Q is for Quickie
Okay, kiddies, it’s sexy singalong time! Q is for Quickie, that’s good enough for you! Come on, you know the words! Q is for Quickie, that’s good enough for you! Everybody! Q is for Quickie, that’s good enough for you! Oh, Quickie quickie quickie starts with Q!
Today, we’re going to talk about the quickie, which as we all know is a baked open-faced pastry described by some as a savory egg pie, similar to a soufflé, with a reputation for packing a lot of bold flavor into relatively small bites that naturally lends itself to some snide bedroom comparisons. Over time, the more sexual definition eclipsed the original and those in the culinary world were obliged to adopt the now-recognizable French spelling to separate their gastronomical creation from the base carnal connotations of the word, and actually, I just made all that up. I’m a writer. I lie for a living.
But seriously, who doesn’t know what a quickie is? Or at least, who couldn’t take an educated guess on hearing the word? Even if you’ve never heard the phrase before, it conjures a certain unequivocal aesthetic. Say you find yourself off the coast of Madagascar fighting an oil rig fire during the height of the indigenous pyrodrake mating season (You lead a terribly exciting life.) when you notice two of your fellow firefighters are missing.
“Where has Rob and Ellen run off to?” one asks (as one will in social gatherings of that nature), and one hears the convivial reply, “Must be catching a quickie.” Well now, you know exactly what that means and you all have a hearty laugh at the lovebirds’ expense, never guessing Rob and Ellen were snatched away in the slavering jaws of a paternally-motivated pyrodrake and are presently, unfortunately, located in the bellies of all three of his mates, where they shall fight no more fires, but will go on to provide the nutritional wherewithal to incubate a new generation of preternatural fire-breathing monstrosities.
So everyone knows what a quickie is, whether they know they know or not. But do we? Do we really? A lot of adjectives leap to mind when asked to describe a quickie, most of them some variation of the word ‘quick,’ but let’s stop and think about that for a second. Any other sexual encounter described in terms of its brevity is highly unlikely to be rendered in glowing terms, yet quickies are almost always related in a positive manner, or at least tongue-in-cheek. Tongue in something, anyway. My point is, this may be the one time when an interlude lasting just a few minutes is not just a good thing, but is actively sought. In a world where sexual stamina defines the ideal sexual partner, the quickie is an oddly paradoxical yet undeniably exciting achievement.
Why is that? Because the crucial element of a quickie is not, contrary to popular belief, its speedy consummation. That is incidental. Instead, it relies upon a sense of urgency. Nobody has a quickie because they’re kicking around the house, just killing time. They do it because they only have fifteen minutes before the wife has to head out the door to that important conference with the CDC concerning the recent zombie virus outbreaks or the husband has to pick up little Susie from her toddler krav maga practice (You lead, as I’ve said, a very exciting life). My point is, quickies are less about timing and more about the thrill.
So by now I’m assuming you’re terribly turned on and want to try this thing called ‘quickie’, but you’re unsure how to go about it. Well, to begin with, you need a partner who is willing to take the risk with you and to jump on the opportunity (so to speak) when it arises (ha!). Also, by its very nature, a quickie necessitates forgoing a lot of the usual sexual rituals. Foreplay is dramatically reduced if not skipped altogether. Clothing is rarely removed, but only shifted. And unfortunately, precautionary measures such as lube or condoms are also often omitted, lending a whole new element of danger to the proceedings. Just remember, risk may be fun but it only lasts for a moment; you have to live with regrets.
Once you have a partner, it’s time to start thinking about locations. There are a number of excellent suggestions out there for the beginning quickie-ee, but once you’ve conquered them, by all means, start thinking outside the metaphorical box. The world is full of places to copulate. In fact, given that the planet is anywhere between 6000 and 4.54 billion years old (depending on whether you were born in Kansas or, you know, anywhere else) there is a very good chance that someone or something has had or is having sex right where you’re sitting. So explore your surroundings for fresh new ugly-bumping territories, always keeping in mind the three Ps: Public, Penalties, and of course, Physics! (You thought I was going to say peccadillic perfervidious pareunia, didn’t you? Ha. I never go for the obvious line.)
You’ll notice that privacy isn’t anywhere on that highly oversimplified list and that’s because so much of the urgency that defines a good quickie comes from the risk of getting caught. Therefore, when organizing your spontaneous interlude (spontaneity can always benefit from a little extra planning), make sure you’ve included other people, whether in a peripheral sense, such as your Dungeons and Dragons group arriving in fifteen minutes, or in a more immediate sense, such as the two hundred-plus people milling around outside the broom closet where you and a certain secret service agent are getting busy during a White House walking tour.
That brings us handily to the second P: Penalties, subheading, Prison. Be aware that while quickies are great fun, there are laws in most states protecting the average citizen from turning a corner at Disneyworld and encountering an eight-way between you and the Seven Dwarfs while Snow White films it. Now, I’m not saying never have sex in a theme park—I’m not a prude, for crying out loud—I’m just saying, know your location and come prepared. Even in a situation where you are unlikely to be arrested, there are still real consequences for getting caught mid-canoodle in a public forum. At the very least, you may never be invited back to any family gathering once you’ve been caught under the casserole table at Great-Uncle Eustace’s funeral, and even complete strangers can have absurdly long memories. I myself am banned for life from the Cougar Mountain Zoo in my home state (that’s not even a joke. I got caught when the African crowned crane got turned on and started whooping the joint up. As the cranes are endangered, naturally every keeper in the zoo came running to watch and, long story short, I am no longer welcome there).
Finally, Physics, as in, the physical limitations of the enclosure where you are grubbing around. Many stories are told of people who failed to take into consideration the fact that they are not actually as young as they feel. Even humdrum, everyday sex can go horribly, hilariously wrong. Add to that an unfamiliar or confined space, a time limit or the threat of discovery and injuries become alarmingly common , so don’t get crazy with it. In the airplane lavatory is not the place to premier that interesting new position you looked up in the Pop-Up Kama Sutra last night (I wrote that line before I was aware that’s a real thing). My advice? Stick to the fundamentals and you’ll find they do fine.
My excerpt for Q is for Quickie comes from Dinah McLeod’s The Marriage Pact.
My mind struggled to process as I placed my hands on the cool, peeling white paint. The other day hadn’t been an accident, had it? This…this whole dominating, in-control thing that he did—and looked so sexy doing, I might add—that wasn’t an act. It was really how he wanted to live. The realization had me stunned so much I didn’t hear his brief lecture, though he had my full attention from the first spank he landed on my shorts.
“That hurt!” I complained, wanting to reach back and rub. For some reason I couldn’t name, I didn’t think that would be allowed.
“It’s just a reminder.”
“Fine! I’m reminded!”
“Shana.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Is this really the time to argue?”
“I’m not arguing,” I said, a little less petulantly.
“Well, there’s two explanations for this. Either I misunderstood your tone or you don’t know what arguing sounds like.”
How was it that he managed to sound stern and sexy all at once? Did he have to lean so close to my ear? Feeling his skin so close to mine made my skin extra sensitive and tingly all over, which made it nearly impossible to stay mad.
“So, which is it?” He brushed his mouth against my ear lobe, making me shiver as my stomach muscles tightened.
God, I wished he just take me already. “Whichever will get this over with faster so we can get back to…more pleasant things.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I find spanking your cute ass very pleasant, but I take your point. So, let’s see, I owe you one more for disobedience, one for arguing and one for not answering a question. Is that about right?”
“Brody!” I protested, stamping my foot. “That’s not fair! I’m not doing anything and you know it!”
“Except getting more riled up by the minute.” He said it in such a way that it sounded like a compliment. Still, the second promised smack came crashing down on my poor butt. He leaned even closer as he whispered, “I’m done for now, but one of these days I’m going to show you how enjoyable a spanking can be.”
Ha, I doubted that! But he turned me back around and began kissing me again, so I kept my hands over my head the way he liked and my mouth shut.
The gentle pressure from each and every kiss was driving me crazy. My fingers were itching to touch him back, to drive him to the edge of madness the way his lips did to me. I didn’t want him to stop, either, which was enough for me to push the unrelenting desire back for another few seconds.
Almost as though he’d read my thoughts, Brody threw an arm up and clasped both of my wrists in his strong hand.
“I was being good,” I pouted, even though I kind of liked it.
“This way you’ll keep being good,” he murmured. Without another word, he went back to work making sure my panties were nice and soaked.
I arched my back, pushing my breasts toward him, dying for him to touch them. Brody willingly bent his head to tease one of my nipples with his tongue. I’d never thought he’d be able to torment me through my clothing, but as usual, Brody loved proving me wrong. While his flexible tongue amped my desire to a crescendo, he lowered his other hand to my pussy, caressing it through the fabric of my jeans.
“Brody!” I cried out, so worked up I was panting. “Please, you’re killing me.”
“I’ll stop when I’m good and ready and not before,” he said in his self-assured, sexy voice.
With a whimper, I resigned myself to being brought to the brink of pleasure but never taken over. Maybe we weren’t ready yet. Maybe this was all happening too fast. After all, I hadn’t even been home for a month yet, Brody and I hadn’t been…doing whatever we were doing for even two weeks. On the other hand, we’d known each other for nearly three decades…
The thoughts were driven straight from my head when I felt his hands pulling my shirt over my head. He dropped his hold on my wrists long enough to hurl the shirt across the room and when he resumed his protective grip, I felt my sex clench. With his free hand, he yanked my bra down, baring my breasts. They popped out of the cups perkily, nipples stiff and seeking attention. When he lowered his soft, warm mouth onto my skin, I felt a spasm run throughout my body. As he suckled, he continued to caress me through my shorts. I wondered if he could feel my heat radiating through the fabric.
My breath hitched when he slowly worked the zipper down. In a quick motion, he’d yanked the shorts to my ankles without ever pausing in his ardent attention to my breast. He resumed his petting, this time with only one layer of clothing separating his fingers and my pussy. Under normal circumstances, I would have been embarrassed knowing that if he hadn’t felt my desire before, he certainly could now. But these weren’t normal circumstances—he was driving me toward torture and wheeling it back to passion so effortlessly that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
When I felt his fingers in the band of my panties, tugging them down to join my shorts, I moaned, anticipating relief that would hopefully come several times over.
“Not yet, baby girl,” he murmured, as though he could feel my pent-up frustration. He then switched his talented tongue to my other breast and began giving it the same kind of attention he’d shown the first. Each nibble made my pussy pulse with pleasure. By the time he finished, my toes were curling and I felt like any moment I would come apart.
Brody let go of my wrists as he knelt before me. My thighs were quivering as he pushed them apart.
“Please, Brody,” I whispered breathlessly. “Please take me now.”
“Just a little taste,” he promised with a wink. “And then, since you said please…”
Even though I knew I was alone, when he began licking my clit, I slapped a hand to my mouth to muffle my moans.
“Hey, none of that now,” he scolded. “I want to hear you scream.”
I knew the only way to get him refocused on those wonderful things he was doing to my pussy was to obey, so I dropped my hand. When he bent down to put his tongue inside my slick folds, I moaned and writhed under his ministrations without shame.
Without warning, he stopped and I looked down at him.
“Another time,” he said as he met my eyes. “One day soon I’m going to make you cum with my tongue, but not today. I can’t wait any longer.”
The magic words I’d been waiting to hear. My pussy gushed as soon as they left his mouth, as if it wasn’t wet enough already. Brody wasted no time in pinning me to the wall.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I murmured, wondering at the fact I could still speak at all.
“When I put my cock in you, I want you to put your legs around me,” he ordered huskily. He wasted no time in shucking his pants and pulling his boxers down along with them.
My eyes widened as I took in the large, throbbing member, but I barely had time to enjoy it before he plunged it deep into my pussy. I threw my head back and cried out lustily, wrapping my legs tighter around him.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he praised, lowering his mouth and biting down on my collar bone.
“Ah!” I gasped, feeling the power of his thrusts. “You’re such a wild man.”
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he began to drive harder and faster, bringing me to the edge of an orgasm that had been building from the moment I opened the door and saw those beautiful brown eyes. “I feel like I’m on fire,” I breathed, digging my fingernails into his back.
“Come for me then, baby.”
Almost as soon as he said it, I obliged, feeling like every cell in my body splintered apart as I rode the wave of my orgasm. I closed my eyes and screamed as my climax rocketed through my body, leaving everything hot and tight.
When Brody shuddered with his release and I felt his hot juices mingle with my own, I went limp. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever ridden such a roller coaster of desire. And damn it if it hadn’t given me such a rush that I planned to ride it again. Soon.
I didn’t know how he managed, but Brody carried me to my bedroom and laid me gently down on the sheets before collapsing beside me. I snuggled my naked body next to him, curling into him before closing my eyes. Perfect fit, I thought with a smile right before I fell asleep.
When Shana Davidson’s longtime best friend Brody—now her high-school sweetheart—makes an expected but ill-timed proposal right before graduation, Shana turns him down. Shana believes her refusal is best for the sake of both their futures, since neither of them has had the chance to experience life on their own yet, but Brody is hurt and angry and they part with harsh words that haunt her for years to come.
Returning home to attend a friend’s wedding three years later, though, Shana not only runs into Brody, but with the help of a bit of champagne an odd pact is formed between them: if neither of them are married in ten years, they will marry one another.
After Shana returns to her hometown again nine years later to care for her ailing mother, she does her best to avoid Brody, but her friend Becky has other ideas. Shana soon finds herself playing the role of maid of honor at Becky’s wedding, but it is only on the wedding day that she learns the best man is none other than Brody, and she is left with no choice but to confront him and to confront their painful past.
Even as old wounds heal and love begins to grow between them, Shana must face the fact that Brody is not a boy anymore. He is a strong, dominant man who is more than ready to take her in hand—and take her over his knee for a good, hard, bare-bottom spanking when she needs it. Will she still keep the marriage pact she made almost ten years ago?
Publisher’s Note: The Marriage Pact is an erotic romance novel that contains graphic sexual scenes and spankings, including domestic discipline in a contemporary setting. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
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