Creepy Jeffrey

“Creepy Jeffrey” is the working title of this story. I barely remember writing it and never planned to publish it, but time gives an odd sense of perspective on my writing, I find. As you read, you’ll notice some words are highlighted. It was part of a writing challenge where we were given a list of random, unconnected words and charged with using as many of them in a story as possible.

Anyway, I was looking for something else in my files this morning and forgot how much I liked this little freak show. I hope you do, too.


Jeffrey started at the sound of keys in the door lock, and in a panic, crammed the silky panties he was holding into his pocket and snapped off the light. As quickly and quietly as he could, he closed the wicker laundry hamper and looked around. His only egress blocked, he eyed the closet, and with no time to spare, opened the louvered doors and shoved her clothes aside, doing his best to squeeze his bulk into the tight space.

Amy entered the bedroom laughing, leading a strange man by the hand. Jeffrey scowled, his hand clenching into a fist around her soiled underwear. That she held him at a distance was an uncomfortable reality for him, but it didn’t stop him from fantasizing about the life they would have together, or about how once he got her alone she’d see that he was all the man she’d ever need.

This tall man was no one Jeffrey knew, and Jeffrey didn’t like him in the least. He narrowed his eyes and watched as Amy switched on the small bedside lamp and carefully adjusted the lampshade where he had knocked it askew in his haste to hide. The man’s features were plenty clear in the soft light, and Jeffrey took note of the strong jaw, aquiline nose, and long forehead and decided he looked like a horse. Especially when he smiled and showed off his impossibly straight, white teeth. He stifled a derisive snort and nicknamed the interloper “Ed”, remarking mentally that he looked to be seriously lacking in “horseanality” and pressed a chubby fist to his sweaty upper lip to keep from laughing at his own wit.

Ed was wasting no time with Amy, and Jeffrey could feel his face burning red as Ed pulled her close, running his hands over her body, along her wide, womanly hips and around the soft, luscious globes of her ass. He squeezed the soft handfuls, and Jeffrey was dismayed to see her respond so willingly. He saw her press closer, her mouth on his, her hands disappearing between their bodies. Though he couldn’t see, Jeffrey knew by the way Ed gasped and closed his eyes that she’d touched his manhood, and the thought disgusted him, though he couldn’t ignore the throbbing between his own legs.

He was bent uncomfortably in the small space and the air was close. He could feel a dank wetness growing beneath his arms and he felt stifled in his track suit, but there was no way he could move. He’d be forced to watch her be taken by this unworthy man, and there was nothing he could do about it. Again, he clenched his fist and felt her panties, and slowly pulled them out of his pocket.

They smelled so good.

He raised them to his nose and inhaled slowly, savoring her scent. Ed was sliding her skirt up, and Jeffrey could see that she was wearing a matching pair. He throbbed again painfully, and even though the thought of Ed touching her was enough to make him sick, the sight of her ample ass under the sheer fabric was making him come undone. When Ed tugged on the panties and made them ride up between the soft cheeks, he had to exhale hard into her danties.

Amy was practically begging for it. She pushed Ed onto the bed and he got his first glimpse of Ed’s equine endowment, and with a self-conscious blush, rubbed his own small member through the polyester of his too-snug sweat pants.

He didn’t know how much he could stand.

It seemed Amy didn’t either. She had pulled off her top and Jeffrey watched as Ed opened her bra with a practiced snap of his fingers. The chesticles he’d admired through tight sweaters were free and bouncing and bare, and with a healthy dose of self-loathing, he slipped a moist hand into his pants and pulled his own erection free. He tugged it and closed his eyes tight as he felt it drool, his seed seeping out against his will. He knew that he should not be indulging in the sin of Onan and instead should be saving it for her. He didn’t want to watch her fornicate with a dirty, horse-faced man with his toothy smile and grotesquely large genitalia. He didn’t want to have to relieve his longing for her into a used pair of her panties. He wanted to go out there, pull her off Ed and get down one knee. He would propose matrimony to her, and she would accept gratefully. He’d send Ed packing, and they would finally be together. He would wait until their wedding night to take her, of course.

He imagined as he had so many nights in the past, how she would remove her white wedding white gown, her white thighs parting for him, and he would be the one to open her, and they would become one flesh. Then, on a day known only to God, she would ovulate, and he would use his seed to plant a baby inside her. He was stroking faster and harder at the thought, watching Ed enter her easily and her legs go around his back. They didn’t even undress. He took her like a whore, and he felt tears in his eyes as Ed worked inside her, plowing the furrow that was to be his alone.

Jeffrey couldn’t stop. He was thrusting inside his own fist, his clear fluids mixing with her scent, soiling his precious treasure. He was going to spill his seed, hiding and watching. He was dirty and sinful. She made him dirty. She forced him to sin with her wanton ways. He wanted it to end, to be able to clear his head, but it was taking too long. Amy was bucking and moaning, and she cried out as if in pain. Jeffrey came undone at last, and with a soft cry of his own, shot his load into the scrap of silken fabric. He was crying in earnest, silent tears running down his face as he tucked his spent penis back under his waistband. He dropped the ruined panties heedlessly onto a pile of jumbled shoes and wiped his eyes and a string of mucus from his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

As Ed reached his own climax with a simian grunt, his foot hit the nightstand. Jeffrey saw the lamp wobble, and heard a crash. Apologetically, Ed got up quickly, and retrieved the bits of ceramic from the wood floor. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

Amy laughed and tossed the bits into the small wastebasket. “It’s nothing. Just a thing this guy from work gave me once. I thought it was kind of sweet.”

“Another guy, huh? A sweetie of yours?”

It was Amy’s turn to laugh. “Not hardly. He’s a good guy. I think he’s a little…special,” and she pointed to her head.

Ed nodded, and dropping his pants to the floor, climbed back into bed with her.

Jeffrey seethed. He knew the figurine. It was a little cat. She said she liked cats. It was holding a little balloon that said “I luv u furever” on it. He had looked in every gift shop in town trying to find just the right trinket to express his sentiments, and she had tossed it out like garbage. He had gifted it to her in the fullness of his love, and she just threw it away.

Enraged, he threw the closet door open and burst into the room. He could barely see, and his sobs were the last thing either of them heard as he grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and brought it down hard on Ed’s head. Once. Twice. The third blow drew blood and silenced Ed’s cries even as the plug came free from the outlet and the room was plunged into darkness. Amy was still screaming and crying, and Jeffrey kept swinging until no one was making any noise. Or moving. Or breathing.

* * * * *

That Sunday morning, the pastor stopped Jeffrey after services and asked after his special girl and inquired as to when he’d have the pleasure of meeting her. Jeffrey smiled a doleful little smile. “Oh, Pastor,” he said. “She turned out to be a…” his voice lowered into church-appropriate tones, “…well, a fallen woman of low morals. It didn’t work out.”

The pastor smiled gently. “I understand, my son. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you, Pastor.” Jeffrey walked away, and the smile of the righteous passed over his lips. Under his breath, he muttered, “For the Good Book says, ‘If a man comes upon a maiden who is betrothed and has relations with her, you shall stone them to death.’”


I Ran

I ran out of the men’s locker room as fast as I could.

I threw on my sweaty shorts and t-shirt, and while I knew that I was still soaking wet and my clinging clothes were no longer covering much, I had to get out. I didn’t want any explanations or introductions. I got what I needed, and found out what I wanted to know.

I fucked up, and nothing could change that. And getting caught wasn’t going to improve the situation.

I gathered my bra and panties hastily in a ball in my right fist and checked to make sure I left nothing behind but a trail of wet footprints across the black floor. Behind the closed shower curtain was a spent man with sweet eyes and a naughty smile kneeling in the shower, the taste of my pussy still fresh on his lips.

It was nearly five in the morning and the early birds were going to begin to trickle in. My legs felt shaky and weak from the power of my orgasm, from the fear of getting caught, and from my own brazen boldness as I slipped unnoticed into the empty women’s locker room and dressed quickly. I covered up with my baggy sweats and crammed my wet feet into my sneakers, yanking at the laces. I shoved the rest of my crap into my bag and hurried out of the gym. My cheeks were burning and I could tell that I was flush with a combination of exertion and shame as I passed the front desk, mercifully unseen. The lone employee on that early was talking in low tones on the phone behind a door that was three-quarters closed, and without looking back, I pushed through the glass doors out to a world that had not yet begun to wake up. I shivered in the pre-dawn chill, running to my car and throwing it into gear, putting as much distance between myself and the gym as I could.

There was no point in looking back. I knew I wouldn’t stop even if he had caught up to me. I took the long route home, and as the miles between the strip mall complex and our house added up, my breathing finally returned to normal. By the time I pulled into the yard and killed the engine, I had almost convinced myself that the whole thing had been a dream.

I slipped silently into the house, putting my keys down quietly instead of tossing them onto the chaotic clutter of the breakfast table like I did every other morning. I didn’t linger in the kitchen and dive into a cold container of yogurt or mix myself a protein drink, but I kicked my shoes off by the door and tiptoed barefoot into the bedroom like a thief. I made it to the bathroom without waking Mandy, and when I was safely in the shower with hot water running down my body, I exhaled forcefully, like I’d been holding my breath for hours.

I shut my eyes so hard that I saw spots and stars and flashes behind my lids, but it didn’t keep the images of my current crop of sins from mentally assaulting me.

His sweaty t-shirt clinging to his biceps.

The way he wiped the sweat off of his face with the collar of his shirt.

His smile in response to mine that said all I needed to know about what he wanted to do to me.

The sweet look of shocked surprise when I interrupted his shower.

His hard cock.

His knowing hands.

His willing lips.

I shuddered under the hot water and ran my hands down my body, letting the familiar smell of my own shampoo tether me back to reality. I don’t know how long I stood there just mindlessly soaping and rinsing, soaping and rinsing, but eventually, the flashes of him—and the others before him—stopped filling my head.

A sudden draft of cool air and the sound of the plastic rings sliding on the shower curtain rod startled me, and my eyes snapped open, but I couldn’t turn around. Even when I felt Mandy’s cool hands on my hot, pink skin and her soft breasts pressed against my back, I stayed frozen, my hands frozen flat against my thighs. Her long, supple fingers weren’t content to just stroke my ass, though, but sought out the warmth between them, and reluctantly, I turned and faced my lover.

I kept my head down, my eyes focused on my own bare feet. I let my hair hang around my face like a flame-colored curtain, hoping it would hide my expression and mask the transgression I was sure I wore like a mask. Her knowing hands caressed my breasts, teasing the rosy nipples into hard points, but still I couldn’t look at her. My guilt was palpable in the small, steamy space.

I knew I couldn’t keep acting out on every panicked thought that crossed my mind. I knew I shouldn’t. I kept telling myself that it was just cold feet, and with the wedding only a few weeks away, I was acting out of anxiety. That once we were married and it was done, I’d be happy with being with just one person for the rest of my life.

One woman for the rest of my life.

I tried to remember what it was my therapist said about my apprehensions. It’s okay to feel freaked out; it’s not always okay to act on those feelings.

I looked at my beautiful fiance and smiled. It felt weak and forced, but Mandy’s eyes were as big and brown and as trusting and free of guile as a cocker spaniel’s. Her sleepy face was open for the reading, her whole body aching to love and be loved. A sharp pang of guilt tore through my heart as my lover’s soft lips pressed against my hot, wet neck, even as I felt a new stirring between my legs.

I said the words in my heart. This is the last time, I promise.

I took Mandy’s face in my hands and kissed her. Mandy yielded softly and gently as she always did, her whole body trembling with willing submission and desire. My hand slipped between her soft, slick thighs and parted them, easing her open with practiced skill and finding her already wet and hot. Even then, my mind wandered, and I found myself almost detached from the scene, wondering what it was like to fall so easily, to submit so willingly, to be open and vulnerable in someone else’s hands.

I’ve never felt that.

I turned Mandy around and put her hands against the cool shower walls, spreading her thighs wide and slipping my fingers inside. I ran my free hand over Mandy’s soft ass, tracing the ink lines of the tattoos that adorned her tender flesh, remembering the occasions for most through the soft-focused lens of time.

Mandy spread her legs wider, offering herself, never taking.

I only know how to take.

I thought I had offered my body to the stranger in the locker room. I tried. I could picture myself in the same position, back arched, body eager and hungry, my pussy soaked and aching to be filled. But even as I gently worked my fingers inside her body, stroking her hard little clit and making her tremble with each deep thrust, I felt the gift of it. I knew the difference.

I offered myself to the man in the gym. At least, I tried to. I want to give myself to someone. To be the one who is the gift, who is a present to be opened and enjoyed. I didn’t gave my body to him, and he took me—but that offering was a challenge. I dared him to fuck me. The truth is, I needed him, and so I took.

I offered myself to the artist that runs the quirky little gallery and gift shop on Third Street, and she took me to her studio where I posed for her. She lay me down on an antique fainting couch and spent hours on every part of my body, paying homage to every detail in a way no one ever had. In the end she gave me orgasm after orgasm after thundering orgasm, and I left full, bloated, and sated: full of all she had to give. I left with more than I was able to give.

Mandy only gave. She never asked, or demanded. Her body was a ripe sacrifice, and one that she offered freely and with love every time. Even though I was the one kneeling behind her, pulling her ass to me and using my tongue to make her shake and moan with pleasure, it was only because I wanted her.

I ate her pussy like a ripe fruit newly fallen from its branch, letting her juices run over my chin. She was musky and sweet and tasted like heaven. I licked and sucked, and it was so good. I lost myself in her.

I needed to be able to give to her. I told her I loved her, that I wanted to be with her and her alone forever. I wanted to be her prize, to give myself to her and let her take me and use me, but I just couldn’t.

I don’t know how to give.

I would keep taking from her until she was used up and dry, a wrinkled shell sitting across the breakfast table from me, or lying with her breathing shallow and soft beside me in the night.

My hands were gripping her ass, feeling the fullness of her in my grasp, her flesh squeezing between my fingers as if she couldn’t be contained. It was as if she would always be bountiful and lush, and like a glutton, I was not going to leave the table until I had gorged myself on her.

I shut off the water and wrapped her shaking body in a towel, spinning her around and gluing my mouth to hers. Thick, open lips kissed me back, her tongue seeking mine, tasting herself on me.

I guided her back to our rumpled, shared bed, and lay her down, arranging her pillows and making her comfortable. I was going to dine—to feast on her. Even if it was for one last time.

I covered her body with my own, my desire for her throbbing between my legs as hers went around my back. I could feel her heat and her wet pussy beneath my own, my own small tits flattened against her ample breasts. I kissed her over and over, drowning in her, coming up for air long enough to run my hands through her damp honey-blonde hair and twirl the crimson-tipped ends in my fingertips.

I slid down her body, seeking a hard nipple and drawing it into my mouth. I sucked, making her back arch with pleasure. Her full breasts were more than a handful, spilling out of my grasp, defying me to restrain them. I didn’t try. I kissed them, and made love to the pale nipples. I used my tongue to follow the outline of the Elvish quote that ran along the soft slope of her breast, smiling at the sweet, nerdy girl and the passions I never fully understood.

She shivered as I moved lower, running my hands over the soft curve of her belly and running my nose through her still damp pubic curls. A pair of red cherries tempted me, inked in just above her bikini line and I nibbled them, imagining the much younger woman who was getting her first ink.

She parted her legs for me almost unconsciously, again, offering herself in supplication, longing to give me all the things I desire. I wanted her to take my mouth and my hands as a gift, but I knew I was doing it for me. I wanted to make her writhe, to pant, to lust for me, to ache for more, to cry out with pleasure, so I spread her with my hands, parting her blonde curls and pressing my lips to the pink, quivering clit. I kissed her softly at first, teasing the tender flesh with my tongue. She lay still, not daring to breathe, not wanting to break the electric connection of my butterfly-soft kisses on her most tender spot.

I sucked gently, drawing it between my lips and stroking with my tongue, and she arched again, her hands grasping the wrinkled sheets, her head thrown back against the down-filled pillows. Her hips thrust against me, and I obliged her, sliding my fingers inside. She moaned as I filled her, letting me coax out her orgasm. She didn’t hold it back from me, but forced it into my hands, pressing it on me, begging me to take it from her, wanting to fill my mouth with it and let me swallow it down.

I would take it. I watched her respond to my sucking and licking, watched her beautiful, full body moving of its own accord, letting go of its treasure. Her hands pressed against my hair and she begged me not to stop. I knew she was going to come and I was ready. Her body tensed as the first waves of pleasure struck her, and I felt her throb and pulse around my tongue and fingers as she released to me. I drank of her, a gush and flow of fluid as fresh as the sea. I bathed in it and was baptized by it.

I kept going, lightening my touch, making her move against me, forcing me to take every last bit she had to give, laughing and crying with joy and pleasure.

When she lay still, breathing heavy and deep, I rose from the mattress. She pulled on me, pulling my bare body to hers. She wanted to give more. She reached for me, for my swollen cunt that dripped with longing for her, but I couldn’t let her give me anymore. I kissed her and told her to get ready for work, that she was going to be late, and with a stretch and a giggle, she bounced into the bathroom.

I was too full for words.

I lay still and waited for the sound of the shower to start.

I reached between my legs and with a efficacy born of practice and necessity, I brought myself to a swift and joyless orgasm. And when Mandy left for work, I began to pack.

Work Out


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They were the only two people in the gym at four o’clock in the morning.

He didn’t know, nor did he care, why she chose to work out on the elliptical machine directly in front of his when there were no less than ten identical units to choose from.

What he did know was that her gym shorts were very small and very snug, and the round, soft ass they barely contained moved with an absolutely bewitching jiggle and bounce with every step. He also knew that the way her long, messy ponytail switched from side to side with the rhythmic sway of her body was hypnotic, and the vibrant orange-red was the same knee-weakening color as a Caribbean sunset.

For a half an hour, he watched her run in place, her movements fluid and graceful. He marked the progress of her efforts through the sheen of sweat that started as a few fine hairs stuck to the back of her shining neck to where it spread into a wide, wet patch at the small of her back and finally tapering down into the cleft of her perfect ass.

He had never seen anything sexier in his whole life.

He didn’t even notice he’d pushed his own workout longer than he planned until she stopped and got off her machine. He kept going, pretending he always worked out a good ten minutes longer than he actually did, realizing he was out of breath, sweating profusely, half-hard, and hoping those escaped her notice as she wiped the machine down. She flashed him another one of her half smiles before going over to the floor mats to stretch, but he kept going, even though his legs were beginning to burn and he could no longer feel his face.

He saw no way to approach her without being the Creepy Gym Guy, so reluctantly he, too, wiped his machine down and allowed himself one last lingering glance in her direction, all the while praying silently that he would manage not to hyperventilate, throw up, or otherwise embarrass himself in front of her. The captivating sight of her body bent gracefully at the waist, her hands running down the back of her freckled thighs as she reached for her ankles caused his dick to twitch uncomfortably, and quickly he went into the men’s locker room before she had cause to call the police.

He retrieved his gym bag from his locker and peeled off his soaked clothes, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading for the shower. He pulled the curtain closed and stood under the hot spray, breathing deeply in the steam and bracing himself with one arm against the cool tile wall. He closed his eyes and let the hot water run over his head and down his shoulders, too tired to soap up.

A cold draft and the sound of the metal curtain rings moving caused his eyes to snap open. She stepped naked into the spray, her hands against his pecs pushing him aside so she could close the curtain behind her. She hooked her finger in her ponytail holder and pulled it free, shaking her head side to side and letting her hair fall over her wet shoulders in a curtain.

She didn’t speak a word to him, and none seemed to be required of him, which, he thought, was a good thing, as he was unable to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. She turned to face him, tipping her head back under the water and leaning toward him. She put her hands around his waist, and the blood flow to his cock that had subsided in his solo shower came back with a renewed vengeance. She pressed herself against him, trapping his erection between their bodies.

Her hands slid over his wet ass, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close. Tentatively, he put his hands on her shoulders and ran them down her strong arms, letting his thumbs graze over her pale pink nipples.

She smiled again and moaned slightly, encouraging him. Her skin was fair and rapidly growing pink in the hot spray, and he was entirely smitten with the dappling of freckles that covered her shoulders and chest. Her breasts were small and firm, and he dared himself to touch them, cupping them gently and watching for her response.

She looked up at him with eyes that were as blue as a summer sky. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could stammer out more than two words of an introduction, she put her wet fingers over his lips. She shook her head, and trailed her fingers through his chest hair, over his abs to his shaft that rose thick, hard, and red from its curly wet nest of hair. She gripped him firmly and stroked, drawing a drop of clear pre-cum from the tip that was washed away as soon as it appeared. He gasped, bending his head and pressing his lips to her neck.

His fingers sought out her nipples and he tugged the hard points gently between the tips. She exhaled, as if she had been waiting expectantly for his touch all along. He let his hands wander lower, exploring her gentle curves. Her body was strong and fit, but her hips were wide and curvaceous, and as his hands slid over her round, full buttocks, he murmured soft words of appreciation into her ear.

She turned in his arms and presented her ass to him, and he took a moment with his hands resting on her alabaster flanks to thank whatever gods may be for the female form. She arched her back, leaning into his body and he pressed his cock against her, sliding easily between the soft globes of her ass. The head of his cock was against her hot center, being tickled by her ginger nether curls and begging for entrance. His arms went around her easily, one hand on a rosy-tipped nipple and the other between her legs, seeking her hard clit and finding it throbbing. He stroked the dainty little pearl gently, letting his cock slide wetly back and forth from behind.

She leaned forward and spread her legs slightly, and it was all the invitation he required. He guided his cock inside her, taking her slowly and letting her feel every inch of his hard shaft. Her legs shook slightly as he seated himself fully. She was tight and hot, and it was his turn to gasp as he felt her muscles clench around his cock. He began to move, stroking her slowly, holding onto her hips and pulling all the way out of her, teasing her clit with the head before sliding back in, not stopping until his balls pressed tightly against her cunt.

Her voice was soft and light, but her words drove him like the crack of a whip. “Fuck me,” she said, and he pulled out, then slid home forcefully, over and over, moving his hips and working his cock inside her. Their wet bodies slapped together, her hot, tight pussy bringing him to a quick climax.

He pulled out of her and with a grunt and a few strokes, he shot his load all over the milky whiteness of her ass. He was still breathing hard when he dropped to his knees and worshiped her, parting her legs further and pressing his lips against her sweet asshole.

He teased her with his tongue, tasting his own cum that basted her tight rear entrance. He dipped his tongue inside her, tasting her sweet, musky essence. She leaned into him, needing release. His lips went around her clit and he sucked gently at it, teasing it with his tongue, massaging it. She pressed against his hungry mouth, grinding against him, and he moved with her, feeling her legs begin to tremble as the first spasms of her orgasm hit.

He held onto her while she came, her breath coming in the ragged gasps and pants that thirty minutes on the elliptical hadn’t been able to draw out of her. She soaked his face with her juices, and he swallowed hard, savoring every drop she shared with him.

She left him kneeling on the floor of the shower as soon as she was able to walk. She slipped out of the shower and by the time he rinsed off and shut the water off, she had gone, with no evidence she’d been there save a row of wet footprints on the black floor.

He dressed quickly and grabbed his bag, running out to see if he could catch her, but when he left the steam-filled locker room, the gym was still empty, and his was the only car in the parking lot.

He opened his mouth to ask the kid working the front desk her name, but at the last minute decided that he didn’t dare, so he put his jacket collar up against the early morning chill and wandered out into the gray sunrise, alone, to get home before his wife woke up.



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With humble thanks and apologies to Franz Kafka, it is to his memory and great genius that this story is dedicated.

One morning, Maggie awoke from a night of disturbing dreams to discover a full-grown male grizzly bear sleeping on her husband Greg’s side of the bed.

He lay on his side, facing away from her, snoring lightly. The white sheets and well-worn quilt barely covered his wide shoulders, giving her a clear view of the coarse brown pelt grown thick over his entire body. His ears twitched in his sleep, and Maggie raised herself on her elbow to look again, certain that she must still be dreaming, and that her subconscious was only assigning a bear-like quality to his newly grown-in beard, for in truth, grizzly bears did not, as a rule, sleep in suburban Illinois bedrooms—much less hers.

She peered at him more closely, moving slowly as to not disturb him, but the shifting of the bed caused his ears to twitch again, and she found herself smiling at it. But then he stretched, and his long, hairy arm extended well past the edge of the mattress and onto the nightstand where he sent his alarm clock, half-empty glass of water, assorted ear plugs, and a dog-eared copy of Mike Ditka’s biography crashing to the floor.

The bear woke with a start, his long black claws raking the blankets off of him as a low growl issued from deep within his enormous chest. Maggie scrambled away, her legs tangling in the sheets as he turned and looked at her with tiny, glittering dark eyes. She tried to scream but could barely breathe as she fell off the bed and landed in a heap, wrenching her ankle and hitting her head so hard on the oak dresser that she thought she’d throw up.

The bear growled again and moved towards her. Maggie shrieked as she tried to stand, her cry of panic turning to one of pain as her sprained ankle gave way and she fell to her knees, crawling as fast as she could over the hard wood floor. The bear moved faster than she, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was between her and the door, his menacing claws scraping against the wood, forcing her towards the closet and her only possible sanctuary.

Maggie pulled her body into the tight space, clamoring over shoes and pulling Greg’s dress shirts down on her head as she forced the door shut behind her. The bear roared anew, his voice shaking the thin louvered door that was all that stood between her and a man-eating grizzly bear.

She huddled against the back wall, drawing her shaking legs up tightly against her body. Outside the door she could hear him snuffling, his nose against the floor, and she could feel the occasional whoosh of warm breath when he exhaled. He nudged the door and Maggie squealed again, her voice high and terrified, but the louvers held and the latch remained secure. Again, she saw the door bow slightly as he pushed against it, grumbling. She shut her eyes tight and waited for the door to burst into splinters. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she whimpered, her voice sounding small and pathetic to her ears.

On the other side of the door, she heard the tap of his claws on the floor moving away. For a few minutes, she heard nothing save the beating of her own heart in her ears. Then she listened more intently, training her ear to pick up any sound from the bedroom. When she heard nothing, she moved slowly toward the door, wincing at the sharp pain in her ankle, and peeked through the slats.

The bear was in front of the full-length mirror than hung on the back of their bedroom door and seemed to be studying his own features in a very unbearlike manner. He raised a paw far bigger than her own hand to his face and touched his long snout, then the top of his furry head. He tipped his head to the side and raised his ears, perking them up as if he was listening for something, then flattening them against his head. He sat on his round bear rump in front of the mirror, and Maggie suppressed a giggle.

Suddenly and without warning, he raised himself up to his full height and Maggie gasped as his enormous bulk filled the door frame. He looked over at the closet door and Maggie shrank against the back wall, shaking anew at the sight of seven feet of fur, teeth, claws, and bad attitude.

She heard the click of his claws on the floor again and cringed, waiting for the door to explode in a shower of kindling, but it never came. She relaxed her shoulders, took a deep breath, and put her eye to the slats again.

The bear was sitting on the floor at the end of their bed, leaning against the disheveled bed clothes. He was looking at her, and when he saw her face, he lifted his paw and gestured to her.

Maggie blinked, not sure what she was seeing.

She looked again, and again the bear raised a hairy paw and with claws as long as her own fingers, gestured to her in an obvious and very human “come here” motion. He then lay down and placed his nose on his paws in a posture of supplication.

Slowly, she turned the knob of the closet door with a shaking hand. The bear didn’t move as the door opened enough for Maggie to look out. He raised his giant head and Maggie recoiled, so he slowly lay it back down on his paws. He kept his eyes on her, and Maggie didn’t dare break eye contact. She inched forward and then suddenly stopped. She froze, seeing something deep the creature’s eyes that was painfully familiar.


He raised his head slowly from the floor and nodded, and as Maggie looked into his eyes, she saw the confusion and sadness in their dark brown depths. She crept closer and lay her hand on his head, feeling the thickness of his fur and watched him close his eyes. She didn’t know how it was possible, or why, but this hulk of an animal was her husband, and her arms went around his neck. He let out a soft growl that might have been a purr of happiness as she hugged him, and he lay his head gently in her lap.

As the hours stretched into days and the days into weeks, Maggie grew accustomed to having a bear around the house. He was her same sweet Greg: quieter, for sure, though he had never been a conversationalist. He became adept at using simple signals and signs to let her know when he needed assistance, as he had some limitations as to what he could do with his paws. He learned quickly that a roar of frustration would get her attention, but not to pull that card too often lest he get a flick on his tender ears or snout. He was still perfectly happy to sit with her and watch old movies and football games on TV, letting her feed him popcorn kernels and scratch behind his ears after he licked the butter from her fingers.

She loved his new strength, and discovered as her sprained ankle healed that she could dig her fingers into his strong fur and hold on tight and he’d carry her easily just about anywhere. He loved to be outside, so he’d climb into the back seat of their car and she’d take him for a drive out to the country where they would take long, quiet walks together in the forest. She was impressed with how he used his dangerously sharp claws to climb the towering pines, though she couldn’t watch him dig grubs and other nasty critters out of rotten logs without her stomach turning, and it’s for sure she left him alone when he ran off into the thick undergrowth to do the things that bears do in the woods. And after a day of rambling in the forest and kicking through the fallen leaves, she was happy to curl up next to him in their big bed and fall asleep in his warm, furry arms.

One morning, in the wee small hours just as the sun was beginning to lighten the eastern sky, Maggie was deep in sleep, tossing fitfully with one of the many disturbing dreams that had plagued her since the night Greg had metamorphosed into a grizzly bear. She cried and whimpered in her sleep, soft noises of distress, waking suddenly with a start. She lay in the dark, breathing heavily, trying to come back to reality with some difficulty. She felt the velvety soft fur of Greg’s muzzle on her bare back, rubbing her gently between her shoulder blades, the warmth of his breath tickling the fine hairs and making them stand up. “I had a bad dream,” she murmured into the pillow, relaxing at his low growl of understanding.

“I don’t know why I keep having them, or why they started, but I wish I knew how to make them stop,” she confessed. Greg grunted softly and continued his gentle caresses, and Maggie felt the tension and anxiety melt away. She stretched out as he stroked and nuzzled the soft skin of the small of her back. She could feel his fur tickling the backs of her thighs and she squirmed a bit. It had been longer than either of them was accustomed to since they’d made love, and as he touched her gently, exploring the soft contours of her body, she found herself wondering if such a thing was even possible anymore. Or desirable. Was he still her husband, or just a beloved pet?

She was only beginning to contemplate it when she felt his warm nose following the curve of her ass to the warm, damp cleft between her thighs. She tensed, the logical centers of her brain telling her that interspecies coupling is all kinds of wrong and against every law of nature, but then she felt his tongue brush lightly against the soft curls of her pussy. He had always loved her in that position, face down, taking her from behind, enjoying no part of their lovemaking more than when he would slip in behind her and use his lips and tongue to make her shudder and squirm with desire. She was no prude—it was a point of pride that she had few sexual hang-ups, and the truth was, it felt good. Really good, in fact. Her body told her that if it feels good, it should continue. Her heart told her that the body didn’t matter as much as the heart of the man she married, and with that on her side, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and shutting her brain off, let him use his strong nose to push her thighs apart, feeling a shiver go down her spine at the thought of letting go, and at the thought of what she was letting him do.

He parted her soft folds and slid his rough tongue over the sensitive pink inner skin of her pussy. It was long and strong—definitely not the tongue she was used to, but she had to admit that the change was a pleasant one. He maneuvered it skillfully, seeking her clit and making her arch her back with pleasure at the contact. His nose pressed against her thighs again, the soft fur on his head a delightful sensation as he nudged her legs apart.

It was so wonderfully dirty.

She opened for him, gasping as his tongue ran over her clit to her cunt and dipped into her sweet center. She moaned as he entered her slowly, tasting her and making her shudder as he went into her deeper than ever possible. She pictured him in the deep forest, his arms gripping the trunk of a hollow tree while his tongue dipped into a deep, dark hole and emerged coated with thick, sweet, amber honey. He tasted her with the same relish, his strong paws on her thighs, holding her tight, just the tips of his claws pressing her tender flesh—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel his restrained power and strength. His tongue plunged into her over and over, slowly, drawing out her sweet, musky nectar. She pressed back against his mouth, urging him on, bringing her knees up under her body and granting him every access.

His soft, deep grunts let her know he was enjoying it as much as she was.

When he ran his tongue between the cheeks of her ass in the way he knew was guaranteed to make her come unglued, however, any thoughts of right or wrong, natural or unnatural went right out the window. Only one man knew exactly what would make her whole body tremble with pleasure, and he was taking advantage of his current metamorphosis to its full extent.

She moaned aloud when he pressed his tongue against her tight ass, wiggling it and teasing her until he felt her muscles relax. Gently, he slid inside her, and she moaned again, grabbing at the bedclothes as he used his strong, flexible tongue to fuck her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt. He was in her, hot and wet, deep, but soft. He pulled out and lapped her flesh, then back inside her, using his talented, nimble tongue on every inch of her pink, juicy cunt and ripe ass. She pictured her own juices dripping from the sable fur of his muzzle in the same way the sweet nectar did he savored and enjoyed a bag of fresh peaches, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the mental image.

She was thrusting against him, rocking uncontrollably as he brought her closer and closer to an orgasm. He read her body, and when he knew she could take no more, he ran his tongue from her clit to her ass and on all fours, easily covered her body with his own. His fur was soft and prickly against her back as he mounted her, gently wrapping one strong arm around her waist and pulling her to him. She could smell her own lusty scent on his fur as he nuzzled her neck, his long, sharp teeth nipping very gently at her, the soft animal exhalations as he prepared to enter her driving her wild.

She felt him hard and hot against the entrance to her womb, pausing, the thick end of his cock nestled between her soaked lips. She turned her head to him, rubbing her cheek against his muzzle. “Yes, my love,” she said, and gasped as he filled her slowly, letting her feel every long, thick inch of him. He moved slowly with no sense of urgency, mindful of her fragility and his own power. She could feel the restraint, of the control he was using to keep from hurting her.

Maggie wanted to feel that power. She rocked her body on her knees, meeting each thrust with her own, urging him with her body to move faster, to fuck her harder and deeper. “Hold me tighter,” she said, and thrilled as she felt the sharp points of his claws dig into her soft flesh. He moved faster and she encouraged him. “Harder. Take me harder.”

His breath was hot on her shoulder, his mouth open, and she felt his teeth close on the soft curve of flesh between her neck and shoulder. “Oh, yes,” she said, and he increased the pressure, biting her just to the point of pain. “You’re going to make me cum.”

The words were still on her lips when she felt her cunt explode around his cock, clenching and convulsing. He held her tighter, his claws raking against her skin as he thrust into her over and over, harder and faster, until with a deep roar, he came, his cock erupting inside her and overflowing down her legs. He held her like that and she felt the fluttering in their bodies subside.

Gently, he released her, and she sank exhausted to the mattress. He curled around her protectively and lapped gently at the deep scratches on her hip. She giggled and scratched behind his ears in the spot she knew he had grown to love, while he nuzzled her and she kissed him on his soft, wet muzzle. “I love you, you big, sweet bear.”

Greg growled happily and fell asleep wrapped around her body.

Maggie woke to an empty, rumpled bed, the coarse brown hairs in the sheets and stuck to the insides of her thighs testimony to the new frontiers they had explored the night before. She wrapped herself in her old bathrobe and padded to the kitchen where Greg, as she’s always known him, sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee and eating a piece of toast slathered with honey.

She hugged him and kissed him over and over, holding his face in her hands as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes. She laughed, and cried, and laughed again, and finally pulled herself together to hear Greg’s story.

“It happened the last night me, Neil, Mark, and Bill were were in New Orleans. We’d gone to the game and had…well, somewhere between eight and a hundred beers each, and that was just the warm-up. We hit the town and that was when the serious drinking began.” Maggie nodded and let him finish, knowing all good stories started with a copious amount of alcohol. “We got a little lost and were wandering aimlessly from bar to bar, and then we found ourselves in this little place. I think it was a restaurant, but the details are really, really fuzzy.”

“Yeah, I’m going to just pretend you weren’t looking to score Neil a hooker and ask you to skip to the ‘I woke up as a grizzly bear’ part.”

“I remember following Neil in, and it was…weird. It was dimly lit and there were all these…I don’t know, creepy things everywhere. Dried chicken feet and strangely shaped candles…” he rubbed his eyes trying to remember. “There was a woman there. A big woman. And some men were with her. I don’t know why they were there or what they were doing, but we were totally wasted, and Neil started running his mouth.”

“There’s a shock.”

“I mean, he was bad. He was singing ‘Lady Marmalade’ and really being obscene. Even for Neil. He got insulting very fast and to be honest, Mark and Bill and I wanted to get the hell out of there. I thought Bill was going to shit himself when the guys with her looked like they were going to shut Neil up permanently.”

“Jesus Christ,” Maggie said. “You assholes need a chaperone.”

“True story,” he nodded. “I’m never drinking again, hand to God.”

“So…the bear part?”

“The woman kept the guys from killing us. She was very calm—peaceful, even. She didn’t seem offended or upset at the fact that Neil was practically dry-humping her, and invited us to sit down. She said something to one of the men in French, but I was too drunk to translate, and he came over with glasses of something. I think it was red. Maybe purple? I don’t know. It was strong, though.”

“And you drank it.”

“Seemed the polite thing to do under the circumstances. Especially after Neil asked ‘Where you keep the whores at, Big Mama Jama?’ at least three separate times.” Maggie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Then shit got weird.”

“Oh, ’cause up to now it was business as usual?”

“I know, I know. The table was full of stuff. I don’t know what it was. Bowls with dark things in them. More odd candles that she lit. Little pieces of bone and scraps of fabric and…I think there was a human skull and some hair.” He shuddered slightly. “She was smiling and talking to us, sometimes in French, sometimes in English.” He looked up at Maggie. “You have to believe me when I said all of this seemed perfectly logical at the time. Anyway, she went around the table and asked us about our fondest desires. Neil was still being a douche and I thought something bad was going to happen for sure, but she just kept smiling. And Bill, he was making jokes and trying to defuse Neil’s rudeness some, and Mark kept pinching me and kicking me under the table, though I suspect that was mostly to keep me from passing out on him, if you want to know the truth.

“Anyway, she got to me and I remember her asking what my greatest desire in the world was, so of course I said I wanted to be a Bear. And then she gave me this little cloth doll to hold and told me to close my eyes and wish for it. Then she starts shaking this rattle thing and there’s these herbs smoking in a pot…I figured it was all a load of crap. You know how I feel about religion and wishes and all that stuff. Bunk. But I went with it because those dudes with her…they were hanging back some, but they didn’t look like they were playing. I swear to God, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Then we got back to the hotel to shower, had a few more drinks and caught the red-eye home and the next time I woke up in my bed…well there you go. I went to sleep thinking as a joke how cool it would be to wake up in a blue and orange uniform, and the next thing I know you’re crying and hiding from me in our closet.”

Maggie didn’t say anything at first. “If I hadn’t just spent the last month living with a full-grown grizzly bear, I’d have you committed. Jesus,” she said, putting her coffee cup down.

“I wouldn’t blame you. I was sitting here wondering if I’d just had some kind of mental breakdown. Hell, I’m still not sure I didn’t. I don’t know if I believe it myself. I mean really…voodoo curses or some shit? Hell, I just figured if I was going to make a wish, why not go with being on the offensive line of my favorite football team?”

“I guess the spirits aren’t familiar with the NFL, I guess.”

“Or they’re Saints fans.”

“Jesus, Greg.” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “But then it just ended as abruptly as it started…out of nowhere.”

He looked down as his cup. “Like I said, the details of the whole thing are so hazy and jumbled. She was switching back and forth between languages, and sometimes it seemed like she was praying and other times she’d laugh or sing a little bit…and I was so goddamn drunk. But I’ve been racking my brain for weeks trying to figure out how to undo it, and the only thing I can recollect with any clarity—and that’s not much—was her saying something about having something I desired more than what I’d wished for.” He looked up at Maggie. “I’d have to find something I wanted more, or…I can’t remember. But when you woke up from your dream, I had a clear thought. I missed you. I missed being with you the way a man and a woman are meant to. I wanted to be your husband again, not Winnie-the-Fucking-Pooh.”

She blushed. “I guess you’re just lucky I’m a complete perv.”

He grinned and nodded. “I thank whatever fucked-up gods may be for every kinky inch of you. God, if you hadn’t trusted me last night…if you hadn’t loved me enough to be able to accept me in another form, I’d have been stuck like that forever.”

Maggie smiled and was about to tell him how much she was going to miss his ursine tongue, but before she could get the words out, he jumped up from the table. “Have you heard from Bill? Has he called here?”

“No. Not that I know of. I didn’t check your phone…I didn’t think of it…”

“Shit.” He grabbed the phone and started scrolling through his stored numbers. “Oh, Jesus Christ. I gotta call Bill’s wife. Oh man. Shit, I don’t even know what I’m going to say. How do I explain this? Oh, Bill.” He tapped the edge of his phone against his forehead. “Man, you picked the wrong time to make snarky jokes. Oh, fuck.”

“Greg! What did Bill wish for?”

“To be Patrick Stewart’s toilet seat.”


Good Grades, Part Sixteen


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The hot summer sun burned steadily all afternoon, and by the time it was creeping slowly towards its setting, the humidity had become oppressive. The air was thick and heavy and seemed to cling to everything it touched. Janie stood in the shower as long as she could stand it, rinsing all traces of Dr. Gilbert’s DNA down her shower drain and with it any sense of confusion. She blamed her muddled thoughts on the weather, but in the cold, stinging spray of the shower, with her skin being washed clean, her doubts faded as quickly as her skin cooled. But when she shut the water off and attempted to dry her skin, only to grow even sweatier in the process of toweling off, she had finally given up, resigning herself to the feel of her clothes sticking to her body. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded wetly out of the bathroom, flopping down on her bed with a sigh.

She contemplated walking to the library, or the student union, or any one of a number of buildings on campus that had air-conditioning, but the thought of making the walk depressed and exhausted her, so she lay still, annoyed at the feel of her rumpled comforter beneath her sweaty legs, and stared at the sky that was darkening off in the distance. She watched the beech trees outside her window dance in the breeze, and she breathed deep, smelling rain on the air. She prayed silently that it would bring relief and not push out to sea.

She closed her eyes and thought of Zack, looking forward to spending the weekend with him. Dr. Gilbert was gone, away for the weekend and not around to cloud her thoughts, and as the thunder rumbled in the distance and the breeze picked up, stirring the window curtains with a whispered promise, she concentrated on making him fade from her mind completely. She wanted to let herself fall for Zack and let the feelings she had for him grow, but deep in her heart she knew that it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen while she was still involved with Dr. Gilbert.

Fat drops of water splashed on the window screen as the fast-moving storm moved in, and she lay still in the gloom of the suddenly sunless day, knowing that she should make the preemptive move and end her deal with her teacher. The look on his face when she left his office lingered in her thoughts and she suspected that it had become too complicated for even him. He hadn’t called or sent her a text, and indeed had seemed to leave for a weekend with someone else without a second thought.

That bothered her more than she cared to admit, and only strengthened her resolve.

The rain beat down outside, soaking the green lawns and making the pavement shine like polished onyx. She got up quickly and dressed, throwing on her old shoes and shoving her phone in her pocket. She walked slowly up the street, letting the rain pelt against her face as her sneakers slapped against the wet ground. The roads were empty and the leaves whipped about in the wind. A quick left turn at the end of campus and she was following the curve of the gray ocean, the breakers slamming against the darker gray rocks and erupting in plumes of white, occasionally soaking the narrow paved walking path.

She stopped and watched the waves crash, feeling the fine mist coat her skin. She loved to be close to the ocean during a storm, feeling tiny next to its awesome strength, yet able to stay just out of its reach. With one step too close, the sea could erase her completely. She was close enough to taste the salty spray, yet she would not get close enough for it to harm her.

Her phone rang, and she answered it, turning her back on the waves and pressing it to her ear, letting the hood of her sweatshirt muffle the sounds of the storm as she resumed walking.


She stopped short for a second, then remembered to breathe, and began walking again.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I thought you’d be on your way out of town.”

“I’m leaving shortly. I want to see you before I go. Can you meet me at my office?”

Janie considered it briefly. “No.” The line was silent so long she thought she’d lost the call. “Not at your office.”

“Where are you?”

She looked around. “I’m about a quarter mile past Seaview, on the walking path. I’ll wait for you here.”

“It’s raining.”

“You won’t melt.”

She heard him sigh softly. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he agreed and without saying goodbye, he ended the call.

She was not surprised to see him walk towards her almost exactly ten minutes later. His head was down against the rain that had begun falling more heavily again since she’d left her room, and he was quickly becoming as wet as she already was. His shirt clung to him and she could see the definition of his muscles beneath the light summer fabric, and his usually neat hair was disheveled where he brushed it back off his wet forehead.

“Are you not familiar with the expression ‘having sense enough to come in out of the rain?’” His scowl was affected, and Janie smiled a little despite herself.

“I have sense enough to know that in your office, you have all the power.”

He shook his head. “That’s not true…”

“Yes, it is, and I don’t want to argue about it with you.”

“Fine,” he capitulated, looking up at the sky. “But can’t we go somewhere less wet?”

She shrugged. “I can’t get any wetter.”

He stepped closer to her. “Want to bet?”

She felt her pulse quicken at his words, and knew he was right. She looked around and led him into the shelter of a rocky overhang. The wind blew right past them, and in the relative stillness of the outcropping, she pushed her hair out of her face and turned her attention from the breaking waves to him.

“I have a couple of questions,” she said.

“I thought you might.

“You’re seeing someone.”

“That’s not a question. And you’re seeing someone.”

She frowned at him. “What am I to you?”

“We already went over this.”

She sighed angrily. “Are you going to make me say the words?”

His smile was not a warm one. “Yes. I am.”

“Something changed between us. In your office. I said…what I said, and you changed.”

“Still not a question,” he replied.

“I’m sick of this game,” she said, her voice rising over the sound of the breakers. “What am I to you?”

“Asked and answered. Nothing has changed.”

Janie found herself growing increasingly angry. “It has. You lost control. I saw it and felt it. You know you did.”

He ran his hand through his dripping hair and took a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. You’re not my girlfriend. What do you want to hear? That I was jealous? That you said his name when I was inside you and it hurt my feelings?” He opened his mouth to continue, then stopped.

Janie felt the pause more than she heard the silence. “Is that what it was?” she asked. “That’s it, isn’t it? I hurt your feelings?”

He sighed. “Let me ask you this: what am I to you? Am I still just the means to an end for you? Do you keep coming to me because you’re buying your grades?”


“Then why? I’ll tell you why. Because it’s fun.” He took a step closer and she could feel his warmth even against the cool rain that was still falling. He ran his hand down her wet arm and she shivered. “It’s fun for me, too. That’s all. Dirty fun.”

“Then why…?”

“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Hell, it was probably just a reflex. You caught me by surprise.”


He didn’t speak at first, and Janie could see him pull himself into control, almost as if it were something he usually kept contained and had to gather piece by small piece and stow away before he could continue. When he pushed a wet tendril of hair off her neck and let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin, she felt with regret that she had finally seen bits and pieces of the real him, but that they had been carefully retrieved and put away and all she would see is what he allowed.

His voice was low and he leaned his head in to whisper in her ear, his warm breath causing her to shudder again as his lips brushed her ear lobe. “What man wouldn’t be surprised to hear his son’s name at a time like that? I apologize for letting my reaction run away with me. Forgive me?” He kissed her neck and pulled her close. She fought to keep her distance, not sure if he was serious or merely toying with her, but his body so close to hers was making her lose all sense of reason. She pressed her palms against his strong chest and pushed him away with some difficulty, needing distance, but wanting him in a way that made her weak in the knees.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she stammered, trying to protest.

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling at her. “He’s a lucky boy. I should know.” He wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, tipping her face up to his. His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips touching hers as he spoke. “He doesn’t need to know about us.” His mouth was soft on hers, and she gave in to him, parting her lips and letting him kiss her deeply. She could feel his desire, but there was more, a hesitation that made her pull away.

“There is no ‘us’” she reminded him.

He smiled slightly. “Does that suit you?” When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “We can enjoy each other’s company—very discreetly—without there being an ‘us’.” His hand slid down her back and under the soaked waistband of her shorts. His hand was warm on her ass as he exposed her bare skin to the elements. “No demands. No promises. No complications. Just the kind of dirty fun we both like.”

He spun her around and pressed against her. She could feel him working his zipper and gasped as his cock slipped easily between her wet cheeks. His arms went around her waist and his skilled fingers found her nipples, already rock hard. “Oh, God,” she said, looking around, “we can’t. Not here. Not now.”

“Why not?” he asked, his words a low and seductive purr in her ear. “You afraid your boyfriend’s going to find out?” She could hear the amusement in his voice. “I understand he has quite a special weekend planned for you, though I’m not supposed to know anything about it.”

Janie felt herself blush and pulled away from him. He chuckled and tucked his erection back into his pants. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he said, still smirking, and reaching for his zipper. “Don’t put it back? You change your mind?”

“No. Don’t talk about…” Janie’s voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. “I can’t do this if he’s here with us. Between us.”

Dr. Gilbert laughed again. “It’s not a problem for me. But then I’m not the one saying his name while we’re–”

“Enough!” Janie said, her cheeks red.

Dr. Gilbert slipped his hand around her neck and kissed her again. His hand slipped easily down the front of her shorts, through her wet nest of curls and found her clit. She tried to push his hand away, but only managed to hold his wrist while he stroked her, her body swaying with his skillful manipulations. “If you’re able to think about someone else while you’re with me, I can see I’m going to have to ramp up my game.” He slid his fingers inside her, curving them upwards and finding pleasurable spots inside her she never knew existed.

She closed her eyes and rocked her hips against his hand, gripping his wrist so tightly that she could feel her nails pressed hard into his skin. Her breathing was coming in short, ragged gasps, and as he stroked her deeply, she could feel herself break apart. The pleasure radiated out from her clit in rhythmic throbs and pulses and she wanted to tell him to stop, that it felt too good, but then the pleasure rippled inside, racing deep within her and causing her to cry out as a second deeper, harder storm broke. She felt her legs give way, but he held her easily, supporting her as he used his fingers to coax out a rush of warm, musky fluid from her pussy.

She was still shaking, his fingers still deep inside her, when he said with a satisfied smile, “Just remember when you’re in my house this weekend, that his name is Zack, not Ben.”

From “Amy’s Beaver”


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This story is a fun one. It’s based somewhat loosely on story a friend of mine told about the trouble she had one night whilst grappling with both intimate grooming and the laws of physics. It absolutely tickled me, and because it was both funny and sexy, I thought it was a great jumping off point for a naughty little story.

* * * * *

“You okay in there?”

She laughed, watching the bottles and bits of loofah handle bob around in the oily water. “I’m fine,” she said, laying back and sighing. “I put too much fucking bath oil in here and now I’m too slippery to get out.”

A note of amusement crept into his voice. She could hear it. “You want a hand?”


He came in and she looked at the bemused grin on his face. “Be careful. The floor is slippery…”

“Jesus Cornholing Christ,” he said, as his sock made contact with the cold oily slick on the floor. He grabbed a towel and soaked up the mess and tossed it and his wet socks into the laundry pile. He took a sip of her drink and handed it to her. “You know,” he pointed out as she drained the glass, “you shouldn’t get tanked up and…what the hell were you doing in here?” He looked at the trimmer on the edge of the tub. “What’s that for?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed and giggled, a bit tipsy, and warm from the bath. “I was trying to surprise you, but I got stuck.”

He smiled and picked it up. He hit the switch and made it buzz. “Nice,” he said. “But in your state you could do some serious damage with this thing. Maybe I better give you a hand.”

Amy blushed and giggled again.

He helped her out of the tub and put a towel down on the closed toilet lid while she dried off. “Sit,” he said.

Amy perched on the edge and jumped as her warm back made contact with the cold toilet tank. He knelt down on the damp floor and spread her knees, making her snicker again. “You’re very giggly tonight,” he said, running his finger through her damp curls and tickling her slightly. He parted her lips gently and ran his finger over her clit.

She stopped giggling and bit her lower lip.

He flicked the switch again and deftly ran the trimmer through her soft nest of curls. She watched as he carefully ran the sharp blades through her fur-covered nether region, brushing the little clumps of hair away and studying the results like some sort of world-renowned pubic hair stylist.

“Put your foot up here,” he said, sliding his hand up her leg and putting it over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” she said, feeling exposed in the bright light of the bathroom.

“Shh,” he said. “I’m concentrating down here.”

He ran the buzzing trimmer all over her pussy, holding her legs apart and carefully taking her natural growth of lady fuzz down to a short stubble. She looked down over her soft tummy and checked out his progress. “It looks like I’m smuggling a marine in my crotch,” she said.

“Not when I’m done it won’t,” he said, parting her labia and making her gasp. He stroked her clit again, and she moaned slightly.

“There’s no hair there,” she said, as he ran two of his strong fingers inside her lips and dipped them gently into her warm center.

“Just being thorough,” he said, smiling, stroking his fingers in and out of her. “Now comes the tricky part,” he said, taking his fingers out of her and making her look up with surprise.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I’m not. I’m not finished with your trim,” he said. “Patience, lady. I’m an artist.”

She leaned her head back and sighed, fighting the urge to continue without him, but knowing she could never let him see her double-click her own mouse.

Gently, he ran a warm facecloth over her pussy and then squirted a big dollop of shaving cream onto his fingers. He smeared it around, getting all the corners and nooks and crannies of her nether regions. He turned the trimmer over and flipped the plastic cover off with his thumb, exposing the triple bladed razor.

“Shit,” she said as the razor made contact with her mons. “You better be careful with that thing. One wrong move I could lose my clit.”

“Ye of little faith,” he said, smiling up at her. “I promise, not so much as a nick.”

The razor slid easily across her skin, making the occasional scritching sound as he took the hair down as short as it would go. He moved slowly and carefully, pressing and pulling on the tender skin and exposing every surface of it to the sharp blades.

His hands and fingers were all over her and she could feel herself getting wetter as he touched her. His face was tantalizingly close and she wondered if he could feel her heat. When she felt the warm, wet facecloth again, her clit was throbbing uncomfortably and begging to be touched.

“Not bad,” he said, cocking his head and admiring his handiwork. “Oh, I know what’s missing.” He hopped up and grabbed her moisturizer from the sink. “We don’t want bumps.” He squirted a bit into his hand and leaning down, rubbed into into her smooth vulva. She moaned, leaning back and spreading her legs wide as he stroked every part of her, rubbing the gentle lotion over the silky skin and making her squirm.

He stood up. “Check it out,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

She looked up at him, panting. “Seriously, dude. You’re killing me here.”

“Just feel it,” he said, gesturing with a nod to her open pussy.

Amy hesitated. His eyes were boring into her and she felt terribly self-conscious, but she was curious. She’d never had a peeled peach before and did wonder how it felt. Hesitantly, she put her hand down and felt the soft, smooth, slightly slippery mound. “Oh,” she said, her hands slipping further down, touching the edges of her lips. “Oh, my.” She looked up at him and saw a smile on his face, and an unmistakable look in his eyes. Her eyes wandered south, past his well-washed “Mustache Rides” t-shirt to the crotch of his jeans. His cock was hard, and goddamn it, she wanted to feel it inside her bare cunt.

* * * * *

“Amy’s Beaver” is published in its entirety in the collection of short stories, Seven Nights. It’s available for Kindle, Nook, and in Paperback.

From “Walden”


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Mark and Nicole agree to meet mutual friends for an easy hike and a bit of camping, but when signals get crossed and Mark gets hurt, they find themselves alone in the woods.


When she got back to the fire, the packets were sizzling in the coals and Mark had rigged up two sticks with a rubber band to use as tongs to get them out of the fire. He pulled them out and put them on one of the big stones ringing the fire and Nicole settled the pot down into the coals and covered it. She tore the hot packets open and filled their plates with steaming hot, buttery potatoes and nicely roasted veggies and they settled into the grass to eat.

Between bites, Mark asked, “So, where did you learn all of this?” He made a sweeping gesture with his fork.

Nicole swallowed. “Boy Scouts.” Mark made a face at her. “Seriously. I have five brothers and they were all scouts. So my family spent a lot of time camping.”

“That would explain it.”

“That and two of my brothers and I own a chain of stores that sell mountaineering, hiking, camping, and all sorts of other outdoorsy adventure gear. And I write a column for a major hiking magazine. I told you wasn’t kidding when I said it’s what I do. I hike and camp for a living.”

“Wow,” was all Mark could manage.

Nicole swallowed a mouthful of hot potatoes. “And not for nothing, but I tie a hell of a knot and can paddle the shit out a kayak, too,” she added.

“I’ll have to remember that if I ever need to be tied up and paddled,” he said, flashing her a wry grin.

Nicole smiled back. “A few hours ago I would have happily pegged you out with my spare tent stakes. Mind you, I’d have staked you to the top of an anthill…”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried now?”

“No. Well, not about the anthill anyway.” She smiled coquettishly and licked butter from her fingers.


“Oh, you have no idea.” She winked, and instantly regretted doing it, feeling like a badly drawn character in a cheap porn novel. She pulled out a couple of mugs and a couple of tea bags from her food supplies and adding boiling water from the camp pot she set them to steep. She quickly went about cleaning up the supper things, rinsing them with the rest of the hot water from the camp pot and stowed them carefully in the food bag. She took the bag to the edge of the clearing and looked for a tree with a likely branch. Finding one that would work she attempted to throw the rope over the branch and missed twice. Mark was suddenly behind her.

“Let me,” he said, and they both caught that sweet bit of warmth as his fingers brushed hers when he took the rope from her. Deftly he coiled the rope into a tight ball and with a flick of his wrist sent it sailing up over the branch and unraveling neatly to the ground. “I told you,” he said. “Softball. Second base.”

She left him to hoist the food supplies out of the reach of bears, raccoons, and other scavenging critters and picked her way through the underbrush to collect a few more branches for their fire.

The sun was setting in the western sky. Beyond the trees, the sky was turning a deeper blue and the high, thin clouds were tinting the sky with shade of scarlet and deep violets. The air was turning cooler and Nicole felt goosebumps rising on her arms. “It’s going to be chilly tonight,” she said. “Did you bring any warmer clothes?”

Mark hooked his backpack with his cane and pulled it to him. “I have sweats and a fleece jacket and a long-sleeved shirt. Between that and my sleeping bag I should be okay, I think.” He reached in and pulled out a couple of books. “And if all else fails I’ve got Thoreau to read while I die of hypothermia. Then my obituary can say, ‘In an ironic twist of fate, he expired on the side of a God-forsaken mountain, a copy of Walden clutched in his frozen fist’.”

“You realize the odds of freezing to death in July this far below the treeline are pretty small, right? And please tell me that you were just being ironic in choosing to read Walden on a camping trip. Please. I beg you,” she said laughing.

“Oh, it would be totally douchey otherwise, wouldn’t it?” He pretended to shudder. “Actually, I teach high school English—literature, mostly—and before I fell halfway down a mountain I actually thought it would be interesting to read Thoreau out in the woods, and maybe journal some of my own thoughts about nature as a creative exercise to share with my classes.”

Nicole groaned. “I could never sit still for stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” he asked. “Reading?”

“No, not reading. I love to read. And I love to write. But all the analysis and ‘what did the author mean here’ and ‘what is the theme’. It takes all the fun out of a good book. And don’t even get me started on poetry.”

“You don’t care for poetry?”

“I just don’t get it. It’s too flowery and metaphorical and just seems unnatural.”

“I bet you just didn’t have the right poetry teacher,” Mark suggested.

“Maybe you could enlighten me sometime. Here,” she said, sitting up at attention like a schoolgirl at a desk. “Teach me. Tell me what thoughts you’ve come up with so far about your experiences in the woods.”

He laughed. “I went to the woods to live deliberately, only to discover that Henry David Thoreau and I have absolutely nothing in common whatsoever. Nature is a mean bitch,” he finished definitively. Nicole threw her head back and laughed, and Mark laughed with her. “You have a great laugh,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling a wool shirt over her arms and doing up the buttons. She unrolled his sleeping bag and spread it out on the ground, and after helping Mark to settle down on it, took her cup of tea and handed the other mug to Mark. “I suppose it’s easy to think of Nature as a bitch before you get to know her,” she replied pointedly, sitting close to him on the soft down blanket.

“So you’re saying that if I relax and get to know Nature more intimately I’ll learn to appreciate her softer side?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s amazing how much more enjoyable Nature is when you stop fighting her and let yourself enjoy her just as she is. Follow her rhythms instead of forcing your own on her.”

“I see how that could be enjoyable,” he conceded.

“Oh, it’s very enjoyable. Before you know it, you and Nature have become one and you’re sleeping like a baby in her arms.”

“I think I could learn to like that,” he said. “But isn’t Nature unpredictable? What if she rejects me as unworthy?”

Nicole thought for a second. “It’s true, lots of men never learn to appreciate Nature for what she is. Can you appreciate Nature not just for her beauty but for her strength and resilience as well? Can you respect the wildness of her and not try to own her?”

“I can,” Mark said. “Appreciate her, I mean. I do appreciate her…now. Or I’m learning to. I didn’t this morning, but when you explain it like this, I think I have a deeper appreciation for Nature than I ever have.”

“Then I’d say things look promising for you and Nature,” she said, setting her mug of tea down near the fire and taking Mark’s from him. “If you’re being truly honest about what you can accept and appreciate and aren’t just saying that you do in order to get into Nature’s panties.” She leaned in to him and brushed her lips against his cheek. “My metaphor fell apart at the end there,” she whispered into his ear, “but I think you catch my meaning.”

He raised his hands to her face and brushed the hair from her cheeks. ” ‘True beauty dwells in deep retreats’,” he said and looked into her steel blue eyes where the flames of the campfire reflected and danced. She pressed her lips to his, softly, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling them both down onto the ground.

She released his lips long enough to murmur the inquiry, “Thoreau?”

“Wordsworth,” he replied, depositing a line of kisses along her jaw line and down her throat. She tipped her head back as his lips found her collarbone and he unbuttoned her shirt as he spoke. ” ‘True beauty dwells in deep retreats’,” he repeated, undoing the first button of her shirt. His fingers manipulated the second button as he continued, ” ‘Whose veil is unremoved’.” The third and fourth buttons gave way as he nuzzled closer to her neck and spoke, his breath warm against her skin, “‘Til heart with heart in concord beats’,” his hand skimming lightly over her breasts as her shirt fell open, her nipples hardening at his gentle touch. He whispered in her ear, ” ‘And the lover is beloved.’ ”


“Walden” is published in its entirety in Seven Nights and is available for the Kindle, Nook, or in Paperback.

From “Plate of Fear”


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This is an excerpt from one of my favorite stories. I was stumped for a writing idea and I turned to one of many online sites that offer prompts–little bites to kick off a story. The random one I chose was “write a story around the phrase ‘plate of fear.'” 

Candace is a writer who has agreed to meet a rather famous restauranteur with a mysterious and intriguing background at his new restaurant and is quite swept off her feet by him. They take their coffee and dessert in his private salon, and she gets an in-depth look at the very private man, and gets–as the cliché goes–more than she bargained for.


Ari stood over her, his fingers still glistening with her essence. She looked up at him and could see the outline of his huge erection straining against his trousers. He reached down and cupped his hand under her chin. Gently he stroked her cheek, then he ran his musky fingers along her parted lips. She could smell her own scent and she hesitantly stuck her tongue out to taste it. She did not stop licking and sucking his fingers until there was no trace of her on them.

When she had finished, Ari stroked her hair gently as one would a child or a favorite pet. “Now, my princess,” he said. “I will give you that which you crave.” Candace sat up on her heels, expectantly, her pussy humming in anticipation of his huge cock thrusting inside of her. “My manhood aches for you, my beautiful one. Will you release me?”

Candace knelt before him and gently slid his zipper down, releasing his bursting cock from it’s confinement. She stroked him gently, admiring the size of him. “Kiss me,” Ari commanded. She opened her mouth and took him in, the purple head of his cock stuffing her mouth. She took him as far as she could, opening her throat like a practiced whore and swallowing as much of him as she could. She grasped his rod with her hands and stroked him as she worked his shaft in and out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored him, tasting the hot, salty pre-cum as it leaked out onto her tongue.

He swelled in her hands, growing as she sucked and kissed and licked. He was moaning at first, deep throaty moans of pleasure. But as she stroked his cock and realized that it was getting bigger as she worked it, the moans sounded more like growling. She ran her hand down his legs and realized that his legs seemed stronger and thicker to her, and felt that they were straining the seams of his trousers legs.

Sure that it was her own lust deceiving her, but curious nonetheless, she opened her eyes. She looked at his cock and saw that it did appear longer and thicker and the head was more pronounced. It was also a darker, deeper purple at the head and even the shaft seemed to be blood red, as if he’d been recently sunburned.

Slowly, she looked up at him. He grinned down at her and she scampered backwards away from him, shrieking in fear. She scrambled across the thick, patterned Persian rug to try to get away, realizing there was nowhere to go in the small room, and no place to hide. She stared at his changed features and a scream of terror tore from her throat.

Ahriman laughed. He raised his hands and grabbed the front of his shirt and jacket. He pulled and the fabric burst into a cloud of flames in his hands and then disappearing in a cloud of ash, leaving the distinct odor of sulfur behind, as if a match had been struck and quickly extinguished. He did the same with his trousers, putting one hand on the each thigh and grabbing a handful of fabric. He pulled and another burst of flames and then—nothing. He stood before her, legs apart with his enormous erection jutting out from his center. His balls were as large and pendulous as a bull’s and they hung down heavy and full between his legs.

His skin was no longer a deep coffee color but burned a much deeper red and seemed to grow redder as she stared. His abdomen was deeply chiseled as was his chest. His musculature was carved perfection and he was as hairless as a marble statue. He was taller, larger, and broader, no longer a man but something created from much more divine stuff.

Candace stared at him wide-eyed, terrified of the creature that stood before her. His face had changed, taking on cruel, angular lines. His soft smile and gently flashing eyes were gone, replaced by a lascivious sneer and eyes that glittered cold in the candlelight. But most terrifying of all was the two large horns that sprouted from either side of his forehead and curled up and around his smooth, bald head into two sharp points that curled forward just below his ears. Ari was gone, of that she was sure.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Ahriman growled. Ari’s smooth, melodious accent and deeply timbered voice was replaced by a husky, growling, throaty one that sounded like it had never known joy. He ran his hands across the hard points of his eraser-tip nipples and down to his cock. He wrapped his huge hand around it and began stroking it, groaning at the pleasure of it. He laughed cruelly as Candace cried in fear and terror curled up on the floor. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he taunted, taking a step toward her, cock in hand. Horrified, she noticed a tail sliding around his legs. It was long, muscled tail with a wide pointed tip on the end. He appeared to be flicking it around and the way he moved it as he spoke, emphasizing his words, reminded her of a cat.

Candace shrieked again and scrambled away, knocking into the low table and sending figs flying across the rug. “Tsk, tsk,” Ahriman scolded. “I was going to insert those into your asshole and suck them out one by one. Well, now they’re all dirty.” He laughed again and Candace’s blood ran cold. She spotted the knife out of the corner of her eye and lunged for it, but Ahriman used his free hand to merely point at it and incinerate it. “Well now,” he said, “is that anyway to treat a lover?”

Candace stood, trembling. She inched toward the wall where they had entered, not caring that she was nearly naked and that there was a restaurant full of people out there. Ahriman watched her, stroking his cock and playing with the strings of cum dripping from the tip. She pulled the curtains aside and recoiled from the sudden furnace blast of heat and flames that licked at her bare skin. She screamed again, and then closed her eyes tightly, hoping that she was having a bad hallucination or a waking nightmare.

When she opened her eyes, Ahriman was standing right in front of her, his grinning face inches from her own. “Boo,” he said and she jumped back so hard that she banged her head on the wall. She was too scared to scream anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just couldn’t resist. Mean, I know.” He raised a finger to her face and traced a line gently along her jawbone. “As much as I love this marvelous deer-in-the-headlights look you’ve got going on, and as turned on as I am by your precious screaming, I think perhaps we’ve forgotten our real reason for being here. Or it seems you have. Unless the histrionics were for my benefit, because I’ve got to tell you, they’re getting me rock hard.”

Candace shook her head. “Never,” she said.

“Come now,” he said. “A few minutes ago you were practically coming on my hand, not to mention the fantastic knob job you were handing out. If that cock-sucking hadn’t gotten me so damn horny, I might have been able to…let’s just say ‘keep it toned down’ and leave it at that, shall we?” He stepped back and gestured again at his perfectly formed body. “I mean, take it all in, precious. Can you tell me you don’t want to take a ride on this?”

Candace took a deep breath and looked at him. “Who are you?”

Ahriman laughed and crossed to the settee. He patted the sofa beside him but Candace stayed pressed against the wall. He shrugged. “No? Suit yourself.” He picked up a fig from the floor and blew on it. He bit into it and let the juices drip everywhere. “I go by many names…” He laughed again. “I just love to say it that way. It’s so…Old Testament.” He slurped at the fig. “Lucifer, Beelzebub, Old Nick, The Devil, and of course, Satan.”

“You’re the devil. The Devil.” she repeated incredulously.

“In the flesh. And then some, huh?” He stroked his cock again. “Sweetheart, you got me really worked up here,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you I’d bring you pleasure in ways you couldn’t imagine? Sure, I’m the Prince of Lies and all that, and yeah, I’ve been known to deceive folks from time to time, but I think I’ve already proven that I’ve got what it takes to make you scream my name.”

Candace shook her head. “I’m having a hallucination. Or a nervous breakdown. None of this is real.”

“Oh, it’s real all right. I’m certainly real.”

“You’re evil,” Candace asserted, and Ahriman laughed. “And you make people do evil things.”

Ahriman crossed his arms and scowled. “That is patently untrue,” he said. “Talk about lies. I have no power to make anyone do anything,” he asserted. “God gave each one of us free fucking will. I had nothing to do with that. That dumb bitch Eve ate the fucking fig because she wanted it. She just didn’t know she wanted it until I explained it to her.”

“You are the tempter.”

“Bingo! Score one for the little girl who learned her catechism!” he said sarcastically. He laughed a harsh, dry laugh. “You didn’t know you wanted to fuck me earlier either, until I showed you how wrong you were. That’s all I do, beautiful.” He stood and stretched. “Now, we came back here to do some nasty shit, and I’m all about making you want me so bad you’ll follow me to hell and back. He walked over to her and deftly inserted his index fingers under the band of her bra and with a quick tug and a burst of flame that Candace flinched away from, her bra disappeared. He looked down at her garter belt and stockings. “I think I’ll leave those,” he said. He slid his arms around her and his eyes glittered as he cupped her ass in his hands. “What do you say we pick up where we left off?”

He ran his hands up her spine and she trembled at his touch. Again, his hand twined in her hair, but this time he tugged at it, forcing her to her knees in front of him. He guided her mouth to his throbbing cock and thrust it into her. Candace gagged as he forced himself into her throat, but he held her fast. He held her head steady as he fucked her mouth and throat, and tears streamed down her face anew. “That’s really nice,” he growled at her, “but it wouldn’t kill you to at least pretend you’re enjoying it.”

Candace reached up and wrapped her hand around his cock and with a choked cry began to stroke him hard, and he stopped thrusting. She reached for his scrotum and cupped his balls, scratching at them with her fingernails and pinching the skin. Ahriman gasped at the sharp, sudden pain and then chuckled. “That’s a girl,” he said. “That’s how daddy likes it.”

She felt something brush against her thigh and looked down to see the tip of Ahriman’s prehensile tail disappear between her cunt lips. She froze and tried to pull away but he held her fast, her screams choked by his thick cock. He worked her clit with his tail as nimbly as he had with his fingers, stroking her gently but insistently until her muffled cries became moans of pleasure. She rocked her hips and spread her knees, allowing Ahriman to slide his tail into her aching cunt. Candace surrendered herself to the pleasure and turned her attention to his throbbing cock.

She licked his shaft like a giant popsicle, running her tongue up and down the length and forcing the tip of her tongue into his piss-hole. He squirmed when she sucked his balls and nipped at them with her teeth. As she worked his rod, she grew accustomed to the length and girth of it. She sucked him eagerly and as his tail fucked her to the edge of bliss, she wondered what demon seed tastes like.


“Plate of Fear” is published in its entirety in Seven Nights, available for the Kindle, Nook, or in paperback.

Good Grades, Part Fifteen


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She made it to the end of the corridor before her calm resolve drained away. Her legs began to feel shaky and weak and the tears welled up, making the stairway shimmer before her. She made her way down the stairs as quickly as she could, holding tight to the railing and making for the large double sets of doors that would take her out onto the bright sunlit lawn and to the sparkling ocean that lay just beyond. Her head was down, her hand on the bar when the door swung open and she looked up, startled.

“Hey,” Zack said, his face breaking into a broad grin. “I was just coming to meet you at dad’s office, maybe see if you wanted to get something to eat. I thought I’d be early.”

Janie took a deep breath and tried to smile. “Y…yes,” she stammered. “It didn’t take as long as I thought…let’s just go, okay?”

Zack led her out outside and when the salty breeze hit her face, she breathed deeply two or three times. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes clouded with concern. He scowled and shook his head. “That son of a bitch. He said he wasn’t going to take this out on you, but I should have known.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I got home last night, he was really mad.”

“Mad? He seemed okay when I left.”


Janie felt her hands begin to shake a little again and she clasped them together tightly. “He talked to you about our meeting?” she asked, wondering how much Zack knew—or suspected.

“Not really. He never talks much about students. But in your case, he holds me responsible for luring you out of class and made it quite clear that not only would he not tolerate me missing my own classes, but it was unacceptable for me to cause you to miss classes. I don’t know how he guessed you were missing class to hang out at the beach, though.”

“He didn’t guess. He’s my academic advisor. He knows exactly when I have class and he checks with my instructors to make sure I show up for all of them.”

Zack let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you he’s a control freak.”

Janie put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I’m still struggling to bring my grades up to the point where I can graduate on time and he’s been making sure that happens. I knew he’d be pissed and it was wrong of me to skip class. I should have told you then.” She smiled. “But the prospect of spending the afternoon in the sun and the sand with you was too much of a temptation. It was my fault, not yours.”

Some of the anger slipped from Zack’s face, but his eyes were still cold. “I hope he wasn’t too rough on you.”

Janie felt her cheeks grow hot as the image of Dr. Gilbert’s hard cock flashed in her mind, and she recalled the look on his face as she said Zack’s name; he was rough, and he took her in anger. Zack’s cold eyes in the warm sun—father and son both angry—at her, at each other, probably even about things that had nothing to do with her at all. She felt a twinge of guilt at the complication. Zack was sweet and kind and gentle, and so easy to be with. He deserved her full attention, and she didn’t know if she could give it to him.

Why did it have to be his father? Her teacher and advisor—Janie knew it was wrong. He was wrong to cross that line. She’d been wrong to offer. She didn’t think he had any feelings for her besides lust, and she was pretty certain she had none for him, save a powerful attraction that distracted her at inopportune moments. She didn’t know what she wanted from him and had no idea what he expected of her. She felt all at loose ends. It was complicated.

“Jane?” Zacks’ voice cut through her thoughts. She focused on him again, and heard the hard edge in his voice.

She tried to smile, but could feel Dr. Gilbert’s semen seeping out of her. She felt the tears well up again, and before she could stop it, one escaped down her cheek.

“Oh, man,” Zack said, putting his arms around her. “I’m sorry. And hey, here’s the the thing about Dad: he’s a control freak and full of very specific ideas of how things should be, but at the end of the day…well, I know he rides my ass because he cares about me, and if he came down hard on you, he probably likes you quite a lot.” He wiped her tear away gently with his fingers and smiled softly at her. “I doubt he’d have been that angry if he didn’t care.”

Janie felt a cold chill run through the very center of her. As long as it was purely physical, it was complicated, but so far it was also worth the complications. The anger he’d shown: was it jealousy? Oh, that was going to make things way too messy.

“So listen,” he continued, taking a deep breath as if he was uncharacteristically worried about his ability to get his words out. “I was thinking of asking you something and I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it. It’s about last night.” He lapsed into a moment of his usual thoughtful silence. “We moved kind of fast, I think. I wanted you to know that I’m not like that.”

“Like what?”

He blushed slightly and Janie smiled. “I swear, I’m not one of ‘those guys.’ You know? I’m not a dog. I don’t want you to think that I’m all about notches in my bedpost, or that I’m just after sex. I mean, we got carried away and that was amazing and all…” He ran his hand through his hair and his cheeks turned a deeper red. “I would like to slow things down a bit and maybe spend some time…together. You know. Not just jumping all over each other at once. I’d like to take my time working towards…”

“Intercourse?” Janie blurted, and Zack blushed a deeper shade of red, causing her to laugh despite herself. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you.”

“It’s stupid, isn’t it? Shutting the gate after the cows have already been in the corn and all that…”

Janie hugged him with grateful relief. “Not at all. It’s sweet. Really.”

“What I mean is, I want to do it again—well, that did make me sound like I’m after all the sex, didn’t it?” Janie laughed. “I’m making a mess of this.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that my dad is going away for the weekend and I was wondering if you’d like to come over. While he’s gone. Spend some time just the two of us. Maybe spend the night? With me. I mean.”

Janie smiled. “Sure.”

Zack broke into a pleased grin. “Cool.”

Janie looked out at the ocean and back to Zack. His face was open and earnest and she couldn’t help but smile back. He definitely deserved her full attention and she realized a couple of days in his company without any other distractions would be just what she needed to help sort things out with Dr. Gilbert. She slipped her hand in his and they walked back towards the dining hall. “So, where’s your dad off to this weekend?” she asked, making small talk and pushing the events of the meeting to the back recesses of her mind.

“He’ll be at the Cape with his girlfriend.”

Zack’s words hit her like a cold blast of air.

“Girlfriend?” As soon as the word left her lips, she knew there was far more shock in her voice than surprise and way more than just casual interest, and quickly she added, as nonchalantly as she could, “Oh. I didn’t realize he was seeing anyone.”

Zack looked at her with surprise of his own. “Why would you?”

“Um, I guess I just never thought of him ‘with’ someone, you know?” Zack looked confused and Janie tried to smooth over her surprise. “I mean, you never think of teachers as having lives outside of class, right? Silly, I know.” She forced a laugh.

He nodded in agreement. “Oh, I get it. I guess I forget that his students see him differently than I do.”

“Exactly,” she said, exhaling with relief. Her mind didn’t stop processing the new information, though. “So, who does he date? Is she from around here?”

“No. I think she used to live here but moved up to the Cape a few years back.”

“Oh. Is it serious?” Again, she realized how intense she sounded so she injected some levity into her words. “I mean, are you going to be getting a step-mother that I should know about?”

Zack shrugged. “I doubt it. I’ve only met her once. He doesn’t bring her home.” He was quiet for a minute. “If he sees anyone locally, he doesn’t talk about it.”


Zack shrugged again. “Not really. It’s how he is. He’s very private. He never talks about anything personal to him. Hell, he could be dating someone right under my nose and I doubt I’d know about it. You want to cut through the grove?” Zack gestured to a thickly wooded stand of ancient trees that stood directly in the center of campus.

Janie nodded, fixing her features into a mask. Cutting through the grove and its prize collection of carefully tended trees from exotic lands was the sure way for students to incur the wrath of the head of the grounds crew and usually resulted in a dressing down from the Dean of Students, but the shade was tempting on a hot day and it was the fastest route between points A and B. Squeezing through a narrow break in the privet hedge that surrounded the grove, Janie and Zack moved quickly into the deep shade. The air was much cooler out of the direct sun, and bits of golden light shone through the thick canopy and dappled their skin. She shivered slightly at the sudden temperature change. “He sounds kind of cold.”

“Not really. He’s private, but very caring. He’s different when he’s in teacher mode than he is with me, and I assume with other people he’s close to. I know he and my mother were very close at one time. And I know she still loves him.”

“Huh.” Janie considered his words carefully.

Zack stopped walking. “Why the interest in my dad?”

It was Janie’s turn to shrug. “No reason,” she lied. “It’s interesting that I know him one way and you know him in a completely different way. I’m just trying to figure out how they fit together, I guess.”

Zack smiled. “I know it’s presumptuous of me, but I hope that means you plan on being part of my life. For awhile, anyway.”

Janie smiled and slipped her arms around his waist. “Yeah, I think so,” she said, kissing him. “If only because I love the way you talk.”

“I don’t see what was so odd about the way I said that,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. Goosebumps rose on her arms as he murmured into the soft, slightly salty skin. “How else would you say it?”

Janie laughed lightly and tipped her head, enjoying the feel of his lips on her. “Mmm, let’s see. Maybe you would ask me if I wanted to go out with you.”

He looked up at her, his eyes smiling. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I like you. Be my girlfriend? No wait—do you like me too? Check yes or no.”

Janie laughed. “Yes, I like you too. Silly.” She kissed him again, wrapping her hands around his neck.

His mouth was on hers, more insistent. Again, he smiled at her. “So, you wanna be my girlfriend or something?”

She answered him with her lips, but not with words. The encounter in Dr. Gilbert’s office swirled together with the reality of Zack here with her, now. She sifted out the images of a pristine office and angry blue eyes from the fluttering leaves and the sweet, boyish smiles of real affection. She knew what mattered now was the man she was with, and the way her body responded to his kisses.

His reticence told of his intentions, of his mind’s struggle to control the urges of his body. She could feel him holding back and it reminded her of his dad—touching her, tasting her, bringing her to orgasm on his own whim, not letting her take control or command. Not letting her give him pleasure, only taking it. She pressed her body to his with every intention of stowing and securing those loose, unfiltered thoughts away. “You don’t have to prove to me that your intentions are honorable,” she said, needing again to have Zack in her control, if only by making him lose his. “We’ll have plenty of time to take it slow this weekend, but right now, I really need you.”

She kissed him deeply, running her hands down his chest and to the waistband of his pants. She touched him lightly through the fabric, feeling his hard cock leap at her touch. “Right here?” he said, looking around them.

“Right now,” she added, leaning away and unbuttoning the front of her thin sundress. He watched as the little white buttons slipped free of their holes and the fabric parted to show him her full, firm breasts. He pressed his lips to where the soft globes of flesh overflowed the lace cups, pulling the stretchy fabric down and sucking a hard nipple into his mouth. She gasped with pleasure, leaning back against a massive chestnut tree and wrapping her leg around him. His hand slid up her bare leg, over the soft skin of her thigh to the round curve of her ass, pressing his hard cock against her.

She could feel him, hard and ready and she pushed him away enough to get her hands between them, opening his fly and reaching for him even as he slid her skirt up, exposing her panties to the slight breeze that rustled the leaves all around them.

She could feel the dampness between her thighs, and even as her hands found Zack’s hard flesh, stroking the shaft and smearing the first drops of pre-cum over the head, she smelled the funky, slightly bitter smell of semen. Her face flushed and her cheeks burned as she tried to put her leg down before Zack could touch her any further.

“What’s the matter,” he said, feeling her shrink from him.

“Nothing,” she said, bringing her legs together. She couldn’t let him find out the truth yet, and certainly not by discovering the remains of a torrid, tawdry display of power. Yet even as she closed herself to him, she felt that surge of power course through her again. She had made the great man lose control of himself, and a part of her she wasn’t proud of needed to feel it again. She had tasted the rush and she wanted more. She reached behind her back and snapped her bra open with a flick of her fingers, slipping the straps off her arms and letting her breasts tumble free. She ran her hands over them, lightly stroking her hard nipples and smiling at Zack.

Gracefully, she knelt in the leaf litter, flicking a sharp twig out from under her leg before sliding both hands over his cock. She kissed the head, running her lips over the sensitive skin and teasing it with her tongue. His hands were in her hair, tangling in her curls as she took him in her mouth, gasping with the pleasure of it.

Zack moaned as she sucked his cock, and she looked up at him, watching his face as he looked down at her. Her pussy throbbed with the thought of what she must look like to him, of seeing his cock slide between her willing lips, her bare breasts creamy and rosy-tipped. She ran her hands up his arms, guiding his hands to her bare breasts and pushing them together. She used her own hand to slide his wet cock in between them, making him moan anew at the sight and sensation.

She found herself considering the heat and pulsing desire in him, the hardness of his shaft engulfed in her own soft tits and surrounded by her gentle hands and welcoming mouth. His physical power and strength was no match for her soft ministrations, and as he thrust against her, the knowledge that his pleasure and release was in her hands was making her cunt ache and throb.

She watched him put his head back and close his eyes, his hips rocking as she brought him closer and closer to his climax. His breathing was shallow, catching in the back of his throat with each thrust, with every exhalation. She wanted to make him come, to taste his hot, salty seed, and she took him deep, running her tongue along his shaft as she increased the suction, drawing a moan from deep in his throat.

Janie heard the sound of footsteps behind Zack before he did.

“What are you two doing in here?”

Zack jumped and pulled his pants up, struggling to put his cock away before turning around. Janie covered her breasts and sat back on her heels. “Nothing.”

The security officer looked at both of them and took in their disheveled clothes and flushed faces and sighed with disgust, and, Janie thought, probably a bit of weariness at finding undergraduates in various states of undress in its secluded shadows. “This grove is off limits to students. It’s clearly posted. Now give me your ID’s.”

They did as they were told. Janie held the front of her dress closed with one hand while she fished for her student card in her bag, and Zack looked down at the ground while the officer recorded their names. As he looked at Zack’s card, his face sparked with a glimmer of recognition, but it passed as he scribbled on his pad and tucked it in his jacket. “Now out of here,” he said, hustling them through the large trees and over well-tended undergrowth until they came out the other side nearest the dining hall. Janie buttoned herself up and wriggled back into her bra as they walked, stealing sidelong glances and sharing embarrassed smiles with Zack as their diligent shepherd made sure they wouldn’t disappear back into the forbidden grove.

When he was out of earshot, Janie giggled, “We have a knack for getting interrupted, don’t we?”

“God, I can’t wait for this weekend,” he said, exasperated, the look of sheer discomfort written all over his face.

Janie laughed out loud, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Me either.”

Good Grades, Part Fourteen


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Janie sat in one of the low chairs across the expanse of desk between her and Dr. Gilbert. He hadn’t said a word to her save telling her to come in and sit down, and she did so dutifully. He had her test paper in front of him and appeared to be reading it, but she knew he was only using that as an excuse to build up more uncomfortable silence between them and she wasn’t buying it. It was also quite obvious to her that he wasn’t happy.

She tapped her fingers on her legs and looked around, noticing for the first time that his office was as impersonal as his home. There were no framed pictures of family, no trophies or plaques, even the diplomas that usually graced the offices of academics were notably absent. The heavy, dark furniture and clean lines spoke of his personal style; everything was functional and well-made and there didn’t seem to be anything there that didn’t serve a purpose.

Even his desk was pathologically organized. There were no loose papers or a cup of pens and pencils, no sticky notes on anything. She had never seen a cup of coffee or a bottle of water anywhere in his office. There wasn’t even a box of tissues in sight.

She sighed lightly and crossed her legs. Dr. Gilbert looked up at her and his eyes were cold and hard. “Is there something else I’m keeping you from?”

Janie shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He went to look back down at her paper but stopped, and looked back up at her. He blinked once or twice, but Janie kept her placid, passive smile fixed in place.

“You skipped class yesterday.”

“I did,” she confessed.

“I spoke with Dr. Meyers.”

“I know you did,” Janie replied calmly. “I called her when I got home last night to apologize for missing her class. I got the assignment directly from her, and e-mailed a friend of mine in the same class who shot me her notes.” She brushed an imaginary piece of lint off her skirt. “Dr. Meyers also noted what a concerned and involved advisor I had to make calls on my behalf in an effort help me get my grades up so late in the semester. She was very complimentary.”

Dr. Gilbert didn’t answer right away, so Janie continued.

“She also told me that she didn’t blame me for wanting to be beside the ocean on such a perfect afternoon, and that she wished she was still an undergraduate so she could do the same thing from time to time.”

Dr. Gilbert crossed his arms and grunted. “Jan Meyers and her new-age, communing-with-nature bullshit. Skipping classes is what got you here in the first place. You should have waited until after class and after your work was done to go to the beach.”

While Janie heard shades of her father’s nose-to-the-grindstone speech in his voice, she also detected notes of something else that floated above the scolding. “So, are you pissed that I skipped class to go to the beach, or are you pissed that I was with Zack?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting the question and she could see for the first time that she’d knocked him off balance. “This is about you not doing the things you agreed to,” he said. “This has nothing to do with Zack.” His jaw was set but she could hear the lie in his voice.

She crossed to his side of the desk and grabbed her test paper. On the top in Dr. Gilbert’s careful and precise penmanship was a perfect score. “It’s starting to look like this has everything to do with Zack.”

He stood, angrily, and grabbed the paper from her hand. “He’s my son!”

She recoiled from his unexpected outburst and found herself backed up against his desk. She had no choice but to stand toe to toe with Dr. Gilbert. Before she knew what she was saying, the words were spilling out of her with a fire she didn’t realize she had been carrying around inside. “So what? Why would it even matter? I don’t exist for you outside of this room, and within it, I’m nothing more than a toy for you to play with. There’s no relationship, no real intimacy. I know I’m nothing to you. So what I do, or who I do for that matter, isn’t really any of your business, is it? You’re my faculty advisor and if you have to dress me down for missing class yesterday, I understand and accept the consequences. And you know, if you want to keep hooking up with me from time to time so we can both get our freak on between classes, I’m down with that, too. But you are not the center of my universe, sir, and that is your fault, not mine.”

She waited, unflinching, for him to speak.

His eyes flashed and she could see the tension in his jaw as he contemplated what she’d said, and likely how she’d said it. A flash of panic shot through her as the idea dawned that she had just blown her chances at graduating on time again, but she stood her ground, knowing she’d played her hand and would have to wait for his move.

In an instant, his hands were in her hair, twined in her curls and pulling her mouth roughly to his. He took her breath away, kissing her with a desire fueled by frustration. When his mouth opened and he sought her tongue with his, she returned his kisses, losing herself in his angry passion. The intensity of the emotion between them was palpable, and the complication of the situation drew the insanity of what they were doing in even greater relief.

She pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length. Neither of them spoke and she could feel his heart beating hard under her palm. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arm around her back and pressing his body against hers. She could feel the unspoken words between them as easily as she could feel the heat of his hard cock through her thin sundress. He kissed her again, more insistently, pressing her back against his desk.

He was powerful, and in his deep, seeking, probing kisses, she felt him re-asserting his dominance over her. He was not one to be bidden or led and he would not be seduced. She let him grind his cock against her, knowing she was growing wet as she understood the power she had over him. Despite his physical strength, knowing he had the ability take her whether she wanted it or not but would stop at a single, spoken “no” was intoxicating. She could end this now, but she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any man—or boy.

She fumbled with his black leather belt, yanking at it in frustration. He stepped back and unsmiling, easily opened his pants and pulled his cock out. He stroked it a few times, looking at her. She was breathing hard, watching him, wanting him. He ran his hands up her thighs and pushed her skirt out of the way, and hooked the crotch of her panties with his finger and pulled them aside. He pressed his cock against her and pulled her legs up, leaning her back and sliding inside her so quickly that it raised her ass off the desk and made her gasp.

Janie wrapped her legs around his back as he drove into her, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back to kiss her. Their need for each other was urgent and there were no whispered sighs or words of passion between them. He drilled her hard and fast, his balls slapping against her ass with each deep thrust. She urged him on, bringing her hips up to meet him, bracing herself on his desk top and pushing his neat world into disarray.

She looked into his face and caught the fine lines around his eyes and the strands of silver that shot through the sandy brown hair that was so like his son’s. Images of Zack swirled through her head, of his face over hers, taking her hard and fast.


She said his name aloud, not realizing it had slipped out in a low whisper.

Dr. Gilbert stopped and pulled out of her abruptly. His cock was purple and shining and he was breathing hard, his shirt beginning to stick to a fine sheen of sweat. His face changed and his jaw set again. He grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them down roughly, tossing them aside. He grabbed her hips and spun her around, bending her over his desk. The leather blotter slid beneath her hands as she tried to brace herself, crying out when her thighs struck the hard edge as he slammed his cock inside her again.

He fucked her like a man with something to prove, as if he could use his cock to push the image of his son out of her head. Out of nowhere, she heard the crack of his hand on her ass, feeling the sting seconds later. She yelped with surprise, but the ferocity of the slap only made her want more. Zack’s hand reddening her ass in a deserted parking lot, his face, his father’s face, their cocks inside her, each man wanting to make her theirs all swirled together and ran hot through her, and with a cry she came hard, making her legs shake so hard she was afraid she would collapse.

She grabbed the edge of the desk, whimpering as he came with a grunt, and she felt his hot cum shoot deep inside her and mingle with her own warm wetness. His arm went around her waist and he held her close until his cock stopped throbbing. He pulled out, and she felt the warm trickle ooze out of her and slide slowly down her thigh.

She turned and faced Dr. Gilbert. He was standing back, breathing hard, his cock beginning to soften and leaving a sticky, wet patch on the open front of his pants. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything.

She walked up to him, and put her hands on his face. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly, leaving her lips against his until his returned the kiss. She smiled softly, and retrieving her panties from the floor, she slipped them back on over her used and messy cunt. She opened his desk drawer and choosing a red pen, wrote her phone number on her test paper.

“When you’re ready to talk to me, give me a call.”

Her words seemed to snap him out of a trance, and he inhaled like a man breaking through the surface of the water. He attempted to quickly dress himself and started to speak. “Janie, I…I’m…”

She cut him off. “When you’re ready.” She collected her things as he straightened his desk absently, his pants still undone, as if organizing the papers would help him make sense.

He looked up at her. “Does Zack know about us?”

“There is no ‘us,’” Janie replied, and in a half-lie added, “He doesn’t need to.”

Dr. Gilbert nodded, and Janie let herself out.

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