Twister -- #BDSM #Romance #FreeReadingFest #prizes

Image by Sunrae from Pixabay

Sally came running into the barn. The tractor was acting up again, and I was on my knees in the straw, surrounded by greasy parts.

"There's a tornado coming, Joe. Heard it just now on the North Platte radio station."

I looked her over. Her hair had half-escaped from her barrette and was floating in red-brown wisps around her ears. Her apron was damp; she must have been washing the lunch dishes. She was breathing hard from her run, ample breasts rising and falling under her print dress. I saw worry in her eyes, justifiable worry.

Twisters are no joke. When one comes roaring across the corn fields, all you can do is hide. In '96 we lost a barn and two horses, while we shivered together in the crawl space, holding each other tight and listening to the wind scream. After that, I built a proper cellar. I might not be able to save our property, but our lives were a different story.

I nodded to her, already covering the parts with a tarp and weighting it down. "Open the house windows, lock the door, and meet me in the cellar. I'll just be a few minutes." Without another word she went to follow my instructions.

Already I could feel that weird electricity in the air, that heaviness that makes it hard to draw breath. The horses were restless. I opened their stalls, so that they would have a chance if the building collapsed. They huddled nervously in the corners. Leaving the upper windows open wide to equalize the pressure, I locked the doors and headed for the bulkhead.

The sky was a sickly green. A mass of inky thunderheads sat ominously on the horizon. It was perfectly still, no hint of a breeze stirring the July afternoon, as I swung open the doors and headed down the concrete stairs.

I was mighty proud of the storm cellar. It stood some distance from the house, just east of Sally's kitchen garden. I had heard of folks who survived a twister in their cellar but who were trapped when the house collapsed on top of it. My cellar was spacious, twelve feet by fourteen, with a ceiling high enough to accomodate my six foot frame.

It was well-equipped. It had a little refrigerator (which I kept stocked with beer) that ran off a car battery, a good supply of canned goods and fresh water, a comfortable double mattress and some directors chairs, plenty of battery-powered lights and candles. Not to mention the flogging bench and the bondage frame that I had built in my spare time, and a reasonable assortment of home-crafted floggers, paddles and dildos.

Sally waited for me, sitting in one of the chairs with her hands folded in her lap. She had lit several of the candles and they cast a kind light on her weathered face. I was amazed, as always, how we changed when we entered this space together. Her practical, bossy ways slipped from her and she became hesitant and needy.

Meanwhile, my farmer's drawl faded, replaced by the arrogant, intellectual voice of my college years, when I wrote poetry and thought that I would rule the world. Those years in Lincoln, majoring in literature and bridge, had shaped me in ways I was still discovering. That was when I first read de Sade and Reage; that was when I realized the desires that filled me with shame were common and even accepted in some society.

Her eyes followed me anxiously as I ducked to avoid banging my head on the door frame and then stood tall. I was an imposing presence, I knew, especially in this confined space. It did not matter that I was wearing greasy overalls and work boots. Dominance begins in the mind.

"Stand up, Sally," I said quietly. "Remove your dress."

Immediately she moved to obey me, fluid and graceful as she pulled the cotton garment over her head. I was somewhat surprised to discover that she was naked underneath. Clearly she had made some preparations before running out to warn me about the twister. I would make the most of this.

"You are not wearing any underclothes, Sally. What a sluttish thing to do!"

She hung her head, but I knew she could tell that I was not really angry.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself, miss?"

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "Nothing."

"What? You know better than to address me improperly."

"Nothing, sir. I have no excuse, except that I thought it might please you."

It did please me. Though Sally is closer to fifty then forty, she still has a fine body, full but not flabby. Her breasts are luxurious, capped with tawny nipples big as pencil erasers. Her belly and thighs curve invitingly, and though there are streaks of gray on her head, a lively mass of pure auburn curls adorns her mound. Her legs are nicely sculpted from all the physical work she does around the farm.

"Come here, girl, and kneel in front of me." I admired her promptness in responding to this command as much as the grace with which she executed it.

"You are a nasty girl, aren't you, Sally?"

She nodded, inwardly delighted to know that I found her sexually appealing.

"You know what I do with nasty girls?"

"You punish them, sir."

"Yes, indeed I do." I reached behind me and picked up a pair of clamps from the shelf. One advantage of this enclosed space was that everything was close at hand. "Place your hands behind your head."

Almost before the words were out of my mouth, she had complied. Her position elevated her breasts, offering her gorgeous tits to my attention. I resisted the urge to sink down and suckle them. Instead, I pressed open the spring-loaded jaws of one of the clamps and positioned it around her swollen left nipple. For long moments I held it there, surrounding but not touching her delicate flesh, while she watched me anxiously. "Breathe," I murmured, finally, and let the jaws close on her.

She moaned softly as the pain shot through her body. Her eyes fluttered shut. I reached down and quickly swept one finger through her slit. She was drenched already.

"How's that, my sweet slut?" She nodded, her eyes still closed. "Can you bear more?" She nodded again. I swiftly fastened the other clamp on her right tit. She gasped, and her body slumped for a moment. Then she straightened her back, and opened her eyes, looking up at me in expectant adoration. "You look lovely, my little one." Despite the pain that I knew she was feeling, her face brightened at my praise. "I have something new for you today," I continued, "an innovation that I think you will enjoy. I copied it from something that I saw on the Internet."

I rummaged in one of the built-in drawers and came up with a harness of leather straps reminiscent of a horse's tack. "Fortunate that the weather has been so cooperative. I have been looking for an opportunity to try this out."

At my slight gesture, she rose and stood before me. Gently I removed the nipple clamps. Her flesh looked raw. I pulled each nipple in turn into my mouth, laving it with soothing saliva. Sally writhed in spite of herself, spreading her thighs in invitation.

"Still acting the slut? Turn around!" I landed a hard spank on each of her butt cheeks, and watch the pink imprint of my hand bloom. Sally was having a hard time stifling her grin. We both knew that she loved to be spanked.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. When she complied, I slipped one wide stretch of leather around each thigh, and buckled it. I had carefully lined the straps with soft felt, so that the edges would not chafe her.

"Now, hands over head." The next item was a network of leather strips about one inch wide that encased her torso. One wrapped around her chest just above her breasts, below her armpits. The other encircled her ribs just below, so that her breasts spilled over the leather. Crosswise strips, affixed every four inches or so, attached these two main straps. Two of these subsidiary pieces of leather ran between her tits, separating them nicely.

Next I fastened a broad band, also felt-lined, around her waist, suppressing my immediate desire to dabble my fingers in her moist curls. "Wrists." That was all I needed to say. She held them out to me, watching me with anxious excitement in her eyes. I snapped on the homemade cuffs (tooled leather lined with rabbit fur from our own hutch), and then clipped them together.

I stood back for a moment to admire my handiwork. Sally stood proudly, adorned in the bonds I had fashioned for her. My heart was full of love.

There were sturdy rings fixed to the thigh cuffs, waist belt, and breast band. Now I took two plastic-covered steel cables. I clipped the ends to the bands on her thighs, ran them through the rings at her waist and chest and on her cuffs. Finally, I twisted the two cables together and ran them through the pulley that I had installed in the main ceiling beam, using a heavy-duty swivel bolt.

"Are you ready?" I asked her. She nodded, her eyes wide and her lips half-open, beginning to understand how the contraption worked. I was about to begin hauling on the cables, when I had an inspiration. Why not increase her disorientation? I pulled a black silk scarf from the drawer behind me, and blindfolded her. The jet silk was, I found, a delightful contrast against her auburn hair.

"How are you?"

"Very well, sir." Without warning I reached down between her legs and sank two fingers deep into her pussy. She moaned as I pulled them out, dripping with her juices. I waved my hand just below her nose, and she opened her mouth, seeking my fingers with her tongue.

"Such a perverted little girl! You like to be tied up, you like to taste your own pussy... whatever shall I do with you?"

"Whatever you wish, sir," she answered, with complete sincerity. She did not have to answer; we both knew that she was mine, without reservation. But her offering made it doubly sweet.

I began to pull the cables through the pulley. Her arms were quickly stretched above her head. Then the bands around her thighs began to move upward. She was on tiptoe, struggling to maintain her position as the harness settled around her limbs, trying to lift her.

"Relax into your bonds, Sally. Don't struggle. You won't fall."

Immediately she did as I recommended. Her feet left the floor and her thighs swung wide, exposing her rosy, glistening folds. Excellent! Just as I had imagined.

The harness was designed to hold her basically upright, with both front and rear accessible, and legs spread. I was impressed at how well my ad hoc engineering had succeeded. The cables hung more or less vertically, aligning her wrists, chest, waist, and hips. Most of her weight rested comfortably on the broad thigh supports, as if she were in a swing.

When she was suspended about six inches above the concrete floor of the cellar, I clipped the cables firmly to the eye bolt in the wall. Now I could turn my full attention to her charms.

It was just then that the twister hit. Even through four feet of dirt and concrete, we could hear the shriek of the wind. The whole place trembled, as if from an earthquake.

Sally gave a little whimper, whether of fear or excitement I couldn't tell. I brushed the stray locks away from her blindfold and lightly tongued her earlobe. "Don't worry, baby. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you. Except me."

I gave her body a little push. She began to swing back and forth. I added a hint of torque, and her trussed form began to rotate slowly. Picking up the flogger I had pulled out of storage, I snapped it through the air two or three times. Sally cringed at each report, knowing what was coming.

Her body swung round so that her back was to me. I landed two quick strokes, one on each butt cheek, and was rewarded by her cries and the symmetric scarlet trails across her tender flesh. When the course of her rotation presented her breasts, I flicked the leather tongues across their fullness, careful to avoid her already-punished nipples. As she turned again, exposing her ass, I lashed her again, this time at the sensitive crease where her cheeks met her thighs. Each time my whip kissed her skin, she moaned a little louder, in a voice increasingly husky with arousal.

The volume of the wind swelled suddenly. I wondered if the tornado was stripping away the protective layers of earth above us. Pushing the thought away, I returned my attention to my helpless darling.

She was breathing heavily, very close, I knew, to her climax. Meanwhile, my cock was straining in my boxers, pressing uncomfortably against the stiff denim of my overalls. I stripped as quickly as I could. Then I reached out and caught hold of her arm, stilling the movement of her body. She gasped when I touched her.

Standing between her splayed thighs, my penis jutting toward the ceiling, I ran my tongue over her lips. When she blindly tried to return my caress, I pulled away, teasing her. "How are you, my love?"

"Dizzy," she replied softly. "Sore. Horny."

"Horny, are you? Well, I think we can do something about that." With this, I grabbed her buttocks and pulled her towards me, onto my swollen cock.

She was hotter and wetter than I could remember her being, in all our twenty six years of marriage. It took every iota of my control not to come immediately. Even in her bonds, she writhed like a serpent around me, clutching my cock with her inner muscles, hooking her legs behind my back and holding fast despite the contrary pull of the harness. All the while the earth vibrated around us, trembling with the force of the storm. Our own quiverings and throbbings seemed like echoes of those primal tremors.

Within seconds of my entrance, my Sally-slut climaxed, screaming so loudly that, for a moment, she drowned out the din of the twister. She came again when I emptied myself into her depths, but this time, it was my voice that obliterated the screaming wind.

Later, we lay holding each other on the mattress. The candles had burned low. The wind had died and all was quiet.

"Sounds like the twister's passed, Sally," I said, stroking her sweat-damp hair tenderly. "Maybe we should go up soon."

Sally lay back on the mattress and stretched provocatively. She arched her back and spread her thighs, deliberately displaying herself.

"I don't know, Joe. Twisters often come in bunches. I think we should stay down here awhile longer."

Knowing her as I do, I could hardly disagree.

Leave a comment and you could win one of my Free Reading Festival prizes. Don’t forget your email address!

Sizzling Sunday: Earth Girls are Easy -- #scifi #erotica #freereading

 Credit: Cool Cat Game Studio

This Sizzling Sunday, I have a brand new, free story for you. Enjoy!

 

Earth Girls are Easy

I’d always thought alien abductions happened at night. You’re driving down some dark, lonely country road, when a cone of blinding light captures your vehicle and sucks you into the sky. Or you’ve just donned your pajamas and brushed your teeth when a suspicious noise lures you into your shadow-filled backyard. Like a sleepwalker, you drift helplessly up the gang-plank into the silver saucer that hovers above your lawn.

In my case, it was barely eight am. I was on the final stretch of my morning run along the Charles, panting and sweaty, looking forward to a shower, then a productive morning in my lab. I summoned a final burst of energy for the last hundred yards. Instead of speeding up, however, I slowed to a crawl. My arms and legs suddenly felt leaden. The air around me congealed into a sort of sticky jelly that made every movement a struggle. The traffic noise from Memorial Drive died away. The rippling river froze. The sun-lit sparkle on the water dimmed. I hardly had time to be frightened before the world blinked out of existence.

The first thing I noticed upon waking was the chill. Goose bumps rose on my bare arms. My nipples contracted to hard knots under my perspiration-soaked sports bra. A faint hint of ozone hung in the cool, still air.

“You are cold.” Not a question but an assertion, spoken in a deep, resonant voice that seemed to come from all directions. Instantly the atmosphere warmed to a more comfortable temperature.

As I tried to locate the source of this comment, I came to my next realization; I was bound, face up, secured to a padded table by smooth, flexible restraints that encircled my wrists and ankles.

“Hey! What’s going on?” I yanked futilely at my bonds. They tightened a bit in response. At the same time, the material softened as if to avoid damage to my skin. “Let me go!”

No answer.

The domed ceiling glowed with a diffuse, soothing light. I craned my neck to look around. The peculiar chamber had no angles at all, which made its size difficult to judge. Featureless, shell-pink walls curved up to meet the luminous panels above me, unbroken by any sign of a window or door. The platform upon which I was restrained appeared to be the only furniture.

I struggled to remember how I’d arrived here, to understand my strange environment. I’d been running, then—nothing. Had I suffered some bizarre variety of stroke? Was this a dream? Was I in a coma? A quick inventory revealed no pain or apparent injury. My mental state had none of the fuzziness I associated with dreams. The table beneath me felt real and solid, though as I shifted position, the surface did likewise, adapting and molding itself to my body. My bonds were convincingly real as well.

“Where am I?” I called. As if in response, a circular aperture appeared in the wall to my left, and a figure stepped into the room.

“Greetings, Dr. Morrison.”

I should have been astonished by the fact that he knew my name, but I was distracted by more primitive concerns. My breath caught; my nipples peaked; a hungry ache settled in my pelvis. The man who stood beside me was beyond gorgeous. Tall and lean, with wavy golden hair, classically masculine features, broad shoulders and a subtly sculpted bare chest, he looked like some Greek god—except for the lavender skin, violet eyes and hands with two thumbs.

Read the rest of the story on my website!

And you can find lots more free erotica and romance on my free reading page.

Saturday Spanks: Reunion - #FreeStory #Corset #SaturdaySpanks

My Saturday Spanks excerpt today is from my short story “Reunion”, originally published in Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories. It’s bittersweet, romantic BDSM, based quite closely on real life.

Actually, I get tears in my eyes whenever I re-read it.

Anyway, if you like the excerpt, you can read the entire story for free on my website.

Enjoy!

“So, what do you have in your bag?” he asks finally, after watching me squirm for long moments.

“I have the corset.” I’d purchased it for myself, thinking to please him, knowing that there was no way he would ever buy me one.

“Good. And the other things that I told you to bring?”

“I have the ruler, the rope, the alligator clips, and the timer.” I remove the items one by one, arraying them on the bed for his inspection. Without announcing it, I take out a package of condoms and place it on the bedside table. His eyebrows arch in a silent question, but he just nods.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find a rug beater, or the switches. It’s too late in the year; the trees are too brittle. Anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to carry them...”

“No excuses!” He sounds stern but I can see a smile twitching at the corner of his full lips. “I’m sure that you know better than to disobey me. We’ll see about your punishment later.”

He settles back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Right now, I want to see you in your corset.”

I carefully extract the gorgeous black satin garment from its tissue paper wrapping. My master looks relaxed, but I know he’s not missing any detail as I pull my jersey over my head and attack the buttons at my waist. Of course I’m not wearing a bra. My nipples feel hot, as if illuminated by a spotlight. They seem to scream “look at me, see how stiff I am”.

My rayon skirt pools around my ankles and then I’m naked in front of him for the first time in nearly two decades. His eyes widen but he doesn’t say a word.

“Why don’t you close your eyes while I put it on? It’s rather an awkward process. And I want you to get the full effect.”

“You can’t hide anything from me, Sarah,” he says, but still, he turns to look out the window while I struggle with the clasps and laces.

My fingers don’t work at all, I’m so nervous. I know he’s getting impatient, yet I can’t seem to reach the last hooks. I suck in my stomach, worried that I’ve gained weight and I won’t be able to fasten the thing, but finally, I manage.

The boned curves press into my flesh. I move a bit stiffly, my breathing shallow so that I don’t burst open the hooks. The corset elevates and separates my breasts; they spill lushly over the top of the garment. Meanwhile, I can feel my bare buttocks bulbing out behind.

“Okay – I’m ready.”

My master leans forward, eager, his smile baring sharp white teeth. “Very nice. Come over here.”

Stumbling a bit in my high heels, I circle the bed and stand in front of him.

“Very nice indeed. Walk around for me, Sarah. Let’s see more of your tits and your ass.”

His mocking, lecherous tone thrills me. I’m terribly embarrassed, but I love showing off for him, and he knows it. My pussy swells and moistens. My nipples harden further, so painfully sensitive that one touch might send me into orgasm. He doesn’t touch me, though. He just watches, while I strut back and forth in front of him, swinging my hips.

I notice the seaweed scent, rising from between my dampened thighs. I’m close enough to him. I know he can smell it to. I don’t dare to look at his face. Instead I hold my head high as he taught me, imagining that I’m wearing the collar he once promised me.

I feel his hot eyes ranging over my body, and I rejoice, knowing that I please him, that he’s as aroused as I am. And all at once I’m awed by the power of our complementary fantasies. I want him to watch me; he has flown three thousand miles to do just that. He nourishes all my perverse notions, rewarding me for being the outrageous slut that I secretly am, the submissive, devoted wanton that he recognized in me, long years ago.

“Bend over,” he says, his voice gruff with lust. I know exactly what he wants. I stand with my back to him, between the chair and the ottoman. I bend at the waist, presenting my ass to his gaze, holding the stool for support. He leans closer, but for a long time he still doesn’t touch me.

His gaze traces paths across my bare skin. I swear I can tell when his eyes linger on the pale globes, or probe more deeply into the shadows between them. This inspection excites me beyond belief. I know that he’ll touch me, sooner or later. I think that I’ll die if he doesn’t do it soon.

Still, I’m not prepared when he slaps one cheek with his open palm. “Ow!”

“You are such a nasty little girl! I had forgotten. But now I remember (slap) just how kinky and twisted you really are.” He gives me three more spanks in quick succession, and I’m wailing out loud. At the same time, I’m hoping that he doesn’t stop.

Of course he does, knowing how to stoke my fires with frustration, but only for a moment.

“Across my knees, Sarah.” The armchair is perfect for a spanking, and once again my spirit soars, as he lays into me, landing one ferocious blow after another on my tender butt. I’m where I belong, and both of us know it.

My butt is burning like it’s been barbecued. It’s starting to hurt enough to interfere with the pleasure. I wonder if he still has that uncanny sense of my limits that he used to demonstrate. Just as the thought crosses my mind, he whispers in my ear.

“I’ll bet anything that you’re soaking wet, Sarah.” Without waiting for a reply, he thrusts three fat fingers deep into me. The fires race from my ass to my cunt and back. I come hard, grinding down on his hand, wanting him deeper, always deeper.

Remember you can read the entire story here!

Spank Me Again, Stranger #SatSpanks #FreeStory #Birthday

Welcome to another Saturday Spanking!

My post today is from my short story “Spank Me Again, Stranger”.

Dumped by her boyfriend of two years on the eve of her birthday, Audra escapes to rural New Mexico to visit her older sister on her ranch. Marnie insists they go celebrate at the local watering hole. Audra’s not sure what to expect, but it’s certainly not a spanking on stage from the band’s front man!

* * * *

Voices buzzed, filling a lull between songs. Hector was up on stage, whispering something in Jake's ear. With a thrill that was only part horror, Audra realized she was the topic of conversation. Blood rushed to her nipples and earlobes, deepening the hunger in her sex. Hastily, she returned her attention to her Budweiser. But it was too late.

“Hey everyone! Quiet down now! Quiet down. Welcome to the Drunken Cactus. We got a very special guest here with us tonight – all the way from New York City.”

“Whooee!” Cheers and whistles interrupted the musician's gravelly voice. “Hush now! Quiet, you all! It's Audra's birthday – we won't ask which one, that wouldn't be polite – and she's decided to celebrate with us.”

“Yay!” 

“Happy Birthday!”

“So let's give her a big country welcome, people! Audra – come on up so we can wish you a proper happy birthday!”

Jake grinned at her, his fists closing and opening as if he'd haul her up bodily if she refused his invitation. His size, his strength, the overwhelming presence of him, both scared and attracted her.

“Oh – no, that's okay – really...” Audra felt like she was thirteen instead of thirty. What had happened to the sophisticated, self-confident Vice President of Product Development?

“Get your butt up here, gal.”

“No, please....”

“Don't make me have to climb down off this stage, young lady...”

His implied threat pierced her confusion and turned it to something darker. Would he really force her to join him?

“C'mon, Audra!” someone yelled. “Be a good sport.”

“Audra! We want Audra!” came calls from the far end of the bar.

“Grab her, Jake! Wrastle the filly if ya need to.”

Jake crouched at the edge of the wooden platform, his massive thighs stretching his jeans almost to the point of tearing. His eyes, Audra noticed, were the clear blue of the New Mexico sky. He stretched out a hand. “Don't be so shy, little one.” His voice was low and gentle, as if he was soothing a skittish animal.”I know what you really want.”

Refusals echoed through Audra's mind. But her body wasn't listening. As if in a dream, she grasped the proffered hand. It totally swallowed hers. The musician tugged; the next thing she knew, she was standing beside him on the stage, unsteady on her heels, while hoots and catcalls swirled around her.

He hadn't released his grip on her. “There now. That's not so bad, is it? Now everyone, let's wish our guest a happy birthday.”

The glare of a spotlight made it difficult for Audra to make out the faces in the crowd. Where the heck was Marnie?

“And now, it's time for your birthday spanking.”

“What the hell...? What do you think you're doing...?” Audra sputtered as Jake seated himself on his stool, seized her around her waist, and flipped her onto her stomach, across his lap.

New waves of heat shuddered through her. He cupped her bottom through her skirt and she thought she'd burst into flame. His huge hand completely covered her right cheek.

“It's a tradition here at the Drunken Cactus, gal. Don't you city folks do that sort of thing?”

Audra's mind flew back to the sweet little flogger she'd purchased for her abortive celebration with Rick. She'd hoped she could persuade him to give her a taste of those soft leather thongs... but that was different. Wasn't it?

Apparently not, if one was to judge by the state of her pussy. She was swollen and soaked to the point that she worried she'd wet his trousers.

“Ready?”

He squeezed her plump buttock. She couldn't stop herself from grinding against him.

“I think the lady's ready.” The banjo player chuckled as he addressed the crowd. With exaggerated care, he raised her skirt to expose her silk underwear. She knew the soaked patch between her thighs would be obvious to him. She prayed her shame wouldn't be visible to the audience.

“Now, sweetness, I know you can't be more than twenty five.” Jake turned his attention to her other cheek, kneading the flesh, melting her last resistance. “So I'll give you twenty five spanks – on each side.”

“No....ow!” she wailed as his enormous palm smacked into her. The fabric of her panties muted the sting to some extent, but the blow still hurt.

“One,” Jake intoned.

“Ouch!” Audra screamed and kicked as he landed a second, harder slap on the opposite side. Her shoe clattered to the stage.

“Two.”

“Ow...oh...!”

“Three. Would you rather count, birthday girl?”

“Argh! Ow! No! No...”

“Four.”

Each time his hand made contact with her butt, the pain grew. Perhaps he was using increasing force. Yet somehow that didn't interfere with the simultaneous pleasure. She jerked away from the blows, using the movements to rub her pubis against the iron hardness of his thigh muscles. Her clit felt enormous and tight, as though it might explode from the friction. Her lacy bra stimulated her nipples, which knotted into rigid peaks of need.

Meanwhile, her ass was on fire. Each stroke stung when it landed, but before long that transmuted to a throbbing ache. New slaps layered bright lines of pain on top of the older, deeper sensations. She imagined that if he were to bare her buttocks, they would pulse like red hot coals.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Jake paused his spanking and began to peel the damp fabric of her panties away from her punished flesh.

“No...” she whimpered. “Please...” Instead of struggling, though, she allowed her body to go limp. As the muscles in her abdomen went slack, she sensed the hard bulk rising from his crotch and felt a flash of triumph. He wasn't as much in control as he seemed.

In seconds her naked rear was exposed to his eyes and his hands, her bikini bunched near the crease where her buttocks met her thighs.

“My, my, you're the color of one of them East Coast lobsters,” he crowed. “Can you see her butt, ladies and gents?” He scraped a fingernail across the fullest, most battered part of her ass. Sensation shot through her, fierce and sharp as lightning. Audra honestly couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain.

* * * *

You can read the whole story online at my website.

I hope you’ll check out all the other free reads I have there, too!

Vintage Lust (#wine #erotica #freestory)

Today I thought I’d talk about one of my favorite things: wine!

Let me state at the outset that I am a wine enthusiast, but not really a connoisseur. We have at least a glass or two almost every night with dinner. I'm partial to reds, particularly Côtes du Rhône, Pinot Noir and Australian cabernets. Not that I'm all that picky, though. The house red will usually be just fine, especially when it's sold by the liter.

I've been to a few wine tastings. Although I learned quite a bit, “refining my palate” as they say, it seemed a terrible waste to have to spit out all those exquisite samples.

I associate wine with traveling. Certainly one of the delights of visiting a new country or region is the opportunity to try new vintages. My first international journey was a low budget trip to Spain in the seventies, with my closest friend. She and I quickly discovered that a pitcher of vino tinto was significantly cheaper than a glass of Coca Cola. The passage of time may not be the only reason my memory of those four weeks is a bit hazy.

More recently, my husband and I spent ten days in Provence, true heaven for a wine lover. Then there was our marvelous trip to Croatia, where they call the red wine “black” and dispense it from enormous stainless steel tanks into the bottles customers bring to the stores. And even after twenty years I can summon the dark fruitiness of the Kavaklidere Papazkarasi we drank in Turkey.

In addition to travel, wine always makes me think of sex. It's not just the fact that one sensual experience leads naturally to another. In many societies, wine and grapes have traditionally been associated with sexuality. Followers of Bacchus, the god of the vine, engaged in frenzied orgies after imbibing. Feeding one's lover ripe grapes has become a cliché – but don't knock until you've tried it! Wine has been used in ritual since ancient times. In many cultures, including my own Jewish tradition, sharing wine seals the marriage bond.

My characters like wine almost as much as I do (and sex, possibly more). I've written more than one scene that used wine as an erotic prop. For example, there's this bit in Raw Silk:

Katherine cried aloud, writhed and moaned. Then, in the midst of her climax, she felt cooling liquid filling her, streaming down her thighs. She opened her eyes. Somtow held the wine bottle and was deliberately pouring the remaining contents into her vagina, an almost childish delight on his face.

‘Ah, my Katherine!’ He leaned over and began to drink the wine from her flesh, lapping the ruby drops from her thighs. ‘Excellent wine, but the taste can only be improved by mixing in your delicious liqueur.’

Then there's this snippet from Nasty Business:

That was the night, I recall, that he bathed me in champagne. Such a cliché, I know, right up there with whipped cream, but how many women have actually felt the marvelous sensation of a million tiny bubbles bursting between their legs? The pleasure was incredible, just sitting in the tub while Liu poured bottle after bottle of the chilled, prickly wine over my shoulders and breasts. Then he leaned over and licked me, sucking the sweetness from my nipples, growing intoxicated (as he said) from drinking my flesh.

That was not enough for him. He grew mischievous, bidding me with mock severity to kneel in the tub with my buttocks in the air. “Spread yourself wide,” he instructed, nudging my thighs apart and bringing my hands up to my sex. I was more than willing to hold my puffy labia apart as he drenched my vagina in Chateau Rothschild ‘88. Then, he actually inserted the neck of bottle into my hungry cunt, and tipped the remaining liquid into my inner cavities.

Wine features prominently in the plot of Incognito, though it doesn't manage to make its way into anyone's orifices. The heroine's cat knocks a glass of wine onto an antique journal. The liquid reacts with the invisible ink to reveal the original owner's very private confessions. Just for the heck of it, I counted the number of times the word “wine” appears in that novel. Thirty six times! And of course that doesn't include references that use a synonym or a specifier, like “Pinot Grigio” or “Merlot”.

So at this point you probably think that both I and my characters are lushes. Not so! Though I may be tempted, only rarely will I imbibe before the sun goes down. And I know my limit (about three glasses). I'm clumsy enough when I'm sober!

There is something fantastically decadent about wine in the afternoon, however. You never know what will happen. I recall a visit to a California winery with one of my first lovers, long ago. After sampling the various vintages available (and purchasing a few bottles as souvenirs), we were too inebriated to drive back to our hotel. So he ravished me in the back seat of his car, tucked away in the shade in a far corner of the parking lot. The wine seemed to heighten my senses rather than dull them. Afterward, a golden glow suffused the afternoon – an aura of magic.

I still can't see a bottle from that particular vineyard without tumbling into intoxicating memory.

I turned my memories of that visit (significantly augmented) into a short story, entitled A Case of You. I’d be happy to send you a copy. All you need to do is leave me a comment with your email address.