• About the Author
  • Books by J. A. Reynolds

Eros and the Muse

Eros and the Muse

Tag Archives: fantasy

Good Grades–Part Twelve

04 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

adult, coed, erotic fiction, erotica, fantasy, history test, mature, professor, sex, student, teacher

These aren’t really chapters or anything like that. I’m just writing bits and throwing ’em at the wall. See what sticks. Just letting the story dribble out in fits and starts. 

Where were we?

* * * * *

Janie grabbed a seat in the empty front row, flinching slightly as her bare upper thighs touched the cold plastic of the seat. She dug in her bag to check her text messages before making sure her phone was turned off before class started, per Dr. Gilbert’s instructions. He had already shown more than once that he was dead serious about asking students to leave if they insisted on sending texts during his lectures, and there was no way she was going to miss this test.

She ignored a handful of unread messages from friends, saving them for later when she had more time to answer them, but the sole text that was from an unknown number caught her eye. Zack had yet to use the number she’d given him and as day after day went by, part of her wondered if he was less interested in her than she’d thought.

—That sweatshirt looks better on you than it does on me.

Grinning at the slightly giddy feeling of finally hearing from him, her fingers flew over the touch screen as she shot back a reply.

–Maybe I should keep it. 😉

Less than a minute later, he responded.

—But then I’ll have to invent a new excuse to see you again. I thought we discussed this already.

She smiled again.

–How about just saying you want to see me again?

His answer came back almost instantly.

—I’d really like to see you again.

The butterflies in her stomach returned in a swooping dive. The side door of the hall opened and Janie looked up to see Dr. Gilbert enter. His pants were a lighter tan than the ones he’d had on in his office and they still had fresh crease marks from the hanger they’d been on. A thrill coursed through her at the physical recollection of him hard between her legs and almost unconsciously, she uncrossed them, parting her knees slightly as she peeked up from beneath her lashes at him. Quickly, she replied to Zack.

–Test now. Prof just came in.

—Which one?

–Gilbert. US History.

He didn’t answer right away. As she waited for his reply, she looked up. Dr. Gilbert was leaning on the edge of the desk next to the stack of exam papers, watching her and waiting the few minutes for the class to assemble and take their seats. He was looking at her legs and the dark triangle between them, and she could feel his eyes on her as surely as if he had been touching her. She heard Zack’s text pop up, and she smiled.

—I hear he’s a hard teacher.

Janie felt a bit of color rise in her cheeks as a throb deep inside her pussy reminded her again of how he felt beneath her, his hard cock rubbing against her clit, and she squirmed in her seat. Dr. Gilbert raised his eyebrows at her, and she looked down, unable to hold his gaze.

–You could say that. But I can take it.

—Good luck on your test.

–Thanks! Will I see you later?

—Library at 7?

 Janie smirked.

–You sure know how to show a girl a good time. 🙂

—You have no idea.

Her cheeks flushed pink again as she thought of Zack, imagining him slowly unzipping his sweatshirt and finding nothing beneath it but her full breasts and hard, pink nipples. She closed her eyes and pictured him leaning her up against a dark wall in the back of the stacks and sliding inside her. Between them, the two guys had her craving cock in the worst way, and she was amazed and more than a little amused to feel her pussy growing damp and warm again so soon. She squirmed again and smiled at her phone. Dr. Gilbert cleared his throat and she looked up. “Cell phones off, please.” She thought she felt a bit of chill in his voice as she shot Zack one more text before shutting off her phone and sitting up straight and bringing her knees together.

 –Can’t wait to find out. C U @7.

She dropped her phone into her bag and smoothed her expression into what she thought was a calm scholarly demeanor. She let her fingers brush against the back of his hand as he handed her the exam paper. He lingered momentarily, not long enough that anyone would notice, but long enough that Janie did.

The test was, by Janie’s assessment, not a difficult one. It didn’t occur to her as she filled in the answers quickly and completely that she would have been unable to answer most of those questions two weeks earlier. Or any questions about history, for that matter. Or math. Or civics. The truth was, had she taken a few minutes to consider it, that she after their initial rocky start, Janie had been working hard to impress Dr. Gilbert—to earn his approval. It bothered her that he thought she was lazy, and she set out to prove to him, and to herself, that he was wrong.

She had little trouble finishing the exam early, and looked around the room at the other students, surprised that so many of them were still bent over their papers. Nervously, she reviewed her answers again and when she could find none that needed correction or expansion, she shrugged to herself and taking a deep breath, brought the test up to his desk.

The thin packet whispered against the blotter as she slid it in front of him. He took it from her and glanced over it quickly, flipping through the pages. His face was passive as he scanned her answers and she found herself fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He looked up at her, still unreadable. “I would like to meet with you about this in my office.”

Janie’s face fell and her chest felt tight, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “I thought I did okay,” she began, trying to keep her voice steady. “I was prepared.”

A slight smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I know how ready you were for this test. I am very impressed with how well you prepared yourself and how well you’ve followed my instructions. I’d like to meet with you to really…get into it deeper. I think you will benefit from a good, hard review. I know things are tight,” he continued, fighting back a smirk, “but if you could squeeze me in, I think it would really be good for you.”

Janie didn’t quite know how to answer. She opened her mouth once or twice and closed it without speaking, trying to choose her words before speaking, and failing. Dr. Gilbert smiled and his eyes sparked, and he lowered his voice to an even more conspiratorial tone. “I’m in the office until 8 tonight and would like to discuss the effect of this test on our advisorial arrangement.”

In an instant, she knew exactly what he was talking about and she felt her knees grow wobbly. She inhaled deeply and said, “You want…you mean you…or, we…”

Dr. Gilbert only nodded slightly and folded his hands on top of her test paper.

Her mind raced. Had she been wearing panties, they would have been soaked through. She thought of him bending her over his desk and sliding into her from behind, smacking his hand on her ass while he thrust into her. An image of his lap, his cock jutting up from his open fly seconds before she lowered herself onto it and took him in deep. She could feel the smooth, cool wood of his large desk under her bare ass and her legs around his back as he pressed into her, his hands on her tits, tugging at her nipples while he fucked her. Her nipples rose into sympathetic points that rubbed uncomfortably inside Zack’s loose sweatshirt, and her clit throbbed in response.

Shit.

Zack.

She was supposed to meet him at seven.

“I can’t come tonight,” she said, and even as the words left her lips she suspected that unless it was by her own hand—again—that it would be true in more than one manner of speaking. “I already have plans for tonight. To study. In the library.”

Dr. Gilbert looked down at his crossed hands. He took her paper and set it aside with the other tests that had been turned in and smiled at her. “Well, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your studies.”

Janie waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, she continued, stammering a bit in hopes of preempting his disappointment—or anger. “I can come tomorrow afternoon…or meet you somewhere…else, maybe…in the evening…”

He picked up his phone and tapped the screen a few times. “I have a free block of time at 4 again. That is, if you can make yourself available.” He smirked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling back at him in response. “I’m very much looking forward to our meeting.”

She returned to her seat and bent to gather her book bag that still leaned against the leg of the chair. As she did, she bent deeply, allowing her already short skirt to ride up and expose the round curves of her ass. Not looking back, she stood, and tossing her bag over her shoulder and smoothing her skirt into place, she exited the lecture hall.

She blinked a bit as she walked out into the bright sunlight, and within a matter of minutes, she regretted not putting a tank top on under Zack’s sweatshirt. It had grown oppressively warm outside the air-conditioned academic building and she shoved the sleeves up, looking down the sidewalk towards her dorm and then in the other direction towards her next class. Mentally, she debated whether it would be worth it to hike all the way back to the dorm in the heat just to change and possibly slip into some panties, or if she would be better off biting the bullet and heading straight for the air-conditioned comfort of the classrooms.

“How did you do on your test?” Zack’s voice startled her so near over her shoulder, and she spun, nearly colliding with him. “Sorry,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She laughed and put a hand to her chest. “It’s okay. I was just…it doesn’t matter. My test? Oh, I did well. I think. Dr. Gilbert seemed pleased.”

Zack smirked, and in an instant, she thought she saw something familiar in the way he smiled at her, but it was a fleeting thought and it was getting warm standing out in the hot sun in a long-sleeved sweatshirt. She pushed the sleeves up again where they had slid down and brushed the hair off her sweaty forehead. “Well, good for you,” Zack responded. “He’s a hard man to please.”

“I don’t know,” Janie replied. “He seems pretty easy to please just as long as you do what he wants and expects.”

“Exactly,” Zack said. “Where you headed now?”

“I’m sweating like a whore in church,” Janie admitted. “I’m thinking I’ll head right to my next class because I’m afraid if I go back to the dorm and change into something cooler, I’ll be tempted to take a cold shower and then I won’t want to go back out in the heat and I’ll miss my class.”

“Hmm. Neither of those are as good as what I would have suggested.”

“You have a better plan?”

He smiled and slipped his hand into hers. “I was thinking I could give you a ride back to your dorm and you could change into something cooler—maybe even give my sweatshirt back, though I really do like it on you.” He reached over and toyed with the zipper pull, and Janie wondered if he could tell that she wasn’t wearing anything under it. “And then I would pretend to drop you off at your next class, only I would really be planning to talk you into missing that class and coming with me down to the beach.”

Janie sighed. “That sounds awesome, actually,” she said, looking up at the cloudless sunny sky.

“What’s one class so late in the term?” Zack said, squeezing her hand slightly. “I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

She looked up at him and smiled into the gray eyes that were actually bluer out in the sun than she thought. His hand felt nice in hers and she had to admit that a walk on the hard-packed sand with her feet being embraced by the icy Atlantic ocean and her hair being tossed around by the onshore breeze seemed a much better way of passing an afternoon than sweating in a classroom.

“Can I have sprinkles on my ice cream?”

“Anything you want.”

“In that case, you talked me into it,” she said. “It’s just one class. What harm can it do?”

Keep reading…

And To All a Good Night

23 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

adult, erotic fiction, erotica, explicit, fantasy, masturbation, mature, personal, self-pleasuring, sex, winter

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…

From “Deployed”

05 Friday Oct 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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…

Where Does This Stuff Come From?

18 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by Jennifer in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

adult, character development, erotic fiction, erotica, fantasy, friends, inspiration, mature, plot, relationships, sex, writing

I get asked that question more times that you’d believe. “How do you think of this shit?” My inspiration comes, as I think it does for a lot of people who find themselves inspired to do, say, create, write, paint, craft, sculpt, or whatever something: in a sudden flash and usually out of nowhere.

One of my favorite stories I’ve ever written is “Dirty Little Secret” that’s published in Not Safe for Work. The working title for that story was “Ice Cream” until I actual compiled the anthology of short stories and was putting it into print. The entire inspiration for that story came from an exchange in an online forum in which an ice cream cone was mentioned.

Ice cream. Those two words were the catalyst for a whole story. Honestly, nothing more.

Obviously there’s more to making it into a full-blown story than that. Once the inspiration hits me, it sits at in the center of my thoughts not unlike a magnet, and bit by bit, ideas drift by and are attracted like bits of stray bits of metal. The ice cream story started small, as little more than a stroke piece. But as I finished writing the first section, published it, and stepped away from it, I realized that the magnetic inspiration that sat at the core was still attracting ideas. I thought the story was told, but it wasn’t. The characters had more to say, so I opened the file and kept writing.

The second time I stepped away from it, I felt like the story was told, and the resulting story of a man who in a moment of crisis walks away from everything he holds dear resolves itself in a way that was true to the characters. I felt like my characters had both grown and discovered something about themselves. The central idea had stopped attracting, so to speak.

It’s also one of the sexiest stories I’ve ever written, I think, not just because these are two people who’ve just completely given themselves over to fucking each other, but because of the turmoil going on inside his head. He’s a complex character and I think it’s why his story garners so much response. I think it’s why people are sympathetic to him even though he’s cheating on his wife. They can relate to how he feels. He’s very real.

He is, to be clear, no one man I know. Yeah, he shares attributes in common with real people that I know well. They’ve let me inside their heads by being friends and lovers and companions. I know how they think because they’ve told me. They’ve shown me. That character is his own man, but the way he feels about his life, the way he deals with his angst, the things he needs from the much younger woman in the story–those all come from different places. They are different bits of metal drawn to that central core.

One of the comments I hear a lot is that my stories are so real, but with the tagged on assumption that I draw heavily from my own life. Obviously, I do to an extent. I do write what I know.

For instance, I wrote the short story “Falling” out of thin air. The inspiration for that story was an ad on a website that had a picture of a rumpled bed. It flashed by as ads do, largely unnoticed. But the image that barely registered in my conscious brain became that magnet. And ideas floated by and grabbed on. I don’t know what order they took or how an innocuous picture of a bed made me think of two people being in it that shouldn’t be.

Even the imagery of falling means something different to me than it did to the people who read it first. I pictured two people on the edge of something big. Something life-changing. Two people having to make the decision to let themselves go, to give into their lust for each other, to just…fall, and damn the consequences.

I didn’t mean falling in love, and I was surprised when that was the reaction I got. I had to go back and re-read it again with different eyes to see if that’s actually what my words said.

I meant it was two people not necessarily in love giving in physically to a craving for each other.

I could see how a reader could assume deeper feelings, though. I thought to clarify it, but decided not to when I realized those beta-readers were bringing their own thoughts and feelings to the story. My experience, my fantasies, my own moral compass aren’t the only driving force. I steer the ship, but the readers all follow their own currents.

But that story brought up a lot of questions, especially from my husband. We had a long talk about just this sort of thing: where do my ideas come from? Is this about someone in particular? Am I having feelings for another man that he should know about?

The answers were no, it’s not about anyone in particular and no, I don’t have any feelings for any other man but him.

But I can imagine those feelings. I can articulate those feelings and apply them to characters I create. I can do those things because I’m a writer.

It has (and does, I guess) beg the question if my stories are in any way me working out my own personal fantasies.

The answer is yes, and no.

Sometimes I find myself working out some of my own issues in my writing. But more often than not, it’s just my imagination hard at work. Do I want to cheat on my husband? Hell, no. But can I imagine it? Hell, yes. I get in my own head and think, in that situation, how would I feel? What would I do? What kind of emotions would I be feeling? It’s not hard. And there’s an honesty to that kind of writing. A lot of the fantasy I write is just that–pure fantasy. Not some deep-seated desire or any sense of longing for anything in particular, just a matter of asking myself “Can you imagine?” and finding the answer is, “Well…yeah. I can.” I won’t lie. There are other men I find sexually attractive. I mean, just because I’m on a restricted diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.

Right now I’m working on a story that’s got so much metal stuck to it that I can barely see the magnet at the core. I’ve started writing it three times now, trying to weed through all the bits that have stuck on and finally think I’m moving it in a direction where it will highlight the more substantial pieces I want to get at.

The basic idea that was kicking around in my head, the inspiration magnet, was the idea of a long-distance romance. I was drawn to the challenge of writing an erotic story where the two people never actually touch each other. There’s a lot of romantic possibility and a great conflict.

My brother-in-law’s wife once said that she didn’t consider Internet friends to be real friends. I was affronted, to be honest. Hell, one of my best friends is someone I met when she was living in England, then for the three years she was in Germany, and now even though she’s stateside again we still have yet to “meet”. We’ve laughed together (a LOT) and cried together and have shared our hearts time and time again. The fact that we’re not breathing the same air doesn’t matter. I’ve come to know her through words, and as a writer, words matter to me.

Knowing in my own life that I have Internet friends that I hold very dear to my heart, the idea of a romantic relationship forming doesn’t seem far-fetched at all. And sexually? Well, there are lots of dirty things that can be done over the ‘net. I know it. You know it. Maybe you’ve even done it. I don’t judge how you get your jollies.

So the story is a friendship with sexual overtones that’s about to jump over into romantic feelings, and while both people are free to be in that relationship, will it be enough for both of them? It’s been a hard story to write. The subtext is tricky.

And I really should get to work on it.

Follow Me!

  • @fortspurts Are you sure Sarah didn't just shrug and go back to playing with herself? It's never let her down before... 6 years ago
  • RT @fortspurts: David reached inside his pants as he watched Donna in the rearview mirror. She spread her legs slightly and let a golden st… 6 years ago
  • RT @fortspurts: All this talk of dirty pipes got Rick Jones hot. He needed to stop his manly urges for a good ass fucking somehow... https:… 6 years ago
  • RT @fortspurts: "Sorry, Ethel," Jughead apologized, "I'm saving myself." "Who for?" she asked incredulously. "Colonel Sanders." #bf1 6 years ago
  • RT @fortspurts: Kubiak threw the red flag. He didn't really want to challenge, but he DID want to see Blakeman bend over one more time. #bf3 6 years ago
Follow @ReynoldsErotica

My Amazon Author Page

Cougars and Jackals for Kindle eReader

Not Safe for Work in Paperback–NEW!

Not Safe for Work for Kindle eReader–NEW!

Not Safe for Work for Nook eReader–NEW!

Readerotica 4 for Kindle eReader

Seven Nights in Paperback

Seven Nights for Kindle eReader

Seven Nights for Nook eReader

Down the Rabbit Hole in Paperback

Down the Rabbit Hole for Kindle eReader

Down the Rabbit Hole for Nook eReader

Archives

  • RSS - Posts
  • RSS - Comments

"Two well-assorted travelers use
The highway, Eros and the muse.
From the twins is nothing hidden,
To the pair is naught forbidden;
Hand in hand the comrades go
Every nook of nature through:
Each for the other they were born,
Each can other best adorn.”

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 63 other subscribers

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • Eros and the Muse
    • Join 63 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Eros and the Muse
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...