Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon

Vote Your Ass Off!

2011-02-21T06:53:00.003-08:00

Are you ready? Are you set? Here are the two finalists from Round 10 of the Smut Marathon. By midnight tomorrow night, we really need to choose a winner. (If, for some reason, there is a tie again, I will bring in a surprise, top-secret judge to make the call.) The game this time was to take a short story and expand on the concept. First up is Joss Lockwood. Then Angell Brooks.

Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors. Tell your enemies. Just vote!

Something Like Love
by Joss Lockwood

Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public - walking to the bagel store Sunday morning, say, or the train home after a night out - can become wildly inappropriate and fast.

Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away, to break off the kiss, to save it for later. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone on our car, but still. If it weren't for the rattle and hum they all would have been able to hear my breath speeding up, catching, coming out on a sigh that was going to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I wasn't careful. The way your tongue probes, circles, thrusts and withdraws…you've got my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you hold my face in both hands the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth. And that makes me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right now, and it's all I can do to stop myself, and then you pinch my nipple, close to the wall where no one can see, and I gasp. I'm trembling, I want you so badly. You start a rhythm with your lips and tongue on mine and I receive you into me greedily, gratefully, and it's silly but I’m actually lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.

Which is why, when you press the side of your hand edgeways into my crotch, I nearly stop breathing. You just leave it there for me to rub against. You know I won't be able to stop myself, and you're right. I try to move as little as possible but if anyone looks at me for longer than a glance they will see that I am rocking my pelvis against you like an animal in heat. I can feel you smile and I halfway hate you for it. Letting me make a spectacle of myself in a public place like this. Even if it's less obvious than I think it is and probably no one will even notice. It's downright mean is what it is, because you know I tend to get carried away. I can't be counted on to maintain any sort of decorum, so it's up to you to keep us out of trouble, and sometimes you decide to walk that line. Sometimes you tease me and get me all hot and bothered and position your hand just so in front of me, so that I can't help but lean into it.

I realize I'm going to come soon, and I panic just a little, because I don’t come quietly and have no poker face to speak of. If I've stayed undetected up until now, I may be just about to blow my cover.

I mumble something aloud which is supposed to alert you to this fact, but if it's words, I don't know what language they're in. I think maybe I'll bite down on your shoulder, bury my face in your chest.

And you snicker at me, at my lack of restraint and my unwillingness to delay these moments of pleasure. And you say low into my ear, "Can't even wait until we get home? Ten more minutes? Dirty little slut."

And it's as if you've touched me, the words affect me that much. I grit my teeth and groan – not too loudly, I hope. You're only making it worse, cranking up my arousal level another several notches with that one snide remark, the laughter, the label. I feel that prickle of goosebumps that precedes orgasm and shudder. My head tips back just a bit of its own accord, and you lean down to bite my neck, which often pushes me over the edge.

And that's when I feel it. Fingertips.

From behind me. Between my knees, just underneath the hem of my skirt. Gentle, skillful. Short strokes upward. Can't be yours, the direction is all wrong. I freeze, orgasm stopped dead in its tracks, animal lust replaced by animal fear. Who the fuck is that?

In the split second before I turn to look, a hand snakes into my hair, grasps at the roots and holds tight, immobilizing my head in its slightly upturned position. You glance at me for just a second and then fall back to devouring my neck, and that moment, realizing that you're not stopping, that this is okay with you – that it's maybe even part of a plan you've made? That moment makes me lose my mind just the tiniest bit. Without you setting limits, there may *be* no limits. Certainly I'm in no position to make decisions. I'm no longer aware of who else is in the train with us or if any of our behavior can possibly be construed as appropriate anymore. As soon as that other person touched me, crash zoom: my world shrank down to you, me, and him.

His fingers are still caressing the insides of my thighs, above my knees and slowly but steadily heading higher. God, is this total stranger going to start stroking my pussy right here in the middle of the subway? The idea is incredibly arousing but I'm not sure I can do it. I might have to stop this, stop you. It occurs to me that my knees are shaking, from excitement or nervousness, I'm not sure which. Your mouth is on my earlobe now, sucking insistently, and you're flicking my nipple repeatedly, setting up a rhythm that under normal circumstances would propel me straight back toward coming. But I'm jittery. Like an unswaddled newborn afraid of flying apart, I need to be contained, calmed. I realize I've grabbed your wrist, as if I might stop you. You sense my hesitation and murmur in my ear, "Hands behind your head."

And that's all it takes. I fleetingly consider refusing, but the truth is, I don't want this to stop, so I position my arms behind my head and grab my elbows, wincing just a bit at the conspicuousness of the pose but also loving the way it makes my tits jut forward. It makes me feel sexy, and helpless, and there's no more hesitation. I'm right there with you, ready for my fate, St. Sebastian waiting for the sting of the first arrow.

I can't see you with my head tipped back but again I hear the smile in your voice. "Good girl. Now spread your legs just a little for the nice man."

Can one's heart leap and stomach sink at the same time? I gulp. You want me even more obviously wanton, even more defenseless, than I already am? You twist a nipple hard in response, and the message is clear: Yes, you do. I take a breath that's almost a sob and widen my stance, not much, but enough, I think, for the man behind me to do whatever it is he's going to do. His fingers have almost, almost reached my labia, and the anticipation is intense. I desperately want him to touch me there, but think I might pass out if he does…

And he stops. Removes his hands from under my skirt and starts to maul me, grab me, take advantage of my body in its vulnerable state. He wraps one arm around my waist and draws me back to him, slams his crotch against my ass a few times, so perfectly emulating the rough fucking I crave that I almost cry out. He can tell, humps harder, and I push my pelvis back to meet his assault. I think, rather dimly, that everyone must have left the car by now or he wouldn't be acting so brazen, but the fact is that I don't know this guy, what he'd do or not do. He seems kind of crazy. Then again, none of us is indecent, so could we really get in too much trouble? And then all rational thought departs as he, in one swift motion, pushes forward on my shoulder blades, yanks up my skirt and hauls off and spanks me, hard. I fall forward into you, although I manage to keep hold of my elbows. I catch a quick glimpse of the expression on your face and know immediately that this was not part of the plan. You're clearly surprised, and a bit taken aback, but you've also got that gleam in your eyes that I know so well. The one that means I'm in for it.

I lose some of the details at that point in the chemical haze of adrenaline, endorphins, and hormones. He spanks me, not to my absolute limit, but close. You hold me, push your fingers into my mouth at first, then cover my mouth as I get nearer to an out-and-out howl. And then, without warning, the guy abruptly pulls my panties down to mid-thigh, exposing me to anyone who's still nearby, and plunges two fingers into my pussy, which is so ridiculously wet that they slide in without any resistance. And it is so exactly what I have wanted that it's a good thing your hand is still over my mouth because I let out a shriek, and I tense for the inevitable orgasm that always comes with penetration for me…but he pulls out just as suddenly as he thrust in. And I’m left gasping, gaping, empty and clenching around nothing. I whimper. You help me straighten up, and we're back where we started, you and I facing each other with him standing behind me. You look faintly puzzled, but not displeased. I have the distinct feeling again that this wasn't exactly the way it was supposed to go.

But the man behind me says, "Now then," as if we'd been in the middle of a civilized conversation and been rudely interrupted. And he slides his hands back up under my skirt, just as he had before, although with my panties still around my knees I can't open my legs as far as I would like. There's less teasing this time, though, and soon he's got both hands rubbing, kneading, pulling on my pussy lips, spreading me open and teasing my slit, and I'm panting and moaning and writhing and wanting wanting wanting his fingers back in me, god why won't he fuck me, I need something inside me, and you. Your hands, your fingers, join his, but from the front, and now there are four hands on me and I am making noise and there are no extra hands to stifle my voice now and I'm dizzy and on tiptoes and you sink your fingers deep into my cunt and it's like an electric current shoots through my whole body, the hair on the top of my head practically stands on end it's so good and my toes curl and you kiss me hard and sweet, the heel of your other hand grinding against my clit, and the other man is groping my ass, reaching around front to roll and twist my nipples, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck…and then. And then. With the same hands, obviously, that he thrashed me with earlier, he gently pries apart my ass cheeks (which makes me arch my back, some primal instinct telling my body to open up and get fucked like a good girl, like a bad girl, like no kind of girl at all, like a woman), and begins to circle my asshole with his thumb. So slowly. It makes. Me. Crazy. Goddammit it makes me throw my head back and groan. You still have your fingers in my pussy and you aren't pounding into me, you are probing me the same way your tongue probes me when you kiss me, like there's no part of me you don't want to know, you want to see it all, touch it all, you want me laid open to you as if I was a particularly rare specimen and you were the world's foremost expert, and oh, god, what you do to me, you're doing that thing you do, I don't know if it's my g-spot or something else but I know no one ever found it before you, and I'm coming – and right then, he slides into me the tiniest bit, and one of you must have lube because his finger is wet, and each stroke goes a little bit farther into my ass, and it seems so simple – a finger in my ass, fingers in my pussy – that it's just silly that I've never had this done to me before, but I haven't and I've always wanted to and in and in and in until he can't push any farther, he's got his finger in me to the hilt, and it suddenly occurs to me, of course: You know that this is a fantasy of mine. Why didn't I recognize it earlier?

Now I remember telling you months ago, blushing furiously, that I didn't really have any shame about watching most porn, probably because most of what I watch is pretty "normal." Hardcore, definitely, but nothing all that extreme. But there is one thing I sometimes watch but had never admitted to anyone because it just seemed, well, wrong to be excited by. "It's, um," couldn't even look you in the face when I told you, "this Japanese porn where the girl's getting sort of manhandled by a group of guys." I swallowed, cleared my throat. (Why was I even telling you this? It's not like you had to know every single one of my fantasies, after all. But for some reason I was fessing up.) "It's always public places, mostly on trains. And there are just all these hands, and a lot of groping, and kind of fingers coming from all directions and stuff." I was aware that I was getting wet, but I wasn't sure if it was the fantasies themselves or the fact that I was revealing myself to you that was making me more worked up. "And, I don't know. She pushes the guys off at first, but then she's outnumbered, she can't stop them or get away and they finger her and shove their cocks into her mouth and fuck her, right there on the train car. And she makes a show of resisting, which, you know, is part of why I find it kind of disturbing, but it's also pretty obvious that she's coming by the end, and, I don't know…they turn me on," I finished sheepishly. And you had very casually said you'd have to check them out sometime and that was the last we ever said about it.

And now that his finger's fully buried inside me the two of you really start to work me over, and I am sweating and shaking and trying not to scream and talking about god the way atheists do in the throes of orgasm and I desperately want your cock in my mouth and beg you for it even but you say we have to wait and I want that stranger to fuck me but you say maybe another time and I know you're going to take me home and fuck my ass when we get off the train and then, like the two of you had arranged a signal or something – maybe you did – you each add a finger and I come so hard I see stuff, and that's when I can't make words anymore and the two of you practically have to hold me up because my legs give out. And when my vision clears the first thing I see is the complete delight on your face – it's close to joy, if one can feel joy vicariously, but no, a little less serene; glee, that's the word, like you can't wait to see what I do next, like I'm your own personal source of entertainment, just here for your amusement, wind her up and watch her go – and that's when I know that while you and I may not be monogamous or forever and while we scrupulously avoid making dramatic, hackneyed pronouncements, that's when I know that this is something like love.

I think I like this better.

*****

Fucked to Death
by Angell Brooks

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.

Cops milled around the penthouse apartment, in the most exclusive residence in the city. Many of the uniformed officers gazed in awe and wonder at the twenty foot high ceilings, forgetting, for just a moment, that they were there to investigate a crime. A fact that Detective Johnson wasn’t about to let them forget.

“Parker!” One of the rookies jumped at the sound of Johnson’s bark, blushing beet red at having been caught studying the artwork that adorned the walls. “Get your rookie ass over here.” He rushed over to stand in front of him, slipping briefly on the glossy wood floors. He righted himself, looking down at what he could have slipped in. Johnson bent down, marking the spot for the CSI team to follow. But a closer glance told him what he needed to know – semen.

He stood, fixing Officer Parker with a pointed stare. “Parker, this is a crime scene. Need I remind you?” Parker vehemently shook his head. “No sir; not at all sir.”

“Well then stop looking like a kid on a field trip and GET MOVING!” Parker scurried off to speak to the nearest guest, and Johnson turned to M.E. Dawson. “Joe, what the hell happened here?” Dawson shrugged.

“Beats me Lou. But I don’t mind saying I wish I’d been invited.” They both stood in silence as the paramedics rolled the body by on the stretcher. Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs. Joe spoke again. “T.O.D. is approximately two hours ago. Levitity hasn’t set in yet. No signs of violence on the body. There’s no reason to suspect foul play.”

Johnson almost sighed with relief. Natural causes would mean that he could avoid the publicity and scandal that the murder of a high profile figure would bring. He was breathing normally, glad he could avoid pulling out his ever-present pack of antacids (incredibly cliché he knew but the job was hell). Until, with almost comedic timing, one of the uniforms came rushing up to him, a brandy snifter cradled carefully in his gloved hand.

“Detective! I found this in the study. At first I thought it was no big deal, but take a whiff.” Johnson carefully accepted the glass, sniffing the interior. He almost groaned out loud. Beneath the scent of the very expensive liquor, was a trace of bitter almonds.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, passing the glass back to the uniform. “Joe, make sure you do a complete tox panel. Looks like it might have been murder after all.”
Johnson looked around at the scene before him, and shook his head in disbelief. Throughout the room, officers had separated the guests, questioning each one as to the events of the evening.

Faces tear stained, naked bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty.

Which one poisoned the naked socialite? And why?

Earlier....

Kathryn DeLong lounged in the entrance way, a slight smile on her ruby lips. Her nipples hardened under the silken folds of her robe. The scene in front of her was one of decadence, of debauchery, of blatant sexual fantasies.

Tonight was going to be her finest party ever.

The invitations had caused quite the stir, just as she’d intended; simple black on white, with the big, bold letters at the bottom – CLOTHING OPTIONAL. She’d left instructions downstairs with the concierge to keep them all waiting in the lobby until the entire guest list had arrived. Then, and only then, were the dozen special friends allowed into the private elevator which brought them up to paradise.

The looks on their faces when they entered the ballroom was priceless to her. The video cameras set up around the penthouse captured everything for her personal entertainment. Her staff, dressed in only silk robes, approached them, removing their outerwear and revealing all of them in their beautiful, naked glory. None were shy – the swingers club they all belonged to had taught them long ago to be comfortable with their bodies.

Two other staff members appeared, armed with Kathryn’s version of kiddies loot bags. She had tailor made each one to fit. The cries and laughter as they were opened were classic. Dildos, vibrators, lubes, restraints, ticklers – it looked like she had bought out the entire sex shop.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, Kat’s husband Roger hit a few buttons on the remote he held. The huge production began – the music started, the three screens on the walls started playing pornography, and the lights dimmed. “Ladies and gentlemen – pick your partners and let the games begin.”

They all stood around, suddenly unsure of themselves. Denise pulled a long deep purple vibrator out of her goodie bag, and moved to the center of the room. “Well, if no one wants to fuck me, I guess I’m going to have to do it myself.” She slouched down on one of the leather couches facing the large screen, where a woman was getting her pussy pounded by another woman in a strap on. “And now, THAT is inspiring.”

Turning the vibrator on low, she lightly ran it over her nipples, moaning at the sensations as they stiffened into tight peaks. Moving it down her body, she slid it up between her lips, teasing her moist hole with the tip. Her audience watched, enraptured by her facial expressions as she slowly inserted it inch by inch, only to withdraw it just as slowly. Tony approached her, kneeling in front of her, massaging her thighs, his faces inches from the action. His head bobbed in closer with every thrust, his tongue flicking out to lick her lips.

Everyone unfroze at that moment. Roger grabbed Kathryn, pulling her into a passionate kiss. His hands roamed her body, pushing the folds of her robe open. She moaned as his fingers made his way down to her mound, gently tapping at her lilt. Her hands found his stiff cock, stroking it in the way that she knew would drive him crazy. She dropped to her knees, licking around his bulbous head, which was slowly turning the same colour as Denise’s vibrator. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the slit and she whisked it away with her tongue. One hand massaged his balls, which were tight against his shaft, and the other moved around to tickle between his ass cheeks.

He bucked, thrusting himself further into her mouth. Her tongue flattened out, licking him in broad strokes from base to head. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding her steady while he fucked her face. Her cheeks caved as she increased the suction. Swirling her tongue as he thrust, she could tell he was ready to explode. When it came to fucking her, he could go for hours, but for some reason, with blow jobs he turned back into a pre-pubescent teenage boy and was quick to come.

Which was fine with Kathryn. As hostess, there was much still to do, and some important details she couldn’t leave to the staff. She would come later. With a strangled cry, he thrust one final time, and she tasted him as the milky stream hit the back of her throat. Without losing a single drop, she drank him all in. He helped her to her feet, kissing her passionately once again, his tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth for remnants of him.

She smiled coyly at him as he sank into the sofa next to Denise, who had abandoned the vibrator for the real thing. She was bent over, her hands resting on the sofa back, as Tony rammed into her from behind. Roger lay beneath her, his fingers ticking her clit, and his mouth fastening to her nipples as her tits swung free.

In another corner, Tony’s wife and her best friend Sarah were engaged in a rather hot soixante-neuf, with their husbands watching, while stroking the other’s hard on. It made for an incredibly erotic tableau, and Kathryn wished she could keep that image with her forever. Then she gave a little laugh. She would.

She sat and watched the debauchery unfolding before her. There were dildos and vibrators strewn all over the room, glistening with juices and lube. She watched with great interest while Maxine got set in her strap on, using a generous amount of lube. She pushed her boyfriend Ken onto all fours, kneeling behind him. Massaging his asshole, she then forced the lubed up cock into his tight tunnel. Kens face contorted in pain for a brief moment. Then, as Maxie developed a slow rhythm, his jaw went slack, and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Kathryn could hear him grunting as Maxie muttered to him "You like this? You like me fucking you?"

"Yes." He gasped. She reached forward, entangling her hand in his shoulder length hair. Pulling his neck back, she thrust harder. "That's my bitch. Take it you slut." Kathryn giggled.

She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler and constant sexual companion, over to her side. He had provided many nights of pleasure to both her and Roger over the years, but he held a special place in her heart. In fact, she would say she loved him. But Jasper was British, and extremely proper. Providing services for his employers was in his job description, and yes, perhaps he had grown fond of his lady over time. And although he knew of her feelings for him, he would never, in a million years, admit to loving her back.

But it was there, in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he bowed his head as he said “As you wish” after she would ask him to do something for her. “Jasper.” She whispered into his ear, and led him off by the hand. No one noticed as they slipped out of the room. She brought him into the study, closing the door softly behind them.

The staff watched the scene before them in fascination. The DeLong’s often hosted dinner parties, and once in a while, had others over for a “couple’s party”, but never anything to this extent. Cocks swelled, pussies grew wet, and with raised eyebrows and exchanged looks, the staff sent the message that they planned on partaking of each other in the same fashion once the night was over.
Jenna, in the middle of the floor, humping her way to her fifth self-induced orgasm on the bearskin rug, noticed the silent communication between them, and the tents in the robes of the male staff. She beckoned the two closest to her, one male and one female, and raised herself onto all fours. “Kneel down behind me please.” She asked the male nicely, her voice dripping with honey. She indicated the female to lie in front of her. Looking over her shoulder, she wiggled her ass, and handed him a condom. “Fuck me honey. Use that hard on of yours. No sense letting it go to waste.” She then faced the girl in front of her. “Lie down and spread them for me. I’m dying to eat some pussy.”

They tried not to show their shock as they did as she asked. It was Linda’s first party here, having only been employed for two months, and she would never have expected this. Dante had been around for a while and was a little less shocked. But nevertheless, the help had never been invited to join in before. But it looked like it was to be a night for firsts.
Linda gasped as Jenna’s tongue touched her clit. It wasn’t her first time being eaten, but it had never been by a woman. And she moaned as that talented tongue delved deep into her cunt, fucking her like a mini cock.

Dante was absorbed by the scene that was playing out in front of him, so much so that he almost forgot what he was supposed to do. Almost. His cock head nudged Jenna’s lips open, timidly at first. But when she thrust her perfect ass up against him, he lost all thought and shoved his seven inches full into her. Once sheathed in her moist heat, he began shallow movements, rocking against her without withdrawing. She cried out, the sound lost between Linda’s thighs.

The door to the study opened again, and Jasper, his eyes wet, hurried from the room. Five minutes passed before it opened again. Kathryn stood there,taking in the scene before her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sounds of pleasure and lust. She took a deep breath, and glanced at her watch. Almost midnight. In twenty minutes, it would be Valentine’s Day.

She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, stepping over Jenna, Dante and Linda, who were collapsed in a heap of limbs, lips and smiles. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other. I think it’s time the hostess had some attention.” They all laughed. Her pussy dampened again as she observed her husband eagerly licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.

She beckoned Jasper, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her robe, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.

Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.

Kathryn’s mouth hung open as her husband’s fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.

Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.

“Someone please fuck me.” Her voice was strained, and she wondered how much time she had left. Jasper stepped up. “As you wish m’lady” he whispered, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. He moved tenderly at first, at an angle. His head rubbed her g-spot just perfectly. She gazed into his bright eyes, her mouth still working James' prick. She clenched around him, coming hard.

Jasper quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately. Jenna laid next to her, her fingers finding Kathryn’s clit, rubbing it hard and fast.

James' cock popped out of Kathryn’s mouth as she cried out at the top of her lungs her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.

Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.

Thirty minutes earlier, in the study....

The party had been underway for a few hours. She had spent the last two enjoying Jasper's private ministrations. She was sure that no one had missed her. Cleaned up, and once again in her robe, she stood at the window.

“Kathryn, are you sure?” Jaspers voice was filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her, the two of them gazing at the city skyline.

“Yes Jasper. I’m exercising my right to choose. And I’m leaving on my terms.” Her hand held a crumpled doctor’s report, and she tossed it into the fireplace, where it joined a set of x-rays. She turned to him. “Three months I’ve been planning this. You promised. Please don’t abandon me now.”

She placed her cheek next to his. “Let me hear it. Just once before it’s over.”

He gazed into her eyes, and kissed her tenderly, with all the passion he could. “I love you Kathryn. I always will. I made you a promise. And I will not abandon you.” With that, he turned to mix her a drink. Handing her the snifter, he kissed her again.

“I’d like to be alone for a minute please Jasper.” Her voice broke, and he longed to hold her, to tell her this wasn’t the way. But her mind was made up.

“As you wish.” And with that, he turned and left her.

She gazed again at the beautiful skyline before her, caressing the snifter. She drained it viciously, resisting the urge to smash it in the fireplace. She had to remember, that this was what she wanted. In the safe were all the documents they’d need. They’d know why.

Yes, her friends would go through hell, at first. Roger would be devastated that she didn’t share this with him.

But they would forgive her, eventually. They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. And hers would be one they’d talk about for years to come.

*****

Whew! I know. Hard to choose. Take a minute. Then press the button!

XXX,
Alison

Where do we go now?

2011-02-21T06:53:00.001-08:00

Uh oh. We have a winner and we have a tie. This was a close race, as could be expected because we are down to the last four. What are we going to do? We're going to have a tie-breaker. How are we going to break the tie? We're going to vote! Why am I asking so many questions? Because I am in a giddy mood.

Here's what I'll do. I'll post a new poll and the two stories and we'll vote our asses off for the next 24 hours. Does that work? God, I hope so.

Oh, next question. Why am I giddy? Saskia Walker just posted that "With This Ring, I Thee Bed" is up for free review at Net Galley! Go see!

XXX,
Alison

Ready, Set, Vote!

2011-02-20T06:35:00.005-08:00

I'm running the poll until Sunday. Then we will know the final three writers in the first ever Smut Marathon! How fucking cool is that? What you need to do now is read the four entries below—each one was posted on a separate day. Then scroll back up and vote!

Good luck to all!

XXX,
Alison

Entry #4: Something Like Love

2011-02-20T06:35:00.003-08:00

First off, Happy Happy Happy! I love Valentine's Day! I'm a dinosaur. I like to cut out my own Valentine's. And use stickers. And glue. So happy to you and yours! Second off, here is the final story in second-to-last Smut Marathon challenge. Wow! I'm dead chuffed and all that. Tomorrow, I'll put up the poll. For now, enjoy the ride.

*****

The Subway
by Joss Lockwood

Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public can become wildly inappropriate and fast.

Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone around, but still. If it hadn't been for the rattle and hum they all would have heard my breath speed up, catch, come out: a sigh about to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I didn't control myself. The way your tongue thrust and withdrew had my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you held my face in both hands, the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth, which made me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right there, onlookers be damned…and then you pinched my nipple, secret, close to the wall where no one could see, and I gasped, trembling, lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.

And when we got home you made me wait, wait until I begged.

*****

Something Like Love
by Joss Lockwood

Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public - walking to the bagel store Sunday morning, say, or the train home after a night out - can become wildly inappropriate and fast.

Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away, to break off the kiss, to save it for later. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone on our car, but still. If it weren't for the rattle and hum they all would have been able to hear my breath speeding up, catching, coming out on a sigh that was going to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I wasn't careful. The way your tongue probes, circles, thrusts and withdraws…you've got my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you hold my face in both hands the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth. And that makes me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right now, and it's all I can do to stop myself, and then you pinch my nipple, close to the wall where no one can see, and I gasp. I'm trembling, I want you so badly. You start a rhythm with your lips and tongue on mine and I receive you into me greedily, gratefully, and it's silly but I’m actually lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.

Which is why, when you press the side of your hand edgeways into my crotch, I nearly stop breathing. You just leave it there for me to rub against. You know I won't be able to stop myself, and you're right. I try to move as little as possible but if anyone looks at me for longer than a glance they will see that I am rocking my pelvis against you like an animal in heat. I can feel you smile and I halfway hate you for it. Letting me make a spectacle of myself in a public place like this. Even if it's less obvious than I think it is and probably no one will even notice. It's downright mean is what it is, because you know I tend to get carried away. I can't be counted on to maintain any sort of decorum, so it's up to you to keep us out of trouble, and sometimes you decide to walk that line. Sometimes you tease me and get me all hot and bothered and position your hand just so in front of me, so that I can't help but lean into it.

I realize I'm going to come soon, and I panic just a little, because I don’t come quietly and have no poker face to speak of. If I've stayed undetected up until now, I may be just about to blow my cover.

I mumble something aloud which is supposed to alert you to this fact, but if it's words, I don't know what language they're in. I think maybe I'll bite down on your shoulder, bury my face in your chest.

And you snicker at me, at my lack of restraint and my unwillingness to delay these moments of pleasure. And you say low into my ear, "Can't even wait until we get home? Ten more minutes? Dirty little slut."

And it's as if you've touched me, the words affect me that much. I grit my teeth and groan – not too loudly, I hope. You're only making it worse, cranking up my arousal level another several notches with that one snide remark, the laughter, the label. I feel that prickle of goosebumps that precedes orgasm and shudder. My head tips back just a bit of its own accord, and you lean down to bite my neck, which often pushes me over the edge.

And that's when I feel it. Fingertips.

From behind me. Between my knees, just underneath the hem of my skirt. Gentle, skillful. Short strokes upward. Can't be yours, the direction is all wrong. I freeze, orgasm stopped dead in its tracks, animal lust replaced by animal fear. Who the fuck is that?

In the split second before I turn to look, a hand snakes into my hair, grasps at the roots and holds tight, immobilizing my head in its slightly upturned position. You glance at me for just a second and then fall back to devouring my neck, and that moment, realizing that you're not stopping, that this is okay with you – that it's maybe even part of a plan you've made? That moment makes me lose my mind just the tiniest bit. Without you setting limits, there may *be* no limits. Certainly I'm in no position to make decisions. I'm no longer aware of who else is in the train with us or if any of our behavior can possibly be construed as appropriate anymore. As soon as that other person touched me, crash zoom: my world shrank down to you, me, and him.

His fingers are still caressing the insides of my thighs, above my knees and slowly but steadily heading higher. God, is this total stranger going to start stroking my pussy right here in the middle of the subway? The idea is incredibly arousing but I'm not sure I can do it. I might have to stop this, stop you. It occurs to me that my knees are shaking, from excitement or nervousness, I'm not sure which. Your mouth is on my earlobe now, sucking insistently, and you're flicking my nipple repeatedly, setting up a rhythm that under normal circumstances would propel me straight back toward coming. But I'm jittery. Like an unswaddled newborn afraid of flying apart, I need to be contained, calmed. I realize I've grabbed your wrist, as if I might stop you. You sense my hesitation and murmur in my ear, "Hands behind your head."

And that's all it takes. I fleetingly consider refusing, but the truth is, I don't want this to stop, so I position my arms behind my head and grab my elbows, wincing just a bit at the conspicuousness of the pose but also loving the way it makes my tits jut forward. It makes me feel sexy, and helpless, and there's no more hesitation. I'm right there with you, ready for my fate, St. Sebastian waiting for the sting of the first arrow.

I can't see you with my head tipped back but again I hear the smile in your voice. "Good girl. Now spread your legs just a little for the nice man."

Can one's heart leap and stomach sink at the same time? I gulp. You want me even more obviously wanton, even more defenseless, than I already am? You twist a nipple hard in response, and the message is clear: Yes, you do. I take a breath that's almost a sob and widen my stance, not much, but enough, I think, for the man behind me to do whatever it is he's going to do. His fingers have almost, almost reached my labia, and the anticipation is intense. I desperately want him to touch me there, but think I might pass out if he does…

And he stops. Removes his hands from under my skirt and starts to maul me, grab me, take advantage of my body in its vulnerable state. He wraps one arm around my waist and draws me back to him, slams his crotch against my ass a few times, so perfectly emulating the rough fucking I crave that I almost cry out. He can tell, humps harder, and I push my pelvis back to meet his assault. I think, rather dimly, that everyone must have left the car by now or he wouldn't be acting so brazen, but the fact is that I don't know this guy, what he'd do or not do. He seems kind of crazy. Then again, none of us is indecent, so could we really get in too much trouble? And then all rational thought departs as he, in one swift motion, pushes forward on my shoulder blades, yanks up my skirt and hauls off and spanks me, hard. I fall forward into you, although I manage to keep hold of my elbows. I catch a quick glimpse of the expression on your face and know immediately that this was not part of the plan. You're clearly surprised, and a bit taken aback, but you've also got that gleam in your eyes that I know so well. The one that means I'm in for it.

I lose some of the details at that point in the chemical haze of adrenaline, endorphins, and hormones. He spanks me, not to my absolute limit, but close. You hold me, push your fingers into my mouth at first, then cover my mouth as I get nearer to an out-and-out howl. And then, without warning, the guy abruptly pulls my panties down to mid-thigh, exposing me to anyone who's still nearby, and plunges two fingers into my pussy, which is so ridiculously wet that they slide in without any resistance. And it is so exactly what I have wanted that it's a good thing your hand is still over my mouth because I let out a shriek, and I tense for the inevitable orgasm that always comes with penetration for me…but he pulls out just as suddenly as he thrust in. And I’m left gasping, gaping, empty and clenching around nothing. I whimper. You help me straighten up, and we're back where we started, you and I facing each other with him standing behind me. You look faintly puzzled, but not displeased. I have the distinct feeling again that this wasn't exactly the way it was supposed to go.

But the man behind me says, "Now then," as if we'd been in the middle of a civilized conversation and been rudely interrupted. And he slides his hands back up under my skirt, just as he had before, although with my panties still around my knees I can't open my legs as far as I would like. There's less teasing this time, though, and soon he's got both hands rubbing, kneading, pulling on my pussy lips, spreading me open and teasing my slit, and I'm panting and moaning and writhing and wanting wanting wanting his fingers back in me, god why won't he fuck me, I need something inside me, and you. Your hands, your fingers, join his, but from the front, and now there are four hands on me and I am making noise and there are no extra hands to stifle my voice now and I'm dizzy and on tiptoes and you sink your fingers deep into my cunt and it's like an electric current shoots through my whole body, the hair on the top of my head practically stands on end it's so good and my toes curl and you kiss me hard and sweet, the heel of your other hand grinding against my clit, and the other man is groping my ass, reaching around front to roll and twist my nipples, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck…and then. And then. With the same hands, obviously, that he thrashed me with earlier, he gently pries apart my ass cheeks (which makes me arch my back, some primal instinct telling my body to open up and get fucked like a good girl, like a bad girl, like no kind of girl at all, like a woman), and begins to circle my asshole with his thumb. So slowly. It makes. Me. Crazy. Goddammit it makes me throw my head back and groan. You still have your fingers in my pussy and you aren't pounding into me, you are probing me the same way your tongue probes me when you kiss me, like there's no part of me you don't want to know, you want to see it all, touch it all, you want me laid open to you as if I was a particularly rare specimen and you were the world's foremost expert, and oh, god, what you do to me, you're doing that thing you do, I don't know if it's my g-spot or something else but I know no one ever found it before you, and I'm coming – and right then, he slides into me the tiniest bit, and one of you must have lube because his finger is wet, and each stroke goes a little bit farther into my ass, and it seems so simple – a finger in my ass, fingers in my pussy – that it's just silly that I've never had this done to me before, but I haven't and I've always wanted to and in and in and in until he can't push any farther, he's got his finger in me to the hilt, and it suddenly occurs to me, of course: You know that this is a fantasy of mine. Why didn't I recognize it earlier?

Now I remember telling you months ago, blushing furiously, that I didn't really have any shame about watching most porn, probably because most of what I watch is pretty "normal." Hardcore, definitely, but nothing all that extreme. But there is one thing I sometimes watch but had never admitted to anyone because it just seemed, well, wrong to be excited by. "It's, um," couldn't even look you in the face when I told you, "this Japanese porn where the girl's getting sort of manhandled by a group of guys." I swallowed, cleared my throat. (Why was I even telling you this? It's not like you had to know every single one of my fantasies, after all. But for some reason I was fessing up.) "It's always public places, mostly on trains. And there are just all these hands, and a lot of groping, and kind of fingers coming from all directions and stuff." I was aware that I was getting wet, but I wasn't sure if it was the fantasies themselves or the fact that I was revealing myself to you that was making me more worked up. "And, I don't know. She pushes the guys off at first, but then she's outnumbered, she can't stop them or get away and they finger her and shove their cocks into her mouth and fuck her, right there on the train car. And she makes a show of resisting, which, you know, is part of why I find it kind of disturbing, but it's also pretty obvious that she's coming by the end, and, I don't know…they turn me on," I finished sheepishly. And you had very casually said you'd have to check them out sometime and that was the last we ever said about it.

And now that his finger's fully buried inside me the two of you really start to work me over, and I am sweating and shaking and trying not to scream and talking about god the way atheists do in the throes of orgasm and I desperately want your cock in my mouth and beg you for it even but you say we have to wait and I want that stranger to fuck me but you say maybe another time and I know you're going to take me home and fuck my ass when we get off the train and then, like the two of you had arranged a signal or something – maybe you did – you each add a finger and I come so hard I see stuff, and that's when I can't make words anymore and the two of you practically have to hold me up because my legs give out. And when my vision clears the first thing I see is the complete delight on your face – it's close to joy, if one can feel joy vicariously, but no, a little less serene; glee, that's the word, like you can't wait to see what I do next, like I'm your own personal source of entertainment, just here for your amusement, wind her up and watch her go – and that's when I know that while you and I may not be monogamous or forever and while we scrupulously avoid making dramatic, hackneyed pronouncements, that's when I know that this is something like love.

I think I like this better.

*****

XXX,
Alison

Entry #3: Fucked to Death

2011-02-20T06:34:00.003-08:00

Aren't these photos by Riendo amazing? I could spend hours flickering through her flickr site. I end up wanting to own the images as postcards or prints — to send to friends or to paste on my wall.

Here is entry #3 in the second to last contest of the Smut Marathon! There will be one more story posted and then the poll goes up. I'm on the edge of my seat this time. How about you?

*****

Fucked to Death
by Angell Brooks

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.

Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs, as police questioned the guests in attendance. Faces tear stained, bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty. Which one poisoned the naked socialite?

Earlier....

She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, where her guests were in various states of undress and intoxication. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other.” They all laughed. Katherine’s pussy dampened as she observed her husband licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.

She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her nightgown, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.

Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.

Katherine’s mouth hung open as her husbands fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.

Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.

“Someone fuck her.” A disembodied voice reached her ears, and she nodded eagerly. Jasper stepped up, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. She gazed into his bright eyes and nodded. At that, he quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately, his finger flicking her clit.

Katherine’s pussy clenched, her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.

Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.

The start of the night...

As Katherine surveyed the skyline from the darkened study, she caressed the snifter of brandy she carried, before draining it viciously. She wanted this. She would live in infamy.

They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. And hers would be one they’d talk about for years to come.

*****

Fucked to Death (redux)
by Angell Brooks

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.

Cops milled around the penthouse apartment, in the most exclusive residence in the city. Many of the uniformed officers gazed in awe and wonder at the twenty foot high ceilings, forgetting, for just a moment, that they were there to investigate a crime. A fact that Detective Johnson wasn’t about to let them forget.

“Parker!” One of the rookies jumped at the sound of Johnson’s bark, blushing beet red at having been caught studying the artwork that adorned the walls. “Get your rookie ass over here.” He rushed over to stand in front of him, slipping briefly on the glossy wood floors. He righted himself, looking down at what he could have slipped in. Johnson bent down, marking the spot for the CSI team to follow. But a closer glance told him what he needed to know – semen.

He stood, fixing Officer Parker with a pointed stare. “Parker, this is a crime scene. Need I remind you?” Parker vehemently shook his head. “No sir; not at all sir.”

“Well then stop looking like a kid on a field trip and GET MOVING!” Parker scurried off to speak to the nearest guest, and Johnson turned to M.E. Dawson. “Joe, what the hell happened here?” Dawson shrugged.

“Beats me Lou. But I don’t mind saying I wish I’d been invited.” They both stood in silence as the paramedics rolled the body by on the stretcher. Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs. Joe spoke again. “T.O.D. is approximately two hours ago. Levitity hasn’t set in yet. No signs of violence on the body. There’s no reason to suspect foul play.”

Johnson almost sighed with relief. Natural causes would mean that he could avoid the publicity and scandal that the murder of a high profile figure would bring. He was breathing normally, glad he could avoid pulling out his ever-present pack of antacids (incredibly cliché he knew but the job was hell). Until, with almost comedic timing, one of the uniforms came rushing up to him, a brandy snifter cradled carefully in his gloved hand.

“Detective! I found this in the study. At first I thought it was no big deal, but take a whiff.” Johnson carefully accepted the glass, sniffing the interior. He almost groaned out loud. Beneath the scent of the very expensive liquor, was a trace of bitter almonds.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, passing the glass back to the uniform. “Joe, make sure you do a complete tox panel. Looks like it might have been murder after all.”
Johnson looked around at the scene before him, and shook his head in disbelief. Throughout the room, officers had separated the guests, questioning each one as to the events of the evening.

Faces tear stained, naked bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty.

Which one poisoned the naked socialite? And why?

Earlier....

Kathryn DeLong lounged in the entrance way, a slight smile on her ruby lips. Her nipples hardened under the silken folds of her robe. The scene in front of her was one of decadence, of debauchery, of blatant sexual fantasies.

Tonight was going to be her finest party ever.

The invitations had caused quite the stir, just as she’d intended; simple black on white, with the big, bold letters at the bottom – CLOTHING OPTIONAL. She’d left instructions downstairs with the concierge to keep them all waiting in the lobby until the entire guest list had arrived. Then, and only then, were the dozen special friends allowed into the private elevator which brought them up to paradise.

The looks on their faces when they entered the ballroom was priceless to her. The video cameras set up around the penthouse captured everything for her personal entertainment. Her staff, dressed in only silk robes, approached them, removing their outerwear and revealing all of them in their beautiful, naked glory. None were shy – the swingers club they all belonged to had taught them long ago to be comfortable with their bodies.

Two other staff members appeared, armed with Kathryn’s version of kiddies loot bags. She had tailor made each one to fit. The cries and laughter as they were opened were classic. Dildos, vibrators, lubes, restraints, ticklers – it looked like she had bought out the entire sex shop.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, Kat’s husband Roger hit a few buttons on the remote he held. The huge production began – the music started, the three screens on the walls started playing pornography, and the lights dimmed. “Ladies and gentlemen – pick your partners and let the games begin.”

They all stood around, suddenly unsure of themselves. Denise pulled a long deep purple vibrator out of her goodie bag, and moved to the center of the room. “Well, if no one wants to fuck me, I guess I’m going to have to do it myself.” She slouched down on one of the leather couches facing the large screen, where a woman was getting her pussy pounded by another woman in a strap on. “And now, THAT is inspiring.”

Turning the vibrator on low, she lightly ran it over her nipples, moaning at the sensations as they stiffened into tight peaks. Moving it down her body, she slid it up between her lips, teasing her moist hole with the tip. Her audience watched, enraptured by her facial expressions as she slowly inserted it inch by inch, only to withdraw it just as slowly. Tony approached her, kneeling in front of her, massaging her thighs, his faces inches from the action. His head bobbed in closer with every thrust, his tongue flicking out to lick her lips.

Everyone unfroze at that moment. Roger grabbed Kathryn, pulling her into a passionate kiss. His hands roamed her body, pushing the folds of her robe open. She moaned as his fingers made his way down to her mound, gently tapping at her lilt. Her hands found his stiff cock, stroking it in the way that she knew would drive him crazy. She dropped to her knees, licking around his bulbous head, which was slowly turning the same colour as Denise’s vibrator. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the slit and she whisked it away with her tongue. One hand massaged his balls, which were tight against his shaft, and the other moved around to tickle between his ass cheeks.

He bucked, thrusting himself further into her mouth. Her tongue flattened out, licking him in broad strokes from base to head. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding her steady while he fucked her face. Her cheeks caved as she increased the suction. Swirling her tongue as he thrust, she could tell he was ready to explode. When it came to fucking her, he could go for hours, but for some reason, with blow jobs he turned back into a pre-pubescent teenage boy and was quick to come.

Which was fine with Kathryn. As hostess, there was much still to do, and some important details she couldn’t leave to the staff. She would come later. With a strangled cry, he thrust one final time, and she tasted him as the milky stream hit the back of her throat. Without losing a single drop, she drank him all in. He helped her to her feet, kissing her passionately once again, his tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth for remnants of him.

She smiled coyly at him as he sank into the sofa next to Denise, who had abandoned the vibrator for the real thing. She was bent over, her hands resting on the sofa back, as Tony rammed into her from behind. Roger lay beneath her, his fingers ticking her clit, and his mouth fastening to her nipples as her tits swung free.

In another corner, Tony’s wife and her best friend Sarah were engaged in a rather hot soixante-neuf, with their husbands watching, while stroking the other’s hard on. It made for an incredibly erotic tableau, and Kathryn wished she could keep that image with her forever. Then she gave a little laugh. She would.

She sat and watched the debauchery unfolding before her. There were dildos and vibrators strewn all over the room, glistening with juices and lube. She watched with great interest while Maxine got set in her strap on, using a generous amount of lube. She pushed her boyfriend Ken onto all fours, kneeling behind him. Massaging his asshole, she then forced the lubed up cock into his tight tunnel. Kens face contorted in pain for a brief moment. Then, as Maxie developed a slow rhythm, his jaw went slack, and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Kathryn could hear him grunting as Maxie muttered to him "You like this? You like me fucking you?"

"Yes." He gasped. She reached forward, entangling her hand in his shoulder length hair. Pulling his neck back, she thrust harder. "That's my bitch. Take it you slut." Kathryn giggled.

She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler and constant sexual companion, over to her side. He had provided many nights of pleasure to both her and Roger over the years, but he held a special place in her heart. In fact, she would say she loved him. But Jasper was British, and extremely proper. Providing services for his employers was in his job description, and yes, perhaps he had grown fond of his lady over time. And although he knew of her feelings for him, he would never, in a million years, admit to loving her back.

But it was there, in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he bowed his head as he said “As you wish” after she would ask him to do something for her. “Jasper.” She whispered into his ear, and led him off by the hand. No one noticed as they slipped out of the room. She brought him into the study, closing the door softly behind them.

The staff watched the scene before them in fascination. The DeLong’s often hosted dinner parties, and once in a while, had others over for a “couple’s party”, but never anything to this extent. Cocks swelled, pussies grew wet, and with raised eyebrows and exchanged looks, the staff sent the message that they planned on partaking of each other in the same fashion once the night was over.
Jenna, in the middle of the floor, humping her way to her fifth self-induced orgasm on the bearskin rug, noticed the silent communication between them, and the tents in the robes of the male staff. She beckoned the two closest to her, one male and one female, and raised herself onto all fours. “Kneel down behind me please.” She asked the male nicely, her voice dripping with honey. She indicated the female to lie in front of her. Looking over her shoulder, she wiggled her ass, and handed him a condom. “Fuck me honey. Use that hard on of yours. No sense letting it go to waste.” She then faced the girl in front of her. “Lie down and spread them for me. I’m dying to eat some pussy.”

They tried not to show their shock as they did as she asked. It was Linda’s first party here, having only been employed for two months, and she would never have expected this. Dante had been around for a while and was a little less shocked. But nevertheless, the help had never been invited to join in before. But it looked like it was to be a night for firsts.
Linda gasped as Jenna’s tongue touched her clit. It wasn’t her first time being eaten, but it had never been by a woman. And she moaned as that talented tongue delved deep into her cunt, fucking her like a mini cock.

Dante was absorbed by the scene that was playing out in front of him, so much so that he almost forgot what he was supposed to do. Almost. His cock head nudged Jenna’s lips open, timidly at first. But when she thrust her perfect ass up against him, he lost all thought and shoved his seven inches full into her. Once sheathed in her moist heat, he began shallow movements, rocking against her without withdrawing. She cried out, the sound lost between Linda’s thighs.

The door to the study opened again, and Jasper, his eyes wet, hurried from the room. Five minutes passed before it opened again. Kathryn stood there,taking in the scene before her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sounds of pleasure and lust. She took a deep breath, and glanced at her watch. Almost midnight. In twenty minutes, it would be Valentine’s Day.

She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, stepping over Jenna, Dante and Linda, who were collapsed in a heap of limbs, lips and smiles. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other. I think it’s time the hostess had some attention.” They all laughed. Her pussy dampened again as she observed her husband eagerly licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.

She beckoned Jasper, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her robe, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.

Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.

Kathryn’s mouth hung open as her husband’s fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.

Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.

“Someone please fuck me.” Her voice was strained, and she wondered how much time she had left. Jasper stepped up. “As you wish m’lady” he whispered, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. He moved tenderly at first, at an angle. His head rubbed her g-spot just perfectly. She gazed into his bright eyes, her mouth still working James' prick. She clenched around him, coming hard.

Jasper quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately. Jenna laid next to her, her fingers finding Kathryn’s clit, rubbing it hard and fast.

James' cock popped out of Kathryn’s mouth as she cried out at the top of her lungs her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.

Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.

Thirty minutes earlier, in the study....

The party had been underway for a few hours. She had spent the last two enjoying Jasper's private ministrations. She was sure that no one had missed her. Cleaned up, and once again in her robe, she stood at the window.

“Kathryn, are you sure?” Jaspers voice was filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her, the two of them gazing at the city skyline.

“Yes Jasper. I’m exercising my right to choose. And I’m leaving on my terms.” Her hand held a crumpled doctor’s report, and she tossed it into the fireplace, where it joined a set of x-rays. She turned to him. “Three months I’ve been planning this. You promised. Please don’t abandon me now.”

She placed her cheek next to his. “Let me hear it. Just once before it’s over.”

He gazed into her eyes, and kissed her tenderly, with all the passion he could. “I love you Kathryn. I always will. I made you a promise. And I will not abandon you.” With that, he turned to mix her a drink. Handing her the snifter, he kissed her again.

“I’d like to be alone for a minute please Jasper.” Her voice broke, and he longed to hold her, to tell her this wasn’t the way. But her mind was made up.

“As you wish.” And with that, he turned and left her.

She gazed again at the beautiful skyline before her, caressing the snifter. She drained it viciously, resisting the urge to smash it in the fireplace. She had to remember, that this was what she wanted. In the safe were all the documents they’d need. They’d know why.

Yes, her friends would go through hell, at first. Roger would be devastated that she didn’t share this with him.

But they would forgive her, eventually. They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. And hers would be one they’d talk about for years to come.

*****

XXX,
Alison

Entry #2: Overtime

2011-02-20T06:34:00.001-08:00

Just like yesterday, I am going to put the short version first, and then the revise. This isn't an empty exercise that I asked the writers to do. Some of my best stories were ones I revisited and expanded. "On Finding Jon's Porn" is one. If I remember right, Raymond Chandler has a short story and a novel with the same name/theme. But it's early — I can't trust the memory right now.

*****

Overtime
by May Deva

"What are you doing here?"

I shrieked, and jumped up from my desk. It was Friday night, everyone had left hours ago.

"You said you needed the Bernson report first thing Monday morning."

My boss had materialized out of nowhere, my incredibly hot boss who was leaning against my door, looking me up and down. I was obviously hallucinating.

"i didn't realize I put such pressure on you, Susan. Dedication should be rewarded." He moved across my office, watching me closely.

The backs of my thighs touched the desk behind me as his lips touched mine. Dreaming, I was dreaming. He kissed me like he did in every fantasy I had about him. Hot, wet, demanding, delicious.

His hand slid up my thigh. I felt him grin against my lips.

"I knew you'd wear stockings with no panties, dirty girl."

He reclaimed my lips as his fingers slid into my cunt, thumb slipping across my clit. I groaned against him, shoved myself into his hand and rocked between those devious fingers and my desk. The orgasm roared out of nowhere, enveloped me before I could register the occurrence. I poured it into his mouth like wine, reeling and moaning.

"How many nights have you worked so late on my behalf?"

I tried to unscramble my brain quickly.

"Uhm - maybe 20?"

"Hmm." his hand returned to its place between my legs "I really owe you. It's gonna be a long night."

I grinned back, and settled onto the desk.

"Anytime."

*****

Overtime - redux

"What are you doing here?"

I shrieked, and jumped up from my desk. It was Friday night, everyone had left hours ago.

"You said you needed the Bernson report first thing Monday morning."

My boss had materialized out of nowhere, my incredibly hot boss who was leaning against my door, looking me up and down. I was obviously hallucinating.

"I didn't realize I put such pressure on you, Susan. Dedication should be rewarded." He moved across my office, watching me closely.

The backs of my thighs touched the desk behind me as his lips touched mine. Dreaming, I was dreaming. He kissed me like he did in every fantasy I had about him. Hot, wet, demanding, delicious.

His hand slid up my thigh. I felt him grin against my lips.

"I knew you'd wear stockings with no panties, dirty girl."

He reclaimed my lips as his fingers slid into my cunt, thumb slipping across my clit. I groaned against him, shoved myself into his hand and rocked between those devious fingers and my desk. The orgasm roared out of nowhere, enveloped me before I could register the occurrence. I
poured it into his mouth like wine, reeling and moaning.

"How many nights have you worked so late on my behalf?"

I tried to unscramble my brain quickly.

"Uhm - maybe 20?"

"Hmm." his hand returned to its place between my legs "I really owe you. It's gonna be a long night."

Susan woke with a groan. Another night, another dream about her boss. When would it stop? She never mixed business with pleasure, which made him completely off-limits from the get-go, never mind the obvious fact that he was way out of her league. That didn't stop her over-active libido from inserting him into almost every dream she'd had for months. Thoughts of his lush dark hair chased her out from under the warm covers and into the shower. His eyes, dark and full of promise, stalked her shower fantasies and challenged her to come yet again. It was a disturbing pattern that had developed since she started working with Nathan Drake six months ago. She was professional, never let her guard down enough to show even a glimmer of her attraction, but he spent every night in her dreams and every morning in her shower.

Sighing, she turned the water off. After towelling off, she pinned her hair up quickly and began to dress. Her standard attire wasn't exactly attention-getting: dark suits, pale blouses and pumps. She felt that in order to be taken seriously in marketing research, she needed to to not only be professional but unattainable. At least, until recently. Briefcase in hand, she swigged the remains of her coffee and headed to the office, three blocks away.

"Good Morning Tamera. Anything I need to know?"

Susan took a sheaf of paper from her assistant, turning towards her office door. Balancing her coffee mug, she twisted the lever and bumped the door open with her hip. Tamera followed her.

"Well, everything is status quo for now. You have a 1 o'clock with Mr. Drake and Mr. Gardiner, and the final analysis on the Bernsen survey should be ready before quitting time."

Susan's mind shot back to her dream and she blushed slightly. "Thanks. Please bring me the report as soon as you get it. I'll take it home tonight and pick it apart. The usual place for the 1 o'clock?"

"Yep, Amarone." One of the partners owned a rather upscale restaurant nearby, which made for convenient lunch meetings. Tamera grinned at her boss. "Tonight, huh? No other plans? That stuff just puts me to sleep after dinner."

"No plans, and if it bored me I'd be in the wrong job for sure!" Susan smiled back.

"Indeed it would."

A male voice caused them both to jump. Leaning against the doorframe was the object of her sleepless nights and hotter showers than water could provide. Susan flushed again as Tamera scooted past him and back to her desk.

"Nathan, good morning. What can I do for you?"

She winced, mentally, realizing that she sounded cold and a little hostile. Offering a small smile in compensation, she watched his lips curve in response and was reminded of her dream.

"Just confirming our date."

She knew what he meant, but her body deliberately ignored the reality and she was aware of her panties becoming damp. Oh for pete's sake! She really had to get a grip on this crush, it was taking on a life of its own.

"Yes, yes of course. I'm throughly prepared, Nathan, everything is in place. Thank you for asking."

He pushed off the doorframe and smirked, dampening her panties further.

"I wasn't worried about your preparedness, Susan. I wanted to be sure you'd be there, a meeting with Gardiner is damned boring without someone to perk him up and you seem to be one of his favourites these days. See you at Amarone."

He was gone before she could frame a reply. She shook her head, bemused and slightly annoyed at herself. The rest of the morning tripped by, punctuated by minor disturbances and mundane tasks. Eating with Nathan would be challenging, as everything he did had sensual undertones as far as she was concerned. However, she was nothing if not professional, and she would make sure it wasn't ever detectable in her behaviour.

"James, Nathan, good to see you both."

She offered her hand to them each in turn, then settled into her chair. Amarone was one of her favourite restaurants, the chef was brilliant and the surrounding were luxurious and peaceful. She scanned the menu briefly, then ordered the house specialty and namesake - chicken amarone with grilled vegetables. The two men did likewise. Once the food had been served, business got underway. Susan offered input where appropriate, trying not to watch the silky noodles slide their way between Nathan's lips. She was more than relieved when the meeting was deemed over, he had sucked, sipped and licked his way into weeks of her fantasies. Lord, when had a lunch meeting ever been so fraught with sex? The way he fingered his shirt cuff when he was considering a point, how he always closed his eyes and inhaled before taking a sip of wine. Sexy as hell, and utterly distracting.

"You'll be at the gala on Saturday, Susan?" As she stood, James brought the approaching client-based gala to her attention.

"Yes, James, of course. I'm certainly looking forward to seeing yourself and Karen."

"Will we be meeting any lucky young man?" He winked as he posed the question. James was twice her age, he and his wife had shown almost parental concern for her since the day she was hired.

"Actually, Susan has graciously agreed to accompany me on Saturday. We both felt it prudent to place business above pleasure for the evening. Although, escorting Susan is hardly unpleasant." Smiling, Nathan turned to her, placing his hand on the small of her back as they moved away from the table.

"Excellent idea! I look forward to sharing a table in that case. Until Saturday then." James waved as he exited the restaurant.

Susan waited until they were outside before she turned on Nathan.

"What was that? I suppose you've never heard of asking first? Honestly, Nathan!"

"Actually, I was wondering if we could make this a standing offer. I've yet to meet any woman who thinks these business galas are much fun, and you seem to have the same problem with men, if you'll excuse my notice. It makes sense, we would need to touch base with the same people anyway. Would you consider it? It would take a lot of the pressure off for me."

Susan pretended that she wasn't considering all of the ways she'd like to take pressure of for him. Pretended that every fibre of her being was doing the can-can of joy with the thought of regular "dates" with Nathan Drake. Her face betrayed none of her thoughts as she accepted his offer.

"Thank you, Nathan. It would take a lot of pressure off me as well." And add a whole ton of problems! her inner voice screeched. "Let's consider it a standing date then." She smiled, hoping it looked normal and not as manic as she felt.

"Great! I'll pick you up around 8, if you'll give me your address."

Holy mother-of-god, what wouldn't I give you? The key to my apartment? My now-sopping underwear? Head, on my knees in this elevator? Yes, yes and oh hell yes. Beating back her inner slut, she texted the address to his phone. Parting ways at the front desk, he thanked her and
disappeared into his office. Then realization hit. She had a date with Nathan! For a gala, that she had not yet bothered to shop for! She groaned, shopping was far from her favourite thing to do. She had a few dresses that would do, but not for Nathan. She shut the door to her office, signalling Tamera that she was busy and not to be disturbed.

An hour later, Susan was nowhere near deciding what to do. She called Tamera into her office, motioning for her to close the door. Her assistant was a clotheshorse, very up on all the latest fashions and where to buy them. It was a little embarrassing to ask for help, but better than showing up on Saturday in something completely inappropriate. She explained the situation quickly, not wanting to give the impression that she was trying to dress for Nathan's benefit.

Tamera squealed, excitement lighting her face. "Susan, I know exactly where we need to go! If we went straight after work, we could have this done and dusted tonight. Do you have time?"

Four hours later, they sat in a small wine bar toasting their shopping prowess. Tamera had found a small boutique not far from the office on a previous shopping trip, filled with up and coming young designers. Susan tried several dresses that were lovely, but settled on a shimmering silvery-white halter necked gown that fit her beautifully. It made her feel more sexy than she had in a long time, the fabric slithered around her body as she moved, sensitizing her skin. Strappy sandals and a small clutch in gold tones completed the outfit.

"Thanks Tamera, I really owe you. I wouldn't have been nearly that lucky if I'd shopped on my own." Lifting her glass, she toasted their success.

"Oh Susan, my pleasure! Nathan Drake will die when he sees you in that dress!" Tamera giggled, very pleased with herself.

"Sus..." Her named died on his lips as she opened the door to her apartment.

"Nathan, you look very handsome this evening." Handsome was an understatement. A Greek god perhaps, a walking ad for GQ certainly. It had taken every shred of her patience to wait for this night. How in the world would she contain herself?

"You are gorgeous, Susan, absolutely...wow." He looked stunned. After a moment, he gathered himself and smiled. "I apologize, having only seen you in business suits, well, this is quite a change."

Laughing, she picked up her clutch and wrap. "No apology necessary, I'm glad you like it. Shall we go?"

The gala was crowded, noisy, typical. Nathan was very attentive, a perfect date. Dinner was served, speeches were given, conversations flowed around her while Susan tried hard to remember that this was business. Damn him for being so hot! When the band struck the first chord of the evening, he urged her to her feet, ignoring her protests about not dancing well. His hands burned through the thin material, every cell in her body was attuned to his proximity. They danced well together, moving effortlessly across the floor. As the song ended, she pulled back and caught an odd look on his face, thoughtful yet somehow dark. They returned to the table and after a few minutes, Susan excused herself to the ladies room. As she was touching up her
lipstick, from the inner room floated a voice she knew was familiar.

"Can you believe? Everyone knows he's gay, who does he think he's kidding? I guess she's so desperate that even providing cover for him looks good." Jaina, from accounting. Susan knew she was a notorious slut, wondered who they were referring to.

"Didn't you date him though?" A voice she couldn't place.

"One date, then he told me I just wasn't his type. Figures, the gorgeous ones are all married or gay. Nathan Drake has no more interest in that cold fish than I do, mark my words."

Susan froze, watched the colour leave her face in the mirror. Oh god no! He wasn't gay. Was he? Did that explain the odd look on the dance floor? Did he really ask her to accompany him as a cover? Oh fuck, of course he did! Feeling sick to her stomach, she fled the bathroom and
ought refuge in a small court garden off the ballroom.

How could she have missed it? What a complete fool she'd been. Ever the pragmatist, she began to plot how to cover her stupidity and escape the situation with some shred of dignity. After a few minutes, she composed herself and walked back to their table. Nathan looked up as she approached, gave her a smile that weakened her knees, and stood up.

"I was starting to miss you, everything alright?" He said quietly.

"I am so sorry, but I have a terrible headache." She spoke for the benefit of the table, not just him. "I've called a cab, please enjoy your evening." She collected her things and began to leave.

Catching up with her at the door, he took her arm, stopping her for a moment. " Susan, are you ok? This is nonsense, let me take you home."

"No, Nathan. There's work to be done in there, I won't take you away from that. A cab is just fine, I really need to rest."

After extracting a promise to take things easy, he put her in a cab and said goodnight. As she headed toward home, she began to cry, cursing her stupidity and wondering how she was going to cope. Nathan Drake had to exit her fantasy world, and she had to deal with reality.

Monday morning was tough. After a weekend of highs and lows, Susan was tired and grumpy. Tamera was dying for details, but Susan couldn't possibly repeat what she'd overheard. Instead, she offered a story that was mostly accurate but ended with "simply incompatible." Tamera was incredulous, but accepted the tweaked version well.

Over the course of the week, Nathan seemed to stop by her office more frequently than he had. Every time he appeared, she was left feeling down and wondering why he had chosen her to be his "cover". Worse, she realized that she was still attracted to him, regardless of what she'd
overheard. This lead to her being far more short tempered than normal, to the point that Tamera suggested Midol had a new formula she might like to try. By mid-week, people were treading carefully around her.

Late that afternoon, she snapped at Nathan about some recent survey statistics. Eyebrows were raised, but no one spoke up. The next morning, when Nathan appeared in her doorway, she snatched up a file and stalked around him to the outer offices, offering no explanation for her sudden departure. The Bernsen report was due to be handed off that afternoon, which meant more exposure to him.

"Here." She tossed the file on the desk between them. "You don't need me there to hand this off. I'm just marketing, it's not necessary."

Nathan stood up quickly, ignoring the file. "Susan, what's going on? You've barely spoken to me since Saturday, and when you do it seems like an effort on your part. Care to clue me in?"

She stared at him for a moment, weighed her options. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Nathan. Everything is as it should be. Thank you for your concern." Her voice carried the frost of a glacier.

Turning on her heel, she fled his office, afraid that she would spill what she knew if he asked one more question. As she strode past the boardroom, a hand grabbed her elbow and yanked her roughly inside, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Ok Susan, that's it! I've tried in every way I can to find out what the fuck I did wrong on Saturday night. I thought we had a nice time, but apparently it's turned you in to the wicked bitch of the west! Either you tell me now or I swear I'll turn you over my knee like the brat you're being lately."

Oh he was really mad, and really hot. Susan realized, with despair, that her body was responding to him as always. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to figure a way to diffuse the situation without telling him the truth. Her eyes snapped open when she felt him grab her again.

"What..."

"I warned you Susan."

He yanked her skirt up as he bent her over the boardroom table. Stunned, she lay there watching the shiny surface fog with her breath. The first slap jolted her, snapped her back to reality. Nathan had just smacked her ass in the boardroom! Before she could find her voice, he delivered another blow.

"Nathan, I..." His hand connected soundly, leaving a stinging warmth. She could feel the heat between her legs growing with each slap.

"What, Susan? What would you like to say?" slap "An apology maybe?" slap "That would be a good start." slap

She could hear him breathing hard. He smoothed his hand down over her ass, soothing the burn and egging it on at the same time. His fingers dipped lower, found the evidence of her desire. Her cheeks burned with shame. Now he knew. She couldn't pretend any more. When his fingers found her clit, she gasped, the sharp spasm arching her back and thrusting her more firmly onto his hand. He drew circles while leaning over and whispering in her ear.

"Do you know how fucking hot you were Saturday night? That amazing dress, every guy in the place was eyeballing you. You didn't even notice, did you? You're so damned sexy, Susan, even in these suits you can't hide it."

She moaned, past caring if they got caught, it felt so good. His devious fingers kept tracing patterns as he continued.

"Are you close, baby? These sounds you're making, I think you are. You know, I just knew you wouldn't be wearing panties, dirty girl."

His words shot straight to her cunt, dredging up her fantasies and bringing them to fruition. Stifling a scream against her arm, she shuddered and came, exploding on his fingertips.

"Are you ok?" His voice carried concern, and something more. He moved his hand slowly up her hip.

She nodded, flexing her thighs and piecing herself back together. It was time to explain herself and hope he had some answers. What just happened sure didn't fit into her ideas about gay men.

"Nathan, I'm sorry..."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have been more direct with you from the start. I have to admit, I've never worked so hard to get a woman to notice me before. You have been driving me crazy since the moment I first laid eyes on you. What happened on Saturday? I thought we were really getting somewhere..."

She had risen from the table and laid a finger across his lips. Carefully, she repeated the story she'd overheard, with a dawning realization of the admission he'd just made.

"Gay??? She said I was gay?" He burst into laughter. "She wanted sex, I turned her down because I was already so hooked on you. Susan, I am so not gay."

He pressed himself against her hip, let her feel the length of his cock. "Would I be this hard for you if I were?"

Her hand slipped slowly down the front of his pants. He wanted her! She leaned into him, brushing his lips with her own. A voice outside the door brought them both back to earth, composing themselves as James Gardiner opened the door.

"Nathan, Susan, are you ready for the Bernson report?"

Nathan recovered first. "Certainly, we were just discussing some marketing strategy. Susan, I believe the report is in my office? I need to get my jacket."

She nodded, excusing herself to the ladies room. In the hallway, he stopped her again.

"Have dinner with me tonight. We need to talk, away from here."

"Absolutely"

"Besides, you owe me one." He winked, and walked down the hall.

Susan grinned, and began plotting her payback. She had a feeling this was the start of something good, indeed.

*****

Back tomorrow with Entry #3!

XXX,
Alison

Smut Marathon — Round 10

2011-02-20T06:33:00.001-08:00

For Smut Marathon, Round 10, I asked the writers to revisit a story they'd written for an earlier challenge.

This is what I told them:

First off—wow! Aren’t you all pleased? You are the final four! There will be two more challenges and then we’ll have first, second, and third place winners for the Smut Marathon 2010/2011! Woo and also hoo!

Now to the fun part. For challenge #10, I’m asking you to revisit one of the stories you wrote in the first eight challenges. Take your choice of stories and extend the piece to a full-length: 2500-3500K.

Why? Because as a writer, I believe editing is one of the most important skills you can have. Where could you have put more description? What dialogue is missing? How can you make the piece more exciting?

The writers have turned in their pieces, and since the stories are so long, I'd like to post each one individually — leave the story up for a few days — then post the next. Then I'll run the poll. I'm posting the pieces in the order received. I also am posting the stories with the authors' names, because we'd revealed previously which author wrote each short one. Here is the first — drum roll, please! I'm going to post the original story first, and then the revised and expanded piece second.

*****

In the Middle
by Emma Hillman

“Just a little bit more, honey,” Joe said, his fingers clenching on her hips.

“I…” she gasped. “I don’t know.”

“Just breathe, darling,” Dylan’s breath brushed her overly warm face. “Let go.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she growled. She was out of her depth here, sandwiched between the two men. It had sounded like a great idea; that is until they’d actually started doing it. And now she was stuck, her pussy stretched around Dylan’s cock, her rose forced open by Joe’s tentative but unrelenting thrusts. “Oh God.”

“Shh.” Dylan’s mouth found hers, his kiss meant to make her forget about his friend’s intrusion.

It didn’t really work. Not until he slipped his right hand between their sweaty bodies and curved his palm over her stomach.
When one long finger extended and pressed against her clit, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was all Joe needed. His cock slipped inside her, the pressure unlike anything she’d ever felt. It hurt. It also felt odd. But Dylan kept on caressing her, both whispering dirty little things to her, teasing her with what they’d do next, how good she felt, how fucking hot she was. In the end, she obeyed and let go.

Fully.

They thrust in unison. Bit. Fucked. Kissed. Sucked. They made her theirs.

When she came, a bright explosion of stars behind her closed eyelids, she screamed out their names, one after the other. And they came inside her, one after the other.

*****

In the Middle (revised)
by Emma Hillman

Erin smiled. She’d never thought she’d like being with two men so much, but then Joe and Dylan were both very nice. Very boyfriend material. She shook her head at the silly thought, not wanting to encourage her mind on that path. She knew this was only for one night.

But God, it was exciting. Because it wasn’t just them touching her, it was them touching each other and touching her. It was her touching them while they compared their cocks and the way their balls hung. It was her kissing one then the other. It was her making them turn around so she could admire their butts. She traced one with her fingertips then the other, earning herself crude comments and a laugh or two.

She tugged on Joe’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss. His lips and tongue tasted of her still, and as she crawled onto his lap, she felt her insides start to pulse again. They moved into the position they were in earlier, with Dylan at her back while she straddled his friend. But this time, they all knew where this was leading…

Joe leaned down on the bed so she could slide up his body a little, his cock nudging her inner lips open. He felt so damn hard against her she wondered how long he’ll last. She rubbed herself up and down his length, coating him with her juices until Dylan’s face was there. Yes, there.

He started playing with them, tentative licks on his friend’s cock, stronger ones on her pussy lips. “Mmm, I can taste you both now,” he gleefully called out before forcing her up a little more.

She pushed on her hands and adjusted her position, forcing her butt higher up in the air. Dylan seemed to like that as his lips found the curve of one cheek, nipping the tender skin and making her yelp. He laughed and moved back down, the bristles of his five o’clock shadow leaving a red mark where he’d just been.

Joe tensed beneath her and she gave him a look, guessing his friend had graduated from tentative touches to full-on caresses. A tongue slipped between her drenched folds and tickled her clit before moving again. Oh God, he was going from one to the other in a never-ending array of licks and sucks.

She scrambled to hold on to Joe’s shoulders and pushed her butt even higher. She knew what she wanted. She wasn’t sure she could say it out loud but she felt ready. All right, fine, she could do this. She could tell them, right? They knew they were going to do it anyway, so why not now? Because she’d never been good at telling men what to do in bed, that’s why. Argh! Come on, Erin! These men were all about fun in bed. They wouldn’t comment if you ask for what you want. They’ll probably even praise you!

Okay then. She opened her mouth and blurted out, “Play with my ass.” Joe stilled, his chest hard beneath her crushed breasts. She licked her lips, and added, “Huh, please?”

One hand slapped her right butt cheek, Dylan asking, “You want it now?”

Now was not the time to fake not understanding his meaning. “Yes.”

“You want us both now?”

“Yes.” Oh yes, please yes. I want it now! That part though she didn’t say out loud, mostly because she was pretty sure it would end on a very loud scream.

“Let’s switch then,” Joe said, his voice husky, almost gruff.

She dutifully fell off of him, landing on her back on the mattress that was now sheet-less. She remained still as they surrounded her with their hard bodies, caressing her breasts so that her nipples rose once again, parting her legs so they could see whether she was aroused enough.

“Shit, look at that.”

She realized her eyes had closed but she didn’t open them. It was weirdly erotic to be able to listen to them talk like this. It was even more erotic to know they were talking about her…

“She’s so fucking wet. I can’t wait to fuck her.”

“I can’t wait to take her ass.”

“Me too.”

“I thought you said you were too big?”

“I might be, but once she’s had you, maybe I’ll fit in there. We’ll see. First though, we need
to prep her.”

She felt her heartbeat accelerate, knew her legs had tensed too at their words. Fingers dipped inside her, pressing and rubbing against her inner wall until her G-spot came to life. Her hips jerked up, making them laugh.

“Hold on tight, baby.”

“Oh God,” she couldn’t help but moan.

“Not God, no, just us.”

“Very funny,” she muttered but her lips twitched.

“I thought so too,” Dylan cheekily replied. “Do you have any lube, Erin?”

She opened her eyes at that and looked at him. “No. Do you?”

“Shit! I knew I should have brought some!”

“It’s okay.” Joe patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure we can find something else.”

“Like what?”

“Oil. Cream. Anything that’s slippery really.”

“Baby, what do you think would be best?”

She blinked and tried to remember what was in her own home. She was sure she had something that would work. She’d tried anal before and she knew for sure they’d need lube of some kind. But usually her boyfriends had come prepared. Ex-boyfriends, that is. Damn it, Erin, focus! “Huh, I think I have baby oil in the bathroom.”

“I’ll get it.”

Dylan and she both watched Joe leave the room. When they turned back to look at each other, they burst out laughing. They’d been checking him out, both probably marveling at his nice ass.

“He is very handsome,” she admitted out loud.

“That, he is.”

“Are you sure this is only for tonight?” she asked, her voice a lot lower this time.

Dylan’s gaze locked on hers. “I’m sure. I value our friendship too much to fuck it up. I know he’s not bi. He might be curious tonight because I’ve kinda forced him into it, but it won’t last.”

Joe strode back into the room, interrupting their conversation. That was too bad really as she wanted to ask Dylan why he thought tonight wouldn’t change things. Can you really go back to being friends once you’ve been lovers? She didn’t think so. She just hoped she was wrong, for all their sakes.

* * * *

She looked down and tried to concentrate on Dylan’s hand, the deep cocoa color of his skin such a sharp contrast to her own milky white skin. He was drawing circles around her left nipple, tracing her areola with faint touches before tweaking the nub into a hardened peak. He was playing with her, trying to make her forget what Joe was doing. She was not entirely sure why it was so much more difficult this time around. She’d done this before. She had. She hadn’t loved it before, true, but she’d never resisted like this either.

It was as if her body was rebelling, her rose refusing to let them through. She groaned, her nose crinkling as a finger pushed against the tight rim of muscles. She didn’t feel pleasure, only pain, and it bugged her, damn it! Eager to turn things around, she grabbed hold of Dylan’s nape and pulled him down. She kissed him like she hadn’t kissed him earlier. She bit his full lower lip and rejoiced in the moan that echoed in her throat. She sucked on his tongue and battled with him when he did the same. She found herself on top of him, her thighs widening as she straddled his lap.

His erection brushed her folds but it was too soon. Instead, she let go of his mouth and trailed her lips downwards. She nipped the bristly skin of his jaw. She bit his earlobe before sucking it into her mouth to lave it better. She placed a sweet kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. And another one. And another one. Until she reached that tendon or muscle, or whatever it was that was calling out her name on his shoulder. She bit him, more forcefully this time, wondering inwardly if the hickey would show on his dark skin. She had no idea but right now, she couldn’t have cared less.

He growled her name, his hands finding her hips, squeezing. She should have known he would do something like this but she hadn’t thought he was that muscled. His arms bunched as he lifted her up, his cock finding her entrance just before he let go. He impaled her, the sudden pressure making her yelp and hold on to him. It was a shock and yet it wasn’t. She was wet so it didn’t hurt, but he was big enough she felt full. Oh hell, if I’m full now, how am I gonna be with another man back there?

Before she could ask that question out loud, Joe said, his voice amused, “Guess you decided it was time to party.”

“Blame Erin!” Dylan muttered between clenched teeth. “I was one bite away from coming all over her.”

“Really?” She looked at his face.

“Yeah, baby. You were far too hot for me.”

She tilted her head. “But I… I barely did anything.”

He smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. You were a fury, and I loved it. I want to come inside you though.”

“Oh.” She blinked. That was a very nice compliment, wasn’t it? Cold oil drifted between her butt cheeks, reminding her of what they were supposed to be doing. “Joe?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You okay?”

He laughed. “I’m fine. Hard as a rock, but fine. Okay, sweetheart, lean down on Dylan for me.

Let him hold your weight. I want you to focus only on me and what I’m doing, all right?”

Hold her weight? Was he crazy? “Huh, about that…”

Dylan’s hands slid up her back and forced her down until her nose was buried in the crook of his neck. “We know what we’re doing. Just relax, will ya?”

“Relax? That’s easy for you to say!” she mumbled against his warm skin but he ignored her. She was pretty sure he was right too. Damn it. Okay, she could do this. She’d asked them to do this, and so, she forced herself to loosen up. Letting out a heavy breath, she let go of her hold on Dylan, letting him take her body’s weight. She flinched a little inwardly, wondering if he’d stop and tell her she was too heavy. Shit, what if he did?

“Erin, stop it,” his voice was in her ear. “I’ve got you, baby.” As if to prove it to her, he ran his hands all over her back, not so much as caressing but massaging. She relaxed under his palms and realized he was touching her ass a bit too late. He held her open for his friend; the one whose touch was a lot more assured and, well, precise.

Whatever they’d done, it seemed to have worked. She was calm as she felt Joe’s fingers slipping inside her, scissoring her opening wider. It pinched a little but the pain of earlier was gone. She sighed in relief and buried her head further against Dylan. She kissed the spot where his neck met his shoulder and listened to his small groan. It made her smile.

“Three fingers,” Joe announced behind her. “I think it’s time. Erin, are you okay?”

She nearly tensed but forced her muscles to unwind before her body destroyed everything they’d just done. “Yeah,” she managed to utter.

“Okay. Dylan?” She felt him nod, the movement pushing his chin into the top of her head for a second. “All right. I’ll add some more lube and we’ll be good to go. Why don’t you fuck her a little so she’s wet all over?”

Joe had barely finished his sentence that Dylan was already grabbing hold of her waist and rocking her up. She struggled to stay on top of him, her befuddled brain wondering whether she should start moving too or lay all loosened up for Joe’s entrance. Too many choices! In the end, she didn’t move and let Dylan thrust into her. His thick cock felt good but what felt even better was the way his pubic bone brushed against her clit. It gave his love-making an extra kick, something she probably hadn’t really needed but hey, it wasn’t like she was gonna say no!

Dylan stopped abruptly, making her groan her disapproval. It didn’t last long, however, when she realized Joe’s cock was pressing against her rose. Pushing and pushing. She closed her eyes and told herself to push back, remembering the way it’d felt in the past.

“Just a little bit more, honey,” Joe said, his fingers clenching on her hips.

“I…” she gasped. “I don’t know.”

“Just breathe, darling,” Dylan’s breath brushed her overly warm face. “Let go.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she growled. She was out of her depth here, sandwiched between the two men. It had sounded like a great idea; that is until they’d actually started doing it. And now she was stuck, her pussy stretched around Dylan’s cock, her rose forced open by Joe’s tentative but unrelenting thrusts. “Oh God.”

“Shh.” Dylan’s mouth found hers, his kiss meant to make her forget about his friend’s intrusion.

It didn’t really work. Not until he slipped his right hand between their sweaty bodies and curved his palm over her stomach. When one long finger extended and pressed against her clit, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was all Joe needed. His cock slipped inside her, the pressure unlike anything she’d ever felt. It hurt. It also felt odd. But Dylan kept on caressing her, both whispering dirty little things to her, teasing her with what they’d do next, how good she felt, how fucking hot she was. In the end, she obeyed and let go.

Fully.

They thrust in unison. Bit. Fucked. Kissed. Sucked. They made her theirs.

When she came, a bright explosion of stars behind her closed eyelids, she screamed out their names, one after the other. And they came inside her, one after the other.
* * * *

It’d been a night unlike any other, and as Erin watched the two men step onto her front porch, she gulped and fought the urge to call them back. This was it. Once they were in their cars, they’d go back to being friends. The next time she’d see them, she’d kiss their cheeks and joke with them, but never again would she feel their tongues tangled around hers, their cocks stretching her wide, their bodies rubbing her raw from the inside out.

She recalled her earlier conversation with Dylan and hoped he’d been right. She wasn’t that confident about how Joe would cope with having let his friend touch him, or how he’d touched him and relished it too.

Pasting a fake smile on her face, she waved at them and watched their headlights disappear in the distance. It would be light soon, and she needed to get ready for work. She had a busy day ahead but first, she needed to find a way to cover up the hickeys decorating her neck and collarbone. She turned around and closed the door behind her, a smile tilting her bruised lips.

What was that expression, she tried to remember as she hurried to the bathroom. Ah yes. Laissez les bons temps rouler…

*****

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Love, love, love this photo by Riendo, of course!

An Inspiring Race

2011-01-19T05:53:00.001-08:00

What a race *this* was! Each piece in the Inspiration Challenge received a healthy share of votes, proving something I say over and over: there is an audience for every story. Never be discouraged if something you write doesn't land a home on the first, or second, or 37th try. (I just read that Lemony Snicket's first novel was rejected 37 times!)

The authors with their stories are:

Lover's Eclipse by Angell Brooks
Behind the Blue Door by May Deva
The Alley by Joss Lockwood
Young and Free by Emma Hillman
Partnering by Dorla Moorehouse

We unfortunately have to say goodbye to Ms. Moorehouse. Please drop me a note with your snail mail address at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I have parting gifts. The two winners this round are Ms. Brooks (chosen by the poll) and Ms. Hillman (chosen by Lucy Felthouse of Erotica for All).

Both of these stories will be featured on the EFA website shortly.

I'll be hitting the final four authors with a new challenge after the coffee takes effect!

Congrats to you all!

XXX,
Alison

Smut Marathon — Round 9

2011-01-05T07:18:00.001-08:00

Here we are at the Smut Marathon, Round 9. This time, I challenged our five fierce competitors to write a story inspired by a photo (of their choice). I asked that they submit both the story and the pictures so that we could all see their inspirations. I'm going to run the poll for two weeks, as these are the longest stories yet. Guest judge Lucy Felthouse will choose her favorite—our poll will determine the reader favorite. Both winning stories will be featured on Erotica for All, about which Violet Blue said, "I love UK site Erotica For All; it’s an indie erotica review and interview site that runs features on new erotica in all formats, while creating an author and editor resource, in addition to forums."

Ready, set, read!

Entry #1: Partnering

I shouldn't be here. Everyone on the dance floor is so smooth, so graceful, so in tune with the music. They all know each other, too, exchanging hugs and familiar smiles. But I'm not a very good dancer. And while there are a few familiar faces from my dance studio, theses are all merely acqaintances, not friends. I don't deserve to be in this crowd.

Lingering on the sidelines, watching everyone else groove, my gaze is drawn to a particularly beautiful dancer. I wish I could see his eyes, which are closed as he loses himself in sound and movement. I can't help but stare as he guides his partner around the floor, guiding her into spins with just a flick of his wrist. As though he senses that he's being ogled, he opens his eyes, and when he turns they lock on mine. Immediately, I look away, suddenly focused on the mirror ball overhead.

Another song comes on, and a guy from the studio named Dave asks me to dance. As self-conscious as I am, I didn't come here to just sit and watch, so I say yes, nervousness coming alive in my stomach. On the floor, nothing feels smooth or sexy. I'm overthinking everything, missing steps, turning too fast, triping over my own feet. The dancer I was watching before is sitting out this song, and he's staring at me and my fumbling awkwardness. My face flushes with embarrassment and my clit heats up as I take in his dark eyes, his tousled hair, the way his jeans hang on his hips. I'm making a fool of myself; I can't imagine what he must think of me.

When the song ends, I retreat to the safety of the restroom, where I don't have to make eye contact with everyone, where I don't have to look foolish with my clumsy beginner dance moves. Hiding in a stall, I listen as two songs pass, overhear gossip and laughter of women coming in to freshen up. Finally, even though I've only danced once, I decide to go home. Turning towards the exit, Dave grabs my hand.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks. “Come on, you can't take off now. One more dance with me, and you'll change your mind. I love this song.”

“Okay,” I sigh as he pulls me onto the floor. The DJ has put on slow music this time, and I'm a little more comfortable. Since I don't feel like I have to rush along with the tempo, I relax and start to follow Dave's lead, and am bordering on confidence when that stranger and his partner brush past us, so close that I can smell his sweat and find myself craving his body. The nerves simmering in my belly mingle with the flutterings of desire that are waking up between my legs. Looking up, our eyes meet again, my legs go limp, and I fumble a spin. I'm humiliated.

Once the song ends, I push through the crowd on the floor, eager to escape. But before I can escape, a hand grabs my wrist. I turn and gaze into the brown eyes I've been lusting after. He doesn't ask me to dance, doesn't say a word, just burns his eyes into mine. I follow him onto the floor without a second thought.

He's already drenched in sweat from so much dancing, but I don't care. I want to run my hands through the shaggy damp auburn hair. I want traces of him left on my body when we're done. So I press myself close, closer than I usually get to men I don't know, and wonder how much of his scent will rub off on my skin.

I want magic, to suddenly be a perfect dancer in his arms. But I'm no more confident than I was five minutes ago, and in fact even more nervous now that his hands are one me, now that he's guiding me along the floor. I can barely look him in those beautiful eyes. I keep my own half-closed, looking towards the floor. I hope he can't feel the tremors in my hands, though he probably can. Rushing my steps, panicking, trying to guess which direction each lead will take, my weight won't stay over my feet, my steps sputter. But when I do dare to look up, he doesn't seem to be disappointed; in fact, he smiles. And I can't help but smile back, an automatic response as his grin lights my skin up, generates even more heat than the dancing does. Finally, the ice between us melts. I'm no better of a dancer, but at least I'm not afraid anymore. He pulls me even tighter and I can feel his whole body, notice the length of his cock pressed against my pelvis. No longer worried, I focus on the moment, the way his hand feels against my back, the sound and heat of his breath rushing against my ear, the beads of sweat dripping off his hair and onto my shoulders, mingling with my own perspiration.

Halfway through the song, he leads what I think is going to be a turn, but I realize I don't know where I'm going, and I fumble to a halt. I look at him apologetically, but he looks even more sheepish than I feel.

“Sorry. I had something in mind, but then I got distracted.” Shaking his head and grinning, he pulls me back against his body and resumes dancing. Realizing he's not perfect either, I start shedding my inhibitions. I drag my foot up his leg, grind into him. When his hand grips my ass, I let him keep it there as long as he wants. When it moves up to cup my breast, I don't pull it away, completely oblivious to the other people on the floor. And when the song ends, he leans forward and kisses me, all heat and pressure and salt. When he pulls away, I linger, dazed on the dance floor, barely noticing when the next song starts and someone else takes my hand.

I'm only half-aware of how I dance the rest of the night. I'm not nervous anymore, I approach other dancers willingly, and I'm so in tune with the pulsing and burning under my skin that I don't care if I make a mistake, don't rush or panic. But the entire time I'm on the floor, though I'm dancing with other people, I'm dancing for him, showing off whenever I have the opportunity, making sure he sees every step I take. My eyes drift away from my partners to him, sometimes on the sidelines, usually with other dancers, all of them better than me. But I don't care about their technique, because he doesn't stare at them the way he stares at me, doesn't pull them quite so close as they dance.

When the DJ announces the last song, I feel his hand on my shoulder again. I should introduce myself, should ask his name, but before I can open my mouth we're pivoting and gyrating, his hand gripping my waist, pulling me to grind against him. Finally feeling bold, I lean in for a kiss, only to turn my face away at the last second, his lips brushing my cheek.

“That's how you play, is it?”

“Maybe.”

He pulls me even tighter, my thigh pressing directly against his stiffening cock. His hand snakes up my back, stops at my shoulder, and when he goes to kiss me, I can't slip out of the way. My thighs tremble as his tongue explores my mouth; my cunt starts to pulse in time with the music. I dig my nails into his back, fill my hand with his flesh. He becomes even more daring, slides his fingers under my shirt, plays with my nipples. Never once do we stop moving or feeling the music. When the song ends, he's slow to let go of me. But the lights are coming up; the music is over, it's time to leave.

“Where do you live?” I blurt out, and the second the words escape my mouth, I'm embarrassed by my audacity.

But he answered as though I had asked him something completely innocuous. “Rockmoor and Enfield. Want a ride?”

I have my own car, somewhere, but for the life of me I can't remember where I parked it. I don't even say anything, just follow him out to the parking lot, climb into the passenger seat. Once we're on the road, I slide my left hand across his thigh, run my fingers up the hard ridge in his pants, slide down the zipper and slip my fingers inside, toying with him as the car slips through the dark streets. When he pulls up into his driveway, he stops me from leaving, pulls me into a kiss and buries his face into my cleavage, licking and biting. Getting desperate, I take his hand and guide it up my skirt, but he pulls away.

“You tease me, I tease you right back.” Then he hops out of the car, and I scramble after him.

Once the door is locked, he shoves me up against it, rips my shirt off, grabs my breasts. Leaning in, I bight the flesh on his neck, taste the hard ridge of his collarbone.

“Upstairs,” he growls, and I oblige, dropping an article of clothing every few steps. He pauses as he enters the room.

“You are gorgeous,” he murmurs, before burying his face between my legs. His fingers dance across my thighs and hips as his tongue slides between my slit, settles on my clit, flicks and massages and swirls. One hand leaves my hip and slides inside me, hooking right at my G-spot. My knees twitch, then convulse, as waves emanate from my cunt and overtake my body.

When he slides up to kiss me, I decide it's my turn to lead. I roll over, grinding against him, leaving teeth marks on his shoulders and chest. Moving down, I glide the tip of my tongue over his cock, feel him writhe beneath me, and change my mind about the blow job. Pulling myself up, I set the tip of his cock against my cunt, run my hands through his hair, bite his earlobes, but don't allow him the satisfaction of being inside me. He pushes up with his hips, tries to enter, but I'm one step ahead, and pull away.

“Not yet.” I jab my tongue in his earlobe.

“You're just going to tease me all night, aren't you?”

“Maybe. I'm good at it, aren't I?” I ask, reaching back to stroke his balls.

“Yes,” he gasps, and I rake my nails down his chest. “Now please fuck me.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” I murmur, sliding him inside me. My cunt muscles envelope him; we

fit together perfectly. Now I know the rhythm, not to any song, but to our bodies, connected, communicating through pheromones and breath. I thrust, move, shake, glide up and down his cock. Reaching my peak, he follows almost immediately. I collapse with reverence across his chest.

Now that the coupling is over, I don't feel compelled to stay. In fact, I'm restless. You never linger on the dance floor, always off to the next partner, the next song. I stay long enough to catch my breath, to take some final deep inhalations of his sweat-soaked skin, and then I roll over, start to look for my clothes scattered down the hall.

“You can stay if you want,” he calls.

“Maybe next time.”

“But you left your car.”

“I'll take the late bus.”

“Really, stay. I can give you a lift to your car in the morning.”

“Next time.”

I don't ask when that will be, nor do I make a suggestion. Part of me wants to know, but suspense is more delicious.

He walks me to the door, gives me one more kiss, and as I head toward the bus stop, I make a mental note to introduce myself when we dance again.

*****

Entry #2: Behind The Blue Door

“Laura! Stop daydreaming and get me that fabric! Prego or I'll find someone who will!”

Stephan whirled away from her, in high dudgeon at being made to wait. She grinned. Who else would put up with his drama queen antics and high-handed attitude? Brilliant, but the newest enfant terrible of the fashion world. She scanned the shelves and pulled several swatches, hurrying back to him.

“These will work better, Stephan, trust me.” Offering the duppioni silk and handspun tweed she'd selected, she held her breath.

“Hmm.” He rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, as he always did when considering something that interested him. After a moment, he grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Yes! Yes – these are perfect! You are right, as always, my dear. What would I do without your eye?”

He kissed her cheeks, commanding that she take the rest of the day off. As there was only an hour left, this wasn't as generous as it sounded but she was delighted nonetheless. She shrugged out of her black smock and hung it next to her desk, slipped on her walking shoes and left, throwing a kiss over her shoulder as she pulled the gate of the industrial lift down and pressed the button.

She pondered food as the ground floor approached. The lift stopped and she pulled up the gate, stepping into the service entrance of their building. Turning towards home, she remembered a little place one of the cutters had been talking about, just a little out of her way, that served excellent mezze. How perfect!

They didn't do take-out, so she allowed the waitress to show her to a small table, seemingly for one, in the window. She ordered rice-filled dolmades, hummus, and spiced feta with black olives. It was delicious, fresh and satisfying. Sipping her ouzo, she watched the street. People came and went, cars stopped and left. Her eye kept being drawn back to a curious building diagonally across from the restaurant. Painted bright red, with black accents and a sapphire blue door, it had no identifying signage but was obviously meant to be noticed. She asked the waitress, but she had no clue either. Laura paid her bill and began to head once more for home as night began to fall.

She paused across from the odd building, as a chauffeured car drew up. A dark haired man emerged from the black Lexus, holding his hand out to help a stunning blonde alight. A long dark cloak swirled around her, flashing long legs with precariously high Louboutin peeptoes and... Laura gasped! As the woman turned to her escort, the cape slid to one side and exposed the entire length of her left side, making it quite clear that she wore nothing underneath it. The blue door opened and they entered, with no more clue for Laura as to what was behind it than she'd had previous. As the door shut, she gathered her wits and fled for home, unsure of what she'd seen but oddly aroused by it.

The next week flew by in whirl, as it was wont to do so close to a show. She found herself dining at the Greek restaurant nightly, musing about the red building as she ate but nothing else of interest occurred. As Friday approached, Laura was delighted to see the garments starting to take real shape, beginning to drape and fold the way they had envisoned them.

“Last day of the week!”

She froze halfway to her desk. Standing with Stephan was the most singularly handsome man she'd ever seen. Sapphire blue eyes and carefully mussed black hair topped a tailored suit that accentuated broad shoulders and narrow waist. Oh My! She stepped forward, offering her hand.

“Hello, I'm Laura...”

“My muse!” Stephan interjected, darting forward to hug her. “James – is she not all I've told you?”

She began to bristle, feeling a bit like meat, but found herself staring into amused blue eyes. At this distance, they were even more impressive. Actually, all of him was more impressive at this distance. Then she realized that he was staring back. A small smirk crossed his lips, he swept his gaze from her eyes to her toes and back again. He took her still proffered hand and raised it to his lips.

“Why yes, Stephan, I think I could accuse you of understatement in this case. Not at all like you, I might add.” His voice poured over her as he held her eyes with his, obviously uncaring of what Stephan thought.

It wasn't like her at all to be so swayed by a pretty face and some manners. Get a grip, girl! She extricated her hand and smiled tightly.

“Nice to meet you, James. I'm not at all sure what Stephan might be alluding to, but I assure you that he does not know me well enough to offer any real summary of my person.” She shot a poisonous look at Stephan, who looked rather bemused. “If you will both excuse me, I have work to attend to, we have a show in less than a week.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode across the floor intending to consult with one of the milliners about a headpiece she'd brainstormed during the night.

“I'm sorry if I've offended you, though I'm not quite sure how I managed that in such a short span.” He touched her elbow, causing her to stop, turn toward his warm-caramel voice. “I was being quite serious. While Stephan does sing your praises on a regular basis, he has never done your physical presence justice. Though he may have gotten your temperament bang on.” He grinned, causing her to smile slightly back.

“I'm not used to being discussed in any way at all, so you'll excuse me if I find it a tad discomfiting.” Oh my lord, she was sounding like such a priss even to herself! “I really do have to get to work, it's a very busy time here right now.”

His chuckle followed her to her desk. Who the hell was this guy and why was Stephan talking to him about her? She slammed some drawers, tried to look busy, studiously avoided looking at him. Perhaps 5 minutes had passed when Stephan called across the floor.

“Darling, is this not Friday? Do we ever end a week without pastries and latte? See to it, will you?” He flashed her his most winning smile and turned back to James.

She grabbed her purse, grateful for a reason to escape, and flew to the lift. She pulled the gate down and pressed the button. It wasn't until his voice sounded just behind her ear that she realized she'd not escaped at all.

“Do you want to know about the blue door? I've seen you there every evening for a week. What are you looking for, Laura?”

His fingers trailed up the back of her thigh as he spoke, every nerve sparking to her cunt. She gasped, jumped slightly away from him. He was the man she'd seen with the caped blonde!

“H-how do you know that? Are you stalking me?” She whispered back at him, afraid to speak normally. His fingers pulled her skirt higher, traced the outline of her panties at the top of her thigh. She was shaking with lust and he was barely touching her!

“I am not stalking you, Laura, I had an appointment with Stephan last week and saw you leaving. I asked who you were, he told me. That evening, I noticed you across the road from my building. That's all. Now, do you want to know, or are you content with simply wandering by and wondering?”

His fingers worked their way forward as he spoke. Moving slightly, he tucked her hips into his groin, sliding his fingers across her clothed slit and nudging her clit, making her jump. She saw the ground floor coming towards the lift and realized her precarious position. He was making her as hot as hell, but some decorum was needed. She pulled away as far as the gate would allow, which wasn't far at all.

“No, thank you James. I don't own a cloak.”

She heard a surprised chuckle and moved to pull the gate up, then she felt his hand again at her hip. A sharp tug as she reached up and she realized that he now held her underwear in his hands. She stepped out of the lift and turned around, furious. He raised the tattered scrap to his nose, holding her eyes until he took a deep breath. His eyes closed briefly then he stepped up to whisper to her:

“Oh Laura, you smell divine. Feel what you do to me.” He brushed himself against her hip, making his erection obvious to them both. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. When she opened her eyes, he held up a business card, and then slipped it into the pocket of her smock.

“How long can your curiosity hold out, lovely one? Call me when you change your mind, and you will change your mind I assure you. A cloak can be arranged. See you soon, Laura.”

Stepping around her, he sauntered out onto the street, into the black Lexus waiting at the curb. She sagged slightly, wrung out from their encounter in the lift. If she'd ever met anyone remotely like him, she couldn't recall it. She took a deep, steadying breath and went to fetch the morning refreshments, uncomfortably aware of the dampness between her thighs. She avoided the red building that night and went straight home from work.

James devilled her all weekend, with dreams of cloaks and ripped panties, to the point of waking her in mid-come just before her alarm went off Monday morning. His dream-self had done more to her in a few rem cycles than any boyfriend had ever dared. Yawning, she dragged herself to the shower fighting the urge to indulge in one more orgasm before work.

“Morning Stephan. What's on the agen...” Her breath ran out before the words. Completely covering her desk were flowers. A riot of red, blue and black, she needed no card to tell her who had sent them but read it anyway. I've missed you. Are you avoiding me, bellissima? - J. Looking over the lush spray, she suddenly realized that there was a lacy fabric rose set dead-center in the arrangement. Part of her underwear, made into a flower!

She flushed, set the card down. Stephan hovered, waiting to hear the details of what was surely a new boyfriend.

“This must be a mistake. I don't recognize the sender. Perhaps one of the other girls?” The lie flowed off her tongue easily, she was unwilling to answer the questions if she admitted ownership.

No one claimed the flowers, of course, so she divvied them up after removing the fabric rose and card surreptitiously, placing bouquets around the workroom. It wasn't the success that she'd hoped, she was reminded of him all day as they perfumed the space and added splashes of colour everywhere. Predictably, she spent the day wet, and slightly angry as she was sure this was exactly what he'd intended.

Kicking off her shoes at home, late in the evening, she flung herself onto the sofa and sighed deeply. He shouldn't be able to rattle her so badly, she didn't even know him! She was rustling around the kitchen, trying to find something palatable, when the doorbell rang. She answered, surprised to find a courier standing in front of her.

“Delivery, Miss.”

“Oh, I – are you sure?”

“Quite. The directions were very specific.”

She signed and took the brown paper bags from him. A quick peek inside revealed the contents: dolmades, hummus, spiced feta – from the restaurant that didn't do take out. A handwritten note was inside:

Laura - Not eating may be fine for your models, but not you. I hope you liked all of your flowers this morning. You're not being very polite. - J.

Polite? Ooo - how dare he pull that?! She grabbed her purse and pulled out his card. Punching the numbers into her phone, she prepared to give him a piece of her mind.

“Laura, I am delighted.” Warm caramel trickled into her ear.

“James. I- ”

“Would you join me for a drink? Ouzo perhaps?

Her doorbell rang as he spoke. She opened it quickly, assuming the delivery man had forgotten something. Instead, James smiled down at her, a bottle of ouzo in his hand and a cell phone to his ear. He was dressed in jeans and a button-down, ice-blue shirt under a dark chocolate leather jacket. Sweet lord, he was even more beautiful casual. She was lost, but tried to fight it.

“James! I don't recall ever giving you my phone number or address. Please, stop this.”

His face fell. “Really? Seriously, Laura? I will, you know, if you really don't want to play.”

He stepped closer, almost through her door. His eyes were burning through her, she found herself unable to move.

“I don't think you want me to though. Do you Laura?”

He slid his free hand up the side of her throat, cupping her face and sliding his thumb under her chin so that she couldn't turn away. He lowered his lips to hers very slowly, giving her every opportunity to say no. The touch of his lips sparked her senses back to life, she parted her lips slightly and gave herself over to him, tentatively touching his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Without breaking the kiss, he edged her back into her apartment and kicked the door closed behind him.

“A little privacy may be needed.” He growled into her neck as he feasted there, dropping the bottle of ouzo and pinning her hands above her head. He traced the outline of her ear with his tongue, whispering “I think I'd like to take you right here, the first time. What do you think, hmmm? Should I fuck you up against the wall, or should I just drop to my knees and bury my face in your sticky, sweet pussy? It was all I could think about since we last met, your pussy and my tongue. It was torture.”

She felt as though she were spiralling out of control, no one had ever said anything like this to her before. Arching into him, she felt his cock hard against her hip as he reclaimed her mouth. He shifted slightly, freed one hand to travel down her arm and across her body to the buttons on her shirt. He flicked them open expertly, slowly pinching each nipple until she moaned into his mouth. He reached around her, popped the button on her skirt and dropped it to the floor. Only then did he pull away, drinking in the sight of her, near-naked against the wall, panting with need. She reached out, dropped his coat to join her skirt and unbuttoned his shirt quickly. He stopped her hands as she reached for his belt.

“What?” She was almost incoherent with need.

“No. This is all for you. Next time we'll even it out, but I want this to be all about you.”

He raised her arm to his lips, kissed her wrist at the pulse and continued up her arm, across her shoulder. Lowering his lips to her nipple, he used his tongue to flick and circle until she was moaning again, finally sucking her into his mouth and biting hard enough to make her squeal. She could feel him grin against her breast. He moved lower slowly, kissing across her belly and down as he peeled her sopping panties down her legs. Looking up at her, he inhaled sharply and grinned as she flushed.

“Even more divine first-hand.”

He leaned in and she felt the tip of his tongue trace her cleft. She sank her hands into his hair, pulled him to her as his tongue delved between her lips and slipped across her clit, making her gasp as her cunt spasmed. She was already so close, couldn't believe how fast her body was responding to him.
He moved his hands up the insides of her thighs to spread her open to him, flicking faster across her rock hard nub and slowly filling her with both thumbs. She groaned and caught their reflection in the hall mirror. The sight of his dark head between her thighs, moving slowly against the background of her body was too much, her orgasm spilled up her spine and exploded behind her eyelids, fireworks like she'd never seen. He caught her as she started to sag, carried her to the sofa nearby, pulling a throw over her as she rested in his lap. Drifting on post-orgasmic bliss for a few minutes, she finally opened her eyes.

“Sapphire blue.” She gave him a sidelong glance, with a slight smile.

“Pardon me?”

“My cloak. Sapphire blue.”

He grinned and slid his hand down her belly. “Clever girl. Round two, Miss Laura?”

The next day, a package arrived via courier at work. Inside was a sapphire blue cloak, scattered with tiny diamonds. The note read:

Dearest;

You are magnificent! If you still wish to know about the blue door, I will collect you at 9 this evening. Regardless, I must have you in my life, knowing what I've missed. - J.

Laura took a deep breath, knowing that she would meet him with the cloak in place. She had some suspicions but whatever was behind the blue door, she knew he would be worth the risk.

*****

Entry # 3: Lover's Eclipse

Ali slammed her front door, shaking off her anger with her jacket. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, whipping the leather across the room. Of all fucking nights for her car to be a stubborn piece of machinery, tonight was not the night she would have chosen.

She glanced at her watch. Less than one hour until the lunar eclipse, and she couldn’t get to her destination.

Stomping up the stairs, she allowed herself to be a twelve-year old brat for just one minute. Two weeks planning this and it would all be for naught because her goddamned alternator belt snapped. She poured out a shot of Jack, tossed it back and poured another.

Flopping on the sofa, she picked up the phone and dialled Brent. She didn’t look forward to telling him that their romantic night was going to be non-existent. He was going to be pissed. He’d warned her that the belt was going, but she figured she could hold off until the New Year. Yep, that was her - the procrastination queen.

He answered on the first ring. “Why aren’t you on your way here?” Her heart raced at the sound of his voice. They were new - THIS was new. She’d never had her heart race like this before, not from the sound of someone’s voice.

“I’m sorry. You were right. I should have listened. The car...” her voice broke and trailed off, and she shot back the rest of her drink. A sob hitched in her throat. She heard him sigh.

“Ali, relax. The belt went, didn’t it?” She nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see her. She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. Tonight was supposed to be their night - their first time. By now she should be racing along the highway to his place, where he would have gotten the living room ready.

She could see the preparations in her mind - the fire burning red hot, the polar fleece blanket she gave him spread in the middle of the rug, with fluffy pillows spread out all over. The moon would be shining through his picture window, full, romantic. SIGH. He would have opened the wine, two glasses poured and waiting on the coffee table. She had the strawberries and chocolate in her car, all ready to go.

The plan was to have their first night together, under the lunar eclipse. He had these giant picture windows and an uninterrupted view of the night sky. She was dying to fuck him. They’d teased each other for weeks, not wanting to rush things, but unable to keep their hands off each other. And now, because she was such an idiot, it wasn’t going to happen. She felt like she could just crawl into a hole and die at that very minute.

“Ali? It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I mean, well, it IS since you wouldn’t listen to me and I was RIGHT...” his voice trailed off, realizing that he couldn’t tease her right now.

“It’s just...I want to be with you so badly, and it would have been so romantic...” her voice trailed off again.

Sitting in his living room, Brent’s mind raced. He was waiting for this night for a long time too. But he didn’t drive and the cab wouldn’t get there in time. Was there still a way to pull this off?

“Ali.” his voice was soothing, slow, trying to keep her calm. “Breathe honey.” He could hear her fighting back the tears. “I’ve got this. Listen to me, and do what I say.” He outlined his instructions to her, making sure that she understood what he wanted. Making sure that she was calm. “When you’re done, and everything is ready, call me back.”

She took a deep breath. “Ok. I’ll call you soon.” She hung up the phone, her eyes sparkling again. She wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but she couldn’t wait to find out.

When she called him back thirty minutes later, her living room looked like the oasis she had pictured in her mind. A fluffy blanket was in front of the sliding glass doors that led out to her back deck, with pillows, and a bottle of wine with a full glass poured. The strawberries were on a platter next to her, and in the background, Bruce Springsteen was crooning about everybody having a hungry heart. She nodded in agreement with him. Only it wasn’t just her heart that was hungry for Brent - it was her body too. Too bad it wouldn’t be satisfied tonight.

She lay down in the center of the rug, gazing up at the night sky. The moon was full and bright white, casting a spotlight on her naked form. But it wouldn’t be for long. She picked up her cordless phone, punched the hands free button, and dialled his number, her heart racing in anticipation.

“Ali.”

“Hi. I’m ready.” She breathed.

“Have some wine. I am.” She reached for her glass, sipping at the cold sweet liquid. He heard her gasp. “Should have sat up before drinking sweetie.” He could see the droplets running between her breasts as she laughed. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you. Now, see that moon? We’re the only ones in the world; it’s just for us. Lay back, close your eyes, and imagine I’m beside you. Really feel the heat from my body as I lie down.” She sighed. “Ok…”

His voice lowered. “I can’t wait to touch you. Your skin looks so soft, so silky. My hand is caressing your cheek, my fingers tracing your full, plump lips.” Her eyes closed, her hands moved at his suggestion. “Can you feel me?”

“Mm hmm.” Her hand slid down the side of her face, fingertips feeling their way across her cheekbone to the edge of her mouth. His voice continued to lull her. “Those beautiful lips. One kiss will take my breath away. Kiss me Ali. Make me breathless.” Her lips parted as her tongue peeked out, moving from memory. Her neck arched up, as if he were laying there, waiting.
“I move down your neck, tracing my initials behind your ear, trailing across your nape. I can feel you shiver.” Her fingers followed his directions, pressing gently at the spot where her jaw met her earlobe, the spot guaranteed to make her moan.

Brent smiled at the sound. He lay there, sipping his glass of wine, gazing into the fire. With the moon out, there was no need for more light, and the balcony door was opened just a crack to allow the heat from the fireplace to escape. He pictured her lithe body, naked in the openness of her living room. If her neighbours had their binoculars out, they would be getting quite the show. Her breast, full and round, would be rosy with her excitement. Her nipples would be hard, straining and begging for attention.

His cock throbbed in his boxers, and he forced himself not to touch it. Soon enough – tonight they would come together. He took another sip of wine, and whispered into the phone. “Your breasts are gorgeous. Look at those nipples. I can’t resist a taste. But, well...” he paused, “maybe I should play with them first.”

Ali’s palms smoothed their way down her neck to her breasts, her fingers instantly moving to her buds like a magnet. As she pinched them, rolling them between shaking fingers, she recalled the last time he’d done that. Lying on his bed, with his hazel eyes gazing into hers, his soft lips curled into his trademark smirk that she found so endearing. His fingers pulled at them, his palms flattened them, only to twist them back into stiff peaks before his mouth closed over them, sucking and nibbling on them until she was practically crying for release.

She whimpered again as her hands mimicked his from memory. He grinned on the other end of the phone. “Sweetheart, have some more wine. But don’t sit up to drink it.” With her eyes still closed, she obediently reached for the glass, squealing once again as the cold liquid dripped down her torso. “Hmmm, sloppy girl. I’ll bet the wine caused goose bumps. Am I right?”

Ali nodded. “Yes.” She softly replied, her voice dreamy as her one hand continued to play with her nipple. “Well, we shouldn’t waste the wine. Let me lick it up. Where did it drip to?”

“Down my stomach, it’s pooling in my belly button, and dripping down to my ...” her voice paused, shy for some reason. He smiled tenderly at the phone. He would go easy on her – for now. “I’m thirsty. I’m just going to lick this wine up. Interesting path it’s taken. Use your hands; tell me where I need to go next. I’m at your belly button...”

Her hands shook as they moved through the rivulet of wine down her body. “Move further down. My...my pussy is so wet, and not just from the wine.”

“Good girl.” He murmured. “Are you hot?”

“Mmm-hmm. And so wet.” Brent’s cock shot to full hardness and length again. Fuck this – it was time he got in on the game. “Baby, I’m so hard for you. Can you feel it? Pressed against your thigh?” He removed his boxers, his cock cooling in the night air. He lay back down on the blanket, reclining against the pillows, the moon in his view as he gently ran his hand around the head. A drop of pre-cum stuck to his palm, leaving a trailing string as he pulled away.

“Stroking it against your thigh baby, just the way you like it.” His hand stroked it lightly, rubbing across the top with one finger. He shuddered, his other hand moving to play with his balls. He groaned, closing his fist around the base, and stroking up, using the pre-cum as a lubricant.

“Ali...can you feel my fingers on your clit?” His voice was a little strangled, as he struggled to keep his breathing even. “Can you feel me flicking it?” Her breath came through the phone in a gasp. Brent smiled, picturing her fingers pinching and rolling that sensitive little bud, wishing that he was doing it for her. Instead he squeezed his balls, rolling his sack between his fingers, tugging on it.

Ali’s fingers were guided by Brent’s voice. She knew what he wanted her to do. Her hand slipped between her thighs, her middle finger running up her wet slit. As it skimmed over her clit, she paused, applying pressure on the tip. Her knees quivered. She opened her eyes, glancing at the night sky. The eclipse was starting. A shadow was moving just barely across the moon.

“Brent. The moon...”

“I see it baby. See, I told you we’d be together.” His voice was warm. “Now, slip one finger into your cunt.” He heard her gasp at the vulgarity – he knew it turned her on though. “How hot are you?”

Ali’s finger penetrated her hole. A moan escaped her lips as her muscles clenched around the invasion. “So. Hot.” She managed to get the words out.

Brent fisted his cock faster, his hand sliding effortlessly up and down the shaft. His gaze went out to the moon, and the shadow sliding across. His voice was low. “Suck on your finger. Tell me how you taste.”

Ali didn’t hesitate. She plunged her fingers into her mouth, sucking off her juices. “I’m sweet, and a little salty.” He moaned, not having had the pleasure of tasting her himself just yet. “I can’t wait to find out. Since I can’t tonight, let’s make it a little more enjoyable for you. Take the biggest strawberry you can find. Get one that’s longer than the rest.”

Her eyes widened at his suggestion. Surely he didn’t want her to...? Her pulse raced, and she felt dizzy. She’d never done this before. As she selected the longest one, she sent a quick prayer of thanks to the organic gardeners that grew the berries she bought at the market. “Got it.”

His voice seductive, he gave her more instructions. “Take a bite. Is it sweet?” He knew she loved strawberries. “Yes.” His hand stilled on his cock, which felt ready to explode at any minute. He knew that if he kept stroking, he wouldn’t last too much longer, and tonight wasn’t a race.

“Now rub it up and down your lips honey. And I’m not talking about that gorgeous mouth.” Ali’s hand moved slowly, relishing in the exotic feeling of the fruit on her clit. “Are you done?”

“Uh huh.”

“Move the phone to between your thighs. Then, I want you to mix the juices together. I want to hear every sound.” He could hear the bump as she set it down hard. Then...there is was. The squelching, the moaning, the unmistakeable sounds of a wet, invaded pussy. He groaned, his hand moving back to his hard cock, which was sore from holding back.

“Now, finger yourself again. And then, tell me how you taste.” He glanced out at the moon, surprised to see it blocked by half now. He lay on his stomach, rubbing his hard on against the softness of the blanket beneath him. It felt so good, and would help delay coming for a while. Of course, imagining that he was fucking her wasn’t helping. Imagining being enveloped in that sweet body was only making him crazy.

“Mmm oh Brent.” She cooed his name. “I taste so good – so sweet, so ... delicious.” He groaned again. She was playing now. She was done being the playee and wanted to jump into the game. He could hear her take a slurp from her glass. “And it mixes so well with the wine.” His movements got more frantic.

“Brent?” She practically whispered into the phone. “I’m dying to come. Are you?”

He glanced out at the sky and the almost eclipsed moon. “Oh yeah baby. And we’re going to come together. Watch the moon, and listen to me.”

Ali scooted further towards the door. Her legs were spread wide, her breasts heaving. “Imagine me inside you. My hard cock thrusting against you, feeling your silky pussy around me.” He gasped. “Can you imagine how good that will feel?”

Ali panted, her fingers fucking her hole, her juices flowing down over her wrist. Her other hand rubbed frantically at her clit. “Mmmm yes. Oh god Brent, I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”
He leaned back against the pillows again, his prick in his fist, stroking hard, stroking fast. “I wish I was inside you right now. I want to feel you come. I want to feel how tight, how wet you are.” The moon was turning red.

“Bren...t. I’m going to...I need to...” Ali’s breath was coming in short gasps, and he could hear her on the edge of what he hoped was a gushing, cosmic orgasm. His hands flew and he gave her what she needed to hear.

As the last sliver of the pale moon disappeared behind the shadow, and the moon turned red, he felt his own load coming up. “Come for me Ali. Come with me Ali.”

As if triggered by his voice, her cunt spasmed around her fingers and she cried out his name. It was like a trigger for his own release. White hot jets of relief spurted over his stomach, and he collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

Ali was still panting. He pulled the phone over to his ear, clicking off the speaker phone. “Ali?”

“Brent?” She sounded exhausted.

“Are you ok, beautiful?”

“Yes.” And he could hear the smile in her voice. “But next week that damn belt is getting fixed.”

*****

Entry #4: The Alley

He's cute as hell, this boy you've found me. I know within the space of thirty seconds that I wouldn't mind being plowed by him, and within five minutes that I'd happily get on my knees in front of him. It's not just his looks. He's polite, he's funny in a goofy sort of way, and maybe most importantly he's got that mischievous look in his eyes. Like he wants to bust shit up. To ruffle feathers just because he can.

He's nervous, though, too, and that's awfully endearing. He clearly doesn't know what he's doing, but then again neither do we. I guess we'll figure it out as we go along. I mean, I'm not even sure if you're both going to have me at the same time, or if you're just going to watch me with him or what. He ducks his head shyly at me during a pause in the conversation, and I have a moment of worry that he's going to be too young, too nice, that he won't give me the hard pounding I crave. But I give him the benefit of the doubt, and remind myself that you'll be there too, of course. And I know you by now. You'll make it plenty dirty.

His hands are big, but not ungraceful. I stare at them and try to guess what he's going to look like with his clothes off. I squeeze your hand under the table, our pre-arranged signal that I want to take him home with us. You squeeze back your assent, and I stand, intending to hit the ladies room before we head back to my place. But I stumble over your feet trying to extricate myself from the booth, and in that off-balance moment you topple me easily, bending me over the table. Immediately I feel your hands on my ass - you're lifting the hem of my skirt so my panties are exposed to him. I hear you murmur something but I can't make out the words, and I swallow nervously. We're tucked in a back corner but it's still a real risk that someone might see us. Then all rational thought ceases as I feel those marvelously thick fingers groping me through my panties. It's intoxicating. I can barely breathe, and it's a good thing I'm resting my weight on the tabletop or my knees would probably have buckled by now.

You pull the fabric aside and even I, with my spinning head, know that this is too much, that you're really pushing the boundaries of what we can get away with in public. I (or should I say my interesting bits) may be facing the two of you and away from the bar at large but still - my naked pussy on display at our local watering hole is beyond what I'm willing to risk. So I say, "No."

And you say, in the most offhanded, maddeningly patronizing tone, "Hush now"--like I'm from some bygone era and should be seen but not heard--"and don't move." I shudder, close my eyes. Now the two of you are stroking me, prying my pussy lips apart to see the wetness there, and you pinch my inner thigh suddenly, making me gasp. "Are you going to stay quiet, or do we need to stuff something in that loud mouth of yours?" you sneer. Without waiting for an answer you shove your thumb between my lips, making it slick with saliva. I can't speak, I want so badly to be penetrated. Propriety is no longer at the top of my list of concerns. I don't think it's even *on* the list at this point. My cunt is aching to be filled and you know it, deliberately rubbing my asshole, my clit, anything as long as it's not what I want. I try to tell you no again but what comes out instead is "Please."

If anyone's watching us I wouldn't know it. The rest of the world has gone blurry while the two of you tease me. I feel like I might swoon, my pussy clenching futilely around nothing. You press the tip of your thumb tantalizingly slowly into my asshole and my back arches involuntarily. You push my head back down onto the wooden surface. I know I'm going to start moaning in a second, I can't help it, the pleasure - and the anticipation - are too intense. He gently spreads my ass cheeks and I know he's watching your thumb disappear inside me. His fingertips run up and down my slit, never dipping into me. I'm going to burst, break, I spread my legs wider and try to wriggle onto both of your digits, I need the relief, the release. And that's when you smack my ass. The blow reverberates through my body. I'm shocked at how loud it is, dimly aware again of the total inappropriateness of the setting. But I can't stop you, or even try to, because I want another. I quiver, waiting.

Then your voice in my ear. "I told you not to move." You pull a fistful of my hair and I whimper, dizzy with need. "Naughty girl. If I wanted to, I could fuck you right here on the table, in the middle of all these people. We both could. And you'd let us. More than that - you'd love it, wouldn't you?" I say yes, I moan yes yes yes. "On your feet," you growl, "you dirty little slut."

I'm unsteady but the two of you propel me toward the exit, you whispering the filthy things the two of you are going to do to me into my ear with every step. At the last second before we reach the door, you spin me around to face the room, yank up my shirt and bra, hike up my skirt and rip my panties halfway down my thighs. The blood rushes to my face; my nipples are embarrassingly hard. A few curious faces turn our way, surprised when they see me, a leer or two from the men especially. I struggle to pull my clothes around me but your strong hands restrain my wrists. I'd cry if I wasn't so ridiculously turned on. I know this will get us kicked out, and as the bartender steps out from behind the bar (pseudo-menacingly but reluctantly, I can tell from his expression), the two of you push me out the door.

I'm tripping over my feet. My legs barely work and even if they did, the panties are still hampering my movement. The two of you manage to keep me upright and you lead us down the alley and behind a dumpster. "Hands on the wall," you bark, now that you don't have to keep your voice down. I groan, but comply, and once in position I can't help but stick my ass out shamelessly. You laugh condescendingly. "Now tell him what you want," you say.

"Oh no," I plead. "Don't make me say it." For all that this virtual stranger has just seen of me, I still balk at the notion of saying it straight out.

"Okay," you say, mock-kindly. "You don't have to say it." There's a long pause. "But if you don't say it, you don't get it."

There's a very real possibility that I may weep in frustration. I want him to just *know*, the way you did on our first date, somehow instinctively sussing out the stuff I'd never asked anyone to do to me. But then I remember: you had made me ask for it back then, too. You knew, but you wanted me to say it, to own up to it, to speak it into the air, the word made flesh. And if I could say it then, I can say it now. I bite back my timidity and blurt it out fast, like tearing off a bandaid.

"Spank me." It's the smallest of voices, a whisper really. But you hear me, and you grab one of my nipples and twist mercilessly. I howl, pain, pleasure, I can't even tell them apart now, it all just makes me want more. "Now now," you chide, "ask nicely."

"Will you please," another rough pull, the other nipple this time, "ah! please, spank me?"

It startles me when he moves into my peripheral vision, and I turn to look at him. It's not that I've forgotten he's there, but my focus has been so much on you that it takes me a second to remember that it's him I'm ostensibly begging. The funniest combination of expressions are at war on his face - he's hesitant, sort of concerned at the turn things have taken, but his eyes are bright and I can tell he's crazy turned on. "This is really what you want?" He wants to make sure. He's just met us. For all he knows you're some sick sadistic bastard who gets off on forcing yourself onto helpless women. (I mean, don't get me wrong, you *are* a sick sadistic bastard, but I mean that in the nicest possible way, and I am anything but helpless.)

He sees the look on my face, though, before I can say a word, and he gets it. "Yes," I say. Fuck the shyness, I want it too badly now, and he needs to know it's okay or he won't do it. "This is really what I want. I want you to spank me. Hard. Please." Again I push my ass out brazenly, like an animal waiting to be mounted, and I watch him for his response.

He seems to mentally dispel the last shred of uncertainly, shrugs, and grins broadly. "Well, since you asked..." The transformation only takes a second. Now he's practically rubbing his hands together gleefully. He tucks my skirt into the waistband, once again exposing my bare ass, and without a pause wallops the hell out of one cheek, then the other. I have to laugh, he's so clearly done this before. He may not have known what he was doing with the potential threesome thing, but he's sure spanked someone before. And oh, god, the instant relief, crossed with the burning for more, and it's only going to take a few more and I'll be coming from the blows alone...

"Enough," you snap, and he stops obediently. I whine miserably, thwarted again. I begin to worry that you're just not going to let me come, period, and wonder how long you'll keep it up. I don't think I can take much more, though, and be able maintain any sort of control at all. I'll be coming and I won't be able to stop it. "On your knees."

"Ohh..." I sigh. Finally. You nod at him and he unbuckles his belt, no longer hesitating in the slightest. I open my mouth and he thrusts in deep, one, two, three times until he lets me breathe again. Feeling the length of his cock against my tongue, then hitting the back of my throat, is heavenly. I don't know why I love that sensation so much--the fight not to gag, my eyes watering, the thick spit that coats him--but I do. His gaze is already unfocused, far away, and I don't think he's going to last long. He grabs my head and fucks my face roughly then, all concern for me instantly evaporated. I cup his ass, take him farther down my throat, my own excitement mirroring his. I could come from this, too, if he keeps going just a little longer...but he can't (or won't) hold back and shoots his load all over me - my face, my neck, my chest covered in his come. He rubs it into my skin, mauling my tits until I'm panting. Again I feel that orgasm gathering, hovering on the edges of my consciousness, but I push it back, knowing you have more for me.

I'm right. Before I even have a chance to catch my breath, you haul me up by my hips, leaving me bent forward at the waist, and resume the attack on my ass. God, it was sore already, it fucking hurts now, and I'm no longer worried that I'll come from it. Now I'm only focused on how much I can stand. It's like I go down a level somehow, focused inward, pain taking over my entire attention, but it's not the droning, muted kind of pain that wears you down every single day of your life. This is sharp, discrete, willful. This is something you give me, something with meaning. It sounds stupid, clichéd, to say that it's a gift, but it is, and one that nobody was willing or able to give me before you. But you - you know I can take it. You see strength in me that I didn't know I had, and it makes me more expansive somehow, more open to the world. The pain feels right. (Hell, most of the time it doesn't even feel like pain.) And it makes me want you, fiercely.

And suddenly we've crossed that threshold, without warning reached my limit. But as I draw in breath to blurt out my safeword, you know and slide into me before it reaches my lips. So sweetly - fuck it's good, I begin to hum in pleasure right away - but agonizingly slowly. God, you just won't give me a break, will you? When I realize you won't slam into me I do my best to shimmy back onto your hardness but you're having none of it and hold my hips still. And then there's a disorienting moment when another cock is forced into my mouth. Already? I think. I mean I know he's younger than us and all, but that was awfully quick to recharge, I'm thinking, and it's also odd because his girth fills me up even more this time, my lips stretching farther around him...and when I glance up I realize it's not him at all. It's the bartender, with the most wonderfully evil smile on his face. He's hot, too - or maybe all guys seem hot when I'm this worked up? - he's stocky, solid, not at all fat but substantial. He could throw me around in bed and good, I'm thinking greedily, when oh, was my mind having logical thoughts? because that's over, you're finally, blessedly, giving me what I want most, a good hard fucking, you're ramming so far into my cunt I think I may split apart for once and for all, and the bartender is hammering away at my mouth and it's so good I think I might pass out, disintegrate, cease to be, impaled upon the two of you with our boy watching, his rod in his fist (yes, quick to recharge after all, as it turns out), and did I say split apart? I meant I might ascend, float up into some other dimension, maybe, except instead of an out-of-body experience, I am wholly, transcendently *in* my body, my body is all there is, pulsing and throbbing uncontrollably, and I hear rather than feel myself wailing around the cock in my mouth, no words, only rapture, holiest of holies. There's just one long string of orgasms, one after another - mine could go on for days, I'm sure - and I'm vaguely aware of the bartender pulling out and spurting onto my back, and then you letting loose inside me, smashing your pelvis into mine until you can't do it anymore and slump against me, both of us leaning against the wall, spent and sweating, wrung out, yet still full of this weird energy, glowing, like embers once a fire's out.

I feel you slip out of me and you turn me toward you. You and I don't use words like "love" but in moments like this they'd be irrelevant anyway. There's this look on your face that's hard to identify or describe but it's so open, so present, it takes my breath away. What we have is better than what they call love, I sometimes think. It's this ancient, bedrock knowledge, a way of connecting with each other that goes back to when people were just barely even people. Its power feels limitless, but the vastness of it isn't intimidating. It's a ritual, a cleansing, that leaves us hollowed out and brimmingly full at the same time. Whatever we think of as "self" melts away and the juncture between us is all there is, this third thing that neither of us could create on our own. And now we breathe. We watch each other. My hand is on your chest and I can feel your heart beating. There's a split-second flash of tenderness (I think I hear you murmur "Baby" but I can't swear to it), and then it's gone again. Underground or wherever it goes.

And then without warning you grip my jaw in one hand, mutter "Good little whore." You bend down and take one of my nipples between your teeth, gnaw on me like you're a hungry dog and I'm a bone, and I throw my head back, lost again in an instant. You shove a finger into my cunt, still dripping with your come, then bury it, slowly, deep in my ass. Start to thrust a rhythm, in and out. And I'm moaning, writhing, ready for more. Yours.

*****

Entry #5: Young and Free

It was as if his touch held lighting. I sat there, my hands on my thighs, my nails digging into thick denim as I tried to stop myself from reaching for him. I didn’t know him. I couldn’t just grab his fingers and shove them up my skirt. It wasn’t his fault his elusive touches had driven me to the point of no return.

The tapas bar was smoky and almost cavernous, loud voices erupting in high-pitched Spanish all around me, my surroundings an unending cacophony. I leaned forward to catch what my roommate was saying but didn’t manage to understand one word. I was here for a semester, having freshly arrived on the Barcelona campus like hundreds of other foreign students.
I was so out of my element it wasn’t funny. And yet, here I was on my first night out and I’d fallen incomprehensively in lust. He’d introduced himself as Nico and had sat down with us hours ago. He was funny and charming, had tried to include me in whatever they were saying but I’d quickly lost track. It probably hadn’t helped that his thigh had been pressing against mine, the sweet pressure almost more than I could handle.

So I sat there, unmoving in case he thought he had to move away from me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My fingers twitched. I wanted to touch him. Nico No-Last-Name was too tempting, like that last bravas piece on the plate in front of me. He was calling my name. No, it was calling my name. Damn, but I’d only had one glass of wine. Surely I couldn’t be drunk already? I rolled my neck and winced when it creaked.

“Are you okay?”

I turned to my left, gasping when our noses nearly bumped each other. So, so close. “Yes. I mean, si.”

His teeth glistened in the low lights as he grinned, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. He was so handsome it was unfair. “I speak English, don’t worry.”

“Oh. That’s,” I paused and licked my lips, shyness warring with the urge to talk to him inside me, “great.”

“Louisa, right?” I nodded, admiring the way he brushed his hair off his forehead in a careless gesture. “How are you enjoying Spain so far?”

“Fine. It’s, huh, it’s great.” Stupid! I cringed inwardly. I couldn’t speak to him in such a state. I was seconds away from pulling his head down and planting my mouth on his. I wanted his hands on me, his thighs spreading my legs wide so he could push his way into me. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before.

To this day, I still don’t know whether it was the look in my eyes that gave me away, or whether I’d been giving out signals he’d understood on a primitive basis. In any case, I found myself pulled out of my seat, his fingers finding mine as he tugged me out of the restaurant. It was dark outside, the fall weather still clement enough it wasn’t too cold. I stumbled a little on the cobbles lining the street, my high heels slowing down my movements.
“Nico?” I finally called out when I realized where he was taking me. He stopped in the middle of an alley, people walking only yards away. They all ignored us however. I found myself backed up against an old wall, the bricks harsh against my thin top.

He leaned down, pressing both his hands above me, effectively trapping me with his body. I should have been afraid. I should have. I was alone in a dark alley with an almost stranger. I was in a foreign country at night, with no purse or coat. And yet, all I could feel was exhilaration. Because I was pretty sure what was coming next… And he didn’t disappoint.

“You’ve been looking at me,” he whispered, his soft breath like a shiver across my parted lips.

“Yes,” I admitted readily enough.

“Why?”

I looked up into his eyes and saw the same lust coursing through me reflected in his gaze. I did something I’d never done before, not with a stranger at least: I let go. I whispered, “You know why.” just before leaning up on my toes and aligning my mouth with his. My breasts brushed his hard chest, and a low growl escaped him. He took over the kiss then, his palms finding my hips, fingers squeezing the soft flesh there.

I looped my arms around his neck and held on, pressing myself into his body. I shouldn’t have worried. Seconds later, his mouth left mine to trace a heady path along my jaw, down my neck, teasing and biting sensitive skin. It made me shiver. He laughed, obviously pleased with my reaction.

When his right hand slipped under my top, I leaned my head back against the wall and looked up at the darkened sky. Stars winked down at me as his thumb brushed over my nipple, hardening it through the soft satin of my bra. Shadows moved, and it took me a little while to understand Nico had lowered his head. Fingers dug beneath the material, my breasts popping out soon after. He growled once more and latched onto one, sucking and pulling. When he switched sides, the nipple he’d just played with was wet and hard. It hardened even more when the wind teased it. I closed my eyes at the strange sensation, suddenly realizing I was half naked outside of all places.

“Nico…” I murmured as I opened my eyes once again and turned my head.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up. I looked at the street and the people walking past the alley where we stood. “Louisa?”

I looked at him then and blinked. His lips shone, as if he’d just licked them, tasting me maybe. He smirked and bent down, pressing the mouth I’d just been admiring against mine. His tongue slipped in, and he kissed me again. It was harsher this time, as if his patience was running out.

Fingers slid down my thighs, and ignoring everyone else but Nico, I parted my legs and moaned when his hand slid under my skirt. He broke the kiss and asked, his voice low, “Are you wet for me?”

Was I ever! It felt like I’d been wet for hours, my pussy patiently waiting for his touch, his tongue, his cock… Fingertips pressed against the thin cotton of my panties, his caresses assured as he brushed my clit, over and over. I heard his chuckle when he felt how ready I was for him, but even then I didn’t stop him. I could feel myself blushing, but I didn’t comment or tell him off. Instead, I parted my thighs wider. I wanted more of him. More of this, whatever it was.

“Should I fuck you here then?” he asked, his voice husky, his fingers slipping underneath my underwear.

A shock. Naked skin on my clit, rubbing, rubbing. A finger entering me for a quick caress, preparing me for his invasion. I threw my head back and forced myself to concentrate, to focus on something other than Nico and his clever hands. I should think about this, weigh the risks involved, ask him about contraception. I should really do all these things. But no, all I did was open my mouth and tell him to hurry.

He laughed again, sounding pleased and not a little bit proud. Yes, I thought, he was the man. He’d managed to seduce the foreigner in less than an hour, divest her of her clothing and now he was going to take her against a wall, half-naked for all the world to see. Take me, he was going to take me.

He pulled back then, the cold air suddenly brushing my uncovered parts making me jerk. I watched with hooded eyes as he popped his jeans open and drew them down his thighs. They hung at his knees, revealing a long, thick cock that was already oozing precome. I wondered for a second whether I shouldn’t give something back, whether he wouldn’t expect me to kneel at his feet and suck him into my mouth. I wondered too how he’d taste, if he’d grab my hair and control my movements. I shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

Those questions would be answered, but not that night.

That night, all Nico did was slide a condom over his erection, watching me watch him pump his cock a couple of times before pressing his body into mine once more. He kissed me then, surprising me with the softness of his lips. He was careful too when he hooked my leg high over his and held onto it, his other hand parting my flesh, caressing my hardened nub for a second or two before finding my entrance. I was ready. He was ready.

He nipped my lower lip and pushed inside me. I gasped, that feeling of being filled again shocking and yet so damn good all I could do was grab his biceps and close my eyes. He took his time, sliding inch after slow inch, until he finally bumped into my cervix. I let out a heavy breath then, full and aching. Yearning. “Fuck me,” I think I told him, too caught up in the sensations coursing my body my usual shyness in bed had gone out the window.

Considering we weren’t in a room or in a bed, that was probably a good thing.

He fucked me, like I’d asked him, upping the ante when he grabbed my breast, his fingers squeezing my nipple, twisting it. I moaned, loudly. He laughed, loudly. He never stopped thrusting however. When his left hand fell between our bodies, I let out a squeal of surprise. The noise that left my mouth seconds later as his thumb pressed into my clit was barely human.

“Come for me, Louisa,” he whispered against my hair, his right hand tightening around my thigh.

I was sure I’d have bruises the next day, and just the thought of it, of having his mark on my body for days on end, brought sparks behind my eyelids. I was wicked but I didn’t care. I was on my own here in Spain, no family, no friends. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. For the first time since my plane touched down at Barcelona’s airport, I relished my freedom. This semester was going to be great, I was sure of it.

His cock brushed something inside me at his next upward thrust, and I felt my inner walls clamp tight around his pounding length. “Nico!” I called out as warmth spread throughout me.
“Fuck!” he growled but accelerated, hoping maybe to catch up to me.

I came first though, shouting to the sky and the stars, my body bowed, my hips rocking back and forth as if they had a life of their own. He found my mouth and cut me off, growling low in his throat when his orgasm hit, his fingers digging into the skin of my hips. More bruises, I thought with a wide smile as I slowly came back down to earth.

He slumped against me, his breath coming out in short pants, his cock softening inside me. He drew back moments later and slipped the condom off, throwing it toward the end of the alley as if he did this every day. I watched him pull his pants back up and remembered about my own clothes. It was only then that I recalled too about the people in the street only yards away. I jerked my head to the left and breathed out a sigh of relief when I noticed no one there. We hadn’t been caught.

Well, not that time anyway, I thought as I remembered another evening in the park near my university lodgings. My husband’s snores echoed behind me as I stared at my computer screen. I hadn’t thought of Nico in years. That semester in Spain had been some of the best months of my life, and most of it had been thanks to him and his amazing cock. He’d been one of my first lovers, and definitely the first one to introduce me to the joys of sex. He’d played with me, teased me, taught me nearly everything he knew too. From positions to locations to toys and more, let’s say, spicy delights, he’d showed it all to me…and I’d gobbled it all up.

Chewing on my lower lip, I reread the notice I’d received on Facebook just an hour earlier. ‘Nico wants to be your friend.’ Did he really? What good could come out of this? It wasn’t as if I would ever see him again. I probably shouldn’t either, considering what we’d done the last time we’d been together.

I’d promptly forgotten him as soon as I’d arrived back home, back to my normal life that included the usual: parents, college, hometown friends. Then job, friends, long-term boyfriend who had turned into husband. House, mortgage, kids.

Nico.

He had no part in my life anymore. I should say no. Right?

My mouse hovered. Approve or Deny.

Yes or No.

Yes.

No.

I closed my eyes, made a decision and when I reopened them, clicked on it.

… And you, what would you have picked?

*****

There ya have it, folks. A whole slew of sexy stories to read and re-read at your leisure. Poll will run until midnight on January 18th. (I actually just wrote January 198th. That would be one long fucking month, no?) Help spread the news, if you please.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Can you guess which shots Riendo took?

Neck and Neck

2010-12-01T06:12:00.001-08:00

The tie-breaker almost needed a tie-breaker! But we do have a winner. Dorla Moorehouse will continue on in the competition, and we unfortunately have to say goodbye to the extremely talented Willsin Rowe. Things are going to continue to be tough from now on, I think.

Stay tuned for the next round!

XXX,
Alison

Break My Tie

2010-11-29T05:48:00.001-08:00

Here's our runoff, our tie-breaker, our dead heat. The poll will run until tomorrow night at midnight, so we will have our winner by the morning of December 1st.

The stories are below. Choose your favorite and click the button!

*****

Holed Up

Oh, god, I’m so small, and the world is so big.

The weighty winter quilt cuts existence into manageable chunks. Here is me. There is nothing. I swim in sweat and drown in breath.

I hunker, face down in my sanctuary. Chin lodged between my knees, breasts smeared across my thighs. Hands linked over my neck, heels together across my slit. No way in.

His size settles on my back. He shelters my world. He calms, and the ecstatic weight of him compresses me.

My breath comes in stabs. My insides jostle. My cunt tingles with the juice he squeezes from me. I’m never safer than when he curls me into myself. Outside is a grotesque storm. He is my cave.

A shock of air kisses my ass where he raises the quilt. He’s found a way in.

His cock jabs at my ass, slick with sweat. I squeal so only he can hear.

Slowly I let the outside in, and that big, big world shrinks. By that much.

He groans like thunder, fills me with heat. My heel finds my clit and pushes. I bellow like I used to when that was my only release. Before I learned to fuck.

My little world has different truths. Two bodies inhabit the same space at the same time. He quakes, growls and comes. He compacts me, inside and out. One day I will be a diamond.

He’s so big.

Oh, god. I’m so small.

*****

2,400 PSI

“Hard to believe that a year ago, female officers weren't allowed to serve on submarines,” the captain mused, entering the helm. “Maybe I sound misogynistic, but it's required an adjustment.”

“One that many male officers are grateful for.”

“But not you, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

The captain closed and locked the door. “Just because you never say anything doesn't mean I haven't noticed where your eyes go when I'm in dress uniform.”

“Sir, please, don't tell anyone.”

“Why would I? I'd lose the opportunity to have you. Now, why don't you leave the autopilot on?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He unbuckled my belt, and with a tug I was half-naked. Shoving me into my chair, he draped his mouth over my thickening cock. As his breath and tongue overwhelmed me, I stared out into the dark ocean, illuminated only by the sub's headlights and phosphorescent fish.

His hands worked their way up my thighs; my fingers found their way into his hair. I gazed out into the depths; colors swimming by mirrored the flow and pulse filling my body. As his nails reached out and scratched my chest, my cock surged and I poured into him, back arching, voice straining.

As soon as he finished swallowing, he wiped his mouth and checked his watch.

“I have a meeting. Can you come to my quarters when your shift ends?”

“Yes.”

“Eleven o'clock. Not a minute later or earlier. Have a good afternoon, Lieutenant.” We saluted.

*****

Hard to choose. I know. I know. See ya on Wednesday!

XXX,
Alison

Smut Marathon — Round 8

2010-11-29T05:24:00.001-08:00

First off, we have a tie. And I'm not entirely sure what to do about that. I don't want to have to count pregnant chads, or anything, but I think I'm going to ask you all to vote in a run off. We'll come back to that in a moment.

Here are our authors with their stories, or vice-versa:

In the Middle by Emma Hillman
Overtime by May Deva
Decisions by Angell Brooks
Bad Case by Joss Lockwood
2,400 PSI by Dorla Moorehouse
Holed Up by Willsin Rowe

The reader favorite this time around was In the Middle. The judged favorite was Overtime. The celebrity judge and sponsor for this round was Cleis Press, and Cleis has been awesome enough to offer a book to each of the two winners. Check out Cleis's site and drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with the title of your choice and the address where you'd like the books sent. (Also, check out Cleis's sale—and my special offer—too!)

Okay, so now, what am I going to do? I know. I'm going to have another cup of coffee and make a poll for the run off. We'll just toss it out there for two days and see what's what. I hope that seems fair! It's 5:15 in the a.m. and "fair" is sort of a foreign concept right about now.

XXX,
Alison

Round 8: Under Pressure

2010-11-19T06:07:00.001-08:00

I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking when I issued this challenge to the Smut Marathoners. I probably had the Queen/Bowie song in my head, though. The theme this time was simply "Under Pressure" in 250 words or less. The six contestants — yes, we are down to six — have turned in their submissions. Poll will run until next Sunday night (the 28th at midnight). Why so long? Because I'm going to be out of town for the holiday. And *I* don't want to be, um, under pressure to try to post amidst stuffing relatives and fighting with turkeys. Or something like that.

So read carefully. Choose wisely. See ya on the flipside!

*****

Entry #1: 2,400 PSI

“Hard to believe that a year ago, female officers weren't allowed to serve on submarines,” the captain mused, entering the helm. “Maybe I sound misogynistic, but it's required an adjustment.”

“One that many male officers are grateful for.”

“But not you, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

The captain closed and locked the door. “Just because you never say anything doesn't mean I haven't noticed where your eyes go when I'm in dress uniform.”

“Sir, please, don't tell anyone.”

“Why would I? I'd lose the opportunity to have you. Now, why don't you leave the autopilot on?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He unbuckled my belt, and with a tug I was half-naked. Shoving me into my chair, he draped his mouth over my thickening cock. As his breath and tongue overwhelmed me, I stared out into the dark ocean, illuminated only by the sub's headlights and phosphorescent fish.

His hands worked their way up my thighs; my fingers found their way into his hair. I gazed out into the depths; colors swimming by mirrored the flow and pulse filling my body. As his nails reached out and scratched my chest, my cock surged and I poured into him, back arching, voice straining.

As soon as he finished swallowing, he wiped his mouth and checked his watch.

“I have a meeting. Can you come to my quarters when your shift ends?”

“Yes.”

“Eleven o'clock. Not a minute later or earlier. Have a good afternoon, Lieutenant.” We saluted.

*****

Entry #2: Holed Up

Oh, god, I’m so small, and the world is so big.

The weighty winter quilt cuts existence into manageable chunks. Here is me. There is nothing. I swim in sweat and drown in breath.

I hunker, face down in my sanctuary. Chin lodged between my knees, breasts smeared across my thighs. Hands linked over my neck, heels together across my slit. No way in.

His size settles on my back. He shelters my world. He calms, and the ecstatic weight of him compresses me.

My breath comes in stabs. My insides jostle. My cunt tingles with the juice he squeezes from me. I’m never safer than when he curls me into myself. Outside is a grotesque storm. He is my cave.

A shock of air kisses my ass where he raises the quilt. He’s found a way in.

His cock jabs at my ass, slick with sweat. I squeal so only he can hear.

Slowly I let the outside in, and that big, big world shrinks. By that much.

He groans like thunder, fills me with heat. My heel finds my clit and pushes. I bellow like I used to when that was my only release. Before I learned to fuck.

My little world has different truths. Two bodies inhabit the same space at the same time. He quakes, growls and comes. He compacts me, inside and out. One day I will be a diamond.

He’s so big.

Oh, god. I’m so small.

*****

Entry #3: In the Middle

“Just a little bit more, honey,” Joe said, his fingers clenching on her hips.

“I…” she gasped. “I don’t know.”

“Just breathe, darling,” Dylan’s breath brushed her overly warm face. “Let go.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she growled. She was out of her depth here, sandwiched between the two men. It had sounded like a great idea; that is until they’d actually started doing it. And now she was stuck, her pussy stretched around Dylan’s cock, her rose forced open by Joe’s tentative but unrelenting thrusts. “Oh God.”

“Shh.” Dylan’s mouth found hers, his kiss meant to make her forget about his friend’s intrusion.

It didn’t really work. Not until he slipped his right hand between their sweaty bodies and curved his palm over her stomach.
When one long finger extended and pressed against her clit, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was all Joe needed. His cock slipped inside her, the pressure unlike anything she’d ever felt. It hurt. It also felt odd. But Dylan kept on caressing her, both whispering dirty little things to her, teasing her with what they’d do next, how good she felt, how fucking hot she was. In the end, she obeyed and let go.

Fully.

They thrust in unison. Bit. Fucked. Kissed. Sucked. They made her theirs.

When she came, a bright explosion of stars behind her closed eyelids, she screamed out their names, one after the other. And they came inside her, one after the other.

*****

Entry #4: Decisions

No pressure. Right.

They’d been doing this dance for months.

I want you.
I want you.
Tell me you want me too.

Her eyes laughed at him, her mouth teased him.

She was waiting. Her v-neck sweater strained to keep her braless breasts inside, thin cotton skirt swirling above her knees. Head cocked to one side to reveal her neck, which she’d told him was her weak spot.

Her scent permeated the air around them; musky, fruity.

Sex.

He had to make the move. He knew she wanted it.

But no pressure

His cock strained against his pants, demanding to fuck her. And he wanted to give in.

He wanted her sharp tongue bathing his shaft, wanted to look down at her on her knees while she sucked his prick into her naughty mouth.

His travelled down, where her wet pussy waited for him to claim her.

Take her now, or never have the chance again. She was tired of waiting.

Her hands wandered to pluck at her nipples. Her eyes drifted closed as she licked her glossed plump lips. One hand wandered further down. She moaned, palming herself through her clothing.

He unzipped his jeans, freeing his aching erection. Stroking it with one hand, he pulled her skirt up, and spread her lips with his fingers, relishing in her heat.

Pulling her close, he thrust his tongue and his cock into her at the same time. She cried out his name as he made her his.

Decision made.

*****

Entry #5: Overtime

"What are you doing here?"

I shrieked, and jumped up from my desk. It was Friday night, everyone had left hours ago.

"You said you needed the Bernson report first thing Monday morning."

My boss had materialized out of nowhere, my incredibly hot boss who was leaning against my door, looking me up and down. I was obviously hallucinating.

"i didn't realize I put such pressure on you, Susan. Dedication should be rewarded." He moved across my office, watching me closely.

The backs of my thighs touched the desk behind me as his lips touched mine. Dreaming, I was dreaming. He kissed me like he did in every fantasy I had about him. Hot, wet, demanding, delicious.

His hand slid up my thigh. I felt him grin against my lips.

"I knew you'd wear stockings with no panties, dirty girl."

He reclaimed my lips as his fingers slid into my cunt, thumb slipping across my clit. I groaned against him, shoved myself into his hand and rocked between those devious fingers and my desk. The orgasm roared out of nowhere, enveloped me before I could register the occurrence. I poured it into his mouth like wine, reeling and moaning.

"How many nights have you worked so late on my behalf?"

I tried to unscramble my brain quickly.

"Uhm - maybe 20?"

"Hmm." his hand returned to its place between my legs "I really owe you. It's gonna be a long night."

I grinned back, and settled onto the desk.

"Anytime."

*****

Entry #6: Bad Case

You've heard of white coat hypertension, right? Some patients get so nervous in the doctor's presence that their blood pressure goes up? Well, I've got something a bit more embarrassing…

Last year my HMO made me change providers. When the new doc walked in, I knew I was in trouble.

He was completely professional. His voice was polite, his touch gentle but firm, his eyes never held mine for too long. But I couldn't help my weird physician fetish, and while my body responded to his hands, I found myself imagining him bending me over the table and fucking the living daylights out of me.

By the time we reached the breast exam I was having trouble controlling my reactions. I'd broken into a cold sweat trying to keep myself from sighing. As he pressed and circled, I could feel my breath quicken and then hold as I waited for that final nipple squeeze, and it was only by sheer will that I managed to stay quiet.

But the worst was still to come. I started to tremble in anticipation as he lubed his gloved finger, and when he spread my labia and slid in slowly, I could no longer hold back. A moan escaped my lips as the orgasm coursed through me, my back arching off the crinkly paper.

I opened my eyes to see that the professional distance was gone. He was staring at me. Hungrily.

"Please," I said, breathing raggedly. And he went to lock the door.

*****

Happy Thanksgiving! Don't forget to play along on my 12-days of ETSY. You can keep your comments coming on Day 1: MetalTaboo, Day 2: Bean Forest, Day 3: Robbie Jenkins, and Day 4: LovingAnvil!

XXX,
Alison

The Giants Win!

2010-11-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

I mean, Rock With Me wins! Sorry, I got a little World Series Fever for a moment. You can click the image to make the poll bigger. There were a lot of close calls this round, but the readers spoke loud and clear in favor of Rock With Me. Blowfish—which sponsored the contest—was our official judge. They said: We're thrilled and honored to have our catalog inspire your writers. I have shared the entries with the other members of the staff and we have voted:

"OverDue" was the first choice and "The Necklace" was second.

Here are the writers behind the stories:

Rock With Me by Emma Hillman
The Sisterhood by Angell Brooks
Overdue by Joss Lockwood
Symphony for Three by May Deva
Sometimes by Willsin Rowe
The Necklace by Dorla Moorehouse
See No Evil, Speak No Evil by Sandrine Lopez

Unfortunately, this means we do have to say goodbye to Sandrine Lopez, who has been an excellent participant in the contest!
Thanks to everyone for voting! Writers, I will be contacting you shortly with a new challenge. Readers, I'll be back in a bit with a pretty new cover.

XXX,
Alison

Ohhhhhh is for Sex Toys

2010-10-26T06:21:00.001-07:00

Yes, I'm back. With the coffee. And the donuts. I mean, the poll for Smut Marathon, Round 7. Finally! This round is an exciting one...I asked the writers to choose an item from the bountiful, beautiful Blowfish catalog for their inspiration—and damn were they ever inspired! The writers have already done their jobs. I gave them 900 words and two weeks to write. Now, here's where *you* come in. Please read each of these stories and choose the one that makes you hummmm. The poll will run until midnight on November 1st. So go on. Play with your toys!

Entry #1: Rock with Me

“I can’t take it anymore,” Joe muttered through clenched teeth. “Why me?” Why did his room have to be next to hers?
He hadn’t minded having a female roommate before. She was nice and she also knew how to cook, which had been a damn bonus. It’d been amazing at first to have home-cooked meals every evening when he came back from work. Yes, it had started out well, until she’d received that damn package in the mail.

She’d blushed a pretty shade of red when she’d gotten her hands on it, and he should have realized right then something was off. But no, he’d just watched her hurry to her room, listening to the lock turning a second later. He really should have paid more attention, because the noises had started that same evening. Little moans of pleasure, like the ones she was making now.

“Shit!” He jerked upright and before he could think it through, was out of his room. He stopped short when he noticed her door was ajar.

He leaned in, his face brushing the soft wood and pushing it open a tiny bit more. He stilled, wondering if she’d seen the door move. No, he could still hear her moans. Damn it, what the hell was she doing in there? Incensed, he stepped inside and jerked to a stop.

She was fucking herself; there was just no other description for it. He took in her nearly bared body, only clad in a too-short t-shirt that showcased more than hid her round ass. The ass that was now rocking up and down, her toes braced against her duvet.

Her breasts were obviously mashed under her, and he frowned when he realized he wanted to see them. Touch them. Taste them. The erection he’d been trying to ignore for the past hour jerked in his boxer-shorts and he grabbed himself through the thin cotton, needing to alleviate the sudden ache. He thumbed the head of his cock, feeling precome drizzle down, his eyes never leaving his roommate.

Carefully, he rounded the bed and came to a stand, his eyes nearly bugging out of his face when he spotted the purple toy nestled between her thighs. One end of it was pushed deep inside her, while the other curved over her mound, vibrating against her clit. He kept on watching as she ground her pussy against it, getting herself off as best she could. He bit back a curse. That was the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life!

He thought of how warm and wet it must be inside of her, how snug it would be if he pushed his cock in there. The toy would vibrate against him, heightening the sensations. He would drag her t-shirt up and palm her breasts from behind, squeeze them to the point of pain so she screamed her release. No more little moans, he wanted her to shout his name just as he’d imagined those past restless nights.

He traced her cleft with his gaze and decided he’d take her ass too. The toy would provide extra stimulation, always needed in such a case, and she’d love it. He was sure of it. Fuck, he had so many ideas, so many positions he wanted to push her body in. He tugged his boxers down his legs and kicked them off, his right hand grabbing onto his cock once more. He was so fucking hard he wouldn’t last long, not the first time at least. That was her fault and she would be punished, he added inwardly. She’d been teasing him for nights on end, and now it was going to be his turn. Oh yeah.

When he moved onto the bed and laid his body on top of hers, she shrieked.

“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he told her as he lined up his cock with her pussy.

“Joe! What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you need. That toy is nothing compared to a thick hard cock.” He thrust up, his dick sliding in easily. “Yes, just like that. Fuck, you’re so wet.” He gritted his teeth when the toy’s vibrations threatened to annihilate his control. “I’m going to fuck you now, Tessa.”

“But… But…” she stammered. “Joe!”

“You need to come, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, oh yes.” She sounded out of it. “But, it won’t fit!”

“It will. Trust me.” He kept on pushing until his balls were nestled against the damn toy. And then, he started thrusting.

When he realized the end of that purple wand pressed against her g-spot, he pushed on his hands on either side of her head and made sure his weight bore down. She responded by a low keen, her walls tightening around his cock in reaction. He smirked, pleased with himself, and did it all over again. And again.

This time, when she came, she did as ordered and screamed out his name. And the next time too. And the one after that, and… Well, let’s just say Joe now really likes that toy. Of course, he really likes his roommate too, probably more than he’d ever thought possible. Love can be weird like that sometimes…

Inspired by We Vibe II Silicone Vibrator

*****

Entry #2: The Necklace

With Emily’s help, I’d carefully shaped and styled my hair. Under her watchful eye, I applied the makeup she’d spent weeks teaching me to perfect. I padded the lavender satin bra, tucking my cock and balls up into the matching panties. Then I smoothed the pale blue silk dress over my body, wiping away the wrinkles. Wanting to avoid razor nicks on my legs, I’d invested in a waxing session, and the skirt felt cool on my smooth thighs. Finally, I stepped into strappy stilettos that I’d had dyed to match the dress

“You’re gorgeous,” Emily said. “And to celebrate, I have a gift for you.” She handed me a small velvet jewelry box.

Opening it, I found a curious-looking necklace. Two oblong silver beads hung from tiny leather hoops, attached to a delicate chain.

“It’s beautiful.”

“There’s more to it than meets the eye. Take off your dress and your bra.”

Part of me wanted to protest - I had put so much work into this look. But my curiosity got the better of me and I obliged. Emily picked up the necklace and looped the chain around my neck. Pinching my nipples until they stood out, she slipped them through the soft loops, securing them tightly. Then she twisted the bottom of each bead, and suddenly my nipples were pulsing with soft vibrations, my cock starting to stir and strain against the tape holding it down.

“Do you like it?” she asked, with a mischievous grin. All I could do was nod. “Wonderful. Now get dressed again and let’s go. Be careful not to jostle the beads when you put your bra on.”

When we made it to the bar, I practically collapsed on my stool. I’d spent weeks practicing walking in stilettos, but the continuous pulsing in my nipples was turning my knees to mush.

Emily ordered us both martinis. “Doing okay?” she asked as I took a shaky sip. “I hope you can concentrate. I want to see a man hit on you, watch him buy you a drink and try to take you home, knowing the whole time that you’ll brush him off and fuck me. And all the while watching you struggle against your arousal.”

Before I could retort, because a swarthy-looking guy eased onto the stool next to me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, and flashed a grin.

“A martini, please.”

“I’m Brad,” he said, extending his hand.

“Dana.” My voice wavered as I tried to make it convincing.

“Lovely to meet you. Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Emily.” She gave a short wave

“Nice to meet you. Do you need another drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She turned back to her glass

Confident that he’d paid Emily the minimal amount of attention, Brad turned back to me. “So Dana,” he asked, stroking my arm. “What do you do?”

The light touch of his fingertips up and down my skin accentuated the vibrations running up through my body, and my legs started twitching in response. “I’m a software designer.” I struggled to keep my voice feminine, my arousal threatening to destroy the charade.

“So you’re pretty smart, then.”

“I’d say so.” Taking care not to fall of my stool, I gently dragged my toes up and down Brad’s pant leg. “What do you do?”

“I’m an attorney.”

“Oh, with which firm?”

“One of the big ones. But I hate to mix business with pleasure.” He licked his lips, and moved his hand down to my knee, his fingertips playing with the the hem of my skirt. My cock kept trying to grow, expand, and I half-worried that soon it would burst through the restraints.

“In that case, maybe we should go somewhere just a little more pleasurable.”

“Just what I was thinking. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to run to the restroom before we take off.”

“I’ll be right here,” I said, batting my eyes.

As soon as the restroom door closed, I turned to Emily. She was already throwing cash down on the bar to cover the drinks she’d ordered. We dashed into the street, running as best we could in our heels.

“You were beautiful,” she said as we burst into the apartment. “Just perfect.”

“Thank you. But can we maybe skip the compliments and get me off?”

Emily slowly unzipped my dress, removed my bra, slid off my panties. Carefully removing the tape, my cock sprang to life. The necklace was still there, and I could feel the vibrations all through my body.

I settled myself onto the couch and pulled her towards me, slipping off her panties, fingering her clit. Emily leaned down to kiss me and I rubbed faster, feeling her arms and knees trembling. She moaned into my mouth as she came, even more vibration to drive me crazy. As she finished, she climbed onto my cock, squeezing her cunt muscles around me. She started to ride, digging her fingers into my hair. I gripped her ass as hard as I could, pulling myself deeper inside her with every thrust. As I came, all I was conscious of was the gentle humming of the necklace.

Inspired by Incognito Vibrating Droplet Necklace

*****

Entry #3: Sometimes

The pummeling of my orgasm ebbed as Jill slipped her mouth off me. I meshed my fingers with hers.

“Your turn,” I hummed.

She eased her hand loose and swept it through my bush like she’d lost something.

“Jill?”

She shook her head without speaking.

“Jill.”

“You ever…miss the cock?”

I squeezed my eyes closed. In truth, she’d never said she was gay. Just ‘hi’. In no time we’d gone from ‘cute earrings’ to ‘don’t you dare stop’. Knowing how to wrangle a clit only made her a woman, not a lesbian.

I rolled away from her.

“Please, Lexy. Don’t be angry.”

“I don’t know what I am. But it’s not angry.”

I should’ve known. Flirting was like food for her. It gave me a buzz to see how men ate it up, and I’d fooled myself it was all show. I could’ve asked, I guess. But my mouth was always full.

She left without another word. I cupped my cunt and whispered goodbye.

She called me at work the next day.

“If you had a baby, who’s the one man you’d trust her with?” She had a talent for strange questions.

“Gabe.” The only man who’d ever made me come. The last man I’d ever fucked.

They were both on the sofa when I got home. I hugged Gabe. Jill hugged me. I stared into her green eyes until she kissed me. She gave me a box, but stayed my hand.

“Not yet.”

She meshed my fingers with hers, and turned to Gabe. “Sometimes…”

“I get it, Jill. But why Gabe?”

“Because he’d never hurt you.” She kissed my fingers. “Let me show you?”

I knew where she was going. I’d already said goodbye. I gave a short lie of a nod.

She worked Gabe’s belt. He looked at me, the worry on his face for only a second before Jill took his breath away.

I dug my nails into my wrist as her tongue curled around his cock. She coaxed him into a daunting rigidity. He glistened like oil where she’d touched him. I wished I didn’t love them both so hard.

I was entranced by the somnolent ecstasy on Jill’s face as she swabbed my last cock. Jealousy segued into hubris. I’d painted that same expression on her dozens of times. If she just wanted a scrap of meat to gnaw on once in a while…I guess I could live with that. Maybe.

She held him in her mouth as she shucked off her skirt. Of course she was naked underneath.

She fell to her knees. Turning her ass away from me, she laid her head on the floor. Even through her wild tresses of hair, her eyes were clear.

Gabe found his voice. “Lex…you okay?”

I held Jill’s gaze as I nodded, more fluidly this time. Gabe’s cock poked out at me like a threat. His fingers curled around Jill’s hips and he slowly fell inside her.

I lost her for a second as hips met hips. Through her hair I could see a ferocity on her face that was new to me. It was anger, eroded by need.

Gabe did what guys do. He was always gentler than most, but he’s still a guy. The slapping of his flesh against Jill’s sounded like sport.

Jill bit her lip and sucked in a lungful.

“Stop please, Gabe.” Always polite.

Gabe’s eyes spun as he came back to the room. He gritted his teeth and for a moment became everything I’d left behind. His body swelled with that daunting rigidity, but he spat out a moan that took the tension with it. He slipped out of my girl and onto his back.

Jill nodded at the box. I’d already guessed its secret. A Boitoy Silicone Dildo. A Big Nothing Nylon Harness.

“Do you love me, Lexy?”

I held the dildo like it was produce. “Already.”

“You’ve seen how it’s done. Please?” Always polite.

I stripped, threaded the toy through the ring and donned the harness. I felt armed – potent – as I knelt behind Jill.
She rolled onto her back. “No. You I need this way.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Ask Gabe.”

I wrapped my hand around my new cock. I nudged it toward her with all the skill of a virgin and felt the blood in my cheeks.
With just a hand on my hip, Gabe guided me home. Then left. He’s a beautiful man.

Jill’s eyes stayed locked on mine, but her mouth wreathed into a dirty smile. She put her knees to her shoulders. I fell against her, into her, and felt my lip sneering with effort. My clit tingled under the pressure of the toy. All my strength flowed from my pelvis.

She pulled on my shoulders, curled her legs around me. With my breasts I felt her body shudder to the pounding of my hips.

She sucked the air straight from my lungs then shot it back as pure climax.

My eyes spun like Gabe’s had. My hips were power-hungry.

Jill bit my shoulder. “Thank you.”

I sat back on my heels. “Anytime.”

“No. Sometimes. I still need these.” Her lips against mine. “These.” Her tongue on my breast. “These.” My fingers in her cunt.

“But sometimes…”

My cock in her mouth.

Inspired by:

Boitoy Silicone Dildo

Big Nothing Nylon Harness

*****

Entry #4: See No Evil, Speak No Evil...

What does darkness sound like?

You'd think it's silence... dead of night. Everyone asleep. Except it never is. There's always noise, no matter how distant. Trains fading in and out. Breathing up close. Sirens. Rustle of blankets. Footfalls.

Him.

I'm a creature of never-ending night. Of blacker-than-black darkness. And not just between setting sun and rising dawn.

He's back. I hear bags rustle before he enters the kitchen.

"Oooh," I sidle sensually along the wall towards him. "What you bought me?"

"It's a surprise." A bag rustles. "Turn around. Close your eyes."

Something touches my hair. Bands stretched over head until there's pressure around my eyes. I turn to him, open my eyes to blackness.

"Blindfold."

"What for?" I ask.

"Because your eyes always say, 'fuck me'. I want you to be innovative."

"Surely they don't?" I pause, then ask, "If my siren eyes are hidden, does that mean you don't want me any more?"

He takes my hand. I can tell by the number of steps and direction we're in the bedroom. Beside the bed, still unmade, where we fucked last night. The sheets must be strewn this way and that. Still heady with the lingering scent of us. Of sweat. His cum. Perfume of my wetness.

He's close behind. I can sense his warmth... no, heat... almost but not quite in contact.

Whisper in my ear. "Make me want you another way..."

I turn, know exactly where to feel. My waist level with his hips. Between them... my grip is accurate, intense. The stiffness of his cock through trousers and boxers. I relax, caress it. Let it burn in my palm even with insulating fabric.

"Better." he growls.

They say the way to a man's heart is via his stomach. I say it's lower. Fumbling with his garments until they fall away, and go down on him, quickly, greedily.

"Are your eyes saying 'fuck me' now?" I ask, before popping him in my mouth. Letting my tongue and lips have their wickedest of ways on hot, throbbing skin. Tasting his need to be penetrating me.

"Can't you tell?" he replies, before voice is lost to moans. Meaningless sounds of rapture. Of my tongue wrapping, lapping over his cock. Of lips pursed around the tip as I make him cum in gasping, shuddering spurts. Savour them on my taste buds before swallowing but not letting go. Milking him for a second, merciless blowjob, until his legs give and he collapses on the sheets with my mouth still surrounding him. Until he can't help but squirt almost painfully again.

Cum dribbling down my chin, I crawl up him. Share it in a sticky snog.

"Now tell me I only use my eyes... " I purr.

It takes minutes to get his breath back, so vigourous and sudden was his climax. Like a punch to his soul, while his jac was thrust hard and sweet in my throat.

"Too easy..." he murmurs. More rustling in his shopping bag of tricks. As I perch there wondering, another gadget is fixed around my jaw. Something not his dick in my mouth. A gag? I can't even ask...

"Try that again without your lips and tongue"

Bastard! I can't even call 'unfair'...

I'm on top, dressed. He still has his shirt on. I make to remove it. Then, as his arms are behind, bound within sleeves, I push him down so his wrists are pinned under his back.

The gag masks my dirty smile too...

I'm sitting on his dick, limp from two killer bjs but struggling under my twat to reblossom, harden for another round. My weight straps him to the mattress as I unbutton my blouse. Undo my skirt so I can pull it over my head until I'm just in my thong. I wish I could see his expression...

Leaning forward, I dunk my nipples to his mouth. He suckles them, making me sigh as his tongue caresses them to hard sensitivity, sparking through my body. Connecting hard with the lust in my belly.

Reaching back, I ease the thong to one side and settle back. I don't need to guide, as his rock rigid cock is bowed up ready. Sliding through me easily but with pressure enough to almost make me cum. By the time I sit up he's as deep in me as can be.

Gagged, I can't even ask if he surrenders, as my hips gyrate, spinning his cock pleasingly in my cunt. As my thighs tighten on his hips, keeping him in the vice of my lust.

Can't ask if, without eyes or mouth, my whole body screams 'fuck me'. Him trapped under me. Tweaking his nipples, running nails over trembling chest, dipping fingers in his mouth and letting him suck sensually on them, until my own rocking, swaying body has my fill of him.

Then it's my turn to collapse on him, satisfied.

Eventually I let him go, rolling off, letting his spent cock fall slippery from inside, more sweetly-scented wetness to sully our sheets. I hear him struggling to get up, unbind his arms. Shake the numbness from them.

Eventually, he ungags me to reveal a grin of enjoyment, but when the blindfold is removed, there is still darkness.

I've been blind for years. Never needed blindfolding but he needed to know if my unseeing eyes said more than 'fuck me'...

Maybe they don't.

Inspired by Soft Lover's Blindfold & Inflatable Gag

*****

Entry #5: Overdue

He'd been watching her for a while. He couldn't help it really -- the counter where she stood to check books out to the students was directly outside his office. Every time he looked up, there she was, that perfectly rounded ass practically staring him in the face as she leaned over to press her due date stamp into precise little rows. He knew he shouldn't stare, felt vaguely predatory every time--barely out of college herself, she was so prim, so unsullied, like she'd been magically beamed in whole from the 1950s. He wanted to mess her up somehow, he'd finally admitted to himself, to wrinkle that pressed white blouse. To ruck up the narrow skirt and bury himself in her, make her sweat and shake and writhe. He wanted to undo her.

Then that morning she'd come in an unheard-of five minutes late, flustered and slightly rumpled. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed out of breath. She stammered out an excuse, the buses were delayed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she'd arrived to work freshly fucked. That little slut! The idea drove him crazy. All day sordid images filled his head: her mouth open in ecstasy as some faceless guy slammed into her from behind; down on her knees with a hard cock pushing between her lips; her tits bouncing as she rode astride, her face contorting as she came...

By the time she poked her head in the door to tell him she was leaving for the day (last, as usual), he could barely stand it. He gestured her inside, noticed she had a smudge of ink along her jaw line. Before he could check himself he reached out, meaning only to wipe it away, but the second he touched her she leaned into his fingers. Like she'd been just waiting for him to do it. Like she was a cat wanting to be petted. He stroked his thumb under her chin and she tipped her head back, closed her eyes. Exposing her neck to him. So vulnerable. He fought the urge to sink his teeth into her.

"I'm disappointed in you," he said instead. Her eyes flew open in surprise. (Actually, he was just as surprised. Where had that come from?) "You were late this morning." She fidgeted under his gaze. "And now you've gotten yourself all dirty." She gulped. He circled behind her and spoke in her ear. "All day I've been wondering what to do with you..." A tiny noise flew from her, just barely audible in the small room, and she blushed fiercely, stared at the floor. He placed his hand in the small of her back and pushed her gently toward the desk. She seemed about to protest so he grabbed the back of her neck and pushed a little harder. That time she couldn't restrain a moan.

"Hands on the desk," he ordered, and she complied. He tried telling himself to stop, that he could lose his job over such inappropriate behavior, but it was no use. He wanted to touch her so badly that he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. And what's more, she wanted him to. She was standing there angled over his desk, palms flat, trying not to move, but her chest was heaving as she struggled to control her breath, and her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric of her blouse. (His mind seized on that little detail: She was excited. So he'd been right, earlier. She *was* a little slut!) He hiked her skirt up over her hips and nearly exploded right then at the sight of her pale skin, pink panties just begging to be torn off. He couldn't keep himself reined in any longer and ran his hands over her ass, lightly at first, then more firmly, digging his fingers into her flesh. She arched her back, panting, trying to move against him. He took his hands away abruptly and she whimpered in frustration. His cock jumped at the sound. He leaned over her, ground his crotch against her for a second, then said, "You understand that you're going to be punished, don't you, young lady?" She thrust back against him uncontrollably, blurted "Yes" on an outpouring of breath. He groped her ass again, this time sliding a finger down the cleft of her pussy. Holy god in heaven, he could feel how wet she was, even through her panties. Desire hit him all over again, as if he'd been punched in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He could see her trembling as she waited; he knew her cunt must be throbbing. And when he got his breath back, he raised his hand to begin.

The first smack made her yelp. So undignified a sound he almost laughed, almost broke the spell they were under, but then he noticed it. He pushed her panties halfway down her thighs to see better. Stripes.

"What the hell is this?"

She was silent. He spanked her again, and again, and she sighed. Broad red handprints over faint pink lines. He could see, now, how wet she was.

"I've already been punished today." She said it into the desk, but he heard her. He shoved two fingers inside her and felt her convulse around him as she cried out. His mind raced. What he was going to do to her.

Inspired by: riding crop

*****

Entry #6: Symphony for Three

Retrieving my purse from the floor, I heard it. A very low, distinct humming, intermittent. I moved my head a little and determined that it was in front of me, nearby. As I was sitting at the end of my row, only two seats could logically be suspect. The second seat from the end was occupied by an older gentleman in a beautiful dove-grey suit, who looked as though he had slept through some portion of the cello concerti. The seat directly in front of me then. An absolutely lush redhead, wearing a strapless scarlet gown that set off her milky skin and impressive décolletage. I had been aware of her all evening, was she the source of the noise? I bent down again and listened carefully. Yes indeed, there was a very low hum emanating from this lovely creature. I was fascinated and more than a little curious. Looking around, I realized the theatre was emptying, no one was lingering on a week night to chat. She made no move to rise, indeed was not moving at all. I scanned the theatre once more and made a quick decision. I walked casually to the pillars nearby that supported the boxes above and marked the exits. I slipped behind a column. In deep shadow, I was confident that no one would spot me as the house lights were now dimmed somewhat. It was only the two of us left, and she still hadn't moved from her seat. I waited with her.

His footsteps gave him away before I saw him, the amphitheatre shape carrying the sound so perfectly. He strode across the stage, down the stairs, and to her side. The principal cellist, he had thrummed through my body all evening with his bow and brooding intensity. He came to one knee in the aisle beside her seat, with a flourish of his tailcoat.

“Did you enjoy it, my dear?” His voice was deep, dark chocolate.

“It was flawless, my love, as always.” Her eyes held his, but I could hear her sharp intake of breath as she finished speaking. Her voice was soft, husky, a study of sensuality.

“And my little treat?”

“It was quite... novel.” Her lips quirked into a smile.

“Show me.”

Still holding his eyes, she reached down and began to gather up the skirt of her gown. A length of shapely calf gave way to thigh, until she could go no further. Pearly skin met black lace at her hip. He reached out slowly, with one finger, and traced a path from ankle to black lace.

“Show me.”

Her hand slipped under her skirt, then back out. I could see her fingers glistening as she offered them. He leaned forward, licked her fingers slowly in turn. His hand moved up her torso, then slowly drew her bodice down until her breasts were completely exposed. A tinkling wafted across the space. Her nipples were thimble-hard, blushing prettily above the velvet. It was then that I realized she was pierced, each breast sported a ring with a tiny bell on it. He sat back, drinking in the sight of her. My hand crept to my own nipple, pinching hard through silken fabric.

“Will you come, here, with no regard for who might see, my dear? Shall I turn up that little vibe nestled so sweetly between your lips, allow you some release? What pleasure it was to know that the remote in my pocket was causing you such trouble while I played.”

His words drew a low moan from her lovely throat, and she nodded slowly. Her face was awash with need, as was I. My pussy clenched as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black object. From the way her body stiffened, it was the remote and he had just increased the intensity. As she began to flush, her eyes glazing just a bit, I knew I couldn't watch. I needed to come so badly that I would come with her if I stayed, I was sure of it. I crept out of the theatre, making a beeline to the ladies room. I had my skirt around my waist before the stall door shut, and one hand cupping a breast, pinching the nipple hard. My fingers dove to my clit and began furiously circling that rock hard nub. Leaning against the cool marble-tiled wall, I came harder and faster than any lover had ever imagined, thinking of the woman in scarlet and her lover. My orgasm left me spent and almost weak, panting and half-sated. I would take care of the rest in the comfort of my bed later.

After a minute or two, I dropped my skirt and reorganized myself to a semblance of normal. Leaving the stall, I crossed to the mirrors and touched up my lipstick, picturing her lips instead of mine. This woman and her cellist would haunt my fantasies for a long time. Turning to leave, I noticed a small scarlet bag sitting on the chair beside the door. A small note on top, written in an elegant, feminine script, read: “Perhaps this will bring you as much pleasure as it did me.” A lipstick kiss ended the missive. Curious, I opened the velvet package. The vibrator was still warm, and the remote had been included.

Inspired by remote-controlled vibrator

*****

Entry #7: The Sisterhood

“Now Shannon, to begin your initiation ceremony, you must kneel before the altar, and speak the words of those who have passed through before you. Allow his light to enter you freely and without prejudice so that you may go forth and spread his word in the ways of our sisters. Remember not that which you are leaving behind, but look ahead to those lessons and experiences that await you on your journey.”

Shannon nodded, kneeling, hands tented. Her eyes closed, and she felt a cool breeze caress her under the thin gossamer cloak, the only clothing allowed in the sanctuary. Her nipples peaked in response, and a wave of heat shot through her groin. She licked her lips, and spoke, her voice trembling with the realization of the commitment she was about to make.

“Of my own choice, in sound mind, I open my body and my soul to you. From this day forth, I am the mistress of my own pleasure. From this day forth, no flesh shall touch my body but my own.” Her hands drifted down her torso, over her chilling breasts and resting on her taut abs. She raised her head, gazing at the portrait behind Matron Mary. It was of Voluptas – the Roman goddess of Sensual pleasure, naked on a bed, one hand between her thighs, the other clutching a long, slightly curved stone phallis.

“As Voluptas before me, I shall not deny myself the pleasure that my body can give me, as it is truly God’s most magnificent gift to us. I shall seek to bestow that knowledge upon myself daily. When I am ready, I shall go into the world, and spread the word of these pleasures to my fellow women, and show them that self love is truly the most satisfying”

She stood, arms spread. “Paradise was lost once, and it is within us to find it again. We, indeed, are all we need. We are our own Paradise.”

With that, Shannon was helped up onto the altar with the utmost care. As she lay back, standing above her was Sister Caroline. In her hands, she cupped a glass dildo, made in the very image of the one Voluptas held in her hands in the portrait. The legend spoke that it was molded from the original. Each girl was presented with one at her initiation.

She shivered as Sister Lisette slathered it with lube, like it was a real cock. Carefully and with reverence, she placed it in Shannon’s hands. She glanced over at the rest of the sisterhood, all watching her with eager eyes.

As she slid the dildo down her body, she rested it briefly on her clit, which was plump with anticipation. She moved it around slowly, allowing the sensations to build up. She stroked it up and down, pushed it left and right. It had been so long since she’d masturbated, in preparation for tonight, that she had to fight herself not to plunge the smooth shaft into her eager pussy.

Instead she circled it around her entrance, her muscles contracting. She dragged it through the wetness of her slit, pushing the head just inside her. She let it sit there, relishing in the weight of it, the smooth texture, the sheer thickness. Her other hand moved up to her breasts, caressing them through her habit. She pinched at her nipples, whimpering as they tingled. Her eyes closed, she pushed the dildo in further, stretching her walls and filling her to the core. She moved it faster, in and out, tuning out the squelching sounds it made as she fucked herself with it.

Her back arched with every thrust, her breath coming out in gasps as she twisted it, thrusting it forward to hit her G-spot. Her free hand abandoned her nipples and moved to caress her clit. She moaned loudly as she felt her insides clench. She rolled her clit, scratching at the tip with her fingernail, bringing her to the very edge.

She needed to come. It was the final ritual of the ceremony. The ladies below all waited, fingers tracing patterns around their own cunts. Their arousal was evident, as musk permeated the air. Once she came, they would all celebrate by fucking themselves, celebrating their own bodies, and her acceptance into their family. They watched carefully, some stroking their own toys as if they could milk them like a real cock. Some circled them with their tongues, deep-throating them like they had in past lives. All were eager to come.

Shannon didn’t disappoint them, working her clit and the dildo in the same frantic rhythm. She shuddered and came with a giant scream, her body stiffening right down to her toes.

It was all the encouragement the girls needed. As her orgasm slowly subsided, Shannon turned her head to gaze at the bevy of beauties in the throes of their own personal fuck session.

She sat up on the altar, a little disoriented. Matron Mary helped her down, and then kissed her lightly on the mouth.

”Welcome to the sisterhood child.”

“Thank you Matron. I think I’m going to like it here.”

Inspired by glass dildos

*****

Ohhh, wow. I'm all a fucking flutter! Plus, just so you know, that cutting and pasting has put me in quite the sex-toy shopping mood. Or the sex-toy using mood. Of course, now's the tough part: choosing a favorite! Good luck, and see ya on the flip side.

XXX,
Alison

And the fortune goes to...

2010-10-05T06:55:00.001-07:00

Sometime in the wee hours, the poll ended. I wasn't up to see. Thank god. I actually slept really well last night! That was *my* good fortune. Here are the results for the Good Fucking Fortune contest:

Turning the Wheel by May Deva
Museum Piece by Angell Brooks
Meant to Be by Emma Hillman
In Bed by Dorla Moorehouse
Of All the Gin Joints by Joss Lockwood
The Fuck Cookies by Sandrine Lopez
Lightning by Willsin Rowe
Fortune Cookies by t'Sade

This means that May Deva is the winner and unfortunately we have to say goodbye to t'Sade. Now, I had asked Sophia Valenti to choose her favorite early on in the competition, before the poll had even received a handful of votes. This is what she said: I liked number 6, 'Turning the Wheel,' the most. Lots of sexy detail, and I liked the inventive interpretation of the fortune theme.

So, Turning the Wheel is the double-winner: reader and judge favorite!

Writers, stay tuned. I'll be tossing a new challenge your way! Readers, stay tuned, I have a new cover to put up soon! And coffee, stay tuned, I'm coming to get more of you toot de suite!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. As ever, click the image of the poll to enlarge the image!

Round 6: Good Fucking Fortune

2010-09-28T07:04:00.001-07:00

Round 6 of the Smut Marathon has arrived! That sound you hear is the sound of me popping champagne. Well, maybe I'm popping the champagne in my head. It is only 6:07, after all. How about a big cheer and a huge cup of java to celebrate these stories. The theme this time was "Fortune." Why? Because I like fortune fish, and fortune cookies, and I feel very fortunate to have so many fabulous writers playing along on this very very long competition!

Here is what I pitched to the writers: You've all had the good fortune (and the raw talent) to last this long. I am uber impressed! Now, I have a brand-new challenge to throw your way. Use the concept of "fortune" in a 750-word story. (That's 750 words max. You don't need to use every last word, but don't go over the limit.) Let the fortune be with you!

The writers have all presented their pieces. The poll will be up until October 4th at midnight. Please read these carefully and choose your favorite. Our guest judge this round is Sophia Valenti, one of those writers who I can depend on to turn my switch to high every time. She will give me her choice for the top story and the poll will determine the readers' choice, as well as which writers will continue to Challenge 7! (I just wrote "Challenge 5." I guess I want to go back in time. Or bed.)

*****

Entry #1: Meant to Be

The maitre d’ had stuck her in a corner of the restaurant, but Rachel didn’t mind. It gave her some extra time to compose herself before her date turned up. Her Internet date. What had she been thinking? God, she groaned inwardly. Why had she listened to her friends telling her she needed to go out more? Sure, she’d love a man in her life, but online matching never worked! Knowing her luck, he’d look like a leprechaun but without the pot of gold.

Shoot. She was massaging her forehead when a smooth voice interrupted her wandering thoughts.

“Rachel?”

She looked up, and nearly swallowed her tongue. This was her match? “There must be a mistake.”

His blonde-streaked hair glistened in the muted lights as he took a step back. “You’re not Rachel? Oh, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head then finally found her voice. “No. I mean, yes. I’m Rachel.”

“Oh. Good.” A wide smile curved his lips as he stretched his hand toward her to shake. “Hi. I’m Nick, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she squeaked out. “You’re my match?” She thought she’d said that quietly. Apparently not. His grin widened even more, showing sparkling white teeth.

“I am, yes. Can I…” He pointed towards the chair nearest her and she gulped but nodded. He scraped the chair back, his thigh brushing hers as he sat down. Far too damn close to her. “Is this your first time too?”

“Yes, but… Nick, is it?” He nodded. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be my match?” He couldn’t have asked for someone like her. He just couldn’t have. There’d been a mistake somewhere, she was sure of it.

“Oh, most definitely.” He leaned in, his breath brushing her mouth. “You’re exactly my type after all. I was actually congratulating myself that the site had gotten all my preferences right.”

“Preferences?” She couldn’t help but lick her lips.

His eyes followed the movement of her tongue before he answered, “Let’s get to know each other better, and then I’ll tell you.
What do you say?”

* * * *

“Still think there’s been a mistake?” he asked, his voice husky as he looked up from between her thighs.

Her head shaking wildly from side to side, she gasped, “Don’t stop!”

But he did. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Nick!”

“So?”

His thumb played with her clit, one small caress that she felt so deep inside her she wondered for a second whether she wasn’t going to come. Just like that. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“Mmm.” He frowned. “Guess I’m going to have to convince you further.”

* * * *

“What about now? Still think it was a mistake?” Nick’s question was a breathy whisper across her lips as he started sliding inside her, her walls stretching to take him all in.

She grabbed his biceps and held on. “No!” she managed to utter.

“Good.” He took her mouth into a hard kiss and only broke away when his thrusts turned erratic. “Because it was you I wanted.”

One more push and they were both shouting.

* * * *

“Stop it!” she said through gritted teeth. She caught the hand that had been climbing steadily up her thigh. “Nick! Not here.
Come on.”

“Why not? Think it’s a mistake?”

She shook her head, half exasperated he still used that question, half smiling because he was so damn cute. “What do you think?” she shot back, wanting to know what he’d do next.

He didn’t disappoint.

In a darkened theater, with their coats thrown over their laps, they caressed each other to a frenzy. When his ring finger slipped inside her, she widened her stance and fought the urge to thrust her hips out.

When her hand curled around the base of his cock and tightened inexorably, he grasped the armrest at his right and held on tight.

* * * *

The pastor’s clear voice rang over Rachel’s head, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

She turned towards Nick and caught his grin. Oh no, she thought, but nothing could have prepared her for her soon-to-be husband asking in front of all their families and friends, “No mistake?”

She bit back a laugh, conscious of the people surrounding them, but her eyes told him there’d be payback. He winked back at her just before she opened her mouth and replied, “I do.”

*****

Entry #2: In Bed

I never gave much thought to the people who wrote fortunes cookies, until I graduated from college and desperate for a job. I registered with a temp agency, and within 48 hours I was reporting for a two-week gig writing fortunes.

I thought it would be a simple job, but once I was sitting in that cubicle in front of a blank document and blinking cursor, I found myself with a case of writer’s block. After an hour I finally eked out: “Your principles will lead to great wealth.” By the time my lunch hour rolled around, I had only written three more fortunes, each one as dull as the last. In the break room I picked at my food, fearing the consequences of my mental block. Then I remembered the “In Bed” game I’d played with my friends, in which we added the phrase to the end of our fortunes. I felt inspired at the thought of playing the game as I wrote.

Within 20 minutes of sitting back down, I had written: “You are talented in many ways.” I grimaced, not entirely please with my effort. But at least I’d written something in under an hour.

My productivity increased, and so did my imagination. “Treasure awaits you at the end of the day”; “Tomorrow you will get your way”; “Your hands bring pleasure to everyone they touch.” I paused, highlighted my text, and hovered my index finger over the “delete” key. Erase that one, I thought. You’re going too far. Yet I couldn’t help but chuckle. Anyone who played the game - and who didn’t play the game? - would certainly appreciate the anonymous cookie writer with a sense of humor.

I spent the rest of the week flying through the work. I committed to writing ten clean fortunes a day, and once I struggled through those, I could write all the dirty fortunes I wanted. “Tonight, you will have two women”; “Your tongue is your greatest asset”; “Try entering through the back door.” It seemed that nobody looked at what I’d written, because I never heard a word from any of my superiors about the material I’d saved to the hard drive.

A few weeks later, frustrated by my new gig at a call center, I decided to treat myself to some Chinese food. As I enjoyed egg rolls and shrimp lo mein, I watched a beautiful woman eat fried rice and potstickers. I admired her manicure, her full lips, the hang of her tailored clothes on her body. Breaking open my fortune cookie, I was shocked to come across my own handiwork: “A sexy stranger will soon become familiar.” I laughed, not expecting to have seen one of my fortunes, not expecting they actually would have been printed. Keeping my eye on the woman in the back of the restaurant, I surmised by the raise of her eyebrows that she was reading my words as well.

I walked over and sat down at her table. “Like what you got?"

She eyed me cautiously. “Perhaps.”

“I wrote that.”

“You write fortune cookies for a living?”

“It was a temp gig.”

“Still. You can’t be the only fortune writer in the world. How do you know I got one of yours?"

I handed her my fortune. “Because I got some of my own work, too.”

She blushed and handed me her slip of paper. I saw one of my favorites: “Don’t be afraid to get naked.”

“Clearly, I’m a visionary.”

She reached out to stroke my arm, and I could feel my nipples harden. “So, Ms. Fortune Writer, what do we do now?"

I slipped a finger up under her skirt, pushed aside her panties, watched her eyelids flutter as she attempted to maintain her composure. I felt her her clit swell against my skin and started to rub, her knees twitching as I worked her faster and faster.

“We have no choice but to follow the path that fate revealed to me as I was writing fortunes.” I kissed her, slipping my tongue between her teeth, feeling every fiber of her body tremble.

She slipped her fingers around my breast, and when the orgasm hit, she gasped and pinched the nipple.

“We’ll meet our fate at my place,” she whispered. “In bed.”

*****

Entry #3: Fortune Cookies

You will get head.

Laura stared at the little slip of paper in her fingers. Tiny crumbs from the cookie obscured the last letter. Hoping there was a missing "a" in "head", she brushed off the crumbs but the naked words remained. She glanced up to John, then back down at the paper. Gulping, she felt sweat trickling down the back of her neck.

He spoke in his deep, husky voice, "What does it say?"

Stalling, Laura balled the paper into her palm. She gave her best smile before answering, "You first."

John cleared his throat and unrolled the paper.

"It says: you learn more with silence than with words."

His eyes twinkled and he looked up at her through half-closed eyes. "In between the sheets, right?"

She blushed.

"John, are you sure the second date is right for those type of games?"

John flinched and looked at her sheepishly. "Going to fast? This isn't exactly our second date either."

"No, just," she struggled for a word, "trying not to make another mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake. We were never a mistake."

John reached over to caress her. She smiled at the rough fingers, a carpenter's hands, exploring the knuckles of her hand. Thankfully, they were already sitting and when Laura felt weak in the knees, only her legs trembled. She rested her thumb on his hand and took a deep breath.

"John, we are both unlucky, you know that-"

You will get head.

"-and I," she felt flushed, "just want to make sure we really mean it this time."

John stared into her eyes and her flush grew hotter.

"I never stopped loving you, Laura."

Sniffing, she nodded, "And I never stopped either."

She stared into his warm brown eyes and lost herself. Smiling, Laura squeezed John's hand.

"So, what did it say?"

"What?" asked Laura.

"The fortune cookie. You never said what it said. I bet it was really naughty between the sheets."

Laura rolled her eyes, but didn't even reach for the paper balled in her hand. "It wasn't that good."

"Everything is good," he licked his lips, "between the sheets."

"John..."

"Come on. I told you mine."

She considered throwing it away, getting up to the go the bathroom, or even calling for the bill.

You will get head.

She bit her lip. "It says..."

"Yes?"

"It says you are going to go down on me."

John stared, his mouth opening in surprise. She enjoyed how his trimmed beard followed the line of his jaw. He used to leave it shaggy in college. "Seriously?"

Blushing, she handed it over. Her eyes watched with anticipation as he unrolled the paper. He read it, his eyes moving back and forth.

"I'll be damned," was all he said.

"Do you think it is a typo?"

"Yeah, that's it. It must be." He folded the strip of paper in half. "They probably meant 'ahead' or something."

She laughed with him, but it didn't match the images playing in her head.

"That must be it."

You will get head.

She stared at his face and remembered his strong body. She ached for him as much as she wanted to run away from the restaurant. She fought her urges and slid her fingers around his palm, caressing his rough skin. So much changed since she ran away last time, leaving him at the altar.

He broke the silence.

"I never went down on you, did I?"

Her pussy grew moist.

"No, not even when I begged."

"I didn't appreciate you enough, Laura."

"We were young, stupid, and unlucky."

"Want to change your luck?"

"What?" she asked, feeling her aching anticipation growing.

John's hands caressed hers. "I remember how many times you sucked me off. Now, years later, I realized I've been wanting to do the same for you. Return the favor as it were."

Her body tensed, remembering how much she begged... and how many times he refused.

"In fact, all I can think is how much I want to pull those jeans off right now. You still go commando?"

Blushing, she stammered, "It's a," she gulped, "a thong."

"Oh," he licked his lips, "that will have to go."

"I would like that."

"Good, because I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"Really?"

You will get head.

"Yes, because I bet you taste sweet." His voice lowered, almost a growl, "And I want dessert."

"N-Now?"

"Of course not-"

She waited for his excuse.

"-I have to pay the bill first."

*****

Entry #4: 'The Fuck Cookies

"Keep it random." he suggested, "Spontaneous. Out of the blue."

"How?" She was a creature of habit. Comfortable routines. Regular schedules. Always on time at the right place. Meeting him had been one of those rare distracted occasions that caused her to get lost. For him to come to her aid. And for love to blossom from instant attraction.

"Make a decision."

"But I always do. Sure, I'm successful but guys weren't exactly queuing."

"That's because you always need to control. You'd make a good dominatrix."

She responded with an 'as if' snort.

"So try the other way. Submit. Let go. Lose yourself. After all, that's how we met."

She had a problem with that. It's how she was.

That's when he gave her the fortune cookies. Only he had stuck a label on, changing the title to 'Fucking Cookies'.

"You get to choose but have no idea of the outcome."

"I've got a fair inkling." She replied, eyeing the sticker.

"But not how we get there. Or what we do during, or after. Assuming we stop, that is..."

She laughed and opened the box. Pulled out the first cookie and snapped it apart. Read the slip as she munched thoughtfully on the small cake.

"What does it say?" He asked.

*Simplicity should be your theme in dress.*

Crumpling the fortune in her palm, she decisively, without fuss, stripped naked in the kitchen. Right there and then.

"It couldn't be any simpler, could it?" She responded, enigmatically. Usually she let him undress her, entice her, seduce her and make love slowly than passionately. They hadn't indulged in a quickie yet. Being completely nude, at her unchosen bidding, made her heart pound fast, and the butterflies in her stomach melted into damp arousal. A mix of trepidation and excitement. A need to have him impromptu. Shooting from the hips.

He raised an eyebrow. "Try another."

*You have remarkable power which you are not using.*

Quite probably, she considered. The energy of not knowing. Past fuckings had been so engineered by her... meticulous in execution that he couldn't fail to climax, giving her great satisfaction in pleasing him. But so lacking in the possibility of failing, at the expense of innovation and creativity. Unlike him. So animal, so untamed, when she aroused him so much that he would fuck her intensely and sweetly. She thought that was her doing but perhaps it was always his way.

Her breath came in urgent, quick pants. Her almost photographic recall of techniques blurred in a haze of lust, of drumming pulse, trembling bare skin and selfish need. She could see his trousers getting tighter, the growing bulge stretching. She had to have him, have his cock, inside her quivering, trigger-tender twat... Right. Fucking. Now.

She lunged at him. Stuck her tongue in his mouth and groped his thick cock, tearing at the zip so she could feel its heat first-hand. He responded by palming her muff, lifting her on tip-toe on three penetrating fingers as they both tried to undress him. Then they sprawled over the breakfast bar.

"Cookie?" he gasped.

"Yes, sweetness?"

"No, I meant..."

The box.

It lay on its side, individually wrapped possibilities scattered by his head.

One hand busy stroking his tight-skinned, dribbling dick vigorously, she grabbed one. Tore the wrapper off with her teeth, munched the cookie and spat out the fortune.

*You will reach the height of success in whatever you do.*

He was bigger than she had ever seen, his cock the height of her unconsidered success. Inspired, she straddled his chest with her thighs and rubbed her now wet cunt onto his surprised open mouth. Let him eat her out as animally as he desired, while she stuffed his cock between her lips and sucked him, blindly, instinctively, until his hips surged and he pump-fucked her face.

His tongue was licking her out savagely when he thumped her back and flicked another cookie past her head to land between his knees. Her mouth on auto, she let go briefly from jerking his shaft and gripping his balls, to tear it open.

*Everything will now come your way.*

Her hands just had time to return to massaging and twisting his dick when he came, with everything he had. Her taste buds savoured the sticky treat of cum on her tongue before she swallowed it deep.

Then his tongue gave one last satisfying, fast flicking over her clit, as his hand slapped her arse loudly, and she came too...

*****

Entry #5: Lightning

It was lightning.

Long blades of fire tore down from the sky. They hacked into the ersatz bubble we’d put our home in. Rude fingers of electricity curled around the house, searching for any available space to thrust into. Like smack-addled burglars they invaded with fixated efficiency. They cut into our bodies and left us tingling, filled our nostrils with the sharp scent of life, wiped our minds of all thoughts except one: I am still alive.

A slivered second later, furious fists of noise pounded the roof like debt collectors. My mother squealed, my brother jumped, my father froze. I simply waited, wondering what might be next.

In any home invasion, material losses are inconsequential. What hurts is the slow burn, the virus of vulnerability that an act of assault awakens. The house had been built from the earth it sat on. Strong and stout, it showed no ill effects from the storm.
But that home had been our asylum. It was what separated us from the bewildering world. We were a force, an army united against whatever was thrown at us. In a single flash we were cauterized, and the truth became clear: that we were four spent rifles, stacked against each other. The friction of our co-existence was all there was to stop us falling.

The effect was different on each of us. As the youngest, when those charged tentacles whipped through our house, all I felt was alive. For the first time. As if the lightning had jolted me from the coma I’d lived in for 18 years.

I felt the swelling of energy inside me and knew it had to come out. I was pulled away without knowing where I was headed.
I found study in a distant town. I made a place to stay and I was flushed with the potency of sudden adulthood. My knowledge was topsoil, rich and shallow, too focussed to admit doubts.

Any hesitance I had was burned away in the slivered second between when she first appeared and when I first truly saw her.

It was lightning.

We circled each other for weeks, the air around us becoming charged whenever we made contact. She made me ache, first in the guts, then in the balls, then back up in the guts again. She jabbed at the energy inside me and made me stand up all over.

My body, my hair...my cock.

It was inevitable that we would become fused. The attraction was almost polar. As if every bump of mine was designed to fill a curve of hers. When she stood before me, naked for the first time, my heart held still. The touch of her breasts against my lips thudded through to my heels in a sensation that seemed familiar.

It was lightning.

We sought out all the different ways each other’s body could taste until we blended like clouds. She filled my nostrils with the sharp scent of life as the curious softness of her slit washed against my tongue.

The inexorable pull of nature called me higher until I was hovering over her. Our mouths were drawn together as my heat drove into her. In that slivered second, our bodies arced together.

It was lightning.

Our hips jolted outside of our control. Every place we touched burned with need. She squealed. I jumped. We froze. We waited, wondering what might be next.

It was lightning.

It began in my guts, where she’d first made me ache. It pooled, it drove and finally a bolt of pure white heat shot out from me and into her.

She left me tingling, wiped my mind of all thoughts except one: I am now alive. I knew her, before we’d even met. She was elemental, and truly it was she who pulled me from that fetid coma.

She is lightning.

*****

Entry #6: Turning the Wheel

She had carried the card with her for years. From purse to purse, apartment to apartment, a consistent reminder of a life yet to come. The card was a little worse for wear, though it had hardly been new when the fortune teller gave it to her.

“You must keep this.” The seer had been adamant. “It is your key, the Wheel of Fortune. Someday, it will turn for you in way you will not expect.”

Years later, she wondered again about that prophecy. Nothing had turned out the way she'd planned. She sighed, leaned against the bar where it joined the wall, and waited for the bartender to deliver her drink.

“I'm sorry.” a deep, mellifluous voice intruded far more than the jostle her elbow received.

“No problem.” She dismissed the intrusion, until she saw the arm stretched out beside her on the bar. Dark leather to just above the wrist, where her card, THE card, lay tattooed on his skin. She turned swiftly, and found herself inches away from ice-blue eyes that seemed to stare right through her.

“Your tattoo.” She was unbalanced, leaning toward him on her stool. “The Wheel. It's... beautiful.”

He smiled, shifted a little to accommodate her change in position, his body blocking her off from the rest of the club. “Thanks. It's my reminder - a karmic wheel brings just desserts, you know?”

“Oh yes, exactly.” It was little more than a sigh. “Not quite what tarot readers would tell you, but I agree.”

So lame! She winced, what was she trying to prove to this guy?

His eyes travelled down her torso and back up to meet her stare. His smile changed slightly, a little more feral.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” She was stunned. Who the hell did he think he was?

“Kiss me.”

“I don't even know you...” It was a plea, not outrage as she'd intended.

“I knew you before you were born. Kiss me.” His eyes bore into hers, compelling and stern.

His lips were soft and hungry. She registered that before she realized that she was kissing him. His mouth drew her in, a slow slide of his tongue across her lips drew her nipples to pebble-hardness. Slowly, carefully, he he grasped them and twisted, left her moaning against his lips with the burn radiating into her cunt. He drew away, licking his lips.

“Mmm – nice. Whiskey sour.” One hand remained on her thigh, tracing the hem of her skirt with his thumb, working under the material slowly. “Another? Or shall I just take you home?” Another smirk as she gaped.

“Home? That's pretty damn...” Presumptuous! Her brain screamed as her breath failed. His fingers slid up the inside of her thigh and traced her slit through the silky fabric of her panties as she spoke. Just enough pressure to make her clit twitch, and steal her breath for a moment.

“Far?” He was intent on her face, reading the emotions he was wresting from her. “You're right.” His finger pressed down on her clit, shooting sparks into her brain. His eyes challenged her to do something, anything. She moaned and parted her legs further, stunned by his boldness and her acceptance of it.

“I'm going to make you come. You will be very quiet, or the bartender will know what a slut you are. Can you do that for me?” He whispered in her ear, while his finger drew mandalas on her clit.

Nodding, she buried her head in his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, was reassured that he was not totally unaffected either. He increased the pressure, the speed of his fingers and she melted. Never in her life had she been so wanton, so out of control. It felt so damned good. He was so damned good.

Her orgasm bore down on her like a a freight train. Fireworks shot across her closed lids and she strained against him with the effort of near-silence, her pussy grasping for solace under his palm. A soft mewl escaped her and she felt his cock twitch against her thigh in response.

He cradled her against his chest for a minute then leaned back, catching her eye and grinning.

“Isn't it about time for my just desserts?”

She looked at the Wheel once more, slipped off the stool and took his extended hand. Unexpected indeed.

*****

Entry #7: Museum Piece

He stood gazing in lust at the radiant figure standing on the pedestal at the front of the museum. She stood perfectly still, her dark hair shining under the lights, her skin warmed by the glow of the fortune in jewels she had displayed over her body.

Everybody admired her dedication, not moving for blocks of minutes at a time. And when she did move, it was a fluid gesture, bringing the jewels around to another angle to display them better; a living advertisement for the exhibit inside. Most patrons only watched for a minute or two.

Not Daniel. He had stood watching her for hours, his jacket held in front of him disguising a rather obvious bulge in his pants. For what he’d discovered, what others would if they’d only take the time to, was that this goddess before him was naked, save for the shiny baubles worth millions that adorned her skin.

Layer upon layer of necklaces hung around her graceful neck. The hammered gold looked ancient, the stones colours not found in today’s palettes. The chain fell so that bronze links circled her nipples, little erect pebbles of flesh that quivered when she moved.

Rings of all shapes and sizes rested on long tapered fingers. Daniel tried to discreetly adjust his hard on as he imagined how those fingers would feel encircling his cock. How soft they would be as they ran up and down his shaft.

She shifted again, the floodlights catching the multi-layered belt hugging her hips, drawing attention to the gorgeous diamond embedded in her navel. Hanging from the very centre were three sun medallions in descending sizes. They swung from side to side, revealing a smooth bikini line.

He moved closer, trying hard to catch a glimpse of what it covered. As he stood there, his eyes captivated, he caught a slight giggle and looked up to find amusement in her eyes. She still stared straight ahead, but he knew that she was laughing at him.

Her plump, scarlett lips curled minutely, and she ever so slightly shook her hips. The suns continued swaying and Daniel got what he wanted - a glimpse of a freshly shaven, smooth, perfect pussy.

“Oh you’re so bad you know that aren’t you princess?” Daniel murmured, his tone so low she had to strain to hear him above the background noises. His eyes stroked her from head to toe, hungrily examining long tanned legs, and toned abs.

He walked around her, examining the pure gold chainmaille apron that barely covered her ass cheeks. Glancing around, noticing the security guards attention was elsewhere, he slid a finger up her crack, tickling her puckered hole. Her cheeks clenched together, and he felt her tremble. Smirking, he ran his finger down the back of her knee.

He moved back around to the front of her. “You’re getting off on this aren’t you? Knowing that you’re naked under those jewels, that anyone can tell if they take the time to look? Showing off that pretty, pretty body of yours?”

His voice grew huskier. “You enjoy knowing that guys are walking around with hard-ons for hours because of you. Maybe you think about them going into the men’s room stall and beating off until they come on themselves.”

He got closer to her cunt, sniffing. “I can smell you. You are dying for one of those hard cocks right now.” He licked his lips, observing a thin line of moisture drip down the inside of her thigh.

“I can see your clit sweetheart. It’s sitting there, begging to be licked. I’d take the tip of my tongue, flick it gently, run my tongue between those lips and lick at your sweet juices until you beg me to stop. “ Her thighs trembled and he chuckled.

“Or maybe I’d just step up behind you, pull out my stiff prick and run that up and down your slit instead. Tease you a little before fucking you slowly, all those pretty jewels bouncing off your tits. I’d reach around, play with your clit, see how long it takes before that stoic smile on your mouth melts into a panting, hot hole of desire. I wonder how long it would take you to beg me to let you come. “

He lightly flicked her clit with his finger before hopping down and noticed that she shuddered more visibly.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift honey. See you at home.”

*****

Entry #8: Of All the Gin Joints

He'd shown up asking for me and now I was leaning against the back wall of the store watching him kick at the sidewalk like some kind of overgrown teenager. I wasn't sure why I was here, but I didn't mind. It was nice to get outside into the warm evening. Everything looked flat and featureless in the orange light of the streetlamps.

He seemed to want to say something, but stayed silent. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up like he'd just gotten out of bed. Which made me think about taking him to bed, which prompted my inner schoolmarm to squawk, "He's married!" I knew it, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't help but want him. The littlest things made my pulse quicken: his lopsided smile; the sound of his voice; the muscles of his back when he'd come in shirtless and sweaty during a run. When my fingers brushed his as I handed over his change I had to restrain myself from leaping over the counter and devouring him. I'd never gotten wet just *looking* at a man before. Until him. (What are the chances, right? That I'd meet the one person who does this to me? I wasn't sure whether to thank the stars for my good fortune or to swear off the mystical, to refute what seemed like fate in favor of more rational explanations.)

Finally he spoke. "Listen. I can't--" He stammered, swallowed. "I can't stop thinking about you." And then he looked at me. Pleadingly, as if I could do something about it.

Strangely, my body reacted as if it perceived a threat. I suddenly understood what "fight or flight" meant: every muscle tensed, every sense sharpened. I was aware of tiny details--distant traffic sounds, bugs floating in the air--my heart pumping blood and adrenaline, focus and energy, in equal measure.

Then my eyes locked onto his and I knew we were in trouble. He was still begging me wordlessly, but for what I was no longer sure. I was too selfish to shoot him down, although my conscience gave it one last try. "But you're married," I blurted.

He winced like it was an insult, but took a step toward me, and another, before stopping as if he couldn't go on. The stillness lasted only a second before I began moving. I had to be closer to him; therefore, if he'd stopped, I had to start. It didn't feel volitional. It felt necessary for survival.

If, when were finally standing within arm's length, he'd taken my face in his hands and kissed me, I would've fallen, hard and fast, into the kind of love that either saves or ruins you, and I would have gone willingly.

But he didn't.

Without warning he grabbed me, pulled my skirt and panties aside, pushed a finger inside me, then another. It might have hurt if I hadn't wanted it so badly, but I was embarrassingly ready without even the simplest foreplay. I lifted one leg so he could get deeper and he caught it over his elbow as if we'd rehearsed it, tugged upward so I was on tiptoe, off-balance, dizzy with desire. I needed more than his fingers in me, but I couldn't speak. "Please?" was all that came out. He fumbled with his zipper and then I felt him hard against me.

The moment he entered me felt like it would go on forever. It hung there, suspended, shimmering and spinning -- I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, blindsided by pleasure. A twinge of panic seized me (what if nothing feels this good again, ever?) before he put his hands on me, his mouth on me, restarting the world. He groaned as he took my nipple between his lips, sucked and bit along with his thrusts, propelling me up and up until I fell over the top and came with a crash, gasping, shuddering. He slid his thumb into my mouth, getting it slick with spit and then reaching down to my clit while his other hand continued to press me into the wall. But I couldn't stay still for long, tried desperately to match his movements with my own. He was stronger than me, though, pushed me down to my knees and shoved his cock into my mouth. Only a few strokes later he came almost as loudly as I had, his fingers tangled in my hair.

Meant to be? Well, we'll see.

*****

So there you have it! Make your choice before the 4th! And tell your friends!

XXX,
Alison

The Mystery Has Ended...

2010-09-13T05:43:00.001-07:00

...and we have three winners. First off, I ought to reveal the writers responsible for the deliciously noir stories:

Fucked to Death by Angell Brooks
Lucky Me by May Deva
Sucker by Emma Hillman
A Cry in the Dark by Joss Lockwood
The Tell by Dorla Moorehouse
Ah, Bangkok by Willsin Rowe
Christmas Hangover by by t'Sade
Clueless by Sandrine Lopez
Too Bright by Monocle

Thomas Roche chose "Oh, Bangkok" as his favorite story of the lot. Thomas said, "They're all good!" His close runner-up was "The Tell."

We have a tie for first-place via the reader poll—so May Deva, Angell Brooks, and Willsin Rowe should all drop their snail mail addresses into my willing box. I'll ship out prizes tout de suite. Unfortunately, this is the end of the contest for Monocle, who has been a brilliant player throughout. (I have a prize for you, M, too!)

Thanks for playing and voting—I will be hitting up the authors with a new contest shortly.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. As ever, click on the image to enlarge the poll.

Smut Marathon — Round 5!

2010-09-06T07:09:00.001-07:00

Oh, what's this? A stiletto-shaped footprint? A fancy handkerchief dipped in ether? No...Here we have the entries for Round #5 of the Smut Marathon! The theme this time was mystery/noir. Our celebrity judge is the King of Erotic Noir, Thomas Roche, himself! The poll will determine the reader favorite. Thomas will determine the, um, Thomas favorite. Poll will run until Sunday the 12th at Midnight. And I've done something different this time. Seeing how this is a mystery theme—I'm hiding the results of the poll until the voting has ended.

Entry #1: The Tell

Elliot hasn't been working late, though there aren't any easy giveaways – no lipstick on the collar, no perfume lingering on his skin. The kiss he gives me, deep and guilty, is the tell. The aftertaste of cum is still on his tongue.

Instead of confrontation, I seduce, looking for clues. Unbuttoning his shirt, I stroke his chest, eye his skin for evidence of bruises, see if I can get clued into the kinks this lover has. Bringing his fingers to my mouth, I suck each one, searching his wrists for signs of ropes or cuffs. But I don't find welts or scratches anywhere. I swallow Elliot's cock, hoping there will be some helpful difference, but all I taste is latex. (At least he's being safe.) I suck furiously, massaging his balls with one hand, fondling his asshole with the other. My ears are alert, hoping he'll call out the wrong name. But “Corrie” is the only word that escapes his lips, and for once, I'm disappointed.

The next day, I go to work with revenge on my mind. There's a guy down the hall who I've been desperate to fuck. I know he wants me as well; our interactions consisted more of flirtation than professionalism. Storming into Jason's office, I close the door.

“Elliot is fucking someone else. I need revenge. Want head?”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I can't prove it just yet.”

“No, I mean are you sure you want revenge?”

“Yes. Now are you going to let me blow you or not?”

Jason leans back in his chair, unzips his fly, already hard. I work my palms, brushing up his shaft, then ease my tongue around the head. I swallow his length in one quick gulp, then inc my mouth back up slowly, until he gasps “Please, faster.” I slide myself up and down, occasionally breaking away just to tongue the shaft, making him writhe. Reaching und Jason's shirt, I pinch his nipples as hard as I can. With a giant thrust of his pelvis, he empties into me, groaning softly. As his cum fills my mouth, I realize I have tasted it before, on Elliot's lips.

I swallow and pull away. “How long have you been fucking my husband?”

“I haven't –”

“He came home last night tasting like you. Tell me the truth.”

“Since the office holiday party. You were off talking shop with a cluster of people, we'd been hanging out all night, and my attraction to him was getting harder and harder to deny. We slipped back here, and the rest is history. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but the connection we have is so hot, we've been meeting once a week. It's just about sex – Elliot still loves you. Maybe we could make amends with a threesome?”

“I don't think so. I'll never forgive you for not fucking me first.”

*****

Entry #2: Sucker

Jenny woke up beside a dead man.

She was so hysterical it took the detective an hour to get her to calm down. When he asked her the last thing her boyfriend had done the night before, she became flustered. Thinking he had her, he pushed and probed until she finally confessed.

“So, you woke up in the middle of the night, left the room to get a snack and when you came back in here, he was awake and you…gave him a lil something?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and startlingly blue. “Yes. He…didn’t approve of my eating chocolate in the middle of the night, so I, huh, diverted his attention.”

“And then, you fell asleep?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“He’d already fallen asleep. He always does after he’s, you know, come.” A pretty blush still tainted her cheeks.

“And that’s the last time you saw him alive?”

“Yes. Oh God!” She hid her face behind her hands.

He sighed and turned around, giving her a moment to get herself back together. He stared at the bed and thought of the position he’d found the body in. It fit with what she’d told him: the man had been naked, lying on his back, his cock swollen between his legs. He looked up to find her staring at him. She’d only had time to put on a slinky purple robe, her breasts swaying underneath the thin material every time she moved. He took a deep breath and asked, “Can you describe exactly what happened? Was he all right when you finished?”

“Oh yes. He seemed to love it. I drank him dry and all.”

He gulped. “You did?”

“Yes, I always do. I like giving a good blowjob, you know.”

“I’m, ah, glad to hear that.”

He cut the interview short and hoped the ME had some preliminary findings for him.

* * * *

“So, she basically sucked him to death.”

“Correct.”

“Shit.”

“You’ve got that right.” The ME snapped his gloves off and dumped them in a nearby trash. “The question is, did she know about it or not?”

* * * *

“He what?”

Det. Wilson took in the shell-shocked look on her face and decided, right there and then, that she was not to blame. “He never told you about his peanut allergy?”

“Never! I would never have eaten them otherwise! Oh God. I killed him!” She swayed on her feet and he caught her.

“Shh, you didn’t know. It was an accident. Just an accident.” She cried in his arms, and as he felt her shudder, he tightened his hold on her. She felt so fragile against him, so…helpless. “You’re gonna be okay, Jenny.”

* * * *

Jenny closed the door shut behind Det. Wilson and smiled for the first time in hours. Hurrying to the pantry, she dug out the last Reese’s and stuffed it in her mouth, all the while mumbling, “That’ll teach him telling me I shouldn’t eat chocolate.”

*****

Entry #3: Ah, Bangkok...

Leaning back in my chair, I held my whiskey bottle up to the light. The yellowed bulb turned caramel to blood. I gave the bottle some urgent mouth-to-mouth, and almost wept when its last drop of life trickled down my throat.

Holding the glass carcass in my hand, I heard footsteps in the hall. Coming closer. I was too tired to fight. Besides, the only weapon I had was my breath. The sight of her disarmed me.

She had more curves than a four-leaf clover, but her smile said I was the lucky one. She looked anomalous as a hard-on in a convent. Only thing ’round here that takes your breath away is a knife in the chest.

“Hi, Philly, long time no see.”

“Uh...do I know you, ma’am?”

“I’ll give you a hint. I was at your wedding.”

“I don’t recall.”

She shrugged with more grace than a Catholic feast. “Been overseas a while.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Bangkok.” It sounded more like a hobby than a city.

She moved like a bag of cantaloupes, dropping to her knees between my legs. My zip crackled like an arsonist’s mistress.

“I’m sorry, ma’am...I don’t–”

Her fingers danced like an arabic princess. It certainly seemed to charm my snake.

“Oh, Philly. It’s just how I remember it.”

“Ma’am, maybe I was drunk, but–”

“Think. I was in the wedding party.”

I swam through the years of hooch and tried to find the faces. The dragon. The dragon-in-law. I shook my head.

“No matter, ma’am. The marriage went south last year.”

“Hmm. Speaking of going south...”

Her mouth swept down around my cock like a hot towel. It felt like a sauna, all heat and moisture, and full of wood. She hummed like an engine that had blown a rod as she pistoned her mouth on me.

I hissed like a locomotive as she brought me from a simmer right to the edge of boiling. She uncoupled from me just as I was ready to burst.

“Remember me yet, Philly?”

“I’m sorry...”

She unbuttoned her blouse and revealed breasts so round they made me dizzy. Her eyes fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings, and my head buzzed like a beehive.

“Honey,” I said, “now I’m sure we’ve never met. You’re unforgettable.”

“Remember your buck’s night, Philly? That threesome in Tucson?”

“Oh...”

What a night. My best man had all the connections. The three of us went off like a laptop battery.

She fell back down on me like I was air. Her tongue writhed like a spitting cobra and in seconds I lived up to the simile. She moaned against the tender belly of my beast and I almost wept as its last drop of life trickled down her throat.

“Philly, I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I–hey! That girl in Tucson was black!”

“And sweet.”

I looked closer.

“Brian?”

“Hi, Philly.”

I shook my head. “Ah, Bangkok...”

*****

Entry #4: Fucked to Death

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.

Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs, as police questioned the guests in attendance. Faces tear stained, bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty. Which one poisoned the naked socialite?

Earlier....

She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, where her guests were in various states of undress and intoxication. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other.” They all laughed. Katherine’s pussy dampened as she observed her husband licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.

She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her nightgown, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.

Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.

Katherine’s mouth hung open as her husbands fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.

Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.

“Someone fuck her.” A disembodied voice reached her ears, and she nodded eagerly. Jasper stepped up, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. She gazed into his bright eyes and nodded. At that, he quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately, his finger flicking her clit.

Katherine’s pussy clenched, her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.

Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.

The start of the night...

As Katherine surveyed the skyline from the darkened study, she caressed the snifter of brandy she carried, before draining it viciously. She wanted this. She would live in infamy.

They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.

There were a thousand stories in the naked city. And hers would be one they’d talk about for years to come.

*****

Entry #5: Lucky Me

It was just one of those things, you know? One minute, you're sitting on your bar stool, content and nursing your bourbon. The next, some dame brushes past you and smiles when you turn; gives you the look. You're lost, you know it, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it, that fish hook in your guts. Indiscriminate, the way they tease and pretend that they don’t know it. Something gave a little extra bait to this one though. This was one of those dames that oozes class and sex in equal amounts onto everything around her.

“Amber.” She stuck out her hand and waited. Bold as brass, and just as cold I guessed, but the hook tugged again. Dark hair and light eyes, she was just my type... and just my luck.

“Jack, pleasetomeetcha.”

She took my hand and leaned in, whispering in my ear. “Jack, I don’t have time to waste. I need to fuck someone. Right now. Are you someone, Jack?”

I pulled back, searched her eyes for the joke or the signs of addiction. A smirk quirked her lips, but she looked straight.

“Well, Jack? Can you be my someone tonight?” She shifted as she spoke, gave me a flash of bare breast inside her trench coat. The smirk widened.

I was up off my barstool in a flash, grabbing her by the arm and walking quickly to the rear entrance. The alleyway was dark, strewn with bottles and broken dreams. The door hadn’t closed behind us before her mouth was on mine. She tugged her coat off, now totally naked. Guiding my hand down, across her nipples and lower, pushing her steamy pussy onto my palm. I was out of my mind, equal parts raging lust and incredulity. My cock had been hard before, when she curled her fingers around it I realized I had no idea what hard really was.

“Come ON. Fuck me!”

Her words unleashed me. I turned her to face the rough brick and spread her legs, slipping into her easily. Grabbing her hair, I pulled her head back to my mouth, pouring every filthy word I’d ever heard in her ear as she moaned and thrashed on my cock. The minute my fingers brushed her clit she came like a bottle-rocket, her spasms bringing me over the edge with her. She was so damned hot!

Before I could catch my stride, the alleyway was awash in light. A low-slung Packard slid to a stop, the back door blasting open.

“Get in. Now.”

A low, gravely male voice from the interior shadows, devoid of emotion. She shot off the wall, off my cock, to the car like a bullet from my .38 special. The door slammed and she was gone before I could even adjust to the light. Her coat lay crumpled at my feet, the only proof she’d ever existed. Just my fucking luck.

*****

Entry #6: Too Bright

I took a last drag on my cigarette and dropped it on the wet pavement. It fizzled out, but I crushed it with my shoe for good measure. That's what you gotta do in my job. You gotta get it all down by good measure.

---

Suspicion. It's what brought "Miss Bright" to my office two weeks ago. Hell, a body like that was suspicion in a black dress.

"Can you find my husband, Mr. Heart?"

Same old story. Yeah, the police won't help her. Nowhere to turn except a private Dick with a rep like mine. Yeah she's got money. And yeah, when she crossed her legs in my chair she hinted she had other things.

---

I pulled Betty out of her shoulder holster, stepped into the alley through the cloud of my own smoke. Betty's seen me through tougher cases than this. 'Course about this time, none of _those_ cases looked all that tough, either.

---

Motive. "Mister Bright" left a trail of broken hearts and broken women - none his wife - wide and long as the Strip. Over a dozen dames. Half of them wanted to kill him. The other half wanted to fuck him first then kill him. None seemed concerned - or worried - about finding him.

---

The alley dead-ended like a metaphor. Doors off either side, windows above, one lit, shades drawn showing a silhouette sliding out of view. The oily thing moved too fast to identify. The door underneath - unlocked, quiet. Sure, make it easy for me.

---

Clues. Not many to start. No body, no blood, plenty of spilled money and semen up until three weeks ago. The trail got colder; Matteran's gin joint might have seen him. The smell of his money and MO lingered. The valet at Sid's said he saw someone like him, last Saturday on some society dame's arm. Maybe Bright wasn't using his real name. A patient week's snooping uncovered a vague breadcrumb trail. I had as much patience as the Missus had dough.

---

A flight of creaky stairs, and there was the door, 2B. Or not - it wasn't locked. Wasn't even fully closed. Either I was too late, or
expected. Or someone was being real sloppy. I checked over my shoulder and hoped it wasn't me.

Betty led the way as I pushed the door open.

"Mister Bright." Just like his picture, except for the stockings, miniskirt and makeup, kneeling on the floor.

"...Yes?"

"Your wife hired me to find you."

He knelt, blushing, and looking up at the tall, thin woman who had his hair in a tight fist.

"Did she," she said.

"Yes Ma'am.

"Well then, I think you've earned your pay, don't you?

Bare below a corset top, she looked me in the eye as she pulled Bright's head between her legs.

"Why don't you bring her here and collect."

Bright whimpered into her cunt.

---

I did. Miss Bright paid, then smiled as she closed their door on me. She got it all down by good measure.

*****

Entry #7: A Cry in the Dark

We were maybe making a bit of a scene, I realized, but I didn't much care. It was the night after Leo's big promotion, and we'd both had a little more to drink than usual. We were also seated at the banquette, which meant he could sit next to me and do all kinds of inappropriate things when we thought no one was looking. He'd already made me come twice, his hand rather conspicuously in my lap (while I tried desperately to keep a straight face), when he leaned over and told me, making no attempt to lower his voice, to go to the ladies room and remove my panties. Kind of a cliché, but I was game. I was pretty sure he wanted to take things farther – he'd told me once that he fantasized about having his fingers inside me somewhere public, but we'd never even attempted anything so blatant – and considering how the evening was going, I figured that was it. And although on a normal night I might have protested, that night I was just tipsy enough to think that being fingerfucked under the table in one of the fanciest restaurants in town was a downright smashing idea.

I made it down the hallway without incident, passing the coatroom, now dark, on the way. I remembered noticing how cute the coatcheck girl was when we'd arrived, but wondering why the coatroom was even open on such a warm night. In the bathroom I managed to extricate myself from my panties and stuff them in my purse, stifling my giggles in case anyone else walked in. I'd almost made it back to the dining room when a hand – Leo's, no doubt – shot out from the doorway of the coatroom and dragged me inside, where it was pitch black. He pushed me up against a wall, then knelt in front of me, hiking up my skirt and burying his face between my legs. "Oh, god," I exhaled, knowing I should shut up but not being able to help it, and he pulled away at the sound. "Ssh," he admonished. I clapped my hand over my mouth while he continued eating me out like he was a starving man and I was his next meal, tongue and teeth and lips on me relentlessly just the way I like it until I was coming so hard my knees almost gave out. Then, before I could catch my breath, he slid a finger into me, then another, his mouth still on my clit as he thrust into me over and over again, driving my orgasm higher and higher until I couldn't stay quiet anymore and howled so loud they heard me all the way in the dining room.

Which I know because Leo told me. Leo, still sitting at our table. I never did find out who'd had their way with me in the coatroom, but I'll tell you, I got the spanking of my life for it. But that's another story.

*****

Entry #8: Clueless

"I suggest Reverend Green did it with Mrs White, using his lead pipe, in the ballroom!"

Miss Scarlet sighed, "That's not how you play it."

Professor Plum chuckled, "Are you absolutely sure about that?"

Mrs Peacock raised an eyebrow, "By lead pipe, you mean..."

"That he was as hard as one, yes!" Plum confirmed.

"I say," Colonel Mustard weighed the long rope in his hand, "This is a bit saucy. Tying up and whatnot."

Scarlett's eyes rolled ceiling-wards, "And that isn't what it's for either."

"Ooooh, I don't know..." Peacock purred, sidling up to the young blond soldier, caressing the cord with delightful anticipation. "Your room, or mine?"

"It could be a crime of passion..." Scarlett considered. "The candlestick suggests a romantic liaison."

"Well I say to hell with crime. Let's stick with passion." The tall dark professor fondled his moustache suggestively in her direction.

"Or perhaps they were into erotic hot wax foreplay..." Peacock spied the candles flickering in the darkened study, her eyes glazing at some fond memory. The heads of the others turned sharply towards her, raised eyebrows over wide stares. She became aware of the attention. "What? Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Plum chortled to Mustard, "That'll put some lead in your pipe, my boy!"

Scarlett cried, "And we still haven't found out where Reverend Green and Mrs White have got to. I suggest we search, together. Safety in numbers."

"You've obviously not menaged enough, honey." Peacock murmured. Scarlett went as red as her dress, before leading them out.

As they passed the dining room, a distant scream called out.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" Mustard exclaimed.

At his elbow, Peacock suppressed an appreciative smirk, "Later, honey."

Mustard pulled the pistol from his belt and dashed forward. "Some bounder is killing her."

Scarlett's pulse raced. Now this was more like it! Aroused by the dark thrill, she hoisted her evening dress up and tottered after him. Peacock stroked the rope she carried, and sashayed on high heels after Mustard, wondering when they would tie the knot. The Professor eyed the voluptuous firm behind, and strode after her, muttering, "Lead... yes, definitely lead."

The woman's cries got louder as the foursome neared the ballroom. There were exhaustive pants within, a man exerting himself. A woman's loud cries.

Mustard's finger was tight on the revolver trigger. "The scoundrel must be beating her!"

"That's one way of putting it." Peacock's comment was worldly-wise as she turned the handle. "Gee, am I the only one round here getting some?"

Framed by the door, they saw Reverend Green in flagrante delicto, trousers round his ankles, with Mrs White, long skirt hoisted up higher than her spread knees. And it wasn't Holy Communion he was giving, despite her repeated calls for God.

"Obviously not." Scarlett sneered.

Plum puffed his way from behind, his monocle dropping, "Top ho! I was right all along!"

With a sigh of despair, Peacock snatched Mustard's pistol, aimed between Plum's legs... and shot him in the ballroom.

*****

Entry #9: Christmas Hangover

The train whistle exasperated Robert's hangover. He sat down on the cracked bench with a groan. Across the way, a coworker named Telford chuckled.

"Still hung over from last night's party?"

Robert nodded, not really seeing anything. In his head, he replayed a blowjob he enjoyed in the coat room. Wet and slurping. Lips against his balls and the tip in the back of someone's throat. He just couldn't remember who gave him the time of his life.

He looked up. "Say, Tel? Who was I with last night?"

"Don't remember?"

"No," another groan, "but I want to."

"Well, you and I talked for hours."

"No, no, someone else. I remember this... never-mind, I'll figure it out."

Telford chuckled again.

At work, Robert looked at the women of the office in a new light. He focused on their lips and hair, trying to remember anything of that elusive blowjob.

The front desk receptionist had perfect lips which twisted into a frown when he chatted her up. He moved on to Bethany, a fellow programmer, but the smell of cigarette smoke turned him away. He created an uncomfortable silence with Betsy when he touched her hand but Priscilla snatched hers away when he repeated the action.

He got caught sniffing the perfume in Linda's purse.

Alice threaten his balls if he stepped any closer.

He didn't want to think about what Melody said.

By lunch, the women of the office avoided him. Robert felt embarrassed, but he couldn't stop looking for that perfect blowjob.

Finally, Robert gave up looking. Leaning against the back of a crowded elevator, he tried not to think about the brutal meeting with Stacy, head of Human Resources. One more offense and he would lose his job. All because of his obsession in finding that perfect blowjob. He slumped against the wall and tried to cling to the fading memories. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The mass of workers filed out and Robert followed, head down.

"Any luck?"

Robert looked up at Telford. After a day of obsession, his eyes focused on the younger man's lips before he realized Telford couldn't possibility be it. "No, not really."

"Pity. I heard Jane from Accounting slapped you."

Robert blushed and held his hand to his cheek.

Telford laughed and slapped Robert on the shoulder.

"Well, I hope you find that blowjob. I heard it was fantastic."

"Yeah," murmured Robert.

"Well, got to run."

Robert waved, lost in thoughts. He stood in the crowds of the office building, not really seeing them. Then, his head snapped up, looking at Telford as he walked down the street.

"I-I didn't tell him it was a blowjob."

Memories came rushing. Of them talking about movies, drifting into raunchier topics until finally... an argument about pathetic movie blowjobs. Robert gaped, struggling with the memory of Telford pulling him into the room. The man's wet tightness around his...

But with a guy?

One who gave a perfect blowjob...

He ran after Telford.

*****

Wow. Choosing is going to be difficult. I swear.

XXX,
Alison

It's a Mystery...

2010-08-21T12:08:00.001-07:00

What’s a mystery? The theme for Round 5 of the Smut Marathon. I've asked that the contestants pen me a mystery, a who-dunnit, a scenario dipped and dripping in pure, unadulterated noir. I’m upping the word count for this challenge—although I once wrote a murder mystery in 50 words. (And won a spot as a deejay at UCLA.) But for this round I asked that the writers wow me in 500 words.

Guest judge is Thomas Roche! Look for the next poll in two weeks.

XXX,
Alison

Hooray for Customer Service!

2010-08-21T06:16:00.001-07:00

Ha! I hardly ever get to say that! But in this case, Customer Service, by t'Sade is the winner of Round Four of the Smut Marathon!

I have to say—that was a pretty wild ride! Throughout the week, several different stories nudged into first place. In fact, when Sommer Marsden chose *her* favorite (which was Customer Service), the letter was not in the winning slot. As it happens—t'Sade is the double-winner: the favorite of the readers and the favorite of Ms. Marsden! Here are the authors with the titles:

Customer Service by t'Sade
A Bit of a Bitch... by Sandrine Lopez
Not-So-Cordially Yours by Angell Brooks
Tonight and Tomorrow by Monocle
Oopsie by Emma Hilmman
Homecoming by May Deva
Invoice by Dorla Moorehouse
Parting Ways by Willsin Rowe
Letter Never Sent by Joss Lockwood
Typing Skills by Dadgum

Unfortunately, this will be the last round for Dadgum—but please send me your snail mail address to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com! I have a present for participating! I'm so glad you played along! Also, I have to apologize to Willsin Rowe. The title of his piece was meant to be "Parting Ways," and I got that wrong on the poll and on the blog.

Okay, writers. Look out. I'll be knocking on your door shortly with the contest for Round Five!!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Click the image of the poll to enlarge the picture!

Dear.. Dear.. Dear...

2010-08-13T06:21:00.001-07:00

Welcome back! We're here at the fourth round of the Smut Marathon. The contest started with 15 writers, and is now down to 10. This poll will determine the Reader's Choice and, unfortunately, the writer who won't be moving on to the next challenge. (Truly, that's the hardest part of the contest for me. I think you're all fabulous writers!) Celebrity Guest Judge, Sommer Marsden, will choose her favorite story to win a letter pendant from Gwen Delicious.

For Challenge #4, I asked the writers to pen a sexy letter—I love stories in letter form. (I was a sucker for Griffin and Sabine.) Let me say, the writers surpassed my every expectation. These letters are varied, unusual, erotic, and funny!

The poll will run until midnight on Friday, August 20th. Please tell your friends, family, close strangers to stop by and vote!

Entry #1: Oopsie

Dear John,

Enclosed is a DVD I’m sure you won’t want to miss. It’s what you were always hoping I’d do after all.

You thought I was a prude, but I was just waiting for the right man. You see, my new lover understands me like you’ve never even tried to. Take this film, for example. I told you I’d never do one, or that I’d never give anal sex a go. Wanna guess what’s on this DVD?

So thank you, John, for breaking up with me. I’ve finally found the man of my dreams, the one who can make me come with just the slide of his fingers over my clit or a well-placed lick. He’s managed to unlock my deepest fantasies, and boy, have we had fun over the past weeks!

You wouldn’t believe how good it is when he thrusts into me so deep I don’t know where he ends and I begin. Or, when he fucks me with our fave toy at the same time… Mmm, I’m getting wet just thinking about it. He’s so unbelievably good at this.

Let me tell you, I never knew sex before him!

So, anyway, John, have a nice life, enjoy the film and see you next Sunday for your parents’ wedding anniversary.

Ellen

PS: Your brother says hi! He was really happy to hear he’s so much bigger than you. And so was I…

*****

Entry #2: Typing Skills

Harlowe Montgomery
Har-Mont Controls

September 20

Ken Pickens
Pickens Switches

Kenneth:

You probably regard our conversation of June 12 as another "strategic blunder," to use the phrase your attorney coined a few years ago about the loophole that allowed you to take Har-Mont's trade secrets when you left. No doubt you see the coincidence of finding me at a bar, deep enough in my cups to brag to you about Ms. Harrison's skills, secretarial and otherwise, as another stroke of your good fortune. I believe I characterized dear Matty as "a triathlete in the sack," "a filthy talker with a voice like Viagra," "a spitfire who swallows," "loyal to a good man with a big expense account and bigger dick," things like that. Crude, yes, but all true. You said she must be dumb; a fairer man would have jumped in to say how amazingly wicked her mind is, but instead I nodded along.

Since you hired Matty away, I've missed having her around the office. I understand you're betting everything on a November product launch, and certainly I know when I was overly busy she was sweet succor: a personal assistant so devoted, available at all hours, naked and unattended in your private office until you need her.

Anyway, good luck with the November thing. I wanted to tell you we're hosting a big new product announcement event Monday; feel free to stop by and see some familiar faces.

Best regards,
Harlowe

HM/mh

*****

Entry #3: Invoice

Dear Brian:

Rather than getting my possessions back after this breakup, I have proposed a solution that should save time and emotional difficulty. I request that you send $500 in order to repay me for the couch that you broke two months ago.

I suppose you could argue that we broke it, as I was riding you with all my strength when the frame snapped and the leg went out, but really, it’s your fault. If you hadn’t pinned me to the wall when you walked in the door, if you hadn’t bitten my lips as you kissed me, if you hadn’t reached under my skirt, ripped away my panties, and fingered me until I collapsed, I could have waited get to the bedroom. But you whipped me into a desperate frenzy, and I could not stand the thought of walking all the way through the house. I had no option but to ride you then and there, until the couch collapsed. The jolt as we hit the floor was perfect - your cock hit my G-spot so hard that suddenly I was coming, screaming amidst the pile of cushions. And of course, I couldn’t just stop there - I was so crazed, I had to keep going until you were done, plywood beams snapping as you exploded.

Please send payment as soon as possible, in order that we may both heal and move on with our lives. I will always cherish the time we spent together, but the time has come to start a new life with a new couch.

Fondly,
Olivia

*****

Entry #4: A Bit of a Bitch...

Dear New Neighbours across street (No.27),

Sorry I haven't said hello properly, and apologise that my first words are a letter of complaint.

I refer to the night... well, every night recently, where (owing to summer humidity) I had my windows open, as do yourselves. Now I'm as open-minded as anyone but the incessant sounds of your love-making... in fact shameless, downright nasty fucking... are keeping me awake, and I do work long hours being *between boyfriends*.

I'm awed by your bedroom vocabulary (learning many new terms), and am not the quiet type myself but neither wanting to broadcast publically exacting, explicit details of any sex I'm having. That's what gossip's for.

While I can appreciate "Take it deep, you fucking cumslut whore!" and "Stick your dick in rough... split me in two, you animal!" etc. accompanied by slap-happy spanking and tortured bedsprings plus, going by the squelches, an unhealthy amount of lube, I can only offer a bit of a bitch in return.

So, next time you want to be at it like porn-stars in heat for money-shot time, could I please suggest you... open your curtains so I can also learn a few... okay, perhaps lots more... positions and things, for when I do meet *Mr Right* (or *Mr Right Size for the Moment*).

Meanwhile, I've had to use my vibe quite exhaustively because of your arousing dialogues, to get some sleep. Shame on you both.

Yours indecently,

Katherine (bitch at no.24)

PS: Not into threesomes, are you...?

*****

Entry #5: Not-So-Cordially Yours

Dear Asshole:

I can’t believe that you’ve done this to me. What gives you the right to ruin sex with any other man? Where do you get off being good enough to get me off six times in one session?

How do you think that I’m going to manage to look at another man’s cock and NOT think of your hard length pressing against my clit as you lie on top of me, teasing my dripping pussy before you enter?

My nipples cry for your touch, as much as it pisses me off. You know where to rub, to flick, to circle. Only you have been able to cause me to moan in heat and release.

I’m so pissed at you I would scream...if it didn’t remind of me of how you had me screaming your name, over and over, as you fucked me sideways, backwards and over the top of the moon.

I’d rather be mad at you than recall your smooth cock pounding into my aching cunt. I’d rather try to hate you than spend my days dreaming about your talented tongue as you licked me clean after shooting off over my freshly shaven mound, making me come so hard I almost bit through my lip.

I think I’ll try and hate you. It’s easier than using my fingers to fuck myself at night in a sad, imitated but never duplicated attempt to bring myself off the way you did.

You fucker.

Thanks for ruining me.

*****

Entry #6: Dear Dick,

By the time you read this I’ll be gone. If I looked you in the eye I don’t think I’d have the strength to do this. I’d just want to hold you.

Dick, I’ve known you all my life. They’ve been wonderful years, but you know as well as I do we’ve drifted apart. We want different things. I’m moving on, and it’s time you let me go.

Please don’t think I’m just palming you off. You’ve stood up for me time after time. I think the problem is you simply don’t know when to stop. I know I’m a better man when you’re not crowding me. I love you, Dick, but you need help.

You’ll probably blame my promotion, but that’s only part of it. I’ve felt this way a long time. Now I’m working for someone new, someone exciting, who has the same career objectives I do. I know how this sounds, but honestly, it’s not what you think.

Her name is Alina. You’d like her, Dick. She’s young, she’s sexy, she brings my senses to life. And her girlfriend is gorgeous. You see my dilemma? I know you, Dick. If I asked her to meet you, you’d just embarrass me. I really need to focus on my work now.

I truly am sorry, Dick. I’ve tried to talk to you but you never see things my way. You always were so one-eyed.

So long, Dick. We’ll always have Lubbock.

Love always,
Martin

*****

Entry #7: Homecoming

My beautiful one;

I hope you enjoyed the letters I left you, and that you’ve enjoyed the fantasies in each. The weeks without you were difficult and in anticipation of arriving home, I have specific requests for this evening:

- Keep your earpiece and phone at hand. While I’m driving, I want to pour images of all the nasty things I'm going to do to you directly into your brain.
- Draw a hot bath as soon as you get home, with plenty of the herbal salts you love. You may soak as long as you like under two conditions – one, you make that delightful pussy completely smooth for me and, two, your hands may not stop until you have come. Imagine that I am there, bathing you. Stroke yourself as I would, and come for me as I whisper in your ear.
- After your bath, daub my favorite perfume on your inner thighs. I adore that scent mixed with yours, and I intend to spend a great deal of time savoring it this evening.
- There is a red box in the corner of my closet. Put on the corset and stockings inside. Lock the collar around your lovely neck, the key is in my pocket.

My cock grows harder as I get closer, every mile traces itself on my body like your fingernails. I can’t wait to open the door to our room, to see you spread across our bed, ready for me. Those letters? The fantasies become reality tonight.

*****

Entry #8: Tonight and Tomorrow

My Nina,

I am so pleased you and Mark hit it off so well this evening. Watching the two of you after his almost bashful first advance was a joy. He was so smitten - even after your whisper in his ear made him blush. And I could see how hot he made you. I watched with such pleasure your mutual seduction; looks, suggestions, caresses drawing you ever closer. I know your signs - by the last dance you'd have fucked him on the dance floor if only he'd asked.

He did ask, though, to take you home. And as I write this I know you're tangled with each other. Perhaps his cock is deep inside you now, outpouring with his desire. Perhaps you're crying his name as your body wracks with pleasure. I can see you, lost in his arms. I _want_ you to be lost in the moment, in him. I hope he's an incredible lover. I hope he's _better_ than me, and that he makes you scream and shudder and come all through the night.

Because tomorrow, Nina Love, you are with me again. And I'm going to reconquer you. I'm going to fuck Mark out of your body, flood out his cum with mine, drive my presence back in so deep that it will be my name on your lips again and always. The better he is, the better I have to be. To earn you back. To reclaim what is mine.

I cannot wait.

*****

Entry #9: Customer Service

To Kelly's Lingerie Customer Service:

I am writing about the incident in store #842 on November 12, 2009. Your employee, Laura, has shown initiative in ensuring customer satisfaction. When the store manager found us in the changing room, there is an easily explained reason why she was on her knees and covered in cum.

Laura had offered to help me find an outfit for my girlfriend. They both share the same bra size and similar skin tone. I wanted to see how the Cherry Red Rose Lace Bra (product #620023-CR) would look on my girlfriend's magnificent breasts and Laura offered to demonstrate.

I questioned if my dick would fit into the chasm of her tits while wrapped in product #620023-CR. She naturally pressed her boobs together and offered to let me find out. How could I resist such salesmanship? I rested my cock into that warm valley and I have to admit, the quality silk of your products felt incredible on my shaft and balls.

It didn't take long before I realized that there were other concerns for the materials. I needed to know if semen could stain either the bra, the matching garter (#620123-CR), and red fishnet pantyhose (#A842-R). She--demonstrating excellent customer service--slipped out of the changing room and put them on for me. I was in the middle of testing the material for staining when the store manager opened the door.

I can't explain why I was wearing the red silk teddy (#620403-CR).

Sincerely, Gary Moore

*****

Entry #10: Letter Never Sent

Dear V.,

Since you asked:

In the cab, you have me put my arms up and grab my own elbows. I lean back against the seat and hold on tight as you slide your hands up under my shirt. Your fingers are cold and my nipples ache. You twist, pull, the way I like it, gently at first and then harder, and I have to stop myself from groaning. It's been too many days since I've seen you; I'm wet right away. You murmur to me to keep still, keep quiet, and of course I have to squirm a bit because I'm difficult like that.

Spread your legs, you say. It's silly but even fully clothed, that movement makes my stomach dip, my pussy clench. With all the ways we could arrange our bodies there aren't too many reasons to do this. There's no mistaking the message: Look at me. Take me. Fuck me. I am open open open.

Your hand's in my hair, your teeth on my earlobe. When I'm this turned on sometimes I can't even make out what you're saying--the arousal's almost audible, like static buzzing through my brain--but it affects me anyway. The breath, the tone, the intention: they all stroke my exposed parts as surely as your fingers are now stroking my labia through my panties. I hear whore and shudder. My clit is throbbing but you deliberately avoid it, making me wait…

I'm terrible at waiting. Pick me up at six?

S.

*****

Wow. Right? Just fucking wow. Makes you want to go buy a whole roll of stamps and lick each and every one before sticking them all over your... Wait. Maybe that's just me. I *do* have this kind of crush on my postmaster...

Take your time. Choose your favorite! You've got all week.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I'm pretty lame at tweeting, and I haven't got a Facebook. So any spreading the news on your part is much appreciated!

Return to Sender

2010-07-30T07:21:00.001-07:00

For those of you playing along at home, for the 4th challenge in the Smut Marathon I asked the writers to pen me a sexy story in letter format. Two of my all-time favorite tales are written in this style: Before Sleep Does by Sommer Marsden which appears in Never Have the Same Sex Twice and Dear Alison by Maxim Jakubowski which appears in Juicy Erotica.

The entries for this contest will be up on the blog in about two weeks. The sponsor this time around is Gwen DELICIOUS, she of the awesome typewriter pendants. Get it? Write a sexy letter, get a sexy letter pendant!

Our Celebrity Judge for Round 4 is Ms. Sommer Marsden, herself! She will choose her favorite of the stories—and the poll will determine the readers' favorite as well as the contestants who will move on to Round 5.

Stay tuned!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Why did I choose an erotic letter as a format? Well, I like dirty missives. But I also think they can be extremely important. Check out this entry (I know I've let this blog gather dust) on my Never Have the Same Sex blog. You'll see what I mean.

And the winners is...

2010-07-29T11:44:00.001-07:00

I know. I know. It should be "And the winners *are*..." Except that I told you we would have two winners. One would be chosen by BeijoFlor and the other by the poll. Well, the winner is one and the same: Tango, or really, Dorla Moorehouse, the author of Tango. So congrats Ms. Moorehouse! You win both the main prize this time, gorgeous earrings by BeijoFlor, and the reader prize—a scarf from Opposite of Om in the color of your choice!

This was another close contest. Every time I checked on the poll, a different story was in top place! So congrats to all of the authors. I'm sure readers are dying to know who wrote each piece. Here goes:

Tango by Dorla Moorehouse
Trophies by Willsin Rowe
Misericode by Monocle
A Deal is a Deal by May Deva
Louboutins by Emma Hillman
Dressing Up by by t'Sade
Size Sevens from Heaven by Angell Brooks
The Dinner Party by Joss Lockwood
Well Heeled by Sandrine Lopez
Weren't They Happy by Dadgum
Trapped by an Edge by Scarlett Greyson

Unfortunately, we have to say goodbye to Scarlett Greyson—who has been a fabulous participant! I do have a prize for you, SG, so please hit me with your mailing address. Authors, I'll be knocking on your door shortly with the specs for the next round!

Gosh, I hope I said everything I was supposed to. I'm a little out of breath here...

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Remember, if you click the image of the poll, the picture gets bigger!

Welcome, Smutters...

2010-07-22T06:54:00.001-07:00

Here we are at Round 3! Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Take off your stilettos. Or put them on. We're all friends here. Waiting for you are eleven entries based on the theme "stiletto." Please read the pieces and vote for your favorite before the poll ends (Wednesday the 28th at midnight).

The majority of the writers preferred the anonymous posting. So I'll reveal the names after the poll ends. As an added bonus, this time, the first-place winner will be chosen by Beijo Flor—who is donating a fabulous prize to the winner! (I'll have an extra prize for the readers' favorite as determined by the poll.) The author with the lowest ranking story will be eliminated. Good luck to everyone—and congratulations to the writers. You've all impressed me!

*****

Entry #1: Tango

She never puts her shoes on until they’re waiting in the wings. As he watches her slip into the suede stilettos, he remembers last night’s rehearsal.

They were the only ones still practicing. She’d become bored dancing the same steps over and over, so she started to tease him - fingers opening a shirt button, a nip on the neck during a lunge. The breaking point came when, during a leg crawl, she let the tip of that sharp heel nip his crotch. The pain was extraordinary, the immediate erection undeniable.

He guided her over to the ballet barre in the corner, ripped the ribbon out of her hair and tied her wrists to the cold metal rod. Then he removed his belt, delivered seven blows across her waiting ass. She’d be sore the next day, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d competed - and won - with welts.

She could barely keep her balance, pitched forward on those fragile heels, as he slid aside her panties, slid his cock inside her cunt. He spanked her every time she stumbled or shook, setting off her orgasm, making her wail with the combination of pain and pleasure. When she finished, he delivered one final blow, shot cum inside of her.

Her shoes are buckled and she’s barely wincing from her sore ass. Unfortunately, he has an uncomfortable erection moments before it’s time to dance. But this isn’t the first time he’s competed - and won - with a hard-on.

*****

Entry #2: WEREN'T THEY HAPPY?

"The only women who wear those during sex are ones you have to pay," his wife said.

He knew this wasn't true, but for him it was true enough. It was this way with many allures that snaked through his mind, only reaching his mouth when they were abed. Her response was always, Why? Weren't they happy? And what could he say? They were. And then she'd fuck his brains out.

When he reassembled his brains, however, stiletto-clad footprints still covered his amygdala.

***

He found himself unlocking a room that charged by the hour, listening to the clicking heels of the blonde who followed him in. He took her coat, finding it had covered a lot: A corset so low-cut her nipples protruded. Torn fishnets clipped to the corset. Crotchless panties. Each was a tick off his wishlist; the checkmarks mirrored the angle of his erection.

Was he supposed to think about his wife? He wasn't sure. Fondness for her lovely legs and rump was overwritten by this hypnotic creature with stems that supported an ass like a flower abloom. He buzzed.

She tuned the crappy clock radio to '80s metal, and he received his first lapdance.

***

Two hours later, the blonde a sunny heap on the bed -- and still in stilettos -- he produced some folded bills.

She smiled. "Fortunately, one of us withdrew money for the babysitter.

Happy birthday, dear."

He paused. "The itch this scratched will still itch."

"Well," she mused, "do we have plans for my birthday?”

*****

Entry #3: Louboutins

I noticed them straight away. Those red soles were like a beacon, trapping my gaze. Louboutins. Just that name was enough to give me shivers. I sped up a little. I wanted to see the shoes better, instead I made the mistake of looking at her.

She had the perfect body: long legs, a high butt and hips that rolled at every step. I couldn’t see her front but I was certain it matched the rest.

I watched as she stopped to talk to a nice-looking man, the imprint of her painted lips staining his bristly cheek a second later. She looked far too good. She had the shoes I’d always yearned for.

I was jealous.

I was…aroused.

The thought stopped me short. I traced her curves with my eyes, wondering how she would feel underneath me. Would she welcome my hands on her, pinching her nipples into submission? Would she like my tongue inside her? Would she want me to suck her clit? Oh, yes. I’d make her come so she moaned my name loud enough the neighbors complained.

I snapped back to the present when I heard the tap-tap of her stilettos fading away. She turned a corner and was gone, just like that.

Now every time I walk down that street, I can’t help but scan the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of my one-time fantasy. I wonder if she likes women and if she’s the same shoe size as me. Because wouldn’t that be…just perfect?

*****

Entry #4: Misericorde

They say the stiletto was a knight's weapon, used to deliver the coup de grace to the fallen opponent. It was strong, pointed, designed to find its way through the smallest gaps in armor, to pierce the vitals, the heart, and end the battle once and for all.

I'm no knight. I don't fight chivalrously or fair, but the stiletto is still one of my favorite weapons. I can see it on his face as he comes to my door, proud, haughty, polished armor in place, eyeing me top to bottom as just one more pretty conquest to notch his swordbelt. His gaze lingers down, just a moment, as I take his hand and my first step, the sharp tick of my heel on the stone of my stairs his first warning.

We spar; we eat, watch the show, talk. He's smart, suave, smooth, even devilish - a seducer. I'm all those things in equal measure, and the contest is joined. We dance. My steps thread with his, my points tap the beat of the music, staccato behind the drums, and he almost flinches with it.

Then, later, nearly all our clothes scattered on the way to his bed, he leans back, smiling as I crawl to him, kneel before him. I bring one foot up, plant the tip of my spike over his heart, toes just under his chin. In that instant, his smile changes; the battle he'd thought won, lost. It is his mouth that utters the plea:

"Mercy..."

*****

Entry #5: TROPHIES

Father taught me young to hunt. He stressed the dominion of man over all creatures.

“God took away our claws and gave us minds, boy. This ain’t about food. We don’t pick off the sick and injured. We take the ones in their prime. That’s how we know our worth.”

He would not admit the wolf within him. With rifle and mind he would cow his senses.

I have left the woods, and my father, behind. In the cold swarm of the city, my mind and body make peace. I hunt for pleasure, guided by movement and sound.

The click of stilettos on concrete almost has a scent. It summons the wolf, the beast that still hunts from need, not for validation.

Yet the mind God gave me sees a trophy to adorn my wall. She will take pride of place as I mount her against it.

She is young and tender, still finding her footing. Her heels scrabble at the street. She totters, a stricken doe. Her hair taunts like a tail. Thighs like throats pulse against each other, and beg for my teeth.

God may have taken her claws, but the ones on her shoes will leave trophies all over my back.

She is in her prime.

And I know my worth.

*****

Entry #6: 'Well Heeled'

Sitting in my club booth, sipping my lite thru a straw, checking out talent. Or lack of. A guy drought tonight. Must be another footie evening. Little chance of scoring.

I don't know her but she's been glancing a while. Then she's all intent... beeline for me, confident on high stilettos.

"All alone?" she asks, settling opposite. I nod, still sipping. "Me too." Shared sighs.

Wide-eyed, I'm suddenly aware of her foot sliding seductively up my leg. I meet her gaze, mid-sip, breath bated. Her eyes say everything without words. She licks her red lips, signalling desire. Need.

The tip of her stiletto is under my skirt, at my thigh. In the dimness, no-one sees, no-one knows, except us.

The pointed tip is nudging my panties aside. She's an expert, done this before surely. In awe of her deft presumption, my legs quake apart. She finds the edge of my own need.

I lift my foot, trace her leg all the beautiful curvy way up. Match her daring. Toe to tip.

A swift sleight-of-foot. Sole settling, rocking, on my muff, her thin heel digging through me instead. My hands, resting on table, claw air. Her fingers entwine mine for support.

The sharpness of her heel dipping in, new painful sensations. Subsides into different pleasures. My cunt, shock recovery, grips it. Quivers. Wets it naturally so it slides. Relishes the experience.

Shared smiles. Tentative kisses becomes enthusiastic snogging. Hands, bodies, held tight.

Fuck the guys. They can keep their ball game...

*****

Entry #7: Dressing Up

Rob walked into the bedroom wearing nothing but a hard-on and it dripped with his excitement. John beamed, reaching over to trail his fingernails along the smooth balls and up to the tip. He glanced up and said, "You shaved?"

"For you," Rob's lips parted with a smile. "Help me dress?"

They started with a red silk thong. John slid it up his lover's legs, running his palms on the glassy skin. Reaching Rob's hips, John held the cock with one hand and nestled the wrinkled balls into the fabric.

A droplet rolled down the hard member and John used his tie to capture it.

A pair of garters, with black mesh and roses. John knelt down to ease them up Rob's thighs. He brushed his lips over the tented fabric, invoking a moan from Rob's lips. He already looked forward to taking them off later.

John's cock ached as he stood up and picked up Rob's black evening dress. Rob lifted his arms and John drew it down and breathed in the flowery perfume.

John pulled out the box underneath the dozen roses scattered on the bed. Opening it up, he pulled out a pair of black stiletto heels. Kneeling on the ground once again, he cupped Rob's foot and slid the soft leather heels onto the delicate foot. John felt Rob trembling as he set down one foot, then picked up the other one. Slipping it on, he buckled it and set it down.

He admired Rob.

"Beautiful."

*****

Entry #8: Size Sevens from Heaven

‘Made for pleasure.’ Ian thought to himself as he crouched at her feet. His eyes stroked a pair of caramel coloured long legs lovingly as they stood in front of him. His mouth watered at the sight of ten tiny toes, perfectly painted in a practical plain polish.

Ian’s prick pulsed as he opened the shoebox in front of him. He tenderly lifted the contents out. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but the eyes above him stared straight ahead. Surreptitiously he ran his lips across the smooth material, longing to lick the lace at the peek-a-boo toes. The size seven scarlet satin stilettos were made for him to worship, to suffer under.

He knew how the smooth sole would feel as it pressed his scruffy cheek into the ground. He knew that with just enough pressure, those delicious spiked heels would threaten to tear open his sac. He knew the bruise that would be left when it stomped on his chest. He shifted his weight, and bit back a groan as his jeans rubbed against his full, aching cock. He needed to cum, wanted to, right on the insole of that fuck me shoe.

“Hey Ian.” His boss stood in the open doorway. “Finish the display and go home. This ain’t the movies kid. She’s not coming to life.” He smirked, and closed the door.

Slipping the other shoe into his bag, he winked at the mannequin. “You can have this back in the morning.”

*****

Entry #9: A Deal is a Deal

I sat still, mouth suddenly dry as toast. He was dangling a bag off two fingertips and grinning at me, something steely flashed behind his eyes.

“Well?” he asked, knowing I couldn’t resist a secret.

“You won't tell me? I have to agree to this before I can look?” I needed clarification, before my brain hit rock bottom and betrayed me altogether.

He nodded and extended his arm, knowing that I would take his bait, as always. With my brain screaming, I took it. Untying the cord, I watched as his grin faded and became something far more hungry and carnal.

“Oh. My. God.” Breath eluded me for a moment as my hands delivered his torment to the light.

Shoes. Stilettos to be precise, in blood red patent leather. The heels, oh lord, the heels. Six inches of crafted steel, each a wicked-looking stiletto knife. Padlocks dangled from the wide ankle straps. These shoes were made for fucking, I was instantly wet.

“I had them made for you.” I sucked in a breath.

He knelt before me, fastening each strap with a snick, running his hands up my legs as he sat back and admired his gift. The straps felt as though he still held my ankles.

“They don’t come off until I get you off, right?” I reached for him, ready to start my evening.

He backed away. “Of course, but how you get me off when you can’t touch me is your problem. Isn’t it?”

*****

Entry #10: The Dinner Party

The night of their first dinner party as a couple, he told her in no uncertain terms that she was to behave herself. "You're not everyone's slut anymore," he reminded her. "You're mine." The box he handed her was plain, more punishment than gift. "You're to keep your legs together unless and until I say otherwise." She removed the contents - pencil skirt, stilettos - swallowed the wisecrack (so literal, he!), grinned with more bravado than she felt. (He knew as well as she did that she was a disaster even in flats.)

She did her best to mingle, teetering slightly, trying to keep in line. But everyone was so witty and charming and beautiful and it was, at bottom, just her nature to flirt. (He knew this about her, too.)

At the first girlish giggle, he had her over his knee before she even knew what was coming. Ten short, sharp smacks and she wasn't sure which was redder, her face or her ass. Some guests stared. Others smirked.

When he detected some hidden innuendo in her "Anyone need a refill?", he hauled her into the bathroom and refilled her mouth twice over, door still ajar. No one would admit to watching, but some did.

And when he caught her winking across the room (at her own reflection, she confessed later), he laid her out on the coffee table, bound her, scissored right through that skirt, her panties, and ordered, "Now. Open."

She opened, smiling.

And then they ate.

*****

Entry #11: Trapped by an Edge

I waited behind black satin. Somewhere he watched, spider pondering prey, his gaze palpable as a touch.

I evaded him, avoiding his traps, all attempts to capture me. Still, here I waited, bound and blindfolded.

"You've eluded me long enough, little dove," a metal snick jerked my head, "I'm going to enjoy this."

A cold line traced my spine, fabric sighing apart, exposing my skin. The touch paused at my hips; the shiver following suffused my whole body with heat.

"Ah, that's better." The flat of the blade swept lines across my back, along the curves of my ribs. With each pass the steel warmed, each touch sent a ripple down my body.

He dissected my negligee until it hung, shredded, about my frame. My chest froze with sharp touch. Drunk on fear my nipples tightened, my skin flushed.

"Perfect," he exhaled, dragging the stiletto's point in a spiral on my soft stomach. "Would you like to see?” His breath teased my lips; I nodded, mute.

"Hold still.” A blade traced my cheekbone, another my jaw. In unison they slipped under the satin I froze; the fabric rent with deft twists of his blades.

Sight returned my eyes devoured him. I licked my lips; he grinned. With a knifepoint he tipped my chin, dragging my gaze from his erection. "It won't be that easy," he teased, flipping the other stiletto in his palm; pressing the handle to my lips. "Show me," he growled, " how much you regret evading me."

*****

XXX,
Alison

Smut Marathon—Round Three

2010-07-21T07:22:00.001-07:00

Madeline Elayne has had to drop out of the contest due to a personal issue. I am very sorry to see her go, and I wish her the best.

I will have the poll up by tomorrow morning. I know you guys are all on the tips of your stilettos!

XXX,
Alison

Estilettes = Stilettos

2010-07-07T07:27:00.001-07:00

Beijo Flor—oh, so sexy, so sensual, so god I want it all—is the sponsor of the third challenge in my Smut Marathon. The theme of this challenge is stilettos, which I can never spell properly—or wear anyplace outside of the bedroom. But I thought those of you playing along at home might want to know what all those hard-working smut writers were slaving over! Also, BJ's 50% off sale ends in hours! Go check her out!

XXX,
Alison

What a wild ride!

2010-07-05T06:53:00.001-07:00

There were ups and downs and ins and outs (and I'm just talking about what happened with Sam in the pantry). But back to the poll — were you following? Did you see one title nudge another out of first place, only to be stepped on by another? I wasn't the only one impressed by the quality of the writing of all the stories. I received many behind-the-scenes notes from people who were blown away. Choosing was definitely difficult.

Here is the big reveal. The authors *with* their stories. If you want to say which one you voted for, please go ahead.

We All Have Our Secrets by Monocle
The Bell by Dadgum
Guess by Emma Hillman
Can You Tell? by Angell Brooks
For You by May Deva
My Secret by Sandrine Lopez
Secret Words by Dorla Moorehouse
Number One Fan by Willsin Rowe
Keeping Secrets by t'Sade
Missize by Scarlett Greyson
All in a Day's Work by Madeline Elayne
The Subway by Joss Lockwood
Irresistible by Evie Applegate

The winner of this challenge will receive this awesome pendant from Robbie Jenkins. Do to the multiple ties, this time we're saying goodbye to only one contestant, the fabulous Ms. Evie Applegate. All entrants *do* win a pretty cool effing prize, so Evie, please drop me a note with a snail mail address and I'll get a goodie right out to you!

I'll be writing to the contestants shortly with the next challenge. Thanks to everyone for playing, writing, reading, and simply stopping by! Thanks especially to Violet Blue, who got the word about the contest to her multitude of readers!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. If you click the poll, the image enlarges.

Can you keep a secret?

2010-06-28T07:57:00.001-07:00

This time around, we're doing something different. Something kinky. Something secret. Instead of posting the stories (which were written on a "secret" theme) with the authors' names — the pieces are posted anonymously. Vote for your favorite. Names will be revealed after the poll ends. The poll will run until Sunday, July 4th, at midnight.

Note to the Authors: you can say you have a story up — but please don't publicly post which one is yours! Winner will receive this awesome pendant courtesy of the fabulous Robbie Jenkins!

Entry #1: Guess

I might have been blindfolded and cuffed to the bed, but I noticed straight away the cock sliding inside me wasn’t my husband’s. It was wider for one, longer too. Hands gripped my hips hard enough I knew I’d have bruises the next day.
What the hell was happening? Why hadn’t Tom warned me? Oh, I knew he’d planned something, but this went beyond all my wildest fantasies.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“It’s a secret,” Tom replied from somewhere in the room.

The man sped up his movements then, his hands palming my breasts from behind. It was good, but having a strange cock

inside me felt a bit odd. When he pulled out of me with a groan and fingers replaced his cock, I thought that was it.

But they were far from over.

Another cock thrust into me. A third one.

That cock was thick too but it also curved slightly. How did I know that? Because it hit my G-spot on an upward move and made me see bright, bright stars. He did it again and again, until I couldn’t stop the orgasm that washed over me. I screamed, my back arching.

They took turns all night, filling me with their cocks. Tongues. Fingers. I woke up dizzy and sore, but beyond satisfied.

Tom has promised me we’d do it again soon. I just hope the blindfold stays off next time…

*****

Entry #2: Secret Words

Lips, tongues, teeth, hands, nails, hips, legs. The rush of blood to my cunt, a peculiar murmur in my heart. Words forming at the back of my throat that I can't utter, not yet. So I kiss you harder, work my mouth down and bite your neck, fill myself with your taste - I can't talk with my mouth full. Off to the bedroom, but not the bed - you push me against the wall, press your hard cock against my thigh, lift my shirt over my head, twist my nipples until I come. I retaliate, shove you onto the bed, rip your pants off, start to suck your dick in order to keep myself from saying anything, keep from ruining the moment. But you don't want to come that way.
"Ride me," you gasp. "Please."
I climb on top, slide you inside me, and groan despite the fact that I'm biting my tongue. You've got one hand on my clit, the other grabbing my ass, as I start to thrust up and down. You match my pace, increasing the pressure on my clit with the speed of my hips. Then we're coming, me first, you not far behind.

"Want me to walk you to the door?" I ask when you start to dress.
"No thanks, I can let myself out."
I don't say a word until I hear the door close.
"I love you."

*****

Entry #3: The Bell

Hank disengaged the metal clapper from the glass bell and set them down together like a firefly in a jar. Penny knew her orgasms were trapped in there, too.

Hank was the only suitor who took Penny's premarital chastity as the intended erotic challenge. She sought the same reverie she got from her smutty library -- one hand riffling her pages, the other riffling her pages -- and Hank's words did it. He didn't touch her during sex; they watched one another, and most of all, Penny listened. For months she came only to the sound of his voice.

After he proposed, he gave her the clanging bell; he rang it whenever she orgasmed, until it alone became her primary erotic trigger. And now, a month before the wedding, he'd broken it. "You'll come again before our wedding night," he promised.

But she hadn't, and now they'd been married for two hours, sitting at their reception waiting for salad, and the bell rang and instantly her back arched with climax. She couldn't understand it -- his hands were empty -- but the slickness surged from her cunt like the blood to her cheeks as the bell got louder.
When she could refocus, all her family and friends were smiling at her, yet seemingly unaware of her secret. And then she saw: They were clinking forks against their stemware.

"That means we're supposed to kiss," Hank said, revealing not even an ounce of smugness. Penny leaned in, wondering just how many traditions he could pervert. All of them, she hoped.

*****

Entry #4: Number One Fan

I had to tell her. Before she went too far.
“Janaya–”
She silenced me with her whiskey-soaked mouth. Somehow she landed on top of me.
“Janaya, I–”
Her cool nipple brushed my lips, deflecting any words I might have had. She drew patterns on the face of my tongue and then plunged inside me.
“Baby, I know. I’m too young for you.”
“Well, yes–”
“I have all your albums. I used to fuck myself with your action figure.”
“Um…”
She ground herself on my belly, whittled my voice into hiccuping moans. Gotta tell her.
The words found my mouth as her mouth found my cock.
“No, I’m...ohhhh...”
“Baby, I want you in me.”
“Me? But I’m–”
“Fuck me.”
“Janaya, listen...”
Steel flashed in her cobalt eyes. “Now.”
So young, so beautiful. For all the fame, I’m still just a man.
Her flesh immolated my cock, and she slammed me against the floor. She tightened up. All over. She squealed like Buchanan’s Telecaster.
“First time I heard you play, I knew you’d be my perfect lover, Steve.”
“Janaya...I’m Roger.”
“Huh?”
“The bass player.”
Tight as she’d been, I still felt her clench. “Bass player?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. I tried–”
“Yeah.” She checked the time. “So…Steve’s room?”
I pointed. She kissed me, followed my finger and knocked.
“Hi, Steve? I used to fuck myself with your action figure.”

*****

Entry #5: We All Have Our Secrets

Gail wears her hair long, to cover the bite I left on the back of her
neck last night. I have on a looser shirt than usual, to give the
fresh scratches on my ribs a little air. Out with friends over drinks
and dinner, my arm around her shoulders, hers around my waist, our
fingers steal to those impressions, drawing our eyes to each others’
in a fleeting, knowing look. We all have our secrets.

Or do we really? When you know what to look for… Here we are, three
couples, six friends, all done up for the night out. Colin doesn’t
have a limp, but tonight he favors his left leg as he walks, as if
something has bruised or strained his thigh muscles. Maya, on the
other hand, walks gingerly, like she doesn’t want to bump anything too
hard with her hips, and sits with a slight intake of breath. Mike and
Bea trade furtive smoldering looks and touches at each other that
could mirror Gail’s and mine, though with different geographies.

It’s not just us, I realize as I turn my attention outward. If you
know how to look, what to look for – her unexpected gasp, his
surreptitious rub, a little shift in the seat. Maybe our secrets
really aren’t. But then I look into Gail’s dark eyes, and I see that
spark that is only mine, and I know it doesn’t matter. I lift her hair
to kiss my mark.

*****

Entry #6: 'My Secret'

It's unfair to make you work harder but only the very best will do...

I have high expectations of what you do to me. How you make my skin scream silently with exquisite pleasure. Get the fine hairs of my body to stand on end. And inside...

You don't even let me prepare. Naked, I'm washing as you appear in the mirror, behind me. Press my bare mound against the cold sink as your stiff heat sears into me. Lip-gnawing contrasts make for an astonishing orgasm... you fucking me on tip-toe against porcelain.

But I hold it in. Don't give sign of coming.

"I'm sure I felt..." You begin, bodies panting, knees trembling. My pussy quivers like taut string. A high unheard note of ecstasy.

"You surprised me." I lie. For the better.

Faked orgasms make men feel good. I fake not coming, because...

"You're still good." And aim for bed.

We don't get there. You intercept me, inject me again. Tackle me, face down on the rug. Feel you do press-ups between my squeezed-tight thighs, snuggling you deeply, raw, from behind. Rest my smiling face on crossed arms.

Climax again, more intensely now.

"Yes?"

"Almost..."

Finally, we hit bed. Ankles on your shoulders, you penetrate deliciously, profoundly. I claw at sheets wildly, senses redlining into the ascendant of all orgasms. Expectations met, surpassed.

You come with terrible, animal poignancy. Rip flawlessly through my quaking soul.

"Tell me you didn't come that time..."

I nod.

But my secret remains. Just.

*****

Entry #7: Missive

Stop. Don't touch another thing. Are you listening, my pet? I've a challenge for you, a secret task. Are you up for it? Nod if you're willing.
Good. I knew you would be. Pick up your purse, keep your phone in your hand and go to the end of the hall. Go now.
Don't hesitate.
You blush so deliciously when you're flustered. Go into the conference room. Yes. That one.
Shut the door. Ah, ah, I didn't say to lock the door.
Did you do as I said this morning?
Show me.
Perfect. The red garter belt is a nice touch.
Oh yes, you are loving this, aren't you my sweet slut? Drop your skirt to the floor.
Now your shirt.
No, leave the bra. Go open the blinds. It's a beautiful day. Perfectly overcast so there's no reflection on the windows.
Can you see all those offices across the street? Can you see people in them?
Oh yes, my dear, absolutely perfect.
Pull a chair over and present yourself to them just as you would to me.
Yes. Just like that.
Prop your feet on the glass.
Now touch yourself.
Shh. No sounds now...remember? This little interlude is a secret.

*****

Entry #8: Irresistible

She wasn’t my type. She wasn’t even conventionally beautiful, but there was something about her that attracted men like moths to a flame and I was no exception. Her face was asymmetrical, with one eye slightly higher than the other and the nose just a little crooked. She had no curves to speak of, but when she walked there was a sway to her hips that was undeniably womanly. And when she danced, oh God how she danced! Her body undulated and her eyes closed as she got lost in the rhythm. Suddenly they snapped open and she looked directly at me. If looks could fuck I’d have come in my pants then and there. “You and me,” said those eyes. “Right now.” A nagging voice in the back of my mind warned not to rush into anything I might later regret but I wasn’t listening. I took her arm and we hustled out of there so fast I left my coat on the back of the chair.

We barely made it inside my apartment before we started tearing each other’s clothes off. “I don’t normally-“ I started to protest and she stopped with her hand halfway inside my pants. “Never mind!” I gasped.

“What’s your secret?” I asked afterwards as I lay there exhausted watching a droplet of sweat wind its way down her neck to the hollow beneath her collarbone. “What makes you so damn irresistible?”
She smiled and shook her head. “That would be telling.”

*****

Entry #9: Can you tell?

I wonder if you know my secret.

I look into your amused eyes and wonder if you know what I’m thinking.

Do you notice when I shake your hand hello I take a second to stroke your fingers? I’ve always wondered how those long fingers would feel buried deep inside me. The thought makes my pussy damp with need.

When we speak, I wonder how you would sound panting, moaning my name. Would your voice grow deeper with desire? Would it be high, pleading for release? The imagined sound makes my nipples harden with desperation.

When you laugh, your tongue peeking out from between those pink lips, I wonder how well it would swirl around my clit, lapping up my juices before plunging in and out of my wet cunt. My clit throbs, straining against my thong.

When you move behind me, to let another pass us in the hallway, I can feel your hard cock, and I wonder if you’re long enough to hit the right spot, the one guaranteed to make me cum and cry in release and relief. I wonder if you’ll be able to fuck me to satisfaction.

I wonder if you even have a thought that after you go to your office, I’ll have to rush to the ladies room and finger myself until I manage to gush all over my hand with pent up frustration at the wondering I’ve been doing.

Every day, at eight o’clock – I wonder if you know my secret.

*****

Entry #10: For You

Last night we were unstoppable, insatiable, super-sexed and forge-hot. You left marks in places that people will see if I am not careful. I left the scent of satisfaction rubbed, cat-like, all over you.

This morning we tumbled out of bed late, no time to shower, but sated. Will people close to you on the train know of our debauchery? Will people whiff the scent of lust in my office? I hate washing us off my skin.

Today, I will play my game. You know the one. Out in public, every glance at a stranger becomes a flirt, every accidental touch becomes foreplay. Will they know it, go home and fuck their partner? Spread the love. Do they know that they are holding your place until I see you again?

Shopping for wisps that only you will appreciate, flirting with the salesclerk and wondering if she sees the perfect marks of your teeth on my shoulder. She smiles as I turn and drops her eyes to my ass, not realizing the mirror shows me her consideration. I daydream briefly of a threesome and your beautiful cock dancing her to the edge of explosion, my tongue setting it off.

Every breeze brings fantasy, every thought evokes hunger. For you, for us. I wander through the day with a smile on my lips, wearing you like a tattoo. I am sex incarnate, Voluptas on firmament, simmering until I can be with you again.

*****

Entry #11: All In a Day's Work

It's amazing what some folks put out of their minds. People pay me exorbitant amounts of money to invade their lives, and within a month they've completely forgotten that I'm watching their every move. The ghost in the security machine.
House 1: alseep.
I'm the best money can buy, though, and if I'm often watching bedrooms, so what? The client's most vulnerable there.
House 2: asleep.
House 3: Bingo. The owner's brought a new plaything over. He looks cute, too, from what I can see of the top of his head. He's lying back on the bed, but he props up on his elbows to get a better look at the guy sucking his cock. Perfect—then I can see his face too, which is my favourite part. The boys in the porn flicks never get the expressions right; they're too busy trying to fake the right sounds.
Owner 3 comes and his eyes glaze over. God that expression is so hot! It's like his brain can only take so much sensory input and it gives up sight to enjoy the overload of amazing tactile stimulus. I tuck a hand into my pants, and shortly my vision blurs too when I join him. Quickly though—I don't want to miss watching him come down off his high.
Even so, I almost miss it: #3 smirks at the Tom of Finland print that conceals the camera I'm currently accessing and winks.
Maybe I'm not as forgotten as I thought.

*****

Entry #12: Keeping Secrets

Chloe whispered to her friend. The giggles and pointed looks at the
other party-goers told me everything. A smile crossed my lips as I
slipped through the crowds, pulling a ball gag from my pocket. Silence
rippled away from me as I reached Chloe. My hands draped over her
shoulders, resting my hands on the swells of her breasts. She looked
up at me, her smile fading with realization. I lifted the gag to her
mouth and she let out a soft moan before I eased it between her lips.

Strapping it tight, I bent her over her friend's legs. The blond girl,
wearing a black dress, inhaled sharply as Chloe's hair pooled into her
lap. I lifted up one hand and brought it down on Chloe's ass.

The crack of flesh and her muted gasp stopped conversations. I looked
up and explain myself.

"She told my secrets."

Knowing smirks and smiles. I took their encouragement and spanked her
again, slapping Chloe's left cheek. She let out a muffled squeal. I
continued to spank her, filling the room with the noise.

Others watched with fascination, touching themselves and each other as
I spanked Chloe. As my hand came down, her red dress rode up, exposing
redder cheeks. Underneath, I smelled her excitement and felt slickness
when I ran a finger down her lips.

I finished at twenty.

My eyes rose up to her friend, then gestured to the bedroom.

"In the bedroom, you're next."

"W-Why?"

"Because you heard my secrets."

****

Entry # 13: The Subway

Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public can become wildly inappropriate and fast.

Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone around, but still. If it hadn't been for the rattle and hum they all would have heard my breath speed up, catch, come out: a sigh about to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I didn't control myself. The way your tongue thrust and withdrew had my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you held my face in both hands, the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth, which made me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right there, onlookers be damned…and then you pinched my nipple, secret, close to the wall where no one could see, and I gasped, trembling, lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.

And when we got home you made me wait, wait until I begged.

*****

Wow, right? I am so gobsmacked by the quality of these little stories! You all should pat yourselves wherever you most like to be patted. Job well done! Oh, now I made sure there are 13 stories and 13 entries on the poll, but if I effed up in anyway, do drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I'll be in and out this week (that's what he said). So look for me on my other blogs, like Torn Shredded Whole and Color Me Scarlet — but I'm probably going to keep the poll at the top of this page.

Everyone's a Winner (baby, that's the truth)!

2010-06-12T07:40:00.001-07:00

Look at that. We have a pie! (If you click the image, the picture will get bigger.) This week's first place spot goes to Monocle! Good Vibrations was awesome enough to sponsor the contest and has given me a fabulous prize to send your way, so drop me a snail mail addy when you have a moment. Monocle also receives immunity for the next challenge. Second place goes to Emma Hillman and third to Angell Brooks.

The thirteen writers with the most votes will move on. I'll be sending a new challenge out to the writers in the next day or so. They'll have two weeks to complete the assignment, then we'll be back here for another poll!

Of course, everyone *is* a winner. At least, on my blog. So even the writers who aren't continuing on to the next challenge should pat themselves on the backs. (Or wherever they like to be patted best.) And send me a snail mail address. I have prizes for all.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. I love this song. I really do.

Give It a Twist

2010-06-06T07:49:00.001-07:00

So here we have it! The fifteen entries to the first Smut Marathon challenge. The theme for the first contest was TWIST. I told the writers to take that however they wanted to. I said: "Give your story a twist, serve a drink with a twist, do the peppermint twist…" They had 250 words and 2 weeks to write. I'll keep the poll up until Friday @ midnight.

The sponsor for this contest is Good Vibrations! GV is giving away a free G-Twist (worth $82) to the winner! The writers of the two stories with the fewest votes won't continue on to the next challenge. I have a some special judges for the last round — I'll let you know who they are in a bit!

Entry #1: One Look
by Emma Hillman

All it took was one look.

Our lips met and fused, heat blossoming inside me at the feel of his hands shaping my hips, sliding down to cup my ass. When he broke away and began nipping a way down my neck, I started moaning. I couldn’t help myself, too lost in the sensations he was creating. How could he possibly know where to touch me like this?

Too bad he suddenly pulled back and said, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” I looked up at his tense face, only aware of the lust coursing through me. And he wanted to talk now?

“I don’t understand how this could be happening!”

I rolled my eyes. “Thin line between love and hate, blah blah blah. And, why do you care anyway? You’re getting some, aren’t you?”

“I hate you!” he reminded me, but that was hardly a newsflash.

“I hate you too!” I snapped back. “This is obviously a weird twist of fate, but I say we go with it. Can we please fuck now? I need something here!”

My words seemed to work. He became a whirlwind of flying hands and teasing mouth. When his lips closed around one engorged nipple and pulled, I grabbed the back of his head and closed my eyes. I didn’t know what the future held or whether we’d go back to being enemies in a few hours, but right now I didn’t care. He just felt too damn good.

*****

Entry #2: Twist of You...
by Sandrine Lopez

Nothing replaces you but the spaces between your presence need debasing. No offence.

Needs become automatic, thinking of you, get frantic too. Gentle twinge, heat singes, sweet hunger.

Low growl of appetite, at night

Low buzz, as I twist the on/off end, send myself on empty cool bed, warm it with red fantasies of you.

Draw it slowly up my thigh, imagining your fingers, high, trembling up them. Your femme.

Drag it up the dark partition of my moistening cunt, shaking bluntness, sensing my wetting its shivering, battery-warm, plastic surface. Such bliss. Letting me believe you shudder violently, judder impulsively, as my pussy, unlocked, kisses your cock.

Let the damp tip hang over my clit, tickling it, bit by bit, before I can take no more and plunge it deep in my slit. Soaked with my spit.

Squeeze on it, pleasing, twist the end more, ramp up the amps. Push it, pull it, spin it, for the win. Within.

Withdraw, let it claw up my muff, not enough, raw on my buff skin. Shimmying, ripple, hot wet plastic on nipple. Feel them swell, hear myself yell. Bell ringing. Singing oh my god, it's you...

Doing me.

Rising. Writhing. Push it back down. Hand bashes. Colour flashes, rushing sounds.

Twist the end to high. A loud sigh. Cry. Dreaming of you, creaming. I'm screaming.

Orgasm, come, so fast, so strong. Was it wrong? Wishing of your cock? Ad hoc fuck?

Twist the end off. Got off.

On that twist of you...

*****

Entry #3: SECONDS
by Willsin Rowe

My hair is sprawled across his chest, swaddling him against the approach of night. I run my fingers across his belly. He’s all softness; his green eyes, his pink lips. His body. His life.

Even his cock.

Already.

Ninety seconds ago. His face pressing down on mine, his mouth crushing me, his eyelids wrenching against each other, and themselves. His spine curling back on itself, driving his climax into me.

We’re still entwined like discarded coat hangers. His breath weaves through my hair, his fingers rest in the middle of my back.

His only hardness now is bone.

His thigh shifts, presses against me. It finds that little spot that his tongue hasn’t yet learned to. I turn my hips. My still-wet slit comes awake just as his breath confesses his slumber.

I feel something coiled up in my belly. A serpent, buzzing with hunger. It sups at his fluid, still simmering inside me. But I’m a watched pot.

The slick skin of his thigh stirs me. The serpent stretches, worms up into my chest.

I fill his smooth navel with heavy breath.

I grind his bones to make my bread.

I grab his cock and wring its bell.

His breath turns to voice. Both heads rise as one. Thank God for young men.

He blinks, a question creeping across his brow.

I squeeze him and smile.

“Please, sir...I want some more.”

*****

Entry #4: A ROYAL TASTE
by Dadgum

Walt never dabbled in the local kink scene. But then he heard tales about "the Queen," who auditioned prospective lovers. It stoked the caveman part of his brain. He sent an e-mail.

The reply came: Wednesday, noon, Luxor, #413.

He got there early.

So had she. He was struck by her fine features and regal bearing; raven hair and summer linens suggested Cleopatra. She sat down her cell and surveyed him. "Pants off."

He obeyed, cock dangling thickly. She circled him, running fingernails across both buttocks. He stiffened, both his back and elsewhere. She reached under his shirt, tracing his chest and belly. He felt blood surge through him, but he was only in a semi-chub state. She drew her nails along his scrotum before palming his testicles and tugging.

Finally he stood at full mast. Smiling, she left him to bend over the bed. "Ten strokes," she said.

Surprised, dizzy, he moved his hands up her haunches, raising her skirt. She was fragrantly, flagrantly wet, taking him fully on the first thrust, and at those deepest moments she barked out a soft cry. He was mindful of her instruction, and after scarcely thirty seconds he withdrew, pained.

She righted herself and raised the phone, triggering an icon: SPEAKERPHONE OFF. Listening, she nodded, then: "Yes, your majesty." She beamed at him. "She will see you tomorrow."

"You're not the Queen," he said, turning it from question to statement as it left his mouth.

"No," she said, taking another appreciative tug on his cock. "I'm just her chubby checker."

*****

Entry #5: Licorice Twist
by Dorla Moorehouse

I hear an innocuous tap, then the skin on my wrist lights up in pain, and blood rushes to my cunt. I look up to see Tony chewing on the end of the Twizzler he's just used on me.

"Stop sulking."

"You should have let me pick the movie."

As the film begins, I slurp my soda, creating a sound that fills the theater and makes the other patrons wince. Tony doesn't say a word, gives me three lashes across my cleavage. My nipples harden more with each hit, and my clit begins to pulse.
Twenty minutes into the action flick, I'm bored and horny. I ease my left hand into my pants, find my waiting clit. Tony sees what I'm doing and gives me a warning whip on the shoulder, but that only makes me hotter. As I rub, he takes out another Twizzler and lashes up and down the arm I'm using, trying to get me to quit, but only spurring me on. Then he grabs another piece and whips my nipples; even through the fabric of my shirt, I feel the sting. I bite my tongue as I come to keep from moaning. Before I can fully recover, Tony grabs my arm and drags me out to the car.

"If you can't behave, we're leaving. You'll regret your behavior when we get home."

But he's so hard he can barely walk; his threat is empty; I know he'll skip the punishment and fuck me.

*****

Entry #6: Twisted
by Cat

“Cheater!” I yelled laughingly as my arms gave out and I landed flat on my back on the vinyl sheet that is the Twister game board. “There’s no nipple sucking in Twister!”

“I couldn’t resist but I’ll give you this round” you concede as you take off your shirt.

Strip Twister sounded like fun until I realized that you’d sold your soul making you some kind of Twister demon who never loses.

“Double or nothing” I suggest, thinking that your jeans and underwear equal my bra and panties.

“You spin first” I say hoping that having the last spin would give me an advantage.

You spin, I spin, you spin, I spin, until all hands and feet are placed on the game sheet. Having the last spin gave me no advantage as I find myself facing up with you caging my body.

“What do we do next with no free hands to spin?” you ponder, but before I can answer you offer your own solution. “I know I can invite a friend over to take care of the… spinning”.

My pussy clenches at the thought of introducing a third to our Twisted Twister, literally making my knees go weak, and with a gasp I find myself flat on my back on the game sheet again.

Ever the gamester, you say “for my next move, cock into pussy” and in a single smooth stroke you’re balls deep and I’m moaning.

I’m not sure who won but I’m definitely playing again.

*****

Entry #7: Manners Make the Man
by Vida Bailey

He was so romantic, Ray was. So attentive. Those eyes lit with appreciation fixed on you, enrapt. It was so flattering. And the flowers. He never presented them with a flourish, looking for a pat on the head and favours in return the way some did. Instead he’d put them in a jug by the bed, or beside the bath he’d run me, on the hall table with my post, so I’d find them after he’d left me, sore and satiated and complete.

Such perfect ettiquette.

He met out of work last week. Leaning against the sunny wall in his black jacket, the old soft leather shining smooth. So handsome, behind his shades and happy-to-see-me grin. Such a sweet kiss he greeted me with.

It took me a second to notice the tip of the paddle that was hanging from his wrist, peeping out form his cuff. To recognise the expression on his face. To realise that he took my bag for me so that he could lead me firmly by the arm to a nearby quiet, yet still public place, where he would bind my wrists with his belt, and bend me over, put me on show. He’d bare my ass and play with me while I squirmed and then paddle me red and sore ‘til I was wet and pleading, twisting in his grip and begging to be fucked, not caring who passed by.

You have to love old fashioned manners in a man.

*****

Entry #8: A Little Twist
by Evie Applegate

“How you do you turn this thing on?” Raquel asked.

“Mmmph ehmm,” was all Annabelle could manage by way of reply.

“Sorry.” Raquel did not sound sorry at all. As she bent to loosen the gag the tip of the strap-on came to rest against Annabelle’s lubed anus.

“You just give the end a little twist,” Annabelle gasped. Face down on the bed with her wrists lashed to the bedposts with a silken cord, Annabelle could not turn to see what Raquel was doing. She would have to rely on her other senses. She could feel the warmth of Raquel’s thighs pressed against her own. She smelled Raquel’s perfume, and beneath it the faint tang of her own achingly ready pussy. She heard Raquel fiddling with the harness, and the vibe humming into life. She gasped.
“A bit noisy, isn’t it?” Raquel remarked. “I imagine it’s quieter once it’s in. And speaking of quiet-” She reached up and replaced the gag.

Annabelle felt the tip of the strap-on just barely entering her. She felt Raquel’s fingers moving to stroke her clit, but that wasn’t what she wanted tonight. She pushed backwards against the rubber cock, trying to take more of it inside her, and was rewarded with a stinging slap across the buttocks.

“Not yet,” Raquel admonished, but the slap had almost tipped Annabelle over the edge. She bucked backwards again and this time Raquel thrust deep. Annabelle bit down on the gag as Raquel filled up her whole world.

*****

Entry #9: Bending Genders
by Angell Brooks

I stood back, watching the vision before me primp before the full-length mirror. Long black hair twisted up in an elegant curl. My eyes followed graceful hands as they smoothed a satin gown down the lithe body I knew as well as my own. My cock throbbed, under the uncomfortable briefs. If this banquet wasn’t black tie, I’d have gone commando.

Caught staring, a lusty smile curled my lips. “Baby, you look so fucking hot. ” My hands grasped svelte hips. I kissed the soft skin that had been taunting me all day. “I really want to fuck that ass.” A sultry laugh caused a shiver down my back.

“Come on. Feel that.” I thrust against the object of my desire, my cock fitting right in the crack. A soft moan echoed. My trousers and briefs were puddled around my feet in record time. Fisting my hard on, I reached for the lube, the bottle squelching as I pumped some across my shaft. I used my free hand to part those perfect cheeks. I aimed at the puckered hole, moaning as the tight tunnel closed around me. After a few slow thrusts, I pumped in hard and fast, breathless gasps escaping us both. I knew it would be a quick one, and groaned as I shot my load. Pulling out, I used my briefs to clean myself. Then reached around the front of that smooth satin dress, grasping his hard rod beneath it.

“Later tonight, you can be the man.”

*****

Entry #10: Twist
by Monocle

“Now, turn around and face me.”

I used to think I loved your smile. I used to think another was the
curve of your hip; still another the smooth sweep of your thigh. But
all those things are static.

“Don’t stop looking at my face. Don’t pay attention to where my eyes
go, or my hands, or anything else. Eyes on my face.”

A photograph’s smile is frozen. An image’s curve brittle. I realized,
not so very long ago, that I could not love such unmoving, dead
things, no matter how pretty.

“Open your legs. Wider. Yes. And bend your knees. More. Yes.”

What I love, the thing I love about you is that you are alive like
nothing and no one I have known. To watch you changing as your legs
move against the sheets.

“Now, hold still.”

I’m lying. I want you not to hold still – not to be able to hold
still. I want that smile on your face to twist into a wry, knowing
grin, or contort into an open-mouthed expression of passion. I want
to feel your hip turn and slide under me, as settle between your
thighs. I want to take your knees in my hands, press them up and wide
and open as your eyes widen and open on mine.

The twist. It is what I love. Your lips turning; your back arching;
your hands grabbing and wrinkling the sheets. It is what I need from
you.

“Beautiful.”

And, oh, how you give.

*****

Entry #11: Entertainment
by May Deva

Rope slithers across my skin, between my legs, as a full, lascivious moon peers at us through the window. Silver shimmers across my body as you dance the rope over, around, down and up. My hands, bound above me, flex with the need to stroke your cock, draw it to me. Over, around, down and up. You dress me, careful as a couturier, in your desire. The twist of a rope; the twist of my heart as you lay claim to me deep in the velvet night.

“Please. Fuck me.” Quiet begging.

You chuckle, stroke your fingers into my liquid cunt and hold me there on tiptoes, pinned and wriggling like an exotic insect. Your other hand smooths my hair from my face then twists, a most effective rope of my own. Cunt, hair, brain - erotic pinball as you hit the bumpers and light the ramps. Slowly, so damned slowly, you pull your fingers out, across my clit, my whole body convulses on a fingertip. Cooling dampness marks your wake on my stomach. You cup a breast, weigh it in your palm for a moment, then bring thumb and forefinger together with my nipple between. The delicious slow twist of flesh that gathers in my groin and radiates, lava-hot.

Suddenly, I am bereft. I open my eyes, see you standing close by smirking. Your words penetrate my brain: “It’s a long night, my pet. I have plans.”

A long night indeed. I close my eyes, await your pleasure.

*****

Entry #12: The Painter
by Scarlett Greyson

She watches my hands, always. Whenever I work I know I'll find her near, peeking through the sweep of her hair, eyes tracking my movements. Lindsay was one of the first visitors to my studio; now the most frequent.

The painting is near complete. I can feel her gaze on me as I add the smallest of final touches with small twists of my paintbrush. Never before has she stayed so long. I wonder if she realizes it's her portrait.

"It's beautiful," she whispers; she's so close my heart lurches. When our gazes meet my stomach takes a lazy tumble. I realize for the first time she's gold flecks in her ultramarine irises and there's a splash of raw sienna freckles across the bridge of her nose. A scent, crisp and bright as cadmium yellow twists through the sharp bite of turpentine.

Lips find lips; hands discover the shape of waist and hip. The hollow of her throat tastes of sweet sweat, her nipples tightening into peaks of Persian Red. Inch by inch I paint her body with my tongue just as I painted her image, filling my other senses with her. Her lust I taste and label as the rage of Scheveningen reds, my tongue delving, drinking, stroking. And when she twists her fingers into my hair, urgent, voice calling, I lose all thought of color, lost in the taste, the feel, the sound of her. My senses opened and caught, imagination ensnared.

*****

Entry #13: A Question of Peppermint
by t'Sade

"I got you something."

At the sight of the jumbo peppermint candy canes in their cellophane
wrapping, her eyes lit up and her red lips parted with anticipation. I
smiled, watching her rip open the first one with delighted glee. I
felt guilty wishing it was me instead of the twisted red and white
candy in her mouth

"You know," I drawled, "you'd like anything that tastes like peppermint."

She looked up with candy-colored lips. "Maybe. Maybe not..."

Her eyes locked on me while she sucked it deep. I groaned and she
smiled around it.

"Want to find out?"

I froze, not really sure if I heard her words. She popped the stick
from her mouth and gestured to a nearby closet. "Let's find out."

"Just like that?"

She smirked. "I want to find out."

Inside the closet, she knelt on the floor. She fished my cock out and
her warm hands felt incredible. At least until her lips touched me,
rolling my tip on her tongue. She pulled back and made a face.

"What?" I whimpered, desperately needing more.

"Needs something," she said wryly. Unwrapping another peppermint, she
lined it up next to my hard member. It felt sticky and cool, but not
for long. She leaned forward and swallowed both, her lips sliding down
the twisted candy until they touched my balls. Warmth and stickiness
and that lovely tongue. Her lips rode back and forth, sucking and
licking until both me and the peppermint melted in her mouth.

*****

Entry #14: So Close
by Madeline Elayne

Since the very second he turned off the vibe, I was desperate. I was so close to an orgasm that I was sure I could feel every pulse of my heartbeat in my clit. I twisted and arched my back; if I could just brush even lightly against him...But it was no use, the silk scarves wrapped around my wrists and ankles held me deceptively firmly and he hovered above me, staying just out of reach.

“Please...” I wanted to say so much more, but that was as much as my addled brain could get out.

He chuckled, and leaned over me, his breath hot on my ear as he suggested deliciously twisted.

“Would you do that for me, if I turned it back on?”

He growled—I whimpered a near-panicked “yes.”

That wasn't the last thing he asked me, either. It seemed like forever but it was probably less than a minute filled with a torrent of delightfully naughty propositions. And a litany of 'yes'es. He flicked the switch and the bedroom disappeared in an explosion of white light and bliss. The sensation was so marvellously overwhelming that it completely wrote over my memory of the previous few minutes. Yep, all of it. I can't remember even a single dirty thing that I had agreed to do. I was so very fucked.

*****

Back
by Joss Lockwood

It was the most boring job she'd ever had, and she'd had a few. But there was this boy. That was the way she thought of him: a boy, even though they were both adults. Something about his sidelong grin when she cracked a joke, about the way a glimpse of the back of his neck made her insides twist, sent her straight back to girlhood, to crushes with all the force of adolescent hyperbole behind them. She'd always told her grown-up self, "Hey, it's not the end of the world if it doesn't work out with this guy," and believed it, the worst break-up taking only months to get past, her body and soul remaining intact in the end.

But this boy. This boy was different. He got under her skin. She couldn't shake the thoughts of him.

And the first time he kissed her - surreptitiously in the stairwell, only their lips touching, then tongues - her heart beat so hard she guessed he could hear it, pressed her hand to her chest to shut herself up, face flushed with the surprise of it all.

And the first time he undressed her she wasn't sure she'd make it, her groans matched by his, a feverish duet that would have drawn in even the most stoic of listeners, if there'd been any.

And the first time he fucked her, there were gasps, and shudders, and tears, and she wondered what exactly she'd been doing her whole life, before him.

*****

Good luck, everyone!

XXX,
Alison

Meet the Contestants: Sandrine Lopez

2010-05-22T08:31:00.000-07:00

Sandrine Lopez, despite the exotic name (blame the parents), was born and raised in England, of English parents. Sandrine started writing erotica for fun, then for significant others, and recently made a sale to XCite Books. Erotic writing now, besides a day job as a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-the-mouth librarian, occupies a large percentage of free time. These stories don't involve butter, but other things melting-in-mouths. And not as much spanking as the published story would have others believe. Allegedly.

Meet the Contestants: Cat

2010-05-22T08:29:00.000-07:00

I am a 30-something Librarian with a penchant for tea, scotch, and shoes. I'm usually reading but thought to seize this opportunity to switch and try my hand at writing. I reside in Alberta (Canada) where the winters have been known to be long and cold; sharing body heat and reading naughty stories is a delightful way to pass the time. I marvel at the mind of Albert Einstein – “the most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious” – want to learn burlesque and the idea of Zombies freak me out.

Meet the Contestants: Angell Brooks

2010-05-21T08:06:00.000-07:00

Angell Brooks loves poking her nose in other people’s business, even if those people are fictional and created in her own mind. When she’s not inventing problems for her characters to work out, she’s out chugging a few back with her best friends, or rewatching a favourite movie. She’s a city gal who can’t do without the bright lights, theatres and night life. As an extremely proud, open minded, liberal, self professed “smut monger”, she has no qualms about letting anyone and everyone into her world. Unless that person happens to be called “mom”.

Meet the Contestants: Evie Applegate

2010-05-21T08:05:00.001-07:00

I hail from Brisbane, Australia, where the weather is hot, the mangoes are cheap and it’s not unusual to find a huge snake has gotten in through the cat flap in the night. I’m a fan of paranormal erotic romance so my writing often has a paranormal flavour to it. I’m pretty new to the naughty writers club. So far my work has appeared in For the Girls magazine and I have an ebook coming soon from Logical Lust.com. You can find me on Twitter and at my blog, Evie’s Whispered Words.

Meet the Contestants: Madeline Elayne

2010-05-21T08:02:00.000-07:00

Madeline Elayne is a lively, licentious, leftist leather lady who loves smut in all its forms, especially when it's fun, silly, and kinky. She reads far too much and far too fast for her budget to handle, so recently has started trying to fill the gap by penning her own tales of lustful adventures. She also has a devastating addiction to alliteration that she is working very hard to overcome.

Meet the Contestants: Joss Lockwood

2010-05-21T08:01:00.001-07:00

Joss Lockwood is an east coast writer with a submissive streak. She wants to go down on your carpet, your straw mattress - whatever's at hand - because the child in her is dying, dying. (And don't worry, she'll still respect you in the morning.) For more info see http://josslockwood.blogspot.com, or take a peek into her dirty mind at http://thrushbone.tumblr.com."

Meet the Contestants: Dadgum

2010-05-21T07:59:00.001-07:00

Dadgum is a Midwestern husband, dad and amateur professional. In the sphere of smut, his strengths unfortunately tend toward doggerel. This is his first time mentioning the unmentionables to an audience of more than one since he told that joke about the voodoo dildo.

Meet the Contestants: Monocle

2010-05-21T07:57:00.000-07:00

Monocle started writing erotic fiction in the late 1980's to name the demons and succubi dancing in his head since adolescence. Sometimes writing banishes them. Sometimes it makes them even more vivid. Monocle resides in the Northeastern United States, resembles virtually no one in any of his stories, and wears two corrective lenses rather than one.

Meet the Contestants: Vida Bailey

2010-05-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

Vida Bailey is Jo in her smut-writing costume. She struggles to process beautiful, dirty, tender ideas over the sibling rivalry-induced screaming of her neglected children.She wants to be thinner, and fitter and more wonder-woman like, she wants to win the lottery, she wants to have it all...