The Gentleman – Reunion

Read Part One here.

When Emily found herself looking into his eyes again the thrill that coursed down her spine stunned her; it landed where she’d felt his fingers almost two months earlier. Deep in her center where no man had touched before.

“Sam!” she heard the exclamation slip out under caught breath, spoken by someone else.

He was pulling her against him as though rescuing her from the incoming tide of boarding passengers; those eyes on level with her own told a different story.

His warm breath blew over her face and smelled of acidic coffee and living heat. “Where have you been?” It was more demand than anything. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell if he was angry or happy to see her.

“I got transferred,” she stuttered. “The temp agency-”

His mouth covered hers. Not gently or with any romantic undertone or request for permission. Hungry and taking. She felt his lips, his teeth, tasted his tongue and sagged against him. She held his shoulders for support. His hand was inside her coat against the small of her back and drawing her hard against his body.

The bus started and they swayed. He ended the kiss and almost pushed her into the seat, sliding in behind her, his big hand locked on her wrist.

Her brain was flooded with chemicals, a cocktail of lust, joy, a touch of fear, all tempered by relief. Relief that he was here again. When he started to loosen his grip, she put her other hand over his and squeezed. She searched his face hoping he understood.

The hard set of his lips softened, curved, and his fingers tightened. “I thought that was it,” he said softly. “I’d never see you again.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. Or if you wanted me to.”

She felt him slip something into her pocket. “My fault.”

The bus stopped, and it wasn’t his stop or hers. But they were disembarking. He pulled her behind him until they were on the street, then pulled her to his side. She wanted to ask but knew better. These chances weren’t afforded often. Life had been miserable thinking she’d never see him again.

Nothing mattered except that she be close to him right now. In this moment she’d follow him anywhere.

The hotel sign loomed. There was no hesitation in the sound his hard-soled shoes made. He held the lobby door for her, met her eyes as though checking that she was aware and present, if she was consenting. She passed him and waited. Waited for him to take her arm again, to tell her where to go, what to do. The complete surrender of control was a high.

He did, momentarily. She found herself standing beside an overstuffed armchair in a generically industrial fabric, and he leaned in and brushed her lips. “Wait here.”

She nodded and sat down. She watched him walk to the desk. Took in the lines of his body under his trench coat, took in the shine on his shoes. His shock of white hair, the confident way he carried himself. He didn’t walk. He strode. He spoke softly and with authority, he fostered no hesitation toward anything.

Her heart pounded. She wished she was better prepared, that her underthings matched, that she had shaved this morning, that she was wearing a little more makeup. It didn’t temper the reaction of her body, the flood of heat, the knowledge that it would be moments before she was audibly begging for him. How did she know that?

He turned and strode back to her, his hands in his coat pockets. He smiled slightly as he reached out as one would reach for the hand of a child or a charge. She accepted without hesitation or thought.

The elevator doors closed. He pushed the button and faced her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Is this what you want?”

Did it matter? Would he take it anyway? “Yes.”

“No,” he said.

“No what?”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you didn’t want me to.” He smiled. It sparked his eyes.

“You can tell I do?”

The doors opened and his hand was on her arm again, propelling her down the dim hall. There were large arrangements of white flowers on the squat tables beneath the wall sconces. The swipe of the keycard, and they were inside. Shrugging out of their coats with their lips locked, and she felt like the hungry teenager she’d never been. His hands were on her, touching with a surprising softness. A gentleness that added heat to the hunger of his mouth on hers, on her ear, her jaw, her neck. She felt his touch trail down her side, pushing her clothing away, around her hip and into the band of her trousers. He stayed on top of her cotton briefs, his mouth back on hers, stealing her breath out of her lungs.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She put them on either side of his neck, feeling the soft velvet of his earlobes, the line of his jaw, the strong vulnerability of his neck; her sex was melting, running.

His fingers found it, the wet cotton, and he touched her through it. Everything slowed. His touch slowed. His breath against her cheek exhaled with a gentle rumble that vibrated the wall of his chest against her breasts. His whiskey voice in her ear; “You are a hungry little girl, aren’t you, Emily?”

They elicited an animal groan from her. She found her arms around his thick body, her fingers like claws falling down the linen fabric over his back, one thigh sliding upward against his, opening, giving him better access. She turned her head and caught his mouth, found his tongue and sucked as his fingers played and ground the soaked and slick fabric against her clit.

One hand slid around his body, found his cock and she wrapped her fingers around it, taking his trousers with her, being mindful of the zipper as she gripped and stroked his length. She tasted the shiver that ran through him. Heard it in the bass of another soft growl.

He stepped back and she moaned in protest. He raised his fingers to his mouth, inhaled and then tasted, his gaze locked on her face. Her knees trembled. It felt like her skin was moving with the rhythm of her heart, everything on her, in her, pulsed. Maybe this was what being alive felt like.

He touched his damp fingertips to her lower lip then withdrew, turned and walked to the bed. He sat on the edge and took off his shoes, started unbuttoning his shirt. “Over here, baby,” he said softly. He motioned at a space of carpet two feet in front of him.

She obeyed while her brain whispered what the fuck? at her.

“Undress for me, sweet girl.”

Could he see her trembling? She was paralyzed.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to show me? Show me your skin, your secrets, how badly you want to be fucked right now?”

She nodded.

“Can’t hear your head rattle, sweetie.”

She cleared her throat and cringed at the sound of her own voice. “Yes.”


“Yes, Sir.”

He smiled. “You’re a good girl, Emily. Now, let Daddy see.”

She thought she could almost reach orgasm purely at the caress of those words, coupled with the intensity of his stare and the quiet patience of his body even while she felt his heartbeat and the the throb of his cock from here. Her hands went to the bottom of her sweater and she slowly peeled it over her head. Underneath, a serviceable white lace bra, nipples clearly hard and dark through it. She was self-conscious of her stomach, soft and white over her slacks. She subconsciously sucked it in, and barely caught the glimmer lighten his countenance.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Let’s get those pants off.” As he spoke, he opened his own trousers, and took his cock out, stroking it lightly.

She fumbled with the button. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…” she trailed off.

He smiled. “What are you apologizing for?”

The flush crawled up her chest and into her face. “I would have been better prepared.”

“What’s worrying you?”

The trousers fell, revealing heather gray briefs with a very evident dark spot. She stepped out of them and bent to remove her patterned trouser socks. “Not my prettiest things,” she said apologetically.

He looked and gave a small shake of his head without his eyes leaving her. He motioned her to turn with his free hand, and when she faced him again, he said, “You’re so sexy. Far more than you know. Look at me.” He motioned at his lap. “I want to touch you, taste you, be inside you. What you wear is inconsequential. It’s you I want. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

She smiled as warmth and confidence rushed through her. “Shall I?” She motioned to the underthings.


She removed each slowly, deliberately. Fears mostly allayed. Arousal swelling as she watched his strong veined hands handle his cock. She paid attention to the way he touched himself. When he gripped, when he rubbed, when pulled, when he passed his thumb over the head. She learned what he liked from watching.

Another sharp exhale from him.

She didn’t wait. Standing beneath his gaze was too intense to last long. She took a step, then dropped to her knees while holding his eyes, making sure he was pleased. Down to all fours, pendulous breasts swaying, and she crawled and climbed her upper body into his lap, gently tugging his pants aside. “May I?”

He smiled and took his hands away, placing them on his thighs. She breathed deeply, reveling in and ever more deeply aroused by the warm musky scent of his sex and the vision of glistening precum, the throbbing veins and living color of his skin. She buried her fingers in the dark curls of his groin. Her first taste was tentative, and his hand touched her hair, stroking before surrounding and gripping her skull. “Take it, baby girl. Take what you want.”

Her hand around the thick base of his shaft, the other sliding under the white knit of his T-shirt, finding the light but coarse fur over his chest, finding a nipple to tease and stroke while she licked and sucked and lapped at him. His fingers tightened and loosened in her hair, and when she deep-throated him, she felt the reaction through every muscle and nerve in his body. His hand stopped her too soon.

“No baby.”

She looked up at him, tears streaking her face. She’d done something wrong. He pulled her head back gently, slowly, and let the pulsing crown rest on her lower lip for just a moment. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What did I do?”

He smiled. “Nothing, sweetie. I just don’t want to come yet. And you were about to make me come.” He pulled her face up to his and kissed her, explored her. His hands found her breasts, his fingers rolling and tugging at her nipples. Then he cupped her buttocks. He turned her around. “Bend over.”

She did. She felt his hands on her cheeks, finger on her asshole, on her cunt, stroking, probing, teasing. She felt his mouth on one cheek, then the other, leaving wet spots that heightened her awareness of what he was seeing of her.

He was standing, pulling her up, turning her, pushing her back onto the the bed and spreading her open. He laid his cock on her clit and continued to touch and tease with his fingers. She’d never felt a touch like his, one so erotic. Over her throat, the valley between her breasts, dancing over her belly and thighs, inside her wrists, her ankles and feet. She giggled.

“Ticklish?” All the while moving his hips just enough that she couldn’t forget where his cock was; or wasn’t.

“I’ll never tell,” she teased.

He swiftly ran a nail inside the arch of one. She squealed and jerked away, and he grinned a vulpine sort of grin. “You don’t have to say a word, baby. Daddy knows.”

She groaned.

Her surrender to his will went on for hours. Time stood still and raced away, and there were moments when all she saw was eternal darkness and it took his touch to pull her back to the surface. Between, she learned his body like one of her medical transcripts. Her fingers finding and tracing scars, her lips discovering his sensitivities, what made him moan softly inside luxurious pleasure, and what awoke him and made him growl and take. She sucked his cock soft and covered with her juices back to hardness and he fucked her again.

He didn’t say goodbye at the busstop. They didn’t have time to cuddle and speak and revel in the thing they’d found. When her mind was clearer there would be sorrow and fear that it would be all they ever shared. But in the afterglow of satiety, and the busyness that was city rush hour, he held her hand and it was solid. He kissed her lips, a kiss just deep enough to re-light that ember at her core, and he said, “Behave, baby girl.”

She offered a half-hearted wave as the bus hissed and pulled away, and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. She found a slip of paper. She pulled it out and smiled.

Roasting Emily

Authors’ notes: This story was written in collaboration with James R. Tickit. It’s meant to be uploaded to Literotica, but thought I’d do a dry run here and see if I can get some feedback from my friends. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

I readied myself while I waited for James. A shower, a mist of a body spray that smelled of strawberries and vanilla, a little trimming and plucking and a razor to my long legs. I was surprisingly calm, considering this would be my first time with a man in years. He’d made his appreciation clear, though, and had already seen most of it. I smoothed on cocoa butter lotion and pulled a red silk kimono around my shoulders. I knew his penchant for lingerie, but I wasn’t in the mood to please him. I was in the mood to come. I found two long silk scarves and left them over the back of the settee. Just in case, I thought with a little thrill.

When I opened the door he stood across the threshold, dressed as I’d requested, his cheeks and neck pink from a fresh shave. I didn’t think I shared with him how much I enjoy the softness of a man’s face, when the rest of him can be hard or coarse… something about the juxtaposition… not only that, I had a predilection for paying special attention with lips and tongue to his throat and neck. My pulse heightened at the very thought, and I knew he saw my nipples snap to attention through the red patterned silk. I dropped my arms and pushed my chest out slightly. I wanted him to see.

“You smell lovely,” he said when I motioned him through.

I smiled, “Thank you.”

We went to the living room, and I sat on the couch, He stood watching me, and there was a moment of uncertain silence. I was very aroused. I couldn’t tell if he was or not. He finally said, “You’re driving. You have to tell me what you want. What you need.”

I smiled again. I was excited and uncomfortable. This was very new. “But you know what I need.”

“I do. Generally.”

I gave him a wicked grin. I let the kimono fall open slightly, and planted one bare foot on the edge of the coffee table. “I want to hear you moan and groan, James,” I said.

He looked at me, taking in my apparent need. Standing to one side, he grabbed the sash of the kimono. I swiftly found it wrapped about my right wrist, pulled tight behind my back and secured to my left; as he worked it pressed my body against his… I breathed in his clean scent and aftershave. He pushed me down on the couch and the kimono, loosed, fell open. I was on display for him.

He sat on the coffee table. He slowly, teasingly undid the buttons of his shirt. I followed every move. He took his shirt off. He was furry, and I giggled. His lips twitched in spite of the scowl he gave me, and I stifled myself. He kicked off his soft shoes.

He stood and pulled my body towards him so my face came into his crotch. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zip, pushing them a little way down his hips. He’d acknowledged my request for commando so the jeans had rubbed his cock into overdrive. He left it so the helmet was showing and directed me to it. I stuck out my tongue and licked. He unzipped a bit more, pushing himself out to meet my mouth. I took it with a verve surprising even to myself.

I began to suck as he inched himself forward, getting a bit more into my mouth and down my throat. He splayed his feet on the couch so he was pressing down onto my face, I sucked a little harder.. He grabbed both nipples, One in each hand, squeezing hard. I gasped and moaned around his thick cock, working my tongue along his shaft and pressing him into my palate. More squeezing from him, more sucking from me. As he neared climax, he grabbed my hair and started to face fuck me, a nice steady pushing down my throat, pulling back to brush the tip past my lips and pushing down again. My eyes watered, but I relaxed and took him; all of him.

His balls contracted and he shot his load down my throat without warning. His come kept coming, spurt after spurt that spoke to the height of his arousal. I swallowed most but a bit dribbled out over my chin and onto my breasts. He stepped down and ran a finger through it, giving it back to me to eat.

“Thank you, ma’am. That was fantastic. Now it’s my turn to suck you.” He grinned, then leaned down and kissed my lips.

Worry tinged my thoughts. I hadn’t told James everything. I had not told him about Dante.

The previous night I’d shared my fantasy with Dante of having James join us for our first time. His face clouded, darkened, his jaw clenched, but he sat and listened. I found myself captivated by his hand on the table, the fist clenching and unclenching, his dark eyes never leaving my face. He relaxed as we talked, his handsome face smoothing and softening, and when he realized I needed him to direct events for it to work, he became more open.

We’d done a lot of Skype time and watching each other had been tremendous. He suggested that if he agreed, there would be a camera in the room while James and I were together. Dante would be in the adjoining room watching. When he joined us, he’d have witnessed everything.

His fingers drummed the table top. “I’d rather just take you upstairs and fuck you right now,” he said softly. His gaze was intense.

I blushed.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Emily?” He was leaning in closer.

I cleared my throat. I would like that, very much. “This levels the playing field.”

He sat back and looked around the room. He was coiled. “I want you to be happy. Satisfied. I want to be the one to do it. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re… innocent.”

I snorted and grinned. “I’m not a virgin, Dante.”

He finally smiled. So difficult to get a smile out of this man, and it changed his face. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to fuck him. I thought I could fall for him, but he told me I couldn’t. “If this is what you want, it’s what you’ll have. It will not be easy for me, girl.”

I loved it when he called me girl. “You said you wanted to explore with me. That’s why we’re here.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “I pictured you kissing another woman, though,” he said with a little light in his eye. Then it was gone. “Not watching another man defile you.”

“Hey. James is a friend. He wouldn’t defile me. Unless you tell him to.”

That got another soft smile from him. “When it’s over, Sweetie,” he was leaning in again. “You come home with me. And I will make you forget everything.” Then his mouth was on mine, and for a moment everything was forgotten.

My conscience pricked. I should have told James we were being watched. I think I’ve overstretched the bounds of friendship and wonder if he’ll be angry, if he’ll walk out. I also didn’t consider that now Dante gets to witness this mistake, my having to break the news to James.

Soon the moment of truth will arrive. Caught between two dominant and manipulative alpha males, and it is the most frightening and exhilarating moment of my life.

I reached to grab his shoulder before he disappeared between my substantial thighs. “James,” my eyes wandered to the laptop sitting open on the desk… he was watching. I felt a thrill. What was he thinking?

“Yes?” he looked at me expectantly.

“Dante is here.”

He raised his eyebrows and braced his hands on my thighs. “Here? For?”

He was well aware of my threesome fantasies, and I caught the wicked gleam in his eye. He also knew those fantasies took a very specific path, that I had to have the trust in and of all parties, that it couldn’t be random individuals. “He’s watching.”

His jaw dropped. “Now?!”

I nodded. Oh, he was angry. “Don’t be angry,James.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

His fingers were teasing me, slipping around my clit… he’d spotted the open laptop and there was a nearly imperceptible shift of his body as he made certain the camera had a clear view before he rammed two fingers deep into my cunt. I cried out and my heart started to race. The intensity flared with the knowledge we were being watched. I threw a glance at the camera, then back to James… he indicated I should acknowledge Dante.

I did. Looked directly into it and smiled.

“Tell him to come in.”

My heart jumped. It was safer with him unseen. Or felt that way. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve already fucked your mouth before him. He’s not going to be happy. And I am getting increasingly un-happier myself.” He thrust roughly with his hand again, and I tensed and bit down on my lip. I wouldn’t let him know he was hurting me. Or arousing me. Or was it Dante I didn’t want to know? The sash had worked loose and I wriggled free of it. I looked at the camera and made a waving motion, which felt slightly ridiculous. I struggled to sit up, dislodging James’ hand.

The door opened. My heart did a little flip flop at the intensity darkening Dante’s face, drawing a deep furrow over his slightly crooked nose. I held out my hand and tried to smile. He swept the room, laid his hat on the desk, took in the sight of me, naked, with naked James and his equally dark look beside me. I felt James’ hand on my hip, fingers digging my flesh slightly. It was oddly comforting.

Dante finally walked to the settee, and I caught his eyes. I stood. “I told you about James,” I said to him. I stood back, waited to see who would offer a hand first.

James was smaller in stature but with a big presence. His white hair flew about his head in chaos, and his body was thick and strong… as was his cock. They were so different, these two. Dante was groomed, tall, with a slight paunch but confident posture. His white goatee was neatly trimmed, his khakis pressed to a razor crease.

They sized one another up like wolves. Hackles slightly raised. “Come on,” I coaxed.

Dante finally put out his hand. James took it. The handshake surpassed firm, being more a white knuckle test of strength and will.

I turned my back to James. This was a new dynamic. I wasn’t sure how to ‘be’ and felt unusually self aware. But I sensed the newcomer was the larger threat, the one to appease in this moment.

As my hands went to his belt buckle, I felt James’ hand on my waist. I pulled the zipper down, and pulled Dante’s semi-hard cock out, looking up and catching his eyes. He met my gaze after watching James’ touches for a second, then I felt his hand in my hair. First his touch was light, as though testing, then, as I felt James’ hands move toward my breasts, Dante’s fingers twisted and tightened in my hair. He offered me no opportunity to think, to react. While he yanked my face toward his hips, his other hand held and aimed his quickly-lengthening cock; he pulled my head back, forcing my eyes to his, then touched himself to my lips. I knew better than to tease. I opened obediently and held his gaze while beginning to suck and lick.

As he grew his grip in my hair tightened. Each time I looked up he was watching James. And James was pressing his impressive member against my bottom, rather insistently.

I took Dante down my throat just as I had James earlier; he was a bit easier to take, and thus more enjoyable for me. He thrust his hips into my face with one hand tightly in my hair and the other on my throat. Then James was filling my cunt. Fingering my clit while he fucked me. I was being pummeled from both sides, and my heart was racing with a mixture of fear and arousal. If James kept up another couple of minutes I would come, and the way he was hitting my g-spot, it would be messy. Would Dante like that? I caressed his delicious cock with my tongue, hoping it would push him over the edge to see me squirt over James’ cock. Or would it make him want to choke me with his?

The choice wasn’t left to me. James hit the magic number when he pressed his fingers hard over my clit and picked up speed… I moaned around Dante and crumpled… James pulled out enough that they could both see it happen. I must have released a cup of it, and it jetted over James’ cock and balls and ran down his legs.

I had Dante’s balls in my hand, and I felt the quiver and spasm as he started… the telltale tremble in the muscles of his thighs that I’d seen so many times over the webcam. I pulled him deeper, but steadying my head with his hand, he pulled out as the first jet exploded. He knew I hated having cum in my face. But he let it string across my cheek, barely missing my eye, before correcting and letting the rest hit my neck and shoulders and run down my breasts. I felt something hitting my back, and knew it was James… the thought was fleeting, but there; why didn’t either choose to come ‘in’ me?

My own orgasm left me drained, and I lay on the settee. I felt Dante’s roughened thumb scrub the string of cum from my cheek; then felt it on my lips and opened. I sucked his thumb into my mouth, tasting the bitter tang and the salt from his skin, then let my tongue caress him. He allowed it, and I felt his other hand stroking my hair. Then he spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I’m not done with you, girl,” he said softly.

He pulled his thumb from my mouth, then excused himself and went into the en suite. He came back out and handed something to James. He lowered himself onto the cushion next to me and pulled my head onto his naked lap so I was looking out into the room. The the warm cloth; James gently cleaning my back and chest, almost tenderly. “Everywhere,” Dante told him. The cloth was on my pussy. “Tease her,” Dante said softly, a slight tension creeping back into his voice. I wondered if James would comply. My brain wasn’t working very well.

He did.

Dante picked up the two scarves. He dragged them softly over my face, shoulder and back. “We need a bed.”

The Silk Tease

Hands tied with the scarf and held over my head; he has warned me it is my responsibility to keep them there, no matter what he does. If I fail our session is over and I won’t be permitted to come. The other scarf he has draped lightly over my breasts and stomach.  


He teases me with it, dragging it back and forth over my nipples and tickling my stomach; my nipples are aching. My pussy is aching. I involuntarily tighten my thighs around his body. He’s kneeling between them, and I can feel his heat but there is no contact.


The more he teases the tighter I grasp him. My legs are strong from years on horseback.


His mouth is on my nipples through the layer of silk. The teasing sensation is heightened. I utter a fuck, and my arms start to come down… he stops and glares at me from beneath his brows. I put them back, moaning.


The more he teases, the wetter I get. I want him to feel it. I suddenly scoot my body down until my cunt is pressed firmly and wetly against his belly, imagining how my juices must feel on his skin, how they are matting the fur on his body. I begin a grind to match his  ministrations on my breasts.


The silk is wet and cold from his mouth. I want to put my hands on his neck, feel the smooth skin of his cheeks, but I resist.


His hands replace the silk, and he runs them down my body onto my thighs. He eases them open telling me to relax. He’s kissing my stomach, moving lower. Teasing my soft mound with his tongue, his teeth. Biting, sucking, licking along those lips and inside my thighs… my hips are moving of their own accord, seeking that one contact I need.


His hands slide beneath my bottom. He sits back and looks at me. I tell him my arms are aching. “How long till I make you cum?” he wants to know. “How close are you?”


I know I could climax if he blew over my clit, but I want more. So I tell him, “Not long. Not long at all.”


His fat tongue starts at the bottom and he licks slowly, languidly up my slit. I know he’s not disappointed nor surprised at the flood he finds there… he licks upward, his tongue dipping into my cunt ever so slightly, and my thighs start to tremble; upward till he’s parting lips and folds, going deep, unhooding me… I gasp as it begins when he stops and lingers there. I know he’s feeling the throb of that little nub. He moves only slightly, the pressure being far more exquisite than any play,before beginning a soft suck… his fingers trace, then enter my pussy, and the pressure builds as he starts to fuck with his hand…


After the first orgasm he allows me to lower my arms. They are heavy and sore but I barely notice because he’s tongue and finger fucking me to another… and another. I finally reward him, soaking his chin and chest. He sits back and presses his open palm over me, allowing me to ride it to the end as I foggily wonder what could possibly be next…


Fuck Moral Dilemmas

I suppose I should have feigned some hesitation, for the sake of decorum. But I’m not one to play games, either. I’m a heart-on-the-sleeve kind of girl, and I decided that, even while I needed to explore this part of me, this burgeoning part that was purely sexual instinct, repressed for too long, I wasn’t going to pretend that’s not what I was doing. So I said, yes, I want to go to your place. Yes, I want to be fucked. No expectations, no strings. I don’t want to fall in love. I’m emotionally unavailable, but sexually, all yours.

When I said those things, they rang foreign in my own ears, and his face opened. Relief? Amusement?

I suspected we were two people in the same emotional and physical space. I suspected what we needed was comfort and release. It wouldn’t, couldn’t, go beyond that.

Once inside his very comfortable home, he looked at me. An awkward silence took hold. He took my Grandmother’s crocheted shawl from my shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair.

I smiled. It felt forced.

“Since we’re being honest, Feli, I don’t want to make small-talk and offer you a drink. I’ve been like this all night, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He pulled his hand across the front of his jeans, smoothing the fabric to reveal the oblong bulge of himself. “I’m uncomfortable. Part of me wants to get on my knees and beg you, and part of me wants to put you on yours.”

I knew I must have flushed, but his bluntness was arousing, as though I needed any help. “How about we meet in the middle then,” I heard myself suggest as my legs carried me to him. I put my mouth on his while I opened his jeans, purposefully making contact with him… when I thought he couldn’t possibly get any larger, he did. I pulled back the flaps and he popped out, waving in the air between us, and I smiled. Thankfully, he smiled back.

“Do you have a bed?” I asked him.

For the first time in a long time, possibly in my life, and certainly with a virtual stranger, I followed my lust. I did what it told me. I pushed him to sit on the bed, and told him to stroke himself while I stripped for him. I stood in front of him, naked, and fingered myself while he watched. I took him in my mouth and licked and sucked with hunger, keeping intense eye contact with him throughout.

I sat on the bed beside him, and laid back and invited him. He returned the favor, going down on his knees beside the bed and bringing me to orgasm with his mouth. I screamed when I came. I held nothing back. I felt like maybe I wouldn’t ever see him again. And that was okay. In the back of my mind, in spite of the anger and hurt, I wanted him to be Adam.

He was over me and braced on his hands, looking down into my face. What I saw when I looked at him was not the gorgeous physical specimen he was, but a means to an end. Something to ease the pain, the hunger, a salve to a wound that would never close. I ran my hands over his muscled chest, thumbed across his hard nipples and smiled. I put my legs around him, and took hold of his cock in one hand and pushed the head of it into my wetness, slid it up over my clit, back and forth and until he growled and dove his head to bite my neck. He bit hard, and it was exquisite. I positioned him and waited.

He groaned as I closed around the tip of him. He took my mouth, and thrust with his hips. I cried out and he swallowed my sound. He pulled back, almost leaving me and plunged again. And again. And again.

He took me all the way. The second orgasm was intense, and he followed me into it. I couldn’t feel him filling me because of the condom, but it was okay; I thought perhaps I didn’t want to know what that felt like. I didn’t want that much of him. I didn’t want to take any part of him with me when I left.

He withdrew almost immediately, and lay next to me. He kissed my face, and ran his open palms over my breasts. “Who is Adam?” he asked softly next to my ear.

It was like a slap. I looked at him, startled. “Excuse me?”

He smiled. “It’s okay, Felicity. Let’s remember what this is.”

I sat up and pulled the sheet around myself. I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“Wait, honey, don’t go. Please? You don’t have to tell me.”

“How do you know that name?” I searched his face, and there was nothing but kindness there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Because you said it when you came, silly girl.” His eyes twinkled playfully. “Lie back down. Come on. Give me five minutes and I’ll treat you to another.”

I laughed at his playful cockiness. I laid back down.

He traced the outline of my face, looking down on me, leaning on his elbow. “So? I’m guessing there’s a story of heartbreak there, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“There always is, right?” I smiled wryly.

“Yeah. Yeah, there always is.” Then he was kissing my mouth again, tenderly. His hand stroked down my body, slid between my legs, and he caressed me softly, teasing every part before sliding against my clit. His mouth moved to my breasts, and he sucked in one nipple, then the other while fingering me. He stopped to look at me and say, “Don’t be shy. Show me what you like.”

The desire building around his touch stole any inhibitions, and I put my hand over his, pressed my fingers on top of his, and guided him. He took my mouth again, deeper, and I arched into him and moaned.

I felt his cock hard against my hip. I whispered against his mouth, “Fuck me, Micah.”

He responded by pressing my fingers against my pussy in a silent instruction to keep going, and I vaguely heard the tear of plastic. Then he was rolling me to my stomach, lifting my hips. There was no teasing, and no urgency. I felt him slide in, felt his hand in my hair, not pulling, just wrapping itself in my curls, almost massaging, and he fucked me like he had all the time in the world. Every stroke of his cock sent goose-flesh crawling up my spine to the base of my neck. I positioned myself so each thrust brushed my nipples against the linen.

I was still smiling when the cab dropped me at my place just before dawn. I didn’t see the shadowy figure until I was halfway up the steps, and he stood and said my name. Or his name for me.

“Hi, Beautiful.”



Warning: This story contains scenes of female domination, pegging and anal sex! If you’re squeamish, walk away now 😉


She stroked her cock with one hand and watched him, watched the combination of fear and desire stutter across his face. He was a good looking man, married, mid-thirties, a little paunchy but nice definition through his chest and shoulders. His hair was close-cropped and brown. His eyes were brown, too. He had a delicious ass, and a serviceable, if not impressive penis. She wondered, as she always did, what brought him to her feet.

He had long lashes, dark, silky. They rested on his cheeks when he caught her watching him; it was an animal game. When their eyes met hers, they were always the first to look away, to roll over and expose that soft, vulnerable under-belly.

She was Dominant.

He was standing across the room, naked. His hands kept wanting to shield his member from her, but he’d force them back to his sides. She knew all the questions poised on the tip of his tongue. They were always the same. Where is everything? What do I call you? Are you going to hurt me?

The room was empty of everything except a four-poster bed covered by a crimson duvet. The only equipment she used was the strap on hugging her hips and occasionally, when requested, the soft ties lashed to the bed-posts. She’d be the first to admit that she wasn’t your typical, leather-clad Dominatrix. There were no crops, no floggers, no collars or gags or chastity devices. Humiliation was not something she believed in, nor practiced. Her game was pleasure, for both of them. But mostly for him. She got paid to do to him what his partner was unwilling to, or what he was unwilling to ask for from anyone else.

He finally said it. “What do I call you?”

“Mistress,” she said. She felt powerful, rubbing the synthetic flesh jutting from her pubis. The black bustier made her large breasts appear even larger, and pulled in her hourglass waist. Her hips were full and round, and her thighs thick. She wore a garter belt to hold up the patterned black stockings on her impossibly long legs, and her 6 inch heels put her well over six feet. They were simple, black, patent-leather with a mirror shine.

“Yes, Mistress.” he lowered his eyes again, but not before they flitted around the room once more.

“Why are you here, Boy?”

“Do you have to call me that?” The question was polite. But still.

“Yes. On your knees, Boy.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He knelt, his hands behind his back and chin on his chest. It made her wet when they did that. “Why are you here?”

He cleared his throat. Sometimes they couldn’t say it aloud.

“Would you like to suck my cock?”

“Yes, Mistress.”


He crawled obediently across the space between them and she felt her pulse quicken. She watched his penis begin its transformation. He knelt in front of her, and looked up, but didn’t make eye contact. She used her black-gloved finger to trace the side of his face, almost tenderly; she swore she could feel his pulse in the room, the anticipation in it. She slipped her hand down, placed it firmly but gently on his throat, and cupped the back of his head with the other.

“Look at me. Have you ever sucked a cock?”

He tried to nod, but she held him still. “Speak.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Has it been some time? Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes, Mistress.” She felt his Adam’s apple bob beneath her hand as he swallowed.

She knew nothing about him, other than that the background check and blood tests were clean. His check cleared. But she saw many of these ‘cases.’ Men with the kinds of sexual appetites that couldn’t be satisfied through ordinary, monogamous relationships. Strong men with the weight of their worlds on their shoulders, who needed for a little while to be cared for, commanded.

Her persona, the image she put out, was one of strength, hardness, maybe even a touch of cruelty; but what she felt each time a new face knelt before her was tenderness and respect. She thought of herself as a sex worker, but part of her loved some part of each lost little boy that wandered into her den. She needed to give as much as they needed to take.

She thought of Harold, and the look of repulsion on his face when she’d whispered her fantasies to him. Together nearly a decade, that was how long it took her to gather the courage, to convince herself she wasn’t a freak or an indigent. He stopped touching her after that. She’d asked him why, and he’d said, “Because I’m not queer, Stella.”

She held the Boy’s head and throat and rested the realistic, flesh-colored and textured plastic on his lower lip. He put his tongue out and wet it, and met her eyes. She nodded, and he opened and let her slide the length of the dildo over his tongue. She slid back and forth, holding his eyes, the thrusting movement of her hips and the hungry look in his eyes enough to make her drip. She felt his hands on her thighs, and felt the moment sweeping over her. She pushed deeper and deeper, and he took it, all of it, eyes tearing. “Touch me,” she said firmly.

His hands slid up her thighs, and she felt his fingers part her, stroking, finding the heart beat at her center. When he let a finger slip inside her, he groaned around the cock in his mouth.

She fucked his mouth, forbidding him to come. He clutched his throbbing erection, and she watched while his mind left. He was pushing it back, holding it off, wanting to please her.
She pulled out of his mouth. “On the bed.”

He half-walked, half-crawled, and sat on its edge.

“Do you want to taste me before I fuck you, Boy? “

“Please, Mistress.”

He was back on his knees, and she draped one leg over his shoulder. His tongue lapped against her, and she willed stoicism. Her job was to feed his fantasies, to take him to the edge and back. As he buried himself deeper while grunting noises of appreciation and pleasure, she held still. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she pushed him away. Her tone was severe. “On the bed, Boy. On your back. I’m going to spread you like a whore.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

His cock was raging, his balls tight against his body. She smiled a predatory smile while lubing the strap on. His breath rose and fell as he watched, and his skin pinked.

She watched his face while her lubed and gloved fingers stroked from the tip of his cock, down the seam of his fat scrotum, across his perineum and circled his asshole. “Have you been fucked in the ass?”

“Not in a long time, Mistress.”

As she played and teased around him, he tilted his head back and another sound escaped him. She pressed against him with one finger, working his cock at the same time with slow, lazy strokes. She slipped inside, and he groaned again. “What’s that, Boy?”

“Nothing, Mistress,” but his breath was short.

“Tell me.”

“Please Mistress. I want more.”

She slipped another inside, and fingered and stroked him to the edge again. “I want to come, Mistress, please,” he panted.


He made a tortured sound, and his cock softened in her hand.

“Good, Boy.” She pressed her cock against him. She was gentle at first, moving slowly, giving him only the tip. She loved this sight, the submission of his body, the beauty of a cock stretched over a soft belly, and watching him take her, take what she gave. As he relaxed, she began fucking him, slowly, inch by inch. “Jerk yourself,” she ordered. She wanted to see him hard again. She wanted her hands free to press his thighs open and pinch and hold his nipples until he cried out.

He grunted with each thrust, and his face contorted. She could imagine what he felt; it was one thing she loved about an ass-fuck. She knew what it felt like, she knew the exquisite sensation, and the building, full feeling, the tingling that raced down the legs and up into the belly. She didn’t know what it felt like for him when he was the penetrator. But she knew what this felt like. It drove her, drove the rhythmic movement of her hips.

As she fucked him, her own fantasies, always unfulfilled, crept in, and she imagined feeling a long, hard cock enter her from behind, and imagined the feeling of being fucked while fucking, pleasured while pleasing. She leaned down and took him in her mouth and sucked him hard. Harold would not approve. But that’s why Harold now lived across the state.

Without realizing it, she touched herself with one hand while she fucked him and pinched and smacked his thigh with the other. He was begging for her. He was trembling with the pleasure shooting through every nerve-ending in his body. He pleaded for release.

She pushed him beyond where he thought he got off, and he rode it. He closed his eyes and fisted his cock, and when she finally gave permission, his sack sucked upward and his member jumped in his hand, and he exploded in a violent jet, one, then another, and another. She kept thrusting while he emptied, then she left him.

She went through the concealed door at the back of the room. She would only see him again if he requested her, and most of them did. She leaned back against the door and let out a long shuddering sigh. She missed the lying together part. She missed the kisses and caresses over trembling skin.

But she would never miss the hiding.

Erogenous – Him

He ran the fingers of both hands from her hairline just behind her earlobes, down her neck, halfway over the tops of her shoulders, then down her naked back, over her shoulder blades, all the way to her waist. As he brushed just below each sharp blade softly padded in milky flesh, goose bumps raised and swelled across her skin, and she shuddered. The smallest sound escaped her throat.

“Ah, you like that?” he whispered. “Now I do know something about you.” There was a smile in his voice.

He wanted to know everything about her, and he didn’t even know her name. How had they not gotten around to names? It was a silly oversight, and seemed strangely unnecessary; he’d seen her hurrying toward him one day, in front of the Lt. John Andrews Memorial bench. She was tall and wore a dark pantsuit with a bright red scarf against her white face and white running shoes. She didn’t look up. But he’d smelled her as she breezed by, and it was a pure, light, feminine sort of scent; the kind he now missed at home the times he used to go into the bathroom after Sarah finished her shower.

It happened again the following day. And the day after that. He found himself walking at her, just to draw a deep breath to take home with him. She started to filter through his thoughts at odd moments, and to say he found her arousing was an understatement. Especially the first time she glanced up and he saw her large dark blue eyes.

And her smile.

He chided himself for acting like a lovestruck little boy. He finally got up the nerve to comment one day, after they’d made eye-contact and nodded acknowledgements. She’d smiled politely and answered, never slowing her pace. A few days later, she made the comment, and his heart thudded. He played her inanely funny words over and over in his head, and they kept him hard as a rock all day; when he finally made it home, he experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

They carried on day after day, but their comments grew into on-going mini-conversations they slowed for, often turning to face one another but each continuing in their own direction. He relied on them. On days they didn’t meet, he returned to his desk with a thundercloud darkening his face and went home in the evening feeling like the sky had fallen.

One overcast Tuesday, he saw her coming, shoulders shrugged up around her ears for warmth. When she saw him, she didn’t smile but turned almost the color of her scarf. Concern rushed in, and he halted.

“You okay today?” he called after her. She turned, but kept walking until she seemed to notice he wasn’t.

“Of course, thank you!” She smiled. He felt himself returning it. And approaching her. He had to breathe her.

“You look feverish. It’s this horrible weather, right?”

“Windburn, I’m sure. How are you? Are you going to be late?”

“Late for what?” He smiled again, and when she seemed bewildered and speechless, he told her, “You’re cute.” He leaned closer, so as not to be overheard. “I’ve always thought you were cute. Always in such a hurry.”

She cleared her throat and stammered a bit. “Me too. I mean… I thought- think you’re very handsome.”

He hummed and looked along his nose at her. “I think that was a fished complement. But I will take it. Thank you, Beautiful.”

She looked at her feet.

“You’re very pink. Are you sure you’re okay? Will you let me walk you wherever you’re going, just to satisfy my own mind?” She put him in mind of wildlife caught in a pair of headlights, and he tried to put her at ease. “Are you afraid of my knowing your destination?”

“Of course not!”

As they walked, he recalled last evening, and the things he’d done to her naked body in his mind. Her elbow brushed back and forth against his, and he had the intense desire to put his arm out and possess her, physically. To stake some sort of claim. He wished he could let her know what she did to him without it seeming rude, or inappropriate. Instead, he asked, “Where do you work?”

“I’m a stenographer. At the courthouse.” She glanced at him and smiled.

“That sounds exciting. Do you sit in on big cases?”

She shrugged. “Mostly domestics and misdemeanors. Nothing too exciting. What about you?”


“No way! For real?” The way her face opened flooded him with relief.

He laughed. “For real!”

“Do you go on TV and stuff?”

“No no. I’m actually AMA certified. Went to school, the whole nine yards. But never had any interest in being a ‘weatherman.’ Just fascinated with weather, I guess.”

“What about tonight?”

Surprise and adrenaline hit him in a rush. He saw his chance and took it, stopping them both. He faced her, looked earnestly into her eyes. “I know what you meant by that question, Beautiful. But I’m compelled to pretend I don’t,” he said softly, intimately. That light scent surrounded them, and he grew hard again. He was thankful for the protection of his overcoat.

He was surprised at the boldness of her answer. “What would you like it to mean?”

A smile spread his face. “I’d like it to mean that by some weird twist of fate, I end up in your bed.”

His naked thighs hugged the backs of her naked thighs, and his buttocks pressed her calves into the mattress. He started over with his hands, and retraced the same lines; this time he paused, focused around her shoulder blades. His cock throbbed against the skin of her legs, and the sound of her soft moan elicited a shining drop of pre-cum.

But he kept teasing. And when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he leaned forward, and tasted the invisible lines he’d drawn. Her voice, stronger, began to beg, “Please. Please,” she repeated.

“Please what?”

She groaned.

He touched the cleft in her back where her softly rounded bottom split. He teased it, right to where it joined her thighs. She clenched her buttocks, and he tsked softly and traced up, then back down, pushing deeper each time. He paused where her thighs met, and shifted his own weight, asking her to spread for him.

She did, and he watched the pink flush climbing her skin.

As his hand teased between her legs, he asked again, “Please what, Beautiful? Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you. Tell me where.”


“Where? Here?” He caressed the cheek of her ass.

She shuddered, and said, “No.”

“Here?” He brushed the outline of her hip.

“No, not there.”

He reached back and touched her calf. “What about here?”

“God, no. Touch me. Feel how wet I am!” she finally blurted.

There was no more teasing. He shifted his weight off her and flipped her to her back. The ache he felt deep in his balls and the way his mouth watered were almost unbearable. He put his hands behind her knees and opened her wide. “I can see you’re beautifully eager.” He paused, looked in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time we passed on the sidewalk.”

She’d looked a bit startled, perhaps by the boldness of his statement there on the busy sidewalk in front of the courthouse. “How do you know you’d be welcome in my bed?” she whispered.

His heart dropped. He concealed it with a wry smile. “I don’t. I could only hope.” He stepped back, hiding his disappointment. It was no one’s doing but his own.

She whispered. “I never said you wouldn’t be.”

He’d watched her run up the steps. He would take the afternoon off so he could go home and celebrate the amazing gift she’d just given him. He wondered vaguely if she would be offended to know what he did with her words, or if she’d match his excitement; he wanted to show her, show her the affect she had on him.

The following morning he awoke to a frantic phone message. It was the ex-wife, in crises with The Boy they shared in common. They lived two hours outside the city. While his mind was consumed with worry over what he might find with the school and The Boy’s latest bid for attention, in the back of his mind he fretted that he wouldn’t see her, that they couldn’t pick up their conversation and see where it took them. He wanted to buy her a meal, and listen to her talk and take her home and fuck her…

He barely made it to the courthouse by 5pm Friday. He looked up and saw her coming down the courthouse steps, eyes lowered. Shoulders slumped. She looked like he’d felt for the past three days. He fell in beside her and said softly, “What if you ended up in my bed, Beautiful?”

She jumped and looked up into his face, and he was kissing her. She tasted and felt exactly as he’d imagined, only better. “Would that make any difference to the outcome?” he whispered when he brought himself to break away.

There was no sign of hesitation as she nodded her agreement.

Erogenous – Her

He ran the fingers of both hands from her hairline just behind her earlobes, down her neck, halfway over the tops of her shoulders, then down her naked back, over her shoulder blades, all the way to her waist. As he brushed just below each sharp blade softly padded in milky flesh, goose bumps raised and swelled across her skin, and she shuddered. The smallest sound escaped her throat.

“Ah, you like that?” he whispered. “Now I do know something about you.” There was a smile in his voice.

He was a big man. Not tall, but broad and thick. He walked with a slight swagger, and he always had a pleasant look on his face. She’d seen him often; apparently they had a lunch hour in common, and they always passed one another on the same sidewalk in front of the same bench, every single day.

It became such a thing that she started acknowledging him as they passed. First a smile and a nod. Then an off-handed comment about the weather. He always returned her banter. And he was funny.

The weather comments turned into small conversations they never stopped walking for; each would turn and keep moving backwards. They developed little private jokes and laughed while they talked and walked.

She found herself thinking about him, hoping they’d pass on a given day, missing their 30-second encounters on weekends and holidays. She wove a story around him. No wedding band, so she imagined he had a long term girlfriend, maybe they lived together. Maybe they were happy, but probably not. Probably like herself and George. She imagined scenarios where she was bold enough to put a hand out and touch his arm, so they could stand still and talk. She saw him smiling, and asking if he could buy her a cup of coffee. Then asking if he could walk her back to her office.

These fantasies started to spin out of control; the longer they passed one another, and the more involved their snippets of conversation became, the more intimate the fantasies became. One night, she saw his face behind her eyes as she brushed her fingers over her nipples. She put her head back, closed her eyes, and wondered what his hands would feel like on her skin. She wondered what kind of lover he was. She touched and teased every erogenous part of her body while recalling the kind stranger in the park.

When she ran into him the next day, she flushed bright. She knew she did. She felt it creeping up her neck and into her cheeks and earlobes. All she saw in her mind was the wanton tip of her head as her orgasm took her, while imagining he was watching…

“You okay today?” he asked. They were walking backwards. Or she was. Her feet stuttered to a halt when she realized he was standing, looking concerned. Her heart sped up and she flushed warmer when he came back toward her.

“Of course, thank you!” She smiled, but it was a flustered sort of smile.

“You look feverish. It’s this horrible weather, right?” His smile was back. His eyes were brown.

“Windburn, I’m sure. How are you? Are you going to be late?”

“Late for what?”

She had no idea for what. Where was he going every day at 1:45?

He smiled again. “You’re cute.” He leaned in, and she smelled nicotine and an unidentifiable cologne. “I’ve always thought you were cute. Always in such a hurry.” He grinned.

She cleared the shyness from her throat. “Me too. I mean… I thought- think you’re very handsome.”

He made a humming sound while studying her with mock suspicion. “I think that was a fished complement. But I will take it. Thank you, Beautiful.”

She looked at her feet.

“You’re very pink. Are you sure you’re okay? Will you let me walk you wherever you’re going, just to satisfy my own mind?”

Her heart was doing somersaults.

“Are you afraid of my knowing your destination?” He grinned again, warmly.

“Of course not!” As they walked, she recalled last evening. His elbow brushed back and forth against hers with their steps, and she wanted to lean in closer, feel him drape his arm around her waist, she wanted their hips to hug in time with their steps…

“Where do you work?”

“I’m a stenographer. At the courthouse.” She glanced at him and smiled. It was the first intelligent thing she’d said.

“That sounds exciting. Do you sit in on big cases?”

She shrugged. “Mostly domestics and misdemeanors. Nothing too exciting. What about you?”


“No way! For real?”

He laughed, and it was full and surprisingly loud. “For real!”

“Do you go on TV and stuff?”

“No no. I’m actually AMA certified. Went to school, the whole nine yards. But never had any interest in being a ‘weatherman.’ Just fascinated with weather, I guess.”

“What about tonight?”

She felt surprise give his body a small jolt. He stopped them, faced her, and looked earnestly into her face. “I know what you meant by that question, Beautiful. But I’m compelled to pretend I don’t.” His voice was much quieter, more intimate.

Suddenly he seemed very close. She felt the heat emanating off his body. The silver clouds of their breaths mingled before dissipating. “What would you like it to mean?”

He smiled gently. “I’d like it to mean that by some weird twist of fate, I end up in your bed.”

His naked thighs hugged the backs of her naked thighs, and his buttocks pressed her calves into the mattress. He started over with his hands, and retraced the same lines; this time he paused, focused around her shoulder blades. Her nipples peaked into the bedding, and she felt the ticklish ooze of cream between her swollen lips. She moaned softly.

He kept teasing. Then he leaned forward, and his tongue danced where his fingers had tread. Her voice became stronger. Her blood thrummed. “Please. Please,” she repeated.

“Please what?”

She could only groan.

His fingers touched the cleft in her back, where her softly rounded bottom split. He teased it, right to where it joined her thighs. She clenched her buttocks, and he tsked softly and traced up, then back down, pushing deeper each time. He paused where her thighs met, and shifted his own weight, asking her to spread for him.

She did, and felt the flush climbing her skin.

As his hand dipped between her legs, he asked again, “Please what, Beautiful? Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you. Tell me where.”


“Where? Here?” He caressed the cheek of her ass.

She shuddered, and said, “No.”

“Here?” She felt his hand outline and cup the curve of her hip.

“No, not there.”

He reached back and touched her calf. “What about here?”

“God, no. Touch me. Feel how wet I am,” she finally blurted. She was temporarily horrified at the crassness of her own voice.

But he responded by shifting, and flipping her to her back. He put his hands behind her knees and opened her wide. “I can see you’re beautifully eager.” He paused, looked in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time we passed on the sidewalk.”

She’d been taken aback by his words, by the boldness of his statement there on the busy sidewalk in front of the courthouse. “How do you know you’d be welcome in my bed?” she whispered. Her coherence surprised her.

His face fell. He smiled wryly. “I don’t. I could only hope.” He stepped back.

She whispered. “I never said you wouldn’t be.”

She’d left him there, run up the steps far too out of breath and again warm. She spent the rest of the day, of the night, thinking she must have dreamed the whole thing. No man had ever made so bold a move. And she wondered what it was about him, and it, that only served to arouse her rather than frighten or worry.

She lay in the tub that night; when she brought herself to climax, that he watched, then thrust his cock into her seemed less a fantasy than it did fate.

They did not pass the following day. Or the day after that. She wondered how her heart could break over a man whose name she did not even know. She knew only that he desired her, and it made him, in turn, the only thing she desired.

On the third day, at 5pm, she descended the courthouse steps, eyes on the ground in front of her. It was Friday. Her spirits dragged, and she was certain she’d imagined all of it.

“What if you ended up in my bed, Beautiful?” a voice said close beside her.

She jumped and looked up into his face, and his lips were on hers. He kissed her softly, teasingly. “Would that make any difference to the outcome?”

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She looked into his warm eyes, at his full lips, and she nodded her agreement.

Death Muse

She arched, cat-like. “Armand, paint me.”

He stood at his canvas, hard for her, blood heavy in his veins.

“Lay your brush over my skin.”

He coated the largest brush in alizarine crimson. He knelt. She slid her hands against his flesh, into his curling dark hair.

He bathed her in red until she shimmered like a naked organ. When she cried for him, he thrust his cock into her. She took the paintbrush in her mouth and he fucked her until her gasps became whimpers became choking; until she was gone.

He held her, kissed her painted tongue, and followed her, the linseed thick in his throat.


Not worth a buffalo head nickel, that piece of paper. That parchment with the scrawled signatures gave claim to no one but her. It said she could take what was his in the event of dissolution of their union.

It did not make her love him.

It did not keep her faithful to him.

It did not even make her stay in his kitchen or living room or shower.

What it gave him was the right to be cuckolded. Without it, he’d have only been broken-hearted, perhaps for a moment or two. But he had to put a ring on her finger and lay some physical claim to her body and soul. He’d showed his love for her. He’d pulled her by the hair and tossed her across the bed, and the fear and tears in her eyes had made him hard. He fucked her ass, her pussy, her mouth, and she took it. He thought she wanted it. She sucked him like she did. She’d never been one to smile much, or say the words, but she took him and screamed at the right moments…

The first time she came in late smelling of sex, he’d thrown her against a wall with his hand on her throat, and dared her to lie. She’d met his gaze with uncharacteristic defiance and said nothing.

So he fucked her.

The second time, she not only smelled of lust, she came in with smudged makeup and her blouse buttoned wrong. He heard an engine outside rev away from the house. He’d bent her double in the entranceway and looked at it running out of her before claiming again what was rightfully his. She didn’t humor him that time. She stood when he was finished, pulled her skirt down over her bum and gave him a look over her shoulder that ignited an anger unlike anything he’d ever known. She walked into the shower, as though he were nothing.

Nobody. Just a guy she let fuck her, out of pity.

He broke the Ming vase on the table and put his fist through the wall.

The third time she came in late, she was smiling.

He’d put an end to that.


Drip like tar or blood drying on the blade of
a word, a knife, so sharp and trying to laugh
not cry, don’t cry for me, for my broken heart

Eyes like ice-water or pools of cool blue sky
they used to see me, to see need and love and hear the sighs
of lust and longing, of us in youth, belonging to

something larger, like passion, whispering in willow boughs
sighing through meadows of clover and horsetails and bowing
‘neath changing winds, exciting, enticing, inviting you in

Now cracking this desert, windswept and ageing
beneath a fire sun stroke and stoked and burning and raging
and waning, you wane for me while I burn like a star into

A cool black night, my skin is alight, my pussy is wet
and you turn your back, close your eyes, choose to not see
where my hunger takes me, in this eternal yawning galaxy