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.



Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 13

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.


The week passed far too quickly for Victor’s comfort.  Before he was prepared Friday was upon him and he was forced to enter his studio and prepare for Alexandra’s arrival.  He had to finish her piece; finish it and get her the hell out of his life.  The screen with her artwork taunted him, the form suddenly looking unfinished.  He snarled and turned his back on it, thankful the line work was complete.  He knew, far too intimately, what happened when arousal began to interfere with his vision.

Victor refused to turn when the distinct, cursedly familiar cadence of Alexandra’s footsteps sounded down the hall, pausing for a brief moment in the door way.  He forced his muscles to obey, to resist tensing under her gaze, and swallowed a sigh of relief when she resumed her progress.  The vinyl of the table creaked and he found himself far too aware of her quiet exhale as she laid down.  His stomach tightened, full of lead winged butterflies, as he thought of the work necessary.  The piece was complete up to her kneecap; tonight he would work on her thigh.  His cock twitched and he closed his eyes against the surge of memory.  He could still remember the hot taste of her mouth, the easy way she fit against him.

The artist steeled himself, preparing for the sight of her, pulling his table into position before turning around.  His breath would have escaped in a gasp if his chest hadn’t locked up in bands of constricting muscles.  Alexandra lay waiting, fingers laced across her stomach, eyes closed, face devoid of expression.  Her skirt lay in a disarray pulled up to her hips revealing the lengths of her legs, long and tan; his fingers twitched.  Get it together, Victor, he snarled at himself and forced his body into motion.

Alexandra’s skin jumped like a fly-bitten horse’s when his hands arranged her leg with careful touches.  Her silken flesh stirred his blood again and he swallowed hard.  He could do this.  He could finish the piece and erase this woman from his life.

Unlike the last one who got under his skin, who still haunted him.

It started as flowers.  A simple chain of jasmine that tumbled from Sasha’s left shoulder to her right hip, crossing the graceful curve of her spine.  Victor had nearly finished it when she turned and kissed him, her tongue hot and promising in his mouth.  When he woke the next morning, watched the rising sun stretch across her back he knew something else was needed.

A sinuous cherry branch joined the jasmine, delicate pink blossoms supported by dark twigs, etched into her skin over the course of two months, much longer than it should have taken.  He simply couldn’t keep his hands off her, couldn’t focus on the work.

When he began inking the prickling vine of Eglantine rose he knew he had to finish the tattoo and end the affair.  Every day she twisted him into a painful knot, sharp barbs of her words drawing blood, leaving invisible wounds that never seemed to heal.  And still her body lay claim to his, her teeth marked his skin, nails dug furrows in his flesh.  It had taken finding her with someone else, seeing Sasha twined around another man, whispering in his ear, hand cupped over his groin, to catalyze Victor’s determination.  He finished the tattoo in one night, resisting her attempts at seduction, driving the ink into her skin as he detailed each painful thorn.

When she left, casting a last volley of razor edged words to slice his heart, he swore he’d never let it happen again, never let another woman get under his skin.

Victor’s hands trembled briefly as he set his sausau in place, taking a deep breath, refusing to let his eyes linger on the shadowy junction of her thigh.  He could do this.  He had to.


Come back next week for the continuation…

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 12

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.


Alexandra’s body shook with the intensity of the kiss.  Victor’s fingers dug into her skin, eight points of near pain that anchored her, his mouth, lips, tongue demanded and she opened with willing eagerness.  Her lungs burned with the need to breathe even as her grip on the back of his neck tightened.  She could feel him, hard and unyielding, pressed against her.  She couldn’t help the whimper when he tore his mouth from her with a groan.  Her chest heaved as she gulped for air and he drew a ragged shuddering breath.  A tremble shook her spine when she tried to bring her lips back to his and he ducked his head, leaving them with their brows together.

“Alexandra, no.”  Her name on his lips evoked a riot of emotions in her, spoken in a hoarse voice that spurred a blossom of heat between her thighs.  “Please don’t,” she whispered, feeling him collect himself, the ripple of tension along his body.  Victor pulled back, icy, no, blue-hot eyes capturing hers.  His words tore through her in a riptide of desire and frustration.  “I can’t, Alexandra.”

She stared at him in confusion, quivering in his grasp like a wind stroked leaf.  “Why?”  Alex wasn’t going to let him push her off again, not without an explanation.  He groaned, jaw flexing under her fingers and pushed her from him.

“It’s private.  I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

She struggled to get words passed her lips, her voice failing to form  anger twisted with her attraction for him.  Like a freak summer storm fury tore through her.  Her hand exploded against his cheek, the crack startling Alexandra as much Victor.  “You bastard,” she snarled and fled.
“Al, honey, calm down, you’re not making any sense.”

Alexandra continued to pace, her skirt swirling around her calves with each pivot.  Her pulse still pounded with her rage, cheeks bright with color.  “I want to kill him,” she growled.

“Do you want to kill him or fuck him.”  She stumbled to a halt, turning to stare at her friend, her crude statement shocking her silent.

“C’mon, Al.  Sit down and tell me what’s going on.  You’ve been vague for weeks.”  Stacy clasped her wrists, tugging her towards the couch.  “We’re best friends, sweetie.  Spill it.”

Alex collapsed onto the cushions, her energy deserting her.  Haltingly she revealed the whole strange dance between herself and Victor, fingers plucking at the fabric of her skirt, eyes staring unseeing across the room.  When she began relaying her morning her friend startled her silent with a growl.

“I’m going to kill him for you.  What the hell?”  The vehemence made her laugh and she finally let her anger go.

“You know, you’re right, Stacey.  What the hell is right.”  Alexandra jumped to her feet, reaching a hand to Stacey.  “C’mon, best friend o’mine.  We’re going dancing.  Anyone who treats me like that isn’t worth my time.”

“Damn straight, Al.  We’ll get the girls together and paint the town red.”  Stacey dragged her off to the bedroom to change and Alex followed willingly.  She’d be damned if she would let a man treat her like that.
Though how she’d face him next week was beyond her.


Continue reading in part 13 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 11

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

The body in his arms felt perfect.  Victor couldn’t remember the last time he’d woke with a woman in his arms, perfect ass cradling his morning hardon; he wondered at such a vivid dream.  He nuzzled his face into the warm neck before him, rocked his hips, sliding his cock through the soft crease.  Some small part of his mind pondered if this was what Alexandra would feel like in his arms, if she would smell so delicious, so mouthwatering.  She arched into him, hips pushing back, neck arching, offering more to him.  A low hungry growl rumbled in his throat and his lips parted to taste the proferred skin.  She moaned, the sound making his blood pulse, and he rolled into her, pushing Alexandra onto her stomach.  His dream woman lifted her hips so readily he groaned and pulled her back to him by her waist.

“Yess,” she hissed and cold reality poured down his spine as he felt the bunched skirt around Alexandra’s waist, glimpsed her bowed spine and tousled hair in the dim light of morning.  Victor threw himself back, landing on the floor with a thud, cock rigid and tumescent, blood hot with desire.  He shook.  Alexandra twisted around and knelt, arms wrapping around herself, expression shrouded in shadows.

“I’m sorry.  That should never have happened.”  The words came out strangled, clipped and she jerked as if struck.  He growled under his breath, turned and stalked to the bathroom, twisting the water on and stepping under the icy needles of the spray.


He emerged half an hour later chilled but calmed, his erection gone.  She waited in his kitchen, back to him, hands wrapped around one of his chipped coffee mugs.  Victor had hoped she would leave, flee.  “I hope I made the coffee to your liking,” she said without turning.  Her voice was sparse, hushed, and he felt the leadweight of guilt settle in his stomach. The sunwarmed floor radiated into the soles of his feet as he entered the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Alexandra,” he said gently.  She kept her eyes fixed on her coffee and shrugged a shoulder.  He sighed and crossed to the other side of the island, leaning against the counter and touching a finger to her chin.  He heard her swallow as she tilted her head, bringing shadowed, haunted eyes to his.  His body hummed with awareness at her nearness, cock stirring once again.  Her gaze searched his and he clenched his jaw as she leaned, near imperceptively, into his touch.  Never had a woman crawled so easily, so thoroughly under his skin.  Victor didn’t know how to handle it.

She broke the silence first.  “I can’t help that I want you.”  His gut lurched and cock throbbed with the surge of blood; he closed his eyes, searching for control.  Her hands pressed against his jaws, and he  growled when her lips brushed his.

“I don’t sleep with clients, Alexandra,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice.  Her lips returned, more insistent, tongue slipping out to taste the curve of his lower lip.  He groaned, restraint cracking, dropped his hands  to her hips and pulled her into him.  Her wanton whimper made his blood run hot and he buried his hands in her hair, giving in to the need to savage her mouth.  Victor slanted his lips  against her, kissing her hard, tongue demanding entrance, plunging into her hot mouth when she opened to him.  He had to taste her, had to feel her, just for a moment, just to get her out of his system.

Continue reading in part 12 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 10

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

Alexandra woke, her mind teasing her from the lethargy of slumber.  She knew instantly she wasn’t home.  The sheets felt crisp, not her silken egyptian cotton, the pillow firmer beneath her cheek, the blanket over her heavier.  Her eyes opened into the dark of an unfamiliar room; Alex’s heart lurched.  She sat up, letting the layers covering her ripple into her lap, head tilted, listening.

The not-silence of a house asleep wrapped around her.  She could hear the electric hum of the refrigerator, an irregular creaking Alex thought might be the shifting of the walls in the lake winds, and, somewhere close, someone’s breathing.  The beat of her pulse leapt and she shivered in the warm room.  “Victor,” she whispered.

Polished wood chilled the soles of her feet in irregular fashion as she passed from carpet to floor and back to a runner in the hall.  Alexandra paused from time to time, head cocked, chest rising and falling as she sipped shallowly at the air.  The near absolute darkness; the absence of light polution; left her navigating by touch and sound.  Her hand trailed along the wall; she trembled when the contact evaporated.

A gentle blue glow outlined shapes in the room, cast by an alarm clock on the far side of the bed.  Some small part of her mind noted the time; 2:16.  Alex licked her lips.  Her feet carried her towards the bed and the man sleeping there.  The clock painted his features in stark contrast and she stopped, fingers casting a shadow on his jaw, a whisper from touching him.  Alexandra sucked a breath in, shocked at her lack of control.

Victor moved with lightning speed; one moment she was pulling her hand back the next her wrist was held in an iron grip.  “Alexandra.”  His voice, coarse and burring with sleep, slithered inside her.  She tugged and his grip tightened, holding her immobile.  “What’s wrong?”

A shiver traced her spine, sending a quiver through every part of her but what he held still.  “I just woke up,” she said, forcing her voice to be something more than a breathy whisper.

“Do you hurt?”  He sat up, upper body rising smoothly, planes of his chest revealed by the falling sheet, and her mouth went dry.

“Hurt?” she asked, her mind scattering at his proximity.  Alex couldn’t decide whether the darkness was a blessing or a curse.  His tattoos seemed to writhe in the shadows, living creatures shifting over his skin.  Her fingers reached out, wanting to feel, see if they were truly moving.  His left hand snapped around her other wrist, catching it as her fingers brushed the skin of his chest.

“Alexandra.”  Her name, delivered in a rasp that wound through her psyche, pulled her closer.

“Victor.” She leaned into his grip and his fingers tightened, making her gasp.

“No,” he said, his voice somehow hard and soft at once.  Her lungs expanded, gathering air to protest and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.  “No, Alexandra, no,” he whispered.

His breath fanned against her lips, her fingers pressed against the skin over his heart, the beat strong and urgent.  She could taste him, the sweat on his skin, the musk of his scent.

They teetered there on the edge, lips a breath from touching until he inhaled sharply and pulled back.  In silence he tugged her into his bed, guided her down onto her side, spooned against her.

“Sleep, Alexandra, just. . .sleep.”

She laid in the circle of his arms, heart pounding, watching the clock count off five minutes, then ten, then twenty.  Finally her eyes drifted shut, her muscles ceased their desperate clenching and she drifted off, not letting herself think about how good he felt, how he smelled, nor the distinct ridge of his cock pressed against her ass.


Continue reading in part 11 of the New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 9

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

Victor’s body refused to cooperate.  When Alexandra closed her eyes without argument his pulse surged.  He’d been unable to resist leaning close and breathing her in, taking her scent, her inate aroma, into his lungs.  His cock flooded with blood and weighed heavy in his groin.  The effort to resist kissing her staggered him.

He forced himself from her, turning instead to his tools, concentrating on the cool smooth handle of his sausau, delivering measured amounts of ink and laying out the miscellanae of his art.  Victor found a measure of distance there and gripped it tightly when he turned back to find her still lying silent and quiet.  Her head tilted as if she were trying to follow his movements by sound; she still jumped when he touched her calf.

Her skin was smooth and warm.  He could feel the texture of the tattoo, the linework still raised; braille that he had created on her flesh.  He adjusted her leg, rolled his cart closer and touched the cluster of needles to the ink.  Alexandra’s body didn’t quite lurch but constricted at the first impact.  The calf under his hands lay relaxed, still; as he worked the other tightened, toes curling, until he glanced up and realized she was holding her breath, every muscle of her body clenched tight.

“Breathe, Alexandra.”

When the first tear escaped it seemed to carry a payload of tension with it.  Alexandra ceased to hum under his touch like a strummed string.  His hands moved without thought, driving ink into her skin just deep enough, an ear turned to her breathing.  He wanted to get through the night’s session, get her tattoo done so he could get her out of his blood, out of his head, out of his life.

This time she didn’t ask for a break and he worked straight through, halting only when his hands forced him to; muscles cramping, joints creaking.  She lay silent when he set aside his tools; merely shivered when he wiped her leg down with alcohol.  With a critical eye he examined the progress, wishing the color were much further up his subject’s calf.

“Alexandra,” he said, the gentle note unbidden but there nonetheless.

“Hmm?” Her voice trembled on the edge of huskiness and she turned her head his way in answer.

“Open your eyes,” he instructed.  Her lashes, spiked and dark with tears, lifted and his breath caught at the luminous green of her gaze. Her pupils constricted slowly and he stifled a groan.  There was no way he could in good conscious let her drive home in her disoriented state.

Victor slid an arm under her shoulders, the other behind her knees and lifted.  Alexandra settled against his chest with a sigh.  His gut twisted.  Her perfume filled his nose; her breath fanned against his collarbone; her body surrendered to his touch.  Victor forced himself to walk past his own bedroom to the guest room.

She whimpered once when he laid her on the bed, sighed when he pulled the blanket over her.  “Victor,” she mumbled in her sleep.  He groaned, scrubbed his face and resolutely turned his back on her.

It was time for a cold shower.


Continue reading in part 10 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 8

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

The table was familiar and cool against Alex’s back.  She lay back, her skirt hitched up over her knees, a flutter of nerves making her breath come too quickly.  Victor readied his tools with his back to her.  He hadn’t said a word beyond “Hello”.

She worried she wouldn’t be able to lay still this time, her thoughts scattered and unsettled by his demeanor.  Alex’s eyes clung to the sliver of his profile, trying to read him.  His expression held smooth and betrayed nothing.

“Victor?” His name escaped before she could help it and she watched his jaw and shoulders tense in response. You say my name as if uttering a curse.  His words came back to her, as they had many times over the week.  Their middle of the night phone call still rattled her on recollection, remembering how she’d responded to his quiet voice, his tender concern.

He looked back at her and her heart jumped; his cool blue gaze stripped all thought from her mind.  “Yes, Alexandra?”

Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips and his eyes followed it, a muscle in his jaw jumping.  “Are you angry with me?” It took effort to get the words out and they still emerged breathless.

Victor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “No,” he answered, turning back to his table without meeting her eyes again.  “I just need to concentrate.”

“I distract you?” Her stomach tumbled end over end; a tingle slithered down her spine.

His dark head shook from side to side; she swore she heard a low sound like a growl.  “Alexandra.”  Her breath stuttered when he turned, his expression tight and closed.  He sighed at whatever he saw reflected in hers and scrubbed his hands across his face.

Her stomach tightened with nerves.  “Close your eyes, Alex,” he said.  She met his clear blue gaze for a moment; Victor reached, brushing his fingers against her lashes.  In the darkness behind her eyelids her heart sounded louder.  “Slow your breathing,” he instructed, his voice dipping back into that timber she’d heard on the phone.  “Settle yourself.  I know you know how.”  He was close, near enough his breath brushed against her face.

“You’re upset with me,” she whispered and he sighed.



“Hush.  I need to work on your tattoo.  Can you be still for me?”  He was closer still; she could smell the crisp tang of his cologne.

“Yes,” she breathed.  He touched her shoulder and a shiver traveled down her spine.

“Good girl.”

It was strange listening to him instead of watching him.  He moved around in something close to silence, just the quiet click and ting of his tools.  She jumped when his warm hand finally touched her calf, turning it gently.

She was prepared and yet not for the first bite of the needle.  Alexandra wanted to be still for him, hoped if she did, he would smile at her after.  Her desire for him baffled her, but she wanted him.  Her mind fought her attempts to meditate, to quiet it and drift on the blurry edge of endorphins.  His hands delivered caress and agony in the same stroke, fingers sliding over her skin, needles punching ink into her dermis.

Her eyes watered, filling until tears threatened to escape.  Alex’s hands twisted in her skirt, bunching the fabric, every muscle above her waist pulled tight.

“Breathe, Alexandra.”  The attacking needles never paused but his words forced an exhale from her chest.  The first tear escaped and she sobbed.  She wanted to look at him; but didn’t dare.


continue reading in part 9 of The New Canvas

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