Category Archives: erotic

sugasm time

Motel Meeting (

As always though, coming together for us meant first holding, then kissing, groping, stroking, and suddenly, there we were, as always, naked…

My breasts are not safe for work – welcome to the pink ghetto (

I love to find out things about people’s sex lives and thinking about sex that make me see them, and the topic at hand, in a new light, and often I learn about myself that way.

Richard Evans Lee (

An increase in sexual empathy. Being able to put yourself in the other person’s heart would curb everything from infidelity to homophobia.

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sexual Chocolate (

Editor’s Choice

Midnight Conversations at the Tick Tock Diner (


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I’ll take off my top and undo my bra if you cup my breasts in your hands and kiss me slowly.

I’ll kiss you deeply with my hands stroking your breasts if you slide your hand into my jeans and feel my cock hardening for you.

I’ll feel your cock hardening for you if you step out of those trousers and leave them over there with mine.

I’ll take off my trousers if you’ll suck gently on my ear lobe.

I’ll suck gently on your earlobe if you’ll take tiny bites of my neck.

I’ll take little bites of your soft skin on your neck down to your collarbone if you kiss your way down my chest and bite my nipple.

I’ll bite your nipple and work my way over your chest if you cup my mound and tease my pussy with your fingertips through the fabric of my underwear.

I’ll tease your pussy and feel the wetness starting to seep through the fabric if you run your nails along the inside of my thighs.

I’ll raise a soft red line on the pale skin of your inner thigh with my long nails if you take my knickers off with your teeth.

I’ll take off your knickers already damp with your lust if you run your tongue along the ridge on the underside of my cock.

I’ll lick the underside of your cock and feel you twitch as I race my tongue over the tip of you if you give my butt a firm, stinging slap.

I’ll slap you and your skin will glow warm if you put an ice block in your mouth.

I’ll put an ice block in my mouth and tease the tip of your cock with my tongue if you, hmmm. If you…. slide your tongue along the length of my slit.

I’ll slide my tongue slowly over your slit as you tremble if you put your hand on my cock and stroke it as you suck.

I’ll wrap my fingers around you and stroke your firm thick cock if you suck your index finger to moisten it and slide it inside me as you lick my pussy lips.

I’ll lick your slick pussy lips and slide my finger deep inside you till I hear you moan if you take my cock deeper into your mouth and hold the base of my cock tight so I swell tighter and harder in your hand.

I’ll take your cock as deep as I can inside my mouth, gripping the base of you so the veins swell and you become thick and rock solid if you lick my clit with your tongue and slide another finger inside me.

I’ll put a second finger inside you and curl it forward as I lick your clit that is throbbing and hard and aching for attention until i hear you cry out if you will hold on long enough to push your still tight cunt over my cock till our hips meet.

I’ll bear down till I’m stretched around your cock, your body arched to push yourself further into me if you will put your hands on my hips and follow my rhythm rolling on top of you.

I’ll follow your pace as it rises and crests, till I can feel heat spreading from inside you and silky fluid flows out from your cunt and over my balls If you come hard, head tipped back and eyes closed, your body exploding above mine.

If you give me that, you can have anything you want.




Filed under erotic

a game we play

(sound of phone ringing)



Will you do something for me?


You need to open the curtains and turn on the lamp behind you

Don’t worry you can finish painting your nails later

Good, pull up a chair close to the window

That’s it. Now sit on the chair, facing the street

You look very beautiful in the half light.

I’m going to tell you what you need to do and you will do it for me

Move your hair out of your face, I want to see you clearly

Put the phone on speaker and rest it on the windowsill so you can hear me and you can have both your hands free

The first thing you have to do now

Is very slowly, unbutton your shirt

Good, now with the shirt buttons undone I want you to run your right hand over your bra, under your shirt

Very gently, just the tips

Slower, yes

Now take off your shirt, first the left sleeve, then the right

Sit up in the chair, with your arms at your sides, hands in your lap, I am going to look at you

Lift your chin, I’m watching the light grazing your collar bone and your chest

There are the most delicate shadows under the cups of your breasts, stop- don’t look down, be still

And the light very perfectly colours your cheek and your shoulder

Turn your head to the right, I want to see your neck stretched in the lamplight

This is where I would kiss you. From your left ear lobe all the way down to your shoulder

Put your finger where my lips would go and trace the line I just described to you

Imagine that its me doing it while you touch your skin

Now keep your finger going and slide your bra strap off your shoulder

Just let the strap rest there, around your arm

Put your right index finger in your mouth and suck it

Now trace a line from your mouth, down your neck to your collarbone

From your collarbone to your other bra strap

Your finger is where my mouth is, my breathing soft and wet on your neck

My teeth slowly pulling your bra strap down off your shoulder

Good, lift your head again, I want to see your bare shoulders

Lean forward and with one hand undo your bra

Pull it off slowly and drop it on the floor next to you

Sit up, so I can see your bare skin

Reach across with your left hand and cup your breast

You can softly stroke it, and feel the weight of it in your palm

Now your thumb can lightly graze your nipple

A little more, I want to see it harden under your finger tip

Pinch it gently

A little harder

Now your right hand has to move to your right breast

Your palm holding it, fingers stretched out

Dig your nails in a little

A little more

Slide your hand down, I want to see the small red marks left by your nails

Good, now stand up

And undo the button on the back of your skirt

Now the zip

And pull it down

Now sit back down

Rest your hands on your knees

And slowly

Push them apart



Now slide your right hand along your inner thigh, raking it slightly with your nails

Stop before you get to your underwear

Your finger will run the line of the crease of your thigh

And you will imagine my tongue, the tip dipping into that crease

Your left hand on your knee now working its way back

Your grip tightening as you react to the sensations of my tongue so, so close

My hands on your legs, my mouth on the soft skin of your thighs

Small bites inching their way closer

My tongue darting over your cunt

Soft flickers that become increasingly harder, more intent

Exploring the countours of your mound

Knowing you want me to slide my tongue further, deeper

My mouth over your slit, the warmth and wetness of you

As my tongue

(Cut. Curtain suddenly closes)


Filed under erotic

south of the border

Felix and I had been travelling together for about two weeks. We had met in San Cristobal in Chiapas and like all the other back packers had followed the route to the ancient rainforest city of Palenque and then travelled to the white sands of Tulum.

I’d been travelling alone for a couple of months before this and was happy for the company. Felix was French Canadian, a seasoned traveller and was on the last leg of a year long Latin American holiday. We got along immediately and settled in to an easy friendship.

We’d agreed to travel together as far as Tulum, at which point I was flying back to Mexico City and he was going to head to the party beaches of Playa del Carmen and Cancun till his money ran out.

We arrived in Tulum late in the day, tired from hours in cramped seats. After two weeks we’d assumed a certain familiarity out of necessity, in the way you only can with strangers you will probably never see again. We’d spent hours on buses comparing stories and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. The days blurred as we climbed pyramids, took thousands of photos and got hideously drunk on Mezcal and Montejo together.

After finding out that there was no room at the hostel we were booked into we ended up at the reception desk of a small hotel. We were so tired we payed scant attention to the keys we were handed and dragged ourselves upstairs, both desperate to shower and change into what few clean clothes we had left.

At the top of the staircase we realised we had the same room number. By the time we opened the door we realised there was only one bed. We shuffled in to the tiny room and collapsed onto the floor next to our packs. At that stage I was so tired I could have slept curled up on the bath mat. We decided to shower, change and eat, then worry about it.

Felix went first as I flicked through the guidebook to see if I could find somewhere good to eat. I figured we could get a collectivo to the Pueblo and eat at one of the Taquerias. I must have dosed off at some point because I woke up to him dripping water on my face as he prized the book out of my fingers. Felix took great delight in teasing me about my reliance on guidebooks and maps. He was one of fortune’s children, and with his easy smile and handsome features it never took him long to make friends and feel welcome in new places. Even though I’d maintained some of my uptight habits from home I surprised myself with how I felt about him. Back home I would never have sprawled on a man I barely knew while we slept off a brutal hang over, shared intimate details of my life or swapped meals half way through to try a different flavour.

He laughed as I swatted him away lazily. The shower had invigorated him and he was keen to make use of what little light was left. I groaned and rolled out of bed, then stumbled into the bathroom. I automatically washed and dried myself then made my way towards the door. As I stood there, wrapped in a towel, with one hand on the door handle I felt strangely vulnerable. I’d wriggled in and out of clothes in front of Felix before a dozen times in shared dormitories and on beaches and thought little of it. This time however, with him sitting on that double bed, in our shared hotel room it felt some how more intimate. I emerged from the bathroom somewhat timidly and squeakily asked him to turn around. His cheeks reddened and he faced the wall as I hurriedly scrambled into my clothes. For a moment I was convinced that in my peripheral vision I saw him turn his head slightly as I slid my jeans on.

It dawned on me that this was going to be our last night together. I felt a surprisingly sharp pain at the thought. It was highly likely I would never see Felix again. We’d email for a bit, maybe a phone call or two but I doubted we’d travel to each other’s homes and try to embed this strange friendship into our real lives. Later I turned to look at him as he ordered empanadas for both of us and felt myself lingering over his dark brown eyes, fringed with long lashes. Had I noticed that before? He smiled at the lady cooking and told her niña she was bonita, eliciting a gale of laughter from both of them. He had a way of being charming that made people adore him and trust him. I’d seen it a hundred times at random quesadilla stands and perched on camionettas, as well as at bars where his handsome face and boyish charm had delighted women and left a trail of longing hearts. I’d prided myself on how I’d remained immune to it. I was travelling to get away from a mess back home and needed things to be as uncomplicated as possible.

The thought of home drew an involuntary shiver, despite the fabled Yucatan warm weather.

Three spicy empanadas and a Naranja juice later and we were wandering towards the beach. The sun was setting a warm tangerine over impossibly turquoise water. Like most Yucatan beaches the sand was an almost pure white powder and our feet made little noise as we padded along the waters edge. Ankle deep as the tide came in, searching for the fabled flamingoes I turned my back to the shore to see Felix stripping off his clothes and running to the water. His clothes flew off and made a trail behind him as he ran headlong towards me in his boxer shorts. I tried to side step him but was soon wrapped up in his long arms and up-ended in the water.

As we made our way back towards the Pueblo, Felix felt a pang of guilt and gave me his dry shirt to put on and carried mine. Travelling had been good to him and he was tanned and lightly muscled, walking with relaxed grace as we made our way towards the markets. We ended up on a pair of tiny plastic stools sharing a plate of arroz and Pollo Ticul. I felt suddenly self-conscious as Felix watched me lick sauce off my fingers. We had planned to have a few drinks later that night but I needed to change my jeans still wet from the beach.

At the hotel we passed the reception and neither of us mentioned the shared bed. It occurred to me on the stairs to say something, but for some reason, I let it slide. Back in the room Felix made a point of turning towards the wall as I changed out of my wet jeans into a skirt. I caught our reflection in the lobby mirror as we headed to the jalapa on the beach for cocktails. With his arm casually around my shoulders we looked like any other couple holidaying on the Mayan Riviera.

In the flickering glow of the tealight on the table I watched as Felix rolled an ice block out of his glass and let it melt on his tongue. I let my eyes drop to his hands folding an old bus ticket he’d fished out of his pocket. Strangely for us conversation had dwindled. We’d been over where we were heading next, made some random jokes about him being deported for overstaying his visa and now there was little else than the tension that solidified the space between us. My gaze travelled back up to his face. Had he ever looked at me like that before?

“Sweet heart?”
“Mmm…Yes dear?” (Mimicking the the B-Grade movie we’d watched on the bus)
“Shall we take a turn about the garden?”
“Oh why yes, lets”

Every muscle in my body tensed in the most exquisite fashion as Felix took my hand as I stood up. Still in B-Grade movie mode he’d commented on how I looked fabulous, to which I’d replied he was absolutely dashing. We linked arms and headed up the path into the flower beds under the exterior stairway to the rooms. Flashes of tropical ginger flowers blazed between indigo foliage. For what seemed like an interminably long time we stood leaning into each other admiring a Strelitzia bud splitting apart as its petals grew too large to be contained.

As he laughed his lips made shapes that I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t staring at. He found reason to brush something out of my hair and leave his face close to mine. The tip of my nose had nudged his ever so lightly as I lifted my chin just a fraction. There is something so sweet about the seconds that exist between that wanting and the kiss. I’d edged my face another millimetre closer to his. He’d said something quietly and as his mouth brushed mine his fingers tilted my chin and his lips gently pressed against my cheek. I was surprised by the slight tremble I’d detected in his kiss as he’d edged his way to the corner of my mouth. I moved my face in line with his and kissed him more firmly.

The first were slow, lush kisses and he’d paused, forehead resting on mine, gazing down with his dark eyes. I pulled his arms around me and slowly he relaxed and his weight pressed into me, melting our chests together, flesh pressing into the thin cotton fabric of our clothes. His arm drew my waist into his and I felt the shape of his body, warm on my hips and thighs. A few more kisses and my legs had parted slightly and he’d raised me up so I might better feel his cock, hardening in his trousers.

I extracted the room key from his pocket, pulled my face back slightly from his and held it up. He smiled and took a small bite of my lower lip as I pulled him by the hand towards the stairs.

In front of the door I’d paused momentarily, a mixture of emotions and gin swirling around in my brain. I slid the key into the lock and the sound of the metal easing into the barrel seemed somehow loud in my ears. Did I detect a slight look of hesitation in his face?

The curtains of our room were drawn back and in the soft light I pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. I’d come to recognise his smell and breathed it in noticing how it had changed slightly. His nipples had tightened and his body tensed and reacted as I haphazardly interchanged kisses with small bites of his flesh.

He pulled me back up to standing and undid my shirt as he stared straight into my eyes. There was nothing hesitant about how my shirt came off and my bra came undone or how I then slipped off my skirt. I tugged at the waistband of his trousers and raised an eyebrow as my fingers found the buttons and then the zip. They dropped to the floor and as he stepped out of them he lifted me up by the waist, wrapping my legs around him. From my vantage point up here it occured to me that he’d probably done that before.

He set me down on the bed and pulled a pillow behind me and I leant back. Leaning over me he slowly spread my hair out and straightened up to look at me, skin paled by the soft light. I shut my eyes as I let my fingers wander over my breasts, down my stomach, hooking them into the fabric of my underwear. I could hear his breathing change as I slowly slid them down lower over my hips. I slipped my hand inside and cupped the soft mound of my pussy. There was something about him watching me, the way I could feel even with my eyes closed his gaze burning my skin that made my hand slip further down until I could feel the moist folds of my slit. As my fingers dipped into the wetness between my lips he slowly pulled the fabric further down. Eyes still closed I felt his breath warm my skin as he watched my fingers exploring the contours still hidden from view. I felt his grip on my wrist as he pulled my hand to his mouth and licked my finger tips and then sucked my index finger. He then released my hand and pulled my underwear to my knees as I slid my wet finger a little further inside myself. Once again his breath on my skin showed me where his face was as I flicked my finger back and forth of over the tip of my clit. I felt warm air tickle my thighs as his hands parted my legs. Small kisses buzzed on my legs but I knew his gaze was still fixed on the fingers moving with increased pressure over my peaked clit. His tongue dragged a line from my thigh and stopped painfully close to the crease, then was mirrored on the other side. Back to the right again, this time minutely closer. Left side, his tongue curled right up to my circling fingers. He paused and then pushed my hand aside as his tongue continued right into the cleft. He’d firmly taken hold of my hips to hold me close to his mouth as he flattened his tongue against my swollen lips.

As he rocked my body back and forth against his I thought of the hard cock I’d felt in his trousers. I leant forward resting on my elbows and when he looked up at me from between my thighs I took his hand and pulled him up towards me. Feeling his weight pressing into me again and the smell of me mixed in with him I slowly rolled my hips under his. He smiled at me and raised an eyebrow as he reached past my head to his bag sitting on the bedside table. He pulled out a condom and paused to look directly at me again. I took it from his hand, rolled him onto his back and pulled his shorts off. In a matter of seconds I’d opened the package and slid it down over his cock.

We locked eyes as he sat up, put me back down on my back and resumed his position.

“Just a little more.”

His tongue pushed back in and worked more firmly over my clit. His finger made teasing circles around the entrance before pushing firmly inside. Sound rushed out of my mouth as his fingers pushed long strokes in and out of me. I could feel that his hands and the sides of my thighs were wet. As my breathing came out in strained gasps he pulled his fingers back and rubbed rapid circles over my clit. My hips rose up off the bed and I nearly burst from the wanting of that feeling of penetration.

Fingers still circling he made his way back up the bed, kissing my body with maddening slowness. Gripped with the agony of it, my face was no mirror to the softness in his face as his mouth parted slightly when he pressed the tip of his cock where his hand had been. He edged inside very slowly. The sensation of the stretch made me convulse hard and he waited until my breathing slowed before finally pushing all of his cock inside me.

My legs wrapped around his waist once more he took long strokes inside of me. I quickened the pace with my hips, moving my knees back further to draw him in deeper. I could feel his gaze again. He was looking for the flush that was spreading over my chest, listening for the sound of my breathing, watching my head tip back, lifting the white skin of my throat upwards. He moved to the rhythm I set as my hips rocked back and forth under him and as orgasm built inside of me he pushed increasingly harder and harder inside me, moving deeper as I opened up fully to take the full lenth of his cock.

I felt the first ripple through my thighs, then radiating up from my stomach into my chest. With his hand under my waist he pulled me up to him. I contorted helplessly through the first tremors and he forced me through to orgasm. I shuddered and convulsed all around him, gasping as he plunged inside me, his own need taking over. I released in bursts and though I was overwhelmed with the sensation he held me firm beneath him as his own eyes fluttered closed and he swelled thick inside me and he came in hard, shuddering waves.

We lay beside each other as our ragged breathing slowed and the hearts beating chaotically in our chests calmed. Felix poured some water from the bottle by the bed into the glass and passed it to me. I curled onto his chest as his arm draped lazily over me. After a few moments I could feel his fingers sliding with intent over the pink tips of my over sensitive nipples. He nudged my face with his nose and I looked up at him. He raised his eyebrow once more.

“I haven’t finished with you yet.”


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The Review

The paper was mashed up on the doorstep along with the usual assortment of bills and take-away flyers. I’d need some coffee in me before I picked up that puppy. Rolled up and cocooned in plastic, I winced as I bent down to grab it, muscles screeching protest from the beating they’d taken last night. I was in shape as much as you could be when you worked sixteen hour days and ate standing up, but this weekend had been something out of the ordinary.

I figured she’d have written it by now. I could almost feel it burning through the pages. I’d overseen the whole order, nothing had been left to chance, but still, you could never be sure with these vultures. My aching brain mentally recounted it all, pacing through it with cinematographic detail.

Once the order had come in and we’d all had a look at her sitting at table 9, smug as you fucking please, the game was on. It’s a balancing act making it look like a standard transaction. We have to pretend that this is how it always goes and they’re meant to pretend that they expect to be treated like every other mug out there, but everyone knows what really happens. Worst of all they saunter out of the place and while it all seemed bulletproof to you, chances are, you are going to get royally fucked.

The problem with food critics is I need them to survive, but I’d be happy if I woke up tomorrow morning and every single one of them was dead from cholesterol poisoning. They’re snobby, picky, greedy and voracious creatures. They never write about the food, always picking on toilet decor or your napkins or what your fucking waiters’ hair colour is. I don’t tell my staff how to act or what to wear, and I don’t kit my restaurant out like some freaking retro 60’s tv sitcom just to please an ageing bunch of greedy dilettantes. Do I sound angry? I do. Maaaan, they piss me off. Reviews should be about the food, and nothing but the food. Half the time the guides are only good for propping up your wonky tables.

I blearily made my way down to Marco’s on the corner. The last thing I wanted to do on my day off was cook. I slumped into a chair at a table outside and ordered a long macc. I wasn’t even going to open the fucking thing till I’d had the first one.

Bex had been right, she’d been a stuck up bitch. The place was heaving but I’d had to put Tony on her table and get Caz to cover half his section just so he could lay it on thick for her. Tony loved this shit, knew that the girls went nuts for his metro-fucking-sexual bullshit and being as gay as Christmas got a kick out of winding them up. From the service window we’d all laughed when we’d seen him kissing her arse and pouring the Grenache.

When the penne had gone out I’d felt a bit nervous. Didn’t let them know it but for a second I’d freaked thinking she could fucking sink this place based on a plate of bloody pasta. By the time desert had rolled around I was pretty over it and couldn’t care less. Fuck her then.

The first coffee went down and I was starting to feel human. I ordered another and decided to bite the bullet. I unrolled the newspaper, giving the headlines the most cursory glance before ripping open the weekend extra. My teeth clenched in readiness as I scanned through to Weekend Epicurean. What kind of a naff name was that anyway?

And there she was. Glamour photo and all, resting an elbow on a set table, probably in the restaurant of some poor fool she’d fucked over. I normally didn’t pay much attention to this bullshit, but I’d been in the game long enough to see that opinions like hers had seen doors close permanently.

I looked up when my second coffee arrived. The place was beginning to pack out with the usual Sunday morning crowd. Through the tangle of babies and Fitzroy tourists I saw a familiar brunette. It took me a minute to register the arch of the eyebrow and the cut of the jaw. Eleta. Was she stalking me? I hadn’t even read it yet.

Her eyes locked onto mine. There was no way I was going to break the stare first. This was too good to be true. Bitch could squirm for all I cared. I was about to lay my house on her turning around and getting the fuck out of there when next thing you know she was heading right to my table. My mouth went suddenly dry but I still managed to take in the curves under her tight t-shirt and jeans as she swayed over. This must be how a mouse feels when it’s being hypnotised by a fucking snake.

She stood near the narrow two seater and leaned over me, sun glasses pushing her hair back, casual as you fucking please. I was waiting for the “its just business, not personal line”, when she asked if the seat was taken and before I’d mumbled an answer, sat herself down and dumped her handbag on top of the paper.

Next thing you know her latte had arrived and she still hadn’t broken the stare. Was she fucking mental? I couldn’t believe this. She had more front than Brighton.

My mind took a moment to register what was happening. She wasn’t apologising. She wasn’t even talking about the restaurant. Was that a bad sign? She was making casual chat, like we’d been mates for years, easy as you like. Not even industry shit. I was so rattled I was angry. They reckon chefs have explosive tempers and I’m no exception to the rule. It took a lot of deep breathing and hippie shit to not lose my rag over this. Was this a trick?

Then she made some joke, laughed at it and touched my arm. I didn’t breathe for a second. Something about her touch dragged me back into the moment. I felt a kick in my stomach. Her fingers tapped her latte glass, but she wasn’t fiddling or nervous. She looked smooth and together, leaning forward and smiling all cat like. It flashed in my head she was flirting with me. Maybe I’d done a few too many lines in my time and was barking mad, but it all seemed to be there, from the softly parted lips to the wide hazel eyes and even the rearranging of that salon slicked shoulder length hair. My mouth must have been keeping up my end of the conversation but my brain was freaking out.

I’m sitting at a cafe with Princes Eleta, whose lips have sunk ships and she’s chatting like we go way back. Her handbag has been dumped on top of what could potentially see us out on our arses in a matter of weeks and if I am not mistaken, she’s acting like she’s on heat, wait… just licked her bottom lip, leaning forward again, hand on her shirt just above her breast. Yep, this is really happening and its one total mind fuck.

She hasn’t even mentioned the review and she can see the newspaper right there on the table. We’ve been talking a while now and she seems oblivious to the thinning crowd. I’m not a hundred percent sure if that’s causing the tension, because she’s doing that freaky thing again where she is touching my arm as we’re talking and leaning so close I can smell shampoo and washing powder. In a last supper before an execution kind of way this is making me think she wants me. I must be mental.

I’ve always been an optimist in a fatalistic sort of way. If I was going to go down, I may as well go out with a bang, so to speak. I still couldn’t get over her nerve, cool and completely unflinching; she’d talked about everything but the review. If she hadn’t been Eleta and I didn’t have my neck on the block we’d be half way to my house by now.

Something about that struck me as a massive turn on. It was like dancing with the freaking devil, the most unbelievably off limits woman you could imagine. Then again damage was probably already done, so what was there to lose? She made some random remark about a white peach tree in her back yard, heavy with fruit, did I want any? That had to rate with one of the weirdest come back to my place lines ever, but what the fuck, Eleta was obviously crazy and I was getting off on how fucked up this all was.

Her house was around the corner. It barely registered that we were practically neighbours. Through the front door into the kitchen, foodie books everywhere, designer spice rack and black stone. Nigella’s mixing bowls and an impressive array of Mondials. Her kitchen was turned out better than mine. She collected a cloth bag and next thing you know we’re under a peach tree. She’s talking about poaching and compotes. The fruit is up a bit high for her to reach and as she stretches up her t-shirt slides up and exposes her waist. There’s a weird correlation between the ripe fruit that she’s holding and the shape of her breasts. If I was more of an artist I’d paint you a picture but I’m just a chef and not that into poetry.

After a bit more wiggling and stretching she looked up into the tree and with those soft pouting lips asked to be lifted up a bit higher. I was sure I was going to look back on this like a cringe worthy farce, but that was for later and I was interested in now. I put my hands on the low cut waist of her tight fitting jeans and lifted her up. We settled into an awkward embrace with my hands under her butt and her stomach in my face while she wobbled around picking peaches from a tree. Bex was never going to believe this.

When she’d put enough in the bag I relaxed my grip and she slid down my body. Now I knew this wasn’t all my imagination because she took her time making her way to the ground and kept her body close to mine. She didn’t step back out of my arms that I’d left casually wrapped around her waist, but stayed there, with her body pressed into mine. She hung the bag on a low branch and took a peach out of it. Her pink lips stretched back to reveal her small white teeth and as she bit into the flesh and broke the tension of the skin, juice coursed over her lip and onto her chin. Laughing she held it out for me to take a bite out of, and there was something incredibly sexy about putting my mouth near where hers had been. The soft fuzz of the peach rasped gently on the inside of my mouth before it gave way to the sweet wet flesh underneath. Before I could reach my hand up to wipe away the liquid, her tongue had flashed out and licked it from the corner of my mouth. She leaned in to kiss me and peach juice and the taste of her lips all melted into one. Eleta whispered that she can feel how hard this making me as she pushed her hips into mine. She’s forceful and focused in a way I hadn’t expected and she keeps upping the stakes. I’m racing to keep up with her hands on my body and the pace of her kissing, it feels like I am being devoured.

With one hand she’s undone the button and pulled back hard to rip the zipper down. Her other hand is under my shirt, scraping lines on my chest with her nails. She’s got me backed against the tree, jeans wrenched down as she slides her hand in under the waistband of my boxers and pulls out my cock. I’m groaning from the feeling of her hand working my shaft and I still can’t believe this is happening. She kisses me one last time before sinking to her knees and taking my tip in her mouth. Fuck. She’s sucking gently as her tongue twirls a circle over the tip and under the head. I can barely stand up and she is just working the very tip of my cock. I’m almost nervous as she slides it further into her mouth and runs a finger up my thigh. As her nail slowly scrapes its way up to my balls my breathing is ragged and hoarse. Her timing is immaculate and she brings me so fucking close with long strokes of her hand before pulling me down to her.

My hands are too slow releasing the body burning beneath her clothes and she tears them down impatiently and makes me watch as fingers still covered in peach flesh slide over her swollen lips. I lean down and place my mouth over her pussy as her fingers grip my hair and push me onto her. Her soft lips taste like sex and peach juice and as I ease my tongue between her slit she sighs loudly and pushes my head down harder. She grinds down on to me and moans louder as she melts over my fingers. I focus on her rolling hips and erratic spasms as I try to steer her towards her climax. Judging by the sounds she’s making she likes her clit licked with the flat of my tongue while I finger fuck her. There is a small victory in finally having the upper hand and I savour every moment of watching her writhing under me sprawled out on the lawn. She pushes my head down further and I slide my tongue inside her as her thighs clench tightly and she releases in hard pulses. Her legs are shaking as she splays out on the grass but in a matter of seconds she’s rolled up onto her knees and is working my cock in her hands and turning me onto my back. No surprises here that Eleta likes to be on top, but my thought process disintegrates rapidly as she pushes the tip of my cock between her wet lips, takes a deep breath and slides all the way down to my hips. She looks down at me with the sun filtered through the foliage behind her lighting up her hair as she rolls back and forward. As she tightens inside, her eyes close and her pace quickens. I’m doing everything I can to hold on, my mind exploding with taste of her in my mouth and the images of her body thrashing on the grass. Her hands are gripping my shoulders tightly as she rocks back taking the full length of me and pushing down hard. She grits her teeth and explodes with force and the contractions throbbing over my shaft are too much. I arch up to bury myself inside her and come in shuddering bursts.

I’m in somewhat of a daze as she slides off me and pulls herself together. Her lips curl up in that smile again and she says something that barely registered in my completely addled brain. I haphazardly dress myself and before I know it I’m half way out the gate with a bag in my hand. Stumbling the block or so to my house, the key scrapes the face of the lock before pushing inside and engaging. Did I just fuck Eleta? Fucked by Eleta more like it. I pull up my shirt to see nail marks and grass stains on my stomach. In the shower I find more peach flesh and scratches.

I’m still rendered speechless when I stand in the kitchen in a towel with the newspaper in my hands.

I opened it up. It was short and sweet. “A meal you can really get your mouth around.”

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sleepy kitten

I’m dimly aware of the warmth of the room and the soft light that’s cracking apart the blinds as my mind surfaces from sleep. Spring has started early and the bright mornings are a pleasure to wake up to. You’re facing away and I slowly peel back the sheet to get a glimpse of your naked shoulders and back, tapering down to your waist and the lightly muscled curve of your butt. You’re whole back is tattooed from the back of your neck, out to your shoulders and down to the top of your legs. I gently trace my finger over the familiar black lines engraved on your skin and blow gently to stir the hairs on the back of your neck.

I nuzzle you softly to see if you are awake. You grunt a reply in your sleep, roll over to face me so I can snuggle into you like you know I love to. We’ve both got the day off, and we’re in no hurry. You look soft and sweet in your sleep, features softened and relaxed. It’s very warm in here next to you. I wriggle in close, spooned by you as you put your arm around me and snuffle my ear. I slide my hips down against you, reach an arm behind me, feel the smooth skin of your lower back and press myself into the warmth of your body more insistently. I let myself melt into you, enjoying the feeling of connection from my shoulders, down my back, nestled in your hips ending in the tangle of our legs.

Lying on my side I run a finger lazily up my thigh and over my pussy. I ripple gently in pleasure and am torn between whether to wake you up or keep this moment for myself. I decide on the latter and slowly work my hand up over my stomach, between my breasts. I keep sliding my hand up and slip my finger onto my cheek, run my finger around my lip and lick it. Lying as still as possible so as not to wake you I trace my finger back down under the covers and between my legs.

I start by making slow circles with my index finger near my clitoris but not quite on it, brushing it gently and teasing myself. Every now and again I run my finger back around my lip and lick it to add to the wetness. First one, then two fingers, rubbing small circles, as my mind wanders and I start thinking about last night.

We’d stayed in, sat on the couch with take away and some half remembered DVD. You’d started it off by tracing a line from my ear down my neck with your tongue. Then you had slipped your hand under my shirt, running your fingers over the soft cup of my bra. In one well practised move you’d swung my legs up on to the couch and rolled me onto my front. Your firm fingers massaged away the knots in my shoulders as you took your time pulling my t-shirt over my head and unhooking my bra. I turned onto my side as you lay down next to me and we kissed, me gently biting on your lower lip and you tickling me with the stubble on your chin. You wriggled into the middle of the couch and helped me up, straddling you. You always enjoyed looking at me so I leant back and untied my hair as your fingers grazed my breast and trailed onto my stomach. I reached my hand back between your legs and felt the mound of your cock slowly lengthening inside your trousers.

I stood up off the couch, shook my head to let my hair fall loose around my shoulders. I undid my jeans and left them in a crumpled heap in the floor. With my knickers still on I knelt back down over you and undid your fly. You wriggled out of your trousers as I pushed your boxers down until just the tip of your cock protruded. I started gently licking the tip of your cock, holding your hips down with my hands. You’d already pulled my leg over your face and started stroking my pussy through my cotton knickers, sucking on me through the fabric and running the edge of your finger nail up my thighs. I pushed your boxers further down your shaft as you pulled my knickers across a fraction, enough to let your tongue slide in. We both edged further down and across till I had the whole head of your cock in my mouth and your lips were gently sucking on my pussy.

Small gentle circles became more vigorous as I felt first your tongue and then your finger slide inside me as you steadied my bucking hips. Your groans as I blew cold air on your cock tingled out from your mouth right through me…

Suddenly I felt the covers rustle and your legs move and had the distinct sensation that you were definitely not asleep. Your hand slid over mine to my rotating wrist as I felt your cock harden on my lower back. I reached behind me to pull your hips closer, my fingers slick from my own juices as your hand slid between my thigh, feeling how wet I already was.

“Keep going” you whispered into my ear as you nibbled my neck and you guided my hand back to my pussy. “I love watching you.” With your hand over mine I reached back between my thighs and slid the tip of my finger inside my pussy. You put your palm on my belly and obliged by rolling your finger over my clit. I pressed my hips back into your lap and pushed myself against your hard on.

You kissed my neck as you grabbed hold of my wrist and lifted my hand over my head, turning me face down. “Not quite yet sweetheart” you breathed into my ear, maintaining your grip on my wrist as you slid your weight on top of me. “My turn to make you sigh now” you teased as you ran your free hand down my back, over my butt and parted my legs. It was one of my favourite positions; to have you lie like that on top of me, I loved the feeling and weight of you all down my back.

You straightened up momentarily to rub your fingers wet from exploring me over the tip of your cock. As you leaned back down over me you slid a pillow under my stomach and hips, so my butt was tilted up.

Ever so gently you pushed only the tip of your hardened cock between the lips of my pussy, paused and then slowly withdrew, pulling your hips away from mine as I arched my back with impatience. I was close already from masturbating and you knew it. You loved the power of it, how much I wanted it and how long you could draw it out for. You pushed the tip of your cock back inside; a little further down the shaft as you held my hips down as I tried to arch back to take more of you.

A little more of your gentle rocking in and out and you were having trouble holding my hips down as I struggled to push my butt towards you and take the full length of your cock. I was obsessed with it, aching for that feeling of fullness and the sweet sensation of completely encircling you.

Eventually you gave up teasing me and with your hands holding my upturned hips, you drove your cock completely in to me. The sensation was overwhelming, and I held my breath feeling the initial tightness as you fully penetrated me give way to waves of sheer pleasure. You rolled your hips with steady, unhurried rhythm. I could feel your gaze on my back, knew you were listening for the changes in my breathing and the sound of my orgasm building. A few more firm strokes and you withdrew, lay on your back and I slid on top of you, sweating and heaving. I was well past any kind of control and collapsed down onto your shaft, grinding down onto your cock. I could feel you swell fractionally and your voice rasped, as the current inside of you rose rapidly with my frantic rhythm. I held up your head with one arm to bring your face near mine as with one last push I came with intensity. You released with two firm thrusts and I fell forward onto your heaving chest.

I rippled inside with the aftershock, each contraction causing you to writhe from the over stimulation. We gently slid beside each other on the bed, tracing fingers lazily over familiar lines. I breathed in the heady smell of your sex and sweat and licked a little of the saltiness from your collarbone as I shut my eyes. You cheekily tickled my belly and whispered “Hey sleepy kitten, it’s your turn to make breakfast.”

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orchid grower

I read ‘The Red Shoes’ story for the hundredth time as Chloe drifted off to sleep. It was by far her favourite and for Christmas last year I had bought a tiny pair of red slippers for her. It was the revised, modern version and far different to grisly fairy tale which had terrified me as a child.

I was on the couch channel surfing as my mind drifted back to the original story. The little girl had coveted and worshipped a pair of red leather shoes that became cursed, forcing her to dance until she begged the executioner to cut off her feet. The story was about the dangers of vanity and obsession.

I slid off the couch and wandered around the house. Chloe’s dad wasn’t due back for at least three hours. He was out on another business cocktail party. He had confided once how much of a bore they were and I imagined him feeling out of place, a little uncomfortable in his charcoal suit and well-pressed shirts. He’d be home after midnight with the slightest scent of whisky mixed in with his cologne.

I’d worked for him for almost a year, babysitting Chloe once or twice a week. In the beginning he had been so stern and serious, frightening almost. He was very strict with Chloe and had a list of rules a metre long. Even though he’d relaxed considerably I still made sure the house was neat before he arrived home. He was the kind of man who liked things to be just ‘so’ and I wanted him to be pleased with me.

We would go through the same routine each night when he arrived. His car would purr quietly into the garage, I would turn on the porch light and before I opened the door, I’d smooth my hair in the hallway mirror and straighten my clothes. As I heard his footsteps on the gravel path I’d open the door for him and stand to the side as he walked into the hall. He’d put his briefcase on the hallway table in exactly the same place and I would notice his masculine yet manicured fingers grasping the handle and then opening the locks. He would politely inquire about my day, his eyes never wavering from my face as I replied that it had been fine. He would pay for the evening, say Thank you in a most business like fashion and I would get in a cab to go home.

I imagined that as I walked away from him he would watch me. He would look at my stockinged legs under the skirts I had started wearing and notice my hair done neatly, as I thought he would want it to be. He would linger in the hallway and smell the last traces of my perfume. Then he would walk to his bathroom, shower, dry himself with the thick white towels folded so perfectly by the housekeeper, and slide naked under the crisp white sheets of his bed. Often I would imagine returning to the house, waiting on the bed for him while he showered. Other times I’d fantasise that he would push me up against the wall in the hallway, dominating or disciplining me. By the time the taxi arrived home I would be flushed and more than a little wet. I would get out of the cab, head straight for my bed or the couch and fantasise about how we would fuck while I masturbated.

Tonight, with three hours to kill, I walked through the house silently, cataloguing the details of his life that would later feed into my fantasies. Most nights I opened the lid on his bottle of cologne and imagined that I was breathing the scent from his neck. I would look in his wardrobe, at the shirts pressed perfectly and open the drawers to find his underwear and socks folded so neatly. It was like a game to replace everything in exactly the right position. I had toyed with the idea of letting him catch me in the act, imagining his rage and how punishing me would turn him on.

I left his bedroom and padded across the polished timber floor to the study. I loved the smell of the leather seat and the dark wood of his expansive desk. His walls were lined with heavy books, alphabetically arranged and perfectly aligned. I was surprised to see his laptop open on the desk. It was usually closed and unplugged from the wall.

I sat on his chair, enveloped by the soft leather that moulded to my skin perfectly. I leaned back and put my arms on the armrests, facing the blank screen. The tiny green LED signalled the laptop was still turned on. I sat luxuriating in the soft leather of the chair for a few minutes before I inhaled slowly and rolled my finger over the mouse button.

The screen flickered on and I was bathed in the light blue glow of the desktop. His calendar opened, showing his schedule for the week. It was unsurprisingly organised and practical. Gym and a personal training session at 6a.m followed by a string of meetings and then the cocktail party. There was little of interest so I closed the calendar. Feeling suddenly bold I clicked the Internet Explorer icon. I was just going to have a little look, and then stop. I knew I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help myself. Just one look. I could feel heat rising in my cheeks and between my legs. He’d never left his laptop open before, let alone had it switched on.

The clock in the corner chimed quietly and I bit my lip hard in shock. Ten chimes. Two more hours till he came home. My breathing settled down as I turned to look at the screen again.

Connected, I scrolled through his home page, set to The Bureau of Meteorology. So typically accurate and prepared. After only a brief pause I activated the History listing.

And there it was. The window in to him. The clue I had longed to find, the key to his inner, secret self.

Internet dating. I was in way to deep now, but I wasn’t turning back. I had lusted over the mundane details of his life, everything from the brands of washing liquid and underwear to kitchen utensils had been meticulously etched in my mind, yet it revealed so little of what I was really after. I was desperate for the frayed edges, the mess and the insecurities that betray who really are. The intimacy of this moment was overwhelming. My clit throbbed and my nipples chafed inside my bra. Being this close to him was erotic beyond my imaginings.

I opened his profile. He had called himself Phineas. Phineas the prophet of ancient Greek mythology, who was condemned to have his liver feasted on by harpies for an eternity. In all the time I had known him he had never hinted that he suffered, that he was at the mercy of another. To me he was always controlled and complete. I had to know more.

Phineas had listed his interests as Antique Furniture restoration, Rachmaninov, Exotic Orchids, Aubrey Beardsley and French Cabaret of the 1920s.

His described himself as Decadent, Hedonistic, Pleasure driven, Destructive and a Sensualist.

He identified as Bisexual.

I read the messages he had received and then I read the messages he had sent, unravelling conversations held in the peculiar safety of strangers. I read of how he longed to escape, to explore, to entice and be enslaved. Of rage and suffering, passion and betrayal.

Bisexual. I rolled the word inside my mouth. Sexual, sex, bisexual… Decadent, and Hedonistic. Thoughts of him with a man, then in a threesome, then with a woman blazed through my mind. I shivered in pleasure as I imagined myself part of a writhing orgy, licking breasts while my hands held his stiffened shaft. His cock would sink in to me… he himself would be penetrated. My feet were up on the seat, knees drawn up against my chest. As one hand navigated the screen the other found its way to the fabric stretched over my pussy as I rubbed a circle over the tip of my clit.

I remembered the greenhouse at the very back of the yard and the pots of blooms elegantly arrayed on the windowsills of the house. I had always considered his cultivation of orchids to be particularly clinical and sterile. The thought of him delicately pollinating exotic hybrids seemed so much more sensual now, erotic even.

I thought back to art classes and Aubrey Beardsley, the afflicted genius with rapacious wit, with his immaculate drawings of perversion, desire, vanity and obsession. The perfect black line drawings of ferocious women, The Hydra, the witches and the courtesans, who tormented and destroyed men.

I licked my fingers to taste myself before I slid my hand back down under the waist band of my skirt and between my now wet thighs. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes as I focussed on the feeling of my fingers circling my lips and teasing my clit. I craved the feeling of his tongue and his hands on my body, I longed to be corrupted, drained and destroyed by the lust that had burned inside me for so long.


My body ached for release but I held back, digging nails into my thigh as my I tried to slow my breathing. I willed myself to relax and be patient. I had to be his.

I unfolded myself from the chair, and shut down the computer. I walked to the bathroom and stepped neatly out of my clothes. I felt intoxicated by the moment and the irrationality of my actions. I opened the bathroom cupboards, knowing exactly where to find everything I would need. The bath filled steadily and the oils I added to the water released their fragrance into the billowing steam clouds. I slid into the bath as the hot water seared my skin. I scrubbed vigorously knowing I needed to be clean for him, needed to be perfect. I drained the bath and dried myself thoroughly. I unpinned my hair and combed it straight so it cascaded over my shoulders. Then I rubbed moisturising lotion onto my hands and massaged my skin, allowing myself to luxuriate briefly in the feeling of the lotion sinking into the soft skin of my breasts and thighs.

With neither clothes nor concern I paced silently through the house knowing that Chloe was safely asleep. I turned on the front light but left the door locked.

I was compelled by a source beyond reason, beyond all logic. I had spent so many nights twisted in dreams of him and now the constant, steady burn had spread and erupted inside me. Completely, totally, insanely uncontrollable.

I collected the long wax tapers that were kept in the bottom drawer of the kitchen. I took the matches and the silver candlesticks from the dining room. From the spare bedroom I gathered up pillows and blankets.

This was madness, this was suicide, and it was everything I had longed for. I was prepared for him to deny me, for embarrassment and crying. What kept me going was what I had read of him. Even if he turned me away and never saw me again I knew the truth about him now. This flood that had spilled inside me could never be contained.

I entered the immaculate green house. I lit the candles, melted the bases and inserted the long tapers into the candlestick holders. The green house glowed like a lantern as the flickering candles steadied and illuminated the cold panes of glass. I laid a blanket over the workbench in the centre of the room. I returned to the house and collected two glasses and the whisky decanter.

Quarter to twelve. The clock hands scissored over the yellowed clock face. I shut the back door and re-entered the green house. I felt nervous as I paused to look at the bench with the blanket draped over it. I stepped up to the bench and pulled a second blanket around my shoulders. Reclining back on the pillows, I took a long sip of the bitter tasting whisky. The panic dissolved as the golden liquid warmed the inside of my throat and stilled the shaking in my hands.

I lay back on the bench and let my fingers caress the soft skin of my neck and my breasts. My hands traced over my stomach and my hips. I let them slide down between my thighs. I was already swollen and wet, almost painfully so. He would see all this and he would know. He would know everything.

My fingers worked in achingly slow circles. With my eyes shut and my breathing coming in strained gasps I rocked back and forth on the bench.

I only barely registered the sound of the car pulling into the garage and his firm footsteps on the gravelled path.

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