Category: Gen Fiction

  • A Perfect Spring day

    ~ a story ~

     

    He was gentle when he kissed her, pushing back her hair behind her ears and cradling her chin in his hands.  He was gentle in the way I remembered, the way I still think about before I fall asleep at night.

    It’s been six months since our last kiss, since the last time he pushed my hair back behind my ears, and cradled my chin in his hands, and I got lost in his lips.

    I saw them across the quad on my way to class.  It was a beautiful Spring day, the first really good day we’d had in months.  I could have enjoyed it if I didn’t have a paper to turn in, an exam to study for, a project to work on, and a professor asking me to look into internships because I had such great potential.

    My backpack was overfull.  My arms juggled coffee, and my lunch bag, and rolls of drafts I needed to work on.  My brain was overfull with everything I needed to do that day, and in the next week, and for the rest of the semester.

    And then I saw him.  Saw them.

    I stopped.  For a moment, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

    The Sun was shining, and the fucking birds were chirping, and everyone around me was smiling and making their way to class.

    And I just stood there, as my Ex embraced a beautiful girl on a perfect Spring day.

  • Monday Evening Fun

    ~ erotica ~

    “Hi.”

    He’d just gotten home from work, his three piece suite wrinkled from his long day.

    He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me.  The short skirt of my strapless dress barely covered my ass.  My heels accentuated my rump even more so.

    I leaned up against the wall, glancing at him over my shoulder, a perfect view of my rear for his pleasure.  His eyes fell on my ass as I had hoped.

    He looked tired.  I knew he must’ve had a rough day; Mondays usually were.

    “Missed you while you were at work.”

    I purred my words, then swayed my ass to an imaginary beat.

    He put down his briefcase, not acknowledging my show, but his eyes never left my rump.

    I continued to pop my hips, moving my ass back and forth, back and forth.

    He took off his jacket, drapped it over his desk chair, his stare fixed on my rear.  His vest joined his jacket.

    I decided to be bolder.  I bent my knees, eased myself down towards the floor.  His eyes followed my ass.  Low to the ground, I began popping my ass up and down.

    I watched as he loosed his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

    “Did you miss me while you were at work?”

    He looked up at my face, making eye contact for the first time.

    “Yes,” he said.  “I did.”

    In a heartbeat, he had me.  He grabbed my hair and pulled me to standing.  I bobbled a bit, grabbing his arm.  He brought my face to his.  My eyes would not look away from his gaze.

    He took my previous place against the wall, leaning back and looking at me, his pet.

    He used his grip on my hair to pull me into him.  My hands found the wall for balance, but I didn’t need it.  My cheek rested on his right shoulder.  His right leg was against my crotch.

    His free hand reached down.  My skirt was already half up.  He pulled it the rest of the way, revealing my ass for his view.

    He gripped my right cheek, grinding my crotch against his leg.  I couldn’t help but sigh.  He squeezed my flesh, then rubbed my ass.

    This was my favorite part, the anticipation.  Waiting for the first strike.  Knowing what was coming.  I felt as my wetness soaked his slacks.

    The first smack was hard, the sound echoing through the room.  I gasped.  Most often he started with a few warm-up hits.  He hit again, then gripped my flesh.  My body responded, writhing against his leg.

    I decided to push a little more.  My hands slipped down the wall, onto his lower back, then onto his ass.  He smacked me again.  And again.  With each hit, I ground against his leg, gripped his ass, and pulled myself more onto him.

    My breathing increased.  Gasps no longer escaped my lips.  My sounds turned to moans as the tension in me grew.  Again and again, with each new hit, I panted my pleasure.

    He started grinding into me, writhing against my leg.  I could hear his pleasure build in his exertion.  His cock grew hard.  We both built towards crescendos.

    I started cursing, then begging him to let me cum.  He bent my head back, looked into eyes, a wry smile on his face.  He never stopped his cadence of hits.

    “On the fifth hit, all of which I will count, you can cum.  You know they will be the hardest.  I don’t make anything easy.  Easy is too boring for us.”

    I returned his grin.

    “Are you ready?”

    “Yes.”

    Hit. “One.

    Hit. “Two.

    Hit. “Three.

    Hit. “Four.”

    He stopped.

    His hand let go of my hair.

    He stood up straight, brought his leg out from my crotch.  He walked towards his closet, picked up his jacket and vest, and hung both up.

    “I.  I.”

    He looked back at me, his wry smile even bigger.  He pulled off his tie, hung it up too.

    “What?”  he said.  I stood there, dumbfounded and disappointed.

    I walked to my side of the bed as he continued to undress.  By the time I sat, he was down to his undershirt, boxers, and black socks, each disrobed article put away in the process.

    I turned away from him, kicked off my heels next to my end table, and pouted.

    He bounded across the bed.  His grip in my hair turned my body and pushed my face into our sheets.

    Hit.  “Five.”

    His cock entered me less than a breath after his final count left his lips.

    I came with him inside me, fucking me hard, the start of our Monday evening fun.

  • Fuck You

    ~ a poem ~

    I thought it was you out of the corner of my eye.
    I thought you were walking up to me, a smile on your face, a whitty line ready to fall from your lips.
    I thought I’d turn to you, bewildered, yet hiding my pleasure at your presense.
    I thought I’d try to hold myself back from flirting, but knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.
    I thought…

    I miss you against me.
    I miss the smell of you.
    The way, when we fucked, we laughed and played.
    Yet, at times you pushed me, made me take more than I thought I could.
    God, I loved our fucking.
    I miss you inside me.
    I miss you inside me.

    I miss you.
    I hate that I miss you.
    Fuck you.

    Fuck your perfect cock and the way you always knew how to make me cum.
    Fuck your smile and the way you’d flash it every time I came over.
    Fuck your body, your hot hot body; your perfect arms and perfect abs and perfect ass.
    Fuck your success, your smarts, your almost-at-my-level intelligence.
    Fuck your suits and polished shoes and pops of color.
    Fuck your eyes, the way they drew me in, yet hid so much of you from me.

    I miss you.
    I could’ve loved you.
    But fuck that.
    And fuck you.

  • Her & Him

    ~ erotica ~

    HER: I saw him from across the room.

    HIM: I tried to not notice her gaze.

    HER: I’d seen him play before.

    HIM: I’d noticed her presence a few times.

    HER: The women were always beautiful, always the most beautiful in the room.

    HIM: I tried not to look at her.  She was just so striking.

    HER: But tonight he lurked as I often did.  Standing on the fringes.  And watching… me?

    HIM: But tonight I didn’t want to ignore her, didn’t want to pretend to not see her.  I wouldn’t look away.

    HER: He moved towards me.  I didn’t know what I would say.

    HIM: I went towards her.  Measured steps.  My usual gait.

    HER: He came closer.  I didn’t know what to think.

    HIM: A few footsteps from her skin.  Her frame.  I knew what I wanted, needed.  Those eyes.

    HER: His eyes were locked on me.

    HIM: Her gaze.  I wanted it to be mine, only mine, if only for a moment.

    HER: He was a breath away; I couldn’t breathe.

    HIM: My hand knew what I wanted before my mind could say.  Fingertips on her neck.  Pushing her back.  Two steps and she was against the wall.

    HER: And then the thud of flesh to wood.  The exhale and surge of adrenalin.  Feeling his breath on my skin.

    HIM: Her eyes stayed with me.  Her mouth open, begging me.  Her neck, soft flesh under my touch.

    HER: His body so close to mine.  His heat a pulse away.  His hand on my neck.  And his lips, the mouth I wanted on mine.

    HIM: I saw the flutter in her eyes.

    HER: I felt the tingle in my muscles.

    HIM: She slipped.

    HER: I dropped a bit.

    HIM: And then again.

    HER: I held myself up as long as I could.

    HIM: Her knees gave in.  I held her against the wall.

    HER: His hands surrounding my face.  His knee in my crotch.  And my body reacting without my will.

    HIM: The heat of her.  The smell.  I wanted a taste.

    HER: Even as I floated midair, held by him, my muscles came back, moving in the ways I wanted but had dared not say.

    HIM: She wanted me.  I felt it in her body.  Felt it as her muscles regained themselves.

    HER: I had nowhere to hide.  Nowhere to run.  And, for once, I didn’t want to.

    HIM: ‘Please’, she whispered.

    HER: ‘Please’, I begged.

    HIM: Please, for my kiss.

    HER: Please, for his kiss.

    HIM: I brought my face in close.

    HER: His nose brushed my nostrils.

    HIM: My cheek across her face.

    HER: His stubble tickling my skin.

    HIM: Breath against her mouth.

    HER: His lips so near mine.

    HIM: I grazed her lips.

    HER: Please, oh god please.

    HIM: But I stopped,  stepped back.  And then I…

    HER: But then he stopped, stepped back.  And then he…

    HIM & HER: walked away.

  • A Darkness

    ~ a nightmare ~

     

    I laid on my bed, curled into myself, facing the wall.

    He walked in.  I heard his boot steps.  Felt the change in the room.  Safety had vanished and wouldn’t reappear until he left.

    He threw something on my legs, something soft, fuzzy.  I looked down.  It was a pink patchwork blanket.

    “My sister made that for you.  She said she hopes you feel better.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her there’s no cure for being a whore.”

    He sat on the foot of my bed.  I pulled my feet away from him.  He adjusted himself, leaned against the wall, tried to ease himself into my eye line.

    “How are you feeling since our date?  That’s what whores call it, right?  A date?”

    He ran his hand along my shine.  I recoiled, rolled off the bed.  Sat on the floor in a ball, rocking myself back and forth.

    How had he gotten back onto the complex?  And now, back in my room.  Back on my bed.

    I wouldn’t let him do it again. Not even with the hidden cameras in the room, able to capture his confession or, worse still, his attempt at seconds.

    “Oh, little whore, you don’t want me here?”

    He brushed his hand on my head.

    “No!”

    I couldn’t do it any longer, play coy, weak, acting like he’d broken me.  Confession or no confession, I was done being his victim.

    I jumped up, pulled a knife, and held it in front of his face.

    “Get out.  Now.”

    A wicked grin grew as his eyes lit up.

    “Alright, little whore.  I’ll see you around.”

    My eyes followed his form as his left.

    ~

    I ran towards my family.  Collapsed into their center.  Sought refuge in someone’s arms.

    “I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t anymore.  I wouldn’t let him hurt me again.  I wouldn’t let him think I was weak, that he could do a harm to me whenever he felt the pleasure take him.”

    They caressed my head, held me, rocked my lovingly.

    “A festival day.”  The exaltation rang out.

    “Let us not allow his darkness to ruin our light.  A festival day.”

    “A festival day!”  They sang out in unison, lifting my heart.

    ~

    The complex sang with people.  They ate, drank, laughed.  Stories and songs broke out filling our expanse of land surrounded by trees and blanketed in grass.  I smiled to see family and friends at my home.

    But he was there.  He brought one of his new girlfriends.  I couldn’t understood now how anyone saw worth in him.  But he was a master of deception.  I knew that to be too true.

    He caught my eye from fifty away.  A smile broke on his face.  I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of my fear.  My eyes narrowed.  My face hardened.  He would not do it again.

    As I ate and laughed with friends, a raucous grew behind us.  He was involved.  It was cheerful, but moved closer and closer to my seat.  He pulled them, backed them up into me.  I jumped, moved away as he tried to grope me.

    Over the hill, past the generational tree, down the gravel path I scurried to the gazebo.  It was one of my favorite parts of the complex.  Trees curled around it hugging its frame.  Leaves of orange and amber and red covered the grass leading to its steps.

    I sat in the cool wetness of the ground.  Looked about.  Saw a group of six prepping for a picture.  One of them was Maestro.  His eyes were bright, elated to be among us.  He lived so far away.  Everyone was excited he had made the trip.

    Once the picture was taken, I stood.  He saw me, approached.

    “Oh how I have missed.”
    “Not more than I have missed you, my young one.”

    His strong arms encircled me, lifting me into his hug.

    “This day of celebration is more so because you are here.”

    He sat me back on my feet.  I gripped his hands, brought them to my lips, kissed them, caressed them against my cheek.

    “Only your face, your joy, could warm me as the mar of one looms over me.”
    “What mar?”
    “You know him, yet you do not.  He hurt me, harmed me, took a piece of me once I am just now struggling to get back.”
    “Who is…”

    The raucous, he, had found me, bringing his false revelry with him as his cloaked merriment.

    Maestro hollered towards the group in glee.  I dropped his hands and dashed away.

    ~

    I wanted just a moment alone.  I went back towards my cottage.  Slipped inside.  Stepped into the bathroom and attempted to close and lock the door.  It wouldn’t secure all the way.  The door wasn’t completely shut.  I pulled it back and there he was, predator stare on me.

    I shoved the door towards him.  He leaned against my strength, trying to push himself inside.  My frame was no match for his build.  I reached down to my boot, flicked open my knife.  Loomed it by his eye ball.

    His smile came back, but he stopped.  Stood up tall.  Backed away and out my home.

    ~

    I’d called the cops.  I wanted it to be over.  I stood by the front door of the rental house waiting.

    The cops arrived, a pair of gentlemen in wrinkled uniforms.  They stepped onto the porch and asked me my issue.

    “My Ex will be here shortly.  I asked him to give me his key back.  I have repeatedly told him we are over, yet he keeps pushing for reconciliation, to the point where I fear for my safety.  Please, I have tried filing a restraining order, but because he has yet to be charged with anything I was declined.  I just want my key back and this man out of my life.”

    He pulled into the driveway.  Parked.  Walked towards us.

    “My key,” I said.
    “Of course.”  He threw his jumble of keys at me.  I caught them, located the one I needed, and began pulling it off the metal ring.

    I felt, then heard, then saw the click as a handcuff bound one of my wrists.  I looked up.  His predator stare met my gaze.

    He turned me, grabbed my other wrist, bound my hands behind my back.

    “Officers, please.”
    “Thanks guys, I’ve got it from here.”

    The two men laughed as they watched him manhandle me.

    “Stop this.  Stop this, please.  Why aren’t you stopping this?”

    “She really goes for the realistic kidnapping scene.”

    “No!  This is not a scene.  I didn’t consent to this.  Red.  Red.  Safeword.  Please, stop him.”

    A look of concern entered their faces.

    “Kenny, um, are you sure she wants this?”

    “I don’t want this.  I don’t want this.  Stop this, please.”

    I heard the click of his trunk opening.

    “She’s a heavy player guys.  We’re good.”

    “What’s going on?”

    I turned and saw Maestro in his full leathers.  In the commotion no one had heard him drive up and park at the bottom of the driveway.

    “Maestro, the darkness I spoke of to you on festival day.”

    “Kendrick?”

    Maestro’s face displayed puzzlement, then horror, then anger.

    “Son, free her.”
    “Poppa, she’s…”
    “Free her!”

    His booming voice made even the officers jump.  Kendrick unlocked one cuff.  I spun, kicked his crotch, kneed his stomach, and then, with my former lover now half fallen, I punched his face before his body slumped to the ground.

    “You will never take from me again.”

  • Questions

    ~ a daydream ~

     

    What does it say that even the mere whisper of your voice sends shivers up my body, tingling the hairs on the back of my neck, and flushing me hot all over?

    What does it say when a simple message from you captures my attention, drawing me away from anything else about my day?  I read it, and re-read it over and over, trying to glean any meaning beyond the words on my screen.  What is your mood?  What do you wish of me?  What might I expect in my near future?

    What does it say that I think upon you often?  Every other moment it seems.  Your face.  Your gait.  Your body.  Your voice.  The way you feel near me, next to me, gripping me tightly.  Your smell before bed, the sweat and stress of your day, the taste of your torments on your skin before my pleasures loll you to sleep.

    What does it mean that I care for you as I do?  What am I thinking, having you in my life?  You’re dangerous, deceptive, never towards me but in your dealings.  To live with you is to invite your world into my own.  To lay with you each night is to play with a fire I have no way to control.  Do I truly understand what is means to be yours?  Do you understand what it means to have me?

    What can I say, other than I love you?  What can I do, other than adore you?  How can I live without your scent, your touch, when all I crave each moment of each day is to be near you?  To feel you, fuck you, love you.

    Who am I if not your lover?  Who are you if not my cherished one?

  • Dark Love

    ~ erotica ~

     

    “Are you ready?”

    The room was loud, crowded.  People milled about taking in the various scenes in progress.

    We didn’t often venture out to parties.  Most of our scenes took place at his home in the basement.  His roommates didn’t mind so long as he let them know ahead of time.  He often suggested they play some music for the few hours I’d come over, in case they didn’t want to hear anything they might find disturbing.

    Now, with the throng of people pressing into the warehouse, the thump of the music, and the heat of bodies everywhere, our usual experience was anything but.

    We’d wanted something different, to try something new.  Tonight at Illicit was living up to our hopes.

    He pressed his hand against my chest.  I felt my heart beat against it.  As we took a moment, our breathing matched up.  Even with the distractions, I felt connected to him, in a place occupied by just the two of us.

    He asked his question.  I answered.

    “Yes, I’m ready.”

    I closed my eyes, pushed all other thoughts from my mind.

    I sensed his hand reach down to his pocket, pull out a hank of rope, and flick it open.  He drew the length across my chest before wrapping it around my body.  He looped above my breasts, under my arms, and knotted the even bands at the front.

    Another coil of rope from his pocket, he knelt down in front of me.  Tied a cuff just above my foot.  His hand grabbed my ankle, eased it up towards my thigh.  My leg pressed against his chest.  My hands found his suspension ring and held it for support.  His rope wrapped around my leg, securing calf to thigh and locking off tightly.

    He kissed my belly, flicked open another coil of rope, and wrapped it twice around my hips.  Adding another length, he pulled down and wound rope around my free thigh, knotting at my hip.

    It was time to fly.

    He first secured my bound leg to his ring, my limb twisting inwards.  His second line attached to my chest wraps.  His palm against my chest coaxed me to lean into the ropes.  His hand caressed my cheek right before he nudged my foot off the floor.  A few quick jolts and I felt my hip harness lifted.

    I let my arms dangle at my sides as I floated sideways above the world.

    He changed the position of his thigh tie, then lowered my chest down.  I went inverted.  My hair danced against the floor.  My fingertips barely grazed the ground below.  He lowered my hips.  All my weight rested on my thigh.

    The din of the room masked my screaming.  I sunk into the pain.

    I reached forward, grabbed my free thigh, and pulled my knee towards my forehead.  I reached back, grabbed my ankle and brought my foot into my hair.

    As I let myself wail, I felt his fingertips graze my thigh, my stomach, my cheek.  He kissed my neck, asked me how I was doing.

    “Swimming in a ocean of agony.  Riding the wave of the excruciating.  Letting myself feel the hurt.”

    “How long?”

    “One more minute.”

    I let my free leg go.  Let myself feel how much my weight pulled against his rope, how much the bindings squeezed into my leg, how much my body cried out for an end.

    I felt the first bump as he began to ease me down.  He craddled my head as my body landed on the ground.  I curled into a ball, melted into his arms, as we sat on the cold floor, our fuzzy blanket the only comfort from the concrete.

    He kissed away my tears.  Rocked me slowly.  I gripped his clothes, let my cry reverberate off his chest.

    As my wailing eased, I looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”

    He kissed me again, his lips soft against my mouth, an embrace fulling of knowing.  Understanding how much I needed to feel that pain.  Gratitude for allowing him to inflict it.  And an appreciation of our shared moment.

    We kissed with the sweetness of our shared dark love.

  • Trust

    ~ erotica ~

     

    “So, you like fear play.”

    His hand held my hair, pulling my head back towards him.  His lips grazed my ear.  I felt the heat of his breath as he spoke.  One of my hands had found his leg; the other, fingers splayed open, hung at my side.  He held his knife against my cheek.

    “And blades too, right?”

    It was sharp.  I could feel it.

    “Yes.”

    My one word sounded soft, was spoken with the knowledge of how things might play out in the next moments.

    “There are so many things I love about knives.”

    I felt his lips part against my ear.  Felt the smile as it grew across his face whilst he spoke to me.

    “First off, the look is quite menacing.”

    He lifted his knife from my cheek, held it in front of my gaze.

    “You see something like this in someone’s hand, you know you’d better keep your shit together.  But beyond the instant fear, one has to also appreciate the beauty of good steel.  The shine and care of a knife is a litmus test for the barer of the blade.  And then there is the skill involved.”

    He brought his knife back towards my face.  Touched the tip to my cheek.  Danced the blade across delicate skin.

    “The ability to inflict fear, and pain, with something so small in relative terms.  And the trust.  Trust in my knowledge of how to wield my steel.  And trust that I won’t harm you.  Do you trust me?”

    My skin was on fire, the almost imperceptible graze of his steel drawing visceral lines across my face.  My heart pounded in my chest.  I kept my body still, kept my breath measured.  I would not allow myself to lie.

    “Yes, I trust you.”

    The tip of his knife stopped at my right temple.  Pressed in.  He held his blade perpendicular to the ground.  Kept pushing, pressure growing against my skin.  Pain came, a slow build up as the nerves on the side of my face started with a squeak and grew to a scream.

    Then, I felt it.  The slight release as just the tip of the blade pierced my flesh.  His pressure eased.  A lonely drop of blood formed, then trailed down my skin, stopping just above my chin.

    The wetness of his tongue made me gasp.  He licked up the trail my blood had formed.  Licked up til his tongue met his knife, then transferred to his steel, lapping up my blood from his blade before he put his knife away.

  • Skipper

    ~ a story ~

     

    You can get so lost in what you’re doing, in whatever complication your life has churned up, that you don’t see something right in front of your face.

    How many times had I sat on that hallway floor?  How many days had I spent studying hard, my nose literally in my books?  How many times had she passed me by before?

    I’d never seen her in the building. She wasn’t in any of my classes. I never caught sight of this girl with the quirky clothing and the flash of a smile before today.

    I don’t even know why I saw her this time, but I did.  It was a moment, a genuine heartbeat in my existence that slapped me across the face.

    She walked by, almost skipping.  I caught the whiff of her body spray.  I don’t know why, but I looked up.

    Leopard print flats.  Dark tight jeans.  A light blue button down shirt tied at the end.  Her hair in a messy bun.  Thick black-rimmed glasses.  A tight body and a beautiful face.

    As she bent over, just slightly to walk up the ramp, it peeked out from the separation in her top and bottom.  There was a tattoo there on her lower back.

    Maybe I’m making all this up.  Maybe she hasn’t passed me by every day that I’ve buried myself in facts and equations and diagrams and flashcards.  Maybe this moment is a one off, the only time I’ll ever see her, the only moment we’ll ever share.  As much as I hope it’s not, life is not always kind to me.

    But I swear, I saw it.  In that heartbeat.  She turned her head back towards me.  Looked over her glasses.  And smirked, before skipping off to somewhere.

    I hope my luck has changed.  I hope I’ll see her again tomorrow.

  • Remembering You

    ~ erotica ~

    My thoughts turn to you in the most mundane of moments.

    Rising from the sofa, arms extended, stretching my muscles.  My shirt lifts, air kissing my stomach, and I feel your hands on my sides.  Your lips on my belly button.  Your grip pulling my flesh closer to you.

    Driving on the highway, windows down, singing and smiling to my music.  The cool wind grazing my chest, my nipples, and suddenly your lips are there again.  Sucking, nipping at my breasts.  Without intention, I feel the same heat as that night, that moment, surging through my abdomen.

    Sitting on the sofa, watching whatever is on television.  Not too long ago, you sat in that same spot.  I knelt on the floor in front of you, eyes only on you.  A simple gesture and I crawled forward.  The tickle of my tail, a pretty butt plug you gifted me for my birthday, brought a devilish grin to my face.

    I wonder when thoughts of me meander into your mind.

    Do you remember my hands each time you shower?  The kneading of your flesh on stressful days.  The kisses on your neck that accompanied my touch.  My naked body’s occasional contact, the tease before our eventual release.

    Do you remember my voice?  My whispers into your ear as I grasped your body on top of mine.  My exhalations of affection, admiration, lust, and filthy fuckitude.  The aching as you teased me.  The breathless need as you entered me.  The hurried cadence as I came.

    Do you recall my scent?  Flowery and fruity.  The lotion I use, rubbed onto my arms and legs.  The cream I caress on my face.  The body spray across my chest, my shoulders, on my wrists, and one fun spray down low.  You always told me I smelled so good.

    When do you remember me, love?  Because I always remember you.