Smut Marathon 2019: Voting Round 8

Even though I know it can happen, and I have mentioned this in several rounds before, I was surprised at the number of withdrawals in this round. All of them due to personal circumstances, which withheld them from writing a story. This is very much part of the marathon, that people have to stop for various reasons, but in this stage of the marathon it normally doesn’t happen. I guess I have now been proven wrong.

Still, the seventeen writers who remain, have done their best with this assignment, to bring us sexy, moving and interesting stories. I am sure you will enjoy all of them and that it won’t be easy to choose your top 3. Only fourteen writers will advance to the semi-finals.

A slight change

There is one rule that will be added when this marathon ends, but I wanted to alert you about it now: the winner of this marathon, and every following marathon, will not be allowed to participate for one year. After that year, they are welcome to enter again.

That said, let’s get on with the quarter finals of the Smut Marathon 2019.

The assignment

The assignment for round 8 was:

Write an erotic story about two people of any gender configuration,
except for a cis hetero couple pairing.

Specific requirements:
– Your story has only two characters. NO other people allowed, in no way… not in thoughts, not in action, nothing!
– No cis hetero couple pairing in your story!
– There is at least one sex scene in your story. How explicit the scene is up to you.
– Your story is between 850-900 words. No less, no more.
– Give your story a title of 2-4 words (this is not part of the word count required)

What should you do now?

Read all entries – you have a week to do so – and vote for the three stories you like most. You have to vote for three – no less, no more. Don’t forget to click the ‘Finish Survey’ button when you have made your choice!

Please note:

  • Writers are not allowed to tell anyone which entry they have written!
  • You can only vote once.
  • The voting round closes on 20 September 2019 at 23.00 (Amsterdam time)
  • Results of the voting round will be published on this site on 22 September 2019 and then I will announce the author of each story.

One last thing

I know it’s a lot to read and even more to ask, but it would be lovely if you could leave as much feedback as possible on the entries, or to make it more manageable, please leave feedback on the three entries you chose as well as three entries you have not chose. Make sure your feedback is composed in such a way that the writers can learn something from it. This will be highly appreciated.

Enjoy reading and start voting!

~ Marie Rebelle
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1) The Project

Georgie says I am a work in progress but I believe I’m the finished product. After two years of being honed and polished I feel I have earned the right to move on. My rough edges have been smoothed. I know the difference between similes and metaphors and I am good in the kitchen. I grow wonderful vegetables and always ensure a steady stream of cut flowers to adorn the rooms of this elegant country house. I know literature, both ancient and modern and can even construct stories of my own. I am no longer the tart I once was and I’m grateful to Georgie for turning me into a respectable young lady. I am now more than ready for the next stage.

It’s true, when I first moved in I showed a certain resistance to her ways. I was pleased to be chosen but I wasn’t going to roll over and make it easy for her. I was happy being a mardy common slut or a trollop, as she called me.

During these two years, contrary to regulations, I have become her companion rather than merely her project. She’s been like a mother to me at times and that’s just not because she’s at least twice my age. Though she can be stern, her looks, character, and energy have enthralled me. She is of modest height, pale skinned with vibrant red hair cut in a bob and when she catches the sun she is adorned with freckles. I love her.

She has provided me with a very comfortable existence. I have a large room with a window overlooking the moat. There is an elegant fireplace, a four poster bed and a fine mahogany table.

I am actually on the bed at the moment with Georgie. We’re both in our cardigans and tweed skirts, cream blouses, stockings and brogues. My small breasts get sort of lost in the uniform but hers really push out. They demand to be felt and I’m never backward in coming forward, if you know what I mean.

I start the ball rolling by slowly undoing the buttons of her cardigan. She feigns insouciance as she leafs through my leather-bound log book which rests upon her lap. My name is embossed on the cover. Leah. It’s not my real name. That’s Ali.

‘I’ve completed all the tasks haven’t I? There are no gaps?’

‘We may have to go over one or two again. I want you to get top marks so when you leave here, eventually, you will be assured of a bright future.’

‘The world will be my oyster? Is that what you mean?’

Georgie says nothing. She puts the logbook to one side and helps me with the unbuttoning process as I am being unusually clumsy.

‘You’re all fingers and thumbs Leah.’

‘I thought that’s what you liked.’

She ignores me. I can tell her heart isn’t in it today.

We content our selves with a hug and a little gentle mutual masturbation. Before I came here my cunt was shaved but now I have a bush as verdant and lush as Georgie’s. She calls it my Black Forest and there is nothing she and I like better than when she decides to go exploring. I extend the imagery by calling it my Black Forest Cherry Gateau. But today our humour, like our energy, has evaporated and after some lackadaisical fingering we both have miserly orgasms.

How different from the early days. I’d been lying in the bath thinking about my new life. And how recently Georgie had put her arm round my waist when I’d been staring out of the window feeling sorry for myself. She’d drawn me to her and I’d felt the firmness of her breasts. I thought about all this, in the bath, as I circled my clit and fingered my soapy cunt. When I orgasmed my eyes opened and there she was.

‘Room for another one?’

‘I never heard you come in.’

‘I’m not surprised the noise you were making. You look happy though.’

‘I am.’

‘Well budge up then.’

She lay against my chest and I caressed her breasts. Enjoyed feeling their weight as I cupped them in my hands.

‘Nobody will hear us,’ she would say. ‘We’re miles from anywhere.’

She’s sleeping now and I wonder if she’s thinking dirty thoughts. I hope so because I want her to sleep the sleep.

I creep out of the room in my underwear, holding her key. She always keeps it in her cardigan pocket. So predictable. Down the stairs I go. Silently, like a ghost. I have trained myself to avoid all the creaks.

Once in her office, I find my old clothes. Jeans, a crop top, leather jacket and high-heeled shoes. And my handbag containing my mobile, which is as dead as a dodo. Also in the handbag is a surprisingly large amount of money and a note which says,

Dear Ali, Yes, the money is all for you. Take it and escape! I knew this day might come and it hurts me more than I can say. Just remember, I will always love you.

Georgie wakes up to find me gone but then sees me by the window.

‘Good morning Leah. For a moment I’d thought you’d left me.’

She smiles, and my heart melts as I walk slowly back towards her.


2) Elephant in the Room

“It won’t suck itself.”

That’s a pleasant surprise. At least, what he’s suggesting is appealing. His harsh tone is unexpected, but might be worth exploring.

The thing is, we’ve spent six weeks barely touching. Barely speaking, because every polite, brittle exchange threatened to tear at the edges I’d frayed. Now he’s standing over me with his jeans round his ankles and his cock straining his boxers, making demands while I’m trying to unpack.

I offer him a tight-lipped frown, narrowed eyes judging him over lowered glasses. “I thought this weekend was about re-establishing trust?”

My stare obviously doesn’t have sufficient gravitas, because he ignores it. “Right now, I’m trusting you to suck my dick.”

I see. We’re establishing something else. Dominance. Except I don’t see, not really. Not clearly. Is this play, or how things will be from now on? Does he want two days of humble penance, my body in his service, or is this the direction our marriage has to take to survive my betrayal?

We talked about D/s, back in the day, when we first got together. Before we settled into our routines. We both said we weren’t interested, that we didn’t need anything extra, we just wanted more of the great sex we’d been having. Did he lie too? Was he nervous about disturbing our fragile equilibrium? He doesn’t look nervous now. He looks masterful.

Masters need servants. I kneel and tug his boxers down.

He lifts my glasses off and tosses them on the bed. “You won’t need those, you little bitch. You’ve proved you can suck a dick without recognising it.”

I could recognise this one blindfolded. I know its musk, I know its weight in my hand, and I know that sharp intake of breath when I cup his balls, when the skin tightens under my touch, when we’re both in the gentle grip of anticipation. Whatever I broke between us, this connection remains.

“Suck it, slut.”

Now I’m nervous. My mouth is dry, I can’t work up any spit, but as soon as my lips close around the head, I slip into a familiar routine: tongue flicking across his frenulum as I bob down, sucking gently as I withdraw. It works. It’s what we like.

It was what we like. Today, it’s his turn to want something new. He thrusts, his cock hitting the back of my throat. “You’ll take all of it, you filthy whore.”

I’m choking on him and I like it. Submitting to him, being used like this, the humiliation, it’s all hot. I’m as hard as he is and he hasn’t even touched me. This new dynamic can come home with us. But throat fucking? I don’t know if I can handle that.

I’m willing to try, but I don’t have to. Not now anyway. Not at all, not this weekend, unless the shop we passed as we drove up to the hotel is better stocked than most village stores.

I take my mouth back, just for a moment, because even whores deserve tolerable working conditions. “If that’s what you want, okay. But you’ll have to wait. I’m too dry. I’ll need to buy lube.”

“I packed some.”

That’s another surprise. We’ve never used it, never had any reason to. We always agreed we didn’t want… well, we said all sorts of things, before. It seems we’ve been lying to each other. A lot.

“Shall I fetch it?”

“No. If I’m going to the trouble of lubing my dick, you can strip. Lie on the bed, fuck boy. Face down. You’re going to get what you deserve.”

Now I’m worried. We’ve never fucked, but I’m not a virgin. Not any more. Recently, I discovered I can enjoy penetration. And he found out. I don’t know if I’ll enjoy it with him. I’m not sure my pleasure matters to him, not any more.

I can hear him lubing himself as I undress. I want to watch, to see that beautiful cock glistening in his fist, power sliding over power, but my timid pose, the downcast eyes and stooped shoulders, aren’t an act. I know what I did, and now I know how I’m supposed to make amends.

When I lie down he pushes my feet apart, one hand warm and firm, one colder and slippery. Contrast. Difference. That isn’t as exciting now as it was two months ago.

The cold hand pushes between my buttocks, greasy fingertips circling my asshole, then probing, encouraging the muscle to relax, to open up to him, to let him—

“Fuck!”

Two fingers, slick and stiff, thrust into me, knuckle deep. More shock than pain, but more excitement than either. When he takes his hand back, my own stiff cock presses uncomfortably against my stomach as his presses against me.

I feel warm breath, his mouth brushing my ear. “Do you trust me?”

“More than myself.”

I clench my teeth, preparing to be treated like I deserve, and he enters me. Slowly. Gently. Completely. He lies in silence for a moment, the warmth of his chest on my back, his heat filling me.

A kiss on my neck, then his lips return to my ear to whisper, “And do you love me?”

“Always, even—”

“Hush. I love you too.”

I don’t know if any of this will happen again, but we have the rest of our lives to find out.


3) Wednesday Night Date

“Room 212,” I said to the doorman.

He took in my fitted black suit, my briefcase and my black rimmed glasses. But he lingered on my lips and my black stilettos.

As he scanned my pass card through his machine, I tapped my toe impatiently and shook my wrist to turn my Rolex, pretending to check the time. I was early, per usual, but it was always good to look like an aggravated business woman with no time to answer questions.

The doorman inserted a small key into a wall panel and an elevator door opened behind him. I walked in, he turned the key all the way around, the doors closed and the elevator rose at a dizzying speed.

The gold textured walls showed no reflection and had no lights to indicate the passing of floors. I clutched my briefcase and breathed deeply, closing my eyes. Seeing this client always made me slightly nervous, as did being in small spaces.

Finally the ride slowed to a stop and the gold doors slid open. I stepped out onto a plush white carpet in a small square room, dimly lit with indirect lights. Directly in front of me was one single massive door, partially open.

I licked my lips, smoothed my hair and headed towards the door, pushing it open. Warm air flowed from the inside room, slightly humid like a bathroom after a shower. It was very dark. I moved forward into the blackness, my outstretched fingertips using the wall as a guide until I saw a small glow of light ahead.

Around the corner I stepped down into a room with a massive wall of windows, city lights stretching in every direction and a glorious white crescent moon on the horizon. I stood there, stunned at the beauty, the reflected lights dancing over the walls of an empty room except for the straight-backed chair facing the window. Only after a moment did I see the single figure standing in the shadows.

Tall, slender, dressed in a dark suit with a dark hat pulled down low, she held a glass of whiskey, ice clinking lightly against the crystal. She said nothing and didn’t acknowledge me in any way.

I set my briefcase down and walked towards her, my heels sinking into the thick carpet. She turned slightly as I came closer and I could see the deep plunging neckline of her jacket, her chest clearly naked underneath. She stayed quiet until I settled into the chair and looked out the window.

“Begin,” she said, her voice deep and resonant.

I took a deep breath and relaxed, sliding my hands up my thighs and pulling my skirt up. I leaned back, my hair spilling over the chair as I looked up into her shadowed face. I reached one hand down and felt the silk of my stocking, the lace at the top and then the soft skin of my thigh.

“Spread them,” she said, her voice slightly breathless.

We both looked at my reflection in the window as I spread my legs. I could just make out her eyes and I held her gaze as I spread my legs wider, my skirt pulled tight around my hips.

“Stop,” she said and I saw her hand shake slightly as she reached into her glass and pulled out a dripping ice cube. “Don’t move.”

I felt my pussy clench in anticipation. This was my favorite part. I slid my hands down the chair legs and gripped, my thighs trembling.

She caught the cube in her teeth, stepped around to face me and took her hat off, tossing it on the floor. Her dark hair was twisted up tight and the melting ice water dripped in a silver trail over her chin and down her neck. She knelt close to me, pulling my hips to the edge of the chair. I felt her breath against my thigh and gasped as she stroked the ice slowly up and across my wet folds.

I moaned as she circled my clit with the ice, the warmth of her lips contrasting the icy cold. I could feel my orgasm building as the ice melted and soon her tongue was lapping at me. Her hands on my hips, she pulled me forward and I let go of the chair, tumbling down until I landed on my hands and knees with her lips locked around my clit.

She pulled me tight against her face, and I rode her, rocking my hips as I ground my pussy into her mouth and shrieked my orgasm as I drenched her. My chest heaved and the city lights gleamed in my peripheral vision like stars. We stayed that way just for a moment and her hands stroked my thighs soft and gentle before she pushed me upwards.

That was my cue. I stumbled to my feet, my heart racing, and pulled my skirt down before reaching down to help her to her feet. She stroked one finger over her lips and then reached forward and put her finger to my mouth.

“Next week?” she asked.

I nodded as I sucked her fingertip, tasting my pussy and her cocoa butter hand lotion. Yes, please. Wednesday nights were the best.


4) Chocolate spread

‘Can Jamie come to the staff room immediately.’

Jamie jumped. Karl wasn’t supposed to be in work today but even the affected sing-sing intonation chosen to match those cliched announcements in supermarkets couldn’t disguise his voice.

Ever since Jamie had drunkenly kissed Karl at post-work drinks last week, finally finding the courage to discover whether they had been imagining Karl’s lingering eye contact and unnecessary closeness, they had been waiting to see him again. The kiss had been good. It had been really fucking good, but Jamie had waited so long to do it that Karl had had to leave for the last train almost straightaway and now it was five days later and they’d not seen each other since.

‘Jamie. Staff room. Immediately.’

But five days is more than enough time for ‘are you home safely?’ texts to progress to ‘tell me what you’d do if I were home with you’ and ‘tell me what you taste like’ sexts.

Chocolate. Jamie told him that they tasted like chocolate – bitter, sweet, rich, creamy. They tasted like chocolate.

Jamie had a plan. Karl never misses Thursday night drinks and they’d decided that they’d walk up to him and kiss him and take him straight home to finally, finally, fuck him after all this talk and anticipation, but now they felt caught out by his sudden appearance. What was he doing here?

But the shop was quiet and, looking over to the other staff who were crowded around the till chatting, Jamie gestured that they were going on break a little early and met no protest. Saturday afternoons in this backwater supermarket were so dull – the shelves were stacked already, the shoppers looking for dinner bargains didn’t usually arrive for several hours; there was nothing to do. They’d manage without them.

Entering the staff room, the first thing Jamie noticed was a large tub of chocolate spread in the middle of the table. The second was how Karl immediately locked the door behind them.

‘You think you taste of chocolate?’

There was a glint in Karl’s eye that made Jamie’s stomach drop. Fuck, what was happening?

‘Um, it’s a good line? I don’t think it’s true.’

‘That’s a shame, I like chocolate. Lie down.’

Without a question, Jamie followed Karl’s instructions and lay on the battered pleather sofa. The cracks in the fabric scratched at their bare arms and neck, and Jamie realised how sensitive their skin had become as this was enough to trigger goosebumps all over their body.

Karl opened the chocolate spread and pulled up Jamie’s shirt to expose their stomach. He stared down at them, surveying them like they were his canvas. Smooth and soft with a few tufts of hair emerging from their waistband.

‘Now, I was promised the taste of chocolate.’

With an exaggerated artistic flourish and a wicked grin, Karl stuck the knife into the spread and scooped out a lump, dropping it onto their abdomen. Kneeling to get closer, he began spreading the chocolate paste across their skin, creating patterns and shapes.

The knife proved to be an interesting brush. He could use the flat like a palate knife, spreading soft swathes of colour across his canvas, but he could also use the blade. Cutting into the chocolate and subtly indenting their flesh, creating sharp lines and valleys. Jamie held their breath, knowing that Karl wouldn’t press deep enough to actually cut their skin but still not really knowing. Still feeling the tension of anticipation, the thrill of possibility. They imagined a thin line of red blooming between the mountains of chocolate, their pain also blooming as the shallow clefts filled and the painting Karl had drawn came alive beneath his blade.

Except he didn’t cut them. He just carved a delicate relief of lines and crosses and swirls, and then slowly, slowly licked it off their skin. Steady pressure on their stomach, hot and wet, spreading the chocolate and gently removing it until their body was almost clean again.

Karl pulled down their pants and kissed the remnants of the chocolate spread that still clung to their lower abdomen.

‘What do you call your junk? What words for them feel sexy for you?’

Shaken, shaking, Jamie reached down to point at their body, indicating each part in turn.

‘That’s my cock, and those are my holes.’

Karl parted their soft hair and touched their cock with the top of his tongue.

‘And can I touch everywhere down here? I want to touch you everywhere if you’ll let me.’

‘You can touch me anywhere.’

Smiling, Karl continue to explore Jamie’s body with his tongue. Licking in circles around their cock and sliding his fingers deep inside their front hole. Sucking, licking, swirling, he teased and toyed with Jamie until they were trembling with need.

‘Do you want to come?’

‘Yes!’ Jamie gasped, ‘Fuck. Yes!’

‘Oh, that’s no good.’ Karl sat back and pulled Jamie’s clothes back into place. ‘Your break is over. Back to work!’

Stumbling to their feet and struggling to get their thoughts in order, Jamie managed to ask Karl if he was still meeting them after work.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it! Especially as I have unfinished business with a boy I’m hoping to meet there.’

He kissed Jamie one more time.

‘And you’re right – you do taste like chocolate…’


5) Hot Enough To Touch

Pele hadn’t expected anyone waiting inside as she walked through the hole she’d melted in the vault door.

“You’re under arrest,” I said.

Silence; then she laughed. She was naked, but her body, even her hair, glowed red like heated steel.

“Clear out, if you want to live.”

“Threatening a cop isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” Her words were haughty, but her voice was… sad.

“You have the right to remain silent.” I began, reaching for her hand.

“Stay away!” she cried, flaring yellower, hotter. My uniform smoked and blackened. But my hand was on her wrist, and-

“No!” She pulled, but couldn’t free herself. My daily workout isn’t particularly strength-intensive, but my training enabled me to easily catch her other wrist as it flailed. She wasn’t terribly strong — didn’t have to be given what she could do — so I held her easily. What gave me pause, though, was that her wrists felt warm to my touch. They felt warm to my touch. I felt them.

She pulled at me and I saw the panic in her eyes even as my sunglass lenses blistered.

“Listen, Pele, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. And… you’re not going to hurt me, I’m a Delta, like you.” Warmth in my hands, sensation on my fingers. God, how long had it been?

She hesitated, heat abating. The whole room smoldered now; my uniform had essentially charred away. Her eyes widened.

“You- you’re not burned. Not dead!”

“Not even a little bit,” I said, “but-“ how do you tell someone they’re the first thing you’ve physically felt in years?

“Oh, God!” She collapsed forward, and I caught her reflexively. Her orange-hot arms came around me in a desperate embrace as she buried her face in my neck and wept. And I felt her. For the first time since the Wave had changed me, made me invulnerable but killed my sense of touch, I felt it all. Her arms around me, molten tears on my shoulder, bare breasts and belly against mine, shuddering with sobs.

Gently, I pulled back and looked at her face. Her furnace eyes told the story of horror, loss, and loneliness I’d seen in my own mirror too many times. And, did I see hope?

“I… don’t hurt you?”

“No,” I smiled. “But I can feel you, and I haven’t felt anything since-”

I couldn’t finish my sentence because she was kissing me; needy, desperate, and real, so real. Her lips were warm, and soft on mine, and I, hardened cop, sighed and kissed back.

Hands roamed, across my back, grazing my breasts, down to my ass to squeeze. I reciprocated, exploring, touching, feeling. Sensations I’d believed gone forever exhilarated me. The Wave had made me impervious but unfeeling, and Pele impossibly hot – too hot to be safely near anyone. But here we were, unhurt, not hurting.

She kissed my neck, and I felt a rush – arousal, eroticism. I nearly wept for joy as her mouth encircled my nipple. Pleasure, pressure, warmth, radiated from her teasing.

I caressed curves, felt softness. Her breasts, stomach, the rise of her mons. Her slick folds, hotter than lava, were simple warm wetness against my skin, and I rejoiced.

She knelt on the glowing concrete floor. Her tongue traced an incandescent line down my belly and lower. My legs went rubbery and I let myself sink back, taking her hand. We guided each other, she climbing over me and turning, knees to either side of my head, her head poised above my parting legs. I took her hips in hand and pulled her glowing, molten slit down to me. I could taste her – sweet, alive. She gasped and settled onto me, and then her tongue was on me, in me, and I cried out as if I’d never been touched there before.

She froze, sudden tension betraying the fear that she hurt me.

“Don’t stop!” I commanded, pleaded. “Don’t ever stop.” To drive home my point I began to devour her pussy as if it was the best thing I had ever tasted, because it was.

After a gasp and a last hesitation, she did the same, and for the first time since the world had gone to hell, I was in heaven. Pele got brighter, hotter as I brought her closer, and I felt her more, deliciously against me.

She came, keening as her body went blindingly bright. She trembled, flooding me with her juices, and I felt everything. Then her mouth, her hot mouth came down and sucked hard on my clit. My climax exploded into pleasure I’d never known. I felt, I felt, I felt.

In the aftermath, we lay entangled in a depression melted into the vault floor. She’d cooled to ember-red, but her fingers tracing my ribcage still made me tingle. One thing I knew was that I could not lose her. But.

“Look, Pele, we have to figure out how-“

“Alice. My name is Alice. I hate Pele. I’m not a comic book villain.”

“Alice, I like Alice. I’m Klavdia. We have to figure out how to get you clean with the law, if we even can…”

“Or… you could leave here. With me. Together.”

A new change was upon me, bigger than the Wave. And this one was entirely my choice.


6) An Ordinary Love Story

“Put that away and come to bed!”

Zelda’s dark eyes bore into mine, I could see the need in them. She always looked that intense, though. Even over a lighthearted game of Scrabble, she would stare right through me, making me forget the word working its way up from the farthest reaches of my brain.

I put down my tablet, and followed her. She was a distraction, but I loved her for it. I turned the corner to the bedroom to find her sprawled out, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“What is this? I thought you wanted to go to bed?”

“I want you to come to bed,” she giggled. “I want you to do bad things to me!”

The giggling ceased, and once again her intensity radiated with a veritable pulse that drew me in.

“At this hour?” I teased, slowly crawling towards her.

I hovered over her, locking eyes, prolonging the inevitable. Her breath quickened as I held her gaze, her mouth parting slightly, inviting my lips to meet hers with a soft kiss.

“Okay, good night!” I flopped over to one side and feigned sleep, but my beating heart was surely a giveaway.

“No! Come on!” she whined, her body stiffening in frustration until I turned over and kissed her again, harder this time, my teeth gnashing against her lower lip.

“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you? Just can’t take no for an answer?” I smiled, knowing she’d fallen for my little game.

She moaned into my mouth as her body surrendered beneath mine, “I just want you too badly!”

I roughly tugged her shirt over her head, disturbing the silky dark hair that now flowed over her shoulders, and pulled it down over her arms. With her arms trapped to her sides in her t-shirt, she seemed to melt into the sheets. She was now just a warm body for me to toy with, and I was ready to play.

Her thighs trembled as I made my way down, nipping and licking her small tits before moving lower, finding the elastic of her panties with my teeth. I pulled them off slowly, grinning with my fabric-filled mouth as I watched her writhe and pant in anticipation. Her eyes met mine once more, hungry and desperate, her mouth hung open just slightly.

When I finally put my face between her thighs, she squealed in appreciation and pressed her hips up to meet me. My tongue lapped at her cleft, pushing inside to open her further, and she shuddered. After years of study, I knew exactly how to play her, how to elicit the squeaks and sighs that made my heart swell and made her convulse in pleasure.

I took her clit between my lips, gently sucking and flicking its spongy surface with my tongue, holding her squirming thighs firmly with my hands as she bucked beneath me.

“Yes, please, there! There!”

She spurred me on, her voice like velvet, tickled my ears, and I dove in, burying my face into her folds. If her hands had been free, she would have held me to her as I licked and sucked, desperately clenching at my hair, her muscles quivering.

“Don’t sto-,” her words cut short as she peaked, her legs flopping against the bed, her mouth gaping in a silent scream.

I could feel the waves crash through her, a silent but deafening pulse. Then she relaxed under me, her thighs falling open, a lazy smile on her face.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

“Mmhmm!”

I rolled her over and pulled her shirt off of her arms, the fabric, warm in my fingers, smelled of sweat and sex. I held it to my nose and peered down at her contented face, as she slowly drifted off into a sated slumber. She’d changed so much over the years, but she was still exactly the same, still my Zelda.

I remember the first time I saw her. She’d chained herself to the men’s restroom door in the courthouse, her long dark hair swung wildly about her shoulders. She wore a wig back then, but I didn’t know. I just saw a beautiful, passionate woman with a fight to win.

She shouted, her eyes burning with an angry intensity, “I don’t belong in the men’s bathroom!”

My heart caught as I watched her bravely make a stand against discrimination, and tears welled in my eyes as I felt the pain of her struggle. At the time, I was just another onlooker curiously watching the commotion, but that struggle became my own when I fell in love with her.

Her spark caught me that day, and I have burned for her ever since. I felt the heat rise with the whispered insults as we walked down the street hand in hand. I felt the stab of resentment when I realized our marriage couldn’t be legal. I felt the fear of having to endure two major surgeries just so she could feel right in her own body.

But, that was a long time ago. I looked down at the silver band wrapped around my left finger. Time had healed much that was wrong with the world. We could finally walk down the street as wife and wife without the threat of violence.

We could finally be ourselves, just a regular couple with an ordinary love story.


7) A Promise to Keep

I hadn’t always had to pay for my orgasms. I’d given up caring about stigmas, however, when my years of anorgasmia were overcome under Naomi’s firm guidance. Needless to say, when her text pinged that morning, I put my coat right back on and headed out.

Two hours before I turn in the keys. Now or never.

My reply was instantaneous.

Now.

Taking precarious liberties over the pockets of black ice threatening to take me down, I walked the ten blocks to Naomi’s apartment from my office. It provided a welcome distraction from the fact that I was rushing toward the finish line. She’d announced her plan to move away two months prior. I’d offered gracious congratulations, simultaneously doing the math in my head. Silent panic set in…I could afford just three more orgasms with her before being left to battle my nemesis — a body that frequently betrayed me. After a stop at the ATM, my hands trembled as I walked the remaining blocks to her apartment.

Minutes later, I stood in the center of her once cozy den, now empty, save for incense offering the familiar scents of bergamot and ylang-ylang. It grounded me. Then, a breeze as I turned to see Naomi shaking a blanket across the floor. She recognized the concern in my expression.

“No worries, little one. A bed doesn’t make the difference.”

Naomi could read my face since the first time we met. Within the first five minutes, she’d called bullshit each time I looked down while explaining my situation. I’d told her I was nervous.

“Looks more like shame,” she’d replied. “Now, get over it. Do you think you’re the first woman to lose her orgasm?

I made sure to look up in response. “Do you think I’m even capable after nearly four years?

She’d gathered her thin, soft locs into a loose knot before answering, “Quit hedging and start telling me what you think you need to get you there again.”

And so began the delicious trials of every kink I could tolerate, sometimes scripted together and other times a delightful surprise. But it wasn’t until one evening a year into it that she finally got her fully closed fist into my stubborn cunt. The rush of endorphins and dopamine oozed from every pore of my being and lifted me into a dissociative state of vulnerability. It had hurt so good as my walls first resisted then relaxed against the tremendous tension and pressure. A few flicks to my clitoris with her other thumb and the ensuing eruption was an oxymoron of itself for there was no peak. No valleys. Only steady, resounding ribbons of a feeling that had become so unfamiliar I had almost begged her to stop. Thank fuck I didn’t.

“Are you ready?”

Naomi snapped me back to the moment, and departing from our routine, told me to undress. I acquiesced while wondering if she just wanted to get this over with.

She winked and motioned to a box beside her.

“I’ve got a gift for you, but you’ll have to earn it.”

Insanely curious, I asked, “how do I earn it?”

“Touch yourself,” she said. “Ready yourself while I watch.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d made me play with myself. But this felt so very different in the light of day. Every sound echoed off walls bereft of their punky pop art and Naomi was fully clothed. I’d come to trust her, insofar as I could trust anyone, so I knelt onto the blanket and trailed my fingernails across my bare skin. Her penetrating gaze compelled me to lick my fingertips and use the warm saliva to tease my cold, hardened nipples. Getting myself wildly hot and bothered quickly had never been the issue for me — it was both a blessing and a curse.

“Perfect.” Naomi praised. “Now lie back and use those pretty hands down below.”

I wasn’t surprised to feel my dark curls wet with arousal as I slid my fingers smoothly between my lips. Using my thumb to part prominent labia, I tenderly massaged my clitoris and used my other hand to push eagerly against my opening. Contorting my body to reach the deepest of my inner spaces, my pointer finger was soon joined by the middle and ring fingers. Naomi looked silently over me until she finally spoke again.

“You can do it. You only think you still need me.”

My lips quivered silently.

Undeterred, she went on.

“You will do it. Promise me that you’ll keep trying, little one.”

Before I could protest, she opened the box beside her to reveal my gift.

I instantly recognized its general shape, but it wasn’t until she handed it over to me that the realization struck. This wasn’t just any silicone fist! This was Naomi’s fist — a life-sized replica that captured the distinctive bend of her thumb joint and the tiny, raised mole on the underside of her delicate wrist. Delighted, I looked up to find her holding out a bottle of her favorite lubricant.

“Try now. Show me how you’ll cum all over my fist when I’m gone.”


8) The Red Palace

In virtual reality, neon never fails. No tawdry fizzing, flickering tubes here; bright lights and fun times glow around the clock, across the calendar.

It’s why we come here. To be our pure selves in a realm where the only constraint is choice and fantasy is the language of deeper truth.

Oh yeah, and to get our kicks. Pain without damage, brutality without blood, all the fun and none of the fallout, that’s what the Red Palace holds. The best BDSM v-club on the net.

I’m looking shit-hot tonight, even if I do say so myself. Check out my silver body harness, the matching silver shorts, my glittery platform boots! Channelling some serious 1970s glam rock vibes here. Spiked hair and go-faster eye paint; I’m fucking irresistible.

Her name is Melody, and she says I’m tasty. Slowly twirling her blonde curls around her finger, glancing up at me coyly over the rim of her gin glass. I swear to god she licked her lips just now. Signals.
Her preference icons align neatly with mine, great compatibility. My tags read nonbinary brat, loud and proud. She’s switchy in all shades and flavours. Serendipity.

“So,” she’s murmuring “what’s on offer tonight?” We both know she’s not asking about bar snacks.
“Whatcha looking for? Something hard-and-heavy, or more slap-and-tickle? Boys who like girls who do girls like they’re boys?” I nicked my go-to line from an old Britpop track. Subversive and bass-heavy, just like yours truly.
“Oh, I love that song!” she squeals, and the bar AI picks up the hint; industrial synth segues into Blur’s pumping beats. Melody leans forward, offering me an eyeful of plump cleavage and a confidential whisper, “I remember when it came out. I’m older than I look.”
“How old are you, Grandma? Old enough to handle the Big Bad Wolf?” Yeah, ok, I’m leering. But hey, so is she.
“Maybe I could show you a few tricks, Junior.” She knocks back her gin, climbs off the chrome bar stool. “Lead the way.”

I rent a private room here. An arch-roofed alcove, red-lit in neon. Just enough space between the double bed and the mirror-back door to fit three or four close-entwined bodies.

Door checks first. Green across the board, no flags on our records; no bugs in our codes. We choose our fun from mutual menus, giggling with anticipation. Swipe to confirm. Game on.

Melody’s red dress morphs into slashed black leather, a riding crop materialises in her left hand. I have no idea what she looks like in the flesh, don’t care. This is who she is in her own mind tonight. Good enough for me. And damn, she does look good, all curves and confident charm.

She points the crop at the floor. “Kneel for me, Junior. Show me some skin.”
I gesture away my clothing and sink to my knees, grinning. The light touch of the crop trails across my taut-muscled chest, up under my chin, down again to tap my nipples. Stroke and tap. Slide and slap.
“That all you’ve got?” I smirk, and she steps forward to grasp my throat in one hand and press the crop handle across the back of my neck, holding me in place.
“Wait your turn,” she rasps, and buries my face in the warm, musky nook between her thighs, grinding herself against me. I reach a hand up under the leather, slide two fingers inside her slick cunt, thumbing slow circles over her clit. She staggers slightly and shifts her grip to my shoulder, writhes python-like against me as I work my fingers deeper inside her.
“Do yourself too.”
My other hand balls into a fist, jammed down between my thighs. Humping your own hand while fingering someone else takes co-ordination and timing. I reckon I’ve got it down to an art form.

When she gasps and shudders, melting onto me in a panting heap, I retrieve my hand and lick her salty-sweetness from my fingers. Delicious.
“Now it’s your turn.” snickers Melody; she’s got her breath back and is brandishing a new prop. Chunky black ribbed dildo protruding from an assembly of black leather straps and chrome rings, the harness dangles from her index finger, swinging in a pendulum as wide as her wicked smile.
“Over the bed, head down, arse up.” she instructs, swapping dress for harness in a system-magic blink.
“Do you like this?”
The tip of the dildo nudges between my cheeks. In answer, I reach backwards, spread them apart in invitation. “Hell yeah.”
Cold, slippery lube trickles into my crack.
“Ask me nicely.” demands Melody, working me open with a slowly-circling finger.
“Please, Miss. Please fuck my arse with your biiiig fat cock.” I wheedle, looking over my shoulder with widened eyes and a saucy pout.
“Well, since you’re being so good…” She eases the dildo inside me slowly, all the way to the hilt. Then-
“Hold on tight-“
-she thrusts, hard, deep, unforgiving strokes, how I like it. The slap of her skin meeting mine resounds in the small space, backbeat to my moans and her hoarse, effort-laden breathing; a hymn of praise to the joy of rough fucking and free spirit.

Virtual, baby. This is what it’s for.


9) In the Forest

Talia’s blonde hair fluttered as she ran through the dark forest; a beacon for the predator chasing her. She’d known about the dangers of the forest, but couldn’t stay away. The trees loomed high above, their branches creating a crackled pattern of the moonlit sky. Although she was terrified, Talia grinned with the exhilaration of her body racing through the night and the excitement of what might happen. She prayed that Calista would find her.

Talia often explored the woods to escape the monotony of day-to-day living. A month ago, she discovered a baby rabbit who was about to become a fox’s supper. Talia smacked the fox with a stick and cuddled the poor baby until it stopped shaking.

As she tried to figure out how to care for the creature, a woman appeared. She looked like a warrior princess with dark hair and bright green eyes. Leaves curled around her body protectively and Talia knew that she was a dryad. She had been warned to stay away from the forest women because they were evil. Talia didn’t sense evil from the woman although something about her was unsettling. The woman took the baby rabbit and made a strange whistling noise. Moments later, another rabbit appeared and the baby scampered off after it.

“How did you come by this gift?” the woman asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Animals are drawn to you. You did not know?” The woman circled Talia as if examining an odd bug.

“I don’t have any gifts. My name is Talia.”

The woman studied Talia.

“You may call me Calista.” Before she could respond, the woman left.

Talia walked the woods every day hoping for another glimpse of Calista. One day, she fell asleep by the pond only to have her dreams filled with Calista. They were together on the ground, Calista’s arms embracing her and Talia had never felt so at home and loved. As they kissed, Talia woke to find Calista hovering over her.

“What were you dreaming?” Calista asked. Her breasts were small and round beneath the leaves and her lips were cherry-red.

Talia blushed and looked away. A branch cracked nearby and Calista bolted, leaving Talia wishing she’d told Calista about her dream.

Lost in her memories, Talia didn’t see the root beneath her feet and tripped. The wolf wasn’t too far behind her. She scrambled to get up, hearing it close in on her. She didn’t want to die. That was when she heard a yelp from the wolf and leaves crinkling underfoot as it ran off. Talia looked up to see Calista staring down at her with concern. She helped Talia up and they faced each other, both of them uncertain about what to do next.

“Why are you here? This is dangerous for you!” Calista sounded angry.

“I came because I wanted to see you.” Talia pushed her tangled hair back. “I think about you every day. Don’t you think of me too?” Talia winced at the vulnerability in her own voice.

Calista lunged toward Talia. Their lips crushed as their bodies touched for the first time. They fell to the ground only to land on a soft cushion of moss. Vines entwined about them removing Talia’s clothing until both of them were naked beneath the night sky. Calista licked and suckled at Talia’s nipples while her fingers moved into her heat. She played with her clit making Talia writhe with the sensations bubbling through her body. Every part of her felt embraced, touched, loved. Leaves wrapped around her breasts and folded to pinch her nipples while another large leaf cupped her ass. Calista buried her face in Talia’s pussy, licking and fingering and Talia felt close to losing herself in this woman.

Talia reached for Calista’s face and pulled her in for a kiss. She wasn’t ready to orgasm. Not yet. The taste of her own juices filled her mouth as they kissed and Talia pushed Calista back toward the ground. It was her turn to give pleasure. She traced Calista’s breasts with her tongue while tweaking each pink nipple. She moved down Calista’s body, luxuriously licking and kissing her belly, her hips and between her thighs. Talia could smell her excitement and longed to dive into Calista’s heat. She tentatively touched Calista’s clit, teasing her by drawing it out. Talia put her face near Calista’s heat and blew on her clit. When Talia’s tongue finally touched her, Calista’s hips arched toward her.

The leaves moved again, enfolding Talia in an embrace that she wanted to lose herself in. Her nipples were pinched gently and pulled. Something touched her clit, sliding over the sensitive nub again and again. She could barely focus upon Calista, but she wanted this woman to cry out for her. She wanted to make her orgasm. Something moved into Talia’s ass, filling her up without causing harm and something filled her pussy. When she looked up, there were green plants touching both of them. It must have been part of Calista’s powers.

It was too much and everything at once. She felt possessed and in possession and lost herself in the sensations vibrating through her body. Calista shook with her own orgasm and the two women collapsed with exhaustion. The last thing Talia heard before falling into a deep slumber was Calista’s voice.

“You shall stay here with me, forever.”


10) Crime and Punishment

Ruby’s day was going downhill faster than a plank of pine in a woodchipper. She’d been let go from her job, ghosted by a Tinder date and now her rear-view mirror was lit by red and blue. She cursed the cop car behind her, easing the old Subaru onto the shoulder then dropped her head against the steering wheel.

Knuckles rapped against the driver’s side window. Ruby held up a finger – forehead still glued to the soft leather – then turned the window crank until the glass was open about halfway.

“Licence please,” a female voice asked.

Ruby gave a half nod and reached onto the passenger seat. Locating the purse was easy enough but finding the right card amongst the hundreds she’d crammed in proved more difficult. She tilted her head slightly so she could peer in, then spied the familiar strip of yellow. She grabbed the card and stuck it through the open window, waving it back and forth for the officer to take.

“Rough day?” The voice enquired. Ruby groaned in response.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Speeding is my honest answer,” Ruby replied, “though you could just want to congratulate me on my sweet bumper sticker.”

The officer laughed.

“While I do appreciate a good Lord of the Rings quote, it’s the speeding you were right about.”

The acknowledgement caught Ruby off-guard. She lifted her head to appraise the officer. The woman was around her age with long auburn hair tied in a ponytail and a figure to rival that of Dita Von Teese. A name plaque reading ‘M Carter’ was pinned to the officer’s breast.

“You’re the first person to actually appreciate it,” Ruby said.

“Yes, but unfortunately, I’m not the first person to pull you over, am I?” The officer replied. “Tell me, Ruby, have you had anything to drink today?”

Ruby gulped, remembering the four mojitos she sank while waiting for her Tinder date.

“I may have had a couple.”

Officer Carter shook her head and produced a breathalyser. She instructed Ruby to count to ten and held the device to her lips. The machine let out a high-pitched beep when the reading was complete, and the policewoman let out a whistle.

“Point-o-eight-five – well over the legal limit. I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.”

“Come on, officer! I-”

“Now, please.”

Ruby did as she was bidden, yanking down the hem of her green mini skirt and once again questioning if she could start the day anew.

“Place your hands on the hood,” Officer Carter instructed.

“Isn’t this a bit excessive?”

The officer leaned in close, allowing Ruby to smell the Jasmine of her perfume.

“Now, now, we’ve talked about this. Be a good little slut and follow instructions.”

Ruby froze, her mind racing. Who was this woman?

She began replaying different conversations until one struck a chord. Mel, the date that never arrived, had initiated a discussion about fantasies. Half-drunk at the time, Ruby had divulged a little too much in their chat. Perhaps Mel and this officer were the same person? The cop did have a striking resemblance to the photos of the woman she’d spoken with online, prompting Ruby to take a chance.

“I thought you stood me up,” Ruby muttered, arching her back so that the officer could get a peek at her black g-string.

“Never,” the other woman replied, cuffing Ruby’s hands. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Ruby’s clit twitched with anticipation, the thin fabric of her underwear already growing damp.

“Yes.”

Officer Carter grinned and pushed Ruby into the backseat of her police cruiser, straddling her waist as she closed the door.

“Tinted windows,” she remarked, tapping on the glass, “I can do whatever I want to you here.”

Ruby’s hips lifted involuntarily at the woman’s words. The officer wasted no time, stripping down to her underwear and carelessly dropping her uniform into the footwell. Ruby only got a quick glance at the other woman’s physique before Officer Carter yanked Ruby’s shirt up over her head and began massaging her breasts.

“No bra,” the other woman commented, “you really were ready for me.”

She took one of Ruby’s nipples in her mouth, tracing a hand down her captive’s midriff until she settled on her sex. The officer’s fingers moved in smooth, slow circles and she was rewarded by the answering heat of the other woman’s arousal. Excited, she slid two fingers into Ruby’s cunt, marvelling at the way her captive’s insides responded to her touch.

Officer Carter had intended to prolong their experience, dragging out Ruby’s orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath her, but her own needs were beginning to take precedence. She thrust harder and faster, slipping a third finger inside. Ruby gasped, already close to breaking point, then came as the other woman’s mouth found her nipple again.

Officer Carter watched Ruby climax. Once her captive’s juices coated them both, she slipped off her underwear and pulled down Ruby’s shirt so she could meet her eyes.

“Your turn,” she remarked, sitting on Ruby’s face.

Already breathless, Ruby lapped at the officer’s pussy, growing hot again at the thought of being the other woman’s plaything. Officer Carter shuddered and came, body twitching as Ruby licked her clean.

“After that,” she muttered, stroking Ruby’s cheek, “you can forget the ticket”.


11) A Useful Girl

“We are the only two people in the world,” Jean whispered, their hand closing over Becca’s eyes.

“But-” Becca started, but Jean moved their hand to Becca’s mouth.

“No excuses, no worries, just you and me. We’re the only two people in the world.”

Becca smiled under Jean’s hand.

They were in Jean’s small apartment, as they usually were. It was neat, meticulous, with a wall of bookshelves and a neatly made bed and not much else.

Becca loved the smell of it. Lingering incense, warm coffee, and Jean’s old fashioned musky cologne.

Becca wore a summer dress with nothing under it, as instructed. It was a soft pale blue with tiny flowers. Her hair was a mop of short brown curls, parted. She sat on the floor next to the bed, her legs out in front of her. Jean crouched over her, their hand still on her throat.

Jean wore brown tweed slacks and a somewhat baggy white dress shirt they got from a thrift store. Over that, they wore a forest green sweater vest. Their pants were rolled up to expose ochre socks and ancient, but well shined brown oxfords.

Becca’s eyes were wide. Jean’s hand moved again, their thumb on Becca’s chin. Jean examined her.

“Do you think about me, when you are alone?” They asked with a grin.

Becca bit her bottom lip and nodded.

“Do you think about all the things I have done to you?”

Becca nodded furiously, which made Jean smile.

“What do you dream of me doing to you? What stands out in your memory?”

Becca swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment.

“The-the way you use me. The way you make me feel used and special at the same time. The way you spank me and hurt me and pull my hair and-” she stopped, unable to meet Jean’s eyes.

“And what?”

Becca squirmed.

“Especially when you, um, make fun of me,” she whispered.

“How do I make fun of you?”

Becca pleaded with her eyes.

“You-you make fun of how wet I get. When you tied me up, you said I made a puddle on the floor. I think about that a lot,” she said in a rush.

Jean laughed.

“Oh, yes, I do remember that. That’s lovely to know. Sometimes I’m unsure if I should tease you so much. Humiliation is complicated. But now that I know you like it so much, I can be more forthcoming about how deliciously disgusting you are.”

Jean relished Becca’s squirming and blushing.

“Normal girl wouldn’t have these kinds of reactions, you know. A normal girl wouldn’t beg to get tied up and hit the way you do. A normal girl wouldn’t get so wet from being humiliated.”

Becca bit her lip and nodded slowly.

“God, I bet you’re soaked already, aren’t you?” Jean laughed.

Becca looked away, cheeks crimson.

“Did you make a big wet spot in the back of your dress? I should make you go home like that. Let everyone know what a slut you are,” they said with glee.

Becca looked at Jean with big wet eyes, and it pushed Jean over the edge. They stood up and grabbed Becca by the hair.

“At least you are good for a few things,” they said, unzipping their pants and pulling out their cock.

Becca looked forward hungrily, ready to be useful.

There were moments of awkwardness, sometimes, that evaporated after a moment. Jean was having trouble getting their cock out of the fly of their boxers. They pull their slacks down instead.

Then Becca’s greedy mouth was on it, Jean’s hand in her hair, pulling her forward.

She loved the smell of Jean’s skin, the warmth of her body. She could suck forever, but Jean always cut her short, wanted to use her in other ways.

“Up on the bed, with your legs spread, like a good slut,” Jean said.

Becca did as she was told, always.

Then, like opening a present, Jean lifted Becca’s dress. No matter how many times they saw their girl’s pussy, it always made Jean sigh with delight.

“Just as I thought, a mess. A wet messy girl desperate to get fucked,” Jean chuckled, shaking their head.

Becca tried to hide her face in shame.

“I think I’ll just put my cock between your legs and let you rutt on it like a little animal in heat,” they said, doing just that.

Becca whined and whimpered. Jean’s cock pressed against Becca’s clit, but only for a moment. Jean spat on their hand and stroked themselves.

Bacca pushed herself up, huffing and puffing in frustration, trying to get contact, trying to get more. Jean watched her and held themselves firm, anchoring themselves on the bed.

Becca never took long. Jean was sometimes envious of how quickly the girl could come.

Jean held the girl as she shuddered and moaned and came against them.

Then they were still, and Becca embraced them.

“My good girl,” Jean said into her hair, kissing her forehead.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Becca whispered, “is there anything else I can do for you?”

Jean patted her head.

“For now, I want to rest, then we can have some tea. We have the whole evening, and I’m sure I’ll find more uses for such a disgusting girl.”

Becca giggled and buried herself in the crook of Jean’s arm.


12) The Dressage Master

Afternoon sunlight cascaded from the window and illuminated Maximilian as though he was an angel. Not an adoring Baroque cherub, but a glorious primeval force, akin to Saint Michael. The brown tailcoat, white breeches, and black top boots fit him to perfection; had he carried his whip, Wulfe could have easily mistaken him for the Archangel himself.

“Why did you need to find me?” he asked.

“Two reasons. First, you will begin mounted longe training next week.”

Wulfe’s grip on the rag and sponge loosened and he barely remembered to hold on to them. He swallowed.

Maximilian continued. “You will be without stirrups or reins while on the horse, instead developing the complex and subtle muscles in your seat and legs. Yes: you will fall off. The trick is to land on your ass.”

“And the second?” Wulfe was dazed. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Maximilian stepped closer to him. “You will learn to trust me, as I’ve trusted you with my tack. I shall teach you our methods.”

Wulfe dropped his supplies. He bent to pick them up but—

“Ignore them.”

The gleaming points of Maximilian’s boots were before him. Slowly, Wulfe rose and studied the other man: leather-encased calves yielding to powerful thighs barely contained in white buckskin. Ascending, brass buttons sat snugly on a flat, wide belly. From this vantage, Wulfe noticed that even Maximilian’s lips seemed to have been formed from Michelangelo’s masterful hands.

Without thinking, Wulfe pressed his mouth to those perfect lips.

The other man froze and Wulfe briefly panicked. He tried to pull away, but he couldn’t for Maximilian’s lips responded to his. Unsure, Wulfe kissed more firmly. Their movements were clumsy, their bodies asking questions their souls could not.

Wulfe gripped Maximilian’s arms and groaned as Maximilian’s tongue joined his, filling him with the subtle flavors of mint and cane sugar.

With that, he pulled his head back. Maximilian stared back at him with eyes clouded with desire. “You eat the sugar cubes?”

“I’ve always had a sweet tooth. Is it alright?”

“The sugar or the—” Wulfe looked down at their bodies entwined in one another’s.

“Both.”

Wulfe heard hesitation in the other man’s voice. He had a strange sense of protecting this mighty figure in his arms. Coiling his hands around Maximilian’s face, he whispered, “Yes.”

Maximilian sighed and covered Wulfe’s lips with his own. The kisses became more urgent, more deliberate. Hot breath covered Wulfe’s upper lip and the two men pulled each other closer. In seconds, Wulfe was pinned to the brick wall. He tilted his hips forward and looked down the other man’s body. The brutal shape of Maximilian’s cock was clearly visible beneath the buckskin. Wulfe’s mouth watered.

“You’ll get it in good time,” Maximilian whispered and nipped Wulfe’s earlobe.

Before Wulfe could respond, Maximilian kissed and licked his neck while his large hands traversed his body. Wulfe surrendered, groaning when those hands, skilled with rein and whip, reached his hips. He neither knew nor cared what came next; he wanted everything.

Nimble fingers unbuttoned the fly at his trousers. Wulfe hissed as Maximilian’s warm palm pressed against his cock, which was bursting through the thin fabric of his smallclothes. He rocked his hips further forward, desperately reaching for more contact, more warmth, more—

“Maximilian,” he couldn’t help but moan.

There was a brief kiss on his mouth. “Call me Max.”

Wulfe watched as the immense sculpture of a man knelt before him, the silver points of his spurs glinting in the sunlight. Those splendid fingers moved languidly as Max pulled Wulfe’s engorged organ from his smallclothes. His knees nearly buckled as Max rubbed his thumb over the tip, spreading the pearl of fluid. Soul-piercing blue eyes never left his as Max placed his thumb between his lips.

With his other hand, Max reached behind him and rummaged through the pocket of his tailcoat. Before Wulfe could respond, Max placed a fragment of a sugar cube on the head of his cock.

Without warning, Max closed his mouth over Wulfe’s length, his thick tongue coating him. Wulfe asked breathlessly, “Can I touch you? My hands are dirty.”

Max didn’t release him as he reached for one of Wulfe’s wrists and guided his hand to the top of his head. Wulfe cradled Max’s head while he let him do as he wished. His ministrations were varied and complex, with moments of delicate teasing followed by his entire mouth engulfing Wulfe’s cock. With each descent further towards Wulfe’s body, Max grunted.

Glorious tingling sensations coursed through Wulfe; rather than restrain them, he further surrendered into them, letting the pressure within his body build. He whispered, “Can I come?”

Max didn’t pause; rather, he pressed the meaty part of his tongue against the frenulum and rolled his tongue against it. Wulfe allowed it to happen: with a few deliberate thrusts, Wulfe emptied himself. Max’s tongue swept over his swollen head until Wulfe cried out and gently pushed him away. He opened his eyes to find the most beautiful man he’d ever encountered smiling up at him. Overwhelmed, Wulfe caressed his cheek and helped him rise to his feet.

Wulfe buttoned his trousers and gathered his supplies. He still needed to clean the tack. Over his shoulder, Maximilian said to Wulfe, “Be ready for next week. The stallion will be hard on you, as will I.”


13) Retail Therapy

‘Chin up, tits out.’ Isn’t that how it goes?

Not so easy when the hormones haven’t finished doing their thing yet, and your tits don’t even fill an A-cup. And may never.

The Universe fucked up and put me in a male body, and maybe eventually I’ll be blessed with one that fulfills my feminine potential. For now, it’s padding, attitude and finally buying some come-fuck-me lingerie.

Chin up. Check the coral lipstick.

Tits out. Embrace the fabulous woman you know you are.

Attitude is easy in the security of my own place. No side-long glances, sniggering or whispered comments, but I can’t just live in the bubble of only my own kind, and accepting friends.

Self-confidence begins its slow leak as I step outside and close the door behind me.

***

Red satin. Definitely this red satin. Definitely not a g-string. Nothing sexy about butt floss, but a loose-legged French knicker and matching bra – delicious. Imagine the cool slither of fabric as I pull it up my legs, then over my cock. It’s so soft between my fingers and I want to feel it against my skin, but I’m not game to take the hanger down from the rack, let alone take the scarlet sensuality into the dressing room.

Two years into my journey, but It’s still baby steps.

‘You’d look spectacular in that.’

The soft, sultry voice behind me both thrills and terrifies. Once I turn around, once she sees the truth, the illusion that I belong here will be gone. I might have good legs and know how to dress convincingly, but there’s no disguising the very male planes of my face.

‘I’ve seen you looking in our window. I’m glad you finally came in.’

‘You have such lovely things.’ I modulate my voice to a half-whisper. I haven’t had enough training yet for a more feminine tone to be second nature, especially not when contending with the flutter of arousal that’s simmering in my blood from sensory overload. The sleek fabric, her scent of spicy citrus, the warmth of her voice.

‘You should try it on.’

I drop my hand from the hanger and shake my head. She reaches past me to take the hanger down, the almost touch of her bare skin against mine raises goosebumps on my arm and stirs my unbound cock. I close my eyes and inhale her closeness. Her power over me.

I turn and meet her eyes. Green, like polished jade, th smile on her glossy red lips reflected in them.

‘I’ll hang these in the dressing room. Take your time.’ She walks away and I envy her easy femininity, the sway of her rounded butt under the black leather skirt. I’d so love to run my hands over those luscious curves, slide my hand between those thighs and see if she’s wet.

Even though I force my attention back to the rack, the red satin calls like a siren from the dressing room. And then she’s beside me again.

‘If it helps you decide, I’m wearing the same set.’ She slips the top button of her silky shirt out of its buttonhole, then the second so it gapes open, revealing slick red, cut low against the swell of voluptuous breasts. My own nipples tingle and swell against my A-cups.

‘We need more privacy.’ She takes my hand and leads me into the dressing room, pulling the curtain closed behind us. In moments the shirt is undone. ‘Do you like?’

I nod, unable to articulate the desire that’s raging through my body.

She slides her hands under my top, and I tense. She’ll be disappointed. My breasts are little more than fledgling buds. Virtually nothing.

‘I love touching women.’

Women. My heart sings, moisture wells in my eyes and my cock hardens in anticipation.

Her fingers slide under my bra, nails scraping lightly over my hard nipples, squeezing them gently, then harder when I groan.

‘What do you want?’ Her breath brushes my lips.

‘Kiss me.’ Hands on skin is erotic. Mouth on mouth is more intimate. Accepting.

‘Gotta give a girl what she wants.’ Warm, soft lips cover mine, gentle for a moment then demanding, her tongue invading. ‘Touch me,’ she murmurs against my mouth and squeezes my nipples again.

I fumble with the zip at the back of her skirt and it drops to the floor. My hand slides easily under the wide leg of the French knickers and her legs part.

‘Fuck me.’

I plunge my fingers into the tight, slippery cleft and she gasps, pushing her smooth cunt into my hand, then pulling away.

‘Really fuck me.’

‘But …’

‘It’s all you.’ She kisses me gently, stroking my rigid cock through my skirt.

Her shirt and bra join her skirt on the floor, as do mine.

She bends over, bracing her hands on the mirror. I push aside the sodden fabric covering her sex, impale her on mine and she meets my thrusts with the same urgency. She’s tight. Wet. Familiar, yet new.

Fucking a woman, filling her with my cock, with my cum, is what I know. But that was a different me. A different incarnation. But it still feels right.

Her pendulous breasts sway with each thrust, mine stand firm in their small perfection.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and our reflection is my truth.

My cock doesn’t define me.


14) Under A Violescent Sky

Chiron, we always have our best fucks in a violent storm. Most alive, most ourselves, in these rawest, roughest, secluded terrains.

I was so angry with you for not packing extra torch batteries on a trek at least thirty miles from street-light, in November. You were angry at me for waiting until we were in deep-mists and icy-climes, glancing-up from a shabby Ordnance Survey Map, to confess my doctor has not signed-off my phalloplasty. Hansel and Hansel, we battled cartography deadlines and each other, when we should have fought the weather turning on us. It’s the 1970s, and that’s the problem: we aren’t afraid of the woods anymore. The dark was safer when people believed in fairytales and gods.

Wisely, we’d constructed canvas inside a poorly-constructed bothy, then foolishly gulped from our hip flask.

Your hard kiss and, “Warm. Me. Up.”

We wrestled, scratched, gripped each other’s bodies; angry sex roused by the tempest. I bound your wrists with guide rope. Laughter rivaled the thunder: you fucking love to struggle. I pulled trousers and y-fronts down to your ankles, knotted wet fabric in my fist, forced you to crouch. Hand squarely on your back, I discover the rain had pelted so heavily that it had driven through oilskins, through your Argyle sweater, soaked your chest-binding. My heart hurt, but understood why you guarded this fiercely and wouldn’t take it off. It shaped who you are.

Emboldened by whisky, I tasted your sweat, the musty scent of damp clothes between firm buttocks, pushed-in hard with my jaw and rimmed your tight rose with my tongue. By the flickering light of a dying torch, I wanted to feel my new cock inside you. Feel your strong heart quicken from the pulsing of your insides. I spread saliva between your cheeks. Spitting on my palm, I smeared my new hard penis, healed but still bruised from surgery. I looked down at the angry new map of blood-filled veins, rested my tip against your asshole. No delicate arousal, I crushed my chest against your back. Wanted to possess your body in this new way. Bit your ear, heard you hiss. Sank my teeth into the nape of your neck. Tasted blood. Your “fuck me” through gritted teeth, ass riding-up against my cock, the consent I needed to plunge deep into you. In the eye of the storm, you arched your back and allowed me to be newly-created-balls-deep-inside of you. Flesh to flesh. No strap-on to clumsily reach for. No harness to fasten to my loins. We fucked as men, as we were intended.

The torch choked out. You rolled around, maneuvering to kiss me. Concentrating on the desire to keep me-inside-you, you kicked me in the face with your muddy boot. Thunder booms drowned-out my yelp. Crackle of lightning. The bothy lit up like we were under a Super-Trouper. This, the last time I saw your face, eyes-wide in this muddy mess of surprise, pleasure, pain, and bleaching white light. Before the sky fell in.

The bothy roof succumbed to torrents. Our frail tent collapsed in on us, freezing and suffocating on our skin. We scrambled like vermin to shrug it off, clambered back into filthy clothes. Said stupid, stupid, stupid things to one another through desperate tears. I decided we’d leave and get back to the path. You insisted we stay until the rain abated. Our injected-hormones always accelerate our mood.

I pushed-out into the squall, “You should’ve bought more fucking batteries for the torches,”

“Act like a man, not a fucking child… have patience for once, stay here ‘til morning!”

I didn’t look back. That’s a lie. Did I glimpse you between skeletal trees in the searing rain? Then run off? A flash of lightning capturing you, broad and masculine? I warned you. I warned you. The task we were paid for was mapping the West Highland Way. I wiped the rain from my face, stubbornly turned, and made the unforgiving journey, around treacherous uncharted bogs to the mechanical sanctuary of our Ford Cortina. The chilling deluge became sleet, the sleet became heavy snow. I woke up with the steering wheel freezing against my face, in a blizzard.

You’re so fearless, Chiron. I’m so sorry that I goaded you: it’s your choice to take the male hormones, consider chest surgery, or more. I tell them how strong you are. Think of how strong you are when we fuck. You, of all men, are experienced enough, clever enough, to survive this tormenting weather. My tears are now the torrents. My half-shut black eye burns. I feel like something is pecking out my liver. Why did I not listen to you? I should know where we were heading. Now, that sounds like a lie. No amount of Tunnocks wafers and extra blankets I left in care for you, will make them believe me. In the police interview room, these do not seem to be adequate measures of love for you.

How do I tell them, Chiron? How do I convince them that I am Prometheus, not monster?
In dread. In solitude. In a cell. About to be called to identify a body, pathologically described as soft and feminine. Insistence that I use the name on your birth certificate poisons my lips.

No one is listening to my howls above the storm, as I scream that they should still be out there looking for you.


15) The Experience

I remember feeling the stubble on his jaw for the first time. It felt a little like a cat’s tongue, but glorious. He pressed his face into my trembling hand, closed his eyes. I closed my eyes, too, when he cupped my face with his big hands and felt the whiskers of my beard bend.

Our lips touched lightly at first, then more fully until I felt the scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow. My cock swelled instantly and throbbed while the rest of me held still like a watch that had run out. And then, as if it’d just gotten wound and time began to move again, so did I.

My hands were everywhere and nowhere as we tore off each other’s clothing and we breathed each others’ air. Nothing had ever smelled so sweet as the rich, musky scent of him and I thought I’d never seen anything as beautiful as his dark brown eyes glazed over with passion like that.

We heard a noise from downstairs and he quickly moved to insure his bedroom door was locked. I glanced at the time – 6:36. We had until midnight.

The excitement generated from touching him seemed to have pooled in the meat between my legs and my erection could have supported a house. He laughed when he turned and saw me stroking it not unawkwardly.

“I’d like to stroke it, too,” he said. He closed the distance between us and kissed my clavicle. I’d hoped he’d just fall on my cock like in all my fantasies, but he had other plans for our first time – my first time.

Les petites morts – “little deaths” – is “the sensation of post orgasm as likened to death.” I looked death in the eyes three times that night and fell in love just as many.

His fingers probed my hole as he licked my balls and my tender inner thighs bore the brunt of his whiskers. I threaded my fingers through his thick hair and willed myself to not jizz on the spot, but he hushed me, knowing what I was doing.

“Young friend of mine,” he said, “you are to do nothing but feel the pleasure. Cum, don’t cum, but you are not to control yourself.”

I burst into a milky white explosion all over his face split wide with a grin.

Time stopped having meaning that night. Midnight, schmidnight. He teased and coaxed me into oblivion where time and space meant nothing, only our straining bodies had currency in the place we shared.

His cock tasted like soap and his jizz like eternal youth and his laughter and groans were the most precious sounds I’d ever heard in my life.

He let me push past the loaves of his round ass into the dark hole in the center and grounded me with words of encouragement.

“Yes, Andy, good boy, Andy. Less deep, more, more, now” and so on.

I held his hips and periodically poured lube onto where we were joined and into his out-stretched hand. I felt the jerking of him pleasuring himself against my own thrusts and I lost my mind again – my life, my breath, my everything – into his warm, sweet body.

That night was the first of many between the hours of 6 and midnight where we worshiped each other’s bodies and held space for one another’s hearts. We shared our deepest fears and our greatest hopes. Sometimes we’d argue – a stupid waste of precious time – and sometimes we’d play. Strip poker, Twister, 20 Questions. We’d laugh until we cried and sometimes we’d just cry because the world is a cruel, stupid place.

Then it’d be time for me to say goodbye and return to my humble little life as a college student. I could barely stand my life as it only seemed like a place-holder until I was locked away back in his bedroom. I made sure to always have my phone charged because I couldn’t bear a world without access to him.

“Now,” his text would read.

“OMW,” I’d type back.

Could a man die of love? I often wondered. Nothing so beautiful had ever happened to me in all my life. A man like him interested in a man like me? This read like some shitty romance novel.

I thought about tattooing his name on me somewhere he might not notice, but only a lovesick asshole would try to do something like that.

The last time we saw each other I climbed the stairs to his room and my heart leapt in my chest knowing what awaited me behind the closed door. We dove into each other with searing intensity. I bit and growled into his ear, held his scruffy face in my hands as I fucked his mouth and he dug his short nails into my ass cheeks to hold me tight.

We rolled around like puppies and I wanted to melt into him forever. I came once, twice, three times, just like our first night together and as we lay panting on his bed, glistening with sweat and cum and my endless love he told me our time was up.

“If you’d like to book another block of 16 sessions with me, you know my web address.”

He smiled as he absent-mindedly played with my soft cock, “Only this time, you can’t get The Virgin Boyfriend Experience.”


16) The Bookshop

In the basement of the bookshop – right at the back, between stacks holding Law and Literary Criticism – there was a floorboard that creaked just a little whenever someone put their full weight on it.

On busy Saturday afternoons, the sound was absorbed immediately into the underlying hum of customers and staff moving around the shop. However, on an improbably sunny Tuesday in late October, when the air was alive with shimmering dust and a heavy silence crept through the empty aisles, every incongruous sound – no matter how small – was amplified tenfold.

Ed stepped carefully over the loose board and stopped in front of a shelf groaning under the weight of first-year Contract Law textbooks. He was five minutes late, but the last eight months had taught him that Bastian viewed time as a fundamentally elastic concept; striving for punctuality would only have increased Ed’s wait, and while he was an instinctively patient man, anticipation – and the ache of his erection as it pressed eagerly against tight denim – made each passing minute feel like an hour.

Still – somewhat gallingly, in Ed’s view – Bastian’s presence was worth a thousand aching, awkward erections. Not because he knew exactly what to do with them (though after a few false starts, he certainly did), but because his hunger for Ed’s company, Ed’s body (and yes, Ed’s cock) was so visible and unapologetic that it was impossible not to get swept up in the sheer joy that seemed to swirl around their weekly encounters.

Occasionally Ed wondered how much of that infectious ardour was rooted in the escape he provided from Bastian’s marriage – an elusive elephant in their cosy room, discussed so infrequently that the stakes of doing so in any depth had risen to the point where Ed felt certain it would break them apart. In truth, he didn’t care either way. Not yet. Bastian had his body, but Ed’s heart was firmly off limits. Or so he liked to tell himself.

Instead they kissed and fucked, and clawed at each other like every meeting might be their last. Bastian’s home was off-limits and Ed didn’t want to bring something so electric and almost obscenely alive into the prosaic surroundings of his suburban house-share. Hotels were apparently too gauche – privately Ed wondered whether Bastian feared the rush of guilt that might result from conducting an affair in such a commonplace manner – so out of necessity, they improvised.

Bookshop. Picnic area by the river in the pissing rain. Dodgy pub toilet. Fancy restaurant toilet – without eating in the fancy restaurant. Back row of the local cinema. One time the front row too, Bastian’s hand pressed firmly on the back of Ed’s head, keeping him below the eyeline of anyone behind them as his eyes watered from the cock deep in his throat and the glare of the screen at the corner of his vision. The bookshop again. And again. Same faded carpet, same undisturbed shelves. Same squeaky floorboard, stepped over in the same careful manner each time.

Footsteps. Bastian’s footsteps. Ed knew them immediately, and marvelled again at how much information we’re able to soak up about someone on a purely subconscious level. To him, the gait was unmistakeable: a cadence both indistinguishable from anyone else’s and entirely unique – if you knew what you were listening for.

Ed realised he was smiling at the sound, and his grin only grew wider when Bastian rounded the corner, jeans pulled open, thick cock bouncing in front of him.

“I got to the bottom of the stairs and couldn’t see anyone,” Bastian shrugged. “Figured I’d make your life a bit easier.”

“Oh really? Easier how?”

“Well…”

Ed sank to his knees as Bastian closed the gap between them. In mock supplication, he spread his hands either side of Bastian’s cock before knitting them around it and easing the head into his mouth. The familiarity – of taste, of shape and structure – sent a shudder through him, and he half-turned, pushing Bastian back against the sturdy shelving unit.

Under his curled fingers, the shaft felt warm and slick, as he pulled sweat from the crease at the base of Bastian’s cock up to meet the saliva streaming down it. Ed felt his knees rub against the carpet, and knew how much he’d thrill in the discovery of each new burn and bruise when he woke up the next morning. The marks on his skin, the rawness in his throat and the tenderness he could feel but not see in his lips, all helped him hold on to Bastian for a few more hours. If he was lucky, a few more days.

“Fuck. You’d better ease off a bit, or…”

Ed glanced up to see Bastian’s jawline and the tip of his nose, as he threw back his head and gripped the nearest shelf.

“Or?”

“Fucker. Don’t you dare stop.”

Ed took off his glasses and held Bastian’s cock against his lips. Stroked it firmly from base to tip and back again, tongue flicking over the soft, shiny head.

The sound of Bastian’s orgasm drifted across the basement floor and died as it reached the staircase. The words they whispered to each other afterwards barely carried to the end of their dusty, creaky aisle – but changed everything.

40 minutes later, they emerged into bright sunshine and walked to a nearby café. They sat and talked. Really talked. Kissed. And never went back.


17) A Slow Show

I was on my knees when Leyla first spoke to me. “I love what you’re doing with your front yard,” she said. Looking up I squinted against the bright spring sun seeing nothing but a haloed silhouette. I got up and gawked at her impeccable appearance. Her fashionable skirt and blouse were delicately cut and colourful. Her bare arms were bronzed and showed off her immaculate skincare.

She extended her hand. “I’m Leyla. I live on the corner.” I removed my garden gloves while staring at her slim manicured fingers.

“I’m afraid my hands are very clean,” I apologised.

“A little dirt doesn’t hurt me,” she said. She had a look of defiance. Like nothing could hurt her. “And your name…?”

“I’m Stella. Sorry.” I felt caught, but I didn’t quite know what for.

“Are you on your own, Stella?”

I’d moved in the week before. Anyone observing me and my friends offloading my stuff from the rental van could have guessed my single state. Not to mention notice the fact that we were all women. All kinds of conclusions could be drawn from that.

“Yes, I live by myself,” I said and after a pause, I added, “for now.”

Leyla smiled. “Nothing’s forever. Keep up the good work with your gardening. Our street gains from someone like you.” She strolled off and I inhaled deeply to catch her fragrance lingering in the air. I knew then and there I would be obsessing over Leyla.

I imagined her telling me to lie naked on the kitchen floor and finger myself. ‘A little dirt doesn’t hurt me’ echoed in my head.

When we came across each other, I could hardly refrain from kissing her. To my delight, Leyla liked to chat but she mostly commented on my clothing. “I hope you don’t mind my meddling,” she said at one point, “but these jeans really don’t suit you. Your bum’s alright but slim-fits are for teenagers.” I was too surprised to respond adequately. In my fantasy, I took my jeans off in front of her. She smacked my buttocks and called me a silly girl. I orgasmed on the image of Leyla kissing the burning consequences of her spanking.

Months later, she invited me to her boutique in the city. When I came in after work, I stopped short on the threshold. The air was thick with Leyla’s intoxicating perfume, Givenchy’s L’Interdit.

“Stella, how wonderful. You came.” Leyla flipped the sign on the door from open to closed. “Follow me”, she said. Scanning the clothing on display I realised that any item she’d wanted me to try on would be unaffordable.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She winked at me. “How can poor Stella afford any of this? Ever heard of samples? Well, I’m your Magnificent Mistress of Sample Specimens. The Queen of Budget Prêt-à-porter. Priestess of Commercially Failed Designs.”

I could only laugh nervously. Leyla pointed towards the fitting rooms in the back. “I want you out of these working clothes.” I eagerly obeyed and stripped down to my undies.

“You’re quite a beauty,” Leyla said when I stepped out in front of her. “Not that I didn’t notice it before. But it stares me in the face now.” Her flattery aroused me but I still wasn’t sure if she was coming on to me.

“But your undies are awful.” She hurried off to a rack with lingerie and returned with an exquisite set. “I think I guessed your size right.”

I hesitated to go back into the fitting room. I longed to strip naked in front of her.

“You don’t like it?” she queried.

“No, no,” I stammered. “It’s just…” I turned and headed off to the fitting room.

“You want to strip in front of me and do a slow show for me.” Her words stopped me short. She’d looked right through me. “Go ahead. Make me want you.” Her commanding tone was full of care and acknowledgement. It encouraged me to let go of any inhibitions. I released the clip of my bra and let it slide off me. I lowered my panties and exposed myself to her fully. I saw Leyla’s approval, her desire for me.

She handed me the lingerie. As I took it from her, she placed a hand on my wet pussy. She moaned approvingly. “You’ll have to pay for the set if you dirty it, Stella.” I nearly came when she said it. “And remember,” she cautioned me. “A slow show.”

For all the fantasies I’d come up with, I’d never thought of this one. I ended up modelling four more lingerie sets. With every change, she sampled my desire by cupping my pussy. I dirtied all sets without thinking of the cost.

After the lingerie, she made me try out six ensembles, all befitting me. She read me and my body perfectly. She made me see myself through her eyes. I was beyond arousal. I felt reborn. When Leyla finally kissed me, I cried. She licked away my tears and ushered me to the backroom of the store. She took off her own clothes and let me explore her beguiling body. We ended up scissoring frantically on the floor. It didn’t take us long to orgasm then, but we took it slow many times in the years after.


10 comments

  1. A pity people have dropped out at this stage!

    I’m always drawn to the quality of the writing first and foremost, and then look at how well the theme was addressed with my votes pretty much then going to entries that weren’t predictable in that execution.

    My understanding of this Round’s theme was that one person in the story at least had to be non-cis,so a person who doesn’t identify with the physical gender they were born with. The vast majority of stories were about gay interactions as opposed to non-cis so my top two votes did go to the pieces which used the theme correctly. Luckily those were also beautifully written,so would have got my vote anyway.

    No votes for those pieces which were (sadly still at this stage of the competition) just a sex scene without too much else to make it special. Many are well written, but at this stage winning pieces need more than that for me.

    Pieces 1 and 16 almost got a vote. The writing was beautiful, but a personal pet peeve in writing turned me off – the whole piece goes through in a particular point of view, yet at the end it suddenly becomes omniscient which pulled me out of the story/mood.

    For those continuing on, my only feedback is think out of the box. Stretch your creativity. Can’t wait to read Round 9!

    1. I must say I didn’t understand the theme in that way – I understood it as – can’t be a man an woman in a heterosexual relationship IF that man and woman were born as those genders.

  2. The Project – A lot of this story was reported. I would have liked to experience more of it! Also, maybe I don’t need to know EXACTLY who Georgie is or what “the project” is, but I think a little more detail in that arena would be nice!

    Elephant in the Room – Is it common that gay men in relationships do not have anal sex? I’ve never heard of it and am truly interested. This seems like an adult relationship, so I would think that sex would be part of it.

    Wednesday Night Date – This was fantastic! Great descriptions, beautiful language. Very well done.

    Chocolate Spread – Very hot scene! While I am very open to using different pronouns, they/them is still awkward for me. Definitely something I need to work on!

    Hot Enough to Touch – this is a book that you need to write! I love these characters and would like to hear their backstories and this story really fleshed out!

    An Ordinary Love Story – I like how you started with the smut and ended with the backstory. Very nice!

    A Promise to Keep – Wow! This is definitely a different story. The characters are compelling and I like the relationship.

    The Red Palace – Love the setting of this! And the characters are great!

    In the Forest – The end of that was a little foreboding! I love the fantasy angle you took with this.

    Crime and Punishment – Wow.. I really don’t know what to say about this one! Very hot fantasy!

    A Useful Girl – As I said for #4, I still have a hard time reading the they/them pronouns, and I think you slipped out of them at least once, so be careful to keep them consistent!

    The Dressage Master – This was very hot! Great job with the descriptions, and the characters were great!

    Retail Therapy – Very interesting and hot take on the prompt. The characters are very compelling!

    Under a Violescent Sky – Heartbreaking story! Wonderful descriptions! Are they both transitioning from female to male? That was the only thing that was a little confusing.

    The Experience – He! Very nice twist at the end.

    The Bookshop – Beautiful beginning. I loved how you brought us right into the bookshop and gave us a sense of where we were before introducing the characters. Very nicely done!

    A Slow Show – This story felt different than a lot of the other girl-on-girl stories this round and I appreciate that! Good work!

  3. 2. Elephant in the Room (10)
    What I liked: The anticipation in this is super-hot, but for me, it was the revenge for infidelity theme that meant that this really turned me on.
    What I thought could be improved: I wasn’t that keen on the paragraph that begins ‘That’s a pleasant surprise.’ It felt a little stilted to me, as if it took you a while to find the voice for this story.

    4. Chocolate Spread (9)
    What I liked: Fab characterisation, I thought. These characters really stayed with me for quite a long time after I finished reading, which is something I look for as a reader.
    What I thought could be improved: I didn’t understand who the boy referenced in the final paragraph was.

    7. A Promise to Keep (8)
    What I liked: Setting! Some nice, vivid descriptions here, like the smell of the incense. And the twist at the end – fantastic!
    What I thought could be improved: Be careful not to distract from the excellent story by overwriting – I found ‘taking precarious liberties’ a little too much.

    16. The Bookshop (7)
    What I liked: The strong, confident prose, and, as with the other stories that did well, the fact that you paint your characters vividly enough that I remember them after I’ve finished reading.
    What I thought could be improved: I don’t feel like the reason for the change in the characters’ dynamic is made clear enough or grounded enough in the rest of the story – I didn’t understand why this was the fuck that changed things between them.

    10. Crime and punishment (6)
    What I liked: That you dared to sail fairly close to the wind with the rules – it seems at first that there are three characters – and in doing so, brought something fresh to what could be a clichéd scenario.
    What I thought could be improved: I think the unexplained aspects of this – did she really drink four mojitos and then drive?! – will bother some readers.

    8. The Red Palace (5)
    What I liked: The confidence of the voice in the early paragraphs – it really stood out.
    What I thought could be improved: I felt that there was less plot than was promised by the strength of the writing, and I found that a little disappointing.

    13. Retail Therapy (4)
    What I liked: Great first couple of paragraphs that establish what’s going on very clearly.
    What I thought could be improved: I just found the scenario a little cliché – it’s really only the trans aspect that’s being used to freshen up an erotic classic. I’d have liked something a little more surprising.

    14. Under a Violescent Sky (3)
    What I liked: Great attention to detail, in both the setting and the characters’ bodies.
    What I thought could be improved: To my tastes, this was a little overwritten – the richness of the description never lets up, which doesn’t give me much room to breathe as a reader. That may well prove to be a personal taste thing though – other people could well really like this.

    6. An Ordinary Love Story (2)
    What I liked: This is a really nice blending of the sexy and the political and I very much liked that you’d approached the prompt in that way.
    What I thought could be improved: The structure of the story was the thing that cost it points for me – by leading with the sex and then having the ‘I remember the first time I saw her,’ it makes the interesting part of the plot feel kind of like a last minute add on.

    1
    What I liked: I liked the first paragraph a lot, especially because it hints at the upcoming conflict between the two characters.
    What I thought could be improved: I didn’t really understand what the relationship between the two characters was, or what was happening in the story at some points – I’m sorry.

    3
    What I liked: You’ve written a classic erotica scenario well, I think.
    What I thought could be improved: There’s nothing in this to really make me care about the characters or what happens to them, I’m afraid. Sorry!

    5
    What I liked: You’ve done something different to the other stories in this round, which makes your story stand out from the crowd.
    What I thought could be improved: I didn’t really understand what was what was happening in the story at some points – I’m sorry.

    9
    What I liked: Some of the details in this – the bit with the baby rabbit for example – really stick in the mind, which is nice.
    What I thought could be improved: This felt like it was promising a kind of fairytale at the start, so I was hoping to see more of that in the plot – perhaps a slightly shorter sex scene would have left you more words to do this with?

    11
    What I liked: Ah, humiliation – my favourite!
    What I thought could be improved: There are a few clumsy grammar errors in this – ‘They pull their slacks down instead.’ These kinds of errors can pull the reader out of the story, so watch out for them.

    12
    What I liked: I liked the detail of the sugar cubes a lot – little things like this stay with me and make stories memorable.
    What I thought could be improved: To my tastes, this was a little overwritten. That may well prove to be a personal taste thing though – other people could well really like this.

    15
    What I liked: The descriptions in the first couple of paragraphs are really nice.
    What I thought could be improved: The bit about les petites morts is the narrator explaining something directly to the reader, and the definition, in speech marks, was jarring, I found. Careful too about errors such as ‘insure,’ which should be ‘ensure.’

    17
    What I liked: That this is both plausible and sexy – you can imagine a relationship forming between the two women in this way.
    What I thought could be improved: There’s an error where Stella apologises because her hands are clean, which is slightly jarring, but mainly I’m afraid I found Leyla to be a real bitch and I didn’t find that sexy – sorry!

  4. When I came up with this assignment, the one thing I knew was that I didn’t want any cishet pairings. It was okay when one of the characters identify as cishet, but not both. Some of you have really gone put down some special stories here, and for that I want to congratulate you!

    1) The Project: From the moment I started reading this, I wanted to read on. I like the ‘conversational’ style with which this has been written. I miss some commas in the dialogue, and ‘our selves’ should be ‘ourselves’. There is something sweet and melancholic about this story which I really like.

    2) Elephant in the Room: With the very first line you have perfectly set the scene. It made me want to read on, and I love the story that followed, the way they are exploring, but also the bit of dominance and uncertainty. I am undecided about the use of ‘any more’, whether it shouldn’t be ‘anymore’. I personally would have used the latter, and wouldn’t have used the word twice in one paragraph. Good story!

    3) Wednesday Night Date: After the third paragraph I got a bit impatient wanting to know what the story is, as these three paragraphs and the next three felt like the intro to the story. I think you could’ve combined all of the details here, to get to the part where she is headed to the door, as for me the story really starts with “I licked my lips…”
    Opposed to this, I really like the second half of the story.

    4) Chocolate spread: I love this story – it’s one of my favorites. I love how you have used ‘him’ and ‘their’ for the two characters, and how the conversations just feel so natural. Also great how you have kept the chocolate theme in there without it being too sweet. Well-written and special!

    5) Hot Enough To Touch: I love the sci-fi element in this story, and seriously like how you have captured the tension between them. The dialogue works well in this story, to move it forward and give details of your story by showing, not telling. This was one of my favorites!

    6) An Ordinary Love Story: I like how you have started this story with the sex scene, leaving it to the reader to guess the story behind it, but then telling it in the end. You could have hosen to do it the other way around, first the back story, then the sex scene, but the tension arc is much stronger the way you have done it.

    7) A Promise to Keep: You have managed to mix tenderness and sexiness together in a way that makes the reader want to read to the end. Where this is not a cishet pairing in the true sense of the word, I am undecided at to whether both these women identify as ‘non-hetero’, or whether they just happened to be together as ‘service-provider’ and ‘client’.

    8) The Red Palace: Just like the first story, this one is written in a ‘conversational’ style which appeals to me, although the setting is totally different from the other. At some places you lost me a bit (I am not a gamer, nor do I know much about virtual reality), but being lost only lasted one or two sentences and then I was back in the story. This also only happened in the first half of the story, not the second. I like the sex scene here. Hot and sexy!

    9) In the Forest: I have read this story several times now, and still I don’t know what to say about it, other than that it didn’t really hold my attention. I like the idea of a forest woman, but somehow just couldn’t get excited by this story, no matter how well written it is. Sorry, and remember, this says more about what excites me that whether this story is good or bad. As they say: it’s me, not you.

    10) Crime and Punishment: I love the twist in this story, and the officer being the date that stood Ruby up. A nice story, not one that got me overly excited, but I certainly enjoyed it.

    11) A Useful Girl: Where I like this story, I am not entirely clear on the gender of Jean. Or have I missed something? Yes, the pronouns ‘they’ and ‘their’ are used, but I would’ve liked to know a bit more of that. That said, I loved the humiliation in speech here. It ticked some of my boxes.

    12) The Dressage Master: What I really like about this story is that you have put both characters down as strong men, equals even. I love te sex scene, I love the wanton need between them, and that there’s almost an air of ‘unforbidden’ surrounding them. Well written!

    13) Retail Therapy: This story is one of my favorites. That last line: wow! I really love how you have worked the feelings of the main character into this story, how real they feel, and also how natural the attraction between the two of them feel. A great story, well written and as I said, one of my favorites.

    14) Under A Violescent Sky: This story is intense. Intense and sad. Sad in more way than one. It took me several reads to really grasp what a beautiful piece of writing this is. I hope others see it too.

    15) The Experience: I honestly haven’t seen the twist at the end coming (ha, pun intended). I love how you managed to capture their passion for each other, and with that, also the urgency of the limited time they have together.

    16) The Bookshop: Somehow I don’t understand the last line. Where the entire story is around their hidden relationship, suddenly there’s one line about them talking and then being together because nothing has to be hidden anymore? It just feels off, as nothing in the story seems to change the dynamic between them to bring the last line one. Except for this confusion, the rest of the story is tantalizing and well written.

    17) A Slow Show: Where I appreciate this story, it didn’t excite me in any way, and where there were sex between the two, just like with another story, I am undecided about their gender orientations. That doesn’t come forward in the story. I also think the first part could’ve been a bit shorter and that you could’ve have moved the story to the boutique quicker.

  5. This is a difficult round and I had to get clarification regarding what the theme meant. I understand it as they can’t be a man and woman in a heterosexual relationship. If that man and woman were born as those genders. All else is OK. The other thing was only two people in the story in anyway what so ever, thoughts included. These points helped me pick my final three.
    I think everyone adheared to the first point but the second was not so clear. For me it immediately excluded entry 3 and was unsure about a few others.
    What I really looked for was a complete story with characters I could possibly care about – that should be easy enough with the amount of words allowed. Yet quite a few were heavy on the sex – which at times was hot – but light on characterisation – who these two people were. Why were they there? I asked myself this for many of the entries.
    In the end I chose
    Number 10 (Crime and Punishment) – We very quickly get to know a lot about what kind of person Ruby is. Excellent. Then the story is exciting and finally extremely hot. Fabulous work. The only thing I was unsure of was holding up a finger to a cop? Risky 😉
    Number 13 (Retail Therapy) – This is a proper little tale. Loved the first paragraph, really sets the scene and the sex was simply very hot – for me.Only one criticism, left of an ‘e’ somewhere on the word “the”.
    Number 1 ( The Project) – Once more this told a tale. The characters felt old fashioned in a modern world, which intrigued me and kept me interested. The writing flowed with slight humour too. It did seem the ending came up very quickly.

    I also liked
    11 – Humiliation, yes please. But who were these people in the story?
    5 – Great concept for a tale. Think it may have worked better in a longer story.
    9 – like the fairy tale land but wanted more detail about this world.

  6. My Top 10 –

    #1: “Under a Violescent Sky by Drew Stone

    I have had a bit of a love affair with Drew since this whole marathon began. I am consistently drawn to his writing, mainly because it is simply beautiful. His vocabulary is extensive and he uses it to create lush, poetic sentences. I’m a sucker for that, and find that kind of writing to be erotic all on it’s own. 

    I was caught from the first line. And I did so love the premise/situation…instant conflict: man against man, man against society, and man against nature. And the quick build to the erotic…”angry sex roused by the tempest.” I could feel it in my stomach, the need.  All the little details pulling me into the scene…”y-fronts down to your ankles, knotted wet fabric in my fist…”

    There isn’t much dialogue in this story, unless you count the inner monologue of the main character, but the dialogue that is there is important and adds to the plot.

    And at the point where the story says, “I didn’t look back,” my stomach dropped. I just knew what was coming, and I teared up just a little. “How do I tell them, Chiron?” You don’t…and that internal conflict is what left me with a feeling of wanting to hug this character. 

    Maybe it’s a little melodramatic…and maybe that’s why it didn’t do as well as I had hoped. But, I loved it.

    #2: “The Bookshop” by Exhibit A

    I have also been a fan of Exhibit A’s writing for a similar reason. He has a lot of voice…a way with language that just aroused butterflies in my stomach.

    The opening of this story is perfect. So specific…and that floorboard – you just know it will play into the action later, so it creates expectation…foreshadowing. There is also conflict (the desire, the marriage). 

    My only dissatisfaction with this story was the end…because, while I loved that they really talked, and I hoped that the decided to be together, I wasn’t sure with that final line. What does “never went back” mean? Did they run off together? Did they break it off?

    Or maybe the power in this ending is that I can decide as the reader what happen? 

    #3: “The Red Palace” by Zebra Rose

    Another unique setting, which took a bit for me to wrap my head around. The description is excellent…a lot of voice here. I do have some questions about how one can taste in VR, but I looked past it. I wish this went further, because I feel like it stops rather abruptly. I had a hard time deciding whether this should be my #3 or #4, because I really liked Luna’s story, too. I ultimately went with Rose’s story for #3 because of the unique factor. The setting and situation made it so different from other stories I’ve read.

    #4: “A Promise to Keep” by Carolyna Luna

    A solid story! Well-written, good characterization (I cared about these two), conflict (the loss of comfort, the fear of standing on one’s own), and a satisfying end (what a unique gift)! The story was original and flowed naturally. Nothing about this felt rushed to fit a word quota. And it didn’t trail off in the end as if the writer didn’t know what to do with it now or as if it should “be continued”.

    #5: “Retail Therapy” by Andra Ashe

    I don’t find this one believable at all, but it’s a well-written story. I especially was drawn to the character’s internal conflict. The interaction between the saleswoman and the main character works until the sex begins. That part I found rushed and unrealistic. But I did love the last line ever-so-much. It really gets at the conflict of the story, and it made me smile. It pairs perfectly with the opening line, too!

    #6: “Hot Enough to Touch” by Lord Byron’s Ghost

    I have a hard time with paranormal and supernatural stories. They’re just not something I personally enjoy, so I am not as likely to connect with stories of this nature. This one pulled me in slowly, though…an odd mix of detective drama, dystopian sci-fi, and superhero fiction. I have a lot of questions about this one, but I felt a deep sense of conflict here. What I liked most about this story was the connection between the two characters. And I could really grasp the pain of not being able to feel or being unable to physically connect with other. How drawn one would be to another if they could finally understand that. I just wish there were more. The end felt sort of disappointing, but maybe that’s what makes this a more successful piece. I care enough about the characters and their situation enough to want to know more. And the backstory and setting is unique and intriguing.  

    #7: “Chocolate Spread” by The Other Livvy

    This was the first story in the line-up that caught my attention. It felt like a real story because there was a bit of tension. There was a hint of backstory to create that right at the beginning. I felt it became a bit ridiculous toward the end (at “What do you call your junk?”), but after reading three stories I didn’t really like and wasn’t likely to vote for, this one felt like a breath of fresh air. In the end, it ranked lower in my line-up. But, overall, it was a decent story.

    #8: “Crime and Punishment” by Sienna Walker

    I liked the premise of this story. It started well, built naturally through dialogue and narration, included a substantial amount of smut, and the ending satisfied. It ticks all the boxes of a good story. I didn’t rank it higher, however, because it just didn’t stand out as unique in light of the competition. That is really nothing the writer has control over, and it is not something one can prepare for. The cards simply fall where they fall.

    #9: “A Useful Girl” by Jack Stratton

    This one’s strength is dialogue, but ultimately, it still feels more like a scene than a story. The only conflict I feel is that Becca is a bit reserved in her answers because she is embarrassed. And there is, of course, the power-dynamic. But, really, there is no build to a turning point. There is just a conversation between two people. I like how it ends with the promise of more to come, and I do like the juxtaposition of the two character’s personalities. 

    #10: “A Slow Show” by Patricia Ray

    I liked the opening of this story…the fact that the character is on her knees gives it an instant erotic bent, even though she is simply gardening. Looking up at Leyla also sets up the dynamic between the characters. Little things like this make the story successful enough to be in my top 10. But, it ranks lower because I didn’t really like the end. That last three sentences feels rushed…tacked on to the end. 

    The Rest-

    “The Project” by Cousin Pons

    It’s important to note that I am a fan of Cousin Pons’s writing. He has a beautiful way with words and has a tendency to write wistfully and nostalgically, drawing me into his characters with ease. His writing is often heartbreaking for me – which is a good thing. This piece shows his gift with characterization, but it just didn’t feel like a story to me. It begins as a character sketch (something Pons is great with) and then tries to be a story, it seems (with the letter and the money); however, the climax is so haphazard and sudden that the “story” underneath the characters seems like an afterthought.

    “Elephant in the Room” by Marsha Adams

    It doesn’t feel like this story actually went anywhere. To me, it was just a troubled couple fucking. I find it fascinating that it was THE top choice among the other jury members. Hmm…I don’t know what I’m missing, but against the competition, this one just did not swim to the surface for me. Maybe they liked the instant smuttiness of it? With that opening line? I, however, had too many questions out of the gate: Why did they barely touch these last 6 weeks? How did he fray the edges? And then later, it says “we’ve never fucked”? But he could recognize his dick blindfolded? And the weekend is about building trust, but he doesn’t know if this will ever happen again? I don’t know. I just didn’t get it.

    “Wednesday Night Date” by Annie Savoy

    This was a more a scene than a story. Where’s the conflict? The tension? I sort of felt it in the beginning, because this one did at least draw me in and make me wonder what was going to happen next. But, ultimately, I was left disappointed. The character just goes to room 212 for a sexual encounter and then leaves. 

    “An Ordinary Love Story” by bluesubmission

    Just a scene. I am left just simply not caring enough about the characters or what happens to them. There is nothing to draw me to them or connect me to them or make me wonder. 

    “In the Forest” by Jennie Talia

    I’m confused how this one scored so high with the public. My initial reaction to this one was: WTF? I’m not even sure what is going on here…she find’s a bunny, meets a naked forest lady, has a sex dream, gets chased by a wold, has sex with the forest lady, uncovers her powers, and then stays in the woods? I don’t even know what to say. This seems more like an acid trip than a story. It was too fragmented and gave me no in with the characters.

    “The Dressage Master” by Jordan Monroe

    There isn’t enough backstory or explanation for me to even get a foothold on the premise, the setting, or the characters. All I have is the title to situate me. Not having any experience with horses or riding, had I not looked it up, I wouldn’t have even had a clue what was happening.

    “The Experience” by Hyacinth Jones

    Good opening line…sets the stage for a flashback. But this was much like a couple of other stories in this set…character meets with other character for sex and then leaves. There just isn’t a real story here…no build to a turning point…no tension…

  7. While I was editing my own story A Slow Show (17), a word mysteriously disappeared from a sentence. And strangely enough I did not notice it (sic!). So it said “I’m afraid my hands are very clean.” instead of “I’m afraid my hands are not very clean.” A pivotal difference, but I don’t think it was the reason why I lacked the votes to go through to the semi-finals. I wish all semi-finalists happy writing towards the final. And thanks to everyone who gave feedback here.
    Anyway, here’s my list of the stories I liked this round and why.

    9) In the Forest
    A well written fantasy story. I liked the vegetal eroticism; an eco-friendly version of monster-erotica ;-).
    I was struck by the sincere desire of the two characters. As strange as fantasy can be sometimes I was immediately taken by this story. Some sentences were a bit off for me but I’m not that strict reading stories for the Smut marathon. I know how little editing time there is. Everything can always be better if you have the time.

    10) Crime and Punishment
    I liked the start of this and the idea of it. But it felt rushed towards the end. It’s probably an example of a story that needs more than the word limit allows. Clear good writing. Well done.

    12) The Dressage Master
    This read like a classic erotic story. Steamy scene in a classic environment. All the words in the right place. So thumbs up for that. But on a level of characters and story, it’s not there for me. It’s just sex between two men. Good sex no doubt, but that’s it.

    13) Retail Therapy
    Interesting take on a familiar scene. It’s too short in a way to really develop but as a sketch for something more elaborate I like this story. ‘My cock doesn’t define me’ is a sentence I’ll remember.

    14) Under A Violescent Sky
    Dark and violent. Tough male story. Sad too. But it easily took me into the world it depicts. Sort of left me out of breath because of the grim feeling of loss.

    16) The Bookshop
    Very romantic almost baroque writing. Fits the story though. Like with other stories it feels a bit rushed towards the end. Needs more elaboration to stay with the characters in the shift of their relationship. But all in all, I liked it a lot.

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