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.

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


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

Masturbation Monday ~ Bike Repairs

18 + Readers Only! This is my latest offering for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords. The idea is to write a bit of hot and sassy free smut that makes one tend towards self-love.

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! This is my latest offering for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords. The idea is to write a bit of hot and sassy free 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.

 

Bike Repairs

by Tracy DeSanto

Josh cycled hard, powering his way up Main Street. The night was cool and cloudy as he humped up a beast of a hill. Halfway to the top, his chain snapped. His right foot spun free and he lost balance, swerving abruptly towards the curb. He hit it hard and took a nasty spill on the sidewalk. This all happened in 1.75 seconds. One moment he was up and happy, getting his cardio, the next he was down with bleeding knuckles and a broken bike. Shit.

Well… he saw no solution except to head over to the shop. Olympus Cycling was only two blocks away. Josh picked up his bike by the frame and hoisted it on his shoulder. Trudging up the hill, he hoped, at least, that Juno would be working.

By the time he got to the bike shop the rain had set in. Today was turning out to be a crappy, all in all, but at least that meant he found Juno alone in the shop. She was the best bike mech he’d ever met, and also hot in a way he had trouble reconciling. Juno was a tall, broad-shouldered woman. Actually, she stood a couple over him. They were both in their mid-twenties, prisoners to low-paying retail jobs. Juno wore black leggings and an old-style work shirt with her name on it. Josh found her leaning against her shop counter, looking bored, when he dragged his inert bike through the door.

“Hey, Hipster… you’re a mess. What did you do?”

She wore her short hair tied back with a red bandanna, cribbing from that “Rosie the Riveter” look. Her drug store dye-job blondness showed about two months worth of mousey brown roots. Why did Josh find this so hot? Because it indicated that she gave as close to zero fucks about it as was possible.

“Chain blew out and I hit pavement,” he said.

She wandered up to him, laughing, then looked at the bike with honest concern.

“Oh, no! Poor bike.”

“Actually, yeah. And I am kinda bleeding,” said Josh, holding out his skinned hands.

Juno examined his injuries with mock concern.

“Ooooh. Poor Hipster.” She pursed her lips and bent over to grab a small first-aid kit from under the counter. Her lips were big. Even with no makeup they were plump and pink. Her top two buttons were undone, which allowed Josh a glimpse into her deep cleavage. Was it wrong to be horny for a woman who was probably a lesbian? Josh could only hope she was bisexual…

Juno smiled at him with teeth that had never met an orthodontist. She opened the first aid-kit and then took his hands, examining the scrapes.

“Oh, Jeeze, buddy… you got a chunk of glass stuck your hand.”

Josh peered at the injury and saw the small piece of glass lodged in his nasty scrape. It amazed him that it hadn’t bothered him. Blood seeped freely and copiously from the wound.

Looking back up into her eyes, he saw that they were deep blue beneath perfectly arched, un-plucked eyebrows. She was a confusing goddess, deliciously feminine in her masculinity, or was it the other way around?

“We’ll clean that up later,” she said, and then she kissed him.

She kissed him hard, forcefully, and pulled him against her body. Josh felt her oversize breasts press and flatten against him, soft and delightful. The sensation contrasted with the muscular strength of her arms and the pointed approach of her kisses. He opened his mouth to her. The woman tongued him passionately and clutched him. Josh stood helpless, bleeding hands at his sides. His cock stiffened uncomfortably in his black skinny jeans.

“I’m glad you came by today, Hipster…” she said, frankly. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed a cock.” She reached down and unzipped him. She found his dick trapped and bent inside the fabric of his briefs. She reached in and yanked him out, gripping him tightly. Juno took a step back, glanced down, and nodded approvingly. Then she glanced around the shop, and at the door.

“Seems quiet enough.” She released him and turned her back, walking to the bike stand. Without looking at him she pulled her leggings and panties down to her knees. The woman pushed her heart-shaped ass backwards. This exposed her cunt to him. Juno’s beaver was furry. She bent forward and held the bike stand. Her slit beckoned. Josh could just see her fingers through the gap of her thighs, rubbing her clit.

“Fuck me, pretty boy, and make me like it.”

Josh’s cock stood tall and hard at all this provocation. He did not need to be told twice. The man took the two steps required to stand directly behind Juno. Their heights matched, so he pushed his hips forward. The tip of his cock slipped easily into her slick vulva and she chuckled.

Juno said, sternly, again to the wall, “I thought I told you to fuck me.” Then she leaned backwards and took him right to the hilt. Slippery Juno-cunt enveloped iron-hard Josh-cock. He had no choice but to fuck… so fuck he did. He started with slow and shallow thrusts, just an inch in and out. Each time he pushed himself in, Juno pushed back and took him as deep as possible, which meant he disappeared completely inside her. Her ass-cheeks rippled against his hips.

Juno’s cunt was magic. As Josh entered her, she held and pulled him. As he slid out, she squeezed him. With each thrust she made a friendly, primitive noise: half-grunt / half-laughter. He found it unbearable sexy. Josh began to bang away like the drummer in a marching band. Soon Juno began screaming “That’s right! Fuck me, boy!” as she slid onto him and rubbed her clit.

A conundrum presented itself. Josh hung of the verge of a very special orgasm, but he wanted to be polite. He closed his eyes to avoid the provocative view of his cock sliding into her. He tried to think of cool rivers and green pastures. Then he redoubled his efforts to bring her off, whamming his dick into the woman in double time. Suddenly her voice changed and she screamed in a high-pitched wail. There were no actual words to it, but he suspected she was trying to say, “I am coming on your cock!”

With Josh’s proximity to blowing his load, that kicked him over the edge. His balls jumped and spasmed as he climaxed, coming in repeated spurts as Juno took him deep and held his cock inside her. All became extremely wet and slippery. He could feel himself coated with her lubrication and his own semen.

“Wakey, wakey, fellah,” she said, “You’re hilarious. I’ve never had a fainter before. Looks like you can’t handle the sight of your own blood.”

Josh felt woozy and opened his eyes. He sat on the floor, legs splayed in front of him. Bandages had been applied.

Juno cupped his face with her hand, and then playfully smacked it.

“Get it together, Hipster. You’re fine.”

It turned out that Josh had been in lala land for quite a while. She took the time to fix the bike chain after she cleaned up his scrapes. After Juno helped him to his feet, she helped herself to a crisp, but sticky, five dollar bill from his wallet. Her hands were greasy from the work, so she accidentally smudged some on the money.

“For the repair,” she said. “First-aid is on the house… this time. Maybe you should walk the bike home, though, Hipster.”

“My name is Josh,” he said.

“I know,” she said, “Now go home.”

Josh walked his bike home with an uncomfortable erection. Inside his pants, his underwear felt sticky with precum. When he got home he found it difficult to jerk off while wearing the bandages, but he managed.

Twice.

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved

For more awesome Free Erotica by Tracey DeSanto, click here.