Categories
love lust poetry sex women

to be broken in a perfumed garden

I want

To break you

Not from cruelty

Or weakness

But from a want

Strong as gravity.

Even in passing,

The urge you inspire

Makes my paws heavy

Ready to grasp you close

Pull your hair,

Tease and dishevel you

A rambunctious glorious play.

Belly laughter and bruises,

Red stripes of flesh like tiger markings,

To test and push,

And all of it makes a sense which

Sits quiet and patient,

Alongside the sweep of conversation,

The poetry of silences

Which express the all,

Baby girl,

I appeal not to reason,

But to the storm,

The raging ocean,

The roaring animal

Which lives in the perfumed garden

Of your flesh

Yet I know the joy

Of your smile taking wing

And brightening the air

Around me.

Categories
beauty love lust poetry sex women

A Deep Kiss

oh how

My will

Seeks expression

Through your flesh

My lips

And tongue would

Kiss my intentions

Into the damp, warm

Places of you

Drink each glistening

Drop 

My hands would

Compose hymns

To the divine

With each pinch

Stroke

Sliding them slow

Exploring the 

Throb of your 

Need and calling

It into the air

With my body

And it’s rough

Power

I would gently

Capably

Redraw the boundaries

Of your soul’s

Capacity

For love

To match the beauty

That draws out the

Beast within

And all his

Rapacious poetry

Categories
love lust poetry sex women

A violent imagination

Photo by Aidan Roof on Pexels.com


I sit, at a desk
Walk through a park
Smiling to passersby
In my head though,
Oh god, in my head
You’re beautifully dishevelled
Glowing with sweat,
Raised up, put on a pedestal,
Glistening with filth
You taste so delightful in my head today
Darling, I respect you
Which is why I’m man enough
To give you what you need.
And as the hours pass
You never cease to amaze me
Made divine by my imagination
But the promise of you
Hasn’t disappointed me yet

Categories
beauty love lust poetry women

Even your silences

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Speak to me
You hide but I have
Seen you too well
Not to spot the camouflage
Which eludes others
But I have
A need, salt and sweet
To see you
From every angle
To taste every drop
And to have you scream
My name with joy
Step back afterwards
Into velvet shadow
Rest until your need
Draws you out
Towards me

A star falling

To regain its

Fire once again

Categories
beauty love lust poetry women

Even your silences

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Speak to me
You hide but I have
Seen you too well
Not to spot the camouflage
Which eludes others
But I have
A need, salt and sweet
To see you
From every angle
To taste every drop
And to have you scream
My name with joy
Step back afterwards
Into velvet shadow
Rest until your need
Draws you out
Towards me

A star falling

To regain its

Fire once again

Categories
love lust poetry sex women

A violent imagination

Photo by Aidan Roof on Pexels.com


I sit, at a desk
Walk through a park
Smiling to passersby
In my head though,
Oh god, in my head
You’re beautifully dishevelled
Glowing with sweat,
Raised up, put on a pedestal,
Glistening with filth
You taste so delightful in my head today
Darling, I respect you
Which is why I’m man enough
To give you what you need.
And as the hours pass
You never cease to amaze me
Made divine by my imagination
But the promise of you
Hasn’t disappointed me yet

Categories
lust poetry sex women

A Car Is Waiting

Photo by ALEXGTACAR on Pexels.com


My hand on your thigh
Then moving further
Open mouthed kisses
Your stomach fluttering
As my fingers
Find you
Playing until we are
Slick with want
Biting tasting testing
My hand at your throat
Holding your gaze
As I drive into you
I would fuck away
Your sadness
Make you a dirty
Princess here with me
A beast snarling
Pinning taking testing
You will fail
Before my authority
Over and over
A sweet moment’s dying
Before life comes
Hard as a car crash
And you scream your pleasure
Into the night sky
An intensity
That appears loveless
To the weak
But you know different
Come to me
For me
Play with the warm darkness
Of my passions
Fuck like
A car
Is
Waiting

Categories
beauty books lust sex women

Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere – Chapter 3 – 4 by Dahlia Bliss

If you’re enjoying these, or have any feedback, leave a comment or get in touch.

CHAPTER 3

I took them through a warmup, got their energy flowing and told them they were to show unsentimental compassion and a sense of direction. No routine, just to hold a belief the same way that you would cup a candle flame to keep it from the wind.

Freddy just wanted to hang out. Jimmy never came back. Ben stood with me and we started talking to a group which included someone I recognised. Leaning over, I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

‘You’ve got to project your best self.’

The other woman from the coffee shop. I saw her before Ben did. With her hair down and the weary resignation of work lifted from her face, she smiled when she saw him and I let him walk towards her.

‘Wait, wasn’t this the…’

Turning around, there was Andrea, sipping from a tumbler as she looked at Ben. Then I caught her eye.

‘Hey.’

Ben blustered and the woman stepped forward as she raised her hands.

‘I never said he was an asshole.’

Andrea’s eyes settled on me. She smiled as I took a slight step forward. Her eyes widened, but she did not flinch even as I stood in front of her.

‘I’m the asshole here.’

She laughed and winked at me, brushing a lock of hair back behind her left ear.

‘It’s healthy that you admit it. It saves time later.’

Her friend shook her head and crossed her arms.

‘I’m sorry about her. She can be an asshole sometimes too.’

Andrea waved her off.

‘Hey, we’re all assholes,’ Ben said.

He gave a quick nod and I winked back.

Andrea came forward, her face softening as she punched him on the shoulder.

‘Sorry. Just fucking with you. Here for the seminar?’

He looked at me and I nodded. She leaned forward and told her name was Lizzie, before he nodded and smiled.

She flicked a glance to Andrea, who lifted her chin.

I turned to Andrea and she shook her head as she spoke to me.

‘Is this what I think it is?’

I leaned forward to explain what was going on and she swore under her breath as she shook her head and pointed past me.

‘It’s ok, we get them a few times a year.’

Terry played the wingman with a student. I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere so I could hear her. She looked at Lizzie, who was smiling and touching Ben on his upper arm as he spoke to her.

‘I think they’ll be all right without us.’

She cocked her head to one side and squinted at me.

‘You can vouch for him, right?’

He turned his head to flash a simple grin in my direction.

I told her he was decent. She leaned back and appraised him before turning back to me. Her eyes were dark and wet as she took a pull at her glass. She ran her lips over one another and my eyes wandered over the pulse in her throat and the lean sculpture of her shoulders.

Her expression made me feel heavy and thick.

‘How do you know all this?’

She shrugged her shoulders as she leaned forward and her breasts shifted beneath her vest. She let me watch as her mouth came to my ear.

‘Why do you care?’

My eyes flashed to Terry, who had turned to see me speaking to Andrea. My throat squeezed back the stab of frustration that came up. She turned her head and saw him. He shook his head, with his lips pressed together and his nostrils flaring before he turned to address the small group hanging on his every word.

‘You aren’t friends with him.’

I shook my head. But there were attendees around. Gossip is our enemy, in this business, as it strips respect and authority. Even he didn’t deserve that. She put her hand up as she nodded in recognition.

‘You’re being a class act about it. I get it.’

Nodding and thanking her as she gestured towards the bar, I didn’t want to draw his eye. But then, one of his students was at her right elbow as she turned around. He was short, but his eyes remained fixated upon her.

‘Your energy drew me.’

Andrea sighed, putting her hands up and rooting him to the spot with a hard glare.

‘Thank you. I don’t want to be rude.’

He squinted, but when he spoke, his voice was rich.

‘I get a sense that you’re carrying a lot of potential energy within you.’

She groaned, folding her arms across her chest

‘ We’re talking.’

His face remained in the same slack expression as he continued to work the routine, unable or unwilling to realise his pedestrian error.

‘Well, sort of talk to me now.’

She gave a cynical laugh. I winced as he glanced backwards to Terry.

Stepping forward, my right hand rose to his shoulder.

‘You’re being too stiff.’

He blinked before grinning at the pair of us and walking away.

She didn’t laugh, watching him dart back towards the group of students and Terry, who looked down at him as he gave feedback. Andrea turned around and urged me to the bar.

She ordered sparkling water and I had a single malt as we watched Ben and Lizzie chatting. They were mirroring one another.

‘Does this ever strike you as creepy, John?’

My eyes settled back on her.

‘Who else shows men how to socialise?‘

She winced, shaking her head.

‘Is that what it is?’

Looking away from me, she took a drink and groaned.

‘Things like these treat women as test subjects.’

A small sip of the whisky warmed my throat as I considered her words.

‘It’s the men here who are the test subjects. It’s when they don’t learn how to do this that the problems start.’

She grimaced again, leaning against the bar and blowing the hair out of her eyes.

As my glass rested against my lips, I studied her over the rim.

‘I doubt you’ve ever been a target in your life.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘You’re a regular johnny on the spot, aren’t you?’

My smile remained in place.

‘Smooth talker.’

My lips curled into an affable grin.

‘I’m just present.’

She smirked and took a swallow of her drink.

‘I’m not saying I don’t like it though.’

She looked over her shoulder.

‘These guys need supervision?’

My eyes found Ben, the others were out of sight, and as he looked between the two of us, he broke into a wide grin before turning back to Lizzie.

Shaking my head, I asked what she had in mind. She said she didn’t live far.

CHAPTER 4

The streets were full, but she navigated the crowds, pulling me further from the bar. My phone rang, but it was Terry, so I did not answer it. She turned around, gesturing to my pocket.

‘Do you need to get that?’

I shook my head and smiled, stepping closer to let someone pass. As she fished into the pocket of her jeans for her keys, my lips formed the excuse that it was work, and I was not at work. She smiled and shrugged..

‘It’s cool.’

She took the stairs to her apartment on the second floor two at a time. I took the stairs, to watch the firm sway of her as she unlocked the door and bounced inside.

The door caught the flat of my hand as I stepped through, sending an echo through the space. She had stripped and stained the floorboards and there were only a few pictures on the wall, black and white glossy photographs of physiques shining with perspiration.

She pulled a well used French press from the drying rack, measured out the grounds into the carafe, and boiled water in an electric kettle. She stirred the coffee and set it aside to brew as she got out two mugs and set them between us with economic gestures.

She plunged and poured the rich smelling liquid as I asked if she’d studied the career I’d chosen and she chuckled under her breath.

‘We like guys who are men asking us out.’

I narrowed my eyes, but I could not keep up the facade as I laughed at her words.

‘It’s difficult for most people, Andrea, unless you have it within yourself.’

She passed me my coffee; her knuckles brushing against my fingers. Our eyes met and she took a step backwards as she picked up her own cup and gestured behind me. Stepping past me, her hip bumped mine and again, we looked at one another.

She unfolded a rolled futon as the rest of the room stole my attention.

There were books on shelves and a heavy bag bolted to the ceiling. Beneath that, a swiss ball and a rolled up mat. She sat down and brought her knees up to her chest, crossing her ankles.

Tilting her head back to look up at me, she asked me to take off my shoes before I sat down across from her.

‘So, do you only train here?’

She shook her head. No one else paid her rent. She fought four times a year now, but the sponsor only covered the gym and her equipment. Good pads and driving to fights ate up the rest. So she did shifts at the hotel and trained.  Her world was small and pure. She puzzled at that with a wobble of her head.

‘You’re working with an asshole, though.’

I chuckled at that and gestured to her.

‘That would be your opinion.’

She grimaced and waved me off.

‘He’s a fucking asshole. I know assholes and he’s one of them.’

My hands came together.

‘I recognise that.’

She leaned against the doorway, her forehead furrowed as she appraised me.

‘It’s not as fun as it used to be.’

She looked around the room.

‘Name one thing that is.’

A sigh of relief escaped me as the muscles in my jaw unclenched. There was the release that came from demonstrating a candid authority onstage, done so often that it was mechanical, and then there were these moments.

‘I’ve been doing this awhile. I can tell you how it’s developed,’

She gave a slight smile. Her eyes fell to the watch on my wrist and the buffed shine on my wingtips.

‘I cared about the work rather than the result. Money wasn’t the thing for me, it sits in my bank, sometimes I spend it or I don’t.’

A pang of regret stabbed at my insides, but the unburdening was a wonderful feeling.

‘Even that’s faded. I’ve helped many people, and now it’s all starting to feel as it did when I was helping CEOs not feel too guilty about laying people off to make the stock prices jump two fucking points. I can do it, but I don’t feel it. Not anymore.’

My tongue ran across my teeth, the release of speaking my truth made my hands shake so they came together, palm to palm as the energy of it surged through me.

‘I want to captain my ship rather than help other people sail theirs.’

She was silent, but feeling filled her eyes with empathy as she nodded.

‘I know where I’m trying to get to.’

She brought her hand to the back of her neck. Her eyes flickered towards me as I asked where that was.

‘Fighting,’.

I looked at her.

‘Is it just you?’

She shook her head as she smirked, keeping her hand to the back of her neck and leaning forward. Her fingers found the right spot of muscle and she smiled with relief.

She continued to move her fingertips against the ridge of muscle in her neck.

I laughed and told her about the trapped nerve I’d caught helping someone with a mobility scooter stuck on a travelator.

‘We all have pain,’ she said.

‘Can I help?’

She shrugged and said sure as she got onto her knees and came forward. I rolled up my sleeves and stretched out my fingers.

My heartbeat drummed in my ears as my fingertips smoothed over her neck and shoulders.

Black script that resembled a mandala covered her upper back. It was mesmerising, dense with detail that begged for my attention.

‘It’s a magic tattoo.’

My fingers slipped the hem of her vest up so I could see the entire tattoo. There was a set of simian features amidst a dense crop of black spirals that spread outwards.

‘Hanuman,’ I said.

She turned her head and her grin made my heart flip in my chest.

‘See, that’s it.’

Her voice was breathy as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

‘That’s what?’

‘You know.’

She pressed back against me. My hands wandered back up her neck, as my mouth went dry with lust at the play of her muscles beneath her skin. She whimpered when my fingers found the right spot on her neck. Then she sat up as she squared her shoulders..

‘You’ve done this before.’

She pushed herself back, closer to me.

‘I might have.’

She laughed as she lowered her chin to her chest and brushed her hair upwards.

‘You’re stronger than you look.’

My fingers danced down over her ribs, making her shiver and sigh. The skin on her arms prickled with gooseflesh and my mouth came to her ear, my lips brushing against her earlobe.

‘You have no fucking idea.’

She brought her head up and turned to one side, sticking her tongue out at me.

‘Yeah, right? Those are show muscles, I bet. Lots of arm curls, so you can wear tight t-shirts at the club.’

A chuckle prompted my fingers to press into the meat of her shoulders, moving in small circles.

‘You bloody watched me.’

She laughed again.

‘I did.’

There was a light in her eyes and a tough grin that made my cock stir. My hands smoothed up either side of her neck and my right hand cupped her chin. She turned around a little as my mouth came to her ear.

‘I get the sense that you want to ask me for something.’

She nodded, licking her lips.

‘I needed to make sure you weren’t a dick.’

My chuckle made her shiver.

‘Well, not a total dick.’

My lips brushed against the top of her ear.

‘Just enough of one.’

She sighed and gave a short, delighted laugh. She shut her eyes and shook her head.

‘It’s that fucking accent. I swear.’

My heartbeat thumped in my head.

‘Just the accent?’

She shut her eyes for a second before she looked at me. Her expression; open and dark.

‘I could massage your ego here, John, but that’s not what I want.’

‘Tell me.’

She looked at my hands, over my chest, settling on my face.

She shut her eyes.

‘I want you to take charge.’

‘What’s your safe word?’

She grinned and leaned forward, lobbed a lazy punch on my left shoulder as she bit her lip.

‘Hanuman.’

My fingers wrapped around her hair and pulled hard, which made her eyes fly open.

There were eager stabs of her lips and tongue against mine before she found my nipples and the concern made itself felt in the slight twitch of her mouth. Her fingers caressed my chest. My teeth bit into her lip. She groaned. My grip on her hair forced her head back as my lips trailed down her neck. My nose filled with the subtle tang of her musk and my right hand rested on her hip.

She swallowed as she shifted and pushed her crotch against me.

She exhaled through her nose, biting her lower lip.

‘There’s only one way you will make me stay still.’

My grip on her hair tightened.

‘I can think of one.’

She gasped, pulling her hand over mine.

‘Harder, please.’

She breathed in sharp little bursts.

She laid down and raised her chin.

‘Unzip yourself. I want to see your pussy.’

My voice sounded dark and low to my ears and her mouth twisted with pleasure.

My palm pressed against her collarbone and she laid down, her eyes glowing with desire

‘You will come all over my fingers, do you understand?’

She nodded as much as she could against my hand.

She undid her jeans with unsteady fingers.

‘Pull them down. Now.’

She went to shake her head, but a tug of her hair and her eyes glazed over with delight. She lifted her hips and slipped her jeans down her legs, kicking them off.

I wrapped the length of her hair around my hand, yanking it once more. She swore as she grinned.

‘What about my underwear?’

My gaze fell, then wandered up to her eyes again.

‘Take them down but not off.’

She sighed and pushed her panties down over her hips, revealing a slight line of stars that ran across her pelvis and a pattern of Fleur Des Lys at the top of her right thigh. My fingertips stroked across the thin scrub of ebony hair above her pussy and she sighed.

One finger slipped down and forward, plunging into the wet warmth of her. She pushed against me and my grip tightened as I pulled it back. The tip of my index finger whispered against her clit. She made a soft choking cry that sent a shiver up my spine.

The tender flesh of her pussy was slick with her pleasure. She arched against my hand. Her thighs fluttered with tension. She whimpered as her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clutched against the futon.

Her breathing came in ragged blasts, and her skin was hot and damp where it touched mine. Her face was tight and shut to me as she pumped her hips in rapid succession before she cried out and her eyes snapped open.

She clamped her hand over my wrist and shook her head before she collapsed back against the mattress. She let out a deep sigh and my right hand drew away from her pussy. My fingers were damp and I flexed them to ease the cramp that had pooled in my wrist.

She looked into my eyes and brought her hand to rest over my grip, loosening in her hair. She blinked, licked her lips and grinned at me. Then she swallowed as she tilted her head back to gaze at me.

I undressed with care, making theatre with my intention. Her chest rose and her cheeks flushed with heat as her tongue ran over her lips, her eyes drawing up and down my body.

‘That’s interesting.’

She chuckled and shook her head at my frown.

‘No, you’re uncut,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been with a guy who’s uncut before.’

My eyes fell to where my cock hung between my thighs, heavy with arousal. Then my hand returned to tangle into the back of her hair.

‘You will suck my uncut cock, Andrea.’

She whimpered as I forced her forward.

She stroked me, rolling my foreskin back as she sighed, her breath hot and moist on the tip.

She bucked against me, looking up at me, daring me until my grip on her hair tightened enough to make her wince.

Guiding my cock into her open mouth, her eager tongue swirled around the tip before her lips closed around it. An ache pooled in my hips and thighs.

As my hips thrust forward, she groaned and the hum of her mouth whipped my head back as the muscles around my cock contracted in small, rapid bursts of vibration.

She worked me with her mouth, eyes focussed on my expressions as she wrestled her tongue and lips around the head of my cock with a gusto that forced me deep into her throat. She wretched when the head hit the back of her throat and her eyes watered, but she didn’t pull away.

My orgasm was inevitable and as my cock pumped into her hot, gulping throat, she kept her nose pressed against my pubic hair.

She slipped my cock from between her lips. Her lips glistened with my cum as my hand stroked her cheek.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  Something unchecked was in her eyes. It punched me in the heart.

She sat up and we kissed. The salty taste of me mingled with her saliva until it passed and we drew apart to catch our breath.

‘Are you hungry?’

Categories
erotica love lust short fiction women

Untouched Places

Untouched Places

1.

Bette stood at the counter, stretching out her aching calf muscles, stiff from the lengthy drive. A weekend with her sister and her family was exhausting and the hours on the road made everything from the soles of her feet to the top of her headache if she stayed in one position for too long. The meagre relief of a covert stretch and a large mochachino would make up for the pleasant yet melancholic weekend with Rose, Harvey and Timmy.

She ordered, paid and moved to the right as she felt a pinch at the top of her right hamstring. Bette winced but kept moving. These days, she worried about becoming a miscellany of aches over being alone.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling; she told Rose whilst they watched Harvey and Timmy play catch in the garden. The last embers of the barbecue glowed slowly whilst plates sat there, heaped with wilted salad leaves and ragged lumps of meat and fat commas of condiments. It was a problem for tomorrow, as Bette and Rose sat there, finishing the last of the Pimms, holding court on Bette being single.

She heard her name being called as she blinked with surprise. As she took her drink out to the car, a removal van pulled out of the parking lot. Her house was perfect, she decided, but the terrible allure of change was inviting in its awfulness.

Bette saw her phone sparkling with notifications. A dating app which was attempting to get her interacting with it again, reminding her of all the single men she was missing out on. She stopped, cleared the notifications and deleted the app. There were dates, but they were half-lived experiences, boys wanting to be men and even then wanting to be a sibling over a parent. No one she thought to bring home. She put her phone away, lifted the lid of her cup and blew across the surface. Her eyes blurred and she knuckled the tears away, told herself she was tired and her back hurt from the drive. Endless piggybacks for Auntie Bette with Timmy.

2.

The removal van was next door. Katie and Phil had moved back to her parents in Arizona. They had been pleasant but self-obsessed people, and although they tried to be friends, it was awkward and they gave up.

Bette recalled Phil’s hungry eyes when she mowed the front lawn in a bikini top and cut-offs. Katie catching him doing it, how she bent over like she had a slight stomach cramp and a wounded, informed look in her eye which Bette wondered was the motive for the move away.

Bette sucked down the last of the mochachino, which was too thick to do much with beyond sucking it through her teeth. A voodoo logic made her believe the sugar and caffeine would do something for her headache, but all she tasted was the granular bitterness of the coffee grounds and the metallic tang of the pain which had travelled up to do Feng Shui in her head.

‘Hey.’

He walked towards her, hand raised in greeting as he grinned at her. The smile was open, gregarious in a way which made something shift in her chest just as she realised she was meeting him with a headache and teeth stained with mochachino.

Her attention went to the pair of massive dogs walking with him, to heel, a jet black mastiff with a blunt, shark’s muzzle and a lean, lupine Shepherd with its tongue flapping from its mouth but with eyes alert for a challenge. Her head throbbed as she returned her attention to the man.

A wash of grey flooded over her vision as the heat of the day weighed down on her, and judging his black t-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, it had left its mark on him too. He had wraparound sunglasses on, and a shaved head gleaming with oil. As he came closer, she saw the glitter of close-shaved blonde beard and his Roman nose, red with a tinge of sunburn.

Rose would have run inside and locked the door. Said he looked like a serial killer. Bette would have pointed out most serial killers looked like Phil or Harvey, her husband. She watched the flare of his quads against his dirty jeans and his battered but polished boots.

Bette swept her tongue over her teeth, almost gagged against the bitterness as her head throbbed with pain. She swallowed the mess over spitting in front of him.

And you wonder why you’re still single, she thought, as she gulped it down.

‘Hi,’ she said.

Her voice sounded faint to her ears.

‘Ma’am, thought I should introduce myself, seeing as we will be neighbours. I’m Jack,’ he gestured to the dogs either side of him,’This is Thorne and Rose.’

Bette snickered and got a fresh, disorientating burst of pain which whipped around her skull. The honeyed drawl of his accent intrigued her and when he took off his shades, she peered through the haze of pain, into a pair of piercing grey eyes. His smile flickered with concern.

‘Bette,’ she said.

He repeated her name, testing its pronunciation.

‘Well, it’s good to meet you. Thought I’d get the dogs to say hi. They’re obedient dogs, though, but didn’t want you to worry,’ he said.

She tried to smile, but her head was leaden and tight with pain. A sharp pain started at the nape and she staggered like something had stung her. Another wave of grey washed over her and took everything with it.

3.

A nail is in my forehead, she thought, judging by the pain Bette felt as she came to. The skirting boards needed a good dusting as her vision came into focus.

‘Stay still’ Jack said.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, tasted the granules of coffee and dislodged one was between her front teeth. She sighed and rubbed her face.

‘Would you help me up?’ she said.

He smelled of salt and leather as his hand cupped the back of her head and she put some tentative weight on her left hand to support herself.

‘I’ve got you, just breathe,’ he said.

She sat up by degrees, at a pace which felt glacial, but Jack stayed with her. Sitting upright helped and the pressure in her back and neck had gone. Bette gasped with relief as Ben stood up and looked down at her.

‘Thank you, Jack. I hope this isn’t an omen of our being neighbours,’ she said.

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Nothing to it. Is there anyone I can call?’ he said.

She had slept on a couch at her sisters and the lengthy drive hadn’t helped. Bette went on, despite the pain and exhaustion which had dogged her steps since she left Rose. Jack helped her to her feet and she enjoyed holding onto his thick, vascular forearm. He lifted her with no effort.

She bumped into his chest, but he did not flinch. He chuckled before he stepped backwards. Bette looked into his eyes and fought the uncoiling warmth which started in the seat of her pelvis.

‘Are the dogs here?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘No, they went back outside.’

He glanced outside, squinting against the late afternoon sun. Bette enjoyed the mingling alleviation of her pain and the tentative stabs of arousal Jack evoked with a gesture. She thanked him and said she would see him later.

‘I look forward to it,’ he said.

Bette watched him walk back to his house, his thick arms swinging by his sides as he strode back.

She ran a bath, hot and caked with Epsom salts. These were the points she enjoyed being alone, but when she closed her eyes, the profile of Jack as he looked outside came to her attention and rose gooseflesh as it insinuated itself into her attentions.

It was dark when she awoke, and the water was lukewarm. She got out of the tub, feeling clean and refreshed. Her stomach growled with hunger and she went with the adolescent impulse to order a pizza.

Bette brushed her teeth, then ordered the pie and made tea. The thought of coffee made her nauseous, and she was appreciating the fragile pleasure of feeling well again.

She was watching television when the doorbell rang.

Jack had changed into a clean t-shirt and jeans. His skin smelled of coal tar soap , masculine and warm.

‘I thought I’d look in on you,’ he said.

Bette flushed and considered the pyjamas and robe she had on.

‘Thank you. More embarrassed than anything serious. I was lucky you were here,’ she said.

He smiled.

‘I’m just glad you’re on your feet,’ he said.

Bette grinned and asked him if the dogs were here. He shook his head but she made a play of peeking past his shoulder.

‘I’ve got pizza coming, it’ll be too much for me to eat alone, so do you want to come in, and erm, have some?’

Jack’s smile widened into a grin which made the muscles in her thighs flutter.

‘Sure, I settled the dogs in for the night,’ he said.

Bette tittered and opened the door, asked him if he wanted a drink. Water was fine, and she remembered how she hadn’t cleaned up since before she left to go to Rose’s house.

‘Sorry about the mess. I don’t have the excuse of saying I’ve moved in,’ she said.

He chuckled as he sat down on the couch.

‘I don’t have a lot of stuff, so it’s easy to keep neat,’ he said.

They chatted as she boiled the kettle for a fresh cup of tea. He came from the Ozarks via a stint in the USMC, a tour of Afghanistan as a dog handler, working with a Belgian Malinois. Bette remembered the mastiff and smiled.

‘She’s your war buddy, that’s beautiful.

‘What about the Shepherd?’’

Jack’s eyes glanced downwards.

‘He was my buddy’s. Stayed in after I did my last tour, got taken out and so I applied to take his dog on,’ he said.

Bette swallowed, touched by the quiet way he shared this part of himself with her. She spoke, but the whistle of the kettle made her get up and make tea.

When she returned, he stood up, looking at her bookshelves. She leaned towards thrillers and true crime, and reference material for work, but he was scanning the spines with open interest.

‘Did you ever hear the John Waters quote?’ Bette said.

Her voice sounded pitched and nervous to her ears, but he smiled and looked at her as he shook his head.

‘If you go home with someone and they don’t have books on their shelves, don’t fuck them,’ she said.

Jack stared at her, hard and unflinching for a moment, which made her throat close before his facade cracked and he chuckled, putting his hand over his mouth as he closed his eyes with delight. Bette’s relief made her join in a moment later as she came towards him.

Hack’s chuckle was rough and deep, as they moved towards one another. Bette set her cup down on the coffee table as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

They stared at one another, and Bette felt every inch of skin poised for something when he moved his face towards her, a hand raising with care to cup her cheek. She whimpered as he brushed them over hers, tentative and sweet as they closed her eyes.

Which was when the doorbell rang.

Jack folded his arms and chuckled as Bette swore under her breath and went to collect the pizza.

She took the box and gave the driver a ten-dollar tip to get him away without offending him. When she went back, Jack stood there with his hands by his sides.

‘I hope it didn’t get weird,’ he said.

She set the pizza box on the table and stood up.

‘I’m in my pyjamas and I’ve already passed out in front of you. Weird was two stops ago,’ she said.

He bought his hand to her cheek again as she gazed at him. A slight whimper escaped her lips as he ran his tongue over his lips. They moved towards one another, giving in to the tension between them.

They bumped noses and chins at first, kissing in orchestral stabs as they found accommodation with one another. Bette put his hands on her breasts through her pyjama top as she guided him to the couch. The silence and song had been wonderful, but an older part of her was in charge here.

It was hungry.

Jack pulled off his t-shirt and Bette sighed at the hard plates of muscle, the golden curls of hair on his chest and stomach and the tattoos on his upper arms. There were some pitted scars across his chest, flecks of white against his honeyed skin.

He took off his shoes and socks, then knelt before her on the couch. Lust made some men clumsy, but Jack descended to her like a wild, primal angel and she welcomed him.

Bette surrendered to his slow hands. He squeezed her ass, her hips and breasts with a firm, hungry and appreciative touch which made her moan against his mouth. She wrapped her lips around his tongue and suckled, which made him groan with pleasure. They wrestled like tide and shore, a muted crash of beautiful violence and all of it made in a spirit of honeyed, wild awareness.

Bette awoke to each caress, a rough magic which fed her hunger for touch even as it expanded to demand more of him.

His mouth kissed down her neck and a need to show him more of her raged through her as she pushed herself against him, stroking him as his washcloth tongue painted the canvas of her skin.

She slipped down the couch as Jack moved back onto his heels, straddling her as he unbuttoned her top and smoothed it from her shoulders. He grinned at her before he resumed exploring her chest with his lips and tongue. She tugged down her pyjama bottoms, grateful for having had a bath as his lips painted mandalas against her breasts. She went to speak, but he took one of her aching nipples in his mouth and suckled on it which made her moan with pleasure.

The suckling ache dived downwards and his mouth moved to suckle her other nipple. She kicked her pyjama bottoms off as he parted her thighs and moved between her quivering thighs, kissing the soft planes of her stomach. Each kiss was electric, making her moan soft vowel sounds into the night air like music.

Jack crouched between her open thighs and smiled, murmuring with appreciation.

Bette touched his face, drunk with appreciation as he dipped downwards, slipping his hands under her buttocks to take a grip as he licked between her labia in one delicious stroke which went all the way to the top of her head. She shuddered, relaxing into the febrile waves of joy his tongue unleashed within her.

His tongue danced against her tender flesh, vertical and horizontal strokes grazing fresh stars into her sky. When he rested the tip of his index finger at her pussy, she felt an insistent flood of arousal.

Bette fell back against the couch as she shuddered with wonder. Jack’s fingers splayed over the cradle of her pelvis as he pressed his tongue against her clit and suckled. She exploded after an eternal, perfect moment.

All she was went upwards and outwards, like a firework before returning to herself, familiar and alien with potential and sensation. Jack came up, his lips shining with her juices and she reached out, undoing his jeans as she reached for his cock. A moment of friction passed and he was inside her, pumping and urgent as she clutched him close and felt him tighten up within her. The raging burst of his release made her come again with him, breathing hard and wrapped around him as she cried out before they collapsed together, a damp tangle of limbs and sighs.

They laid there, waiting until they could speak again. He raised himself on his elbows and stroked her face. She smelled the faint mineral scent of herself on his fingers as she looked at him.

‘Hey neighbour,’ she said.

He smiled and looked towards the pizza box, raising an eyebrow. She grinned and pulled it towards them.

‘God yes, you read my mind,’ she said.

She stopped, realising she wasn’t in any pain. All the aches wiped clean and whatever recent ones , they were the kind which made a life with people in it palatable, even pleasurable.

The evening went on.

As the days passed, they walked his dogs and found quiet accommodation with one another. She still had her mornings with the birds, but she never lacked for company.

Categories
beauty desire dominance emotion empowerment erotic writing erotica experience fiction hunger love lust passion pleasure seduction sensuality sex sexuality short fiction Uncategorized women writing

An Afternoon’s Appointment (NSFW)

You arrive at 1500, on the dot. You let yourself in, wearing the uniform as discussed, woefully impractical for the task but that is part of the appeal. He sits at the table, working on a legal pad, dressed in a crisp white shirt and jeans, faded to white at the knees, snug and broken in as a mother’s nipple. His feet are bare and he writes without looking up.

You do the dishes, picking up the mug he takes his morning coffee in. Your hands are wet and you watch him. His expression of determined focus makes your desire take wing, it’s feathers tickling as it travels up your spine. He does not acknowledge your presence, although he is unfailing in his manners with you. You are watching him when you lose control of the handle and the cup drops from your wet fingers.

His chocolate brown eyes spark with interest and you blush, apologising and shaking your head. He sets his pencil down onto the pad and asks you to come over to him.

Your knees are hollow, and your thoughts lose coherence in a rush of anticipation. It is a game, and also utterly, ridiculously real to you this is. You’re apologising until the words are a babble and he smiles, indulging you. He raises his hand and you stop.

‘Sit down.’

You pull out a chair and he shakes his head. He pats his left thigh and meets your gaze. You frown and he tells you to sit on his knee. You bite your lip to hide your nervous smile and perch down. The denim of his jeans is warm against the backs of your thighs and you perch carefully on his knee.

‘I’m just nervous around you, I will be more careful next time.’

He gazes into your eyes and you feel your heart thump hard as his hand rests on your knee.

‘You’re not telling me everything.’

You swallow and run your tongue over your lips.

‘You. You really distract me, sir.’

He asks you to clarify how. You worry at the collar of the dress, flushed with the heat excited and terrified by the impending confession.

‘I think you…sorry, it’s difficult to say out loud.’

He pats you on the knee and smiles at you. His patience is a strength and he observes you.

‘Try me.’

You suck in a deep breath and tell him. The words are clumsy, but the need behind them lends them a weight and a velocity that forces them up from the bone cage you keep them in.

‘I think about you punishing me.’

He gives a small nod and asks you to lie on your front across his lap. The hem of the uniform rests above your thighs when you’re stood, and now with your buttocks exposed, you feel a tingle of self-consciousness but the mingling of anticipation and release is louder.

He tugs down your underwear to your knees. The humiliation is delicious, a warring whirligig of shame and delight. You used to fear the need, how it dogged your steps, insinuated itself and fed on your shame, a vampiric urge until you opened the windows on your dream house and killed it with the sunlight of acknowledgment.

The rough power of his palm stings hard enough to make you arch your back and you curl your lips. You arch your back to ease the building pressure in your pelvis and thighs, raising your buttocks to the promise of the cleansing, bright sting. You take it like an obedient girl, and it softens you, allows you to feel with a clarity that brings tears to your eyes faster than the pain could. He is firm and thorough, varying the tempo and depth of his blows. The pain takes hold, smoothed into a floating, ethereal state of detachment. When he parts your legs and strokes you with the tip of his index finger, your pussy sucks him in, drenched and oily with arousal.

He withdraws his finger and smacks you there. The tender ripeness of your arousal adds a layer of sensation that makes your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips. You endure his punishment, but it is as much a celebration, a tunnel dug from the prison of repression and shame. When he alternates between precise blows and a delicate, focused circling motion of his fingers, it is an inexorable force that holds you in its jaws; you are so much damp skin and coiling, electric need.

Your orgasms vary in tempo and intensity. At first they are like sneezes, temporary bursts of relief, but as he continues to move between blows and strokes, they become primal, religious in their intensity. You weep with the force of them and it is a struggle to recall your own name.

He strokes your damp hair from your face, kisses you lightly on the cheek. He tells you he loves you, and that the game is over, for now. There is time enough for you to crawl up into his arms and he holds you tight as you finish weeping. You kiss his neck and cheek with gratitude and he chuckles where your wet lips tickle him.

You ask how the writing is going and he tells you he’s not been able to think straight, thinking about you.