Friday Free Read: Honey, I'm Home

“Honey?”

I kicked the front door shut behind me, juggling my jacket and purse and shuffling the mail in my hands.  The dog yipped over my arrival, jumping up at my feet and panting with glee until I managed to free myself from the jumbled chaos enough to scratch behind her ears.

“Hon, are you home yet?” I called out.

“In the bedroom,” Ryan called back.  I put down my coat and bag, shuffled through the last few articles of mail before tossing aside the coupons, examining the telephone bill as I made my way down the hallway, removing the clip in my hair with my free hand.

“I’ve been thinking of upgrading to the cable bundle,” I muttered as I entered our master bedroom, still poring over the bill statement.  When I looked up, though, all thought of bills went out of my head.

Ryan lounged on the bed, naked except for an open button-up shirt.  He was patiently nursing a beautiful erection, grinning at me as I absorbed the sight of him, naughty and eager.

“I need sex,” he said simply.

“Really?” I murmured, surprised.  He nodded, and I dropped the phone bill onto the dresser and crawled up on the bed next to him, kissing him with a giggle. 
In a matter of minutes he had my shirt up, over my head, and was stripping off my bra as I wriggled out of my skirt.  When only my lacy panties were left he lay back, pulling me on top of him.  His cock was savagely hard as a gently rubbed the crotch of my panties against him, laughing happily.

“I love the… honesty, hon,” I murmured, leaning down to nibble his earlobe.  His hands ran down my back, to my buttocks, squeezing enthusiastically.  His raging erection pressed hard against me and I sat up again momentarily shimmy down my panties and kick them off.

“Shush,” he muttered between kisses.  “Sex.”

“Yes, sir."

His cock was full and hard as he slid it into me, and I uttered a quick gasp, lifting my hands up to my breasts and running my thumbs over my nipples.  Ry rocked me up and down, the slick, smooth feel of his cock invading me again and again.  I rode on it with a smile; he slipped his hands around my hips and bounced me on him—I cried out as I felt him deep inside.  I couldn’t believe how quickly the feel of his fucking got me wet and slick: just two minutes ago I had been wrapped up in my work clothes and thinking about the phone service, and now I was being practically split open by my husband’s hungry erection as I bounced up and down on him.

I leaned forward, wrapping my arms under Ryan’s neck and tilting his head up to kiss him as he thrust.  I squeezed my tits against his chest and he squeezed my ass hard, growling playfully.  He was hot, banging me hard, guiding me up and down on his ferociously demanding cock as I giggled and lavished attention on his  lips, running my tongue along his, nipping at him, moaning between kisses.

With a quick cry of pleasure I shot up again, riding hard, grinding down as my orgasm began to build.  Ry’s eager thrusting came faster now; he gripped my hips hard, moaning. 

He came first, explosive and hard, the hot force of his climax throbbing deep in my pussy.  I ground my hips down on him as he pumped his cum into me, and he held me there, keeping me tight around his cock as it spurted stream after stream into my hot, wet sex.

When he was done, I rolled off of him, moaning as I lay on my back and stretched out my arms overhead in joy.  His come ran out of me and I pressed my thighs together to try and keep his hot semen inside me.

Ry rolled over, leaning on top of me and kissing me deeply.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured.  “I’m sorry, I just needed sex.”

“It’s okay,” I giggled happily, taking his hand.  “But now, of course… you’re going to have to finish me.”

He smiled, and kissed me again.  Letting his hand stray down between my legs, he slipped two fingers into my dripping, quivering cunt.

His Cemetery Doll: Chapter Three

He'd carved Maya the autumn after Shyla came to him. He'd never understood what motivated him to do it: besides not being very fanciful, Conall had never been particularly artistic, either. The inspiration must have come thanks to the baby.

He'd discovered the poor infant alone in his graveyard, tucked a sheltering crevice of an old boulder. He remembered thinking she'd been arranged as though in a cradle. Whoever left her did it with care, placing her in a spot where she'd be protected from rain, above any wildlife...and sure to be seen by the first human who passed by. Con later used the same boulder as the base for Maya's statue. Perhaps because those small, thoughtful, careful details might be all he would ever know about Shyla's real mother.

His Cemetery Doll: Chapter Two

During the day, dappled green and gold sunlight played around the graves in Conall's cemetery. Cool, quiet woodland bordered three broad, gated sections, tree branches overreaching a tall iron fence, vines growing through and around scrolled-iron bars. He kept the tombstones clean and neat, scraped the moss from the mausoleums, and trimmed the worst of the overgrowth. He'd never clear away all the natural brush, however. It gave his cemetery a breath of quiet serenity.

Writing Challenge by Remittance Girl

If you don't follow me on Twitter... then you should.  If you did, you would have seen that I have thrown my hat in on this writing challenge posed by Remittance Girl, essentially to explore the effects of language and POV in determining the intensity of a scene.  In this case, depicting a sex act as either 'vanilla' or 'kinky'.

      This is just a quick little sex scene.  The characters have no names and no place in my greater headcanon... this was just to see what could be done by changing only the language and perception of the character.  Since Remittance Girl specifically mentioned the differences between styling such a scene in regards to missionary position, that's the path I took.  I did want to try and include a third scene with a sub-on-top position to see what I could do with that, but ran out of time.  Perhaps in the future I will try that, too.  Since this is a writing exercise and I love comments, please feel more than welcome to tell me what you think of it!

Join The Party (Pt 3)

I pulled the boy I was masturbating closer, to let him have his turn at my mouth.  He gave me the reigns, not grabbing my head to thrust but gently twining his fingers in my hair and letting me work my lips around him, taking my time sucking and savoring him.  I let him out of my mouth and inclined my head a little farther to lick at his testicles, laving them up and down with the tip of my tongue while he started jacking off again.  The new boy in my pussy pumped me hard, sliding smoothly in and out and slapping my ass as he thrust; I could feel the wetness of my own orgasms and the come from the first boy slick on my inner thighs, messy and oh, so good.  My cunt was still quivering and filled with a pleasant after-buzz of coming twice already, and every pump of my new partner was like little tingling shocks.  I wriggled my hips against him, playing a little hard-to-get and making him grab me harder, fucking deeper and with savage dominance.  I took the boy in front of me into my mouth and worked him in rhythm with the boy working my cunt, wanting to gobble down his come at the same time the boy behind me fucked me to another peak.  The one in my mouth came very quickly, shooting his load down my throat as I swallowed thirstily—he moved out of the way to admit the boy who had first fucked my pussy. 

To The Victor

Overhead, she could hear the sounds of the enemy celebrating.  It was a raucous uproar, a hundred men dancing on the grave of her master, the great warlord known as Set.  He had been slain by the leader of the barbarians.  His power was broken.  His clan was in chains.

His woman was their prisoner.

Sadira bowed her head, a grim and bitter scowl on her face.  They had captured her and bound her with ropes, tying her wrists and ankles, and thrown her into her master’s bedchamber for their leader.  She waited on her knees on the bed, stripped of her leather armor, left in only a thin cotton bodice and a flimsy loincloth to cover her nakedness. 

But that was nothing new.  She had been slave all her life to Set and his sadistic madness: she had been servant, soldier, consort and victim to his whims, a prize for his pleasure.  To be honest she was glad he was dead;  she had lived on her knees before him, exactly as she was now, and more than once she had wished she could be the one to sink the blade into his heart.

Art Work in Progress

Preliminary pencils for my new work in progress.  This is the first time I've drawn the figures fully nude and 'showing off', as it were; this is especially true of the male figure.  Though I've drawn male anatomy in beginning stages for purposes of spacing and proportion, this is the first time I've drawn the full penis as part of the composition.  Originally I intended to put loincloths on both characters, but after a little thought it would be better practice for me to pursue full nudity.


These two characters come from a short story I will soon be posting, featuring bondage and my first attempts at exploring BDSM and M/s in erotica.

Once Bitten

Possible Trigger Warning:

Contains scenes of supernatural horror

She sat beside the window of her small room, the humble cell she had occupied in the boarding house since she was a very, very young girl.  It was raining outside, a steady rhythm of autumn song, turning the whole pleasure quarter into a gleaming wet jewel in the night.  It was cold outside—she felt the night breeze tickle her arms underneath the fabric of her kimono, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Are you almost ready, Ayame?”

The young maiko turned to give a nod to her onee-san, her mentor, a lovely and experienced geisha that was everything like an older sister to her.  She rose gracefully from her spot by the window and slipped on her okobo shoes—tonight, when she returned to the okiya, she would no longer be the little apprentice with the red collar, who needed Big Sister to manage all her accounts and possessions, all her training in the okiya.

After tonight, she would be geisha, just like onee-san herself.

This was to be the night of her mizuage ceremony.  Ayame’s older sister had spent days receiving bids for the right to deflower the beautiful maiko, a coming-of-age that would issue her into the full splendor of life as one of the pleasure-quarter’s most admired artists and entertainers.  Ayame had been well-loved in Edo, a maiko sought after by many men.  Tonight, one of those men would take her to his bed, and make her a woman.