Friday night was for going out. Saturdays were for brunch and adventures. Sunday though, Sunday was girls’ night in.
Well, theoretically. I actually didn’t go out much on Fridays or Saturdays, but my roommate did. She took pity on me though and would watch dumb tv shows and silly movies with me on Sunday.
“Becca, popcorn?” my roommate Cassie shouted from the kitchen.
“Yes, duh!” I replied.
She laughed and ran into the living room holding two jars. “Cinnamon Kettle Corn or Mexican Spice?”
“Surprise me,” I said with my usual crooked smile.
As per usual, Cassie’s outfit was shocking. Little black panties, gray thigh high socks, and no top or bra.
“A bowl of each!” she proclaimed.
I gave her a thumbs up, trying not to let her see that I was blushing.
Continue reading Girls’ Night In
Her wrists get tied together, as do her ankles. My rope is old now, which sets off complicated feelings. Eight years since I got the tan hemp and it still has the same smell, though now it is worlds softer.
I don’t remember when it started feeling so comfortable in my hands, but I like it. I know the right knots. Maybe not the perfect knots, but ones I can tie fast and pretty and strong.
Some people need tight intricate ties or they will squirm out, but not her. She is the kind of girl who wouldn’t dream of escape. She is the kind of girl that sits and stays when told.
She gets shoved down on the bed with three pillows under her belly. This pushes her ass up high and puts her face down into the mattress.
It is a position I’ve put a lot of other people in, but every time and every person feels so new and electric.
All that pretty skin exposed. Red lines across her back where I scratched her while we made out. Her hips turning a little with want.
I pull her up by her hair for a moment. Her cheeks are bright red, her lipstick smudged across her face, her eyes open but unfocused. The drugs of need and sub space. That trance rope puts some people in.
She is sweet and beautiful. Very ready. There is something wonderful about turning someone so smart dumb with lust. She is panting like an animal.
I put one hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place, and put my other hand between her legs.
I want her to realize how wet she is. I want her to think about how fucked up she is for getting so turned on by this.
Another complicated thing is how I don’t get hard until I hit her for the first time.
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
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
A Meal of You
Little Girl Lost
Ménage à Text
In the Park
The Wrong Smith Girl
Breaking Up The Band
Two Girls Under Covers
Like a Sister
The Secret I Couldn’t Keep
Betty the Bruiser
What’s in a Name?
Slow Summer Heat
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.
Continue reading Watching Them
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.
Continue reading Staple
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. Continue reading Something Borrowed
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.
Continue reading Impeccable Service
“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.
Continue reading Forbidden
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.
Continue reading Faux Hunt
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.
Continue reading The Boy