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 ~ 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.

Struggling with NaNoWriMo

Well, I had hoped to blog my progress as I wrote my way towards 50K words and through the month of November.  But so far, it’s not been a particular successful endeavor.  I’m currently at 7346 words and quite behind.  I spent a week struggling with writer’s block and now am caught up in the usual struggle of not having the time to write.

But, I thought I’d share a scene from my WIP.  It’s a love story, of the Romeo and Juliet type without the tragic ending, set in a fantastical world populated by shapeshifters.  My main characters are Ashton Fierand, a young woman on the cusp of maturing into her shapeshifting powers, and Draco Granish, a broody man a touch older, who is struggling against the control his father is trying to exercise over his life.

So, here you are…a taste of what I’m trying to deliver to the page…

Ashton pulled her cloak tighter around her, ducking her head to keep her glowing eyes from giving her away.  The leaves rustled overhead in the warm evening wind covering the soft scuff of her boots on the path.  The low rumble of voices finally faded behind her and she let her feet pick up pace.  The gathering in the center of the village would continue into the wee hours of the morning, the celebration of her cousin’s marriage calling all members of the community to rejoice in the alliance of her family and one of the other great Pheoni powers.  She hoped the sheer number of guests in the vale would cover her absence.
She trotted through the forest, her path lit by the bright reflections of two full moons.  Her skin glowed under their light and she let her hood fall back, her dustcloak pulling back over her shoulders.  The ground underfoot turned to gravel then smooth stone as it climbed and she was forced to slow to a walk.  She wondered if Draco would be there waiting when she reached the grotto.  She forced herself to keep a steady pace, resisting the urge to hurry.  Finally the path leveled and a glow of light lit the grotto from within.  Her stomach flipped in excitement.  Her steps faltered at the edge of the firelight and her breath caught.
Draco knelt, nude, in the middle of the grotto, his back to her.  With his head bowed he drew deep breaths and Ashton watched in fascination as his mark of Emerging writhed under his skin, the shimmering greenblack dragonshape shifting and twisting until it quieted, the tail sliding down his hip then wrapping his thigh, wings furled tight along his spine, forearms wrapped around his torso, and diamond shaped head resting against his nape.  It was the largest she’d ever seen and she could feel the power of it.
Ashton knew that all of the clans showed some mark of their Emerging and that by them you could read the power of the one it owned.  In the vale most Phoeni let their firebirds coil around forearms or legs, somewhere visible, to reinforce the hierachy of power.  Her father’s tended to wrap around his arm and shoulder, her mother’s as well, the birds large enough to need the whole length.  Lower members of the clan had markings that could fit on the back of their hands.
Her boots made no sound as her feet pulled her forward and Draco shivered when her fingers stroked his spine.  The dragon shape blinked at her, wings rippling under her fingers.  “Draco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  He lifted his head and she stepped around him, dropping to her knees before him.  She knew she should turn her back, let him retrieve his clothes from the satchel beside him and regain his composure.  His dark eyes burned into hers and he grabbed her, pulling her against his chest.
“Ashton,” he growled, “you shouldn’t have come.”  The claws on his ribs flexed in her peripheral vision and she slid her arms around him, stroking his spine and the nape of his neck softly.  He shivered again and pressed his eyes shut.  She could feel the struggle in him, the fight against his dragon, against the power the dual moons held over him.  She knew what he was fighting.
Ashton leaned into him, letting her body mold to him.  She pressed her lips to his softly.  A rumble of frustration vibrated under her fingers and his grip on her tightened as his lips slanted against hers.  His kiss was harsh and demanding and she yielded to it, parting her lips willingly.  If she didn’t help him through this night she would lose him.  This night was his weakest, when his dragon self would demand to be let loose.  Inland, where the ridges lay in stark lines over the land, shoving up into the sky, where the Shamani reigned, they would be taking flight.  And if Draco were there the mate his parents had chosen for him would claim him, sinking her claws into him and marking him for life.
He hadn’t told her any of that though.  Instead she’d found it in the one book on the clans she could find in her father’s library, working through the ancient text, reading between the lines.  She couldn’t mark him as hers, but she could keep him unmarked until she could.
He pressed her back onto the grotto’s floor, the stone still warm from the day’s sun.  His kiss softened but she continued her soft stroking of his skin, seeking to calm the dragon.  Finally he shuddered and lifted his head, looking down at her.  “Ash,” he whispered.  She pressed her fingers to his lips, unclasping her cloak with the other, letting it fall back to the floor.
“I won’t let someone else take you away from me.”  He pressed his forehead to hers, his muscles taut with restraint.  “You’re mine, Draco.”
His lips quirked and he lifted up onto forearms, easing some of his weight from her.  “I am, am I?”  His eyes delved into hers and she felt his mind touch hers tentatively.  She felt the shiver of his dragon beneath her fingertips and looked down to see the talons gripping him ease.
Yes, you are.  You are my dragon, and as soon as my Emerging passes I will mark you as mine.  His chuckle vibrated through her body and mind and he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with thorough intense passion.  I am staying until moonset, she promised, sliding a leg up his and pulling him close.  He growled, a low rumbling sound that made her nerve endings sing and pressed into her.
I can’t have you tonight, he warned.  Ashton nodded.  One of the first lessons a maturing man or woman was taught was the dangers of their dual natures.  If they didn’t resist temptation tonight regardless of Ashton’s ability to calm his dragon in the height of passion she would likely be ripped to shreads as his orgasm loosened Draco’s tight hold.  Reluctantly she let him go and he retrieved his satchel, pulling his clothes on.  She watched him shamelessly, enjoying the ripple of muscle beneath his skin, the rigid jutting of his cock that betrayed his arousal.  He swallowed an uncomfortable groan as he pulled on his trousers and settled back against the rock wall.
Draco held out his hand in silent invitation.  Ashton crawled over to him and curled up in his lap.  She could feel him hard and hot against the outside of her thigh and shivered.  It was yet another full turn of the moon before her Emerging.  Resisting the pull of desire was getting harder and harder.  He leaned his head against hers and sighed, threading their fingers together.  I know, he whispered into her mind, his mental voice tinged with frustration.  Soon.  But thank you for being here.  I didn’t expect this to be so hard.  She nodded and tucked her head against his shoulder.
I think they don’t tell us that on purpose.  To force the marriages they want.  His snarl was both vocal and mental.  The book I found…I’ll bring it with me next time.  There are many things in it that we aren’t taught.  He nodded and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
They sat together through the night, watching as the moons slid towards the horizon.  They pulled and tore at Draco’s self control and more than once they teetered on the edge, Draco pinning Ashton beneath him.  She pulled him back from the brink of the mating lust each time, soothing him, easing her hands up his back to stroke both his spine and his dragon’s.  He collapsed in exhaustion when the first moon finally slid behind the horizon, the pull ending as suddenly as it had begun.

Some Reading in Lieu. . .

Due to a change in work schedule that has me back to five work days as opposed to the decadent four day schedule of the summer, I’m going to change the Voyeur posting day.  Instead of posting on Fridays please look for the updates to arrive on Saturdays from now on.  If I can post it early I will certainly post on Friday, but I have the feeling that will be a rare occurance, especially as the story’s getting a touch more involved!

But, just because there’s no Voyeur available yet doesn’t mean I don’t have something for you to read!  A while back I posted a story called “Pay the Piper”.  The piece was written in response to a challenge issued to the writers of the ERWA Storytime message group – to write something where the kiss was the focus, as opposed to it’s normal position as foreplay. 

The amazingly talented Remittance Girl put together the pieces submitted for the challenge into an breathtaking illustrated anthology that is now available, free, for your pleasure.  You can download it here or at ERWA

 To give you a taste of what’s in store, here is Remittance Girl’s introduction to this powerful collection:

Kisses have been described in literature throughout history, but rarely have they been given the attention they deserve. A kiss is often the first, truly intimate contact lovers have. In fact, it is often the event that allows the people involved to think of themselves as lovers.

Other animals may meet, mate and bond but only humans kiss. And, although there are many cultures that view other forms of contact as more intimate, western literature, photography and film have spread the romantic and erotic concept of the kiss around the world.

In erotic fiction, the kiss is too often described in passing on the way to more overtly sexual acts. This collection of kisses grew out of a challenge thrown down in the Writers’ section of the Erotica Readers & Writers mail list: write the best, most innovative and original description of a kiss.

Each of the pieces is less than 1000 words long. They are not meant to be complete stories, only the capturing of those breathtaking, heart pumping, andrenalin inducing moments when lips meet and – whatever lies you might tell yourself – there’s no going back.

The old theme song from the 1942 movie Casablanca tells us that “a kiss is just a kiss” but we beg to differ.

— Remittance Girl, editor


You can also find a wonderful review of the anthology by Jean Roberta up on the ERWA Blog as well! 

So…download the eBook, make yourself comfortable and let the collection of stories make you yearn to pucker up and indulge in one of those rare, heartstopping, breathstealing kiss with your sweetie when next you see him/her!

And I promise I’ll try to have some Voyeur up for you tomorrow 😉

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