writingdirty

Dirty stories by Jack Stratton

Tag: sex (page 4 of 5)

Review – The Sensual Bulb

Here’s the thing, kids… being a straight guy and putting things in your butt is a weird and touchy thing. I’m a sensitive guy, in touch with my feminine side, dare I say even heteroflexible? I’ve just never really been into my butt, literally or figuratively. I could get into a whole thing about overarching gender role confusion and body image weirdness, embarrassment and so on, but in the end I am hedonist and I heard it can be pleasurable, so why not?

I’ve read things, I tend to read a lot about any sexual matter. The prostate, the milking of said gland. All the positives. I have certainly seen women take pleasure when having their bums played with and penetrated and they are sans prostate.

So when I decided I wanted to get a lot of free toys review sex toys I realized that I would have to take the plunge, so to speak.

I was going to have to put things in my butt.

Well, I’ll have you know I am man enough to take one for the team. When the big box came from Vibe Review (and I do mean BIG box) I laid everything out on my desk and looked at each product, read instructions, marveled at packaging and thought about for whom and where each tool would be perfect.

Enter the Sensual Bulb.

Boys and girls I know nothing about anal toys, but I know that the Sensual Bulb is made of glass, which means a few things off the bat:

  • It’s completely smooth, so with a little lube it will slip very easily into even inexperienced bottoms.
  • It’s very easy to clean and sterilize. This is important if you plan on sharing your toy. Plus it is important if you are super anal about cleanliness and the thought of putting something that has been in your butt back in your drawer without it being sterilized kind of grosses you out.
  • It’s cool looking. Light refracts through it and the purple butterfly on the bottom is very lovely.
  • It warms up with your body heat and can be heated or cooled by immersing it in hot or cold water.

When I got the toys to review I sort of looked them all over and took them all out and read the instructions. I was a bit tired and I tried to plan out a good time to try something out. I thought the weekend would be a good time to start.

About five minutes later I was in bed lubing the Sensual Bulb up. It’s 4 1/2 inches long, with a very flared flat base and a bulb at the top. It was slightly imposing with that bulb at the tip. Over the years there had been a few single fingers up there, a tongue here and there, but never a big piece of glass.

With very little ceremony I shoved the thing into my ass.

It was a tad cold and a bit thick, but it went in pretty easily. And there it was, a pressure.

Well, I supposed it was time to get to the rest of the business, so I put on some Australian porn and went to town.

The first thing I noticed was that it was slipping out almost right away. That was a sort of uncomfortable feeling and not a particularly sexy one. I pushed it back in a few times and finally propped myself up on some pillows and sort of rested myself on the pillows to keep it in. Once I did that it was much more comfortable and I was able to sort of back up against it and got a little friction.

While masturbating I could feel the pressure there, but it wasn’t really any different than usual. I didn’t know what the big deal was until I came.

Boys, and I hope there are a few boys reading this because I don’t know what the gender break down of my reader ship is, an orgasm with the Sensual Bulb in your bottom is pretty amazing.

First off it felt twice as long as a normal orgasm. It also felt about three times more intense. I could feel the solidness of the toy like a lightning rod directing electricity right from the glass through my cock.

Well, let me just say except for the slip out factor I think the Sensual Bulb is a great starter anal toy for boys and probably girls, too. As someone who has a decent amount of experience hunting for and successfully finding g-spots, I would say that this would certainly work as a g-spot toy. The base is easy to grip and with a little careful angling you could have just as much fun as the boys with this thing.

I guess I should decide on a rating system. Thumbs up? Oh, the puns I can have. For now let’s say four out of five stars. It certainly had me seeing stars.

Book Review – Tasting Her

Tasting Her: Oral Sex Stories edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I like eating pussy. I would say it vies for top position in my list of favorite things to do, but I’m a bit capricious these and have trouble picking favorites in any category.

The thing about oral sex with a woman is that it is far more difficult to write about than a blow job, on my opinion. Just think of watching each of them. A blow job is an iconic act that is very simple to understand. You suck on the long hard thing until it squirts.  Cunnalingis is a little more mysterious. Open legs with a head in front of it. You can’t see exactly what is going on, but it certainly is causing a commotion (hopefully).

Enter Rachel Kramer Bussel and her twenty one tales of going down. Each one is so distinct and they seem to all come from different places, but focus on the same idea. Sometimes women are nervous about it, sometimes they are hungry and demanding. Sometimes they are cliched set ups, sometimes they are completely new ideas. They also go from vanilla fun to very kinky. There are both male and female writers each with their own takes on oral sex.

This was my first Rachel Kramer Bussel edited anthology and now I know why people rave about her. These stories are well written and very hot. This is art that arouses and to me that is the definition of good erotica. I can’t wait to read her other anthologies, especially Spanked.

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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Processing Jealousy

Don’t worry kids, the angsty self analysis will be short lived and Mister McIntyre’s Secret Part 9 is on it’s way.

I’ve been on this wild dating and sexing roller coaster for about 14 months now. Roughly since the day I ended the six year relationship I was in from 25-31 with… let’s call her The Girl Professor. Not that before that relationship I was a prude by any means, I had some interesting times and I got around, but you know something is different when in the last year you have slept with as many women as all the years before combined. I’d say that’s a change in the status quo.

So many dates, some with new people, some second or third dates, some with the sort of long term friends you make when you are in this kind of run. It’s certainly not all sex, to be sure, but it is all interesting. The constant state of arousal, the flirting from so many directions. New people all the time and new kisses. New bodies and new secrets. I fell into two relationships in that time, each lasting a few months. Both were wildly intense and full of amazing conversation, fun and probably some of the best sex of our lives.

I read stories of emotionless sex, zipless fucks, random group play and in most cases it leaves me cold. I like intense connections. I like learning someone’s secrets and knowing their bodies and kissing and touching for hours. If it isn’t intense then why bother. If it doesn’t make me happy then I’d rather skip it. At the same time I can imagine a plaything, someone to be a pet and to just have fun with. So many relationships seem to move so quickly. People wanting different things. Sometimes I wish for something completely superficial. Someone I can try out all my fun toys on and make moan and cry. A pet. I am ambivalent about the whole thing, no one ever seems to  stay emotionally where they say they will, including me.

Lately I have been entering new terrain. I am seeing people whose sex lives are much more public. I mean obviously I am dating on NYC, I know we all have lives and I never presume monogamy, but you don’t ask don’t tell and are completely for each other when you are together. Sex bloggers and other internet savvy loud mouths (I mean this is the nicest way since I am both) make their sex lives much more public, this means one is forced to read and think about things he doesn’t necessarily want to read and think about.

A friend said something that has been rumbling in my head for a while now. When talking to her about the various dramas going on and what I am doing to belay them she told me that I was learning how to “process jealousy”. Now I tend to take phrases like that and roll my eyes, but I realize more and more that it is exactly what I am learning to do.

I’ve never been a particularly jealous person, that is until I was cheated on. When my long relationship with The Girl Professor ended suddenly and very violently. I’m a grownup, I know infidelity (when in agreed monogamy) is a symptom of a relationship that is already over, not the cause of that ending. It wasn’t the sex either, I am a sexual person and I can understand passion even inappropriate passion, it was the love. She fell in love with someone else (or at least convinced herself of such) and that ruined me for a long time.

This was the first time I was cheated on and my reaction was not what I expected. First of all I became repulsed by her. I’d never been into any cuckold type fantasies, but as much as I couldn’t understand them before now they confuse the shit out of me. I didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. Actually I sort of made she we wouldn’t be in the same time zone, which is working out for the best for everyone involved.

I also became uncontrollably angry at the guy, which is very unlike me. I was dreaming of hunting him down and beating him. Literally I would have dreams I was hitting him with a bat. These are the two reactions jealousy has on me, rage and disgust. Not conducive to an ongoing relationship.

Now I find myself trying to work through these feelings, even find to positive aspects of them. I see people I like and trust and watch how they play as a couple and apart. I think about my feeling and why I want to see other people and then thing about my partners and how their intentions are probably similar. It seems like a majority of the feelings are fear that your lover will leave you and when you realize that if that person left it would mean a whole lot about them and where your relationship was… it makes taking the chance seem brave rather than foolish.

But I am rambling. All I know is that for the last year I have woken up happier. Food tastes better and book make more sense. I feel like I am in love all the time, even while I walk around in mortal fear of that word and all of its inky implications. I feel like an adventurer and I feel like I am alive. I don’t see that changing any time soon.

I do feel myself moving in certain directions. Favoring certain people. I don’t know what that will mean or what I am willing to do for that. I don’t know how long I am willing to keep certain people at a distance so that I can keep up this lifestyle. I’m not really worried anymore though. As long as everyone is honest things seem to work out. You just have to ask for what you want and it is almost shocking how often you get it.

Fiction – Carolyn Blushes

She was such a timid little thing. When my roommate brought home his new girlfriend for the first time I couldn’t help but laugh a little. She was hardly five feet tall and looked even shorter the way she shyly folded her arms and looked at her feet.

“Hey, Mark, this is Carolyn.”

I held out my hand and she looked at Tom, my roommate, before shaking it, as if asking permission.

She was cute in a very girl next door sort of way. Straight mousy brown shoulder length hair, sort of dull brown eyes, pale skin that was peppered with freckles. She was a little chubby, sort of holding on to baby fat around her middle and on her bottom. She didn’t really seem to know how to dress, with her long skirt and her three layers of shirts which she was wearing to try and desperately cover up the fact that she had quite a nice chest. I think she noticed me staring at her chest, because she folded her arms in from of her breasts and blushed slightly.

“How old is she?” I asked when she got up to get a drink.

“She’s 20, why?”

“She looks like she’s in high school.” I said with a smirk. Continue reading

Writing Prompt – Our Stop

For the writing prompt “outdoors” though being a city boy this was as outdoors as I tend to get. I wrote this in bits and pieces. I do love my iPhone and the ability to write on the go. One more prompt that I think will be a continuation of this one.
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Fiction – Mike

And now for something completely different. I wrote bits of this a while ago, but it’s been floating around in my head lately so I put the finishing touches on it. This weekend I will have ample writing time, but no internet connect save my iPhone. Hopefully I can get some serious smut down.
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Keep it Like a Secret

I have a lot to say, but I’m going to keep things inside for a while. I’m greedy and I want the memories all to myself.

I will say, cherries are sweet and they make kisses so much better. Frozen grapes stir up all kinds of things. The world is a delicious place.

Kissing is amazing. Laughing is the best. Three writers in a bed is almost overwhelming. Actually it is overwhelming. Sometimes you can strap yourself in and be overwhelmed. Ride the waves of over-stimulation and come out on the other side panting and changed.

It is an interesting thing to be so smitten with two women at once. One for all the ways we are the same and one for all the ways we are different. Pale skin and darker skin. Youth and experience. One desire is lean, hungry, patient. It makes my eyes narrow and my smile a little sinister. I want to be rough with her, play out things, a wrestling match of wits and sex. The other has no room to wait, it is just want and it is want now. I want to show her things and teach her tricks and just fuck her until she can’t take it any more. I want that so bad it makes me a little nervous.

Ellie and I have been chatting a lot lately. We have been talking about chemistry and the way some people evoke certain dynamics from the start. Some people you meet and you might want to date or be friends with, you can see where it goes. Other times the chemistry takes over and you need to top them hard or be topped by them or take care of them.

My emotions are certainly cyclical. For a while now I have been somewhat luke warm over people. It’s interesting to be so passionately intrigued all of the sudden.

And now back to work. Jack needs to stop thinking about… well just stop thinking.

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.

Mister McIntyre’s Secret – Part Six

Mister McIntyre’s Secret
Part Six

April 19th, 1964

There is a large lavish hotel room. Rich crimson and gold wallpaper, a huge bed, gilded chairs and lavish mirrors. Mister McIntyre is standing in front of the largest mirror straightening his tie. He is in his black suit, the one he wears to big meetings. His shirt is harsh white and he is wearing his cornflower blue tie. He is freshly shaven, his hair is parted neatly and slick. You can count the comb lines.

Marcy Peterson, his mistress, is walking out of the washroom. A slinky low cut black dress. Her black hair long and silk soft falling over her shoulders. Her lips are dark red and glimmering.

He towers over her. He stands almost six foot five and she, like me, is just over five feet tall. He leans in and they kiss, at first tenderly and then his hand is in her hair, pulling her back so he can kiss her neck hungrily. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure.

He picks her up and carries her to the bed. Standing over her he takes off his jacket and folds it neatly on the night stand. He then methodically rolls up his sleeves exposing his muscular hairy arms. He loosens and removes his tie, she sits up on the bed eagerly wanting more of his lips but he pushes her down.

Picking up the phone he presses one button and I answer.

“Yes, sir?”

“Abigail I’m going to need some rope.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

There I was at the door, dressed in my mousy brown skirt and my beige top with my hair in a ponytail and my glasses falling off my nose. Two thick coils of rope in my hands.

I looked down at Miss Peterson. She’s a wicked girl and a wanton slut. I know why Mister McIntyre wants me to tie her down. I can only imagine she will squirm away when his hands are too rough. I pet her hands dip down and play with her sex when she wants more, knowing that Mister McIntyre is only giving her as much pleasure as she is supposed to get.

I glared down at her, but she is lost in his eyes. I pull her so that she is sitting up and I unzip her dress. The fabric is soft and expensive. The smell of her hair and her perfume is delicate, but heady. As I pull the dress off it exposes every inch of her. Her black underthings, her dark stockings and pretty garter belt. I unsnap the belts and put them aside. I gingerly pull her underwear down, her hand going to my shoulder for support as I pull them off. Then I pull the pillows from under the covers and put her head on them.

I tied her, I tied her tight for him. She’d better not get loose. I tied both of her wrists behind her back. Then tie a knot around her knee and slid the rope under the bed and tie the other end to her other knee, keeping her down and keeping her legs apart. The last knot made her wince and she shot a look at me. I smiled sweetly.

“Sorry Miss Peterson.”

The near hypnotic way she looked at Mister McIntyre melted away for a moment as she glowered at me, but then his smack across her face brought her back. It was light, but still her cheek grew read for a sting of Mister McIntyre’s hand.

Mister MacIntyre stood over the bed watching the tied up woman in the bed, her bottom in the air and her sex exposed so completely. He was clenching his fists and his jaw. He was planning what to do first, how to take her apart.

I was on my knees after the girl was tied. I opened the buckle of his belt and carefully stood up while I pulled it off of him. It slipped around him loop by loop until it hung in my hand, heavy black leather. I held it out to Mister McIntyre and his eyes never even settling on me he took it, folding it in half and snapping it once.

“I’ll let you know if I need anything else Abigail.”

And dutifully as always I went back to my desk, hoping Mister McIntyre knew I would do anything for him.

Anything.

I placed her diary on Mister McIntyre’s desk next to his newspapers.

When I sat at down at my desk I sat up straight. My heart wasn’t racing, though it was pounding hard in my chest. I felt alive and ready to see what was next. I’d gotten a glimpse into Mister McIntyre’s life and it was freighting and sexual and everything that my dreams seemed to hint at.

I was ready for my next assignment.

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Fiction – Slow Summer Heat

It was one of those hot sticky days, full of barbecues and running around town, and followed by one of those long summer nights where no one wants to go home and everyone just drink and drinks.

Jack brought Molly back to his apartment. It was a little after two in the morning and the both of them were exhausted. He watched her peel off her t-shirt and drop it on the floor, then unsnap her bra which had left delicious little red marks around her back and under her arms. For some reason Jack liked the marks. He liked to touch them and even run his tongue over them. Molly would have none of that in the heat though. She was sweaty and smelled like smoke and dirt and beer. She pulled off her shorts and underwear and slunk off to the bathroom.
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The Weekend in Review

It’s sort of sad when your ex-girlfriend cum fuck buddy (The Musician)tells you she can’t come over for sex and snacks anymore.

In the end I know she will find a nice boy and settle down. Probably she is already on her way.

If she does have a lapse in judgement before then…

*

Friday night drink with a certain female sex blogger was canceled due to scheduling issues. Sad, but a five minute phone call was an oddly potent assurance of attraction. For me at least. Oh well, I can wait. Hunger is the best pickle, as they say.

*

Saturday was an interesting day. I went out with someone I have known for something like six or seven years, but never actually met. We cyber geeks have such acquaintances. Meeting her was oddly comfortable. Falling into a familiar banter, knowing each other’s faces if only vaguely.

She is a long train ride away, but close enough to visit somewhat regularly.

We have had an interesting friendship. Usually just two media geeks chatting about this or that, but occasionally conversations become somewhat racy. Perhaps even downright naughty.

This meeting was proposed as a “date” seeing that she is somewhat awkward when it comes to the whole relationship thing and I wanted to just go on a date with her. Though after we met it fell into a wholly friendly thing. A geeky movie to make fun of and a little dinner. Of course as much as I had fun, I couldn’t let the lingering sexual tension just lie. I pulled out the old Jack seduction.

“Hey, I think we should kiss.”

Feel free to steal that gem, boys and girls.

She turned red and covered her face. “Really? Why?”

Adorable in her awkwardness. I really wanted to kiss her for most of the night. She has this bottom lip that protrudes deliciously, as if she is always pouting.

After a few minutes of debate she announced. “Ok. You can kiss me.”

It was hot in that I knew her so well and that lip was very fun to kiss. Plus I am genuinely attracted to her. Plus the fact that it was so awkward kind of turned me on.

It was chaste, though. A few kisses. I restrained my roaming hands, which was difficult seeing that she is ruthlessly buxom. My train came and I was pushed out of the car. Later I was told I had to go because a few more minutes and her clothes would have started coming off. Always nice for a boy to hear that he can inspire inappropriate behavior.

What’s funny is that she reads this. This is sort of my first direct recollection about something that happened that one of the participants will actually read. Somehow I don’t think it will be the last.

Hi.

Oh I can feel the blushing from here. Priceless.

Fiction – The Barista

I’m sort of obsessed by this story. The beginning has been hanging around for a while now. I wrote the ending a while back. I had to sit down and force myself to figure out how to connect the two. With the help of a friend I got it. Let me know what you think.
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Getting to the Point

In trying to write a dirty little story with Miss Lilly from DangerousLilly I find myself being far too verbose for my own good. I can’t just jump into the action, I tend to get caught up with characters’ back stories and motivation and all that. Not that these are inherently bad things, it’s just that when you want to write about fucking and you spend 2 pages just getting to someone’s panties you have a problem.

Maybe I need to read more erotica. I went through a phase where read a lot of it. I had around ten of those Best American/Womens/Lesbian/Southern Erotica of 2000. Not to mention the essentials of Anais Nin, Venus in Furs,, The Story of O, what have you. Even the unbecoming Sleeping Beauty series and Belinda. I’ve been on the outs with published erotica for the past few years though. Reading online erotica from places like Literorica or StoriesOnline can be a mixed bag. You get some wonderful things but more often then not you lots of horribly written garbage. Often when you do get well written things they are far too dirty for their own good. This prickles my propensity to pen far to perverse things so I try and steer clear. Thus the reason I try not to read ASSM/ASSTR anymore.

I’ve sort of trained myself to write in a certain way and when I try and write straight sex my head gets confused and keeps yelling “who are these people and why are they on a train?”

Sadly this leads to a folder with dozens of sex stories with no sex in them.

That being said… does anyone have any kinks/scenarios/wet dreams/ideas they would want to read a story about?

Fiction – The Wrong Smith Girl

They broke up on the train.

Trains push his memories to the surface. All the trips into the country as a child. All the trees passing by, leaves changing to red and gold.

The city fades fast, faster then you can imagine. It is so small compared to the stretches of country to the Jersey Shore, to Upstate, to Boston and Maryland and DC.

Looking at Maggie, he could see her fighting her childhood memories. At least he wanted to think she was fighting them, hoping they were there to be fought. She had her nose in a notebook, making a list of things to do.

They were going to Maggie’s parents’ house because Maggie’s father was sick. He had a heart attack, but it looked like he was going to be alright. She had a big Irish family and it was expected that a good daughter would come home in a time like this. So Maggie and her boyfriend Jack got on a train from New York to Virginia.

Maggie and Jack had been living together for three years. They had been dating for four and known each other since college six years ago. She was going for her BA in Fine Arts and he was going for his Masters in English back then.

She had their life planned out. She had a good steady job and he did freelance work. They had a nice apartment, which he loved, but she wanted to move out to the country soon. She wanted to get married, but he hadn’t asked her yet. She had plans and he wasn’t playing along. She didn’t break up with him because she had already put too much time into him. He didn’t break up with her because he was lazy and didn’t like confrontation.

There was something about the trip that started pushing Jack’s buttons from the start. They were taking the train out to her parents’ house and there was this air of expectance. She expected him to go, to be excited, to ask her to marry him, to want kids, to want a better job… but none of that was going to happen and both of them were starting to realize it.

A third of the way there after arguing over signing another lease for the apartment she said “If you don’t want to grow as a couple then maybe we should just break up.”

It wasn’t a threat, it was something that people said in the heat of the moment, but it just pushed Jack over the edge.

“Yeah. We should. This relationship is a joke. You don’t love me; you just need someone to help you afford a mortgage.”

And she cracked. She cried. There was no putting things back together.

For the next hour they agreed on things. Jack would be nice for the three day weekend with Maggie’s parents. They would take care of the breakup when they got back. And then like a switch when they got to their stop Maggie fixed her makeup and was back to herself.

*

They entered the big old house just after 4pm. It was an old southern house with white pillars outside and a big porch and a huge white door.

They entered to find silence and emptiness. Walking up the staircase they came to a long hall. Pictures hung along the walls, old school pictures of Maggie and her sisters Molly and Megan. Three smiling girls with white skin and black hair and matching skirts and sweaters. Three princesses at Halloween. Three girls on horses.

Jack followed Maggie as she navigated pass a dozen doors and finally found her old room. Jack was a stranger in this place. He was not a Smith.

Maggie’s room was white walled, filled with 2-foot boxes in one corner, an uncomfortable looking bed made up with yellow sheets and a pink and yellow quilt. One wall was all white bookshelves, but they were only a quarter filled. On one wall hung a large framed sketch of Maggie. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror, sketching herself for her final project in still life, back in college.

In that frame was Maggie, the girl. Quiet in class, but boisterous when she was excited. Level headed, list making, but deep down an artist. Deep down filled with the same curiosity that Jack was filled with. Curiosity about books, history, art… and sex. The more he remembered their college years the more he realized that the Maggie he knew was gone.

When did she start longing for mediocre satisfaction? When did she stop needing to explore and started needing a bigger house, a better job, some mythical security she constantly talked about. When did she put her paints and her charcoal and her pads and canvas in her parents’ basement to go untouched?

The same time she started thinking of sex as a duty and rolling her eyes at the mere mention of sexual adventure. Sex was just relieving them both of some energy or maybe a way for her to get him to leave her alone so she could get enough sleep to wake up at 5 in the morning to jog.

She sighed and put her bags down.

“Listen, you can stay here. I will go to the hospital. Then everyone will come back for dinner. I know you don’t want to be here… but let’s just do this and then we can get back and…” she just trailed off. A horn honked outside and she looked out the window.

“That’s my aunt. Unpack, ok?”

Jack nodded. “I like your family. This weekend will be fine. Go check on your father, make sure he is alright.”

She looked at him, unsure if a hug was still ok. Then she just turned around and left.

*

He unpacked, he looked around. He ended up on the bed, drifting off into a nap. The train ride, the fight, all of it melted away.

When he awoke in darkness. He could hear people downstairs and smell the warm homey smells of chicken and potatoes.

He saw movement, the door opened and closed.

“Hey. You ok? Sorry I fell asleep… the fight and everything…”

“I don’t think your talking to the right Smith girl, mister.”

The light came on and that’s when he found out Maggie’s little sister grew up.

She was Maggie, but different. Shorter, but only slightly. Bustier, a little more hip, a little more ass. Same nose, same ears, fuller lips. Her eyes were blue, while Maggie’s where green.

“Molly.”

“That’s me.”

The last time he saw her it was about four years ago, she had just turned fifteen. Sitting up fully he couldn’t quiet comprehend that it was the same person. Molly the Mole, skinned knee tomboy who made gagging sounds if she saw him kissing her sister.

The first thing he noticed was a red and black nautical star tattoo between her neck and her breasts, half hidden by her white cotton tank top. Half perfect black and red ink on her white skin, half dark shadow under the thin cotton.

“Nice ink.”

She squirmed under his eyes. “Thanks.” Her arms came up and she folded them over her breasts. She was trying not to smile.

“So you two having a fight?”

“Um. No. Not really. Just an argument. Sort of.” He knew he had to look away from her, but he couldn’t. It was like looking at all the missing parts of Maggie, melted into a younger curvier tighter form. He walked over to the window and looked out at the greens and the grays.

She came into the room and walked to the bookshelf, looking at the remaining books, letting her finger drift over the spines.

“I was wondering what you would look like now,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Oh? Do I look different?”

He looked over to her and she nodded. “You look old, but basically the same. You look better with your hair short. Your hair looked pretty dumb long. Plus those glasses are better, the dark frames. You’re still ugly, though.” There was the smile, the wicked brat smile. In those eyes was pure curiosity.

“I always thought you had
a crush on me.”

She let out a laugh, but she blushed.

“You wish.” she said, but eyed him and smiled.

He looked at her from the side now. It was like a lecture on the effects of puberty. At fifteen she was all legs and arms and wild nervous energy. At nineteen she was all hips and tits and calm sultry sex.

He noticed other tattoos, one on her wrist, this one just a black star. He could see the shadow of something on her back, it was large and not one of those little designs girls get right at their tailbone, this was long and it came up from around her butt to the middle of her back.

He stood up and moved closer to her, slowly and she tensed. She was still facing the books, pretending not to be curious about what he was going to do next. He walked behind her, moved closer until he was two feet away. He looked at the books, he looked at her neck, he looked at her eye as she turned her head to look at him.

“You got a tattoo on your back, too?”

She nodded, still facing her body away from him, but looking at him from over her shoulder.

He moved in and put his hands on her waist. She froze. He touched the edges of her thin shirt.

“Can I see?”

She swallowed and nodded. Their eyes met. Curiosity, lust.

He pulled up her shirt slowly and saw that there where two jet black f-hole, like the ones on a violin or cello. It was a lot of ink, a lot of time. He touched the edge of it and he could feel raised scarred skin.

Her back was smooth and her ass curved out from just below his hand.

“Wow. You got all this done in the last year?”

She moved forward, pulling her shirt out of his grip.

“Yeah. I was dating a tattoo artist for a while.”

He took her hand and looked at the tattoo on her wrist.

“Did they hurt?”

She smile. “That’s the best part.”

A voice from downstairs said “Kids… dinner.”

*

Dinner was huge and southern. Jack had forgotten that people ate like that. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes, greens and a million other things. Everyone was so busy catching up with Maggie and Molly, who had been off at Art School and also with Maggie’s older sister who had just had twins that no one really bothered talking to Jack, which was just the way he liked it.

Molly watched him though. Watched him like a cat watches a bird. It was a very different look then the fifteen year old awkward kid gave him four years ago.

When it was over Maggie said goodnight to all and went upstairs with Jack, got undressed without looking at him and then went to bed.

Jack laid there, uncomfortable because of the small bed and not really wanting to be too close to Maggie. He found himself thinking of Molly every time he closed his eyes. The way she looked in that white tank top, tough and sexy. He wanted to know what those tattoos looked like up close. What it felt like to trace them with his tongue.

Thoughts like that and the moonlight coming in from the window kept him up half the night. It seemed like only minutes, but the next time he opened his eyes it was morning. He awoke to feel the familiar sensation of Maggie next to him. He had turned around to face her in the night and now he was spooning her, with his arm around her.

She felt warm, she smelt good. Her ass against him made him stir inside. Without really realizing, his hand came up to cup her breast. It was such a natural thing.

She sighed and pushes his arm away.

“Yeah, right.” She said with disgust.

She sat up and climbed over him.

“Go back to bed, I’m taking a shower. Everyone is going to go to church in an hour. I know you don’t want to do that, so I’ll probably see you at lunch.”

She looked him in the eyes.

“Shave, ok?”

He nodded. He was still hard under the warm sheets. Memories, warm blanket comfort and the smell of her hair on the pillow made his mind swim. If he just relaxed he could fall back asleep. And then there was nothing.

*

He awoke to the sound of the door closing.

The room was too bright, the sun coming in through the half opened curtains. He was groggy, as only waking up from oversleeping can make you. The room was a dull white blur, then the blinds were closed and the curtains pulled shut so that the light filtered through the rust colored fabric, making the room dull yellow and red.

Then Maggie slipped into bed. Her arms around him, her lips on his neck. He pushed her hair back and kissed her. Her lips felt soft, there was some sweet lip gloss… and then he opened his eyes wider and saw who was really in bed with him.

There was Molly. There was Molly in her white tank top.

“Hello mister bedhead.”

He tried to comprehend what was going on.

Then Molly’s lips are on his again and he got the rush of the taste of a new mouth. Then Molly, squirming and turning around, and her soft round ass is against him. His arms are around her and they’re spooning. His mouth is on her neck and his hands are on her hips.

It is an interesting thing when you are so used to one person’s body, your hands remember where to go on them, your body understands how you are supposed to fit together, but now he was lost in this new geography. Her lips were too hot and soft, her kisses were too rough, her breasts too big, too heavy, too perfect.

Her hips flared out, giving him something to really hold on to when he pulled her against him. Her ass was soft and cool and when he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down, he slipped right between her cheeks and it was perfection.

*******

She moved her head back as he moved forward and he was lost in her kiss again. She arched her whole body against him and her lips were on his ear, sucking, then biting, then whispering.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Jack grunted and pulled at her hips roughly. His cock touching wetness and heat as it rubbed between her legs.

“You have to say it. I like to hear it.”

Her voice was steady, but wanton. It was new, not the silent simple sex Jack was used to. Jack liked this.

“Damn,” he groaned into her neck. “I want to fuck you… so badly.”

His hand squeezed her breast once more and then moved down to between her legs. He groaned again when he felt smoothness where he expected coarse hair. Then his fingers felt wet heat. Silk softness, perfect folds that made him growl.

As his finger passed over her lips and one finger slipped into her she pushed her ass back against him.

“I want you to go down on me.” She gasped, pushing his hand away and laying on her back.

Jack looked down at her, her face was red and a red blush ran down her neck and on her chest where his unshaven face rubbed against her. He went to push her shirt off, but instead smiled.

“Take off your shirt. I want to see your tits.”

She smiled wickedly and pulled off her shirt and then unhooked her bra and took that off.

He saw that red and black star on her chest and lower down another tattoo… a heart on fire with a gold crown above it, right over her heart.

He moved until he was kneeling between her open legs, then he moved down and kissed her neck again, then traced his tongue around the slightly raised thick black lines of each tattoo on her chest. She arched her hips and her breath caught.

He kissed down her chest and stomach until he got between her legs. By now she was growling and purring.

One lick and he was addicted. Her body moved like a snake as he licked at her and she whined and gasped.

“More.. fuck. Make me come.”

He licked her lips teasing and bit the tight skin of her thigh, then he moved in circling her clit and flicking it and he moved one hand up to slip one finger into her.
r />That was all it took. Fucking her with his finger and licking her made her body buck and made her grab the pillow behind her and squeeze it as she came hard.

Jack sat up, watching her come down from her amazing orgasm. He had never seen a woman come that hard. Maggie took a half an hour of work.. sometimes even a vibrator.

She smiled and looked into his eyes and then turned to look at the clock.

“Fuck, we only have 20 more minutes…”

She pushed him away and stood up, looking at him wickedly.

“I guess I got to make you come fast… stand up.”

He did and she kissed him hard, licking his bottom lip and tasting herself on him.

“What gets you off? You want to fuck me from behind? Want me to get on top and ride you? I want to make you get off hard.” She said all these things into his ear as she reached down and gripped his cock tightly.

Really, he didn’t even know. He was so used to getting what ever sad sex Maggie would give him he didn’t know what he really want. He had never been with someone so forward.

“You like that this is dirty? That my sister could come home any minute?” She whispered, jerking him off.

He gasped.

“You like that I am fucking 10 years younger then you?”

He grunted.

“You want me to be a little girl for you? I can bend over and you can fuck me?”

She turned in a flash and kneeled down, taking the head of his cock in her mouth. She sucked and licked around the head. Then she sucked half of his cock.

“Fuck yes.”

All thought disappeared. She broke every rule her sister set in bed. She was like a wet, writhing, perfect id of sex.

She stood up and then leaned over the bed, sticking her ass up in the air.

“Come on… fuck me… fuck me… fuck your little slut”

And then he was looking down at her back with the tattoos that looked like a cello and she was groaning and then he was inside of her. And it was tight wet perfection.

“Fuck me.” She whispered it over and over, like a mantra.

It took seconds for him to come. It was the most violent, mind numbing, powerful orgasm he could remember. He almost fell down, his knees went so weak.

He collapsed on the bed, hardly aware that she had laid down and started fingering herself.

“Fuck…”

Jack turned and weakly kissed her nipple, wanting her to get off one more time.

“Bite it hard.” She begged.

He bit it, reaching up and squeezing her other tit. Then he moved up to her ear and whispered.

“Come for me…”

And she came, loud against him.

And that’s when the door opened.

END

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