I'm thrilled to finally announce that my story "Eminent Domain" will be
included in The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 Volume 3 edited by Rose Caraway. What
makes it even sweeter is that I'll be burning up the pages with my Chemical
[se]X Volume 2 sisters, Rachel Woe and Doctor J. It's coming out Spring 2019,
so it's going to be a very busy and sexy 2019! You'll be reading more about it
in the coming months, but until then I have another wicked morsel for you.
This
was mainly inspired by this week's Friday Flash prompt, "Listen,"
along with some Masturbation Monday. Although the picture F. Leonora Solomon provided is lovely, it was the word that got my juices flowing. So much so I stayed up
way too late last night writing this.
Please
click on the badges below to read the other Masturbation Monday and Friday
Flash offerings.
Fleeing
my family's incessant questions about college and my recent breakup, I sought sanctuary
in my untouched teenage bedroom.
Sighing,
I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling plastered with rock band
posters. I needed music.
I
fished my phone from my jeans pocket, plugged in my headphones, and hit play.
The warm, rich voice of my singer-songwriter neighbor filled my ears. Turning
my head, I looked out the window facing his house.
Unable
to resist, I got up and walked over, easily seeing into his home office/studio.
Before I could wonder if he was out on tour, he was there, as hot as ever in
torn jeans and a faded T-shirt. His brown hair was longer than the last time I'd
seen him and unreasonably sexy.
Smiling,
he waved at me.
I
waved back and sent a text:
Love the new album. Listening to it now.
He
reached for his phone, typed something, then put it to his ear.
My
cell rang, interrupting his music. I knew who it was before I answered.
"Home
for the holidays?"
"Yes.
And finding solace in your music."
"What
do you like most about it?"
"Your
voice. Always, your voice."
"Is
that so?"
"Mmm-hmm."
I only paused a second. "Can I make a confession?"
"Of
course."
"Sometimes,
late at night, when I'm in bed…I listen to you."
He
sucked in a breath. "Just listen?"
"No,
I get so lost in your voice, your music, I just have to…"
"Yes?"
"Touch
myself."
Even
from a distance, his gaze was scorching. "How?"
"I
start with my breasts—"
"Tits.
Always use dirty words."
My
heartbeat quickened, raw heat unfurling low in my belly. "I fondle my tits."
"Show
me."
Not thinking
twice, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt and spread it open, revealing my white
lacy bra. I opened the front clasp, freeing my tits, then cupped one in my hand.
He
groaned. "So fucking perfect."
I
captured a nipple between my fingers. "I love squeezing them hard. Makes
me so fucking wet."
"Are
you wet now?"
"Fuck
yeah."
"Get
your fingers slick with cunt cream."
Everything
about this set my blood on fire—finally enacting my wildest fantasy, the filthy
words, his wicked commands—so I didn't hesitate.
As I
yanked open my jeans, he did the same, unleashing his hard cock. As my hand
slid down inside my panties, briefly teasing my aching clit before delving into
my sopping slit, he fisted his shaft. As I displayed my messy fingers, he worked
his cock in long strokes.
"Taste
yourself."
I
hummed with pleasure, savoring my tangy fingers.
"Get
your horny cunt off."
My
hand was quickly back inside my panties, furiously fingering my clit.
"Come
for me. Now."
And
I did, so hard I collapsed against the window, panting. His grunts filled my ears
as he splattered the window with his come.
"Hearing
you come was the best music ever."
"You'll
get an up-close-and-personal performance soon."
I
know I've been kind of quiet recently. There's been a lot going on—some of it
exciting, some of it more challenging than I'd like. Some of you may have
already seen the exciting news that Oleander Plume and the Sisters in Smut
asked me to contribute a story for Chemical [se]X Volume 2. Volume 1 was all
kinds of awesome and I wrote a glowing review of it here. So, naturally, I was
beyond thrilled to be included in Chemical [se]X Volume 2. You'll be reading a
lot more about it in the coming months, but until then, I have some unrelated
naughtiness for you.
A
few days ago, my mind was wandering, as it's prone to do, and I found myself
thinking about irises—one of my favorite flowers. My mother used to grow them
when we still lived in Pennsylvania. At first, I pictured the standard purple
variety, but then I imagined a beautiful, pristine white bearded iris. That
made me remember the famous Van Gogh painting you can see here.
My
brain has been drifting back to that painting off and on until I woke up early
this morning and lay awake contemplating it again. This conversation began
forming in my head and I couldn't leave it alone. I knew it was pointless
trying to go back to sleep, so I got up and started writing this. I didn't know
where it was leading, but that is often the way with me.
I'm
linking this to F. Leonora Solomon's Friday Flash, but it doesn't follow this
week's "Boudoir" prompt. Please click on the badge below to read the
other wonderful Friday Flash offerings!
"That's
me." I nodded towards the painting of a lone white iris among a field of
purple ones.
Master
wrapped his arm around my waist, his front flush against my back. "What?"
"The
white iris."
"Isolated?"
I felt his body stiffen, heard the tension in his voice.
"No,
defiant against conformity." I smiled back at him. "Rage, rage
against the ordinary."
Grinning,
he relaxed. "Isn't it 'against the dying of the light?'"
"That
too." I resumed admiring Van Gogh's artistry.
His
warm breath teased my ear. "No one could ever accuse you of being
ordinary."
Nor
him, either. We were two singular, like-minded beings who managed to find each
other against heavy odds. That was enough proof of divinity in the random universe
for me.
"That
guy has been watching you."
Shaking
off my reverie, I looked back at him. "Who?"
He subtly
jerked his head to the side. "Over there. Tan slacks. Blue shirt."
Around
him, I was so absorbed by his magnetic presence I rarely noticed or cared about
anyone else. But I followed his gaze and saw the man in question. He was
mid-thirties, good looking—just a guy. Our eyes locked momentarily, then he
looked away.
"So
what?"
He
ground his growing erection against my ass. "We should show him what an
extraordinarily dirty girl you are?"
That
easily he lit the match to my libido. I loved how his filthy mind worked.
"Where?"
"Men's
room."
My
cunt was already flooding with juices.
"Challenge
accepted."
Making
eye contact with the stranger, I flashed an alluring smile. Crooking my finger,
I motioned for him to follow us. Then, hand in hand, we walked to the nearest
restroom. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if he was behind us. Clearly,
he was eager. So was I.
Master
made sure the coast was clear before ushering the stranger and me inside, then
locked the door behind us.
"She's
mine," Master told the stranger. "You can watch."
The man
nodded.
Master
quickly pulled me over to a vanity with several sinks. In the large mirror, I saw
the stranger, his back to the door, already rubbing his cock through his slacks.
I bent
over, bracing my hands on the counter, spreading my legs apart. Master pulled a
thin strap of my sundress over my shoulder, baring one breast.
"He
only gets a glimpse."
Master
fondled my tit, pinching the nipple until I whimpered. His free hand lifted my
dress up over my ass and pushed aside my thong. His fingers found my slick cunt
lips.
"So
wet and ready."
"Always.
Just for you."
Then
he was inside me, fucking me hard and fast, his teeth marking my shoulder. I
briefly saw the stranger jerking his freed cock furiously before the
illicitness sent me hurtling over the edge. Master pulled out and came on my
ass, where it would stay for the rest of the day.
Master's
ardent gaze met mine in the mirror. "Never ordinary."
Erotic horror really isn't my thing, but in
honor of the spooky-themed Masturbation Mondays for October, I thought I'd try
something a little different. It's more haunting than scary, but hopefully hot.
I managed to incorporate this week's "spiderweb" prompt as well as
Wicked Wednesday's "purple" prompt. There's also a little musical inspiration
below courtesy of Adele that I thought captured the mood of the piece.
Please click on the badges below to read all
the other amazing blog posts.
Their bed had always been a place of solace,
tenderness, and passion. Now, it was this cold empty thing she dreaded every
night. Because he was no longer there.
Like so many nights lately, she finally fell
into a fitful sleep, clutching his pillow. The barest trace of his scent still
clung to it. She could almost imagine she was wrapped around him, nuzzling his
neck like she often had. It wasn't even close to the real thing, but the
illusion was enough that she eventually slipped into semi-consciousness.
She drifted there, somewhere between wakefulness
and sleep, in a vast dark nothingness. It was the same thing every night in his
absence—unending hopelessness. Not even a dream of him and the way they were.
Then something changed.
Warmth slowly enveloped her, so subtly she
thought it was wishful thinking. But it grew more and more intense, along with
his unforgettable scent, until the heat of his presence suffused every cell in
her body. Gripping the pillow tighter, she almost wept with relief.
I've missed
you.
Hearing his honeyed voice wrenched a sob from
deep in her chest. "I've missed you, too. So much."
She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, not
daring to open them. Because then she'd have to face the brutal truth. That
this was just some grief-induced delusion. That he was gone for good, never to
return. That she'd never see his handsome face again, never really hear his
voice, or feel his touch.
The unmistakable feel of his calloused fingers
lightly caressing her cheek made her gasp.
Be a good
girl and let me see your pretty eyes.
She'd disobeyed him before, but usually
playfully, to provoke a punishment. This time, she was afraid to obey. She
didn't want to risk losing him again.
Do you
trust me?
"Always."
Her response was immediate and unwavering. It
was herself she didn't trust—and her sanity. But she'd rather wallow in her delusions
if she got to be with him, even in this ephemeral way.
Then trust
me now. Open your eyes.
She'd always trusted him with her body and soul,
so she did as she was told, having faith that he wouldn't be cruelly snatched
away from her.
Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes to see his
apparition shimmering in the moonlight. Scrambling to sit up, she gaped at him
reclining on his side of the bed.
See, I'm
really here.
He was the strangest, most wonderful thing
she'd ever seen. His mouth didn't move, but she could hear him in her head. His
translucent presence looked just as he did in life. He only wore the ghostly
embodiment of his favorite threadbare jeans and his trademark lopsided smile.
Unable to resist, she reached out and touched
his bare chest. Her hand didn't pass through him like she'd imagined, but it wasn't
like touching flesh and bone either. There was definitely something there,
though—an energy that created a tingling sensation on her skin.
He took her hand in both of his, brought it up
to his mouth, and placed a tender kiss on her palm. To her amazement, it felt the
same as it always did—his large, warm hands surrounding hers, his soft lips,
even his breath teasing her hand.
"How?" It was all she could get out
as overwhelming emotion clogged her throat.
His smile turned wry. I never could stay away from you.
And she could never stay away from him. Gratitude
and elation flooded her that even death couldn't keep them apart.
Are you
still mine?
"Always."
Come, I
know what you need.
He led her out of their bedroom down the hall
to the door leading up to the attic they'd converted into a playroom. She
hadn't been up there in a while, because it hurt too much. But now, she eagerly
followed him, curious and excited to see what his dirty mind had in store for
her.
The full moon flooding through the custom
stained-glass windows illuminated the space in a rich purple hue. Purple
because she'd always found the color comforting. The abstract cobweb design was
a private joke about her being caught in his web.
They easily made their way between the various
cloth-covered apparatus, only leaving one set of footprints in the light dust
coating the floor. He stopped beside an object she knew all too well and her
heartbeat speed up in anticipation.
He whipped off the dust cloth, tossing it aside
to reveal a spanking bench that resembled a kinky church pew. It was wholly appropriate
in this place where they worshiped each other, where she often knelt in
supplication, and where he provided guidance and enlightenment to the many
wonders her body could experience.
Arousal wasn't something she'd experienced in a
while—not since he left her—so it was a joy to feel it unfurling within her,
hardening her nipples, flooding her cunt with liquid desire.
Want to be
my naughty girl?
"Always."
He didn't need to tell her what to do. She
quickly stripped off her night clothes and got down onto the padded bench.
Bending over, she relished the feel of the supple leather against her breasts.
It was always thrilling having her ass up in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable
to him—her lover, her Master.
So beautiful.
So perfect.
His fingers lightly trailed down her spine to
her ass. He cupped one cheek, kneading it with his strong hand, then move on to
the other. Craving more, she arched her back, lifting her backside higher,
pressing herself more firmly into his hand, silently begging for one of the many
things she'd been missing.
Are you
mine to do with as I please?
"Always."
The first smack made her gasp, but not really
in pain. It was just a warm-up. No, it was the almost forgotten pleasure wracking
her body that shocked her. He slapped the other cheek, making her sigh, her muscles
relaxing, her entire being practically melting into the bench.
He continued spanking her, alternating sides,
getting progressively harder—from a slight sting, to a deep burning ache, to a
sharp knifing pain that chipped away everything she'd been bottling up. All the
tension, all the agony, all the longing, all the grief. It all came rushing out.
Tears streaming down her face soon turned into wrenching sobs until there was
nothing left but the physical pain that was a welcome relief.
That's it.
Let it all out. I’m here.
When she finally quieted, lost in that blissful
place only he could create, he stopped and gently stroked down her back, murmuring
soothing words of appreciation. She flinched slightly when he carefully massaged
her sore backside, but then moaned when he dipped lower, exploring her slick
folds.
Mmmm,
always so ready.
She pressed back against his questing fingers. "Please."
Please, what,
babygirl?
"Please, fuck me. Hard."
And he did, ramming himself deep inside her. As
always, he knew exactly what she needed. Right then, more than anything, she
wanted him to reclaim her, to possess her body as thoroughly as he possessed
her soul. She didn't need sweet words professing his undying love. She wanted
him to use her, to make her his once again and forever.
He gave her all that and more. She felt his warm
body curve over hers as he pounded her needy cunt. One hand gripped a handful of
her hair and pulled her head back. His familiar growl teased her ear.
Mine!
"Always!"
Come for
me!
This time she obeyed him immediately, the pleasure
rocking her body so intensely she passed out. When she came back to earth, she
was in their bed, lying on her side. She was relieved to see his radiant presence
lying beside her, smiling down at her.
This
post is mostly inspired by this week's Friday Flash prompt with a little Wicked Wednesday thrown in. But I'm also linking it to Masturbation Monday, because
it's still Monday and it does involve masturbation of a sort. I know the post
doesn't have to fit the prompt, but I think it's more fun that way. Never fear,
though, I have a paranormal post in the works that I can hopefully make fit
next week's prompt—or not. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Please click on the badges
below to read all the other amazing blog posts.
Perched
on his finely toned ass, she lightly traced the elaborated tattoo on his back. It
really was a work of art—just like the rest of him.
His
shoulder lifted slightly, but he otherwise remained silent. Seemingly content from
their recent lovemaking, he lay on his stomach, head resting on his folded
arms.
A
tropical breeze from the bungalow's open French doors stirred the humid air, caressing
her bare, heated flesh. The setting sun painted their private beachside paradise
in golden shadows. This was their break from harsh reality, a chance to get to
know each other better, so she wasn't letting him off easy. Not like the other
times.
"Tell
me, or I'll have to guess."
His
eyes remained closed, but the corner of his mouth curved upward. "Go for
it."
Her
finger continued stroking his smooth, stained skin. "It symbolizes the eight
women who broke your heart."
Laughter
vibrated his body, creating ripples of pleasure in her still messy cunt.
"Not
hardly that many." His amusement died gradually, his body tensing. "A
buddy in the Teams was into them. When he was killed, we all got the same tattoo."
She
knew he didn't like talking about it and she didn't need to hear any more. That
he endured the pain for such a large, intricate memorial said it all. To soothe
him, she did what she did best—made him forget the darkness for a while.
"You
know what it reminds me of?"
"What?"
"That
Bond movie. Octopussy."
He
chuckled, his muscles already relaxing. "Were you even alive when that
came out?"
"Yes,
but I was a kid."
Sliding
down into the groove at the small of his back, she ground her slick sex into
his spine, then giggled.
Looking
back at her, he raised a brow. "What's funny, naughty girl?"
"I'm
rubbing my pussy against your pussy."
He
groaned, but smiled.
Moving
further up his back, she leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of
his. "Remember when I told you I wasn't into girls?"
"Yes."
"This
is the closest you'll get to seeing me fuck another pussy."
His
breathing quickened as she rocked her hips, rubbing her clit against him again
and again.
"You'd
love to watch that, wouldn't you?" Panting in his ear, she increased the
pressure on her needy cunt. "I'd be filled with your come just like I am
now, grinding my snatch against another pussy until we both came so fucking
hard."
He
moaned. "Fuck yeah."
"Then
I'd lick her clean, lapping up her come, my come, your come. Just for you. Only
for you."
She
shuddered as her orgasm overtook her, collapsing on his back.
Before
she knew it, he flipped them both over, her body under his, pinning her arms
above her head.
Grinning
down at her, he prodded her opening with his impossibly hard cock. Then he
slammed himself deep inside her, claiming her once again. "Time for round
two, dirty girl."
Oh, you had to know I wouldn't be able to resist
this week's Friday Flash challenge by Beatrix B.! I really did try for
fifty-five, but I just couldn't do what I wanted in so few words. But I did
manage to get it done in only a hundred. I bow down to anyone who did manage it
in fifty-five words. Please take a look at the glorious inspirational painting
and click the badge below to read all the other Friday Flashers!
Finger hovering over delete, she stared at the "unknown" text. Just a sales
gimmick. Couldn't be him. He'd
abandoned her long ago.
Same time.
Same place.
Heart racing, she knew her choice.
His stately home unchanged, she let herself in,
then followed the familiar routine: stripping down to bra and panties, clothes neatly
placed on the entryway chair.
Soundlessly on bare feet, she went to the
parlor and slid the doors open.
He lounged in his favorite chair, his devastating
smile greeting her.
