erotica – Page 2 – My Blog

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.

Welcome, new followers!

Hello, all you new lovely readers! I just went from 74 to 92 in the space of a day…what happened?! I want to know what brought you here! 😀

I am very, very close to being back online. I’m gunning for a new job so until I know I’ll be sporadic with my updates, but after that I am excited to get back into the swing of writing every day.

for those who are also readers on Literotica, you can find me there as thewintersofaugust!

Down by the Bay

Nothing could make the moment more special. He drapes over my shoulders, chin on my head, staring at the waves. Our hands tangle and squeeze against my chest. The silky roar of the ocean, crashing against the spray-dappled rocks, overwhelms any need for idle conversation. I close my eyes. It is me, and him, and the power of the water. No cell phones, no family members’ pestering, no toxic workplaces or health problems.

Just us.

The sun breaks through the pale grey clouds, and I tilt my face towards its light, smiling with my eyes closed. His hand touches my chin and gently turns me around so I faced him. He is only a few inches taller than me, but when he looks at me with our forever in his eyes, he towers over me.

He kisses my forehead and slides his hand down to my wrist. Without a word, but with a smile that makes a promise, he leads me down into the maze of rocks jutting out of the side of the cool Pacific shoreline. Our beaches are rock and pebbles and sometimes a tiny strip of grey sand; golden beaches are legendary, to be visited on vacations. Our beaches are for every day.

We pick our way down like two-legged mountain goats. I giggle when the spray tickles my face, and when I lick my lips it tastes like salt and fish.

Suddenly, he’s tugging me down towards a flat boulder, tucked up against the hillside so the top of the embankment can’t be seen. I lay down beside him on the sun-warmed stone and reach for his hand. We stare up at the sky, which threatens rain and heat in the same breath. His fingers dance gently between mine, adjusting his grip so I am unable to get free. As if I would want to. I smile into the light.

His lips brush my forehead, pushing aside a wayward curl. My whole body responds to his presence, an arousal I have been hiding for hours. We already made love when we woke up, but I am unable to be near him for long without desiring him. Even more so, I crave his company and conversation; it fills an emptiness in me I hadn’t realized I suffered from until I met him.

He kisses me again, lower now, on my nose, my upper lip. I wait until he hesitates, then entrench my fingers in his hair and pull him down to me. We meet in the way humans have met for longer than we have kept track – lips on lips, moist groping skin seeking the answer to the most terrifying question we all ask: am I alone? And with every kiss, his answer to me is no, no, never.

He works his careful way down my body. I halfway watch the edge of the hill, but if someone comes, they will see little. Even a curious soul would have to pick their way down to find us. So I lift my body to let him take off my shirt and kiss around the line of my cami. Today I left my bra and panties at home, and he discovers this with soft, happy grunts in between caresses.

His hand slides beneath my waistband and his skillful fingers wriggle between my pussy lips. I sigh through my teeth and he grins at me, then kisses my breasts again, sneaking peeks at my face with his beautiful green eyes upturned. Clear, bright, unrelenting Irish eyes. I am overwhelmed by love, the very thought of him priming me so that when he slips two fingers inside of me, I come almost immediately.

He toys with me a while, while the breeze picks up and the clouds scud over me. I turn my head and give him a long, meaningful look. He tickles my clit one last time before he slips out and lets me pull my pants down over my ass. Then I turn to his and undo the button, drag down the zipper. His cock is ready for me. I take the head gently between my lips and suck him all the way to the back of my throat, hitting my gag reflex but controlling it so my mouth contracts around him.

He sighs and grips my hair, pushing him deeper inside my mouth. I wriggle my tongue all around the perfect girth, awakening a rush of blood that has me on my back, pants at my ankles, before I realize the oral is over. He licks his fingers and wets me, then slides inside. There is no first pump, just a long, slow decline against me until our bodies cling where our skin is bared.

I shift so he can better penetrate me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and neck. He never takes his gaze off my face except to close his eyes when the ecstasy is too much. We bob together gently, like the waves; the tide is heading out. My thighs are slick, my palms sweating. I am coming, coming again, throwing back my head as I arch up into him. He grips the stone beneath me with his powerful hands and he comes too. He throbs into my waiting hollow.

Slumped, at last, we lie in love. He rolls off me and we stare at the sky again. Nothing has changed. We are the same. We are all that needs to be.

Sensational

Felix came up behind Hayley and pulled the blindfold on before she could protest. She squealed and tugged at it. "What the hell is this?“

He put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, I wanna try something. Won’t you play along?”

“Ugh, Felix.” Hayley put her fingers under the edge of the blindfold and almost lifted it up, but Felix batted her hand down. "Why do you insist on this shit? It’s not like…oh my god.“

She went rigid as Felix touched her inner thigh, under her raggedy jeans shorts, with icy fingers. It was cold and wet and overwhelming. He grinned at her stunned face, her eyes still concealed by the band. "How’s that? You like that?”

“Oh my god.” She squealed and twitched away, but her mouth was laughing. "What is that?“

"An ice cube.” Felix withdrew it from her shorts and lifted it to her lips. She recoiled, but then leaned towards it, lips puckered.

“Do it again. On my pussy this time.” Now Hayley was getting into it; she pinched her legs together, pulled off her shorts, and squatted deep into the couch so she was exposed for Felix’s ministrations.

He reached for his bowl of unusual sensations and rested it against Hayley’s knee. She poked at it. “And what’s that?”

“A few different things I want to try,” Felix said, intently focused on the ice cube he was running up her leg. "With the blindfold on. Just focus on how it feels.“

"Okay,” Hayley said. She laughed nervously. "I don’t know how to do this.“

"What, enjoy how things feel?” Felix leaned in to nibble at her ear, making her blush and tuck her chin on the opposite shoulder.

“Well – yeah. I’m not used to being pleasant to my body. That’s for other people.” She had a hitch in her voice. Felix stroked her face, his mask of sexual determination slipping.

“Baby. Just enjoy this.”

“Okay.”

He ran the ice along her skin, up, up and over her thigh, to rest on her mound. Ever so slowly, he slid the ice downward, and in small circles. The water trickled in between her pussy lips and dribbled towards her entrance, until she was gasping and her pussy lips were numbed. "Something else! Oh my god. That’s so strange.“

Felix chuckled and popped the ice cube into his mouth, kissing Hayley deeply. She wriggled her tongue around his, chasing the cold muscle.

Next, Felix chose a feather from the bowl. He started on Hayley’s heels, calloused from working long weeks on her feet, and worked his way up and inside her legs. Her face twisted with amusement and concentration. "Is that…a feather?”

“Good job,” he said, lifting her shirt and taunting her nipples with the end of the feather. Hayley moaned and finally pushed her shirt back down.

“Agh! Stimulation. Okay. What else.”

He persisted with the feather, making little circles around her clit. "Patience, baby, you have to learn to take it. Hold your breath if you think you can’t stand it anymore…“

Captive Bird

Finch stared at the tiny square of light in the door and scratched her arm. She sniffled and ran her wrist underneath her red nose, smearing snot across her face. She scratched again and hoped he would visit her soon.

Footsteps in the hallway made her sit up straight. Her thin shirt did not hide her pert nipples, and she slipped her hand past the waistband of her ragged pants and fingered herself. She licked her lips and stared at the door, anticipation making her eyes bug out.

The door opened and the booted feet stepped inside. She shaded her eyes against the bright light from the hallway and put on her most groveling smile.

The man who leaned down over her was dressed smartly in a military uniform of unknown origin. He had a hard, squarish jaw and cold eyes, but his hands were soft, like an office worker’s. He reached for Finch and she stretched her hand towards him. With surprising gentleness, he lifted her to her feet and jerked his head. "Come,“ he said.

Finch followed him into the hallway on unsteady legs. She hugged herself and blinked at her surroundings – the stoic guardsmen who acknowledged her with barely a nod, the windows to the outside world, the other cells. From these came moans of pain and pleasure, and Finch shuddered. She looked ahead, realized her escort had gotten ahead, and flitted to catch up.

The guard led her to a room marked COMPLIANCE. He pushed open the door with his big soft hands and gestured Finch inside. She stepped into the air conditioned room, shivering and rubbing her arms. The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.

"Ahhh. Finch. Step forward, little one.”

The Captor sat behind the desk, his fingers steepled. Today he wore grey, as he always did, in his shadowy corner. Laid out in front of him was an array of phallic objects, of metal and glass and wood. Finch swallowed but crept forward, urged by her wet pussy. This part, she thought, but that was as far as she could think before hitting a wall of erotic attraction to the Captor.

The man crooked a finger at her. "Closer.“

Finch obeyed without a thought, trembling as she stepped into a shaft of cold sunlight. She brushed at her matted hair with dirty fingers. Once she had been very pretty, a beauty queen in a small town. Where the light barely touched the lower part of his face, the Captor’s smile slid long and thin across his lips, showing yellowed teeth.

"Undress, girl,” he said. Finch pulled her shirt over her head and dropped her pants to the ground. She curled her toes and bent her knees inward, trying to hide her messy tangle of bush.

The Captor stood slowly and came around the desk. He put his hands on Finch’s shoulders and stroked all the way down to her toes. Then he stood back up and smiled at her, lifting her chin with a finger. "So. Have you enjoyed your stay with us?“

"Yes.” She stared into his eyes with unflinching adoration. "Very much.“

"Will you come to bed with me?” The Captor swept his arm to indicate the queen-sized bed set up on the other end of the office. He always asked. She always said yes.

Finch groped for his cock, hard beneath his grey pats. "Always,“ she said, in a desperate grunt.

He swept her up under his arm – she weighed nothing, and slumped as soon as her feet left the ground – and crossed the room with her, flinging her onto the bed. Finch landed on her face and quickly arched her ass into the air, waiting for him to enter her. She thrust herself out several times when he did not take her immediately, her whole body rigid with fear that he would no longer touch her. No longer lavish her with his affections.

The click of handcuffs snapped near her ear and Finch tugged gently on her wrist. She was chained to the bed. She took a deep breath and let it out in pure relief as the Captor’s cock slipped inside of her.

"Three more years,” the Captor said in a dry voice, “of you and me.”

Finch came, then reached for herself, tightening her pussy so he would have maximum pleasure. He was, after all, her god.

Relaxation

We head into the room marked with a big “4,” Jay just ahead of me. Once he gets the stubborn deadlock bolted closed, I start stripping down. Steam rises off the hot tub, though the jets are off, and the thin mattress has a fresh sheet.

Jay removes his shirt and I take a moment to gaze hungrily at his barrel chest and broad shoulders. Once I liked hairless boys, but when I met Jay, my tastes matured and I realized what I wanted was a man.

Still watching him, I climb into the hot tub. The water envelops me, welcomes me with its velvet warmth. I close my eyes and release my heavy thoughts with a sigh, slipping my hand between my legs to encourage the sensation of the jets. For now, it’s not Wednesday, it’s a sacred hour of heat and love.

The water shifts as Jay climbs in beside me. He settles in across the way, a jet against his back, and for the first time in weeks the lines on his face loosen. His eyes still closed, he smiles.

I slip my finger inside myself, but it is unsatisfying. What I want is my husband’s cock. I drift across the hot tub, reaching to grab his knees in my hands. Jay opens his eyes. "Hi, you.“

I almost draw back, so overwhelming is the love on his face. His hands reach for me, pull my face to his, but slows at the last second so when our lips touch, it is a spark, a tender remembrance of our first kiss. I am back on his bed, fluttering with nervousness, and he is pressing me down into the down comforter, his finger on the bottom of my chin, his lips perfect – not too moist, not too rough. Softer than light. Soft as love.

We kiss. Again. Jay slips his tongue between my lips. I rise up in the water, wrapping my legs around him so I straddle him on the bench. I grasp his hair in one hand and kiss him, left to right, my tongue slipping into his ear so he moans and tightens. I could be fourteen, alive with the possibilities of my body. This is the power Jay holds over me, awakening even the most reluctant vestiges of my sexuality.

His hands grasp my waist, one on each hip. He pulls me down into the water and I reach for him. I barely have to go below the surface of the water to find him. I slip him inside, and he pushes a relieved sigh out of me. "I need this,” I whisper into his ear, and he grabs my ass and uses the water to drive into me.

He holds me so tightly that I can barely move – not that I have to; my pussy is doing the work, alive of its own accord, clenching him with a fearsome desperation and need. He throws back his head and snarls out a laugh through his teeth, possessive and powerful. I shudder, melting into him. He fills me, raking my inner walls.

Suddenly Jay lifts me bodily and sets me on the side of the hot tub. He points wordlessly to the bed. I scramble out and slink across the distance between the tub and the mattress, then settle on my knees with my ass proffered off the edge of the bed. I hear the water splash as Jay gets out, too, and then his cock is back inside me, my void filled, my need satisfied. I grunt and woof like a dog in heat as he pulls me to him, his powerful legs propelling him into motions that slap my ass so hard I cry out.

He slaps me again, with his hand this time, and I come so hard I see spots in my vision. Even as I try to recover my breath, Jay shoves me in a 90-degree turn so he can climb onto the bed behind me. He presses my face down into the mattress and my pussy gushes with satisfaction. Rarely do I think about our labels, but now, my mind is consumed with it: I am your possession. I am your property. I am your lover.

This last, as he slaps my ass again and comes himself when my pussy clenches up. If he says something, if words materialize in the midst of bliss, I don’t recognize any but my name. "Amber.“ Just a soft, adoring whisper as he slumps over me. I slip down so we are parallel to the mattress, his weight comfortingly warming me.

Months of hardship, family squabbles, work crises…it all fades away, for a while.

"Thank you,” I whisper, and reach up to touch his stubbly cheek. "For everything.“

"There’s a pretty goddamn big list of reasons why I married you,” he says, a smile in his voice, “and that was one of them.”

A Rousing Tail

In the significant pantheon of things she hated, what Maxy hated most of all was her birthday. She hated the idea of taking a day out of the year to celebrate her existence. She hated surprises that disappointed because they were presents from people who didn’t care. And most of all, she hated the Facebook posts.

But this year, she thought on the eve of March 16, it was going to be different.

Maxy thought about it all day at work. A few weeks before, she had met – and was now dating – a lovely older man named Curt, who was well-off but had not yet insisted on buying her much. He had asked when her birthday was and, when she confronted him with her hatred of birthdays, smiled a cunning smile and promised there would be only one present.

Just one.

Maxy itched with curiosity. She went into the bathroom at lunch and scratched a different sort of itch, rubbing herself over her underwear until she was panting. She took a picture of her disheveled pants and texted Curt: Thinking of u babe.

He texted back an hour later: Hot. Hotter 2nite.

When she got home, Maxy hefted her purse across the living room and went to stand with hands on hips in front of Curt, who was channel surfing on her couch. "Okay, big boy. Spill. You’ve been driving me crazy all day.“

"Uh-huh.” He didn’t look up, still glued to the television, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Curt,” Maxy whined. Before she could go any further, he was on his feet and had her wrist in his hand, pulling her in close.

“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice that left no room for argument, “you little minx. Go into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed with your eyes shut.”

Maxy stared back, but her hesitation was minute. "Okay,“ she said, scurrying off to comply.

To her horror, when she sat down, her cunt was soaked. The commanding tone Curt had used had made her gush uncontrollably. She folded her legs and waited for him to join her, her hands folded gently in her lap and her eyes squeezed tight.

She heard his footsteps, and then something cool and rectangular slipped into her hands. "All right,” Curt said, “open your eyes and open it up.”

It was a long, black box with a bow on it. Trying not to hate the idea of a gift, Maxy slipped off the bow and lifted the lid in between uncertain glances at Curt. He stood with a stoically serene smile.

Inside was a winding black tail. It was lush, about as thick as Maxy’s thin wrist, and glowed with luster. Attached to the end was a slim length of smoothly pointed glass. Maxy stared at it and then gazed up at Curt in wonder. "A tail?“

"For you,” he said, then made a very clear “turn-around” motion with one finger. Maxy did so, squeaking in surprise as he pulled her pants down to her knees. He pulled her underwear down too, and she bit her lip.

“Already wet, I see. Soaking. Good girl.” This last was right in her ear, and she arched back into him even as a cool, smooth surface caressed her asshole. She hissed in her breath as the tip pressed inside of her, then backed out, then pressed in again, this time deeper. She rocked back against it, trying to relax so she could take it deeper. Maxy had never put anything in her asshole, though Curt had played with her with his fingers before. She marveled at the cool weight and the feeling of security it brought.

At last it was in all the way. Curt backed away and patted her on the head, then gave her ass a gentle swat. Maxy leaped up onto the bed on all fours and looked over her shoulder, unable to hide her smile.

“It’s–so perfect,” she said.

Curt was busy pulling his shirt over his head. "C’mere,“ he growled, and pushed her onto her back. Maxy writhed upwards, the tail pushing even deeper into her ass. She wondered idly if she could wear it at work.

Man and Woman

The man saw her across the garden, and his loins stirred.

He looked down at himself, bold and uncovered. He touched the being waking from slumber between his legs, encouraging it to rise. He looked up with a primitive shyness in his eyes, but his gaze was unwavering as he consumed her: tiny breasts like plums bulging softly from her tanned chest; delicate fingers, lifting dripping fruit to her bright lips; spine curved like a gentle snake. The man hungered.

He strode through the foliage, stopping to pet the leopards and stretch out his hand for a raven to perch there. She still stood at the tree, gazing up at the sun filtered through its branches.

He stretched out his hand to the woman, who turned with no surprise; there was nothing here to startle them, nothing to make their hearts beat faster. Except each other.

She took his hand and pulled him towards her so he took her thick lower mane in his hand. Wordlessly, she pressed into him so that his fingers slipped inside. She was already wet, waiting for him. He knew how this played out, but he hardened anyway.

In the tree, a monkey hooted her approval. The man smiled. He took the woman in his arms and laid her gently on the soft, mossy ground. Water burbled in the stream as she spread her legs with her hands, inviting him downward with long, slow strokes down her own thighs.

He knelt on the earth and gathered himself in his hand, chasing her fingers with his soft flesh. He reached her entrance and paused. A gecko crawled onto his leg. A curious wolf and her pups stuck their noses out of a nearby bush to take in the scent of rutting humans.

The man looked around him one last time: the garden, tended by unseen hands, filling with animals from land and sky to watch the sacred union. Many drew close enough that fur and feathers and scales became a part of the sensory experience.

The man plunged. The woman cried out. The world paused, to marvel, to take note in awe. Humanity unified.

The man moved with instinctual precision. He came completely free of her every time, and she lunged towards him with every re-entry. Her hand slipped between and below them, to fondle him and hold herself open. Once, he held her down at the waist, moving so vigorously that she squirmed and spurted. Her liquid sparkled on his chest in fearless droplets. His face, tentatively furred, beaded with exertion.

As she writhed, the animals drew closer. The wolves nuzzled at her breasts and lapped at her nipples. A sparrow alighted above her mound, when he was withdrawn, and fluffed its feathers over her clit so she ached and stretched and the bird darted away. The man sucked in his breath and placed his hands on her ass, lifting her to expose her other hole. Into this he slipped, slick with their natural lubrication. She tightened, the lines in her face expressing her gratitude, her vulnerability.

The man gasped, the world dotting with color. He came. Whiskers tickled at his ass and he clenched tighter.

He fell into the woman’s arms, rolling together in the moss to face each other. His eyes opened, sleepy, and found hers. She smiled and touched his face, tracing where the hairs grew.

They were too entangled to notice the dry rasp of bark on scales as a serpent twisted down the nearby apple tree.

Life After Party

Olivia flopped over, pressing her arm to her forehead. A headache drummed inside her brain, dubiously reminding her of the night before: the tailgating party turned into a postgame party turned into, well, she didn’t actually remember.

A breeze hissed through the room and she shivered. Then she sat up, wide awake, her skin forming goosebumps. She was naked in a strange bed, with no sign of its owner. She bit her lip and pawed through the covers frantically. No sign of a condom, either.

“Oh god,” Olivia said, dropping her face into her hands and trying desperately to slow her heart rate. Finally, she dared peek through her fingers at the room. It was sparsely decorated – definitely a young person’s room, with a few heavy metal band posters and a coat rack with a couple of dark, heavy coats. Above the door was a small wooden sign with painted elephants fading around the border. When she squinted, Olivia could read what it said: Jerri’s Room.

Jerri. She cast about in her memory, trying to remember which scruffy-faced freshman the name might belong to, but no one came to mind. And anyway, it didn’t matter. She wanted to be up, dressed, and out before her one-night stand returned and awkward words had to be exchanged.

She was just standing up and pulling her too-big Bulls tee over her head when the door opened and in walked a short girl with close-cropped hair and an irresistible smile.

Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god! I swear, I am not here to steal your boyfriend.“

The girl’s smile wobbled, but did not fade. She set the brown bag she was carrying down on the desk. "My boyfriend? Olivia, what are you talking about?”

“How do you know – ” But it all fell into place. "Jerri,“ she breathed, and she could see the I above the door burning fiercely with revelation. "You’re Jerri.”

Now the smile did disappear. "You don’t remember me?“

"I don’t remember much of anything.” Olivia dropped her voice, ashamed. Her cheeks were hot as she took another good look at Jerri, at her hard little body and open, honest face. If she squinted hard enough, she could see why she would have thought she was hooking up with a boy, when she was drunk off her ass.

Jerri blinked, then sat down on the bed, staring at her hands in her lap. "Oh. I’m sorry, Olivia. I thought you knew.“ She looked up from under her dark lashes, daring a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth. "You don’t…don’t hate me for it, do you?”

“Hate you?” Olivia opened her mouth to continue, but then she closed it, because she had to think. Fuzzy memories surfaced. They were talking; Jerri introducing herself at the party, with no malice or dishonesty, and Olivia taking her hand and marveling at her soft skin and perfect nails. Olivia touching Jerri’s face. Jerri leaning in for the first kiss, the first of many in a night Olivia realized with her whole body that she had loved.

“Hey,” she said. "Hey, I just remembered something.“

Jerri looked skeptical, but hope glimmered in her eyes.

Olivia put her hand to her forehead. Her head still ached, but standing there in her t-shirt and nothing else, Jerri’s gentle gaze on her face, she knew something with a conviction deeper than she’d ever known before.

"I remember how much I like you,” she said with a smile.

Jerri’s relieved grin could have blinded with its brilliance. "So you’ll stay for breakfast?“ She pointed to the paper sack. "I got bagels.”

Olivia thought she might overflow. Instead, she lifted her shirt over her head and stood naked, her nipples erect, in the center of Jerri’s room.

“Let’s fuck first,” she said. "I want to remember it for real this time.“

Jerri’s whole face pinkened with shyness. "Okay,” she said. "Come here. Lay down. I want to taste you first.“

A thrill ran through Olivia’s whole body, starting between her legs and singing in her brain. She spread herself out on the rumpled covers. Soon, Jerri’s soft fingers began to play across her skin, starting with her legs, followed by kisses light as butterfly legs. Olivia sighed contentedly. She loved long mornings.

Crypt Tryst

My hand tightens around the crumpled, printed craigslist ad as I try to stop my trembling. The mausoleum is dark, dusty, and smells like spider nests. I clear my throat, testing my voice. “Hello? He-hello?" The word echoes weirdly in the tight space, echoing far more than a tiny little building full of dead people should.

A raspy rattling noise draws my attention to my left. A tall shadow – the promised 6’2”, at least – lurks around the side of the mausoleum. I can hear the broad smile in his voice as he speaks. “Why, look at that. You made it. I can already see you aren’t like the others.”

Warning bells in the back of my head.

I walk forward anyway, my hand extended. “You must be – " I hesitate; I only ever got a screen name. "The guy from craigslist,” I finish lamely.

By now he’s close enough to take my hand, and he does, jerking me towards him with such force I can’t resist him. I’m in his arms, wrapped in the dark cloak he’s wearing. He smells like musty hallways and forgotten attics, but underlying all of these reasons to run away is a deep, musky odor that fills my head and makes me lean up for a fierce kiss.

He’s through with kissing almost as soon as we’ve started. He pushes open the mausoleum door and leads me inside. He makes some motion I can’t see and there is light from two of the corners – candles, or fake candles, I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. In the center of the mausoleum is a wide, flat stone, the lid of a coffin. I bite my lower lip.

“Won’t this be insulting? To the dead?" My voice barely registers above a whisper.

He chuckles, low and sinister, and lifts me bodily onto the slab. My skirt rides up around my legs and he helps it along with both hands. His touch is cool, not unpleasant, but startling. I quickly forget to care as his warm tongue slides up my leg, between my thighs.

I roll my head back and plant my feet flat on the slab, flipping the skirt so it layers over my shirt. He smiles at this – at least I think he smiles – and kneels down before me. As I stare at the cobwebbed ceiling, I wonder if this is how goddesses feel: worshiped, sacrificed, adored.

He makes my clit sing with a tongue more skilled than my college girlfriend’s. Around, around, up and down, finding the places on my skin where no one has bothered to touch and bringing them to life.

Still, the warning bells.

He draws away, his face hidden by his hood, and drags the back of his hand across his face. "Ahhhh. It has been so long since I tasted such a lovely thing. Let us see if you are so inviting inside.”

I don’t see him take his cock out of his robes, but I feel it immediately as he plunges in with no more foreplay. It feels like a fleshy stone, riveted and craggy, and like his tongue it finds the places I have never been touched. As he thrusts harder and harder, his breathing rattling near my ear, my arms wrapped around his broad back, I squirm and I wonder at the way his cock seems to have split into many wriggling things, all seeking my flesh, all threatening to overpower me with a shattering orgasm…

I come, and with a whisper that might be a kiss, the stranger is gone.

I wait, but there’s no answering climax. I sit up, push my skirt down, and realize it’s dark and clammy inside the mausoleum. I clamber off and dart out into the night, shivering and feverish at the same time.
And then it really hits me, the title of the posting:

WANTED: Your Sex Drive – DEAD or ALIVE!

The smell of death fills my nostrils as I flee the graveyard.