Author Archives: Jennifer

And To All a Good Night

23 Tuesday Oct 2012

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I wrote this little piece years and years ago for a contest on Literotica.com. I didn’t win, but the story was well-received by the readers and scored pretty high for what it is, I think. With the weather turning colder, it seemed appropriate to re-post here.

*****

I’m going to be all alone later tonight, and I really don’t mind. It’s going to be cold later, and it’s already started to snow, so I’m going to get a fire started in the woodstove and devote some time to the thoughts of you that I’ve been unable to get out of my mind all week long.

The wood for the fire is dry and it doesn’t take long for it to get blazing hot, too hot in fact to wear much of anything. I sink into a comfortable chair and watch the fire, and as the coals glow redder and redder, I find it too warm for the long pants and flannel shirt I’ve had on all day. I strip, shedding my clothes in a pile and wrap up in a warm crocheted afghan that hangs over the back of the chair. There’s something so sensual and sexy to me about being naked and wrapped in a soft blanket.

I close my eyes and call up one of many, many images I have of your beautiful, big, hard cock. You’re lying on a bed watching a movie, your right hand stroking your dick with firm, powerful strokes. I think of you watching me, and I spread my legs, draping them over the arms of the deep easy chair. The heat of the fire hits my bare pussy and I reach down to find it already wet, fueled by your cock and the anticipation of my own expert touch.

I lean my head back and sink deep into the cushions, my skin ruddy in the glow of the hot fire, my fingers cool on the fevered skin. I spread myself wide, the lips opening, blooming, eager for my fingers. I dip one finger into my moist center and clutch at it, my muscles grabbing to pull it deeper inside. Two fingers go in, and I stroke the hole gently, slowly, my hips undulating with the joy of being fingered.

I run my wet fingers inside my smooth, pink slit. It’s slippery, and I tease my aching clit, rubbing it lightly–too lightly for any satisfaction. I thrust unwillingly against my hand, as if my pelvis can coerce my hand into giving away it’s pleasure.

I imagine what it would be like to have you sitting near me, hearing your breathing as you stroke your own hard cock, teasing it, watching as my shining fingers slide in and out and all over my pussy. Would you be content to watch? Would I?

Both hands toy with my cunt, and fingers thoroughly wetted, I reach for my diamond-hard nipples. One hand skims over my belly and finds the darkened points of my enlarged tits. I moan as I pinch the sensitive skin firmly and again with the other hand I plunge two fingers, three this time into my soaked hole. My tits ache as I pull the nipples, first one, then the other, stroking them firmly between my fingers. Always I’m seeing you in my head, your hips thrusting as you watch me fucking myself with my hand. Your dick is shiny, the head wet with pre-cum, and I ache to lick it clean, but I stay where I am and concentrate on my own pleasure.

My mouth is open, my lips wet, my breath coming faster. Outside the snow falls silently, but my skin is shining and damp from perspiration brought on by the scalding heat of the wood fire and my lust for you. My legs are spread as far as they’ll go, and my fingering brings me to the brink of a quick but powerful orgasm.

I cry out as my hips thrust forward, engulfing most of my hand in my pussy and swallowing it as the spasms hit, thundering deep inside. The muscles of my soaked cunt clench and unclench, and I shudder at the delightful pleasure of the orgasm shooting through every limb. I urge you to come too, willing it, watching in my mind’s eye as your eyes close, your head falls back, and you find your own silent fulfillment, your cum shooting in hot jets over your hand and legs. You shudder and breathe deeply as your grip relaxes, and your cock slips wetly against your hot, bare thigh…

In Defense of Secrets

22 Monday Oct 2012

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Back in February of last year, I posted on my Safe for Public Consumption Blog about secrets, and how I rather like them. Or, I guess, more accurately, how I think secrets are necessary and helpful at times. And in the last couple of days, I’ve had occasion in my life to revisit the idea of secrets, but within a sexual framework, so I thought I’d bring those ideas over here and maybe extrapolate them out, if you don’t mind indulging me in a bit of rumination and such.

First of all, know that I have secrets.  I could share them with you, but then I’d have to kill you.

I like secrets.  It occurs to me as of late that secrets, for the most part, are portrayed as negative.  Secrets have become classified as things that can cause damage or hurt, and the people that possess secrets are shady and nefarious and generally up to no good. Honest people who live their lives in a morally upright way have no need for secrets.

Nonsense, I say.  Secrets are neutral.  They are merely information stored.  Memories of past events, knowledge of future events, thoughts on the same–they’re just air, or vibrations, or brain wrinkles, or whatever it is thoughts are made from.  What makes them “good” or “bad” is subjective.  We attach the value judgments.  Certainly some secrets are harmful, but not all, and I wonder why to assume they are has become the default setting. I disagree wholeheartedly with the notion that the things we keep secret are by default harmful, and that we can’t be both honest and secretive at the same time.

Secretive.  Even the word sounds nasty, doesn’t it?

Once secrets are exposed, they change the way other people look at us–sometimes for the better, but sometimes not.   It’s why I feel that it’s important to be careful with whom you share your secrets, if at all.

Jack CAN handle the truth.

I love the story that came out quite some years back about Jack Nicholson.  He discovered a family secret: the woman he thought was his mother was actually his grandmother, and his mother was the woman he thought was his older sister.  Jack’s response?  “I’ve often said about them: Show me any women today who could keep a secret, confidence, or an intimacy to that degree, you got my kind of gal.”

We love transparency.  We expect our governments to operate in the open, we demand access into the private lives of public people, we don’t tolerate our loved ones keeping anything from us.  But mostly we just want someone to tell us what’s going on.  Everything that’s going on.  We want in.  We don’t like being out of the loop.

The thing is, secrets are private things.  As in not out in the open.  Not for public consumption.  Mine, and mine alone.  I remember when The DaVinci Code came out there was a whole brouhaha about the “secret Vatican archives.”  Yes, they do exist.  Oh, the uproar!  The Church is keeping secrets!  What’s in those archives that they don’t want us to see?

This is from the Secret Vatican Archives. Dated July 13, 1530 and addressed to Pope Clement VII, this letter asks for the annulment of Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon and includes the seals of dozens of peers of England who concurred with the request. The Pope said “no” and all hell broke loose. And no, you cannot touch it.

Some poor schmuck from the Pope’s office had to explain (again) to the dimwitted press and the panty-knotted public that the word “secret” in this case means “private”, as in not open to the general public.  What’s in there? Just a couple of millennia worth of very old, very delicate documents that could easily be destroyed by the great unwashed running their grubby mitts all over them.  You can see them, if you have the necessary qualifications and you ask.  Nicely.  Lots of museums have private collections (of varying degrees of irreplaceableness) that you can’t just walk in off the street to see.  They’re secret.  I mean, we know they’re there, we know what’s in them, but if we want to see them for ourselves we have to get permission.  We have to show that we can be trusted with the material. And here’s the thing: not everyone gets in.  It’s how secrets work.

It was the best definition of “secret” I’d heard in a long time, and it made me rethink secrets in general.

I have secrets, but if I choose not to share them with you it’s not because I’m up to no good, or that my secret is something I’m ashamed of.  The problem isn’t the secret itself, nor is my lack of openness a defect of my character.  If you aren’t in on something that I consider private, the problem is probably you.

Perhaps  I haven’t told you my secret because you lack the sophistication and intelligence to grasp the subtle nuances of the secret.  The people I’ve told the secret to are people who’ve already proven that they have the intellectual maturity to pull the secret apart, study it, reassemble it, and study it some more before making any decisions about it.  You prefer to take things on their face value–usually because it’s easier, but mostly because you’re just not terribly bright– stating with great authority that what It says is exactly what It means, while failing to go beyond the surface and find the truth hidden under the layers.  You seek the sensational.  You think the secret is a nail, so you become a hammer.

The secret is complicated.

It could also be true that you have little emotional control or stability.  The secret I’m holding, should I share it with you, will become for you a juicy little nugget of delight, and you’ll be so tickled to your very marrow that you’ll have to tell someone else, or explode.  You take childish delight in feeling that you know something others don’t; unfortunately for the secret, you have to tell it in order to let others know that you are in this small way superior to them.  It doesn’t matter that the secret didn’t originate with you, or that by telling what little you know you’ve given away a part of that perceived power.  Because you have to let the world know that you know, you cannot know.

The secret requires self-control.

For some, I can’t let you in on the secret because you are, in the end, rigid and unyielding in your own sense of rightness.  The secret requires that you set aside everything you think you know, everything you believe, and open your mind to see beyond your own narrow world view.  You have to be accepting and understanding, empathetic and intuitive, and you are probably lacking in one or more of those areas.

The secret doesn’t require your judgment.

I’ve been thinking about it some more since I posted that over a year ago, my brain tickled by conversations about marriage and intimacy and how much you share with your spouse, and how much you should share. Should your partner know everything?

I don’t think so. In light of what I wrote up there, I still believe in privacy, and my husband does, too. He does not read my e-mails, look at my Facebook account, read my FB chats or Words With Friends Chats or my Twitter feed. None of he. We share the computer but use two different browsers, and he doesn’t even open mine without permission. He could, but he does not.

I offer him the same courtesy. Unless he says to, I don’t go into his accounts, read his e-mails, or look at his chats. We share the contents on occasion, but not always. He has friends of both sexes that I’ve never met and vice-versa, and neither of us feels the need to pry or spy.

I also tell him a lot of private, secret stuff because I can trust him with the information, and he does likewise. But not everything.

There are things I don’t tell him about, and things I don’t share, and they have nothing to do with any of the reasons above. He’s proven that he has the intelligence to handle my secrets and private thoughts. I know of all people that he is emotionally stable enough to deal with the things he finds in my head. And God knows he’s proven himself to be one of the least judgmental men I’ve ever met. He’s been completely un-shocked by things that would have sent a lesser man running for the hills.

So why do I still keep parts of my life secret from him? I guess the simple answer is that it pleases me to be able to do so. And part of me worries that if I tell him everything, I’ll have nothing left that’s me. Some of my secrets are powerful because they belong only to me. If they don’t have any bearing or effect on my relationship with him in any way, then they are not harmful and keeping them should be my right.

I mean, if I don’t let you in on a secret, it’s not about how much I like you.  I might be protecting someone else’s privacy, I might be protecting my own, and then again, it might be that, unlike Jack, you can’t handle the truth.  And that’s okay.  I know there are secrets that I’m not privy to.  It’s the way of the universe, and it’s as it should be.

I put forth the notion that everyone is entitled to keep secrets.  Secrets themselves are not bad to have, and if you have some, you should treasure them.  You should hang on to them if only as a touchstone reminder that we live in a world where privacy is a diminishing commodity.

In the Internet age, transparency is all to easy and I wonder if keeping secrets is going to become a dying skill, like cursive handwriting.

Has the Sexy Ghost Story Been Done to Death?

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

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Or is there still room for more?

I spend a lot of my writing time, when I have it, scanning the Calls for Submission in the erotica genre. Sometimes I’m lucky and find that I have a story that fits what they’re looking for with little tweaking necessary, and sometimes what they’re looking for will spark an idea.

A while back I got an idea for a story about a sexy ghost. I wish I could say I remembered what triggered it. I posted it bit by bit in the forum where I used to hang out and it was interesting to see people’s reactions to the characters as the story progressed. In a way, I think the plot was driven in part by my trying to elicit responses from the readers. Sometimes I make otherwise likable characters do awful things to see how far I can push it before sympathy wanes.

In the cheating story I wrote for Not Safe for Work, “Dirty Little Secret,” I found it interesting that as the story unfolded, that as the man in the story became a first-degree cheater with a girl half his age, the readers’ sympathy was with him. Considering that many of my readers were married women, I was intrigued that very little–if any–thought or compassion was given to the wife. Granted, I infused her with some of the worst characteristics that most of us are guilty of from time to time. She took him for granted, had lost interest in sex, focused on the kids and ignored him, valued him only as a breadwinner, and used him to get things done around the house. The intimacy in their relationship was gone, and I drew him as a man wanting desperately to connect with the woman he loves but being unable to, so in a fit of frustration, he looks for it elsewhere, and finds…well, not what he’s looking for, exactly, but some truths about himself and his life and he teaches his young partner something about herself as well. She, too, becomes a sympathetic character, and when I looked back and read the posts and the reactions, it still amazes me that a cheating man and the girl who steals another woman’s husband are both sympathetic characters, while the wife–the only victim in the story–was the villain of the piece. Of course I’m simplifying, but in a nutshell, I made something bad palatable. In the end, these two people who have done a bad thing are both still likable.

With the ghost story, I pushed that envelope a bit harder. I set it up so that a woman working in a historic inn meets a ghost who, for reasons that are still a mystery to science and para-science, can only be seen and felt by certain people, and it’s been decades since this particular ghost has had any human contact. I made him awesome. I created him to be the exact kind of man any woman would want to be with. He is a heroic figure, a bit tragic, very romantic, and I set up a love story for the ages. Swoon-worthy, you might say.

And then, I made him do something bad. Really bad. The kind of bad that made everyone reading exclaim, “Oh, no! He DIDN’T!” Yeah, he did. I don’t want to give too much away, but suddenly I yanked the rug out and left the man they really liked and the couple they rooted for stumbling and falling and crashing badly. There was serious backlash against our romantic hero. And the challenge for me, sitting here behind my monitor reading the visceral reactions and being wholly inspired by them, was how to make those same people sympathetic to him again. The challenge I gave myself was to make them fall back in love with my protagonist, despite what he did. They had to forgive him. I was going to make them love him.

In the end, what I like about my ghost erotica is that it’s less about spooky, paranormal coupling and all about real human emotion. Arthur the Ghost, despite his non-corporeality, is still very much human.

The story is all but done. It’s a full-length novel at this point, albeit a short one. Maybe a novella. I’m never sure what the criterion for length is. It currently stands at right around thirty thousand words. Way too long to be a short story, but too short for a novel which I believe is over forty thousand. Maybe when it’s finished and the last two scenes are added and fleshed out, so to speak, it will be a proper novel. Then what? I don’t know.

I keep reading that sexy ghosts are overdone, overused, and folks are bored by them. I don’t wish to be boring. But I wonder if anyone will want to publish or read it. Then again, with the appalling lack of time I’ve had to write these days, by the time it’s done ghosts might be hot again.  It’s as true of writing as it is of sex and life in general: timing is everything.

Anyway, you want to read some ghostly smut? Okay, then. So, Kate has come to work at a Victorian-era inn and on her first night in the mansion meets the resident ghost, Arthur. They have an instant attraction and spend a most pleasant night together in Kate’s bed. In this scene, Kate wakes up to the all-too-common “Did I dream this?” feeling, made even more powerful by the fact of, oh, ghost sex. What happens the next morning? Let’s watch.

*****

Kate woke in the morning to the Spring sun reflecting brightly off her white sheets. She opened one eye and squinted at the alarm clock, and with a groan made a mental note to buy shades for the eastern-facing windows before the day was out. She rolled away from the windows, pulling the comforter over her head and burying her face in the soft, feather pillows. She stretched out her arm across the warm bed and froze.

She opened her eyes and looked at the rumpled bedclothes, the dented pillows, and her discarded shirt from the day before tossed carelessly on the wood floor. For a second, she wondered if it had all been a dream. She pulled back the covers and looked down at her nude body. Her normally light pink nipples were a darker purplish color and very sensitive from being sucked on, and she ran her finger over one lightly, causing it to spring to life. In the bright morning light, it was easy to see the already darkening bruises left by Arthur’s fingers on the milky-white skin of her full breasts. She ran her hands over them gently, tracing the outline of each finger. She shivered, partly from pleasure and partly from the early-morning chill in the room, and pulled the covers back up to her neck.

“Oh,” Arthur said, appearing suddenly. He was perched on the arm of the sofa, dressed in another soft, flannel shirt, worn jeans, and a pair of wool socks. “Don’t stop on my account,” he continued with a half-smile.

She looked up at him, startled, and then grinned. “Don’t ghosts ever knock?”

He shrugged. “Only when we want to be noticed. When we want to watch a beautiful woman touch herself, we stay very, very quiet.” He crossed to her and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in to kiss her. When her arms went around his neck, the comforter slid, exposing her breasts. He scooped up the soft globes in his hands, and she winced.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, letting her go.

She looked down. “I bruise like an over-ripe banana.”

He looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry,” he said, kissing her lightly on each breast and rubbing the skin very lightly. “I got carried away.”

“We both did,” she said with a smile, as she shuddered again. “Damn, it’s cold in here.”

He kissed her nipples again, making her squirm slightly as the all-too-familiar tingling in her pussy started up again in earnest. With a smile that was half-promise and half-tease, he pulled the covers back up and tucked them in around her neck. “Oh, why’d you stop?” she asked, pushing her lip out petulantly.

“Because I came up here to tell you that I have a pot of coffee on in the kitchen and a roaring fire going in the dining room fireplace, which was no easy task considering I had to get wood in the house without it looking like logs were floating across the back porch.”

“That sounds lovely,” she said, leaning back into the pillows and smiling contentedly.

“Did you want to come down and get warmed by my amazing fire, or would you prefer to take your coffee up here, madam?”

“I will make myself presentable and join you in the dining room,” she said, grinning as he stood and bowed formally.

“Very good,” he said, kissing her on the forehead and walking out of the room straight through the heavy oak door.

“Show off!” she called after him, and heard his laugh in the hall.

The fire in the dining room was an impressive one, and the dry logs crackled a greeting as she walked into the large, brightly lit room. The floor-to-ceiling windows were full of sunlight, and through the wavy, blown glass panes, she could see the light green buds on the lilacs just starting to unfurl. A small table near the stone hearth was set with a crisp, linen tablecloth and polished silver and antique china gleamed. She sat down in the heavy chair, enjoying the feel of the warm fire on her back, and smiled at the artfully folded napkin on her plate.

“That was fast,” Arthur said, coming in from the kitchen with a silver coffee pot.

“This is lovely,” she remarked. “And the napkin swan? Too much.”

He laughed and poured out the strong, hot coffee into her cup. “There was a housekeeper here once who could make napkins into the most fantastic shapes. And she did it so fast it was like magic. I used to follow her around, waiting for her to do her thing and then I’d study what she did. I mean, I spent hours watching this woman fold linen napkins, and then when everyone was asleep, I’d practice all night trying to get them as perfect as she did.”

“That’s dedication,” she said, sipping her coffee.

He shrugged. “I have a tendency to get obsessed with things,” he confessed, plucking up the swan by one wing and shaking it out with a soft snap before draping it over her thigh. “But then with unlimited time, one needs a fair number of time-killers.”

She chuckled. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair next to her.

“I will,” he assured her. “But first, what would you like to eat? I’m not much of a cook, but I think I could manage toast without much trouble.”

“You’ve done enough,” she said, putting her cup down on her saucer. He quickly filled it and set the pot down. He pulled up a chair and sat close to her, and took her hand in his.

“Kate, I don’t feel like I can do anywhere near enough,” he said, pressing his lips to her hand. “Last night was…” He paused, looking for the right words.

“Yeah, it most definitely was,” she agreed with a naughty smile, putting her hand on his thigh and leaning in to kiss him.

He kissed her passionately, and Kate felt the delightful tingles return. “Breakfast can wait,” she said, forgetting everything else but the feel of his lips on hers.

Arthur’s hands slid up under her wool sweater, feeling her skin through the clinging softness of her silk camisole. He pulled the warm garment up, letting go of her mouth long enough to pull it over her head. He leaned back and smiled, admiring the curve of her breasts beneath her filmy undergarments. “So beautiful,” he said, and lowered his head to her chest, his lips warm against her.

She ran her hands through his hair, holding him as he nuzzled her hard nipples through the thin silk. He pulled the straps off her shoulders, letting them fall on her arms and sighed as the wisp of fabric slithered off her bare breasts. Gently, he took a rosy tip into his mouth, sucking gently and making her squirm delightfully in her seat.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, giggling as his hands worked the button on her pants. He let go of her nipple and looked up at her.

“If you want me to, I’ll stop,” he said, arching an eyebrow playfully.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, leaning forward and pushing him back his chair. She stood quickly and shimmied out of her jeans, sliding them down her thighs while smiling seductively at him. She straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around him. “Where were we?” she asked, slipping her hands around his neck and kissing him deeply. Kate ran her hands down his chest, releasing his lips only long enough to inquire, “Don’t you feel a little overdressed?”

He smiled, and closing his eyes, he made his clothing vanish. His cock was suddenly hard and hot between her legs and she moaned at the sudden contact. He shuddered too. “That feeling right there is the best part of being able to do that little trick.” She moaned her agreement, kissing him on the lips before sliding down off his lap. She knelt on the hardwood floor and cradled his cock in her hands. “Oh, God,” he said with a groan as her lips closed around him.

Kate pressed her lips against the head and let them rest there. She kissed him gently, first on the tip, then down the shaft to the thick nest of dark curls. She ran her tongue along its length and teased the tiny eye with the tip of it.
He leaned back in the chair, his ass nearly off the cushions as Kate pleasured him, his growing desire making her own pussy throb and hum in sympathy. He moaned and twined his fingers in her hair, his firm pressure on the back of her head guiding her speed and depth. He was rocking his hips back and forth, meeting her motions with small thrusts of his own. Her hands gripped him tightly and stroked him hard and fast in time with her bobbing head and sucking lips.

Kate could tell Arthur was close to coming, and she stopped, looking up into his eyes. The sight of her smiling at him, her lips full and wet and her hands still stroking him lightly drew another groan from his throat. She kissed him lightly on the tip, causing his cock to jump in her hand, and she stood, her knees marked with two red circles.

In an instant, his hands were on her hips, guiding her onto his lap. He slid into her easily, and she moaned as he filled her. His need for her was intense, and the feeling of his strong hands urging her on, holding her fast while he directed her movements went to her head in a rush. He was impaling her, hitting secret spots inside her that were making her legs shake with passion.

His face was buried in her bouncing tits, licking and sucking her swollen nipples and nipping the already tender skin. Her thoughts rushed and swirled in her head, hedonistic and wild, blinding her to anything but her need for his cock and his hands and lips on her body.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing against her and breaking apart. Her hands went around his neck as she braced her feet firmly on the floor and rode his cock hard and fast. “Come in me,” she commanded, her voice husky and deep with lust. As if he had been waiting for her command, he groaned and held her fast while his own pleasure exploded and he swelled and throbbed deliciously against her clit.

She leaned her forehead against his, breathing hard and rocking her still-sensitive clit against his pubic bone, shuddering at the powerful sensation. His touch was light, his hands stroking her warm flesh, caressing and adoring her.

Her legs were still shaking slightly when she lifted herself off of his half-hard cock and stood naked before him, her camisole still crumpled around her waist and her cheeks flush from the warmth of the fire and their exertions. With trembling hands, she slipped her arms back into the straps of the thin undershirt and pulled it up, shivering at the touch of the fabric, light as it was, over her hard nipples.

She couldn’t remember a time when a man had so driven her to distraction the way Arthur did. He sat in the antique dining chair, still slumped against the velvet cushions, smiling at her through heavy-lidded eyes. His strong, lean body was as it had been in life; he was the picture of young virility and sated passion, but the eyes that watched her dress were old eyes–eyes that had seen so many things, yet they bore the sadness of one who had seen but been unable to partake. There was another emotion there, she thought, but she couldn’t quite place it. It tugged at her heart.

The chair creaked as he stood, as if to protest their harsh treatment of it. He stood before her in the window-shaped patch of morning sunlight. Gently, he put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head to look at him. She smiled up into his handsome face, and he kissed her. “I never want to let you go,” he said, and put his strong arms around her, holding her close. She rested her head against his chest and sighed with pleasure.

*****

Should I publish it? Or are ghost stories passé?

Also From Down the Rabbit Hole

16 Tuesday Oct 2012

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This is one of the last chapters of Down the Rabbit Hole. Alice, at this point in the story has been wandering through Wonderland trying to get into a lovely garden where she witnessed a spectacular orgy going on through a tiny door. Now, having met a very Dominant Duchess and her submissive Cook, petted and stroked a charmingly seductive Cheshire Cat, and had a tea party with a Mad Hatter, she now has found herself back in the garden at last, only now there is a game of sexual croquet being played and the Queen of Hearts is both a sore loser and a sore winner. Frustrated, confused, and a little scared, Alice seeks release without losing her head.

*****

She had hoped Cat would have some idea about how this game was played; or more specifically, Alice wondered how to take part in this delightfully debauched orgy without losing her head. Cat, however, was very busy being the center of attention. The King had fetched the executioner, who was currently in a heated argument about how it was impossible to cut the head off of something that didn’t have a body. The King, for his part, felt quite strongly that if one had a head, one could be certainly be beheaded. The Queen declared in a shrill voice that if something wasn’t done about it in less than no time, she’d have everyone there beheaded, which caused the revelers (who really just wanted to get back to their Bacchanalian festivities) to look quite anxious.

Alice remarked that perhaps the Duchess would be of some help, so the King and the executioner ran off in different directions. But by the time they returned with the Duchess, Cat’s smiling face had completely disappeared. The King and the soldiers ran around everywhere looking for her, but she was nowhere to be seen, so the rest of the party went back to their games.

Left standing quite alone again, Alice found herself growing irritated and the whole of Wonderland quite tiresome.

“I’m very glad to see you again,” said a voice very near to Alice’s left ear. The Knave of Hearts slipped an arm around her waist and led her away from the croquet-ground. Alice was very glad to see him again, though she was concerned at the Knave’s utter lack of concern about being beheaded by the Queen if she should find one of her pets engaged with a guest. But then, she thought to herself, the Knave was a magnificent specimen of man and she was so tired of being treated rudely, that perhaps the risk would be quite worth it.

She walked along and was so engrossed with weighing the pros and cons of having a bit of sport with one of the Queen’s favorites that she didn’t realize the Knave was talking to her. She was startled when his voice sounded quite close to her ear again. “You’re thinking about something. I can tell because you forgot to talk. There’s a moral in that somewhere, only I can’t think of what it is right at the moment,” he said.

“Maybe there isn’t a moral,” Alice offered helpfully.

“Everything’s got a moral, if you can find it,” he said, squeezing closer up to Alice’s side as he spoke.

Alice was enthralled by the nearness of him, because he was so very handsome, and because his erection was growing as they walked along and it occasionally brushed against her hand to remind her of his desire for her. “The game’s going on a little better now,” Alice said, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” the Knave replied, “and the moral of that is, ‘A change of scene can change one’s character.’”

“I don’t think that’s quite right,”Alice said, confused. “Isn’t it ‘A change of scene does not change one’s character?’”

“Same thing,” the Knave said, smiling. “And the moral of that is ‘Every truth has two sides.’”

How fond he is of morals! Alice thought to her herself. They rounded a bend in the path and found themselves outside the croquet-ground and on the edge of a large field.

“How are you finding Wonderland?” he asked.

“I find it a bit…frustrating,” Alice admitted, as the Knave slipped in behind her, pulling her fast to him and pressing his hard cock against her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s very trying to fit in when everyone here is afraid of being beheaded by the Queen.”

The Knave chuckled, his deep voice sonorous and pleasant. “Yes, she can be unpleasant to those she does not trust, and she trusts no one. And the moral of that is ‘It is safer to know one’s guest before offering hospitality.”

Alice was having trouble following his logic, but his hands were sliding over her body and she was having trouble forming a logical thought anyway. He carefully undid the buttons of her dress and with a shrug of her shoulders, it fell to the grass.

She turned and faced him, running her hands up his smooth chest, over his hard nipples and around his thick neck. She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply, and he responded by opening his mouth and taking her in more deeply. He wrapped his hands around her ass and pulled her tightly to him, his cock hot and hard between their bodies.

She stripped his vest off of him, and leaning back, pulled him to the grass. He lay between her legs and took her breasts in his hands. She gasped as he bit her nipple gently, pulling it with his straight white teeth while he smiled beguiling at her. He sucked the pink tips into rock hard points and licked and teased them with his tongue. He slid lower down her body and she lay back in the cool grass, closing her eyes and throwing her head back as his mouth found her yearning pussy.

He kissed the shaved lips gently and slid his tongue in between the soft folds. She parted her legs for him and moaned as his lips made contact with her clit. He sucked gently at the hard little nugget, teasing it with his tongue and his teeth. She ground her cunt against his mouth, trying to get him to possess her entirely.

He slipped his strong arms beneath her legs and flipped her, turning her ass up and spreading her cheeks with his hands. He sucked at her sweet, eager asshole and she moaned again, tossing her hair over her shoulder and reaching down between her legs to diddle her clit. He sucked at her juicy cunt, so wet and ready it was practically dripping into the grass beneath him.

He knelt behind her and slid his huge cock into her and she cried out with delight as it filled her to the hilt, stretching and opening her. His balls swung and smacked softly against her clit and she reached under and squeezed his scrotum gently, scratching the soft skin gently with her nails.

He ran his hands over her round ass and held her hips while he stroked his cock inside her. She was moaning aloud, growing louder and louder as he churned inside her, working her pussy and bringing her once again to the brink of orgasm.

A flock of birds took sudden flight, but Alice paid them no mind. She was on the edge of coming, closer than she’d been since she’d followed the White Rabbit down that stupid hole and she was not going to stop now, not for anyone.

Suddenly, the Knave pulled out of her and she cried out in frustration. She flipped on her back in time to see two of the Queen’s soldiers taking him roughly by the arms and pulling him away. His cock was purple and rampant and shining with her juices, but he only smiled placidly as he was led away from her.

Alice sat alone in the grass, confused and angry. She was momentarily too angry to even spread her legs and rub her clit to relieve herself of that elusive orgasm. She sat motionless until the sound of an approaching crowd brought her to her feet. The White Rabbit ran by her. “Come on! Come on!” he shouted excitedly. “The trial is beginning!”

“What trial?” Alice said, hurriedly picking up her dress and attempting to pull it on as she ran.

“Come on! Come on!”

So Alice ran.

*****

What happens in the courtroom? Well, there’s lots of “interesting” testimony from the witnesses, and Alice makes her last stand for satisfaction. To find out how things “finish” for Alice, you can read the whole story of Down the Rabbit Hole on Kindle, Nook, or in paperback. 

From Down the Rabbit Hole

15 Monday Oct 2012

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This is the opening chapter of the novella Down the Rabbit Hole, a re-imagining of Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice in Wonderland. But with much more sex.

*****

A Warm Summer Day

Alice lay under a weeping willow tree on the riverbank. The tall grass whispered around her in the slight breeze and the sun shone brightly through the leaves, playing across her skin in golden, dappled patterns. Her long, blonde hair was fanned out beneath her head and it shone like a spun-gold halo.

The far pasture was the only place Alice knew she could be left completely alone for a time, away from the din of her crowded family home and on vacation from the cacophony of dormitory life. She sighed deeply, enjoying the peaceful solitude of the vast, rambling fields. The only noise came from the babbling of the nearby stream as it rushed over the rocks, the occasional birdsong and cricket chirp, and the gentle rustling of the grass in the warm spring wind.

Alice believed there was no better companion on such a day as a canvas bag full of books. She had chosen several volumes to keep her company: a thin book of modern poetry, a dog-eared copy of a children’s book she’d long outgrown but still loved, and a couple of the latest bestsellers to be released in affordable paperback.

None held her attention for very long, and she had opened and discarded each one in turn as unsatisfactory. Feeling restless and fidgety, she found her mind wandering from thought to thought, idea to idea, unable to concentrate fully on any of the reading material she had brought along. Her brain felt sluggish and dull, a condition aggravated by certain biological urges she’d lately been unable to assuage, due to an appalling lack of privacy at home and an equally annoying lack of time at school.

Giving up trying to rein in and focus her intellect in any meaningful way, she reclined in the shade of the massive tree with her head propped up against the roots and drew out the last book in the bag. She carefully propped the antique leather-bound illustrated anthology of Victorian erotica comfortably on her belly and let her legs splay open languidly. The breeze fluttered the hem of her blue cotton sundress and she spread her thighs slightly, allowing the skirt to slide up her bare legs and nearly expose her bare pussy. There was no need for modesty out in the middle of nowhere, and as the day had promised early on to be a hot one, she had decided—as she sometimes did—to forgo any panties beneath her full-skirted dress.

She smiled to herself and opened the old book, reading the tales of proper gentlemen seducing innocent girls. The young ladies blushed and giggled as their randy men requested favors, pushing their hands away and protesting while the young men pressed ever onward against every defense. Of course each story ended with the couple engaging in “a bout of love” and “copious spendings” and all of the walls of Victorian prudery came tumbling down. She wondered how many dark wardrobes and woolen underthings had hidden this particular volume.

Though Alice was far from being a repressed Victorian lady, the stories and elaborate woodcut illustrations—by virtue of their being once-forbidden—were still somehow deliciously naughty to her in the way modern porn so seldom was. As imaginative as any young woman that came before her, she lay beneath the tree and let her mind wander; she pretended that she was a proper Victorian English girl, full of carnal desires that both confused and aroused her. She fantasized that she had just slipped away from her stifling, rigid parents with the excuse of needing a bit of fresh air in the garden. Or perhaps she had given her martinet of a governess the slip and had thus managed to avoid an afternoon full of dull needlework or the parsing of irregular French verbs. She was a naughty girl, and her upright, staid family would consider her wanton if they knew how often she stole away to enjoy baser pursuits. Perhaps she tucked this book—a gift from her lover, maybe—in the folds of her skirts before slipping out of the house to a secluded spot by the riverbank. Away from any prying eyes, she was able to hitch up her skirts and spread her legs, letting the dirty little stories and pictures fuel her desire as she explored her body.

Lost in her fantasy, Alice slid her dress up to her waist. She ran a hand over her smooth, freshly waxed pussy, the bare lips serving as a reminder that she was a modern woman and no longer possessed of the thick nest of curls favored by her Victorian counterparts. She lazily slipped a fingertip between the smooth, plump lips and shivered as she found the hard little pearl of her clit and stroked it. She wondered what her imaginary gentleman lover would think if he found her touching herself in such a bold manner, and she spread her legs wider, hoping he would find her lustful abandon so arousing that he’d be overcome and take her right there in the tall, sweet grass.

She let the book fall to the ground with a soft thump, its leaves lightly smudged and faintly musky-scented with her own juices where she had stopped to turn the page. She slipped her hand inside the top of her dress, rubbing and pinching her hard, pink nipples. She inserted two fingers into her tight cunt and moaned a little to herself, fully enjoying the deliciousness of an outdoor frig. She was just about to close her eyes and draw out her sweet climax when an enormous white rabbit ran right past her feet.

She stopped, startled, and sat up. She jumped to her feet and looked around trying to see where it had gone, since it’s not every day a timid field hare passes by close enough to be caught. The sight of a flash of white bounding through the tall grass captivated her, and while she knew there was no way she could ever overtake it, she tore out after it anyway, determined to catch it, although if anyone had asked her (and no one did) she would have said she did not know why she left off mid-diddle to chase a wild bunny she had no hope of catching.

Her bare feet pounded against the packed earth and she was quite out of breath by the time she reached the mouth of a very large, very cave-like rabbit hole yawning from the side of an enormous hillock. Her family had owned the land as far back as anyone could remember and she knew every inch of the property like the back of her hand, but for the life of her she could not remember that particular mound ever being there before. Under other circumstances she might have given it more thought, but as it was, a giant rabbit hole appearing where none had ever existed was the least curious thing she had to consider.

She stopped short and shook her head, not quite believing her eyes. The white rabbit wasn’t a rabbit at all, but a man. He was young and handsome with very muscular thighs and fine, round buttocks. He was barefoot and wore white satin breeches, only to Alice’s surprised delight the entire crotch of the trousers had been removed. The neatly cut-out area left his manhood—which Alice noticed was heavy and impressive and quite as hairless as her own nether regions—and his soft, pink ass entirely exposed. Over his breeches he wore a white satin waistcoat that fit him like a second skin, but no jacket, shirt or tie. His chest was as bare and smooth as the rest of him, and his strong arms looked powerful. He was tow-headed and fair with eyes that were the pale, clear blue of a summer sky, though his expression was anxious and his manner somewhat twitchy.

He pulled a large, turnip-shaped pocket watch from his white waistcoat and looked at the time worriedly. “Oh dear,” he exclaimed suddenly, addressing Alice as if he’d been conversing with her all along. “I am so very, very late! The Queen is going to be most unhappy with me!” He closed the watch with a snap and slipped it back into his pocket. “Come, Mary Anne,” he commanded her. “There is much to do!”

Alice looked around for Mary Anne, and seeing no one but herself and the White Rabbit (which she had taken to calling him in her head), she said, “But…my name is Alice.”

“No time! No time!” the White Rabbit exclaimed and ran into the rabbit hole. Alice felt she had no choice but to follow him. It never occurred to her to be frightened, or even curious as to who he was or where he was leading her.

She ran behind the rabbit as fast as she could go in the dark tunnel, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light. She caught a blur of white up ahead of her and ran toward it, trying to catch up with the White Rabbit. Suddenly, the ground beneath her began to slope sharply downward and she scrambled as the earth rolled away underneath her feet. She flailed her arms searching for something to grab onto to slow her fall, and with a shriek she realized there was nothing. Alice felt as though she was falling down a very deep well, and for several seconds with her eyes squeezed shut she waited for the jarring impact of the ground, only none came. All she felt was the cool air rushing past her and she cautiously opened her eyes.

*****

Down the Rabbit Hole is available in paperback, for Kindle, and for Nook.

From “Photo Finish”

11 Thursday Oct 2012

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This excerpt is from “Photo Finish” from my anthology of short fiction called Not Safe for Work. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. In this story, our innocent but willing heroine is being seduced by one sexy bastard. 

*****

He slid his hand up her back, under her long, dark hair to the bare skin of her neck. Her eyes closed and she exhaled as he ran his hands over the soft spot, goosebumps rising on her arms. “You’re really beautiful,” he said in a low voice, leaning in to nuzzle gently on her ear. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

She turned and sought his mouth hungrily, her sweet, full lips open and seeking his. He kissed her passionately, letting his lips tease hers and seeking her tongue with his own. “You’re making it very hard for me to be professional,” he said, his voice a half-whisper between kisses.

He felt her hand slide down between his legs and feel for him, and he shifted his hips so that his erection was more prominent. He moaned softly as her hands caressed him through his jeans. He ran a hand over one of her full breasts, cupping it gently and running his thumb over her hard nipple. It was her turn to moan as he skillfully manipulated the hard point, causing her to squirm in her seat and increase her fumblings in his crotch.

She managed to get his button open and was tugging at his zipper. His cock jerked with anticipation at her touch, and he forced himself to concentrate on her and not yank her inexperienced hands out of the way. He wanted to sigh with relief when he felt the zipper finally give way. Her hand was on him, grasping his shaft through his underwear. He put his hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, not meaning a word of it.

“I want to,” she said, her voice husky with desire.

He smiled. “I just hope you’re not disappointed.”

Eagerly, Andie freed his cock from its cotton restraint. As her hands slipped around his cock and stroked him, he moaned with pleasure, half at the delightful sensation of feeling a beautiful woman stroking his rod, and in part at how ridiculously well the “I hope I’m big enough to satisfy you” gambit always worked.

He continued to kiss her and fondle her breasts, slipping his hand up under her shirt and sliding her big tits out of her bra. He pulled on her sensitive nipples, making her moan in a most satisfying way. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he said, his voice playfully light. “Because you’re driving me absolutely wild.”

Andie smiled at him, the words catching in her throat as he continued kneading the soft flesh in his hands and kissing her over and over. “You’re my first.”

Eric nearly shot his load in her hands.

“I don’t really know if I’m doing this right,” she confessed, looking into his eyes.

He reassured her, first. “It feels so good, baby,” Eric said, and it wasn’t a lie.

“I want to make you…you know…” she began, haltingly.

He forced himself not to sigh or roll his eyes. Again, with the stammering. But there was plenty of time to get her to begging for his cock using all the dirtiest words she could imagine. For now, it was all about getting that sweet mouth around his dick.

Eric took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. “You’re amazing,” he said, “and your mouth is so soft. Maybe if you kissed me…down there.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson again, and for a second he thought he’d overplayed his hand. “But only if you want to,” he added. “I want this to be all about you.”

He watched her reticence crumble as she slid off her seat and knelt between his thighs. He spread them slightly and adjusted himself so that his cock was out and she could get all of it in her hands. He twined his fingers in her shiny curls, cradling her head and whispering words of encouragement. “I want you so much,” he told her as she put her lips on the swollen purple head, his throat tightening slightly at the thrill of it. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

She opened her mouth and took him in, tasting her first cock. He gently stroked her hair, fighting the urge to shove her head down onto him and fuck her mouth properly. There would be plenty of time for that, too. “Oh, baby,” he said, “it feels so good when you suck it like that.” And like magic, she responded, sucking harder and taking him deeper into her mouth. “Oh, God,” he said, meaning it.

For a novice, Andie threw herself into her first blow job with gusto. A simple murmur of direction from him–“Stroke it…yeah…oh, just like that”–and she followed, as easily as she had taken direction in front of the lens, and she was becoming as adept at giving head as she was showing her cunt for his camera. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine what it would be like shooting her while they fucked. The idea alone was enough to cause the cum to boil up from his balls, and with a grunt, he shot his load into her mouth.

To her credit, she handled the unexpected mouthful of cum well, swallowing most of it and only allowing a trickle of it to escape her lips and run down her chin. When he caught his breath a bit, he scooped his arms around her waist and pulled her up onto his lap, wiping the bit of his jizz off her chin with his thumb. “That was so fantastic,” he said, nuzzling her tits and fondling her freely. “Before I take you home, I’m going to make sure you know how much I appreciate you doing that for me.”

He opened her jeans with all the practiced skill that she lacked. In one swift move, her zipper was wide open and his hand was buried inside her soaked panties, seeking her warm cunt. His fingers slipped inside her pussy, stroking her slippery clit and causing her to moan almost instantly. His mouth was on her large tits, sucking those big, rosy nipples and teasing them in his teeth. She humped against his hand, rubbing herself on him like a bitch in heat, and he fingered her skillfully, his fingers working her slit the way he’d worked so many before her.

He pressed his fingers deeper and deeper inside the tight confines of her pants, wriggling his fingers into her virgin tightness with every one of her thrusts. With a cry, her cunt let down a flow of hot, musky fluid over his hand as she came with her second explosive climax of the day. She shuddered around his fingers, throbbing and moaning and clutching him. “That’s right, baby,” he whispered. “Hang on to me. I’m not going to let you go.”

*****

Does Eric turn out to be her Prince Charming? You can read the whole story along with five other pieces of erotic short fiction in Not Safe for Work, available for the Kindle, the Nook, and in paperback.

From “I Am Yours”

10 Wednesday Oct 2012

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In “I Am Yours,” Mistress Ann’s favorite pet gets a lesson in boundaries. “I Am Yours” is published in its entirety in Not Safe for Work. 

*****

B saw G’s eyes fill with confusion as he was led away by Alice to parts of the house unknown. B knew the kind of strength and power that Alice could put behind a paddle, and his cock throbbed anew at the mere thought of her expert application of Ann’s punishments.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Ann returned to face B, standing in front of him. Her voice was low–firm, but gentle.

“You crossed a line,” she said to him again, slowly peeling the condom off and disposing of it. She ran her fingertips over the sensitive flesh, making him choke back a moan.

“I got carried away,” he said, his voice husky with desire for her. “It won’t happen again.”

She stepped closer to him and pressed her palms against his chest. He shivered at her touch, knowing that she could feel his need for her as if it was a separate entity in the room with them. “You are mine,” she reminded him, running her hand over the sensitive, raised skin of his brand. “I am not yours.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I would hate for three little words murmured in desperation to spoil a perfectly lovely relationship,” she said.

He swallowed hard, his throat feeling suddenly tight. “I won’t allow it,” he assured her. “I won’t forget my place again.”

“I will make sure you don’t,” she said, retrieving a thick, black leather strap from it’s hook on the rack. He took a deep breath, anticipating the searing pain to come. Ann reared her arm back and brought the strap down on his buttocks. He gasped, savoring the sweet sting.

Again and again, she marked his skin with the wide, thick leather strap, leaving deep red welts that criss-crossed his ass and thighs. His flesh burned, the pain increasing exponentially as she struck him, the pleasure mingling with each stroke. His moans turned to cries, incoherent and involuntary ejaculations that rose in volume and intensity.

When she finally stopped, he let his weight sag against his restraints. His ass was on fire and his breath was coming out in ragged gasps. Ann crossed in front of him and held the leather strap up to his lips. Gratefully, he kissed it, and gently, she wiped a tear off his cheek with her thumb.

*****

If you’d like to read more, Not Safe for Work is available for the Kindle, in paperback, and for the Nook. 

From “Pottery Yarn”

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

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This is an excerpt from the story “Pottery Yarn”. It’s published in its entire long form in Not Safe for Work–a collection of my short stories–and in a shorter version in Cougars and Jackals, an anthology of short stories by different authors. Both are available at Amazon.com.

*****

His cock was hard and hot between her legs, and she could feel the heat of him through their clothes. Her own pussy was throbbing as she rubbed her clit against him and he moaned a little in the back of his throat. She leaned down and kissed him again, thrilled by the sensation of his big hands sliding over the soft curves of her ass.

She slithered down the front of him, running her hands over his body and kneeling between his thighs. With a flick of her fingers, she popped the button of his jeans open and slid the zipper down slowly, letting her fingertip wander inside and stroke him gently through the soft cotton of his shorts. His cock jumped at her touch. She put her lips to the soft cloth and teased him still more, opening her mouth and taking the head between her teeth.

He gasped with pleasure when she slipped her fingers in the waistband of his underwear and slid them down, exposing his cock. She ran a finger down its length and he shuddered, his hips rising off the cushions in an effort to capture more of her touch, but she withdrew. “Down, big fella,” she teased and with a groan, he relaxed and sank back into the cushions. She lowered her lips to the purple head of his cock and kissed it softly.

She opened his fly all the way and freed his balls, cupping their weight in her hands and running her nails across the sensitive skin. Again, she wrapped her hand around him, letting him throb hotly in her grasp.

She lowered her lips to the purple head and kissed it with a touch as light as a feather. He moaned. She kissed it again, applying more pressure and letting her lips linger on the hot skin for a moment. He moaned again. She kissed it a third time, parting her lips slightly as if she were going to take him in her mouth, only to stop and draw out the anticipation at the last minute.

She tasted his precum, salty and slick. She looked up at him and licked her lips; then, still keeping his eyes locked with hers, she licked the shiny drop off the head, causing him to moan for a third time.

She kissed the head again, then lower, and lower still, leaving a trail of kisses down the hard shaft. She nestled her face in his balls, licking him there and sucking the loose, tender skin of his scrotum. She nipped at him lightly with her teeth, making him squirm—anticipating a pain that never quite came.

His cock bobbed in the air, eager for her touch. She started at the base and licked up the shaft, running her tongue up the whole length, enjoying it as if it were her favorite flavor lollipop. Again, she pressed her lips against the soft, swollen head and opened her mouth slightly. And again, she looked up and sought eye contact. As he watched, she took him into her mouth. Slowly, he was engulfed, his cock disappearing by inches into the warm wetness.

As he lay back and closed his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, she turned her full attention to giving that pleasure. She took as much of him in as she could before letting him slide back out, wetting his cock and making it slick with her saliva. She grasped the base of the shaft firmly with one hand and while the other stroked and fondled his balls, she slowly and deliberately sucked his cock.

She slid it in and out smoothly, pleasuring the head with her mouth while her hands stimulated the rest. He grabbed the edge of the couch cushion beneath him until his knuckles turned white as she fucked him with her mouth. He was moaning often now, and his hips squirmed uncontrollably beneath her. Her rhythm was even, her touch firm, and he could feel the pressure mounting deep inside him. He thrust his hips slightly with each of her strokes—a movement that made her smile inwardly as she could feel his orgasm approaching.

His mouth was open and his breathing was fast and shallow, and his cock was hot and hard as steel in her mouth. In a half whisper, he gasped, “I’m getting close…I’m going to come…”

She didn’t stop, she only looked up at him, and as he opened his eyes and looked at her, she made a noise of assent: a low, throaty hum that told him she knew he was going to come—and soon—and she was ready, willing, and eager for it to happen.

He released his grip on the sofa and gently put his hands on her head, weaving his fingers in her hair. She felt his cock harden slightly, and grow thicker in her mouth. His balls tightened. She took him full length into her mouth, sucking hard as the hot jets of cum hit the back of her throat. He was shuddering at the intensity of the orgasm and the sweet sensation of her hot, sucking lips.

As the throbbing subsided and his body relaxed, she withdrew her mouth from him, sucking every inch of his spent cock, and releasing him with a kiss.

She knelt before him, watching as he caught his breath and tried to recover. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and smiled. “You are amazing,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

“I know,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet, her breasts swaying as she moved.

*****

To read more, check out Not Safe for Work available for Kindle, in paperback, and for the Nook, and Cougars and Jackals available for Kindle.

The Ten Commandments of Sex

07 Sunday Oct 2012

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As asked by a tumblr follower: “If you could write 10 commandments for sex, what would they be?”

 

The Ten Commandments of Sex

  1. In all things, in all times, in all places, thou shalt remember and heed these words: “NO” means “NO.” If thou art halfway to third base, if thou art married or single, verily if thou art mid-coitus, “NO” means “NO” and thou shalt stop, lest thou wishest to become a rapist. Unless perchance thou art in a relationship in which “no” means “yes”, for then thou shalt choose and employ an agreed-upon safe word in advance.
  2. Thou shalt never engage in sexual contact of any kind, even in thy mind, with persons under the legal age of consent lest ye burn in a special corner of hell.
  3. Thou shalt communicate with thy partner. Thou shalt listen to and respond to his or her needs and expectations, but also shalt thou be open and honest about thy own needs and expectations.
  4. Thou shalt not commit surprise anal, for by such acts has paradise been lost.
  5. Thou shalt not perform fellatio or cunnilingus out of rote, for both acts require enthusiasm and enjoyment by the giver to be a great treasure to the receiver.
  6. Thou shalt make and respect thy own relationship boundaries as a couple, for if thou dost not know thy limits, thou mayst not be put out when they are inadvertently crossed.
  7. Thou shalt not do anything that is distasteful to thy partner, being mindful in all things of thy partner’s tastes, preferences, and personal hang-ups.
  8. When thou hears the words, “Don’t stop,” thou shalt not stop. Thou shalt not speed up. Thou shalt not switch positions. Thou shalt not slow down. Thou shalt not do it harder. Thou shalt not do it softer. Thou shalt continue without change or variation lest thou lose the orgasm and incur the wrath or scorn of thy partner.
  9. Thou shalt not dismiss thy partners desires out of hand, for one doth not know what one likes until one tries it.
  10. Thou shalt not forbid thy partner to enjoy porn; neither shall ye make editorial comments about what one finds in thy partner’s secret porn stash, for there is little harm to be found in clown porn or urine fetishism.

    Follow me on tumblr.com @ReynoldsErotica

From “Museum Piece”

07 Sunday Oct 2012

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This is from a story called “Museum Piece,” published in its entirety in Not Safe for Work. In this story, Laura is working late getting ready for an art gallery opening and is captivated by the sensual, erotic collection being prepared by fellow curator Christanka.

*****

The handle moved easily and the door opened silently on well-oiled hinges and she sighed, irritated that it had been left open. Suddenly, a face appeared in the door and a hand shot out towards her, clamping firmly over her mouth. She tried to scream but was so startled she couldn’t get a breath. Her eyes opened wide, and then she relaxed when she realized that she wasn’t in any danger.

He smiled at her and put a finger over his lips. She nodded and breathed deeply as he lowered his hand from her mouth. He gestured wordlessly for her to put her purse and jacket down outside the door and follow him inside. Curious, she did as he bade.

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, but she knew she was in the storage area immediately behind the raised display platform, and off to the left a bit. The area was curtained off by heavy velvet draperies and some of Christanka’s tapestries and hangings, and all she could see was the dim outlines of large wooden shipping crates. The only thing she could hear was her own breathing and his directly behind her as he guided her to a spot behind the curtains.

Carefully he lined her up so that she could see that there was an opening in the drapes, and despite herself, she gasped. Again, she felt his hand go over her mouth and his lips brushed against her ear. “Shhhh,” he whispered, and the feel of his warm breath on her raised goosebumps all up and down her body. And again, she nodded, and his hand slipped away, pointing through the curtain.

Christanka was nude, her long hair loose and cascading down her body. Her breasts were beautiful, high and firm, and her nipples were dark and swollen. She closed her eyes and ran her hands over her body, feeling the weight of her tits in her hands and sliding them down over her flat, tight stomach. Her fingers slipped into her tight slit and she moaned slightly, licking her lips and letting her head hang back.

She teased herself, swaying in place, letting the cascade of hair brush against her perfectly formed ass. She ran her hands back up her body, running a wet fingertip over her nipples before sucking her own juices from it, tasting her own musky essence. Smiling to herself, she opened her eyes and drank in the sight of the carved marble statue before her.

Pressing her palms together, she bowed low before it, and ascended the dais. She slithered onto the waiting body of the idol, running her soaking cunt along the huge onyx penis, wetting it thoroughly with her own juices. She lowered herself onto its very tip, taking just the head inside. She teased herself with it, riding it slowly up and down. Laura watched as inch after inch of the black cock split Christanka’s shaven pussy. She took it in all the way, effortlessly, and ground her erect clit against the nubs at the base of the cock.

Laura’s pussy burned at the sight of Christanka being filled with the giant stone phallus. She felt a hand on her waist, and arching her back slightly, she rubbed her ass against the young intern still standing behind her. She could feel his cock hard against her, and he pressed into her, his hands on her hips pulling her close.

Laura bit her lip to keep from moaning as she leaned back into him, never taking her eyes off of Christanka’s lovely form. He slid his hands up her body and cupped her large, soft breasts, rubbing and teasing her rock-hard nipples through her clothes. She ground her ass against him, reaching behind him and pulling him closer. He lowered his nips to her bare collarbone and kissed the soft, sweet skin, making her shudder.

She reached behind her, searching impatiently for his cock. From her vantage point she could see the swells of Christanka’s round, tight ass and the sight of her pussy stretching to impossible limits as it swallowed up inch after inch of hard, marble cock. Laura needed to feel that, to feel a hard cock inside her, filling her up and stretching her wide. She fumbled with his zipper, struggling to free him, and he obliged her, undoing his trouser button with a deft flick of his fingers and releasing his cock for her.

She fought back another moan when she realized how big it was, throbbing and rigid in her hand, and she squeezed it appreciatively, causing him to stifle a groan in the back of his throat as he pressed his lips to her neck.

He gathered the hem of her skirt in his hands and flipped it up, leaning her forward over the packing crates. Her hands rested on the rough wood, while she watched Christanka ride the stone statue, her hands working feverishly on her own tits. Christanka reached up and pulled her own nipples, tugging at the flesh and moaning.

Laura felt his hands at the waist of her panties and she trembled as he slid them down past her ass to the floor, where she stepped out of them and kicked them aside. She spread her legs, opening herself to him, and feeling her legs go weak as his hands slid over the soft globes of her ass. He sought her warm, wet center, stroking the engorged lips and parting them, slipping his fingers easily into her ready cunt.

Laura could do nothing but stand still and watch as Christanka rode the enormous stone tool, moaning and crying out with her building passion. She leaned back, encouraging him to go deeper into her, but he pulled his hand away with a suddenness that almost made her knees buckle.

She wanted to cry out with relief when she felt the hot, hard head of his cock against her aching hole. He teased her with it, slipping the head in between her lips, then pulling it back out, then placing it back in, just a bit further. Every time she leaned back into him, trying to get more of him inside, he’d pull away until she stopped moving. Finally, he slipped his cock inside her and she pulled away from him, causing him to slip out a little, but this time he grabbed her hips and thrust into her, filling her completely and causing her hands to slide a little on the wood crate.

*****

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