Trapped By An Edge ~ Final Smutathon Entry

Well, I didn’t make it any further than round three of the Smutathon.  My apologies for the delay in sharing this here(I honestly thought I had already!)

Trapped By An Edge

I waited behind black satin.  Somewhere he watched, spider pondering prey, his gaze palpable as a touch.

I evaded him, avoiding his traps, all attempts to capture me. Still, here I waited, bound and blindfolded.

“You’ve eluded me long enough, little dove,” a metal snick jerked my head, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

A cold line traced my spine, fabric sighing apart, exposing my skin.  The touch paused at my hips; the shiver following suffused my whole body with heat.

“Ah, that’s better.”  The flat of the blade swept lines across my back, along the curves of my ribs.  With each pass the steel warmed, each touch sent a ripple down my body.

He dissected my negligee until it hung, shredded, about my frame.  My chest froze with sharp touch.  Drunk on fear my nipples tightened, my skin flushed.

“Perfect,” he exhaled, dragging the stiletto’s point in a spiral on my soft stomach.  “Would you like to see?”  His breath teased my lips; I nodded, mute.

“Hold still.”  A blade traced my cheekbone, another my jaw.  In unison they slipped under the satin I froze; the fabric rent with deft twists of his blades.

Sight returned my eyes devoured him.  I licked my lips; he grinned.  With a knifepoint he tipped my chin, dragging my gaze from his erection.  “It won’t be that easy,” he teased, flipping the other stiletto in his palm; pressing the handle to my lips. “Show me,” he growled, ” how much you regret evading me.”

Do make sure you stop by Alison Tyler’s Smutathon to continue voting in the ongoing competition and to enjoy some truly fine work!


Smutathon entry ~ Missive ~ I’m still in it!

Barely, but I’m still in the Smutathon!  There was a three way tie at the bottom, so just one was knocked out this go round.   So…my piece was ‘Missive’…did you guess right?


Stop. Don’t touch another thing. Are you listening, my pet? I’ve a challenge for you, a secret task. Are you up for it? Nod if you’re willing.

Good. I knew you would be. Pick up your purse, keep your phone in your hand and go to the end of the hall. Go now.

Don’t hesitate.

You blush so deliciously when you’re flustered. Go into the conference room. Yes. That one.

Shut the door. Ah, ah, I didn’t say to lock the door.

Did you do as I said this morning?

Show me.

Perfect. The red garter belt is a nice touch.

Oh yes, you are loving this, aren’t you my sweet slut? Drop your skirt to the floor.

Now your shirt.

No, leave the bra. Go open the blinds. It’s a beautiful day. Perfectly overcast so there’s no reflection on the windows.

Can you see all those offices across the street? Can you see people in them?

Oh yes, my dear, absolutely perfect.

Pull a chair over and present yourself to them just as you would to me.

Yes. Just like that.

Prop your feet on the glass.

Now touch yourself.

Shh. No sounds now…remember? This little interlude is a secret.


Can you keep a secret?

I can…at least for a little while longer.  The Smutathon continues, so take yourself over, read some delicious, sweet secret filth and vote!  I can’t tell you which one is mine yet, but don’t worry, at the end we’ll all spill our secrets!

Ok…not all of them…but we’ll at least tell you who wrote what!

P.S. Yes…I know I’ve been quiet…I’m hunting rabbits you know!  oh..alright, I’m not, you got me.  Bear with me though, okay?

The Painter ~ The Smutathon

I made it through the first elimination!  There were a definite couple of runaway favorites but I did manage enough votes for my story ‘The Painter’ to move on to the next round.  We’ve already received our next challenge and I’m pondering it…hopefully the muse will cooperate soon!

But, in case you missed the first round here’s my entry…

The Painter

She watches my hands, always.  Whenever I work I know I’ll find her near, peeking through the sweep of her hair, eyes tracking my movements.  Lindsay was one of the first visitors to my studio; now the most frequent.The painting is near complete.  I can feel her gaze on me as I add the smallest of final touches with small twists of my paintbrush.  Never before has she stayed so long.  I wonder if she realizes it’s her portrait.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispers; she’s so close my heart lurches.  When our gazes meet my stomach takes a lazy tumble.  I realize for the first time she’s gold flecks in her ultramarine irises and there’s a splash of raw sienna freckles across the bridge of her nose.  A scent, crisp and bright as cadmium yellow twists through the sharp bite of turpentine.  Lips find lips; hands discover the shape of waist and hip.  The hollow of her throat tastes of sweet sweat, her nipples tightening into peaks of Persian Red.  Inch by inch I paint her body with my tongue just as I painted her image, filling my other senses with her.  Her lust I taste and label as the rage of Scheveningen reds, my tongue delving, drinking, stroking.  And when she twists her fingers into my hair, urgent, voice calling, I lose all thought of color, lost in the taste, the feel, the sound of her.  My senses opened and caught, imagination ensnared.

Flash Erotica ~ Naked

“I know you,” he said the first time we met.  There was something in his tone that spoke to a deeper knowledge than I was comfortable contemplating.  He kissed me.  My body reacted as if he did indeed know me, and it knew him.  His lips, soft at first, soon parted to let his tongue taste mine.  I turned to liquid, flowing into his arms, around him.  He split me, a rock in the midst of a stream, and sank into my cunt with a sigh that spoke of longing, deep, old, and powerful.

“I know you,” he answered, later, when questioned.  He pinned my hands above my head, powerful fingers holding me fast.   Fatigue stripped resistance from my mind, my nerves singing and stretched after a handful of orgasms.  “You need one more.”  He thrust again, lifting up into me, muscles of his ass flexing beneath my heels.  He filled me, holding himself deep, rocking against my pelvis, and I shook.  Exquisite sparks streaked through me and I clamped my legs around him, grinding him into my clit.  He filled me, hard and thick and pulsing, and watched my face as I came for him.

“I know you,” he whispered.  Spread wide, panting, shaking, my hips rocking of their own volition.  His free hand whisked over his cock, his other filled me.  “I know you can take it.  You’re my whore, my slut,” he said, voice harsh with arousal.  I twisted my own nipples and shimmied closer, crying out when in a slick, tight slide his fist settled into my cunt.  He gasped and I wondered what he saw.  Stretched beyond normal my muscles tried to clamp down and the back of his thumb nudged my G spot.  Being so full left me more naked than I ever had before.  “Come,” he bid me and I did, screaming with the exquisite pain of it.  Molten desire splashed on the softness of my belly and he drew his fingers through it, smearing my clit with it, anointing me.

“I know you,” he promised, baring me to his gaze.  His skin seared into mine, nipples tight against his chest, and he bore me to the floor.  His hands knew where to touch, his mouth where to lick, suck, bite.  I tasted him, salty bite of sweat and sweet, musky maleness.  We twined together with the knowledge of years as lovers, the comfort of a decade as partners, the confidence of lifetimes as soulmates.  I cried his name when I came, exploding around him, with him, twin supernovas.

“I know you,” I said, breathing his breath, lips close, staring into his eyes.


dedicated to my lover, partner, soulmate and best friend.  To my husband.  I love you, baby.  Happy Valentine’s Day.

Flash Erotica ~ The Scotsman’s Kilt

The ever lovely and amazing Alison Tyler is running her 250 word story contests again!  Below is my entry for this one.  Ended up tied for third!  The poll is over, but do go and check out the other entries!

Damn.  Looks like the deadline for her latest one was Sunday and I didn’t even realize it!

The Scotsman’s Kilt

“You’re a tart, you know that? A bloody. Fucking. Tart.”

He was breathless and a touch of awe roughed the edge of his voice. I let his cock slip from my mouth, my hot pink lipstick smeared along his length.

“I am, hmm?” His fingers tightened in my hair, urging me back. Mac’s body curved, a strung bow, every stroke of my tongue plucking at him.

“Aye. Oh, don’t stop.” His hips bucked, popping the darkened glans past my lips once more.

Waves crashed beyond us. A bonfire crackled and snapped behind us. My knees dug into the sand, still warm from the long departed sun. Drumbeats throbbed, guiding dancers through sinuous steps in the distance, leading my mouth up and down. A low growl built in his throat and he flipped me onto my back.

The rough wool of his kilt bunched between us, a rough, odd counterpoint to the slick, silken slide of his thick cock against my thigh. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he said and I widened my thighs, tilting my hips.

“Yes, fuck me,” I begged.

“Such a tart,” he rasped again as he thrust, sinking deep into me. My thighs closed around him, pulling him deep, the heat of the flames glowing on my upturned face.

Grinding together we matched the drums; lifting, pulling, gripping, slipping; following the crescendo of music. With a shout he spent himself inside me, carrying me over the edge, my cry spiraling out.

Flash Serial:V23 Voyeur ~ Wedding

Voyeur sees things.  Not ghosts or spirits, Voyeur sees those interactions people imagine are private.  Stolen kisses, gropings on the bus, passion interludes stolen in the shadows.  And she seeks them out.

Intimacy is much easier to handle when its someone else’s.

Voyeur is now published through Republica Press.

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