Fiction · Stories

FICTION: The Brown Leather Couch


“Stay, please. I’ll take you home, I promise.”

The party had ended and we were sitting on his couch – the brown leather couch his friends had bought him as a housewarming gift – in his cozy, cream and brown freshly painted sitting room, watching a Grey’s Anatomy episode as we munched from a bowl of popcorn and sipped from glasses of home-made orange juice. I was nestled close to him, with my head on his chest and his chin on my head. He had his right arm draped loosely around my shoulders, with his hand occasionally sliding up and down my bare right arm and his fingers tracing the outline of an old bicycle accident scar just above my elbow.

“No, I can’t,” I said, not taking my eyes off the TV. I was afraid that looking at him would weaken my resolve not to stay any longer than I already had.

“Why can’t you?” he whispered into my left ear, as he began to nibble on its soft lobe.“Hmm? Why can’t you? Stay now, please.”

I sat still, ignoring the goose bumps beginning to break out on my skin. “My folks are expecting me back home this night. Besides, it’s late.”

He widened his eyes incredulously, “It’s eight!”

I said nothing.

“Okay, if you insist. But, at least, stay till the end of this episode,” he said. He had stopped nibbling on my earlobe and was again letting his fingers run over my arm.

“Alright, I’ll stay, but only till the end of this episode o!” I nestled closer to him, with an arm wrapped around his hard, firm waist, and burrowed my face in his neck to enjoy the unique cranberry fragrance of his Polo Red Ralph Lauren cologne.

Ikechukwu didn’t need to convince me to stay as long as he wanted. I was smitten with him; I had been since that day at the supermarket when he struck up a conversation with me on the checkout queue. He had this pleasant, almost shy, demeanor that I liked. And his short mohawk of neatly groomed dreads – Jason Derulo style – and his lean, fit body, emphasised by his nearly hugging cream coloured shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tucked into a pair of well tailored black trousers, I found to be very attractive. We quickly became good friends, and chatting or exchanging phone calls was soon a daily ritual for us. We saw each other as often as we could too and today’s housewarming party thrown by his friends was another opportunity to be together.

“Hey … what are you thinking?” He squeezed my right shoulder and tilted my face to his with a finger under my chin so that I could feel his sudden heavy breathing on my cheeks. Then just before he pressed his lips against mine, he asked, “Are you thinking about this?”

I tasted the sharp, sweet citrus orange flavour on his tongue as he gently sucked on my upper lip, then my lower, and back again, teasing and exploring. Then, as he nibbled his way slowly down to my neck, stopping at the small, sensitive hollow just beneath it, where his tongue tickled, I gasped, shivered, and let out a quiet, satisfied moan through half parted lips.

His hands were soon on my breasts, cupping and delicately kneading them like a skilled baker preparing his dough for the oven. My nipples hardened, pushing against my short, light blue cotton halter dress, just as I felt a significant bulge inside his jeans trousers against my thighs.

With a hand occasionally sliding up to his hair from the nape of his neck and the other tightening around his left arm, I urged him on as he traced with his tongue an invisible straight line from my breasts to below my navel. Then he spread me across the couch, placing my head on one of its two armrests. Next, he knelt over me, deftly loosened the straps of my dress running behind my neck, and pulled the dress down to my ankles before removing his cloth items and what was left of mine.

“Gosh! You’re beautiful!” he sharply drew in breath, as he ogled at my naked body.

I didn’t know if I was supposed to respond, to say thank you or something, so I just smiled, then bit my lower lip to stifle a moan when he began to nibble, lick, and suck on what felt like every crevice of my body. The wetness and sweet, pleasurable throbbing I felt between my thighs told me I was ready for him and I arched my body towards his, letting him slide gently into me. I closed my eyes, threw my head back and hoped that the sound of the generator behind the house would drown our loud moaning and groaning as we moved as if to a rhythm on the couch, the same brown leather couch.



6 thoughts on “FICTION: The Brown Leather Couch

  1. I աill immediately snatch your rss feed as I can not to find your e-mail subscriptioon link orr
    newsletter service. Dо you hɑѵe any? Kindly alow me recognise so tɦat I
    may subscribе. Thanks.


  2. So what happened to the brown leather couch? Lol! I’ll give U pass mark for ur first attempt at erotica sha bebe. U described every little detail here, as U do with other stories. It’s good. But I’d have preferred it if there was some sort of climax or anti-climax, whatever. Like after the whole thing, maybe the girl should find out on the guy’s phone that the man is married or he just used her for a bet with his friends.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s