The Dirty Decimal System
Venice ran her finger up the bridge of her nose. It was pure habit – she’d abandoned her clunky librarian glasses years ago, after the laser surgery, but it was as ingrained in her as her adoration of books. She kept an eye on the three shuffling young men who had just entered and were drifting towards the dusty archive section. One was white and looked a lot like her kid brother, with blonde hair and freckles; the other two could have been twins, their dark skin absorbing the light as they vanished beyond where she could see them.
Trying to perfect her disapproving librarian stare, Venice stood up and scanned the library. There was a graduate student in one corner, dutifully spread-eagled across her homework, but otherwise the building was empty. With a sigh – she could never leave well enough alone, and she knew it – Venice sidled away from the desk and made a beeline for the archives.
She had to navigate a bit of a maze to find them, but at least she found the trio, lounging against the shelves in a tight half-circle. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Can I help you find something?“
One of the twins raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, suga’. Got a quiiiiet little corner back here.” He dragged out the I so the pinch in Venice’s gut tightened and drifted lower. Without thinking she rested her hands on her hips, just above the line of her slacks.
“Yes,” she said, then cleared her throat because three pairs of eyes belonging to three well-built, good-looking, inevitably well-hung men were boring into her. "Ahem. Yes. I do. And I want to keep it that way, so what can I help you find?“ She tried to stand taller, but all 5’5” of her was minuscule in comparison to the bulk surrounding her.
They shifted closer, and Venice felt her heart in her pussy, its throbbing ever quickening. This was something she’d barely let herself admit she’d dreamed about. This was one of the deepest, darkest fantasies she had, one she’d never let surface, even in her open relationship with Ken. That was long gone, and she hadn’t been fucked properly in months (though there was that one hipster at the bar, but he’d been laughable), and – their eyes, their stances were very clear. They wanted her.
All of them.
She realized she must have conveyed the same with her gaze, because they backed off just a bit now and a ripple of knowing laughter ran around the circle. Venice’s cheeks burned and she ducked to peek out into the library. All was still quiet. On an impulse, she dashed out towards the door and flipped the sign: “Out, Back Later, Will Return in One (1) Hour.” She turned the lock, too. The grad student had dozed off and did not even stir.
Venice darted back to where the men were waiting, her fingers working to unbutton her blouse. By the time she returned, her shirt was off and dangling at her waist where it was still tucked into her slacks, and both the twins had their cocks out. The white boy was still unzipping his jeans, but soon three sizeable dicks were waiting in a circle for her.
Barely able to breathe, Venice knelt down in the center and reached for all three, two with her hands and one with her mouth. Her lips closed around the nearest twin’s cock. He tasted like baby powder and cheap cologne and hungry sweat. She was readying herself to take him deeper when he grabbed the back of her head and plunged into her throat.
Venice gagged uncontrollably around the mass of pulsing flesh. She tried to pull away, to breathe, but he held her there by the hair. Even as she blinked away tears from the blow, Venice could not deny that she was turned on. More than turned on: she was unleashed. She clamped her teeth gently around the cock and tugged without moving, just using her neck, and was rewarded with a satisfied sigh from the man. Her hands kept working when she remembered to move them.
Finally he let her go and she turned to his brother, closing the distance with small steps of her knees. His hair and flesh smelled the same, but he tasted wilder, woodier, like a room that has been opened to a forest. He was less violent, so she was able to gaze up at him with her wide brown eyes, thrilled when he smiled through the contortions of pleasure.
Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and someone roughly undid her slacks, yanking them down her legs. The twin she was blowing dove both his hands into her bra and released her tits so they swung brazenly when she moved. Her ass was pulled into the air and her hands hit the floor. It was the white boy behind her; he even moved like her brother, swinging with every step he took. He positioned himself behind her while the twins shoved their cocks in her face. Venice frantically licked them both, back and forth, while the third cock hovered at her entrance.
Then it was in her ass, not her pussy, lubed by a wad of spit the white boy dropped just before he pushed inside of her. Venice could have screamed as guilt and pleasure overcame her, but her inner librarian squawked, “INSIDE VOICE!” and she muffled it against the carpet. As he slammed into her, the white boy grunted. The twins chuckled under their breath. One knelt down on the carpet and offered her his very erect cock. Through her tears, Venice reached for him and sucked hard. There was no recovering now – she was lost in the adrenaline.
With a final heave, the white boy came in her ass, his ill-cut nails digging into her sides. Venice arched her back and took him as deep as she could, having to catch her breath as he popped out and sat back, hard. The twin in her mouth yanked himself free and wrenched her around so he could delve into her pussy. He was massive, but compared to the ass fucking he felt like a dream. Venice let herself fall into the rhythm, focusing only on the sound of her bare thighs slapping his.
The other twin tipped her chin back and made her open her eyes. "Yeah, take it like a bitch.“ He was grinning, his teeth very white in the dim light. Venice opened her mouth and he slid his cock inside, holding her head so he rammed into the back of her throat. She was skewered from both ends – now a third place, as the twin behind her slid his finger into her lubed asshole. He wriggled it vigorously as he increased his thrusting; as if on the same wavelength, his brother did the same. Venice was completely filled. The pain was excruciatingly wonderful. She knew exactly how brutalized she would feel tomorrow, and all she wanted was more.
She came, uncontrollably shaking and writhing against them. The cock in her mouth squirted first, gushing warm and thick down her throat. Venice swallowed obediently and gasped for air, her hips convulsing as the finger in her asshole pumped with the ferocity of a vibrator. Then the cock in her pussy hardened, pulsed, came. The twin shoved her away and she was left in a shivering heap on the floor.
Above her, three pairs of jeans zipped and buttoned. Three pairs of Nike tennis shoes clunked past her head. None of them said a word. Venice did not dare lift her head. She wanted them to leave before she stood and collected what remained of her dignity. She stared almost unseeingly into the row of archived books, and it was only when she realized she was reaching to put them in the correct order that she knew she would be just fine.
Shakily, she stood and dressed. Her legs would not hold her, so she hobbled back to her desk and sat down with relief. Blood pumped in her lower extremities and she could hear her heart in her ears.
The grad student raised her head, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth. She caught Venice’s gaze across the room and smiled. "Quiet in here,” she said.
“Yes,” Venice said, her hand slipping into her pants and touching her engorged clit. She was already reminiscing, a coy smile on her trembling lips. "Quiet. Sure.“
have you ever been so in love with someone that you could just cry
just because they exist
somehow
out of the stew of stupidity and violence and the chaotic goop they call the building blocks of life
THEY EXIST
A 100 follower announcement!
Now that I have passed the 100 follower mark, I want to announce that at 250 followers, I will be publishing a book – a collection of short smut-tastic writings! It will be published in e-book form and available through Amazon and possibly other distributors. Some of the stories will be original and unreleased, while some will be expanded and revised tales from Fantasy Digest. Now is your time to weigh in on what stories you might like to see in the collection! Message me with your requests – I am always open for ideas! 🙂
Good stories are about the hero becoming the person that the ending can happen to.
Donna Bowman, “Something New” (The AV Club)
Vivid
Bree was going crazy.
Sanity wasn’t her strong suit anyway, but normally she could channel it into creativity or restless energy or, at the very least, a long, abusive hour at the gym. But everything she tried failed to clear the cobwebs in her head.
She wasn’t even sure she could pin down why she felt like the world was spinning out of control. It wasn’t: the bills were paid, the house was peaceful, and her husband was about to arrive home after what sounded like a good day at the office. Still she found herself staring blankly into nothing for long moments, or trailing off while doing some essential task.
The makeup smear was the last straw. Bree deposited herself on the couch, buried her face in her hands, and wept. She cried until her head ached and her heart felt wrung out, then flopped over onto her cheek and stared at the blank TV screen until she drifted into a fitful nap.
A key in the front door brought her awake, though she was too groggy to rise. She wondered if she should fix her inevitably disheveled appearance, maybe wipe off the makeup instead of adding to the new stain on the couch, but her energy level would not comply. So she kept staring until her husband came into the living room to set his bag down.
Micah stood over her, bringing with him his special brand of deodorant, sweat and cool breath that drove Bree wild. Her pussy tightened with familiarity and longing, but she could barely raise her head.
“What’s wrong, pet?” Micah stretched out a hand and ruffled the hair sitting on her ear. "Bad day?“
"No,” Bree said.
Micah waited a beat. She heard the half-smile, the affectionate exasperation, in his tone. "Then what?“
"I don’t know,” she said, sing-song. "I hurt, kinda. Nothing makes sense. I’m tired but I can’t sleep. If I were a hard drive I’d want you to reformat me.“
"But I like your partitions.” He tickled the spot between her rib cage and her hip bone, and she managed to squirm. Micah squatted down beside her head and kissed her forehead, brushing her hair away from her face. "You’re THIN32.“ He made sure the capital letters were clear in his voice.
Despite everything, his playful voice reached out and tugged the corner of her mouth into a tiny smile. "Kiss-ass,” she said, but didn’t mean it.
He took her hand. "C’mon.“ A tug. "C’mon! I can’t reformat you without access to your slots.”
Bree oozed off the couch and flopped onto the floor, face in the carpet. "Mmmph.“
"Bree.” Firm, unwavering, invigorating. "Get up.“
She obeyed, heaving herself to her feet and shooting a startled look at Micah. He wasn’t the quietest person she knew by any means, and he loved to make nasty jokes and spin scathing commentary. But it was mostly for his audience’s sake, and never in front of the people he was teasing. And when it came down to it, he was kinder and more open than most people she knew. Right now, though, there was little trace of that in his voice; he was the consummate commander, leaving no room for questions.
But not quite, she thought as she twisted around the tight hallways and entered the bedroom. Underneath it, I hear him loving me.
She sat down on the bed, turning around in time to see Micah walk in and close the door with a firm hand. His golden-green eyes were steely. "Hands and knees. On the floor. Now.”
“Micah,” she started, but he crossed the room in one stride and clapped his hand over her mouth, so tight that when she tried to suck in her breath, she was sealed by his salty skin.
“Enough. Don’t speak again until I say. Nod if you understand.”
Bree bobbed her head, searching his face. The giver of orders. The man she strove to please over all others. His eyes burned into her.
“Good girl.” The fire flickered and she knew she had nothing to fear, before the flames roared back and he shoved her away. "Hands and knees.“
This time, she obeyed without hesitation. She gripped the carpet with her fingers and ground her bony knees down, willing her back to straighten as Micah tugged her pants down to her calves. In the reflection of the as-yet-unhung mirror sitting on the floor, she saw herself: silky hair wild about her face, makeup still smeared from sleep and tears, green eyes begging for sense to be made.
Sense asserted itself on her ass: Micah’s hand came down firmly across both cheeks, the slap resounding against the walls. Bree quivered but did not cry out, pursing her lips together. Micah brought his hand down again. Again. Until her whole ass pinkened and her wrists were trembling under the strain. She maintained her silence, and for the first time that day, a gleam of triumph was born in her eyes. She saw it in the mirror and found that she could draw a deeper breath.
Micah’s hands descended to the back of her neck and pulled her upright. He held her suspended for a moment, looking her up and down with rough assertion of his ownership. Bree was standing under her own power, but she felt like a kitten clenched, dangling, between the jaws of the lion. It took a few blinks, but she steadied her chin and gazed back at him courageously.
At last, he nodded his approval and tossed her onto the bed. She sprawled and lay without moving, trying not to wince at the lump of quilt digging into her back. Micah retreated to the closet and rummaged around. He returned momentarily with one of her bandannas in hand, rolled up to a tube. He pushed the fabric between her lips and loosely knotted it behind her head.
"Now,” he said dangerously, right beside her ear, “not a sound. On your knees again.”
Bree’s pussy was soaked; she felt a patch of cooled moisture on the quilt as she rolled over and presented Micah with her ass. He made it tingle by running his fingers along the sensitive skin, and where he had slapped her harder, he bent to kiss. Bree closed her eyes with every touch. The coiled springs in her shoulders began to loosen.
He filled her without warning, grabbing her hipbones like handles and slamming into her. Bree bit down on the gag with all her might; she was leaking natural lube, but she had not been prepared for the sensuous violence of his descent into her and his cock worried at the back wall of her pussy. The pain was excruciatingly pleasurable.
Micah slapped her on the cheek and leaned over her to grab her chin and twist her face up and to the side. "Look at me,“ he demanded, and Bree opened her eyes. His was a conqueror’s face – her unstoppable Irish warrior, who never settled for no. The sum of her fantasies washed over her, flushing her to an insatiable heat. So often she had drifted into dreams dreaming of the highland soldier who came to take the peasant girl away. She gave herself over to the minutiae of their coupling as he shoved her away and resumed his unquenchable thrusting:
His arms, thick with muscle, to protect and claim. The hairs on his corded legs making her soft skin rage as they pressed together, together, together. The chest that pillowed her when terror came in the night, always a barrel full of fervid love from which she was privileged to drink, now the impetus of his assertion over her. She drooled around the bandanna and tears slipped down her face. The bliss of powerlessness was unbearable.
He slapped her once on each cheek and she clenched. His fingers closed around the knot of the bandanna and tugged her head up, up, back, leaning over so their faces were less than an inch away.
"Tell me,” he said, his voice shaking with the strain of keeping his orgasm at bay, “who you are.”
The question froze the scene. His words were crystals, delicately suspended in the air. They formed a bridge over the vast crevasse between her and clarity.
“Yours,” she breathed.
“Again,” he said. They were still frozen, their words locked out of time.
“Yours,” she said, stronger this time. "Your girl. Your property. Your slut, your servant, your lover.“
"Again!” His forearms were shaking now, but he clamped her jaw in his palm. His fingers squeezed down to the bone.
Tears came. They were not the tears of earlier; those were self-pity and confusion. These were tears of certainty, of purity, of a braid of emotions she did not care to define.
“I am yours,” Bree said as the world fell into place and time began again.
“Good girl,” Micah said, and he too let go. "Now come.“
He arched his back and clenched his fists, disappearing into the higher plane of consciousness. Bree tightened and followed suit, her hot juices spattering the bedding, mingling with his cum in and on and around her. With his heat came a slow, overwhelming need to curl into him, be devoured by him.
Slowly they unfolded. Micah kissed his way down her spine, lingering on each cheek of her reddened ass. Bree let her head fall, her sweaty forehead against the quilt. The exhaustion came flooding in, but her head was clear.
"Tell me,” Micah said, settling into the mattress beside her and untagling her hair with his fingers. The conqueror was gone, replaced by the comforter. "Do you understand?“
"Understand?” The bridge he had just built her wobbled as she reached out to rest the tip of her finger on his nose.
He smiled. "Understand why I did that.“
Bree nodded slowly. "It’s a play on words, right? You gave me orders. But really, you gave me order.” She scooted across the quilt until her lips were almost touching his. "You make my world make sense, Micah.“
"You make my world worthwhile, Bree,” he said, and love made his eyes greener as he enfolded her in a hug that encompassed her entire world.
interview scheduled for Wednesday. it’s a seven-hour deal, with one-on-ones, a Powerpoint presentation (which Jake has rocked, by the way), and I’m sure a tour of the facilities.
my boss approved my day off just now. omg. this is really happening.
