Girl on Girl Action with Cats…

Here is a sweet offering from my book Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub. It’s part of the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! The idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  

Shifter Shelter is my erotic werewolf saga. In this excerpt (a whole CHAPTER!), the women of the animal shelter take a break from the shifter shenanigans to pay some attention to each other… in the cat room.


 Shifter Shelter, Chapter 8 – Cats

I realize, in hindsight, that I should have chased after him, but Dot was distracting. She turned her big brown eyes on me for some kind of explanation and wouldn’t stop looking at me. I couldn’t think of something reasonable to tell her, especially with the ferals still simmering in my loins. Such was my state I even considered telling her the truth.

At that precise moment Sam and Edna Donaldson brought in six tiny kittens. Apparently we had to take them or they would end up at the bottom of the lake. You know… country-style euthanasia. I fucking hate people. So that took a while. The cats were adorable, but we didn’t have room for them, as usual. We had to write them up and also lecture two grown adults about why they should bring in their pet to get spayed. I told them I wouldn’t take the next litter, which was a lie, but I was pretty ferocious. Dot backed me up with appropriate tuts of disapproval and withering glares.

By the time Sam and Edna left, I thought I was safe. Dot had seen them out and was waving at them, smiling and nodding through the closed door.

“Thanks for nothing Sam and Edna. Fuck you very much,” she said brightly, but quiet enough that they wouldn’t hear.  She locked the door behind them and turned on me.

“All right, now. Spill… What is up with this boy of yours? Is he really that crazy?”

“Today he is.” I told her. “Sometimes things get crazy.” The animal within me snarled. The moon was so close, and it was my job to hold it together. I picked up the box of kittens and made my way towards the cat rooms. Dorothy followed close. I could feel her warmth on my back. As we passed the door she noticed the caved-in rabbit enclosure.

“Hey! What happened to the Bunny Mansion?!”

“Er… Rapture got loose.” I lied.

“What? That big dog has been sweet as pie since your boy showed up.”

“Dylan’s not my boy.” It was mostly true, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“Oh really?” She spoke sarcastically. “So he isn’t the son of your ex? He’s not your little stepson?”

“That was a long time ago,” I protested, “and he isn’t a little boy anymore.”

Dot gave a dirty grunt. “No, he’s sure not.” She chewed her finger. “And you haven’t been playing with him? Because, between you and me, this place smells like sex. There’s a lot of sleepy eyes, messy hair, and bouncing dick in the Shelter this morning.”

We got the kittens into the cat room. All the resident felines yowled at us, hoping for food and love. They climbed all over me. It was a nice, familiar sensation. As Dot moved the new babies into the kitten condo she spoke low and dirty.

“Because, you know, if you aren’t with Dylan, or if you don’t mind sharing, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of him. There’s no talent in this damn town except for what I find at work.” I wanted to warn her that Dylan was more likely to take a bite out of her. That’s when she surprised me.

“You know what I’m saying?” She looked at me hard. “All the talent is at work.” She put her hand on my shoulder. It was a casual touch with an invitation attached. My pussy wanted to Rsvp.

I met her gaze.  “Help me out, here, Dorothy… Do you like men or women?”

She was candid. “Absolutely. I really like them. I thought everyone knew that.”

So… The stories about Dot having slept with both the boys’ and the girls’ basketball teams in high school were more than just rumours. Sexy minx. Some week I was having.

On top of being just a lovely person, Dorothy was a stunner. She was a wise and fresh twenty-year-old, with dark, rich skin and wide russet lips. Tall and lithe, she had long legs and strong biceps, with a generous booty and plenty up front. The dreadlocks in her hair were an intense black halo that gave a whiff of patchouli. I was struggling with a five-alarm case of the ferals at Moontime and that tends to make me saucy. I may have been more disposed to girly-time than usual.

Her eyes ate me up and she wasn’t shy about it. Twelve cats were climbing all over us, purring, meowing, and rubbing against our legs. There was a pungent animal scent in the air and I began to suspect that me and Dot were responsible for a lot of it. On the day of the full moon, a concubine is at battle with herself. The ferals make her hornier than a hellcat in heat, but she has important tasks to attend to. My brain was telling me to go find Dylan, but the ferals were telling me to jump on this goddess in the cat room. It might have gone either way until Dot kissed me.

Her offering was a gentle, closed-mouth, nuclear explosion. The bees behind my eyes came back in a swarm. “Everyone seems to be getting time with you, Diana. There’s that sexy cop, and that sexy stepson… I have to wonder what the big deal is.” The second kiss had an open mouth. At least she wasn’t asking awkward questions about Dylan anymore. I kissed back. I added my tongue. Dorothy indulged in a sexy little giggle-snort, whispering, “I knew it.”

We stood and embraced as we explored each other with our hands. I found her ass and grabbed it, pulling her pelvis against mine. Her wide hips offered a softness that was lovely to hold. She ran her fingertips down my spine as I nibbled on her tasty lips. Her slender hands found their way under my shirt and boogied an electric dance across my skin, pausing to undo my bra. With a level of speed and skill that was new to me, she grabbed the wings of my bra, briskly pulling up and forwards while gathering my shirt. The whole thing came off over my head and was tossed aside. I was  suddenly very topless. Again there was a giggle-snort, this time followed by a deep and inquisitive kiss that dampened my twat and trembled my extremities. I clutched her bum. Cats purred and meowed at our feet, wondering what we were up to. It didn’t look like feeding time to them.

Dorothy stepped back and stared at my tits.

“Damn…” she said. “No wonder. Well, fair is fair.” She peeled off her shirt and sports bra and tossed her clothes on top of mine. Kitties had begun investigating the pile of abandoned garments. Dot’s lean stomach was lined with just a hint of abdominal definition all the way up to her breasts. Those were large and high: defiant against gravity as she shifted her weight. Her nipples were smears of exotic umber against her deep brown skin. They were constricting and rising in arousal. Puckered and lick-able, they were irresistible, so I bent down and took one into my mouth. I found myself unable to be subtle under these provocations and sucked hard.

Dot’s vocalization began as a high-pitched squeal and ran the register down to a low moan. She cradled my head, pushing my face into her tit while she stroked my back with her other hand. She arched her back and offered the other breast. Not wanting to play favourites, I was more than happy to shift my attentions. I licked first, then gathered her prodigious nip into my mouth and sucked the daylights out of it. This time Dot started with a low moan and went all the way up to a high-pitched squeak. The dogs outside barked a reply.

As I licked and sucked, Dorothy was reaching down. One hand played with my nipples, pinching and clasping with feminine roughness. The other led an exploratory mission heading south. Even through my fresh panties and blue jeans, the instant her fingers traced the surface of my crotch I kinda lost it, bucking my cunt forwards while standing hunched in front of her, licking her boobs. It probably looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. The ferals were trying to take over. I was decidedly juicy under the two layers of clothing, and it was starting to show.  With a giggle-snort she said, “My goodness, Diana… Are you wet all the way through your jeans?”

Dot stepped back again, grinning like a fool. I noted that it was more than possible to make her cheeks rosy. She leered at me, grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants, and shimmied out of them, making sure she jiggled her bosom at me for good measure. The clothes were tossed on the pile; a pretty siamese jumped out of the way. Standing tall and nude, Dorothy looked like some kind of statue, with perfection in every line, and curves that were impudent. I became alarmed by the exquisite beauty of her hairless pussy. She didn’t give me more than a glimpse, though, before she dropped to her knees. She spent a moment removing my shoes and pants in a very businesslike manner. My panties were thrown over her shoulder with a giggle. Finally, Dot reached around behind my bum and pulled me towards her, gazing at my muff.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” she said, and kissed me just above the pubic hair. Dorothy hugged my pelvis to her face. Her outrageous nipples brushed against my thighs while she kissed her way down to my excited privates with her soft mouth. As she found the top of my labia, she brought a strong hand up between my legs, encouraging me to open myself while standing. It was tricky, but I was up to it. She placed her tongue on my hood while her confident fingers spread my slick lips from below. Uhn! I was musing on why I didn’t seek feminine company more often as she slid two fingers inside me and sucked my clit. I twitched and flexed tall like a plank, screaming at the ceiling. My yell made the cats in the room scatter to the four corners. Down below Dorothy chuckled and began to fuck me.

She sucked and tongued as she poked and thrusted. I was a lagoon between my thighs, and as slippery as a salamander. As she finger-banged me she explored ever deeper, soon sliding three fingers in, right up to the hilt. I was semi-squatting and had turned my pelvis up so she could kiss me there. Oh! Kiss me, she did. Dot lapped excitedly, deep in my furrow, and then licked her way up to suck again on my bold, red clit. My skin got hot and itchy across my chest and shoulders. As Dot pushed her fingers into me, I bounced and trembled on her hand. My legs began to spasm.

I ran my fingers through her kinky black dreads, holding on for dear life. Somebody was muttering and pleading quietly, “please, yes… please, Dot… fuck me, please…” The dirty girl managed a fourth finger and began rubbing my clit with her thumb. Dorothy, who had been licking aggressively throughout this slippery joy-ride, then growled madly into me. This caused me to come abruptly. I pulled her hair and screamed, hopping up and down on my tippy-toes as she worked me like a Punch and Judy show. The joy flipped through me in waves as she pumped and kissed my simmering cunt. I ground into her face harder than I should have. It wasn’t polite in an employer / employee relationship. She wouldn’t let me stop coming, tasting my wetness and playing until I actually fell over and landed on top of her. Cats scattered anew, dogs barked afar.

I clutched and hugged her amazon body to mine, tremulous, and kissed her face, tasting myself all over her. She responded, rubbing her beautiful skin against mine and taking hot smooches. Sated, yet desperate, I reached down to Dorothy’s pretty pussy. She was a hot, open book. Oh, yes, my dear… now you’re gonna get it. Many cats were on the floor around us, sniffing and meowing and rubbing their soft fur on inappropriate bits of human anatomy. Dot twisted and slid herself against my fingers, groaning in a friendly way, but then she stopped and became stiff.

“Knocking,” she said. “Do you hear knocking?”

We went all silent. Even the kitties were still.

Wham! Wham! Taptaptap!

Fuck. I did, indeed, hear knocking. Someone was pounding on the front door, and it sounded insistent. Dot and I locked eyes and giggled. She snorted, too.

“You locked the door?” I asked.

“Uh huh.” She replied, and kissed me.

“Why?” I asked.

“I thought I might try to tumble you in the cat room,” She confessed. “Oh. Look. That totally happened.”

“It sure did.” I kissed her back. “I should probably get that.v”She answered. “I think I’ll just have to let you owe me one.”

I kissed her again, slow and long. “You bet I do.”

Wham! Wham! Taptaptap! It was louder.

“Diana?” said Dot, “I still have a lot of questions about Dylan an’shit.”

“No doubt,” I answered, evasive.

“Also… Diana?”

“Yes, Dot?”

“You can take your fingers out of my cunt anytime, now.”


Interested in learning more about the DeSanto approach to Werwolf Erotica? Check out Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub.

Happy Holidays Part II

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! I am offering PART TWO of my new Holiday Erotica Book, Flesh, Wine & Pine logs. This is a very special HOLIDAY  OFFERING for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla LordsThe idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  

Flesh, Wine & Pine logs – A Holiday Menage has lots of sex in it, mostly straight, but kinda bi, and it ends with a rollicking Midwinter foursome. It will warm your cockles on a icy night and make you feel merry, indeed! Consider it Tracey DeSanto’s Holiday present to you all!

You can skip back and read part one here first, if you like…

Without further ado… Yuletide Smut!


The moon had crawled across the night sky and was nestling in the tree-line. Where before it had shone brightly, its light was now filtered. The snow crunched beneath their feet. It was a lonely sound, accompanied by their breathing. Wensa’s was easy and measured,  like her strides, but Honzo puffed and grunted as he followed her, occasionally muttering a mild oath.

They had left quietly with only the wheelwrights and carpenters to observe them. Wensa had gifted the men with silver, beer and pies, requiring their silence. They were only too happy to offer it. They helped the Queen and her page into rough boots and cloaks for their journey. Honzo had insisted that he could bear the sacks of wine, food and firewood. It was no wonder he was finding it slow going.

When they began hiking, all had been raucous and merry in the shops and households of Bohemia. Honzo was  wistful as they made their way farther from the revelry and deeper into the empty edges of Wensa’s domain. They had reached the end of the farthest road at the outermost village. Wensa paused to think and let Honzo catch up.

“My gracious Queen… <huff> I am delighted that we have <huff> finally achieved your aim of freezing the balls off this particular brass monkey.” Honzo’s teeth chattered while he said it. He shook his legs as if expecting to see his testicles roll out of the cuffs of his breeches. “Might I suggest that we avail ourselves of some of these supplies?” He peered at her from under the brim of his cloak, hopeful.

She laughed and clapped her hands together. It had been a while since she had ventured out to her childhood realms, and it felt good.

“Those provisions are barter for beets and must not be touched. I wonder at your fuss. Next time I will enlist the help of one of the scullery maids. They are made of sterner stuff than you and are more willing to take chances.”

His retort was mischievous. “I know this, my Queen, for I have bedded every one of them already… and at least we were in a nice… warm… BED!”

His nose was running and his breath came in puffs. Honzo stumbled as the sacks shifted on his shoulders. This caused him to slip and fall on his ass with a painful whump. He lay on his back and gazed up into the night sky.

“Take me now, Lord,” he said. “I am ready.” He closed his eyes and crossed his hands over his chest. “If Good Queen Wensa demands I end my life dragging firewood to the Devil, I am only too happy to do so.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Her voice was like an embrace: comforting and encouraging. He opened one eye to peer up at her.

“Goodbye cruel world?” he asked.

“Not tonight, my little scallion.” She offered him a firm hand, pulling him to his feet. Once it looked as if he wouldn’t fall again, she squatted and took the heavier of the sacks.

“Mark my footsteps, my good page,” she said, and began to blaze a trail through the snow. Honzo followed as best he could, with an energy he could hardly muster. He found the frost was less cruel if he followed in her tracks.

They fell silent and made their way. Wensa knew it was still a long march before they reached Filip’s shack. She didn’t care. She felt magnificent. At Midwinter the Sun begins its slow return. It was in Wensa’s blood to shepherd her people towards the renewal of light at this time. She shared her warmth with everyone and brought them cheer. Wensa at Midwinter meant hope and comfort against the bitter dark.

She was also as horny as a wench at closing time. She felt certain she could do her beet boy an injury, given the chance. Her appetite was fierce. Along those lines, she wondered if this might be the night she let that slender page into her winter garden. He was so devoted… it wouldn’t be fair to leave him out in the cold. That’s when she realized she no longer heard him stumbling in her wake. It made her stomach lurch.

Looking back across the icy plain, she could see him, a lump of darkness against the white. He had fallen some distance behind her and was not moving. She dropped her sack and ran, cursing herself for enjoying this night. When she came to him he was silent and shivering, curled up in the trench she had left. His normally bright eyes were lidded, barely open.

“Hail, good page,” she encouraged, “Have you abandoned your duties?” Her cheerfulness veiled concern. There was no reply.

“Honzo. Answer your Queen.”

His blue lips twitched. In a muted, distant voice he whispered, “I will follow my Queen to the end of the Earth, I love her so… but first I must sleep…”. He trailed off, closed his eyes, and became still. The shivering ended.

The Midwinter Queen, daughter of the forest, could tell when death came sniffing. She would not let the Reaper take her page without a fight. Wensa had seen this cold sickness before. She knew what to do. Sleep would kill Honzo. With no time to seek fire or shelter she needed to save him with her body.

Wensa took off her cloak and put it aside, then knelt by Honzo. She pulled his legs straight and yanked his breeches to his ankles. His manhood was hibernating, and this was not surprising. Even in a frozen state, he showed potential. The Queen unbuttoned his tunic and exposed his bare chest to the freezing black sky. She lingered only a moment to appreciate his long lines and lithe muscles, dusted with only the faintest of blond hair. She regretted there was no time for more than a glance.

She stripped her clothes off with little thought. The wind blew across her ample curves, but bothered her not. Her nipples rose to greet the frosty air, and her ass was so hot that even the coldest breeze knew better than to try to cool it. She was Wensa, Queen of Midwinter. Knowing warmth was her strength, she lay on top on Honzo and pulled her thick cloak over them both, wrapping them as closely as she could. She rubbed her nude and elemental body against him, skin to skin, and whispered in his ear.

“Do you feel that, Honzo? You Queen has come for you.”

She clutched him to her bosom. His chest was frigid and unyielding. Honzo was unresponsive. Her tits blazed warm against him; her nibs were like quills on parchment, writing a fascinating tale, if only someone could read it. She cupped his chin and kissed him tenderly with soft, wet lips. His were icy, but they twitched in response.

“Good… Take from me, my fine man. I will share my heat with you.” Wensa crawled up and wrapped her legs around his stomach. Cradling his head against her breast, she offered her nipple to suck. It began gradually. Honzo, eyes shut, rigid as a brick, began to suckle at the teat of his Queen.

For her part, it was blazing pleasure. She felt milk come down, unbidden, like primal magic. Honzo licked and sucked, swallowing her earthy heat. His eyes fluttered. Wensa’s twat was hot and eager against the young man’s belly. Her sweet wetness anointed him. She felt him, gradually, nearly imperceptibly, warm to her. She offered her other breast, now supernaturally heavy with milk. Honzo moaned as he slaked his need.

Partly because of curiosity, and mostly due to her screaming arousal, Wensa reached down to inspect Honzo’s cock. It would be a good bellwether to his recovery. She gripped his cool, flaccid flesh. It became warm in her hand, stiffening in sympathy to his heartbeat. Soon she held it full-blown. Honzo opened his eyes.

“Uhn. My Queen… Am I dead and in heaven? However did I end up here, considering my many sins?” His eyes opened wider. “Is that your hand on my truncheon?”

Wensa kissed him to stop the nattering while she slid along his body. In one smooth moment she guided his cock into her inviting chamber. If she had been warming him up before, the fiery kiln of her cunt almost burned. They kissed and copulated under the quilt, a knot of hot fuckery, concealed from the cruel frost around them.

Honzo brought his significant skills to the service of his queen, feeling much… much better under the current circumstances. He reached a hand between them, seeking her clit in the slick inferno. Her bud was there, waiting and eager, bumping his fingertips. He played her jewel like the strings of a lute as she pushed on and off of him. Honzo used his other hand to grasp the generous flesh of her bottom and guide her onto his now-desperate cock.

Wensa hummed an old song as she rode him. She felt him continue to grow inside her. He was no longer cold at all. With each thrust upwards he shared his own warmth. She nibbled on his jaw and instructed him.

“Yes boy, just like that. Serve me well.” He rubbed her clit and gripped her ass. His thrusts made her bounce almost off him before she slid down and took him. Wensa moaned, so he did it again. This time he tweaked her twice before she bounced.

“Oh, my Queen… please take your pleasure on my humble cock,” he whispered (but now without delirium). “I am here to serve you, but I fear I will too soon expire inside your sweet furnace.” She could sense his penis flex and quiver. They were so close…

Wensa sat up abruptly and threw off the cloak. She straddled him tall in the bleak landscape, impaling herself on his stalwart dick. Her cunt slapped against his lean hips. She gyrated while he rubbed her with this tricky fingers. They chased delight together, like a swirl of snowflakes in a gust of wind, until they came together against the Midwinter snow.

Honzo arched his back and pushed up, laughing and ecstatic. He gasped as his balls drained into his Queen and was filled with joy as he filled her. Wensa shouted a proclamation for the universe to pay heed and see how a Monarch climaxes. She ground against her servant, clutching her own ripe breasts and tweaking her nipples, then threw her head back and opened her throat to the sky. In cataclysmic fashion Wensa roared at the old gods while her cunt grasped Honzo, taking every drop from him.

They melted the surrounding snow. Honzo was no longer chilled in the least.

The moon had journeyed deep below the horizon; the night was darker. Wind blew dry snowflakes across the plain, making a gentle hiss. It was a nearly silent night. The Queen and her page held hands and regarded each other, smiling in this frozen otherworldly place. They said nothing, gathered themselves, and resumed their journey.


To read the rest of Flesh, Wine & Pine logs, click here.

Happy Holidays for #MM (Part I)

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! This is my very special HOLIDAY  OFFERING for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! I am offering the first section of my new book, Flesh, Wine & Pine logs. The idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  

Flesh, Wine & Pine logs – A Holiday Menage has lots of sex in it, mostly straight, but kinda bi, and the last part is a rollicking Midwinter foursome. It will warm your cockles on a icy night and make you feel merry, indeed! Consider it Tracey DeSanto’s Holiday present to you all!

Without further ado… Yuletide Smut!


She walked the length of her bed-chamber, overheated. The dark stone walls reflected orange from the crackling fire in the hearth. Midwinter was nigh, and the Queen of Bohemia was cozy. Wensa wore only her woolen cloak, trimmed with ermine. She luxuriated in the sensation of it against her naked skin. Her drinking horn brimmed with hot wine, which she drank contentedly. The days were short now and feasting for St. Stephen’s Day was upon the Kingdom. All kept the season as best they could, and Bohemians were well able to make merry. Still…  some of her subjects, she knew, got along with less…

Wensa walked to the casement and swung the shutter open.  An icy breeze kissed her cheeks, but the festive flames warmed her bottom from behind, even through the robe. She exhaled a boozy plume of vapour into the winter air and surveyed her domain.  

A fat moon shone brightly. Lack of clouds made the night deadly cold, but the countryside glowed a magical blue from the moonlight on the snow. Past the castle walls, out beyond the village and across the farmlands, smoke rose from the chimneys of the revellers. Candlelight flickered in windows. In the distance she heard bagpipes, fiddles and laughter. Wensa smiled. There would be many cocks in cunts tonight. 

Her rickety old husband, King Wenceslas I, was off in the Holy Lands on a pilgrimage. That was fine by Wensa. There had been no steel in his sword for years. She shifted her hips and noticed the lonely sensation between her legs. 

The Queen cast her gaze farther, to the very edge of the cleared lands. Her eyes were sharp; she made out a lone man near the forest. He was gathering deadfall from the trees, which meant that firewood was in short supply. She knew him on sight. That  could only be Filip, the beet boy, who was no longer a boy. They had once been childhood friends (and so much more.) 

Wensa shivered, not from the weather, but from the warm memory of their times together at the edge of Bohemia. They had shared a common love of field, forest, and fucking, pleasing one another as was absolutely appropriate for those in their youth. Filip was not over-tall, but wide of shoulder and strong as an ox. Wensa was superb: pale and quick, curvaceous and kind. Her grandfather had been Druid to the Green Man, so she was royalty, of a sort, to the rustics. At the age of nineteen she was summoned  to become a young Queen for the old King in the castle, and one does not refuse that summons. She left her country life, and her beet boy, and became Royal.

Wensa chewed her lip. The lonely sensation twixt her thighs had fanned to hot flame as she recalled Filip’s sparking eyes and sinewy legs. She allowed the front of her robe to fall open. Winter breezes danced across her skin, lifting her broad nipples and fluttering her flaxen muff. She dragged her fingers through the fine hair at her cleft. She was as slippery as a trout in a spring stream. Finishing her wine in one long draught, she tossed the horn aside.

With a sensuous roll of her shoulders Wensa discarded her robe and let it fall.  She stood nude, illuminated by the Midwinter moon. Her alert eyes picked out Filip in the distance, gathering winter fuel. As she watched him, she explored her wetness, slipping her fingers along her slit, and then into herself. In her mind she was back in the forest, fifteen winters ago, laying with him. They had been clumsy and inexperienced, but eager and potent. 

She pulled on her nipples, remembering her rough and rutty treatment at the hands of her beet boy, years ago. Pleasure flashed from her breasts to her cunt, and back. Wensa’s skin bloomed from white to pink as she fingered herself with one hand and grabbed at her breasts with the other. She  had not been fucked properly in too long a  time. 

Fluffy snowflakes drifted into the room and landed on her, melting as they touched. She savoured their cool kiss on her body.  As she pleasured herself, her eyes never left the solitary figure in the distance. She reached wildly for her climax. Her blood rose. She said, “Oh Filip. Fuck me. Fuck the girl of the forest…” 

Her hand sought her bud. It was peeking up like a badger in a burrow, so she seized upon the opportunity to rub it hard. Her legs trembled and her flesh rippled in the moonlight. Closing her eyes, she envisioned Filip pounding into her. She remembered the musky smell of his sweat and, after a pleasant span of time spent masturbating, she came. Shaking her head and arching her back, she groaned her delight into the icy sky. Wind blew gusts of snow against her trembling nakedness but, for her own part, she felt only warmth emanating from her every fibre. 

Midwinter is magical, and a Queen needs tending. Searching out the window, she saw that the figure in the distance was gone. Wensa was decisive. A plan was hatched. She grabbed her cloak and summoned her servant.

“Honzo,” she called. Her page was always near, often loafing  on his pallet outside the bedchamber. She heard the heavy oaken door squeak on its hinges as it opened behind her.

“My Queen?” came a voice that was baritone and bright.

“Come in and close the door. We have provisions to gather.” She wrapped the lush garment around her loveliness and turned to face the young man. 

“Provisions?” Honzo smiled at her with wide lips. He was bemused, which was often the case. This one had more wit than muscle. He would be a courtier, she decided… not a knight. He was tall and slender, thoughtful and, at times, scandalously familiar with her. She adored him. Wensa noticed he was eyeing the top of a wayward, rose-tint nipple, which peeked above the rim of her cloak. 

She concealed her nip with a knowing smile and said, “Bring me flesh… and bring me wine.” She glanced out the casement into the frozen landscape. “Bring me pine logs.”

The younger man was taken aback. “Where shall I bring this, my Queen?”

“Hither,” she answered, then reconsidered. “No, Honzo. Not hither. Bring it to the East Gate and be secret about it.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever is all this for, my Queen?”

“We are going on a Midwinter adventure. I am craving beets.”


You can read Part II here.

To get all of Flesh, Wine & Pine logs, click here.

Halloween Masturbation Monday!

masturbation-monday-badge-small

18 + Readers Only! This is my very special Halloween offering for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! The idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there. 

If you like my free story today, you should really investigate my new book, Odd Bits & Dark Corners.

Thanks..!  Now… on to the witch!


Abbigail and the Imp

by Tracy DeSanto

She grabbed some fruit roll-ups and tried to sneak downstairs, but  was detected.

“Supper’s in an hour, Honey.”

The creature in the rec-room missed nothing. How could she even hear Abbigail over the blaring of the TV?

“Eat without me, Mom. I’m pulling an all-nighter.” Abbigail mixed cheerfulness and fatigue into her call up the stairs.

“Alri -ight. I’ll leave you a plate in the fri-idge.” Mom gave the words extra syllables and a song-like quality.

The young woman reached the bottom of the stairs and tore open the snack-wrapper. She paced past the laundry machines to her bedroom door and used her key. Once inside, she turned the deadbolt behind her. Abbigail installed it herself a year ago, being handy with tools and motivated by reclusiveness.

Ah. Privacy.

The space heater churned away cheerily. The near-oppressive warmth in her room was like a hug after a tedious day at College. Her English “diploma” studies were not challenging and her social life among D-bags and Tiffanies was non-existent. Due to the lack of proper stimuli, Abbigail’s hobby had taken a front seat in her life. The apple-cranberry leather found a way into her mouth and she chewed it.

Abbigail was a witch, and she felt peckish.

She kicked off her hiking boots and shed her winter clothes. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she undid the belt that dug into her belly and peeled off her jeans. This left her wearing a long, black sweater and not much else. A frizzy mane of brown knots framed her face. There were too many freckles to her liking.

Abbigail struck a pose in the cheap ikea mirror, blinked at herself through thick and sensible glasses, and made a duck face. Plump and average was how she saw herself, in spite of what the Goddess assured her.

Scratching her hip and chewing her snack, she hurried to her desk. To call it just a desk was unfair. Her work-space / research centre consisted  of two tables, arranged for magic and homework, in that order. A rolling office chair let Abbigail kick and scoot to wherever she needed. A bizarre hodgepodge covered the surface: bells, books, candles, computers, art supplies, bones, photos, potato chips, carving tools, an old tome by a dead mage, a new paperback by Stephen King, and a small jar of something that looked greasy and organic. This pile of chaos had been arranged fastidiously. At the centre of it all rested a plain oak box with a fitted lid.

“Let’s see how my boy is doing.”

Abbigail fumbled with the lid because she had no fingernails. She was a chewer. Sequestered in the hand-crafted case, resting on a satin cushion, was Dildo. To call him just a dildo was unfair. Months of of work, mundane and magical, had gone into him.

He began as a plain piece of oak that Abbigail had cut from a living tree. She brought him home and carved him carefully. Chants were chanted. Spells were cast. After much concentrated effort, Dildo  emerged as something of rare, if unusual, beauty. She crafted him as a small head with a long extended tongue. Little goat horns topped the head, for gripping. His face smiled wide, with merry eyes, which was appropriate considering what he was going to see. His six-inch tongue clearly meant business.

She had smoothed and sanded, then anointed him with a mixture of beeswax and her own blood. This produced a shiny, ruddy finish. Abbigail could masturbate with plenty of different items. One might say it was her second hobby. Today would be different. This would not be her usual after-school rub-out session with the handle of her hairbrush. Today she would finally fuck her new magic Dildo to life and summon her Imp.

Abbigail played some Enya on the computer loud (to cover any interesting noises). She removed her remaining clothes. This communion needed to happen purely, between only flesh and oak, with nothing interfering. She lit scented candles (rosemary and sandalwood) around the periphery of the room. They smelled nice and might keep the impending sex magic from spilling into the rest of the house.

Abbigail stood straight and began, holding Dildo before her.

“You will bring me pleasure and serve me as Imp and Familiar. You will be conjured by my strength, and you will suffer my devoted mastery.” She extended her own tongue to the tip of Dildo’s tongue, licking three times.

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

Abbigail opened wide and eased Dildo into her mouth. She’d been practicing with bananas and cucumbers and discovered it was a breeze. Her lack of a gag reflex didn’t surprise her, but she was shocked at the deliciousness of it. How come penetrating her mouth made her so damp in the nethers? Her legs buckled.

She sucked hard and wanted to try her teeth on him, but resisted. Her fingers descended, landing in the groove they knew. Abbigail anointed herself with her own moisture. She did not touch her clit. That was for Dildo. As standing became increasingly difficult, she took him from her mouth and reclined on her bed, legs closed. She held Dildo by the horns and pointed him at her cunt.

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

She shivered as she repeated the words, excited by the magic as much as the sex. One blurred into the other as it had since ancient times. She slid Dildo’s slick tongue between her damp thighs and tested. The angle and torque of her design delighted her as she explored her labia. She wanted to penetrate herself… but not yet. Teasing her way up, she searched for the her hidden prize.

Abbigail began to coo quietly in an unwritten language (known only to young witches). She channeled the Goddess and clenched her bum as the tip of Dildo’s tongue met her clit.

“Kapowie Kazam,” she grunted, and pressed harder.

Hot electric delight ran like quicksilver from her bud to her extremities. This was no hairbrush sex! Her fingers burned, her arms felt imaginary, and her hair was trying to fly away. Her cunt conspired with Dildo and caused her to splay her legs open as wide as the laws of magic and physics allowed. Dildo’s tongue tickled her clit with perfect precision. Abbigail’s skin became livid and splotchy in pink arousal. Her face was hot. She raised Dildo high, and muttered, barely coherent, for the third time…

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

She did not probe or tease. She did not search for her opening. Magic guided her hands and she slid Dildo in, right on target. He slipped easily into the lubricated lake of her young witchy twat. When she took him as deep as Dildo’s tongue could reach, the tip of his carved nose tweaked her clit as a bonus. She rammed him in and ground him against her, then pulled out halfway and did it again. Abbigail rocked back on her hips, brought her knees up to her ears, and began to pound her pussy with him.

She no longer cooed; she yelped and hollered as Dildo fucked her deep and tapped her button. The Goddess imbued her with the power of Arcane Magical Fuckery, causing the room to shimmer in red and silver light. She fucked herself as never before. The young witch merged into a rhythmic one-ness with Dildo. Her insatiable hunger was bolstered by her magnificent strength.

Coloured lights danced before her eyes as she stumbled to the edge of her Very First Cosmic Orgasm. Where she was wet before, now she was drenched. Dildo sank deep, his tongue stroked her g-spot, his nose flicked her clit…

And there it was.

Abbigail screamed to all the powers that cared and climaxed in an ancient and astonishing way. She forced Dildo up to the hilt, and clamped him inside, spurting sweet fuck fluids over his grinning face. She covered her hands, her thighs, her bed, and maybe the corner of her desk. Her body convulsed as she came repeatedly. She probably continued to scream but didn’t notice.

After an eternity it subsided. She lay back, sated, delighted and maybe comatose. Then her eyes shot open and she snapped to attention. Dildo’s tongue moved inside her… She released his horns and sat up. Strong little hands held her by the hips. There was a miniature man between her legs. Well… technically he was a satyr (or more appropriately, a faun.) Beautiful and smooth, except for where he was hairy, he had cloven hoofs. His little horns remained. With a shrug and a twitch her Imp withdrew his tongue and rested his chin on her  miraculous muff. He looked up with devoted, smiling eyes.

“Thank you, Mistress. How may I be of service?” His voice piped high, like a Munchkin.

She got him to stand to get a look at him. For a three-foot-tall magic  Imp, he certainly owned a full-sized cock. She thought about chewing on him for a while, potentially even riding him like a broom, but that’s when her Mom knocked on the door.

“Ho-oney… I brought you your supper.” Mom yelled so as to be heard over the Enya playing through Abbigail’s small yet powerful computer speakers. She knocked a second time, much harder.

Abbigail sighed, realizing further research would have to wait. She tapped Dildo three times on his forehead and said, “Back to the box.” With a soft popping noise, the living, breathing Imp shifted and reverted to being an elaborate sex toy. She picked him up and placed him back into the case she’d made.

Abbigail pulled her sweater over her nakedness and went to gather the grilled cheese her Mom had made for her. She took it through the door with a smile, but did not let her in. The young witch ate at her desk, thinking hard,  with a smile on her face.

Later that night she brought Dildo out again. He took a chewing very nicely.

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved


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