Writing Dirty Omnibus!

I’m selling one giant ebook with pretty much everything in it. Six novellas and 40+ short stories including some stories I haven’t been able to sell before because of Amazon’s content restrictions, some old old stories that are a little raw but definitely fun reads, a couple of non-erotica stories that I hope you will find charming, and a few surprises. It’s a little under 250,000 words.

This collection can’t go on Amazon because it contains a lot of very taboo stories that Amazon doesn’t allow, including fantasy stories about incest (daddy/daughter and brother/sister), non-consent/drunk, etc.

I’m asking 20 bucks for this, but it’s a lot of smut!

tl;dr You can get all my stories and a bunch of stuff not on this site for $20 or more if you want to support me extra.

Purchase the Omnibus Writing Dirty Collection: $20 via PayPal
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Includes:
Step-Sister’s Secret (Novella)
That Sort of Thing (Novella)
Disappearing Penny (Novella)
His Step-Daughter’s Little Pink Phone (Novella)
Renting a Girl from the Mall, Part 1 – Attitude (Novella)
Renting a Girl from the Mall, Part 2 – BFF (Novella)
The Sea and Dreams
Negatives
A Meal of You
Faux Hunt
Little Girl Lost
Theses
The Date
Let Go
Carolyn Blushes
The Valet
Ménage à Text
The Barista
Station
In the Park
Staple
Anything
The Wrong Smith Girl
Greedy Queen
Halloween
Breaking Up The Band
The Strand
Two Girls Under Covers
Like a Sister
The Secret I Couldn’t Keep
Sick Girl
Rent
Artist Management
Wake Up
Marionette
Buzz
Betty the Bruiser
What’s in a Name?
Impeccable Service
Slow Summer Heat
Forbidden
Backroom
Our Stop
Crybaby
Choke
Hot Nights
Cock

Watching Them

From the top of the stairs, Tom watched as they were introduced.

He always knew Katherine would meet Diane at some point. Their circles of friends were far too close for them to stay strangers forever. Diane had been in his life for years and had been his lover once. He remembered those days and nights as he watched Diane kiss Katherine’s cheek and laughed at some joke she made. Katherine had that self deprecating charm that he imagined Diane would like.

Tom was in love with Katherine in a way he had never loved anyone. She took care of him. She was his rock as well as his inspiration. She also owned his body in a way no one had before.

Diane was some dark secret he thought of when he was alone. He had told Katherine stories, but then Tom told her all of his secrets. Watching her sip whiskey and stand near Diane, Tom’s heart ached and his cock hardened. He knew both of their bodies. He knew what it was to have Katherine ride him or slap him or fuck him. He knew what it was to push three fingers into Diane and have her beg for more. He knew the taste of them both and there they were, her hand on her arm for a moment as they charmed each other.

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Staple

The first page of a story was stapled to the back of a paper on economic reform in post soviet Russia.

Jason wasn’t sure if the story was for him or the professor or simply a mistake. He assumed the students knew that Jason was the one who really marked all the papers. Hell, he gave the lectures for the majority of the semester. Big name professors don’t do very much, teaching assistants do all the real work.

Still, the single page was like nothing Jason had ever seen in the context of Russian history, or more accurately contemporary Russian economic history. This was a snippet of a dirty dream. A little fragment of someone’s fantasy.

Jason carefully opened the staple with his fingernail and pulled the single page from the rest of the paper and then closed the staple back up.

Like most of Sophia’s work, the paper was a solid B. The story on the other hand was far more difficult to quantify.

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His Hall

She missed his wall; his hall. That place he always threw her against when she came into his apartment.

She missed feeling small and afraid. She’d grown up too much, become too jaded, too brave to feel so little.

She missed the anxiety and hunger she felt walking down his block. She missed his pretty cock. She missed the fear that was particular to being in his elevator.

The fear wasn’t about what he’d do to her, she knew he would hurt her and fuck her and use her like a doll. The fear was that she wouldn’t be good enough, tough enough, pretty enough.

All those fears went away when she was against his wall.

She didn’t cover her scars or chubby parts because he would only slap her hands away. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about her razor burn or that her roots were showing, because she was too busy blushing about the dirty names he called her. She would fall into the whirlpool of humiliation and pleasure and dizzy confusion.

She didn’t have time to apologize because his cock was in her mouth.

She longed for all of it all.

And more than that she knew some other girl was in that hall, against that wall. His thick cock was inside of someone new and his hand was around someone else’s throat.

Perhaps it was strange that the longing could make her come so easily. Remembering that wall in that hall was almost as potent as thinking of another girls face, mascara running down her cheek, pressed against the wall as he fucked her. The humiliation and the jealousy and the heartbreak were poisons and aphrodisiacs.

The sadness kept her wet all day.

Final Meal

He sliced the exotic fruit with a huge knife on the perfect cutting board. Furry greenish gray splitting to show vivid green and neat circles of black seeds.

She sipped her coffee and watched him with annoyance. There was some kind of distracting formality he put into things that should be simple, like cutting up fruit. It was one of the million things that once seemed charming, but now annoyed the shit out of her.

She couldn’t watch any more as he took his oh-so-sharp knife and pealed the fur off of the thing. She went into the bathroom to finish putting on her makeup.

There was something about her silent huffy irritation with everything. She acted like a teenager irked at the fact that her parents existed. That’s what their relationship had become, something akin to parental, maybe sibling, which made the fact that the sex was still so potent something rather awkward to think about.

She came back from the bathroom to find a plate with six neat slices of the fruit fanned out in a half minimalist half elaborate statement on the little white plates they had gotten from her grandmother.

“We need to break up.” she breathed out.

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Something Borrowed

I looked down at my phone for the hundredth time, then up at the train as it chugged back into its underground tunnel. People rushed to leave and in moments I was alone on the platform, turned on and scared.

“Take the L train to Lorimer, get out and walk two blocks west…” the instructions started.

I got out of the subway station, looking around the foreign streets of Williamsburg or Greenpoint, I wasn’t sure which. There seemed to be nothing but bars, pizza places, and trendy little boutiques.

Everyone on the street looked hip and pretty. I looked down at my somewhat fashionable jeans and my high heels and suddenly I felt a little like Sandy at the end of Grease, but I walked on. I took out my phone again, more as something to do than for information.

I knew what the email said, I’d been reading it over and over all day.

“I have this good friend, I want to lend you to him for the evening. Six to midnight, or when ever he’s done with you. You’re not to stay over. He’ll be safe, he’ll stop if you say “red” and he knows the things that you are not to have done to you. I’ve negotiated for you, so all you need to remember is “red” and that I am giving you to him for the evening,” I read and realized I missed my turn because the words made my whole body hot and confused.
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Impeccable Service

There was a peace in the courtyard of the hotel that he thought was gone from the world. A good strong pot of coffee wordlessly placed on his table, fresh fruit and fresh croissants, pristine white tablecloths under wide cerulean umbrellas which were in turn under a wide and cloudless azure sky.

He took his breakfast there every morning and between sips of coffee closed his eyes and listened for the not too distant sounds of the river. Waves lapping ancient stone bridges, the lonely cries of sea birds.

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Forbidden

“Promise?” she whispered.

Her pink t-shirt was pulled up, as was her bra. Her thick black rimmed glasses were almost falling off and her bangs were in her eyes. Her breasts were big, pert, the imprint of the lace of her bra left pink and red patterns on the soft skin. Their eyes locked and she squeezed one breasts hard as her hips swayed. Her eyes were thickly rimmed around with black makeup and the corner of one eye was smeared.

She was straddling his legs as he laid back on the couch. She moved one hand down and grasped his cock again, biting her lip as she played with it.

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Faux Hunt

Winifred stood proudly in the gray light of dawn. A hair over five feet tall, seven stone, and barely nineteen years old, she was stark naked save a pair of Jack’s childhood hunting boots and a bright red fox hat, its tail flapping in the wind. She blushed down to her navel and her green eyes burned with fear and excitement.

Jack and the others watched her stand there, her cream skin with nary a blemish nor a freckle was sheened with morning dew. Her smallish breasts were high and pert, the curve of her bottom seemed to jut out at a lurid angle. Her chest heaved and her heart raced from the shame of being naked, the joy of being the savior of the foxes and, if Jack guessed correctly, the wicked thrill of being wildly bad.

She turned, the contrast of the black of the boots against her white skin making her seem even more naked and the bright splash of carrot orange between her legs directing ever eye down to the virgin shadow every man in the hunting party almost painfully longed for.

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The Boy

To call him handsome was a misnomer; he was pretty. A delicate face, a somewhat chiseled chin, warm brown eyes, always clean shaven and looking slightly younger than his twenty-something years. He had the grace of an old time actor. Cary Grant in leather pants.

The room was large, low ceilinged, all black and red in some budget approximation of chinoiserie. Black lacquered chairs and overstuffed embroidered couches. Gold dragons on the walls and paper lantern hanging from the ceiling.

The crowd was riding the line between a kink party and sex party. As I walked around and eyed the pretty boy it struck me that we’d all become disconnected from the vanilla world. As I watched friends kiss and play kinky games and fuck out in the open, I thought how normal it all seemed to me and how shocking it might be to someone else.

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