The Erotic Writer

Four writers for the price of one blog

Daydreams & Distractions ☼ The Conical Hat

The Conical Hat ☼ A Daydream & Distraction by Redbud

  • Ok, of all the stories I’ve written, this one was the most fun and numbers among my personal favorites.

He opened the front door.

The sun was out. The sky was blue. The sidewalk was a brilliant, crisp white. His wife looked up at him, and she looked the same, but different; bound with packing twine, a stamp on her forehead and wearing the ridiculous, conical, red gnome hat. She looked up at him, biting her lip, nervous, a shy and uncertain, apologetic smile on her face.

They were just married.

She was waifish with short blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. They had just moved into their new house with a little garden in a backyard surrounded by a tall fence. In the garden was an apple tree, a little pear tree and a row of potatoes, onions, garlic, peas and flowers.

She loved the garden.

She went out every day to prune, plant or weed. She took a lemonade, little soft-jersey garden gloves, and a kneeling pad. She took a hand-spade, a trowel, a transplanter and a cultivator. She wore a sleeveless white top and blue jean overalls with read knee patches. She wore sandals, bobbed her hair but always had to blow one strand out of her face.

She went out every day until, one day, she disappeared.

Her new husband looked and looked. He called through the house. He dialed her iPhone. He found it on the bedside stand. He called her friends. And then he went back out to the garden where he found a little note pinned to the garden gate. It said: “Dear husband, couldn’t stand the solitude any longer. Gone off to see the world. Don’t be worried, I’ll be back soon. Love, your Wife.”

☼ Denial

On that first evening he paced the living room. He told himself his wife would never leave him. He told himself he had given her everything she wanted: her own home, her little garden, a master bathroom and her own kitchen. He had a good job and provided. And then a very strange thing happened. He received an e-Card on his iPad. The e-Card was tastefully white with a little pink heart. It said: “Into the wild.” He tapped on the e-Card. It opened and on the right hand side a short video began.

In the background was a pane of glass, from floor to ceiling. He saw the round white nose of a Boeing 767, the loading ramp rounded against its side and beyond the passenger jet, a taxiing Jet Blue and a busy runway. In the foreground were a woman’s slender legs. They were spread and her pussy was shaved. She was on her back. A dozen thoughts raced: first was the realization that this was his wife, though he couldn’t see her face, second was that hands were at her knees, lifted and drawn back. The fingers of a third – was it a man’s or woman’s? – reached between his wife’s legs and with a single finger traced gentle, persistent, circles over her clit. His wife struggled. How could she not be seen? She was in an airport terminal!

But there must have been more than just hands holding her knees. Why didn’t she use her hands? Her narrow waist rose and fell as she twisted and arched. Her belly button stretched and her smooth muscles made a divot from her pussy to the V of her ribs. All the while, the finger never stopped it’s gentle circular motion.

Her knees rose up. She arched. She stiffened. The struggling stopped. Then he saw his wife’s face. She lifted her head to look at the finger delicately circling her clit, then at whoever was tormenting her, her lips parted, how brows knit, her eyes a combination of denial, refusal and, yes. shock. But what distracted him the most was the conical red hat she wore, like a garden gnome’s! Her drawn up, spread legs began their reflexive cramping. Her face changed to an agony of confession. She orgasmed. He could see the muscles of her ass and shaven pussy open and close, compliantly answering the patient fingers. Her eyelids half closed and she gazed at nothing until her head abruptly fell back and out of view. The hands let go of her knees but she didn’t close them. There was only soft rise and fall of her belly and the occasional flicker of a fading and exhausting spasm.

Now she would be easier to deal with.

An airline ticket filled the video: Paris, France; Barcelona, Spain; and the Riviera, round trip.

☼ Anger

Two days later he woke in a vengeful rage. He burnt the toast and shattered A bottle of Peach Jam on the kitchen’s white tile floor. he found the mop and bucket, the purple bucket with the flowers on the side, that he had bought just for his wife as a wedding present. He went to work that and lost three contracts with four separate customers. He insulted his boss and made the secretary cry. He didn’t tip the taxi driver on the way home and he was very rude to his neighbor’s old dog who only, after all, wanted a scratch behind the ear.

Had had received another e-Card.

He quickly tapped on the e-Card and it gracefully unfolded. He saw the Eiffel Tower through beautiful French windows – the European windows that open outward on either side and are always accented by billowy white curtains and a pot of red carnations just outside the window ledge. There was sound. He could hear the horns of French cars which, like everything French, sound different and peculiarly French. For an instant, he regretted not being in France himself. He had been raised to be ambitious and hard working. He had never used a sick day.

Then he heard his wife’s voice – guttural, incomprehensible, but filled with rage. For the moment, the thought of his waifish young wife ever being angry, ever being capable of sour word, made the corner of his lip twitch. The lens still focused on the beautiful blue French sky just beyond the window, and the Eiffel Tower. Then he saw the silhouette of his wife’s profile and breasts, and hips – and her conical hat, like a garden gnome’s hat. She appeared from the right, then backed away, then reappeared. Someone, behind her, was forcing her to stand between the bright window and the video recorder. Her arms were above her head but her writs weren’t visible. He guessed they were tied to something.

She turned sideways for just an instant as she fought and he saw that her knees and legs were held apart by spacer bars. Hands turned her sideways again so that she was in perfect silhouette. She was gagged so she couldn’t speak. One hand pulled her hips up and back while the other pushed hard against the small of her back, forcing her to arch, forcing her small frame to rise to the tip of her toes, forcing her upper body to hang from her wrists, and her nipples to jut forward. They were hard. He could see her ribs, breasts and belly rise and fall with her breath.

The he saw the silhouette of a cock. The cock was huge and her slender frame was arched, lifting her pussy defenselessly behind her. She would have straightened but a little chain, a piercing hung from his wife’s taut belly button. This was new. Someone else’s hands, they were slender like a woman’s, pulled downward on the chain, forcing her to remain as was, presenting to the cock behind her.

Still, she shouted into the gag, she shook her head. She uttered muffled curses until the black of the thick silhouette behind her, long and swollen at its tip, pressed at the back of the round, smooth and lifted black shape of her opening.

His wife uttered a sharp squeal, intake of breath and rose to her toes. She stiffened and stopped struggling, panting as the black length disappeared into her silhouette from behind. Only when the long cock was entirely inside, and there was only the slight and new protrusion in her taut belly to hint at what was inside her, did she exhale.

The cock behind her began it’s long, deliberate, and pointed thrusts, perfectly timed, and relentless.

She grunted. Little by little the chain on her belly button no longer needed to be held. Her head fell forward at times and she grunted and groaned in time with the thrusts behind her. The slender hands on the left side of the screen reached behind his wife’s graceful neck and undid the gag.

His wife said nothing. He saw the silhouette of her lips and wife open mouth as – as with all women – the wide O of her lips told the story of the stretched O between her thighs. The slender hands that had removed the gag reappeared with a plate and a tiny fork. Escargot! As his wife was fucked from behind, she was fed escargot. She was teased with the garlicky snails until she licked at them and played at them with her lips as though they were the heads of cocks. She was fed eight snails like this until, just before she took the ninth snail, with her teeth, from the tines of the fork, she orgasmed on the cock in her belly. Her tip of her tongue seemed to stretch toward the snail and a strand of saliva connected her tongue and the snail as her arched and stretched belly was filled with embedded, thick pulses of semen.

☼ Bargaining

Two days later he sent frantic e-Mails to the mysterious, anonymous website that hosted the e-Cards. He promised them cash. He promised them he would not prosecute. He promised he still hadn’t called the police, though he was as stunned by this admission as you, my reader, must also be. He went to work that day but pleaded with them to give him a week. He must travel to Europe but he could not reveal why. His employers were not impressed by his behavior. His socks were crumpled. His tie was only a half-windsor. His shirt was half untucked. His hair was not properly parted.

His employers summarily fired him and sent him home.

He immediately went home to purchase an airline ticket, only to discover that he had no passport. He had never intended to to to Europe. The work had always been to important. His fellow employees had sworn that, among them all, he was most likely to make Partner within the next five years.

He then decided to falsify his passport because he knew who the criminals were. He had defended some of them, after all. He would need more money than he had saved. He rifled through his own belongings, looking for anything valuable, then searched through his young wife’s jewelry but, after all, he had never bought his wife very much jewelry, insisting that they invest their money in the house, a new car, a new computer, an iPad 3 and flat screen TV.

By the end of the day, he returned to his iPad ready to say and do anything, only to discover another e-Card.

He opened and saw scrapes and flickering and that the video was black & white, as though the video had been taken in the 1920’s before there was sound or color.

Barcelona.
Filth and scum.
A back alley where crooks, thieves and derelicts
of society
ply their corrupt trades.

The white letters on black, remained just like in the old movies, as if the generation of his great grandparents and grandparents were impossibly slow readers. Then the video cuts to a crowed street in black and white. The motion of passersby is choppy and quick. He saw his beautiful, young wife. Her eyes are highlighted with black. She wears a bra made of chains that does nothing to hide the large aureole and nipples of her small breasts. They have been pierced and the nipples are swollen. A little gem hangs from each and sways as she walks. She wears the ridiculous conical hat of a garden gnome.

There is another slender chain around her waist. Her narrow hips swing as she walks. The base of a jeweled dildo is visible between her slender thighs. The lips of her pussy had always struck him as large and puffy on her small frame, always a little parted as if there wasn’t enough skin to let that little part of her close. Now they seemed all the more puffy and protruding, rounded into an oval by the base of the dildo. She walks with her legs just a little parted and he wonders what it’s like for a woman to walk with a penetration stiffly in her belly. The base of the dildo is chained, front and back, to the chain around her waist. Another damp jewel hangs from her clit; but most devilish of all, the leash by which she is pulled through marketplace is attached to the base of the dildo. Each little tug causes her hips to swivel forward and her eyelids to flutter.

Her wrists are loosely chained at the small of her back, and fixed, by a ring, to the end of an anal hook. They have dyed her hair a dark brown or black, but without color he can’t tell.

Somehow he never sees the faces of the couple, if it’s a couple, who lead her.

They stop at a stand and one of the couple holds up a beautiful painting. The mysterious woman wants it. The scene goes black and words appear.

The merchant
and the tourist barter but
the bearded merchant refuses. He rudely
waves them away.

The words cut away and he sees the mysterious couple confer, now with a third person, then they tug on his young wife and show her off to the merchant. They give the leash little tugs and shakes until she shudders, opens her legs and arches until the butt end of the dildo juts backward from between her thighs. It twitches with orgasm there in front of all the jostling pedestrians.

The Merchant calls to someone, though the film is silent, and a young man emerges from a tent behind the Merchant. There are hand motions. His shake or nod. Words are exchanged. Arms are crossed, then open. The merchant points to the sky, then to his empty pockets. The mysterious strangers point to the painting and gesture. Then the Merchant brusquely nods and shakes the strangers’ hands.

The merchant
agrees to give them the painting
He and his son pleasure themselves with the base slave girl.
The merchant
enjoys her mouth
and his son ejaculates inside her.

These words remain on the screen far too long. He jumps from his chair in a fit of impatience, then hurriedly sits back down with a scrape of wood against tile. The words cut away just as the strangers give the leash to the son. The boy, hardly eighteen, is younger than his wife and impatient to have his cock in her. He tugs her to the side of the stand where all the wares are arranged. She is naked but for the chains.

There is no need to hide what he does from the passersby.

They must always keep an eye on their valuable wares after all, and no one will give the slave girl a second thought. Her place and purpose among men is understood. The young man circles her and touches the gem, hanging from her clit, with the tip of his finger. It’s wet with her own juices. He puts his finger in her mouth and makes her taste herself.

He walks behind her again. He traces a finger down the delightful curve and indenture of her spine. His hand stops at the top of the anal hook and he pulls it upward, smiling when he sees the young woman sensuously rise to her toes and open her mouth with the pressure in the secrecy of her narrow waist. He continues: up, down, up, down until her legs finally widen and she begins to thrust her narrow ass back at him.

The merchant, the young man’s father, proudly watches his son use the young woman.

But the young man is done. He quickly undoes his belt and frees his cock. He abruptly and peremptorily bends her over at the waist. Her face registers surprise. The merchant takes hold of the collar round her neck and guides his own cock into her mouth. The young man removes the dildo and with one quick, sharp thrust penetrates the slave from behind. Her eyes widen at both the feel of the cock but also the hook driven more deeply into her, but the merhcan’ts cock remains in her mouth.

The young man
and his dastardly father enjoy the slave girl.

The young man thrusts quickly and impatiently. His father claps and urges him proudly on in that stilted, fast motion time frame of old movies. The young man, his thick dark hair like that of a gypsy’s, throws back his head in a silent roar of pleasure, hold’s the wife’s hips hard back and hard against his own, and ejaculates deeply in her womb. The merchant’s own orgasm drips from her lips as she simultaneously swallows, her eyes half-lidded and rolling.

When they are done, the merchant pats his son on the back and guides him back to the tent.
The mysterious couple push the dildo back up into place and the little gem that hangs from the young wife’s clit now drips with her own orgasm and the orgasm of the young man.

The one woman in the mysterious trio carries the painting while their slave girl follows them, tugged by the dildo.

The tourists
return with their painting
as the base slave girl obediently follows — her thighs
dripping and her ankles wet.

The slave girl’s husband spurted in his lap.

☼ Depression

Two days later the young woman’s husband awoke in a funk.

He had no work to go too. There was no one home to clean the house, the kitchen, or launder his clothes. He wallowed in the misery of his dirty bedsheets.

There was only one TV dinner left in the freezer. He found some Eggos® with freezer burn and popped them in the toaster. Thankfully, there were still two packets of maple syrup from their stay at a Motel 6 after their honeymoon. He missed his young wife’s fresh pancakes and bacon, the way she could cook an egg just the way he told her. How miserable he was.

It was only sometime after lunch, after he had eaten two Slim Jims® dipped in mustard that, naked but for his yellowed briefs, that he plopped the iPad on his lap and saw the next e-Card.

The first thing he saw were the brilliant white houses of the Mediterranean coast. Lovely cottony clouds floated over the horizon and the window through which he looked was plainly far up a mountainside. The fringes of a grape vine stirred in the soft warm breeze, and some barely visible trellis work. A creamy bed sheet was warming and drying in the windowsill. That was the background.

In the foreground was a waist high table.

His wife was guided into view! She was wearing her white sleeveless top, through which one could just see the purple of her wonderful nipples and her blue jean overalls with their muddied knees. She might have just walked from the garden but for the ridiculous red, conical gnome hat she wore on her head. She was turned and sat on the thick windowsill. Her eyes were downcast and she never looked so tragically sad. Then – and for a moment – his forgot about his own misery and a little crack appeared in his heart. She looked so small and lonely.

But then pillows and a towel were put on the table between her and the camera that filmed her. The arms were bare and towels were draped over them as they worked. All he could see were the backs of two men and a woman. The carefully prepared the table, then just as carefully undressed his wife.

They were gentle. They pressed and massaged her arms as they undressed her.

They pressed glistening olive oil into her skin. When she was naked, but for the ridiculous red, conical, gnome hat, they guided her to the table and laid her on her back, helping her, lifting her as needed. Her slender little body never looked so desirable to her husband. Every part of her gleamed and glistened and her puffy aureole, which were almost half the size of her pert breasts, were swollen and stiff. They massaged her.

They pressed their hands into her shoulders, fingers into her belly and womb, and slowly, ever so slowly, parted her legs. Her husband yearned to be with her.

The two men and the woman wore masks, like the masks one wears in New Orleans. The men kissed his wife’s lips, then the woman. Their kisses moved to her throat, her swollen nipples, then her belly. The woman moved between her thighs, her lips and tongue pressing into the flesh of his wife’s pussy as the two men massaged her glistening thighs and feet. Finally, his young wife softly smile.

She smiled and then her back made a little U as the first orgasm softly creased her abdomen.

The woman rose from between his wife’s legs, her red lips glistening. The woman moved to his wife’s breasts and took them just into her lips as one of the men moved between his wife’s thighs. She opened them and he entered her. His thrusts were smooth, gentle and deep. He withdrew until just the tip of his cock kissed the lips of her pussy, just parting them with the opening of his urethra, then strongly but gently filled her until he pressed and she arched to receive him as deeply as she could.

Her skin glistened with oil and sweat.

Her head moved slowly form side to side. She held the cock of the second man in one hand, gently moving her hand back and forth. It gleamed with olive oil. He moved her hand, taking it off his cock, then moved behind the mysterious woman, entering her from behind as she sucked on the young wife’s nipples.

All their movements were slow and engorged.

The mysterious woman came first. She let the young wife’s breast out of her mouth, lifted her back like a cat’s, and came on the cock filling her from behind. When her orgasm ebbed, she lay her head on the young wife’s belly as the young wife stroked her cheek and passed her fingers through her reddish hair.

The man inside her womb removed his glistening cock, just beginning to draw back with orgasm, and aimed at the face of the woman on the young wife’s belly. He came, spurting come on her face, on the young wife’s belly and breasts. The other man came too, stringing come on the young wife’s face, neck and breasts. Both cocks powerfully twitched until only the slightest pearlescence dripped onto the gleaming skin of both women.

Then all three stood and rubbed the semen into the women’s gleaming skin as though it too were olive oil. The rubbed it into her lips and mouth. The other man rubbed the semen into the young wife’s thighs, then with one finger, then two, then three and four, he rubbed the semen gently but powerfully into her anus and pussy until her body sprung with a powerful orgasm of its own, lifting her again and again until only her shoulders and heels remained on the table and the piled cloths.

When it was done, she collapsed into the cloths, towels and pillows with an exhausted smile.

To her husband, she never looked more beautiful.

Acceptance

Two days later he had cleaned the tub and toilet himself.

He bought flowers and put them on the table. He did his own laundry and cleaned the kitchen countertop and sink. He put away his dirty socks and threw out his old briefs. He went on a shopping spree and bought himself fine silk boxer shorts but, more importantly, he bought beautiful silk lingerie for his young wife. He bought new bedsheets with a very – very – high thread count. He bought his wife a new bed pillow and threw out the old one that he had had since college. He bought a second iPad so that his little wife would have her own.

Most important of all, he bought a recipe book, baked a loaf of bread and made chocolate cake.

His wife loved chocolate – milk chocolate.

After that, he vacuumed the living room and bedroom. He picked up all his dirty underwear, then cleaned all of the morning shave from the bathroom sink. Lastly, he bought his young wife a beautiful necklace with little silver and gold leaves interspersed with rubies, like grapes. He bought her the ankle bracelet she always wanted and the little toe rings too. He also made arrangements with a tattooist because she had always wanted to be a little naughty. He bought pearls for her nipple and clit piercings.

He put on a tight pair of jeans that didn’t sag on his butt and a white T-Shirt that showed off his arms.

Then that he finally sat down with his iPad.

Another e-Card was there. This time he saw a reclining chair and a table on a balcony overlooking a pool. Four daiquiris, with little umbrella and cherries, were sitting on the table. Some were emptier than others. Someone appeared, the torso of a naked man with a glistening cock appeared in the frame and took a sip from one of the daiquiris. His tumescent cock was softening and dripped with his own juices as well as the clear liquids of a woman’s womb. Another torso appeared, that of a naked women. Her ass was reddened, as if with a rash, and her knees were red. She too took a sip from another of the daiquiris.

The frame was suddenly jolted and turned.

The husband saw his young wife bent over one of the hotel desk chairs. He only saw her legs and ass, and the almond shaped nook of her pussy. Her ass was red and her thighs glistened. The mysterious man and woman, both wearing masks, each took and elbow and straightened her. They turned her around. As she stood, her head fell back and she rubbed her knees together, swiveling her hips as though she had to badly pee. The long divot of her abdomen curved and stretched with her torment. Her eyes were closed with effort, and her full lips parted.

The third man turned the chair around behind her, then they made the young wife sit and lifted the backs of her knees over the arms of the chair. The man behind the chair reached over and massaged the young wife’s breasts. The other man, to the left, bent over and held the young woman’s knees apart and in place.

The mysterious woman in the mask smiled, looked at the camera, and began rubbing the young wife’s clit with the tips of two fingers. The young wife struggled as though she were trying to hold something in, then stiffened, struggling all the while, until she gripped the wrists of the man massaging her breasts and came.

Semen spurted out of her pussy.

Her thighs drenched and semen dribbled down the front of the chair. As her orgasm subsided, the semen still flowed from her womb with soft pulses that decreased as her orgasm faded. She fell back, slack. The thick orgasms of the men still trickled out of her.

The mysterious woman came forward and the camera was jolted.

She followed the young wife and the two men as they led her into the shower.

At this, her husband jumped up. He recognized the bathroom towel. At last! They had made a mistake. Hyatt Regency. He threw down the iPad and rushed out to his car. He raced through two stop signs and red light. In twenty minutes he was at the Hyatt Regency. Yes, he recognized the pool and could almost imagine where the room was.

He frantically ran to the front desk and demanded to know if two men and two women and checked into a single room. Yes, said the receptionist, who said that she had been told a friend would be inquiring as to their room number. She gave him their room number. He rushed to the nearest elevator. No, he ran up the stairs and raced down the hallway. He dropped the key card the first time. The second time he burst through the door. There was the chair! The beds were a tumbled mess.

He smelled sex, semen, soap and shampoo, but there was no one there. The room was still humid. There were four empty daiquiris on the porch beyond the room’s sliding doors.

On the porch table was a key with a red ribbon.

He hurried to the key. It was his own house key!

He swept it up and raced out of the room without closing the door. He furiously drove back to his house, drove the car across the sidewalk and onto the front yard, and left the engine running as he raced to the house.

He opened the front door.

The sun was out. The sky was blue. The sidewalk was a brilliant, crisp white. His wife looked up at him, and she looked the same, but different; bound with packing twine, a stamp on her forehead and wearing the ridiculous, conical, red gnome hat. She looked up at him, biting her lip, nervous, a shy and uncertain, apologetic smile on her face.

He took her into his arms and swept her feet off the floor.

He hugged, and hugged, and kissed her.

Then he undid the packing twine. He freed her ankles and wrists. He took off the ridiculous, red, gnome hat. She was back in her blue jean overalls. He took those off. She smelled clean, freshly soaped and shampooed. If she had made the whole thing up, he couldn’t have told. If the whole thing had been a trick of video, how could he tell?

He carried her to the bedroom.

He dressed her in a brand new dress he bought that day. It fit her waifish frame in the most sexy and flattering way. It was black and tight. He got on his knees and put her in brand new high heels, then he led her to the kitchen where he cooked a meal for her and cleaned it up himself.

He played music and he danced with her.

When she turned her back to him and her hips swung with the music (and a woman’s hips swing like a man’s never will), he held them in his hands and knew again that these were the hips that would have their children and delight him for a lifetime.

He put on the necklace round her lovely neck. He knelt and put on her ankle bracelet and then, because he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he pulled down the top of her dress and took her puffy soft nipple into his mouth and sucked. He held her with one hand at the small of her back. Then he laid her down on her back, there in the middle of the living room floor. She opened her legs for him, wide, because, after all, she had only ever really wanted her husband. He fucked her there, gloriously, back arched, his head thrown back, growling and hooting with pleasure as he emptied himself in her tight womb.

When he shook with one last spasm, one last spurt, he promised her several things in this order: He would impregnate her, he would quit the job from which he had already been fired, they would sell the house; they would travel to France, Spain and the Riviera; they would fuck on the desert, under a tree in France with bread and red wine, and on the sands of the Mediterranean; and then when they only had just enough money left, they would buy a little house, with a little garden and he, their two little girls and two little boys, would do everything together – even the gardening. He also promised her that he would fuck her slyly in public, because that was one of her fantasies, that he would fuck her like a slave girl, because that was also one of her fantasies, and that he would buy a massage table.

His little wife hugged him and wrapped her legs around him as his cock softened inside her.

She agreed to all of it, except for one thing: She rescued her birth control pills when he wasn’t looking because, after all, there was plenty of time.

And so, because any story with a waifish, blonde haired little gnome and a moral must be a fairy tale, it’s only fitting to end the story by revealing that they lived happily ever after.

William Crimson ☼ March 30 2012

8 comments on “Daydreams & Distractions ☼ The Conical Hat

  1. AtALoss
    March 31, 2012

    :) i think this may be a new favorite too!

  2. paul1510
    March 31, 2012

    Will,
    I can understand why this is a favourite, what a lovely little story.
    Paul.

  3. vanillamom
    April 2, 2012

    sa-weet!

    That was freaking wonderful…I smiled, I frowned…i mourned his loss, even when i knew she had been returned (great way to do that at the start! slick!)

    i really really really loved this.

    nilla

    • willcrimson
      April 2, 2012

      I wrote that in one sitting and pressed publish. Now that I reread it, I wonder if I should have left it less certain that she actually did any of these things? The idea of the uncertainty appeals to me more – that she actually could have been sitting at the Hyatt Regency the whole time, sipping on Sangria?

    • vanillamom
      April 2, 2012

      I see where you are going with that…and yes…that is one possibility, too…the housewife, taken for granted, and like that “stolen gnome” of internet fame, was perceived to be taken around the world (double entendre intended!!)…

      yes it could work that way, too.

      still…i do like this one as well…

      :)
      itsa win-win!!
      n

  4. LittleOne
    April 12, 2012

    Really like this one =) I can understand your comment about uncertainty but I still love this story and the spin of the garden gnome. I’m so thrilled to have found this site were the stories are good.. and there is progression to it. You have yourself a new reader that’ll spam you =)

    • willcrimson
      April 12, 2012

      //I can understand your comment about uncertainty…//

      Soon as I can press the pause button on my life, I’m going to edit this story so that there’s less certainty. I like the idea that she might be hinting at what will happen if he doesn’t pay more attention.

    • The Waiting Patient
      April 13, 2012

      Will, I love the certainty. If it’s all just a trick, she’s simply a petty young wife making threats. If it’s true, she’s an amazingly brave, clever woman (with some exciting friends/employees!) with a wicked, dirty wit. As much as I love the feminine submissiveness that you write so well, I think the later option is WAY hotter.

Share your thoughts.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Books & E-Books









69

Erotic Anthology

Arm in Arm in Arm

Search by Category

March 2012
M T W T F S S
« Feb   Apr »
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031  

Crimsonian & Obsidian Lens

The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.

Adult Content

This blog contains adult material. If you are a minor, please go. If you are an adult, you are welcome to stay but be warned, this blog contains erotic fiction and images - sexually explicit content abounds. The themes sometimes tend toward the darker and weirder corners. Be your own judge when deciding what to read.

The rights to all stories by William Crimson are reserved by William Crimson. The rights to all stories by Monocle are reserved by Monocle. The rights to all stories by Ximena are reserved by Ximena.

%d bloggers like this: