My Writing

Saturday, June 29, 2013

And the Mass Exodus Begins

Sifting and skimming through my "Voyeuristic Tendencies" tonight...I found 3 posts relating to bloggers who are setting up their own domains and leaving the confines of Blogger/Wordpress behind.

Good on 'em.

I don't have ads on my site, but like another blogger wrote, it's more the principle of the matter.  What if I wanted to?  I don't really take to being told no.  In fact, it pisses me off.

I'm sure I'm not far behind in the move.  I'm a little slower to change than most.  But, I'll get there.  You're getting plenty of warning here.

But, I have to say, with all the news and hullabaloo about Blogger (especially) and Wordpress (to a lesser degree) cracking down on Adult Content sites, it really makes me wonder:  what are people so afraid of?

It seems to me, the more truth we have available to people, the better.  And sex bloggers are pretty damn big on truth.  We all do it for our own reasons, but regardless of our reasons, people read us to learn, gain insight, and find validation and connection.

For some reason, I feel like I'm back in high school, on the newspaper staff, fighting with the administration over a controversial story that the editors feel MUST run, but the principal is afraid it will enrage parents.  All the concern over what SOMEONE (no one in particular) MIGHT (no promises they'll even notice) be offended by, rather than the concern over the freedom of speech...the freedom of expression...and the respect for art - even when it isn't your cup of tea.

It smacks of censorship.  Which is unfair, judgmental, and well...wrong.

Too bad I'm too lazy to be in charge of the world.  I might do something about it.  Instead...I'll blog about it, and prepare for my silent "fuck you" to the powers that be by continuing to figure out how to move out on my own.

Time to fly the nest.  And it's such a warm, comfy little nest I've made.


Friday, June 28, 2013

Make Your Move


Key Word = Stratagem
Word Length = 700
Forbidden Words = Spy, Tuxedo
Bonus Points – Quote your favorite line (and link to the source in case we don’t know it) 


Okay, so I just want to open with a disclaimer.  I went WAY over the limit here.  But, as usual, I just take the prompt and run with it...then I go back and eliminate whatever I can.  For this story, I just couldn't cut anything, without damaging the plot or the characters.  So....it is what it is.  Once again...spank me if you see fit.  I'm cool with that.


"Are you sure you  want to do that?"  He raised his eyebrow as she moved her bishop forward.

"Why?  Do you see something I don't?"  she asked.

"Not necessarily.  But, once you make your move, you're committed.  I just want you to be sure."

She smiled at him from across the mahogany table, so polished she could see her naked reflection in the surface.  "Oh, I'm sure.  And I'm very committed to my decision."

"Good girl."  He took a long sip from his martini, swirled the olive, and set the glass back on the coaster.  "You know, it wasn't so long ago I taught you how to play this game.  You've become very skilled and quite sure of yourself.  I like to see that in you.  Self-confidence becomes you."

"I should get dressed.  We've been talking too long, and our guests are waiting."  She moved to leave her chair, but his quiet 'tsk tsk' made her stop dead.

"May I get dressed, Sir?"  She almost rolled her eyes, but thought better of it and lowered them instead.

"You may...."

She put out one leg and touched her bare toes to the black tile floor before he continued.

"....After you ask to leave your chair, like the good little whore that you know how to be.  You seem to have forgotten your place, my little minx."

She pulled her leg back in, and glanced up at him, seeing his lips pursed in disappointment at her forgetfulness.

"But, Sir, I'm just a bit outside of myself today..."

"Shhhh...for someone who believes we've been talking too much, you should be the first to refrain.  According to Harold Pinter, 'One way of looking at speech is to say it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.'.  You wouldn't want to do that would you, pet?"

"Of course not, Sir."

He stood up and came to her side of the table, offering her his hand.  She took it, and he pulled her to a standing position, so close to him her nipples rubbed up against the stiff wool of his black suit.  He took both her wrists in one hand, holding them above her head to the point she was forced to stand on tip toe.  He placed his other hand between her legs, running his fingers along her slit to check her wetness.

"That's lovely."  He fingers to his nose, inhaled, and then licked them seductively.

"You're very ready, my dear.  Run along now, and dress in haste.  Just the gown, and nothing else."  He let her arms free and smacked her bottom hard as she hurried away to the dressing room.

A few minutes later, she returned, in nothing but a simple, white satin, form-fitting gown that dipped below her waist in the back.  He was sitting in a large, high-backed leather chair, still nursing his cocktail.



"Shall I put my hair up, Sir?"

"No.  Leave it down.  I like it that way."

Pulling up her gown in the front so she could make her way forward and kneel between his legs, she looked up at him, adoration in her light gray eyes.

"This is everything I've ever wanted, Sir.  I want you to know that before we go down."

"I know, pet.  I know you better than you know yourself."

"Precisely, Sir.  That's why this is happening."

"No...this is happening because I need you as much as you need me."  She leaned her face into his palm, where he cradled it.

"There's a present for you on the bed."  Her eyes lit up with his words, and she nearly leapt to her feet in excitement before she caught herself and requested permission to rush across the room to open it.

"Please...open it.  I hope you like it."

She raced to the bed, taking the package in her shaking hands, undid the ribbon and ripped the white paper from the box.  Inside, she found a pair of the most decadent shoes.  Turning to him, her face lit up like a child on Christmas day, her eyes welled up with tears.



"They're perfect!"

"I know," he smiled provocatively, "Put them on."

She sat on the edge of the bed, and put the shoes on as quickly as she could.

"Now, lean back on the bed and put your legs up, ankles together."

She did as she was commanded, legs up, exposing her bareness under the gown.

He walked over to the bed and began to tie a white ribbon around her ankles, knotting it tightly and securely in a way that would only allow her the most petite strides without tripping.

"Now stand, pet.  Take my arm.  They're waiting."

She looked up at him, as she took her tiny steps quickly to keep up with him, struggling not to falter or seem anything but graceful at his side.  She took the stairs with careful attention.  And as she met the eyes of the people below, gazing up at her, the music began.  Her mother, at the front of the room beside the officiant, was already in tears.

She leaned on him, relying on him for balance.  But that was the point, wasn't it?  As long as she let him guide her, she would never fall.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

The Sky Is Indeed Falling (thanks for the heads up, Molly!)

Well...I was sent into a panic today.  Thanks to Molly, I'm breaking my "drinking before 5 p.m. rule".  No, really - Molly, thanks ever so much for letting me know just how important getting my own domain and a host might be in the near future.

From what I can tell, after stressing and researching, most all hosting services have a fairly vague policy which explains that they will lot accept obscene or unlawful content.  It's a tough call, really.  Because I don't find my site to be obscene, and while some of my characters might engage in unlawful behavior, my site is not "unlawful", as far as I can tell.

Blogger is indeed cracking down on "adult content" blogs that display advertising banners.  But, as I have none of those, I think I'm safe...for now.

However, Molly has a point that this policy could change at any moment, leaving Blogger's sex-bloggers high and dry.

WTF, right?  Can we all just scream "CENSORSHIP SUCKS" at the tops of our lungs?

Anyhow...I will most likely be in the process of cocooning myself so I can re-emerge as a sexy dot com butterfly.  Really, it was on my list of things to do, anyway...I just wasn't ready for all the work this is going to entail.  With the switch over, I'm expecting I'll have to re-do all of my links - which will be a huge pain in the ass...and of course, there's the issue of losing readership when they can't find me.  But, I suppose I have outgrown my little Blogger world.  I guess I have to admit that my biggest problem is change - I don't do it well or easily.  I tried using Wordpress blogging tools and hated the whole atmosphere.  It is so much more complicated than Blogger.  But it looks like most hosting services use it - so I may just have to suck it up and move on.  

Of course I have the added struggle of trying to remain anonymous through this whole thing, as well.  Even though many of these hosting companies have privacy policies, I'm paranoid.  I know, I know...I post nekkid pics of myself on here all the time - how could I possibly have privacy issues?  Well...I do.  And that's that.  I write under a pseudonym, I cover my face, my tattoos, I never give details about work or too much about where I live.  I'm sure a dedicated individual with the right knowledge could find me out...but, the world at large has no idea.  And that's how I like it.

With that...here's a photo - which is probably "pornographic" and "obscene" to someone.

The Lustful Literate


Anyhow, I'll let you know when the time comes.  For now...I'll keep posting and researching and planning.

Why am I somehow reminded of HHH on Pump Up the Volume?  (I know...I'm dating myself here...)

Lights Out (part 2)

Click HERE for PART ONE.

Lora's mind was swirling.  She wasn't even sure if her body would remember what to do, especially being guided by her brain, which was muddled by anxiety.  She wondered what spirit had invaded her, moving her limbs for her, guiding her lips and her tongue.  But whatever it was, it knew what it was doing.

And so did he.

She gave herself up to it.  It was a little late to pull out of it now.  What would they talk about?  How would they manage to be cooped up in this space drenched in sexual tension.  No...it was best to just go with the flow, something Lora was not at all good at.

He put his hands in her hair, and cradled the base of her skull, pulling her into him so he could reach her ears, her neck.  The intensity built, and they began reaching for each others clothes, undoing buttons, fumbling with zippers and hooks.  Literally blind, they exploring each other in a way that few lovers do.  Having no sense of what the other looked like, their minds were free to just luxuriate in the other senses.

Lora could have determined his physical features in her mind, but she preferred the dark...the not knowing.  He didn't have to be anyone.  There was no fantasy man to conjure up in her brain...because - hell - this was more of a fantasy than she'd even come up with in her own dreams.

Alex untucked her blouse from her skirt and unhooked her bra.  He slipped his hand underneath the edge of it, and held one of her breasts, squeezing it gently, running a finger over the nipple a few times, as if to test its sensitivity.  She squirmed a bit under his touch, her skin hot to the touch.

"Where's that condom, Lora?  I think it's time to find it."

"Oh, yes....yes...let me find it."  Nothing like breaking the mood for safety in a situation that in any other circumstance would be anything but.  In fact, though she'd turned her mind off to it, Lora knew what she was doing was crazy...and stupid.

She dug around in her purse, found the confounded thing and pulled it out.  Honestly, she wasn't sure if it was even still good.  It'd been in there for some time.  But, at this point, she figured there was no reason to become level-headed now.

"Here it is...a bit embarrassing, though...I think it glows in the dark."  She giggled nervously under her breath, somehow a bit self-conscious now.  She  wondered why she cared what this stranger thought of her condom choice.  In all actuality, it had been from a gift of naughty bits and pieces a friend had given her for her birthday, in jest.



"That's very serendipitous,"  he laughed.  She caught the humor of it as well, and was relieved by his response.

"Let's find out if it works."  He ripped open the package, and they were met by a moderate green glow.

"Well, at least neither one of us will have trouble finding my cock."

"I suppose that's helpful," Lora laughed.  "May I do the honors?"

"Absolutely."  He handed her the glowing ring and she kicked off her heels and bent slowly to her knees.  Once she was in place, reaching up his thigh to find his cock, she found herself licking her lips, remembering this position and realizing what was in front of her face.  She took him in her loose fist, leaned forward, and wrapped her mouth around him.  He let out a sigh, and she could tell he had reached out to the bars to stabilize himself.  His sigh encouraged her, so she continued follow her mouth's desire, taking all of him into her mouth and slowly sliding her lips back to the head.

He leaned back against the wall, and Lora scooted forward just a bit for comfort, placing one hand under his balls to support his cock, and the other, still holding the condom between two fingers, on his thigh to balance herself.

Within minutes, Alex was groaning and sighing more quickly, his orgasm building and pulsing in his cock...Lora could feel it between her lips and in her hand.

"Okay, you'd better stop...I think it's time to put that condom on."

Lora pulled her mouth from him, and rolled the condom down to the base of his cock.  The glow was too weak to light up anything else, but the disembodied dick looked a bit ridiculous bobbing in the air by itself.  They both looked at it and laughed until Alex reached out to her, pulling her towards him.

"Let me lay out my jacket...I wouldn't want your lovely ass to have to touch the elevator floor.  And I wouldn't want your knees scraped up or bruised.  Let me take the brunt of injury."

"How chivalrous of you," Lora laughed, but found the offer rather sweet, and welcomed.

He shuffled around a bit, laying down his jacket, finding hers and adding it to the equation, and Lora just stood back smiling to herself as she watched the glow of his cock bouncing around in the dark.

At this point, she also began to wonder when help would show up.  Would they hear them coming?  Would they get caught, literally, with their pants down?

From his knees, he reached up to her pulling her towards him, reaching his hands up her skirt, pulling down her nylons and helping her step out of them.  Setting them aside, he kissed from her knee up her right thigh, and then pulled her panties off and over her feet, adding them to the pile of clothes, careful to put them all in one place for quick retrieval.

He kissed back up the left thigh, and then flicked his tongue over her swollen clit, causing her to cry out slightly.

He pulled her down to him, and helped her find a suitable place on the jackets.  He spread her blouse open, pushed her bra up and over her tits, placing his hand on one, and the other in his mouth, his tongue caressing her nipple to the point she though it might burst.  Her little whimpers and sighs encouraged him, and he bit her just enough make her squirm, a sharp intake of breath a beautiful sign of her surprise.

He kissed her then, his hot mouth taking hers captive with authority, his tongue exploring hers deeply, with intention.   She could tell he was near to entering her, and it was all she could do not to arch her back and push up on her feet to meet him.  Her body was crying out for him to...

"What was that?"

They both stopped, holding their breath.

"Fuck.  I think there's someone out there."  The disappointment in Alex's voice was audible.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me?  Could their timing be any more fucking impeccable?"  Lora was so furious she nearly began to cry on the spot.  So fucking close to doing the most impulsive and exciting thing she had ever done in her life, and now the fucking fire department shows up.

They both began to fumble quickly around for their clothes.  Lora crammed her things into her bag, buttoned up her blouse and threw on her jacket.  She fiddled with her hair, hoping the French twist wasn't too damaged and that her makeup wasn't so completely smudged that everyone outside that door would instantly know what they'd been up to.

She heard the zip of Alex's pants.  He'd never actually taken them off.  Both of them had wisely and instinctively left as much clothing in tact as possible in case of a situation just like this.

"This is just bloody perfect, ain't it?"  Alex said into the dark.

"Yah...perfect.  A perfect disappointment,"  Lora replied.

"You know, we could go back and do this the normal way.  Hot dogs at the cart down the street?  A slushee at 7-11?  And then head to the nearest 1 hour motel to do the dirty in bug-infested sheets."

"Disgusting!"  But she laughed at his crass humor.

"Or better yet...a nice dinner and then head back to my place for a good vintage and a good fuck overlooking the city - I have a pretty damned decent view, though I don't like to brag."

"Oh, really?  Something tells me you do."  She found herself laughing again, oddly comfortable in this stranger's company.

Both of them smoothed and pressed themselves into the most normal state possible, and as the doors were pried open by the intruding crowbar, Lora found herself growing nervous about seeing his face.  There was a part of her that just wanted to walk away, and never look back.  But there was a bigger part that wanted to turn to him, look into his eyes, and own her spontaneity...her impetuousness.  She thought to herself, 'What if this is good for me?'

The light flooded in, blinding her before she could begin to over-think her rhetorical question.

"Are you two okay?"  The gruff voice invaded the small space and busted all thoughts of their intimate moment to hell.

"Yes, we're fine...Good thing you guys showed up before anything inappropriate happened in there.  Boredom can really get to people you know?"  Alex laughed out loud, and the rescue workers laughed back.

As Lora's eyes adjusted, she was forced to return to her choices.  Quickly, now that she was back in the real world, she made the sensible one...to turn from him and walk forward.

"Hey, Alex, she called back...it was lovely meeting you."

He started to laugh...hard.

She stopped.  Without looking back, she called out - "What's so fucking funny?"

"You might want these...Lora..."

With the recognition that he'd just used her real name, she whipped around to look Carl right in the eyes.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."  It was the third time she'd said it tonight.  But seeing Carl, holding up her black lace panties in his hand, framed by the open elevator doors, surrounded by rescue workers, red and white lights swirling from the door behind her and windows beside her, she could only hang her head and laugh.

"Guess you aren't as frigid as I thought you were."

She turned to walk away, her insides burning with anger, fear, and humiliation.  But, she stopped.  No, tonight she'd found something in herself that she hadn't known existed.  She wasn't going to run from it.  Both of them had lied.  For whatever reason.  And hadn't been an ass in that elevator.  Quite the contrary.

"No.  I'm not.  And I'm starving after that ordeal.  Chinese take-out sound alright?"

He ran up beside her, swinging her panties around his index finger.

"Sounds scrumptious."

Lora rolled her eyes.

"I cannot believe I am doing this."

"Really, I had no idea it was you, Lora.  I'm just as surprised as you...maybe more so - who knew you were such a vixen?"

"Yah, who knew?  And who knew you weren't a dick?"

"Well, I am, actually.  But, at least I'm a glowing dick, right?"

As they walked down the city sidewalk, Lora tried to control her instinct to just flag down and cab and drive off to another city, far, far away and forget this had ever happened.  But, she'd just about fucked some guy who was a complete stranger to her...and she was a little curious to find out just how wrong she had been about him.

"Another cliche...the office rivals falling for each other?  Or we could just have hate-sex if you'd prefer."  His dimples showed when he smiled, and it aggravated her how they made her thighs sweat.

"Let's just take this one step at a time, Carl.  And give me my fucking panties."

She reached out to swipe them, but he held them above her head, swinging them like a lasso on his finger, laughing and looking down at her as she stood on her toes, wrestling with him to pull his arm down.

He was strong, and juvenile, and smelled incredible.  Lora closed her eyes and stopped fighting.  Carl put his arms around her and kissed her hard.

"I might be good for you, Lora.  I might be just what you need."

"You are full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Yah...and I'd like you to be full of myself, too."




(So, I could have gone several ways with the ending here.  I chose to go this way, but having her walk away, never look back, and never realize it was Carl, nor he realize it was her - would've been fun, too.  I welcome anyone to re-write the ending - sometimes a different perspective can be exciting.)

And I will be back tonight for a little HNT...stay tuned...



Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Lights Out (part one)

"Well, that's the last file, closed up and put away for the night, Sir. Is there anything else I can do for you before I head home?" She spoke with an air of professionalism, tinged with familiarity.

"No, Lora, that'll be all. See you in the morning. The Smiths tend to be early, so I'll need you here a bit before the usual time, just to make sure the conference room is ready. This is a big case...we don't want to blow it."

She smiled at him, nodded, and assured him everything would be taken care of as expected. He had nothing to worry about. She gathered her things and headed down the long corridor to the elevator.

"Hey, Lora, wait up!" From behind her, a young woman appeared, breathless and a little disheveled, her hair in frayed wisps around her face, framing her reddened cheeks. 

Lora turned toward her, "What's wrong, Georgia? You look a mess."

"Well, I just...I seem to have misplaced the Smith file...the one you gave to me to take down to the conference room earlier. I can't for the life of me recall where I might have left it...."

"Oh, shit, Georgia!  That's a classified file; what the hell did you do? We've got to find it. Where have you been since I handed it to you? Let's back track..."

"I've been all over, Lora. You know Mr. Jensen; he has me running all over the place all day. I think he does it just to prove he can. So much of what I'm asked to do seems senseless."

"Never mind that. We've got to find that file. Where did you go first?"

"The break room, to grab Mr. Jensen a cup of coffee."

"Well, then let's go there." She adjusted the heavy leather bag on her shoulder and motioned for Georgia to walk ahead of her quickly, shooing her forward as if she were a bothersome child. As Mr. Jensen's head office supervisor and personal assistant, she knew this would come down on her head if she didn't find that file.

The two women walked purposefully back down the hall, passing Mr. Jensen's office door, and turned the corner toward the break room. From inside, Lora could hear the loud banter of some of the employees, "Lora? That bitch? Who the hell does she think she..."

As they walked into the room, Lora bold and defiant, having little time to deal with petty office drama, she met the eyes of a young man in an expensive suit. She scowled openly, "Good evening, gentlemen..." she nodded to both of them and bumped into the good looking one in the Armani with the spotless, too-trendy shoes. "Carl...hope things are going well with Mr. Giovanni." She smiled sourly, and rolled her eyes. She'd wanted that job at one point, but Carl had turned out to have better ass-kissing skills, and just played dirtier...which was obviously what Mr. Giovanni had wanted. So much for professionalism, cleavage, and a devilishly dangerous glare. It wasn't what all lawyers were looking for. Mr. Jensen, however, appreciated all she had to offer and used her skills (and looks) to his advantage. Having her in the room beside him made him feel in control, and he very much needed that. She was an expert at making him look like a hungry lion in the board room. Nothing was ever out of place.

Which is why she had to find that file.

Carl and his friend took their coffee cups and left the break room with exaggerated apologies about being in the way and hoping she found what she was looking for. On their way down the hall, Lora could hear them laughing..."I bet she's fucking him. that's the only reason Jensen could ever have hired a frigid hag like her."

"Wow, Carl doesn't have much love for you, does he?" Georgia inquired.

"No...no he doesn't."

"Does it bother you that he talks that way about you?"

"No, he's just jealous. It's what little boys do when they know they've been outdone by a girl. It goes all the way back to college. There's a long history of competition and well...let's be honest - I usually won. But, who cares...we're here to find a file. A very important file. And Carl can go fuck himself."

Georgia left it that and began to dig through piles of papers and boxes of files. Lora looked behind things, under things, in the wastebasket. And there, under several manila envelopes and file folders, was a red file labeled SMITH. Lora grabbed it and began thumbing through it to be sure nothing was missing or damaged.

"You found it! Oh, God...I'm so glad you found it - he'd have had my head."

"No...he'd have had mine. I would have had yours."

"And rightfully so....I will never lose another thing as long as I work here."

"Oh, shit...quit lying and take this directly to the conference room. Lock up, and I will see you here at 7 tomorrow morning. Everything has to be perfect. These are big potential clients.

Lora grabbed her bag and slung it back over her shoulder, making her way back down the corridor and back to the elevator.

She let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief as she pressed the down arrow and watched the numbers light up above the door, letting out a an annoying little chime with each one. The doors opened, she rubbed her hand over her eyes, and stepped on, turning to face the number panel as the doors closed. She selected the lobby, and glanced behind her to make eye contact with the other passenger, when suddenly the lights flickered and went out with a groan.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

The other passenger, a tall younger man from what she could tell of the few seconds she had seen him, reached across her and felt around on the panel for a panic button or an emergency call.

"Must be the storm," he said.

"Yah, well...I don't have time for storms. I have to be back here at 7 for a meeting, and the only thing standing between me and a nice big glass of wine and a hot tub are these fucking metal doors."

"Sounds like you had a lovely evening planned...a lot more relaxing than mine."

"Yah? Who the hell are you? Maybe I should be more concerned about being stuck in a dark elevator with a psychopath."

"Name's Alex. Working for Carter & Row, across town. How 'bout you?"

"Ummm...Sandra. I'm a legal assistant for Mr. Perry." Why she'd done it, she didn't know, but giving him her real name seemed like a dumb idea, so she'd just thrown out the first thing that came to her.

"Perry? Hmmm...I'm not familiar with him."

"Different firm. I was just here dropping off some paperwork."

"Ohh....well - this shouldn't take long. Once the fire department gets the signal, we should be outta here in no time."

The problem was, the signal never went out. He hadn't even pressed the button.

"So, Sandra, what should be talk about while we're stuck here in the dark?"

Lora, digging in her purse for her cell phone - which was dead...as ensured by Murphy's Law, had little patience for small talk in the best of circumstances. This was
hell for her. Stuck alone in a 6 X 6 space with a talkative stranger. What kind of shit could she make up to keep him entertained? The dead silence would have been more uncomfortable, so she began to fill it with lies. And for whatever reason, they seemed to flow easily and smoothly from her mouth.

Sandra was 26 and had just moved to San Francisco from Portland. She was going to Law School at Stanford, travelling the long commute several times a week, and living with family in Palo Alto, since she couldn't afford to live on her own.

They talked about the sky-high cost of real-estate and the cut-throat world of Law and Order.

"You know...this seems like a bad movie. A man and a woman stuck on a dark elevator, chatting and getting to know one another. Seems like the most natural thing to come next in the script is for them to engage in a torrid sex scene, and then leave the elevator, never to cross paths again." He laughed. But his comment made her shiver. Who was this creep and what the fuck was he up to?

"Bit cliche, don't you think?" she responded, adding in her own nervous laugh.

"'Spose we could change it up however we wanted." His words hung in the air for what seemed an eternity while Lora breathed silently and tried to keep her heart from beating too loudly.

The rational part of her brain said, 'find a way to turn your purse into a weapon in case this guy tries anything stupid.' But her unintentionally celibate body begged her to just say, "Fuck it...he works across town...you'll never see him again....And you've got those hopeful little condoms sitting at the bottom of your bag just screaming to be used...finally..."

She took a deep breath in and exhaled, "I'm not much for suspense. I like it when I know how a movie is going to end. It's comforting."

"Really? So you're good with the cliche?"

"Ummm...well...are you?" she bit her lip, stunned by her own behavior and poor decision-making skills.

She heard him shuffling around a bit and felt the elevator move as he shifted his weight towards her.

"Don't be scared. Really...I'm just a normal guy in a really abnormal circumstance. I'm not going to hurt you."

"This seems so dangerous and stupid," she said.

"Well, it might be stupid. I'll grant you that. But, there's no danger. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Are we really going to do this?"

"Why not?"

"Well, there a million reasons...none of which sound better to me than just doing something completely hair-brained - something I'd never actually do in real-life. But with the lights out, somehow...this seems like a dream. It doesn't feel real."

"If it were a dream...what would you do?"

"I'd probably be braver and more forward than I am in real life. Like this..."

She reached out into the darkness and found his body, patting her hands upward to find his face. She pulled him down toward her and kissed him, her pulse pounding in her chest, so heavily she was sure he could hear it. She hadn't had sex in over a year, and everything in her was crying out for release with this stranger. For some reason...the fact that she had no idea who he was, couldn't see him, wouldn't ever see him again, made it possible for her to relent to her own fears.



To be continued....in the morning - cause I'm exhausted and cannot continue tonight. Forgive me.

Click HERE for PART TWO.

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post. Click HERE to find out who else is being wicked.



Saturday, June 22, 2013

Sexy Undies for Curvier Girls

I have a bitch of a time finding underwear that fit my rather ample behind without pulling in around the waist too much to create an unflattering bulge.  Plus I am short(er), so high-waisted French-cut look ridiculous on me.  Thongs - well, don't get me started - unless it is imperative that I avoid panty lines or I'm wearing them for someone else's benefit...forget it.  Can't stand feeling like I have a rubber band up my butt-crack (and yes...I CAN feel it...and no...I DON'T get used to it).  String bikinis? 2 buldges for the price of one - on both hips!  Blech.

For me...it's either:

1)  The classic bikini - okay...pretty much a staple in my lingerie drawer.
2)  The hipster - Daddy's favorite on me - they tend to fit better all around.

and now - my newest favorite

3) The "cheeky" panty.  They show a bit more "cheek" than a standard hipster/boyshort, but are low on the hip, giving the illusion of a longer waist for us shorter ladies, and thicker around the sides to avoid that nasty bulge-effect.

I'm pretty much in love.  And so is my behind.


And, since I am not quite plus-sized (I'm a 12-14 and 5' 4" - wow!  How's that for some  honesty?), I find myself also have a tough time just finding brands that size correctly. Lots of cheaper brands' size L don't fit (I usually wear a size 7/L panty).  But, I can't wear the plus-sized undies (size 14-16 is too big).  So, it's a crap shoot when I find a new brand.  For example, I bought a ton of Cosmopolitan brand bras and panties (once I bough one, I fell in love!, and that is saying something!), but found that my usual 36/38 B and 7/L had to be 38 C and 8/XL.  But, once I accepted that, the lingerie fit perfect!  (Oddly enough, I usually wear a size 7.5 running shoe and just ended up buying an 8.5 Asics shoe.  Are things shrinking?  Or am I just growing?  I swear I weigh no more than I did 5 years ago.)

The Lustful Literate

Here's a pretty Cosmo set.  Love the peek-a-boo "almost" shelf bra.  This is truly the first brand (besides Gilligan & O'Malley or Victoria's Secret) that I've truly liked.  And it's affordable.  I have a hard time shelling out 40-50$ on a bra (VS), so the G & M (a Target brand) has been a nice substitute.  But, they've been changing their product in the past few years, so I've been on the look out for a new stand-by.  The Cosmo line just came out at JCPenney.  Bras run about 25-30$ but are often on a BOGO special.  The panties are 5 for 25$ (just like VS).  I especially like the racer-back push-up bra from Cosmo.  Very comfortable and stays put - no more adjusting straps.  Most of their other bras are convertible, too...so they work with lots of different outfits.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Strike a Pose (FFF)



Keywords:  Peek/Peak (must use both)
Word Length:  200 
(exactly 200 or spankings will be issued)
Forbidden words:   Chipotle, Asparagus, & Chilly
Bonus Words:  if you write two versions, you can make them 250 words each


(But what if I like spankings? Maybe I'll make it 201, just to see if you mean what you say. I'm that kind of sub.)

Strike a Pose

"Don't peek!" she barked from behind the rock.

"I'm going to see it anyway; what's the big deal?" was his exasperated reply.  "Just hurry up, I want to take the picture before any other hikers show up."

She slipped out from behind the rock, completely naked, covered in goosebumps.

"Let's just get this done quick..."

"Okay, lay down over there on that flat rock...like your tanning or something.  Yah, just like that.  Now put one leg up and spread them just a bit so I get a hint of your goods."

She did as he instructed.

"That's perfect!  Hold that pose."  He snapped a few shots and then came in for some close-ups.  He was a good photographer.  But she'd never bared this much of herself to his lense, which was now close enough that she could see her own reflection.

She could also see the reflection of a pair of onlookers on the peak behind her.

Whipping her head around, she curled herself up to cover herself as much as possible.

"Don't mind us - we're enjoying the show!"  One of them called down.

And both of them began to clap.

"Encore!"

(201 on the dot!)

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Active Dominance & Active Submission



I've been considering this post for some time.  After reading Kacie Cunningham's Conquer Me, I found myself thinking about this new-to-me concept of active dominance and active submission.

Because Daddy and I are in a fairly new place (I've always been submissive to him, but we've really begun to tease things out to a whole new realm for our relationship), and I'm only now learning the correct terminology for things (finding words...finding my submissive voice?) and finding/creating definitions so that I (and we) might truly name the process we are undertaking, I'm probably a bit behind the curve here.

But, as this is my blog...and a log of my own ideas and experiences, I suppose things will come up when they come up...even if the whole world already knows about it.

For tonight, I'm really just clarifying things for myself, more than anything.

Let's start with Cunningham's definitions:

Active dominance is when the Dom/me takes a direct hand in their own dominance.  He/she actively seeks ways to exert his/her dominance and create a power exchange relationship.  He/she is not passive, allowing the submissive simply to serve and find ways to be submissive without the need for the dominant to respond.

Likewise, active submission is when the submissive takes a direct hand in his/her own submission.  He/she actively seeks ways to exhibit his/her submission towards the dominant and doesn't just wait for the dominant to tell him/her how to serve/act.

It might seem like a "duh".  But not all D/s relationships involve two active participants.  And they don't have to.  A submissive can be submissive without being told how (though it helps).  And a dominant can let him/her serve as the submissive chooses (seems sort of against the idea of submission...but it happens, I'm sure).  Also, a submissive can simply do as he/she is told, without ever offering ideas for how the relationship should go.

Personally, I need it both ways.  I need my dominant to actively engage me as a submissive:  give me tasks, provide requests, make rules, hold me to them, set goals for me, help me to reach them, etc.

But as a submissive, I also feel I should offer up ideas not only for how I would like to serve, but how I would like to be dominated.

Luckily, my D/s practices are enveloped by a deeply loving marriage.  There is room for screw ups and mistakes. There is room for growth and exploration.

I can honestly say, I am happy that Daddy and I have made it where we are today.

But, where will we go tomorrow?  Well...we both need to be more active in our roles. I think it is easy to become complacent - to label something and then forget about it.  So... he's my dominant, and I'm his submissive.  Check.  We have some rules.  Check.  I don't tell him no.  Check.  We've got the basics covered.  But, how do we make it better?  Especially when he's on night shift and gone for much of the week.  We fall out of practice.  We live our normal day to day...and days go by without much D/s flavor at all.

It's those daily rituals.  And I'm honestly not very good at them.  I am terribly forgetful (hence the regular spankings).  I'm supposed to have a 5 minute "meditation" session in which I only think about Daddy and me and our relationship; and then I'm supposed to call or text him when I am done, so he knows I did it.  I'm also supposed to orgasm every day...either by Daddy's doing, or my own.  But, if I do it myself, I have to text or call to ask permission, so he's aware I'm doing it.

Daddy is actively providing ways for me to show him my submission.  And I suck (not in the good way).

He also told me I am to come up with a new way to serve him every month.  It can be small (like last month...I promised to start folding his socks - a task I abhor).  Basically, he's forcing me to be more actively submissive.  To take some responsibility for the strength and health of our relationship.

So this month, I have a new way to serve him.  To send him a photo/visual/video every day.  Not necessarily naughty...just a photo to accompany my "5 minutes" text/call.  I'll post it on my "diary" site, so you can follow along if you like.


Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Sweetest Perfume

"Do you remember the first time you came?" She looked up at him from between his knees, her tank top low enough for him to see right between her breasts to her belly.

"That was such a long, long time ago...I don't think so."

"How old do you think you were?" She smiled and began curling her hair around her index finger, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner to encourage his response.

"Young."

"How young?"

"Maybe 12?"

"Yah...I think I was, too."

"Tell me about it..." His Cheshire-cat grin showed how happy he was he'd turned the questioning around on her.

But her feathers were far from ruffled by the change of direction, "I'll do better than that...I'll show you..." And she leaned back, spread her legs, and slipped her hand down the front of her shorts.

"I was lying on the floor by the side of my bed so I'd be shielded from view if someone opened the door. I'd gotten hold of one of my father's Playboy magazines, and something about looking at all of those glamorized pussies just made things tingle in a way I hadn't felt before. I had to get my hands on myself. I had to touch it, to explore it, to figure out what the held that thing could do. It was almost as if my cunt was magnetized and my fingers were drawn to it."

She closed her eyes as she entered the memory. Her fingers searching her folds, his eyes unblinking.

"I was afraid to take off any clothes, in case someone walked in. I didn't know what I'd say if someone caught me, literally, with my pants down. But, I needed better access, and I wanted to see my own cunt next to the ones on the glossy pages. So, I risked it. I pushed the magazine near the edge of the bed, so I could shove it under quickly if necessary. And I slid out of my shorts...like this."

She pulled her shorts and underwear down over her knees, down to her ankles.

"I kept them here, so I could pull them up quickly if needed. I spread my lips and really looked at myself for the first time."

She spread herself, glanced down, and looked up at him. He smiled, but said nothing, his silence urging her to continue.

"I opened the magazine to a close-up photo of a woman's cunt and looked back and forth at myself and the photo. I noticed she had more folds, and seemed stretched in some way. So, I began to stretch myself. I noticed the bulging head of her clit, red and swollen. So, I touched mine and sent a dull shock through myself. I kept touching it, pushing a bit harder each time, then circling."

Her movements matched her narration, as she visually and verbally walked him into her mind.

"I licked my finger and began to explore lower. The photo showed a darkness, the entrance...more pronounced by experience than mine, and having never touched it like this before, I was nervous. But the closer I got, the more my body cried out for me to push my finger inside."

He was visibly hardening as he watched her lick her finger and slowly slide it into her cunt.

"I held it inside for a few seconds, moving it gently and slowly, and then I began to push it in and pull it out rhythmically."

She lay back, her knees up and parted wide, one hand spreading her lips, the other furtively stroking and fucking her now glistening pussy.

"I noticed the heat, and the wetness. I thought I was wetting myself at first, but it felt so good, I kept going despite the fear. I managed to stimulate my clit and finger-fuck myself until I was shuddering and pulsing, my muscles contracting around my fingers, now dripping with my come."




On the floor, in front of him, she fucked herself until she came, red heat climbing up her belly, across her breasts, up her neck, and over her cheeks.

"I pulled up my shorts, hid the magazine quickly under my mattress, and ran to the bathroom to wash my face. I was so afraid that someone would know. That they'd smell it on me."

She rolled back onto her knees, reached her hand up to him, and waved her fingers under his nose.

"It's a beautiful fragrance on you," he said.





This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Head on over to see who else is being Wicked.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

In her sleep

She slept hard, held captive in a cocoon of her own bone-deep exhaustion.  So deep, she didn't hear the front door open or close like she usually would.  So deep, she didn't feel him kiss her cheek or hear the shower run.  So deep, she didn't feel him slip in beside her, pulling the sheets down enough to expose her naked breasts.  She didn't realize he held each one for a moment, like a fragile Christmas bulb, in the palm of his hand.  Nor did she feel his hand reach between her legs, fingers slipping between the crease that protected her most secret place.  She didn't know that she responded, that her body awoke to his touch, that she opened her legs to him.  And she certainly had no idea that as his lips and tongue explored her, she began to writhe and moan, her back arching, her knees bending.  It was as if her body knew how to run the show without her.  Her hands reached around the backs of her knees, pulling her legs up and out, offering herself physically and subconsciously to his hungry mouth, which sucked at her clit until she actually rose up toward him, letting go of her legs and moving her hands to the back of his head, pressing herself into his face, grinding her pubic bone against his jaw.  His hands reached under her backside,  grabbing hold and squeezing her as she came against his chin, her fingers wrapped around and through his hair.



Every muscle contracted momentarily before her entire body caved in, her breath shallow, her skin salty with sweat. her pussy pulsing.  And as she relaxed more deeply than she could ever do when awake, she sunk into a sleep as complete as death.

And she dreamed of his hands on her flesh.


This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Head over to see who else is being wicked. And yes, I realize I missed the submission deadline.  It's been one of those weeks - work is at its craziest - and the inmates are taking over the asylum.  Thankfully, we're about to shut it down.

Here's a little "me" interlude - since it's also HNT (and I'm on time for this one!):

The Lustful Literate



Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Let's Talk about [Smart] Sex, Baby...



So, I am a big follower of TED Talks.  Mainly because the organization pulls together some of the smartest people to talk about some of the most unique and intriguing topics.

So, after seeing a link to one of those talks in Lori Smith's (yes, I have a new crush/obsession) post on Uborka called "Can Porn be Ethical?" (which, I fully believe it can), I caught the internet ADD and began searching through the TED archives.  There's a whole lotta sex in there!  So, grab a lovely glass of something relaxing and peruse with me, will you?


Esther Perel:  The Secret to Desire in a Long-term Relationship

Mary Roach:  10 Things You Didn't Know About Orgasms

Helen Fisher:  Why We Love, Why We Cheat

Eve Ensler on Security

Helen Fisher:  The Brain in Love

iO Tillett Wright:  Fifty Shades of Gay

Paul Bloom:  The Origins of Pleasure





Monday, June 10, 2013

Bent over the bathroom counter...

I found my sanity while
biting into my own forearm,
suppressing a scream as
I held a vibrator up
to my sexual heart
like a stethoscope
listening for the expected
thump of normality.

He pushed into me from behind
so I might go forward
with the rest of my night,
capable of breathing
and being alone.

In painful silence,
I released a day's worth of
pent-up anxiety, relief washing
over me, and spilling out between
my twitching thighs.

He knows just the right
medicine for what ails me.



I personally love being able to look into the mirror and see him pounding away at me, his hands on my hips as if they were handles, pulling me back to enhance his thrusts.  The backs of my legs taut, calves hard, on my tip-toes to raise my ass up to meet his hungry cock.  I become a greedy envelope for his throbbing, pulsing letter, his words dribbling down the insides of my thighs like tattoos, tingling, numbing, overwhelming me with sensation that will remain for hours - a crimson heat of want and need that singes my skin several layers deep.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Eroticon...should I? Or shouldn't I?

So, I'm considering it.  I've been telling Daddy about it...and all of the sudden a few days ago, he told me he had already put in for tentative vacation days for that weekend and had looked at ticket prices.

He's really an amazing man.  I hadn't even gone that far.  But, then...he knows me.  He knows I'll just sit around and weigh the possibilities and talk myself out of it because it'll cost money that we should be saving or using to pay off bills.

The thing is - he gets that writing is my outlet.  I don't really expect to have some sort of online empire or anything (though I would like to learn how to increase my blog traffic a bit and encourage people to comment more - as I can see I get plenty of reads on my posts, but not as much "conversation" as I'd like).  I can see that Eroticon offers workshops on those topics...and quite a few more.  Plus, I'd get the chance to meet some of the bloggers I read on a regular basis.

Of course, it's in Atlanta...and I'm not really a fan.  I could've thought of so many prettier, nicer cities.  But....I'm not in charge, am I?

Anyhow, for now - it's just at the forefront of my mind.

We'll see.

(I have to say...If I keep seeing things like this...

Lori  Smith - at RarelyWearsLipstick.com


...when I search for information on past and present speakers and workshops for the event...it won't take much more to sell me on the idea!  E-gad!  That is one hot lady! - BTW - Daddy, you wanna know what I like in women?  That.  Brains and bi-sexuality and that.  Excuse me - I'm going to go and take care of my sudden needs now.)


Friday, June 7, 2013

FFF - Wet



Key word:  Escape
Word Limit: 333 words
Word Restrictions:  racquetball, lover, morning, sunlight
Bonus:  Tell us about a time you had to escape yourself.


Mina sprang from the bed like a frightened cat, her body taut, her movements punctuated by her high-pitched screams, "Jordan!  No!  Fuck you...get away from me..."

Her giggles belied her harsh words, as she leapt toward the door.  Naked, he ran after her, his rigid hungry cock like a jousting sword, leading him...pulling him toward her, his nuts bouncing comically below.

Mina ran down the hallway, breasts swaying, bottom jiggling just slightly - visual motivation for her perpetrator.  She warbled like a terrified bird and flew from floor to couch and over, knocking over a lamp along the way.

Jordan, in true predatory fashion, fell back, followed slowly and waited for her to corner herself.  Which she did.  In the kitchen, against the back door.

"I'll go outside!  I swear I will!"  

Jordan looked at her and smiled smugly.  "No you won't.  You're naked.  You don't have the guts."

"Fuck you...I will.  I'll show you!"

Mina reached behind her back and turned the knob, pulled the door open, and slipped out backwards, keeping both of her eyes on both of his.

As soon as her feet felt the rough wooden planks of the porch, she turned and ran...down the stairs and into the grass, her bare feet cooled by the green blades.

And then she felt it...the icy blast of water, strategically aimed right between her ass cheeks.  She screamed and whipped around, pointing her own weapon at Jordan's still hard cock.  She shot back...but his erection was too strong.   The cold water had no other effect besides making his cock wet.

He looked around and thanked God the fence was high.

He was going to get her so wet.

Soaking wet.


A bit of a literary rant...

When I was in college, my English department (probably much the same as any across the Western world) was a microcosm of the writing/teaching/editing/publishing world at large.  In it were the intense readers...the ones who had been reading John Donne and Nietzsche from the age of 5.  There were also the "writers" (dressed in black, smoking cigarettes, and brooding over their moleskin notebooks), the WRITERS (technical, business, and downright wicked with a red pen), and the writers.  

This last group is the tough one.  They are highly talented.  Cerebral.  Deep.  And well...a bit snooty about their craft.  I remember talking in class one day about how writers like Stephen King or Janet Evanovich were "sell-outs" because they let the market and their publishers determine what they wrote and how much.

Really?  These writers have found what the public wants and are raking in the $.  They are living their lives as writers and are thriving.  I hardly call that selling out...especially if they are having fun with their art and feel fulfilled.  It is their choice, after all, to write.  They could always quit if they felt they were being taken advantage of or losing touch with their initial motivations to write.

But, for some reason, these student writers, felt that it should be only about the work...the ever-so-lofty work...and that the image of the starving artist, tucked away in a dilapidated apartment, earning meager wages waitressing by day so she can fulfill her true calling of writing the great American novel at night, which will only be printed by a small, independent press (because they are more ethical than big publishers, use recycled ink, and donate all proceeds to the starving children in Africa), and her book will only be sold by small-town bookstores, where she will visit (Greyhound bus?  Hitchhiking?) to read from her book to a small group of "writers" in black, smoking cigarettes, and taking details notes in their moleskin notebooks, nodding emphatically and clapping with aplomb.

Yes, I'm being sarcastic.  But, the reason I am writing about these writers now is because I feel they have infiltrated even the world of sex writing (and blogging).

I've given 50 Shades (and similar titles) a hard time myself.  It's a "crap" read in my opinion, and not very well-written...but damn did it sell a bazillion copies, so the author (and the marketing department) must be doing something right.  It also did an amazing thing, in my opinion, for the world of sex writing in general.  It got the public interested.  It made them clamor for more.

Even though I thought it was uninspiring and trite and gave an inaccurate view of some things in the BDSM world, I have to admit I don't really have much of a right to criticize 50 Shades.  After all...what was the last bestseller I published?  That's right...nada.

Anyone who has the balls to write about sex, put their name on it, and publish it deserves what they get...and if that includes praise, criticism, and a lot of money - so be it.  It doesn't make the writer a sell-out.  It doesn't ruin or bring down the entire world of sex writing to have dozens of poorly written works.

And classics re-written as erotic?  I don't think they ruin the original work at all.  The reason I read them is because I loved the original.  I love the idea of parody and interpretation, so reading them just brings back the original as I compare and contrast to see what was altered.  I also think it gives classics a new life.  I would imagine (as I have seen) that some people who read an erotic re-write of a classic, would actually be inspired to read the original, which they might never have picked up otherwise (I personally get a huge kick out of the parodies like Jane Slayer and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies...and I love Bronte and Austen to pieces, and I don't find these re-writes to be disrespectful in any way...in fact, I think it's a homage to these great classics that newer writers feel the work speaks to them in such a way that they have something to add).

I also find it wonderfully creative when screenwriters adapt classics and disguise them as contemporary films (Clueless/Emma, 10 Things I Hate About You/The Taming of the Shrew, The Orphanage/Peter Pan).

Basically, what I'm getting at is...people write for a lot of reasons...some for fun, some for enlightenment, some for profit, some for fame, some to inform, some to revolutionize.  Whatever a writer's reason, their writing is no less important.  Writing is communication, and there is room in the world for every voice.  We don't all have to be Pablo Neruda.  Some of us can be Dave Barry...or Clive Cussler...or Stephanie Meyer (another writer who has gotten a ton of flack for a, in my opinion, lackluster novel/series that exploded in the book world to a public hungry for her brand of paranormal romance).

We spend too much time as a culture cutting others down for what they do...claiming that someone else has done it better.  What is the point of that?  Must everything be a competition?  I think it is a bit snooty to say that one person (or a group) has the right to anoint certain written works as worthy and others as worthless.  We like what we like.  We don't have to like every book...but we should at least honor what the writer was trying to accomplish.  If I find a book to be a failure...that means it was a failure to me.  It might be a roaring success to someone else.  That is the important thing to keep in mind about (literary) criticism.  It is always just an opinion.

Besides, if a "crap" writer is pubished by an "evil" company and the public eats it up...that says less about the writer than the people who pay to read her books.  Maybe rather than complaining about how someone should be more literary or more original, we should investigate what makes our society more likely to read Sexcapades of a Lonely Housewife than The Awakening.




Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Center of Attention


As Katie took the last stair onto her floor, it became apparent that the sounds of laughter and hum of conversation were coming from her own apartment.

She paused for a moment, breathed in deeply, and exhaled what sounded like an epic sigh.  Pushing her hair out of her face, she licked her lips and headed down the hall.



No need to use the key; it was already unlocked.  No need to knock; she lived there.

But who the hell were all these people?  And where the hell was Peter?

She scanned the crowd and balanced her briefcase, purse, keys, and stack of mail in a right-armed embrace as she kicked her heel back to shut the door behind her.

There was nowhere to drop her things.  Too many people taking up too many of her personal surfaces.



Calling out for him wouldn't do much good amidst the cacophony of voices and clinking glassware (good lord, was that the good crystal?).  Pushing her way through the bodies (this many guests had to be against fire code or something), Katie made her way to the bedroom, hoping to find a bit of space and privacy so she could change out of her work things (especially those infernal shoes).

Peter was stretched out on the bed, still wearing his dress slacks and white shirt, untucked and wrinkled from the day's wear.  Another mental tick-mark:  his shoes were on the bed.

Katie opened her mouth to release a long list of complaints, but Peter put his finger to his pursed lips to quiet her.  She furrowed her brow in disbelief. 

"You want me to be quiet?  What about all those people out there?  Who the hell are they, and why the hell are they here?  Why didn't you warn me?"

Peter, let his finger slip down the side of his chin as he rolled his eyes and sighed audibly.  Katie could be such a tyrant about their space.  Never wanted company.  Never wanted to open up their 500 square foot, over-priced "suite" in an upscale neighborhood that neither of them had any idea how to fit into.  It was like an ill-fitting suit that hung in all the wrong places and pulled in all the right ones.

"Katie, can we not do this now?  I wanted to have a few people over after work for some beers, and somehow the invite spread through the halls at work like fire, and now there's a fuckload of people out there I don't even know.  They even brought their own food.  Who does that here?"

He looked like a defeated puppy, and Katie could tell he wasn't lying.

She rolled her eyes and offered up a resigned sigh, as she slipped out of her shoes and  plopped on the bed next to him.  Peter put his arm around her, and she could smell the musk of his sweat working past the barrier of his deodorant.  She closed her eyes and sunk into him, inhaling him, and exhaling her anger.  He could do that...make her forget herself...forget her emotions.  Just his scent was enough, most of the time...unless she was really pissed off.  But right now, she was just tired.

"So are you in here hiding?" Katie inquired.

"What?  Do you think I'm that crappy of a host?"

She grinned and looked up at him, "Yes."

He feigned annoyance, but couldn't help smiling.

"Mind if I hide out in here with you?"  she said.

"Not at all.  But what are we going to do about them?"  He nodded toward the bedroom door.

"Maybe they'll go away when they realize you're not there."

"Kat, half of them don't even know who's apartment they're in."

"Well, maybe they'll get bored and find somewhere else to hang out."

"Maybe."

She slipped her hand under the tails of his shirt, running her fingers up his abdomen, through the hair on his chest, absent-mindedly teasing his nipples.


"Why the hell do men have these, anyway?"

"Nice segue.  Why do you have them?  Oh wait...I know..."

Peter rolled over on top of Katie, straddling her to hold her in place.  He unbottoned her blouse, pushed her bra up over her tits, and leaned down to take one in between his teeth, wrapping his lips around it, and sucking gently.

"That's why..."

Katie giggled and tried to push Peter off of her.

"Come on...there are a ton of people out there...."

"Yes...people we don't know.  And this is our fucking place..."

"Oh...Peter!  You don't honestly think we should have sex with all these people here?" Katie's eyes widened in mock-horror.

"Me-thinks the lady doth protest too much....You know it's always been a fantasy of mine to fuck you in public - but this is better - we can fuck in our own bed and the public will come to us..."

"You have got to be kidding me!  I am not having sex in here with our apartment full of people."

"You're right...you're going to do it out there."

Katie's mouth dropped open, "Peter!  Fuck no, I'm not!"

"Yes.  Yes you are.  And you know how I know that?"

"How?"  Her defiant pout and crossed arms belied her intrigue.

"Because I'm asking you to.  And you always do what I ask."  His face became serious momentarily, his eyes locking on hers.  Just as quickly, his expression relaxed and he added, "Besides, you always said you had a fantasy about being watched."

"That's a fantasy, Peter...I never intended..."  His lips enveloped hers to quiet her protests.

"Don't move..."

Peter slid off the bed and opened the bedroom door.  On his way back to the bed, he began unbuttoning his shirt.  He let it drop to the floor, unbuckled his pants, unbuttoned and unzipped, and let those, too, drop.  Standing there in nothing but his briefs, he smiled down at her.



"Come on, Katie...live a little..."

Katie bit her lip in discomfort and nervousness.

Slowly, she sat up, rose to her knees, and crawled across the bed to him.  Opening her arms to him, he fell onto her, pushing himself between her thighs, her skirt lifting to expose a bare and wet pussy.

Katie looked over Peter's shoulder and caught the eye of a man sitting on their living room couch.  He waved...and she gave him an unmistakable thumbs-up.






This has been a Wicked Wednesday post!  Happy 1 year anniversary, Marie!  Thanks for all the inspiration and for providing the outlet for so many peoples'creativity.