writingdirty

Dirty stories by Jack Stratton

Tag: finger

The Shaving Lesson

To meet the husband of you lover is a strange thing. To realize he was flirting with you was quite another. Henry, poked at his eggs and smiled nervously as Adam and Kay whispered to each other, both pairs of their pretty eyes sparkling at him as they conspired.

Henry squirmed under their eyes and attention. The whole thing wasn’t going the way he had planned at all. He had expected brunch to be something formal, like meeting your girlfriend’s parents, but he should have known any man who would have the balls to marry Kay would have to be an interesting character himself.

When they asked him back to their apartment, Henry choked on his cold brew. Still, it was put so innocently, he had to say yes.
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Lips and Regret

Her lips were far too full for such a fragile bird-like girl. She had no right to have lips like that. It was, among other things, unfair.

There was an aesthetic there, in her dress, which was layers of diaphanous sepia silk and gauzy cotton. The way her hair was timeless, retro, modern, all at once. The softness around the edges of her pale and thin body. Like she was captured by an old camera.

If she were a picture I could keep her under my bed, in a secret box, to finger her edges when alone.

Instead I took her for drinks and nervously edged around her silence and her eyes. And longed for her lips. Her lips on a glass, her lips on a cigarette, her lips on a straw, her lips on everything but mine.

Her notebook was absurd in its delicacy. A fountain pen, mahogany ink, a script so fine it could be another language. Surely English was far too clumsy a choice for words so precise.

If her lips were unfair then her words were cruelly beautiful. Melancholy and full of longing. One of those stories that is at once sad and yet so lovely you can’t help but smile.

The hesitation bloomed into tension, then my chance (if I had one) was gone.

So it goes.

Jack Swings

There are parts of the city that die at night. The hustle and bustle of the day ends abruptly at about six or seven. Stragglers and work horses may stay until eight or nine. By eleven the streets of the Financial District are deserted.

As our cab pulled up to a seemingly random corner I paid and we wandered out cautiously. I checked my phone for the hundredth time and found the address. As I was told it was above a deli. The building looked just like everything else there; gray, empty, foreboding.

I took Zonah’s hand and we shared raised eyebrow amusement at the shadiness of this whole situation.

Next to the deli was a door with a row of anonymous doorbells. I pressed all of them. In a second a weak tinny buzz croaked and the door clicked open.

Up two flights of dirty but not really filthy stairs until we saw lights and an open door. A twentysomething boy, pretty, shirtless, slightly drunk, came out and opened his arms.

“Welcome to the sex party!”
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A Meal of You

 

 

A story influenced by Alice in Wonderland. A young girl slips into a daydream world and is thrown into a frightening adventure. WARNING! Don’t read this if you are offended by fairy tale type characters of indeterminate age, very questionable consent, attempted cannibalism(?!), obscene cutlery, mammoth root vegetables and/or the misuse of butter.
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Let Go

It started with Jones from accounting. He was called into an office, so routine, and then security came and unplugged his computer. Donna Moore was next, she was some kind of account rep. In a week Baker, Lee and Hernandez were all gone.

They all walked out of that office with same dull numb looks on their face, like they’d seen a ghost.

They took on all of accounting and all of the account reps, cutting roughly a third of their numbers. Though I had some evidence I was safe, you never know.

Katie had been this ever-present force in my office life. Nothing serious, nothing real, just flirting. A passing glance, a little smile, a look that lasted a second too long. We never even really spoke much but she suddenly became my best friend when the trouble started.

She would swing over to my desk when the smokers went out on their breaks. We had the bond of the clean lunged.

I had always noticed her. Tallish, a little broad shouldered and obviously originally from the Midwest. Some of those Midwest girls have a certain build; a little stocky like field hockey players – and they never lose that. She was that type, but with the poise and fashion sense of someone who had lived in Manhattan for a few years. Shoulder length chocolate brown hair that was shiny and smooth, a very expensive cut. She wore designer clothes and had a million shoes. She liked to look good and smell good. Continue reading

What is in a Name

This post involves Daddy/little girl roleplay. Everyone involved is over eighteen.
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Fiction – The Bet

I really love this story. I have lots of notes for more about this character, but I don’t know if I have the knowledge or the ambition to really write it all out. No sex, but some fun. See when you figure out the twist.
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Writing Prompt – Artist Management

The prompt was: A handsome European classical musician cornering a girl who works in his agent’s office.
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Jack, Janie and Mariella

Gentle readers, I am going to tell you a true story now. The story of when I had my first sex blogger date. In wonderful sex blog fashion, said date included three people.

Janie Blooms of The Late Bloomer Finally Blooms, who by the way is in full bloom and lovely in her geek chic glasses and buxom brashness. Then there was the ever so charming Mariella from In Media Res… who is exquisite. A coquettish little lolita.

*

We met at a bar, the three of us, after a little mix up. There were perfunctory conversations. We laughed at the awkwardness of it, even though that awkwardness didn’t seem to exist. We were quite comfortable in fact.

I didn’t know what to make of it all before I got there. Going in I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d spoken to each of them separately online. I loved both of their blogs. I already had crushes on both of them to tell the truth. I thought I would meet them, I would see what happened.

The thing is when you read about someone in the fashion you get to know very specific things about them. When you meet them in person all the little holes in the story get filled up very quickly. So to speak. I was expecting sexy people I was expecting flirting maybe. I wasn’t expecting two completely brilliant extremely interesting women.

I wasn’t expecting the chemistry.

In the dark bar we found a quiet corner. I wonder what wandering eyes did see, though. The three of us instantly slipped into private jokes and inside information. We were following each other’s lead, though somehow I ended up the ring leader.

Mariella is a very particular kind of girl. That clumsy giggly kind of girl who’s just figuring out that she is sexy. She’s walking around with a body like a loaded gun. She is falling out of her dress. She can’t stop fidgeting. She twirls her hair and bites her lips. She bends over you, not realizing or at least pretending not to realize that her breasts are in your face. She twists and turns and squirms, almost in your lap.

When you kiss her she gives it her all. She’s overtaken by it and she has to pull herself away from it when it’s over, though she sits there with her eyes closed trying to recover.

Her body is hot to the touch, her dress is tight. A hand on her side and she melts into your grip, pressing and wanting more. When your hand finds her naked leg she is biting her lip and she doesn’t know what to do with all the want. Every bit of her is trying to pull your hand up her thigh. Every sweet breath and kiss and flirting look is making you inch closer to slipping your finger into the spot you know is wet and hungy and burning hot.

Janie is a whole different animal. Janie is more like me.

She looks at you fearlessly through her glasses. Measuring and evaluating. Daring you to move in. Giving you signals, but still making sure you have the balls to move in.

The challenge in her eyes set me off a little. We were locking glases over beer, over Mariella who was at first sitting in the middle and then by the end of the night sandwiched between us.

The flirting was ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting as most people know it. We are, all three of us, obviously advanced. The entendre was four or five layers thick. Our eyes were locking and dodging and hungry and saying a million different things. Well, really only one thing. “I want to fuck”

There was literary conversation and anecdotes, stories about relationships and sex, but all of the pretty words only made us realize that we probably could have skipped it all and went to bed right then and there. But it was too late. It was a Tuesday. Maybe it was too amazing to move on. The flirting and the kissing and eventually the touching was a whole new kind of sex. My knee is still shaking 24 hours later.

It started when Mariella went to the lady’s room. I moved in and sat next to Janie. She has a cocky sort of grin. So I kissed her. Just a little kiss. Testing the waters. She didn’t budge much, but she kissed me back. We smiled. I think I passed the first test.

A bit later Janie went to the bathroom and I whispered in Mariella’s ear that we had kissed. She said we had some catching up to do.

Mariella’s kiss wasn’t a test. A kiss and she liquified. She turned into molten lava. Tongues and hands and I started getting dizzy.

We told Janie when she got back like two kids who spilled something on the sofa. She smiled wickedly and told us we should kiss again, this time in front of her. So we did. The next time I kissed Janie she let go a little, opening her mouth falling into the kiss.

I can only imagine what the waitress saw. Two bespectacled geeky people staring into each others eyes from both sides of a squirming sex pot. All I know is she came over and offered us a free round.

It continued like this. Climbing like a thermometer in July. Kissing one of them, then the other. Kissing leading to touching. Then the shock of naked air as we pulled ourselves apart. My hand on Mariella’s leg, his side, scratching her back, while Janie did the same from the other side. The best moment was fingers meeting someone else’s fingers under her skirt. Our eyes meeting as we explored the achingly smooth skin of the younger girl between us. Oh the plans our eyes communicated.

And so I am now the king of the East Village. Stalling before getting on the train we took turns kissing, sometimes looking into the eyes of one while kissing the other right in front of the subway entrance. I was embarrassed, but Janie told me how rock star I was.

And now? Every day will be torture until we pick up where we left off.

Delicious excruciating candy coated fucking torture.

Fiction – Backroom

When I pushed her against the bookshelf and kissed her neck and pressed myself hard against her, she didn’t seem surprised. When will I learn to read women better?
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Prose: Pet

We start kissing in the cab, my hand sneaking under her dress when the driver isn’t paying attention. She was waxed clean and smooth and always wet, my little pet, and that made it so my fingers slipped right in perfectly. She slaps me away, wanting to be a good girl until we get inside.
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