Patriarchy Sex Cover
Patriarchy Sex - a Contemporary Romantic Suspense, Intellectual
Erotica Novella

Erotica Romance Fiction Novella
© Copyright Cupideros, Tuesday, December 28, 2016
20,295 words

DESCRIPTIONS: Emma Hancock wants to have an orgasm and cannot after all her efforts; she therefore seeks out a handsome, fertile man to help her.



Photographer and curly redhead Emma Hancock yelled to the young stud, "Get out!" 
Young twenty-one-year old Seth, dark curls around his head like the halo of past rock stars, bounced out of her queen-sized bed.  Her silk black top sheet fluttered, hovered in the air for a second, before they returned and covered Emma's pale-white naked body.  Seth scrambled picking up his shoes, tie and white shirt.  As Emma yelled, again, "Get Out!  And take this hand size-love manual with you."  Emma tossed the black and purple book at Seth's back as he ran out the bedroom door.  Emma listened.  Quiet took over her bedroom.  Then quiet patter of male feet returned as Seth's wide, scared blue eyes, darted into the plush bedroom with peach carpeting “Forgot . . . forgot . . . my cell phone."  He bent low, his white shirt unbuttoned.  His boyish abs showing above his blue jean pants.
"Out!" Emma raised her back off the silk black sheets.  "Don't come back or ever mentioned my name again."
"I . . . won't, Emma."  He snatched up his dark-gray phone like one of those snapping Venus Fly Traps that catch flies. 
"Ms. Hancock to you!" Emma screamed.  She had had enough of young studs.  Studs who had glowing reputations in the rumor mills of modeling, and bars, but when it came down to fucking her to orgasms, all of the young men failed.  Her sense of betrayal angered her more than most.  If the young women suggested men as Seth Rubert, what hope did women like her, older, more seasoned, and more determined, with the wealth to pay for her satisfaction have in the realm of sex.

Brunette Emma reached under her pillow and grabbed her hot peach and black Yin-Yang Chinese medicine balls.  Rolling the metal balls around in her fingers relaxed her.  In fact, this provided her with a sense of meditative calm after rough moments.  For minutes, she rolled the balls in her left hand, and then she switched to her right.  This uncertain situation needed to be resolved.  But how?  In her teenage years, she feared to ask for what she wanted sexually.  She feared the men's abandonment.  Turns out men abandoned Emma anyway after they came.  They grunted, strutting around like a comet in the sky.  Because they came spurting into her love cove, possibly creating a pregnancy, was the height of their folly. 

Lean In to Orgasm.  This revolutionary book will take you places your sensual female body longed for and never experience read the back cover blurb.  "Marketing," said loudly.  "Pure fakery marketing." 

Ability to fuck for hours, but unable to come baffled the intellectually smart, twenty-five-year old Emma Hancock.  Earlier, her stamina demanded of her men, her stamina for continuing to make love, wore her man out.  Most women came after fifteen minutes of vigorous big-prick rod in balls deep thrusting into a demanding hungry gash the men claimed.  Their eyes spoke resentment.  Both Seth's success in hard-staying stamina and his subsequent failure to make her come had proven stamina was a nonissue.  She lacked something else during sex. Maybe love, maybe adoration and maybe she would never know what she needed.  Our world did not want truth of why most women never came during sex.  Push her lack of orgasms under the rug, the world argued.  Focus on the male coming. Her light-brown eyes with black trim stared at the ceiling of her condominium 221, her mirrored ceiling.  Even her mirror ceiling lacked the creative imagination to stir her sluice spot.  All she saw up there became the ecstatic motions of young man, after young man, glad as heck to make love to photographer of the male models, Emma Hancock.  Some of the men hoped, if they rock Emma to orgasms, she, in reply, used her lens to blast off their modeling career.  Emma did have this kind of power.  But Emma was different.  First, her face was unusual.  Most models had oval faces.  Emma's freckled-round face, however, follow the shape of the moon.  Her red hair follow the attributes of fire, curls, long licks hair, she parted on the right side. Her big light-brown eyes caught everyone's attention in the two-dimensional world of magazines and billboards.  Her average nose had a flat bridge leading to the tip, and her small mouth drew the attention her round chin.  Her happy chin reflected to her beautiful round face.  

Emma's eye teared up.  Dismissing the whole affair of escort young men privately sent to her by Male Prime, Inc., she raised her right hand and let it drop on the bed in resignation.  Money did not solve everything.  If money solved everything, then even the one percent would be satisfied and happy.  Throughout her young adult years, in college, people assumed her great sexual satisfaction came from her top-heavy form, five-feet, ten-inch triangle frame that gave her DD breasts with peach nipples.  Comments ranged from, "She can come sucking her own boobs."
"Her man must be hitting that all night, and holding on to her boobs as he doggy styled her."
"His tongue sucks and massaged her breasts as he rammed his thick cock in her wet coooze without straining."
In total shock, Emma first placed her hand over-the-top of her chest near her throat.  None of the comments was true. 
Emma wished they were all true.
All the other bosomy girls knew big boobs showed no relations to guaranteed female orgasms.  Only guaranteed pregnancy followed big boob women, women in general if they forgot their birth control pills.  Emma never did forget.  She prayed all women methodically and religiously took their birth control. 

Truth, however, prevailed in Emma's professional life.  Money allowed her one solution, the ready-made solution to everyday problems.  She simply bought a new phone.  She bought the solution millions already used.  When she did not want to walk alone, she bought an escort.  Going to a party alone, no problem, she rented a male escort.  Need for protection arrived, Emma hired security personnel.  Because she and her best girlfriend black-haired Brooke donated money to charities, Emma believed, giving money boosted your current income.  Money, in short, allowed her to live lavishly and express her whole self.  Others believed and prayed to God, Emma reached for her Gucci pocketbook.  Her Gucci pocketbook she trusted; all other options were iffy at best.  Except for sex, good sex and having a delicious orgasm, Emma possessed everything.

She even removed an annoying butterfly tattoo, her highschool boy crush, encouraged her to get on her lower back. 
Joseph Thorn, the tattoo artist famous in the Maryland area, performed the act.  Brown eyes and Native American, but looking, half white, with long stringy gray hair, Joseph practiced Indian Medicine.  He was a Medicine Man.  He charged people advice for finding them love.  Emma laughed the first-time Joseph mentioned his services.  "I help people find love."
She replied, "I don't need love, Joseph.  I need an orgasm.  The more the better."
They both got a good chuckled out of that exchange.  She lying over the used hot pink leather chair, her black dress blouse turned up and tucked under her white bra strap, her jeans squeezing her thirty-two-inch hips, as her DDs rested on the chair while Joseph erased all traces of her first failure at sex. 

Joseph had Joie de Vivre!  He drove a four-wheeler.  He went camping.  He lived in the woods.  Everything about his shop exuded it.  He knew things about pop culture experts forgot or never heard of.  He was there at Woodstock, even though Woodstock happened before his birth.  Some called him a psychic Medicine Man.  And Joseph said he used this skill to see into the future and see where a person found the love match. 
Some said, for a thirty-year old his hair contained his power.  His gray hair showed he used his power an awful lot. 

Lovely Emma rubbed her hands across her lips.  Perhaps, asking Joseph for help in finding sex made sense.  Emma pulled the black silk sheet up to her neck.  Slowly, sensuously sliding her hands down her neck, she let both hot palms rests on her peach nipples.  Her breasts had Joie de Vivre!  They brought her attention.  Most of all they responded to feelings.  She closed her palm, millimeter by millimeter, pulling the soft spongy material toward the tip of her mammary glands.  Blood rushed into the areolas and into her nipples.  Both breasts sent off reverberations of lust waves down the lower white hill of boob flesh.  Orgasmic waves crashed in the middle of her chest, where her tits separated.  Emma held the flouncing tits.  She jiggled them, wiggled them.

Emma chuckled lightly.  Still holding her breasts together, she pushed them together forming two small black mountains under the black silky sheet.  These breasts loved her touch.  They responded immediately with satisfaction and pleasure.  Many times Emma neared orgasms simply by playing with her breasts.  Hot lust circled downward from the taut nipples.  Then those undulating waves flowed back upward to her aching nipples.  Emma bit her lip.  She squeezed her legs together, a surprising pool of girl oil already leaked from her drama queen, her pussy slot.  Adventure, excitement always flowed through her breasts to her heart.  One exciting adventure after another propelled her forward toward accepting her femininity.  She was all female and everyone reminded Emma of this fact.  Bony girls and flat chest girls escaped noticed sometimes.  Their respectability came from not offending the male sense of hopeless breasts awareness.  Her mind struggled for attention.  Not her boobs, they pushed her way forward in a crowd.  Her DDs signaled this is a confident woman who walked into the room.  When she unhooked her total control bra, and allowed her flouncing boobies the freedom to spread like butter on her chest, as she lay down, her boobs sighed.  Emma sighed with her boobs.  Her clit, her poor clit, lack attention, mental, physical, and emotional and perhaps even spiritually due to the attention Emma's swaying, floppy tits demanded--and got. 

The silk sheet slid around the circumference of her tingling tits, inspiring her sopping cunt again.  She scissor crossed her shapely legs, mushing the oil around her bare love mound.  Her bald cunt lips engorged with blood.  Her clit pulsated in time to her nipple squeezing.  One singular double line shot straight from her massive boobs to her clitoral hood and vulva lips.  Emma spread her legs listening for the sticky mixture of male sperm and female sex juices.  She was ovulating today.  Today held all the potential for a big orgasm.  Her female doctor suggested masturbating on her ovulation date.  This had not produced the miracle of cunt orgasms or clit orgasms yet.  Nevertheless, it felt good on Emma's skin, all around her five-feet, ten-inch body, felt good.  Erotic.  Ready. 

Emma raised her knees.  Man goo poured out of her Venus valley down past her asshole.  Seth came three times, but still she never orgasms.  One time, she felt something beginning, but Seth had no more energy after three hours.  She could fuck for nine, if she remained lubed.  Now, her own girl sex liquids pour out of her juicy pussy.  Emma closed and opened her knees.  She humped her hips.  Tightly, she pinched her nipples.  The feel of powerful pussy orgasms always, always on the edge.  But Emma did not pressure herself.  It was not going to happen.  She been here before, hanging like a damsel in distress on the tree root, over the edge of a high cliff.

Emma bit her lip again.  Her black rimmed, light-brown eyes closed tighter.  Her belly vibrated.  Her tits held the key to orgasms, almost there, almost there.  Emma palmed her DDs by their base and jostled them together.  Brushing them with a smack of perspiring, heated flesh and the motions sent jolts down to her lower sex. 

The deep passage between her heavy breasts opened and closed.  Breathe and held breath, breathe and held breath, the passage spoke of the tender rubbing, mushing together of sensitive milk-gland skin.  Emma's jaw drop in an "O" of erotic satisfaction.  She was closer to her breasts orgasms. 

Cupping and pulling her right breasts from the base, Emma brought the wobbling pleasure globes closer to her waiting mouth.  Finally, she leaned up and missed her erect nipples.  She flopped back down, waddled the left breasts to her waiting mouth.  She rose up.  Almost, but Emma grabbed her left nipple and forced the entire mass of tender feelings to continue closer, closer to her lips and licking hot tongue.  Until, she licked her wrinkled peach nipples, sending new electricity through her dual being, left breast and right breasts. 

She scissor crossed her legs.  Knees still high, Emma crossed one leg over the other trapping her stiff, bead of a clit between the warm, slippery vulva fleshes.  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze Emma forced her legs to press, press, press her clit.  Her tongue had wet her left nipple fully.  Now she leaned up, her thin lips grasped her nip bud, and she sucked it into her mouth, hard!

She shook on her top-heavy frame as her breast orgasms flowed through her, the only orgasms she was capable of and the only orgasms no one on Earth could provide for her.  Emma screamed, "Oohhhhhhhhhh!  Yessssssssssssssssss!  Yes!  Yes!"

She collapsed back on the bed.  She laid her right hand over-the-top of her breasts near her throat.  She did it.  Now I can relax.



Emma being Emma meant two things: One she wore her long curly hair dramatically fashion to accent her beautiful gorgeous face.  So she softly combed her red hair back and clipped with a gold bowtie ornament.  And second, she wore something sexy underneath her coat, black blouse and pants.  Today, she slipped on a transparent black bra and black thong with pink roses to compliment her black palazzo pants and round neck black top.  Singular half-inch buckle draped across her Hush Puppy shoes.  The low heel simple shoes Emma never had to think about.  She slipped them on.  She slipped them off.  She never stumbled or almost tripped....

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