• Short Fiction,  Smut Marathon 2018

    Clear Blue Sky

    He had fucked her, quickly, bent over the pile of his belongings. Those boxes and that hasty fuck was the last of their life together, the last of her submission to him. She locked the door and turned to look at the sunlit apartment: it was hers again, no longer ruled by him, no longer the cage it had become. He hadn’t let her come, and now, in the wake of his slapdash orgasm, she was hungry for her own. She rummaged in a drawer for a dildo, curved blue glass, sparkling in the afternoon brightness. She pulled an armchair across the bedroom, stepped out of her dress and sat…

  • Short Fiction,  Smut Marathon 2018

    Weak Flesh

    “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three days since my last confession.” Father Robson sits in the confessional, his soft, pale hands folded in his lap. “Yes, my child, what is your sin?” “I struck my son, Father. He tried my patience and I struck him.” The priest’s hands slide beneath his robe as the penitent’s whispers curl through the latticed screen between them. He shifts his tremendous bulk in the hard seat closing his dark eyes, heavy lashes fluttering as she explains. He begins to stroke himself, hardly listening, thinking only of how the nuns beat him as a boy; the pleasure and the searing pain…

  • Short Fiction,  Wicked Wednesday

    Americano

    My favorite coffee shop is always uncomfortably warm. In the summer they push open the old transom windows under the ceiling and slide open the massive front doors to the patio in an attempt to exchange the steam and heat from the machines with the gritty air of the street.

  • Short Fiction,  Wicked Wednesday

    Overture

    “Yes … uh huh. That’s right, eight o’clock. Oh, I’m so glad! How fun! I’ll meet you in the lobby. Alright … yes. Bye now.” Alex tossed her phone on the bed and smiled to herself. She’d been looking forward to this night, to the grandeur of the symphony, for months. Richard had cancelled last minute with some excuse or another and she had just rebooked with Emma, a new acquaintance she’d met a few times in recent months at various events. Frankly, she was relieved. Richard always tolerated evenings like this but only barely. It would be much more fun to experience with a new friend, someone who might…

  • Masturbation Monday,  Short Fiction

    Yours

    Trigger Warning: self harm It started as a joke, a cute thing that he did to make her smile. They’d had a disconnected week, missed calls and texts, rescheduling dates, finally getting to be in each other’s arms on Friday night, tired and both a little unsure, their mutual absence making them both a bit skittish. They’d talked, shared some takeout, and lounged. He had spontaneously grabbed the pen and as she chuckled, scrawled a hasty “Yours” over his heart. A schoolboy moment, a sweet gesture. It had worked. She’d bitten her lip and straddled his lap and taken what he showed her was hers.

  • Short Fiction,  Smut Relay

    Smut Relay Part 3: Decisions, decisions

    Continued from Smut Relay Part 2 – In Cahoots by Wriggly Kitty The iron gate of the holding cell in the hull of the ship slammed shut behind them with a clang. Richard leapt towards Eleanor, encircling her in his arms, carefully holding her, avoiding the bruises and scrapes. “Oh Elly, I’m so sorry … what did that animal do to you?”

  • Every Damn Day in June,  femmedom,  Masturbation Monday,  Short Fiction

    Mutual

    She sighed and sank back into the pillows of her bed, smiling as he crawled towards her stopping to kneel between her feet. “Have you really never? Never?” his smile was cheeky and filled with disbelief. “Never. Not once.” she shrugged and watched his bemused face. “Wow. Well, do you want to?” “Maybe … You first.” Her eyes stayed on his as his cheeks flushed.

  • Masturbation Monday,  Short Fiction

    Cosmic

    He turns his back to me, a smooth lake of milk, quivering in the moon light. The curtains move in the warm breeze and cast shadows across him, inky blue and fleeting. In my hand I hold an instrument of torture and I mean to hurt him, I do, as he’s begged me to, this man whom I love. I mean to make him break and buckle for me.

  • Short Fiction,  Wicked Wednesday

    Elegant

    Every morning on his way to the train and every evening on his walk home, Edmond passed a beautiful statue in front of the courthouse in his town. Not surprisingly, it was a recreation of a classical style, a perfect modeling of Lady Justice as she is often depicted; statuesque, blindfolded, a sword in one hand, scales in the other.

  • femmedom,  Masturbation Monday,  Short Fiction

    After

    It was a good second date. He was less tentative, less shy, more willing to be taken and led, in conversation and in hand. Unlike the rainy afternoon of our first meeting, chaste and sweet as it was, tonight was balmy, the beginning of the beginning of something that looked like summer, complete with a cotton candy sunset and that hot blooded feeling when your body begins to forget winter.