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Creative Juices: Flora’s African Exploits

Today we welcome Flora Titian to Creative Juices! Flora has generously offered us all two free chapters of her second erotic novel in the Flora series. The chapters are juicy and suggestive, and highly enjoyable… *wink*

For more of Flora Titian and her writing, head over to her blog at www.thevelvetpurse.com.  Follow Flora on Twitter: @thevelvetpurse.

Chapter 1

I love airports, well actually I love travelling in whatever form it takes.  In my experience, and I believe I have travelled enough to be able to profess to have some, the journey can be even more interesting and exciting than the destination. It seems I always manage to meet someone who is willing to indulge my need to turn a mediocre voyage into an unforgettable adventure.  Take, for example, the time I took the ferry from Patras to Ancona; this had the possibility to be the dullest 24 hours of my life, instead, fate intervened and I got chatting to twins, Demetrius and Giorgos – funny, engaging and drop dead gorgeous .  Identical – in every way, as I later discovered – we decided to share a cabin, save some money, and have some fun.  Double trouble turned out to be doubly amazing and I was treated to orgasm after orgasm and shagged over and over again, until finally, even I, was begging to be allowed to go to sleep – as past lovers will attest, I never prioritise sleep over sex, but those boys were insatiable.  Thinking back that was a crazily intense journey, I was walking like a cowboy for about a week after docking in Italy, totally worth it though – kind of wish I had taken their telephone number or at least an address.

As I walk forward to the check-in desk I can’t keep the huge smile from my face, I am going to Africa, god, I am so excited right now.

“Good evening madam, passport please.”

Taking my passport out of my bag I glance up and find myself looking into the face of possibly one of the most stunningly attractive women I have ever seen.  Skin beautifully smooth and the colour of melted chocolate, her huge, dark, soulful, eyes are framed by long luscious lashes, with beautifully full lips completing the package – I freeze, passport in hand, mesmerised.  Aware that I am probably staring open mouthed, and no doubt blushing a deep red, I give myself a mental shake, look away and hold out my passport in her general direction.   Wow, she was amazing, I have to take another look; taking a breath I raise my head, only to have her eyes lock with mine and send a bolt of desire shooting straight down into my groin – okay, that was interesting, totally unexpected, but definitely interesting.  Still caught in her gaze I notice a smug smile playing across her mouth, this gorgeous creature is obviously well aware of the effect she has on other people, and I was proving to be no exception – urgh, I hate being predictable.

Now, I guess, if I had to put a label on it – which I don’t like to do – then I would refer to myself as heterosexual, and this is only because, up until now, it has been interactions with men that have got me hot and wet.  I have, however, never ruled out the possibility of having sex with a woman, in fact I have always thought it would be rather cool.  I mean I check women out all the time, who doesn’t, they are splendidly beautiful, but it’s more with admiration, or, yes I admit, sometimes jealousy; I might think wow she has got the most amazingly gorgeous long legs, or, oh my god I wish my tits were as big and perky as hers.  I have, however, never, had the thought – fuck me I would love to have that girl’s tongue lapping at my pussy – until today that is.

“You have beautiful eyes.”

Her voice brings me out of my reverie and she is looking at my passport – not a great shot of me if I am honest.

“Although I think they are even more beautiful in person.”

Staring directly at me I feel my stomach drop and don’t have a clue what to say next.  Come on Flora, think of some sexy, flirty, come back, show her what you are made of.

“Your eyes are very beautiful also.”

She snorts with laughter and I feel as though I have just failed some kind of test, gauche girl rather than worldly woman.

“Well thank you Flora, that is very sweet of you to say.  Flora, you look like the kind of girl who usually travels business class.”

It is now my turn to snort, business class, yeah right, my mom booked this ticket for me, so I am just relieved that they aren’t telling me I am travelling in the hold; not that she can’t afford business class, just that she wouldn’t spend the money on me.

“An obvious oversight when booking the ticket I imagine.” She smiled and winked – wow great teeth as well. “I am upgrading you Flora, a gorgeous girl like you doesn’t belong in coach, you need to be relaxing and sipping champagne – with me attending to your every wish.”

Attending to my every wish. My heart starts beating quicker and I feel the flush return to my cheeks. My every wish – now that is definitely interesting.  I look down from her face and take in her white blouse, tightly stretched over impressively full breasts which are inadequately restrained by a lacy black bra, her pert nipples pushing enticingly out through the fabric. I know what I want to do, I want to run my fingers down from her throat, moving over her breasts and circling over those nipples, feeling them harden further under my touch. I want to slowly undue the buttons, enjoying revealing more of her, my fingers grazing her skin until I have opened her blouse fully, dragging it off her shoulders, I leave it halfway down her back; arms now effectively pinned against her sides I have full access and delight in pinching her nipples through the lace, my hands playing with each of her breasts, her groans of passion encouraging me.  Then, unable to wait any longer, bra straps would be dragged down to meet the blouse and her gorgeous tits, now fully exposed, would be mine for the taking.  Leaning forward and flicking her nipples with my tongue, emboldened by her moans I would take her breast deep into my mouth, alternating, first one and then the other, hands and tongue, hungrily feasting at will.

“He-llo”

A high pitched voice from the side jolts me out of my fantasy and I look across startled.  Wow, fascinating, long straight hair, dyed jet black, and pulled into a bun so tight it gave an instant face lift, green feline eyes are beautifully framed by long eyelashes, black eyeliner and perfectly sculpted brows, this boy has some serious makeup skills, and those huge, red, pouty lips could give Steve Tyler a run for his money; unfortunately, the fake tan shade, pure orangutan, was just hideous.

” Sweetie, I get that you, as mighty Cabin Crew, are only slumming it on check-in for today, but there is rather a long queue building.  If I get this flight off on time, I please the Captain, and oh god how I love to please him.” Winking suggestively at me I couldn’t help but snigger. “So please, stop cruising the passengers and get a wiggle on babe.”

Seemingly unconcerned with the comments, not affording him a response, she leisurely attached the baggage tag to my case.  Holding out my boarding card and passport towards me, I reached out to take them, watching as her hand slid forward to touch mine.

“I very much look forward to seeing you on board Flora.”

No hint of a smile this time, her eyes held mine for what seemed like the longest of moments, and I felt my desire dripping out of me.  This woman had turned me on just by checking me in for a flight, what then would she be capable of at 30,000 feet armed with champagne and a hot sandwich – I was really rather keen to find out.

 

Chapter 2

 

Impatient to see her again, I distracted myself by wandering around the airport shops, trying on outrageously expensive sunglasses that I had no intention of buying, drinking endless Espressos, and finally ending up in Wetherspoons for a glass of wine and flirty banter with a rather raucous stag party.  Still ridiculously horny and very wet, I considered a quick trip to the bathroom, there was an hour until the gate opened, so more than enough time for an orgasm.  I found myself, however, in the unusual position of wanting to wait, to find out what she had planned for the flight; although for the life of me I couldn’t imagine how anything was going to be possible once we were on board, I mean planes were hardly suitable for private trysts, were they?

Sitting at the gate I suddenly felt insanely nervous, what if I had misconstrued the situation, what if she was just being friendly and I had wrongly interpreted the open warmth of an African personality, and presumed that it meant she fancied me; well, I was about to find out, wait finally over I joined the queue, eager, despite my fears, to get on board and see her again.  I found my place and marveled at how much room I had, business class was seriously the way to travel.  Unable to resist playing with the seat controls, I delighted in all the gadgets around me, and when my childlike excitement finally dissipated, I stared, absent-mindedly out of the window, a ground crew guy immediately catching my eye, fuck what a great arse – breath on my ear made me jump and I felt my body react as her perfume filled the air around me.

“How do you like your seat Flora?”

I turned my head towards her, her face inches from mine, oh those lips, so full and kissable, the urge to lean forward and snog her was overwhelming.  Several hours fantasising about what I wanted to do to her, and what I wanted her to do to me, had resulted in desire overriding all sense of appropriateness – of which, to be fair, I didn’t have much at the best of times.  Come on Flora, get a grip, you aren’t going to kiss this woman now, not with all these people walking past, reluctantly I moved slightly away and she stood back up into the aisle.

“Thank you so much for the upgrade, this is just the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, this seat is seriously amazing.”

“You are most welcome, I want you to be very happy and relaxed Flora, you have got a long night ahead of you.”

Leaning, once again, towards me, she placed her hand on my shoulder, her shirt falling forwards, giving me an unobstructed view of those glorious breasts; my breath caught as she slid her hand downwards from my shoulder, fingers grazing my nipple, before she slowly pulled away and stood up.  Panting and breathless with desire, my nipple tingled from her, albeit brief, touch, oh god I was totally at this woman’s mercy, completely in control of the situation she obviously had a plan of action, and I found this unbelievable hot.  Squirming in my seat, she stood there, staring at me, the intensity of her eyes on mine making me writhe with passion, desperate to be touched.  As if reading my mind she suddenly smiled at me.

“Soon Flora, very soon, I will give you what you want.”

Reaching up into the overhead locker she pulled something out and threw it into my lap, surprised I looked down, a denim skirt, what the hell? I looked back up and raised my eyebrows questioningly.

“It’s mine.  When the plane is in the air and the seat belt sign has been taken off, I want you to go to the bathroom in front of you, I want you to take off your jeans and knickers, and I want you to put this skirt on instead.  Can you do that for me Flora?”

All coherent thought now totally overridden by desire, I nodded, and she smiled.

“Thank you Flora, that will help me a great deal in making sure you have a very pleasurable flight.”

And with that, she was gone.

I didn’t see her again for the next half an hour and presumed she was busy helping other passengers and preparing for take-off.  Come on Captain Jack or whatever your name is, let’s get this bird in the air, the waiting was making me crazy.  Finally airborne, I sat, staring at the seat belt light, gripping the skirt tightly in both hands as though someone might come and take if off me, the ‘bing’ sent me flying out of my seat like a greyhound of out a trap and I dove into the bathroom and locked the door.

Staring back at me from the mirror was not the sexy goddess I had hoped to see, face flushed with lust, my hair looked like a birds nest from where I had been twisting strands around my fingers for the last few hours in frustration.  I splashed some water on my face and clawed through my hair, attempting to pull it back into some semblance of a style.  Needing to wee I pulled off my jeans and knickers and once finished I took my hand and pumped soap and water onto it, I wanted my pussy squeaky clean for the fun ahead.  Wow, it felt good to touch myself, god, I was burning hot and so wet, not wanting to wash away too much of my grool, I carefully patted myself dry and pulled on the skirt.  Fuck me it was short, I tried to get a look at the back to check my arse cheeks weren’t hanging out below the hem, but the tiny, blurry, mirror was hardly conducive for this and I had to give up.  Tugging it ineffectively down, conscious of my lack of underwear, I took a breath and let myself out of the bathroom, scurrying quickly back to my seat, jeans and knickers in hand.

So now what?  No sign of her.  The coolness of the cabin was chilling the wetness dripping out onto my thighs and making me even more aware of my state of undress.  Pulling my legs together I leant forward, hugging my knees with my arms.

“Flora.”

She was back, finally.

“I like your skirt.  Can you sit back please so that I can take a better look at it.”

Letting go of my knees I sat back into the seat and let her inspect me.

“It looks great on you, a perfect fit.”

Reaching forward she pulled at the hem as though examining the cloth, I gasped, her fingers now achingly close to my pussy, instinctively I opened my legs, desperate for her touch.  My eyes closed in anticipation of feeling her fingers on me, and I groaned in frustration when I felt her hand move away.  Looking up I was met with a smirk.

“It isn’t going to be quite that easy Flora.  There is something I need you to do for me first.”

What the hell was she on about now, if it wasn’t for desire clouding my brain I might have got irritated at the delay, lack of patience being a constant struggle for me – sighing, I nodded, fine, whatever she wanted, I was going to do it.

“I want you to walk along this aisle for me Flora, nice and slowly, and keep going all the way along until you reach the back of the plane.  And then, when you get there, I want you to go into the bathroom, I want you to stick two fingers into your pussy and get them dripping wet from your sexy grool, and then, I want you to walk back here to your seat where I will be waiting.”

Oh my fucking life, she can’t be serious, this skirt barely skims my arse, I know that now as when I sat down my bare skin hit the seat and I had to hold on to the front to keep from exposing my muff to everyone.  If I walk along the aisle anyone paying attention is going to be afforded glimpses of my bottom – if not more.  Fuck.  What to do?  From the way she is looking at me this is non-negotiable, and then what, this just ends here, oh no, no, no, no, I am way too turned on now, past the point of no return, I have to keep going.

I nod, and she moves to one side to let me out into the aisle in front of her.  I turn to face the back of the plane, hesitating at the sight of all those people I need to get past, in an hour or so they would all, probably, be asleep, but now they are still settling, looking around the cabin, bored and in need of distraction.  I jumped as I felt a tug on the back of the skirt, fingers grazed the cheeks of my arse, and her breasts pushed against my back as she leant towards me.

“Your arse is incredibly sexy Flora, this skirt is just the perfect length to show it off, I think many of your fellow passengers will watch you pass by with enthusiasm.”

Desperately turned on I pressed back as her fingers became more insistent, now stroking deeper and grazing my pubic hair, but falling, agonisingly short, of where I wanted them to go.  As the hand was removed I had the irrational urge to stamp my foot like an irate toddler.

“Now off you go, I will be watching, and waiting here for your return.  Don’t forget what I need you to do with your fingers, if you forget you will have to walk back again, I will be checking – oh, and don’t dry yourself off in the bathroom, I want to see the wetness dripping down your thighs.”

A slight shove from behind got my reticent feet moving and I started walking self consciously along the aisle, after a few paces I looked back over my shoulder and was afforded a wide smile and a nod of encouragement, swallowing, I turned back and carried on.

Talk about a walk of shame, keeping my gaze firmly on the ground, I could feel people’s eyes on me as I approached, the shortness of my attire, I am sure, eliciting a plethora of responses, shock, approval, desire, distaste; I cringed feeling people swivelling around in their seats as I passed, no doubt wanting to see if the back view was just as revealing.  Well they wouldn’t be disappointed, I could feel the hem of the skirt skimming my bottom about three quarters of the way down, so my arse was most definitely out for all to see.  After what seemed like an interminably long walk I finally reached the bathroom and plunged inside.  Leaning my back against the locked door, I released the breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding, Oh fucking hell, I have got to walk back again in a minute – what the hell have you got yourself into Flora?  Could I be arrested for indecent exposure, after all I was in public and, effectively, naked from the waist down?   Concerns aside I couldn’t help but admit that it was rather intoxicating, knowing she was watching and getting off on other people inspecting me as I passed – god I love a bit of kink.  Remembering my other task I move my fingers onto myself and am shocked at how wet I am, grool is literally dripping out of me onto my thighs, just as she foresaw it would – am I that easy to read?  Pushing two fingers deep inside, my slippery wetness allowed easy access, and I groaned, desperate to stroke my now pulsating, rock hard clit, but instead, eager to return, I removed my fingers and resisted the urge to dry off my legs  – okay, time for the long walk back.

Surprisingly, instead of mortification, the whisperings, this time, make me feel sexy and powerful; I am enjoying  people checking out my arse, and the thought that they might, also, be able to see my hot, wet, pussy makes it even more of a turn on.  She is standing there, waiting for me, and as I approach I can’t help but smile and raise my eyebrows, triumphant in my daring.  She nods towards the seat and I collapse down into it, now what?

“Well done Flora, you did amazingly well, you had lots of admiring glances, and many people desire you now.  But they can only look, they can’t have you, you are mine, do you understand?”

Oh this is seriously sexy, I nod my consent, my breathing now shallow and fast, as feel my passion growing exponentially.

“Now did you do the other thing I asked you to do?  Did you put your fingers inside your pussy for me Flora?”

I nod, and she holds out a hand towards me; hesitating for a moment, unsure, I then put my hand in hers and watch as she wipes my fingers under her nose.

“Mmmm, you smell good Flora, now I wonder how you taste?”

Eyes never leaving mine, her tongue slowly licked the wetness from my fingers, and then taking them deep into her mouth, she sucked hard, causing me to gasp as a new eruption of passion exploded within my groin, and had me dripping, unrestrainedly, onto the seat.  Oh my god, okay, whatever I have said before, I was wrong, this is officially the most erotic moment of my life – well, you know, so far.  Feeling myself tense, I wonder if I might actually be able to orgasm like this – now that would be a first – to cum without any actual stimulation to my pussy, I close my eyes, edging closer to climax, as her mouth and tongue continued to fuck my fingers.

My eyes fly open as she lets go of my hand, and I sit their panting, waiting for the next move. Pulling my skirt up towards my waist, I am fully exposed for her perusal.

“Open your legs a little more for me please.”

I moved my legs apart, moaning in frustration – just touch me already.  Her standing there, looking my pussy, was unbelievably sexy, my lips heavy with lust were clearly visible under my pubic hair, now soaking and sticky with grool.

“Look how wet and swollen you are, desperate to be touched I imagine?”

I nodded frantically, “Yes please, please, I need you to touch me.”

Smiling she released my skirt and stood up, leaving me still exposed, throbbing and aching to be stroked.

“You are not quite ready for that, yet, but it will happen soon, very soon, I promise.  Now I need to do some work, but I will be back with champagne for you, just relax Flora – all things come to those who wait.”

It was seriously all I could do not to scream, this was torture, exquisitely seductive torture, but torture nonetheless.

 


Feeling inspired to pen your own sex fantasy? If you’d like to submit a story to be published on the Sh! blog, please hop on over to this page for more info on Creative Juices.

Creative Juices: And Eddie Still Makes Three

Creative Juices: And Eddie Still Makes Three

Hey there, thanks for joining us!

Today we’re excited to have Zak Jane Keir with us, sharing a teaser from her story And Eddie Still Makes Three from Rule 34, a brand new collection of weird & wonderful fetish erotica.

The book contains ten very different stories of uncommon desires and strange, lustful obsessions. Some are delicious, some will unsettle you, some might even make you cry…

Rule 34: if it exists, someone’s kinky for it.

Enjoy!


AND EDDIE STILL MAKES THREE (extract) by Zak Jane Keir

It took over a year of occasional meetings – Jonathan was studying mediaeval literature, so he was never likely to encounter Noel in a tutorial or seminar. There were parties, though, and the student discos that set out to cater to those who wanted something other than rave or Britpop. Every so often, they’d run into one another, and there came a time where they really began to talk more. One or the other of them would bring up a news story featuring the Paris catacombs, or Kensal Green Cemetery’s open day, or some more subtle and sensitive horror film they had both seen but few other people had even heard of. Usually, though, any such conversations would be cut short by someone else – frequently one of the pretty Goth girls who Noel appeared to find so easy to get on with – and Jonathan would end up going back to his own room and lying awake, stroking himself, thinking of things he could barely describe to himself, let alone anyone else.

Much later, Noel would tease Jonathan about the night they got together, and about his previous assumptions that photographers and painters never read enough books. “Took you long enough to bring it up,” he would say. “We’d have had at least six more months of fucking each other stupid if you’d only mentioned the bloody book at the start.” Jonathan always countered with the perfectly reasonable point that Noel could have just as easily initiated that particular topic, but there came a time when it was far too painful to be funny. That was when they fully understood how little time they were going to have, and the idea of having wasted any in the past became unbearable.

They were sitting on the same sofa, at yet another party, and they’d discovered that both of them took their Gothic identities as far as loving some of the original Gothic literature, and were well away on The Mysteries of Udolpho: specifically, the idea of the skeleton behind the black veil.

“Bet they were all having a wank over it, though,” was the passing remark made by the girl climbing over them in search of more beer. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Weirdos.” Neither of them knew her, and neither of them ever bothered seeking her out afterwards, but they both remembered the comment because of what happened next.

“Well, I would, definitely,” Noel said, and the look in his eyes made it utterly unavoidable: Jonathan leaned forward and kissed him, full on the mouth. He drew back almost instantly, terrified of what he had done, expecting a punch in the face or, at the very least, for Noel to jump up and abandon him. But Noel simply said. “Finally. Shall we get the fuck out of here?”

They fled the party, giggling, holding hands, but it wasn’t going to be quite that easy.  Jonathan shared a room with a quiet but good-natured law postgrad, who he would have felt guilty about disturbing and Noel had a nosy landlady who didn’t allow overnight visitors. Still, it was early May and reasonably warm.

There was a little churchyard, apparently just a couple of streets away from the party, which had a reputation both of them had heard plenty about. Naturally, it was allegedly popular with various illicit couples, though no one ever admitted to going there for sex or even knowing anyone who had done in terms other than “My mate’s girlfriend’s ex did it on top of one of the tombs”.

When they got there, though, after a meandering stroll with pauses for kissing in shop doorways, there turned out to be locked gates and a high stone wall.  They looked at each other and Jonathan felt a terrible pang of loss and frustration, but Noel laughed, and pulled him close for another kiss. “See that nice dark alley down the side? Let’s go down there.”


Want to know what happens next? Buy a copy of Rule 34 and you’ll find out…

Feeling inspired to pen your own sex fantasy? If you’d like to submit a story to be published on the Sh! blog, please hop on over to this page for more info on Creative Juices.

Lips B&W

Creative Juices: I Make You Suffer

We’re very excited about this third instalment of Creative Juices; a sex fantasy called I Make You Suffer by Alexandra Grey. It’s a sassy piece, focusing on female pleasure.

 

At this point Alexandra doesn’t have a Twitter handle or website for you to visit, but we hope to have her write for Creative Juices again.

 

Until then, here’s her fantasy for you to enjoy!

 


 I MAKE YOU SUFFER by Alexandra Grey

I like to think about what it would be like if you wanted to fuck me, and I made you suffer for it.

We’re somewhere private, maybe a bathroom or cloakroom. Leaning up against a shadowy wall, there’s distant music and voices, but mostly we’re absorbed in each other. My back is against the wall and you’re grinding your pelvis into mine, and dropping kisses down my neck. I’m melting into the sensation – I’ve been drinking, everything is warm and a little fuzzy. You say ‘please…please…’ into my ear. I respond by laughing, not really taking you seriously. The kisses move back up my neck and you kiss my mouth, pushing my head back into the wall, penetrating me with your tongue until I sigh.

You move your lips back down my neck, down into my cleavage. Grazing the tops of my breasts with your mouth, almost instinctively, you move your hand up to press it against one of them and squeeze slightly. I laugh again, and push them away, and you make a little disappointed noise into my collarbone. The noise entertains me; I’m revelling in your neediness and the power I have over you. I place my hands on your hips, and pull them suddenly into me, making you gasp. As your hands go back to my body I take them and place them flat against my chest, just above where the curvature of my breasts starts, and I push them, sliding them down my torso, almost ignoring your reaction while I enjoy the sensation.

I lean back against the wall and look at your from under my eyelids. You take this as an invitation and lean in to kiss me but I dodge your mouth and turn away to accept your kisses on my neck. You’re becoming frustrated and you unconsciously ball up some of my dress in your fist, and at first I soothe you by starting to kiss your mouth – but it’s deceptive, and after kissing you deeply for a moment I pull back to see you looking hungrily at me. I bring my hand up to your mouth and slide in a finger, hooking it over your teeth and pulling you close to my face. ‘Did you want to…?’ I say. You nod insistently.

I push us off the wall and turn us around so that your back is against it and I’m leaning on you, pushing my face into your neck as I say ‘…No, we can’t…not here…’. As I’m saying this I grind my crotch into yours. I can feeling your cock under my pelvis, starting to get hard. You swallow and try to breath normally. You almost want to push me away, to end the frustration, but my hands are now massaging your bottom through your trousers as I make lazy circles with my hips, making you harder and unable to go back to the party. I pull back and watch your face as I slowly unzip your trousers, and slide my hand inside to gently rub the head of your cock through your boxers. You gasp and realise how dry your mouth is. You’re almost nervous, this wasn’t how you expected this detour to go.

My hand is warm and soft as I pull your cock out of your trousers. I start making lazy circles with my thumb around the tip of your cock. You stifle a moan. This encourages me, I’m enjoying your discomfort as if it was touch and I make it worse by gently stroking one of your nipples through your shirt with my nail. The noises you’re suppressing become more pathetic and insistent. You’ve stopped touching me, your palms are now flat against the wall behind you, more to stay standing than anything else.

I chuckle and pause, looking up at you. ‘Do you want to put your cock inside me?’ You can only get out a ‘yeah’ and I say ‘Just stay there. If you move, I’ll leave’.

Still with my body pressed against yours, while I look into your eyes, I reach down and slide up my dress. When I reach my waist, my dress gathered in one hand, I turn around and, hooking my thumbs into my knickers, slide them slowly down, bending to push them down my legs, and push my naked arse into your cock. You watch as your cock is enveloped by my arse cheeks when I straighten up. I lean back against you, feeling your shaft press into my arsehole and cunt, dragging my dress up further so I can run my hands over my nipples.

I bring my fingers up to your mouth, to wet them, and then rub them onto the tip of your cock. You’re still braced against the wall, and as I push the head of your cock against the entrance of my arse, rubbing it up and down where it’s most sensitive, you involuntarily say ‘oh god’. I smile and lean back against you, pushing the head of your cock slightly inside my arse. When you look down, you can see that my eyes are closed, my head is leaning back against your chest and one of my hands is slowly pinching and releasing one of my nipples.

You’re still not touching me, you’re worried that if you moved you’d fall over. Only the very end of your cock is inside me and you desperately want it to be more, and for me to move faster and give you some relief from this tension. But you can’t, you know you have to stay still, that I’m in control. While one of my hands is rubbing my nipples, the other has started circling my clitoris. The little noises of almost pathetic frustration that you’re making are turning me on, making me touch myself faster and bring myself closer to orgasm.

The movement from me pleasuring myself is causing me to rock back and forth on your cock and as it almost slides in further you whimper and gasp. As I orgasm, the muscles of my arse twich around you and you gasp for breath, unable to control your reactions, groping at the wall behind you and whispering ‘oh god, oh god’ under your breath as I come.

When I’m done, I exhale with satisfaction, and slide myself off your cock, pushing my dress back down. You hope I’ll turn around for a kiss, or to help you recover from my orgasm.

But I merely bend down, pick up my knickers, and walk back to the party, without even glancing behind me.


Feeling inspired to pen your own sex fantasy? If you’d like to submit a story to be published on the Sh! blog, please hop on over to this page for more info on Creative Juices.

FACE UP CLOSE

Creative Juices: Do It.

Hello there, thank you for stopping by for the second instalment of Creative Juices!
Today we have a rough sex-fantasy by @Nookysemper, a hot & heavy story that’ll have you feeling juicy in no time. Just so you know, this story includes breath play & asphyxiation kink. If that’s not your thing, we recommend hopping off this page now…
But – if you love kink and you want more, head on over to NookyEverAfter (once you’ve read her story below, of course). Enjoy!

DO IT by Nookysemper

You’re on your back, forearms flat on the bed, fingers digging into the sheets, and he’s pounding you, like, really pounding you, hands tight on the curve of your waist, pulling you up onto his cock with every thrust of his hips. You’re curled up towards him a little, shoulders off the mattress, watching his face, waiting. His eyes flick up, and you don’t even say it, don’t even say anything, just raise your eyebrows a little.

Yes. Do it.

He’s panting hoarse, breathy. You can feel the quick flutter of his heart where your breasts are brushing up against his chest. He drags one of his hands up your body and settles it over your throat, fingers set together, slides it a little more so his thumb is wedged up in the crease of your jaw.

‘Baby,’ he says, and shifts his shoulders forward, lets the weight of his body press against your throat. He holds the pressure steady till you’re gasping, sucking hard for dizzy, thready breaths. You can feel him watching your face, watching it hard, and the feeling makes something float under your ribs. There’s a thrum of adrenaline in your spine and a red fog behind your eyelids, blurring your vision, and your senses scutter and dissolve somewhere between the slick weight of his cock filling you, no, fucking you, and this sudden suffocation, sensory obliteration.

He’s pounding urgently, now, making punchy noises under his breath. He lifts his hand for a second, holds it above your throat, and you have time for two ragged breaths before he clamps it hard over your face, not just your mouth but your nose too, and something in your brain stem fuses out. Your body is bucking against him, wild, something apart from you. The world’s red-dark and your spine is alight and his hands, his hands are hard on your face and his cock is hard inside you, pulsing, and the ropey muscles of his arm are locked and quivering, holding you down, holding your breath inside you. You’re past all thought, soul-sprung cipher of screaming flesh, and he makes a great guttural noise and comes, comes, comes.


Feeling inspired to pen your own sex fantasy? If you’d like to submit a story to be published on the Sh! blog, please hop on over to this page for more info on Creative Juices.
SITTING ON BED

Creative Juices: Tonight

Welcome to the very first story published on Creative Juices, the hub for creative writers and lovers of erotic stories! Here is where you get your juices flowing, your mojos growing – and we’re hoping you’ll get off spectacularly too…

Today we’re sharing a **hot** fantasy written by our friend Candysnatch. Whilst she’s an accomplished (and dedicated!) toy reviewer, she has chosen not to include sex toys in her story, opting instead for fingers… Enjoy!

TONIGHT by Candysnatch

Staring into the mirror I survey the damage, face in disarray, hair a shadow of the curled perfection it was when I left the house. Tugging at the lash strips adorning my lids I flash back to earlier. So much flirting, so much sexual tension. Alcohol always makes me horny but being around her is hard at any time.

Slowly wiping away my carefully applied make up my mind tip toes through a slideshow of images. Her fingers intertwined in mine as we danced, her hand in the small of my back as we stood at the bar, the way she flicks her hair behind her ears as she laughs. I wonder if she’s sat in her bedroom removing the mask she wore this evening.

Finally, bare faced I begin to unpin my hair. Soft curls cascade around my naked shoulders reminding me of her touch. Her fingers lightly stroking down my neck as we grow ever closer. Girly chit chat laced with heavy sexual undertones. She bites her lip as I regale her with my latest relationship drama. I find it hard to drag my eyes from her mouth. I want to bite her lip.

My bedtime ritual is over. All traces of my glamourous façade removed I sit in front of my mirror as naked as when I was born. No pretence. No filter. Closing my eyes, I flick through the slide show, fast forward to the good bit. The moment when alcohol made me brave. When I could take it no more and kissed her.

Her perfume fills my senses as her soft lips welcome me. Gently responding, unsure at first. I trace my fingers up her bare thighs, relishing the feeling of her skin. Mimicking the moment outside of my memory I part my thighs.

Suddenly she’s hungry, and she’s mine. Her warm wet mouth opening to me, her hands in my hair as she lets down that final barrier. Sat in front of my mirror I touch my own warm wetness remembering her passion.

I reach up and softly cup my tits. Rolling and pinching my hardening nipples between my fingers. Desperate to recapture the sensation of her hands sliding under my bra, the lust courses through me as my nipples remember her delicate pinching touch.

I move to my bed, filled with heady memories. Picturing the look on her beautiful face as I slid my hand between her legs and felt the soaked cotton of her thong. Stroking her, teasing her. I suck my fingers, savouring the last remnants of her taste.

Gently stroking my dampened fingers over my aching clit as my brain offers me an audio playback of her delicate moans directly in my ear. A hotwire to my cunt. Plunging my fingers inside myself, echoing the way I fucked her. Curling my fingers up to meet her need. Come to me baby, come for me. As my climax crashes over me I call her name lost in the sensation of memory.


Feeling inspired to pen your own sex fantasy? If you’d like to submit a story to be published on the Sh! blog, please hop on over to this page for more info on Creative Juices.

KD Grace Blog

Guest Blog: K D Grace – The Inspiration of Sex

We are super-excited (and a little hot & bothered, but more about that in a bit…) to have award-winning author K D Grace with us today! Having known K D for many years (we’ll never forget her first reading at the shop – vegetable plots have never looked the same since), we are always delighted when she stops by for a visit. Today, she has exciting news to share  – and (here’s come the hot bit) she is giving away a very juicy excerpt from her new book The Tutor… Over to you, K D!


I’m very excited to be guesting on the Sh! blog today. It’s no secret that Sh! is one of my favourite places on the planet and the fabulous Sh! Ladiez are my heros. It’s been a real pleasure to have Sh!’s manager, Renee guesting on my blog twice in as many weeks, where she’s been talking about putting the spark back in both couple love and self love.

Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020What I’d like to talk about today is a writer’s eye view of that spark and what having that spark means to the rest of our lives. Since I started writing erotica, my tagline has been that Freud was right. It IS all about sex. I believe that more and more the longer I write. Our sexuality infuses every other area of our lives, and in no place is it manifest more powerfully than in our creativity. I know, I know. You would expect an erotica writer to say that. But I’m talking about art, music, dance. That spark is also manifest in the way we handle problems, the win-win situations in the business world, cutting edge science and technology, ways to make life easier and better for all of us – those all dovetail into our creativity, which, at its core, is libido and drive to create. ‘Nuf psychology according to K D. My point is that sex and creativity are linked. I don’t think it’s any surprise to find that creative people are horny people. Nor do I find it surprising that people want to write and read erotica. I think it’s because of that very same spark.

Kay Jaybee and I are very excited to be teaching an Essentials of Writing Erotica Master Class here at Sh! on the 23rd of September.

It’s our opportunity to link creativity and sexuality in a place that has been doing that for years without writing a single story – though certainly the Sh! Ladiez have a lot of stories to tell.

It doesn’t matter if you write it to sell or write it for your own private pleasure, to be able to put a sexual experience into words – whether it’s a fantasy or an actual experience – is in a way like building your own sex toy. Oh yes! You can totally get off on words. Ask any one of the Brit Babes, check out the Sh! book shelf, check out the pages and pages of erotic books on Amazon if you have any doubts. Words are a great sex toy and a fabulous sex toy prompt as well. It’s no surprise at all that Sh! has a well-stocked shelf. The other thing about words is that they’re the ultimate safe sex. One of the best things about writing down those erotic fantasies and turning them in to fiction is that it allows a writer to live out even the darkest, most dangerous sexual fantasy vicariously, and that allows the reader to do the same.

Writing erotica is also a wonderful way to explore our own sexuality, to bring those deepest, darkest secret desires into the light, but still keep them at a safe distance.

Writing erotica is a way of delving a little deeper into the places we might even fear to go, but that a story format allows us to do a little more bravely, a little more boldly.

Also, any erotica writer will tell you that there’s no better way to explore the human psyche, to discover who the characters in a story are, than to see their sex lives and their attitudes toward sex unfold on the page.

There’s a safe intimacy in words that allows us free rein to explore our sexuality and discover just how multifaceted it really is. With that in mind, I don’t think it strange that people want to write and read erotica, nor do I think it’s strange that other people are frightened of it and see it as a threat fearing the ‘damage it might do to society.’ Life is all about intimacy issues and how we handle sex is a HUGE intimacy issue.

The-Tutor-KD-Grace_PromoSquare_PreOrder_finalI suppose in part that’s why my latest novel, The Tutor, holds such a soft spot in my heart. The novel is all about intimacy and the creative extremes we’re willing to go to in order to have it. In The Tutor, I take away the one sense that we never lose, the one we most rely on in our everyday life. I take away the sense of touch. Sculptor, Lex Valentine is severely haphephobic — not being able to touch anyone else or allow himself to be touched by others. Within that context, I wanted to explore intimacy and how it would develop – if it even could develop – without the aid of physical contact.

The Tutor is also a major testament to inspiration, which is another topic that will be approached in our workshop. The inspiration for The Tutor actually came from a workshop taught by Kay Jaybee at Smut Manchester last year. I was given a writing prompt that involved a tin of pears in heavy syrup and a mysterious summon to the storeroom of the local grocery store. That prompt led to The Tutor, proving that sometimes even when things go pear-shaped, good things happen.

While I probably won’t be bringing a tin of pears in heavy syrup to our workshop on the 23rd, I think I can safely say there will be writing prompts. For that matter, we’ll be in a fantastic store FULL of wonderfully sexy writing prompts.

We hope very much that you’ll sign on to join us and the Sh! Team, and we’ll do our best to stimulate that creative spark.


About K D Grace/Grace Marshall

Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.

KD is the author of 13 novels, multiple novellas, and countless short stories. She is published with Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Sweetmeats Press and others.

Find K D Here:                                                                  

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/          http://www.thebritbabes.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/


Free Erotica!

K D have very kindly offered us a fruity preview peek at The Tutor and having read it, we’re feeling all flustered… Enjoy! 

The Tutor

Struggling writer, Kelly Blake has a secret life as a sex tutor. Celebrated sculptor and recluse, Alexander ‘Lex’ Valentine, can’t stand to be touched. When he seeks out Kelly’s advice incognito, the results are too hot to handle. When Kelly terminates their sessions due to what she considers her unprofessional behavior, Lex takes a huge risk, revealing his identity to her at a gala exhibition, his first ever public appearance. When Kelly helps the severely haphephobic Lex escape the grope of reporters and paparazzi, rumors fly that the two are engaged, rumors encouraged by well-meaning friends and colleagues.

The press feeding frenzy forces Kelly into hiding at Lex’s mansion where he convinces her to be his private tutor just until the press loses interest, and she can go back home. They discover quickly that touch is not essential for sizzling, pulse-pounding intimacy. But intimacy must survive the secrets uncovered as their sessions become more and more personal.


Excerpt: Lessons in Pears

“Was this your idea or Dillon’s? Kelly asked, hoping to relax him.

“It was mine, after Andy told Dillon and he told me. I thought it was something that I …” The muscles along Lex’s jaw looked as though they were made out of iron, and a fine blush crawled up his neck tinting his ears bright pink. “I’ve never touched a woman … in that way.” He forced a laugh. “Obviously. I’ve …” the blush deepened and he avoided her gaze. “I’ve put lube on some of the sculptures – you know — down there, but I … well it isn’t the same.”

 

“The pears won’t be either,” she said, her heart suddenly aching at the physical isolation this man endured on a daily basis, and it wasn’t just her heart that ached, she felt his lack deep in her core. It had been easier with Andy. She had been almost flippant with him. She was sorry for that now. She spread one of the towels on the Queen Anne chair across from him and settled herself onto it so they were facing each other. “The texture will be different and with the pear there’ll be less give.” She dipped her fingers in the bowl and rubbed the heavy juice between her index finger and her thumb. “If you touch a woman, she’ll be much warmer.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You’ll be amazed at how warm and how soft she’ll be down there when she’s ready to be touched. With Andy, this,” she nodded down to the pears, “was improvisation, this was the best I could do under the circumstances, but a woman, well a woman feels like nothing you’ve ever touched before.”

 

He was no longer avoiding her gaze. His eyes were locked on her, and he was struggling to keep them on her face, she knew that; she understood the urge for him to drop his eyes to the place of which she spoke, the place with which she was so intimate, the place that couldn’t help but respond to the topic, to the situation, to the strange intimacy they had shared almost since the moment they’d met. “You can look, if you want,” she opened her legs so that he could see the place in between clothed in black denim, completely disguised and yet so very obvious. “And I’ll look at you too,” she nodded down to his own jeans straining to contain him already. “It’s what men and woman are naturally inclined to do when there’s a sexual attraction.”

 

With her heart hammering in her throat, she took one of the pear halves into the cupped palm of her left hand, then she brought it down between her spread thighs, feeling the juice of it run over her fingers and drip onto the towel as she spread her legs a little farther and held her pam to mimic the position of her vulva. “Touch it like a woman would touch it, and you’ll always get it right.” She drug her index and middle finger up from the bottom of the pear to the center and felt her own body respond in empathy. “The pear has no folds, no secret valleys, no swollen flesh to be teased open, so you’ll have to use your imagination with that.”

 

Lex gave a little moan soft and deep in his chest as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. “I know the anatomy,” he said. “I’ve watched porn and I’ve studied drawings. I know how it looks like it might feel. I know the response it elicits.” His tongue flicked nervously over his upper lip. “Of course that’s just acting, isn’t it?”

 

“Porn is about fantasy, about voyeurism, and it doesn’t matter if it’s real if it gets you off. But when it is real,” she spread her index and middle finger up the sides of the pear’s central opening, “if you’re good, if your sensitive, you’ll feel the spasms of your lover’s orgasm, even see them if you’re using your tongue; and you can feel them gripping at your cock when your inside her. If you’re paying attention.

 

“The clitoris,” she laughed softly, “Well with Andy I used a Ticktack, but he’s a chemistry major. He likes charts and graphs and periodic tables. You’re an artist, you live in your imagination, so you don’t need a Ticktack. Some women like the thumb stroking and circling while the other fingers work inside. Some women like to use their fingers.” She demonstrated on the pear, and Lex groaned. “It’s always best to ask and be sure.”

 

“What do you like?” His words were a labored rasp against the back of his throat, and Kelly found herself stunned by the question, and way more aroused than she wanted to be. He shouldn’t have asked. She should have answered. But she did.

 

“I like it this way.” She shifted her hips and opened a little further so he could see her thrust and scissor, circle and probe technique, and her body responded with the tight grip and release of muscle memory.

“Jesus,” he whispered moving forward on the sofa and leaning closer for a better look. “And when someone uses their tongue?”

 

She caught her breath in a giddy laugh. “Afraid I can’t tell you what I do since, sadly I’m not that flexible.”

 

“But you can tell me what you like.” His voice had gone rough.

 

“I like the flat of the tongue to part me and then probe me, circle my clit and then kiss and suck.” She closed her eyes, finding it difficult to meet his gaze when she spoke about something so intimate, so secret. Come to think of it, she’d never had a man actually ask her how she liked it. The few who had given a rat’s ass about her pleasure had been happy enough to let her order them about, but never quite got the hang of it.

 

It was the loud schussing sound that caused her to open her eyes. Lex had moved the coffee table out of the way paying no attention to the slosh of pear juice all over the towel V had spread. His eyes were locked on Kelly as he fished out his own pear half and fell to his knees in front of her. When she realized what the man was about to do she dropped the pear she’d been holding with a little gasp of surprise and scooted as far back in the chair as she could. He knelt low, holding the pear in the cup of his hand, as she had, placing it against the edge of the chair between her legs! She gave a little yelp and scrambled back in the chair still further, spreading her thighs over the rise of the chair arms to keep from touching him. He moved forward, the back of his hand so close to her crotch that she could feel the heat of it, and he lowered himself still further until his hair nearly brushed the insides of her thighs. Then, still looking up at her from his position on the floor, he began at the bottom of the open pear half and ran his tongue flat and undulating all the way up, flicking in just slightly in a little circle at the top end before he closed his lips around the apex and she could hear the slurp and suck of the sweet syrup.

 

“Oh! Lex! Ah!” And then she went non-verbal, holding her breath, tightening muscles deep inside her body, the only muscles she dared to move if she were to keep from touching him. She raised both arms and fisted her hands in a suicide grip around the back of the chair to keep from curling them in his hair. Her thighs trembled from her efforts to keep her legs on the chair arms and not throw them over his shoulders for leverage. She didn’t move. She didn’t breath as he licked and nuzzled and suckled until pear juice ran down his chin and onto his tee-shirt, until his face was damp and sticky, until his forehead was sheened with perspiration, and still he held her gaze as though they were locked together in each other’s orbit neither able to move without the other’s consent.

 

“Oh God, I’m gonna come.” She barely managed a warning when his own convulsion brought him dangerously near her body. He had stopped breathing, she was sure of it. She practically climbed the back of the chair to keep from touching him as he lost control. Then with a tremendous gasp of oxygen, he straightened, let the pear fall from his hand onto the Aubusson carpet and looked up at her.

 

“I’m going to pass out.” And he did.

 

The Tutor now available for Preorder

Release: 11th October

eBook:

Totally Bound Publishing

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

Amazon DE

Print:

Totally Bound Publishing


Feeling inspired? Book a ticked to Essential Elements of Erotica Masterclass here!

Elements of Erotic Writing

Jane Fae

Free Erotica – Hot Poem by Jane Fae.

 

 

A hot poem by Jane Fae.

Now Jane, she had an itch to scratch
That she with no-one shared

She’d die of sheer embarrassment
Before she ever dared.

Until the day a sex expert
Gave Jane opinion frank
If you don’t give it one more try
You’ll die without a wank

But how, asked Jane its never worked
I fear its taken ill
Relax the expert smoothly said
Relax, lie back and chill

So Jane, good Jane, obedient girl
Did just as Gloria* said
She shooed her cats and shushed the child
And took herself to bed.

And there, amidst her panoply
Of low light, candles, scent
She spread her legs, gave up a prayer
And for orgasm went.

She took a tube of lubricant
Squeezed out a careful drop
And then with “fuck it” and a sigh
She squelched the rest on top!

She rubbed, and rubbed and pulled and stroked
And then she rubbed some more
She kept on rubbing half the night
She woke the next day sore

Night after night did gentle Jane
With gritted teeth essay
Pulling, pushing, shoving, shushing
Til the break of day

It doesn’t work she sadly said
Before she asked herself:
“That chill the expert told me of,
Perhaps its something else?”

So next up she tried freezing lube
Which left her feeling cold
And altogether out of sorts
If truly truth be told

First frost, then tingle, fruit and cloves
Will tiger balm fulfill me?
It didn’t. So this foolish girl
Tried one more time – with chilli

The screams, the howls the fuss that followed
Were witness to her pain.
I won’t be trying that she sobbed,
No never not again

Next up, excuse me for the pun,
She put inside a dildo
Twas pleasant hard and not too bad
But cumming?  Oh no.  Still no.

The answer her best friend advised
Was different sensation
And so her quest then took a turn
In search of good vibration

The bullet almost did the trick
The pink non-doctor too
But she got shot of both of them
for what they didn’t do

Which was of course, persist enough
As batteries proved quite useless
And left her lying sadly wanting
Steaming in her juices

Mains-power it really had to be
She found an Ebay bargain
A hi-speed dibber, nothing less
To work her lady garden

And so it might had not disaster
Struck our sleepy jane
Who dozing off quite pleasantly
Woke to a fail again

She guessed at first, the poor thing had
Buzzed just the way it should
Then coughed and spluttered, over-heated:
Singeing!  This ain’t good!

“For 20 mins, no longer, use”,
She read upon the side
Oh dear! The clock said many more
And now the thing has died.

Was this the end, it seemed to be
Until she found a store
In Hoxton square she chanced on it
She passed on thru the door

And there inside her mind was boggled
By such a wealth of gadgets
That buzzed and tingled, even pumped
Oh my! she said.  Its magic

And shyly testing, teasing trying
She found herself a wand
Twas purple and it had ten speeds
She took it in her hand

Then gift-wrapped, paid for, hurry home,
She scarce believed her luck
But back inside, upon her bed
Twas time to.. . run amuck

And here a veil, I think we must
On what came next now draw
Except to say what came was Jane
Not once, not twice, but more

She’s grateful for her magic wand
Pleased she made one last push
But over all she’d like to thank
The girls who work at Sh!

FF Banner

The poem that Jane Fae wrote for the Sh! Erotic Poetry and Reading slam commemorates a certain amount of help given her by the women of Sh!.  Some of it is true.  🙂

* – Gloria, here is Gloria Brame, PhD, a US-based writer, board certified sexologist, and sex therapist in private practice. Gloria has been described by some as the “Albert Einstein of kinky sex”. For more about Gloria or her publications, go to http://www.gloriabrame.com/

 

* * * * * * * * * *

Thank you Jane! We can’t wait to see you again!

Free Erotica Friday

Free Erotica – Boxed by Sam Swinglehurst


After a recent tweet asking for both published and unpublished authors to share their sexy stories right here on Free Erotica Friday, we received a cheerful call from ‘secret bedroom writer’ Sam Swinglehurst, which has led us…here! She sent us some Free Erotica that got us both hot and bothered, and we think you’ll feel the same…

But before we start, tell us more about yourself, Sam – how did you get into wringing erotica?

 

I first started writing in the ’80’s at a school lunch club called the “Inklings” in order to not get bullied in the yard… The teacher was also my form tutor and had caught me with Playgirl under the desk, and had to confiscate it, and so had an idea that most of what I wrote I most likely never showed anyone. He was right. He is still right!

Although I have been writing for many years, it’s been as a secret ‘bedroom’ writer. I don’t show people what I write. Most people don’t even know I write. It’s been my secret for many years! So it is with both great excitement, and trepidation that I unleash some of my erotic writing onto you dear reader…

I do write other styles, thriller fiction, poetry and teen novels. However, erotica is definitely my personal favourite to write.

This story ‘Boxed’ is part of a longer novella. The story was inspired by many visits to a London club night that happens once a year to raise money for the charity “Outsiders’. ‘Boxed’ has been slightly altered to allow it to ‘work’ as a short story.

It would be amazing if a publisher reads this, and might be interested in my novella. Ah a girl can dream!

Read on for your weekly does of FREE erotica…

 

Boxed

I stand staring at the 2 metre cubed wooden grope box. I’m fascinated by the randomly sized yet strategically placed holes. I move closer, bending to look through one. Naked costumed men & women tightly throng near the openings. Mmmm. I put my right hand through and touch bare skin. Curves of leg and buttock. I stretch, sliding my hand up a man’s back. Strong muscly shoulders. He turns, moving under my touch, letting me feel him. His willingness is turning me on. Slightly hairy, firm chest. I let my hand slowly fall. Tight stomach. A flaccid cock. I stroke. I hold. I feel. Movement. Response. Growth… No longer a flaccid cock I hold in my hand. My breathing quickens. I’m excited. Instantly my desire to pleasure this stranger consumes me.

 

My hand caresses with slow, gentle, purposeful touch. I stroke up and down. Occasionally I use a firm still grip, pulsing my hand slightly to tease. The more I touch, the more he grows. What an unexpected size. I use the lightest of fingertip touches around his helmet. Letting my nails rake gently down his length. I play a moment with his shaven balls, then gently teasingly tug on the small tuft of hair above his cock. He responds by moving closer to the hole. What a bonus! Now I can reach him better. I’m quite tempted to bend down and take him in my mouth but I resist this temptation. If I bend over, my skirt will not be long enough. My spiderweb crotchless panties will flaunt my naked horny wet pussy. I don’t feel like getting taken from behind by any of the interested people watching me.

I experiment with my touch. He definitely responds to slow deliberate rhythm. I grip him quite firmly, yet not tight. My hand moves up and down his rigid shaft. I am secretly wanting to ride him, wishing my hand were my aching pussy. I move closer to the box, wondering if it’s possible to use this hole as a glory hole for him to fuck me through. My nipples are erect and exposed through the mesh of my spiderweb bra. I use the corner of the box to rub my nipple against. My left hand is rubbing my clit. My right hand begins to get faster as I get hornier. He is soaking my hand with his excitement which is a real turn on. I use his pre-cum as lube to slide my hand, momentarily, very fast, up and down his rod without his skin moving. I feel his knees give way slightly and his cock expand. I resume my previous firm but gentle hold somewhat faster now. I know he is getting close.

I feel his excitement as my own. Now instead of getting faster and faster as I might usually have done I let my grip tighten very slightly. I slow it down while exaggerating the rhythm, using a jerking movement of my wrist at top and bottom of the stroke. Oh its such a hot thing for me to do this to a guy. I’m almost cumming myself as I feel his knees give way. His weight falls forward against the box, squirting his ecstasy with the jerks of my strokes. My hand is covered in his orgasmic release. I continue small squeezes and some ‘cool down’ strokes as he recovers himself. He stands up again. He touches my arm with a gentle squeeze by way of a thank you. I withdraw my hand fumbling in my bumbag with my left hand looking for a wipe. I eventually find one, and stand cleaning my hands.

I contemplate for just a moment, but I’m so horny now, I rapidly decide to find a way in to this pleasure cube. I walk round to one side, fingers fumbling for a door. At last my fingers find an opening. The whole of the side opens as an entrance. I step up into the box. Its dark and humid inside. Shafts of light coming through the grope holes give enough light to see by. It smells horny. Hot bodies dripping with need.

Now I’m inside I feel someone reach out and touch me, stroking hands up my thighs, then finding my slippery crevice. God how I ache with desire. I lunge forward reflexively onto the fingers exploring me, impaling myself deliciously. Before I know it, I feel the strong body of the man attached to the hand, behind me cradling me with his other arm. He gently whispers in my ear,

“It’s your turn now. I can feel how much you need this.” as he guides me towards one of the walls. I lean my hands against the wood, bending forwards. My tits are now in reach of one of the ‘holes’ in the wall. I have my legs open making a large arch. He removes his fingers from my horny pussy. He squats down in front of me. He nuzzles my clit with his nose as he fucks me with pointed tongue. Suddenly he flicks up across my bud, making me buck, and moan out load.

The moan attracted attention. Hands start stroking across my back, then down my legs. Their fingers are searching for my pussy. When they find it is being pleasured already, they turn their attention to my arse. They bend down and start gently rimming me. My stomach rolls with a mixture of nerves and excitement. I try to turn to see who is giving me such excellent treatment, but its too dark. I give up trying. I decide to just go with whatever comes my way.

A hand reaches through the hole and fondles my breast. With nails like that, I instantly know its a woman. Thats horny. The guy in front is expertly licking and flicking my clit, intermittently finger fucking me at the same time. It’s really getting me off. The person behind me is giving me some serious tongue. Then I feel fingers probing my arse hole. Oh god. I’m getting really close to cumming.

As if they can both sense that, without warning, first one stands, then the other. I’m confused. Then they lift me up between them on a count of three! As I slide down onto the front guy’s rigid cock, I let out a guttural moan.

As I’m being bumped up and down on this delicious rod, I feel a pressure against my arse. Before I can even think about it the pressure slightly gives way, and a wave of curdling pleasure rips though me, as another lubed cock enters me. They rock me back and forth on their pleasure tools, from one to the other, as I cum hard around them, screaming with delight.

“S’great. Oh yeah. Keep going, more… more..” I utter, as they continue to rock me to and fro on one then the other cock filling my body.

A hand reaches through a hole from outside, feeling about for anyone. She finds the three of us. She explores, realising whats happening, she lets her fingers rest on the cock going in & out of my pussy. She is squeezing him. I can feel him growing bigger. Then she changes to rubbing my clit. I’m already so far gone, thats all it takes before I’m bucking, cumming against her hand. The dick in my arse is almost too much now. The two guys calm down a bit momentarily. As they start moving me again, their motion changes to up and down. Rather than feel one then the other enter me, I now feel both together. This is a new twist. It makes me feel very full. My excitement is immense.

I feel another orgasm building deep within me. I moan,

“Yeah, yeah, oh yeah…. I’m gonna cum!” As this leaves my mouth, I feel my guys cocks thicken.

We all cum within seconds of each other. How lovely. It was all very unexpected but lovely.

They lift me off them, letting me down onto the floor. Wow. Wicked box.

I pull both guys towards me, and kiss them in a three way kiss. We tousle each others hair as we kiss a long passionate kiss.

I open my eyes. I see all the paper work on my desk. Reality. I look at the clock, realising my lunch break is almost over. I am still stroking my sopping spasming pussy, after the biggest orgasm I’ve had in a while. Aren’t fantasies great! I swivel gently on my black leather office chair, retrieving my fingers, tasting them languidly, thinking that there are perks to having one’s own office.

 

Sam Swinglehurst is a 40 something female, living in the UK, on the South Coast, and as yet, have no website or FaceBook page, or anything, other than an email in-box! This is me ‘putting it out there!’ I’m sure if I get a good response from this story, it’s likely the above will manifest soon enough.

I welcome all feedback… I would love to know if this story ‘does it’ for you, as it did for me writing it!

If you want to find out more, send me feedback, or are interested in publishing my work elsewhere, please contact me at SamSwinglehurst@mac.com  

 

Tamsin Flowers

Free Erotica – Your Desire: The Mistress by Tamsin Flowers

We hope you are all making the most of the long, balmy summer evenings – perfect for romantic walks through woodlands, flirty picnics in the park, sexy adventures on deserted beaches or partaking in some free erotica…

Summer is the time for alfresco shenanigans; skinnydipping at dawn and playing knickerless-kiss-chase across well-manicured lawns at dusk. So, as this gorgeous month comes to a close, we welcome back the wonderful Tamsin Flowers.

Back on Free Erotica Friday due to popular demand, Ms Flowers is heating up the blog with a Free Erotica excerpt from Your Desire: The Mistress.

Without further ado, over to you, Tamsin…

 

“This is what you love to do; to render me helpless, trembling, sweating and crying under your touch, unable to control myself or resist even though we’re in the presence of another person. This isn’t something your wife would let you do in a thousand years.”

 

Your Desire: The Mistress is a short story which explores what it’s like to be the mistress of an extremely wealthy man – the private jets and swanky hotels, the jewels and wild, wanton sex…  But is it really all it’s cracked up to be?

First published by Ether Books Ltd 2013

To download the full story, visit Ether Books: http://ethr.me/p2493 – mobile reading app.

 

Free Erotica Excerpt:

Seeing you standing on the tarmac next to a baby jet makes my pulse race.  You’re on the phone but I know the look in your eye as you watch me get out of the car.  Your tongue darts between your lips to moisten them.  And you look so good, tanned and relaxed.  I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks because you were away on holiday with your family.  With your wife.  With Marcia.  But I won’t think about that now.

You finish your call.

“Hey beautiful,” you say, holding out a hand to me.  “I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you,” I say, throwing myself into your arms.

You kiss me passionately, your tongue darting into my mouth, one hand on the back of my head to hold me steady.  You don’t care if the driver, unloading my case, sees us.  Your most trusted staff members all know you have a mistress.  They know who I am and most of them are generous with their attention to me.  Their loyalty lies with you, not with your wife, I think.

“Come on, we can go now,” you say.

You lead me by the hand up the narrow steps and into the private aircraft that belongs to your company.  It’s a small corporate jet which only seats four passengers.  But that doesn’t matter as we’re the only two.  Just us and the pilot and a bottle of champagne.

“Where are we going?” I ask, sinking down into one the luxurious leather seats.  I always sit with my back to the open cockpit, you always sit facing me.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” you say with an enigmatic smile.

You love to tease me.  I undo two buttons of my blouse to tease you back, stroking the silky fabric away from my décolletage to make sure you catch a glimpse of the oyster chantilly lace beneath.  You grunt approvingly and I know you want to reach out and touch it but the pilot has just told us to fasten our seatbelts.  As we taxi down the runway I cross and uncross my legs, letting the soft crepe skirt I’m wearing ride up my thighs.  Your eyes are bright.  You know I’m wearing no panties, even though you’re not at the right angle to see.

As we hit take-off speed, I slide my hips forward in my seat, as far as the belt will allow, and spread my legs wide for you.  With a moan, you kick off one of your loafers and let your bare foot slide up the inside of my calf.  You rest it on the lip of my seat, pressing it against my knee, surveying me through half closed eyes.  I undo another of my blouse buttons and cup one lacy breast with my hand.  I pinch the nipple through the fabric and throw my head back.  Your foot slips up my inner thigh and searches out my pussy, warm and already so wet for you.  You wiggle your toes, making me gasp aloud as one of them brushes over my burgeoning clit.

The engines roar and I feel the g-force as the plane gets off the ground.  You keep moving your foot, making me squirm in the seat, but I deliberately hold back on the sensations coursing through me.  When the pilot gives us permission to undo the seatbelts, things’ll get going properly.

“Okay, we’re up now,” the pilot’s voice comes to us over the intercom, though he’s sitting only a few feet away. “You can take off your seatbelts until it’s time to land in approximately an hour and fifty minutes. I trust you’ll enjoy the flight.”

I can hear the knowing in his voice but you ignore it and undo your seatbelt straightaway. I follow suit and snap open the buckle on mine.

“Champagne, babe?”

You withdraw your foot from my between my legs, wiping your glistening toes on the carpet. Then you go to the small fridge at the back of the cabin. At over six foot tall, you can hardly stand up straight in the tiny jet but a moment later you’re back in your seat with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Watching you wrestle with the cork makes me nervous; what if it pops and smashes through a window or takes out the pilot? But you’re an old pro opening champagne bottles. You simply twist off the cork, keeping your hand over the top of it, and a second later the golden nectar is whispering into the glasses.

We drink quickly. For us two weeks apart is a long time and we’re in a hurry to get down to business. As soon as my glasses empty, you take it from me and place it on a side table. Then you’re kneeling in front of me, pushing up my skirt and spreading my legs wide again.

“Oh God, look at you. I’ve been dreaming of this for a fortnight, babe.”

Somehow I doubt that. I know you still have sex with your wife. With Marcia. But I also know that you prefer it with me. I’m more accommodating, more compliant to your desires than she is. After all, when was the last time she sucked you off?

I slide forward in my seat, this time much further, giving you complete and total access to the warm, dark cleft between my legs. You’re already breathing heavily; I can feel it warm and dewy on the inside of my thighs. You run a finger up and down the centre of my labia, sending a shiver of pleasure up through me, and then your mouth is on me and I gasp. The first time this happened, so many months ago, I looked round, worried at what the pilot might think. But now I don’t care. He takes no notice; he’s too busy flying the plane and it’s happened too many times before for it to be of concern to him.

You push your tongue up inside me, making my hips buck and my breath hitch. It creeps slowly upwards, swirling gently, licking and sucking and tasting my juices. I want to feel it on my clit so I flex my hips downwards to direct it there. But you know my tricks and you’re going to take your own sweet time. Your hands come round and underneath my buttocks, grasping them and massaging them and it’s all coming together into such a confluence of sensations there is nothing I can do but whimper and arch my back ready for the climax coming.

At last your mouth reaches my clit and your teeth grasp it as your tongue rasps across its sensitive tip. You pull on it and suck it until I’m literally squirming in the seat. You manoeuvre one hand to allow your thumb to penetrate my cunt, flexing it up and down, and then I feel another finger, wet with the juices running out of me, pushing softly and slowly into my arse. This barrage of sensations finally pushes me over the edge and the first wave of orgasmic pleasure rolls up through me, making me gasp. You intensify your attentions and my orgasm explodes, making me cry out sharply now.

This is what you love to do; to render me helpless, trembling, sweating and crying under your touch, unable to control myself or resist even though we’re in the presence of another person. This isn’t something your wife would let you do in a thousand years. You look up, smiling at me.

“Was it worth the wait, beautiful?”


 

 

About Tamsin Flowers

In the words of one reviewer, ‘Ms. Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body.’  As a thoroughly bad girl on a journey of self-discovery as an erotic writer, Tamsin Flowers is as keen to entertain her readers as she is to explore every aspect of female and male sexuality. Hoping to touch you on your most erotic zones, she writes light-hearted stories that are sizzling hot, perfect for reading on your own or with someone in whom you have more than a passing interest…  Read further excerpts of her work at www.tamsinflowers.com and discover her books at Tamsin Flowers.

 

 

Free Erotica – Party Directions by Alyss Abyss

Free Erotica – Party Directions by Alyss Abyss

Welcome to Free Erotica Friday

Today’s treat is penned by Alyss Abyss; a first timer here on Free Erotica Friday.

Her story is one of sado-masochism and love, and we don’t mind admitting we’re more than a little intrigued – is this a true story or kinky fiction, Alyss?

Trigger Warning: Although we know that kidnap and abuse scenes aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, this is no doubt a hot story – with a happy ending! Let us know what you think, readers…

Party Directions

My directions are clear; it’s a short walk from the bus stop to the party, just it happens to got through the old industrial estate. I don’t think anything of it until I get there and hear the echoing of my heels clicking eerily on the concrete footpath. Without thinking, I speed up, stealing glances at the map every few seconds, trying to reassure myself that it’s not that much further. I turn the corner and almost run into someone. I try to move around them and they step the same way. I go the other way and, again, they step with me. Giggling nervously, I stop and they stride past me and I hurry down the path, double checking the map again.

I suddenly feel an arm around my neck and before I even register what is happening, material is forced into my mouth and over my eyes. I panic. Kicking and trying to scream, I claw at the arm holding me but it stays strong and I can feel myself being dragged backwards, my heels scraping on the ground. The bumps of going up steps and through a doorway, where my heel catches and snaps. A loud slam, magnified in what must be one of the large, empty warehouses.

Someone grabs my wrists and secures them with a scratchy rope, pulling my hands above my head, forcing me to stand tall, feeling awkward in my broken shoes. I feel the cool of metal against my skin and tense up. The blade trails across my throat, sharp, cold, deadly. My dress falls away from me as I feel the knife at my shoulders, my bra following. The knife slips down my body, skimming over my skin, and I can feel myself subconsciously relaxing. Trailing down the crease between my leg and my cunt, my breath catches, suddenly nervous again. My knickers are pulled away from my body and then fall loose, cut away without a sound. Suddenly, there is nothing touching me, whoever held the knife having moved away, and I feel vulnerable and exposed, shivering with the coolness on my skin and the fear that is washing over me. My mouth is dry from the fabric stuffed in it and the sides are sore where it is digging in. I hear rustles and murmurs, unable to place the sounds, disorientated by the lack of sight and the adrenaline pumping through my body.

I know someone is close by again; there are muffled feet on the ground near me and I feel a presence. I will myself to calm down and I can hear their breathing. Coming closer, I can smell something very familiar but I can’t quite place it. Another person near to me, hands snaking around my body, onto my breasts, not caressing but taking time to pull and grope and tease. A whisper in my ear.

“You know everyone in this room, little slut, but don’t think that means you’re safe.”

A shudder escapes me involuntarily, the voice recognisable but I don’t want to think that they are here, seeing me like this, doing this to me.

“Don’t be scared, little one” another familiar growl, “you’re in good hands”

A mix of cruel laughter drifts across the room. I’m starting to think about just who might be here when I’m distracted by the clinking of chain, the clatter of wood, the movement of people around me. My mind is flooded with terrible ideas of what will happen to me and my breathing speeds up. Fear and anticipation mix, my skin covering in goosebumps, waiting, frightened, eager.

The first strike catches me off guard. The tails of the flogger tear into the skin on my back and I gasp out, not really through the pain. The wielder takes that as a cue to go on and the blows continue, slowly paced, heavily, thuddy. A warm glow spreading across my back and arse. My head flops and I give in to the sensation, letting my mind go, almost glad they tied me up. A pause, a moment of respite, just enough for my senses to return. Just enough so that when the flogging starts again, I really notice the difference. Faster, harder, barely chance to breath, the tails stinging, biting. I know they want me to call out but I don’t want to give them that pleasure. I take it all as best I can, breathing through the pain, processing it into delightful endorphins, willing myself to keep up with them.

As suddenly as it started, it stops. I feel my arms lowered a little, a hand on my head, forcing me to bend over. Hands at my ankles attaching me to cuffs, spreading my legs. A collar around my neck, attached to somewhere so I can’t stand back up. Exposed, positioned and exploitable.

“Shall we beat her or fuck her?”

The room filled with malicious laughter again, my heart pounding, both ideas terrifying and exciting me in equal measure. A hand grabbing my hair, pulling my head back, removing the material in my mouth, for it to be quickly replaced by something else, something larger, smoother. Straps pulled back and fastening the ball gag in my mouth. Subconsciously, I let out a snort of anger, something that is met with the biggest slap across my arse, ones which continue to rain down, spread out but unrelenting. My screams muffled, held back by the object in my mouth and frustration starts to set in.

The beating continues. I’m aware that there are different sensations, different implements, probably different people abusing me but I can barely distinguish anything as I try to process the pain. The initial flogging seems like a distant, beautiful memory, yet I can feel my increasing arousal, that ache that spreads through my cunt, increasing with every series of strokes. Pulled around, straightened up, pushed and shoved, anything to give people better access to my body. My breasts abused, slapped, pinched, bitten. Nipples pulled, twisted, clamped. Fists and feet slam into me, delicious thudding onto my back and arse, my legs buckling, my body taking whatever is thrown at it, beyond pain, beyond thinking.

The gag removed, drool pouring down my chin, wiped across my face. Restraints removed, my limbs free but still they leave me blind to who they are. A fist in my hair, pulling me to my knees, a cock forced into my tired mouth, right to the back of my throat so I splutter and gag. Hands hold my head still whilst my face is fucked. Focussing on staying upright and not choking, I barely have time to think of how embarrassing this is. Hands on my waist roughly pull me so I’m on all fours. Cool air skims across my exposed cunt and I shiver involuntarily, cunt throbbing, desperate for attention. Fingers probe me; one, then two, then three.

“Wow, she really is a little masochist slut” as they wipe their dripping fingers across my arse.

I feel my face glow. Having my arousal pointed out like that is a guaranteed way to make me both embarrassed and more horny.

A strap on fills my cunt, the cock still fucking my mouth. I can’t think of anything but my desires. I want to be completely filled, to be used by them all, to be objectified and abused. I’ve given in to my overwhelming desires now and instead of protesting, I am encouraging, begging, willing them on in my mind. My back arches more, my arse proud in the air. Whoever is fucking me seems to notice and gets faster, pounding away at my cunt. Tension is building up, orgasm moments away and they pull out, running the length of their cock along my slit, sending a shudder through me. Still forced to suck at the cock in my mouth, tears of frustration prick at my eyes. My suddenly empty cunt aching to be filled, desperate for release.

“You want to come, do you?” rhetorical, mocking.

Rough hands at my clit, teasing for a second and then spreading my arse. The person at my mouth pulls out and, without thinking, I call out, desperate, longing, wonton.

“Please fill me, fuck me, make me come”

“You can do better than that!”

“Oh, Please. Please let me come. Please, sir. Please, miss. Oh, please.” I blush, knowing how pathetic I sound.

“But we’ve only just got started, little one. We wouldn’t want to tire you out before we were done with you.”

Tears pour as they continue to use me, keeping me on the brink, never letting me come, fucking me however they choose.

Finally, a gentle whisper in my ear.

“Good girl! Are you ready to come for us?”

The words are so freeing, I feel an orgasm well up in me, my cunt aching, my legs crumbling. Powerful and loud, I come so many times in quick succession, the hand at my clit unrelenting. Finally, I collapse to the floor, exhausted, happy, gasping for air.

The blindfold removed. Time to meet my ‘captors’. My partners smiling down at me, our kinky friends, a group of people all looking at me lovingly.


 

Alyss Abyss is a 28 year old Mancunian who identifies as a poly, queer, often femme, switch. She enjoys kink, singing, knitting, geeky TV and musicals. She lives with her husband and cat, with other partners living close by who are also a major part of her life. She is a regular on the kink scene and is starting to make queer porn and work as a BDSM model.

She writes her own blog where you can also find more of her smutty stories. Some of them are based on truth, others are just her fantasies and desires. She writes because she wants to share her filthy mind with others.

Follow her on Twitter @AlyssAbyssUK