Free Erotica: Ravenesque

Ever since her halcyon college days, Raven dreamed of owning a bookstore. She made her dream come true by attending book fairs all over the world, finding great reads at bargain prices. She called her store "Raven's Haven," for that's what it was, an oasis of warmth and welcome for customers to come in and browse for hours without feeling harried. Raven's store carried an impressive array of limited editions, leather-bound classics and "quality paperbacks," but little did her regulars know Raven had a secret cache of book for her eyes only.

These books included romance novels and self-help books on how to visualize the right man stepping through the doorway and sweeping her off her slingback heels. Night after night while reading of heroines being ravished over and over again, Raven imagined a suitor with gentle hands slowly unbuttoning her diaphanous robe while her lips searched for his in the glim of a candlelit moment.

It had been a slow week. Raven was sitting cross-legged on a stepladder reading a hot romance and showing off her shapely calves, when the doorbells jingled announcing a handsome young man who could have stepped right out of an epic tale.

She recognized him. He had been in the store many times over the past half dozen weeks or so. Never bought anything, but always smiled shyly before leaving. Maybe he was the starving artist type, though he was always well dressed. He was certainly a welcome diversion.

"You must be thinking about your husband or boyfriend," the stranger murmured archly. He had a serious but open face and a voice which bespoke of sumptuous tastes.

"Oh, no! Though I admit you caught me with a racy romance! May I help you find something? I'm Raven, the owner."

"Raven, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Yale. I teach at a community college and my name is Yale. Feel free to plaster me with puns, everyone does."

What Raven wanted to plaster him with was her tongue.

"I'm looking for a book on Paris in the 30s. It's for a Francophile."

"A friend?" Raven hoped he wasn't shopping for a significant other.

"Yes, a colleague really. She and her husband are taking a sabbatical to France."

"Bet you'd like to go."

"Not really," Yale said, leaning against the counter and boldly staring at her with desire. "I prefer local color. Like the deckle edge of pink I see hiding behind the gray silk of your blouse."

Raven blushed and adjusted her camisole. She hoped he noticed how the seams of her stockings hugged the back of her legs as she hopped off the stepladder, flashing the lace tops of her thigh highs.

"I think I have just the thing," Raven said in her flirtiest tone. "Follow me, if you dare."

"I'm an intrepid sort."

Raven found what she was looking for in her travel section; this book was a feast of literary lore. On the cover was a photograph of a woman sitting at a cafe gazing longingly into the camera. Perhaps she was waiting for a lover. She was wearing a jeweled turban, like an odalisque.

"I've often marveled at this photo," the sultry bookseller said. "Here's a gal sitting outside in what looks like a peignoir!"

When Yale pried the book away, his palm met Raven's fingers and lingered long enough to send signals of lust. "It's a dress of some sort. I always thought women were more glamorous in the 30s and 40s. And look at her stockings! They shimmer even in black and white."

"I don't suppose you noticed my stockings," Raven pouted.

"Raven, I've done nothing but notice you for weeks. The way you move and carry yourself, like you're so proud of your curves and womanly flesh. I'd be honored if you had dinner with me tomorrow night. That is, if you could close shop a little early."

Raven looked dreamily into the green eyes of a would-be hero and knew she had to take a risk. Images of two naked bodies flashed in her mind: one round, soft and female, the other long, lean and masculine. Very masculine. She saw Yale pinching her panties between his fingers before tugging them off to explore her moist delta. She could almost feel his hands kneading her bosom before they rucked her bra over her shoulders. Her nipples were erect and tingling and she risked a quick glance at Yale's crotch.

"Well, it is my shop. And I have just the dress to prove glamour didn't die with Jean Harlow."

Yale stooped like a gallant and kissed the bookseller's hand. Suddenly, a panicky sensation hit Raven spang in the chest.

"I'm probably a bit older than you. More than a bit, I'm guessing. Is that a problem?"

"Methinks you'll be sexy at 100. Right now, you look irresistible."

To prove his point, Yale ran his hands down the length of Raven's spine, pausing at the small of her back to pull her closer to his groin. He then grabbed her rear end with both hands and lightly slapped her pillowy bottom. He couldn't resist.

Raven could just picture their first date: gentle hands, candlelight and more. Only, she hoped he wouldn't be too gentle.

Raven had a stark, restive beauty that sometimes put men off but more often had them torquing to get a better look as she passed them by. Her glossy black tresses fell an inch or so above her shoulder blades and bounced to their own healthy rhythm. Men would lift their heads in a crowd to get a whiff of the rose or lavender shampoo Raven had used that morning. Her long, delicate neck was the perfect pedestal for a heart-shaped face. Even her mouth was provocative. Those plump, juicy lips could widen into a heartbreaking smile or collapse into a tender moue faster than a heroine can murmur: Take me.

She worried about the age difference between her and Yale.

"But women generally outlive men," he reminded her with a chuckle. "So, when you're a sexy septuagenarian still breaking hearts on the biblio circuit, I'll be breaking open bottles of pills to enhance my, ahem, shelf size.

"Well, when you put it that way," the bookseller cooed, "I feel compelled to supply you with ample storage of boinking memories to buffer your dotage."

"Supply away, Lady Rave." She prepared for their Friday night date with the utmost care. Even had her chevelure coiffed at a beauty parlor. Yes, she knew it was a ridiculous expense, but she left the salon with an extra push of confidence. And as everyone knows, confidence is priceless.

She could do with a little extra certitude when she went through her wardrobe and realized she had gone up a size or two. Fortunately, there was a dress shop next to the beauty salon and she found just the cocktail cutie to seal the contours of her frame.

She wondered if there would be sex right at the starting gate. She had no patience for men who judged women for wanting sex. And she had had only one lover who appreciated her fetish for fellatio.

Raven was that certain breed of female who absolutely loved giving blow jobs. It wasn't something she liked to admit (even to herself), not wanting to be labeled bad, but she just couldn't help herself. When faced with a cock in need of a good coddling, she saw a chance to be creative, the way a chef gets a gleam in his eye when presented with the finest ingredients. She yearned for the current of heat passing from the base of a shaft to the head, loved every sensation she could coax along with her lips and taste buds.

She squirmed in her seat. Just the thought of going down on Yale was twisting her panties into a tussie-mussie.

When Yale arrived right on time to pick up his date, Raven opened the door and gave a little gasp. He was bearing a huge bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. She had never felt so much electricity coursing through her veins. She wished they didn't have dinner reservations; she was hungry only for him.

"We still have an hour to make our reservation," the black-haired beauty informed her date. "Shall we have a glass of wine first?"

"You look magnificent," Yale said, caressing her shoulder. "Is this dress new?"

"Yes, I'm afraid if this new diet doesn't stick, I'll be buying a lot of new clothes." She bit her bottom lip, suddenly embarrassed. "You must have a thing for Rubenesque women, eh?"

"I think an elegant woman of your stature deserves a unique qualifier. Like Ravenesque. I have a thing for one Ravenesque woman and she's right here. How about that?"

Raven clapped her hands in approval. "I love it. Have a seat and I'll pour us each a glass of this lovely vintage."

Whether it was the wine or the fact she hadn't been laid in over a year, Raven couldn't stop eyeing her man's crotch. And his face too, of course.

They were making the requisite small talk when Yale said, "You're thinking about something other than the last lecture I gave. If you're fantasizing about another bloke, I want my flowers back."

"What? Oh, no. I'm just so attracted to you."

That was all Yale needed to hear before making a lunge. They kissed and tugged at each other's clothes. Raven pressed her palm to the heat rising in her lover's pants and soon a glorious penis was sprung free of its zippered cage. Yale moaned as the light brush fingertips pedaled the length of his shaft. She stood in her strappy high heels and unzipped her frock. Dinner would have to wait.

She was wearing a bustier which allowed her breasts to spool over ribbons of black lace and her nipples were already tingling with anticipation. She knelt at the base of the ottoman and got comfortable. Yale ran his long fingers through her mane and lifted her face for another kiss but she twisted away, impatient for carnal fun.

She licked his cobs first, an act of pleasure that made his knees twitch and toes curl. She lavished him with her tongue. Yale reeled in ecstasy as Raven shifted her focus to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue circle the head, licking and licking as if moving a marble around a roulette wheel. She then took the length of him entire, loving the heat of his erection pulsing against the back of her throat. She saw her mouth as a flue for conveying all the feelings and hungers Yale aroused in her voluptuous body.

"Oh, baby. I want you."

And Raven wanted him so she hiked up her dress until it was a smile of silky material girding her waist. She had "forgotten" to wear panties. She worked her wet mound around her lover's hardness until they fit together perfectly. The contrast between her jet black bustier and marmoreal skin was something to behold, especially with her diadem of inky curls capping the bottle of her womanly body. Yale pinched her nipples as she rode him hard and as his penis pumped her to the hilt, her excitement mounted until she came with a raucous orgasm.

Yale lifted Raven by her derriere and, with his cock still stuffed inside her, carried his lovely prize to her boudoir.

They fucked with a fluid abandon. Missionary style at first so Yale could cup his lover's face while her long legs gripped his back like a buoy. His thrusts were rhythmic and smooth until he was moving inside her with all the urgency of a safecracker committed to his last heist.

"Take me from behind," she demanded, and so he did, the last fleet dozen or so thrusts carrying him over the edge, his hands gripping her hips tight enough to leave a palimpsest of handprints afterward.

They stayed in bed talking for a while, sweaty and spent until Yale mentioned food.

"You must be starving, love. Of course we missed our reservation. We can have something delivered but I want you to know, I fully intend on wining and dining you in the best restaurants. What are you in the mood for? Food-wise, I mean."

"Well," Rave murmured coyly. "It is my birthday. There's this lovely Indian place I know that delivers great curry and they have chocolate cake for dessert."

Yale sat up in bed, his boisterous brown curls now a charming disheveled mess. "Your birthday! Why didn't you tell me? I would have fain entered your demesne bearing gifts."

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you. You would have felt obligated to bring me something and that's too much pressure for a first date. Plus, I didn't want to remind you of our age difference."

Yale tsked. "We're not going to have that conversation again, are we?"

"Oh, Yale. Do you think your friends will like me?"

"Of course! And if they don't, I'll find new friends. You're my woman now. A great, curvy, beautiful woman smelling of rampant carnal desire. Want to take a shower together?"

"Good idea," Raven said, glad she had thought to stock the bathroom with fresh towels and bars of soap.

They took turns lathering each other in the bath, Yale's hands soaping his sweetheart's breasts and belly while Raven caressed those marvelous cruciform chest muscles she was already addicted to. Then, unable to resist, she began stroking her man's cock into a full erection. She kept stroking until it was nigh ready to explode and then she took Yale's cock into her mouth while kneeling on the tub's daisy-shaped skid guards.

Now, here was a man who could appreciate her singular oral fixation and she would give him the full measure of her tongue.

Yale caressed the top of Raven's head, murmuring words of endearment until he leaned back in ecstasy taking his cock with him and then he was coming in long prolific reams, anointing his lover's breasts and sternum with the philter of his sex.

They showered again: at this rate, they'd never have dinner!

Yale used a beach-sized towel to envelop Raven's limbs, drying her off before toweling himself.

"Had enough?" Yale asked as his lover stayed his hand.

"Touch me," she said. "Feel how much you turn me on."

He touched her with his fingers then with the tip of his cock. He mounted her and fucked her for all he was worth because he could tell that was what she wanted.

They came together in an explosive heap, their bodies guided by a single fulcrum of pleasure. Before the intrusion of morning light, they would possess each other again.

Raven never thought she'd be the heroine in a romance, but there she was on page one, at the beginning of a great love story. A hot, horny, erotic love story, but yes, a love story. The kind she hoped would never end.

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