A Shamrock Shag Excerpt!

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! Here is a sexy taste  of my book,  A Shamrock Shag: Loving the Leprechaun. 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 purple box to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  The following is erotic fiction. 18+ Readers, only!

A Shamrock Shag is my paranormal urban Fey romance. (Say that three times fast!) It’s about what happens when a girl and a Fey find love in the big city. If you hurry you can get it for a mere 99-cents as part of my St. Paddy’s Promotion. Here’s a big slice off the top of the novelette:


A Shamrock Shag: Loving the Leprechaun

Oh, she was pissed off. Connie Woo stomped along, so wet that she no longer cared about the puddles. The storm grates had backed up and overflowed.

“Fuck it,” she said. “Fuck him.”

Rainwater squidged between her toes. It warmed from her body heat, then grew cold again with new influxes from the puddles. And, oh, was it ever fucking raining…  Sheets, hammers, cats and dogs pounded the city. The cloudburst was a lavish symphony of primal moisture that Connie was oblivious to. She was too furious to notice.

Two blocks behind, Zack was mopping up the pitcher of beer Connie had recently poured on him. His biggest mistake was being shitty in the sack. His other mistake was telling Connie she needed to up her game.

She fumed at the predictability of it all. Zack’s mocky, bushy-bearded face had been getting on her nerves. Half the time he bailed on her just before they hooked up. Those hook-ups were nothing to write home about either… quick, grunty, one-sided affairs that left her to rub one out in the bathroom. Was it too much to ask to get a proper fucking?

Connie’s cunt tingled a bit at the thought. How long had it been since someone went down on her properly? Was there no such thing as a good man in the world? Someone to fuck and be friends with? Was she doomed to spin her wheels, looking for a soul-mate (or even a playmate) in an endless herd of manipulative man-boys?

The date had been going well. Zack actually showed up this time and they had been getting their drunk on nicely. She’d even been looking forward to the selfish fumblings that he passed off as a sexual encounter. Instead, he had revealed his double-douchey nature, resulting in a beer shower.

She tried to walk it off. The wet inside her boots worked its way up to her ankles. Connie blinked back tears… but not for her asshole ex. She wept for her Doc Marten Knee-Highs. Battered beyond redemption, those boots had shared her life. They had been her first expression of defiance back in high school, purchased with Grandma’s red envelope money from Chinese New Year. Connie’s parents went nuts when she had clomped sullenly around the house in them. Aiyaaah. So rebellious. She still wore them everywhere. Man, she loved those boots.

She made her way up Main Street, past the hipster coffee shops and vintage boutiques. The storefront awnings offered little cover from the deluge. The rain had long-since soaked through her pea coat. The water in her boots squelched in rhythm with her short strides. Connie was a tiny woman, five-foot-nothing, like her mom and grandmother.

The rain, impossibly, grew worse. Cold drops began to blow diagonally into her face, covering her horn-rimmed glasses with rain. Water trickled through her short hair, off her braided pigtails, and down her neck. The rivulets made their way to her bare shoulders and into her bustier. Fuckballs… She needed to seek shelter.

Connie headed for the alcove of the nearest storefront. She found some cover by a green neon sign in the shape of a four leaf clover. The letters on the door, painted in gold, read “Shamrock Shoe Shop.” A cheerful bell jingled as Connie entered the place. Her glasses fogged over as she stood alone in the quiet warmth.Water dripped off her nose. It dribbled out of the holes in her boots and soaked the doormat. At this moment Connie became achingly aware of her misery. Soaked to the skin, her favourite boots destroyed, and fresh off a five-alarm breakup, she did the logical thing.

“FUUUUCK!”

The words came unbidden. They echoed, loud and satisfying in the empty store.

“Fuck fuck motherfuck! Fucky fucker fuck fuck FUCK!” She screamed at the top of her little lungs, fists clenched.

A young man emerged from the back room. He gave Connie a confused grin as he scanned her from tip to toe.

“I would love to help you with that, but I must say that I am not at all certain about your mother. Also, we may need to get to know each other first.” He appraised her from across the counter. “Other than offering a hypothetical fuck, how may I help you?”

Connie pointed a warning finger.

“Don’t be a smart-ass. I am in a situation, here.” She considered throwing him a few f-bombs and storming back into the wet, but then he came out from behind the counter. Damn…

This one had a smile and he knew how to use it. Also, his eyes nearly twinkled. Blue opals, she thought. He was a pale redhead with high cheekbones and just a scruff of a beard. He wore his hair trimmed in a cropped fade with a long top of lurid copper. Multiple gold ear piercings set off the look nicely. He wore a tight red t-shirt under his green work apron. Being rail thin suited his skinny black jeans, and his toned forearms sported a variety of colourful tattoos. Connie Woo was a sucker for a tattooed man. He also had a foreign accent. What is that, she wondered… English?

“By any chance is it raining outside?” he asked, offering a mirthful wink. Water pelted the front window. She gave him a murderous look, so he decided he to be businesslike. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re here for the boots you’ve ruined, and not just to get out of the rain.”

Connie frowned and murmured, “Yes. Let’s.”

“Here… Let me help.” He walked up and began to undo the wide black buttons of her coat. Connie allowed him while she counted his freckles. She enjoyed his quick and casual touch. Her anger diminished. Many people would note his small stature. At five-foot-two he stood barely taller than she did. Fine by her. Zack had been a doughy tree of a man.

She shrugged as the small fella tugged, and they got her coat off. He darted into the back with the sodden garment. Connie decided that she was terribly in favour of his tight butt, but wondered where her jacket had gone.

The shop was lost in time, like a place from an old photograph. Wooden panelling, hanging light fixtures, and a long oaken counter harkened to a bygone era. Age-old checkered linoleum in red and green made up the floors. Bench polishers and repair stands stood bolted to the work area behind the counter, with various sheets of leather hanging on the wall. The relatively small space was neat as a pin. The friendly scents of leather and glue hung in the air. Above the door to the back there hung a wooden sign that read, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.”

The man appeared in the doorway and came towards her. He crossed the room briskly and stood close, reaching past her shoulder to turn around the sign on the front door. She liked his smell, which reminded her of a walk in the forest: musky and clean at the same time.

“I was just closing,” he said, nose to nose with her, “but I’ll make an exception for you.” He took her hand and led her to an overstuffed leather chair in the corner. Built for shoe sizing, there were extenders to rest your legs upon.

“Come on. Let’s investigate your footwear debacle.” He sat her down and pulled up a low stool so as to squat in front of her. She appeared tiny sitting in the massive chair. His friendly smile shifted to professional concern when he inspected her boots.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph… What did Dr. Marten ever do to deserve this?” He feigned horror, but shifted to friendliness. “First things first. Technically, I’m closed, and it is now happy hour. I have a very important question.” He spoke gravely. “Guinness, Kilkenny, or Strongbow?”

Connie smiled for the first time since entering the room. What the hell… she had planned to be out with a man for drinks this afternoon. Any port in a storm. She offered with mock reluctance, “Well… I guess I couldn’t say no to a Guinness. You know… just to be sociable.”

He darted into the back again and returned with a couple cans of beer and two glasses. He popped a Guinness and allowed the pleasing hiss to release as he slowly poured a proper pint and presented it to her. After serving himself, he held up his own.

“May misfortune follow you the rest of your life, and never catch up.” He laughed. It was full of mirth and infectious as hell. Connie laughed along with him and clinked his glass.

“What’s with the red and green ensemble, English? Are you one of Santa’s helpers?” she asked him, flirting.

“No.” He smiled sharply. “Your ears must be water-logged or you could plainly detect that I am Irish, not English… So it should stand to reason that I must be a Leprechaun, don’t you think?” He rolled his eyes sarcastically and took a long drink from his beer, but he seemed to be watching her closely.

He wiped the foam from his lips and asked, “And you, my dear, are obviously, what? What do they call it? Oriental?”

Connie gave him a playful kick. He caught her foot gently with his free hand.

“My folks are from Hong Kong. I am from here. Some might call me a banana.”

He cocked an eyebrow quizzically. She thought it looked good on him.

“Yellow on the outside, white on the inside,” she said, smiling at the old joke.

Connie had a beautiful oval face with dark almond eyes. Her full lips showed bee-stung russet lipstick. She used a judicious hand with her makeup to emphasize her sharp eyebrows and pale, smooth complexion. The woman wore a tight red bustier and a short denim mini skirt with strategically torn thigh-high fishnets. Her whole body was in miniature: lean and with a waspish waist, but curved and soft in all the right places.

Connie remained unsure about this guy, but she got a positive vibe from him. She perched on the giant chair with her foot in his hands, curious as to what might happen next. Besides… she could hear the storm outside, and being out there would suck profoundly. Her beer tasted delicious and soothing. They silently regarded each other over the rims of their glasses. Some might say they had a “moment”.

The man broke the silence and began unlacing her boot.

“I’ve been called a banana before,” he offered playfully, “but, you know, for other reasons…” He trailed off conspiratorially.

Connie licked the beer off her lips and made an innocent face.

“Really? Whatever do you mean?”

“Yes, well… I suppose I should tell you because there’s a good chance you will find out anyways.” He added in a broad whisper, “It’s because I have a penis.”

Connie choked on her beer and laughed out loud.

“Oh… I bet you do.” She said. “You will be pleased to learn that I do not,” she quipped. “I have something even better.”

She realized she had leaned back and relaxed her legs, spreading them just a bit. She luxuriated in the sensation oh having this man peel off her sodden footwear. He dared a quick glance up her skirt, blushed, and focussed on his task. His strong, callused hands got her boots off in a flash. One of her toes peeked through a hole in the fishnets.

“You must be freezing,” he said, and used a soft leather chamois to dry off her feet. Connie’s nerves buzzed a red alert from her toes all they way through her legs, straight to her pussy. She played it cool and sipped more beer, trying to hide the randiness this impromptu foot massage provoked.

“I hate to tell you,” he said, rubbing her feet systematically, “that in my professional opinion, these are boots are fucked.”

She liked the way he said “fucked”. He took his time and enunciated the consonants. Connie wondered if he fucked the same way he said it. That made her squirm in her seat.

“No way!” she yelled. “I need my boots. They’re special…Whoa!” He rubbed the ball of her left foot. Flashes of mild, tingly pain shot up her body and evaporated, disappearing as she relaxed. She leaned back and remembered Vincent and Jules’ discussion about foot massages in Pulp Fiction.

This was getting intimate. The space between her legs simmered. The man moved on to the other foot.

“Well… some say that I’m magic,” he said, concentrating. “Let’s see what I can do.” He rubbed his thumb along her arch while pulling on the ball of her foot. Connie squealed, then grunted, then got quiet. She watched him earnestly and sipped her beer again.

“Holy Fuck. Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Right now I’m busy.” He put his beer aside, took her foot in both hands, and flashed her a naughty smile. He leaned in audaciously and kissed her exposed toe.

Connie gasped, then laughed. She saw him looking to see if he’d gone too far, so she wiggled her toe and nodded.

He kissed softly first, but when he came back for seconds he took her toe into his lips and began to suck. Connie moaned and became as wet as a happy hour highball. Her whole body thrilled with arousal as he kissed her dainty foot.

“You can take this out of my bill, later,” said the man.

Working both his thumbs into the hole in her stocking, he ripped it wide. His hand went in and cupped her calf, which allowed him to draw her foot forward to his mouth. He sucked each of her toes, starting with the big one and working his way down. He used his free hand to knead and massage her other foot.

Connie leaned back in the overstuffed chair. All her pleasure centres screamed for attention. Her earlobes burned hot and her breasts ached. Her elbows tingled and her thighs twitched. Between her legs, her pussy was a tender knot of desire: warm and waiting. She noticed abstractly that she’d emptied her beer. Wow… that went fast. Discarding the glass, she put a hand on each arm of the chair and skooched her bum forward. The denim skirt rode up, exposing her pale thighs and black thong.

He stopped kissing her toes and peered up at her. Using the fingers of each hand, he traced lines from her ankles up to her thighs. As he approached her pussy, Connie blinked and bit her lip. Finally, he cupped her ass on each side and pulled her forward to the edge of her chair. He leaned in and lay his face between her legs, rubbing his nose and lips against her. The man nibbled as he kissed, taking in her wonderful sweetness and spice. After an eternity of pleasant agony, he tucked one deft finger under the fabric of her thong and pulled it aside.

Connie twitched anxiously at the sensation of being exposed. Her pink, slick labia peeked from a wisp of black hair. He explored her with his pointed tongue, running it along her lips before slowing at the top. He flicked and probed her pretty pussy until her bud was revealed. Connie gasped and clutched the arms of the chair as his attentions landed on her clitoris. He sucked. Her world spun. She arched her back and stared blankly at the ceiling, surrendering to the near-mystical sensations dancing through her body. Connie’s legs trembled as she spread wide and rested her heels on his back between his shoulder blades, thrusting herself up to his mouth.

The man probed deep and hard, pushing his tongue into her tight cunt. Then he pulled out and licked her clit three times: once soft and twice hard. His licks fell into a musical rhythm, like an other-worldly jig. In this manner he kissed her, tirelessly tonguing in three/four time. Above his head Connie whimpered and wailed, growing more desperate with each successive beat.

She had long since closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye she saw green meadows all the way to the horizon. Her body whizzed through a bright sky. Her pussy spasmed. She felt as if she raced up a flight of stairs and leapt into an airy abyss.

She came like a thunderclap. Pleasure pulsed through her and overtook her body. She rode each wave of her orgasm, becoming an explosion of pulsating gold light.

Back in the real world Connie had grabbed the man by both ears and yanked his face into her crotch. She ground herself against him, breathing deep, but otherwise fell silent. She climaxed against him repeatedly, in rippling succession, and wept a few tears, making her mascara run. After a long time, and with a shuddering sigh, she finally relaxed and let him go.

“What. The fuck. Was that?” She murmured limply, looking down at the shock of crimson hair still nestled between her legs.

He peered up at her from under her cunt. Damn… his eyes did twinkle.

“Well… to be fair, that’s not generally on the list of services offered here at the Shamrock Shoe Shop,” he said huskily, “but you seemed to be a woman of profound and particular needs.”

“Huhn…” she started to giggle, “You got that right, Mr. Leprechaun.”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “The name is Michael O’Malley. You will need to know that because you will soon be yelling it rather loudly.” He stood up and began to take his apron and shirt off.

Connie sat up straight, aware of the near-criminal wet spot they had made on the chair. She followed his example and began to undo her corset.

“Oh really, Michael O’Malley? Whatever do you mean by that?” She discarded the garment and grinned. Michael stopped to admire her naked torso and smiled at her appreciatively.

“Well, I think it may be time to render that fuck un-hypothetical,” he said in a friendly tone, “and it would be impolite on your part if you got my name wrong as I shagged the living daylights out of you.” He grinned knowingly. “I expect there may be yelling.”

She watched him fold his shirt and apron precisely and place them on the counter. His shortness in no way undermined his lithe and tight body. His rock hard pecs and abs showed a dusting of ginger hair. Celtic knots and pagan designs ran all the way up his muscular arms and over his broad shoulders. Around his neck he wore a thick gold chain.

Michael unbuckled his belt (again, with a celtic knot as a buckle) and dragged his pants and briefs off. Between his belt line and his pubic hair the words “Magically Delicious” had been tattooed in old gothic style. Connie’s eyes widened. Things were coming up cock all over the place. He stood in front of her, nude. She smiled and tentatively reached a hand out, running her fingers lightly along the length of his beautiful prick. It was really something, and arched sinuously, growing before her eyes. She found her words.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had a penis.”


Whew! Is it getting warm in here? You should probably click this link and get the book so you can read ALL the sexy escapades these two lovebirds share.

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.

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


Please check out my Amazon Author Page here. I have lots of fun books. For more awesome Free Erotica by Tracey DeSanto, click here. Also… please use the form on this page to join my mailing list. I love to let you know what’s coming! 😉

Newsy News 3: Erotic Horror for Halloween!

Happy October, Team DeSanto! I have been extra busy lately because I love Halloween and have been working hard to make something special for you.

odd-bits-dark-corners-kindleHappy October, Team DeSanto! I have been extra busy lately because I love Halloween and have been working hard to make something special for you. This quick and dirty new compilation offers THREE erotic horror tales in ONE Short-Read Book! It includes two Smutty Smidgeons that were beta-tested here on the blog, (now sharpened and re-edited.) PLUS, there is a BRAND NEW short story about my favourite heroine: Stacy Drake, Girl-Detective. Here’s the book blurb…


Welcome to Tracey DeSanto’s underworld… her dark corner of smutty smidgeons. This is where she lets her taboo fantasies run wild.

Never forget… these stories are  smut. They are intended for readers over 18 years of age. In Odd Bits & Dark Corners you will find three strange short stories…  each with lots of sex… in this case, ghost sex, tentacle sex and demon sex. Read on if you dare. You have been warned.

Excerpts:

No Particular Place: Follow Stacy Drake, Girl-Detective, as she gets downright personal with a mysterious boy in the old haunted garage.

“Stacy swept her light downwards. A glimpse of something dissolved into the darkness down the hall. It was silent. She crept out of her sleeping bag, put on her sneakers, and stood to investigate. Brrrr… She was only wearing her nightshirt, and the Martini house was freezing. Gooseflesh rose under her pyjamas. Her nipples became darts. The flannel rubbing against them was arousing in a dead-end kind of way. Her bum was not made less chilly by the granny-panties she wore.

Not a ghost, she thought. No such thing.”

Nocturnal Emissions: Learn about what happens to poor William when he can’t get a certain woman off his mind.

“During lunch that day he approached Angela with trepidation. She sold him a ham and swiss. When she gave it to him their hands met for a moment. She had warm fingers. A wide work apron concealed her large bosom. She glanced at him and winked. Was it a wink? It startled William with a stirring in his boxers, so he fled to the far corner of the lunch room. Eating in nibbles, he stole glances at this wide-hipped creature that had infiltrated his subconscious. Things calmed down in his undergarments, but it took some time.”

Pacific: Enjoy a dip in the Pacific with Vanessa, who is recently divorced, and needs a swimming companion. 

“A gentle swell rolled in. The tide swept up her torso, nudging her against the rocks. Salty water lapped up across her ribcage to splash on her breasts, teasing her nipples. Her bum bounced and rubbed against the smooth slate beneath her. Vanessa opened her legs and enjoyed the underwater currents fluttering across her. Her new muff danced in the ebb and flow like a mammalian anemone. Casually… distracted… almost as if she didn’t know what she was up to, she began to play with herself.”


The new book is up hot now in plenty of time for spooky, one-handed reading, but… because you are my favourites, I must also tell you that it will be FREE on Amazon over the Halloween weekend. I do it because I love you, and I think everyone should get a treat (maybe even a trick?) on All Hallows Eve.

Shifter_Shelter_Nipped_by_Cub_Order-2Also… you know I wrote a WEREWOLF BOOK, right? Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub is just the perfect thing for a dark, spooky night of October reading when you pull the covers up around you. It has some nice, fat, five-star reviews. I’ll just bet you’d enjoy it. If you click on the picture the link will take you there.

So… That’s all for now. Enjoy my Smutty Smidgeons and Shifter tales. Halloween is the best time of year, except maybe for Christmas. Hmmm…. Christmas, huh? I wonder what I could be writing for that special yuletide time of year…

Stay Tuned, Team DeSanto! XOXO

Pacific, a Smutty Smidgeon for Masturbation Monday

18 + Readers Only! This is my latest 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. Hope this does the trick for you! Now that we are getting into October and things are getting a bit weird, I thought I would share one of my Smutty Smidgeons. They tend to be… “different”. This one is for the tentacle fans out there. You know who you are.

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! This is my 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. Hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site and to read all the free offerings there.

Now that we are getting into October and things are getting a bit weird, I thought I would share one of my Smutty Smidgeons. They tend to be… “different”. This one is for the tentacle fans out there. You know who you are. Pacific is one of the four shorts in my erotic horror compilation called Odd Bits & Dark Corners.


Pacific

by Tracy DeSanto

Vanessa took the last sip from her mug and walked to the screen door. She felt good enough. The gentle boost from the green tea was a decent substitute for her regular coffee. New life habits for a new life…

She enjoyed the benefits of the cabin. She could be nude all the time. Vanessa was comfortable in her skin and loved the freedom. No appalled millennial offspring, no disinterested husbands… just herself, naked and natural.

She took a thick towel off the rack by the door and draped it over her shoulders. Stepping into her flip-flops, she went out into the sun-kissed morning. There was still haze in the sky. It was cool now, but would be hot later. The place wasn’t a cabin, really. It was a two million dollar beachfront property, all perfectly comfortable and modern – also utterly remote. It belonged to her, now… all part of the settlement.

Her bum jiggled a bit, free and easy. Her breasts moved in sympathy with her pace as she walked towards the beach. Vanessa picked her way along the path down to the tide-flats. Her body had held up fine. Better than fine, actually. Vanessa had kept right on doing her triathlons and yoga through twenty years of raising Gerry’s offspring. Her tummy had nicely defined abs, even under the stretch marks from child-birth. Over time her boobs had grown softer, but they were hers, and they were beautiful. She had married him for security, and because she had been young and naive. He had married her because his cock had told him to. It hadn’t surprised Vanessa that Gerry had replaced her with a younger model. Leopards never change their spots. Forty being the new thirty doesn’t matter much if your husband wants a girl who is twenty. Ah well. The kids would be fine, and the pre-nup she made Gerry sign those years ago left her in a damn fine situation.

Walking farther down the trail, she couldn’t see the cabin anymore. The gentle breeze made the trees whisper a conspiracy. She could hear the strange, mocking cries of a raven somewhere. Scrunching over the barnacle rocks and slippery kelp, she made her way to the water’s edge. The world smelled supernaturally clean, with just a hint of iodine and salt. She stopped at a big rock and placed her flip-flops and towel on it. Time for a swim.

She strode into the water, grunting sharply. It was always a surprise. The sun on her body felt warm, but mama ocean flowed cool to the point of being cold. Her gooseflesh rose and her nipples popped up the way they always did: big  sensitive cylinders. Back in school the girls had called her “Nibs”. Vanessa advanced to be crotch-deep and then paused, letting her tender parts come to terms with the temperature. They were sensitive, too. She’d  happily given up the Brazilian wax when Gerry left. As such, her garden grew wild. Vanessa took a moment to savour the solitude of her situation and the tingling of her twat. She resembled a lone neolithic woman in an empty pre-historic world… well, except for the Egyptian cotton towel and the dollar-store shoes.

She dove in abruptly, tricking her body. Her nerves yammered, sending the urgent message to her brain that the water was cold. She swam with strength and experience born from years of competition. After a few moments she adjusted to the water and darted through the ocean like a porpoise. No sensation compared to swimming in the Pacific with no clothes on.

The water was relatively shallow, so she knew that she wasn’t in far over her head. She made for the ridge of rocks that poked up in the middle of the inlet. It resembled a tiny island. She had watched seals sun themselves on it. Today she would take her solitude there.

Her feet found purchase on the rocks as she arrived. Black slate jutted up diagonally, smooth and eternal: an ancient, massive shelf. Under the water she could see purple starfish and orange anemones. Deep in the crevasses sea urchins dwelled. Gulls squawked and fled as she approached.

Vanessa lay back against the rock shelf: Mother Nature’s spa lounger. She remained half-submerged, enjoying the warm sun on her torso. Below her waist was an alien realm of blue waters. Looking up, she saw an enormous eagle circling high, riding the air currents. Even when she felt alone, she noticed, she wasn’t.

A gentle swell rolled in. The tide swept up her torso, nudging her against the rocks. Salty water lapped up across her ribcage to splash on her breasts, teasing her nipples. Her bum bounced and rubbed against the smooth slate beneath her. Vanessa opened her legs and enjoyed the underwater currents fluttering across her cunt. Her new muff danced in the ebb and flow like a mammalian anemone. Casually… distracted… almost as if she didn’t know what she was up to, she began to play with herself.

She reached down with her left hand and pulled against her labia, opening herself to the Pacific. She saved her right hand for her clit, barely touching herself to start with: just a tiny flick with her finger, then nothing. Vanessa enjoyed playing  this game. She would make herself wait… almost not knowing when the next touch would come.

With both hands busy and her legs spread wide, she bobbed against the rock shelf like a very dirty message in a bottle. Vanessa closed her eyes and relaxed. Her own wetness mingled with the infinite juices of mama ocean.  Another flick to her clit caused her neck and torso to flush crimson in the sunshine. She set her jaw and whimpered. Cool water splashed droplets over her tits as they rolled with the thrusting of the waves. Vanessa bit her lip and flexed her index finger to probe herself again, but yelped in arousal as the touch came sooner than she anticipated. Eyes closed, she extended her finger down to her clit, but found it already covered with cool slippery flesh. Then something pulled on her and made her squeal.

Water splashed. Strong tentacles wrapped themselves around each of her arms. They pinned her wrists to her thighs as countless suction cups stuck to her and bound her tight. The tip of another tentacle held her clit prisoner. Yet another one explored her cunt, teasing and pushing, searching for entrance. It penetrated Vanessa in a way she had never experienced: fluid and searching, incremental and relentless. This did not resemble the boring banging Gerry gave her. The alien and feminine approach aroused her devastatingly. Pinned and helpless, adrift in the tide, Vanessa breathed deep and rocked her pelvis up.

Under the sea the top tentacle worked her clit while the bottom tentacle twisted inside her. It pushed in and out, searching for something. Two more tentacles rolled out of the water, up her torso, to caress her breasts. After a moment they found their objectives, latching suction cups upon her firm, desperate nipples. The creature entwined the woman and bound her up completely. Its extremities worked together in a symphony, pushing and pulling, tugging and releasing… all in time with the gentle, eternal roll of the waves. It was really too much.

Vanessa ululated loudly. The raven mocked back a reply.

Another tentacle explored her ass, gently at first, but not taking no for an answer. Soon Vanessa was being double-penetrated, but with a designated clit-teaser added for good measure. The tentacles slipped in and out of her. She was a well-lubricated machine. The one inside her cunt finally twisted around and latched onto the her g-spot, pressing with unexpected force while pulling with its suction cups. Vanessa’s salty juices flowed freely to meet this dextrous invader. She arched her back and kicked salt water, then spread as wide as she could.

Calm, she lay herself open like a fish and whispered, “Fuck me.”

The octopus fucked her. Vanessa surrendered helplessly to the onslaught of sensations. Her nervous system overloaded with screaming pleasure from her nipples and clit, her cunt and her ass. The splash of the cold water, the sun on her face, the sound of the waves and the gulls… These sensations took her to another place. She combined with the Pacific. The life and currents, the coldness and warmth, the immensity of it all… She became a tiny part of it.

Vanessa only saw her climax approaching for an instant before it smashed into her like a tsunami. She screamed and contorted. She shuddered and flexed, thrashing yet bound up. Her lover held her tight and kept her safe, never letting go, continuing to fuck and probe her until it was over. A final tentacle reached up and traced a line along her ear as Vanessa relaxed and exhaled. She revelled in the otherworldly intimacy of it.

She opened her eyes in time to see the tentacles release her. They pulsated various colours of crimson, purple and gold, then became slate grey as they slid beneath the surface, disappearing.

Her body showed many ring-shaped marks from the suction cups, but they would fade soon enough. Her lover had known the right amount of force to use. After a rest, she swam back to the beach and staggered out of the water, wobbly on her legs… exhausted. Vanessa retrieved her flip-flops and rubbed the towel over herself. Tomorrow she would fortify herself with a descent breakfast before she returned.

“I think I will call you Octavia,” she said.


Want more creepy sexy stuff like this? Check out Odd Bits & Dark Corners by Tracey DeSanto.

 

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved

Look here for more free erotica by Tracey DeSanto.

Nocturnal Emissions, a Smutty Smidgeon!

A lonely man meets the woman of his dreams. Unfortunately, this particular paranormal story might not have a happy ending.

IMG_2729Adult Readers Only. 18 +, PLEASE.

This is the first in my new ongoing series of very short stories called Smutty Smidgeons. I originally put it on my “Free Erotica” page a few weeks ago but thought it might like to live here too. Smutty Smidgeons is where I will test drive my more “unusual” ideas… all quick and dirty-like. Ultimately, there will be a compilation. This one is a bit of a dark, paranormal confection.

A lonely man meets the woman of his dreams. Unfortunately, this particular paranormal story might not have a happy ending.

Nocturnal Emissions, By Tracey DeSanto

William scrambled his eggs. He used his knuckles, abstractly, to remove the sleep from from his eyes. Yawn, stir, flip… He got the eggs onto his toast. Sipping black coffee, he leaned against the counter and forked the food into his mouth. He was tired. Sleep had been poor.

As he chewed and swallowed, William tried to remove the cobwebs from his consciousness. Last night he’d had dreams. They had been dirty. That wide female from the lunch room… the one with the odd facial tic… was it a wink? She had figured prominently. Her name-tag read “Angela”. William was surprised because he didn’t see her as particularly attractive during the daytime when he bought his sandwich. In his dream she had been different.

In his dream they had both been nude. Angela had bent over his prone body. She’d smiled and held his penis. It had begun softly. She stroked him, pulling him against her soft  body. The jerking grew in ferocity until he came painfully, exploding in an alarming way. Bolting awake, the trousers of his pyjamas had been wet and sticky: a  messy testimony.

William was a sensible man of forty-two, and a bachelor. It had been three decades since this had happened to him. He hid the soiled pants in the bottom of the trash, even though his mother was long-deceased and could no longer root out such things. He finished his breakfast, straightened his tie, and went to work with bloodshot eyes.

During lunch that day he approached Angela with trepidation. She sold him a ham and swiss. When she gave it to him their hands met for a moment. Her fingers were warm. Her large bosom was fully concealed beneath a wide work apron. She glanced at him and winked. Was it a wink? William was startled to feel a stirring in his boxers, so he fled to the far corner of the lunch room. Eating in nibbles, he stole glances at this wide-hipped creature that had infiltrated his subconscious. Things calmed down in his undergarments, but it took some time.

Later that evening, William found himself preoccupied with thoughts of Angela. As he watched ‘The Honeymooners” on his new black and white television, mental images of the lunch-lady made it difficult to concentrate on Alice and Ralf. He was drowsy, but he refused to go to bed for fear of further nocturnal impropriety. At midnight, after the programming went off-air, the white noise of the machine dragged him into dreamland. He  drifted off, illuminated by the glow of the television test-pattern.

***

William stood under the shower and turned the right-hand knob counterclockwise. Cold water beat against his scalp and trickled down his body. As it reached his genitals he shivered, groggy and weak from lack of rest. He had tossed and turned all night. Sleep had been fractured. William’s pubic hair was matted from another nocturnal emission. He reached for the soap, hoping to get clean.

In last night’s dream she had returned. They were nude, again. William reclined on the chair where he had fallen asleep. He was unable to move, as if he was strapped down. Angela looked at  him and raised an eyebrow. Offering him a gentle half-smile, she cupped her breasts and held them forward. Her enormous pillows shifted towards him, pink nipples protruding. William’s penis leapt to strength almost violently.

Angela moistened her thin lips, parted them, and exhaled. Leaning forwards, she pressed the hard buttons of her soft breasts against his chest and dragged them down his torso. Kneeling on the floor before him, she caught his penis between her tits. Then she pushed her breasts together, making him disappear. William shuddered in his soft prison, unable to move. Her skin was cool and smooth. The sensation was sweet agony.

The woman pressed her face down between her tits and sucked him while rubbing herself against his cock. William climaxed almost immediately, with a shout. She looked up at him and held his gaze, jism trailing from the corner of her mouth. There was no mistake this time. She winked. He continued, implausibly, to ejaculate. It was almost painful in its intensity. Angela rolled his dick between her breasts and let the stuff spurt and cascade into her deep, soft cleavage. This happened for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, William woke up.

He cleaned his body in the shower and dressed hurriedly. Late for work, he had no time for breakfast. Upon arrival, he mumbled an apology to his supervisor and fumbled groggily through his morning tasks. He was ineffectual, haunted by thoughts of Angela, nude and winking, covered in his cum. By noon he was ravenous.

In the lunch room she smiled crookedly when he approached. When she handed him a corned beef on rye, she held him by the wrist and added an apple to go with it. Her touch sent heat down William’s arm and directly to his groin. His erection shot up in response. The man nodded, cleared his throat, and fled the lunch room to eat at his desk. He could think of nothing but her nipples against his chest and his endless orgasm. By the time the work day was finished, his erection had subsided enough that he could go home.

On the way William stopped and bought a fifth of whiskey. He drank half the bottle while eating canned peaches. Pretending to watch television, in his mind’s eye there was only Angela. Exhausted, intoxicated, and no longer in possession of any pyjamas that were free of his own ejaculate, he stripped naked and lay on top of his bed. Sleep bludgeoned him.

She was waiting for him in his dreams.

Angela stood at the foot of his bed, purposefully naked. Her female-ness nearly screamed at him. Curly auburn hair tumbled past her shoulders, no longer hidden in a bun under a hair net. The jutting and obscene curve of her breasts beckoned to him above the soft warmth of her belly. Further below, her stubby fingers probed the furry confines of her crotch. Rubbing and pulling at herself, the creature revealed ruddy and eager labia. Her clitoris presided over the activities.

She snapped her slippery fingers and grinned a crooked grin. William’s penis jumped to hardness. He was motionless and helpless, pinned to a mattress in a dream. Preposterously nimble, Angela hopped up on the bed and stood above him, just over his midsection. Looking down, she placed her hands on her hips and gyrated. William gazed up, transfixed, into her cunt. Coy and elemental, her beautiful vagina was pink and furry. Receptive and slick, it winked at him. William trembled with fear and desire as his cock strained against the confines of its own flesh, so hard and desperate that it grew an inch.

Angela dropped on him in one fell swoop, impaling her ripeness on his prick. It began softly. Her yonic muscles caressed and pulled him. Gradually, she bore down, writhing, and tried to push his cock deep into the centre of her body. Her pussy was a supernatural entity, a lake of fire and lubrication. It gripped him and would not let go.

Straddling, riding high, she fucked him. As she drew herself up and down, her breasts bounced and rippled like jellyfish in a current. She raised her arms and put her hands behind her head, dancing an ancient belly-dance on top of William. The slap and squelch of the juicy action was an out-of-tune soundtrack to the to the bizarre ritual she performed. She began to gnash and mutter arcane noises, rising almost off of him and then slamming back down with all her force. Her eyes sparked, gleaming red.

William surrendered to the ecstasy of copulation. Every time she swallowed him, there was less of him left. It was a shuddering subtraction, each step bringing him closer to a final climax. Angela’s incantations reached a fever pitch. She barked a command in an inhuman dialect and William was swept into her. He came joyously, willingly, and involuntarily. The semen was pumped out of him relentlessly, down to the drop, until there was nothing left but his soul. Then his soul followed. Swooning, he faded and drifted, losing himself in her completely, and was gone.

The succubus left what remained of William on the bed. She strode to the shadow in the corner and kissed her master. Satan was pleased.

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved

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