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The Cozy Spot

5 posts categorized "girl-girl"

March 30, 2008

Naked Lunch

This is a story I wrote a little while back. It's an erotic girl-girl story.

Naked Lunch

‘You haven’t shown up lately,’ the husky voice, a product of winter and perhaps a few too many cigarettes, lunged at me. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes flick toward me within the small lecture hall. The few seconds that it took, for me to look at Dr Jansen, felt like hours. Her green eyes blazed like perfectly cut gems. I opened my mouth to speak, and a minute squeak erupted from my larynx.
‘I’ve been…’ my face prickled.
I covered for someone at work…
My bus was late…
I had a doctor’s appointment…

Each rehearsed lie fluttered inside my head at the frequency of an agitated pigeon repeatedly slamming against a windowpane.
I slept in after cramming for examination she was about to hand out. She gathered the small pile of papers and stepped forward. Her black culottes loosely draped her curved thighs, and danced to her every step.
‘Take one and pass the rest along,’ she instructed. My fingers gripped the papers while my mind tried to resurrect all the organic compounds I tried to memorize. Each molecule, bond and element, fragmented when her eyes briefly met mine. The three hours that followed saw me with my head down, scribbling answers to questions that barely had meaning. Dr Jansen uncannily structured the examination, leaving little room for us to check our answers. My heart galloped within my chest as the minutes bore down.

Continue reading "Naked Lunch " »

October 14, 2006

Scenes - 'Splendor in the Grass'

I'm going to cross post this post into Scenes, to get the ball going, it's no reflection on my preferred style or anything like that. It's just a scene.

Splendor in the Grass
We lie on the grass sharing thoughts, her and I, and her voice lowers a notch, in the manner it does just before she reveals another piece of herself.
Of course, I know. I can see it in her eyes, and sometimes I smell it on her skin.
Her compact, curved body can stop traffic whereas I….
I can’t stop looking at her, particularly when we window shop and she brazenly grips my arm, pulling me into a boutique. She eyes clothing she’ll never dare wear in public, it’s against her religion. We walk toward the fitting rooms, and I wait, like a salivating male.
She tells me she’s ready, opens the door and my eyes lock onto her lower body. Leather covers her from the waist down, she parts her legs and asks me how they look, turns and inspects her ass in the mirror.
‘I’d like these,’ she says, clearly happy with their feel, or caress, against her cinnamon skin.
She won’t buy them, even though I urge her to take the risk.
‘They look fucking great,’ she’d surely have to be insane, or maybe I’m insane for I can clearly see myself peeling away the second skin on my journey toward her center.
Her eyes toyed with mine in the fitting room as they do now, and she aims each question at me. Her mouth is like a sensual gun filled with bullets of possibility.
My fingers pluck away at blades of grass, and she turns on her side, ‘Why bother with men when women relate more with other women?’
I laugh, and offer humor instead, I’m a pure hypocrite and she possibly knows it even though she humors me, my excuses for being tired and allows me to close my eyes, to take a twenty-minute nap just before our lunch hour ends.

She has no idea; her mind couldn’t comprehend the depth.
Within my mind’s eye, she lies naked, like a sacrificial lamb on the altar of my lust. My hand roughly parts her thighs, and I tell her to reveal her needs, only for her to blush and gulp down her saliva. I pinch her left inner thigh, and sure enough, her lips part and she eyes me with confusion. Her deep, brown nipples stiffen. She’s always waited for this moment.

‘I need to hear what you want.’
My rumbling desire gallops within my chest, and this tunes my cunt to a frequency I’d never before known until now. She’s already wet; my palm cups her sex and massages it with thorough up and down strokes, while my eyes lock onto her face. Her tongue lightly licks her upper lip, and her hands creep toward her cunt, parting it to give me all access. Dialogue is unnecessary; I can’t speak but my two fingers slide into her sodden pussy, and jar her to new level. She sings, humming with each stroke. She may be aware, as is her cunt, but I remind her, as I drive my fingers in deep, that I’m fucking her and furthermore, I can keep on screwing her.
‘It’s not like a cock that’ll give out….’ I grunt along the moistened path, and twist my fingers inside, needing to get deeper within her crimson walls. I need to drink, and tell her so. She’s so compliant, so easy, that I quell the urge to slap her. I wonder how she’d react if I…
‘I told you it’d be good… don’t stop fucking me,’ she says, panting away as my wet fingers dig into her right breast. A shrill moan departs her throat and flutters into the air as my lips crowd her clitoris, and her pussy squeezes against my…

If I slide my thumb inside, work it in slowly, maybe I’d work my hand fully inside for her to reach the extra stretchy mile. I swallow her arousal, suckling on her magic, wet button, a button that I pressed. Her engorged labia splay apart, and glisten in sun as while hand nestles within her slippery, hot tunnel to fill her to the brim, and squeeze out every drop of her sweet syrup.

‘It feels so good…’ she says, waking me from my momentary lapse of lust, ‘I can lie in the sun all day.’ Her eyes search the sky, and she nods at her wristwatch, confirming that lunch is over.

‘You had a good nap?’ she rises onto her knees, and has forgotten about her idea on women, with women, fucking women, until they struggle for breath.
‘It wasn’t too bad…’

May 21, 2006


Starfucker has been published before and the story below is the part 1 (but it can be read alone) of other parts that I haven't finished (hehe, I'm up to the third), and I thought I'd post it here for the first time - it's satisfied it's six months publication rights- primarily because I'm getting a bit of a cold, I'm in the middle of another story and need to get to bed before midnight :) - Ana

I sat on Marc De Marco’s stark white leather sofa, noting how its plush upholstery failed to cushion my strained neck muscles. The previous night I managed to sleep for a total of three hours, in between waking from a continual horrific nightmare that featured more sequels than Friday the 13th.

The bright morning rays trickled through the French doors of the salon as Marc, clutching a cordless handset, frantically paced up and down.

‘What do you mean? Surely, there are tables. What? Of course I’m Mister De Marco…’ he spluttered.

Shaking my head, and too sleep deprived to step in and help him along, I flicked through the LA Times.

‘This is unbelievable. Believe me your restaurant will never see the light of celebrity day ever again, asshole!’

A short blunt crack and the splintering creak of plastic sounded as I caught sight of the phone landing on the floor - on the other side of the salon.

‘Do you have to do that? That’s the fifth phone this month Marc,’ I said.

‘Don’t start. Have you packed my things?’

‘Yes,’ I barked, feeling relieved. He was embarking on his annual trip to Colorado to visit his mother, who, five years prior, took up with a younger ski instructor.

‘Did you pack the gift for mother?’


‘Did you pick up the laptop I ordered?’

‘Yes Marc! Yes!’ I snapped in winded exasperation. I dropped the Times onto the coffee table and stood, making my way to the humungous kitchen. I needed a caffeine injection, and a few Vitamin C tablets.

‘Does it have a wireless modem?’

Christ Almighty!

‘No Marc, I bought one that was on special, circa 2000,’ I said, waiting to see his response.

Hands on both hips, he stuck his chest out to make sure I saw every hair shaft.

‘Look Missy, I don’t have time for this bullshit. Did you or didn’t you?’

‘I did, now if that’s all I have to cancel your appointment this afternoon and Richard won’t be pleased. He’s been waiting for months for you to sign on,’ I said, with a sliver of frustration.

‘I told him I’d do it over the phone, I can sign when I get back,’ he replied, as his arms dangled by his slim hips.


Five hours remained until Marc De Marco flew out of the state of California for a four-day weekend.

I began masturbating over De Marco after seeing him in Crush, an independent film where he starred as the dark and mysterious David, opposite a vintage Claire L’Mer. No one in Hollywood knows her, but she starred in European film noir. In the film, he played a backpacker who turned to tricks to pay for his ride through Europe. His was the only English-speaking role. Tall, lithe and rugged of figure and face, his dark eyes not only made love to the camera, they assaulted it with a sultry edge that I couldn’t describe but it threaded within my core and unleashed itself each night as I flicked off the light and stroked my pussy.

In Crush, De Marco turned twenty-three. By the time I came across the film, some ten years later, I turned twenty, which made him a lucky thirteen years older than me. Other films followed, he catapulted to the A-list with masculine films such as, Two Men, One Woman, Mayhem, and Rebuke.

As I entered film school, and daydreamed about creating and perfecting a dynamic film script, many days were spent fantasizing over procuring De Marco as the male lead in one of my stories. After five exhaustive years, I burnt out. Rejection upon rejection, twirled like a freak show carousel. It wasn’t ‘right’ enough, not enough edge and certainly not something that convinced agents.

‘Honey, try again. Be persistent. You have to make me believe in the product,’ I’d be told by many agents, in addition to being reminded of the common ingredients for surefire blockbusters.

At twenty-five, I needed work and my rent was a month behind. As an ambitious scriptwriter, I needed or felt I needed to keep my finger on the pulse of Hollywood. I couldn’t afford to live in nice digs, so East Los Angeles solved the problem despite the random burglary or request for spare change. My dingy Spartan room livened up in the wee hours when the roaches came out to play. One day, as I was about the shuffle out of Lewis Sterling’s office, an agent I frequently harassed, he asked me how I was doing as his eyes inspected my form.

‘You look peaky, exhausted. Where are you living?’ he asked, his jowls slightly trembling with each word.

‘East,’ I said, not wanting to elaborate.

‘What other work are you doing to get by?’

‘Serving coffee at a café,’ I slowly replied my cheeks ablaze.

‘I’ve got word that a great job is opening up. Pays well and you get your own apartment plus a car,’ he said, with a fatherly smile.

‘What type of job?’ I asked, with stern skepticism. Hollywood, any part, featured various types of sleaze. One never got something for nothing. Whose dick did I have to blow, in other words?

‘Personal assistant,’ he said.


‘What a personal assistant does,’ he continued, staring straight into me.


‘Well, I can’t say as yet. It’s all a bit confidential but you’d be assisting a high profile person with their daily tasks like booking interviews, handling their correspondence, managing their domestic staff, things like that,’ said Lewis, reclining in his maroon leather swivel chair.

‘Is this legit?’

‘Of course it is!’ he happily exclaimed, ‘it pays more and you’ll live in a roach fee apartment. You’d be crazy to refuse.’


‘I know your creative schedule will be affected. Well kiddo, in this day, hungry artistes aren’t fashionable. You can get back to your scripts when you’re on an even track. The world ain’t going away you know.’

Lewis gave me a high recommendation and the rest is history. I walked into De Marco’s house, was shown around by his former assistant, a matronly female of fifty who was in the process of emigrating to England, and I nearly wet my pants the second I saw him rummage through his freezer.

‘Please don’t go Marta!’ he hollered, ‘I can’t find the camembert.’

‘I have someone I want you to meet Marc,’ she sweetly said, guiding me into the kitchen.
My chest heaved and my mouth went dry. Marc stood, towering over me, a few inches over the six-foot mark.

‘Who do we have here?’ he drawled, leaning against the door.

‘This is Kyra, she’ll be taking over.’

In the couple of minutes that drifted past, I had died and gone to heaven infinite times.

‘H-hi,’ I stuttered, extending a jittery hand.

He gripped it with gusto and squeezed it hard as he shook.

I’m touching Marc De Marco’s hand.

The thought galvanized me to the spot. It was the same tanned muscular hand that I dreamed about, as I lay on my bed stroking myself. This hand, not only caressed my shoulders, it drove itself deep within my pulsating core, probing and thrusting as it did.

Then reality clutched my throat. Marc, or De Marco, as he was known, transformed into a royal eighteen-karat pain in the ass!

At LAX, Marc wished me a happy four days.

‘Enjoy your four days because there’ll be more work when I get back,’ he stated, with a sardonic glint in his eye. I wished him a great trip and sighed after he closed the door and walked with airport security to his private Lear jet. I waited for a few moments, in case he rushed back demanding something else but he didn’t return. I took the opportunity to play my CD’s, stop at McDonalds to eat myself stupid and head back to Bel Air. I had the house, a six-bedroom double story villa, all to myself. I planned on invading the master bedroom, what Marc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and besides this he had a huge, near cinematic, television screen installed along with a three dimensional surround sound digital home theater.

The sun began to set as I breezed into the driveway and my cell phone decided to ring. Dread needled me. I hoped it wouldn’t be Marc, but as I turned my head, I saw Stacey’s number flash. Apart from being Marc’s neighbor, Stacey Van Der Horn worked in the same industry as Marc. She starred in a series of recent successes and often played the sophisticated executive or femme fatale. Rumor also had it that she, in another life, featured in a few underground adult films but this was never proven.


‘He’s gone?’

‘Hurrah,’ I cheered.

She asked me about my plans for the day. I didn’t make any plans but hoped I’d try something completely different and this I told Stacey.

‘Like rock climbing, parachuting or bungee jumping?’ she asked, before breaking out in giggles.

‘No. But some me time wouldn’t go astray,’ I said, pulling out the ignition key and stepping out of the Jaguar.

‘I’m hurt. You mean that you’re going to hole up in Marc’s house and become a hermit for four days?’

‘What else can I do? My life as a personal assistant has practically tainted my everyday life,’ I said, shortly feeling dejected. All my dates with real ordinary people failed to reach the next step. The minute a person found out my occupation, a series of questions followed.

What’s he like?

Does he really have a huge cock?

Who’s he sleeping with?

I never thought dating could be dangerous. It only takes one average person to ring up the National Enquirer and confess, ‘I dated De Marco’s assistant and she said he had a small wiener!’ I didn’t know De Marco’s intimate dimensions but if I took a guess, I’d say he was sizeable judging by the amount of times I’ve seen him preen in front of me half-naked with a towel wrapped around his hips.

‘I’ll come over; we may as well use the spa and sauna, and his bowling alley.’
I nodded to myself. I completely forgot about the bowling alley round back.

‘Say seven?’

‘I’ll be there,’ she cheerfully confirmed.

By six, I helped myself to a nice bottle of Bollinger. Marc wouldn’t miss the bottle out of the five crates he bought, and I settled on his bed. My hand found the remote control, the flat screen came alive and I began channel surfing. I kicked off my sneakers and lay on my side. The bed almost swallowed me whole. A king sized monstrosity, it reminded me of a prop on a gothic horror film. Tendrils of wrought iron made up the bed-head, which was offset by five large pillows. Marc wasn’t into gauche satin, he preferred genuine rabbit fur, which felt smooth to the touch. Although slightly revolted by the sight of the dyed black macabre spread, I was too tired to strip it off the bed.

After dismissing the first fifty channels, my ears pricked up to the sound of human pleasure and I stopped. I sat up, noticing a close up shot of a pussy and a slim long finger sliding in and out. Moist, no doubt by lubricant, it clutched the invading finger as a series of moans reverberated throughout the bedroom.

‘Fuck me like that, yeah,’ cooed the starlet

‘Oh yeah,’ her partner moaned, as her finger rapidly slid in and out of the glistening slit.

The girl climaxed and the camera panned to their full mouths. Their tongues parlayed and the scene faded out. I settled back, feeling the niggling twinge of arousal arise between my legs. A girl and guy featured in the upcoming scene. In an office, like any office, the girl returned paperwork to her boss who eyed her breasts.

‘I told you not to wear that shirt,’ he growled, running his hand through his sandy colored hair.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ she stammered, folding her arms over her ample cleavage.

‘Come here, I wanna see something,’ he ordered.

‘Oh okay,’ she submissively replied, and walked around to his side of the desk. His arms stretched out and lightly felt her chest.

‘Nice,’ he murmured.

She coyly giggled.

Their union began with a slow, succulent blowjob. She knelt, fit the girth of his penis in her mouth, and fellated him with gusto. His hands lightly held her head as his blue eyes squinted.

‘Oh fuck yeah, feels so good,’ he said, finishing off with a groan.

She got up and lifted her skirt. My hand already found the wet groove of my slit. Surprised by the sudden slick flood between my legs, my fingers easily glided up and down from my clitoris to my entrance.

Slamming into her pussy, from behind, I mimicked the move as I knelt, my jeans at my knees. I reached, under my legs and slid two fingers inside my cunt, whipping them in and out like a steady piston.

‘Ooh, oh, ooh…’ the girl panted

‘Fuck her,’ I moaned, relishing the warm juice that coated my fingers.
Keeping time, I matched my climax with theirs, sliding my fingers over my pulsating clitoris in a rough up and down fashion moaning all the while, as an electric storm erupted in my pussy and groin.

I slowly got up off the bed and made my way to the bathroom.


I couldn’t help but stare at Stacey, who sat on a stool in the gourmet kitchen wolfing down a pizza slice. Long limbed and curvaceous, she reflected the typical sun kissed beach girl compared to my klutzy unhinged just add water look. Her honey colored hair glistened, cascading in a series of waves down her waist. My mane, in comparison, was a straight mass of ebony straw that reached my shoulders. Adapting to her posed no problem. Behind the glamorous aspect of her vocation, she experienced everyday dramas such as her washing machine blowing up, stubbing her toe on the sofa and, the funniest, and breaking out in a bikini rash after signing a contract with a major cosmetic corporation that gave her a year’s supply of product - including depilatory cream.

‘Nice,’ she said, with a mouth half full.

‘Not bad,’ I agreed and washed my morsel down with a sip of Bud.

‘I was thinking…’

I nodded.

‘Let’s have a girlie night, your legs could do with a shave,’ she jeered.

‘With a man like Marc in my life, it’s a miracle I have time to wash my hair,’ I said, leaning over the kitchen counter.

‘You two have never…’

‘Done it?’ she sweetly asked, raising her right brow.

I found it amusing.

‘Are you joking?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it. He can do with some sex. He hasn’t been getting much lately,’ she said, placing her pizza crust on her plate.

‘Do tell me oh Oracle, how do you know these things?’

‘I can tell,’ she winked.

‘Well, it’s true. He’s more addicted to Internet cam girls and porno babes than the real thing,’ I said, not caring about the revelation. It wasn’t as though Stacey would ring up the Enquirer. Which male wasn’t enthralled by virtual pussy? It didn’t present anything new to the modern table of sexuality.

‘What about you?’ she asked, leaning slightly forward.

‘The last time was…Hey, I don’t remember!’ I jovially exclaimed.

She smiled and grabbed my hand.

‘Come on, we’d better start. I brought some cool face masks,’ she confirmed, signaling her overnight bag.

‘Oh no you don’t, not after your bikini horror,’ I said.

‘Relax, I’ve tried them. They’re all right. I’ve got a strawberry face peel and an Avocado hydrating mask, which I think will suit you,’ she said, peering into my face.
We trudged up the stairs and entered the ample, slightly opulent bathroom that featured an eight person Jacuzzi.


I retrieved a couple of bathrobes for us and reentered the bathroom to find Stacey naked. Startled, and breathless with the realization that I viewed something the public hungered to see, I calmly walked to her and handed her the robe.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she said, donning it without tying it.

Gulping, my eyes briefly scanned her breasts. Each mound sat, teardrop shaped, evenly and her two tan nipples slightly protruded.

‘Are they real?’
‘Of course they’re real,’ she replied, ‘everyone asks me that when I have my clothes…on.’

The events of the afternoon, on Marc’s bed, perked up my overall mood. As my eyes traveled south, I further noticed a small tuft of light brown pubic hair. Her pink clitoris peeked out of her slightly parted smooth labia.

We waited for the Jacuzzi to fill as we smeared the creamy masks on our faces.

‘You look like Mrs.Doubtfire,’ I said, which she didn’t. Even a facemask couldn’t obscure her radiance or her fine bone structure.

She laughed, nodding.

‘I did overdo it a bit, I think I used half the tube…’

I watched her disrobe and slip into the warm water.

‘Come on, it’ll get cold,’ she said, as her hands waded through the water.
Inwardly cringing, only because I didn’t have time to have sex, let alone climb a Stairmaster, I slowly stepped out of my robe and quickly slipped in, my ass hitting the porcelain with a slight thud.

‘Are yours real?’

‘Are you kidding?’

Without any warning, she leaned forward and squeezed my left breast.


‘What?’ she said, breaking out into a broad smile.

Her fingers softly clawed around my breast.

‘Looks like you’ve got real boobies too!’ she said with a baby voice.

‘I don’t need an enlargement, well… neither do you, but..’


She leaned back and closed her eyes.

‘I love it when I have time to unwind and relax,’ she murmured.

‘I’ll second that,’ I said, soaping up a soft nylon loofah.

‘I can’t believe you two haven’t done it. He’s mad to resist,’ she said, opening her eyes.

Stacey bit her bottom lip as her eyes traveled over my chest.

‘Maybe he prefers men…’ the thought didn’t surprise me.

‘No, he’s straight. I know this for a fact,’ she said, sitting up.

‘Something you’re not telling me?’

Stacey’s account of her interlude with Marc whet my appetite. She, at length, described his anatomy and my thoughts drifted off at short intervals trying to envision walking around the house naked, flaunting his nine inch member. Their relationship reached its end when Stacey couldn’t give him the commitment he sought, there were no hard feelings and their A-list life continued - Stacey's, with an array of lovers and Marc's, with a succession of virtual women.

Relieved that the water camouflaged my throbbing pussy, and its rising moisture, I began soaping my shoulders.

‘Well, that’s interesting Stacey…’

‘Come here, I’ll soap your back…’

My hand stopped the second her suggestion left her lips.

If I stopped to think of it, no one scrubbed my back. Sad, true and the resultant of living a largely single life. I felt her flesh against my back. My buttocks snugly sat between her parted legs and I willed myself to think of other mundane things, like washing the Jag.

‘You’re so tense,’ she murmured, as her hand pressed the nylon puff against my right shoulder.

Her casual scrub merged into a steady, smooth massage.

‘That feels great…’ I whispered, feeling the stress being kneaded away.

‘You’ve got a knot here,’ she said, and pressed down with her thumb, making me squeal in the process.



‘It hurts.’

‘It’ll feel better after,’ she affirmed.

I hollered, moaned, grimaced and frowned as her fingers ironed out my muscular kinks. Both of her hands softly caressed my shoulders and met at the nape of my neck. Inhaling, I rotated my head in slow circles as her fingers lightly stroked the sides of my neck. It was as I registered her warm breath fanning the moist skin of my neck that my pulse raced. After sweeping my hair over my left shoulder, her lips brushed against my neck.

‘Nice,’ she softly said.

My breath almost evaporated. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t form any words.
The soft wet tip of her tongue made contact with my neck and proceeded to lick a slow upward trail. Stacey’s hips shifted forward, as did her torso. Her arms snaked under my armpits and came to rest on my breasts. In her right hand, she clutched the soaped up puff and began slowly soaping each breast.

‘It feels great, no?’

I managed to nod, trying to control my fluttering heartbeat. Feeling helpless, confusion set in. I wasn’t certain of what I could do.

‘I’m a bit nervous about this,’ I managed to say as her tongue slowly licked the curvature of my ear.

‘Think of it as a form of pampering Kyra. You’ll enjoy it. I guarantee it…’ her lips replaced her tongue, pinching my earlobe and she sighed against my ear.

‘You know, I’ve always thought of doing this with you,’ she revealed.

Under the influence of her thumbs and forefingers, my nipples responded, marbling as she slowly rolled each one in her fingers.

Tilting my head back, over her shoulder, I exhaled only to softly moan as her hand drifted to my pussy.


Her tongue ran across my top lip while her finger lightly stroked my clitoris. My mouth involuntarily opened as she tickled my bottom lip and it was then that I felt the smooth pillows of her wet lips press against mine. Stacey used her lips to clamp my bottom lip, drawing it out only to suck it. The moisture of her inner lips ignited me, the wet slide of our breasts heightening my arousal. We took turns, slowly exchanging tongues, in between merging our lips for that deep suck. It progressed to a playful labial repartee, I caught hold of her lips with mine and took turns sucking her top and bottom lips.

‘You’re good,’ she said, licking her lips. Her hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them in unison, ‘Oh mmm, nice,’ she smiled, sliding her nipples over mine. The sight of her pert nipples ruptured my initial trepidation.

I raised my right hand out of the water and slowly stroked the nipple of her left breast with my back of my fingers.

‘Oh no, it’s all about you tonight,’ she murmured, and rose up from the Jacuzzi. Her body dripped onto the tiles, where she stood waiting for me before making her way to the master bedroom.

With my heart in my throat, my pussy aflame, I followed her into the room and found her lying sitting on the center of the bed. I was all thumbs, haphazardly toying her breasts as I sat. Her lips covered mine and her tongue lingered inside my mouth. She slowly pushed
me back onto the pillows and caressed my torso with her fingers.

‘How does it feel?’ she asked, stopping at my breasts, brushing my left nipple with her thumb.


Her tongue snaked out, she bent her head downward and I shut my eyes, appreciating her moist tongue roaming, tasting my nipple. Relaxed, dreamy and a quarter skeptical, I opened my eyes and saw her tongue lapping my nipple.

‘Mmm,’ she opened her open and her mouth engulfed my flesh, leaving me breathless before moving onto my right.

My lumbar region arched, thrusting my chest upward.

‘G-god…’ I moaned, sensing a moist deluge between my legs.

‘Let’s see…’

I felt her middle finger slowly enter my slit and stop just above my hole, in the soft smooth region under my clitoris. Slowly, with care and precision, her finger massaged my clitoris in a circular motion. Her tongue met mine as she altered the stroke. As a direct response to her caresses, I parted my legs only for Stacey’s finger to find my simmering entrance.

‘You’re hot and wet,’ she whispered, as her finger slid inside me. She took her time, using it as a small cock to thrust in and out, ‘so wet…’

My hips rocked of their own accord, meeting and greeting her finger with warm hospitality.

‘Finger me,’ I said, in a hoarse whisper. Hot needles prickled my cunt.

Groaning, as she exited, her hand slathered my warm juice over my vulva.Her eyes closed, as her hand palmed my entire vulva and rubbed it whole.

‘I want your pussy,’ she softly said, moaning as her fingers re-entered my drenched hole.

My thighs twitched as she slid southward.

On her knees, she eyed my pussy, evaluating the situation.

‘Raise your hips,’ she instructed, then planting two pillows under my ass.

Smiling, she went to work, slowly licking my outer folds. My knees reacted, closing in on her.

‘Take a deep breath,’ she said, poking her head upward.

Her fingers parted my labia.

‘So pink, ripe and…’

I bit my lip as hers brushed against my labia. I then felt her warm tongue skittle about, loose and carefree all around my inner wet labia. Her head began to bob as she lapped with long strokes of her tongue.

Raising her mouth over my pussy, she spread my wet pussy lips apart and gazed at my exposed cunt.

Silver strands of her saliva flowed onto my clitoris, followed by Stacey’s tongue which teased, flicked and rolled the hot budding bundle any which way. Her smooth gliding tongue slowly ignited, darting in and out of my pussy. As she thrust her tongue in and out, I could see the muscles in her jaw tense. Bucking, clutching the bedspread underneath, her hands reached under and cupped my buttocks, thrusting my cunt into her face. Her lips seized my clitoris, repeatedly tugging it as my hot surging, and formerly dormant, libido surfaced and I wailed, rubbing her face with my pussy.

‘G-god…’ my hips continued to buck as the inner walls of my pussy practically slammed together from the contractions of the climax.

Uncertain, my eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Stacey’s slumbering form on my left. It wasn’t a dream and this magnified as I ran my hand over my tender pussy, which experienced a fully loaded Stacey. Her strap on dildo filled my cunt in a variety of positions after the oral entrée of her tongue. Exhausted, I barely returned the favor, she didn’t permit it. We had plenty of time to explore, she said and I fell asleep with my right leg hooked over hers.

She abruptly turned over and opened her eyes, startling me.

‘Ooh,’ she murmured, pressing her pelvis against mine.

‘Morning,’ I said, smiling.

We rolled into an implicit lingering kiss that became moister as our tongues explored our oral crevices. Deeper, faster, she plunged her tongue into my mouth, voraciously plundering it. Brazen, after the previous night, I squeezed her breast.

‘I wanna taste you,’ I stated, ‘Get up,’

Grinning with lust, she planted her knees on either side of my head.

I slowly pulled her thong to one side as she knelt over me. The sweet musk scent of her sex caressed my face and my free hand took its time, my fingers caressing her waist, hips and stomach.

The room, bathed with the iridescent glow of a rising sun, remained quiet with the exception of her even breath. On my back, I lightly fingered her pussy, running my index finger up and down her slit without disturbing her inner labia or clitoris. Her palms spread against the wall behind me, her stomach inflated and deflated as she silently breathed in and out.

Slowly, I blindly delved into her folds, closing my eyes and absorbing her smooth moist texture. She softly moaned, telling me how good it felt before returning to her silence. The nub of her clitoris was yet to bloom but further down, her hole began to dampen. My hands wrapped around her buttocks, tugging her toward me and I slowly extended the tip of my tongue, softly sliding it over her vulva, wetting her with my saliva. The tip of my tongue slowly played with her clit, tipping it, flicking it, taking a break, and starting again. Her warmth increased, as did her juice. Inhaling, I took my time, licking the length of her pussy, allowing the smell of sex to wash over me. My teeth grazed her right inner thigh, and my lips sucked at her flesh, causing her to depart with a series of moans and a suggestion for me to lick her cunt. I did the opposite, clamping on the tender skin of her left inner thigh and slowly, to enjoy the wet slide, slid my middle finger inside her.

A slow grind, her hips slowly danced with the slow in and out rhythm of my finger. My eyes opened at intervals to take mental snapshots of her pink wet pussy, its parted inner labia and her equally pink clit that began to peek out of its hood. I couldn’t help but moan as my finger delved deeper, exiting and upon exit releasing more of her hot sweet juice.

My thighs, squeezed tightly together, amplified my own budding arousal.

Warm, husky moans unraveled from the confines of her belly as I filled her creamy aperture with two fingers.

Her ‘ahh’s’ merged with a series of ‘oh’s’ as my tongue fluidly ran up and down her moist slit. All the while, my own thunder began to rumble. Snug within the confines of my labia, my clitoris reacted to her gyrations and slippery heat.

Unfurled, my tongue skated over her clitoris, greasing it with copious wet strands of saliva that merged with the viscous honey of her cunt. She bucked, her eyes locked onto mine and her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she rode my mouth.

‘Suck it,’ she murmured, gyrating her hips.

The rampant pulsations within my womb created an unstoppable wave.

‘Eat me..’

Lapping, licking and slurping away at her bare clitoris, I drowned my fingers into her hot cave and my ears registered the wet smack of her juice as my soaked fingers fervently plunged in and out of her slick canal, undoing her initial calm.

One tight squeeze of my thighs, and my own clitoris exploded, sending aftershocks to my labia, thighs and the wet inner walls of my pussy. Shuddering, my head shook against her slick vulva as my lips hermetically sealed her throbbing clitoris.

A low groan escaped her as she feverishly thrust against my mouth and I drank in every drop of her hot juice at the peak of her climax. Writhing against my mouth, she slid back onto her hands.

‘Fuck that’s so good,’ she moaned, ‘I want more.. Yeah..’ My tongue glided over her warm slick folds, enjoying each drop of her.

‘I let you out of my sight for one day, and wow golly gee!’

Stacey and I froze.

‘Yeah, I’m back, don’t knock yourselves out to welcome me home…’

‘Oh, Hi Marc!’ Stacey chirped, her eyes frowning.

‘There are five other bedrooms in this modest home and here you both are licking pussy in my room, out of all rooms…’ he said, with cold calmness.

Shell-shocked, I remained silent, Stacey’s hips and cunt providing a great hideaway.

‘Oh Kyra… Kyra?’

‘Oh shut up Marc!’ Stacey snapped.

‘Kyra! I say, you lick well…’

I looked up to see his fiery ebony eyes rivet mine.

‘I liked that so much,’ he murmured.

The second wind of ire rushed through me, serving me a hot dose of sarcasm.

‘It’s a change from the virtual pussy you’re accustomed to…’

‘That’s fine,’ he purred, and strode toward the door, locking it with one click.

‘What are you doing?’

He flicked his wrist and eyed his fingernails.

‘I want to see an encore,’ he said, his eyes darting from Stacey to me.

‘Why are you back?’ I interjected as Stacey sat cross legged next to me.

‘Well, as stupid as it sounds I returned because I thought you might like a few days away in Colorado but it appears you prefer other things, things I have a fondness for I may add…’ he said, rubbing the growing bulge in his jeans.

January 11, 2006

The Good Girl

t goes without saying, in order to look the part so as to snare the apple of one’s eye or radiate appeal, one needs to purchase the right attire. Money here, money there and while one doesn’t have to be a millionaire, one does need a decent pair of shoes, nice lingerie and these things, feature their own price tags.
As I pondered these things, the fluorescent lights illuminated the afternoon batch of homemakers making their way into the manchester aisle. K-Mart, a fun workplace most times, provided a modest income and a great conversation starter and my cousin Joanne‘s kitchen tea. Barry Manilow confessed that he couldn’t smile without me over the speakers and the shoppers continued. I walked through the aisles, picked up towels that toddlers discarded on the floor, tidied up sheets and kept an eye out for potential shoplifters.
Mild, helpful and quiet. These three words summed me up and passersby, each shopper, regarded me with the same nonchalance they offered the checkout operators.
‘How are you today,’ said the operator for the billionth time, possibly resurrecting the juicy details of the previous night’s shenanigans - if there were any.
‘Good, you?’ replied the shopper, with a monotonous tone that translated to, ‘Just scan this shit, I want to go and grab a coffee at Starbucks before the kids finish school.’
The shift gradually ends and I change into my civvies.
Three hours are spent sweating in the gym, then it’s home to say hello to the housemates, take a bath and possibly get reacquainted with myself.
The day job satisfied my friends, many of whom shared the journey through elementary and high school. They didn’t mind the job, I didn’t mind it either but it became a stickling point whenever I turned up at blind dates.
‘Oh he’s a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer…’ my friends exclaimed.
I’d attend these dates, mere smudges in time and place, and ultimately return, alone, to my comfortable surroundings.
‘What do you do?’ they’d purr, in their masculine voices.
‘I work in K-Mart,’ I’d say, and it presents a facet of truth - one facet among many in the iced fiery stone that is me.
A perverted bitch, I got a kick out of their shock and it’s always so much sweeter after they’ve placed the food order with the waiter. It gets pricey in five star restaurants. Each date nods and smiles, their eyes glimmer with frustration. I can picture my friend Cynthia telling them I work in a boutique or as a store representative prior and their infernal ire once the truth emerges.
‘Perplexed, she struggles to comprehend why each blind date fails to get to third base with me. I’m such a prize, healthy and exercised. According to Cynthia, they’re all fruit loops when the reality is that they cannot stomach the idea of being with someone beneath them unless it’s beneath their supposedly manly chest and throbbing cock for the night.


‘You will write it one hundred times on the blackboard Joseph…’
‘Yes Miss…’
He slowly walks toward the blackboard, in his grey shorts and white short sleeved shirt. His bald pate is covered with a straw hat and white knee high socks adorn his muscled calves.
‘I will not speak out of turn. One hundred times Joseph, do it!’
His hand slowly reaches out and his thumb and index finger grip a piece of yellow chalk like pincers. He presses the end of the chalk against the blackboard and it snaps in two.

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August 27, 2005

Sapphic Dreamscapes



Sigmund Freud had a lot to say about dreams but I won’t even venture that deep into the type of analyses he offered; that of dreams reflecting many other things in addition to the usual repression. And while repression was the usual theme, at times I can’t disagree. The subconscious, or what we keep down (like a god awful meal), has a habit of dredging up many images and while they may not be accurate in terms of what we’d prefer literally, their essence can reflect our likes, dislikes, thoughts and what not.
I don’t have many sexual dreams. The last one I had was a real ‘dirty’ dream. I dreamt of a distant relative and I doing the wild thing. It was perplexing at the time. Yes I did think they were attractive as a male, if we weren’t related then I would surely consider having a taste of such masculinity but I also think that our distance also contributed to the dream. We hadn’t really grown up together, the previous time I saw him I was four and I didn’t really remember. Two decades on, I was at a family barbeque and I was eyeing this delicious male, he was returning the favor and we both nearly choked on our beer when we found out we were directly related in such a way that it was impossible for us to merge our genitals at any time. In the torrid dream, we were happily cavorting on a sofa. Not the most idyllic place to fuck, but in dreams the interlude takes on a more erotic turn; sensation are more acute, realistic and yet disconnected from the real world. And yet, when a person is doing something to you in such a dream or you’re doing it to them it feels like you’re actually doing it. It’s also interesting to note that in such dreams there are no anxieties that can often surface as they do in real life.


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© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008