Fiction – Twalker

I watch you. You don’t realise, but I see everything. I lurk in the shadows, just one among the many. I devour your conversations. I save your pictures. I spend hours thinking, plotting, putting two and two together. And I’m getting closer.

You don’t realise the effect your throwaway remarks have on me. How could you? I’m just a faceless name amongst your thousands of followers.

I hate your easy exhibitionism. The way you preen, flirt, joke and tease.

I touch myself.

Fiction – Serenity, part 3

Find part 1 here

Find part 2 here

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As Dave ran his finger gently over the crease between her shoe and her foot, Serenity cried out in pain. It felt to her as though his finger was a scalpel, cutting further into the wound of her bleeding foot.

“Oh God, sorry.”

He blushed.

“Let me kiss it better”.

Bending over, he brushed his lips over the arch of her foot. Serenity held her breath. The pain was still there, but there was something soothing about the way his lips caressed her tender skin, and she started to relax ever so slightly.

“Better?” he mumbled, not taking his mouth away from her foot. “A bit”, she responded, slightly distracted by the sensation of his warm breath on her skin.

For the first time since coming home on Friday night, Serenity started to forget a little about the pain in her foot and feel more herself. She took the opportunity to survey the back of Dave’s head properly for the first time. He was good-looking, of that there was no doubt. Not her normal type though. He had the physique of a cyclist – tall, lean and  muscular, and a friendly, open, slightly weather-beaten face under sun-bleached hair that seemed contrary to the normal pallor of most other night-owl barmen she knew.

Serenity shifted slightly on the couch, running her eyes down his back, to where his t-shirt met his belted jeans. The movement caused her robe to open slightly, revealing more thigh, but she resisted the automatic reflex to close it again.

Sensing the movement, Dave looked up quizzically. “Do I need to kiss the rest of your legs better too?” he smirked. She giggled. “Well, it might take my mind off my feet…”

Dave grabbed a calf in each hand and kissed her knees playfully. “Here? And here….and here….and, oh, and here?” With that he moved slowly and surely up the inside of her left thigh, stopping only to glance up at Serenity’s face and make a mental note of the hardening outline of her nipples under her robe.

The goosebumps on her legs followed his progress further up her thighs as sticky juices seeped from her pussy in anticipation of where his mouth was heading. As he reached the edge of her robe, he snapped at it playfully and looked her directly in the eyes for the first time.

His eyes flashed at her, a deep, dark blue. Yes, they were friendly and open, but she also saw a hunger and an intensity in them that she realised she had not seen in anyone for a long time. The look was both provocative and searching, and she knew instantly what it meant.

Almost involuntarily she parted her legs slightly wider, causing the robe to fall open and expose her glistening cunt to his gaze.

“Good girl”, he whispered.

Her lips parted and her breathing grew heavier as she could no longer hide her arousal.

“But you’re not really a good girl, are you Serenity?” he continued in the same, soothing tone, “you’re a very bad girl, aren’t you? I watch you, you know. Watch the way you flirt outrageously with any man that takes your fancy. I watch the way you use your body to lure them into your little trap. Then you devour them and spit them out, don’t you?”

She nodded silently. His tone changed.

“Slut.”

A wave of emotion washed over Serenity at that moment. Her heart pounded faster, and her lips formed into a smile of relief. Finally somebody had dared say it to her face. She felt…recognised?…in a way she had never experienced before. It simultaneously calmed and emboldened her, as the balance of power seemed to have palpably shifted.

She nodded again.

She didn’t expect his next move, which was to take his middle finger and plunge it deep into her dripping pussy. She held her breath and awaited his approval, which he gave with a curt nod, and the addition of a second finger. As he proceeded to rub his thumb over her pulsating clit, she realised she was almost forgetting about the pain in her feet. Almost, but not quite.

“You’re holding back”, he stated calmly.

“It’s…my feet” she groaned, the strangest mix of pain and pleasure causing her to shiver.

He continued to rub her clit, but looked thoughtful.  “There’s nothing I’d like better than to bury my face in your cunt and lick you until to scream my name. I don’t think that’s what you need though. You’re obviously still being punished, and I think we need to make sure that punishment is seen through to the end, don’t you?”

Still apparently lost for words, Serenity simply nodded for a third time.

“Turn over”

Fear and anticipation began to rise inside her. As Dave showed no sign of removing his fingers from between her legs, she rolled over awkwardly, as best she could. She was glad her face was pushed into the cushions of the settee, as it meant she could hide the rising redness in her cheeks.

Dave lifted up her legs and slid himself onto the sofa underneath them, pushing her robe further up her back and exposing her backside fully.

“Do your feet still hurt?”

She muffled an affirmative, as he withdrew his fingers from her cunt, and placed his hand gently on her bottom, running it speculatively over her cheeks and upper thighs.

The combination of the slight suffocating effect of the cushions, and the tightening of her chest with expectation meant her breathing grew shallower and more urgent.

Dave’s soothing tone came back. “Sssshhh…it’s ok”. His hands continued to run over her backside, tracking the swell and curves of her body with each finger in turn, then gently fanning her cheeks with his palm. Slowly, and gently he replenished his fingers with the natural lubrication of her pussy, before testing the skin of her anus with his index finger.

She tensed, waiting for the intrusion, but it didn’t come. Instead, he lifted his palm and slapped it down tentatively on her right buttock, causing her to pant with the same rhythm. When no protest came, he smacked his palm down harder, once, then twice in quick succession.

Serenity had never felt such helplessness. She knew she could tell him to stop at any point, but her body seemed unable to make her actually do so. It was as though her will had dislocated itself from her brain, and something primal had taken over. All she wanted was for the pain to stop, and yet, all she wanted was for him to carry on.

The slight stinging on her right buttock left behind a tingly heat as he turned his attention to the left one, again smacking his palm down hard three times in quick succession.

Once he had finished the spanking, he waited, gazing at the red marks on her dark skin with satisfaction.

Now, finally, with all her concentration on the pain on her behind, the pain in her feet drifted out of her mind, and she suddenly found she could no longer hold herself together. Her body convulsed, and tears started to stream down her face. Dave pulled her up and towards him, gathering her in his arms, and holding her tight as he waited for the roller-coaster of emotions to leave her body.

They sat there like that for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them speaking, until finally she kicked off her shoes and held him closer.

THE END.

Fiction – Serenity, part 2

Find part 1 here

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Serenity slept fitfully, true to her usual habits. Visions of faceless men drifted into her subconscious. Men that made her want to run, simultaneously towards them and away from them. She didn’t know in which direction, she just knew she had to run. She was running so much that her feet were hurting. Her feet really hurt.

Oh God, she had to stop running.

It took her a moment to fully come to and realise that the pain in her feet was real and was what had woken her. She rolled over carefully and looked down at herself, still naked except for the patent stilettos that now seemed to be almost a part of her own limbs.

Her mind drifted back to what had happened in the bar. What had the voice said? “Your precious heels will remind you of me and the pain you caused me, until you understand” She was still no closer to recognising the voice. The voice – the man – had seemed to know her though. Had she slept with him? The implication was there. It was true that she had had her fair share of one-night stands over the last 18 months or so, but she was sure she had never misled anyone about her intentions. She certainly didn’t remember deliberately causing anybody any pain.

Serenity spent most of the day in bed, only getting up for a cup of coffee around midday, and the occasional trip to the bathroom. She responded to her friends’ phonecalls with a curt text that only seemed to make them more worried, and their calls more urgent. She ignored them all, watched a little TV, downed half a bottle of vodka and went back to bed, where once again she had the same dreams of faceless men and searing pain.

It was a persistent knocking that woke her on the following day, a Sunday. Serenity buried her head under her pillow in the hope she wouldn’t have to answer, and willed them to go away.

The knocking didn’t stop, and a man’s voice called her name.

“Serenity? I know you’re in there. Answer the door. It’s Dave. From the bar?”

Serenity sat up. Dave? What the hell was he doing there, and, more to the point, how had he got her address?

As it became clear that he was not going anywhere, Serenity reluctantly got out of bed and limped her way to the door, throwing on a robe to half-cover her nakedness on the way. At the door she paused for a moment to try and overcome the searing pain that was still coming from her feet, and gather her thoughts.

“Dave?” she called through the door.”What are you doing here?”

“I bumped into Helen this morning. She told me she was worried about you, so I offered to stop by and check you were ok. She says you’re not answering your phone.”

Serenity hesitated.

“It’s ok, Dave… I’m…ok. Tell her not to worry about me.”

“You don’t really sound ok, Serenity. Can I come in?”

The tone of his voice told her that there was no way she was going to get rid of him easily. It seemed she had no choice but to let him in.

The Serenity that greeted Dave did not look like the Serenity he knew, or was used to seeing in the bar. That Serenity was vibrant, full of life, the centre of attention. The woman who stood in front of him looked smaller and more subdued. Her chocolate skin had a strange ashy grey quality about it, and her lips were pale and cracked. In his shock, he barely even registered that she only appeared to be wearing a jersey robe, half open down to her waist, only just clinging on to her modesty.

His surprise must have been obvious, for Serenity smiled ruefully. “Sorry, I’ve not got my face on. Come in.”

As she turned and led the way to the kitchen, he noticed that she appeared to be wearing the same heels she had worn the last time he had seen her on the previous Friday. The outline of her shapely arse was visible through the thin cloth of her dressing gown, and his groin twitched involuntarily with the effect her appearance always had on him.

It was obvious that she was limping, and he didn’t understand why she was still wearing the fierce-looking stilettos. They didn’t look comfortable at all.

“Coffee?”

“Yes please. But let me make it, you don’t look too good.”

Serenity leaned gratefully against the kitchen counter and pointed out where things were, taking the opportunity to take the weight off her throbbing feet.

“If you don’t mind me asking”, Dave finally said, “do you always wear your highest heels around the house?”

He was not prepared for the reaction this question prompted, which was that Serenity suddenly burst into floods of big, gut-wrenching sobs. He caught her as she half-crumpled, and carried her into the little living room, placing her gently on the sofa, and holding her somewhat awkwardly.

“Shhhh…it’s ok…it’s ok….”

He waited patiently for the sobs to subside, merely repeating gentle affirmations and stroking the side of her face with the lightest of touches.

When she was finally ready to look at him, the whole story poured out of her. The bar, the nightclub, the strange voice, and how she was now unable to remove her shoes, with the associated pain. Once she had finished, he moved down towards her foot, picking it up gently again.

Other than the traces of dried blood that she had obviously tried to wash off, the foot and the shoe looked normal to him. Pulling gently, however, he soon realised that what she had told him was true. There was no chance that her foot and her shoe were parting ways any time soon.

____

TO BE CONTINUED

Fiction – Serenity, part 1

There is often a certain amount of pain involved in wearing new shoes – especially high heels. It’s not necessarily a given that the higher the heel, the greater the pain, but as rules go, it seemed like a good one to our heroine at the particular moment in time in which we are about to join her.

“Fuck”, exclaimed Serenity, as she scrabbled around furiously in her bathroom cabinet trying to locate a plaster for her wounded heel. Her name had been a massive case of wishful thinking on the part of her parents, for serene was probably the least likely term that would ever be used to describe her, and she certainly wasn’t serene now.

Serenity was a bundle of energy, from the wild afro of her hair, through each sinew and curve of her voluptuous body, down to her fingertips, which permanently seemed to be tapping out the internal rhythms of her life. Even in her sleep she thrashed furiously, a seemingly permanent ball of pent-up nervous energy.

“Late. Late. Late…Fuck…. Ah, gotcha.”

With that, she slapped a plaster on her heel, grabbed her bag and keys and headed out of the door to meet her girlfriends for drinks.

Her friends were, naturally, all waiting for her when she arrived, hobbling slightly and breathless. “I know, I know” she waved vaguely and headed straight for the bar.

She was so out of breath and focused on getting her drinks that she hardly noticed the guy next to her at the bar waiting to be served. “Dave! Four tequila slammers please” she shouted at the barman, leaning forward to reward him with a glimpse of her ample cleavage.

She also didn’t hear her bar neighbour mutter a hearfelt “BITCH” under his breath, or feel his eyes bore into her back. What she did feel was her feet twitch slightly, something that she vaguely put down to their newness.

She paid Dave and carefully carried the slammers back to the table where her three friends were sitting.

“Fuck, I need this. Cheers ladies”.

Serenity knocked back her slammer and smiled ruefully. “Bugger. Should have ordered a few more, shouldn’t I?” Helen, seated to her right smiled “Just ask Dave to bring a few over. You know he’d do anything for you, right? Just flash your knickers at him or something. Assuming you are wearing any, of course?”

“You know my thoughts on underwear”, answered Serenity. “Only worth bothering with in the bedroom and to be taken off for special occasions”. She grinned at her friend and smoothed down her skirt. “So, are we going dancing tonight, or what?”

Two tequila slammers later and Serenity and her friends headed down the road to “T’s”, where the first name terms they were on with the door staff enabled them to jump the growing queue.

“Fucking bitch” growled the man from the bar as the girls sailed past him again, completely oblivious to his presence once more.

Inside, the noise, music and lighting exhilirated Serenity. She never felt more alive that when the beats filled her up from the inside and she could really let herself go on the dancefloor. This time, however, her feet were bothering her.

“I’ve got to sit down for a bit, my feet are killing me”, she yelled at her friend Ruby. “You carry on, don’t worry about me”.

Weaving her way to the edge of the dancefloor, she spied an empty barstool and dropped down onto it. “Thank fuck.”

She gingerly surveyed the plaster on her heel, before reaching down to try and remove the offending shoe. It took only a split second before she realised that the shoe refused to budge. Wincing, she pulled harder. Still no luck. The shoe seemed wedded to her foot. No amount of pulling wanted to move it.

She could feel the happy alcoholic haze she had been floating into up until now dissipating and being replaced by a strange cold fear. Even the music and lights seemed duller, fading in proportion to the strange panic rising through her entire body. Serenity gasped as her throat constricted and her body grew limp.

A voice seemed to come from the cloudy depths from her mind. A male voice, deep, soothing, yet also with an unmistakeable sinister undertone.

“Do you know pain, Serenity? Have you ever really experienced it? Do you know what it’s like to feel that pain with every step you take? You never have, have you? You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you have razor blades slicing at your heart with every breath you take. You’ve never given a fuck for all the hearts you’ve tossed aside without thinking. All those one night stands. All those faceless men. Think about them, Serenity. Do you even remember them? Do you remember me? From now on you’ll remember me every waking moment. Your precious heels will remind you of me and the pain you caused me until you understand.”

The voice faded and the nightclub slowly came back into focus, the lights and music now mimicking the pounding rhythm of Serenity’s beating heart.

“Ren? You ok Ren? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

Blinking, Serenity realised the voice talking to her had changed, and was that of her friend Helen.

“Oh my God, Ren, what’s happened to your feet? Is that blood?”

It took all Serenity’s effort to focus on her friend and stammer her excuses. “Sorry, Helen, I don’t feel well, I need to go home. Don’t worry about me, I’ll get a cab.”

With that, she rushed out of the nightclub and into the fresh night air, gulping furiously in an effort to bring life back into her lungs. Smiling half-heartedly at the doorman, she said “Tony, call me a cab would you, please?”

Once in the cab, Serenity struggled to hold back the tears as the throbbing in her feet was all she could focus on. Once back in her apartment, she swallowed a couple of painkillers, stripped off her clothes and collapsed in a heap on the bed, shoes still stubbornly attached to her feet.

It took a while for the pain relief to kick in, but finally, she slipped into a deep sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Fiction – A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Inspired by the 12 days of Christmas, somehow this turned into another summer story. Seems I’m longing for long, hot, lazy summer days again!

Merry Christmas x

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She knew he would be waiting outside her window, it had become a ritual now. Every year, around the same time. He came home to help on his father’s farm at harvest, as he did every year, just as her parents went on their annual wedding anniversary weekend to Cornwall, giving her an excuse to come back and house sit.

She thought back to the first time, the summer after her sixteenth birthday. It had been a cloudy, overcast day, and she had come home from school to change into a sweatshirt. Standing in her bedroom in just her bra and panties she rummaged among the clothes cursing her personal untidiness. She didn’t know what had prompted her to look out of the window when she did. It was probably that a slight movement had caught her eye, but she liked to think it was some kind of sixth sense. The tree was full and leafy, heavy with ripe fruit, the ideal hiding place. It had been his jeans that had given him away- a flash of blue against the browns and greens.

Lucy smiled as she remembered the shock she had felt when she had realised that there was someone outside her bedroom window, watching her dressing. That first time she had hurriedly drawn the curtains, as she had the second time it happened the following year, even though she had been fully clothed that time.

The fourth year had been the deciding year, the year she had made her mind up that if he was going to make his annual pilgrimage, she would at least make it worth his while. She had stood in front of the window in her underwear that year, slightly unsure of herself and awkward. Year five saw her topless, and year six threw caution to the wind and saw her fucking her then boyfriend on the desk in front of her window.

Over the years she had started to look forward to this time of year, and the visits from Tom Partridge. When they met in the village they hardly spoke, barely acknowledging each other past the usual neighbourly pleasantries. Their bond remained unspoken, yet she could see that intensity and desire burned in his eyes every time he looked at her.

The pear tree was ageing, the fruit slightly gnarled and pitted, but its trunk was as strong as ever. It would still hold his weight without any trouble. This time, the tenth anniversary of that first visit, she had a surprise ready for him. She only hoped the shock wouldn’t make him fall out of the tree. Lucy put the kettle on to busy herself in the kitchen, and waited.

She didn’t have long before she heard the familiar creak of the garden gate and saw Tom sneaking in and creep towards the old tree. The way he swung himself up into the branches with such ease amazed her. While the leaves of the tree obscured her view of him slightly, she was sure his eyes were searching for her at her bedroom window. “Not this time”, she grinned to herself, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Gulping down the remnants of cold tea, she grabbed the blanket she had earlier placed on the back of the kitchen chair, and headed outside.

She had to try her hardest not to look up into the tree as she walked towards it. The key, she knew, was to make it look as unplanned and as innocent as possible, although she felt sure he would know it was anything but. Spreading the picnic blanket out under the shade of the fruit tree, she was sure she could sense his puzzlement as the script they played out every year deviated from the usual.

Once the blanket was in place, she stepped onto it and let the loose robe she was wearing slide from her shoulders, although she found herself wondering how it managed to slip off so easily when surely every single goose-bump would hold it up? She stood, head bowed for a split second, feeling her reserves flood away and desire begin to rise. Her gaze grazed her erect nipples, and she wallowed in the tingle of the blood rushing to her cunt, before slowly sinking, first to her knees, then onto her haunches, where she paused again for a split second, before lying down on her back, closing her eyes and spreading her arms out in the shape of a crucifix.

She knew he must be looking at her, admiring her pale skin and the pinkness of her nipples. She hoped he could feel her arousal as she imagined his eyes sweeping the curves of her breasts, the slight dip of her belly and the outline of her hips. Lucy wondered idly whether he could see how swollen her cunt was, how the sticky juices were pressing the tops of her thighs together.

Her thoughts were interrupted in the most frightening and unexpected way, as a ripe pear disengaged from the tree and fell down beside her, missing her by only an inch or two. She jumped and squealed slightly, before bursting into raucous, throaty laughter, which was stopped in its tracks when the second pear fell hard onto her right thigh. “OUCH”, she cried, somehow sure that this particular pear had not made its own way off the tree, but had received a helping hand.

She was rubbing the sticky spot where it had fallen, sure it would result in bruising the next day, when the next one rained down onto her stomach, oozing slightly as the overripe flesh of the fruit met her own, quickly followed by another one just under her left breast.

It was not until this point that she looked up into the tree for the first time. He was holding another pear in his hand with a thoughtful and calculating look in his eye. Her eyes blazed a challenge at him and the next fruit landed on the blanket next to her right breast, causing her to throw back her head and close her eyes once more, arching her back and spreading her legs in invitation, and causing the finely balanced pears to slide off, leaving their gloopy trail on her body. She inwardly thanked God that there  didn’t appear to be any wasps in any of the pears that had fallen down – while she had nothing against a little bruising, she did think that wasp stings might kill the mood somewhat.

As she lay there in expectation of the next blow, she was surprised to hear his voice hurriedly utter four words. “Rub them on you”. Doing as she was told, she grasped the pear that she instinctively knew was softest, and started to smooth it on her breasts. She felt the slightly mealy flesh disintegrate and coat her in a film of sticky juice, mirroring the effect it was having in her pussy. Lost in the pleasure of her own sensations, it took her a while to tune in to hear the moaning that was coming from seven feet above her, but she smiled as the audible cue told her what she had suspected.

There was not much left of the pear once she had smeared it over her belly and haunches, and it was the little stalk that made contact with her clit before her fingers did, mingling the sap on her digits with the juices of her cunt. The familiar trembles in the soles of her feet told her that she would not take long to orgasm if she let herself continue, but she didn’t know if she would be able to hold back for very long, as she quickened the pace, discarding the stalk and now furiously rubbing her clit.

The moaning in the tree above her grew louder and more guttural, while her own breathing grew shallower and heavier. She dipped her fingers into the sticky juices between her legs, before shoving them in her mouth and greedily sucking on them. The taste of ripe pear mingled with her pussy juices tasted delicious, and she briefly regretted that Tom couldn’t taste them too.

As she lustily sucked on her fingers, she looked up at the tree to see Tom’s erect cock springing from his jeans. The view of him stroking his thick cock spurred her on to place her fingers back between her legs and glide her fingers over her sodden clit.

The next thing that hit her was not a pear, but a short stream of milky white juices over her midriff and breasts, as Tom ejaculated over her, tipping her over the edge into her own shuddering orgasm. When it subsided, she lay back on the blanket, exhausted, and burst into unstoppable laughter. She could see she would have to start planning what was going to happen the following year…

Fiction – Chemistry Studies

This is a story I wrote some time ago now that was originally published on the “Wordejaculation” site, which is now sadly defunct. Time to republish it (and another piece that I’ll post another time) here, I think.

_______

It was the summer of 2003. The summer when people finally started believing in global warming. The hottest summer in 500 years.

I was in my final year at university, sharing a flat with two others – Nickie, a med student who we never saw as she was always off doing whatever it is medical students do, and Rob,  who, like me, was in the final stages of finishing his Chemistry degree. He and I had been pretty much inseparable since Fresher’s Week, when we first bonded over Tequila slammers and a love of dancing “ironically” to Beyonce’s chart topper Crazy In Love.

Rob was a walking, talking cliché – tall, dark, handsome, athletic. He had the gift of the gab and was utterly charming. I don’t think there was a girl in our year that didn’t throw herself at him at one point or another. Ironically, this made me both incredibly popular with those who thought getting in with me meant getting close to Rob, and unpopular with those who couldn’t understand our platonic relationship and were jealous of how much time we spent together.

It was around the end of May that Rob started seeing Charlotte. He had of course been out with girls before, but I knew from the beginning that this was new. Charlotte was very different to the clean-cut  girls with blonde swishy hair that seemed his normal type. She was half French; petite, olive skinned with long dark hair and the most amazing pert round breasts and peachy arse I had ever seen.

One hot and sticky Monday, I let myself in to the flat to hear laughter coming from Rob’s bedroom. I put away my shopping, and headed for my room. As I passed Rob’s room, I noticed the door was slightly ajar and caught a good view of the bed, where the two of them were lying dressed only in their underwear, with Charlotte’s back towards me. I caught a glimpse of her round cheeks in the tiniest of frilly knickers and something made me stop and admire the two of them. The next thing I knew, Rob was pulling her towards him, kissing her neck and running his hands up her thighs.

My head told me to disappear and leave them to it, but I remained rooted to the spot. He slowly slipped her bra strap off her shoulder and started kissing her collarbone. She giggled as his mouth moved lower towards her right breast and one hand moved from the outside of her thigh to the inside, while the other moved to undo the clasp of her bra.

I was frozen; barely daring to breathe as I glimpsed the silhouette of her right breast, before Rob hungrily started sucking the nipple. Charlotte moaned slightly as Rob also cupped his hand around her left breast. I willed them to move around so I could see everything that was happening, but of course they were completely oblivious to both me and the increasing dampness between my legs.

As Rob continued to focus on her breasts, Charlotte ran her hand along his arm, across his chest and down towards the soft fluff of his navel. She let her fingers linger, teasing the short hair, and playfully sticking her fingers in his belly button before slowly running her index finger along the inside of the waistband of his boxer shorts. As she shifted slightly onto her left buttock, I saw the outline of Rob’s hard, erect cock straining at the fabric, with a delicious, barely imperceptible wet patch where his cock had dribbled. Charlotte’s hand wandered further inside his boxer shorts and I could just make out the way her finger ran up and down his shaft.  As she grasped it with both hands and pulled it out of his shorts, I had to stifle a moan. My pussy was dripping at this point, and I pressed my hand between my legs in the vain hope of – what? – certainly not stopping myself, I was well past that point by now!

Still kissing, sucking, stroking and teasing, they pulled off their last remaining items of clothing. They were now completely naked. They were such an amazing looking couple, and I could not get enough of the sight of both of them. I held my breath, silently willing them on to the next level. As Charlotte went up on her knees, I saw Rob’s cock, rigid and glistening through her thighs. As she gently rubbed her pussy against its tip, I felt my own hand lift up the flimsy dress I was wearing, push aside my soaking knickers, and push my fingers deep into my own juices. I stifled a moan as my fingers found my clit and furiously began to rub.

In front of me, Rob had grabbed Charlotte’s waist and pushed her down hard onto his cock. As she slid up and down, her movements hinting at the pleasure she was experiencing, I felt myself attempting to mimic the sensation by thrusting my fingers deep inside myself. The way her breasts moved, the way she thrust her head back and closed her eyes – these were things I felt for myself. I felt every movement of his hands exploring her body, felt his fingertips tracing her nipples, and felt every thrust of his hot prick as it carved through me. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying out as their lovemaking grew more frenzied. I staggered backwards, leant against the wall and gave in to the delicious sensations – my fingers on my clit, thrusting into my pussy and rubbing my nipples. As I felt the first shudder of orgasm tingling in my legs and my cunt, I opened my eyes for a final glimpse of the couple in front of me and drank in the view of her tits, and his cock. Charlotte let out a long, deep moan that instantly told me her climax too was close. Rob thrust into her one last time, and all three of us came with a delicious sigh.

I hid in my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, too embarrassed to face the pair of them. It was only when I heard Charlotte leave that I dared venture into the kitchen, where I found Rob sipping a bottle of beer and flicking through the local paper.

He looked up as I came in, and grinned.

“Good afternoon?”
“Yeah, not bad” I mumbled, my face flushing at the thought of what I had seen and what I had done.
He looked at me thoughtfully and then said; “Well, maybe next time you would like to join us…”

That, however, is another story.

Realism in Erotica

The more I overthink things, the more I have doubts.

I’ve been pootling about on the internet a lot reading about sex. This is of course nothing new. What is new, however, is that this time it is for “research”, rather than purely for pleasure. I’ve had a story idea in my mind for the last couple of weeks that doesn’t lend itself to being immediately written. It needs thought, and factual checking, and to be honest I am not sure it’s ever going to get written.

I did a bit of research for Morning Glory, specifically related to the mechanics and sensations of the male orgasm, and at the time I could not help but “cum” across similar pieces about the female orgasm. I was reminded of the fact that, if the internet is to be believed, only around three quarters of women achieve orgasm through vaginal penetration alone. Guess what? I’m one of them. It is also estimated that 10 to 15% of women struggle to reach orgasm at all (thankfully, I’m not one of them!).

Yet it seems standard practice in a lot of erotica that the female protagonist achieves multiple orgasms merely by looking at her partner (yes, E.L. James and her highly orgasmic virgin springs to mind here). I’m probably as guilty as the next person here (although I deliberately avoided this when I wrote Construction – the eagle eyed among you may have noticed that Jo did not orgasm at all).

Then there’s the thorny subject of safe sex. Sometimes the fumble for a condom can make a good literary device, whereas a more fantasy setting might do away with the messy real-life business of contraception.

By doing this, am I just as guilty of perpetuating myths about sex as, for example some might accuse mainstream porn of? Is it obvious enough that fiction is fantasy and should be taken with a pinch of salt?

Finally, how well can I get away with practices I have not experienced myself? At the risk of mentioning “that book” again, E.L. James has come in for a lot of criticism for the nature of the BDSM relationship between Christian Grey and Ana Steele, especially from those who do live in a “true” Dom/Sub relationship. While she has admitted that it is a fantasy of hers, I don’t recall her admitting she had direct experience of a lot of the practices. I don’t have experience of a male/male relationship, for example, but I have an idea floating around in my head that might involve something like that. Does the fact I am unqualified mean I should not bother?

There are two ways of looking at things I suppose; rule number one of writing anything is supposedly “Stick to what you know”. All well and good, but if that were true there would be a lot less historical fiction, crime fiction and certainly no fantasy! A good writer should overcome these obstacles and be able to transport you into a fictional world that either a) seems realistic or b) makes you suspend disbelief enough to just go with the story.

I should probably stop thinking and just get on with writing though, shouldn’t I…?