From “Plate of Fear”

10 Thursday Jan 2013

Tags

demon, devil, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, fellatio, Plate of Fear, Satan, Seven Nights, sex

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 Nine

28 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

complication, conflict, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, novel, short story

Sometimes when I get to writing, I really don’t know where the story is going to go. I just start typing and the act of fingers on keyboard coax the story out of my brain. And as it sometimes happens, what is teased out of the creative center of my gray matter is something greater in scope than I initially anticipated.

This is one of those stories. I try to create a story in media res, which is to say that when I sit to write a short story, I pace it like a short story. But on occasion, I’ll begin writing what I believe to be a short story only to find that it’s an iceberg, and what I have on paper is only the sharp, poky bit sticking up out of the water. And then WHAM. That big icy bastard has snuck up on me out of nowhere and now I’m trying to figure out how to alter my course and navigate that bad boy without getting stove all to cat shit. I have to slow down and that means the pacing changes.

Normally, I’d just write on without mentioning it as it is part of my creative process. I’d just smooth out the pacing, or any other details that stick or need clarification, or fix the continuity of of anything that has changed as the story unfolds, during the editorial process. But since this is more of a stream-of-consciousness kind of a dealie-o, I guess it’s a flaw to which I’ll have to reconcile myself. I hope you, gentle reader, will as well.

* * * * *

The air in the house was stifling, too warm and close already for the time of year and made worse by the crush of too many bodies in too small a space. Janie pressed through the crowd, not bothering to excuse herself since she would be unheard over the loud, thumping bass coming from an enormous set of floor speakers and the oppressive din of voices shouting and laughing over the club music.

She struggled to keep the cheap beer from sloshing out of her red Solo cup as she dodged elbows on her way to the back door. The pot smoke was giving her a headache and she felt if she didn’t get some fresh air soon, she’d scream—not that anyone would have heard her.

The slider door opened onto a back deck as full of bodies as the crowded kitchen, but the air was cleaner and cooler, and despite the cries and whoops from a game of beer pong in progress, quieter. She slipped down the steps to the big backyard, which, being unlit, was relatively empty. A few couples were curled up in the shadows on various pieces of lawn furniture and a group of guys ignored the occasional giggle and groan of pleasure to concentrate on kicking a soccer ball around without spilling their beer.

She walked past, ignoring the comment of “nice ass” said just loud enough for her benefit. She left them all behind, and as she got further from the house, the sound of the ocean took over. At the edge of the lawn was a path concealed largely by the dark and overgrown, leafy bushes. She pushed by them and picked her way carefully down the grassy path to where it gave way to soft sand.

Away from the house there was nothing but moonlight on the calm water, a sky full of stars, and the twinkle of lights coming from the beach houses that ringed the large bay. The tide was going out, and the sea air was salty on the slight breeze. The deep bass of the music was muffled and sounded like a heartbeat from so far away; in counterpoint with the gentle rush and whoosh of the waves on the sand, Janie found it soothing.

She sipped her beer and hugged her arms, wishing for a sweater as the constant breeze dried the fine sheen of sweat on her skin and chilled her, despite the warm evening. She heard a splash from off to her left and turned in time to see a boy walking towards her. His hands were in his pockets and his head was down as he made his way over the hard-packed sand.

“Hi,” Janie said, smiling at him.

“Oh, hello,” he said, stopping suddenly and looking up at the sound of her voice.

Janie smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t expect anyone else to be down here.”

“Me either, to be honest,” she said. “I didn’t think many people knew about this beach.”

He smiled at her. “I grew up playing on this beach. I used to hide in those bushes sometimes. Once, my mom thought I’d drowned. She was not impressed with either my hiding or my seeking abilities.”

Janie laughed. “So, you live here?” she asked.

“Not exactly. I know the people who own the house. They moved, and kept the house to rent to college students.” He looked up in the direction of the pounding bass that had changed tempo slightly and was now throbbing at a quicker pace. “Bad move, if you ask me. But then, no one did, so there’s that.”

“So you’re a local, then?” Janie asked, sipping her beer. “I took you for a student.”

“That too,” he said. “A humble freshman.”

“What’s your major?”

“Social work. What about you? Can I assume you’re also a student?”

Janie nodded. “Fifth year senior.” She paused, then by way of explanation added, “Studying’s really not my thing.”

“What’s your major?”

She shrugged. “Liberal arts.”

He chuckled. “Don’t know what you want to be when you grow up?”

“Not a clue,” she said, laughing as well. “That’s provided I pass all my classes and actually graduate. It’s kind of up in the air at the moment.” The image of Dr. Gilbert spanking her ass to a rosy pink flashed through her mind and she shivered, but not because of the breeze that kicked up and swirled the branches that lined the shore.
He unzipped his hoodie and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said, slipping her arms into the warm, well-worn sweatshirt.

“I’m Zack, by the way,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

She shook it and smiled at his old-fashioned manners. “I’m Janie…Jane.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Janie laughed. “What are you laughing at?” he asked.

“Nothing, really. I like the way you talk.”

He tipped his head and looked at her, smiling. “What do you mean?”

She kept laughing. “I don’t know. Just the way you say things. It’s unique. And interesting. You sound older than you are.”

He shrugged. “Okay, then. As long as you like it.”

“I do!”

They fell silent for a moment, smiling at each other but not knowing what to say.

“So.” Zack began. “How come you’re not up at the party?”

Janie picked at the lip of her cup. “I don’t know. Usually I’d be right in the center of everything, dancing, drinking…but tonight it just seems so…”

“So what?”

“It feels a little like I’ve outgrown it.” She looked at her nearly empty cup of beer and tossed what was left in the bushes. “All of a sudden. And since my roommate is currently letting half the rugby team do body shots off of her and she has the keys to car, I don’t think I’m leaving any time soon.” She smiled at him. “What about you? Why aren’t you up there playing beer pong until you hurl in the geraniums?”

“I confess I am only here under protest.”

“Who’s holding you hostage?”

He laughed. “No one. My dad is concerned that after almost a full year at college I’m not ‘making friends my own age’ so he urged me to ‘go out and take part in college life.’” He punctuated his words with air quotes. “I’m humoring him.”

“But you’re local. You must have lots of friends around still. No?”

“I went to live with my mom after my parents split. I came here on vacations and long weekends to hang out with dad. And when I got accepted here, living with dad made sense, even though he’s worried that by not living in the dorms I’m missing out on some important college experiences.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a gang shower to break the ice, I always say.”

He laughed. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“So technically, you’re a townie, but—“

“But not really. Just another noob trying to see where I fit in just like everyone else.” He glanced up toward the house. “I’m still looking.”

Janie remembered her own freshman year, and how it felt trying to fit in and find her place. “Hey. You want to get out of here? Maybe go get a cup of coffee or something?”

“Yeah, actually. I’d like that.”

They grabbed a booth at the back of the diner and gave their order to the plump blonde waitress. She brought them two thick white mugs full of hot coffee. Janie sweetened hers and dropped in a long pour of cream, but Zack only blew on his and waited for it to cool off.

“You drink it black?” she said, putting down the stainless steel creamer pitcher after he’d shook his head at her offer. “Wow. I thought only old people and Marines drank black coffee.”

He laughed, and Janie laughed with him. He had a great smile, she thought, though his eyes seemed serious. She wondered if it just seemed that way because they were the color of a stormy sky. They conversed easily, like two people who had known each other for a long time. Once or twice she found herself staring at him and felt a strong, sweet rush of attraction flow through her. Her first reaction to it was to flirt, but something about him made her curb the impulse and just let the feeling settle in her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt sure that any artifice on her part would be wholly rejected by him, and the knowledge that she wasn’t required to put on any kind of display for him was comforting, and very attractive. He was intelligent and funny, and seemed to really like her, too, since he kept nodding when their waitress came around to top off their cups.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asked. His face was honest and sweet, youthful, except for those deep gray eyes.

She opened her mouth to answer and then stopped, unsure of her answer.

“Uh…it’s…complicated…?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back in the booth as if doing so would put her at ease. “That was probably too personal a question to ask.”

“No,” she said, reaching her hand across the table and laying it on his. “Not at all. I’m just not sure how to answer it. There’s a guy—”

He nodded and gently pulled his hand out from beneath hers. “It’s okay. I understand.”

She laughed. “Then explain it to me. Because I’m not sure I do.”

He looked confused. “Okay, you lost me.”

She put her hand on his again. “There’s this guy. I like him—at least I think I do. I’m not really sure because I don’t know him that well. He’s…hard to get to know.” Zack nodded and let her continue. “We’re not ‘dating’ or anything, but I’d be lying if I said there was nothing between us. We have a relationship—of sorts—I see him and we’re…” she paused, unable to find the words to describe it. She frowned at her inability to find any positive words to describe her connection to Dr. Gilbert and finally gave up. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Zack thought about her words and she could see he was carefully considering what to say next. “So, if I were to ask you out again some time, maybe for something more than a cup of diner coffee, do you think you might say yes? Or is this thing with that guy more complicated than that?”

Janie thought for a minute. Zack sat patiently and sipped his coffee. As she looked into his eyes, she felt the similar falling sensation she got from Dr. Gilbert, only he wasn’t sitting with her sharing a cup of coffee and talking about his life. She knew nothing of him—where he lived, how he lived, what he did when he wasn’t teaching his classes or bringing her deep powerful orgasms bent over his desk. It wasn’t even a purely physical relationship, since it was entirely unreciprocated. For him, she didn’t even exist outside of his office or his classroom. But within those walls, she was most definitely, passionately his, to do with as he would.

Zack waited for her answer, not rushing or pleading his case. He didn’t beg like so many boys did, or try to captivate her with smooth talk and easy charm. He was simply warm and interesting, and while he didn’t leave her breathless and panting with passion, she was enjoying his company. His hand was still beneath hers, and she twined her fingers in his. It felt comfortable and right.

“I think I would say ‘yes’ if you were to ask me out some time,” she said with a smile.

Was she seeing anyone? Well, no.

Not really.

Keep reading…

Has the Sexy Ghost Story Been Done to Death?

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

adult, dirty little secret, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, ghost story, literature, mature, novella, romance, sex, short story, sympathetic character, Victorian era inn, writing

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?

From Down the Rabbit Hole

15 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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Tags

Alice, Alice in Wonderland, Down the Rabbit Hole, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, Lewis Carroll, masturbation, novella, Victorian erotica, White Rabbit

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 “Pottery Yarn”

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, blowjob, Cougars and Jackals, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, fellatio, mature, Not Safe for Work, oral sex, roommates, sex, short story

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.

From “Museum Piece”

07 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, anonymous sex, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, mature, Not Safe for Work, sex, short story, voyeurism, writing

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.

*****

Not Safe for Work is available at Amazon.com for the Kindle, in paperback, and at BarnesandNoble.com for the Nook.

From “Deployed”

05 Friday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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adult, birthday, candles, cunnilingus, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, fantasy, fingering, hot wax, mature, oral sex, sex, short story

This story still isn’t quite finished, but here’s a sneak peek at it…

*****

We pad barefoot back into the kitchen, wrapped in thick towels, and I grab us each a bottle out of the fridge. We tap the necks of together. “Happy birthday, dude,” I say and you smile, taking a long drink of good beer. I lean against the counter and my elbow causes the little white birthday candles to roll into the sugar bowl before coming to a stop.

You set your beer down and pick up the candles, rolling them thoughtfully between your fingers. You smile a secret smile and raise your eyebrows at me.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you reply. “I was just thinking of how nice it would be to have some of those special low-temp candles…” You smirk. “Sometimes my dirty bondage fantasies just slip out.”

I put my beer down and undo my towel, re-wrapping it around my waist, baring my breasts. “Go for it.”

“No way, man. You’ll burn yourself with these.”

I sigh. “I can handle it. Trust me.”

“You keep saying that.” You look dubious, but the image in your head of hot wax dripped on my skin is clearly vivid.

I take one of the candles from you and light it. I hold it over my arm and let the wax drop on my skin. It stings, but not enough to make me flinch. “See?”

I scoop a handful of soft breast in my hand and hold the hot flame just inches over my quivering nipple. Silently, the first drop hits the sensitive flesh and I inhale sharply as the too-hot wax burns my nipple. It cools instantly to a more comfortable warmth, but that first sting is delicious, like a well-timed bite, painful, but good. Another drop joins it, and another until my nipple has a coating of white wax.

I blow out the spent candle and peel the wax off and the tender pink skin is hot and red. I do the same to the other nipple, wincing as the hot wax stings and then cools to a tender ache.

This time you blow out the candle and peel the wax off me. “Does it hurt?” you ask.

“Mmm hmm,” I answer, nodding. “They could definitely use some soothing.”

You pull me close and kiss me, then you lower your head to the hot, aching red spots on my nipples. My towel comes unwrapped and falls to the floor. Your hand slides between my thighs, parting the still-damp curls and sinking easily between my lips. I moan as your finger finds my clit; you rub it gently, making it hard under your fingertips.

Your lips are gentle on my nipples, your tongue flicking against the hard points. The slight burns from the wax hurt, but the combination of the sting and the ache of pleasure of your licking and sucking are driving me wild. The subtle, constant pain is better than clamps or rings, even.

My cunt is reacting powerfully to the play. Your hands are working my body like you’ve known its every curve–every secret–forever. You slide your fingers inside me, pressing against me, leaning me hard against the counter. I’m bent back, arched for you, my legs apart as your fingers manipulate me. The only sound in the darkened kitchen is our breathing, soft moans and sighs, and the wet sounds of my pussy, the clicks as you plunge your fingers deep inside me and pull them back out. I know your fingers are shining with my juice and I grab your hand. You stop, confused, and then sigh deeply as I raise the two fingers to my mouth and suck on them.

I guide your hand back to my pussy, but you shake your head. “I want to taste you,” you say, and I’m in no position to argue. I hop up on the counter and you lower your mouth to my cunt, spreading my legs and easing them up over your shoulders. Immediately, you plunge your tongue into me, tasting me. I feel my own juices trickle from me, tickling down to my asshole, which you catch with your tongue and make me moan aloud. You tease the tender spot with your tongue before sliding it back inside my cunt, fucking me deeply.

My clit aches to be touched, and I reach down to stroke it, rubbing the little kernel between two fingers. You stop what you’re doing and watch me touch myself, kissing the soft skin of my inner thighs. When my hips start to squirm, you gently move my hand. “Let me,” you say and lower your head again, smiling up at me as I lick my fingers clean. You press your tongue flat against my clit and use the same motions I used with my fingers, mimicking the speed and pressure I used and making me moan anew. You slide two fingers inside me, curving them upwards in search of my g-spot.

The firm, even pressure deep inside calls forth my pleasure from a place far away, but it’s coming fast and hard. I feel myself lose control as your fingers massage and manipulate my very core, stimulating me in ways few have been able to. My palms slap against the countertop as I brace myself for the orgasm that breaks inside me, my muscles clenching deep within. I know you can feel that deep spasming and you keep stroking me, pressing the magic spot until the pulses have slowed. Your lips go around my clit and you suck; your tongue is about to bring me around again. A second time, this time on the surface, the spasms and throbs of pleasure are radiating outward, fluttering and pulsing quick and hard and fast, a high counter-melody to the first deep climax.

My cum is running over your hand, and as you slide your fingers out of me, it gushes forth, leaving a wet puddle beneath me.

You stand, and I wrap my arms and legs around you, kissing you deeply and tasting myself on your lips…

From “Deflowered”

01 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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Tags

adult, depressed, emo, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, jacking off, lonely, mad scientist, masturbation, mature, published, sex, sexual literature, short story

Here’s a little tease from a story that is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of “Mad Scientist Erotica” by Circlet Press called For Science! It’s the tale of a shy botanist who gets very into his work. This is actually a bit that was cut from the final story, but I liked how it read in its long form, so you get to have it here.

*****

Bill sighed and made sure the front door was tightly locked for the night before switching off the lights and heading up to bed. He made his way through the dark, empty house on instinct, knowing each tread of the staircase like the back of his hand.

The air under the eaves was close and stuffy, and he looked forward to the cooler air the impending rains were promising to leave in their wake. He opened the windows of his bedroom wide to let in any stray breeze that might be passing before he snapped on the bathroom light and readied himself for bed.

He went through the same motions he did every evening, with no adjustment or variation to his routine. He changed into clean pajama bottoms and a fresh, white t-shirt, stowing his dirty clothes neatly in the hamper. He washed his face and dried it, hanging the damp towel back on the towel bar to dry. He began to brush his teeth, squirting a glob of ice blue toothpaste on the brush and raising it to his mouth.

A thought ran through his head on tiny mouse feet, scurrying and scuttling out of the dark, littered places of his brain. It ran across the clean white surfaces of his consciousness before disappearing back into the shadows.

No woman will ever be interested in someone like you.

The man in the mirror made eye contact with him, and he stopped mid-motion. He squinted at his reflection, peering closer to the face he looked at every day, then stepped back, his toothbrush frozen in mid-air. He set it down on the sink, not caring that the blue gel slipped off the bristles and smeared on the pristine white porcelain.

He squinted again, and appraised his reflection with a critical eye and a scientist’s powers of observation, wondering where that harsh assessment of himself came from. It was certainly unlike him. In general, he was content with his appearance, and the fact that a very few women had ever succumbed to his awkward advances generally didn’t bother him that much. He was under no illusions that he was a smoldering sex god sent to drive women wild, but he certainly was far from unattractive by any measurable standard.

Sure, there were things he would change if he could. He wished, for one thing, that he looked a little closer to his actual age. When friends took him out for some beers on his fortieth birthday, the waitress insisted on checking his ID because she said he didn’t look old enough to drink. It was a fair assessment. Even with day’s growth of stubble, he still looked like a hairy fifteen-year old.

There had to be something else. He peeled off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. He flexed in the mirror, noting well-developed biceps and pecs and admitting that he was a little thicker around the middle since turning 40 than he liked. Still, he was far from doughy, and he kept himself in better-than-average shape overall for a middle-aged guy. He pulled the waistband of his cotton pants out and peered down at his genitals. He shrugged at his utter unremarkableness, and let the elastic constrict with a soft snap. There was nothing he could do about that.

He sighed and reached down for his shirt. He was about to put it back on, but decided that it was too warm and sticky for it and dropped it in the hamper. He cleaned the toothpaste off the sink and rinsed his toothbrush before reloading it and brushing his teeth for exactly two minutes.

Leaving his bathroom much as he’d found it, he turned off the light and lay down on top of the covers, taking his glasses off and setting them carefully on his nightstand. The breeze was picking up outside and he could hear the poplar trees dancing as the rain approached from the west, turning over their leaves and showing their silvery undersides. An occasional gust caused the heavy air in the room to move, and while it wasn’t yet refreshing, it did relieve some of the stuffiness. It also caused the lightweight jersey of his pants to stir and brush against him, and the sudden sensation caused him to think of a woman’s soft hand, seeking him in the dark.

He closed his eyes and thought of Maria, allowing himself to fantasize about her. He pictured her lying next to him; it was too warm and humid to make love, but in his imagination, she would want to bring him pleasure anyway.

His cock hardened with anticipation, and he reached down, stroking his hand over it through the fabric, feeling its warmth as it thickened under his light touch. Hooking his thumbs in his waistband, he slid his pants down, freeing his erection as a gust of cooler air swirled through the room. He kicked them off and stretched out again, imagining his own hand was hers wrapped around his cock.

He stroked gently at first, teasing the shaft, running his thumb over the sensitive tip. He pictured her in his mind, lying next to her, her dark curls loose and free in a dark halo around her face. She would lean on one elbow, looking at him as the pleasure he was feeling played out over his face. He smiled slightly, and he increased the pressure on his cock, moaning a little and encouraging her to continue.

In the distance, he could hear the wind blowing hard through a stand of tall pines and he could smell the rain on the air. His cock oozed a bit of precum, making it slippery in his fist and his hips twitched, thrusting as his body’s own fluid offered just the right about of lubrication.

The pleasure in him built, the aching in his balls making them hard and tight, and he could feel the need for release growing ever more urgent. He used long, firm strokes, moaning with pleasure, imagining the sound of her lilting voice in his head urging him to come for her, whispering endearments in a language he barely understood, using words that required no translation.

As the first huge drops of rain splatted against his screen, he felt his orgasm approach. He moaned aloud, knowing he had reached the breaking point, the sweet moment when he was going to come no matter what. The skies opened up, soaking the overlong grass and drowning out his deep groan of pleasure as his cock exploded in his hand, and he felt the hot jets of semen wash over his bare torso.

He lay still, listening to the rain pound against the greenhouse roof, feeling his cock throb weakly in his hand, then soften as the waves of pleasure receded. The air felt cooler and his body shone with a fine sheen of perspiration. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, but so did his heart.

He rose, retrieving his pajama bottoms from the floor and going into the bathroom where he deposited them in the hamper. He showered, letting the cool water wash the sweat and slippery secretions down the drain. He stood for a long time in the stinging spray with his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against the glass shower door.

Bill slept fitfully. The voice in his head refused to be silent, mocking him as he tossed and turned alone in his bed. When dawn’s first rays were breaking over the horizon, his eyes opened, and with a groan, he gave up the battle with sleep and sat up. His corneas felt like they were coated with fine grit sandpaper and every muscle in his body ached. His sheets were tangled and rumpled, and he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, his fingers pressed to his throbbing temples.

He had fought with the voice in his head all night, pushing back as it berated him, accusing him of being less of a man than an average 13-year-old girl, and making sure he knew that he lacked the balls to actually ask a woman out–any woman, not just a goddess like Maria. It might have been fatigue, or just the simple fact that it had been a lot of lonely years since there had been anyone’s hand on his cock besides his own, but by the time he was seated at his kitchen table, alone with a hot cup of coffee and a slice of toast with peanut butter on it, he felt as low as he had in a week.

He chewed his toast thoughtlessly, staring out the window at the grass and decided it could wait another day, the same way he had the previous Friday, the morning after thoughts of Maria had caused him to act like a horny teenager yet again. He sighed, hating the pattern he had slipped into, wanting to get out of it, but knowing deep down that the voice in his head was right: he didn’t have the balls. The only place he was truly happy was out in his greenhouse–a fragile man, alone with his fragile plants.

The worst part, he thought, as he dumped the dregs of his cold coffee down the drain and threw away his uneaten crusts, was that not only was the voice right about him, but that at this time the following Friday, he would be sitting by himself in exactly the same spot, staring out at a lawn he didn’t feel like mowing, drinking black coffee that had gone cold on him, and not tasting the toast that he wouldn’t quite finish eating, feeling dirty, depressed, and very much alone.

From “Dirty Little Secret”

28 Friday Sep 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

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Tags

adult, cheating, erotic fiction, erotica, excerpt, ice cream shop, infidelity, mature, Not Safe for Work, NSFW, quickie, sex, short fiction, short story, writing

This is an excerpt from the story “Dirty Little Secret” that is published in my book of erotic short stories, Not Safe for Work. A married man is having some issues at home and takes comfort in the arms of a much younger woman.

*****

He walked up to the window and gave me that panty-dropping smile of his. I opened the small window and the sudden draft of cold air made my nipples stand right at attention, and right at his eye level too.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your family,” I said, as nonchalantly as possible.

His eyebrows knit and then smoothed out quickly as an emotion I didn’t recognize flicked over his face and disappeared just as suddenly as it came. “My wife took the kids to her mom’s for a few days,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said, smiling. “And you had a craving for ice cream that you just couldn’t ignore, right?”

He smiled back, and that look flicked on and then off again. “Let’s just say it’s been the kind of day where a dish of ice cream served by the prettiest girl in town is just what I need.”

If my nipples hadn’t already been standing at full attention from the chilly night air, they would have popped up right then, like you read about. I gave him a saucy grin and said, “Prettiest? I don’t know about that…” I started. “You mean besides your wife, right?”

He shrugged and said nothing, but when his eyes met mine and locked there, I got the feeling that he might be up for a bit more than some playful flirting through a take-out window. I leaned in on my elbows and looked at him through the small opening. “Why do I get the feeling you’re here for more than just ice cream?” Again, I got a shrug that could have meant anything, really, and another one of those shy, sweet smiles of his. My heart thumped in my chest a little bit.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked. “I can let you in the side door. I was just about to close anyway.”

“Sure,” he said, sliding his hand across the formica counter and running his finger lightly along my forearm. “I’d like that.”

Before I gave myself even half a second to consider what I might or might not be doing, I shut the window and pulled the shades down that read “Closed”. I all but ran to the side door, stopping only long enough to hit the switches to kill the parking lot lights.

I opened the door and he was standing there in the soft light of the single bulb. I took a step back to let him in, and all at once he was so close to me I could feel his warmth. I closed the door behind us and locked it with a flick of my wrist. I turned, and in a heartbeat his arm was around my waist, pulling me close. His mouth was on mine, soft but insistent, and if I might have had any objections to what he was doing, I couldn’t think of them at that moment.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and returned his kisses eagerly, a little overwhelmed by the rush of desire that was running from him and through me like an electrical current. His hands slid down the curve of my ass, cupping it and pulling me close to him, and I could feel his hardness against me. He gathered up the hem of my short, khaki skirt and ran his hands over my bare skin, sliding his hands inside my panties and kneading the warm, soft flesh.

I moaned a little in the back of my throat, enjoying his caresses and his obvious need for me. It stopped him short, and he pulled his mouth from mine, leaning back and looking into my eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, and then perhaps thought better of it, choosing instead to kiss me again, opening his mouth and seeking my tongue with his.

I was melting like a dish of ice cream left out on the counter, not that I would ever do that. I’m nothing if not a conscientious employee. Well, except for the whole having-sex-with-random-men-after-hours-on-the-counters thing.

The boss’ desk was right next to the side door and I leaned against it, my skirt sliding up as he pressed close to me, exploring all the soft curves of my body. My breath caught in my chest when his hands found my breasts. He murmured appreciatively as he scooped up warm, soft handfuls through the slightly sticky cotton of my t-shirt. “So nice,” he said softly.

“Would you like to see?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

“God, yes,” he replied, and I smiled and raised my arms over my head, allowing him to pull my shirt off. I leaned back on the desk, thrusting my breasts forward for him. He stroked the soft flesh where it swelled out over the pink, polka-dot satin cups, making me shiver slightly with excitement. He hooked his fingers inside the smooth fabric and pulled them down, allowing my tits to spill out and hang free and full. He ran his hands over them, obviously enjoying himself.

“You like?” I asked.

He nodded. “Very much.”

“Show me,” I replied.

I watched as he unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down. His cock bulged in the opening, snug under the white cotton of his underwear and seeking an escape just under the elastic of the waistband. I ran my hand over the hard, warm outline of his erection, brushing my finger against the hot, throbbing head. It leapt at my touch and I smiled, stroking it gently through the slightly damp fabric.

“I need you,” he said softly, looking into my eyes.

“Take me,” I replied, pulling his cock free of his pants. I wrapped my hands around the warm, hard flesh and stroked him, making him moan anew. He slid his hands up my skirt and pulled my panties to the side, seeking my hard clit with his fingertips. I shuddered as he made contact, gasping with pleasure. He sought my opening, sliding his fingers easily into my tight, hot cunt. I moaned and bit my lip, raising my hips to urge him deeper inside me.

His arm slid around my waist as he pulled me to him, and I felt his cock hot and hard against my pussy. “Wait!” I said, even though every fiber of my being was screaming “Fuck me!” at the top of its lungs. He stopped, breathing hard and pulling away slightly. I exhaled, and scrambled around behind me on the desk looking for my purse. “Condom,” was all I could manage to get out, and he nodded with sudden understanding.

He laughed a little, helping me find a little foil packet in the pile of junk I’d dumped out of my bag. “Been a long time since I’ve needed one of these,” he confessed breathlessly.

“Let me,” I said, tearing it open and rolling it smoothly over his cock, making him groan with pleasure. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him close. “Now, where were we?”

He guided the tip of his cock to my opening and pressed against me, slowly, almost hesitantly. He looked into my eyes and I watched a dark cloud of doubt cross his face that was so obvious I almost stopped him right there. The sudden sadness and compassion I felt the second I recognized it must have registered on my face as well, because like a cloud on a windy day, it slipped away as I watched him mentally shrug it off. He kissed me with renewed passion, trying to drown himself in my kisses, and God help me, I let him. I helped him.

As he breached the entrance and entered me, whatever defenses either of us might have had up a moment earlier slipped away.

He took me right there on the desk, surrounded by the gleaming stainless steel ice cream freezers and stark white walls. His need for me was urgent, and I held him close as he fucked me, driving his cock into me over and over again so hard that he lifted me off the desk with each thrust.

I knew I had ceased to be just a pretty, willing girl for him and that he was using me to tame some demons that were tormenting him–or perhaps in spite of them. There was something so desperate about the way he clung to me, his face buried in the soft curls at my neck, murmuring words I couldn’t quite hear or understand. I wanted to make him come, to bring him to the height of pleasure, to try to release him from whatever was driving him.

He felt so good inside me, his body so warm and heavy next to mine. We moved together in rhythm, my hips snapping up with each thrust, my lips against his ear urging him on with moans and whispers and sighs, begging him not to stop. I was getting so close to coming, going wild from the pressure mounting inside me. I told him what he was doing to me. “You’re going to make me cum,” I told him. “Oh God, I’m so close…don’t stop…”

I came hard, crying out as my pussy spasmed and throbbed around his cock. He put his hands on my face, looking into my eyes as I came, watching me lose control. He kept fucking me, each stroke long and deep, until I was spent. When he was sure I was satisfied, he moved faster, harder, and deeper, managing only a couple more thrusts until he came inside me, his cock swelling and exploding.

We were both breathing hard, and my legs slipped down. He pulled me close and held me, whispering, “I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry…”

I stroked his hair and held him until I felt him soften inside me.

Gently, I reached down and eased him out, sliding the condom off. I was about to drop it into the garbage, but thought better of it. He busied himself with tucking his still sticky and half-hard cock back into his pants, and I saw him look at the used condom dangling from my fingers, and at my spent pussy, panties wet and pulled off to the side, accusing him. He stepped back, his face flush and his eyes averted and I hopped up, dropping the condom into a take-out cup and putting a few napkins in and the lid on before dropping it into the trash. Just in case.

Quickly I yanked my bra up and pulled my skirt down, and he handed me my shirt from the desk. As I turned it right side out, he spoke. “I’m sorry…” he began, but this time I stopped him.

“Don’t.” I said, gently. “Please don’t apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t be silly,” I continued, pulling my shirt back on. “Of course you should have.” I slipped my hand in his and squeezed it warmly. He looked into my eyes again and I smiled at him. “Maybe you’re ready to talk now?” I asked, and he smiled back with a sweet, embarrassed smile and nodded gratefully.

“I’d like that,” he said.

I grabbed a scoop from the sink. “Go on and sit down,” I said, flipping open the freezer lid with a bang. “I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

From “Dirty Little Secret” published in its entirety in Not Safe for Work, available at Amazon.com in paperback and for the Kindle, and at Barnes and Noble.com for the Nook.

Eros and the Muse

Tag Archives: excerpt

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