K.C. Cave's Blog, page 4

Reviewed: Titillate!

Titillate! my recently published erotic short story collection, was just reviewed. Click on the link for the whole enchilada.

E-Read Erotica Reviews (http://ereaderotica.com/?p=5679): …I should talk about the sex, but I don’t need to. It is very well done, volcanic, and it blew me away with its explicitness and detail. I love a writer who can go from zero-to-nasty in six seconds, in excruciating and luridly vivid detail. It is just filthy and open and sexy and close-up-camera porn and I love it. Unafraid. Downright nasty. Did I just read that? Hardcore textual sex. And then it goes back to sweet and normal in the next paragraph when the dirty deeds are done….Kinks are mixed here, which I adore. There is a tendency in erotica to stick to formula, like not including men in purely lesbian scenes, or having a male-male scene because someone may not be into that. This collection goes everywhere and I love it….KC Cave delivers some wild, kinky, nasty sex, and I will read her books no matter what they are, FF, MM, FFM, MMF, or whatever and wherever they go without expectations just because I know I am in for a great time and I will end up turned on for the rest of the day….Strong recommend for those looking for a quick series of deeply sexual and nasty encounters. Quick entries and letting the reader’s mind go places is this book’s strength, while delivering the goods on a wide variety of kinks and sexy play in a rapid-fire and focused collection. Very nice, and dare I say, quite titillating.

The Bull Led Me into the Bedroom (flash fiction)

The bull led me by the hand into the bedroom. I knelt on the bed, offering my ass to him doggie-style. Looking back between my legs past my shriveled dick, I could see his thick and hard cock—and about four times the size of mine. This enormous black man had been looking at me all evening and licking his lips.

“How long is that?” I think I gulped. His balls were the size of hen’s eggs and hung low between his legs.

“About ten inches. Look, it’s not the length, it’s the girth,” he said, one hand planted on an asscheek, his thumb probing my asshole. “I’ll go slow. It’ll burn at first. I’ll wait until you say go. I’ve taken a hundred-and-ten-pound high school cheerleaders no problem, and had three-hundred-pound bubble butts who couldn’t handle it. If it hurts, tell me.”

“How about that twink? You drilled him all the way. I watched you go all the way inside him.”

“He’s incredible. I don’t know how he does it. He a great fuck.”

I settled on the bed, my cheek on the cool fabric, my ass in the air, my legs spread. He separated my asscheeks and lubed me. Next thing, it felt like his elbow was probing my asshole.

“This is the easy part,” he said, and he was in.

I groaned and gripped the bedspread with both hands. Hurt? Hell, yes, it hurt. It burned. My guts got all liquidy.

“Breathe. Take a couple deep breaths.”

The burning subsided. “Okay, go slow,” I said.

“Tell me when I hit bottom. Some folks, I can only go in half-way.”

He slowly filled me, pushing and pulling. In my mind’s eye, I could see my asshole gripping his black cock, thick as a wrist. The burning passed, and was replaced by a unique sensation of fullness. My cock, swaying between my legs, got hard again. I couldn’t feel my balls. The room was air-conditioned, and my scrotum had shriveled, pulling my nuts tight against the base of my dick.

Then he hit bottom.

“Stop. How far in?”

“About three-quarters. Not bad. Hang on.”

He picked up the pace of his thrusting, his hands gripping my hips. I reached back to stroke my cock, but he beat me there and pushed my hand away. His hand completely enveloped my cock and balls, squeezing and tugging my package as he fucked me.

His huge hands went to my abdomen and he lifted me off the mattress. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. He was wheelbarreling me, fucking me in the ass the way he’d take a girl in her pussy. Sounds came out of my throat that I didn’t recognize—whimpers, yelps, simpering.

I surrendered to him, limp as a rag doll, as he drilled my rectum. My reverie ended when the bull suddenly pulled out of me and flipped me on my back. Kneeling between my legs, he pushed my legs back over my head. After squeezing half a tube of cold lube on my anus, he penetrated me again. Goddamn! I was his little cum slut! He pushed his knees under my ass, raising my hips. This man mountain was fucking me like I was an eighteen-year-old girl being opened up by her black pimp. For the line of customers outside the door.

Lifting my head, I saw my fat, engorged cock leaking pre-cum on to my stomach. His pounding picked up in frequency and force, and my dick whipped around, spraying juice on my nipples and chest hairs. I smeared some on my hands and started masturbating furiously.

It was like a dream, a gay wet dream. I couldn’t tell up from down. All I knew is that I wanted to come before his huge member plowing into me forced all my jism out of my prostate.

I came, ejaculate spraying out of me, hitting my mouth and chin. I sprayed the bull, too, and it pushed him over the edge. Roaring, he exploded inside me. I didn’t care about the pain as he pumped his fluid into my rectum. His thrusting slowed and he pulled out of me.

I reached for him. I wanted to bury my face in his. I wanted his tongue in my mouth. I wanted my arms around his stupendous shoulders.

He pushed me away.

“I don’t cuddle with guys. Clean yourself up. You a mess.”

She's Fucking Me in the Ladies Room! (flash fiction)

Melanie pulled the door to the handicapped stall behind her and yanked off her wet panties, as ordered.

What the fuck am I doing? That crazy bitch Junie will be here in two minutes. Has she done this before? Is she a serial ladies room perv? Why did I agree to this?

She answered her own question: Two glasses of wine and soaking wet panties, the result of us planning our upcoming weekend of nonstop lesbian sex. I’m lucky she didn’t get on her knees and start lapping my cunt under the table.

Hiking up her skirt, Melanie plopped on the toilet seat and released. She flushed, and, just as she finished wiping, the women’s room door opened and fast footsteps echoed off the walls. The stall’s door flew open.

Junie attacked, pulling Melanie to her feet. She pushed her against the back wall, and kissed her deeply. While her tongue pushed into Melanie’s mouth, her hands pulled at her skirt, exposing her bare behind. Junie pushed a knee between her legs and spread her wide. Melanie, straddling the toilet, responded instantly, her pussy slick with need as Junie inserted first one, and then two fingers, into her and began thrusting.

“Fuck, Junie, goddamn, what if someone…” Melanie protested between kisses.

“We’re the only women in the restaurant. If someone comes in, just shut the fuck up. Unbutton your goddamn blouse.”

Melanie’s fingers flew at the buttons. With her free hand, Junie pulled her bra down and clamped her mouth on Melanie’s rock-hard nipple.

It was unreal. Just over two minutes before, Melanie had been sitting across the table from Junie in the elegant restaurant. And now this: She’s fucking me in the ladies room!

The bathroom door opened, and the women froze.

Junie clamped a hand over Melanie’s mouth. Then came the sound of water rushing in the sink.

Junie’s fingers had stopped in mid-thrust as they stood intertwined in the cramped stall, their hearts pounding. But she ground the heel of her palm slowly into Melanie’s clit as the unseen person washed her hands at the sink. With her other hand, Junie slowly grazed the pad of her thumb across Melanie’s smooth lower lip. The touch tingled lips above and below the other woman’s waist.

At the blast of the hand dryer, Junie resumed pumping her fingers deep into Melanie’s vagina.

The door opened and closed. They were alone again. Junie crushed her lips against Melanie’s.

Melanie exploded, her hips thrusting as she came into Junie’s hand. The fire of her orgasm sizzled its way through her body and melted a liquid path down her legs.

They both started at the sound of liquid splashing in water. Was someone in the adjacent stall? Was there a third person in the restroom?

“Junie! What the…”

“Goddam, Melanie! Look!” She had squirted all over Junie’s hand, her juices running down her wrist and forearm. Melanie watched as a rooster tail of liquid squirted out of her pussy and cascaded into the toilet bowl.

“Am I peeing?”

“I don’t think so.” Junie sniffed her hand, dripping with the liquid. “Doesn’t smell like pee. Have you ever squirted?”

“No, I don’t think so. I peed before you got here.”

Junie pulled Melanie into her and kissed her hard. “You are a dirty slut.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard and so fast in my life.”

“That’s just a warm up for our honeymoon. Anyway, I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes. Clean yourself up, Melanie. You’re a mess.”

“What about you? Can I make you come?”

“Let’s not push our luck. I’ll email you Amtrak tickets later in the week.”

And she was gone.

Women are never straight

Women find pictures of attractive women arousing, according to a recent article in the Independent, Women are never straight - they are either gay or bisexual, study suggests (http://www.independent.co.uk/life-sty... concluding that women are inherently bisexual (or worse!).

"Although lesbians are much more attracted to females, most women who say they are straight were aroused by videos of both naked men and naked women," the article said.

Sorry, folks this isn't exactly breaking news. I'll put in my two cents in a moment, but let's hear a little more about the study that prompted this report.

"Even though the majority of women identify as straight, our research clearly demonstrates that when it comes to what turns them on, they are either bisexual or gay, but never straight," said the author of the study, a psychology professor out of the University of Essex in England.

Isn't it possible that what people react to (meaning both sexes) is the inherent beauty of women? Or, to put it another way, in our species, beauty resides in the female. So, of course, both men and women are going to find that women are beautiful (and arousing!).

Oh, yeah, you got Brad Pitt and George Clooney (and that new guy, Benedict Cumberbatch--ridiculous name, but I'd do him!). Handsome, sure. But the reality is that we all look to women, with their curves and softness, amazing breasts, round behinds, soft skin, and incredible faces, as the paragons of human beauty.

Pardon me, but it's got nothing to do with sexual orientation.

New female erogenous zone discovered!

There’s a new female erogenous zone! The cervix! Who knew?

I certainly didn’t. Then I read about it on AlterNet.

“Taoist philosophy holds that women possess three ‘gates’ of orgasm: the clitoris, the G-spot and the cervix,” wrote Carrie Weisman in Have You Ever Had a Cervical Orgasm? (http://www.alternet.org/sex-amp-relat...) “The clitoris is recognized as an easy and effective path to orgasm. The G-spot can be another powerful pleasure point. But the cervix? That area doesn’t commonly enter into conversations about orgasm.”

Okay, so I guess cervical orgasms have been around for a while. Sorry. But, wow, what have I been missing? I got the clitoral and G-spot orgasms down pat, so to speak. Why not go for the trifecta? It sounds great.

“Annie Sprinkle describes (http://anniesprinkle.org/seven-types-...) the cervical orgasm as, ‘A huge tension release deep in the gut. They are almost like belly orgasms,'” Weisman wrote.

It gets even better: “You can usually tell when you’ve hit the cervix because a woman’s noises will change,” another expert said. “They’ll become more guttural and raw, uncontrolled.”

Guttural, raw and uncontrolled are three of my favorite words! Another expert waxed eloquently on cervical orgasms: “When I try to describe what a cervical orgasm is like, I tell people it’s like being on ecstasy. It’s a whole-body shimmer, a high that spreads out so everything feels delicious and I radiate for days afterward.”

Sign me up! Wait, how do you do it? Apparently, special equipment is required. If you know what I mean.

“Those who have managed to incorporate cervical play into their sex lives know that deep penetration is required,” Weisman warned.

Damn. Safe to say, the average five-inch penis ain’t gonna do the trick. And it’s definitely problematic for women who do it with women.

Like a good journalist, Weisman found some experts who politely disagreed that the cervical orgasm is the greatest thing since Hitachi went into the electric vibrator business.

“Carol Queen, staff sexologist at Good Vibrations, told AlterNet in an email, ‘Some people find this kind of stimulation unerotic, neutral, unpleasant or painful—so the cervix isn’t a magical hidden pleasure point, at least not for everyone.’

“She added, ‘I’m one of those women myself who feels pain when my cervix is struck, even if I’m highly aroused. So only a small percentage of women are likely to be having sex with large enough guys to notice cervical stimulation very much; and some of those women won’t like what they feel.’”

My own experience, alas, parallels Queen’s (who I don’t know personally, but I’ve been to her store in San Francisco–-and let me tell you, those lesbians know their sex toys!). The few times I’ve had a deep pussy pounding from a big brute, my ass up in the air, face-down clutching a pillow, it hurt when he hit bottom. I may have gotten guttural, but not the good way.

So there you have it, folks. Another life-changing sex article from AlterNet.

Or just hype.

A final thought: We need to get science working on exploring new erogenous zones. Or, failing that, inventing them. How about one, say, in the back of the throat? It would add a whole new dimension to blow jobs.

Fire Pit (splash fiction)

I checked the forecast again. Temps dropping this afternoon, overnight low near forty.

Crisp. The first real sign of autumn.

And, now that the clocks were set back an hour, sunset wasn’t far off.

The fluttery feeling in my stomach got me antsy.

Checking email was enough of a distraction that I didn’t pace. Seeing that it was finally dark out, I shut down the computer and undressed. After slipping into the raggedy robe that hung by the door, I stepped outside.

The small, brick-lined patio was snug against the house, bordered by a low wall backed by evergreens nearly two stories tall. The crepe myrtles at the back of the yard still had a few leaves and blocked the view from the alley—just in case some pervert was using night vision goggles.

Total privacy. I had scoped it from all directions before I bought the house. At night and with the lights out, my little outdoor refuge was safe from prying eyes.

Of course, I’m a bit of a screamer, so I had that to contend with. But no one had ever called the cops, and so far no funny looks from the neighbors.

Tonight, I would extend my season.

I’m the rugged, outdoorsy type, so I took off the robe and took the three steps to the patio and my Adirondack chair that faced the yard. My nipples hardened as the cool—nearly cold—night air washed over me. I wasn’t about to let a change of season cramp my style.

I’m a nudist, dammit. One must persevere.

It was my new $99 fire pit from Home Depot. As I lit the pile of crumpled newspaper and kindling I had artfully arranged earlier that afternoon, my mind’s eye pictured how I looked—my pink nude body, the stark roundness of my protruding ass, my thighs spread, pudenda gaping, nipples at attention—as I squatted in front of the round fire pit.

Settling back in the chair, I watched the fire come alive. Eyes half closed, my hand moved between my legs.

Just as I nudged my outer lips apart, the warmth hit. I spread my knees, catching the firelight and heat on my inner thighs. Cool air, sucked toward the pit by the licking flames, moved against the back of my legs and I shivered.

The tip of my index finger probed my vagina and pulled some juices toward my clit. Without thinking, my left hand found my right breast. I stroked and circled my erect nipple between thumb and forefinger as I slowly, languidly, began to masturbate.

Slouched in the chair, my legs were splayed like the girl in the featured video on Pornhub. Without thinking, I had two fingers deep in my pussy, thrusting.

Whoa. What’s this?

The pool of wetness at the base of my spine started to bubble and froth. I bit my lip and sat up, still thrusting, and surveyed my yard to make sure no pervert had jumped the wall. All clear. I settled back.

This was going to be epic.

I ran my fingers along my slit, eliciting a deep moan. My clit swelled against the clammy nest of my palm. I entered the zone, thrilled by the dance of firelight on my skin, the acrid smell of smoke and burning pine, the swirl of cool and warm air, the decadence in fucking myself in a dark corner of my yard.

My arousal was so intense it bordered on painful. Normally, I would pull back, relax the clit stimulation and work the edge of my looming orgasm. Tonight, though, with a soft breeze raising goosebumps on my arms as my breasts and thighs soaked up the heat of the fire, I couldn’t hold back.

And, really, no need. One orgasm is rarely enough.

So I surrendered to the pain and delight, knowing that soon the delicious tension would be released. Knees raised and feet off the ground, I pushed three fingers into my hole as I rubbed my clit faster and faster.

Pussy muscles clenched against my fingers as I thrust deep inside at an auspicious angle, past the second knuckle, my hand awash in fluids. My clit throbbed as I flicked and circled it.

A firmness welled up inside me as my hands pulled my orgasm out of my body. I couldn’t stop. Half my hand was in my pussy. As I slumped in the chair, my ass hung off the edge, my feet danged in the air, the heat of the fire warm on the soles.

My torso jerked up violently as I came, neurons throughout my body snapping in unison.

One.

Two.

Three rooster tails of girl cum squirted out of me, splatting on the bricks. A fourth stream, somewhat weaker, splashed on the fire pit. A cloud of steam rose in the air, the light dimmed, what remained of the fire sputtered, and the heat stopped.

I stared across my ruined body, wet, swollen and red. Looking between my dangling feet and over my tangled mat of pubic hair, I watched, dope-brained, as the fire sputtered out, extinguished by my orgasm.

Brr.

I staggered to my feet, knees weak, grabbed my robe, and put the lid on the fire pit.

Did I have another one inside me? I’d find out under the covers of my bed.

TMI Tuesday: Sex...ohhh yeah!

Gosh, my first TMI Tuesday (https://tmituesdayblog.wordpress.com/...). I’m supposed to post the questions below to my blog and answer them. I looked at other TMI Tuesday posts and everyone’s so damn hetero! So this may be awkward.

1. Sex. What are your areas of expertise?

I love women! They’re so soft and sexy and curvy and intricate! And beautiful! I love to kiss! Women have such soft lips. The arc of arousal with women is sublime, slow (compared to men) and relentless. Two women can fuck all day (or night, or both). More specifically: Eating pussy, natch. I close my eyes, get immersed in the aroma and pretend it’s mine! Then there’s outdoor, public sex. Masturbation is easiest with my trusty butterfly and remote. There’s an inherent tension between the building orgasm and not showing my sexual excitement that’s delicious. Parks and shopping malls are great! For outdoor sex with a lover, we usually head for the woods. I love outdoor nudity, but I’m not fond of getting arrested. So we are discrete. But in a secluded spot, my clothes come off and on my back, the warm sun on my breasts, writhing as I’m brought to orgasm! Finally, anal. My asshole is my turbo button! The older I get, the more I enjoy anal stimulation and penetration. I pride myself on my success in introducing anal sex into my lovers’ repertoires.

2. How long have you been having sex?

Started at twelve, so I just passed the thirty-year mark! That would be for penetrative sex (I am not a gold star lesbian). More like thirty-three years of masturbating.

3. What time of day do you prefer to have sex?
a. morning
b. afternoon
c. night

All of the above. I’m a fuck junkie! Anytime is the right time. If I go for more than a day without an orgasm, I get grouchy. Sorry, not to brag, but I have a very high sex drive.

4. Do you charge for sex? Money or some other means of payment?

I have never worked as a prostitute. The fantasy can be glamorous and titillating. The reality is grim. Like most women, I have traded blow jobs and fucks for dinner and a movie, too many times to count.

5. How long does your average sexual encounter last?

Two hours just to warm up when I’m with another woman, so three or four hours is about right. Masturbating, not quite as long, usually two hours. If I don’t have a lot of time, I use a vibrator and can get off in ten minutes or less. But that’s the exception.

6. Do you have a safe word?

Nope.

Bonus: Ever had sex so good you broke things or something?

Broke a pair of eyeglasses once. I told him not to tickle me. Poor guy. I sucked his cock to make him feel better. Well, I would have fucked him, anyway. We were nude in bed and horsing around.

Her Secret Place (flash fiction)

For the first time since her parents’ death, Hannah felt safe and secure. Curled up in a near-fetal position in her secret place in the closet of the basement den, the eighteen-year-old listened to the faint sounds of the house—the clicks and rattles, the occasional thump of a pipe. She relaxed, at one with the near-silence. Hannah fell asleep.

The sound of footsteps woke her.

Instinctively, in a reflex from her childhood, she gripped the closet door from the inside and peered through the louvers. She was directly across from the door, and could see out, while no one could see in.

The door opened, her heart froze, and Angus stepped into the room.

Fear gripped her. Did he know about my secret place? she thought. Has he come for me? Is something wrong?

No, in a moment it was clear he didn’t know anyone else was in the room. Angus opened a drawer in a side table and pulled out a small bottle and a box of tissues.

Standing in front of the couch, he stretched like a cat, his arms thrown over his head, and started to undress. He kicked off his Docksiders, pulled his Henley tee over his muscular shoulders, and then pushed down his jeans. He turned, facing away, and Hannah saw that he wasn’t wearing undershorts. His muscular buttocks flexed as he kicked off the pants and leaned over.

The sight of Angus’ broad shoulders, sculpted back muscles and creamy ass cheeks sent a shiver down her spine. Although she had often admired his masculine form at the country club pool and at the beach, she had never seen him nude before.

Angus turned. He had picked up the bottle of lube and was pouring some into his hand.

Hannah’s gaze swept down his body. Angus’ pulsing cock stood at full attention, straining toward the ceiling, as he slowly applied a coating of the slick lube. She marveled at how his dick, easily six inches long and thick, stood straight against his belly, brushing the fine hairs that radiated up from his lush pubic bush. His hand moved slowly over his cock.

Then Hannah saw something she’d never seen before. As Angus moved his hand up his shaft, his dick head disappeared under a layer of veined skin. When his hand moved down, his throbbing cock head reappeared.

That, she thought to herself, must be his foreskin. And Jewish men are circumcised. And “Angus” isn’t a Jewish name.

For the first time since she heard the disturbing news about her legal relationship to Angus, the truth sunk in. The lawyer was right. Angus couldn’t be her brother. Although her experience with cocks was limited, Hannah was sure Angus had an uncut, Gentile penis. None of the other dicks she had seen and played with had a layer of skin that slid up over the head.

Angus faced the closet door, his legs apart, as he stroked himself to a full erection. His boner curved up against his flat midriff, the pink, oval crown now unhooded, the pale shaft long and slightly bent to one side. His left hand cupped his balls, and he gently pulled the egg-shaped glands out between his muscular thighs as he pumped his rigid member. His other hand worked the shaft and crown of his throbbing penis. At the top of the stroke, he swirled the palm of his hand over his cock head, then slid down the shaft, his hips bucking.

Hannah heard his breath deepen and speed up. At the same time, the tempo of his stroking increased, while his other hand tugged and pulled his scrotum. Angus spread his legs farther apart as he continued to work his throbbing dick. His face reddened and, in a sudden move, he fell back on the couch. He threw his legs even farther apart, giving Hannah an unimpaired view of his steadily swelling cock and the deep red crown of his dick head. Angus was beating off furiously, his knees in the air, feet thrashing, his brown rosebud of an asshole visible when he swirled his nutsack up around the base of his dick.

His balls had drawn tight against his body. No longer able to stretch his scrotum, his hand slipped behind his balls, where he probed his asshole with his forefinger, his legs waving wildly in the air. A stream of precum seeped out of his gaping pisshole. He slathered it over his straining cock as his hips bucked, lifting his ass off the couch.

It couldn’t last much longer. His orgasm couldn’t be far off. Angus’ powerful body was ready to explode off the couch as he furiously beat his meat and fucked himself in the ass with his forefinger.

His head thrashed from side to side as his chest heaved with the exertion. Hitting a new plateau, Angus leapt to his feet, faced the closet door, threw his head back and screamed. Thick ribbons of semen sprayed out of his dick head, spurting like buckshot across the room and splattering the louvers of the closet door. Hannah’s head reflexively jerked back. A glob of hot semen dribbled down a slat and dangled, less than two inches from her eyes. Without thinking, she scooped the warm jism with her finger and put it to her lips.

Salty. Warm. Pungent.

More jets of jism, not as intense as his initial spurts, splatted on the parquet floor. Angus staggered back on the couch, his hand milking the final drops of cum from his still-hard dick. His breathing slowed as both hands cupped and fondled his cock and balls, now returning to their natural color and size. He slathered his semen over his shaft and balls in a slow, circular motion.

As he relaxed, his fat cock head retreated inside his foreskin, giving the tip of his penis a reptilian look. Hannah could see the shape of his dick head through the thin layer of skin. Sated, Angus leaned back on the couch, his legs still splayed, and fondled his manhood, pulling his foreskin up and down over the head of his dick as he massaged his balls. Pulling a tissue from the box, he dabbed a few final drops of sperm from his now flaccid dick.

A few moments passed and he stood. Grabbing a wad of tissues, he turned toward the closet and began wiping up his mess. Hannah held her breath, her fingers gripping the inside of the door, as he wiped splooge from the slats of the louvers.

He turned and bent to wipe the floor, giving Hannah a full-on view of his pale, round ass cheeks, his plump, wrinkly scrotum and the winking bud of his asshole.

At the same moment that Hannah was swept by amazement—and an element of pride—in this magnificent display of unleashed manhood, a fluttering between her legs turned into a flood of warm wetness. Hannah caught herself before she could audibly gasp. Did I just pee myself?

Hannah watched as he meticulously wiped his ejaculate from the floor, wall and door, then put away the tissue and lube, and dressed. Hannah knew one thing as surely as she knew anything else in her short life. She was very happy that Angus was no longer her “brother.”

Hannah heard Angus’ footsteps on the stairs, pushed the closet door open and clambered down from the closet shelf. His man-musk was strong, the odor of his spunk and sweat filling her nostrils. She reached down inside her jeans and felt between her legs. She was soaked—and it wasn’t pee. She snaked a finger inside her folds and circled her hard nub. Oh, this is too delicious, she thought, sinking into the couch where Angus had just pleasured himself to a spectacular orgasm.

Hannah wriggled her jeans down around her ankles and pushed her thong aside. Her legs splayed like a whore, she attacked her swollen pussy with two fingers, while her other hand went to her right, and more erogenous, breast. Waves of pleasure washed over her as her fingers pinched and rolled her wet pussy lips. She moved up to her clit, and cried out. Her neurons jolted and the tingling moved up her abdomen, over her breasts, to her throat and out the top of her head. Her arousal was so powerful and unexpected that it bordered on painful.

Moving her fingers to her hungry, wet hole, she plunged them inside. She positioned her wrist so that she could massage her clit with her thumb while she fucked herself, fingers sliding two-knuckles deep inside her pussy. Hannah, now as aroused as she had ever been, sat with her legs spread wide, her other hand torturing her nipple.

With a gasp, she stiffened, threw her head back and came, her hips jerking up and down until she nearly slid off the sofa. Pussy juices ran down her wrist, and she could feel the wetness seeping down her crack and past her asshole, soaking the fabric of the furniture. All her attention was focused on the pulse beating incessantly in her pussy and ass.

Dope-brained from her orgasm, Hannah fell back on the sofa, both hands clasped between her legs, and felt the warmth radiate throughout her body. That was my best orgasm ever, she thought. And she couldn’t get the image out of her minds’ eye of Angus’ cock spewing fat threads of jism.

Then it hit her. Is this den also his secret place?

Battling Biff in the back seat (flash fiction)

Hannah’s panties were bunched down around her ankles as “Biff Baxter” fumbled with his dick. Her first attempt at coitus in Biff’s classic ‘68 GTO was not going as planned.

Thrusting her hips back, she reached between her legs to guide the football star’s straining cock to her pussy. His futile thrusting had been going on for, like, a half-hour. Well, it seemed like a half-hour. Hannah’s frustration was growing.

“Lower, lower…no, goddamn it, wrong hole,” Hannah growled over her shoulder, her head crammed into the armrest as Biff attempted to take her virginity doggy-style in the backseat of the goat.

“I’m pushing, but it won’t go.”

“I thought you knew what you’re doing,” Hannah shot back, disgusted by the puerile efforts by Hilltop High’s star quarterback to make her a woman—both to mark her eighteenth birthday two months before and her imminent graduation.

His real name was Leonard Eels, pretty lame for a varsity hero and universally acclaimed Big Man on Campus. Thus everyone, including teachers, coaches and Principal Poop, called him “Biff Baxter.”

“It’s your fault. You’re too small. Or tight. Or something.”

Right, Hannah thought. Blame me.

This was not how she had imagined her magic moment of blossoming womanhood would turn out.

Enough!

Hannah pushed him back with her bare ass and flipped over. After pulling her panties back into position, she smoothed her skirt down and settled on the backseat. A glance at Biff, collapsed against the opposite door, revealed his lower lip protruding. The big baby was pouting.

Right. The guilt trip. “Well, I guess I can at least get you off,” Hannah conceded.

His eyes lit up. “A blow job?”

“Better than that. Push down your pants.”

Biff rearranged himself in the middle of the backseat, his jeans and tightie-whities scrunched below his knees. He spread his arms across the back of the seat, eager to be serviced.

Hannah found her purse on the floor of the car and pulled out a small bottle of hand lotion. She slathered the stuff on Biff’s straining, but not very large, dick. He was a circumcised fatty, Hannah decided. Thick, but not long—barely four inches. And, she noted, his pubes could use a trim.

“Slide down.”

Biff obeyed, giving Hannah better purchase to his throbbing cock. Enclosing his member, she swirled her lubed palm over his red dick head. Biff’s hips rose off the seat, his eyes rolled back, and gurgling sounds escaped from his throat. Hannah slid a hand down to his balls and articulated each gland as she jerked him off, slowly and deliberately. She was just about to begin alternating strokes with both hands, when…

Jism sprayed out of Biff—big copious strings of white cum that splashed the upholstered headliner, the back window and…

“My hair! Jesus, don’t you have any self-control? How am I going to go home with your jism in my hair?”

“Me? Me? Whudja expect? And where’d you learn to do that? That felt incredible. That’s the best handjob ever.”

“I was just getting started, you moron. Where’s the Kleenex? Ugh! What a fucking mess. Pull your pants up and take me home.”

Reviewed (again): Trans Action, t-girl erotica

While Sylvie Storm of E-Read Erotica Reviews earlier this month praised my erotic short Trans Action, giving it four stars, she also made some solid suggestions. I took them to heart, wrote some more and almost doubled its length to 7,000 words. Sylvie posted this update (http://ereaderotica.com/?p=5555) today:

“There’s a famous quote by Dorothy Parker. It goes something like, ‘Two drinks and I’m under the table. Three drinks and I’m under the host.’ Alcohol has the same effect on me. With men. Something about strong drink and a stiff dick.”

“Not for me. Because of you, I’ll never sleep with a man again.”

“Well, good luck with that. I wish you well.”

We kissed for like the thousandth time.

“Where do we go with this? she asked.

“I don’t know…”

Trans Action

Three strong drinks and I’m under the host too…or the hostess. Or both.

Today, the previously reviewed Trans Action was updated, and I wanted to share some thoughts on the expanded ending of the book. We are treated to a longer and more thoughtful ending, with some bonus added sex scenes to liven things up. We get this wonderful sort of melancholy Hollywood romance thing going on between them, with tales of plying the street trade for sex, hookups gone wrong, and our trans-gendered woman connecting with her live in lesbian lover in a sentimental and romantic way.

While yes, our trans-gendered lover is being used for sex in a contractual agreement, these two start to connect in a way that surprised me, and I loved their little excursion out to one of the reservoirs for some sexy quality time together. The fact our female lead writes in a ‘keep the house clean’ part of the contract made me smile, and proves our female lead is really smart about her contracts.

I am struck by the floaty nature of the ending, where the two of them enjoy each other’s company, yet we have no idea of where this is going, even as it ends. It is left afloat, and while we see some of ‘the story after’ we are left to wonder.

We got more toys. Nice. We also had some learning each other in bed, which was very nice. The sex scenes added to the book turned this into a one-time affair to a real romance, and I was impressed by the depth this added to the story.

Overall, this felt like a worthy and more fulfilling addition to the book, and it takes a strong recommend for trans-gendered erotic romance readers and makes it more so. This isn’t a sort of fantasy experience, but a love story more grounded in changes and realism two people are going through in life, with the erotic elements being the base on which the story is built upon. How do two people in transition make love and learn to do the same with each other? An added section exploring that makes this book even more attractive, and it is a brave and wonderful addition to this little gem.

Well done, and very much appreciated.

***

That’s a great review, and Sylvie should get the credit. Funny thing, I didn’t (and never do) set out to write romance. My thing is hardcore, explicit erotica. It’s just that my damn characters keep falling in love with each other (and I fall in love with them).