From fetishistic and rough, to sapphic or sweet, this anthology of eight hand-picked dirty stories spans the whole erotica range.
If stories of frantic, sensual lovemaking excite you, Lapiz Lazuli is guaranteed to grab your attention. These short stories explore the sensual delights of sex; whether it is a quick romp in a hallway, the caress of a razorblade, the helpless sensation of rough sex or a furtive public holiday experience, arousing accounts and unabashed tales of kinky sex await!
“It was lovely to see you,” said the one with the city clothes. “But it will be nice to have the place to ourselves again.”
Out-of-town sister scowled. “I didn’t realise I was such a bad guest.”
“Honey, you’re not. But tonight, me and Tom … well, we want our privacy.” Town-sister played with a chunky lapis lazuli and silver ring on a chain around her neck. She looked good for her age, and happy with it.
Out-of-town smiled. “After six years, are you two still romping?”
“Six years last month and still spending as much time in bed as out of it. Look what he gave me for our anniversary.” Town sister held out the ring.
“Very … pretty.”
I could tell out-of-town was as unimpressed as me. Cheap gift or what?
“The chain’s platinum,” said townie, looking smug. “But the ring … now that’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”
She so wanted her sister to ask why, and I so wanted to hear the answer, that I nearly asked her myself.
“Why?” said out-of-town.
“Well …” town-girl leaned over the table and I had to strain my ears to hear. “I wouldn’t tell anybody else this, but I’ve always told you everything … I like a little pain with my pleasure. Know what I mean?”
Out-of-town looked puzzled, but I knew what she meant, did I ever!
“You know!” Town-sister blushed. “A little slap, a little bite, something to push you over the edge into …” She put her hand on her chest, fingers splayed, and threw her head back, panting. It was a pretty good impression of orgasm I’ll admit – very When Harry Met Sally. Now her sister blushed and laughed.
Town sister continued, “Well Tom doesn’t like to hurt me, but he sure likes to make me happy, that kind of happy. So this ring, see, with all its bumps and lumps? Well when I wear it around my neck, Tom knows that the same evening I’m going to slide it onto his finger and he’s going to press it against my …” she paused and lowered her voice even more. “… my love button, when we make love.”
Love button! It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. Did people still talk like that? But I looked at that ring, with its deep blue knobbly surface and imagined how cold it must be, and how hard, and my knees became so weak I had to hang on to the counter.
The sisters left, chatting and laughing, and the morning coffee addicts began to roll in, but I didn’t forget what I’d heard.
That weekend I took Doug shopping at the Flea Market.
“What are we doing here, Carrie?” he asked, looking at the stalls. But I’d already seen what I wanted on a table laden with semi-precious stones and costume jewellery. A big ring, with a greeny-grey, nubby, softly-contoured stone that the seller told me was moss agate. It fit Doug’s middle finger perfectly.
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