Footsies

Author’s Note:  This is a work of erotica if you’re under the age of eighteen, LEAVE NOW.  Another short story from a book I haven’t gotten around to submitting.  This time–foot fetishes!

          I wanted him hard, stiff and unable to touch me.  That was my plan and it was a good one since Dale and I have been together for fifteen years.  We married right out of high school.  Our oldest, Jason was now fourteen and his sister, Hannah was eleven.  Romance and sexual exploration went right out the window after our seventh year together.  It’s too hard (and dangerous) to be playing out any fantasies when you son or daughter can come waltzing through the door or banging on it if it’s locked.  Interruptions during this sort of thing can lead to really bad feelings or emotional scarring.

            I’d been preparing for this particular weekend since my mother called up and invited the kids to fly out to Colorado for three days.  Dale was working a new job and didn’t have vacation time.  Me?  Well, let’s say I saw the opportunity and took the chance.  Begging off my mother’s invite with the excuse we couldn’t afford airline tickets for me (which was true) I began plotting and planning for the remaining two weeks.

            I had begun watching my husband watch me.  No, not in that lust-filled way but just noticing which particular feature he seemed to be drawn to.  After a decade and a half I was a bit surprised to figure out my husband had a thing for feet.  The first instance was during a trip to the shoe store.  Dale’s eyes seemed to get that far-away look when I took off my shoes to try on a pair of pumps.  He began fidgeting in his seat—that my-crotch-is- uncomfortable kind of squirming.  That sealed it.  I set my sights on putting my foot down.

            Starting off the day with a pedicure at the mall I began pondering my feet trying to see the attraction Dale had.  I’m five-foot, six inches tall and still possessed a petite figure.  Not my hips, unfortunately—childbirth had seen to expand them.  But it gave me curves, a less boyish frame.  While the Asian girl buffed my toe nails I got just a brief understanding of Dale’s obsession.  My feet were slender and my toes were cute—in a roundabout way.  The arch of my foot was reminding me of a low-slung bridge across a small stream.  While the woman began to rub lotion on me I relaxed and planned out my naughty surprise for my husband.

****

            He came home.  Dale set his lunchbox on the kitchen counter and got a glass out of the cabinet. 

            “Bad day?” I asked.

            “You could say that,” he said filling the cup with water.

            “The kids made it to Mom’s okay.”

            “Good, I was worried.”

            “You look beat—why don’t you take a shower and a nap while I cook dinner?”

            “Sounds like a good plan.”

            No, it doesn’t… I have a much better plan in mind! I thought amid a tremor of excitement.

            Dale kissed me and headed for the bathroom.  Dinner was hard to concentrate on since my arousal at driving my husband crazy and the hot sex we’d have afterwards made my mind wander.  Carousing down erotic lanes I had to bite my lip to keep my attention focused.

****

            Sitting in the living room watching TV Dale and I talked very little.  He was focused on a news story about a fifteen car pileup on the freeway he used every day to go to work. 

            “Quiet without the kids, isn’t it?” I said, venturing into the start of my seduction.

            “Yeah,” Dale answered, “I forgot what silence sounds like.”

            “Do you really want to watch this?”

            “Not particularly—why, do you have something in mind?”

            Do I? I thought and almost spoke.

            Standing up I offer him my hand, he starts grinning as if he knows what I’m up to.  I try not to laugh because I know what Dale’s thinking is going to happen will be a far cry from reality.  We move to the bedroom.

            Letting go of his hand I start lighting the scented candles I’ve placed around the room.  They smell of jasmine.  I press the play button on the CD player and romantic classical music begins to issue out of the speakers.  He’s moving to kiss me so I let Dale do it.  Our lips meet.  Our tongues begin to dance together and his hands go around my waist.  While the strains of Bach rise I undress him slow and without hurry.

            One button at a time I bare his chest.  Caressing the curly hair he has I’m running my fingers over his pecs and stomach while his breathing increases.  I watch his nostrils flare with every intake of air and his eyes close.  Down I run my hands until I reach his jeans.  Tugging loose his belt I push my left thigh into his legs.  My hip is bumping across the beginnings of his erection.  The snap-sound of his jeans is quickly followed by the rip-tear noise of his descending zipper.  Heat pours out of the opening, wafting across my trembling fingers.  From the top of his underwear I can see the tip of his cock pushing upwards.  He’s hard already.

            The pants hit the floor covering his feet.  I kneel down and he lifts one foot at a time so I can tug off the legs of his jeans.  I make him lift them again so I can remove his socks.  Dale’s hands are on my head, his touch gentle while his fingers wander through my hair.  I pull off his underwear revealing the thatch of black pubic hair curling around the base of his rampant cock.  Marveling at the sight I drink in the twitching head, the jutting veins and the pearly drop of pre-come glistening at the tip.  I want him—in my mouth, pussy and a few other places but I have to tell myself to slow down, to stick to the plan.

            “Been so long since we could take our time,” I hear him say.

            “That’s true,” I reply standing up.

            “Your turn…”

            “No, I’ve got a surprise.  Sit down on the bed, please.”

            He gives me a look of confusion and I’m forced to take his hand and lead him to our bed.  Dale takes a seat and I help him into position.  His back is against the brass headboard, his legs spread apart with his knees straight. 

            “What’s going on here,” Dale says when I show him the soft purple rope I have pulled from under the bed.  I’d bought it at a sex shop a few days ago.

            “Shush,” I tell him, “just play along, okay?”

            “Sure, Zoe.”

            His voice is filled with both a sense of erotic wonderment with just the right arousing sprinkling of nervousness.  Dale’s eyes get a bit wide when I begin to tie his wrists to the brass headboard. 

            “I… um… are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

            “Absolutely,” I answer.

            Once he’s secured I pull out a white-and-red bag from a lingerie shop, blow him a kiss and leave the room.  He starts to say something but decides against it. I almost sprint to the bathroom.  Tossing off my clothes and dumping them into the hamper I pull on the pink teddy, tiny thong and slip my feet into the feathery mules I bought.  The pink tips of my painted toenails are jutting out of the provocative shoes.

            “Okay, just relax,” I tell my reflection, “he’s going to like this—trust in yourself.”

            I clomp my way back to the bedroom and present myself with a raised arm, cocked hip and (hopefully) my best sultry smile.  Dale’s gone slightly limp, his prick at half-staff almost touching the scented sheets.

            “Ta-da!” I announce.

            “Oh my… you are so beautiful!” Dale exclaims.  “Is this the surprise?”

            “Part of it.”

            Climbing on the bed I work into position until I’m facing him.  I sway to the music, Bach’s concerto has picked up steam and I begin to caress my breasts to the rhythm.  Through half-closed eyes I see Dale’s interest rise as well as the cock between his legs.  Twisting around I show him the pink slip of fabric running between the swells of my ass-cheeks.  I run a finger from the base of my pussy up through the hills of my bottom before jutting out my hips to push my rear closer to him.  Dale’s breathing, hot and heavy tells me my performance is satisfactory.  Wiggling my ass at him I tug down the thong, slow and seductively.  When my rear is fully exposed I let the thong dangle off my right foot.  That’s when Dale notices the mules I’m wearing.

            “Those shoes,” he says, “when did you buy them?”

            I don’t answer because I want him to wonder, to indulge in visions of me buying even more naughty footwear while he’s at work. Dale leans toward my foot and my underwear but I swing my leg away and slither off the bed.  The thong drops off to parts unknown.  Grinding my hips and running my hands up and down my sides (occasionally over my breasts) I send him into a silenced staring contest between his eyes and my undulating body.  I pluck at my breasts, tweak my nipples and run a finger slowly up the wet labia of my cunt. 

            “Oh, this is so hot!” he breaths out in a sudden husk.

            Tugging at the strings holding the teddy on me I let it slide off.  Now I’m nude except for those shoes.  Climbing back on the bed I drape one leg over each of his and squirm against the sheets.  Dale can’t stop his occasional glance at my mule-encased feet.  I dangle them off my feet, precariously hanging just shy of hitting the mattress.  When he finally sees my painted toes I hear him suck in a ragged, desperate breath.  Laying on my back I push my elbows into the backs of my knees, splaying my legs far apart and putting my feet just above my pussy.  I’m open, vulnerable and Dale’s gasping for air.

            “W-what are you going to… oh s-shit!” he moans when I begin to touch myself.

            I pull apart the lips of my pussy, stroking it gently before circling the outer fringes of myself with one pink nailed finger.  My feet dance in mid-air. 

            “Ooooh,” I groan when I slip a finger into myself. 

            “Z-Zoe,” Dale sighs, “you’re killing me here”

            “Not yet… not by a long shot, baby.”

            His cock is flexing in quick jerking flicks.  He can’t touch himself let alone me so the frustration is mounting.  Dipping another finger into my moist slit I moan and grind on the bed.  Dale is trying to lean towards me, his efforts making the headboard creak and groan.

            I think I have his attention, I laugh to myself.

            Scooting back on the bed I flick off the mules and extend my legs towards him, stroking his face with my feet.  Dale’s eyes close and he heaves out a ragged, excited breath.  Every touch of the balls of my feet against his shaven face causes his cock to bob up and down in a quick jerk. 

            “I figured out something about you I never knew,” I tell him.

            “What,” he replies in a dreamy, hungry voice.

            “You like my feet.”

            I hold them up to his mouth.  Tentatively, like I’m going to either yank them away to tease or because he thinks I’m grossed out he extends his tongue.  I let Dale lick my toes, one at a time.  Having them sucked so lovingly I find I’m aroused by it.  I only giggle when he runs his tongue over the ticklish spot on the soles. 

            “You like this,” I say.

            He doesn’t answer but then I rub them against his chest, dragging them softly to his navel while Dale’s body goes into spastic convulsions.  Sweat is beading on his brow, shoulders and chest and it glistens in the candlelight. 

            “Oooh… yeah,” he moans when my right foot caresses his stiff cock.

            I’m afraid he’s going to cum right there from that single stroke but he manages to hold it off.  His eyes are fixated on my feet as he leans forward when I curl the arches of my feet around the thick shaft of his prick.  I rub them together and run them up his quivering shaft.  At the end I squeeze the tip and let the drop of pre-come ooze between my toes.  Dale is husking for air, deep gasps and lip-quivering exhales send a warm breeze across me feet.

            “You want to cum all over my feet?” I ask, “Want to watch your naughty sperm squishing between my toes?”

            “Yes, oh hell yes,” he groans loudly.

            “I’m going to stroke your cock with my feet until exactly that happens.  Then, since I’ll be so worked up you’ll have to eat my pussy until I cum, agreed?  Then I’ll untie you.”

            “Yes… yes a-anything…”

            I push his prick against his stomach with one foot and rub it.  With my other I begin to stroke his nuts with the ball of my foot.  Dale is gasping for air, moaning soft and low while I play with him.  I manage to spread my big toe apart from the rest and push the tube-shaped bottom of his cock between it. 

            “Ooohh… ah!” he cries out when my other foot rubs the small piece of skin between the base of his cock and his puckered anus. 

Dale raises his legs, bending his knees while spreading himself as far apart as possible so I can toe-thumb his butt while rubbing his prick with my other foot.  He can’t speak—he’s overwhelmed.  My pussy is so damp I can look down and see the sheet beneath my ass is wet with my dripping juices.

            “S-so close… oh Zoe… I’m so c-close,” he gasps.

            Taking my other foot away from his rear I put his cock between my arches and begin to jerk him off.  He’s moaning in primal need.  A deep guttural sound mixed with just the barest hint of a desperate whine.  I feel his prick expand between my arches, his chest thrusting out with every breath while I give him a foot-job.

            “Oh.  Yes.  Oh. Y-yes,” Dale sobs.  “Zoe… make me c-c-cum!”

            The time has arrived and I feel the jerking tremor rising up through his cock and just before he shoots I cover the head of his cock with my toes. 

            “Y-y-yes!” he cries out loudly.

            Warm, thick shots of his sperm squirt out between my toes and hit him on the chest.  Each spew from him grow stronger and covers more of my feet until I’m stickily anointed from ankle to toe.  Dale’s body lunges forward with every spastic cum-shot and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut.  Only a soft whine escapes his clenched, white lips.

            With a few final spurts he’s done having given me his all.  Dale opens his eyes and lets out a long, deep moan when I begin to suck my toes clean.  Luck for him I’m still as flexible as I was when I was a gymnast back in high school.  As I tongue away the salty-sweet dollops of his seed I find myself desperate for any sort of sexual release.  My pussy is literally thumping with pulsating need.

            “That was fun,” I tell him.

            “N-now what?” he asked.

            I stand up and slide one leg at a time over his shoulders and put my hands on his head. 

            “You’re gonna eat me out until I get off,” I say.

            I know I’ll be sore by Monday when I go to pick the kids up at the airport but I don’t care because the magic is back in our sex life. Feeling like my heart has dropped near my cunt, the thundering beat of it centered on my wet pussy I begin to untie him.  Filing away his reaction to my toeing his butt I put this away for future reference.  Dale starts devouring my excited, throbbing pussy and I let out a long moan.

            “L-lick me slowly,” I say with a shudder, “we’ve got all weekend.”

Buzz Cut

AUTHOR’S NOTE; This is a story of erotica.  If you are under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW!  I started a small novella I was going to call “The Sex Games Married People Play” but never got around to it.  Here’s a story from it.       

     The kids were asleep in their room upstairs.  It was a school night and Brian and I had plans—naughty plans.  As an Air Force officer’s wife we’d moved around a lot but this base had a wonderful house for us to live in.  Complete with three rooms, two baths and a finished basement which is where I found him standing naked.

            “Brian!” I exclaimed, “What did you do to yourself?”

            He just laughed and waggled his cock at me.  I had no idea when he did it but his entire groin was shaved bald.  Brian’s nutsack was dangling just below his long prick which was standing at semi-attention.  Then I noticed his chest was shorn too.

            “Come here, Sandy,” he said.

            Taking my hand he escorted me to a weightlifting bench.  Slow and seductively he undressed me in the soft glow of the dimmed lights.  He was taller than me, his cock, at half-staff was rubbing against my belly button. 

            “Take a seat,” he said.

            I started to sit down and he lifted my legs so my feet sat in the metal holders the bar-bells sat in.  Then he uncovered a bucket of steaming water, a can of shaving cream, a pair of electric clippers and a disposable razor.

            “Brian,” I said nervously, “what are you up to?”

            “I want to see your all of your pussy so I’m shaving it,” he answered.

            Using the clippers he buzzed my cunt’s mane short making it resemble the hair of a raw recruit in boot camp.  The rapid vibration of the clippers, Brian’s fingers pushing and spreading the delicate folds of my labia aroused me to no end.  I could feel my pussy getting wet and as I watched my husband work through the valley between my trembling breasts I realized I wanted his dick buried into me—now. 

            Putting aside the clippers he lathered up my groin, his digits smearing thick, soft foam from my navel, across my pussy and along the sides of my thighs were they met my crotch. 

            “Hold still, Sandy,” he said, “we don’t want any accidents.”

            The first stroke of the razor sent shuddering sensations followed quickly by a cool breeze across the shorn skin.  I heard the rasp as it cleared away the hair.  Carefully he went about his task.  Each touch of the razor making me whimper and moan.  His breath was whooshing across me, heating my beaver temporarily before the menthol chill raised goose bumps on my shaved skin.  I tried not to watch but found I couldn’t.  My labia was chilled, hungry and hating the emptiness it felt. 

            “Please,” I said, “hurry up, Brian. I need you… need you in me.”

            “Don’t worry, my love,” he said, “you’ll get it soon enough.”

            He smiled and went back to work.  Wiping away the foam he reapplied more and came at the stubble-filled problem from another angle.  I started to fondle my breasts, tweaking my nipples and wiggling them.  I was trying in heated desperation to get his attention away from shaving my pussy and fucking it instead. 

            The towel came out again and Brian wiped me clean, the increased desire making me so tender the fluffy fabric felt like sandpaper.  I squirmed and my movements made the weight bench creak. 

            “All done,” Brian said, “I never realized how cute your pussy was.”

            “It is?” I said.

            I took his hand again and he led me to a full-length mirror.  Standing behind me he stroked the smooth flesh between my legs, parting it and letting me see the blushing pink opening just beneath the folds.  My clit was protruding past the flowery petals like some strange blossom.  I hadn’t seen myself this way since before I reached puberty.  Like most girls I couldn’t wait to grow pubic hair.  Like your first period it was a sign of passage from being a girl and becoming a woman.  Now I was bald again.

            “See?” my husband said.

            “It’s… almost like a rose,” I replied.

            “Dripping with dew, blushing at its nakedness.  I’m in awe of your gorgeous pussy, Sandy.”

            He knelt down and I spread my legs.  In the mirror’s reflection I saw his hand appear between my thighs to caress me.  Squatting shallowly I stared while he inserted a finger into my warm, wet depths.  He swirled it around stirring up my need.  I kept watching my reflection.  Another digit joined the first. Then another and a fourth until I was gasping.  My breasts, heavy and nipple-erect were bouncing in the silvered glass.  He spread my labia again.  Brian’s fingers were slick with my juices and gleaming in the soft light. 

            “Please,” I said, “don’t tease me anymore.”

            “I can’t help it,” he remarked.

            Wiggling his way between my legs I saw his face appear in the mirror and bit my lip as the first caress of his tongue across my smooth pussy occurred.  Brian dove right until all I could see of his face was his chin.

            “I can get to every little nook and cranny now,” Brian mumbled into my pussy.

            “Yes… I know,” I said with hot gasps, “I-I’m watching you… eat me… it’s so… exciting to see it from… this angle.”

            I let myself gaze down to see Brian was slowly stroking his cock while he dined on me.  It hung in his fist, still semi-limp but growing longer, thicker and redder with ever caress. 

            I want it… I want his cock, I thought, want it in my mouth, my pussy and between my tits.

            The cunt-lapping I was receiving began to weaken my knees.  They shook like unsupported poles during a windstorm as Brian ate me out.  He tugged at his cock, drank in my snatch and teased my legs with the occasional stroke of his free hand. 

            “S-stop,” I said in a husking voice, “can’t take it… want to touch you, lick you and suck you.”

            He stood up and I knelt down before he could fully stand.  His cock became engorged until reaching its full length as I jacked him off.  His flesh was smooth and white from where the hair had been removed.  Like a sunbather who’d forgotten to expose a part of himself to the hot rays on the beach he was lily white down there.  I stared as his nuts coiled up against the base of his cock almost disappearing from view. I brushed my fingers all over the untanned flesh making him squirm a bit.  Running my lips across the sensitive bottom of him prick I heard him moan soft and low. 

            “That’s nice, Sandy,” he said.

            “How about this?” I asked.

            “Ah!  Your tonguing my balls… Ooooh that feels s-strange.”

            “How about this?”

            “Oh…f-f-fuck… how… how’d you… d-do that?”

            All ten inches of Air Force colonel cock was in my mouth, the tip dangling halfway down my throat.  I gulped a few times, tried breathing through my nose but I found I couldn’t.  Working my tongue around his cock, making my gullet muscles flex I discovered I had the Colonel’s undivided attention.

            “Don’t… g-g-gag,” he groaned, “Don’t want you… to… choke on my… c-cock.”  

            I didn’t care.  I wanted him hard, ready and into my pussy as fast as I could get it.  His hands went to the sides of my face and he eased his prick out of my mouth and throat. 

            “What are you…,” I started to ask when he picked me up, and spun me upside down. 

            Once again I was facing his cock.  Wrapping my legs around his neck I sobbed out in a loud desperate tone when he began eating my pussy again.  Not letting him get the better of me I started sucking him off again.  His arms around my waist, my legs curled behind his head and the big dick in my mouth kept us together.

            Then I glanced at the mirror.

            My long black hair was almost touching the carpet.  I could see his face buried in my bald pussy and the big cock between my lips. 

            Oh my god… it’s so  fucking hot! I thought.

            My tits were squashed against his torso, they bulged outward each time I sank my face against his smooth groin.  I sucked, sucked and sucked Brian’s prick until he began to kneel.  Amazed at the power of his body, even after all these years it never ceases to impress me. 

            I crawled off him, still keeping his cock in my mouth.  Letting it pop out when he said,” Let’s fuck like maniacs.”

            He laid down and I went to straddle him when Brian motioned to me with a twirling finger I was to let him spoon me.  Lifting my leg I saw him slip his meat into my beaver. 

            “Oooh… yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” I groaned happily.

            I watched his prick in the mirror as it was stuffed in and then pulled out of my lip-like folds.  His hand was caressing my right tit while I stared in utter fascination.  I was filled to the brim and then emptied, the gleam of wet, hard cock slipping into my shaved beaver was making me hornier than I’ve ever been before.  But just as my orgasm neared, Brian pulled out.

            Pulling me into his lap and facing away from him I aimed by pussy at his prick..  Squatting on his cock I looked into the mirror just in time to see it push past my outer folds and sink into my pussy.

            “Oh…fuck,” I managed to stammer.

            Pulling me back by the shoulders Brian bent me so it looked like a flesh-colored snake was slithering into my snatch from below.  I humped him hard. Not knowing if it was his saliva or my wetness making both his hairless dick and my shaved beaver to gleam like they’d be sprinkled with diamond dust. I never knew how beautiful my wet pussy could be.  It was hot pink, flushed and happily stuffed with Brian’s cock.  Each grind of my ass, push and pull of my hips made my husband’s meat appear and disappear in my pussy.  I was enthralled by the sight.

            “Oh Brian!” I exclaimed, “It’s so fucking hot… you should see it… oh I wish you… could see you c-cock in my pink, pretty pussy.”

            “Sexy isn’t it?” he said.  “I get that view every time we make love.”

            “Oh look at it go in… oh so very far in… n-now it’s coming out.”

 “I wanted you to see what it looks like.”

“It’s so beautiful!”

“Play with yourself. I want you to see what I see when you have an orgasm.”

            His hands where placed on my shoulder blades, I immediately reached down to stroke my clit and the base of his prick.  Instead of watching my fingers I kept looking at my flushed face, my shivering tits and my undulating stomach.  Each ending bump of Brian’s cock sinking to the end of my beaver sent earthquake-like shivers throughout my body.  The top of my pussy was bulging, I fully expected Brian’s prick to appear out from my navel.  I didn’t have to watch or rub for long. 

            “Oh.. shit.. oh, shit,” I started to sob, “I’m going to… going to c-c-cum!”

            My mouth formed an O-like shape.  My eyelids opened up wide as I saw my body begin to shake, my stomach muscles flexing in spastic ecstasy as the wave of my orgasm swept through me.  My hairless beaver was beet red and soaking wet.  I kept on riding Brian’s cock and my own climax.  The sudden explosion receded down to a dull throb and eventually faded away. 

            “Please cum,” I told him.  “Please cum for me!”

            “I’m close… so close to… it,” he answered.

            I leaned back farther and saw only my eyes, lolling tits, shaking tummy and the big prick snaking in and out of my pussy.  I felt him thicken.   The sight of our lovemaking gave me an idea.

            I had to see him drench my shaved snatch.

            “Oh… close… so close,” Brian muttered, “going to cum… cum so h-hard.”

            I quickened my pace, jamming myself down on his prick.  I was so sensitive each stroke made my breath catch in my throat.  But I had to get him off.  Sweat gleamed on my tits, shoulders and brow.  I was working harder than ever to make my husband cum.  As his groans turned to deep grunts of impending release I let him pop out of my bald beaver and squirt his warm load all over my navel, clit and pussy.

            “Oh god…yes!” he cried out.

            Spurt after spurt jetted out of his cock and onto my cool, smooth skin.  The first shot deposited a dollop of pearly goodness on my left nipple.  I scooped it up and licked my finger clean.  Settling for a single morsel of Brian’s cum I watched his orgasm continue.  He came across my belly button and I let it run down coating his shaft and circling my pussy.  Each spurt landed somewhere different.  One final shot filled my navel and I wiped it clean as well.  I savored his salty taste.

            I knew later on after we’d rested I’d let him fuck me again.  But this time I promised myself he’d get to watch in the mirror as his smooth snake invaded my bald beaver. 

            Who knew personal hygiene could be so arousing?

 

The Pulpit

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic horror so if you’re under the age of eighteen navigate away from this page. 

            Riana Färber lay in silk luxury.  Awakening as she did in total darkness she stretched out her body and squirmed against the decadent lining of her coffin.  Not quite fully conscious the two hundred year-old vampire became aware of the unnatural life slowly rising thorough her. 

            The sun hasn’t fully set, she thought.  I usually don’t like resting in my casket but we couldn’t find someplace to pass the day away.  The energy sluggishly moving through my body always gives me the creeps.

            The slippery feel of her silk gown moving against the same material beneath her gave her the impression she was sliding.  Even the slightest wiggling produced the sensation of lying upon a dry, yet oiled surface.  She opened her eyes.

            Riana began to hear sounds, faint yet distinct.  The graceless clomping of boots, the deep low mutterings of men’s voices and scrape of stone against stone resounded through the ancient wood of her coffin.  All became silent for a moment.  Then she heard a grinding sound like someone rubbing two bricks together for some unknown reason.  Puzzlement rose in her brain until the thudding slam reverberated the floor above her making small particles of dust rain down upon her face.  Then the realization came to her.

            Someone has found my hiding place!

            The icy cold caress of a thousand worms upon her brain sent terror flowing into her extremities as if she had been dunked into a frozen pond.  The splintering of wood and fiberglass above her made more fine debris cascade down upon her.  In her mind it became a race against time.  Would her body’s strength return faster than the intruders would rip open her hiding place?  Which would happen first?  Did Riana have time enough to battle those seeking to destroy her or would the clock finally run out on her undead state?  A low whimpering echoed above her.

            Oh shit—Michael! Riana recalled, not lessening her fears.

            Michael Renee McDaniels.  Her current paramour, friend and companion was stretched out in his own box which lay atop hers.  In her dull, dazed state she had forgotten their resting arrangement.  The small crypt in the center of the cemetery hadn’t allowed them to reside side-by-side.  Instead he had graciously agreed to have his coffin set above hers.  Chivalry, love or whatever the reason was Michael had insisted upon this.  Riana’s eyes began to well up with hot tears which ran out of the corners of her eyes and just past her ears. 

            “No,” her lover’s croaking voice pleaded.  “Please don’t do this.”

            His words shattered her undead heart like an ice sculpture hit with a mallet.

            “I send you to Hell’s hot embrace!” a man’s thundering reply came.

            There was a flurry of activity above her.  She could hear and feel Michael’s limbs thrashing frantically against the bottom of his casket.  More strength poured into her body but not enough to push herself free and defend the man she loved.

            “Stop!  You don’t understand!” the man above her shouted.

            Riana flinched at the sudden sound of a hammer striking something wooden and Michael’s painful wail.  More thumping noises, even more insanely desperate boomed only shut out by the horrible din of repeated impacts from the mallet.  Tears ran down the sides of her face like droplets of a torrential rain on a window pane.  Michael’s gurgling sobs, his attackers’ heavy grunting and her own weeping filled up the seven foot long coffin she lay in.  The terrible sounds overflowed like the sorrow welling up inside of her.  Riana slapped her hand across her mouth to keep her screams of denial from being heard.  The final blow fell and she gasped into her bitten palm when she spied the bloody, ragged point of the stake appear in the top of her own casket.

            “It is done,” the man stated.  “Evil has been destroyed and we can take pride in doing the Lord’s work.”

            Riana tried to think herself as small as a mouse, as silent as the grave and still as a dark tarn.

            “What about the other one?” the man’s accomplice inquired.

            “There is no reason to check it,” the first one countered.  “We only had reports of one male bloodsucker not two.  Besides how would it get out?”

            “Let’s get out of here.”

            The clomping sounds of their exit echoed like the sounds of a hollow victory in her mind.  Michael had been destroyed, killed and murdered.  They had been together for sixty years.  Her mind immediately and painfully began running through the memories of meeting, loving and turning him.  From the disco days of the seventies to the grudge era and beyond they had walked together in harmony, hunger and health. 

            Now he is gone, she sniffled.

            The bang of the iron gate informed her those who had slain her lover had departed without further investigation.  The sudden fact she had survived another close call burst into her sorrowful brain.  Riana smiled and felt the tug of her lips pulling away from her fangs.  The bared pearly weapons felt longer and sharper as her hunger for revenge grew in her undead heart.

****

            Riana crouched in the darkness and ignored the soft moaning of the semi-unconscious woman lying next to her.  She raised her sight to the small square of light above her head and tried not to laugh out loud.  Her prey’s heavy footfalls informed her he was approaching.

            Her search hadn’t taken long, in fact it had been surprisingly shorter than she expected.  Reverend Richard Black cleared his throat as he walked towards her position.  The First Church of Christ’s pastor was a pompous, arrogant and proud man who she had studied well these past few weeks.  Michael’s killer had bragged far and wide how he had removed an evil blot on the surrounding countryside.  His boasting tale told from the pulpit above her head had sent shock, relief and admiration flowing from his congregation to puff up the wilted self-worth of the minister.  This was his Achilles’ heel—his overwhelming, driving need to be respected.  It would be his downfall.

            Another groggy groan from the body beside her let Riana know she hadn’t quite rendered its owner completely senseless.  She twisted upon the sheaf of papers, crushing and tearing them to cuff the woman once more.  The sounds stopped making the vampire smirk.

            I know you too well now Reverend Black, she thought.  Your bad memory, your egotistical hatred of looking down at your sermon’s notes and how you had concocted this secret hiding place beneath your pulpit so your assistant could quietly remind you of what to say next.

            Despite the holiness of this place it had cost Riana very little in pain to crawl into here from the secret passage’s entrance in the church’s hall.  The sanctuary above would singe her flesh to a charred blackened state if she set foot upon it’s hallowed and consecrated floor.  But the ladder and hole above her had been woefully neglected when it came to being blessed. 

            Black couldn’t be seen blessing this place without being discovered and his ego would not have allowed that.

            The white square was eclipsed letting Riana know her prey had stepped up to the podium.  She retrieved the sermon’s notes and began to silently ascend the short ladder.

            “My brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began, “I am so happy to see so many smiling new faces amongst our congregation.  It makes my heart swell with joy to witness what one single act of faith and courage can do to bring so many others into the light of Jesus Christ, our Lord.  Can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “Hallelujah,” they responded.

            “We walk in dark times, brothers and sisters.  These are dark and dangerous times where pop culture tears at the fabric between what is right and wrong.  Youngsters are being corrupted by false beliefs, ungodly trends and whorish fashions.  They are being led to believe that monsters are misunderstood, to be pitied and loved instead of being destroyed like the unholy vermin they are.  Vampire movies, books and stories depicting these vile creatures to be nothing more than human beings who have a disease, nothing more.  We have to stay strong and fight what we know to be the truth…God’s own truth!”

            “Amen,” the congregation muttered.

            Riana rose to crotch level beneath the pulpit.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the events to come.  Deep inside she felt a thrill of tickling glee for what she was about to do to the arrogant murderer of her beloved Michael. 

            It has been a long time since I’ve done this, she thought silently.  Existing on animals and stealing nourishment from hospitals is enough to keep me alive but there’s something so right, so exciting about supping on a human.

            “We have long suffered from these misguided authors,” Black said, his voice rising.  “It started with Bram Stoker and has grown now to include the business empire of that Myers’ woman—a follower of the Mormon way who pens atrocity after atrocity!  Can I get an amen?”

            He could and did.

            Riana reached out and with a feather light touch caressed the front of Black’s expensive trousers.  She withheld a smile when his hips jerked back.

            “I come to you, a man dedicated to His way,” the minister said without stammering.  “to teach you these things must be, should be and will be fought!  Too many innocents are rushing to see the next Twilight movie, buying up vampire erotica and snuffing out the light of their souls.”

            She parted the folds of his fly and began to tug the zipper down.  Trapped by his speech and confusion the preacher still tried to pull away.  His pant legs shook in slight a trembling shake as she slowly yanked the metal fastener to the bottom of his fly. 

            “W-we must, without haste or fear of reprisal, tell these people we will no longer stand for their corruption.  We will protest at these movies, picket book stores during their new releases and pass out a million flyers to those who have been led down the wrong path.”

            She felt him shrink from her touch but her firm grip on his fleshy shaft held him in place.  Tugging gently on it Riana began to stroke the minister’s cock and make him gasp and stammer during his impassionate speech.  She was betting on him being too embarrassed or aroused to give away her position.

            “I-I know you will be with me, beside me the entire time as I go forth to enlighten the ignorant masses of the dangers in believing vampires and werewolves are anything less than monsters,” he stuttered.  “We will be a force from Heaven itself to be reckoned with.  C-can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “ Hallelujah!” they cried out.

            His meaty shaft had grown to its full length in her soft fingers.  Riana tugged him free of his pants and pulled the rampant cock to her cold lips.   She waited for the right moment.  For a moment he seemed to forget she had him by the balls.

            “It will be a glorious day when the world rises up to cast off the blindfold wrapped around their eyes.  We will cry in one voice that we will not allow, permit or ignore the corruption of our children.  Holding Hollywoodand the publishing industry accountable for their evil ways, to wean them off of ill-gained profits and drag them kicking and screaming into His light!”

            Upon Black’s uttering of the word His she placed her lips against the bulbous head of his cock making the minister yelp out the word.  She swirled her tongue around it making him pause for effect and keep the illusion being seen by his parish he was in control.  She heard him groan softly and imagined what must be going through his mind.  Laughing to herself she could almost hear him wondering what had gotten into his female assistant.  A part of her deduced the pastor must be thinking his sermon was inspiring the woman beneath the pulpit to suckle his cock out of sheer respect and undying dedication.

            “I charge you to do as I have done.  To seek out those filthy vile creatures who slink from the light of Heaven and hide in moldy graves.  Drag them out and drive a stake through their black hearts.  Look to the signs of their existence.  You must keep a constant vigil!  For if too many of our youngsters believe vampires are cool we will lose them to bloody bared fangs, their blessed lives given to slake the devilish thirst of these demons!  Oh Lord, please deliver us from Evil!”

            Riana sucked him deep into her mouth and he sobbed out the last sentence very loud.  She fondled his tightly clenched balls and tugged the base of his cock while in her mind’s eye she saw him gripping the sides of the podium in a white knuckled grip.  She covered his shaft with spit and snickered while his feet shifted in agitation, arousal and fear. 

            “T-tomorrow we will take up the fight and demand the local chain bookstore stop carrying the works of Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Stephanie Myers and others who would pen such atrocities to confuse and befuddle the minds of our innocent children.  We will usher in an age—an age of… of… goodness and righteousness!”

            His slight forgetfulness had been deliberately caused by Riana’s mouth working feverishly upon his iron-hard rod.  Her hands squeezed his balls and yanked upon his vein-covered cock until she heard, with great delight, his elbows strike against the top of the pulpit.  She knew the men and women staring at him would be thinking the preacher was in the grips of a religious fervor.  Black’s voice returned but it was aimed downward in her direction.  He spoke in hushed tones and she surmised he had covered the microphone in front of him to further muffle the sound for the question didn’t come out of the large speakers.

            “What are you doing?” he husked out. 

            Riana didn’t answer him but ran the tip of her tongue underneath his throbbing member and tickled his quaking testicles. 

            “Helen you h-have to stop,” he demanded weakly.  “This isn’t proper.”

            “No,” she whispered back.  “Keep preaching.”

            Riana licked her index finger and waited for him to pick up where he left off.

            “Brothers and sisters—good people ofNiles, will you take up this burden?  Can you find the strength and dedication to suffer the slings and arrows of the lost children of humanity, just like the punishment Christ endured on his way toCalgary?  We must be strong in our faith!  Too many souls have been lost to darkness because we have sat by in idle disbelief and watched the destruction of morality.  Out of sheer shock and dismayed we have not acted accordingly.  Can I get an A-amen?”

            “Amen,” they chorused as she rubbed her wetted finger against his puckered anus.

            “I-I didn’t hear you,” Black said in a distracted tone.

            Riana slid the slippery digit into his bottom and covered his shaft with her wet mouth.

            “Amen!” the reply from the pews came loudly.

            “Again?”

            She pushed it up to the second knuckle and slurped harder at his organ.

            “Amen!”

            Working one hand up and down his meat, pushing her face against the fabric of his trousers and swirling her finger in his anus Riana drove the minister into a frenzy of contortions.  She inwardly giggled how those in the pews would think he was in the grip of some religious fever.

            “We w-will remove the stain upon literature, movies and wash away improper illusions!” he shouted.  “It will be us, filled with the righteousness of the Holy Spirit, who will topple the printed media from their unholy perches!” he bellowed.

            Riana felt his cock swell in tune with the growing loudness of his voice.  His ass clenched around her finger, holding it snugly inside while his balls began to flex.  She increased her efforts and soon she was gagging from the depth his throbbing meat had sunken to in her throat.  Yanking, tugging, thrusting and fingering she felt his dam break and the sudden rush of boiling warm seed rush down the fevered length of his organ. In her mind’s eye she could see the congregation lean forward, intent on his words.  They would see the redness in his face and mistake it for holy passion.  Only he would know it was because of the killer orgasm he was about to suffer.

            “We will cast them down into the Pit!  Overthrowing them and putting in place a moral and responsible group of goodly thinking people w-who will… always remember… they are beholden to… keeping faith with…”

            That’s it, she thought, say His name just as you get off…

            “Jesus Christ!” he screamed.

            Riana’s gullet was treated to a torrential rush of Reverend Black’s sperm which shot out of his flexing cock’s head in thick rivulets.  She noted with pleasure he was standing on the balls of his feet while her throat milked, her fist pumped and her finger jabbed him.

            “Oh my God, brothers and sisters!” he shrieked.  “Dear Lord!  It’s u-unbelievable—oh my God!”

            “Amen!” the people cried over and over.

            “Yes!” some woman screeched, “Testify to His glory, Reverend Black!”

            “Lord Jesus Christ!” some woman wailed.

            “My life for yours, Jesus!” a man roared.

            “I’ll take up the Cross for Him!” a weeping female screamed.

            Riana bit his cock and a rush of hot blood spewed into her throat. 

            “Oh God!” Reverend Black shouted.

            She drank heavily.  He slumped against the back of the podium while the rush of erotic sensations rose from his loins and enflamed his brain.  Riana felt the preacher’s hips buck slower and slower until she had her fill.  Withdrawing her fangs from his punctured cock she held him still and retrieved a length of surgical gauze from her pocket.  She stopped the bleeding with the bandage.  Only then did she allow him to withdraw his limp, reddened shaft from the prison of her firm grip.  Tenderly she placed the sensitive organ back into his pants and briefs and tucked a note into his front, right pocket while the people probably now standing in the aisles shouted, prayed and rejoiced.   She slipped down the ladder and crawled along the passageway to find a place to hide until night when she could escape.

****

            She stood on the threshold of the mausoleum and waited.  The moon, full and pregnant slowly crossed the starry sky while she passed the time.  Down the hill she could see the cars speeding past the cemetery carrying people to their various nighttime destinations.  Riana smiled briefly. 

            I wonder how much longer he can resist? She mused merrily. It has been two weeks and I must admit I do admire his willpower.  Most of my victims don’t last a few days before they come to me begging for more or to be turned but him I had to make an appointment.  He showed up per my note, but he tried to kill me.  Even then, while he was under my power Black fought me but his efforts were futile.  He died right after I drained him the second night.  I felt him crawl off and die in his bed, his bible and crucifix lying forgotten on the ground beside him.  You know if I didn’t hate him so much for destroying Michael I’d be tempted to keep him around.

            She knew the curse of her toothy kiss had coursed through the minister’s body poisoning his soul and corrupting his mind.  He wouldn’t be able to enter his church or hold his bible.  It was a matter of time. 

            Then my revenge will be complete.

            She felt rather than saw him crouching near a cluster of tombstones at the very bottom of the hill.  The supernatural connection between them alerted her to his whereabouts as surely as if he was wearing a bright red neon sign above his head.  The frantic thumping of his heartbeat crossed the distance like an ocean wave and reverberated off her body.  Riana took great delight in its fluttering beat.

            Come to me! She called out psychically.

            She watched him dart from gravestone to gravestone trying to hide.  This amused her to no end and she wondered whose attention he was trying to avoid.  Was it hers?  Or did the infected preacher desperately attempting to conceal his plight from members of his congregation who had followed him here?  Would he approach her or just glare at her from a safe distance?

            Hopping, loping and dashing she snickered as Black went from hiding spot to hiding spot.  Eventually the slouched figure crossed over the road in front of her mausoleum and slide to a stop behind a tall monolithic headstone.  Riana laughed and the sweet sound of her merriment rang out in the graveyard.  She heard him moan in arousal in response.

            “You cannot hide from me, Reverend Black,” she called out.  “I can feel your presence as surely as I can see the moon above me.”

            “What have you done to me?” he cried out in a pitiful tone.

            “Nothing you didn’t deserve.”

            “Who are you?  Why do you haunt my dreams?  Night after night I saw your face dancing like some Gamorrahian whore in sensual visions which cloud my mind.  Now I have wakened in my grave only to be pulled to your presence.”

            “I am Riana—the mate of the vampire you destroyed.  I was lying in the other casket while you drove a piece of vile wood into my lover’s heart.”

            “But that’s impossible!”

            “Why because you think I couldn’t move the coffin above me to get out?  You are as stupid as you are misguided.  I have strength enough to carry my hiding place for many miles without breaking a sweat but you were too lazy to check.”

            “Please restore me to Glory—I cannot enter my own church anymore!”

            “You are of the night now.  No longer can you call for divine aid or even utter the name of your deity.  I have made you what you despise.”

            “Why have you done this?”

            The holy man stepped out from behind the monolith and staggered towards her.  She noted dispassionately his white face, gleaming fangs and hungry face.  His hands were curled into painful claws and the smell of burnt flesh wafted past her face.  She guessed he tried to enter holy ground only to find he was damned forever.  Tears ran down his hollow cheeks so terrible was his plight it nearly tugged pity from her undead heart.  She had taken everything away from him he had stubbornly clung to.  Pathetic and distraught he sobbed quietly before her.  But she heard the echoes of Michael’s voice and the sudden remorse for Black’s plight died a stillborn’s death.  He stopped two feet away and fell to his knees.

            “Tell me why you’ve made me this way?” he demanded softly.

            “To teach you a lesson—I didn’t ask for this curse but I live with it the best I can.  Michael and I never took a human life but you weren’t interested it that.  You came, filled with righteous indignation and slaughtered my beloved like some sacrificial lamb on the altar of you puffed up ego.  Now you will suffer as I have,” she said making her voice cruel on purpose.

            “Please no”.

            “You can accept your fate or wait for the morning to come and destroy you.  There will be no redemption either in Heaven or Hell for you, Reverend Richard Black!”

            She turned her back on him and shut the door to her crypt.  A part of her wondered what course of action he would take.  Would he greet the dawn and die or would he slink off to his own grave and hide from the sun?  She was hoping for the second option.  Knowing his vast ego and the terrified look in his eyes somehow she just knew Black would succumb to a vampire’s existence.

            I’m sure once the Assistant Minister of the church reads the note I left on his car this evening he will take action.  Perhaps tomorrow night he’ll finish what I’ve started.  How ironic that the speech I heard him deliver will be his undoing, Riana chuckled to herself.

Purging

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following story contains adult themes, language and sexual situations.  If you are under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW!

 

“I ate too much,” Donna said as we walked into my apartment.

“No, you didn’t,” I replied.

“Yes, I did.  I’m going to get fat.”

Donna went into the bathroom and I knew what she was up to.  At eighteen she weighed two-hundred and ten pounds and at five feet, four inches her senior picture wasn’t flattering.  The three years since (two of which we’ve been together) she’d trimmed down to a thinner, but plush one-hundred and thirty.  I happen to like her body but Donna, well that was another story.

I could hear her in there, making horrible sounds like you’d expect to encounter at a drunken frat party.  The toilet flushed but something told me this wasn’t over by a long shot.  Donna came out, red-faced and not from puking.

She was pissed off.

“I can’t,” she said half-angry, half-weepy.

“Honey,” I told her, “you’re fine—perfect, in fact.”

“No, I ate too much and now my diet’s in shreds.”

I got a little irate myself and walked up to her.   Putting my hands on her shoulders I looked my girlfriend in the eye and said, “Donna, I love you.  You’re not fat.”

This had about as much effect as tossing a shovel filled with dirt into the Grand Canyon.  Donna’s eyes began to flutter and I could see the tears forming in the corners.  I hate when she cries.  Especially when there’s no reason for it.

“What do you want me to do?” I said bowing to the inevitable.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice soft and blubbery.

“Then I’m at a loss…”

“… go into the bathroom with me, I have an idea.”

Traipsing behind my woman we went into the cramped room and she sat down in front of the toilet, her eyes leaking like a punctured water balloon.  She tried to speak but failed.  Her hand went towards her mouth and covered it like it was a blemish.  Donna was inconsolable.

“Babe, I really wish I could…,” I started to say.

“… can’t make myself throw up,” she butted in, “maybe I’ve ruined my gag reflex.  So you’re going to have to do it for me.”

“What?”

“Jeff, make me puke.”

How am I supposed to do that?  I thought.

“Please?” Donna said, her voice was a childish pleading tone.

“Okay,” I replied, “exactly how do you expect me to make you throw up, Donna?  I’m not sticking my finger…”

“… your cock.  I want you to gag me with your cock.”

Oookay, this has taken a wrong turn into Freaksville!

            “Think about it,” Donna said, almost purring the words, “I get to puke and you get a deep throating experience you’ll never forget.”

Donna had a very blatant oral fixation, or so she thought.  This is why (a doctor told her fable when she was sixteen) she had gotten so fat in the first place.  I thought it was because she was using food as a substitute for affection.  No matter how many times I suggested this Donna stood firm about this oral fixation of hers.

“Please,” she said, “make me gag… just a little and I can do the rest.”

“I’m not… this is so weird, are you really asking me to ram my cock down your throat until you puke?” I said.

“Yes.  Do this and you can have something you’ve always wanted from me.  You know, that thing you’re always wanting to try but I keep saying no.”

Oh shit, she can’t be serious, I thought.

“I really need to purge, Jeff,” Donna said, “If you really love me then you’ll do this for me.”

No pressure, of course.  Just a ton of guilt if I decide this is too strange and stand my ground.

            “Okay, all right,” I said giving up.

Donna smiled, pulled down her shirt and exposed her mammoth breasts.  They’re like huge, white mountains topped with the biggest pink caps you’d ever seen.  I love her tits (and her ass, face, legs and so on).

“Do you like this?” she said, squeezing and pushing her boobs together.

Nah, I don’t like it… I love it! I thought to myself.

She reached out, yanked down my zipper and with gentle fingers pulled out my cock.  It was growing hard just from watching her touch herself.  Donna caressed it and I let out a low moan.

“Stand up,” she said.

I did so and my girlfriend opened her mouth and let me push my dick in between those soft lips of hers.  Watching it slide, inch by inch, into her mouth and how Donna’s eyes rolled back in anticipated pleasure.  Her mouth closed, creating a tight seal around my girth.  Pushing forward I slithered the rest of the way past her lips.  I felt the tip of my cock bump the back of her throat, bend a little and slip down.

“Ggrrrkk,” Donna said, gurgling and sending vibrations to my brain via my dick.

Her face turned red, her eyes shut and tears began leaking out the corners.  I tried to pull away but Donna grabbed me around the thighs, where they met my ass, and yanked me forward.

I sank nine inches into her gullet.

“Glluk!” Donna gagged.

“No, this is stupid,” I said straining against her grip.

“Ggggglllkkk!”

“Donna!  You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Ggggggggggllllllllkkkkkk! Glk! Glk!”

Each time she made that throaty gargle I felt my cock quiver and vibrate.  Donna refused to let go.  Committed to this insane plan of hers I grabbed the back of her head, took a handful of hair and forced her face upward.  This created a straight passage from her lips to her throat.

I sank in even further.

Seeing my pubes crushed against my girlfriend’s nose, like she’d grown a bizarre mustache made me worry—and a bit excited.  She kept sucking me down further.  My girlfriend coughed and snot shot out of her nose and into my pubic hair.

That’s enough of this shit, I thought.

I broke her grip, released her hair and got my cock out of her mouth.  There was a thick coating of spit and a line running from the tip of my dick to her lower lip.

“No!” Donna cried out and lurched forward.

She impaled her face on my cock and began choking again.  Fearing for her safety I tried to pull back but this time she’d gotten too good a hold on my legs.  There was a quick jerk, a final slipping of cock-meat into her throat and then I felt, and heard, it.

“Gggghllkk!” Donna gurgled.

“Donna!” I shouted, “Let me…”

My girlfriend broke away, twisted her face toward the toilet and puked.  Hot rivulets of vomit spewed from her mouth and I turned away.  Standing with my back to Donna I waited for her to finish while my cock cooled from being exposed to the air.

“I’m done,” she said in a gravely voice.

“I’m happy for you,” I said, sarcasm lacing my tone.

“It wasn’t that bad… in fact, I liked it.  I didn’t know I could take all of you cock in my throat.”

“It wasn’t worth the discovery.”
“Now it’s your turn.”

I looked over my shoulder and Donna had pulled off her panties, stood up and bent over the commode.  Her ass, that plump and delicious pair of globes were thrust into the air.

“Come on, Jeff,” she said, pulling her asscheeks apart with both hands, “come and get some booty.”

Staggering over I pressed the tip of my slob-coated cock against the starfish-shaped opening to her ass.  With a tremor of forbidden delight running through my body I eased the head into her rectum.

“Ah!” Donna grunted, “It’s… b-big.”

I didn’t respond but sank an inch into her rear.

“Ah! Oooh!  Jeff, that’s… that’s… ooooh yeah.”

Snaking my prick into her anus, Donna began breathing heavy.  When she looked over her shoulder at me I could see her face was flushed and her expression a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Ooh  yeah… sink that big cock in my… ass,” she said, “I can’t think… why I… thought this… wouldn’t feel… so… so… good!”

I entered her anus to the fullest.  Slow and steady I began to pump in and out of her rectum, bypassing both her inner seals.

“Yes… yes… fuck my ass… so deep… oh, Jeff… it feels so… so good!” Donna said with a long moan.

I slipped my rod into her anal barrel faster, harder until the smacking of our flesh echoed in the bathroom.

“Oh God!” she said, “all the way… go all the way… up my… ass… my poor ass… stretched out… oh yeah…  oh yeah!”

I felt her rubbing her pussy, dipping her fingers inside as I buggered her.  Donna’s moans came faster, louder and more intense.  Unable to resist all the sensations and losing control, I found myself dumping my load into my girlfriend’s hot ass.

“Oh fuck,” I grunted out as I exploded.

“You!” she said, “you c-came in my… butt… oh you dirty… b-bastard!”
Sinking my meat to the hilt I gave Donna what felt like a three quart, cum enema.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, “I’m going to… Ah! Oh! Aaaaaaah!  Yeeeaaaaahhh!”

It felt like every drop of liquid was squirting out of my cock and into Donna’s thrashing rear end.  Her bottom began swaying, shivering and shaking.  She was beating on the side of the toilet with her free hand.  She went primitive.

“I’m coming!” Donna shrieked, “Oh Jeff, I’m… coming… so fucking… hard!  Yes!  I love it… I love cock in my ass… Huh! Uh! Ah! Oooooooooooooh!”

The only thing, it seemed, holding her up was the big prick in her butt.  I let her ride it out.  Donna went nuts and her head began bobbing up and down.  So fast, in fact, her hair whipped her across the back.  Eventually she slid off my sensitive prick, moaning and breathing like she’d run a marathon.

****

            Later on that night, Donna refused to let me sleep and we went at it all night.  When the sun came up we fell asleep in each other’s arms.  I don’t think there was an orifice on her that wasn’t red, sore and satisfied.  My balls were aching, but I wasn’t complaining.

Donna has changed for the better.  No longer does she worry about her weight or how much she’s eaten.  She hasn’t purged in weeks.  She’s happier and more content with life in general since she has a new hobby to fill her time.  Now she counts the hours between deep throating and anal sex.

I’m a lucky guy.

Who Would Jesus Hate?

Since this is an election year we’re hearing more and more about homosexuality.  Naturally most of it is the same spouting, hate-speak.  Let me state for the record I am NOT gay.  Never have been, never will be.  However, I am NOT willing to promote, vote or tolerate the spit-spewing, hateful rhetoric so common in the media. 

Let’s ask ourselves this question (you know, the title of this post?); who would Jesus hate?  Now I’ll be the first to admit me and the Bible don’t get much time together.  However of what I do know is Jesus went among the “sinners” and taught, listened and preached his values.  He didn’t scream, punch or decry to the world these people should be bullied, beaten or murdered.  If the message wasn’t received he simply stated the consequences of further actions.  And no, I’m not going to write Fags go to hell or some other idiocy.  To my knowledge Jesus lost his temper about twice in the Bible.  Merchants in the temple and so forth.  But he FORGAVE those who sinned against him not gathered his twelve friends together, formed a lynch mob and killed the “sinners”. 

I once heard a really great sermon where the pastor stated (and I paraphrase it); “Christians love to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but really hate that part about ‘forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us”.  So you don’t like gays, fine.  But you have to follow your religion to ALSO include you must FORGIVE those who sin against you or you aren’t going to get forgiven by God.  Two wrongs don’t make a right (but two lefts do).  This means going out and hating is WRONG. 

I hope somebody posts a link for this to the Westboro Baptist Church’s site….

When She Was Good…

When She Was Good...

Silver Publishing has released my psychological thriller (non-erotica) novel “When She Was Good..”.  This novel is a departure from my using writing not because it’s a non-erotica (been there, done that) but because the subject matter resonates within my own life.   Here’s another blurb for it:

Patricia Marlowe wakes up in a strange hospital without any memory of how or why she’s there.  To make matters worse the 20 year-old college student doesn’t even know her name until her best friend Eddie Conti finds her.  Eager for information she listens as he starts to fill in the blanks.   Patricia was searching for her twin sister Pam, who’d disappeared from their Ohio home a week ago.  Nobody’s seen or heard from her since. Eddie says Pam is the wild child of the family.  Naughty to Patricia’s nice. 

Pam the bad girl.

Pam the amateur adult film star.

Pam her sister.

But Patricia can’t remember anything.  The amnesia and concussion she has only clouds things more.  As Eddie talks she fears Pam is in trouble—deep trouble.  She and Eddie embark on a quest to find her missing sibling, a woman who hates her and everything she stands for.  What Patricia finds is more than she bargains for.  Will she be able to save her twin or is it too late? 

You can find this at: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/new-release-c-1/when-she-was-good-ebook-p-704

Sylvia’s Initiation: Blue Existence and Red Lust now available!

The first two parts of the trilogy of Sylvia’s Intiation are currently for sale at Sizzler’s Editions (http://shop.renebooks.com/default.asp).  The three novels explore the dangerous, slippery slope from those experimenting with sex after a upbringing in a strict religious enviroment.  Sylvia, a nurse by profession is unhappy with her single status and her view on how all men seem to be after is sex.  To her, sex is dirty and humiliating act only meant for the procreation of the human race.  But a chance encounter with a college professor starts her down this new path.  Will Sylvia go too far?  Or will she cast off the shackles of her impressionable years and embrace sexuality for what it is?

Sylvia's Initiation: Blue Existence

Blurb for Sylvia’s Initiation: Blue Existence

Erotica noir at its darkest and most disturbing. Sylvia Meyers, a nurse who was brought up in an orphanage.  Sylvia seeks true love and scorns the those only interested in sex.  But that all changes when she meets visiting professor Nick Dekker.  Nick is open, honest and very experienced.  Sylvia finds herself intrigued by his matter-of-fact attitude towards sex.  She decided to let him teach her.  Nick helps Sylvia break through the Catholic upbringing even after she regresses after a particular terrible dream.  Sylvia becomes a sexual explorer.  Straight, anal, light bondages and multiple partners are experienced.  Each one permits her to delve deeper and deeper into sexual awareness.  Sylvia also unwittingly becomes a slave to erotic sensations. Can she break the addiction – and should she if she can?

Sylvia's Initiation: Red Lust

Blurb for Sylvia’s Initiation: Red Lust

After discovering her lover was a con-artist, Sylvia takes her hatred towards men to new heights as she begins to experiment in bondage.  Like a moth to a flame Brian Henson is caught up in Sylvia’s web of erotic torment.  In addition to Brian, Sylvia “recruits” her co-worker, Tiffany comes over to witness Brian’s punishment.  During the heat of the action Tiffany finds herself wanting to submit to Sylvia’s sexual domination.  Lives, pleasures and punishments begin to become woven into a dangerous tapestry as Brian and Tiffany vie for Sylvia’s attention.  But Sylvia’s Catholic upbringing once more rears it’s ugly head.  Is Sylvia damning herself or is it all just her imagination?A passionate and wildly erotic tale of sexual initiation by a master of BDSM erotica!   If you liked the first book, SYLVIA’S INITIATION I, then you will absolutely think that this new book in the series is just as hot – if not even hotter!

The Photo Shoot

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following contains adult situations and languages.  If you are not of legal age (ala eighteen) get out now!

Barbara Mentor sat on the blanket.  Beneath her she could feel the sandy from the beach spreading out, deepening to form-fit the contours of her knees, shins and feet.  Five feet away was Zack, the photographer for this shoot.  He was fiddling with his camera with a caution resembling an archeologist handling a priceless specimen.  To her right, just out of camera range was Roger, Zack’s assistant who was clutching a round disc covered in a foil-like, space age material.  His job, or so she’d been told was to reflect the faint rays of the moon onto her body for better lighting.  In reality his job apparently was to ogle, drool and fantasize about her.  He was fat-faced, having basset hound-like jowls which quivered and shook when he spoke.

What kind of pigs do this for free?  Well, I guess I know that answer now, Barbara said to herself, trying to keep the smile on her face. 

Thinking back to the phone call last week Barbara knew this could be her big break, a once-in-a-lifetime offer to grace the cover of a new magazine.  A first issue nonetheless.  It would probably end up a collector’s edition and she would be eternally remembered as the first model on the cover.  But there were no guarantees.  The magazine could flop—just another periodical failing to live up to its hype and not finding a niche in the marketplace.

But Zack swore this wasn’t the case.  From what he said this is a first in the world of magazines!

She’d done a bit of research before agreeing to the photographer’s offer.  There were, as one could imagine millions of magazines dedicated to the country’s (even the world’s) obsession with the supernatural.  But none of them came close to what Zack had told her about the publisher’s intentions to capture subscribers.  Innovation was rare in the business.  Copies of copies flooding the stands (or on the Net) of the same old thing were out there.  Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery but after a while it became too much.  Like trying to listen to thirty radio stations it became a hodgepodge of imagination devoid of noise.

But not this one.

Moonlight Magazine wasn’t anything like the periodicals she found on the Web or the bookstores.  While gothic magazines (from the bizarre to the tame) could be subscribed to this one didn’t show any signs of its more common brethren.  First off, it was funded by a major Hollywood actress.  Debbie McCain, the brunette bombshell of the Slaughter Isle franchise (there were now six flicks out) had put up the cash for it.  Known as the Scream Queen Deluxe, McCain reputation in Tinsel Town was spotless—both on and off the silver screen.  Her first director proclaimed her, “The best talent I’ve had the pleasure of directing” while others remarked about how “natural the camera enjoyed her”.  The second difference was the magazine’s dedication to only the best horror writing tinged with “just a kiss of erotica”.  Big names were penning tales for Moonlight.

Zack, finishing up his adjustments to his precious camera began to survey the surroundings, ponder the lighting and begin to bark out orders.  Roger All-Eyes (as Barbara began to think of him) was shifting around, slinking into another position with his porcine eyes still pegged to Barbara’s bikini-clad figure.

“Okay,” Zack said, “Barbie untie your top and twist about thirty degrees towards the camera.  Hold it so it doesn’t fall off all the way.”

“Zack,” she replied, “don’t call me Barbie. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Sorry, sorry I keep forgetting.  Just do what I want, babe.  This is going to be fun-tastic!”

Gritting her teeth at the mangling of the word fantastic, something Zack was prone to say Barbara began tugging off her tiny, blue top.  Looking over at the fat, squatting form of Roger he began to resemble some hideous mixture of a Doctor Seuss illustration and a lifetime subscriber to Hustler magazine.   Trying not to glare at the pervert she undid the strings of her top, catching it before her breasts were fully exposed.

“Great!” Zack said, “hold that pose!”

Jumping around like he had been kicked in the groin, Zack began snapping off pictures.  Barbara held her position, ignoring Roger’s leering. 

“Okay, put the top aside—twist away from me and give me a pouting, almost embarrassed look, Barbie.”

Choking back the urge to repeat her request about her name, Barbara did as she was instructed.  Zack was leaping and hopping, going from standing to squatting positions the photographer cheering and complimenting her as he worked.

“Great!  Oh, that’s super fun-tastic!”  Zack said, oblivious to his ramblings.

“Yer so hot,” Roger said in a thick muttering voice as if he had just swallowed something thick and gooey.

“Shut up, pervert,” she whispered without moving her lips. Her ire was growing weed-like from the way the man was staring. 

“Damn, we’re losing the light,” Zack said in a grumpy tone.  “I guess this will have to do.”

“What do you mean?” she inquired, the shoot was ending way too soon.

“Got the before pics… now gotta shoot the during and after shots.”

“The what?”

“I told you… Moonlight Mag is different.”

“I don’t… hey, who the hell are… oh my god!  Y-you’re Debbie McCain!”

Barbara hadn’t seen the horror movie star walk up but there McCain was in all her dark haired glory. 

I’m not gay—but damn! She thought.

Debbie McCain was tall, gorgeous and possessing a figure too perfect to be real.  She was wearing a simple dress, purple in color.  Around her waist and propping up her chest (not that they needed it) was a black corset with lavender frills and lacing.  Debbie’s dark eyes were deep liquid pools and Barbara was reminded of the well on her dad’s farm.  Gazing at McCain’s eyes was just like that.  Cool and faraway like the glimmer of water at the bottom of a well.  But her smarts showed through amid all the beauty.  Her intelligence was hidden yet not.  Resembling some secret hidden in plain sight, only someone observant (and Barbara considered herself to be this way) would notice it. 

It’s in her eyes you can see it, Barbara said to herself.

“This is our first cover girl?” Debbie said.

“Yes, what do you think?”  Zack said.

“She’s pretty… she has a vulnerable look to her and that’s perfect.”

“So you approve?”

“Most definitely… you’ve done well, Zack.”

“T-thank you.”

“You’ve earned your paycheck.”

“I’m so happy…  I can’t tell you…”

McCain’s movements, supple and swift cut Zack’s sentence off short when she put her finger to his lips.  Barbara saw the magazine’s financial backer glance over at her.  Still sitting on the blanket, still hiding her nipples with her hands Barbara watching the other woman smile sent a shockwave of hot electricity throughout her body.

She came over, walking as if gliding across the sand.   Her feet not sinking into it, or not at least to the depths which Roger, Zack and herself had.  Just indentations like footprints near the ocean line washed away by two or more waves.

“You’re a pretty one,” Debbie said, touching Barbara’s face as she knelt in front of her.  The gasp was more of a sigh when it oozed past Barbara’s lips from the woman’s caress. 

“Thank you,” Barbara said, her voice sounding far off.

“Yes, you’ll do so very nicely…”

“I will?”

“Of course, darling… of course.”

“Ah!  H-hey!”

Barbara words tumbling out of her mouth like drunken clowns exiting a carnival car when McCain’s fingers began stroking her left nipple.  She flinched away at first.  Then, without thinking about it Barbara was leaning into the light caress.  The view of the woman’s face narrowing from Barbara’s half-closed eyes.  The touch was like velvet pleasure.  As if the sensation could be woven into a soft fabric lightly charged with static electricity. 

“So excitable,” McCain said, her voice a throaty coo.

Barbara looking down saw the nipple between Debbie’s fingers had grown erect.  When she saw the other hand of the woman reach out for her right breasts Barbara, to her surprise found herself leaning towards it.

“Aaaaah,” Barbara said with a groan.

“Soft… aroused… glorious,” McCain whispered.

Barbara’s began to feel like she was drowsing on a raft in the pool.  Her skin heating up as if from the sun’s rays beating down on her.  It wasn’t until she tasted peppermint did Barbara realize Debbie McCain, the Scream Queen Deluxe was kissing her.

Touching her.

Fondling her.

McCain’s fingers were past Barbara’s bikini bottom, caressing, teasing and pressing against the wet, warm delights in Barbara’s nether region.  Dipping in, stopping only to swirl in lazy, light circles Debbie’s fingers stroking the inner walls of Barbara’s pussy. 

I didn’t even feel her hand leave my tit, Barbara mused.

Debbie’s prolonging kiss heating up Barbara’s body had yet to be broken.  When the starlet’s hand departed her nipple to curl around her back Barbara moaned in Debbie’s mouth.   In and out, swirl and stroke, kiss and be kissed became so alluring, mesmerizing Barbara could only enjoy it. 

“You are perfect…,” McCain said in a husky voice after pulling away her seductive mouth.

“Yes,” Barbara said, her tone sounding drawn out with a “don’t stop” tone to it.  The way the woman was affecting her, despite not being a lesbian hardly seemed to matter.  McCain was doing it, that seemed to be the only thing which mattered.

“Oooohhh…. Yyyyesss,” Barbara said with a loud moan when Debbie began nuzzling her neck. Far in the background, a million miles away she could hear the snap-wind of Zack’s camera, the gasping breathing of Roger the Pervert.  But none of this, nothing in the world could annoy or anger Barbara at this moment.

 “Ah!” she said, her voice a quick, raised expulsion of breath.  Hot points grew like flowers on her neck.  Debbie was slurping, kissing and licking the now sensitive flesh on the side of Barbara’s throat.  The pain diminishing like the dying refrains of a thunderclap’s echo.  Rippling and crinkling down to nothing it went. 

I smell… blood? She thought.  The iron-rich scent curling up into her nostrils sparking a tremor of fear.  The gulping jerks of Debbie’s throat giving Barbara rapid-fire ideas of what was happening.

“No!” she shouted, trying to pull away.  No amount of pussy stroking would bring her back to her previous, hypnotized state.  Icy fear replacing the hot passion she’d felt moments before. 

“Get… off… me!” Barbara shouted.  Finding her strength futile against McCain’s steel banded arms Barbara began screaming for help.  Sharp teeth gnashing against her throat sent more agony across Barbara’s neck. 

“Zack!  Get this crazy bitch off of me!”

“Hardly,” he replied.

“No, no, no you’ve got to stop… it hurts… it hurts so bad!”          

“Easy now,” Debbie said softly, as the cold tiredness began emulating from Barbara’s neck.  Weaker and weaker, like the frantic thrashings of a drowning sailor Barbara beat against her foe.  Her eyelids felt like closing garage doors—and she didn’t have possession of the remote.  Her hips, the traitor’s they were still bucking against Debbie’s quickening fingers.  Before the darkness swept over Barbara her orgasm drained the remainder of her strength. 

****

“How do you like them?” Zack asked Ms. McCain.  They were looking at the downloaded pictures from his camera on the lap top.  Seated in Zack’s SUV he watched Ms. McCain’s eyes caressing the images.

“Perfect… a grand layout for our first issue,” Ms. McCain said, ignoring the snapping of bone and the smacking the ghoul Roger’s lips.  Barbara’s body was being disposed of.

“And my payment?”

“Immortality?  When you complete your contract with us.  I believe you have another twelve issues.”

“Yeah… that’s right.”

“Reality, that’s what our readers want—and that’s exactly what they’ll get. Real pictures, real death and real beauties.”

Zack found himself repressing a shudder of fear.

 

               

Sophronia’s Portrait

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following is a work of erotic/horror and not intended for readers under the age of eighteen.  If you are underage, PLEASE LEAVE NOW!

            “You ought to take that thing down,” my mother said, “it’s awful.  I’ve always hated that picture you grandfather seemed to love.”

 

            Standing in the now-empty house where my mother’s father lived by himself for twenty years I felt strange.  Like some invader, a criminal who had sneaked in to steal what he could before the owner came back.  The house seemed to shout amid its silence, “You shouldn’t be here!”.  A din of echoing quietness. 

 

He’d been dead a week—my grandfather.  My mother, his only remaining daughter was standing there with an expression akin to someone just biting into a very sour candy.  Her brow knitting, her eyes half-shut while her lips curled into a disgusted smirk all the while staring at the old portrait in its now-dusty frame.

 

            The picture was sepia, brown hued typical of those old-time photographs from the late 1800s.  White objects blurring into a light umber shade and the deepest color a chocolate color seen only in a bar of thick, rich confection from a candy company.  The frame it sat in, elder enough to predate both myself and my mom combined was darker brown with gold flaked highlights.  Only a small brass plate, a quarter inch wide by three long broke the leaf pattern on the portrait’s housing.  In flowing script seen only in antique shops or on vintage postcards a single name was engraved.

 

            Sophronia.

 

            “Levi,” my mother said, “you should toss it in the trash before you do anything else.”

 

            Standing there I began to wonder why it was so repulsive to my mother.  It had to be the subject of the photograph but there seemed to be something more about it she hated.  Like some dusty reminder of her father’s iron will, memories of her childhood and being raised by very devout Christian parents it seemed to haunt her.  Like old wounds refusing to heal the act of being back in her father’s home went hand-in-hand with the picture she appeared to cast all her ire on.

 

            As for the subject of the photo, what could be said?  She was, of course very young and quite nude.  Her body glowed.  A stark white amid a dark background and the caramel carpet she stood upon.  In front of a mirror the photographer had posed her, angling her body to reveal the woman’s (Sophronia’s?) ample behind.  Her hair, a possible blonde or light brown color was piled up atop her head in a very Victorian fashion.  A strand, thick enough to hide a portion of one ear dangled down to her collarbone.  Sophronia’s face was downcast.  Was it embarrassment from her lack of attire?  Perhaps she was ashamed for being talked into such an act?  Or was she only playing the part of the innocent?  Was there really a trace of a slight smile on her face or was it my imagination?

 

            “Levi?” my mother said.

 

            “What Mom?” I replied.

 

            “You’re not listening to me, are you?”

 

            “Yes I am.”

 

            “Then take down that awful picture.  What do you think Evelyn will say about it?”

 

            I could already imagine what my fiancée’s remark would be.  Her face would contort into a mimic of my mother’s current expression.  Then, as if speaking with my parent’s voice would declare a similar fate for this picture.

 

            “Yeah,” I said after awhile, “I better stick it up in the attic.”

 

            “That’s a good man,” she said, speaking as if to a child. I awaited the possibility of the maternal pat on the head from my mom.  I watched her raise a hand but she dropped it to her side.

 

            “Is Evelyn coming over to help you?” the matriarch of our clan said.

 

            “No,” I answered, “she’s got class tonight.”

 

            “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.  Why you want to keep such a depressing, badly maintained house instead of selling it is beyond me.”

 

            “I like this house.  Besides, I can always sell it after I fix it up.”

 

            “Well, he left it to you.  Goodbye, Levi.”

 

            Watching her leave causing a wave of relaxation to course through my body.  Being in my mother’s presence was a lot like standing in front of a general during morning formation.  Nothing escaped her eyes—no missing buttons, loose collar or unshined shoe.  I wondered if she ever realized she was exactly like her hated father.  Looking up I wondered what Sophronia would have to say about my stuck up mother.

 

            “Probably tell her to loosen up and relax,” I answered for the nude woman.

 

****

 

            It took all day but I cleaned the two story house from top to bottom.  Exhausting myself in my efforts I found myself collapsing in front of the new TV my grandfather bought a year before he died.  Beside me, on the massive coffee table was the cold, sweating can of beer.  Channel surfing while sipping at the icy brew I did little more than vegetate.  I was alone.  Evelyn had called as I had just finished dinner.   Prattling on about her day and queries about how soon the house would be “livable”.  Another conversation just like so many others we’d had.  Just talk—nothing more.

 

            Thump!

 

            The sound came from upstairs and made me choke on the beer.  Straining my ears I heard nothing else.  A nervous laugh bubbling up my throat made my shoulders quake in silent chiding laughter.

 

            It’s probably a box falling in the spare bedroom, I told myself.  Don’t start jumping at shadows.

 

            Leaning back into the high-backed chair I set my beer down and stretched out my legs.  The soft glow of the television, the autumn breeze stirring the last dying leaves on the front yard’s trees were the only sights and sounds I experienced.  Dozing I forgot about the thumping sound.

 

            “Franklin?” a woman said in a tentative, soft voice.

 

            Franklin?  That’s Grandpa’s first name! I thought jolting back to full wakefulness.

 

            “Hello?” I said, standing up, “Who’s up there?”

 

            A pattering of hurried steps thumping through the house sent anxious energy into my limbs.  Rushing over I snatched up the fireplace’s poker to defend myself.  I waited and listened but nobody replied to my question.  Armed with a rod of steel and nerves of melting ice cream I began to ascend the steps in a slow, Don Knotts-like manner.

 

            “Hello?” I called out.

 

            No reply.  Had the interloper rushed into another room to hide or hop out the window and onto the patio’s roof?  My hands shaking I began to open doors in a cautious (self-preserving) manner.  The bathroom, my mother’s old room and even the spare bedroom were empty.  This left me only two more options.  The master bedroom or trudging up the narrow, dark stairs to the attic.

 

            Bedroom first, I told myself.

 

            Reaching for the handle proved pointless—it opened up before I could touch the latch.  Jumping back I began brandishing my improvised weapon like some coward in a gothic horror film.

 

            I-it’s her!

 

            Saphronia was wearing a sheet, probably flinched from one of the boxes I’d packed.  I’d found some yellowed ones in the bottom dresser drawers.  She was no apparition, no spectral image partway standing in reality.  She was whole, solid and real.

 

            Not to mention very frightened.

 

            Drawing back and raising her arms to defend herself Saphronia began backing away with a fearful expression.  Her eyes, brown as a nut went wide in shock then narrowed in anger.

 

            “Where isFranklin?” she said.

 

            “He’s dead.  Died four days ago,” I stated.

 

            “Who are you?”

 

            “I’m Levi, I’m his grandson.”

 

            “Oh, he talked about you.”

 

            “Funny he forgot to tell anyone about you.”

 

            “I’m not surprised.  That would’ve guaranteed his entrance into an asylum.  My name is…”

 

            “Sophronia.”

 

            “Yes, capital!  How did you know my name?”

 

            “It’s written on the plaque on your picture.”

 

            “Oh, that it is.  So tell me, Levi do you like my portrait?”

 

            Lowering the poker I felt my face turn red and become hot.  Sophronia’s eyes were dancing in a merry manner, showing her enjoyment of my embarrassment.  Her subsequent laughter—a womanly merry sound—was a delight to hear.

 

            “I’m sorry but…,” I began.

 

            “It’s to be expected, Levi,” she said waving her hand at me, “after all, who’d believe such a bizarre story?”

 

            “How is this possible?”
            “I know naught of what permits me to come here.  The first time I believed it was all some dreaming fantasy.  However your grandfather convinced me otherwise.”

 

            Blushing even harder my face felt like it was about to burst into flames.  Sophronia laughed even harder at my self-imposed misery.

 

            “Are you, perchance married?” she asked.

 

            “No… but I’m engaged,” I said.

 

            “Ah, but engaged in what, pray tell?  Is your fiancée about somewhere here in the house?”

 

            “No, she’s at her house.”

 

            “I see… “

 

            “And you?  Are you married?”

 

            “Heavens no!  Or I should say at least I don’t thinks so.  I remember nothing when I step out of my portrait.”

 

            She was gorgeous, regal in her posture and quite charming to banter with.  Toying at the stray curl of hair near her right shoulder sent me a message I wasn’t sure I wanted.

 

            “Are you, perhaps a virgin?” Sophronia asked.

 

            So brazen was her query I took a step back, faltering in my retreat. 

 

            “I am… well that is to say….,” I blubbered.

 

            “You are.  I can see it in your eyes,” Sophronia stated.  “Here, let me teach you about the loving arts and thus repay your kindness for not taking down my portrait.”

 

            Stepping into the hallway she encompassed me in a chaste (at first) embrace before kissing me.  Her lips were warm and inviting.  I was lost in the moment.  Locked like two ships at sea I felt her makeshift attire drop from her shoulders. 

 

            I don’t recall being led into the bedroom.  Sophronia undressed me in a manner best described as unhurried, even leisurely.  I was on my back, my cock hard and flat against my loins when she straddled me.

 

            “Oh… god!” I cried out.

 

            Her pussy was hot and damp holding me within her in a hungry grip.  Watching her breasts, milk white with pick rose-like nipples bobbing while she rode me.  She made soft sounds—happy and needful moans.  Leaning towards me, her hair encompassing my face like a silken curtain Sophronia kissed me again.

 

            We thrashed upon the bed in a wrestle of slow motion elegance.  My body grew rigid, quivering from the impending climax. 

 

            “Levi,” she gasped in a single heavy, quick breath.

 

            “Sophronia,” I answered.

 

            My orgasm overwhelming my mind from it all.  My body was going through terrible, happy convulsions until she too reached her climatic peak.

 

            “Oh yes!” she sobbed, “Oh yes… so wonderful! Say you’ll stay… stay with me forever!”

 

            “I-I can’t guarantee…,” I groaned out my reply.

 

            “Please stay.  I think I love you.”

 

            Then she collapsed onto my sweaty chest riding out her tremors of delight.  After a few murmuring kisses, words of thanks from her lips I fell into a dream-filled sleep of crass motherly words and shrieking fiancée demands.  But they, like my orgasm soon passed into nothingness.

 

****

 

            I awoke alone with the dawn’s rays seeping through the drawn curtains.  With much regret I showered and dressed.  Passing by her portrait I saw Sophronia was smiling.  Would I see her again?  Would I adhere to my mother’s wishes and take down the portrait.  How would I explain to her, or Evelyn for that matter?  I didn’t care.  I knew why my grandfather was smiling in his casket.  Sophronia was here like she had always been.  Years untold she’d climbed from the picture and loved the man of the house.  For how long?  I had no idea.  My mother was right to hate the portrait.

 

“It stays,” I told Sophronia’s portrait, “You stay right where you are. The rest of the world be damned.”

 

 

           

 

           

 

           

 

 

 

           

           

           

 

 

TSA T&A

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotica, if you’re under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW or a horde of zombie mice will visit you at night, enter through your ears and eat your brain.

           The airport was crowded with grumbling businessmen, exasperated parents and whining children all pressed together creating a casserole of a bubbling dish of humanity.  Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport also was suffering a malfunction in their air-conditioning system.  Bad enough everyone around (myself included) were angry but we were hot and sweaty as well.  The heat simmered the human-stinking stew that nobody wanted to smell let alone taste.

            I’d been in Dallas for two weeks.  The erotica writers convention I’d attended turned out to be as busy as expected.  However on a personal note it’d turned out to be a bust in the romance department.  Melody, my ex-girlfriend had dumped me for a younger woman—a goddamn red-haired bimbo of a secretary.  She was sneaking around with this woman while I was pounding the keyboard and trying to edit a novel.  So oblivious to what was going on around me I didn’t figure it out until Melody came home, bimbo on her arm and declared she was leaving me.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot and I was bitter, angry and upset.  Not the best of moods to traipsing off to Texas to be surrounded by my fans.  I’d tried to be cordial and polite.  But after the first hour of autograph signing, my books being held straight guys (I have a lot of those kinds of followers) and little old ladies I was pissy.

The gala ball, a formal event on Saturday did little for my mood.  Apparently I was lesbian poison, nobody looked my way.  Maybe it was how I carried myself.  Stomping around the convention floor like a badger with a sore tooth hadn’t helped.  The ball was a bust.  I’d hoped I’d find a distraction at least here in Texas.  Not looking for a permanent thing it had been my hope and dream some pretty little thing might be the perfect salve for my wounded heart.

            Oh well, I thought, at least I’m headed back to San Francisco.

            Standing in the long line at the TSA checkpoint, my long hair frizzing out from the heat and humidity I tried to remain a calm island in a sea of irate, tired people.  Behind me a man was loudly grumbling about the wait.  His blown-up ego, towering self- importance was being prickled like a rabbit in a thorn bush about his missing his flight.  In front of me a woman and her two young children fidgeted, swaying from foot to foot.  The lady’s kids whined, pissed and moaned until I had to concentrate on the sweat trickling down my back before I committed murder.  So I stood there.  Tired, horny and angry in my business jacket, skirt and white blouse trying to forget the humid air and press of bodies.  The line moved forward.  It was just a single step forward, too short to make me cheer but at least we moved.  I wasn’t looking forward to TSA’s tender ministrations.  I’d seen too many online videos about how rude, rough and callous the agents were to airline passengers. 

            “Hey!” I exclaimed when my left bicep was grabbed unexpectedly.

            She was built like a brick.  A few inches taller than me but carrying an additional fifty pounds the federal employed agent appeared to be able to toss me over her shoulder and carry me off if need be.  Her short blonde hair was cut in a men’s style.  Her grip on my arm was firm and chock full of authority.  The woman’s chest was distorting the TSA logo on her shirt and making the pen in her pocket stick out at an angle.  Her “I’m taking no shit off anyone” expression was plastered on her face like a bad Halloween mask.  She wasn’t ugly—just hating her job.  Squeezing my arm and spoke in that cute drawl all Texans have.

“Miss Henderson, you’ve been randomly chosen to undergo additional screening,” the uniformed woman said.

            “Why me, Agent Holland?” I asked her after reading her name tag.

            “Your name was pulled randomly,” she said.

            “I’m not setting foot in that body scanner.  I’ve read online on how they can cause cancer.”

            “That means you’ll have to undergo a full body pat down.”

            “Fine.”

            I didn’t mean for my reply to carry that much sarcasm but it did.  Agent Holland scowled at my words.  I followed her (not that I had a lot of choice) to the side of the checkpoint and into a small room.  Another woman, a small slip of a girl followed us in.  This chick was brunette and didn’t seem happy to do her job.  She kept shooting Holland a look of mild disgust.

            “Put your purse and briefcase on the table, please,” she said, shutting the door.

            I obeyed only because I wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, get on the plane and have a stiff drink.  The TSA agent snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves.  I tried not to swallow like some prisoner seeing the gallows from her jail cell.

            “Place your hands on your head, please,” Holland said, her voice blasé and bored sounding.

            “I’m goin’ for coffee, want any?” the brunette said, her tone quivering.

            “You have to stay,” Holland said, “it’s procedure.”

            “It’s okay, I don’t care,” I replied.

            As the other agent left I put my hands on my head.  With my arms up Agent Holland walked over and began to run her hands down from my wrists to my elbows.  I flinched a bit.  She gave me a smile which seemed to say, “Yeah, I know but it’s my job, okay?”.  Across my shoulders her hands went.  Searching my back I shivered from Holland’s touch, the feel of her wide palms as she stroked me. 

            “Mmmm,” I moaned with hot, quick embarrassment when her hands ran across my ass.  But the sensation of her squeezing and parting the soft cheeks had caught me off guard.  Like I said, I was lonely, horny and a bit sensitive.  It wasn’t an excuse, it was the state of my mind and body.

Holland didn’t seem to hear my comment.  She went about her business and I found myself biting my lip when she explored my legs down to my feet.  I knew what was coming next.  The return trip of her hands would come near my pussy, my neglected and now wet pussy.  Agent Holland stood up, the upward caress abandoned.  When she reached for my chest I know she had to see the fear and excitement in my eyes. 

Oh please, don’t react! I told my nipples. 

Running her blue latex fingers under the wire of my bra I felt those traitorous nubs swell and stand up.  I tried to distract myself.  I examined the ceiling and walls and tried to forget how aroused I was.  But Holland’s hair carried a nice herbal scent, her body’s heat swept over me and her hands were now on my tits.

Oh… fuck…that feels sooooo good.

I felt as if I was about to bite through my lower lip as the agent probed my large breasts.  Whether it was an accident or on purpose I let out a soft, slow groan of ecstasy when her thumb crossed my right tit’s areola. 

“S-sorry,” I said when she looked up.

“You’re gay?” Holland asked.

“Y-yeah, is that a problem?”

“No. I’ll try to make this quick and professional.”

Her answers and questions were spoken in a gruff, no-nonsense manner as if she could care less.  But I caught the slight crinkling of the left side of her mouth.  Her lip tugged upward in a very “Ah, ha!” sort of fashion.  I knew without asking this thick bodied woman wasn’t straight.  She looked like a bull-dyke and my anticipation grew in leaps and bounds.  She was gay—and a very interested lesbian at that.

Her hands released my tits and ran down my flat stomach causing it to quiver in trembling spasms.  Holland knelt and her hand reached my skirt’s waistband and I couldn’t help myself.

I leaned into her.

Hard.

Holland chuckled making her breath whoosh into my stomach making me shudder as if a cold breeze had wafted past me. 

“Been awhile, huh?” she said.

“T-too long,” I stammered out with a moan.

“Poor darlin’…”

She stood up.  I looked into her blue eyes and saw she was also quite excited by my reactions to her touch.  A faint smile appeared on her lips and her eyes unlocked from mine Holland glanced over my shoulder.

“The camera’s on,” she said.  “I’m going to help you out just don’t scream or cry out, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I said my words trembling with arousal.

Still kneeling she lifted my skirt.  My face grew hot, my cheeks warming to the erotic encounter I never expected.  Pushing her latex-clad fingers into my sex I shook from stem to stern.  The smell of her gloves, the pressure on my pussy and the nearness of her lips to my love bud increased my excitement to the nth degree. 

Oh please… kiss it… touch your lips to my pussy, I thought-begged at her.

Agent Holland went behind me leaving me feeling cold and abandoned.  My skirt falling over my needy slit like a bank’s vault door slamming down.  Henderson’s Savings and Loan had been sealed, or so the thought occurred to me.  I wanted to cry.  The feeling I’d be left unfulfilled and sexually frustrated washed over me like someone tossed a bucket of dirty water across my face. 

I was still looking down when it happened.  My body jerked making my tits wiggle when I saw her arms go around my waist.  Like naughty blue spiders her fingers sought out the hem of my skirt once more.  She raised it slow and easy.  Shutting my eyes to concentrate and enjoy it all I managed to suppress a moaning sob when her fingers neared the top of my panties.

I knew the crotch of my underwear was damp from my excitement.  I could feel the air caressing the moist, throbbing spot.  Holland’s fingers pressed on either side of my cunt and I tried not to bend at the waist from delight.  She stroked my pussy.  Tender flicks of her finger across the engorged bud of my clit made me whimper past tightly pressed lips.  My labia were spread.  Holland’s digits were on either side pushing my thick pussy lips and allowing her to run another finger from my slit’s base to the sensitive nub.  Through the material of my panties she caressed me.  My hips bucked and my knees began to wobble.  The TSA dyke stroked me for a few minutes until I was silently gasping for more.

“Just follow me,” Holland said into my right ear.

She walked me backwards, we paused briefly and I felt her sit down.  Her hands never left my sweltering cunt.  Her wet latex-covered digits firmly caressing past the cotton panties and teasing my eager quim.

“Hey!” I exclaimed when pulled into her wide lap.

My legs were spread apart, the left side of my panties bypassed and Holland’s finger slipped inside my pussy.  I leaned forward.  The woman behind me sank her digit as far as it could go into my hungry snatch.  I tried to, but failed to contain my sob of delight when her other hand began stroking my clit. 

“Like that?” Holland said in an amused, aroused tone.

“T-the camera… what about t-the camera?” I mumbled.

“I’ll delete the file.  Just sit back and enjoy.”

“The other agent… what about her?”

“She won’t be back… relax and enjoy it, darlin’.”
            I leaned back and laid my head against her shoulder.  Holland kissed my cheek as she continued to finger-bang me.  Two latex-coated digits now filled me.  Squeezing and pinching my clit Holland made me gasp in hot, heavy breaths until I couldn’t think straight.  I ground my ass against her lap trying to wedge her fingers as deep as possible.  The sloppy sounds of her fingering me, the musky scent of my pussy and the sight of her hands shoved deep into my panties dominated my senses. 

“Oh… no, please… don’t,” I whined when the hand on my clit was pulled away.

“Relax,” Holland said.

I was pushed forward and felt the TSA agent fumbling around her chest.  A big, warm sphere now rested against my back.  Holland pulled me across her lap with the ease of a nurse handling a newborn.  My ass slid across her pants and I hoped I wasn’t leaving a wet spot on her trousers.  In the end I hung there half-on and half-off her closed thighs.  My legs dangling off her right leg, bent at the knee with my feet on the floor of the examination room.  I could feel my long brown hair sweeping against her shirt.  Without warning Holland pushed her massive tit with its erect nipple into my greedy mouth.  I sucked it hard.  My face was mashed against the soft, firm breast and it eclipsed my view.  Holland’s hand resumed stroking my clit and penetrating my pussy.

“So wet… so hungry,” she said about my cunt.  “You’re so nice and slippery.”

“Mmph,” I agreed past a mouthful of tit-meat. 

I tongued her nipple, Holland let out a gasp of her own.  The squishing sounds of her fingers delving into my snatch grew louder and wetter.  My knees fell apart.  Holland’s fingers became more persistent in their actions.  Flicking my clit the woman made me whimper into her breast. 

Oh yes… faster, faster baby… flick my bean f-f-faster! I thought at her. 

I grabbed her tit with both hands making her nipple distort in my mouth.  Squeezing and sucking, licking and nipping I tried to give as good as I was getting.  A third finger was inserted into my puss.  My face fell away from her massive tit, a long moan made my lips vibrate.

“Aaaaaaaah,” I cried out.

Holland stuffed her tit back into my face.  The squishy sounds of her fingers deeply penetrating my cunt sounded like a dog’s greedy gulping a bowl of water.  My inner tissues were spread as far as they could go, my pussy clenched and trembled in pre-orgasmic preparations.  I didn’t want to cum—not yet.  Fighting past the sensations I tried to hold it off.  I wanted a monster orgasm.  Hoping to be launched off her lap like the space shuttle I held back.

“Come for me, baby,” Holland said, her own voice husky and emotional.

No…no, not yet, I thought.

“I wanna feel and see your pretty pussy go ape-shit crazy.  Cum for me, darlin’… cum ever so hard.”

I released the remaining hold on my climax’s leash. 

My body went spastic on Holland’s lap.  It must’ve been what a fish out of water felt like, flopping and wagging its tail in a struggle to go back into its watery home.  Thrashing against the woman’s body I jerked, wiggled, bent and straightened out like some convulsing ER patient.  All the time the big woman kept stuffing her fingers into my slit and rubbing my clit as if to call a genie forth from my sex. 

My lips popped off her nipple. I tried to control my urge to shout to the heavens to let everyone know I was having a killer climax  I just managed to control my voice.

“Aaaagghh… aaaahhh…. Oh. My. God,” I grunted suppressing my need to wail.

“Ooooh, you’re so sexy when you orgasm,” Holland said.

My head lolled on my neck giving me a perfect view of the ceiling which seemed to rock from an earthquake.  It took me a few seconds to realize it was me moving not the building.  Holland leaned forward and kissed me hard, fast and deep.  Our tongues wrestled, she tasted like peppermint gum.  So passionate was the kiss it lengthened my orgasm by two-fold.  Her lips locked on mine, her fingers jammed into my pussy and the shaking of my body was all I knew after a while.  The warm, arrhythmic spasms began as my climax wore down.  I jerked occasionally on Holland’s lap, she held me and kept me from falling off.  I felt like a load of wet, limp laundry.  Just happy to be and nothing more.  She took her mouth from mine but not before giving my lips on last quick peck.

“T-thank you,” I breathed out more than said.

“All part of TSA’s friendly service,” Holland said with a chuckle.

“The service was outstanding.”

“You live in Dallas or Fort Worth?”

“No, San Francisco.”

“A shame. I was hoping to ask you out on a date.”

“Aw, that’s sweet… but I won’t be back until next year.  The erotica writers convention, you know.”

“I know.  I read your books Miss Henderson.  I’m a big fan.”

“What?”

“Can I get an autograph?”

I was stunned.  Climbing out of her arms and off her lap I smoothed out my skirt while staring at her.  Holland’s face was open, honest and could barely contain her arousal.  She handed me a piece of white paper from a pad in her pocket.  Taking the pen out of her hand I started to write before I remembered I didn’t know what her first name was.

 “What’s your first name?” I asked.

“Dorothy.  Dorothy Holland, Miss Henderson,” she replied.

“You can call me Betty.  After all, any woman whose stuffed her fingers up my cunt and made me cum until I’m shaky can’t call me Miss Henderson.”

“Okay, Betty.”

Dorothy’s face turned pink from embarrassment.  I realized she wasn’t prone to this sort of outlandish behavior.  Her shy nature exposed made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  It wasn’t love—or I didn’t think so at the time.  Yet there was something there, something tangible I wanted to explore. 

“I never suspected you’d let me do that… I’m kinda shocked,” Dorothy said.

“You silly,” I said with a laugh.  “My website states clearly I’m gay.”

“Oh… it does?”

“You knew that… you just wanted to tease me, didn’t you?”

“The computer didn’t pull your name out.  I lied.  I saw you and couldn’t believe it was you.  I told the senior agent I wanted an autograph and he let me pick you out of the crowd.  I knew you were gay, but wouldn’t be interested in a girl like me.  I’m not exactly a swimsuit model, ya know.  At least this way I could touch the woman whose books I adore legally.”

“Why you naughty girl, Dorothy!  Yeah, you’re not my usual type but I do find you attractive—even before your little body cavity search.”
“Sorry, can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?  I’d like to eat you until you scream but I have to catch this flight.”

“Now who’s the tease?”

“Me, I guess.”

I noticed I’d left a wet mouth print on her right tit.  The desire to pull out her left and make them equal in arousal and moist consumed me.  I couldn’t take my eyes off how her boob was sticking out of her white TSA shirt and hanging over her bra.  Walking over I took a business card out of my purse.  With quick and nervous fingers I wrote down my unlisted phone number along with the one for my cell.  I handed it to Dorothy who’s face went slack with shock.  Her mouth dropped open and this made me happily think how’d I’d like to resume that kiss.  She took the card and I kissed her fast on the mouth.  She surprised me, it seemed only right to do the same to her.

“Call me when you get a chance,” I told her.

“But we live so far apart.  How are we going to get together?” Dorothy asked.

“We can’t I don’t have the cash for a return flight for awhile… do you have a computer?  A webcam?”

“I don’t have a webcam.”

“That’ll have to do.  We can get together online.”

“Phone sex?”

“If you like.  After all I’m a writer.  Just think about how nasty and dirty I can talk.”

I knew she could by her instant reaction. Her face went from a pinkish shame to scarlet excitement at the thought of what I’d say.  She shuddered in the chair making it squeak and creak.

“Maybe we can meet halfway—at a nice no-tell motel…,” I remarked in my best seductive voice.  “You.  Me.  A bottle of lube, several vibrators and no clothing for an entire weekend.  Sound good?”

“Oh god,” she moaned.  “I wish… but I don’t have any vacation time.”

“Well it’s a thought.  I think I’ll put this little encounter in my next book—if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be a character in one of your novels?”

“If you want I can change your name.”

“No, that’s okay.  Wow!  Wait until I tell my roommate Jill about all this!”

“You do that, sweetie,” I said kissing her on the cheek.

She blushed even redder.

“Are we done here?” I asked.

“Yeah… unfortunately,” Dorothy said with a giggle.

“I’ll be in touch if you don’t call first.”

“I-I will…”

“Thanks, Dorothy.  Thank you for everything.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Mine too.  Just don’t forget to delete that file from the camera over there.  I don’t want to be a star on the Internet.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

I walked out of the room, my legs still shaky from my orgasm.  Walking past the other TSA agents I noticed how they were acting.  The skinny brunette who’d left the exam room was all but gagging in repulsion.  She must’ve been in on it.  I worried Dorothy’s job might be on the line if this breeder reneged on the deal she’d made with Dorothy.  The fat guy sitting by the computer, probably the senior agent was licking his lips and leering at me.  The other men were crowded around him their eyes fixated on the monitor.  Their bodies were hunched over like coroners during an autopsy as they watched the instant replay.  Most of them sported wood.  I wondered how many would excuse themselves, go to the bathroom and jerk off.  I laughed.  They looked up, grinned like felons so I gave them a wink and they all got embarrassed.  The people in line were shooting me looks of utter disbelief.  Perhaps my cries weren’t as muffled as I thought.

Fuck ‘em, I thought, strolling past them with my head held high.

I slept like the dead on the flight back to San Fran.

****

            The rest of the story goes something like this.  Dorothy deleted our little escapade from the TSA computers but saved a copy for us both.  It’s supposed to be impossible but I knew better.  The Internet was filled with TSA shots of women’s and men’s nude bodies from the scanner.  As for the file… well, she sent a copy to me.  If I thought getting it firsthand was hot, viewing it was a whole new experience for me.  I watched it twice and masturbated the last time with my favorite dildo.  Plunging it into my sopping wet pussy, watching Dorothy woman-handle me until I climaxed I drove myself to another screamer.  I came as hard then as I did on the monitor. 

Dorothy called a week later.

I talked dirty for three hours.

Dorothy climaxed, half-dozen times—I had four myself.

TSA found out about the entire finger-fucking, tit sucking session and acted accordingly.  Dorothy got fired.   Somebody squealed and I figured it was the homophobic brunette who left us alone.  So jobless and craving me, Dorothy was in a peck of trouble (her words, not mine).

I had no choice.

I flew Dorothy out to San Francisco, let her stay with me under the false pretense for just  awhile so she could find another job and apartment.  She’s now a bouncer at a gay bar and it’s working out for both of us.  We drive each other crazy at night.  Keeping with our first encounter she occasionally dresses up in her old uniform (she kept her spare, I paid for it when TSA was told it was lost) and “searches” me.  Last night she bent me over the coffee table in front of my webcam.  I didn’t have any explosives on (or in) my body but I did have an explosion.  Of the orgasmic kind, I mean.  Howling and screaming in delight I detonated while she reamed my hot, hungry pussy and slid her greased thumb up my puckered anus.  I came hard—my fingers are still shaking on the keyboard—you see, we just finished before I started writing this. 

Shocked?  I write about what we do in bed, on the couch, in the elevator, on the balcony and in the bathroom  To make sure I get it right, we record our antics.  And I do mean everything.  Ours is a no-holds-barred, living on the edge style of sex.  Because of Dorothy and the digital recordings my writing has taken on a kinkier aspect, even my editor has commented about how more real and hot it sounds.  I couldn’t agree more.  It’s been four months and I don’t want Dorothy to move out.  We’re not exactly in love but it’s all good—Dorothy doesn’t want to go anyway.  So who says the TSA don’t provide a necessary service? 

They sure did for this lonely lesbian.