starting around her lower belly, a sudden hunger for that unknown man seized her. How wonderful it would be to be held in his arms, to stroke his muscles, to open herself to him. The heat was so intense, both inside and outside her body, that it felt as if the entire world was suffused with a sensual glow. It seemed so natural, so right, to walk into his embrace, wordlessly fall into his lap, kiss his full lips, and let nature take its course. No words, no thoughts—just raw, unfiltered longing.
About three hundred meters from the house, the gardener’s gaze locked onto hers—and stayed there. A jolt of electricity coursed through her. Normally, she would have looked away from such a stare, but on that day, she was intoxicated by the heat, delirious with lust. She yearned to experience the lives of her characters, to relish the unrestrained, guiltless pleasure they savored.
The gardener rose to his feet, his eyes charged with passion. Had he somehow seen through her, into her very ardor? Her heart pounded as the few meters between them closed in. Was she dreaming? She could only be dreaming, and she was ready to surrender to every moment of that fantasy.
Now nearly face-to-face, he leaned forward and took hold of her waist, their labored breaths intertwining. He kissed her gently, the scent of freshly cut grass springing from him. As their lips parted, he cupped her cheeks with his palms and guided her inside.
In stark contrast to the glaring sunlight outside, the room was enveloped in a haze of semi-darkness, reminiscent of dreams seen through half-closed eyes. He led her to a table and, with a swift motion, sent its contents—scissors, cups, and pots—crashing to the floor.
She parted her legs, offering her sex. Such abandon drove him wild. He craved to dissolve himself inside that strange and yet, endearing woman. He threw his body on hers, kissed and sniffed each inch of her neck, inhaling the warmth from her like a wolf. She ran her hands under his shirt, pressed his chest against her breasts. The bulk of his desire pulsed between her legs. He rose and removed his shirt, unveiling his solid muscles and freckled shoulders. He unzipped his shorts, lifted her dress and at the sight of her denuded vulva, he groaned. He penetrated her from the corner of the table, her glistening sex offered like a meal. Her head curled back as she received him deep inside her womb, his penis hot and soft, hurling tremors of pleasure up her spine. He touched her lips, his almond eyes never leaving her face contorted with ecstasy. She spread her legs more, losing herself entirely.
He touched her clitoris, slowed his moves, which enhanced her fever. His penis would slide almost fully out, and enter again – in and out, out and in, softly as to savor every motion. This cadence frenzied Emeline, she shoved her hips forward, the mouth of her sex pulling the penis in, without much success. Her greed put a smirk on his face, his moves ever gentle, tormenting her with increasing hunger. After moments of contemplating her body trembling and imploring for more, he grabbed her hips and thrust his sex fully into her. Getting what she craved for, she let out a cry, “Aaah.” Together they reached climax, his body collapsing on hers.
Entwined in each other’s arms, they listened to the rhythmic mingling of their heartbeats. Outside, the birds chirped, signaling the dawning of sunset. He shifted to the side and planted a kiss on her lips. “Fancy a coffee?” he asked.
They moved into the adjoining room of the garden house. Two mismatched chairs were positioned by a kitchen cabinet, where the coffee machine was stationed.
“How do you like your coffee, Emeline? Extra strong?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know my name?”
He grinned, leaning his hips against the cabinet. “I’ve been fascinated by you since the first time I saw you walking by. I once asked at the library café; I’m friends with the waiter there. I asked if he knew who the beautiful woman with the long braid falling down her waist was. He knew right away who I was talking about.”
Emeline smiled broadly and patted the tip of her braid, now half undone. “That’s nice,” she panted. “And I guess you’re Sam.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You also asked about me?”
“I once overheard a conversation you were having with someone.”
Sam’s eyes shone as he moved closer. “So, you were also interested in me?”
“I sure was.” She bit her lip and caressed his beard.
He pressed her body against the wall, kissed her collarbone. Close to his ear, he whispered, “I liked when you walked by, and your braid stuck between your breasts. It made me think wild thoughts.”
She giggled. “Oh, yeah?”
He pulled her braid upfront, planted it the middle of her chest. His hands filled with the tender flesh of her breasts, pressed them close, locking the braid in between. As his hands stroked, his breathing hastened. He unbuttoned her dress, her hard nipples pointed from behind lace fabric. She unlocked the brasserie, and as he pulled it away, he kept two fingers on the braid.
Her nipple in his mouth, Emeline’s knees wobbled. The sound of his wet kisses echoed in the room. She staggered to a chair, grabbed his body towards her and caressed his turgid sex – half of it was standing out of his shorts. She took it with all her hand, held it firmly, and pressed it up and down. She touched the tip with her tongue, and before she could savor more of it, Sam thrust it between her breasts. His penis stirred at the touch of her skin and her braid. He compressed her breasts to hold his sex, its shell sliding up and down.
The hot touch, wild scent and close sight of his sex made Emeline’s mouth water. Her lips opened wide; her tongue hung out. Sam let out a gasp and stuck a finger inside her mouth, which she sucked voraciously. He rubbed his sex more and more in the tight valley between her breasts, her hands squeezing them together. Sam moaned and washed her chest with his pleasure. She glid some of the milk around her lips, as though it was lip gloss.
Settled on the floor, they drank extra-sweet coffee, parts of their bodies uncovered.
Sam caressed the V shape between her legs and smirked. “Don’t you wear panties?”
Emeline chuckled. “Normally I do, but today it was too hot, and I was too horny. I feared burning my panties.” She winked. “I left them by the blossom tree.”
Sam startled. “By the blossom tree? You took them off right there?”
“Yep. There was no one there to see.”
Sam bit around her nipples, gently. “Emeline, you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever been with. I’m going to grab that underwear and keep it with me.”
They promised to do it again – and more – in the coming weeks. If she was ever to have her braid cut off, he would like to keep it, please. Ah, and could she always come “commando”? Emeline laughed, kissed his forehead, and agreed.
When she returned to the library, the colors of the place had changed. It wasn’t just the pink hues of the sky filtering through the windows. The outlines of objects had softened; the shelves, desks, and people seemed to blend into a surreal, dreamlike haze. The scent of freshly cut grass emanated from her skin.
From then on, Emeline didn’t have to rush to the library restroom in moments of fever. She didn’t dry the pleasure oozing from her either. She would enter the garden house with her inner thighs shining wet, bringing Sam to a state of languid madness.
They created a sensuous routine: By the sound of her steps approaching, he would lie on the floor. Emeline would walk over him, spread her legs and dance above his face. He would watch, open-mouthed, her sex opening like a flower, while she undulated her hips and bathed herself in the flow of honey. She would bring her vulva up and down his hypnotized gaze. Sam couldn’t get enough of this privileged view – the sex mouth and the delicate butt hole, also pulsing. The pleasure Emeline got from this dance was such that by the first roll of his tongue on her clitoris she would melt in his mouth, howling with such intensity that pigeons above the ceiling would fly away.
Andreia Rodrigues, author of Sin & Other Stories, is a Brazilian writer based in Europe. Alongside her work in erotica, she has written a memoir, a romance novel, and a collection of autobiographical essays. Her writing is dedicated to inspiring readers to embrace their full potential, with a focus on well-crafted, female-centric erotic literature.
Instagram: @andreia.rodrigues.author
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