“It’s not fair,” Audrey muttered as she unbuttoned her blouse.
I tried not to laugh as I continued moving things around my bedroom to give myself the most access. I stripped the pillows off the bed and moved a chair and a folding table next to it. I put a tray with cold glasses of water and snacks on the table. The whole thing was going to take a glorious while.
“It is exactly fair. We made a bet, you lost that bet. I even gave you an out, but you said you don’t break your word. Are you backing out?”
“God, Tom, I’m not backing out!” she said, thoroughly offended.
“I said I would do it and I will. But two hours seems excessive!” she said, taking off her blouse and standing up to unzip the side of her skirt.
The skirt slipped off and she stood in front of me in bra and panties. She stopped talking and her eyes dodged mine.
Continue reading Fair is Fair
Catherine came to the old house on Oak Street in Spring, a month before her thirtieth birthday, just after she received masters degree in sociology and decided she never wanted to teach again.
Mrs. Sullivan, having once had seven children and a wealthy second husband, was left with a giant empty house with eight large bedrooms when the husband died and the children grew up and moved away.
The black and white picture on the mantle showed a buxom brunette with a knowing smile. The woman in the rocking chair on the porch had the ghost of that saucy looking girl in her, buried under the wrinkles and silver hair.
Mrs. Sullivan rented out seven of the bedrooms of the ancient townhouse and one of her many sons come by to check on things a few times a week.
That first year Catherine had seen many lodgers come and go. Most of their own free will, though a few were kicked out by police or Mrs. Sullivan’s son. There had only been one tenant who had been there as long as Catherine and that was Mr. Miller.
During her first week in Mrs. Sullivan’s house there was a boisterous college boy named Lester who knew all the gossip. Lester pointed at the room across from Catherine’s and explained that it was “Old Gray Bill’s” place.
Continue reading Old Gray Bill
The bar was beautiful, dimly lit, with dark wood paneled walls, black lacquered tables, low music, and a hushed buzz of conversation.
The bartender nodded at me as I walked the length of the bar. His muscles rippled as he shook a chrome mixer of ice and some delicious cocktail.
I passed couples sitting close, whispering and smiling, a few kissing over their drinks. I passed it all though, going to the back of the place, then through French doors to a silent hallway, then down stairs to a metal door with a slit that slid open sharply as I approached.
Serious brown eyes met mine and studied me for a moment. I nodded at him and then pulled up my lapel to show my pin. His eyes fell to the gold bunch of grapes which held the letters O and D. He nodded again before the slit closed and the door opened.
A tall man in a black suit with a black shirt and a black tie led me into a parlor with identical furnishing as the bar. It even had the same music.
The difference was that along one wall were a row of nude legs and hips. Nine pairs of legs, attached to people who were bent over, with their heads and torsos swallowed up by some kind of enclosure in the wall, like medieval stocks but far more beautifully designed.
I had heard about this place many times, but had been hesitant to visit. The Order had many palaces of entertainment in the city, each unique and complicated. This was one of the most secret.
Continue reading The Hole
Some new short stories I’ve posted on tumblr in the last few weeks:
Silence is Golden
He laughed his cruel laugh again as she felt the old rug grind against her naked knees.
“Listen, you’re just the new girl, you don’t think you deserve my cock all for yourself do you?”
The two other girls smirked and snickered.
She wasn’t a person really. Not that night. She was just one of three sluts kneeling at his cock.
Some part of her recoiled, knowing how fucked up it was, but a much stronger part of her wet her lips, assuring her that she would show them. She would suck the best and he would realize she was the best toy. He would see past those other girls, she just knew it.
But in her contemplation she had missed some signal he gave and the other girls had descended on his cock before she could. She could only hover near it, watching their greedy pink lips suck, waiting for them to give her enough room, unable to to do anything but lean in because of her bound hands behind her back.
The situation made her dizzy and confused and so wet she could feel her inner thighs slick with her messy need.
It felt good to have daily routines. It made her feel rooted. The same breakfast every morning; oatmeal with a banana in the winter and fall, yogurt and granola in the summer and spring. She always took the 8:14am train into the city. She always got to the station early and bought the Times and a medium coffee; skim milk, no sugar.
Three days a week she went to the gym before work. Chest and biceps on Tuesday, shoulder and triceps on Thursday, and back and legs on Saturday.
On Sundays she made and packed lunches for the week. A lean protein, two vegetables, no starch, and a piece of fruit.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays after work she took the subway downtown instead of getting the PATH train home and stopped for an hour or so at his apartment.
Continue reading The Routine
From the living room he heard the sounds of the front door closing and locking, then a jacket being hung up in the closet, then someone walking around, then silence.
He hopped off the bed and grabbed his jeans, almost falling over as he pulled them on.
“Jason?” said Ray from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Um, yeah?” Jason answered.
“Sorry to come back unannounced, but you weren’t answering your texts.“
Jason didn’t know what to say.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t leave her all alone or get freaked out or anything,” Ray added.
“Um, no. We’re cool,” Jay said, looking at the mostly naked girl who had a rather bemused smile.
“Can I come in?” Ray asked rather seriously.
Continue reading The Little Bird Part 3/3
In his best friend’s bedroom, holding the leash of a mostly naked girl, Jason listened for the slamming of the apartment door.
When the sound came he closed his eyes and thought deeply about his situation.
He was still high on the kisses of his first date with a pretty girl. His body was still primed to fuck. In his hand was the leash of a girl who had been kept in a cage consensually, made to masturbate, but not come, every few hours, and who was now ordered to do anything he wanted.
A slow electric feeling flooded his veins. Power. Power, desire, and confusion.
He looked down at her, kneeling at his feet. She was a pretty thing, oval face dominated by wide eyes amplified by thick black eye makeup that came to winged points. Her lips were fat and perfectly painted as well, a dark matte red.
“Anything you want.”
Continue reading The Little Bird 2/3
Sometimes after a really good first date, you walk around in a daze. A stupid grin plastered on your face, a drunken wobble in your gate, and a fog over your eyes.
That’s where Jason was as he made his way through the east Village and up to the apartment of his best friend Ray.
Ray opened the door and immediately rolled his eyes at his friend’s swooning smile.
“Oh boy, not again,” he said, letting Jason float into his apartment.
“No man, this is serious, I’m in-” Jason started but Ray stopped him.
“Don’t say it, don’t say it, I know, you’re in love. At least wait until the second date to tell her,” he laughed as he popped opened each of them a beer.
Continue reading The Little Bird Part 1/3
There really wasn’t anything special about her. Well, other than her curiosity.
I saw her almost every day on the A train. She often wore that sort of post collegiate uniform of the early 2000s; tight dark blue jeans tucked into calf high leather boots, a gauzy white blouse, various Anthropology accessories.
Yet there was something unique about her smile and the way she looked around the subway car. No phone in her hand, no book, just perusing people.
Admittedly, there was also her tits and her hips and her ass. They were large. Her breasts were almost too large for her frame, though they were often camouflaged by her loose blouses, though occasionally on display with a low cut sweater.
That day it was a tight, light gray, low cut blouse with a wine colored cardigan over it. The deep line of her cleavage extra pronounced because of her rather awkward position between a bespectacled octogenarian and shopping bag laden hausfrau.
It wasn’t the first day I noticed it, but that day she was rather prominently displaying a symbolic pin on her jacket. It was the golden symbol of The Order of Dionysus. A bunch of grapes, resplendent with leaves and tendrils, and in the center a little O and a little D. The letters only really recognisable to someone in the know.
Continue reading The Order of Dionysus: The Pass