Stop SOPA/PIPA
Stroke It
“Mistress!”
She cuddled deeper into the sofa and turned up the television. NOVA was on.
“Agatha!” He extended the last syllable like a whiny teenager. She hadn’t bothered to put on clothes. She spread her legs and caressed her slit. She wasn’t worried about him – he could scream as loudly as he wanted to. It was a house, so no one would hear.
“Please…”
Her nipples hardened, and the little bars pierced on them suddenly felt cold. He could make her come if he said it like that again. She drew slow circles around her clit thinking about his condition. Was he sweaty? Trembling? Was he hard, or had he gotten soft with the pain? Her vision blurred as she pressed hard into her hard clit. She wasn’t waiting any longer.
She tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear him breath – it was rough and quick.
“Oh God, I’m so-” He dripped sweat, and there were pools of it on the floor under his knees. Surprisingly, he was still semi-hard and the head of his cock was wet with precum. He’d loved the punishment as much as she had. She waved the handcuff keys in his face. He winced at the reminder of his pain, but his cock bobbed up with a fresh burst of blood. He was hardening fast in her presence.
“You frustrated me, pet – made me go without.” She licked the salt from his erect nipples until he shivered. She tickled his balls softly. “I don’t know whether you’ve seen the error of your ways yet.”
His lower lip quivered like a boy’s. His eyes were liquid with entreaty.
between the lines
My soul isn’t in my smile
or my touch, however warm.
It’s not in my hair, or my kiss
or the hot press of my thighs.
It’s definitely not in what lies between them.
My soul is not in my gaze
or in my laugh, however riotous and sincere.
It’s not in the swing in my step, or the perfume I wear
or the timbre of my voice.
A Certain Manner
♦ This story is very loosely inspired by Alice Bluegown‘s exquisite lesbian erotica. Although in my opinion it doesn’t possess the lyricism and grace of her work it is a period piece set in the second decade of the 19th Century, around the time Communism/Socialism began to really strike fear in the heart of capitalist America. -X
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying or begging.
I took a cleansing breath and faced them head-on. Their hands were like iron, but I slid out of their sweaty grip just before the biggest man put the whole weight of his body into stomping my backbone. They didn’t lunge toward me. They were smug.
“You know, you’ll break my spinal column if you do that.” I pointed at the man’s shovel sized foot. “You wouldn’t want the fun to end before it started, would you?”
He looked confusedly at the only woman in the group. She was younger than me, tall with bobbed hair and pale eyes. She was pretty enough, but she looked mannish amongst all those thugs. The men cracked their knuckles eagerly as they waited for her to make her decision.
It must be her show, but I’ve to figure out why she wanted to hurt me in the first place. She couldn’t possibly know…
She took off her thin jacket slowly, revealing a startlingly feminine silk and satin paneled dress in the modern style. The cloth shone with glass beads underneath the factory fluorescents – it was certainly not made here. The men’s faces fell.
“Get out.” Her voice was painfully harsh. They gave her a quizzical look.
“But you told us we’d get to-” She put a gloved hand up and all of their mouths slapped shut at the same time. It was an imperious gesture – she was used to telling men such as that what to do.
My heart was going to pound its way right out of my ribcage.
“We will wait in the car.” She waved her hand again, grimacing with the apparent frustration of having to deal with them. She remained perfectly still until the last man had closed the door. She locked it. Adrenaline made my temples pound, and my hands had already turned to claws. I would bury them into her pretty face even if I died doing it.
“Raawwrgh!” I landed on her, wrapped my legs around her waist and pulled her hair viciously. I wanted to feel her scalp give way until I had two handfuls of her thick brown hair. I beat on her shoulder with a clenched fist as I pulled, savoring my impending victory…
She wasn’t fighting back. In fact, as my grip on her waist loosened I saw that her face was flushed and her eyes had a look I was very familiar with – but not in the midst of a fight. I fell off her and crouched underneath a machine. When I looked down, more than a couple of her hairs stuck to the sweat on my palms. I waited for her to open the door and call her thugs to finish me off now that she’d had her fun. I panted in the dusty darkness. Her kid heels clicked as she walked toward me. I couldn’t help staring – each was tied with an enormous silk grosgrain ribbon. I’d always dreamed about owning such shoes… it made even the most ungraceful, large foot look delicate. I looked down toward my own. Her hand wrapped around my scuffed leather boot and pulled me squirming into the light. I expected her to bury her beautiful shoe in my ribcage before I could get my bearings. Instead, she laughed. It was an alien sound in a place such as this. I looked at her, goggle-eyed.
“Come now, don’t give me such a look. It’s positively hideous.” She sat down without crossing her legs. Her pearly gray silk stockings stopped right above her knees, and beyond that all I could see is rosy flesh and inviting darkness. My cheeks burned and I crawled back underneath the sewing machine. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help wondering whether those fine stockings were any silkier than her flesh. My hungry belly growled.
She reached underneath and started to pull me out by one of my thick braids. I pushed her onto a scrap-covered counter and slapped her. As she moved her hand to her face, I bit down on the bit of naked wrist beyond her tight kid glove. Just as soon as teeth hit flesh, I nearly lost strength in my knees. Her painted lips parted and her eyes fell closed. I let her hand fall to her lap and took a trembling step back. She opened her eyes and dreamily inspected the damage to her wrist.
UPDATED (2) – Naughty or Nice, Let Me Stuff Your Stocking
UPDATE – 12/31/11 New Year’s Winners at the bottom of the post.
Dearest Readers,
I have a proposition for you as Solstice darkens, and Yule logs and miraculous oil lamps beat back the night with festivity. We Northerners find all kinds of ways to get warm this time of year, and Down Under it’s hot as blazes, so what’s a little more sweat?
As a small token of thanks to our readers, new and old, dabbling and deep, I would like to help end your 2011 with a bang, or several, and here’s how: I’m giving away books – and more. Three books, or rather coupons redeemable for any of my books available at Republica Press will be randomly selected from the commenters on this thread that meet the criteria.
“The criteria?!” you cry, “What are they?”
Resolute
♦ They are in vastly different places emotionally but they still recognize that deep down, they’re kindred spirits. As any discerning reader can see, I’m very fascinated with this particular aspect of relationships although it’s sometimes more gritty and realistic than some erotica readers [and writers] might like to explore.
I’ll say only this to the idealistic smut only crowd : “You’re missing out.” -X
“Another please.” Her unaccented contralto made one of the regulars look up from his dollar shot. She didn’t look back.
Her eyes burned, but she didn’t want to ruin her makeup by crying. She laughed softly at her own pointless vanity. Who gave a damn in this shit hole? The cheap fake wood grain walls were sweating grease. The vodka gave her the warmth she craved, albeit temporary. Before she could ask for another, the bartender put the half-empty bottle in front of her. “What the hell. It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re as far from Times Square as we can get.”
The regular stirred, eyeing the bottle, then her with disdain. He’d never gotten a free bottle. The door creaked, and a slight man sat down in the darkest part of the bar.
Now there were four.
“Hey, man! You’re going to have order a drink if you want to stay. This ain’t a bus station.”
When he walked to the bar she smelled the perfumey, hot metal smell of freshly dried clothes. It was comforting.
“Give me a double tequila, if you have it.” His pale hands were restless as landed fishes on the bar. His jaw worked, and his smooth-shaven skin shone in the sickly reddish light.
The bartender slammed the glass down. “$4.50.”
He looked down into the drink. “Start a tab.” He walked back to the dark, his puffy jacket rustling on his arm. He wore a local university sweatshirt and a pair of jeans a bit too tight for him to be local. The lethal mixture of boredom, booze and loneliness made her bold.
“Excuse me?”
He wrapped his restless hands around his glass. “Yes?”
Before she could think twice, she slid in the booth across from him.
“Please excuse my presumption but I’m sick of watching people screaming with the sound off.” She pointed at the television, then put the bottle of vodka in the middle of the table. “I come bearing gifts.” He was silent for a second too long, and she felt foolish. Maybe he just wanted a moment alone now that the holidays were nearly over. Getting up and walking away made her feel a beat away from going into hysterics. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’ll be on my way…”
She moved to get up, but he grabbed her softly by the wrist.
“No. Please. I’m a bit slow on the uptake sometimes,” he said. She squinted in the dark, but she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were – not that it mattered. “You visiting for the holidays?”
“What gave it away?”
“Local women don’t bother with highlights or designer jeans.”
She tugged at her subtle gold and auburn ponytail. Even in the dark, he was a quick study. “I can’t quite peg you.” She took another shot.
He smirked. “I’m both from here and not…at least, not anymore.”
“Ah. You’re visiting family then?
“Aren’t you? Why else come back to this?” he asked. Her eyes went blank, and he sensed he’d struck a nerve. He was frustrated, she was beautiful, and he didn’t want to lose her attention. “Hey, when I lived here we used to get all sorts of people on their way to Detroit.”
She smiled wistfully at him. “No, I’m here on business.”
“Business? What is it, junk metal? Fine second-hand goods?” She traced something scratched into the surface of the table. F-U-C-. She was either really melancholy or slightly drunk. “Pretty much my whole family is recovering (un)comfortably from some kind of stomach thing. When I realized there would be no New Year’s Eve bash at home, I brought the one-man party here.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah. The perfume of puke and warm ginger ale, the sweet sound of people urking in the night…” When she smiled, he felt such an intense sense of approval that his cheeks tingled. “I feel sorry for them, but I did tell them not to drink that eggnog.”
She pulled her thick hair out of the ponytail and her perfume drifted over to him. Her sweater buttons strained with the pressure of her breasts. His expert eye saw no bra lines. His cock stirred.
“A fitting requiem for the holidays,” she said. She sounded tired. “Did you know that someone in your humble town has one of the most complete archive of WW2 documents in the world?”
“Huh?” He’d been busy calculating exactly how long the top button of her sweater had before it popped. Half hour…forty-five minutes tops.
She leaned back into her seat and put a hand on her flat belly. He swore he heard that button scream. It took every bit of his self-control not to stare at the clear outline of her nipples. Her voice sounded far away.
