Emmanuelle de Maupassant is publishing a series of articles exploring what motivates us to read and write erotica. EM has graciously included a few quotes from myself along with many other readers and writers of erotica literature.
Emmanuelle de Maupassant is publishing a series of articles exploring what motivates us to read and write erotica. EM has graciously included a few quotes from myself along with many other readers and writers of erotica literature.
Photo courtesy of A Dissolute Life Means
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The following short-short story is another piece from Down the Rabbit Hole as originally written. I wouldn’t consider it erotic, although it contains sex of a sort. It’s a piece of an idea about a character really.
The Last Mile
Trish sat on the hard concrete step sipping iced tea. Behind her, the screen door was propped open in hopes that an errant breeze may cool the small trailer home. The AC hadn’t worked all summer, and the unbearable humidity offered no sign of easing its grip as the day faded to evening. Beads of sweat ran freely down her neck and her dress clung to her body like a wet sheet. Her nipples were plainly visible through the thin linen, but she had long given up any sense of humility that she may have once held.
She waited like this most nights for her other half to return from his prowling about town. He would likely show up late, smelling of whisky and whore. She took a long slow drag from the cigarette. Trish’s eye hurt, but at least the swelling had gone down. Deep in thought, she stared into nothingness. She was vaguely aware of footsteps on the gravel drive.
“Hi,” came a distant voice. The sound to Trish seemed no more than a faint echo. “Hello?” She glanced in the direction of the voice. It was Nate. He lived with his mother a few lots over. He was a nice boy…worked part time down at the grocery. He was staring at her breasts.
“Hi, Nate,” Trish said. He blushed slightly and looked away.
“Hi,” he said nervously. “Sure is hot, ain’t it?”
“It sure is. Did you work today?”
“Yeah. I’m just heading home.”
“At least it’s cool at work.” Trish smiled politely.
“Yeah, it is.” Nate looked at the ground. He nervously shuffled
his feet in the gravel. “Is Billy home?”
“No.” Thank goodness.
“Can I ask you something? I mean…some guys were telling me something,” He stammered.
“What is it, Nate?” She looked deep into his eyes.
“Well, you sure are pretty, and a guy at work told me…” Nates voice trailed off.
“Was it Bradley?” Trish asked. Nate nodded. “That little shit. What did he say?”
“Never mind. He’s just lying.”
Trish felt bad for him. Nate was a little awkward, but a real sweetheart. “Did he tell you about yesterday afternoon?” He nodded. “Listen, Nate. I don’t want you to think badly of me. I really need the money. I’ve got to get out of this place.”
“I understand,” he said. “How’s your eye?”
Without thinking, Trish touched it with her hand. “It’ll be OK.” She caught him looking at her legs. Her dress was pulled up to her thighs. “How much do you have?”
“I’ve got twenty, but I get paid tomorrow,” he said excitedly.
Trish exhaled. Looking at him, she dropped the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with her foot. Nate watched Trish’s foot as it twisted back and forth. Her sandals were worn. The flat leather sole held by a couple of thin straps. The paint on her toenails was chipped and faded. Trish felt a little sorry for him. “For twenty I’ll rub it for you,” she said.
The disappointment on his face was immediate…but brief. “Can I touch your tits?” he asked with a grin.
She smiled back. “Only because I like you. But on top of my dress, OK?”
He nodded in agreement.
Trish stood up and took his hand. She led him around the corner of the trailer. They stopped between some overgrown shrubs, and he handed her a crinkled twenty dollar bill. Trish raised her skirt…higher and higher, deliberately taking her time, until he could see her panties. She tucked the twenty under the thin strap at her hip and let her skirt fall. He was noticeably excited by her little show. It would hopefully make her work go a little quicker.
Nervously, Nate moved his hand toward Trish’s breast. He stopped, looking into her eyes questioningly. She nodded and smiled. “It’s OK. Go ahead.” He fumbled nervously for a moment before reaching both hands up to touch them. She stood silently watching his face as he stared and fondled her tits. He squirmed nervously, as Trish unzipped his pants and reached inside. When she touched him, she felt ashamed. What am I doing? She thought.
Trish knew how to make men feel good. She knew how to use her body, and she knew how to use her words. Before long, Nate was groaning as his body convulsed and expelled his lust onto the ground. Without a word, Trish stepped back and adjusted her top.
Nate zipped his fly…nervous embarrassment on his face. “Well…I guess I should be getting home,” he said. He stepped closer and leaned in as if to give her a kiss. Instinctively, Trish pulled away. The disappointment on his face was pronounced. She smiled, lowered her resistance, and kissed him on the cheek. It was enough. As he turned to walk away, Trish saw the product of their activities in the dirt at her feet, and her stomach churned. Her insides ached until her body rebelled against what she had made it do. She doubled over and spewed vomit on the ground, her body heaving violently like Nate’s had when he came. Tears filled her eyes as she wiped the corners of her mouth.
Trish looked around to make sure no one could see. She reached behind the junk pile leaning against the back of the trailer and pulled out a coffee can. Inside was her hope for a new life. Inside was her only chance to escape. She counted the money, glancing around nervously. Nate’s twenty made an even three hundred dollars. It would have to be enough.
Trish could hear Billy’s piece of shit truck from two miles away. It had an exhaust leak which made it roar when he stepped on the accelerator, and it would backfire when he shifted gears. It was twelve thirty in the morning. No chance he wouldn’t be drunk.
“Hey, baby,” he said as he stumbled towards the front steps.
Trish sat still and responded “Hey, babe.” Gotta play it cool, she thought.
“I missed you, baby. What’s for dinner?”
Dinner was four hours ago, you prick! Trish thought quietly to herself. “Do you want me to fix you a sandwich?”
He glared at her. “I guess not. I really just want to eat you,” he said as he reached for her waist.
She wanted to pull away. Play it cool, she reminded herself. “That sounds good,” she said in her best acting voice.
Lying on the couch with her skirt hiked up and Billy’s face buried between her legs, Trish continued playing her part. God, I hope he’s getting hard, she thought. She knew all too well—If he’s too drunk to get it up, he’ll get angry. The bruises on her arms were proof of that. She continued squirming and grinding her pussy into his face. After a few minutes she provided his ego with an oscar worthy orgasm. He pulled away and climbed on top of her. Thank God, she thought as he pushed inside of her.
A few sweaty minutes later, it was over. Billy was passed out on the couch and Trish was showering his stink off of her body. Standing under the warm shower of water, she cried. Goddamn, how did I get here? Sobbing, she slid down onto the floor of the shower. The grout between the tiles was cracked and mildewed. She cut her foot on one of the broken tiles. Naked and alone, her head hung low, and Trish thought about her Mom. She was a good woman and a good mother. She was full of love and hope until Trish’s dad got cancer and died. She just couldn’t cope with life without him by her side. After she was institutionalized, Trish got involved with a deadbeat that reminded her of her Dad. One bad relationship after another had finally lead her to Billy—that son of a bitch. Trish’s jaw clenched as she thought of the hell he put her through over the last six months. She stood and turned the faucet handle. The shower head continued to drip.
Trish slid the jeans over her round hips and looked into the mirror. “You can do this,” she told herself. She pulled her wet hair back and grabbed her bag from the closet. She glanced quickly through the open door as she walked over to Billy’s side of the bed…just to make sure. He was still passed out on the couch. The drawer creaked as she slid it open. Startled, Trish looked again to make sure he didn’t move. Lying in the drawer was her safety net—if everything went wrong. She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and walked out of the bedroom for the last time.
She made her way toward the front door. There were no last glances for forgotten items. No hesitations or fond memories. There was nothing for her there. Nothing but misery and torment. If she was to have a future it was somewhere else.
She picked up the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table. Staring at Billy, Trish took a shot of courage and a deep breath. Then she emptied the bottle on the couch where Billy lay unconscious. Watching the son of a bitch sleeping, she lit a cigarette. She stared at him and took a long slow drag. Exhaling, her hand felt the bruise on her face. She lay the lit cigarette on the cheap fabric next to Billy. After a few moments, it began to smolder. She left through the front door, locking it behind her, and headed for Ray’s.
Ray loved anything with an engine. Ray also loved to get high, and his most recent drug of choice was Meth. He fancied himself a NASCAR superstar, but most days he was lucky to make it to work. He was a mechanic at a repair shop across town. He was really good at it, at least when he wasn’t fucked up. He lived on the far side of the trailer park from Trish and Billy. In typical Ray style, meaning that of a piece of shit, he would always try to grope Trish’s ass or accidentally rub against her tits when she was unfortunate enough to run into him.
When Ray started bragging about his new motorcycle, Trish acted impressed. Of course, it wasn’t really new. It was a wreck that his boss had given him. He and a buddy at the repair shop worked on it in their spare time. They scrounged parts from other wrecked bikes, bought a few, and stole some others. In the end, it looked like it might fall apart if you actually rode it, but it ran.
Trish tapped on Ray’s bedroom window.
“What?” Ray yelled, flinging the nicotine stained curtain back. “Who the fuck is it?”
“It’s me,” she replied. The curtain fell closed. She could hear him stumbling around. The stumbling seemed to move closer to the front door.
Ray stepped out onto the creaky wooden porch. “Hey, baby,” he said with that shit eating grin of his. His teeth were really bad. The Meth was starting to take its tole on him.
“I need my bike,” she whispered.
“Come inside, sweet cheeks.” Ray was too loud.
“I need my bike, Ray.” Trish spoke in hushed tones. “I’m leaving tonight.”
Ray looked her up and down. She could almost feel his eyes on her body. He nearly fell as he jumped down from the wobbly porch, and walked over to her. He stank like sweaty ass. “Your bike?” he said. “The way I figure, you’ve got a few more payments to make.” He reached his hand out grabbing at her arm. She pulled away.
“Goddammit, Ray, we had a deal!”
“We still have a deal, baby. You just owe me a little more.” He lunged grabbing her wrist and pulled her toward him. He tried to kiss her with that rotten smelling mouth. She pulled away, but he was strong. He twisted her arm hard, bending her over. Her wrist burned where his hand gripped it, and pain shot through her shoulder like a knife.
A few blocks away, the firehouse alarm sounded. Ray looked up for a moment, and his grip loosened slightly. Trish balled up her tiny fist, and with every ounce of strength she could muster punched him hard in the ball sack. He fell to his knees, groaning in pain. “You bitch!” he yelled. He lifted his head and found himself looking straight down the barrel of a Glock 9mm.
“You’ve had the last piece of ass you’re getting from me, Ray! Where are my fucking keys?” She pushed the barrel of the gun against his filthy head. “I’m in a hurry, Ray. I need my bike…now.” She pushed the barrel harder.
“I’ve got it right here,” Ray was almost crying, “right here in my shirt pocket.” He started to reach his hand up. She glared at him. He paused then moved his hand slowly. With two fingers he reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a single key. He dropped the key into her outstretched hand. Trish backed away…keeping the gun pointing squarely at Ray’s ugly mug. “Why you gotta be like this, Trish?” he pleaded.
Trish pulled the tarp off the bike with one hand, keeping a close eye on her junkie friend. The sounds of firetrucks grew louder as they pulled into the far side of the trailer park. She tucked the gun back into her pants and threw a leg over the small Honda. The headlight came on when she turned the key. A few sharp kicks and the small engine purred to life. She clicked it into first gear and idled across the grass to the gravel drive and stopped. Trish looked back at Ray, still on his knees in the damp grass.
“Ray,” she said. “You should forget all about me.” She stared at him with eyes of steel. He nodded understanding. “God knows I’ll try to forget you.” She turned and headed West out of the trailer park.
“Johnny on the Spot” is a short story which I wrote last year. Although it ended up being part of “Down the Rabbit Hole”, truth be told, I like it much better as a stand-alone story. I tend to like stories with peculiar twists and dark undertones. This one certainly fits the bill—Enjoy.
Wrapped in a towel, Trish gathered her clothes for the day. She lay her new skirt and matching blouse on the bed, then stepped back to look at the two together. Pleased with her new outfit, she scurried into the closet to find her shoes. The shoes were her sole inspiration for buying the skirt. They were definitely “hooker shoes,” and the skirt was a little shorter than she should probably wear to work. But she always likes to sex things up a bit on Fridays. It gets her in the right mood heading into the weekend. She especially likes the looks she gets from the men at work on her “sexy days”. Tom, down the hall in accounting, can’t help himself. He almost drools on himself when she wears a short skirt or a blouse that shows just a touch too much cleavage. He’s married and she doesn’t really find him particularly attractive, but the attention gives her a confidence boost.
The clothes set Trish’s mood for the day, but it’s what she wears underneath that really keeps her turned on. Sexy days always mean some super sexy underthings. Or if the mood strikes her, no panties at all. Her b-cups still look nice and perky with no bra, so that’s always an option. But, this day, she already had a plan for what to wear underneath her new outfit. Her favorite fuck-me g-string and matching push-up bra were practically made to be worn with her new shoes.
She walked over to the dresser and slid the top drawer open. There, spread out before her, were her favorite and most frequently worn unmentionables. On the left were the cotton, no frills, “I need comfort today” panties and matching bras. Even on those days, she likes things to match. And on the right were her “tie me up and make me scream” g-strings, thongs, and push-up bras. In reality, Trish has never been tied up, and her screams aren’t heard by nearly enough people–besides herself. She’s no prude, but she has always been very particular about who she allows to see her most vulnerable self. At thirty-something, she’s only slept with four men, and one woman–sort of.
As she rummaged through her sexiest undergarments, looking for those g-string panties, she uncovered Johnny. “Johnny on the Spot” it said on the package, but she just calls her most faithful lover through the years Johnny. He always makes her smile, just as she did when she first saw him in the display case at Sandy’s Adult Boutique. He was truly a dildo-extraordinaire.
Trish smiled to herself as she gently patted him on the head and let her fingers delicately graze his smooth shaft. “Are you hiding my panties?” she asked, laughing quietly. She nudged Johnny to one side and pulled the panties from underneath him. With a mischievous smile she said, “Maybe we can spend some time together tonight.”
After a few moments Trish’s expression turned more serious. “Are you mad at me?” she asked. She stared silently at the silicone phalus lying among her sexiest panties and bras. “Seriously. Are you mad?” she asked again.
“Should I be?” a gruff male voice replied.
“Look, I don’t have time for this. I need to get dressed for work,” Trish argued.
“Work?” the voice asked. “You’re wearing those to work?”
Trish huffed exasperatedly, “You know I like to dress sexy on Fridays. What’s the problem? I always come home to you, don’t I?”
“Do you?” the voice asked accusingly.
“Can we talk about this tonight? I’m going to be late.”
Trish waited a moment for a response, but received none. Finally, frustrated, she pushed the drawer closed and finished dressing for work.
After a longer than expected work day, Trish’s “Sexy Friday” ended with drinks at a local bar. She and a few friends from work met to blow off steam and console one another. Closing the books for the quarter is always super stressful.
Trish likes to drink, maybe a little too much. A little alcohol helps her loosen up. A little more helps her forget her problems. On this particular day, however, she couldn’t seem to avoid thinking about the inevitable confrontation with Johnny. A confrontation which she would like to avoid.
“Trish, you slut!” yelled Monica from across the table. “Do you want another drink?” It was unusually loud in the bar. Apparently, there was a big game on television, and the local fans were out in force to support their team. Trish never has cared for sports and could, frankly, do without the over-zealous fans.
Trish nodded enthusiastically to Monica and turned to continue her conversation with Isabelle. “I know,” she said, “Let him look. Nothings going to happen, but it kind of turns me on.” Isabelle had commented on Tom’s complete inability to keep his eyes off of Trish. He was exceptionally lecherous today. Trish’s morning tiff with Johnny put her in a fairly pissed off mood for the entire day, and she held no quarter in teasing poor Tom. She leaned over just a little too far when speaking with him at his desk. She bent over just a little too deliberately to pick up the pen that she just couldn’t seem to stop dropping. Poor Tom was in a state. Monica made bets that he wouldn’t make it through the day without escaping to the men’s room to rub one out.
Although Trish always enjoyed torturing Tom, today she was particularly relentless. But, she didn’t really enjoy it. She was taking her frustrations out on him and felt a bit guilty. It wasn’t her usual playful flirtations, but was rather mean spirited.
Trish walked into her apartment, dropped her keys on the table by the door, and flipped through her mail for the day. Nothing interesting. After a few minutes of doing anything to avoid talking to him, she knew it was time to face the piper. She had been putting this off for weeks, but knew she and Johnny needed to have a serious talk.
She walked into the bedroom, switched on the lamp at her bedside table and walked over to the dresser. Taking a deep breadth, she then pulled her underwear drawer open to reveal, lying amongst the dainties with which she covered her naughty bits, Johnny on the Spot. “Are you still in a bad mood?” she asked.
For a moment there was no response. Then the same male voice from earlier, calm, yet obviously perturbed replied. “I’m not in a bad mood. I’m pissed,” he proclaimed.
“Pissed? About what?” she asked.
“How long has it been since you’ve even spoken with me?”
Smiling to lighten the mood, Trish replied, “Talking isn’t really what we do, Johnny.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. “I’m always there for you. I’ve always been there for you.”
“I know you have,” she relented. “And I’ve been there for you, too.”
“Really?” Johnny was obviously miffed. “How long have you left me lying alone in this drawer? How long? I’ll tell you how long…three weeks. That’s how long. And this isn’t the first time.”
“I know,” Trish replied apologetically. “I’ve not really been in the mood.” She reached her hand out to touch him, but stopped just as her finger tips grazed his fleshy shaft.
“Look,” he declared, “I know our relationship isn’t typical, but I have needs too. And don’t tell me you’ve not been in the mood. This drawer isn’t sound proof. I heard you last night after you went to bed.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes, I heard. And there I was lying alone with the panties…ready to go at a moment’s notice but not invited to the party. I heard you come over and over. If I had balls, they’d be blue.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you would hear. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything.” She reached out again to touch him, and gently stroked him from shaft to head with her fingertips. “I’m sorry.” A tear welled up in her eye.
“Don’t cry,” he said…his tone softened by her obvious regret. “It’s just…I mean…haven’t I always been there when you needed me? Since you snuck me into your dorm and we made love the first time, I’ve been yours. When you were alone, I was there. When you were dating Quick Billy the sixty second wonder…two minutes after he fell asleep, I was there for you. I didn’t even complain about getting sloppy seconds.”
“I know, and you have,” Trish admitted. “You have always been there for me when I needed you. No one could ever compare to you. Your the best lover, and you fit me perfectly. It’s just…”
“What? It’s just what, Trish?”
“You are. You are a wonderful lover.” She drew him from the drawer and held him close to her breast. “I positively adore you. I love your firm fleshy texture.” She held him in her hands adoringly…lavishing soft kisses on him as she spoke. “I love the perfect curve of your shaft.” She held him close to her face and spoke in intimate whispers. “I love the just so wonderful,” kissing him gently on the tip, “shape of your head. You were always the best sex of my life.”
“Were?” he asked.
“I know you give me all of the best of yourself. But…” her voice trailed off. “But, sometimes I need things that you’re just not equipped to give me, Johnny. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“What kind of things?” Johnny huffed with a twinge of pain in his voice.
“Mmmmmm-mmm, things like I can give her,” declared a faint feminine voice.
Trish looked away for a moment, unable to face Johnny’s hurt. “Yes,” she responded to the new voice, “like things that you can give me.” She walked over to her bedside table, still holding Johnny close to her breast, and opened the top drawer. There, lying inside and humming to herself anxiously, was little Vicky.
Trish had met Vicky a month or so before, after reading other women’s comments online about their experiences with “Silver Bullets.” She thought it couldn’t do any harm to try it once, right? What she didn’t expect, however, was how much she would like it. It was easy with Vicky, almost like she didn’t have to really work at it at all. Things just moved along smoothly and without any unnecessary drama. Without getting out of bed, she could reach over, pull Vicky out of the drawer, and after just a few minutes of Vicky humming enthusiastically on her clit, she was moaning with orgasmic bliss. She could easily come two, three, or even four times and then fall asleep…no fuss, no muss.
Earlier that week she even tucked little Vicky into her panties and wore her to work. Vicky rubbed against her swollen clit every time she moved, and when things got boring or just too fucking hot to ignore, Trish would reach into her pocket, slide the dial up and let Vicky do her magic. It wasn’t the most productive day, work-wise, but she came more than a dozen times before even getting home.
“You, goddamn home-wrecking whore!” Johnny yelled.
“Hey! Stop it! It’s not her fault,” declared Trish. “I invited her into our home. Into my home.”
“Your home? So that’s how it is?” he asked with pain in his voice.
Trish paused for a moment. She held him gently in her hands and spoke softly. “Yes, that’s how it is Johnny. But, things don’t have to be weird between us. You know I’ve always adored you. I don’t want to lose you. I still need you, and I always will. Vicky can’t make me feel like you do.”
“But, I can’t make you feel like she does?” questioned Johnny.
“No. No, you can’t, but that’s ok. You’re both so very different. Both fabulous in your own way.” Trish looked lovingly at both of them, “Just different”.
Vicky had remained silent as Trish and Johnny came to terms with the new reality of their relationship, but after a long pause in the conversation she spoke up indignantly. “You’re not thinking of keeping him around are you?”
“What?” replied Trish.
“You’re not kicking him to the curb?”
“No. No, I could never kick Johnny out of my life.”
“Then, what the fuck have we been doing?” cried Vicky.
“Vicky,” Trish said in as calming a voice as she could manage, “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. What we have is great, and I do mean really great. But, I still love Johnny. I could never get rid of him.” She lay the two of them side-by-side on the bed. “Look,” she said, determined to straighten the situation out once and for all, “you two are going to have to find a way to get along. I can’t honestly see how I could give either one of you up.”
After several moments of awkward silence, Johnny spoke up. “I don’t want to leave. I just want you to be happy, Trish. Would this make you happy?”
“I think so,” she replied.
Johnny spoke to Vicky. “What about you? Do you want to make Trish happy?”
“Of course, I do,” she replied. “I’m crazy about her.”
“It’s settled, then?” Trish asked anxiously.
“Yes,” replied Johnny.
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Vicky.
“Good…good.” Trish’s voice was markedly more upbeat, and she smiled at the resolution to the situation. She moved Vicky closer to Johnny such that they were touching. Seeing them both lying there together was so exciting, she could hardly wait to give their new relationship a test drive. “Shall we?” she asked.
She didn’t wait for a response. This was either going to work, or it wasn’t. Trish pulled up her favorite “gettin’ it done” playlist and laid her phone on the bedside table. With tender melodies filling the room, Trish sat on the bed, beside her two companions, and slowly took off her shoes. Before closing the drawer of her bedside table, she pulled out a small bottle of lube. She could almost here Johnny smiling. He’s really thick with a softer texture than some, and Trish is a petite woman with a snug pussy. Plenty of lube, and sometimes patience, is needed to get him inside of her, but once he’s in… Well, there’s a reason they’ve been together since college.
Trish stood before them and slowly began unbuttoning her blouse. First one button, then another. She took her time, gently grazing her fingertips along the cleavage between her breasts and up along her neck. She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. Another button undone, she pulled her top closed, covering her soft flesh,and stared mischievously at her anxious lovers.
She rubbed her hands slowly up and down her body until finally grasping her blouse firmly. She heard tension filled gasps from Vicky and Johnny when, with one quick motion, she tore her blouse open…the final buttons flying across the room. She let the silky fabric fall from her shoulders. Her bra was delicate and overwhelmingly feminine. Soft white lace caressed her soft breasts and provided the perfect accent to the near perfect skin of her neck and chest. Through the fabric, the outline of her lightly colored nipples was just barely visible. Slowly she traced the edge with her fingertips before allowing her hands to engulf each breast fully. Squeezing them firmly, she leaned her head back and moaned softly. Sounds of excitement from the two lying on her bed turned her on even more. The steadily increasing heat between her legs was beginning to drive her mad. She desperately needed to satisfy the hunger within her, but was intent not to rush things.
Without opening her eyes, she slowly moved her hands downward and began sliding her skirt slowly over the smooth curve of her hips. As the fabric fell freely past her shapely thighs, Trish allowed her hands to continue southward until they met the small triangle of lace at the front of her panties. She hesitated, taking a few short breadths, before sliding her hand behind the delicate lace, her fingers finding their way over her silky smooth mound. With her middle finger, she reached underneath and traced the slit of her pussy slowly upward. Allowing it to dip slightly inside along the way gathering moisture from her arousal, she gasped out loud when her slippery finger finally found her swollen clit.
For just a moment, she gave in to the immediate sensations and rubbed her clit frantically up and down. “Oh, fuck!” she thought.
“Hey, save some for us,” Vicky cried out anxiously.
Trish stopped and opened her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, “I’m just so fucking hot right now.”
“Well, bring that hot pussy over here and let us have some,” she heard Johnny say. “I’m about to explode.”
With no more hesitation, Trish quickly slid her panties off, unclasped her bra, and jumped excitedly on the bed. With Johnny in one hand and Vicky in the other, Trish adjusted her position slightly…nestling her head into the soft pillow. She closed her eyes for a moment and relaxed her entire body with a slow exhale. “OK,” she said. “Let’s fuck.”
Trish gave Vicky a quick kiss. “Are you ready, baby?” she asked.
“Mmmmmm-mmm, you know I am,” replied the little silver vibrator.
Trish rubbed her new shiny lover slowly up and down her smooth slit a few times before finally nestling it against her clit. She crossed her ankles, squeezing her thighs together, holding Vicky in place with the soft folds of her pussy.
“Turn me on, baby,” Vicky’s muffled voice pleaded.
As her finger slowly turned the small dial, Vicky started to hum. Trish’s face immediately became twisted with pleasure.
Johnny was overcome. “Do you like what she does to you?” he asked excitedly.
She opened her eyes slightly and nodded her affirmation. She held his fleshy girth firmly in her hand and brought him near her face. She gasped slightly as Vicky hit just the right spot and brought his head right up to her lips and whispered “Yes. It feels sooo good…so fucking good.” Quivering with pleasure as Vicky worked her magic, Trash slowly licked the underside of Johnny’s head…teasing it like a real cock. She flicked her tongue quickly for a few moments before taking the tip between her lips. “Will you fuck my mouth while she makes me come?” she asked.
“Just try to stop me,” he replied. “Work that pussy, girl,” Johnny demanded. Vicky replied with enthusiastic humming.
Trish squeezed him firmly in her tiny fist as he pushed past her lips. She sucked first just the tip, but after a few short strokes, she pushed him further into her warm mouth. A few strokes, a few licks, then further…a few more strokes, then deeper…until, soon, the head of that thick cock was pushing at the back of her throat. She gasped for breadth each time she pulled back and gagged a little with each deep thrust…her mouth stretched to its limit trying to contain him.
Trish, beginning to feel Vicky’s talented humming bring her close, let Johnny fall from her mouth, resting his head on her chin. “Oh, my God, Vicky! I’m going to come. I’m going to come!” Her fingers pushing the tiny dial to it’s max, Trish squeezed her thighs together holding Vicky firmly against her desperate little clit. The spasms of orgasm started deep inside of her, expanding like pulsating waves from her smoldering cunt outward through her entire body. Crying out with each new wave of orgasm, she held Johnny in a death grip.
Panting with beads of sweat on her face and neck, Trish gradually rolled the dial back as her orgasm subsided. With her eyes still closed, and Vicky quietly humming at her lowest setting, “Fuck me, Johnny. I want you inside me,” she said.
As she spread her legs and lowered him into position, she heard Johnny’s voice. “What about the lube?”
“We don’t need it,” she replied. With her fingers, she spread herself open slightly and slipped just the tip between her puffy outer lips. Straining her neck, she watched as the shaft of that beautiful cock slowly pushed inside. Her smooth, bare pussy stretching as he moved deeper and deeper. That big thick cock slowly filled her; and her wet pussy, still pulsing from orgasm, eagerly welcomed the fullness.
She lay quietly for a moment, in blissful satisfaction; but soon the hunger began to take hold again. Moaning with pleasure, she slowly began sliding his full length in and out of her steaming cunt. With one hand masterfully fucking her pussy, the other played delicately with her aching nipples. Vicky’s controller lay at ready between her heaving breasts.
Her eyes clenched shut, Trish was aware of every sensation in her body. And she knew something special was happening, something she had never felt before. Her entire body was on fire…every nerve excited to the brink.
“Does that feel good?” Johnny’s muffled voice asked.
“Yes.” she whispered. “Yes,” her voice rising slightly. “Oh…yes! I’m coming!” A quick flick of Trish’s thumb and Vicky was raging against her clit with everything she had. Trish screamed and thrashed like a woman being tortured, gripping the bedspread with one hand and Johnny’s thick shaft with the other. Slamming her clenched fist against her hungry pussy with each crashing wave of pleasure, she shoved that big dick deep inside.
It was impossible to tell when one orgasm ended and the next began. Her body spasming and convulsing in uncontrollable bliss, Trish was teleported to a state of endless pleasure…at once completely in tune with every fiber of her being yet also completely unaware of where or who she was. Her mind, body, and soul were overcome and transformed…feeling, seeing, smelling, hearing as one. Waves of sensation melded her entire being into a cloud of euphoria.
After coming until she had no strength left in her body, Trish lay silent and motionless. Vicky lay quietly on Trish’s thigh, and Johnny, ever so slowly, was squeezed out of her pussy until he lay between her thighs on the bed. All were drenched with the musky wetness of Trish’s sex, and all were blissfully asleep.
Upon awakening, Trish looked around the room. At first, she was slightly disoriented. Her head was spinning and she felt like she was coming down from a wild roller-coaster ride of an acid trip. After a few moments, she recognized that freshly-fucked feeling between her legs, and slowly her senses returned. “I need a shower,” she thought. She slowly sat up in bed and groped around for Vicky and Johnny. Dropping her legs over the side of the bed, she opened the top drawer of the bedside table and gently laid Vicky inside. She hesitated for a moment, and with a smile to herself, lay Johnny next to Vicky before closing the drawer.
She took a long hot shower. Her entire body was weak and exhausted, but totally relaxed and at ease. She was still glowing from the endorphin-fueled bliss of the evenings activities, and reveled in the feeling as she dried her hair. She stood back looking at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Naked and completely exposed, this is who she was. This is what her body looked like. This was her truth.
She pulled a medicine bottle from the cabinet and started to twist the lid open. Just at that moment, she could almost hear Johnny and Vicky. “Didn’t we have a wonderful time? Why would you want to send us away?” She paused briefly, looked at herself again in the mirror, and placed the bottle back in its place. The label read Thorazine.
Recently, I posted Very Very Necessary, a short story, on this site for the enjoyment of anyone who cares to partake. Also, very recently, Down the Rabbit Hole finally ended its 90 day foray into Amazon’s KDP Select program, an experience which I found to be less than enjoyable for a multitude of reasons.
So, in an effort to get my feet wet with SmashWords, I’ve made Very Very Necessary available on SmashWords with their very intriguing ‘User Sets the Price’ option. You can purchase if from the SmashWords site here, and pay as much or as little as it’s worth to you. I really like this idea. It’s essentially a tip-based system with SmashWords managing the tip jar for you.
I’ve also published Very Very Necessary on Amazon for 99 cents, not their KDP select program. Amazon does not offer a Pay-What-You-Like or even a permanently free option.
When I decided to try my hand at publishing a little bit-o-smut, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing—still don’t, really. I had a fair number of more literary pieces in my catalog, some poetry, a few essays, etc, but nothing really steamy, and nothing that I’d managed to get published. I was eager to give self-publishing a try; and, after a fair amount of research, decided erotica might be a fun place to start. I find the subject matter endlessly stimulating; and, let’s be honest, there’s a lot of really bad erotica out there. So, I thought it would be an easy genre to break into. I was terribly terribly wrong.
Yes, there is a crap-ton of cheesy, porn-ish, low-brow erotica available today. In fact, there is so much bad erotica, it can be difficult to find the good stuff. Separating the wheat from the chaff was once the job of publishing houses and editors. However, in today’s world of e-publishing, It’s easier than ever for a would-be wordsmith to publish, and harder than ever to stand out from the crowd.
It is a true testament to the determination, persistence, and sheer bull-headedness of those that manage to break away from the crowd and have their work judged on its merit. Publishing today is a tough business in which to get your footing—especially with a full time job and family. It doesn’t help that the e-publishing machinery available today largely shuns anything with more than the most modest depictions of “the sex”.
Apparently, my cover is too literary and too artsy for smut, and my blurb isn’t “hot enough”. It became painfully obvious, rather quickly, that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. In the end, I realized that I don’t want to “just write smut”. I want to write good stories that push the readers boundaries and preconceptions. I want to write engaging prose that stimulate the mind and, yes, sometimes the libido. I think I can do that. However, I have no idea how to get that to across to a perspective reader.
How does one use a single image and a few short sentences to explain something so complex to someone in only a moment? How do you even get them to see your cover and read your blurb? I don’t have a fucking clue. There are some that have figured it out though. I’ve stumbled upon some truly remarkable writing out there—good in its own right, and hot as hell to boot. I’m guessing that my stumbling upon these erotic raconteurs was no accident, but rather the result of their tenacious and continuous writing, editing, publishing, and promotion.
So, what’s a boy to do?
Well, I’m going to write some stuff, and I’m going to put it out there. Hopefully, a few people might read it; and, if I’m terribly lucky, some will like it.
Photo courtesy of Malin James
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Guest blog: ‘Quite Delightful’, James Deen and me
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God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
A Spicey Christmas Eve Tale…..
The Annual Christmas Party
If Only He’d Said Yes…
Very Very Necessary
Holly and Ivy…
Frothy White Stuff
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
I wrote the following short story (~4k words) as a submission for an upcoming anthology. The requested topic was challenging for me—cuckolding is not really my cup of tea. However, I decided to take the challenge, and “Very Very Necessary” is the result. In the end, the story didn’t make the cut; but, to be fair, it may not have actually met the criteria for the kink.
VERY VERY NECESSARY
by Wade Esley
Clint fidgeted nervously as he stared into his coffee mug. Like clockwork, every four weeks he was forced to endure this torture. For the next three days, his wife would have sex with as many men as she could manage. He fucking hated it. It was totally necessary, but he fucking hated it.
When he and Cheryl had signed up for the colonization program, they thought it would be a fresh start for them—for their marriage. They could put behind them all of their previous problems. They could get far, far away from his overworking and from her infidelity. They could forget their arguments over where to live and how often to make love. Months of couples therapy had brought them to the final breaking point. They were forced by their own weaknesses to accept that their relationship was doomed. Regardless of how much they truly did love each other, they just couldn’t get past one another’s transgressions. Then, like a life preserver thrown to a drowning couple, it came. A small flyer in their post box held the one true hope that they could really start over.
“Adventure and Freedom Can Be Yours,” it said. “Live a life of wonder and excitement…far from the troubles of Earth.”
They agreed, that was the answer. They would start over on Mars. Decades of terraforming had paved the way for human colonization, and they could be among the first to go. They would sell everything and run away—not just to another town or state, but to another mother fucking planet. They would farm the newly revitalized soil, and maybe even start a family. And, it worked, at least for a while. What they hadn’t counted on—what no one had counted on, was the war back on Earth. A goddamn war started up six months into the colonization program, and all future flights to Mars were postponed indefinitely. Of course, indefinitely became permanently once the first nuclear missile was launched. On Mars, no one was sure who fired the first salvo. Early transmissions from all sides blamed one another. But, after a couple of weeks, all communication stopped.
There hadn’t been a transmission from Earth in well over a year when the governing council on Mars decided to push for re-population. Clint voted for the measure. He fucking hated the idea, but there really wasn’t any choice. If they couldn’t establish a sustainable population, the entire human race could be lost. No one knew if there was anyone left alive on Earth. For all they knew, the few thousand colonists on Mars were the last humans in the universe. So, it had to be done.
Cheryl traced her hand across Clint’s shoulders as she walked behind his chair at the small round table. She sat in the seat closest to him and reached her hand for his.
“We’ll get through this,” she said. “We always do.” She smiled at her husband, knowing the torment that he was experiencing. By far Cheryl’s primary contribution to their problems back on Earth was her tendency to stray from their marriage bed. She was just so damned horny, and he worked too damn much. Her ravenous libido is what initially brought them together really. But, paired with Clint’s lack of availability, it ultimately threatened to break them apart. Now, after sacrificing so much to put that all behind them, they were forced to have sex with other people…lots of other people.
The next few days were Cheryl’s. She was at the height of fertility, and she needed to mate with as many different candidates as possible. Hopefully, one of them would plant the seed of life within her. She and Clint had a single child, a daughter, during the first year of re-population. But, in order to guarantee genetic diversity, she needed to have several more children sired by different men. They had developed a very logical schedule for the whole ordeal. Everyone involved had to—it was the only way to keep things fair between partners. Clint’s extra-marital excursions were, by necessity, spread out during the month; and he did enjoy them, quite a lot. What made Cheryl’s encounters so much more difficult, was the orgiastic nature of the thing. She could, if willing, be fucked by many men in a three day period, and several at a time if she chose. But, she and Clint had worked out a system that they could both live with—even if it was still a bit difficult at times. They learned early on, that they should try to make the best of the situation. To that end, Cheryl had sole discretion in deciding with whom and with how many men she would have sex during her fertile period each month. Clint would couple with an equal number of female partners by the end of the month, and the entire cycle would start over. It worked for them. After fucking like mad for three days, Cheryl had little interest in other men, for a short while anyway.
“The spare room is ready. I was about to get dressed and head down to the bazaar.” Cheryl said to Clint as she squeezed his arm. “Would you like to help me pick something to wear?”
Clint looked up from his coffee and stared into her sparkling green eyes. “Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he said. “No. It doesn’t matter. You look amazing in just about anything.” A hint of a smile crept into his expression. Leaning closer, he whispered into her ear, “I love you.”
“And I love you,” Cheryl replied. Her touch lingered on his arm as she stood, her fingertips trailing up his bicep, until, finally, she turned and walked out of the room.
When she returned, she was wearing a lovely dress covered in flowers that came just above her knee. Clint hadn’t heard her enter the room. He stood with his back to her, washing the breakfast dishes and stacking them to dry.
“Ahem,” Cheryl cleared her throat.
Clint turned at the sound. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was positively radiant, his beautiful wife. He tried not to think of the other men. He tried not to think of their hands on her soft skin, their mouths exploring her tender flesh. But, it was difficult. “The dress is beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” He tried to think only of her, only of her pleasure, and re-assured himself that this whole thing was quite, quite necessary. She smiled teasingly and spun around. The dress whirled and lifted around her, revealing the tops of her white stockings as they met her smooth skin. Clint was so, so very happy that such things as garters never went out of style, and that Cheryl had managed to bring her favorites with her on their initial trip. If she had waited, had them shipped later, they may never have come. She laughed and ran over to him. Jumping up into his arms, she giggled like a school girl. Clint took her plump round bottom in his hands and pulled her against him. The smell of honey and jasmine filled his senses as he nuzzled his face into her neck and hair. “You better go,” he said reluctantly.
Cheryl felt his cock begin to harden against her thigh. “I love you,” she whispered one last time before stepping back.
As she stepped outside the door of their small home, Clint watched as Cheryl pulled an oversized straw hat onto her perfect blond head and closed the door behind. In the brim of the hat was a bright green flower. The green flower was the symbol that fertile women wore when they were seeking partners. Available men wore a red ribbon, armband, or scarf. A man could approach a woman, to a point. But, it was generally accepted that the woman was in control of the situation. She had final say concerning with whom she chose to fraternize, and with how many.
Cheryl preferred to start with a single suitor early in the day, partially in deference to Clint, but mostly because she liked to pace herself. As necessary as the whole process was, she couldn’t help enjoying it. She loved Clint with all of her heart. She really did, but she always had difficulty controlling her lustful nature. Even if, back on Earth, he hadn’t been such a workaholic, she would have had a hard time staying faithful. Even with their fresh start on Mars, even before the war, she was already feeling the temptation to take other lovers. She just couldn’t help herself.
Cheryl strolled through town with a casual eye. She liked to play hard to get, even though the heat within her fertile loins was almost too much to bear. To be honest, the word town is a bit generous. Frankly, town was no more than a few small shops and cafe’s scattered about, fashioned from the pre-fabricated sections brought from Earth’s moon in the months leading up to colonization. Most of the local economy was driven by individuals trading in different crops, food-stocks, and any other such necessities that a person could derive from the local resources. There were permanent tables set up in the town center for trading and selling. That single open-air market was responsible for eighty percent of everything traded in the colony, and the only place people could mingle and meet one another. Every day, people went about their lives buying and selling the necessities of life. Some women wore green flowers and some men wore red bands. The rest paid them no mind. For it would likely be them wearing the marks of breeding in the days and weeks to come. It forced a degree of acceptance and discretion on everyone.
Cheryl absent-mindedly fondled some fruits and vegetables as she made small talk with the man behind the stand. “Is it ripe?” a voice asked from behind her.
Cheryl felt the anticipation like an ache between her legs. She turned slowly to greet the source of the inquiry. Standing close behind her was a tall young man. He had piercing dark eyes and shortish curly hair the color of chestnuts. His skin was bronze from the sun, and he wore a red ribbon on his shirt collar. He grinned at her as she looked blankly down at the squash in her hand. “Yes. It’s ripe.” she said. She felt silly for being nervous. After all, she was in control. But his dark eyes seemed to stare right through her, to the very depth of her soul. As though his stellar good looks weren’t enough of a turn on, he was new. She had never seen him before, which was quite rare. With such a small number of people, everyone knew just about everyone else—or had at least seen them around. But, he was brand new to her, and gorgeous. Damn, she thought. Clint won’t like him at all. His gaze caused her to burn from within, and she felt weak in the knees. She stared nervously up at his perfect smile and his perfect hair. “Everything here is ripe.” she blurted out. Jesus, Cheryl, how cheesy. Just shut up and take him home.
“My name is Thomas,” the young man said, reaching his hand out to greet her.
“Cheryl,” she replied. She shook his hand briefly, and then turned to walk away. Thomas stared after her, confused. She turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder. “Are you coming?” she asked. Please, come…please come… please, please.
Thomas said nothing, but followed quietly behind.
Clint was tending to the vegetable garden as Cheryl walked up the path toward the small cottage. Her suitor followed silently a few paces behind. Clint glanced up from his work as they approached. Damn, he thought. That was quick. “Back already?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cheryl replied. “Back already.” She wanted to tell him how excited she was to have found such a treasure so quickly. But, the expression on Clint’s face was less than welcoming to such information. “This is Thomas,” she said, waving to her suitor.
Thomas reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Clint reluctantly shook the strangers hand in return, the whole time keeping his eyes on Cheryl. She was grinning a bit too much for his taste.
“We’re going inside. Would you like to join us for a cup of tea?” Cheryl asked.
“No,” Clint replied. “I need to finish some things out here.” He knew she was trying to be considerate, and he did love her for trying. But he was in no mood to make small talk with Thomas. It’s very very necessary, he kept reminding himself. It’s very very necessary.
Cheryl led Thomas quietly through the door of the small home. As they passed through the kitchen, Thomas commented, “Don’t you want that tea?”
“I don’t want any fucking tea, Thomas,” she retorted. “I want you inside me.” She pulled him by the hand as she continued down the dim hallway to the guest bedroom. Once inside, she quietly closed the door behind them and turned the lock with a ‘click’.
The small room was cozy enough. It was sparsely decorated with a few items made locally. The only thing Earthly in the room was the quilt on the bed. It had belonged to Cheryl’s great grandmother. “I’m sorry the bed isn’t bigger,” she apologized.
Thomas stood directly behind her. “It’s fine,” he said calmly. He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He stared with an indescribable intensity into her green eyes. She hadn’t looked directly at him since the squash stand, but the same feeling overtook her as before. She felt completely overcome with lust. Heat radiated outward from her loins through her thighs and stomach.
“Damn,” she said under her breath. “Damn,” she said a second time dropping her hands to sooth the ache in her womb. She pressed against her body with the palm of her hands, kneading her own flesh like dough. Her hands roaming from her tummy down to her thighs, digging veraciously at her pussy. “Damn!” she said again. In one crystalizing moment she recognized a fear within her, a fear that Thomas might really make her lose control of things.
Sensing her nervousness, Thomas raised his hand to her face and gently, very gently, tilted her chin upward, while bringing his face close to hers. Cheryl’s mouth opened slightly as he wrapped his arms around her waist and their lips met. He pressed his warm mouth to hers slowly, pulling her breath into him and lifting her body to meet his. His tongue writhed into her mouth like a serpent, pulling a gasp from deep within her. She tried to meet his eager tongue with her own, but felt faint and dizzy. Somehow he had lifted her into his arms without her even realizing it. He laid her gently on the bed, still devouring her mouth with kisses and nibbling her tongue and lips.
When he pulled away from her, Cheryl resisted his departure. She reached for him, desperate to cling to his every touch. He stared down at her from the bedside with that piercing gaze, and she melted into the bed, writhing in exquisite agony. Her hands roamed wildly over her body, franticly anticipating the return of his touch.
Thomas smiled calmly, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, not for a moment letting his gaze drift from Cheryl’s face. Unable to wait a second longer, Cheryl moved closer and grabbed and tugged at his pants, unbuttoning them and ripping the zipper down. His white linen shirt slid from his shoulders as she tugged at his pants, jerking him from side to side as she pulled them down over his slender hips. Cheryl was seething with lust for him and seized his cock the moment she saw it. Moaning aloud, she moved closer still to the edge of the bed and took it into her mouth, devouring it as if it would bring her back from the brink of starvation. She held it in her mouth, sucking in and out as it slowly began to grow thick and hard. Thomas looked down at her and gently brushed the blonde curls from her face. When their eyes met, Cheryl squeezed the base of his cock in her fist and sucked ferociously, swallowing it down her throat. Further…further…and further still…until she had to release it and gasp for air. She panted and caught her breath as the tip of his thick wet member rested against her lips. After only a moment, she once again engulfed it with her soft lips. But Thomas pulled back, letting it slip from her warm embrace. She looked up at him, hurt and aching to have it once again in her hungry mouth. “No, my sweet,” Thomas said. “You know it can not be that way.”
Of course, he was right. He must plant a seed in her that it may grow into a tiny human. Gently, he pushed her back onto the bed. With his now hard cock glistening in the warm morning light, Thomas traced his fingertips slowly up the inside of Cheryl’s calf, making her tingle. Tiny electrical pulses danced along the surface of her skin, drawing his gentle touch upward. Upon reaching the hem of her dress, just above her knees, he gently nudged the inside of her legs with the palms of his hands. Like a marionette, her legs responded to his masterful directions. As they slowly opened, she gathered the fabric of her dress about her waist, revealing her soft thighs and the garters which held her stockings in place.
Thomas climbed deftly on the bed. Kneeling between her feet, without looking up, he slowly caressed her legs, trailing soft kisses from her ankle upward. He made his way deliberately, up her calves, past the gentle curve below her knees, kissing first one side then the other. Cheryl gasped aloud as his tongue traced the delicate skin above her stockings. Thomas hesitated for a brief moment to look up at her. His eyes melted her insides. She felt the wetness begin to escape her burning pussy, and trail down her outer lips. Thomas pushed the flowery fabric of her dress further up with both hands as he resumed gently nibbling at her inner thighs. Cheryl wore no panties, and he could smell the subtle musky scent of her desire as her legs parted further. Finally, with her fully open to him, he slid both hands under her and firmly pulled her bottom upward until his tongue met her smoldering pussy. Cheryl cried out at his touch. His tongue deftly slithered between her soft lips, tracing her slit from the bottom up, stopping just before touching her sensitive clit. He pulled back for a moment to place slow kisses against the soft curly blonde hair of her mound, then nibbled along the edges downward along the soft skin of her inner thigh. He pulled at her pussy lips with his mouth, sucking and licking her wetness.
“Please!” Cheryl cried aloud, squeezing and tugging at her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. “I can’t stand it. Please! Please, make me come!”
Clint heard her voice through the open window. He cringed instinctively. But after a few moments, he allowed himself to imagine his beautiful wife thrashing about on the small guest bed in ecstasy. Thomas, to him, was a dark ambiguous figure. Only his beautiful wife in transformative bliss mattered. As he worked the Martian soil, the sounds of her moans provided some solace. He hated that Thomas was with her, but he loved her and reveled in her pleasure. His cock stirred slightly as he heard her gasp aloud, and he worked the rake delicately around the roots of a tomato plant.
“Please!” Cheryl cried again. “Oh, God, Please!”
Thomas paused for a moment to admire her. Her hips pushed eagerly upward to meet his hungry mouth, and the expression on her face was nothing short of crazed lust. She looked exquisite. In one fluid motion, he slid a finger deep inside her hungry cunt and sucked her swollen clit into his mouth. She bucked wildly against his face, pulling frantically at his tousled curls. He met her eagerness with groans of approval and flicked his tongue quickly up and down across her little nub. Hardly missing a stroke, Thomas whispered into her soft muff “Come for me, my sweet.” With those soft words, Cheryl’s body began to spasm with orgasm. Her breath became fractured, and her cries of pleasure peaked to the point of anguish. She screamed in ecstatic release and pulled desperately at Thomas that he may fully devour her exploding pussy.
Slowly, Cheryl’s body began to relax, and Thomas eased the pressure on her pussy. Pulling away from her clit, he nibbled gently at her lips. He licked softly up her slit, tasting her sweet moistness and inhaled deeply, savoring the delicious smell of her. He tried to be patient. But, he could wait no more. The beauty and maddening zeal of her orgasm was almost too much for him to handle. His cock had grown and hardened to the point that he felt it may actually split open. With both agility and strength, he lifted himself from where he knelt, and lifting Cheryl’s legs upward, thrust his hips to meet hers. In one smooth motion, his magnificently thick cock forced its way into her wetness, and they groaned together.
Although unexpected, Cheryl welcomed the intrusion eagerly. The sudden and complete filling of her still twitching pussy caused her to gasp, and she felt she was on the verge again. She grasped wildly at Thomas’s shoulders and back, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him into her. Thomas rocked his pelvis back and forth, forcing his cock slowly in and out of her. Cheryl’s orgasm had left her swollen and wet with every nerve in her pussy excited to the brink. Thomas’s slow deep strokes stimulated every square inch of her sensitive flesh. In return, Cheryl’s pussy swallowed him with a warm clenching embrace.
They moved like this for a while…staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Cheryl pulled at Thomas shoulders, occasionally digging into his skin with her fingernails. And Thomas, with one hand under Cheryl’s ass, pulled her up to meet his thrusts. Slowly, almost unnoticeably, Thomas increased his pace, bringing both of them closer and closer to the point of climax.
Outside, Clint worked the soil with his rake. He pushed it aggressively back and forth, breaking the clumps of dirt into fine loam. He could hear Cheryl’s moans of pleasure, and his mind twisted with the thought of Thomas fucking her. At once, he was furious at the situation, and still so very turned on by Cheryl’s cries of pleasure. He loved her so very much, and he knew her so well. He could tell by her breathing and the little noises she made how close she was to coming. He grew hard as he repeated to himself. “Very, very necessary.”
When she could take it no more, Cheryl cried out “Fuck me! Oh, fuck me!” Thomas paused for a moment, and Cheryl’s sparkling green eyes bore into him, agonizing at his delay. He kissed her deeply on the mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips. She sucked it feverishly for a moment, then pulled away. Tightening her legs around his waist, she pleaded into his ear once more…”Fuck me.” But before her request had fully escaped her lips, she felt him thrust fiercely into her. The one thrust followed quickly by another…and another…and another. Cheryl closed her eyes and bit at Thomas’s neck and shoulder as he pounded his thick cock into her. She cried aloud with every thrust, grasping and pulling at his body as she felt her orgasm begin to peak. Although she was desperate to come, she clenched her body tightly to hold off for just a few seconds longer. Increasing the tension of her orgasm higher and higher, she savored each savage thrust until she could hold on not one second more.
Screaming in delightful agony, Cheryl felt her body begin to spasm. It overtook her entirely, from deep within her womb to the very tips of her toes. Wave after wave of exquisite pleasure crashed through her body as Thomas pounded into her. Finally, as she felt the last ache of blissful release, Cheryl felt Thomas’s hot come erupt deep inside her, and he collapsed between her thighs in exhaustion.
Cheryl awoke to a soft “tap, tap, tap” at the door. “Come in,” she said softly.
Clint peeked slowly around the door as it pushed open. He was relieved not to see Thomas. Cheryl smiled at her husband, “He’s gone,” she said.
“You okay?” Clint asked.
Cheryl was positively glowing. “Yeah, I’m good,” she responded. “You?”
“Fine…” Clint wasn’t totally convincing. “I finished weeding the vegetable garden,” Clint said as he sat beside her on the bed.
“Well, that’s good. It’s tough work in the afternoon sun.”
Clint gently brushed the loose curls from Cheryl’s face. “I love you,” he said quietly.
Cheryl pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it softly. “I love you, my husband.”
“Would you like some tea?” He stared into her sparkling eyes.
“Yes, please.” She replied with a smile.
I don’t have a mailing list or anything similar yet. In the mean time, if you enjoyed the story, I would appreciate Facebook mentions, tweets, etc. Thanks. —Wade Esley
A short while back, the incomparable Malin James tweeted an announcement that she had, available on her website, a new piece of erotic flash fiction. I clicked the link and promptly saved it to read later via Pocket. I then went about my busy schedule. After a few days, I finally laid eyes on this fabulous little piece. This is no unrefined porn, my friends. “Sybil’s Kink” is exquisitely written. It is sensual, erotic, and completely captivating. Ms. James masterfully pulled me into her story with the skill and artistry of a true professional. The effortless way in which she manipulated me was reminiscent of the subtle way in which Ernest Hemingway did the same as I read “The Old Man and the Sea.”
It may seem unbefitting to compare a piece of erotic flash fiction to what is possibly one of the greatest pieces of American literature to come out of the twentieth century. But the feeling that I had upon completing “Sybil’s Kink” is the same feeling that I had upon once again completing “The Old Man and the Sea” just this past summer. I was amazed at the beauty and the subtlety of the writing, almost to the point of giving up ever, again, writing anything myself. I mean, what’s the point?
However, after licking my wounds and dusting myself off, I’ll take up the gauntlet, as, I’m sure will others. Oh, Ms. James, you have set the bar ever so high.