Sexy Briefs: Tasty Little Tails
Edited By Tessie L’Amour
Authors: M. Christian, Charisse, Jhada Addams, Jayme Whitfield, Whiskey McNaughton, Ainsley, Amelia James, Gwendolyn Cummings
* * * * *
Published by Wanton L’Amour Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Tessie L’Amour and individual authors listed
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
SMASHWORDS Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
Adult Content Warning
These stories contain sexually explicit acts involving consenting adults. They are not intended for minors under the age of eighteen.
“Nighthawks” Copyright © 2011 by M. Christian, “Perfection” Copyright © 2011 by Charisse, “Level of Difficulty” Copyright © 2011 by Jhada Addams, “Fair Play” Copyright © 2011 by Jayme Whitfield, “More Masculine Men” Copyright © 2011 by Whiskey McNaughton, “Rowan and Ellowyn” Copyright © 2011 by Ainsley, “A Good Slut” Copyright © 2011 by Amelia James, “Librarian Fantasies” Copyright © 2011 by Gwendolyn Cummings
Table of Contents
Foreword by Tessie L’Amour
Nighthawks by M. Christian
Perfection by Charisse
Level of Difficulty by Jhada Addams
Fair Play by Jayme Whitfield
More Masculine Men by Whiskey McNaughton
Rowan and Ellowyn by Ainsley
A Good Slut by Amelia James
Librarian Fantasies by Gwendolyn Cummings
Foreword by Tessie L’Amour (Editor)
The idea for the Sexy Briefs collections started with a few authors chatting on Google+ and quickly took on a life of its own. Erotica + Free = Win. There’s an equation everybody could understand. For the readers, it would be a gold mine of well written erotica by both well known authors and ones they might want to know better. For the authors, it would be a chance to introduce themselves and their work to the legions of readers out there.
These stories are brief, averaging about 2000 words, but their quality (and downright wanton naughtiness) should encourage you to seek out the longer works by the authors you enjoy. Below each author is a set of links, both to places where their books and writing are available, and links to social media sites, especially Google+ which is quickly becoming the place to be for authors of erotica.
If you visit our Sexy Briefs Google+ page at http://bit.ly/MmmSexyBriefs and add the page to your circles or +1 it, or our Sexy Briefs Facebook page at http://facebook.com/MmmSexyBriefs and then Like the page, you will be eligible for our drawings for free eBooks and other prizes. Plus, you’ll make the authors feel warm and appreciated, and there’s no telling where that might lead!
By the way, if you’re wantin’ a little more wanton, come visit Wanton L’Amour. Don’t forget to bring your appetite for sexy.
Nighthawks by M. Christian
1:00AM. Phillies coffee house. A cup each: white and sweet for her, black for him. Nick stirred his clockwise, Darlene stirred counter.
“Chasin’ the moon tonight?” Nick said, looking over at her. Her hair was the color of fresh copper, and she wore a dress to match. Her face was lean, but not harsh, and her eyes were the green of fresh grass.
“Just watching it travel, I guess. Probably gonna be home before it sets,” Darlene said, smiling at him. He had a good face, with lots of character: strong chin, good nose, gray eyes hooded beneath luxurious eyebrows. Not a pretty-boy, but handsome on his own.
“Used to be able to make it myself: all the way from the silver coming up to the silver going down. No gray on the roof, but I’m not a kid anymore,” he said smiling at her. Under the red dress she was slim but not skinny, breasts full and obvious even through the material.
“You don’t look like you’re ready to get stuck in a home to me,” she said, returning the smile. He wasn’t big, but he seemed to be well put together: broad shoulders, and with nothing hanging over his belt. His hands, she noticed, had character. They were like signposts to his soul: strong, elegant, with perfectly clean nails.
“You’re just buttering me. Nah, just been burning too much of that midnight oil lately.” He wondered about her, instantly picturing her standing in his little place: red dress tossed over a chair, silken slip floating as she walked, showing off her fine lines. He imagined a redhead’s soft skin, longs legs stretching beneath the bright white slip, and the twin points of hard nipples on perfect breasts.
“Know it. Just got off a shift myself. Thought a cup might make the trip home a little easier.” She wondered about his lips: strong but soft, at first a gentle graze across hers, just a mixing of breaths. Then the initial chaste one, the first touch of his to hers. Heat between them flaring with the first touch of tongues, then the roaring blaze as he tilted her head back for a longer, more penetrating kiss.
“I’m right down on Bleeker. Got a little more to do but ran out of java. Jack’s place is always open.” He saw himself on his bed, looking down his half-dressed body, t-shirt, shorts, socks, as she climbed up with him. The gleaming white of her slip moving just enough to give him quick snapshots of knotted, deep-brown nipples, a tight tummy, and the distant flash of curled red hairs between her long legs.
“Gotta love Jack. You work graveyard or something?” His hands. Yes, that was next: his hands. Very good hands, and she thought about how he might use them. During the kissing, when it got good, so very good, they would be on her. Not hard grabs, but rather slow grazes across her thighs, up her side, over her shoulder. Then, as the fires grew higher, a gentle rest on her skirt, a cautious knead of the hard muscles. She imagined, and could see herself spread her thighs a little, just enough. But he’d be a good man, and wouldn’t dive right in. Instead, she saw him kiss her even harder, swing dancing with her tongue, and his hand rest softly on her breast. At the thought, her nipple crinkled and gently throbbed in the soft support of her bra.
“My own. I’m a hack; got one thing down but have another piece due tomorrow.” He was hard and hoped she wouldn’t notice—but he was also hard and hoped she would notice. She was there, live and real in his mind, smiling up at him as she reached into his boxers and pulled out his very, very hard dick. She kissed it, at first—just a soft little touch to let him know that she wasn’t afraid. Then a longer, wetter, harder kiss. In his mind, he was in her mouth, with his sensitive head of his cock grazing the roof of her mouth, as he watched her bright red hair bob up and down with each in, each out.
“Maybe I’ve read something.” She could see his chest, lightly haired with dark nipples and ridges of firm muscles. His shoulders would have a light dusting of freckles, and his arms would be thick but not burly. He would have a good manly chest. Salt, the sensation suddenly on her tongue as she sipped at her coffee. Yes, salt: she wanted—then, there—to kiss that bare chest, taste the bite of his gleaming sweat.
“Not unless you hang out in some very unlady-like places. It pays the bills, though. Where do you sling your hash?” It wasn’t that she would do the things he’d seen on playing cards, in stag reels. No, that wasn’t that had his dick throbbing on his pants. It was just the thought of her being there, really there, with him in his little place. The way she smiled: he ached to see her that same smile as she stroked his dick; as she pulled off her slip to show him her lean body, her firm breasts, her dark nipples, the triangle of red curls down between her legs. He wanted all that, but all that with the smile—more than anything.
“Del Rio’s down on 154th. Food’s not bad and the joes don’t pinch my ass that much.” She wanted those strong hands to touch her, to pull her close in a tight clench. She wanted him to hold her, to squeeze her so that her body was pressed against the firmness of his chest, his tight legs, his securing arms. Then—shocking in its quick power—she wanted him in her, to fill her with his kind strength, his barely restrained power.
“Tempting, I have to say; but I’m too much the gentleman.” In his mind she was turning, showing him all that she was—all that she had, a proud display of her excitement. Not shy, not hiding under the bedclothes, but smiling with pleasure. Her breasts, yes; firm, with just a little jiggle as she turned; her thighs, all good lines - a knockout; her bush, looking sweet and inviting, with her legs barely spread so he could see between; her ass, tight, strong, like a perfect pear. And—as she turned for him—always the smile, the brilliant show of red lips and white teeth. She wanted this, wanted him. That was the best part of his fantasy.
“My knight. Just as long as your pen is better than your sword.” She was daring in her mind, imagining his strokes into her, his strong pounding between her tight thighs. Thinking, allowing her mind to run hot and humid, she felt herself respond. A quick blush came to her cheeks as the wetness came between her legs. The shame, though, was gone as quick as the hot, wet had come: the dance of their bodies coming together, of his member sliding into that wetness, of his breath on her neck, of his lips grazing his own, was just too damned nice.
“Don’t know about that – haven’t got any complaints about the sword as of yet.” One playing card stuck in his mind, a favorite of his jerk-off fantasies, and her smile would go so well with it: her red, freckled body straddling him as he lay on his bed, her tits bouncing as she moved her ass up and down on his dick. He could feel her, in his mind: the way her cunt would grip him, the way her so-soft, so-wet lips would push down and pull up with each wild bounce. Smiling, of course, as she fucked herself on his very hard dick.
She felt a new flush, a kind of fear: too much, too much. Good, damned yes, but it was too much: she wanted to touch him, to run a hand across his cheek, to feel the muscles there, the slight sandpaper of his almost-invisible shadow. She wanted to say something, to bring it about. No—no, it was too scary, too present. “This late I don’t know if anyone would be able to find anything,” she said.
He felt a heaviness. She was still there, fucking herself on his so-hard dick, but part of himself felt the illusion fall. If she came with him she probably wouldn’t smile, probably wouldn’t show him her body with pride and excitement. Maybe a handjob, maybe just a promise for sometime later that would never come. “I know. Except maybe the moon. Shouldn’t stop us from trying though,” he said.
“Always willing to try—but, you know, I think it’s going down,” she said, a little bloom springing up. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She touched that hope, and kept smiling at him.
“Happens to all of us. Long nights, too little sleep … you know,” But, he thought, she just might. The illusion flickered but didn’t die—he held it, looking at her pretty face, and smiled back. Maybe —
“Too well. Sometimes I think the only thing that keeps me going is the joe,” she said. She held it, the dream of him kissing her, of his broad chest, his strong thrusts, the chills and wonderful shivers of him inside her. Not tonight—no, but there’s always the next day.
“Good dreams. See you in here tomorrow?” he said, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice, the precious grip on his dream from slipping. It was a good illusion: so real and … too complete not to give it a try.
“It’s a date—I’ll just follow the moon,” she said, swallowing back an octave of pleasure. Not today, but maybe later—maybe sometime soon, maybe even tomorrow.
“See ya,” he said as she got off the stool and picked up her handbag.
“Bye,” she said as she passed him and walked towards the glass doors.
He watched her go, and smiled—
At the doors she looked back, and returned it.
M.CHRISTIAN - among many things - is an acknowledged master of erotica with more than 400 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many, many other anthologies, magazines, and Web sites.
He is the editor of 25 anthologies including the Best S/M Erotica series, The Burning Pen, Guilty Pleasures, The Mammoth Book of Future Cops and The Mammoth Book of Tales of the Road (with Maxim Jakubowksi) and Confessions, Garden of Perverse, and Amazons (with Sage Vivant) as well as many others.
He is the author of the collections Dirty Words, Speaking Parts, The Bachelor Machine, Licks & Promises, Filthy, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and Coming Together Presents M.Christian, Pornotopia, How To Write And Sell Erotica; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Brushes, Fingers Breadth, and Painted Doll. His Website is www.mchristian.com
Website mchristian.com
Google+ gplus.to/MChristian
Amazon amzn.to/MChristian
B&N barnesandnoble.com/c/m-christian
A.R.E. bit.ly/MChristianARE
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Perfection by Charisse
Perfection. Greek sculptors mastered their art: realistic carvings in every conceivable way. Astonishing. Mesmerizing. I enjoy touring the ruins and have walked the museums, but never before have I been so lucky as tonight.
It is one of those “friend of a friend” connections that allows me to wander the storage area of a little known museum that houses the newest discovery from ancient Greece. The very male athlete stands, from head to toe, just over six feet. Just like his brethren, there is a tangible realism to his features; he very well could have been a victim of Medusa! There are no identifying marks to credit a sculptor and there is no support signaling a Roman reproduction. Perfect balance, perfect craftsmanship, perfect…perfection. His musculature is well defined. His body poised.
But he is different from all the rest. Where the others follow a contrapposto form, he does not. Neither does he stand rigid and straight. No, there is a real…character…attitude…something in the way he stands. His head is slightly tilted, his face drawn down, and a very faint serene expression rides his visage. His sole arm extends downward, with a slight outward angle, as if he is reaching for something. His shoulders are wide with very obvious brute strength, and yet…and yet he appears tenderly loving.
He is intriguing. But wait! Loving? I step back and look again at the entire statue. From a few feet away he appears to be reaching for something off a table, but up close….
I allow my eyes follow down his body and admire the sculpted abs. This is an Olympian athlete without question! I return to my close inspection as my eyes lower. As with his brethren, he is nude, and very much male. The marble phallus glistens and I realize I have dropped to my knees and gotten a little too close. But is this too close? Never before have I objectified a work of art, but tonight…tonight I am drawn…and I need to understand why!
Just one touch? A single touch cannot harm this masterpiece. The limp carving begs to be caressed. One solitary kiss will not hurt. The moment the thought strikes, my lips press forward. Cool white marble shocks my nerves, but I do not pull away too far. I frown at the aftermath of my momentary peck; bright red lipstick screams from the surface of the stone. I reach up and gently brush my left palm slowly down the smooth shaft. A smile twitches my mouth; I am being gentle because this is a work of art and it is ancient, I tell myself. While a man is the most useful to a lot of women when he is hard, I find the softer moments to be a prized pleasure. Engulfing him and feeling him grow inside my mouth is a wonderful experience! But this is not a real man, I admonish my thoughts. To which, I reply, Oh, but to try!
While I argue with my irrational urges, my hand continues to wipe at my lipstick. I watch as my hand closes and begins to stroke the marble cock. I watch in silence, for my thoughts cease to exist. It is a full minute before I realize my fingers are fully encircled and touch my thumb. I know that means something is wrong, but I cannot place exactly what that something is. My hand is a slight shade of pink, the faded lipstick soaking into the stone acting as a lubricant for my stroking. I lean forward and close my eyes as my lips pull the tip of the statue into my mouth. It has been warmed by my hand and continues to melt on my tongue. I expected a rocky taste, but receive a pleasant flesh flavor dancing along my taste buds. My right hand instinctively rises to cup his balls. As I suck, they become soft in my grasp. A moan escapes, sending chills down my spine, tightening my nipples, and soaking my panties. With a full mouth and full hands, I look up. The sight that meets my eyes is amazing! He is not reaching for something off of a table, he is reaching to run his fingers through my hair!
This thought excites me more than I could ever imagine - a one of a kind Greek statue that is not meant as an offering to the gods or as a tribute to an athlete, but as a simple reminder to a wife of her husband’s love! The view from this angle is splendid! His face, his arm, his stance is so life-like. As I close my eyes, I fail to notice how the white marble is slowly disappearing. A tan radiates from his groin outward, pulsing with my heartbeat.
As the tan deepens, flesh appears. The focal point is the quickly growing cock deep in my mouth. My mouth feels to be shrinking, but it is only the limp cock waking, stretching, and my throat opens to accommodate the larger intrusion. My eyes flutter open, the chills once again spreading through my body. I look up as fingers brush over my head and a smile greets me in his softening face. I slowly pull my mouth away, letting my right hand take over stroking as my left switches to the soft pouch beneath his delicious cock, but before I can release the tip, he halts my head with his strong hand.
“Please, do not stop,” rumbles through the room. His voice is deep, gravelly, warm, and tender. How can I refuse? I once more lower my lips toward the golden hair at the base of his cock. How long had I been sucking on flesh with hair tickling my nose? When had the marble faded?
Questions are useless and annoying when there is a simple pleasure at hand. I ignore my thoughts and concentrate on the enjoyable task. His hand releases his tight grip and his fingers splay through my hair once more. He begins to moan, a deep thunderous yet melodious music to my ears. My panties are no longer simply wet; my jeans, as well, are soaked through. I have had orgasms while giving men pleasure before and I can feel the tell-tale signs of one beginning now. My stomach tightens, butterflies dance inside, and all I can do is moan. He is getting close, too; I can feel him swell and begin to throb.
Just as I begin to cum, just a second before he releases himself down my throat, he whispers, “I am sorry.” I do not care why, the ecstasy flows.
* * *
He stared down at the marble statue of a kneeling Greek woman, face raised with her only arm held up, as if drinking water from a nonexistent fountain. His low voice echoed through the storage room, “The Fates are cruel, but I thank you for your gift of life. May the gods favor you and allow you to shed the curse of Medusa as I have.”
CHARISSE - Author. Poet. Submissive.
Website fantasyrevealed.blogspot.com/
Google+ gplus.to/charisselyn
Level of Difficulty by Jhada Addams
“Just - trust me. Most comfortable seat you’ll ever have.”
I eye you, wary, as you pat your lap.
“It’s an important conference call this time.” I take a step towards you, your expression mildly amused as you grin back at me. “You gonna behave?”
A low chuckle rumbles out of your throat. You don’t even try to bullshit me. It’s one of the things I like most about you.
“You sure you want me to?”
A tremble goes through my body, and my voice shakes as I respond.
“No.”
A wicked grin curves your lips as you crook a finger, beckoning me towards you. “More fun this way.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter as I shake my head and move to straddle you, leaning back against you. You’re already rock hard and the call is five minutes away now. I’m allowed a moment to clear my head and get the headset on before your hands slowly begin to slide up my thighs. I’m wearing easy-access clothing, a habit I’ve picked up in the last few months of being with you. Easier this way. Less clothing to replace, although from time to time, I do like the tearing sounds different kinds of fabric make when you rip them off me.
Soft lips brush my shoulder, then nails run along my thighs as you growl, “Like you had a choice.” Such soft, menacing laughter.
God, I love what you do to me. You’re right. I never really did. But then I never do with you. With a groan, I look over at the clock.
“I’ll tell you when it’s time. Get your eyes off the clock.”
Shivering, I look down instead, watching as your fingers begin sliding against my inner thighs, your hands squeezing - first gently, then tighter. Just as I think you’re about to leave marks, I feel teeth on my skin as the first finger dips in, finding me more than ready for the sequence of events to follow. With what can only be described as growling laughter, your teeth dig in as your finger brushes my clit. The combination of sensations has my breath catching in my throat. My head rocks back as sensation flares through my body, pulling a groan from my lips. I can feel another hand sliding up my torso to cup my tit beneath the fabric of my shirt, squeezing it as your fingers pinch the nipple.
Your lips replace your teeth, gently rubbing your lips along my skin before growling, “The top. Take it off. Now.”
I quickly comply, shivering. For a moment, I realize that it’s not entirely fair that you’re the only one wearing a full set of clothes in this particular scenario, but the thought is obliterated as I lean back and you bite down again, your fingers dancing against me. My cries echo out in the small room and the sound of your own groans behind me are damn near doing me in already.
I shudder against you, a wave of numbing heat rolling through me as I crash over, knowing that I’ll have bite marks when I go to look in the mirror afterwards. You know how much I love looking at them afterward. As I come back to myself, you’re chuckling softly, kissing the marks that you’ve made on my body.
“Should be… just about…” you murmur, and the phone rings.
“SHIT,” I hiss, trying to collect myself. My breath hitching, I make sure that the mic is muted before I bring the call online. I’m greeted and take the mic off mute long enough to respond.
“You OK? You sound a little tired,” someone asks.
I nod, then smack myself on the forehead mentally, realizing that the person on the other side of the line can’t see me. I feel your hands on my hips as I reply, “Ah, yeah. Long weekend.”
I carry on an inane call and response conversation while your hands slide back up my torso, cupping my breasts and squeezing. I’m struggling to remain focused on keeping my breathing straight, slow and smooth, in and out. The social chatter stops and I click the mute on the mic again as you squeeze HARD this time, growling in my ear. Whimpering, I grip the edges of the desk, my breathing coming hard and fast as you release me, then nip at my neck.
“Good girl,” you murmur softly, kissing my shoulder. “Stand up.”
I comply, waiting for everybody on the call to arrive so that the meeting itself can begin. I feel you shift beneath me and hear the sound of a zipper as you adjust yourself in the chair. Pressing my hands on the desk, I feel the head of your cock as you grip my hips and pull me back down against you.
“Now, a level of difficulty, I think,” you murmur.
Ah, shit, I think to myself, pretty sure that it’s awfully fucking difficult at the moment.
“You are now going to grind this fucking cock for all you’re worth. Am I understood?”
Shaking, I nod quickly as I feel a hot flush race across my skin. “Yes, Sir.”
The last person on the call is ready, and important pieces of information are now being shared. Fortunately, it’s information that I don’t really need to be paying attention to yet. I wince as I feel the sting of a slap on my ass. “Speak the fuck up, slut.”
“YES, Sir.” I reply crisply, finding myself having an issue with breathing again.
“Now.” Amused impatience colors your tone, but it’s quickly replaced with a groan as I slide myself down over your cock, slowly bouncing, once - twice, then pushing you all the way in to the hilt.
For a moment, we both simply revel in the moment - me completely filled and you surrounded with my moist heat. Once I’m able to breathe again, I begin moving against you, grinding my hips in time with your groans of pleasure. An issue that I’ve been waiting for an update on comes up, and I snap my fingers - my ‘safeword,’ as it were, in this particular instance. I slide you all the way in, struggling to keep from breathing too hard before unmuting the phone. Your hand finds its way to my breast, cupping it as your other hand snakes into my hair, pulling it gently. I battle with controlling my voice as I feel your teeth scrape against my skin, nipping, then biting. Thankfully, the update is quick and the phone goes back on mute. Immediately, I feel your hand bending me forward. My hands slap on the desk and you grab my hips, slamming up into me. My entire body trembles and your name spills from my lips as you growl, “MINE.”
The very word is enough to send me over again and I clamp a hand over my mouth, capturing my own scream. Nobody on the call needs to hear a muted scream. It’d only bring up questions that would be entirely too embarrassing to answer. Pulling me back against you, still sheathed deep within me, you chuckle darkly, nuzzling my neck.
“Such a good pet,” you murmur softly, your fingers tugging gently at the soft nap of fur between my legs. With a contented, rumbling sound, you tug harder, knowing what it does to me.
“Ah, fuck…” I cry out, body bowing away from you.
“Hmm…” you murmur. “I suppose I should leave you to your call.”
“God, no… please, please.”
Begging. I’m here fucking begging you to keep going.
“Only if you’re sure…”
Now, I know you’re being a dick. Teasing me. Pushing me. I love it and hate it at the same time.
I turn to look back at you, seeing that shit-eating grin on your face and not knowing whether to kiss you or sock you in the jaw.
“God, I love that ‘just been fucked’ look of yours. Makes me wanna fuck your throat.”
I groan as your lips meet mine, turning towards you entirely as our tongues tangle. Somebody’s calling my name - oh, shit, the call! I snap again and quickly spin to unmute the mic, “Sorry. Had it on mute.”
I quickly mute it again so that I can get a handle on my breathing as I’m asked a question. I flip through the data in my head and on the screen and come up with a response, and then it’s on to the next person on the call and it goes back on mute.
“You’re a little too good at that,” you rumble, eying me suspiciously as I look back at you. “Makes me think you’re not entirely into it.”
My eyes narrow and I know you can see the irritation on my face. You look back at me with a mild expression, then raise an eyebrow.
Oops. Outstared. “Ah… is there anything that I can do to convince you of my continued… interest?” I ask tentatively.
“Get your lips around my dick. Might do the trick.”
I slide off your lap and look back at you. “It’s always something.”
Your expression closes down and you ask, “You sassin’ me? You sure you wanna go there - during a conference call?”
Oh shit. That look always chills me - but it excites the hell out of me as well. Although I like misbehaving, I’m never big on receiving actual punishment. You’re not like other doms that reward bad behavior. If I fuck up, payback’s a bitch, so I shake my head and quietly answer, “No, Sir.”
“Shut the fuck up and get on it,” you growl.
Trembling, I reassess the situation on the call, realizing that it will likely take a few minutes for the group to get back around to any issues I’m working on. I slowly kneel before you, my tongue darting out to lick the head of your cock. The combined taste of our coupling zips along my tongue as I wrap my lips around you, licking and sucking. I feel your body tense, then relax as you groan. I love that I can make your body shake as you fill my mouth, my lips slowly sliding back up, then down again.
You shift in the chair, white knuckling the armrests as I slowly suck you, throwing myself diligently into the task at hand. I begin sucking harder, moving faster against you, enjoying the way your breath catches, your moans and growls.
“Where do you want it?” you ask, your voice quavering.
I answer by taking you deep into my throat and humming. It’s your favorite answer, really. I pull away, then quickly slide you in again until you’re at the back of my throat, your hands gripping the sides of my head, trembling as you growl. You spill into me in a hot rush and I quickly work to swallow every drop as you buck into my mouth, spent.
I frown as I hear somebody calling my name again through the headset, then a response from somebody else that I must have dropped off the call. Crap!
I snap my fingers and pull my mouth off you, taking a quick swallow of soda before hitting unmute.
“Sorry. Was on mute again.”
I join the call again briefly, typing in necessary notes for another issue before I’m able to hit the mute button again. I look back over at you with a sheepish expression. You’re shaking your head, laughing softly.
“Smooth. Hell, I should hire you,” you rumble, still recovering. “What’s your going rate?”
I smile back at you, laughing. “You can’t afford me.”
Still grinning, you raise an eyebrow and murmur, “I’m beginning to see why.”
My smile grows broader as I move to straddle you and murmur, “Good thing you get my more primal talents for free, huh?”
“Mmm - Lucky me,” you rumble, kissing me.
JHADA ADDAMS writes erotic horror/erotica, sings, eulogizes those who have crossed over, challenges popular notions and is a socially marginal, mildly felonious anarcho-shamanic Santeria Priestess. She a psychopomp troubadour that will soon be touring the US in an octegenarion pimp conversion van.
Website jhadaaddams.com
Google+ gplus.to/JhadaAddams
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Fair Play by Jayme Whitfield
“His name was Elvis”, she said, arching her back like a cat as she straddled the cold plastic chair, her head resting on her folded arms, eyes closed, hair falling in a tangled mass of curls.
“Elvis?”
She could feel his eyes on her, on her breasts, exactly where she’d wanted them. She rolled her shoulders and stole a furtive glance at him, watching as he licked his lips. Nervous tension seeped off him in waves. It gave her a thrill, knowing she was the cause of it. She’d never felt more alive. She drank in the tiny details of the moment, every intake of breath, every twitch of his fingers against the taut denim covering his thigh. She was intentionally making him sweat and it felt good. Her own desire was fueled by his, by the power of knowing she could have this affect on man so much older, so much more experienced. He was pushing forty; she was celebrating her twentieth birthday.
They’d escaped the noisy party, finding a quiet bedroom where they could talk, though she’d known what his expectations were as she’d grabbed his hand and led him down the hall. Now they were talking about first times. Talking instead of having the much-anticipated sex or doing the smart thing and sleeping off the alcohol they’d consumed so much of earlier.
“Yes,” Ashley sat up and spun in her seat, sliding her ass towards the back of the chair. Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered to him.
“It’s a stupid name. I didn’t believe him at first, when he told me, I mean. But it was on his license. I looked.” She lifted her cigarette, carefully pursing her lips as they clasped the filter, gently inhaling before blowing the smoke out in rings that hung in the stale air.
“When?” Greg shifted on the bed, his erection obvious.
Ashley let out a short laugh, as much at him as the question, crushing the cigarette into an overflowing ashtray.
“Later. After.” Antsy, she stood, pacing from the grimy window to the pock-marked door, her eyes closed, swaying slightly to the rock music pouring out of the radio. He watched her in silence for awhile. He was still as he watched her and she wondered if he’d finally found his control. The quiet was heavy in the room, weighing on her, caging her.
“I didn’t mean when did you look. I meant when did it happen.” His voice was tightly controlled, but she was thankful he’d finally broken the silence.
She smiled and licked her lips. “A few years ago.”
She waited for him to speak, to ask another question, but he didn’t. He just watched her as she paced. She could feel the control slipping away from her. She needed action, needed to feel alive. Reaching up, arms at an odd angle, she slid her hands behind her back and up beneath the hem of her shirt.
“You don’t mind, do you? Uncomfortable shit. Hate wearing it.”Ashley knew he didn’t mind, knew he wouldn’t answer as she slipped her bra out of her sleeve, tossing it onto the floor between them. Her nipples weren’t hard, but she knew the watery light was strong enough to show them off through the thin white t-shirt she wore.
“What was it like?” Greg’s hand was steady as he reached for his beer. She felt a shiver move through her as he took a swig out of the bottle, his gaze never leaving her. He was studying her with a look she hadn’t seen before, didn’t recognize. His edginess was gone, something else in its place—something dangerous.
“What do you mean?” She knew what he wanted to hear, but wasn’t planning to give it up so easily. Walking to the window, she twitched the curtain to the side, staring out at the moon.
He was behind her before she knew it, his hand fisting her hair, pulling her head back. His voice was raw in her ear, harsh, like salt in a wound. Fear tinged with excitement twisted in her belly, a snake coiling around the arousal that had been building.
“I’m not some prepubescent prick you can tease, Ashley.” His breath was hot on her neck, his whiskers scratching her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as he spoke again.
“Did you come here to toy with me? If you want to play games, that’s fine, but understand this—I make the rules.”
“No, I…” Ashley’s words trailed off. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, not sure what to say. She had been playing. He was just a game, a way to pass the time, escape the boredom, feel alive. Her thoughts flashed by, rolling through her head like the reels of a slot machine. The deep conversations she’d had with Greg online, the surprise birthday party the group of Internet friends had thrown her, how lonely she’d been over the past year. All the moments leading up to this seemed to swim through her mind.
She wasn’t the only one crashing at Greg’s place, not the only girl. They’d drawn straws to see who would stay with him, his dark eyes, quiet attentiveness and rough manners a turn on for them all.
Fuck, she thought. I’m in over my head.
It seemed like hours passed as they stood there, his body pressed against her from behind, his cock hard against her ass, her pulse pounding in the silence like a base drum. She remained still as she waited for whatever would come next. Without warning, he spun her around, kissing her roughly before shoving her gently toward the door.
“You’re nothing but a tease, Ashley. Go on. Get out of my room before I really do lose control.”
She was shaking now, her nerves frayed into live wires, her breathing shallow and rapid. She looked around, eyes searching for her bra, unable to remember where she’d left it. Greg pointed at it on the floor, then held the door open, waiting for her to leave. She took a step towards escape, then stopped, her gaze searching his as she wondered if it would be safe to pass so close to him. He was fire, and everyone knew you didn’t play with fire, but something was coming to life inside her, something that her kept her from walking out of his room. She wanted him, but did she want him on his terms or hers?
She never should have hesitated. He took a step forward, shutting the door. Ashley’s heart pounded as the lock clicked into place.
Greg’s voice was low as he moved closer to her. “Do you have any idea how selfish you’ve been tonight, Ash? You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
She screwed her eyes shut, closing them so tightly that she saw flashes of brilliant lights against the darkness. Shaking her head, she took a step backwards. It was his laughter ringing through the room this time, her nervousness oozing between them. He’d taken the control and she had no idea how to get it back.
“Your problem is that you’re an amateur; a little girl playing dress up in mommy’s high heels. You know what happens to naughty little girls when they get caught?” He was touching her now, his fingers dancing over her skin, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
“What?” she wasn’t sure she’d said it out loud, thought maybe it was just in her head, but his expression changed, turned predatory.
“They get punished,” he whispered, his face inches from hers, his hands slowly lifting off her shirt. She was frozen, a doe waiting for her slaughter, caught in the cross-hairs of the hunter’s scope. His fingers were rough from years of physical labor, scarred and thick, crushing her breasts, pinching the treacherous nipples cruelly. He smiled when they responded to the treatment.
“You like that, huh? Maybe you aren’t such a tease after all. Maybe you’ve just been testing your limits, pushing. Maybe you’ve been looking for a man strong enough to rein you in.” His mouth was hot on her skin as he lapped at her breasts. He stood back and shoved her skirt into a pool around her feet. He knelt in front of her and she felt her knees go weak as he pushed her legs apart, his fingers sliding along the silk of her panties.
“Look at that,” he murmured into her stomach. “Wet as Niagara Falls, ready for me to fuck. At least you got that part right.”
Tugging her panties down, he slipped a finger inside her, his thumb finding her clit. There was no gentle caress, no tender touch, only white hot desire as he began to thrust and rub and pinch.
She didn’t resist him, didn’t fight because she couldn’t. Some part of her had snapped, broken at his words. She drifted through the hole, lost in a dark place inside her head, needing, wanting, afraid. He worked his fingers faster and faster, matching pace with the need building inside her until she began to move her hips, hoping to draw him in deeper. The sensations were building, sending her toward release. Her hands slid into his hair, curling into fists as she held onto him. When he leaned forward and his wet tongue slid against her clit, it pushed her over the edge. She cried out as her orgasm ripped through her.
Greg remained in place until her breathing returned to normal, but she felt a sense of loss when he pulled his away, the heat removed, the need still there. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. When she finally opened her eyes, it was in time to see him toss her clothes at her.
“Get dressed and get out.”
He sat back down on the bed, drinking his beer as he watched her. He lit a cigarette, so calm. She was lost, adrift in a sea of confusion, unable to go back through the crack in her life he’d just opened. She knew then what had to happen; what she had to do. She accepted that her actions were her own as she gave control of her destiny to the side of herself she didn’t want to acknowledge.
She knelt before him, looking up at him from between his knees.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please, what?”
“Please, Greg…”
He nodded and pulled her onto his lap.
JAYME WHITFIELD - Jayme Whitfield grew up in the wilds of Florida, where she still lives. When she isn’t digging through the stacks at the local library or haunting the coffee shops looking for the best brew and free WiFi, you’ll often find her traipsing through a marsh with a camera slung over my shoulder. She loves cheesy science fiction movies, quoting Douglas Adams and theoretical physics. At home, she loves to relax with a good book, but more often than not the stories are drowned out by a chorus of characters in her own head; a menagerie of voices waiting for their tale to be told. After trying to ignore those voices for years, she finally gave in and turned to the spicier side of storytelling.
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More Masculine Men by Whiskey McNaughton
Summer Barton walked down the street with her best friend, Gwen Daniels. The two were in serious discussion as they walked into an antique shop Summer liked buying knickknacks from.
“I’m serious, Gwen,” Summer said, her eyes large and round to prove her point. “Men these days just don’t know how to love a woman the way she wants and needs to be loved. Men are too feminine today.”
“Isn’t that what we women have been trying to do?” Gwen asked in return, “Make men more in tune with their feminine side so they know how to please us better?”
“I’m all for a man who understands the female mystique.” Summer picked up a curious looking crystal item about the size of a large egg and turned it around in her hand. The light from inside the shop reflected off the orb in rainbow colors and caught Summer’s attention. “But once a man understands me, I want him to exert his own masculinity in making love to me, not acting like another woman so I feel like a lesbian.”
“I’m not sure you can have it both ways,” Gwen laughed lightly.
“Well, if I can’t, then I’d rather have a man who ravaged me with hot, horny, savage sex than a man who made me feel like I had another woman in bed with me.”
“What? You want a man to be brutal, bestial, more like some creature from a fantasy realm of ancient times?”
“That would be nice.” Summer smiled even as she brought the crystal orb closer so she could take a deeper look into it, try to figure out what was inside the antique artifact that seemed to move about as she looked into its depths. “A man to savage me and treat me like a sex object…Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
Suddenly the light from the orb in her hand flared up and Summer found her mind going numb, as though she were undergoing surgery and the anesthetic had just taken effect.
“Summer?” Gwen backed away from her friend as before her the physical form that had been Summer Barton seemed to shimmer and swirl in wisps of colored fog. Then Summer’s flickering body vanished altogether, and the air where she’d been standing seemed to pop.
“Summer!” Gwen screamed where her friend no longer stood.
* * *
Summer Barton felt woozy. She didn’t understand why she felt woozy, she just did. She knew she hadn’t been drinking. Hadn’t she been on her lunch break, walking around the city with Gwen? What happened to Gwen, anyway? Summer sat up to look around and realized she was lying on the ground with trees and bushes and nothing at all that made her even remotely think of being in the city where she lived.
“What the hell?” she mumbled as she sat up. She surveyed her surroundings and then looked at herself. She was still dressed in the mid-thigh skirt and matching jacket, both of light cream linen, and a light peach-colored blouse and matching heels. So why was she suddenly in an area of the woods instead of the city?
A rustling of the bushes about her caught her attention and she quickly stood to her feet. From out of the bushes erupted two large, burly men, their upper bodies naked other than for the crop of thick hair that grew all over them and their lower bodies. Summer backed quickly away from the men – or whatever they were – as she realized they were equally naked all over their bodies, but below their navels their bodies were covered in dark brown fur and their legs weren’t shaped quite like normal men and their feet…Summer gulped as the “men” moved slowly toward her, their hands outstretched to touch her. Their feet were actually cloven hooves, like what you would expect to find on goats.
“Wasthis?” one of the male creature-things spoke in a rush of sound and Summer couldn’t quite understand what was being said.
“Beatsthehellouttame,” the other male-thing shrugged his shoulders. They both moved right up to Summer, who was backed against a tree large enough to prevent her from going easily around it and escaping these two before they reached her.
The first one grabbed hold of her jacket and pulled it out to the side. His eyes grew wide as though he had never seen clothing before.
“It’s loose skin,” the male-thing said. Summer heard the words run together, but she was at least recognizing them as words now and could almost understand what was being said.
“So’s this,” the other creature bent over and grabbed hold of Summer’s skirt, lifted it up to expose her thighs and panties that so tightly bound her loins. She gulped hard as the creature pressed his hand against her panties and felt her pelvis. Even though she was scared out of her mind, she found herself growing moist inside.
Both creatures began pulling her clothes from her body and Summer found she had no strength to fight them off. Each of them was easily twice her size and the muscles on them were huge. They had shoulders like bowling balls and pectorals that would have put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame when he was in his prime. And then her eyes moved much further south on their anatomies, and the frightened misplaced business executive realized each of these male-things had – ah – male things protruding from between their legs that were the largest schlongs she had ever laid eyes on – and Summer Barton had laid eyes on quite a few male things in her time.
“Hoo. Looky this,” the first one pulled the front of her blouse open, revealing Summer’s breasts, but at least she was still wearing her bra. She sighed. They had torn her clothes all off her body, leaving her in only her bra and panties, but somehow she was feeling more aroused with every second that passed.
Both creatures placed their hands against her breasts and began feeling her up. Oh God! That actually felt good. Summer found her loins beginning to drip with wetness and she was surprised she could still stand with her knees as weak as they were. Then one of the creatures pulled up on one of her bra cups and revealed her naked breasts beneath. Both of the creatures’ eyes grew large in wonder at seeing her naked breast.
“Damn. This a tittie,” the second one said even as it pawed her naked breast too roughly. Then it pinched her nipple between two of its overly large fingers and Summer moaned. Both of the beasts grinned broadly at the sound coming from between her lips. They knew that sound only too well and it aroused them beyond measure.
Summer’s eyes flickered open even as the schlongs between the thighs of each of these creatures grew quickly to their full length and girth, and she gasped openly.
“My God, those things could choke a horse!” she said without thinking. Both of the creatures laughed uproariously, as though she had said something funny.
“We’ve choked a few horses in our time, eh Stump?” the second one said to the first.
“Stump?” Summer asked without meaning to. “Your name is Stump?”
“Yeah, cuz I got a cock the size of a stump,” he lifted his schlong in his hand and waggled it in front of Summer. She watched as the enormous organ shook about and found she wondered what it would be like to be pierced by something that huge. Fearing she was about to find out.
“I’m Prickly,” the other said, waggling his own organ about. “Cuz my donkey-dong is all bumpy and prickles girls when I fuck ‘em.”
Summer glanced aside at the second schlong and realized the front of her panties was soaked. Without thinking she pulled her panties off her legs and dropped them on the ground. Her nakedness was almost complete, with only her bra still partly on her and that in disarray. She pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her body as naked as these two creatures before her – perhaps more naked, since they had so much thick fur covering their flesh.
Her body quivered in anticipation and both Stump and Prickly understood the yearning inside her that made her quiver that way. Without waiting for any more of an invitation, the two creatures took hold of the naked woman and pulled her away from the tree. Stump pushed his schlong against the lips of Summer’s vagina and exerted enough pressure to push through into her. She gasped from the pain of the size of his cock, but didn’t do anything to stop him from pushing into her as far as the limitations of her vagina would allow.
Once Stump was in place, Summer found Prickly pushing her upper torso slightly forward. She found out why when he began inserting his own cock inside her anus.
“Oh my God,” she tried to turn to look behind her, but Stump held her firm and made her look at him instead. “I – I’ve never had anal sex before,” she told him, but he looked at her uncomprehending.
“My anus,” she tried again, and realized he didn’t know the word. “My ass. I’ve never been fucked in the ass before.” Stump’s eyes lit up and he nodded. Then he looked past her at his buddy who had paused in pushing his long, bumpy cock inside her anus.
“Ream her hard and fast, Prickly,” was all Stump said, and the two creatures began pumping away inside this delicious female they had found alone here in the woods that were their home.
“Oh God!” Summer screamed out loud as the two organs pushed deeply inside her body, but mostly because of the one that pierced her anus. “Ah! Ah! God, nooo,” she tried to steady herself against the continued thrusting in her ass, but it was hard to do. She hadn’t been prepared for anything like this and it hurt like hell. Then Prickly reached around to her breasts and began to roughly knead them in his hands, each of his hands so large they engulfed her breasts and made them look like oranges, though she had D cup breasts.
Soon the continued thrusting grew more natural to Summer and she found even the anal sex becoming more enjoyable. Something about the thrusting back-and-forth with one cock up her ass and the other in her pussy was hypnotically erotic to her, and she found her body swaying rhythmically to the thrusts. Stump had hold of her hips and his hands were rough and coarse, but even this wasn’t enough to turn her off to the enjoyment she was beginning to get from being double-fucked both front and back for the first time in her life. Why had she not done this before? God, this was great!
She looked down and watched as Stump’s cock moved in and out from between her thighs. It was an awesome sight for her, seeing something this enormous sliding within her slit, and she was amazed it fit her at all, let alone wasn’t ripping her apart from how big it was. After this she’d never be able to fuck a normal-sized man again.
Then it hit her that she still had no idea where she was or how she had gotten here. The strangeness of the entire ordeal frightened her for but a moment before she relaxed and gave in to the surreality of the moment. She had been in an antique shop with her friend Gwen and suddenly she had been transported to a woodland setting – almost a fantasy setting – with two – what were these creatures, anyway? She searched her memory and found the reference to satyrs buried deep within her mind. That was it. These were satyrs, mythical creatures that were half men and half goat. How she had gotten to a world where mythical creatures were real she had no idea, but if they were all like these two she quickly realized she didn’t care. This was the kind of sex she had told Gwen she wanted most – men being men – even if they did have to be satyrs in order to be the men she wanted most. Fucking her with abandon and making her feel like a real woman.
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