This story I started out as a Wicked Wednesday post. The prompt was hand-holding, which happens to fit nicely with one of my favourite ways to give the Fella a handjob. But I didn’t get it finished before the deadline so decided to change my personal piece into a bit of erotica. I combined what I had with an idea I had for Kink of the Week, et voila.
A few weeks ago, my best friend Jace and I made a deal. See, we each have something we want but can no longer get it from the people who used to give it to us. So instead we’ve decided to swap favours. Do one another a solid. He’s going to scratch my back and I’m… you get the picture.
That’s why we’re wedged into the back seat of his little banger, Jace with unbuttoned jeans and me with my tits out. It’s not all that late in the day, but the country lane we’re parked on is lined with trees that overhang the road so it’s pretty dark inside the car. I can’t see his face to properly gauge how he’s feeling. And that means he can’t see mine either, so unless one of us breaks the ice we’ll be sat here hanging out probably indefinitely. Continue reading “Backseat Deal”
Image owned by (and of) the beautiful Candy Snatch Reviews
This piece is basically me flexing my fingers in practice for #EUPHOFF. To be honest, the only thing sexy about it is the picture of Candy at the top but I’m publishing it anyway cos it made me giggle. Hope it gives you a smile, too.
19-50-CANDY what’s your pleasure…
Uh, yeah. Hi. So I, uh, I was cruisin’ just now and decided to hit Jenny’s for an ice cream float. While I was takin’ a leak, I lamped your picture stuck to the wall. I don’t usually… but wowee, you are one hot mama. A total knockout. Anyway, the card said to give you a bell for a good time and I couldn’t resist callin’.
Tell me what you want, Big Daddy… Continue reading “Dial 19-50-CANDY”
I shouldn’t be in here. Not much of the place is off limits to us, but his place…well, it goes without saying that we’re just not allowed in. My mother once said curiosity would kill me, but her prophecy will only come true today if he catches me. My luck has held so far. It got me here despite everything going on out there. Really, if I have to die I would have it be his way. Quick and final. I don’t want to still be once I’m gone.
He doesn’t have as much in the way of belongings. I’d expected a leader like him would have everything that could still be used. I mean, he does have the dart board and the pool table, the TV, DVD and the generators to use them. And the bar. He has that, too.
But it’s all out there where other people can see that he has it. Symbols scattered around this battered old factory to show the man has status. Power. Look at me, they say, the world is fucked beyond comprehension and I can still rack up and shoot pool if I want to. I’m owning this shit. Continue reading “I Love Lucille”
Image used with permission of Floss Liddell
The walk from my back door to the bottom of my garden is a short one. Thirty steps, give or take. Even so, it always takes me a good twenty minutes to shamble down the length of the stepping stone path. Partly because I dislike the heavy feeling I get in my heart when I reach the end and partly because, every few feet along the way, a different memory is called forth.
See that stone bench over there with the carved koi base? When Jenny lived here, we’d use it as a spanking bench. We’re both tall and the bench is low and close to the fence, but we’d made it work.
And the park bench, iron-footed with wooden slats, is where I used to bind Teresa with shackles. That memory always makes me smile in a way she would have called dirty. It can’t be helped, though. The sides are just far enough apart for her legs to be as wide open as any pair of legs could be. Look, underneath it. There, in the grass. That’s the riding crop I used to spank her soft folds with. I can’t bring myself to take it inside. Not now that she’s gone. Continue reading “All That Remains”
Okay, sugar, park your ass on the sofa. Yeah, right there on the throw. The pink of your skirt looks good against that baby blue, right? And damn, I love the way those white knee socks pop against the black leather down there. That blonde hair of yours is gonna pop against the black, too. Lean back a little, lemme see. Fluff your pigtails a bit. Yeah, just as I thought. Pop!
Now sit forward, right on the edge of the seat, and part your legs. Wider. A bit more. Good, good! Now keep your feet where they are – fuck, those Mary Jane’s are hot – and pull your knees together. Nice!
Elbows on your knees. Shoulders back, hands on your chin. Ohh, cute. Now that’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Tommy? She’s got some striking eyes on her, amarite? Damn, I could look into those peepers all day long. You make my heart throb, do you know that? Come on, flutter your lashes for me. Lick your lips. Gimme your best pout. Fuck, you’re making something else throb now, too. Continue reading “Pretty in Pink”
It’s May’s birthday. Her gal-pals arranged a humdinger of a night in the local strip joint for her. Though May and I are a relatively new thing, they still asked me if I was okay with it. I said yes, of course. Dictating what my partners can and can’t do has never been my style. If I’m honest, I kinda wish I’d been invited along, but it was an all-woman affair so me and my dick stayed home. Continue reading “#StoryIn12 – Drunk as(s) Fuck”
Glenda has a new book. It’s one of those books. A… shh… a sex book. She bought it because things aren’t going so well in that department for Arthur and herself. At first, she’d thought it was because they were new at it. You see, neither of them had done it before they were married. Arthur confessed on their wedding night that he’d taken himself in hand on occasion (those occasions were actually uncountable, though he didn’t tell his bride that) but Glenda blushed when she admitted that she had not.
Arthur had wondered at her confession because of course she had not. Why would she, a woman, do such a thing? After an awkward fumbling of buttons and arranging of fabrics in the dark, they’d finally come together. Well, that is somewhat misleading. Arthur came, Glenda did not. Continue reading “Doing It by the Book”
Image used with permission of Little Switch Bitch. To see it in its original home, click here.
As a rule, my stories are all written on the day they’re published. But not this time. This post is what it looks like when I cheat because I lifted this partial chapter from an abandoned project that I started in 2016. When I saw this week’s Masturbation Monday prompt I couldn’t help but think of this scene, so I’ve decided to share it with y’all. It’s a long one, though, so get comfy before going in. Enjoy, folks.
I stared at the golden numbers in front of me, wondering for the thousandth time since I’d arrived at Glenville Royal Hotel just what the hell I was doing.
Every step of the way here, I’d fully intended to head to room sixty-four to spend the night with my boss and apparently on-again lover. I’d scrambled into the lift, telling the guy beside me that I was going to the second floor, only to still be standing there, smiling awkwardly, when he vacated on the fourth. I went all the way up to the top floor, palm sweating around the card with one six nine hand-printed in the corner. Continue reading “An Abandoned Chapter”
Image owned by Adrian Kenney
“Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!”
Ugh, I should have grabbed a towel to dry my hands instead of my t-shirt, my belly feels all clammy with dirty dishwater. Shit, I’m breaking my fucking neck, now! Chew toys all over the floor again, this sodding dog! Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, no, don’t…
I always get to that damned phone a second after it stops ringing. Charlie can whine all she likes, I’m gonna have the landline taken out altogether, it’s a pain in my arse. There’s no point to it anyway now that everyone and their dog has a mobile. See, mine is buzzing right now and I don’t have to flee all over the house to answer it cos it basically lives in my pocket. It’s something I will never, ever misplace. Continue reading “Just One More”
Image used with permission of Cara Thereon.
Isabelle has come to me ready to play, wearing nothing but a grass green leather harness that frames her perky tits and runs down her belly to disappear somewhere in her crotch. Her black hair is lightly perfumed by the wintersweet tucked into her braids, and her skin is sprinkled with a fine glitter powder that sparkles red and gold beneath the halogen stars in the hall ceiling.
It really pains me to take her coat and bundle her through the spare room door, but I make myself do it. I make myself stuff her hand-written instructions into her palm, and I force myself to close the door and lock it. Then I lean against it for almost five minutes, waging a war with desire. I want to free her, to take her over my knee and blister her ass cheeks with my palm before shoving my fingers into her cunt until she soaks my jeans. Continue reading “Entertain Me”