Tag Archives: short story

Gone with the Wind

25 Feb

 

I know what many of you are thinking.

Actually, I have no idea.

But if you were thinking, When will she update her blog?

Then you have your answer. (Which is now, of course).

Unbelievable as it may sound, I’m not able to make a living writing sexy stories yet. So to avoid sleeping on the streets and eating from the trash, (which, generally would result in un-sexiness) I have been otherwise engaged.

So in order to apologize for my long absence (and blatant parenthesis abuse) I’m going to give away a freebie.

Starting next week 4th of March, I’ll be giving away, for a limited time only…

 

private eye copy

Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Santa’s Sexy Seduction

17 Dec

This is actually one of my favorite stories that I have written. Originally I was going to title it something along the lines of ‘Santa Comes on Christmas’ or ‘Santa Came in the Chimney’ but the story itself developed into something more elegant, more seductive, than a simple in and out by Santa.

I hope you enjoy the sample below and perhaps you can find inspiration from it for this Christmas and if no inspiration at least it should be able to cause a little perspiration. 😉

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I dressed up for Christmas shopping. My long sweater hugged my curves and made my legs look miles long. Black tights wrapped my legs, sheltering them from the winter cold. Experience had taught me always to dress for the unexpected. In these winter months, there are women who bundle themselves in thick sweaters and fluffy coats. They roll through the supermarket like gigantic, multicolored medicine balls. I refused to be one of these. At the supermarket the round bundles bumped into each other like erratic bumper cars, but I managed to slide through.

Perhaps I’m not being entirely honest about my reasons for dressing up. My friends may call me crazy, but I had to admit a small crush on the new bag boy in the supermarket. I picked the line where I knew he was working. He was a beautiful creature. The line was moving slowly with all the Christmas shoppers in front of me. The line could not go slow enough for me as I watched him, running my eyes across his body. His skin was tanned and smooth and his muscles rippled under his black t-shirt as he packed the bags. Tattoos of long, scaled dragons twisted around his arms.

He noticed my blatant stare and shot me a questioning look with cold gray eyes. Embarrassed, I could feel my face flush with blood as I pretended to look for something in my purse. I realized that my face wasn’t the only place where I felt the rush of warmth.

I tried not to look in his direction while he loaded my shopping cart with paper bags.

‘Do you need some help with these bags?’ he asked. His voice was a deep, soft rumble.

‘I think I can manage, thank you,’ I responded. Why did I say it? I dressed up for him, I wanted the attention and now that I had it I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

‘There is frost on the parking lot, let me take shopping cart to your car and help you,’ he insisted. He grinned at me as if he could read my mind.

‘Sure,’ I conceded. ‘I don’t want to hurt myself and spend Christmas in bed.’

‘Christmas in bed doesn’t sound so bad,’ he teased. His hands brushed mine as he took the shopping cart from me. My heart beat accelerated as he stood this close to me. His musk fragrance with hints of cinnamon flooded my senses.

‘You coming?’ he asked walking off with my groceries.

‘Not that easily,’ I said under my breath and followed him into the parking lot.

‘Just let me know which trunk to put it in,’ he grinned. I considered saying mine, but I was too shy. Just the thought of it made my cheeks flushed. I hope he would attribute it to the winter air.

I pointed out the aisle and indicated my forest green car.

‘A Volvo?’ he asked with an exaggerated expression of disgust.

‘Hey, don’t judge,’ I grinned and opened the trunk.

He placed the groceries in the car under my admiring eye. His breath swirled in steamy bursts as he worked. The tattooed dragons writhing on his arms each times he picked up another bag.

 <<It’s just getting started! Read more…>>

Going deeper underground

1 Oct

Bodies pressed tight against each other, each person feeling their companion’s body more completely than the lover that held them last night (tired arms around them, half-dreaming of someone else). Now, they ignore the contact, losing themselves in celebrity gossip (they know more of them than they do about their own lovers), their music (they listen to more than their own lovers), and their books (whose characters they adore more than their own lovers).

“Please mind the gap,” the polite British recording advised the throngs of underground passengers as the doors open.

I stand back. I keep my distance and wait for the next one. I tell myself I’m not afraid to be touched, that I do not fear intimacy. Even the intimacy of strangers. The doors slide closed. The carriage gains speed slowly and shoots out through the tunnel.

“Not in a hurry to get to work?” asks an American voice behind me.

I ignore it. That’s what you do in the underground. Do not look at the other passengers, do not interact. Only the crazies will talk to you. After a while of silence my curiosity gets the better of me and I risk a glance back.

The man is tall and handsome with calm blue eyes. He wears a dark suit with lapels. He makes a small bow and a flourish with his cap. A pilot.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your thoughts. You just looked… lonely,” he said.

“I’m… Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss your flight?” I asked, turning the questions around on him.

“Never. I always come on time,” he grinned mischievously and rubbed the hair at his temples nervously.

“I bet you say that to all the air hostesses,” I snarled at him.

“Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty,” he grabbed his chest.

“Shakespeare, very clever. Does that get you into the mile high club?” I said, but couldn’t contain the figment of a smile.

“The mile high club is completely overrated,” he said.

“Oh really?”

“Certainly, I much prefer the mile low club,” he said.

“And where is that?”

“Deeper.”

“Where?”

He took my hand in his. At first I wanted to draw away, but his hand was surprisingly warm and firm. His fingers tangled perfectly around my own, like the roots of trees grown together over the years.

“Follow me,” and he pulled me down the tunnel with such confidence that not one passenger (all of them carefully looking at a spot where they would not see anything) raised an concerns.

My heart raced. I let myself be guided by his hand through the darkness.

“Is this safe?”

“Absolutely not,” his white teeth glinted in the darkness of the tunnel.

“Aren’t you supposed to be concerned about safety?” I asked.

“Other people’s safety. Not my own.”

A rumbling, like approaching thunder echoed through the tunnel and the lights of an approaching train, lit the walls. Each drop of condensation sparkling like a tiny star. He pressed me against the wall with his entire body and I was conscious of his every curve, his breath pushing against my chest as the wind of the passing train whipped my hair against his skin. I would almost feel each strand as an extension of myself, as fingers gently stroking his skin.

The train passed and it was silent once more. He pulled away from me, I held fast.

In the darkness, I felt afraid, I felt safe, I felt him. Hard against my hips. He lifted me and I soared. He placed me on the rails as I unfastened his belt.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Not of the train, not of death,” I said. He slid his hands under my shirt and I shivered at his touch.

“What are you afraid of then?”

His fingers trailed over the indentation of my spine down between my legs.

“That,” I whispered. I trembled (Anticipation? Fear? God! I did not know.)

His touch opened me and the trembling stopped (together with the rest of the world).

“Is that so scary?” he asked.

“Terrifying,” I responded.

“Sometimes you need to fear to be alive.”

“I’m always afraid,” I whispered.

“And now?”

“No.”

He pushed inside me and I welcomed him in (my body fought the intrusion). His eyes closed. He was leaving (my body relished the intrusion). I pulled him back in (our bodies vibrated in unison). We melded with the sound of distant thunder (waiting open-mouthed for the drops of rain to come).

The distant thunder reached a crescendo (white lightning blinding us). Together we came (a storm that spun us around left us drenched, but happy). We climbed back out.

The breeze of the passing train teasing out hair as he stood again covering me with his body (I could think of nothing else but his shape).

“See. I always come in time,” he kissed me.

Hot Wheels: Handcuffed – Teaser

20 Aug

I loved the open road and not only for the tingling sensations between my legs provoked by the rumbling of Esmeralda’s 600 horse power engine beneath me. Esmeralda was my several ton vibrator and I rode her every day. She was my truck.

Today, I pushed her a little harder than normal. The surge of her engines sent ripples of pleasure rushing through me. I was cruising fast and resisted the urge to slide my hand into my pants to add a little bit of extra stimulus. Speeding over the highway in slick conditions, I couldn’t afford to get distracted. The pleasant hum of Esmeralda’s engine was enough for me now. Teasing me enough to keep me awake, but not completely distracted.

Joel’s knife lay beside me. I stroked the leather hilt, it was hard and smooth. I recalled the night we had met where he had greeted me with that Southern accent. His body wrapped me up each curve fitting with jigsaw precision. My hand slid between my legs as I remembered his hesitant surprise as I guided him to my other entrance. I pressed through my jeans. My concentration could handle it. He slid inside me with a gasp of surprise, squeezed by the virginal tightness of my behind. I hoped to corrupt him by taking him on his first foray into the forbidden, but he had remained his naïve self. He left me flowers before we left. I threw them out immediately, but I can’t even remember the last time someone had given me flowers.

My blood was pumping now, spreading the heat from between my legs to the tips of my limbs. The vibrations of Esmeralda’s engine never letting me quite come down. I unzipped my jean shorts. It couldn’t hurt to get a little more distracted. There was no one on the road. I slipped my fingers inside myself with a sigh of relief. I was slick and warm as thoughts of Joel and Esmeralda’s vibrations had been teasing me for miles. I moaned at the solid pressure of my fingers inside me. I trembled involuntarily as I curled my fingers to better reach my favorite spot.

I wanted more inside me, I wanted Joel inside me. I reached for his knife and covered the hilt with the juices on my hand before sliding the hilt between my legs. I rubbed it against me and when I felt it glide along the slippery edges of my lips, I forced the whole hilt in. I groaned in a throaty expression of pleasure. Each indentation on the hilt, meant for the fingers to grip it more comfortably, sent a shock of ecstasy up my spine. My hair stood on edge and my heart throbbed as the speed of hummingbird wings.

Never had I put anything like this inside me. A knife! What was I thinking? I looked down to see the blade sticking out between my legs. My head swam a little, tipsy from the cocktail of fear and pleasure.

Sirens and flashing lights made me tighten my grip around the hilt. In my rear view mirrors a police car shot out from behind a billboard advertisement and followed me. I checked my speedometer and cursed myself for being so stupid. I grabbed the blade delicately between my index finger and thumb and pulled it out slowly. Again the ribbed hilt gave me tiny little rhythmic shocks on the way out. I placed Joel’s knife in the glove compartment. I zipped up my jeans and pulled over. I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes still sparkled with desire. There was not enough time to come down. It didn’t help that I’ve had fantasies of sleeping with a cop ever since the first time I was handcuffed.

The cop knocked on the door.

‘Please step out of the vehicle, sir,’ he said.

His jaw dropped when he saw me step out of the truck and I had to contain a giggle. He was everything you expect from a traffic cop. He had a mustache that accentuated his perpetual frown and mirrored aviators hiding his eyes. Muscular forearms stuck out from under his short sleeved uniform. He stood tall and confident, a hand casually resting on his holster.

‘License and registration please,’ he said after he recovered his composure and shut his mouth.

‘One second let me get it from my glove compartment,’ I said. I climbed back up and reached for the glove compartment. I made sure to lean over and arch my back to give the officer a got look at my round ass. My jean shorts tightened between my legs, as I bent over to get my license and registration.

I handed the papers to the cop who examined them with a poker face, any expression hidden behind the mustache and sunglasses.

‘Do you know why I pulled you over?’ he asked finally.

‘I don’t know officer Miller,’ I said in my best impression of innocent. Innocent was hard to portray and I didn’t keep it up for long, ‘You were looking for something pink?’

Officer Miller’s composure broke and he burst out laughing.

‘No,’ he said removing his sunglasses and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. ‘I pulled you over because you were speeding, Mrs. Creamer.’

‘Miss Creamer,’ I corrected him. ‘I’m not married.’

‘You were speeding, Miss Creamer,’ he confirmed. ‘Is there a reason you were speeding? In hurry to get somewhere?’

‘No hurry, I was just a little distracted,’ I said.

‘I hope you weren’t talking on your cell phone,’ he said.

‘No, I wasn’t,’ I assured him. ‘I was masturbating.’

Want more?

Medusa’s Lover – Free Erotica this Sunday, 5 August

1 Aug

It’s my birthday this Sunday. Rather than receive a gift myself, I’m going to give a gift.

Medusa’s Lover – My most recent sexy short story will be free this Sunday August 5th. Be sure to download your free copy.

lust is blind.

 

Just to whet your appetite here’s a little preview.

 

Medusa’s Lover

The mirror revealed a beautiful woman. My hair flowed in waves over my shoulders, it shone with a million tiny stars. My flawless skin coated the ample curves of my body. I hated it. Clothes served no purpose. No one that saw me survived. I let them die with a final glimpse of my untethered beauty and yet all that registered on their petrified faces was horror.

 

I clawed at my face, the pain searing my cheeks, but the gashes healed as fast as I created them. I screamed in frustration for the millionth time. It was no use.

 

The mirror was the only one in my palace I hadn’t ground into sand. One as lonely as myself needs some form of company, even if it is my odious own.

 

I walked through my palace resting my hands on the balustrade of my balcony. My eyes kept to the cracked and dusty floors. I avoided the horror etched on the stone statues that decorated my house. Their faces were forever imprinted in my mind. I did not need to look up to see them.

 

Heroes, all of them. Come to slay the monster. Me.

 

Only one of them had not come to slay me. His statue stood beside me.

 

He smiled at me, his eyes wide with surprise as his finger pulled aside his blindfold. I had turned away to admire the sunset and when I turned back he was turned to stone.

 

“You foolish boy,” I said. At least his face was not contorted in horror. His stone lips were shiny and worn from the kisses I would give him every night before I would go to sleep.

 

I wrapped by arms around him. My fingers scoured his body, lingering in the parts I used to love the most. His neck, the muscles of his back, but they were beginning to crumble at my touch. His solid frame had been reassuring when he was alive, but now I longed to touch soft flesh. Something alive.

 

The sea was visible from my balcony. In the valley beneath my palace I could see the city below. The sunset bathed it in an orange hue. Soon it would glow with the lights of their torches.

 

In the distance a figure approached my palace with determined steps. Even from this distance his sword shone through the mist that rose up from the valley. My heart raced with excitement. Another hero come to destroy me. I delighted at the prospect of my own destruction and the imminent end to my loneliness.

 

I observed him as he entered my expansive garden. The trees and flowers the only living thing I had touched in centuries. He edged his way under the imposing stone gate, sword drawn and muscles tensed. Sweat made his body glisten in the setting sun. He spun around, swinging his sword at the sound of rustling behind him. A small hedgehog that tried to scurry across the path froze in front of him. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled, but his crooked smile faded as he came ever nearer to my door.

 

I hurried down the stairs to hide behind the door. I didn’t want him to see me. I feared him not. On the contrary, I wished him to succeed.

 

The thick muscles of his bare legs tensed with each slow, deliberate step. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Like all those who came to slay me, he was a paragon of masculinity. A towering giant among men, with broad shoulders and limbs as thick as tree trunks. His sandaled footsteps fell on the floor as silently as a cat’s. It was difficult to tell where his golden skin started and where his breastplate ended. They flowed seamlessly into each other. He carried a golden Spartan shield.

 

“Don’t turn around,” I whispered. “If you do you can be sure it will be your death.”

 

He froze. A flesh statue, in the midst of a stone menagerie.

 

“I don’t want you to die,” I said. “I want to help you.”

 

“Are you going to lead me to the monster?” he asked.

 

“Lead you to the monster? I am the monster,” I said. My voice always put them off. They never expected a woman’s voice. They expected the shrill shrieks of a mindless beast with serpents instead of hair. I knew what they said about me in the village.

 

He shifted his shield slowly with the movements of a man cornered by an unpredictable and dangerous wild animal. He examined my golden reflection on his shield.

 

“But you’re just a woman,” he said. His posture relaxed.

 

“Don’t turn around,” I warned him. He stiffened again. “What did you expect?”

 

“Snakes for hair, demonic eyes, scaly skin, but not this,” he said.

 

“This?” I asked.

 

“You’re gorgeous. A rival to Athena herself,” he said.

 

I smiled. Athena’s jealousy was the very reason I suffered this horrid curse. I was happy to give my head to this man, “Listen to me carefully, hero. I do not want to hurt you. Are you listening?”

 

He nodded, shaking the plumes on his golden helmet.

 

“I’m going to walk and stand behind you. Watch me if you like in your shield. You can be sure it is not a trick. When I tell you I am ready, you will close your eyes and swing the blade round. Do you understand?” I asked.

 

Again, he nodded his understanding.

 

My bare feet glided the few steps left between us, leaving footsteps behind in the dust of crumbled statues. His muscles tensed as he watched my approach in his shield.

 

He was so alive. He smelled of fresh sweat and the grass he had crushed underfoot in the garden. Heat emanated from him. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another living being. His broad chest heaved with each breath. His skin had little droplets of sweat. Did I even remember what skin felt like?

 

I reached to touch him. One last taste. Death would shortly follow.

 

More here.

I Release – Touching Myself in the Morning

23 Jul

” Hornover: what one wakes up with the morning after a night of getting too horny without release. “

Sommeil Liberosensa

And so it begins. Light trickles in from between the curtains. I throw my sheets off me, still half-asleep and in a daze. The heat of the day is warmth enough. Bare and exposed, my fingers begin to explore. My dreaming hand disconnected from me, its caresses feel alien and distant, but at the same time the texture of my own skin is fascinating and I want more. It feels as if I have never touched myself before.

My fingers glide over my tiny hairs, only perceptible because to the golden light seeping through the curtains. The hair grows coarse under my finger tips and it is as if they have arrived in a different world altogether. I’m surprised at my own moisture. I can feel it through the fabric of my panties, sticking to my body. The sudden shock of pleasure as my fingers reach inside me, wakes me up. My eyes open wide, only momentarily, until they embrace the sensation.

It’s not enough. It’s too slow now. I’m awake and I want it harder. Fingers dripping now, I grind them with careless abandon, using the elastic of my underwear to keep the rhythm.

And finally. It is there. It sneaks up on me. Like something looming out of my field of vision that suddenly pounces on me. Invading every pore with tiny shocks of electric ecstasy. I bury my head in the pillow to muffle my groans.

The door opens.

“Good morning, honey. The showers all yours,” he says.

He doesn’t know what he was missing.

“Good,” I say licking me fingers clean. I’m gonna need it, cause I’m a dirty girl.

Felt Tips, Coming 12-12-12

11 Jun

Mark your Calendars! Juliana Sliema is in an anthology edited by Tifanny Reisz, author of The Siren!

Since she put it so eloquently I will quote her, “Please congratulate all our fine FELT TIPS writers when you see them on Twitter. They donated their time and talents to this charity anthology. Because of them, some kids who couldn’t afford new school supplies and some down-on-their-luck parents who can’t afford work clothes will be getting a hand from our one-handed read.”

you want me to do what with the phone?

Check out the list of talented authors in the table of contents I plucked from her blog post:

FELT TIPS

THE TABLE OF CONTENTS

Jenny Lyn – Indelible

Karen Booth – Taking Dictation

Karen Stivali – Hard at Work

Heather Cole – The Saint of Office Hell

Blacksilk – Of Silver, Sin, and School Desks

Brittany Lawrence – Mine

Eric Andrew Satchwill – What Is It, Suzie?

Gwen Marie Porter – My New Office Chair

Amber Lin – Proof

Jason Darrick – Stapled

Kelly Jamieson – Getting Down to Business

AmyBeth Inverness – In the Closet

Rebecca Stewart – Special Delivery

Marie Wright – The Drawing

Sopphey Vance – Down to the Point

Lynne Silver – Doing it Write

Jillian Boyd – Mark Me

Shoshanna Evers – Tape

Alyssa Linn Palmer – Vee

Sandra Bunino – The Fountain Pen

Antonio Angelo – Trust Me

Lela Gwenn – Whiteboard

Xander Grimm – The Night Shift

Kiki Snow – The Benefits of Multitasking

R. Brennan – Routine Maintenance

Maxine Marsh – The Boss

Cara Ellyn – Private Message

Erin Danielle – All Marked Up

Lucy Felthouse – A Stroke of Peach

Anya Winter – The Server

Diana Cruz – A Rough Night at the Office

Emily Cale – A Planned Encounter

Patricia Correll – Theo’s Donation

Morgan Sierra – The Motion of the Ocean

Candice Bundy – Open Rack

K Fish – The Antique

Memory Scarlett – Silky & Silvered

Michelle Ribaric – All Work & No Play

Stella Harris – Turnabout

Juliana Sliema – Caught

Jade Adkins – Embrace the Strength Inside

Amanda Fletcher – What Happens at STAPLES

Allie Sanders – Love Letters

Tiffany Reisz – Teacher’s Pet

So like I said, remember the date (shouldn’t be too hard) and do contribute to charity with your clean hand. 😉

Omens

9 May

I don’t believe in omens, he told himself.

Standing at the gate he watched airplane after airplane land, barely a minute separating each landing. And yet he had stood here staring for over an hour and nothing had gone wrong.

He shuddered. That only increased the chance that the next one would crash. One in a million planes crashed, right? How many had landed across the globe while he stood here? Which one would be number one million?

That’s not how statistics work, he reminded himself.

It didn’t help. The thought of a sky crowded with tons of titanium traveling through clouds at several hundred miles per hour still gave him goosebumps.

Of course, there were professionals in charge with hi-tech equipment and years of training. But they must have had a first time. The is no room for ‘oops’. And what if they had a fight with their wife the night before? Got drunk? What if his child was just run over by a Polish person and he had to give landing instructions to a LOT aircraft?

Easy, he steadied himself. They had systems for this kind of thing. Rules and regulations. He deliberately guided his thought away from how they dealt with rules and regulations where he worked.

A woman screamed. He spun to witness the commotion at the gate. Her hand was gripped to her breast and her face was pale, but a weak laughter escaped her.

“A bird,” blushing, she explained to the people’s bewildered glances. “It just flew right into the window. Smash! I can’t believe he didn’t break it!”

A few of the younger children darted to the window in youthful curiosity. Some dragging their parents with them.

“Eeew,” said one of them pointing out of the window. “I think its dead.”

“No, its still moving,” responded another.

“That happens sometimes after they die,” yet another.

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to have birds flying around at the airport?” asked one of the parents.

“It is,” answered another one, sagely. “They can get sucked into the turbines and cause an airplane to crash.”

“Its nothing to worry about,” assured a uniformed cabin attendant. It was said with such practical ease and confidence, it must have been a phrase he needed to perfect to graduate to flight attendant. “I’ll just quickly ring up the clean up crew.”

Leaving the passengers to peer curiously at the spasming bird he walked briskly off.

He marveled at the perfect haircut and impossibly close shave of the flight attendant, calling to mind an image of a Thunderbird doll. A dead, inanimate object. He observed the steward’s jaw closely as announced that boarding had now commenced for business class passengers.

Good thing I don’t believe in omens, he thought.

She Makes Me Feel Special

15 Apr

One hundred dollars an hour. That is what it takes for her to listen to me. 

I march in. She tell no one I was there.

I sit on her couch. The springs poke into my back and I half-wonder why she hasn’t bought a new one. But the couch is not important. I don’t come here for the couch. I come here, like so many others. I come here for her.

In her presence it is difficult not to mislead myself, I know I’m not the only one. Her feelings for me are strictly professional.

I don’t care.

It never feels that way. For one hour I feel like I am all that matters to her. Sometimes we sit around and there is only small talk between us. All about the weather and celebrity gossip.

Other days I let her penetrate me. 

Sometime she goes so deep it awakens sensations I have never felt before. That I wasn’t even aware existed. It scares me.

When I cry, she keeps pushing. I like it.

At the end. I feel more at peace. As if all the parts of me, fragmented by the constant pounding of everyday life, have melted and reformed in a smooth circle.

One hundred dollars an hour feels like a bargain. 

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