Inch By Inch 1

Although I've writing for a long time, is my first ever erotic story. It was written for the

750 Word Project 2025

. Below this line are exactly 750 words:

The place was packed for karaoke, so they settled for a table near the back.

"What is it, then?" she said. "Our friendship, or some shit?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Nothing. It's complicated."

"Fine," she sulked. "Forget it."

She got up to get a drink. He finished his, hoping she'd bring him one. She didn't.

"It's like this," he said as she sat down. "We go to your place and we do our thing. And then I get sad."

She pouted. "Aw, sad baby."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry. You feel sad. Go on."

"I look around at your disgusting fucking crime scene of a place and I remember it could never work between us."

"Dude," she said. "I'm not proposing marriage to you."

"Yes, I know."

"We're mammals. We have needs." She leaned across the table. "And we don't have to go to my place."

"No. Hell, no. My landlord almost kicked me out last time. He said it sounded like a horror movie."

"Not your place." She lowered her voice to a deep and sultry note. "My mom's in Buffalo this weekend."

"Absolutely not."

"Come onnnnnn. Like old times! We'll feel young again."

"We'll feel like 30-somethings fucking on a futon."

"You can cum inside me."

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, glancing around. "Can you not? I play trivia here."

"Sure, daddy, anything you want," she said, much louder. "But it'll cost you extra."

"Stop it," he said. She grinned. He was turning red. "I'm serious."

"Fuck me." She bit her lip. "Fill me."

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"Go on, then."

He frowned, mentally fighting his aching hard-on.

"There's no rush," she said, licking her straw into her mouth. "The Uber's nine minutes away."

The basement looked exactly like it did in their twenties, with a decade's worth of extra useless shit piled up on top.

"Lights off?"

"Whatever."

"Okay. On." She pointed at the futon, locked in the upright position. A duffel bag was taking up most of the space. "Sit."

"No."

She sighed, pulled off the duffel bag, and dusted off the mattress with a beach towel, then folded the towel and laid it clean-side-up.

"There. Happy? Sit." She started to rummage through some old empty wine boxes. "You want something? I think I saw --"

She gasped. His fingers were entangled in her hair, winding the roots. He turned her head gently and looked down into her wide eyes.

"I'm not your boyfriend."

"No. I know."

"What am I? Say it."

"You're my friend."

"That's right. Your friend. Friends don't make friends look dumb in public."

"Sorry," she said. "I'm drunk. And horny."

"Show me."

She did, lifting her skirt. He felt approvingly. She arched her back.

"More."

"Please."

"Please. More."

He obliged with his thumb and fingers until she wobbled and sank, clutching the beach towel, squirting into it.

"Come here," he said.

"Yes, sir."

She backed it up, rubbing herself with vigour.

"That's not my name."

"Yes, Greg."

"You're spoiled, you know that?"

"Yes, sir."

He spanked her.

"You're my friend. Not my butler."

"Yes, Greg."

He spanked her once again, then briefly fucked her -- three or four hard thrusts -- stopping as suddenly as he had started. She groaned in protest.

"See?" he said. "Spoiled."

"Yeah? Why don't you cry about it?" she said with a grin like a face in a violent mob.

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her tailbone with one hand.

"No, don't," she purred, mocking him.

He propped her up on the futon. She squealed and wriggled under his grip.

"Don't," she said again, meaning the opposite.

"Do you remember the first time we came down here?"

"No." She was squirming towards him. "Please."

"I do. I was nervous. We both were."

He let his tip graze into her, then retreated. She growled.

"We started slow."

He gave her more, but still less than she wanted.

"Moment by moment."

He gave just a little more. She was working her hips in desperate circles now, trying to increase the friction.

"Inch by inch."

He gave her everything. She let out a low, throaty wail. He hooked her cheek with two fingers. She sucked them greedily, sinking into a void where death was meaningless and shame impossible.

They'd done this all before, of course, but she wasn't lying when she said she'd forgotten. The memories had merged into a single, solid place, fixed and suspended outside time, like the imagined cities she returned to in her dreams.