Lustful Bites: Quick & Dirty Erotic Shorts

The_Slut_of_St_Jude’s(3)

The fever that the ice bath had failed to suppress raged through Leona’s body the next morning. She woke up shivering, her skin flushed a deep, unhealthy pink. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she were moving through water. But she forced herself out of bed. Today was too important to miss.

She dressed with precision. A white button-down shirt, high-collared and starched stiff. A long, grey skirt that fell past her knees. Thick black tights. She looked every inch the chaste Pastor’s daughter. But underneath the layers, her skin was burning.

Today was the "location research day" for her novel. It was a twisted little game she played with herself to make her writing feel authentic. She knew through the grapevine of school gossip that always seemed to find her despite her isolation that someone would be using the old classroom in the abandoned wing of the school for a rendezvous.

She needed to see it. She needed to hear it. Her own experience was a void of white sheets and silent prayers; she needed to fill it with the raw, messy reality of s*x to make her words sing.

By the time she arrived at school, the hallways were already bustling. The noise was a physical assault on her sensitive, feverish ears. She kept her head down, clutching her books to her chest like a shield.

And then she saw him.

Damian.

He stood by his locker, surrounded by his usual court of admirers. He was wearing a dark blue varsity jacket that made his shoulders look broad and powerful. His hair was messy in a way that looked effortless, and when he laughed, it was like the sun breaking through clouds. He was handing a book to a freshman girl, smiling gently at her.

Leona’s breath hitched. He looked so kind. So safe.

That wasn’t the Damian she wrote about. In her stories, his eyes weren’t warm; they were dark, predatory, burning with a hunger that couldn’t be sated. She watched his hand as he brushed a stray hair from the girl’s face. She imagined that hand tightening around her throat, forcing her to her knees.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, and she leaned against the lockers for support. The fever was making her hallucinate slightly, the edges of her vision blurring.

Suddenly, a heavy arm draped itself around Damian’s shoulders. Leona flinched. It was Aaron.

Aaron was Damian’s opposite in every way. Where Damian was golden and gentle, Aaron was dark and jagged. He was the school’s notorious playboy, a boy who wore his smirk like a weapon and changed girlfriends as often as he changed his socks. He radiated a crude, masculine energy that Leona found simultaneously repulsive and intoxicating.

“Yo, Golden Boy,” Aaron laughed, loud and brash. He squeezed Damian’s shoulder, his fingers digging in possessively. “Stop charming the locals and come to lunch. The guys are waiting.”

Leona watched them interact. They were close. Too close. She hated Aaron. She hated the way he touched Damian, the easy familiarity between them. She hated the rumors that Aaron had slept with half the cheerleading squad. She hated him because he was everything Damian wasn’t vulgar, loud, aggressive.

And yet, as she watched Aaron throw his head back and laugh, she felt a different kind of pull. There was a danger there. A wildness.

In her novel, the character based on Damian was actually a composite. The face was Damian’s, but the body, the actions, the sheer brutal size of him… that was all Aaron. Leona had once, by accident, caught Aaron behind the bleachers with a girl. She had seen the way he moved, the raw, animalistic way he took what he wanted. That image had burned itself into her brain and fueled a thousand nights of writing.

Suddenly, Damian looked up. His eyes swept across the hallway and locked onto hers.

Leona’s heart stopped. She felt naked under his gaze, as if he could see through the high collar and the modest skirt, right down to the dirty little secrets spinning in her head. She turned crimson, the heat in her cheeks flaring out of control. She ducked her head and practically ran toward the exit, desperate to escape his scrutiny.

The rest of the day passed in a fever dream. Leona sat in her classes, taking notes without processing a single word. The clock ticked agonizingly slowly. She was waiting for the final bell.

When it rang, she didn’t go home. She waited until the hallways cleared, until the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows through the dusty corridors of the old school building.

She slipped into the abandoned wing. The air here was smelling of chalk dust and floor wax. The floorboards creaked under her feet. She found the classroom she was looking for, Room 304. The door was slightly ajar.

Leona’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs. She slipped inside and looked around. The room was empty, filled with broken desks and chairs piled in the corner. But there was a supply closet in the back a large, metal locker where the gym equipment used to be stored.

She crept toward it, her fever making the room spin. She opened the locker door. It smelled of old rubber and sweat inside. She squeezed in between a pile of gym mats and some deflated volleyballs, pulling the door shut but leaving it open a crack, just enough to see through.

She was trembling. Part of her wanted to leave, to run back to the safety of her room. But the other part, the part that wrote the smut, the part that was starving for sensation, was rooted to the spot.

Minutes passed. The silence was heavy.

Then, the door to the classroom creaked open.

Leona held her breath. Through the crack in the locker, she saw two figures enter.

Aaron. And the head cheerleader, a stunning girl named Chloe who looked like she had stepped out of a magazine.

Leona’s eyes widened. It wasn’t Damian. It was Aaron. Disappointment flared briefly, but it was quickly replaced by a dark fascination.

Aaron didn’t waste time. He grabbed Chloe by the waist and pulled her against him, kissing her aggressively. Chloe giggled, a high-pitched, breathless sound, but she responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair.

“God, Aaron,” she gasped between kisses. “Not here… anyone could walk in.”

“Let them,” Aaron growled. He backed her up against the teacher’s desk, lifting her easily so she sat on the edge. He stepped between her legs, his hands roaming up her thighs, pushing her skirt up.

Leona watched, mesmerized. From her hiding spot, she had a perfect view. The angle was obscene, intimate. She could see Aaron’s hands, large and rough, gripping Chloe’s pale skin.

She felt a flush rising in her body, hotter than her fever. This was real. This wasn’t pixels on a screen. This was the sound of heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric, the scent of arousal that was somehow seeping into the locker.

Aaron unzipped his jeans. Leona’s eyes went to the movement of his hands. When he freed himself, Leona had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

He was huge.

She had written about size, about length and girth, but seeing it in the flesh was staggering. It was angry, thick, and veined, jutting out from his body with an imposing arrogance. Chloe seemed to share the sentiment; she wrapped her hand around it, her fingers not quite meeting, and stroked him slowly.

“Yeah,” Aaron hissed, his head falling back. “Just like that, baby.”

Leona felt a throbbing between her legs that was almost painful. She squeezed her thighs together, but the pressure only made it worse. She was soaking wet again, her underwear slick. She imagined herself in Chloe’s place. She imagined that heavy weight in her hand, the heat of it against her palm.

Chloe slid off the desk and dropped to her knees. Leona watched, her breath hitching, as the girl took Aaron into her mouth. She couldn't see everything clearly, but she saw the bobbing of Chloe’s head, the hollowing of her cheeks. She heard the wet, sucking sounds that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room.

Aaron groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in Leona’s chest. He tangled his hands in Chloe’s hair, guiding her movements, thrusting his hips slightly.

“Take it,” he muttered. “Take it all.”

Leona’s own hand drifted downward, pressing against the fabric of her skirt. She was burning up. The fever was making her lightheaded, blurring the line between the scene in front of her and the fantasies in her mind. She wasn't in a locker anymore; she was on her knees. It was her hair being pulled. It was Damian looking down at her with those dark, dominant eyes, using Aaron’s body, Aaron’s c**k, to wreck her.

Suddenly, Aaron pulled Chloe up and bent her over the desk. He flipped up her skirt, tearing her panties aside with a roughness that made Leona flinch.

“Please,” Chloe whimpered, though it sounded more like a plea for more than a request to stop.

Aaron lined himself up and thrust forward.

Leona watched the impact. She saw the way Chloe’s body jerked forward, the way her hands clawed at the desk. Aaron didn’t start slow. He set a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the classroom like a gunshots.

“Damian,” Leona thought, her eyes squeezing shut as she pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the locker. “It’s Damian. It’s Damian taking me.”

In her mind, the gentle Golden Boy was gone. In his place was a monster who used her body for his own pleasure, who filled her so completely she couldn't breathe. She imagined the stretch, the burn, the fullness.

She couldn't help it. The friction of her skirt against her sensitive c**t was too much. The visual of Aaron’s powerful thrusts, the audio of Chloe’s escalating moans, the mental overlay of Damian it all crashed together.

A small, broken moan escaped Leona’s lips.

The room went silent.