So Hot, It’s Sizzling – Summer Lovin’ Story Contest!

A member of my writing club advised me to start submitting some of my shorter erotic pieces to this website called Literotica. I’d never heard of it before, especially since I don’t necessarily read Erotica, I just write it. So yesterday, I visited the site, saw they were having a contest, and wrote a short little piece for it.

Hot Weather, Cold Water, Roving Cam

Taylah Morgan © 2017

I didn’t have a pool at home. I had a bath tub, a shower, and a sink. But none were submergible surfaces. None filled me like a cool giant body of water to dip my head in, float in, and swim around until my skin shriveled.

When my friend needed me to watch his house while he took off on vacation for earlier in the summer, I gladly accepted. No need for any payment. He had a diving board, a stone waterfall and a large, cool, pool.

I was outside, in his pool, every day. Sometimes two or three times a day. There were days I wore swimsuits, and there were days I didn’t. Feeling cold, chlorinated water in my pussy gave me a cool tingling experience.

Wearing my favorite pink bikini, and laying out on a large floater in the pool, I noticed the camera at the top of the sliding entrance door to the backyard. It was dark and small, and barely visible underneath the outdoor speaker. But it was there, and it followed me as I lazed the length of the large pool.

I stared at it underneath my large sunglasses. It must have watched me the past four days. No wonder my friend, hadn’t called to check on me. All he had to do was turn on the camera.

I forced back a smile. He would’ve gotten quite a view.

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Prompt: Finding solace in an airport bathroom.

I never should have watched that Netflix special on the hidden cruelty of airport security.

“Ma’am, this isn’t jail, you can keep your clothes on.” The balding one with a frown declared.

I had already stripped down to my Winx Club underwear and fuchsia bra – which I had just started to unclip. “Never!” I screamed, throwing the bra onto his shiny bald head like a horseshoe. “I know what you did to that poor man! I will not go behind that closed door with you and be manipulated into unwanted sex acts! If you want to pat me down, let all witness your evil ways.”

Moving my fingers to the hem of my underwear, I started hopping as the too-small cotton panties caught on my nubby knees, when, out of nowhere I was tackled by a large woman named Steve.

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Win a Copy of Birthday Sex: Gas Station Style

Win a free copy of my book on Amazon!

I unloaded my single-people food on the register and watched the cashier start to ring up my purchases. My eyes were drawn to his dirty hands. Maybe he was cleaning something, I’m not sure, but dirt laid under his nails and dark grime smudged in between skewed hair on the outside of his hands. This guy needed a pair of cleaning gloves, Dexter would never let his hands get dirty. Shit, thinking of Dexter reminded me of the titillating scene I left playing on my television and warmth rose in my cheeks.

See the full preview of my book here: Taylah Morgan Books

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