A Dirty Book is Rarely Dusty

Have a Sexy Cinco de Mayo!

2007-05-05T10:08:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Agony

2007-05-01T09:32:00.000-07:00

Meg Ryan in every woman's favorite, When Harry Met Sally

I found this very erotic, very cool website called Beautiful Agony.com. It is a site dedicated to the most erotic aspect of sex, the orgasm. Now if you are looking for bare asses, bountiful breasts, or pussy shots you might be disappointed. But if you are turned on by what happens to us when we come, then this is the site for you.

You know, that face. That expression of pain and wonder as you are tossed over the edge into a few seconds of paradise. The little death, it has been called.

Normal people, like you and me (okay, so I'm not so normal), have posted videos on the site shot from the neck up. That's it, just the face. Every horny smile, satisfying grimace, lip biting, tongue wetting moment caught on tape. Just the human face and it's expressions, just the sound of your body as you come closer and closer to orgasm, just the moans that come unbidden, just the natural orgasm how ever the postee chooses to get off. Just...well, Just...hot! Very real, and oh so sexy.

There is something that defines us when we allow ourselves to lose control.

On a personal note. It took me a long time to let go. I was well into my twenties before I had my first orgasm. Sad, I know. And I was a masturbating fiend my friends. I send a shout out to Jessica who bought me my first vibrator. A glow in the dark number that I broke from my masturbating gymnastics. Every day, every night, with dildo's, with vibrators, with fingers. A friend introduced me to erotica, and you all know what a huge influence that has had on me.

But as much fun as I had trying to get myself off, I just couldn't quite let go. Frustrating. Why, I wondered. What was it in me that wouldn't allow me that pleasure? I recently read that 43% of American women are either non-orgasmic or will be for a significant part of their lives. That's a hell of a high number. And 83% of women have faked it. And if you think you have never been with a women who has, just remember, When Harry Met Sally.

I had lovers, men and women. Some put a lot of effort into finding my pleasure, some didn't, but until I met my husband, I guess I never trusted anyone enough to let go. I've heard people say you shouldn't marry someone for sex, but it is definitely one of the reasons I love him. I come every time, multiple times in most cases, and he will not stop until I do. His generosity as a lover is part of why I love him.

I have to say, now that I have found my friend the big "O" I can't imagine life without it. I truly don't know what I look like when I come, but I imagine it isn't pretty. From the look on my husband's face, it sure is hot.

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

2007-04-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

I was reading something scary in "Writer's Digest" today. Chills ran up and down my spine!

Some publishers are saying they can't publish stories that have been posted on blogs. Blogs are becoming too recognized (Fuck, you wouldn't know that from the lack of comments on mine.) But, but...I want to publish here. I want to feel like someone out there is getting off from my dirty stories.

Personally, I think this sucks ass. I post my stories to get feedback and although I know I hear crickets when I go to my blogger, I still want to be able to post.

This leads me to tell you about my new find, gather.com. This is an awesome sight folks, where I have created my own erotic writing group. You should all join up and share you dirty thoughts with me at erotikryter.gather.com. You know you wanna...come on, everyone's doing it! ;-)

The article in WD said that private writing group sites, where one has to be a member to read, would not disclude the author like a "normal" blog. So sights like gather where you can make a private group or The Fish Tank where we can critique each other's work are still cool. So join me at gather or take a dip in the tank!

All is not lost.

Help!

2007-04-26T17:51:00.000-07:00

I am doing research on Persian culture in the Golden Age of Islam, specifically on the culutre of the women and am coming up blank. I had heard somewhere or read somewhere that the women during this time period were much more liberal than they are today.

One of the characters in my novel is a women from the Middle Ages that I want to be strong and independant. She is also foreign, and at the moment from Persia. I set her from this country because of this thing I read or heard, but can't verify. My lead character is facinated with all knowledge of other places and it is one of the reasons she is attracted to the Persian character. I know I am writing fiction, but I also want some sort of fact behind my fiction. Does anyone out there know a good book or a good website on the history of women in the middle ages, specifcally in Persia and Islam?

I was also inpired today to reach beyond my current outline. Perhaps a second novel? or maybe the story I have to tell is longer than what I have down.

Sexy Sage Airwaves!

2007-04-15T08:15:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note to those of you in listening range of radio station WFMPin Minneapolis/St. Paul --

Sage Vivant will be interviewed on the Lori and Julia Show at approximately 5:15 pm on Monday, April 16. They'll be talking about her book, YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY, and of course, about her crazy job: writing customized erotic fiction! Hope you can tune in if the broadcast is in your area.

:-)

2007-04-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

No good Mother-fuckers!

2007-04-09T18:27:00.001-07:00

A hacker broke into our computer and destroyed all of my writing. AGAIN! ASSHOLES!

Two years ago I was infected with a virus, this time they found a way to break into the computer and alter all the files.

What the fuck!? is up with people? What are they just bored?

Well we fixed you mother-fuckers! This time I had back-up! I just really hate that we live in a world where some yahoo geek, who can't get it on with a living human being feels like he has to get off by fucking with my personal shit!

GRRRRRR!

Be a Good Egg!

2007-04-08T14:03:00.000-07:00

Sage Vivant's New Book Now Available

2007-04-05T10:03:00.000-07:00

At last! I'm so happy to announce that YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY:IDENTIFYING AND UNDERSTANDING YOUR SEXUAL SELF is officially available inbookstores everywhere!

ABOUT THE BOOK
If you want more out of s*x, crave insight into what you like and why, andeven learn about the person you're involved with, this book will help youdo that. Self-knowledge is power, and once you know what makes you tickand how to indulge it, your love life will naturally become morefulfilling. It can't help but do anything else.

The book begins with a quiz to help you identify which of twelve eroticpersonality types you are. The rest of the book dedicates a chapter todescribing each type and offering suggestions that will make that typeenjoy s*x to the greatest extent possible.Best of all, however, it delivers one consistent message. Whatever youlike is natural and healthy. It isn't any less sophisticated orenlightened than what anybody else needs for arousal. And that's a notionthat our bigger/better/faster/more culture frequently forgets -- much toeveryone's detriment.

Follow this link to buy the book from Amazon.com:http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0425214346/customeroticasou

FIND OUT MORE -- AND TAKE THE QUIZ ONLINE!

I've created a site to give you a great introduction to the book: http://www.sagevivant.com

Tits Down, Ass Up

2007-04-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

Here's my latest bit of sizzling sex writing for your reading pleasure. Entered this in a contest at Desdmona.com with a theme of body art. Let me know what you think...:-)

Tits Down, Ass Up (FF, oral)
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela

“Where the fuck have you been, Cali?” Tony’s deep voice was muffled by how close he was bent over the chick in front of him. He needed glasses and I swear he didn’t get them so he could smell the smooth skin of his female clients as he applied ink to skin.

“Traffic,” I said. The back door shut behind me and I threw my gear in the corner. I ran my hands through my straight black hair to rid myself of helmet head.

“Shit, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you take the subway like the rest of the East Village?”

My wheels were pulled up in the alley behind the shop. The Softail with shiny chrome rims was the perfect reason for braving the streets of Manhattan. “Reputation.”

Tony snorted and said, “That one’s been waiting on you for more than an hour.” He gestured with his head to the front of the shop.

There were half a dozen girls sitting on the red vinyl in front of our shop window. Their tattooed backs and shoulders were the perfect draw for the curious window shoppers cruising by on the sidewalk out front.

“Lucy, who’s my first victim?” Our receptionist—I nearly laughed out loud at the formality of the title given to our single employee. She had taken the position for the free tats and the flow of ladies visiting the shop for my artistic attention.

“Tantra!” Lucy called out, as if our customers weren’t mere feet from her desk.

Was that name for real? I scanned the ladies, clicking the bar in my tongue against the back of my teeth. A nasty habit which I found to be a turn off when other women did it, but I somehow derived great pleasure in doing myself.

“Tantra?”

No answer. Not everyone believes in fashionably late.

***
The shop was silent when I opened the door the next morning. Truth was, I hadn’t gone to sleep the night before. Some might say that I shouldn’t be poking people with sharp objects then, but personally I thought a little overtime in the waking world made me more attuned.

Besides, Tony was in DC. His old lady’s kid was graduating from college. Marco was flying in from El Paso this afternoon to keep the empty chair filled for the next two weeks.

I flipped on the lights. The mirrored wall that ran the length of the shop was framed by thick red velvet drapes. The other walls were black and decorated with photos of all of our celebrity clients.

I paused in front of the picture of me and Jolie. Now those were some mother fucking hot lips. If I do recall, I thought, rocking back on the heels of my black leather boots, we’d held more than each other’s hands. Shit! Don’t believe me? This was before Brad, and truth be told, before Billy Bob. I’d only been eighteen at the time. Barely legal. I was Tony’s apprentice then and only able to touch her skin with my fingers. No matter how I had pleaded, Tony had not let me hold a needle.

I sat into the overstuffed chair, set my feet on the desk, and crossed my feet at the ankles. Lucy would try to kick my ass if she knew. She hadn’t come to the realization that this wasn’t her shop.

The first client under my name on Lucy’s clipboard: Tantra. There couldn’t be another woman with that name, even in Manhattan. Mid-week was usually slow and the mysterious Tantra was due—

The bells on the door chimed and I let the clipboard rest against my forehead, hiding in a few more seconds of silence. She was early.

“Cali! Baby!” Marco tilted back on the heels of his cowboy boots and held out his arms.

I hopped over the desk, and flew into his chest nearly knocking him off his feet. He pounded my back.

“You smell awesome,” I said. A musky cologne.

“Cigarettes,” he said with a sniff, not loosening his hold. “No time to go home and shower?”

“Fuck,” I said. “No time to be a gentleman?”
“Remember who you’re talking to.” Marco leaned back and peered down at me with the devil’s eyes. “Is she done?”

“Thirty-nine hours.” I undid the button fly of my Levis and tugged the hem of my fishnet tee to my braless breasts.

Koi. The Japanese consider them a symbol of energy and power. Chris O’Donnell, a genius with the needle, had tattooed the one swimming from between my legs. The length of the fish’s body wrapped around my hip, circled my waist and reappeared under my arm, the lips stopping to feed at my right breast. This masterpiece of color and grace had taken more than a year to complete and Marco had seen the design before he left for home last year.

“Brilliant.”

“I know,” I said, running a hand down my ribcage. “I wish I could work naked.”

Marco laughed. “Me too.”

***

“Are you Cali?” Her voice was lush. Wet. My imagination sent my pussy swimming.

“Shop closes at midnight,” I called out from the back of the shop, regret in my voice. My back was to the door as I stuffed my face with a hotdog Marco had brought back from the street vendor. It was cold from earlier this evening, but there is nothing like a New York City frank.

“That’s not what the sign says,” she called back.

That voice. I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Look, honey, Marco is gonna be here in the morning.”

“No, I want you to do it.”

The way she said it made my insides burn.

I turned.

Where I was lanky and all limbs, she was hips and thighs. I topped her by a good five inches. Her ass was in abundance and painted into her jeans. Her eyes were that somewhere between blue and green only found in nature, fringed with reddish blonde lashes, and looking at me like she could eat me up.

She took my hand, her sleeveless arm pale and bare of color. Her fingers were decorated in large chunky rings of jewel-colored cut glass.

“Maybe I could make an exception for…?” Was there a discreet way to check my breath for lingering hot dog odors?

“Tantra.”

“It’s you.”

She laughed. “It’s me.”

I took her hand. “I’ve been expecting you for about two weeks now.”

“Nerves.”

“A virgin?”

She raised and eyebrow and her lips twitched.

“Your skin, it’s bare? A virgin to the needle?” Although it would have been nice to have been present for the deflowering.

“Yes, no tattoos.”

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” I said, leading her over to my chair.

At the back of the shop I had the sketch she’d left last week on one of her many no-shows. I had thought twice about working on the transfer, considering Tantra’s track record of making appointments and breaking them, but it was an inspiring drawing. It had honestly been a turn-on to spend some time with the sketch.

I had done a tree of life before, but not of this size. The roots twisted into a Celtic circle pattern at the base and the trunk of the tree rose in a knotty line, its branches curling out to the sides about six inches up. Leaves clung to the branches. It was really quite beautiful. Expensive and time consuming too. It had been designed for a woman’s back.

“Turn around, baby.”

As she turned, Tantra lifted her shirt up over hear head. God, I love my job! I got a quick peek at her full, round breasts, tucked into black lace bra cups. This was one ripe woman. Hot.

“You know the lower back is one of the most painful places for a woman to get a tattoo?”

“Yes.” There was a thrill in her voice.

“And that this is gonna take at least three sittings?”

“You can’t do it all tonight?”

“It’s an eight hour job.”

“I’d pay extra.”

“You want color too?”

Tantra nodded. I walked toward the back of the shop, sketch in hand. The leaves on the branches were so delicate, gold and green. They seemed to move as if a breeze were blowing in the background.

Was I actually considering this? I hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and this wasn’t an easy job. I rubbed the back of my neck and looked down at Tantra, clutching her shirt beneath her beautiful breasts, the bits of lace not hiding the shadows of her nipples. She was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. One tooth was crooked. Sexy.

I patted the black vinyl of my chair and she hopped on board, her feet dangling in cute espadrille wedge sandals.

“Why is this tattoo important to you, honey?” Tantra’s back was to me. I unhooked her bra. She sucked in her breath as I lifted her thick red curls from her shoulders and secured them with a hair clip on top her head.

“My sister, she drew this,” she whispered in that sultry voice. “We’re twins.”

If that didn’t put a wet spot in my jeans.

“In a couple of months I’m going to see her in Ireland.”

“Unsnap your jeans.” The drag of the zipper and a shimmy of hips revealed the white of her skin to the crack of her ass. Was she wearing panties?

I covered my palms with shave oil and spread it over Tantra’s shoulder blades. Her skin was pale and smooth, except for where her bra had left red lines. I lingered a bit too long, massaging the marks away. She sighed, and I found I was in danger of losing my professionalism.

The crinkle of the plastic being torn from the razor and then the smooth swipe of blade across her opalescent skin made my lips ache. Gently, I lay the transfer on her back, and then wet it with a sponge, dabbing at the smooth canvas of her back. I lifted a corner of the paper and drew it across her back.

A sigh tinged with sex filled my shop as I pulled the paper free.

Looked good. Too good. I handed the mirror over her shoulder and pointed her in the direction of the wall. “Check the placement, sugar.” Get a grip, Cali. Work before pleasure.
Tantra went over to the mirrored wall and held up the hand mirror to look over her shoulder.

“Perfect!” she squealed, with a little hop. She turned to the right, then left, and all my eyes saw were her breasts, now bare and free. Nipples puckered from the night air coming through the back door teasing my eyes.

I rubbed my eyes. Tired and horny, that’s what I was.

“Tantra, baby, I think we should reschedule.” Sleep would help me to concentrate on my art and not her ass.

“No!” She bounced over to me and took my hands in hers.

“I haven’t slept in days and—”
She put my hands on her tits and the thought of putting her off was gone.

“Another night won’t hurt.”

“You have a point,” I said, massaging her breasts. I leaned down, her face nearing mine.

A kiss, two nips.

Shook my head, took a step back. “Okay beautiful,” I said. “Tits down, ass up.”

***

Silent tears were running down Tantra’s face, which belayed the soft sighs and moans that escaped each pass of my tattoo gun. She was one of those that liked the pain and although I was known to have a gentle hand, she didn’t want it. I was surprised she wasn’t covered in tats and piercings.

With every gasp I had to force myself not to throw my tattoo gun aside and fuck her. The scent of her arousal was driving me mad.

“Nearly done, baby,” I said. A lie to myself. I had finished the Celtic knot and still had the entire tree to do. The goal was to finish the outline tonight. We were only a half hour in. I wiped my brow, bent and adjusted the knob on my tattoo machine. I was a professional.

Tantra gave her ass a wiggle pressing her pussy into the vinyl. “More Cali,” she pleaded.
Not gonna make it. “Be still, sugar.” My voice was harsh, my throat dry.

I sprayed the inky skin with water and wiped it with the towel, now discolored with black ink. I spread Vaseline across the tat. Looked good.

“Why’d you want me to do you?” I asked.

Wipe, spray, tat.

“Charlotte Scott.”

My hand wavered. Charlotte? Charlotte had a thing for pain too. More than the little the buzz my gun had.

Wipe, spray, tat.

Her ass had been in the exact same spot as Tantra’s pussy. Three in the morning. Clothing optional. I’d worn nothing but a strap-on. Nearly fucked Charlott’s pussy raw, right after piercing her clit. Now that’s pain.

“You trying to tell me something, sugar?” I drew my hand along the small of her back, the trunk of the tree taking shape.

“Breath deep,” Tantra said.

Wipe, spray, tat. Breathe.

“Smell that?” she said. “My pussy’s been hot for you since Charlotte told me how she got her piercing.”

I placed a hand on the small of her back. “Suck it up darlin’,” I said.

Tantra looked over her shoulder and caught my eyes.

“No.”

Oh shit.

“I am so wet.”

Oh fuck. I closed my eyes trying to find my strength of will. “What do you want more, sugar?” I whispered. “This tattoo or my face in your pussy?”

Tantra stood and turned around, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans. The jeans shimmied down her thighs and I holstered my gun. She kicked the jeans aside.

My smooth moves were out the door. All I could think of was tasting every inch of her body. Her lips were plump and sweet. Her neck soap scented. I buried my face between her breasts, nosing around like an animal. The sweat where the soft mounds met her body was salty and bold.

My synthetic gloved fingers slipped through her sopping slit. One, two fingers found a home in her hot hole. I forced her back onto the table, sure to press her tat into the table. She cried out, but her pussy squeezed my fingers.

Tantra clutched my head to her breasts and I devoured her hard nipples. Biting, bruising suction. Her hips bucked and she urged me lower.

I nibbled my way over her soft round stomach, past her belly button, and into the thick curly hair covering her snatch. Her swollen pussy lips glistened.

My hand pinned her to the tattooing chair. My fingers dove in and out, piercing her hungry hole. Her lips became redder and the skin around her thighs flushed.

My tongue circled her clit. A third finger wedged its way into her hungry cunt.

She panted, pushing her hips against me.

The muscles in her thighs squeezed my cheeks.

My tongue bar gave her a kiss.

Fingers yanked my hair.

Tantra screamed.

Tears wet her cheeks as her pussy bathed my face.

Jesus. I pulled my bruised fingers free and sat back on my heels. I undid my fly. Just a couple of strokes and I’d be with her.

“No,” she gasped.

I froze. Not sure I was ready to take orders yet. I just wanted to get off.

“Stand.”

I did, and my jeans fell to my ankles. My cunt pulsed.

“Take off your shirt.”

I lifted the hem of my tee and watched her come to me on wobbly legs.

“So beautiful,” she said. Tantra traced a finger from the mouth of the koi sucking my breast. She followed the orange and gold scales around my torso. Her lips repainted the bold lines of the graceful fins on my shoulder blades with soft kisses and wet licks. They followed the curling trail of ink between my legs and set me free.

Tantra tapped my clit then plunged her tongue into my folds, releasing my koi. The fish burst from my skin and into the air, swimming in circles around my head as I came in dizzying waves.
Tantra stood and lay, tits down, on the chair, her beautiful ass bare.

I buttoned my fly and picked up a fresh white rag. The work I had done earlier was bleeding and the skin red.

“I’m sorry, sugar,” I said.

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

I placed a tender kiss on the abused flesh at the base of her spine and promised myself I would stop thinking about pussy.

Tantra sucked in her breath and I squeezed my thighs together.

I sprayed her skin with water and washed the smooth flesh carefully before turning on my tattoo machine.

“Ready for a rough ride, baby?”

“You promise to kiss it all better?”

The ache she had just eased began to spread through my lower body. “And then some.”

I have a fan!

2007-03-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

...who isn't my mom or best friend. My first fan letter arrived today in my inbox. Felt kinda great to know someone is out there reading what I'm writing and liking my words. They had read my story "From the Sea" published in Call of the Dark.

This is definately one of my favorite stories, especially for the story-telling quality. If you want a re-read its in the archives.

"Sipping..." Update

2007-03-09T19:05:00.000-08:00

Heard back from S. today. She swam with me when I was in the fishtank (I am sad to say it has been a while since I did the backstroke). One of her current projects is an anthology whose theme is party drinks. My story "Sipping Margarita" is very lucky to be involved in this venture. So the edit is back and I have to take a look and see what advice she has for me.

I really admire her writing. She is awesome at desciption and getting to the heart of her stories.

What is your Erotic Personality?

2007-03-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

My friend Sage is working on a fun movie book. Click the link below to find out more!

http://sagevivant.com/your_erotic_personality_movie.php

Who has the time?

2007-03-05T20:39:00.000-08:00

Okay, I am always saying I don't have time to write. It's true. An hour a day. That's nothing. Nothing.

But another activity I neglect is reading. Ten minutes on the toilet with "Real Simple" just isn't cutting it. I miss those days in New York, when I had a guaranteed hour and a half a day commuting on the train. For sure time with my books.

A book a month now. Shit. I think it hurts my writing. I write better when I read more. It's a fact.

Good writing also inspires me to write. When I read a chapter from one of my favorite authors, I think, "I want to do that. I want to send someone to another place. A real place, as real as thier living room." Diana Gabaldon has written six books in a series about the same two people, each over 800 pages long! I have yet to finish my first novel. Short stories. Good short stories, but that novel is coming along a page a month.

I am babbling, probably because I am tired. But one of my goals is to read a book every two weeks instead of once a month. Doesn't seem like much, but thats double the inspiration.

A people's sexual revolution in China

2007-03-04T08:00:00.000-08:00

SHANGHAI: When Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue hit the newsstands last week in mainland China for the first time, with the sexy singer Beyoncé on the cover, the competition was fierce.
Readers here had already seen the February issue of For Him Magazine, which features a Chinese singer, A Duo, on its cover wearing a white V-neck leotard that reveals every other inch of her rather substantial figure.

Inside, A Duo poses like a dominatrix, clutching her breasts, wrapping her naked body in celluloid and bending, sweat-drenched, over a submissive man.

The racy For Him Magazine also offers tips on "how to do it in five minutes" (because a "sex break is the same as a coffee break") and features stories with titles like "The Dangerous Sex Journey of QiQi."

Read more of this articale by David Barboza

Quote of the Day

2007-03-04T07:51:00.000-08:00

"Of all the delights of this world, man cares most for sexual intercourse. Yet he has left it out of his heaven." - Mark Twain

Psychopathia Sexualis

2007-03-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

"Writer-director Bret Wood brings to the screen titillating vignettes that portray the deviant sexual behaviors catalogued in Richard von Krafft-Ebing's infamous medical text that shocked Victorian sensibilities. Dramatizing cases such as those of a masochist seeking carnal fulfillment from being dominated and a lesbian tutor who seduces her female pupil, this provocative film is a study in steamy soft-core fetishism and sexual exploitation."

This movie was strange, but also very interesting. This doctor was attempting to categorizing sexual behavior. Everyone should be put in their neat little box.

Sex can’t be defined this way. Well, at least I don’t think it can.

For example, I love for my partner to be in charge, a little rough, but on occasion I want to whip him into shape. We all know my sexual history. Well we ALL want to know my sexual history…;-) What we can deduce by my published writing is that I think girls are hot. And looky here on my ring finger, a wedding band. Yes, my husband was voted an honorary lesbian in college by the National Lesbian Society at his university, but let me assure you he has all the appropriate parts and knows how to use them amazing well.

My point is, sex isn’t cut and dry. Some days fresh from the shower, the scent of soap and fresh deodorant tickling my nose hairs; and others a sweaty ball sack can get me going. It’s not gross! Try it, try it, you will see…;-)

Anyhow, back to this movie. Interesting and strange vignettes dealing with this doctor’s thoughts on sex. Definitely worth a watch. I found the lesbian sex scene to be, shall we say, arousing. Although I did find a big part of the ridiculous in it.

Who's the Bomb?

2007-02-23T20:37:00.000-08:00

Who's a nasty bitch? Why yours truely. I am so psyched to tell my devoted fans that I am the newest staff writer at Custom Erotica Source.com. Thank you! Thank you!

Now lets see if I can do this thing. As I have said earlier it wasn't easy writing that greenhouse number, but it was fun.

Anyhow, I am stoked...truely and for sure.

Have a Sexy Valentine's Day!

2007-02-14T06:56:00.000-08:00

Kissing Record

2007-02-11T12:17:00.000-08:00

MANILA, Philippines - More than 6,000 couples kissed simultaneously at midnight Saturday in the Philippines with organizers of the event claiming to have set a new world record.
Organizers of the annual pre- Valentine's Day celebration said they broke the record held by

Hungary, where 5,875 couples kissed simultaneously in Budapest in 2005.
"We broke the record, it's great," said Howard Belton, a Briton who spearheaded the event.

With fireworks, confetti, a giant TV screen, and red balloons as the backdrop, couples locked lips and hugged for 10 seconds following a countdown outside a Manila mall.

An unofficial tally showed 6,124 couples kissed simultaneously, organizers said, but the number needs to be verified by an independent auditor and approved by Guinness World Record officials before it becomes a world record.

"It was our first time to join the celebration and we participated to be able to beat the record of Hungary," said Katherine Hermosa, who was with her boyfriend.

Quote of the Day

2007-01-30T19:54:00.000-08:00

Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography. ~Robert Byrne, quoted in 1,911 Best Things Anybody Ever Said, 1988

Give Your Knitting a Little Discipline!

2007-01-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

Thought this site was cool. Jennifer Stafford is the creator of a popular websiste called www.domiknitrix.com. There you can find goth influenced, sexy patterns with no-nonsense instructions. Break away from the ho-hum with projects like the Winged Heart Bralet, the Devil Hat, the Big Bad Wolf Pullover and the Biteme/Spank Me Valentine Candy Pillows, and infuse your knitting with some renegade spirit.

US Funds Abstinence Training for Adults

2007-01-23T08:48:00.000-08:00

by Janice Erlbaum
Would you horndogs stop having sex already?

The US government is expected to spend close to $50 million in 2007 on state-run abstinence-only "birth-control programs" aimed at people as old as 29. These programs, which are supposed to reduce the number of unwanted pregnancies by preaching abstinence, make no mention of birth-control devices or methods or how they work; instead, they teach participants that no sex is safe sex and that people should not have sex before marriage. Previously, states were given grants to fund abstinence-only programs (which do little to reduce unwanted pregnancies, compared to comprehensive programs featuring real information about birth control) for kids age 12 though 19, but the Department of Health and Human Resources has now revised its guidlines to include adults in their 20s. Advocates of women's health are appalled at our government's intrusive, moralistic approach to adult sexuality: when 90 percent of adults aged 20-29 are having sex, you're not going to decrease the number of unwanted pregnancies by telling them to stop. And the other 10 percent are doing just fine not getting laid all on their own, without the government's help.

Naughty Words

2007-01-22T20:24:00.000-08:00

Dr. Johnson silenced two spinsters who complimented him for the omision of
"naughty words" in his dictionary with the comment: "What! my dears! then you have been looking for them." - Taken from The Literary Life and other Curiosities

New "Source" of Inpiration

2007-01-20T17:51:00.000-08:00

So, I am trying something new. There was a posting at the Erotic Readers & Writers Association website for writers for a customized erotica website called Custom Erotica Source. Shawn and I have often talked putting something together like this, but of course never have. I think it is an awesome idea.

I e-mailed them and was given a sample assignment to show them what I can put together in a week. I love the setting and hope that I am able to give them something they want. This could be a fun way to earn some extra cash. Wish me luck!

Quote of the Day

2007-01-18T07:37:00.000-08:00

"Fifty percent of women in this country are not having orgasms. If that were true for the male population, it would be declared a national emergency." - Margo St. James

"Lipstick..." Update

2007-01-13T16:51:00.000-08:00

Guess what came in the mail today? Payment for my contribution to the Lipstick on Her Collar anthology. Maybe this means my story, "Reap What you Sew," will be going into print soon. My story was chosen the summer before last, before I created my writing blog.

When writing this little number I was pictureing the showroom I used to work at in NY. Having designed bathing suits there it wasn't a long stretch to picture lingerie being created. We also had an amazing seamstress named Magdalina, but she was a very sweet older lady. She would probably be shocked by this...lol...

Let me know what you think!

Reap What You Sew [1986 words] (FF, oral)
Copyright © 2005 by Crystal Barela

This story contains sexually explicit scenes.

I looked down at the sewing machine in front of me, adjusted the silk and lace under the needle and hit the presser foot. The whiz of the sewing machine echoed in the near empty room. Machines sat to my sides, in front and behind. A rainbow of delicate fabrics and ribbons were tucked in the drawers beneath my sewing table. Loose colorful threads dangled form their holders.

The delicate scent of roses preceded Sharon, along with the click-clack of her heels.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and glimpsed her walking past me from the corner of my eye. Her heels were high, too high to walk the paved streets of Manhattan, but she wore them everyday. No shorter than three inches in height, seamed stockings a favorite of hers.

Sharon looked the designer. One day the clean lines of Klein skimmed her curves, the next day the sumptuous fabrics of Gautier. A little flash and a lot of style could have been her motto.

It was after hours and Sharon had asked me to finish this bit of lace in front of me. A personal project. Not a difficult job, I turned out three dozen of these a day. When I was done it would be a delicate black lace demi-bra. The matching low-riding thong and garter belt were finished, also black, with contrasting cherry red stitching.

“Mags?”

I looked up from my needle. My name was Magdalina. She was the only one who called me Mags.

Sharon stood in her office doorway, white silk blouse unbuttoned and pulled from her black pencil skirt. I swallowed hard. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the gentle shadow of her cleavage winked at me when she put her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Ms. Sharon?”

She shook her head at me, smiling.

“Always so formal, Mags,” she walked toward me a natural sway to her hips. Her blonde hair skimmed her collar bones. “How long have we known each other? Four years?”

Four years, five months, two days, eight hours and a handful of minutes. But who’s counting? It had been winter and she had been late. Sharon had walked into the office unbelting an amazing white lamb’s wool trench, her calves encased in red leg-hugging leather that had looked as soft as butter; the heels topped four inches.

Underneath had been more winter white; a cashmere dress with a loosely clasped rhinestone belt floating on her hips. The hem just skimmed her knees. The only skin visible was her face, set on a pedestal of white.

“Nearly done?”

I focused on the project in front of me.

Sharon came up behind me and leaned over my shoulder, fingering the delicate material between her manicured fingers, the bright red polish setting off the lace.

The heat of her body pressed against my back. Her soft hair kissed my bare arm.

“Beautiful work.” She whispered her breath wetting my ear. I shivered, shifting the chair away from her, the screech of the legs against the floor echoed in the room.

“Thank you, Ms. Sharon.”

She stood, placing her hands on my shoulders.

“You really are the best seamstress we have, Mags.” She massaged my shoulders, thumbs brushing my neck. “Every stitch perfect.”

I trembled. “Thank you.”

“Are you a perfectionist in all that you do?”

I ignored her question and pressed my foot against the pedal. Sharon squeezed my shoulders lightly and then took the garter and panties and returned to her office. She looked over her shoulder in the doorway, letting her shirt fall down her back to her elbows.

“Bring the bra in when you finish.”

I nodded, trying to keep my eyes on my work.

Three more minutes and I would be done. Away from Sharon’s heels. Free of her perfume. Not near the lace that would be cupping her breasts and pussy as my hands ached to.

I would take the subway home to my little apartment in Brooklyn and sit in front of my air conditioner. I’d get out my Rabbit and take care of the heat Sharon created. A little time with the intense buzz of those little ears would banish this need.

I pulled the bra from under the foot of the machine. I snipped the loose threads with my scissors and held it in front of me. Sharon was right. Perfect.

I turned off my machine, straightened my sewing table and returned the thread to the shelves before heading to her office.

Sharon’s back was to me, her weight on one leg as she examined the design illustrations on the wall in front of her. She had removed her blouse and skirt. The thong and garter I had sewn licked her curves.

My mouth watered.

Her stockings were neatly in place, exposing a stretch of creamy thigh and ass.

I cleared my throat. Her shoulder blades shifted, muscles moving delicately beneath her skin.

Sharon smiled over her shoulder, adjusting the glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Mags,” her smile grew wider. She came toward me, removing her specs. “That was quick.”

My eyes focused on her breasts. No bra necessary. Round, full, succulent. Nipples, pale blushing shadows, hardening at my stare. Or from the air-conditioning. I shook my head, fighting my desire.

“Thank you,” Sharon said. She stood closer than I would have liked. My skin flushed by her nearness. She took the bra from my hand and leaned into me, her lips grazing my cheek. “You’re an artist.”

I turned my head, my lips brushing hers.

My coverall’s met her breasts and a blush traveled up her chest to her cheeks.

She hesitated.

I didn’t.

My tongue traced her glossy pout.

Sharon’s tongue answered tentatively.

That was all the permission I needed.

I pressed her back against her desk, design markers rolling onto the floor as my tongue plundered her mouth. She moaned, her arms circling my neck and pulling the rubber band from my hair. My pony-tail slipped free and my black hair fell around our shoulders.

My fingers glided beneath the flimsy bit of silk covering her pussy and slid through her smooth folds. Wetness clung to my fingers, spreading the ache in my cunt. She gasped my name. I massaged her mound, my thumb circling her clit.

Sharon’s neck tasted like talcum. I kissed my way down to her breasts. Under my tongue, her nipples were hard little buttons. I sucked her into my mouth, her moans milking my pussy.

My panties were soaked.

Sharon’s hands fumbled with the hooks on my overalls, and the denim bunched up between us. My finger inched inside, then two, pushing along her silky walls. She bucked against my calloused hands.

Papers flew from her desk.

I kicked off my sneakers and climbed up with her in nothing but my white wife beater.

“Mags?” she gasped. I took a seat on her knee, rubbing my cunt against the smooth silk stocking.

“Ms. Sharon?”

“What are you doing?” Her thigh moved under me and I began to ride, keeping time with my hand in her cunt.

“Fucking you.”

Sharon laughed and I leaned in close to her wet box. I blew against her clit. Her wet pearl grew bold, peaking out from behind its curtain. I licked and it danced, taking hold of my tongue in an unfamiliar beat. My taste buds popped.

Sweet, bitter, tart, salty.

Her fingers slid through my hair, her pretty nails skimming my scalp in a tingling caress.

I found her spot. Sharon’s fingers yanked my tresses, knotting in my hair.

My thumb met my fingers. I serviced her hot cunt, sliding deeper with each flick of my tongue. Her moans were crazy love sounds, begging me to stop, pleading with me to take her. Her pussy grabbed the widest part of my hand protesting for a moment, before sighing around my palm.

Embracing my wrist.

I froze, my lips holding her clit between them.

Our eyes met.

Sharon’s hips moved.

My fingers separated.

Her eyes closed.

I began to work, the job I had wanted since I had first seen Sharon in her Prada suit and Jimmy Choo pumps. My tongue nipped and tucked between her folds, smoothing the goose bumps that rose beneath my taste buds. Stroking, lapping. I measured the length of her slit with my hand, draping the curves and angles of her pussy. Her cunt squeezed my fingers, tested my fit, pulled me deeper, bruising my knuckles.

Wet my panties.

Sharon’s voice rang off the ceiling of the office, nearly setting me off. I pulled my hand from her and slid her wet juices through the hairs of my sex, my eyes squeezing shut.

“No!” she sat up, wrapping an arms around me. Her lips captured mine as her hand interlaced with my fingers between our bodies.

“Show me,” she whispered.

I put her hand under mine and played her fingers like I did a needle and thread, pushing and flowing together. Slipping and sliding in our juices. My abs clenched and I began to rock on our hands, our thumbs circling my clit one way then the next.

Dark red kisses were falling on my cheeks and eyelids, nibbling my chin and neck. Her tongue flicked my ear and told me how hot I was.

I was her Mags.

Sexy.

Talented.

Sharon’s artist, her little perfectionist.

My come flooded my pussy, our hands, her desk.

Sharon groaned, locking lips.

We wrapped our legs around each other, cunt meeting bush. Tongue sucking tongue.
Her hands slid up my tank, palms circling my hard knotted nipples; aching for her teeth. Sharon pushed the white cotton up around my armpits and her head dropped to my breasts. She pinched my nubbins between her pearly white teeth. My hips ground into hers, heat building again. Her hand cradled my pussy, rubbing in slow smooth circles; nails catching on the curly hairs sending pings of desire to my center.

Her blue eyes caught my brown. With a gentle hand, she pushed me back onto the desk and nibbled down my body. She nuzzled my ribs and sampled my navel. My giggles filled the office as she played, kissing her way over my belly and rubbing her cheeks against my bush.
Laughter was replaced by moans when her tongue slipped from between her lips and began to lap at my clit like a kitty at her saucer. She kept her tongue wide and flat, hitting every knit in my fabric. I could hardly breathe.

“Is this right?” she whispered, picking up tempo. “Or how about this?” Her fingers sank into me, twisting so that her hand could hit my g-spot. My eyes crossed.

The phone rang.

Like a pro, she replaced her tongue with her thumb and picked up the receiver with her free hand. She never lost the beat.

“Hello?”

My eyes focused on her face. Sharon’s lipstick was smeared across her cheeks, her lips and nose glossy with my juices.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her voice was rusty with desire.

“I won’t be able to come.”

Sex hair. A fuzzy ball at the back of her head.

“No, I’ll call you.”

She thrummed my clit.

I bit my lip.

The heat overwhelmed me.

Thighs clenched.

I cried out her name.

Sharon dropped the phone and crawled up my body, breasts meeting breasts. Our lips melded as my body arched off the desk, lifting her as I came. We collapsed against the teak, polished with our sweat.

We lay, catching our breath, her head in the crook of my arm; Sharon’s stocking clad thigh across my bare ones.

“Ms. Sharon?”

Our temples met.

“Mags?”

I reached for her hand and brought it to my lips.

“Ever take the subway to Brooklyn?”

“No.” She slid her hand along my cheek, turning my face to hers. “But I’ll take a taxi.”

Quote of the Day

2007-01-13T16:49:00.000-08:00

"Good girls go to heaven; bad girls go everywhere." - Helen Gurley Brown

www.rotten.com

2007-01-11T19:48:00.000-08:00

I love this site and I stole the information and photos below on the topic of the penis cake from rotten.com. There are more pics on the site that are very intersting.

I'm Bill Kurtis. For centuries, men and women have searched for innovative ways to stuff their mouths with enormous dicks. Whether single or looking, straight or gay, happily married or fading quietly into the background of an interminable bachelorette party, never forget that Valentine's Day looms somewhere in your immediate future. This year, instead of disposable diamonds, sappy love poems or a forgettable second honeymoon, take a cue from the Rotten Library and lovingly craft for your significant other something they can really choke down good and proper.

"Erotic" cakes have an uncertain history, since a cake can only be defined abstractly: an amalgam of doughy, tactile ingredients smooshed together and solidified to some degree -- without necessarily being placed against fire or inside a wood burning stove. In ancient times, cakes were rolled or hand-pressed into patties which more closely resembled bread, optionally sweetened with raisins, nuts, or honey. Whether or not turn-of-the-century pattycakes will ever qualify as "erotic" is a source of endless rivalry among today's leading anthropologists. One point of scholarly agreement is that based on cave paintings and crude etchings, boobs and boners sure looked weird back then.

Even the English word "cake" is an unfortunate generational deritvative of the Norse word kaka, making a scholarly review of penis cakes all the more childish. The ancient Greeks called their cakes plakous, meaning flat -- but the word later evolved to evoke images of the placenta, introducing concepts which could not be any less erotic and therefore beyond the scope of this tutorial. Soap cakes and urinal cakes certainly fit the Oxford English dictionary's limited description. They're typically flat, and they have been glimpsed in or around the company of penises -- although their level of eroticism remains steadfastly relative to personal preference.

The earliest cakely prototypes -- erotic or otherwise -- first popped up in 17th century Europe, after technological advancements in ovens and tin tray molds caught up to the availability of flour and refined sugar. The erotic titty cakes and big-balled popovers we've come to know and love emerged over time from flattened cookies and shortbreads.

Eventually, sweeter icings evolved from simple fruit garnishes and glazes: sticky, boiled compositions of sugar and egg whites. Several generations of erotic chefs would live and die before refined white flour and baking powder replaced yeast, making cakes ten times more delicious and paving the way for more edible pastries truly worth knob-gobbling.

"You Design It, We'll Bake It" is the company motto of the world-famous Kopps Bakery, where all the cakes are hand-carved and never made from a mold. Kopps has been in business since 1961, and now boasts over 350 stores around the globe. Their press release claims they can create "any design you can imagine, from a couple making love to a hand-carved male organ or a female torso with edible panties and bra". The names of individual pastries in their bachelorette catalogue reads like a laundry list of rejected Hustler magazine copy: Dick Laying on Her Breasts, Ride 'Em Cowgirl on a Big Dick, Male Organ in Butt, Long Thin Johnson in Big Black Ass (made to order) -- and the enigmatic Busted-Up Dick Cake That Had Cum for the Last Time. Take at look at the artful, precision handiwork Kopps can deliver in just under an hour:
Christ on the cross, maybe they do need a mold. Somebody get these folks a muffin tin. Their online order form is similarly cluttered: just millimeters away from the link to order a Big Daddy Dick Cum Cake, one can accidentally click the Sesame Street Elmo cake. Watch those butterfingers, mom.

And watch those copyrights: a triple-tiered vanilla angel food cake fashioned after your ex-boyfriend's cock sock will be easier to market and sell than anything you've constructed with a Mickey Mouse mold or Spongecake Squarepan. Respected baking supply companies like Sugarcraft of Hamilton, Ohio specialize in the art of food decoration. They go out of their way to distance themselves from clients who sell unauthorized cakes made from molds of copyrighted characters like Winnie the Pooh, Barney, Dora the Explorer and others. In dessert factories, the mantra is still "don't mess with the mouse". Copyright police who show up to harass your small-scale bakery are happy to set you up with a $10,000 fine.

Because of zoning regulations, chef Paul Condra's Erotic Bakery in Seattle, Washington is the only full-time penis cake manufacturer in the Pacific Northwest. Working with a two-man crew, Conda serves close to 150 customers each day. "We're very streamlined and efficient. The gummy boobs and gummy penises are very popular," Condra told the University of Washington Daily. Since 1986, Condra's penis cakes have remained the Erotic Bakery's best-selling items -- so popular, in fact, that the Erotic Bakery has branched out into a line of paper goods: plates and napkins covered with penises, penis-shaped straws and dry pasta fashioned after big bent boners.

Other hazards you might encounter as a baker of erotic cakes are nuisances constructed by cranky, uptight citizenry. In 2005, a Belgian woman sued the owner of a private pastry boutique who dared to peddle erotic marzipan figures for Valentine's Day. The woman claimed the cakes depicted sexual positions, and argued that they shouldn't be publicly displayed in the baker's shop window. The chef, identified by the Het Laatste news service only as Baker Van Buggenhout (say it out loud if you wish) insisted that it was all in fun -- and that the figures didn't even show sexual organs.

"People laugh when they see them," the baker stated calmly, neither bugged out nor on the verge of bugging out. "They buy them to give to their wives or girlfriends." The elderly complainant who lived near the bakery shop window insisted that by putting the erotic morsels on display, the baker was effectively exposing children to pornography.

Meanwhile, have you seen what passes for window displays in Amsterdam? Hint: big floppy half-naked prostitutes underneath red light bulbs, none of which are made of fresh marzipan. And as for you footloose and fancy-free gay dads, Kopps Bakery more or less has you covered with treats like the Gay Bed Cake and the infamous Marzipan Men To Lick Cake. This treat features two cuddly Ken doll look-a-likes, determined dongs pointing north, cavorting in the yin-yang position. In addition to misshapen lumps of frosting, Kopps' Erotic Bakery created the world's largest chocolate cream pie for the Rosie O'Donnell show: over six feet in diameter and 800 pounds. Then in 1998, they created the world's largest Pop Tart, showcased in Madison Square Garden -- 25 feet by 35 feet, weight over 1500 pounds.

If your modeling skills are less than stellar -- or the idea of squeezing dough into crude shapes which only vaguely resemble testicles, penis cake pans might be the way to go. Suitable for shaping cookies, brownies, or Jell-O, the majority of consumer peckerware and booby molding cups are dishwasher safe and non-tarnishing. Naturally, they're available in a variety of "big boy" shapes, sizes and circumcisions -- and quite perfect for raucous bachelorette parties or nudging that long-awaited sexual harassment suit up into second gear. For those even less talented in the cooking department, curiously-shaped cake toppers are an elegant afterthought. These are miniature, edible accoutrements, typically made of marzipan or a gelatinous gummy bear substance, widely available in novelty shops. Cake toppers can be squiggled and bent to represent numerical shapes (Congrats On Your 40th) or fashioned from fine beeswax into proper candles, affectionately referred to as dicks with wicks.

The inscriptions which traditionally accompany personalized erotic cakes -- penis and otherwise -- range from lukewarm and uninspired to dull-as-an-office-party. According to Masturbakers, a custom cake and pastry manufacturer in New York, there are eight particularly popular pieces of copy which never go out of style. In no particular order, consider communicating your appreciation with clever quippery like Tits Your Birthday, Breast Wishes, Make A Wish And Blow, This Butt's For You, To Have And To Hold, The Breast Is Yet To Cum, and of course the old chestnuts A Hard Man Is Good To Find and Have Your Cake And Eat It Too.

Masturbakers' cakes are reasonably priced: an extra large John Holmes cake will run you about $100. A large Pussy cake, meanwhile, goes for $65. The Tommy Lee, with optional tuxedo, will feed anywhere from ten to twelve children for a modest $45. All the way across the country -- for $1,800 -- costume and prop supplier Tim Vittetoe Originals in Washington state can manufacture a pop-out stripper cake four feet in diameter, perfect for stage shows or special events, and capable of supporting overweight strippers weighing up to and including three hundred pounds! Gross.

When Adam Roberts of Amateur Gourmet chose to immortalize floppy, disgusting boobs in dessert form, he took a cue from the Janet Jackson Super Bowl incident. Roberts found the perfect recipe for cappuccino cupcakes with cocoa-tinted white chocolate and sour cream frosting. The hard part was making the boobs just the right shade of brown, to match Ms. Jackson's skin tone. After several experiments, he ended up sifting together powdered sugar with "a cautious amount" of cocoa. A single Hershey's Kiss served as the nipple, piping white icing in a spider web lattice to simulate the nipple jewelry. "The likeness was uncanny," Roberts reported. So delighted was Adam with his erotic accomplishment that he now sells T-shirts celebrating his Jackson cupcakes.

And let's never forget the dutiful service record of Patrick Stewart (a.k.a. Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise) who served as a guest host on Saturday Night Live in February of 1993. One of the characters he chose to portray was a baker of erotic cakes, fixated on one subject in particular. Let's ripple-dissolve to the fading sound of angels strumming on flashback harps and remember that classic sketch together.

Young Man: Yeah, my friend's having a bachelor party, and I thought it might be kind of fun if I got him an erotic cake.

Picard: Well, you've come to the right place. I have the perfect sexy cake for a bachelor party. [opens box]

Young Man: Looks like a woman going to the bathroom.

Picard: Yeah! It's very sexy.

Young Man: What else do you have?

Picard: Well, why don't we take a look at our catalogue? Here's a woman squatting behind some bushes. The leaves are made of spun sugar. And here's a lady using a little marzipan port-o-potty.

Young Man: So, all your cakes are women going to the bathroom?

Picard: Yeah. What's your point?

Young Man: Well, don't you have anything else?

Picard: Maybe you don't understand - this is an erotic bakery.

Young Man: I'm sorry, I just don't find this very erotic.

Picard: A woman going to the bathroom, you don't find it erotic?

Young Man: Not really.

Picard: Well then, what pray tell would you suggest we do put on our erotic cakes?

Young Man: I don't know. People having sex. Female and male genitalia. You know, something like that.

Picard: Well, if that's what you're after, I suggest you try Hostess or Sara Lee!

Young Man: Can't you just make a cake with a couple on it having sex?

Picard: All right, look. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll make a cake with a woman and a man going to the bathroom. And that way you'll be happy and your friends will be happy.

Young Man: I don't think my friends would like that either.

Picard: Well, I would certainly like to meet these friends of yours sometime.

Young Man: Look, could we just have a cake with sex and no going to the bathroom?

Picard: May I remind you that you're going to have to eat this cake?

Today of course, dirty pictures from your computer -- even in GIF or JPEG format -- can easily be transferred photo realistically to a cake right in your own home, without the hassle of nosy third-party erotic vendors or copyright enforcement police. Feel free to do it yourself: the CopyKake company in Torrence, California sells edible inks offering outstanding color reproduction with a minimum of "head clogging," a common printing problem which sounds conspicuously like the inspiration for an erotic cake in and of itself.

Intentional or otherwise, CopyKake's groundbreaking line of computerized cake decorating products have helped bring erotic pastries into the twenty-first century. Sadly, the majority of customers who purchase edible inks have yet to adequately exploit the technology for the purposes of erotica.

Printers compatible with the Canon brand of bubble jets can be loaded with edible ink cartridges -- cyan, magenta, yellow and black. The unused inks have a shelf life of six months, if properly refrigerated. Thermal reversibility allows for an optimum ratio of colored inks to bond with the icing. Pornography can be printed with these edible inks onto frosting sheets: light, edible papers made of corn starch and sugar. The sheets, freshly inked, are peeled from their backings and laid atop a refrigerated cake flat-frosted with butter cream or non-dairy topping. In fifteen minutes, your hand-made erotic cake will be more than ready to sproing on a loved one -- just in time for Valentine's Day.

The Law and the Lady

2007-01-10T17:36:00.000-08:00

In the past editors often arbitrarily cut "erotic" passages from novel manuscripts, even if the aurthor's contract specified that his book was to be published verbatim from his manuscript. This happened to Wilkie Collins, whose The Law and the Lady (1875) was so bowdlerized. The edited version of the passage in question read: "He caught my hand in his and covered it with kisses. In the indignition of the moment I cried out for help." The "objectionable" original version read: "He caught my hand in his and covered it with kisses. He twisted himself suddenly in the chair, and wound his arm around my waist. In the terror and indignation of the moment, seriously struggling with him, I cried out for help."

- Taken from The Literary Life and Other Curiosities by Robert Hendrickson

Quote of the Day

2007-01-08T19:43:00.000-08:00

"I was really into bestiality, sadomasochism, and necrophilia, but then I realized I was just beating a dead horse."
- unkown

Going Straight?

2006-12-28T09:38:00.000-08:00

Hell no! But I am a married woman. This has been lying around needing a home for publication. Any suggestions?

Heat [975 words] (MF, anal)
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela.

This story contains sexually explicit scenes. If you are offended or would be upset by reading erotica, please leave this blog site. I can guarntee you, you WILL be offended.

Summer had found its way inside our upper east side apartment, despite open windows and oscillating fans.

“Did you talk to the super about the AC?” I asked. The air conditioner had been out since last night.

Knees wide, I sat on the kitchen floor with my back against the fridge. I pulled at the ribbed fabric of my white tank top, creating a breeze between the shadows of my breasts. Their weight created a wet suction against my body when I moved.

“No air until the end of the week.” Max looked over at me, his eyes alight with sympathy. “Why don’t you jump in the shower again?”

Max was lying on the kitchen floor, his chest and abdomen glistened with sweat. His legs were spread wide, boxers clinging to him in the creases of his legs and accentuating his cock. Like a cat, he was trying to flatten himself against the cool tile.

I leaned over him. Max’s hand came to rest wet and sticky on the back of my neck.

“Give me a reason to shower,” I whispered and touched my lips softly to his. They hovered close, held apart by the air’s humidity.

His tongue snuck out to mingle with mine in a slow dance. As our breathing deepened I let my hand slide across his chest. The soft hair touching the palm of my hand electrified my pussy. I found his left nipple, circled it….and he began to sit up.

“No!” Max mumbled against my mouth. This was his sensitive nipple and I thrilled at teasing it.

“No?” I asked bewitchingly. I deliberately leaned down and let my tongue trace a circle around the nipple, my eyes never leaving his. I licked, swallowing his protests, gently pushing him down against the tiles. My other hand skimmed his erection beneath his shorts. Protests turned into groans as I rubbed him through the fabric.

Max’s nipple was as hard as his dick in his boxers.

I crawled between his legs and bent close to his underwear, letting my tongue wet the thin fabric. Our skin was like cellophane, condensation building in and out of our bodies. I licked and rubbed until he squirmed on the floor. I could stand it no longer; I wanted skin.

I reached through the hole in the front of his boxers, finding his dick hard and wanting. It flopped out of the opening…sweaty ... thick with need. I licked from one end to the next, taking in as much as I could. Max groaned and his ass rose off the floor. His cock slipped into the dark wetness of my throat. I pumped my mouth, loving the salty taste. My hand joined my lips, finding the rhythm he liked until I tasted the bittersweet pre-come.

With an order to be still, I pushed the crotch of my panties to the side and knelt over his big boy. My juicy cunt pulled him into my tight walls. Max cried my name, his hips trying to move, but I held firm. I clung to his dick, loving the hardness inside me. I clenched my muscles and he cursed with pleasure. I pulled myself off of him and a loud sucking sound echoed in the kitchen.
We both laughed, and I came down again slowly.

His face was a picture of agony. Max wanted to fuck me hard. I could see it in the strained lines of his features. I wondered how long he would last before he cracked.

I worked myself on him leisurely, one of my hands coming down to play with my clit. His eyes watched my fingers as they toyed with my folds. It was too hot to move faster. I was floating on his dick. My nerve endings screaming.

“Let me,” Max insisted, replacing my hand with his. His thumb made my calves clench and my toes curl as I used him as my personal dildo. He swirled and pushed my heated clit until I couldn’t sit upright, my insides melted and everything around me went white with pleasure.

He rolled me off of him and onto my stomach. The hard tile was a cool slap of gratification to my breasts and stomach as they hit the floor. Max ripped the flimsy fabric of my panties aside and his arm snaked around my waist. He shoved his dick in me without preamble or finesse. He fucked me on the kitchen floor like a dog; hard and fast. My hands found the wall, and Max grunted in satisfaction as I pushed back against him. I was so wet that his dick sailed through me.

I felt something slick being rubbed along my ass crack. A can of Crisco rolled by my head and hit the wall. My giggle turned into a groan as he pushed the soft grease against my asshole, lubing me up as his dick continued to fuck my pussy. One hand grabbed me hair like it was a rein.

“Ready?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer Max left my cunt and forced his way into my ass. I screamed in pleasure while he pumped…yanking my hair, slamming into my receptive hole. Every pore of my skin seemed to burst with perspiration. Every hair was on end is he rammed into me harder and harder. I pressed back against him.

His free hand found my clit and tugged roughly. There was no gentleness and none wanted.
Max pulled and fucked, working a couple of fingers in my pussy. He mopped my clit with my wetness. His dick seemed to grow even larger. He was growling, cursing and calling me his whore. Max pulled out, and hot sprays of his come flew across my back, over my shoulder blades and into my hair.

His hand found my clit and I let his seed and kitchen oils toss me over the edge again.
I collapsed on the floor.

He lay on my back, his weight pressing into me. He kissed my neck, nuzzled my sensitive skin.

I shivered, smiling. “NOW, I need a shower.” I whispered.

Max chuckled against my ear. “Me too.”

"Sipping Margarita" To be Published

2006-12-04T09:03:00.000-08:00

This is a great story about a hot, sexy, fuller figured woman. Set in Borrego and one of my absolute favorites for imagery. Shanna, a fellow writer friend I've been published with before, is putting together a book based on bar drinks. You know how all of those drinks have sexual names. "Screaming Orgasm," "Sex on the Beach," "Fuzzy Navel," Etc. Along with the stories will be the recipes for your favorite drink...so you can sip along while you read. Cool, aye! Sorta like a novel that I have in the works that uses recipes for food in a similar way...but I won't go into that.

Let me know what you think of the story and thanks for reading!

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex or sex using toys, or any kind of sex, stop reading now!

Sipping Margarita
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela

The Basic Margarita

1 ½ oz. (3 Tbsp.) tequila
¾ oz. (1 ½ Tbsp.) fresh lime juice
½ oz. (1 Tbsp.) Cointreau or Triple Sec
lime wedge or slice

Moisten chilled glass rim with a little lime juice, then dip the rim into salt. Shake first 3 ingredients with cracked ice; strain into glass. Garnish with lime.

Taken from The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide by Sharon Tyler Herbst & Ron Herbst

***

The smooth worn wood of my guitar was soft beneath my palms. I caressed the strings in slow motion, dragging my calloused fingertips down the gentle slope of the neck in one long stroke before setting my fingers on a chord. I pulled a high pitched thrum from inside my wooden lover, as seductive as the sound of a woman coming.

I peered up from under my cowboy hat and winked at the woman in red. This was for her. I was imagining her body beneath my fingers as I strummed and picked, my pussy getting hotter as the hours passed. She’d been sitting in a nearby patch of shade from almost the moment I set up my gear─leaving every so often, but always returning to listen.

Getting noticed was this woman’s purpose. This was no pretty young thing, but a lady seasoned in turning heads. Full and round like a model in a Rubens painting. A palm tree had the pleasure of feeling the length of her back and the nudge of her ample cheeks against its smooth bark and I hoped by the end of the day I would enjoy the same.

Knees spread, her long prairie skirt draped like a hammock between them. The breeze carried the hem up ever so often, giving me a peek of rosy ripe pussy.

An embroidered white blouse hung off her round shoulders in layers of ruffles. Braless, her breasts were the size of cantaloupes and rolled under the thin fabric, teasing me with the possibility of a show, nipples just out of view.

At my feet was my open guitar case, dollar bills littering the black interior. It was just nearing sunset, bright rays of light shooting over the peeks of the San Ysidro Mountains behind me, casting a halo around the woman’s dark skin and hair. She rose to her feet as if pulled by a string, graceful like a dancer.

Skirts flew as she twirled in the golden light. Red painted toes, calves, knees and a glimpse of dimpled thigh. Arms overhead, fingers snapping in time with my playing.

She spun like a child seeking that place where your stomach turns and you collapse on the grass and watch the sky swirl round you.

The last note hung in the air. My dancer swayed drunkenly for a moment, as if she would fall to the ground. There was a moment of complete silence before the small crowd around us erupted in applause, the voluptuous beauty among them. Cat calls, clapping, and money rained into my tattered case. I waved and thanked our admirers before stowing my guitar.

Sandaled feet arrived in front of the case, a silver toe ring hugging her baby toe and a butterfly tattoo fluttering up her calf. I stood, drinking in the soft red cotton hugging her wide hips and soft belly. She was slightly out of breath, her breasts trembling against her top, dark nipples were shadows beneath the thin fabric. Perspiration gave her ample cleavage an inviting glow.

Close-up she was older than I had thought. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes. Long chocolate hair camouflaged the softening of her jaw. The whites of her deep dark eyes were in stark contrast with the cinnamon of her smooth skin. They sparked in the fading light, eager as a teenager’s.

“Margarita,” she said offering me her hand.

I took her plump fingers in my own and brought them to my lips. “Melissa.”

“You are, how you say? Muy talentosa.”

Sweet ocotillo and sunshine clung to her skin. I wanted to lick it off.

“I was wondering.” I moved in close enough to feel the heat of her sun-kissed skin through my T-shirt. Close enough to break the language barrier.

Pussy-pink tongue wet her lips.

“Would you like a private performance?” My thumb grazed the back of her knuckles, rubbing in slow circles.

Margarita tossed her hair like a wild stallion, her nostrils flaring, and nodded.

Guitar in hand, I took hold of her elbow and she led me out of the park. I didn’t much care where she was taking me, as long as I got to sip her sweet pussy before the night was over.
We entered the shadows of the alley. My guitar fell to the gravel and I pulled her full ripe body against mine. I pressed her back against the rough brick and ground my pussy into hers.

“Magnifico, Margarita.”

I kissed the color from her lips and inched her skirt up. The bright red fabric wadded around her waist, so I could feel her soft slick folds. She clung to my fingers, her walls knocking against my knuckles. Margarita moaned and bounced on my hand, one leg around my waist the other firmly on the ground.

My face was buried in her breasts. With a dozen practiced swirls of my thumb her cunt applauded, squeezing my fingers. I grabbed her ass, pulling her close, licking the salt from her skin.

A door was thrown open behind us. The alleyway was lit with a stream of light and accompanying mariachi music from the bar. A man silhouetted in the doorway stood on the stoop and lit up a cigarette.

“Where? Dónde?”

Margarita reached down and took hold of my guitar, and motioned for me to continue down the alley. She giggled and covered my face in heated kisses. Her hand slipped under my waistband and I staggered around the corner. She directed me up a narrow staircase.

We fell against the stairs and the old wood creaked under our weight.

Buttons popped and lips latched onto my tits like she was starving.

We crawled up the stairs, stumbling, kissing, drunk on passion.

Inebriated with Margarita.

The back of my head hit the door on the landing and I reached behind me for the knob. With a clumsy twist we tumbled into the room laughing.

My feisty senora pulled my jeans down my legs, and I kicked them off. Her fingers were in my snatch and her lips eating cunt before I could do more than gasp her name. She threw my legs over her shoulders.

Margarita circled and tapped her way around my clit, as if it were a sombrero, her lips making clapping sounds, finding a staccato beat. Her cocoa brown eyes met mine, dark and rich like the earth. Her fingers joined her tongue, partnering in a dance of heat and passion until my thighs stretched taut and my clit vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean.

I collapsed on the floor, catching my breath and Margarita crawled up my body, her warm soft skin pressing into me.

“Mas?”
“Si!” I said laughing. “Mucho mas!” I rolled us across the floor, landing on top of her. I pressed her hands into the braided rug beneath us. “What did you have in mind?”

Neck and ears were salty and damp. I licked and kissed my way to her breasts, burying my face between the massive drums, slick with perspiration. Nipples long and hard butted my lips, and I drank from them, nursing her; parched for this woman’s candied moans. Hands sticky with my juices tangled in my short hair, urging me lower. I nuzzled her belly, and kissed the crease of her leg. Margarita’s mound was covered in thick curly hair, a wild tangle that nudged my nose and lips.

The sweet skin of her labia filled my mouth, her heels digging into the floor outside my shoulders. I slurped her up, making circles around her hole with tongue and hand. The opening pulled at my fingertips, clinging to me. Her belly rose into the air, trembling and shaking.

“No!”

I would have screamed “Yes,” but I was sipping Margarita.

My new lover was close, her clit a hot knot of need, but she pulled free. Margarita crawled away from me toward the bed, her ass moving in a teasing sway. She took out a box from under the frame and tossed a big belted rubber cock my way.

Our eyes met and we both grinned. I stood and strapped on the cock that I felt I’d had all night. Margarita’s full round ass rose off her bed like a moon in the desert sky. The thick black head of my dick bounced in the air as I took position.

I took my new cock in hand and nudged my big boy against her damp slit. Her hand was between her thick thighs pulling me closer. The massive member pressed against Margarita’s soft folds and made a home between her pussy lips, sliding easily into her needy hole with the help of her slick juices. I hit bottom and pumped.

Steady, building speed. She begged for more. My fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. I rammed her.

Coyotes howled in the distance, and I joined them, fucking my strap-on into her hungry cunt. Her hands were against the wall, pushing back against me, taking the rubber cock deeper and deeper. Cursing and begging in Spanish, she urged me on. I reached beneath her belly and slid my fingers around her clit.

Eyes caught mine over her shoulder and she shuddered. Margarita came, her muscles squeezing my rubber dick so hard I couldn’t move within her. I lay on her back, our sweat drenched skin sliding together, my thighs burning. I kissed her neck and she giggled, collapsing against the mattress.

I pulled free, the scent of sex like incense in the small room.

We crawled up onto the twin bed, but she wasn’t tired. Her hand took hold of the teetering phallus and she stroked it. I swear I could feel it. Again, her hand took hold, slipping through her come and sweat. I moaned.

“Muy grande,” she whispered, getting onto her knees.

Margarita leaned over my hard-on, taking the rubber tip between her lips. A hand slid under the harness and found my clit standing on end. She ate her wetness from my length, and rubbed my girl-dick quickly. The weight of her breasts jiggled against my thighs. I lengthened, my body arching into the air and cried out her name as her passion through me over the edge again.
She kissed her way up my torso to my lips and I pillowed myself on her chest, listening to her racing heart. It slowed beneath my ear, and my eyes began to close to the rhythm of her soft snoring.

I sat up, not sure how much time had passed, but realizing the door wasn’t shut and my guitar was still on the stairs. I pressed a kiss between her breasts before I left the bed in search of my guitar and cigarettes.

Naked, I sat in the doorframe and pulled my baby into my arms. My fingers picked up the rhythm of Margarita’s breathing. I hummed under my breath as I watched her sleep. The rainbow colored serape framed her beautiful round body. The moon shone from the window behind her, lightening her skin to the shade of birch bark. Her long hair was feathered over her breasts, one knee falling over the other, covering her sex demurely.

Homage to nature’s beauty.

I lit a cigarette and let it dangle from my lips, pulling my guitar close against my stomach.
How’s that song go?

“When the whole world fits inside of your arms…” I mumbled.

Margarita’s eyes opened and she smiled. “Mas?”

I laughed softly and put out my cigarette. “Mucho mas, Margarita.” I put down the guitar and got to my feet. “Mucho mas.”

Due out September 27th!

2006-09-23T21:40:00.000-07:00

Next on the line up is "Locked & Loaded." This is a collection of some of my favorite kinds of stories. Hard core, touch chicks with weapons! Phew! Someone bring me some smelling salts. You can pre-order your copy from Amazon by clicking the link above.

Here's whats written on the back: Girls with guns. Women defending their honor. Spies who love other girls. Lady Gamblers.That's what Locked and Loaded is all about. This anthology explores what happens when the ladies stop being ladies and start kicking butt. They're hot, they're good with a gun, and they're finding love in all the right places. From pirates on the high sea to Old West sharpshooters to modern mercenaries, Locked and Loaded explores the sensuality of a woman making her place in a man's world. Cops and space captains, sharpshooters and Girl Fridays in old Hollywood, all of them are looking for a good woman and a good fight. Breaking down stereotypes as easily as they break down doors, the women of Locked and Loaded will knock your socks right off! Featuring Torquere Press favorites like Julia Talbot and BA Tortuga, as well as new voices like Dallas Coleman, Tracy Shelito, and Crystal Barela, this anthology is sure to please. Editor SA Clements has gathered stories from some of the finest writers in lesbian fiction. These tales move across history and the modern landscape, speaking of passion, intrigue and romance. And ultimately of power and passion.

Travelrotica for Lesbians on Shelves Now!

2006-09-04T21:29:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone who is still checking in with my writing site. Just wanted to let you know that "Tales of Travelrotica for Lesbians: Erotic Travel Adventures" is now in print for your enjoyment. Just pick on the link to pick up your copy. My story The Dusty Rose, can be found between the pages.

Book Description: It's the thrill of the unexpeted: a warm kiss on a boat's ledge, a stolen moment on a train, a foot massage in a piazza. No one knows your name. There are no rules. An erotic adventure is yours for the taking. It's a vacation you won't soon forget.

Your journey begins where Sapphic love began, then continues on to all points--from Odessa to Bangkok, Mexico City to the Caribbean, Paris to the Alps, and onward toward many more lush lands. This fresh, sexy collection of erotic sotries for women who love women will take you to places you'll want to visit again...and again.

Take a look...I am sure everyone will love these little ditties.

"Backstage" to be in Print

2006-07-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

My story "Backstage," about the life of a magician drag king is to be published (posted here March 30th)! Very exciting!

They had me add a scene concerning the magic act. Originally I did not have a scene 'cause it was supposed to be about the drama backstage, hence the title. But inquiring minds wanted to know. So I put together a little stage scene and resubmitted the story to the editors. I haven't heard back from them yet...so I am assuming no news is good news.

But maybe you, my loyal readers, can give me some feedback on the stage show? Let me know what you think.

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex or sex using toys, or any kind of sex, stop reading now!

(Added magic show scene for "Backstage." Read entry for March 30th for rest of story.)

The show had worked our audience to a fever pitch and we were reaching the orgasm of the act; the moment when every woman in the audience was crossing her legs and rubbing her wet pussy lips against green vinyl. Lover’s hands shamelessly reached under or down skirts. Mouths parted, eyes wide, they waited.

The stage was dark aside from the spotlight that illuminated my upper body. In the darkness behind, I could hear the whisper of the stage hands move the sofa center stage.

“Ladies…” My top hat flew to a lucky woman in the second row and I began to undo my bow tie. “…I promise that I have nothing up my sleeves.” I removed my jacket with a practiced twirl and tossed it stage left where Dawn caught it. Twist of fingers and my shirt sleeves were rolled to my elbows. I held my hands out, palms up for the audience. “And I guarantee the luscious Bambi has nothing up her skirt!”

On cue, Bambi sashayed out to me and I took her hand in mine. Heat arced to my loins from the casual touch.

I took my wand from my back pocket and slipped it under the length of lace that was Bambi’s skirt and lifted the fabric to her waist to reveal her shaved bare pussy. I raised a brow and said, “Nothing up front.” With an elegant twirl, Bambi’s arms rose over her head and she moved beneath the white tip, graceful, like a ballerina in a music box. Her proud breasts lifted high, rouged nipples peeking over the top of her bodice and short gold skirt rose slightly to give us a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs.

My wand paused with Bambi’s back to the audience and the spotlight widened to reveal the elegant back of a sofa behind us. The plush red velvet was exactly the length of Bambi’s outstretched arms. At the center was fifteen inches of soft cushion met by ornately carved wood on either side that widened into loops the size of bracelets.

I lifted the back hem of Bambi’s skirt with my wand so we could see the skin beneath. “Nothing under here but a rather exceptional derrière.”

Bambi bent slightly to give the crowd a better view and waved at the audience from between her legs. Their laughter turned to gasps as she ran her fingertips across her skin from her pink rosebud forward.

I lay Bambi over the back of the sofa and I let the skirt cover her ass, falling back down to her knees. Her treasures were now hidden from the audience’s hungry eyes. I walked from stage left to right, a casual hand running from one of her hips to the next, while I undid the rest of my shirt buttons.

“Bambi!” I said in mock indignation.

“Yes, Lady Lee?”

“What is that beneath your skirt?”

“Nothing!”

“I made a promise to these beautiful ladies!” I said gesturing to the audience with a sweep of my arm.

My wand waved in a slow circle over her rear and Bambi’s ass rose toward the magic stick as if a string were attached to the end of each.

The crowd roared.

I slid the white tip under her skirt and pumped a few times. Bambi moaned dramatically.

With a flick of my wrist the wand came free and sex beads flew into the air in a practiced arc. I caught them with my free hand. Our fans cheered.

“Well it ain’t a rabbit,” I said and scratched my head confused, placing the beads in my pocket.

I inserted the wand again and this time with a swift tug a ben-wa ball came free and then another. Bambi gasped. The balls floated from between her legs and rose above our heads before landing in the palm of my hand. I gave the ball a sniff and began to twirl them together in spinning circles.

“If I had known you were so excited to be on stage with me, my dear, I would have canceled the─”

A loud buzzing sound interrupted me.

“What is that?”

“Nothing, Lady Lee,” Bambi answered, but the buzzing started up again.

The center portion of the stage began to move in a circle so that the audience caught an eyeful of Bambi’s breasts and the wireless remote in her hands. An expression of wanton delight was on Bambi’s face. The stage paused.

“What is this?” I said, snatching the remote from her hands and turning it off. I stuffed the control in my waistband and searched my pockets. “Aha!” I cried, pulling two scarves from their depths. I slipped the silky ends through the carved wood rings on each side of the sofa back, and secured Bambi’s wrists.

The stage continued to rotate and I aimed the remote.

Off. On. Off. On. Each hit of the remote’s button caused Bambi’s backside to bounce until her ass faced the audience again.

Bambi swiveled her hips in slow motion as I gave another magical tug. She protested as her toy slipped free with a loud plop and floated out from under her skirt.

The silicone rabbit was two inches in diameter and sopping wet from her pretty pink hole. My body was on fire as it was every night and I had to fight to maintain composure. I could almost feel my rubber dick thickening.

I nodded with satisfaction, tossed my hair with a rakish smile and said, “That’s my kind of rabbit.”

Beneath the dark fabric of Bambi’s skirt I pulled one thing after another. The sex toys led to larger objects: a rolling pin (“Baking me a surprise, Love?”), an English cucumber (“Ridged for her pleasure.”), a plunger (“Things are a little stopped up, Sweetings?”), my car keys (“I’ve been looking for those everywhere!”).

The stage was completely dark aside from the spotlight focused on the end of my wand. I slipped its length beneath the fabric covering her rear and the stage was lit with a sudden blast of light from under Bambi’s skirt. “What the?” I yanked again and all was dark. The audience whispered excitedly. I aimed my wand at her ass. Both hands held the wand like it was a fishing line and pulled, the narrow stick bent as if what was on the other end of the line were too heavy to be pulled free. I wiped the sweat from my brow and tossed my wand over my shoulder before reaching under her skirt with both hands.

Another swift pull and I landed ungracefully on my ass, a Tiffany lamp held in my arms. I sat the light beside me and stood. “Let’s just put this back, shall we?” I said lifting the lamp in my hands and aiming the colorful glass shade at Bambi’s rear.

"Kiss of Steel" to be Published!

2006-07-27T08:52:00.000-07:00

Torque Press has taken on my baby, "Kiss of Steel" for publication in their locked and loaded anthology! This is to be both an on-line and print anthology. Too Cool, huh? I just love tough chicks and this is sure to be an awesome collection.

Got the edit back today from Torque and there are no major changes...just some typo stuff. I am attaching the rest of the story here...forgot to put it in dare to share. OOPS! Hope you like it and thanks for reading!

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex or sex using toys, stop reading now!

(Continued from previous post)

Jane’s tongue swept across her plump lower lip, and left the bit of flesh glistening. I cursed her for knowing how fucking wet that made me.

One of her gloved hands lifted toward my breasts.

“Behave,” I said slapping her hand away.

This certainly wasn’t a time to be fucking around, but Jane was all too tempting, and she knew it. She had a hold on me like no other woman ever had. Looks weren’t the only thing about her that kept me at her side. She’d saved my life on more than one occasion. And now she’d found me.

Why fight instinct? It’s what brought her to me. The leather glove made contact with my nipple and I leaned into her palm. The feel of the supple hide tightened my areola and sent jolts of electricity straight to my cunt.

“You want me,” Jane said with a sniff and a satisfied smile on her lips. It wasn’t a secret. “We could bottle that fragrance.” My desire was thick in the air, mingling with her more subtle flavors.

I’d been on the run for more than two months with nothing but my hope for a life outside The Order to keep me company. I had taken flight after flight, from one country to the next, and was called by names other than my own more times than beared remembering.

I had no friends but the woman who had been sent to kill me.

I drew my blade gently along a layer of air above Jane’s throat, careful not break her delicate skin and let the knife catch on the collar of the black turtleneck she wore. The steel took hold in the soft fabric, unraveling the expensive threads one by one.

Jane gasped, her black eyes narrowing into angry slits as I dragged the belly of my knife down her chest, between her breasts and across her stomach until I reached her belly button.

“You bitch,” she whispered huskily. “This top is a Michael Coors.”

“Was.”

I smiled and peeled back the thin fabric. Jane’s skin was golden caramel except for the flush that had spread from her nipples to her neck. A sure sign that she wanted to fuck as much as I did. I drew my blade across the pinkened skin in figure-eights, leaving a pale trail that flushed to red.

Her breath trembled.

I hooked my knife under the center of her bra. Jane glared.

“You wouldn’t!”

I tugged.

“La Perla!”

The fabric snapped and the lace fell away, her breasts swaying to the sides of her body. They were round and firm. The best breast job I had ever seen.

“You always had expensive tastes,” I said.

“They might cost me my life,” Jane whispered.

The tip of my knife circled one nipple and she moaned. The look in her eyes told me she wanted to move beneath me, but she knew my blade well. The steel was honed to a deadly point and lethal in my hands. Only my skill with the stiletto kept her skin from being torn.

Jane gasped when I pulled the blade from her and tossed it to the floor. I leaned forward until our tits touched. Heat spread through my torso and centered in my pussy.

My face was inches from hers, so close I could taste the mint of her breath on my lips. Her tongue slipped from between her lips and found my mouth. She traced my lower lip slowly and traveled to the dent in my upper. Jane then brought her tongue back into her mouth, licked her lips and moaned.

“You found me,” I said softly. When I had left I had told no one. Not even Jane. Her death would not be on my conscience.

“And I always will.”

I closed the distance between us in a quick swoop. Our tongues fought, teeth clashed, the coppery tinge of blood flavored our kisses.

“How long?” I gasped.

I took Jane’s face between my palms.

“Fourteen hours, maybe fifteen,” she said.

I slid my fingers across her scalp, pulling at the pins that held her thick black hair tight to her head. Her femininity wouldn’t allow her to cut it as I had mine—it was one of the things I admired about her. Jane was all woman, but tough as her manicured nails.

She sat up so I was in her lap and her hair slipped free. The silky strands fell around our shoulders, the floral scent of her shampoo invading my nostrils. A life on the road didn’t leave much time for fancy perfumes and spa appointments, but she still smelled of baby pink.

My palms traveled along her spine until they found her ass and I pulled her tight against me.
Jane nibbled her way over to my ear, her teeth tugging my lobe. “You’re not topping me,” she said, leaning back to meet my eyes. “Not tonight.”

“Is that a challenge?” I asked grabbing a fist full of her hair. Tears welled. This is how she liked it.

Hard.

Fast.

Rough.

“A promise,” she hissed. Her eyes narrowed and tears welled.

My fingers were already working her fly, but she had an advantage. I was buck naked and her hands were quick.

Jane pressed her leather-clad fingers against my pussy, slipped between my wet lips and tweaked my clit. I gasped as she circled my hard nubbin, but pulled free, although every instinct
I had told me to let her fuck me.

I used my hold on her hair to pull Jane back until she was nearly flat to the mattress again. “You should cut this,” I said giving her hair a yank. “Might not be me you’re in bed with next time.”

I slithered from atop my lover, my fingers tangled in her thick mane, and inched my way off the bed until my feet were firmly on the floor. Using her hair as a rein, I led her to the edge of the bed. Tears trembled on her lashes and her teeth sank into her lower lip. Perfect white pearls on a cushion of─

The air was knocked from me as her foot made contact with my mid-section. I dropped to my knees on the stained carpet. The pain nearly overwhelmed my desire, but not quite.

Jane’s index finger took hold of my chin and she lifted my face until our eyes met. I smiled slowly, as the air returned to my lungs. God, I loved her.

“Think you’re more of a man than me, Mc Clane?”

She was stunning, her hair a wild disarray, nipples peeking between the lustrous strands, breasts heaving as she caught her breath.

I winked and said, “I know I am.”

I shot up from the floor and grabbed Jane’s right arm. She’d injured her elbow eight months ago and I knew the joint was still weak. It was a dirty blow, but that’s how I fought and Jane should have expected it.

Holding her arm behind her back, I twisted Jane around and pushed her stomach onto the bed.

“Not fair Mc Clane!”

“Who’s fighting fair, Sugar?”

With a swift tug I had Jane’s pants and panties around her knees. I slid my fingers along her ass crack and into her wet hole.

“Missed me did you?” She was wet, her petals soaking my palm.

Easily, three fingers returned home, swimming in her musky depths.

Jane moaned.

My thumb found her fat round clit and the button pulsed against me. I moved my hand in a steady, hard, rhythm. With the sound of every juicy movement my pussy creamed.

“Why are you here, Jane?” I put my weight into the motion and she cried out.
Sweat stung my eyes and dripped onto her back.

“For you,” she gasped. Elation raced through my veins.

My hand found heaven between her scented folds. I twisted my wrist and fell onto the bed next to her, pressing the length of my body to her torso. I humped her hip while my fingers fucked her cunt. The bed told our secrets as its squeaks found our heartbeats. For a minute we were flying free.

Free of danger. Free of guilt. Free of The Order.

We lay quiet, hearts pounding. Jane’s legs were wrapped with mine. Her damp breath began to slow against my shoulder. I stared at the ceiling.

Love was a gamble in our line of work.

I wasn’t sure how we were going to get out of this one. The Order was not an organization to be trifled with. Cliché it may be, but they were one of the most lethal organizations in the world. Neither of us had chosen to be one of its members, but fate had put us there. Everything we knew about survival had been imprinted on our brains through The Order’s skillful training.

That was the problem.

We had to be smarter and quicker than our teacher if we wanted to survive.

“We have to go,” Jane said beside me. She was right; they would be on our trail soon. But my arms tightened around her.

This moment. Skin glistening and the air heavy with our feelings.

“They’re only hours behind me.”

How had this become my life? Bad choices. I couldn’t turn back the clock. Wouldn’t. Not if it meant not knowing Jane.

“You’re with me then?” I asked her. A life on the run was not one many would choose. And it would be forever or until we were dead. She sat up and looked down at me, her face soft from pleasure and eyes moist with dreams.

How could Jane be what I knew she was? A killer and a damned good one. The Order certainly wasn’t going to be happy if their two best agents jumped ship. If they had been determined in find me, they would be twice as diligent in locating the two of us.

“I have more than three million put away,” Jane said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“I didn’t expect you to come. You don’t have to do this.”

Jane looked over her shoulder at me and ran a hand through my short red hair, and then smoothed it down again. The familiar intimate gesture squeezed my heart.

“Marcus has someone waiting for us at the airport for a flight to Singapore.”

I didn’t ask if she could trust Marcus. She wouldn’t have asked for his help if she couldn’t.
Jane stood and stretched her long arms over her head, the muscles in her back and buttocks flexing in the light from the bathroom. She walked over to the TV stand where she had a small satchel. She tossed the bag to me and then picked up her pants from the floor and shimmied into them. Inside the pack were passports, I.D.s from several countries and a wad of cash as big as my fist.

I had left with a similar stash of my own, but the months had taken a big chunk out of it.

“Singapore it is,” I said.

***

“You two are a porn movie come true,” Marcus said, pulling Jane into a hard hug.
Although I found this to be insulting and glared to emphasize my disapproval, Jane smiled wide and said, “Thanks, baby.” She always did love ‘compliments’, especially when they came to her looks.

Seven hours from Los Angeles after a sleepless night and we were at a private runway in the desert somewhere outside of Vegas. Jane looked as fresh as a daisy and I felt like hammered shit. Marcus didn’t help the feeling with his greasy smile and unsightly comb-over.

“Do you two wanna?” He raised an inquiring brow and pumped his arms. Marcus then twirled a lock of Jane’s hair around his finger and brought it to his nose for a sniff.

“Fuck you,” I said pulling Jane to my side. I wasn’t usually so possessive, but Marcus’s high school theatrics made my skin crawl. Not so Jane. She giggled slipping her arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder.

“Mc Clane doesn’t do men,” Jane said, with a pretty pout. “She’s all about hot pussy.”
Damn straight. I hadn’t been felt up by a guy since junior high, and even then I knew I was touching the wrong body parts. I was the anti-dick poster child.

“So sad,” Marcus said. “You could make some hefty coin.”

I hadn’t asked Jane where she knew Marcus from, and I was now wondering if he was as trustworthy as Jane originally thought. He led us out of his cluttered office, and into the empty hanger. The building was crowded with crates from floor to ceiling. I was careful not to notice what was inside them as we hurried past. The dark of pre-sunrise greeted us outside the large doors on the other side. The pinks and oranges muted to purple by the clouds stretching across the sky.

“Your chariot,” Marcus said, extending his hand with a bow.

A private jet was parked on the tarmac.

“Thanks Marcus,” Jane said, throwing herself into his arms again.

“Anything for you doll,” he said. “I won’t forget what you did for my brother.” Marcus brought Jane’s hand to his lips and then left us, the wind whipping around our bodies.

“Come on,” Jane said clinging to my elbow as a gust of wind hit us. She led me up the stairs into the plane. The interior was sparsely decorated, but comfortable. There was seating for a dozen people. Out-of-date wood paneling curved along the walls.

I threw my knapsack in a corner and took a seat, leaning my head back against the cool grey leather. I was exhausted.

Jane returned from galley in the back of the plane with a bottle of wine and package of saltines. “You need to eat something,” she said, and handed me the wine opener and bottle then buckled herself into the seat beside me. “I’ve never been able to count your ribs.”

“And saltines are gonna fix that?” I twisted the screw into the cork and tugged. It wouldn’t budge.

“Just eat the crackers,” Jane said. She took the bottle from me and gave the corkscrew a swift twist, pulling the cork free. I must be more tired than I thought. “When we stop in Seattle to switch planes we’ll work on getting some real food.”

She took a swig of wine while I opened the crackers. They were stale but I ate a couple to make her happy.

“What’s up with Marcus’s brother?”

“New York last Spring.”

“Tommy Cocapelli.”

“Yeah. Hal is Marcus’s brother,” Jane said.

“Our Hal?”

Hal was an older agent and an ammunitions genius. Taught us everything we knew about firearms and weapons. My skill with the knife was his doing. But his reflexes were becoming slower and I knew they thought him a risk. Expendable.

Jane pulled her foot up onto the seat and rested her chin on her knee. “Intel said the Cocapellis knew Hal wasn’t one of them and were gonna take him out.” She ate a cracker. “The Order had decided Hal wasn’t worth the risk of compromising the lives of other agents. They were going to do nothing. I thought differently.”

There was no retiring from our calling, just death; by The Order’s hands or their enemies.

“That was the solo mission,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. Anger flushed my system.
The one she wouldn’t tell me about. Unsanctioned.

“He’s been with The Order more than twenty years. They wouldn’t watch his back, so I did.”
I took her hand in mine and swallowed hard. Anger twisted my gut. Jane had barely come back alive from that mission and it hadn’t been the mob that had gotten hold of her.

The Order was not our family. The people we worked with were not there to take care of us, but to keep us alive to further their goals. Where we lived, what we ate, who we fucked—that was with their permission.

Step out of line and there was a price. And knowing that, Jane was still with me.

“You’ve got some balls, Sugar.” The plane picked up speed.

“Nearly as big as yours.” We lifted off the runway, sunrise lighting the cabin.

I saluted her with the wine bottle and knocked back another swallow.

***

We touched down on a dirt runway just outside Olympia, in the small town of Yelm, Washington. Not much there but beautiful scenery and the beat-up Lincoln continental waiting for us in the overgrown grass.

“It’s pretty here,” Jane said, opening the passenger door. “It smells so clean.”

“But there’s no shopping,” I said.

Jane stuck her tongue out at me before she slid into the car.

I breathed in the pine treed earth and took in Mt. Rainier’s white cap in the distance over the hood of the car. A mountain cabin and fireplace to keep us warm in the winter sounded nice. It was easy to imagine Jane out of her four inch heels and designer labels. A nice warm flannel would be an inviting contrast.

We were still in the states. Not far enough away. Not yet.

The keys were behind the sun visor. The car started with a sputter, kicking up gravel along the dirt road. Two hours and we would be at Sea-Tac airport.

When I’d first met Jane I didn’t think she had it in her to do the job we did. I’d seen many, stronger, tougher broads fall under the weight of guilt our “profession” brought. Trainee qualifications had never been beauty school know-how and an ability to give hard-ons at twenty paces. Oh, don’t get me wrong, looks were an asset in our line of work. Many a man had been brought down by a nice pair of tits and a pretty smile. But taking life was not a woman’s specialty.

Jane’s husband was six feet under because he had fallen for a beauty that would not take his possessive jealousy. He had started locking doors and telling her what she could and could not wear Jane felt trapped. A month went by, then two and he no longer wanted her talk to her friends or leave the house without him. She no longer was allowed access to money. Nothing could be done without his approval. A year later she had been found guilty of poisoning him.

As I took the ramp onto the highway I looked over at Jane. She was already asleep beside me, her body drifting toward mine across the cracked vinyl seat. I extended my arm and slipped it behind her neck, pulling her to my side. I’d always envied her ability to fall asleep quickly.
The Order had me in its fold for close to two years when Jane arrived, and I had hated every minute of my time there. It was worse than the year I spent in prison. Incarcerated, I had a release date and an option for parole in two years. The Order was a life sentence with no chance of making it to the outside again.

I had worked my way up in the ranks by keeping my eye on the prize. Learn fast, train hard and find a way out. All it would take was money and an opportunity.

Before the Order I had been a martial arts instructor. A hobby I had picked up after my uncle
Charlie had decided his niece was a perfect target to flash his sagging balls at. Mom had worked two, sometimes three, jobs to keep us fed and she couldn’t be a watchdog to his advances. So, I learned to protect myself and Callie, my little sister. Callie was knocked up when at fifteen, not by my uncle, but a boy from school. My niece was a beauty and my uncle thought so too. That was how I wound up in the pen and that was where The Order found me.

They looked for recruits that had skills they could use to their advantage. Mine had been an ability to kill someone with one swift move. Jane’s had been her talent of fucking coldly while stabbing the target in the back.

It had been hard to accept, Jane’s position within the organization. She shifted against me and I tightened my arm around her.

We hadn’t been lovers that first time they sent her out to fuck a stranger and steal his secrets. That mission had been kept from me. The Order knew I had a soft spot for Jane. Knew that I wanted her for myself. They wouldn’t let me have her. Not then.

Jane had come to me, tears streaming from her dark eyes and her lips bruised from another’s kisses. She’d sobbed into my neck, her mascara running down her formerly perfectly made-up face. Those calculated come-hither looks were a shield around her heart.

That first night together we had clung to each other and found our humanity. It wasn’t until weeks later that we took each other and found hope in one another’s eyes.

***

“Love your connections,” I said to Jane, buckling myself into the co-pilot seat of the Boeing 747 on its way to Singapore. Jane straightened her conservative navy blue pencil skirt made jaw-dropping by the curve of her ass. She fluffed the out-dated eighties style tie on the neck of her cream-colored stewardess blouse.

“And they love me,” she said holding up the mirror of her compact. I still couldn’t get used to Jane as a blonde. She was too sharp for the golds that framed her high cheekbones. She brought one finger to her mouth and wet it, then smoothed it along her narrow eyebrows. The make-up was a new acquisition from the airport drugstore. “But not like you.” My shoulder was given a quick squeeze and Jane left the cabin.

We had parked the car in twelve hour parking and then Jane had led me to the locker rooms for United Airlines. She knew exactly what locker to visit. Uniforms had been waiting for us, along with I.D. badges. I’d never had an easier time boarding a plane.

My training as a pilot was The Order’s doing, and I am sure they were regretting it now.
“Attention passengers,” I said into the intercom, flipping switches as I spoke. “This is your co-pilot, Patricia Anderson. If you would please take your seats, Captain Friedman and I will have you on your way.” This was the best way of skipping country. The Order wouldn’t be expecting us to fly a commercial airplane. They would be keeping all solo flights and small aircraft grounded.

We had been in the air two hours when Jane came back into the cabin and spoke into the pilot’s ear. Friedman smiled and I watched out of the corner of my eye as Jane’s finger ran down the side of his ear. A blush spread down his neck. He flipped his eyes over at me and shifted in his seat. I knew he wished I wasn’t here. Tough luck asshole.

“I’m already taking some pretty big risks,” he said, getting up from his seat. Jane smiled and tongued her lips. She set her palm on the back of his neck and twisted the curls against his nape. He needed a haircut. His glare softened. “Ten minutes.” Marcus left the cabin and Jane made herself comfortable in his vacated chair.

“Remember that flight to Belize?” She asked, setting her hand on my knee.

“You kidding?” How could I forget? The memory was made stronger by Jane’s traveling fingers climbing higher. Jane’s hand came to rest on the crease where my thigh met my hip. Last time she hadn’t stopped there. Her fingers had journeyed beneath my waistband and we had finger fucked at ten thousand feet. But then, I hadn’t been flying the plane, but had been sitting comfortably in first class.

“When we get to Singapore we’re gonna join a commercial fishing freighter to Australia.”

“Fuck!”

“They won’t be expecting you to travel by boat,” Jane said.

“’Cause last time nearly killed me.” I get violently ill traveling by water.

“You won’t be alone this time.”

And that was the only way I would get on a boat this time.

***
We were tall and unfortunately stood out quite a bit, but hopefully were perceived as we presented ourselves. Jane, although still striking, was playing down her looks. I am sure it was a hardship for her to wear the looser clothing and sans the make-up. I was in drag. My red hair was slick with pomade, making it appear brown. The narrow tuft of artificial hair on my lip was itchy. I had to force myself not to play with it. In a suit, I made a passable man, if a pretty one.

My queasy stomach wasn’t going to make this easy. I had scored some Dramamine, but was still nervous. I hated it when I lost control and stepping onto a boat was a sure way of giving up my power. I wasn’t sure if this journey was going to keep us safe or make us more vulnerable to our enemies. If they found our vessel there was nowhere to run and I wouldn’t be able to protect us. I would have to rely completely on Jane. Not easy for me.

Our cabin was lacking in the amenities. The space was eight by eight foot, with a bunk bed, a trunk, and a small port hole. Claustrophobia was setting in already. My stomach began to roll. I took a seat on the lower bunk and lowered my head between my knees. I was a trained assassin, not this weak-kneed pussy .

“Already?” Jane said coming into the room. She shut the door behind her and tossed her pack onto the top bunk. “We haven’t even left the dock.” She sat down beside me and ran a soothing hand over my back.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“You took your pills?”

I nodded.
“Well, don’t throw-up, it’s gross.” Jane said and moved the waist basket closer to the bed.

I glared up at her. A loud bell sounded and the boat began to move, my stomach with it.

“You need a distraction,” Jane said.

Did praying to God count? I squeezed my eyes shut tightly committing myself to my newfound calling.

“Aren’t you hungry?”
Food was the last thing on my mind. “You’re not helping, Jane.” I gritted my teeth and stared at my feet, concentrating on the toes of my black leather boots.

“You really should eat,” Jane said standing.

“Look woman, anything I eat will end up painting the floor.”

The ship rolled and I felt myself turn green.

“But you haven’t eaten any pussy today,” she said pouting.

I lifted my head to see that Jane had taken off her pants and panties.
“Sugar, I don’t think─”

Jane took my head between her palms. “Don’t think Mc Clane.” She brought my head close to her mound and the familiar bouquet invaded my senses. “Eat.”

My face was so close I could see the stubble growing on her soft skin. Normally, she was smooth as silk, but our present situation didn’t allow for waxing. There was a small tuft of curly hair curving around the hood of her clit, the wet pearl just hidden.

I rubbed my cheek across her pubs, feeling the gentle scratch. Hands full of Jane’s ass; I turned my head so my nose bumped her heated nubbin. The treat poked free of its shelter.
My stomach pitched, but lower, my gut tightening as desire replaced sickness.

“Take your medicine, Mc Clane.”

Tongue sharp I leaned forward and pushed between Jane’s folds. They embraced my tongue, clinging to every taste bud. Sharp, sweet, sticky love. My tongue swam between the soft skin until her clit was anchored between my lips.

Jane gasped and took hold of the railing on the upper bunk.

I took my medicine, sucking her pill and tapped my tongue softly. With each pat her buttocks tensed and she moaned my name. I brought a hand around and slipped it between her thighs.

Wet heat warmed my fingers.

Suction centered.

Jane rocked against my face crying out my name.

***

After a couple of days my stomach found the pitch and sway of the boat. I wouldn’t say I felt one hundred percent, but I could stand on my feet and eat without my food coming back up to get reacquainted.

The two of us were working in the galley. Jane had more culinary experience so she was boss. She planned a menu and I was put to work prepping for her. Being good with a knife helped when you were a sous chef. It was peaceful chopping and slicing.

I liked to watch Jane . She had a way with the crew. Not a surprise considering they were all men. I think her breathy voice and flirtatious nature reminded them of girlfriends and wives back home. They also liked the low-cut shirts she wore with her apron. The men worked hard and were grateful for the thought Jane put into the menu.

The weeks on board fell into a pattern and I could almost forget the Order existed. There was nothing but the sea, the salt air, and Jane snuggled close at night. I was more happy than I could remember being in a long time.

If we could stay on the ocean they would never find us. But then my stomach would pitch again and I knew it couldn’t last.

***

We had been in Australia for two days and now that we had a secure place to live, I had gone out in search of a gift for my woman. Jane deserved a treat after those weeks at sea. It had taken longer than I expected and when I opened the door to the motel room, I was hit by Jane’s body flying into me.

“Where have you been?” Jane asked, squeezing me to her. “It’s been an hour!” She was shaking.

“I had to…”

“I thought…I thought…” She said her voice catching.

“Hey.” I pulled Jane’s head back and looked into her dark eyes and saw what I knew was in my own. Trust. Vulnerability. Love. “I’m okay.” I kissed her forehead. “I was getting you a present.” I led her over to the bed and tossed the brown paper bag onto the mattress. I took off my coat and turned to face her, rubbing my hands together expectantly.

“Take off your panties.”

Jane looked up at me blankly. She was wearing was a black tank-top and a pair of thigh-high hipsters. Conservative on most people, but on Jane a simple seduction.

“I love it when you’re forceful?” she purred. Jane hooked her thumbs under the soft cotton at her hips and slid the panties from under her ass. She leaned back on the bed to make a show of sliding the scrap of fabric down her long legs. “Like what you see Mc Clane?” How could I not? Jane flicked the panties off of her toes into the air and caught them in her hand. Impressive. With one finger, she twirled the panties in the air in a couple of rapid circles before flinging them so they hit me in the chest and fell at my feet.

“Open your present.”

Jane pulled out a can of shaving cream from the bag and a blush spread across her cheeks. I think it was the first time I had ever seen anything but a blush of desire.

“Not a carpet muncher Mc Clane?” she said, raising one long thin brow.

“What?—oh no, sugar,” I said, sitting down next to her and taking the shaving cream from her.
“This isn’t a complaint.” I pulled her down onto the bed so that we lay facing each other. “You could grow a jungle down there sugar, and I would go on a clit safari any day of the week.” I slid my hand between her legs and rested my palm on the soft hair that had grown up in the past few weeks. “But you like to be smooth, sweetie.” I kissed the tip of her nose and got up from the bed.

I went to the bathroom and came back with the ice bucket full of warm water. Jane lay on her back, knees bent and legs spread. I sat beside her and gave the can of shaving cream a shake, the bead making a loud ping against the metal. Just below Jane’s belly button I squirted a small ball of foam. She giggled.

I crawled between Jane’s legs and spread the mound of white flat and thin between her thighs. I massaged the white bubbles into her skin and pressed the smooth cream between her pussy lips until her hips followed my movement and soft moans played like background music in the room.
I took my knife from my boot. “Be still, Sugar.”

Jane froze her breath ragged.

“Ready?” I asked raising a brow. Jane looked obscene with the white foam covering her pussy and the golden tan of he legs fallen open. I could just see a hint of wet pink in the center of all that white.

“I’ve never let anyone shave me.”

My pussy creamed.

“Something Jane Paul hasn’t done?” I said. “Well you just lay still, sugar, while I demonstrate my skill with the blade.” I held my stiletto firmly between my fingers and Jane held her breath.

“Ready?” I asked and she nodded. I set my knife at the top of her hairline and drew the sharp edge across her delicate skin in the direction of her clit. She gasped as each hair caught on my knife and came free leaving a hairless reverse Mohawk across her mound.

I rinsed my blade in the ice bucket.

Again, I ran my stiletto across her skin, removing hair and leaving a blush of pink on her skin.
Jane’s desire clung to my nose hairs, making a home in my sinuses as I opened her legs further and cleaned her flesh free of hair until she was as bare as a newborn.

I leaned close and blew against the sensitive flesh. Goose bumps rose along the skin and Jane gasped, her hands flying to her pussy. The feel of steel on flesh had been too much for her and now she had to touch. My eyes followed her fingers as they played with her soft bits. Her thumb and forefinger took her clit firmly in hand and began to squeeze in soft controlled motions. Her other fingers were in her pussy diving in a forceful need to get off.

Again, I blew against her skin and she cried out. I leaned in close and my tongue found the spot between her fingers, wetting her clit, spreading her juices against the hard excited nubbin.

Jane called out my name, her thighs tensing, the long muscles stretching past my ears and collapsed against the mattress.

***

After Australia had been Russia and after Russia Brazil. We’d driven through the back roads of small villages, living off or rice and beans. The journey had lasted six months and now we were back in the states. We were in Borrego Springs, California. A small desert town with a population of three thousand. A single road ran between the shops selling south west souvenirs and Mexican food. We had driven across the border from Mexico yesterday and had a road trip planned to Canada, where we hoped we could stop running.

I sat at a table in the back of the bar, close to the kitchens and sipped a beer. Jane was at the hotel down the road sleeping off her jetlag, but I was restless, too tired to sleep. Something had me on edge ever since we arrived back. I was hoping it wasn’t instincts.

Bells on the door handle at the front of the bar rattled as another person came into the dimly lit room out of the desert heat.

“Can I help you?” The bartender asked.

It was the bartender’s tone of voice that had me sitting up straighter and turning in my seat.

“Have you seen these women?” They one who spoke was Bahir. He slapped a photo down on the bar. There were three men dressed in black and wearing sunglasses. The tall lanky man I recognized as Dawson. I didn’t know the shorter one. These were not tourists.

The bartender shifted his feet and I could see him reach beneath the counter, his hands resting comfortably on a shotgun.

My senses became heightened. The waitress drying the barware was still.

“No,” the bartender said, not looking down at the pictures.

“Perhaps you should take another look,” Bahir said, pushing the photos forward.

I slid down the blue vinyl seat of the booth until I was under the table and pulled a gun from the waistband of my Levis. My knife was in my boot.

“I saw just fine,” the bartender said.

Dawson and shorty were no longer at the bar. I knew they were sweeping the room, but I couldn’t see them from my position on the floor.

“Don’t let their good looks fool you. They’re armed and dangerous,” Dawson said.

There were five others in the bar. A couple was at a booth near the front entrance. She was black and dressed in a pretty white dress in sharp contrast with her ebony skin. He wore sandals with jeans and had a large tattoo on the back of his neck the disappeared under his white linen shirt.

“Are you the police?” The waitress asked, coming to stand beside the bartender. She twisted the rag she had been drying the glasses with in her hands and shifted from foot to foot.

“Perhaps you should leave,” the bartender said addressing the newcomers and pushing the waitress behind him. She walked toward the kitchen looking over her shoulder nervously. I could hear the panicked conversation in Spanish after she went through the swinging doors from where I crawled along the tacky floor two booths away.

Two migrant workers and were playing pool near the jukebox on the other side of me. They stopped and stared at me, speaking rapidly in Spanish and pointing to the front of the bar.
The first bullet splintered the wood just above my head and I rolled, landing on the black and white tile floor in the kitchen at a crouch, surrounded by stainless steel. From my position I saw the pool players drop flat to the floor and shimmy under the table as bullets tore up the booth behind them.

The old drunken man at the end of the horseshoe shaped bar jumped from his stool and hit the floor with a crash.

My knife flew from the doorway, hitting the henchman who had fired at me. He collapsed without a sound.

The woman in white let out a blood curdling scream.

“Mc Clane!”

I stood and peered around the corner to see the woman pulled tight against the assassin, his gun at her temple. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Let her go!” the sandaled man was yelling. “Please!”

“Let’s all relax,” the bartender said. He held his rifle pointed at the intruders. People were going to die and there was nothing I could do about it.

“Do you want this woman’s blood on your conscience Mc Clane?”

Baher had ice in his veins and I had no doubt he would shoot her. I hurried around the prep station across the kitchen to the swinging doors on the opposite side. I lifted my gun and fired off two shots. Dawson fell across a table, a bullet in the head ending his life. The kitchen was empty now as I raced back to the other side. I scurried over to the first gunman and removed my knife, wiping the blood from my blade onto my jeans.

There was a sound behind me and I turned, leg extended, and another person dressed in black tripped over my ankle and fell to the ground. He sat up and I swung my arm in an arc hitting him in the jugular.

He’d come from the kitchen, which meant there were more outside. How many had they sent? Did they know where Jane was? They mustn’t find her.

Bahir was turning slowly back and forth, he eyes panicked. He knew I was about to end his sorry life.

“Let her go, Bahir and I might let you live.”

“You don’t have a chance Mc Clane!”

Without hesitation I stood.

Say hello to the devil from me.” With a practiced flick of my arm, my knife flew. Before Bahir had time to think, it sunk between the eyes with a soft thump. Blood flew in all directions and covered the girl he had been holding. She was screaming in short bursts, tears racing down her face.

“Get down!” I shouted, flying forward and knocking her to the ground. Bullets flew through the windows. Glass shatter splayed the floor in a sharp rainfall.

“Everyone stay down!” I yelled. On hands and knees I moved across the floor as quickly as I could toward the kitchen. The Order was shooting the place up, that meant that the agents had been miked and they knew they were dead. Their only goal was to take me out.

Once behind the wall, I made my way to the service entrance. I kicked the door open and saw nothing but blue sky and desert. All looked clear, but I knew it couldn’t be. My head was ringing and my eyes stinging from the sweat that was now running down my face. I lifted a hand to wipe my brow and it came back red. Blood.

I couldn’t stay. If they found me they knew where Jane was and they would have her shortly. Or they already had her. I blocked the thought out of my mind and threw myself out the door in a summersalt, gun drawn, expecting gunfire, but there was nothing. The silence outside mirrored the noise inside. It was two in the afternoon and close to one hundred ten degrees. The town was silent.

Siesta.

I was now behind the restaurant and shops. Nothing but discarded boxes and large trash dumpsters were there to greet me. The length of the buildings at my back, I made my way in the direction of the hotel half a dozen buildings away. There was a copse of aging palm trees lining the perimeter and I took shelter there, reloading my gun.

All was quiet. The wind blowing sand and grit against my sweaty skin. Was Jane asleep in there? Dreaming of a life together without violence.

I stepped between the towering trees and across the gravel parking lot to the hotel. Our room was on the back corner and I couldn’t see the door from where I was. Back along the wall I made my way down, the sound of my heart in my ears.

The door was ajar. Without thought I kicked it the rest of the way in.

“Ja─” An arm shot out clothes lining me. I doubled over and clutched at my throat afraid my trachea was broken, my vision blurring. The shadows of legs were in front of my eyes and then all went black.

***

The room was deathly cold and dark. A chill enveloped the solid interior of the cement structure I was held in. I could make out the outline of the door across from me. In it’s center was a small window and outside I could see sky and bits of green.

Freedom.

Mere feet from me, an exit, but it might as well been miles away. My arms had fallen asleep hours ago from being raised above me head, and my wrists were raw from my weight pulling at the restraints in the ceiling. My attempts at escape had been futile and served only to weaken me.

I may have been down here for days, or hours. Time was still to me.

Behind me was another door. It was where those loyal to the Order came through. They drizzled water into my mouth with a sponge, giving me just enough sustenance to keep me alive. They wanted Jane, but I would die before I told them. My back bore the proof of my resolve. The strikes of the lash burned and the blood stained my jeans.

Jane and I had been so close. Our time at sea had made us over-confident. We were beginning to feel normal, like real people. Why did we think we could come to the states?

The Order didn’t have Jane. If they did they would have mentioned her during the hours of torture. They would have brought her here and hurt in front of me. That was the only way they could break me.

A door opened behind me and I tried to see over my shoulder. The wounds on my back burned a like a mother fucker.

“I trust you are well Mc Clane?” Maxamilian said. He was the head of the United States branch of The Order. I hadn’t expected him here, not yet.

“Your girlfriend tells me she wouldn’t be happy if you were harmed in any way.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said.

The sound of his shoes echoed in the small space as Max came to stand in front of me, but I wouldn’t look up.

“We know better than that,” he said.

“Go to hell.”

“We hand picked her ourselves.”

“You don’t control me.”

“She a good fuck, Mc Clane?”

My vision blurred and I thought of Jane. Safe. Away from here, on an island sipping fruity drinks with colorful umbrellas in them. I could hear the crash of waves on the beach and the one-liners the men were throwing at her as they tried to get her into bed.

“I taught her everything she knows,” Max said.

I looked up and glared.

Max smiled, his teeth flashing neon white against his manufactured tan. He was a short, but handsome man somewhere between forty-five and sixty. His salt and pepper hair was overly long and curled around his nape.

“You weren’t so receptive to my advances, Mc Clane,” he said, standing too close. Max took hold of my chin in a rough grip. “That uncle of yours the only man to touch that twat?”

“Fuck you!” I spit in his face.

“No fuck you, Mc Clane!” He said taking hold of my Levis and dragging them around my knees. In that moment I was a ten year old girl again and frozen, terrified. The wounds on my back were nothing compared to the fear that sliced through me. Nausea made my stomach quake.
I shut my eyes tight and thought of Jane. Beautiful Jane.

Max’s tongue flicked against my lower jaw.

“Move one millimeter and I’ll cut off your dick!” Jane’s voice came from behind me and I felt despair fill me. She wasn’t safe.

“And you took such pleasure from my cock before,” Max said, looking over my shoulder at her.

“You prick couldn’t satisfy anyone but a teenager too stupid to know what fucking was,” she said.

Max took hold of my throat with one hand.

“You trained her to fuck and smile while hating every moment,” I said, and spit in his face. He squeezed gently, his eyes boring into mine.

“Let go Max!” Jane ordered.

His grip tightened, and my throat began to close.

Bright dots of color peppered my vision.

“Jospehine!” Jane shouted.

All went black.

I was in Jane’s arms. This could mean I’d died and gone to heaven. But my throat hurt like a mother-fucker. The pain in my shoulders was worse.

I opened my eyes. Max was gone.

“What…” I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. It was difficult to speak. I rubbed my tender vocal chords, “…happened?”

“Quiet Mc Clane,” Jane said and kissed my forehead.

“You found me,” I rasped.

“I keep my promises,” she said, helping me to my feet. I stood awkwardly shivering. The room was cold and I didn’t have a shirt.

The door behind us was wide open and the building eerily silent of movement.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, placing a hand against the wall for support.

“Not long,” Jane said. “Can you walk?”

“Of course,” I said, but wasn’t as confident as I sounded. I knew I was dehydrated and weak. Jane reached behind her back and drew my blade from her waistband. The familiar weight straightened my spine and my resolve. We would get out of this.

“Where’s Max?” There wasn’t a body.

“Gone.”

“What?”

“He’s gone.”

***

“Why didn’t you just inform Max that you had evidence of his part in Josephine’s murder before you came after me?” Josephine was legend amongst us. There had never been an agent more destined to run the Order. Not just the American branch, which Max was now head of, due to her death, but the world Order.

“The demand for your death had already been given. I had to get to you before anyone else did. I had to be sure you were safe.”

“I can take care of myself, Sugar.” I gasped as she applied ointment to my back, and then gritted my teeth.

“Yeah, looks like it,” she said, closing the jar and setting it on the nightstand.

“Hey, it was me against six.”

“And now, it’s you against me,” Jane whispered huskily. My savior lay down on the bed beside me and rested her head on her palm, elbow bent to the mattress. She stretched her long fingers to my forehead and ran them through my hair.

The Order would no longer bother us. Josephine’s ring had seen to that. I took Jane’s hand in mine and saw what Max had when Jane had come to get me out of my cell. On her ring finger was a large pink diamond set in a band of gold. Unique not only for its color, but for the microscopic camera that had captured her demise on film.

“At last, we’re dead Mc Clane.”

Max’s desire for power was more important than his need to see us dead.

I brought my arm around her waist and pulled Jane flush to my side so we were hip to hip. “You feel alive to me, Sugar.” And sleep found me.

Kiss of Steel

2006-05-31T21:51:00.000-07:00

Well, I got this one in by the skin of my teeth. Kiss of Steel is for a writing anthology called Locked and Loaded. My kind of anthology. I love tough chicks, especially the one's with weapons. Not so sure this is my best effort though.

I get so frustrated at how little time I have to write. This is due tomorrow, which means I submitted it just in time..But I hated getting it in last minute. Sometimes I get two hours a day to write...But most of the time it is more like an hour. How am I ever going to finish the novel? GRRRR!

My schedule may be changing again soon. My significant other is getting a morning shift, which means I will have to change my shift...Only one car, you see. This means I have to find a new time to write, which will be more difficult in the evenings at home. I like being at the library. It forces me to spend what little quality time I have writing. At home I get distracted by things to do...Laundry, cleaning, etc. Sigh. I guess we wills see how it goes.

KISS OF STEEL (FF, Mast)
Copyright Â© 2006 by Crystal Barela

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex, stop reading now!

The familiar weight of steel was heavy in my palm under the hotel pillow, but I couldn’t move my blade. Jane’s body was on my bare back and the hard muzzle of her semi-automatic pressed to my temple. It wasn’t just the subtle nuances of her perfume that identified her. I knew the soft curves of her breasts intimately. Even my shoulder blades recognized their round perfection.

Jane shifted her hips, her mound sending heat straight to my pussy.

“This would be more fun if you took off your clothes too,” I said, wiggling my ass.

“I’ve been sent to kill you, Mc Clane,” Jane whispered huskily into my ear. It was the only tone of voice she knew how to use and the breathy timbre had been stirring my insides since the moment we first spoke.

“If you wanted me dead I would be.”

“You should be more careful,” she said, removing the gun barrel from my head. “You’re lucky it wa─”

My hand slipped free of the pillow. With a twist of my torso I threw Jane onto her back. Even with her vigorous struggles I straddled her waist and squeezed her narrow hips with my knees. I held my knife to her throat. She was still, barely breathing.

“Do they know where I am?” If the Order knew my location they would be sending more operatives. None with the history Jane and I had.

“Not yet.”

I relaxed against her.

“Did you think I would tell them?” she asked with a pout. (Continued in Dare to Share)

Palmprint Erotic CP Short Story Competition 2006

2006-05-23T12:29:00.000-07:00

Want to try your hand at writing erotica? Come onnnn...you know there is a dirty girl or boy inside you. Give it a shot. Entry guidelines below.

Palmprint Erotic CP Short Story Competition 2006
www.palmprint.co.uk

PALMPRINT is pleased to announce its fourth annual short story competition to encourage and showcase tomorrow’s CP writers. The contest rules are:

1. Send a short story or fantasy which you’ve written and which features adult corporal punishment. The competition will be judged by Sarah Veitch. The winner and two runners up will be selected from all eligible entries based solely on merit. First prize is GBP 100, 2nd is GBP 50 and 3rd is GBP 25.

2. The story must be between 2000 and 4000 words, your own original work, previously unpublished and must not have appeared on the internet. Your work must not be offered to other publications (print or internet) until after the competition.

3. There is no restriction on entrant’s country of dwelling but entrants must be aged 18+

4. Submissions may be word processed or typed. Keep a copy as we can’t return any entries. Only one entry per person is allowed. The winning entries will appear in a future issue of Submission spankzine and may be edited. By entering the competition you agree to this.

5. At the top of the first sheet you must state ‘Palmprint Erotic CP Short Story Competition 2006’, the title of your story, its word count (to nearest 100 is fine) and your name and postal address. All pages should be numbered and stapled together in the top left hand corner.

6. Entries must be posted to Palmprint Publications, PO Box 392, Weston-Super-Mare, BS23 3ZS, England. Ensure that sufficient postage is applied - we will not pay for postage due. Email submissions will not be accepted and will be deleted unread.

7. If you want acknowledgement that your entry has been successfully received then enclose a stamped self- addressed envelope that we can simply post back to you. Alternatively, include an email address if you wish an email acknowledgement.

8. The closing date is 31st August 2006 and competition winners will be informed by 30th September 2006. So if you haven’t heard from us by then you are free to send your work elsewhere. The winners will be contacted to determine the author name to be printed in Submission, together with brief biographic information if desired. The winners will also be announced on Palmprint’s website at www.palmprint.co.uk

9. There is no entry fee for the competition. All prize monies will be paid by Palmprint via Pounds Sterling cheque drawn on a UK bank.

10. Stories or fantasies that contain incest, rape, racism, torture, characters under the age of 18 or any similar transgression will be disqualified.

11. For our sanity, no correspondence by letter, telephone or email will be entertained either during or after the competition.

12. At the discretion of Palmprint but with approval from the individual authors, a paperback anthology of adult punishment erotic short stories will be published in 2007 formed from the winning and commended entries from this and the three previous years’ competitions.

13. The anonymity of all entrants will be respected. Contact details supplied as part of competition entries will not be disclosed to any third party and will not be used by Palmprint for its own marketing purposes.

14. These competition rules may be distributed or published without the permission of Palmprint Publications.

Out of Fashion

2006-04-29T12:57:00.000-07:00

My schooling and time in the fashion industry inspired this one. See, that 4 year degree is good for something! :-)

This was sent out for a British publication that pays pretty well, but I have a feeling is difficult to get into. The anthology has to do with fashion and/or shopping.

Hope you enjoy!

OUT OF FASHION (FF, Toys)
Copyright ©2006 by Crystal Barela

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex, stop reading now!

On the dance floor Danielle moved as if she had no bones, like a jellyfish. She was the music, all movement and loose limbs. I first saw her at a club in the Village, under flashing colored lights and an outdated disco ball. Ivory skin glowed with perspiration and I felt its heat as I moved with her.

We didn’t speak, we danced. The beat entered our blood and chased us across the drink splattered floor in unison. Her hands on my hips had been a welcome surprise. My pussy became liquid as the music took hold, swimming from song to song until last call.

Then she had left without saying a word.

Now she stood in front of me in nothing but a leotard, her long limbs seeming to stretch to her silver-grey eyes. Her arms were extended above her head, fingers twisted in a casual clasp. All her weight was on her right foot, hip jutting out in the exaggerated pose of a mannequin in a window at Saks.

I set my stick of charcoal down on my easel and rubbed my hands nervously on my jeans-covered thighs. I drew deliberate breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat. Our usual fashion illustration model had broken her leg and the semester would finish with Danielle standing in front of me for five hours a day, two days a week.

Danielle changed position, turning so that her ass faced me. She was looking over her shoulder in my direction. Our eyes met and she winked. So she did remember. (Continued in Comments)

Uptown Inpiration

2006-04-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

Hey there, my perverted readers. I wrote this one quickly...its more of a stroke story. It was inspired by some traffic construction that was going on in uptown Sedona. Hope you like it!

CONSTRUCTING HEAT (FF)
Copyright ©2006 by Crystal Barela

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex, stop reading now!

The bright red stop sign in her hand did little to detract from her natural beauty. Neither did the yellow construction helmet or the shapeless orange mesh vest. Especially, when she turned and her backside faced my car. Round, firm cheeks and hips flexed as she put her weight on one foot and shouted something to the men she was working with. Heat spread from my center to my limbs.

With one hand she twirled the sign and brought her arm around to wave us by. Long blond hair hung in a ponytail down her back and glinted in the sun when she moved. A smile broke across her tan skin, her teeth white. Sunglasses hid her eyes and I wondered─

Horns honked behind me and I cursed, putting the car in gear.

It was Saturday in Uptown Sedona so traffic was heavy with tourists. With construction going on in front of the bar it was doubly busy. I turned the corner at the next street and pulled into the parking lot behind Cowgirl Up!

***
“Whatcha got on tap?” The construction worker had a rich voice. The orange vest was gone and replaced by a black quilted one that showed off her muscular biceps.

I answered by handing her our beer menu. We had over a hundred on tap; the wall behind me peppered with spigots a testimonial to our passion. “You like your beer dark or light?”

“Light,” she said. She took off her sunglasses and set them on the bar.

“Can I recommend the Oak Creek Amber?” I brought a glass up to the spigot and filled it with the golden brew. “I guarantee you’ll take a fancy to it.” I set the pint in front of her and leaned on the bar, so that my forearms stressed the fabric across my breasts.

Her eyes were gray, like steel, and flicked at my cleavage before meeting my own. She took a sip and slapped a ten on the bar, and took her beer over to where the rest of the construction crew sat.

The men were flirting with Chastity as she set their order on the table in front of them.

***

Arms spread; she punctuated the air with her finger and the traffic sign. Not that she needed any more emphasis; her voice was raised and was arguing with a tall man with florid skin. He too, was wearing a construction hat, but he was dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt.

My jeep was first at the light. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a line of cars behind me stretching out of Uptown and into Oak Creek Canyon. Someone behind me honked a horn. I inched forward and she turned and glared, holding the sign in my direction, clearly showing the “stop” side.

The man grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her so that she fell against his chest and the sign fell to the ground.

One of the other men on sight came up to them and the man let go of her.

“Fuck you!” And she was gone.

One of the construction workers knocked on my hood and I jumped.

He waved me forward and I inched by.

***

“Tequila.”

It was her again. I set two shot glasses on the counter and reached for the bottle of Jose’ Quervo. I poured and we tossed the shots back together. She set her glass on the counter with the shake of her head and motioned for another.

“You get a break?”

I motioned to Chastity that I was taking a cigarette break and came around the bar. The construction worker took me by the elbow, leading me out front. It was dark, the yellow construction vehicles dark towering shadows. She led me onto the site and I could feel my pussy heating.

She pushed me back against the rubber tire as tall as I was and pressed against me her lips at my forehead.

“Is this alright?” She asked kissing her way to my ear.

I nodded and her hand took hold of my skirt hem and lifted, palming my hot mound.
She was urgent. There was no finesse, just calloused fingers sliding into my flesh. I moaned and she pressed her knee between my legs, pushing her fingers deeper. She sucked my neck, my breasts, hunched. I clutched her shoulders.

Teeth, hard and white in the darkness, bit my nipples through my shirt and I cried out.

I rode her hand, her thumb a raging piston against my clit until I came, my body quaking.

***

I was afraid she wouldn’t be there the next day, but she was. I drove by at a crawl and her fingers slid along the hood of the car. She bent at the waist and looked at me over her sunglasses, winking.

"Backstage"

2006-03-30T15:59:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! This is my latest story Backstage to be submitted tomorrow for the "Drag King" anthology. I am not going to have time to put it in the Fish Tank, so any advice you can offer would be great.

BACKSTAGE (FF, toys)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex or sex using toys, stop reading now!

Comb lines through my pomade slickened hair always made me smile. I looked like my father. The same dark eyes framed by thick lashes and brows. The square jaw and thin lips held a startling resemblance even before I added the facial hair.

Lightly, I tapped the spirit gum on my upper lip to check for tackiness then picked up the mustache the same color as my dark hair. I tightened the skin beneath my nose and pressed the bit of hair firmly in place.

I wasn’t about glitter. Smoke and lights were more my style. I took a drag of my cigarette and stared at Bambi’s reflection through the smoke. She was practicing her presentation poses. One long leg sheathed in fishnet turned out showing a lean inner thigh. Her arms pointed toward an imaginary object.

Bambi wasn’t her real name, but it suited her for the role she played on stage with me. A magician’s assistant should draw the eye. In her silver sequined leotard she sparkled under the stage lights. The shiny fabric held her breasts in a way my fingers remembered, but now framed her cleavage to gain audience attention. Tonight she wore a feathered headdress that butted her rouged cheeks and swayed hypnotically when she moved.

“Bee, you have that one down,” I said, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray on the make-up table. Bambi had been my partner on stage for more than two years. “You could do this in your sleep.”

We hadn’t slept together in eight months, since she’d met Carla.

“I know,” she said, again lifting her arms in a graceful wave. “But the heels are new.”
Bambi was balancing on her ‘fuck me’ heels--four inches of clear plastic that gave her leg an extra sexy curve. They were sling backsz with no straps. I raised a brow. “The last time you had slip-ons—“

“I know. I nearly fell into the laps in the front row.” She came up behind me and placed her manicured nails on my shoulders. Warm heat passed from my shoulders straight to my sex.
How long could we do this?

“Not that they would have objected,” I said instead. Bambi blushed prettily and I took her hand in mine and brought it to my lips.

Casual. Friendly.

“I’ve been wearing these around the apartment for two days.”

“What’s Carla think of that?”

“Says they make my ass look younger and higher.” She glanced over her shoulder at her rear. “I think I’ll start wearing them full time.”

My smile was more of a sneer, but Bambi didn’t seem to notice. I leaned closer to the mirror and tapped the mustache with my finger. The bit of hair was itchy.

“You nearly ready?” Bambi asked.

“One more cigarette and I’ll be out.”

Bambi kissed my forehead before leaving me. (If you would like to read further, story finished in Comments)

"Dusty Rose" to be Published!

2006-03-30T15:53:00.000-08:00

Hello my adoring fans! I am flying high because my story The Dusty Rose has been accepted for publication by Alyson Books for their anthology "Travelrotica for Lesbians." Of course I am totally psyched! Alyson is the publishing house who is also publishing Magdalin for their "Vampirotica" book.

The Dusty Rose is my story loosely based on "Carlee's Place," a bar in Borrego Springs Shawn and I used to hang out at. It's about a busker finding fun on her travels with an older woman, and owner of the bar. I really liked my characters in this story and worked hard to bring them to life.

Lambda Literary FoundationAnnounces Finalists For 18th Annual Lambda Literary Awards

2006-03-04T11:36:00.000-08:00

March 3, 2006, New York, NY- The Lambda Literary Foundation announced the finalists for the 18th Annual Lambda Literary Awards, celebrating achievements in lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) literature for books published in 2005.

Launched in 1989, the Lambda Literary Awards is the nation's most celebrated and comprehensive collection of awards for LGBT writing. Spanning twenty categories, the 100 finalists reflect a diverse range of distinguished voices from the LGBT community and highlight the full range of achievement in LGBT literature.

The finalists are selected based on a two-part process. In the fall of 2005, readers, authors, and publishers formally nominated books, with the nomination period closing on December 31. A finalist selection committee of reviewers and booksellers chose the finalists by first voting on their top choices and then, in conference calls, discussing the top titles in each category.

"This is a remarkable list of finalists," observed Charles Flowers, executive director of Lambda Literary Foundation. "From small press to university press to New York mainstream houses, LGBT publishing is vibrant and vigorous, with new voices like Tennessee Jones and Michelle Embree joining established favorites like Jeanette Winterson and Dennis Cooper. We are most proud of our debut fiction awards, which allow Lambda to recognize the emerging talent in our community that these publishers are investing in and introducing to the world."

Seventy-two judges, representing a broad cross-section of the gay and lesbian literary community, will select a single book in each category to win the prestigious Lambda Literary Award, considered to be the highest accolade for a book from the LGBT community. The recipients will be announced at a gala ceremony in Washington, DC on Thursday, May 18, 2006, on the eve of the BookExpo America Convention. Information about the awards ceremony will be announced at a later date, or can be requested at asklambda@earthlink.net.

Finalists for the 2005 Lambda Literary Awards (alphabetical by category)

Anthology
Red Light: Superheroes, Saints, & Sluts, ed. Anna Camilleri (Arsenal Pulp Press)
Lesbian Pulp Fiction: The Sexually Intrepid World of Lesbian Paperback Novels, 1950-1955, ed. Katherine Forrest (Cleis)
Freedom in This Village: 25 Years of Black Gay Men's Writing, ed. E. Lynn Harris (Carroll & Graf)
Everything I Have Is Blue: Short Fiction by Working-Class Men, ed. Wendell Ricketts (Suspect Thoughts)
Bullets and Butterflies: Queer Spoken Word Poetry, ed. Emanuel Xavier (Suspect Thoughts)

Belles Lettres
Quicksands: A Memoir by Sybille Bedford (Counterpoint Press)
Tab Hunter Confidential by Tab Hunter, with Eddie Muller (Algonquin)
My One Night Stand with Cancer by Tania Katan (Alyson Books)
The Tricky Part by Martin Moran (Beacon Press)
When I Knew, edited by Robert Trachtenberg, illustrated by Tom Bachtell (Regan Books)

Biography
The Fabulous Sylvester by Joshua Gamson (Henry Holt)
Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted: The Life of Brion Gysin by John Geiger (The Disinformation Company)
Beyond Recall by Mary Meigs and Lise Weil (Talonbooks)
Wild Girls: Paris, Sappho, & Art by Diana Souhami (St. Martins)
February House by Sherrill Tippins (Houghton Mifflin)

Children's/Young Adult
Antonio's Card/La Tarjeta de Antonio by Rigoberto Gonzalez (Children's Book Press)
Totally Joe by James Howe (Simon & Schuster)
And Tango Makes Three by Peter Parnell & Justin Richardson (Simon & Schuster)
Rainbow Road by Alex Sanchez (Simon & Schuster)
Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai (Tundra Books)

Erotica
Rode Hard Put Away Wet: Lesbian Cowboy Erotica edited by Sacchi Green & Rakelle Valencia (Suspect Thoughts)
Best Lesbian Erotica 2006, ed. by Eileen Myles and Tristan Taormino (Cleis)
Stolen Moments: Erotic Interludes 2, edited by Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe (Bold Strokes)
Best Gay Erotica 2006, ed. by Matt Bernstein Sycamore and Richard Labonte (Cleis)
Close Contact by Sean Wolfe (Kensington)

Gay Men's Debut Fiction
Setting the Lawn on Fire by Mack Friedman (Wisconsin)
Mother of Sorrows by Richard McCann (Pantheon)
The First Verse by Barry McCrea (Carroll & Graf)
You Are Not the One by Vestal McIntyre (Carroll & Graf)
Bilal's Bread by Sulyman X (Alyson)

Gay Men's Fiction
The Sluts by Dennis Cooper (Carroll & Graf)
German Officer's Boy by Harlan Greene (Wisconsin)
Faith for Beginners by Aaron Hamburger (Random House)
What We Do is Secret by Kief Hillsbery (Villard)
Acqua Calda by Keith McDermott (Carroll & Graf)

Gay Men's Mystery
The Actor's Guide to Greed by Rick Copp (Kensington)
White Tiger by Michael Allen Dymmoch (St. Martins Minotaur)
The Paper Mirror by Dorien Grey (GLB Publishers)
Cajun Snuff by W. Randy Haynes (Publish America)
One of These Things is Not Like the Others by D. Travers Scott (Suspect Thoughts)

Gay Men's Poetry
School of the Arts by Mark Doty (HarperCollins)
For Dust Thou Art by Timothy Lui (Southern Illinois)
Sugar by Martin Pousson (Suspect Thoughts)
Crush by Richard Siken (Yale)
Blue on Blue Ground by Aaron Smith (Pittsburgh)

Humor
Invasion of Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel (Alyson Books)
Juicy Mother by Jennifer Camper (Soft Skull Press)
What the L ? by Kate Clinton (Carroll & Graf)
Revenge of the Paste Eaters by Cheryl Peck (5 Spot, Warner Books)
Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff (Doubleday)

Lesbian Debut Fiction
In Too Deep by Ronica Black (Bold Strokes)
Manstealing for Fat Girls by Michelle Embree (Soft Skull Press)
The Beautifully Worthless by Ali Liebegott (Suspect Thoughts)
Crashing America by Katia Noyes (Alyson)
Bliss by Fiona Zane (Kensington)

Lesbian Fiction
Babyji by Abha Dawesar (Anchor Books)
Wild Dogs by Helen Humphrys (W. W. Norton)
With or Without You by Lauren Sanders (Akashic)
Five Books of Moses Lapinsky by Karen Tulchinsky (Raincoast Books)
Lighthousekeeping by Jeanette Winterson (Harcourt)

Lesbian Mystery
Desert Blood: The Juarez Murders by Alicia Gaspar De Alba (Arte Publico)
Women of Mystery edited by Katherine Forrest (Haworth)
The Iron Girl by Ellen Hart (St. Martins Minotaur)
Darkness Descending by Penny Mickelbury (Kings Crossing)
Justice Served by Radclyffe (Bold Strokes)

Lesbian Poetry
Where the Apple Falls by Samiya Bashir (redbone press)
Directed by Desire: Collected Poems by June Jordan (Copper Canyon)
Life Mask by Jackie Kay (Bloodaxe Books)
New and Selected Poems, Volume II by Mary Oliver (Beacon Press)
Eye of Water by Amber Flora Thomas (Pittsburgh)

LGBT Studies
When Heroes Love: The Ambiguity of Eros in the Stories of Gilgamesh and David by Susan Ackerman (Columbia)
Zest for Life: Lesbians' Experience of Menopause by Jennifer Kelly (Spinifex)
Why I Hate Abercrombie and Fitch by Dwight A. McBride (NYU Press)
Lesbian Communities Festivals, Rvs And the Internet, edited by Esther D. Rothblum and Penny Sablove (Harrington Park Press)
Love's Rite: Same-Sex Marriage in India and the West by Ruth Vanita (Palgrave Macmillan)

Nonfiction
Gore Vidal's America by Dennis Altman (Polity Press)
Beyond the Down Low by Keith Boykin (Carroll & Graf)
Raising Boys without Men by Peggy Drexler (Rodale)
Words to Our Now by Thomas Glave (Minnesota)
Women Together/Women Apart by Tirza True Latimer (Rutgers)

Romance
Walt Loves the Bearcat by Randy Boyd (West Beach Books)
Artist's Dream by Gerri Hill (Bella Books)
Just Like That by Karin Kallmaker (Bella Books)
The Price of Temptation by M. J. Pearson (Seventh Window)
Distant Shores, Silent Thunder by Radclyffe (Bold Strokes)

Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror
Fledgling by Octavia Butler (Seven Stories)
Shapers of Darkness by David B. Coe (Tor)
Daughters of an Emerald Dusk by Katherine Forrest (Alyson Books)
Temple Landfall by Jane Fletcher (Bold Strokes)
No Sister of Mine by Jeanne G'Fellers (Bella Books)

Spirituality
The Seven Sisters of the Pleiades by Munya Andrews (Spinifex)
Qu(e)ering Evangelicalism by Cheri DiNovo (Pilgrim Press)
The Path of the Green Man by Michael Thomas Ford (Citadel Press)
I Am the One Walking Beside Me by Daniel Gebhardt (Pilgrim Press)
Fumbling Toward Divinity by Craig Hickman (Annabessacook Farm)

Transgender/Gender
QueerChoir Boy by Charlie Anders (Soft Skull Press)
In a Queer Time and Place by Judith Halberstam (NYU Press)
Deliver Me from Nowhere by Tennessee Jones (Soft Skull Press)
Just Add Hormones by Matt Kailey (Beacon Press)
The Riddle of Gender by Deborah Rudacille (Pantheon)

Lambda Literary Foundation is a 501(c) 3 non-profit dedicated to the celebration and advocacy of LGBTQ literature in all its dimensions. The Lambda Literary Awards, the most visible _expression of the foundation's mission, recognize annually the most significant books published in more than fifteen categories, from fiction to poetry to spiritual writing to best debut novel. In addition, the foundation publishes a quarterly review of lesbian and gay literature, Lambda Book Report.

Find out more Lambda and its programs at www.lambdaliterary.org.

Lambda Literary Foundation
16 West 32nd Street, Suite 10E
New York, NY 10001
212-239-6575
fax 212-239-6576
asklambda@earthlink.net

Dressing a Diva

2006-02-14T12:14:00.000-08:00

My lastest finished story is called "Dressing a Diva" and is inspired by my time in NYC. I orignally wrote it for a fashion story contest, but it really didn't end up working for that topic. Hope you guys like it!

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex stop reading now!

Dressing a Diva (FF)
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela

“She’s late.” Christina was not one to wait around for ego inflated divas. Even if she was Tatiana Marci.
“Please Ms. Reynolds,” the producer said, on his feet and clutching at my arm as I loaded my sewing box. “I am sure she will be here any moment. Ms. Marci is a very important…”
“Save it, Dillon,” Christina said. “I have designed and fit more than one hundred costumes for this production and every one of the other actors has managed to show up for fittings.” She shrugged the strap of her sewing box over her shoulder and pulled her tweed newsboy cap low over her eyes. “There are only two weeks until opening night and she has more than a dozen costume changes.”
“Yes, but…”
“No amount of talent is worth dealing with this bullshit.” Christina hadn’t slept in more than three days. The glasses perched on her nose couldn’t disguise her red rimmed eyes or the slump of her shoulders.
“Please her assistant said…”
“Tell her assistant that Ms. Marci better get down on her knees if she wants me to finish her costumes.” Christina walked out of the fitting room and down the dark hall backstage, pulling on her gloves as she went. She’d never even met Tatiana, and quite frankly, after the past eight weeks of pre-production, she had no desire to. (Continued in Comments)

May Your Heart Beat Pitter-Pat! Happy Valentine's Day!

2006-02-14T12:10:00.000-08:00

Second Stiletto Submit

2006-01-31T10:37:00.000-08:00

Here's my second go for the Stiletto Flash contest held by Desdmona.com. Remember everyone the deadline is tomorrow noon, so get those submits in.

The Tattoo Artist (FF)
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela.

This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex stop reading now!

The tickle and burn of the pigment-filled needle scratched my lower back.

"Be still," the tattooist said. Her dark eyes reflected back at me in warning. She laid a steady hand on my spine and bent to her work.

Six months had been put into the applying ink to my skin. The design covered three quarters of my back. My only request had been stilettos.

The likeness of a Goth hellcat astride a Harley lounged across my shoulder blades. The stiletto heel of one thigh-high boot growing from the crack of my ass, the other propped on the handlebars. Her knees spread wide, lace covered pussy a shadow between her legs.

The tattoo artist’s cinnamon breath burned my skin as she leaned closer to add the finishing touches. The gentle buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.

In the mirror, I could see the dark sheen of her hair piled on top of her head, and the glint of the silver bar in her eyebrow. The tattoos on her shoulders and biceps danced while she worked. A nipple ring was visible beneath her tank top.

My pussy twitched.

Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.

An hour crept by, my heart racing with every swipe of the needle. Six months of work. Me lying across the vinyl, nipples hard beneath my t-shirt and pussy dripping inside my panties. Pain and pleasure became one.

She squeezed my hip in warning. “Patience.”

But my hips were connected to my pussy and with every nick of ink my excited flesh pulsed. The casual touch of her talented fingers was driving me mad. I fought to be still.

A long sigh, like a woman satisfied after her pussy had been properly eaten, blew from between her lips. My thighs pressed tight as my imagination ignited. The wet sound of lotion between her palms was added fuel.

“Done.”

"How's it look?" I asked, twisting round.

Over my shoulder, her black painted fingernails were dark against my pale skin.

"I had a beautiful canvas." Her plump lips lowered and I watched, transfixed, as they connected with my sensitive flesh.

Our eyes caught.

"Go ahead," she said, standing.

I slid my hand beneath me.

With a quick drag of zipper my fingers were in, tangled in my curls.

My eyes closed and I pressed my cheek into the table, biting my lip.

The click of her heels walked past me.

“Open your eyes.”

She hid thigh-high stilettos beneath her long skirt. Her clean-shaven pussy was a riot of color. Flowered tattoos framed the gleaming skin. A ring pierced her labia.

Wetness soaked my palm.

Bracing one hand against the wall she lifted her leg so that the six inch heel was beside my cheek. I nuzzled against the patent leather.

“Lick it!”

The heel was hard beneath my tongue, nubs of the stitching nutty with wear.

My breath caught, thighs stiffened, clit on end.

Pussy scented the air.

Rode Hard on Second Printing

2006-01-31T10:32:00.000-08:00

Guess girls like girls in chaps...and nothin' else! "Rode Hard, Put Away Wet" is now on it's second printing. Woo-hoo! You go cowgirls!

"Magdalin" to be Published!

2006-01-27T12:02:00.000-08:00

Hey there all of my fans! Today I was told that my vampire story "Magdalin" has been accepted for publication for Alyson Publications! I would be doing a happy dance if I weren't in a library. This is my second acceptance from Alyson. They also were the company who published "Another Night at Daddy's."

It had been a while since an acceptance and I was starting to get worried. I guess that's the trail of writing. Always waiting, always wondering, always not sure. "Magdaliln" wasn't posted here, but I will be putting up for you guys to take a look at. Thanks for all of the support!

Finding Time

2006-01-23T08:59:00.000-08:00

So, Last week, I started my new non-writing a job. It's unfortunate that I am not making any money with my writing...but with most, a job outside of thier passion is necessary, isn't it? The job is making it difficult to find writing time, but I am doing my best.

Biggest issue is we have one car and haveta play nice and share. So after dropping my significant other at thier money making job I head to the library. Lucky for me, Sedona has an awesome set-up. The library is huge, with tons of space and privacy. Also have wifi for the internet and with my handy laptop in tow I can write almost as if I were at home. I only get two hours and fifteen minutes to create...not a lot, but better than nothing.

How do you, my friends, find the time to write? What has worked for you?

Sipping Margarita Revision

2006-01-03T12:27:00.000-08:00

Hey there my loyal reader. This is my revision of "Sipping Margarita." I am submitting it for the Voluptuous Vixens Anthology (Entry guidelines to be found at the ERWA). Basically, the book is to feature short erotic stories about full-figured gorgeous women and I thought Margarita definitely fit the bill. This has grown about four hundred words since my last posting so let me know what you think. All feedback and advice is welcome.

This is an adult story. Anyone who thinks they will be offended by sex, lesbian sex, strap-ons, oral sex, or any kind of sex should stop reading now.

Sipping Margarita [1920 words] (FF, Toys, Oral)
Copyright © 2005 by Crystal Barela

The smooth worn wood of my guitar was soft beneath my palms. I caressed the strings in slow motion, dragging my calloused finger-tips down the gentle slope of the neck in one long stroke, before setting my fingers on a chord. I pulled a high pitched thrum from inside my wooden lover, as seductive as the sound of a woman coming.

I peered up from under my cowboy hat and winked at the woman in red. This was for her. I was imagining her body beneath my fingers as I strummed and picked, my pussy getting hotter as the hours passed. She’d been sitting in a nearby patch of shade from almost the moment I set up my gear─leaving every once in a while, but always returning to listen.

Getting noticed was this woman’s purpose. This was no pretty young thing, but a lady seasoned in turning heads. Full and round like a model in a Rubens painting. A palm tree had the pleasure of feeling the length of her back and the nudge of her thick ass against its smooth bark and I hoped by the end of the day I would enjoy the same. (Story continued in Dare to Share)

LAMBDA Nomination!

2006-01-01T16:45:00.000-08:00

Rode Hard, Put Away Wet: Lesbian Cowboy Erotica has been nominated for a LAMBDA Literary award! My story Ridden, is a proudly a part of this anthology. Doin' the happy dance!

This totally rocks! Judging is to take place in June...wish us luck!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

2006-01-01T16:26:00.000-08:00

A Special Toy

2006-01-01T16:05:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine suggested that the toy I mention in my story "Another Night at Daddy's" be designed and constructed. He says he could sell them, no problem. Well, with my talents in fashion and sewing maybe I should give it go. Below is the description of the device...anyone else think I should go into business?

“Nice softail, man,” Butch said when they got outside, running her hand along the handlebars. Bitch hopped right on, making motor noises and pretending to rev the engine. Ricky lifted her eyebrows, but said nothing, focusing on the ass bouncing on the leather seat.

“And totally customized,” Ricky bragged. She pulled out what looked like a strap-on from the saddle bag. It resembled your basic belted dildo but the strap was longer than most would need. She bent across the seat, between Bitch and the handlebars, and buckled it tightly around the frame of the bike. The large black rubber prick rose into the air. Strapping it onto the bike was preferable to a woman sometimes. Ricky could ride for miles with the vibrations of the bike ripping through her body, bringing on amazing orgasms. “I call it my pommel,” she shared, straightening and winking at Butch.

I'm Back!

2005-12-21T15:38:00.000-08:00

Hello loyal readers...all two of ya! After a monsterous computer virus where I lost most of my writing for the past year...I am an asshole and didn't back anything up...I am back. And I am saving my work every week. Please remember to back up all of your writing! This is your soul on the line folks...be safe.

Next on the contest list is the hot competition from desdmona.com. They are having thier short story contest and grand prize is $200. The story should be 500 words or less and have to do with a stiletto. Either the knife or the heel will work...or both if you are so talented. Deadline is Febuary 1st.

Below is my first try at a story. Let me know what you like, don't like, hate, love...Hey! Do you have an idea for an erotic story for this contest? Let's here it!

Remember! This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you can't handle it, stop reading.

WORKING TITLE (FF, Oral)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.

I bit my lip with indecision.

Did I need another pair?

I turned to the shop door.

CLOSED.

My eyes returned to the display with a rueful grin.

Food not shoes.

After adjusting my purse trap I took two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me.

“Come in.” A woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.

Stella, her nametag read. She went directly to the pair my eyes had lusted after.

Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red patent leather with leg wrap.

I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.

Stella knelt at my feet.

The tissue paper crinkled.

My breath quickened.

A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot, baring my coral painted toes to Stella’s eyes.

She ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.

“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.

The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my nails like a piece of art. Stella took the long laces and cris-crossed them around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.

My breath caught with every pass.

Gold strands in Stella’s hair sparkled under the lights. She tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.

Stella’s palm slid down the back of my calf.

Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.

“Amazing legs,” she said.

Our eyes met.

Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.

My pussy twitched.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.

“Wear stockings?”

I shook my head.

Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.

My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.

Our eyes meet.

My legs spread.

Stella rolls my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massage my inner thighs.

Fingers meet panty and press into me.

Fabric lingers in my wetness.

My hungry kitty nudges her hand.

She pushes the silk aside and lifts the red stiletto.

The heel is hard and foreign against my sensitive pussy, but I’m dripping and open.

Stella is licking, slurping, tasting leather flavored juices as she fucks me with the heel.

My teeth sink into my lower lip and I twist my nipple, arching.

Heat tightens my limbs.

I am still.

“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispers.

“Sold.”

Date set for Da Vinci Code plagiarism trial

2005-10-31T09:09:00.000-08:00

Saw this in yahoo news and thought I would share. I have personally read both of these books, which are good, but in my opinion are only the same in the subject manner. Brown has wrote a piece of fiction about the Nights Templar and the Holy Grail and Leigh/Biagent say they have wrote a non-fiction account of the evnets. Question? How many people have wrote fiction books based on what are considered the actural events of what happen? Another quesition. Are Leigh/Baigent now saying what they said was fact, is fiction?

LONDON (Reuters) - Two historians are suing the publishers of Dan Brown's best-selling religious thriller "The Da Vinci Code" in a case which lawyers said Thursday was due to start early next year.

Richard Leigh and Michael Baigent are suing Random House for lifting "the whole architecture" of the research that went into their 1982 non-fiction book "The Holy Blood, and the Holy Grail."
Lawyers on both sides of the case met Thursday to thrash out technical details, and said a trial date had been set for February 27.

They would not comment on how the trial might affect sales of the hugely successful novel or the distribution of a major Hollywood adaptation which Sony Pictures plans to release in May next year.

Random House said a "substantial" part of the claim by Baigent and Leigh had been dropped as a result of Thursday's discussions, and added in a statement:
"Random House is delighted with this result, which reinforces its long-held contention that this is a claim without merit."

A spokeswoman for Leigh said he still intended to pursue his claim against the publishers of Brown's book, which has 36 million copies in print worldwide and has upset Catholics for suggesting Jesus married Mary Magdalene and had a child by her.

The same theory is put forward in The Holy Blood, and the Holy Grail.

Commentators have pointed out that a major character in Dan Brown's book, Sir Leigh Teabing, has a name that is an anagram of Leigh and Baigent. A third author of the 1982 book, Henry Lincoln, has decided to stay out of the action.

Ironically, a special hardback, illustrated version of their book, called Holy Blood, Holy Grail has just been reissued by none other than Random House.

In August, Brown won a court ruling against another writer, Lewis Perdue, who claimed The Da Vinci Code copied elements of two of his novels, "Daughter of God" and "The Da Vinci Legacy."
Perdue had sought $150 million in damages and asked the court to block distribution of the book and the movie adaptation, which features Tom Hanks alongside French actress Audrey Tautou.

2005-10-31T08:51:00.000-08:00

Happy All Hallow's Eve!

Penis Size...How do you Measure Up?

2005-09-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

This is a facinating study on Definitive Penis Size. This site has everything you would ever want to know about dick.

Assignment #2: Short Story

2005-09-19T09:21:00.000-07:00

Time for this week's assignment. Please see the picture below. I would like all of my loyal readers to take a look at this picture and write a short story, no more than 2000 words about what they see; how they imagine this scene to have happened. Who are these women? Friends? Lovers? What are they reading? Be creative and have fun! (I would like to thank Marciposa for participating in last week's assignment...not once, but twice!)

2005-09-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

Assignment 2 Picture

Poetry Submissions

2005-09-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

I know there are some poetry writers who visit this site, so I thought I would post the link to the angry poet. He pays $10 a poem and from $20-$50 for short story fiction under 500 words. check out his guidlines at the link. He's pretty pissed.

Precious Pearls

2005-09-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

Hey there guys. I have just completed my first BDSM story called Precious Pearls. It is my foray into writing something of this nature and I am not sure if it comes off like I want. It's based losely on a club I visited in NYC several years ago. This is for a BDSM anthology that insists the name Juliette be used in the story and that pearls be used as well. For entry guidelines visit the Erotica Readers and Writers Association website.

My question to you is...Do you understand the whole number thing once the show starts? The idea was that as the guests arrived they were given numbers and then Juliette would call out random numbers for a turn at the stage. Is this weird and does it make sense? How would you suggest I make it less confusing.

In coincidence there is an interesting bit at Sex Kitten about BDSM this month. Check it out.

So below is my new story. Please give me any and all advice.

PRECIOUS PEARLS (FF, MF, Orgy, oral)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

The three things my mistress Juliette loved above all others were my dirty knees, my best behavior and her precious pearls. That night she had insisted upon all three.

Clit Friendly Toys by Anne Semans

2005-09-16T19:47:00.000-07:00

Clitoral vibrators are powered either by electricity or batteries, and can be used in all sorts of way to improve your experience and enjoyment of orgasms. Though many people think, at first glance, that vibrators are meant primarily for penetration, most women find that they work best for clitoral stimulation, since that's where most of your nerve endings are, and the clitoris is highly responsive to vibration. Many women find that using a vibrator allows for longer, stronger clitoral stimulation that can take them over the top, often multiple times.. If you like a very focused touch, look for a vibrator with a smaller tip; if you don't like direct clitoral stimulation, try a vibrator with a bigger head that will spread out sensations.

The following clitoral vibrators are designed to help you get vibrations on just the right spot. We listed just a few popular toys here. However, there's dozens of choices, from serious high-end products to whimsical inexpensive playthings. Strap it one, plug it in, or switch it on, you'll love these clit friendly toys. (Follow this link for reviews)

M.I.L.F. (Mother's I'd Like to F*ck)

2005-09-13T21:46:00.000-07:00

Here's my latest contest entry for the "Hot Mommas" antholgy. This story is based on the strip club Shawn and I have visited in Canada a couple of times. On both occasions I was lucky enough to have a lap dance. This is a very accurate portrayal of what happens on stage and what can happen in the private dance rooms. As a married woman, I turned down going south on a stripper...but I did think about what it might be like, and what it might lead to.

The most difficult part about writing this story is that it is written from a man's point of view and I'm sure that I've gotten the voice right. My husband has read the first few pages and he seems to think it's working. If there are any men who happen to be taking a peek at my site, let me know if it works or doesn't and why. Everyone else let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Thanks for reading!

NOTE: From now on I will be posting the title and opening line of my stories on my blog page and then the rest of the story in my comments, that way my blog won't be a zillion inches long. Also I am going to furnish a code so that anyone who doesn't want to read further because of topic of story can stop now. For example this story is MF, oral, anal = Male/Female relationship, contains oral and anal sex.

MAXINE’S (MF, oral, anal)
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

Two college boys were lying on stage under the pink and green neon lights, gold stripper poles from stage to ceiling, framing them. Rolled dollars bills were clasped between their puckered lips…

The Largest Sex Organ: The Brain

2005-09-12T19:11:00.000-07:00

The hypothalamus is one of the most important parts of the brain. Among other functions, it is involved in the "Four F's" of motivation: fighting, fleeing, feeding, and fucking.
It's the last one we're most interested in...(Read more at Sex Kitten)

Assignment #1: Drabble

2005-09-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

Okay folks, I'm going to try to get something going on this site that has to do with writing...not just erotic writing, but writing in general. Weekly I am gonna post an assignment and anyone who wants to try thier hand at putting a story together is welcome to post. This week we are gonna drabble.

A drabble is a story that is exactly 100 words long, no more, no less (not including title). The goal is tell a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in only 100 words. Not as easy as you might think. Good luck!

2005-09-09T21:20:00.000-07:00

Love this photo...erotic, sexy, fun...There's just something about vintage.

Doing a Happy Dance

2005-09-08T10:59:00.000-07:00

I just received a wonderful call from Sarah Young's mom. Sarah is a local artist I wrote a story about for our paper which comes out today. I was a little nervous about writing it because Sarah was nervous. Apparently, in the past some of the articles written hadn't been as she would have liked them. I really tried to capture her though.

Sarah's mom said that Sarah, upon receiving the paper drove out into the desert as far as she could go before she would loose cell power (the desert calms her). She then opened the paper and read the story I wrote aloud to her mother. Her mother thought it was wonderful and amazing and captured her daughter so well. Sarah was thrilled beyond words and in tears from my story. They both think I am brilliant and amazingly talented...lol...love to hear that!

I feel really good...REALLY good about this...

A little Q and A

2005-09-08T10:25:00.000-07:00

"Oh, I wish that God had not given me what I prayed for! It was not so good as I thought!" - Johanna Spryi (1827-1901) Heidi; 1885

Q. Have you ever longed for someone and upon getting them, were left wanting?

A. We all have, haven't we? I wasted my life in a relationship for two years left wanting. And I mean sexually. I won't name any names, but this particular person had no regard for my sexual needs. It didn't matter how many blow jobs I gave him or how many sexy negligee I wore...he never headed south. Not with hands or mouth. Yeah, never said I wasn't an idiot. I thought good friends could be made into good lovers. I blame my thinking on the stupidity of youth.

Sipping Margarita

2005-09-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

Okay folks. Here is my latest story, "Sipping Margarita." I was trying to give it a tasty drink feel...not sure I accomplished that or not. Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Thanks!

SIPPING MARGARITA
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

My guitar was cradled in my arms like an expectant lover. The smooth worn wood soft like a woman’s beneath my palm. I caressed the strings in slow motion, dragging my calloused finger-tips down the gentle slope of the neck in one long stroke, before setting my fingers on a chord. I pulled a high pitched twang from inside my wooden lover, as seductive as the sound of a woman coming.
I peered up from under my cowboy hat and winked at the woman in red. This was for her. I was imagining her body beneath my fingers as I strummed and picked, my pussy getting hotter as the hours passed. She’d been sitting in nearby patch of shade from almost the moment I set up my gear─leaving every once and a while, but always returning to listen.
Getting noticed was this woman’s purpose. This was no pretty young thing, but a lady seasoned in turning heads. Full and round like a model in a Rubin painting. A palm tree had the pleasure of feeling the length of back and the nudge of her ass against its smooth bark and I hoped by the end of the day I would enjoy the same.
Knees spread, her long prairie skirt draped like a hammock between them. The breeze carried the hem up ever so often, giving me a peek of rosy ripe pussy.
An embroidered red blouse, hung off her shoulders, in layers of ruffles. Braless, her tits were the size of cantaloupes and rolled under the thin fabric, teasing me with the possibility of a show, nipples just out of view.
At my feet was my open guitar case, dollar bills littering the black interior. It was just nearing sunset, bright rays of light shot over the peeks of the San Ysidro Mountains behind me, casting a halo around the woman’s dark skin and hair. She rose to her feet as if pulled by a string, graceful like a dancer.
Skirts flew as she twirled in a halo of golden light. Red painted toes, calves, knees and a glimpse of thigh. Arms overhead, fingers snapping in time with my playing.
She spun like a child seeking that place where your stomach turns and you collapse on the grass and watch the sky swirl round you.
The last note rang in the air.
There was a moment of complete silence before the small crowd around us erupted in applause. Cat calls, clapping, money tossed into my tattered case. I waved and thanked our admirers before stowing my guitar.
Sandaled feet arrived in front of the case, a silver toe ring hugging her baby toe and a tattoo climbing her calf. I stood, drinking her in.
Close-up she was older than I had thought. Fine lines feathered from the corners of her eyes. Long chocolate colored hair camouflaged softening her jaw. The whites of her deep dark eyes, in stark contrast with her dark coaco of her skin peered up at me. They sparked in the fading light, eager as a teenagers.
“Margarita,” she said offering me her hand.
I took her plump fingers in my own and brought them to my lips. “Melissa.”
“You are, how you say? Mucho talentoso.”
Sweet ocotillo and sunshine clung to her skin. I wanted to lick it off.
“I was wondering.” I moved in close enough to feel the heat of her sun-kissed skin through my thin cotton shirt.
Pussy pink tongue wet her lips.
“Would you like a private performance?”
Maragrita tossed her hair like a wild stallion her nostrils flaring and nodded.
With my guitar in one hand and her in the other, she led me out of the park and across the street. I didn’t much care where she was taking me, as long as I got to sip her sweet pussy before the night was over.
We entered the shadows of the alley. My guitar fell to the gravel and I pulled her full ripe body against mine. I pressed her back against the rough brick and ground my pussy into hers.
“Beautiful, Margarita.”
I kissed the color from her lips and inched her skirt up. The bright red fabric wadded around her waist, so I could feel her slick folds. She clung to my fingers, her walls knocking against my knuckles. I pushed against her, wishing I had a dick that I could sink into her hot center. She moaned and bounced on my hand, one leg around my waist the other firmly on the ground.
With a dozen practiced swirl of my thumb her cunt applauded squeezing my fingers in a firm handshake or welcome. I grabbed her ass, pulling her close, licking the salt from her skin. Margarita encircled my waist with her legs.
A door was thrown open behind one of the bars, across from us. The alleyway was lit with a stream of light and accompanying mariachi music, a man silhouetted in the doorway before it slammed shut. He stood on the stoop and lit up a cigarette..
“Where? Dónde?”
Margarita reached down and took hold of my guitar, and motioned for me to continue down the alley. She giggled and covered my face in red painted kisses. I staggered rounded the corner and she directed me up a narrow staircase.
We fell against the stairs and the old wood creaked under our weight.
Buttons pooped and lips latched onto my tits like she was had just been reborn.
We crawled up the stairs, stumbling, kissing, drunk on passion.
Inebriated with Margarita.
My head hit a door on the landing and I reached for the knob. We tumbled into the room laughing.
My feisty senorita pulled my jeans down my legs, and I kicked them off. Her fingers were in my snatch and her lips eating cunt before I could do more than gasp her name. She threw my legs over her shoulders and her tongue performed the Mexican hat dance on my wet lips.
Margarita circled and tapped her way around my clit, as if it were a sombrero, her lips making clapping sounds, finding a staccato beat. Her molé brown eyes met mine, dark and rich like the earth. Her fingers joined her tongue, partnering in a dance of heat and passion until my thighs stretched taught and my clit vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean.
I collapsed on the floor, catching my breath and Margarita crawled up my body, her warm soft skin pressing into me.
“Mas?”
“Si!” I said laughing. “Mucho mas!” I rolled us across the floor, landing on top of her. I pressed her hands into the braided rug beneath us. “What did you have in mind?”
Neck and ears were salty and damp. I licked and kissed, my way to her breasts, burying my face between the massive drums, slick with perspiration. Nipples long and hard butted my lips, and I drank them. Nursing her, parched for this woman’s candied moans. Hands sticky with my juices tangled in my short hair, urging me lower. I nuzzled her belly, and kissed the crease of her leg.
The sweet skin of her labia filled my mouth, her heels digging into the floor outside my shoulders. I slurped her up, making circles around her hole. The opening pulled at my fingers tips, clinging to me. Her belly rose into the air, trembling and shaking.
“No!”
I would have screamed “Yes,” but I was sipping Margarita.
My new lover was close, her clit vibrating like a tuning fork, but she pulled free, crawling away from me toward the bed, her ass moving in a teasing sway. She took out a box from under the frame and tossed a big belted rubber cock my way.
Our eyes met and we both grinned. I stood and strapped on the dick I had been wishing I had all night.
Margarita’s full round ass, rose off her bed like a moon in the desert sky. I nudged my big boy against her slit, her hand between her thighs pulling me closer. The massive cock made a home between her thighs, sliding easily into her with her slick juices. I hit bottom and began to pump. Steady, building speed. She begged for more.
Coyotes howled in the distance, and I joined them, fucking my strap-on into her hungry cunt. Her hands were against the wall, pushing back against me, taking the rubber cock deeper and deeper. Cursing and begging in Spanish urged me on. I reached under her and slid my fingers around her clit.
Eyes caught mine over her shoulder. Margarita came, her muscles squeezing my rubber dick so hard I couldn’t move within her. I lay on her back, our sweat drenched skin sliding together, my thighs burning. I kissed her neck and she giggled, collapsing against the mattress.
We crawled up onto the twin bed and I pillowed myself on her chest, listening to her racing heart. It slowed beneath my ear and my eyes began to close to the rhythm of her soft snoring.
I sat up, not sure how much time had passed, but realizing the door wasn’t shut and my guitar was still on the stairs. I pressed a kiss between her breasts before I left the bed in search of my guitar and cigarettes.
Naked, I sat in the doorframe and pulled my baby into my arms. My fingers picked up the rhythm of Margarita’s breathing. I hummed under my breath as I watched her sleep. The rainbow colored serape framing her beautiful body.
How’s that song go?
“When the whole world fits inside of your arms…” I mumbled.
Wood warmed against my thighs as I caressed the neck of my guitar and let my fingers glide against the strings.

Gotta Make a Living

2005-09-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

I want to really be making money with my writing although I am not quite sure how to go about doing it. Probably shouldn't have chosen erotica as my genre...lol...Thrillers would probably sell more to the masses, or even those silly Harlequin romance novels. Although Harlequin does have a new erotic series called Spice. Modern stories of modern women with the hot sex thrown in. Just haven't quite wrapped myself around writing something that is 90,000 to 150,000 words. So far, 9120 is my max.

I will admit I have about three stories in work that could turn into novel length, one, even a contender for Spice. A while ago I wrote a story called Beneath the Kilt which was inspired by my honeymoon to beautiful Applecross Scotland (Yes a straight story!). I submitted it a couple of places and no one seemed to want it. When I joined the Fish Tank I posted it and the general consensous was that it needed more story and less jumping into sex. I sorta had this fun in Scotland travel thing happening and then bam, orgy on the butchers block. I have been really reworking this. I compeltely changed it and have been adding plots and subplots and characters other than my heroine and her man. I think it could be really good if I ever get it finished.

The other two are Witch Hunt and Merlin's Mother. WH has a ways to go, but can you believe I have finished MM? I am now in the process of beefing it up. Giving the readers a bit more information. I think it looks a little bit too much like an outline. It's giving the story the meat that takes a tole on me. And I don't mean literally...;-)

Other finished stories, soon to be posted here are Sipping Margarita, Precious Pearls and Maxine's. All of which are in the editing process. I like to have them read through by someone else at least once before posting them here.

I'm still trying to find a home for The Double O Rodeo which I think is totally hot. I sent it off to Venus Press today in hopes that they might have a home for it. I didn't see much lesbian stuff posted on their site, but I will keep my fingers crossed. Words Like Yours, which is awesome, is also homeless. It was written for the Valentine Anthology at Bella books, per their request, but there was some kind of communication/sending error. I am thinking there will be another Valentine thing coming up soon...at least I hope so. It would be good for a music anthology too.

Anyhow...I'm rambling. Lots to do...yes...should probably stop writing in blog and finish novel...need to eat...need clothes...yeah...money...must write best seller...yea...

A little Q and A

2005-09-05T11:38:00.000-07:00

"There may be some things better than sex, and there may be some things worse. But there's nothing exactly like it." - W.C. Fields (1879-1946)

Q. What do you find better than sex and why?

A. A must admit I find few things better than sex with a good lover. Is it very girly of me to say snuggling in with your lover the next morning? There is something so wonderful about waking to see his face relaxed with sleep and free of worry, blink awake and smile upon meeting my eyes. An arm thrown around me and a leg pulling me into his body until we are like one person, breathing in the morning and lying in the spot between dreams and consciousness.

2005-09-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

Thought this was a riot!

A little Q and A

2005-09-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

"Let down my silken hair over my shoulders and open my thighs over my lover. 'Tell me, is there any part of me that is not lovable?" - Tzu Yeh (c. 3rd-4th century), Song II

Q. What part of your body do you find most loveable, the most sexy?

A. I would have to say that I find my eyes to be very sexy and to be my most beautiful feature. I have wonderfully long dark lashes and a great almond shape. Also, I like how they change color to match what I am wearing...blue or green. My breasts are something to behold too...although I have often complained of their size, I do find them to be an asset in the eye catching department. Men can't help but look at knockers.

Summer in Savannah

2005-09-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Hello, my one loyal reader. I have finished my story "Summer in Savannah" which is written for the Fish Tank short story competition. They will announce winners on Sept. 15. Grand prize $250, second $150 and third $75.

This isn't my typical story. No rough hard ladies here, just a couple of girls in love. Let me know what you think.

SUMMER IN SAVANNAH
Copyright ©2005 by Crystal Barela

Summer in Savannah was wet and sticky like the insides of Joanne’s thighs after a dirty thought. This afternoon she’d had plenty, lying in the backyard this afternoon and missing her lover. She was in a hammock; glasses perched upon her long nose and a book open across her belly. But her thoughts weren’t of the pages between the worn cover, or the canopy of blue above her, interlaced with the branches of oak trees and the creeping hangings of Spanish moss.

This hammock held memories of her childhood.

Afternoon lemonade while her momma sipped mint juleps and her father threw the Frisbee with her dog Patches. Grandma snapping sweet sugar peas and the two of them eating just as many raw as found their way to the dinner table at night. Kissing Bobby Wickum before she knew what sex was and discovering that sex was only right if it were a woman’s body she touched.

Tonight it would be where she proposed to Kim.

They’d met in New York through a want ad in The Village Voice. Kim had wanted a nude model for her photo projects, and Joanne had wanted to do something her parents would completely disapprove of.

It was a surprise to find that having Kim’s camera lens focusing on her body was a turn-on. The way Kim would bite her lip in between showers of compliments as the shutter clicked again and again. How Kim, seemingly without thinking, would approach Joanne and move an arm to a better position, brush a breast, stand too close.

The sun was setting, turning the water beside Joanne into a golden pool. Bits of white light were caught and scattered across the pond’s surface, when Kim’s familiar lanky silhouette approached. The camera was a limb, just as an arm or leg and it rose in greeting, documenting Kim surroundings and her lover.

“It’s just as you described,” Kim said approaching the hammock. She knelt on the grass and brought her nose within an inch of Joanne’s. “You’ve gotten some sun.”

“An afternoon in a hammock will do that.”

“You smell like sunlight.”

“Miss the city, do you?”

“Not one bit.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss, both of them remembering the many sighs and moments in each other’s arms. They had only been apart a week, but it felt like years for both of them.

Kim stood and took hold of her lover’s skirt hem. Slowly, she rolled the white cotton fabric up Joanne’s long sun drenched legs, revealing knobby knees and soft thighs. Joanne’s mound was natural, wild riots of curly red hair, a fire between her legs and skimming her belly.

“What are you thinking?” Joanne asked, letting her knees fall open.

Kim brought her camera up and focused the lens on Joanne’s bush. The shutter clicked several times.

“Every one of those freckles will kiss my tongue tonight.”

Kim set her camera on the ground then stepped out of her khaki shorts, revealing a tattoo of a black swan soaring towards her neatly trimmed bush, as if about to take up residence in the nest of silky hair.

The hammock swayed as Kim climbed onboard, nearly toppling them to the soft grass beneath. Their giggles echoed across the water as Kim’s toes found purchase in the cool green blades, steadying them in a gentle sway.

Firmly astride her lover’s hips, Kim took hold of the hem of her black tank top and threw it over her head, breasts lifting toward the sky. The hammock danced slowly, and Joanne enjoyed the bounce of her lover’s breasts and the tangle of their reunited pussy hair.

They lay as one, stomach and breasts pressed firmly together, elbows framing Joanne’s face.

“I’ve missed you.”

Kim rested her cheek on one hand, and lowered the other along waist and hip to tug on Joanne’s bush. The blush that spread across her lover’s skin wet Kim’s pussy and inspired licks and nibbles along her jaw. When they made love Joanne was on fire, her skin glowing like embers were lit beneath her.

“You’ve been thinking of me,” Kim murmured.

Joanne’s pussy was damp, her lips silky and hot clinging to Kim’s fingers, pulling her hand deeper into a moist embrace.

When they’d met, Joanne would have been too shy to fuck in her parents’ backyard, not that she would have admitted it. Nearly two years later and a slave to the lens, she flaunted her body naturally. She moved in ways that best caught the light and most flattered her figure.

Kim picked up a rhythm, the hammock swaying front and back between the tall trees, her fingers sliding deeper and deeper. Joanne’s clit was rock hard.

Breasts that cast a near perfect shadow in the right lighting were salty and damp after an afternoon outdoors. Joanne’s nipples were hard little pebbles and when Kim drew one into her mouth, Joanne’s hands cradled her head like she was a baby, pulling her close.

Kim felt like an infant gaining sustenance. Joanne made her feel that way. Desperate, hungry and needy.

Someone overhearing them might have thought the sounds were children playing as their sighs echoed across the water, if it weren’t accompanied by the wet sticky sound of fingers in pussy. The wet noises mixed with the buzz of the insects, whispered I love yous, and the croaking of frogs.

Joanne’s fingers twined with Kim’s, each finding the other’s excited nubbin. Kim sat up, riding Joanne like she was on a rocking horse, cannon-balling down a race track. The hammock swayed dangerously but they fucked harder. Their names a chorus until Kim’s fingers were caught in Joanne’s velvet crush, knuckles aching, making her come in turn.

They were still, Kim snuggling into a spot next to Joanne, the stars glowing down at them. She pulled Joanne closer and leaned over to kiss her cheeks, only to find them covered in tears.

“Baby?” Kim kissed them away. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you so much,” Joanne whispered. She began to sob, overcome with emotion.

“I love you, too.”

This amazing woman, this talented, beautiful woman, loved her.

Kim held Joanne close, tracing her vertebrae, and whispering soothingly until she was still, her breathing even.

“I spoke to my parents,” Joanne whispered.

The family luncheon had not gone well, and she felt guilty for putting the hope in her lover’s heart that they would welcome Kim with warm hugs and soft kisses on her cheeks. The stories Joanne had told had given the impression of a loving, open, adoring family. Turns out they were only free-thinkers when it came to other people’s children.

Daddy thought her attraction to women was a phase and that she would settle down with Bobby. Momma wanted a big wedding where she could invite all the local society women, and that wasn’t going to happen if Joanne married Kim. Joanne would become the dirty little secret no one spoke of.

With a sigh and a mall smile, Joanne reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a gold band studded with rows and rows of diamonds.

“What’s this?” Kim asked.

“This is the Woodward family ring.”

The hammock was still as the air and the silence of crickets.

Joanne took Kim’s hand in hers.

“You know, I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you.” Joanne could just make out her lover’s face. Her brown eyes were big wet orbs, tears clinging to her long lashes.

“This ring has been passed down from generation to generation, as a sign of trust and fidelity. I have never felt more safe and loved than when I am with you.”

Tears began to roll slowly down Kim’s cheeks.

“Kim Ann Marcus, would you bring me the greatest joy I could know, and promise to be my wife?”

In answer, she kissed her best friend’s lips, her eyes wide open, wanting to remember this moment as clear as a photograph.

The ring sparkled in the moonlight as Joanne slid it over her lover’s trembling finger.

“Your parents weren’t angry?”

“More disappointed than angry.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and Joanne let one leg fall over the side of the hammock and gave them a push.

“But as my grandmother said, the ring is mine by rights, and my parents have no say in who I give it to.”

The stars danced above them.

“Grandmother has invited us to breakfast tomorrow morning,” Joanne said with a catch in her voice. “She said she can’t wait to meet the woman who’s earned my heart.”

“And I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s helped shape it.”

The hammock swung gently, rocking them to sleep with dreams of tomorrow and hopes for the future.

Quote of the Day

2005-08-24T17:57:00.000-07:00

"Love -- bittersweet, irrepressible -- loosens my limbs and I tremble." - Sappho (6th century B.C.) To Atthis

Quote of the Day

2005-08-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

"When she raises her eyelids, it's as if she were taking off all her clothes." - Colette (1873-1954) Claudine and Annie; 1903

2005-08-20T10:42:00.000-07:00

Love this tattoo. Backs or so sensual and inspiring, don't you think?

Sci-Fi Lesbian Erotica

2005-08-19T21:34:00.000-07:00

There is a post at the erotica readers and writers association website for a sci-fi lesbian anthology. Guidlines at the link below:

http://erotica-readers.com/ERA/G/SciFi.htm

I've been working on something for a week now that is loosely based on a "SG1" type of concept. I have a "portal" which is like a "gate" and my lead character has a flippant additude like Jack O'Niel, but I don't think it sounds just like the show or is like the show.

The out-line of my story is Saline is a cockey, "Top Gun" type of character who flys a mean fighter jet and is great with weapons, not to mention lucky. She was quite the womanizer until she met Dawn the senator of the Legion on their planet, Windfree. There enemy is the Vaulday, a group of aliens who raid planets and steel the females in order to use them on breeding farms to create more of their kind. Dawn is kidnapped from Windfree by the Vaulday and Saline disobeys a direct order to rescue her.

Windfree is an all female world and they can reproduce with each other. Being an all female world makes them a ripe target for the Vaulday too. This is set in the future, but not to far in the future. It is familiar in a furtuistic way.

So now you know the bones. I have a twenty page very rough draft started that isn't finished.

I asked Shawn to read it and he says it sounds just like "SG1". Do you? Be honest. Should I keep going with this story? What do you think I should do with it plotwise to keep less "SG1" like? Do you have any suggestions as to style and flow? Terminology in a mythical future-like place is not easy for me. Is it confusing for you? What do you suggest I could do to improve it?

Remember this is a very rough draft. Thanks for your help.

Portal- working title

The body on my back was slowing me down. It didn’t matter that Dawn was only skin and bones, just over a hundred pounds, or that I could bench press my own weight. I had been running four miles straight out and knew if I didn’t reach the portal soon we would be killed.
“We’re almost to the Portal!”
There was a soft hum in my ear as the communikay activated, followed by, “Roger that, Saline Say. We’re tracking coordinates and charging door.”
The team couldn’t show the portal’s location more than a minute before I got there, otherwise the Vaulday would be able to locate us.
Sudden light flashed in front us, shimmering into the night sky like a growing star. I doubled my efforts, only one hundred feet.
“We’re detecting Vaulday!”
Fuck, that was fast!
I cursed again hearing the air vibrate as the enemy’s fighter ships apparated above us and began firing, rocks and earth flying off the ground at my feet. Dust clouded the air around us and the portal wavered just feet from our location. I held my breath and dove into the white light.
Electricity surged through my head and spread to my limbs, causing my body to shake uncontrollably and Dawn to fall from my shoulders. I groped blindly for her, but fell through the exit before I could make contact.
The impact of my shoulder on the padded landing on the other side seared through my torso, the pop of dislocation echoing with my cry of pain. I stopped rolling at the bottom of the ramp, and turned over on my hands and knees in time to see Dawn fall through the blinding light as limp as a rag doll. I jumped forward, taking as much of her weight as I could.
The portal zapped shut and we were surrounded by the medical team within seconds. Dawn was caught in the transportation beam and floating toward the docking bay doors before I could stand.
“Be still Say.”
Now on my feet, I looked down at Anna Med with what I hoped was an appropriately important look. “We can’t walk and talk, Med?”
Without waiting for an answer I followed the junior Meds moving Dawn down the corridor. I caught up with them and almost wished I hadn’t. Dawn looked worse under the fluorescent lights than she had under the soft glow of the moon.
“How is she?” The junior meds shook their heads bleakly and hurried on toward the med lab. I stood still, leaning against the concrete wall, not sure I wanted to continue. What if Dawn didn’t make it?
“Thank you,” Anna Med said, letting the xona-goggles fall from her forehead to cover her eyes. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder again, Say,” she said with a sigh and an unbelieving shake of her head, speaking into her notetaker. “How many times is this? Four?”
“Five.” I winced as she pressed her fingers into my side and frowned.
“Not to mention bruised ribs and other assorted cuts and abrasions.” Anna Med took hold of my elbow and led me down the hall.
“I’m fine.” I waved her off, but like a determined fly she kept at me.
“You’re dehydrated and your lungs look like you’ve been smoking again.”
“Oh for the love of…will you just leave me alone.”
The med lab was near empty, a far sight better than it had been when I had left two weeks before. All the beds and the floors had been covered with the wounded, the lab pushed to its limits.
That had been the day the Vaulday had taken Dawn.
Now, she was hooked up to the heart monitor and the organ beat in a strong reassuring pulse throughout the lab.
“She’ll be fine, Saline,” Anna Med said approaching the floating woman. “It’s mostly dehydration and hunger.” She moved the goggles to the top of her head, pulling her blonde hair behind her ears as she did so. “She’ll be needing Psychics more than us.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. The Vaulday were especially brilliant at warping the mind to steal information and by doing so, destroying the soul. Not that it would matter in most circumstances of capture. Once the torture was over, the captives were placed into breeding farms and used to multiply the Vaulday’s population. A practice that had been keeping their race alive since before we made contact with them.
Dawn had been in their hands for two weeks.
“On the table,” Anna Med said.
I took a seat.
“Sorry there’s no way but the old fashioned one to fix this,” she pulled my arm up an out. “Ready?”
My breath held, and I gritted my teeth as she put her weight into the push, jamming my arm back into the socket.
“You okay, Say?”
I felt faint, but the incredible pain was gone. I nodded and she handed me a bottle of water.
“Plenty of fluids and no more kamikaze missions, Say.”
“Roger that.” My ear hummed. “Briefing in 0100 hours.”

“I only have an hour Robo1,” I said as I stepped from the shower.
“I have already programmed myself for the appropriate time line.”
Dawn had given me Robo1 when we had our path joining. Robo1 was meant to be a companion for when she was traveling on business. As a senator of the Legion she sometimes spent weeks at a time portalling the solar system, meeting with different dignitaries to fight our common enemy, the Vaulday.
This had suited me fine. Before, Dawn, I had been a loner. I certainly liked my women, but only on a no-strings, sex only basis. A warrior certainly has no right to a permanent relationship and a family is out of the question. The average age of passing was thirty-two for a woman in my line of work.
“Please lie down, Say.”
The robot nudged me toward the bed with its warm fingers. This beautiful piece of machinery held an opalescent shimmer and was the same height, shape and weight as my wife. Dawn’s intonations were in its voice and it smelled of the moonflower. Just like Dawn. My eyes welled and I forced the tears back. She was going to be fine.
I cleared my throat. “Music.” The soft melodic strains of strings and pipes glided through the room.
I lie down on the mattress and felt Robo1 lean over me. She ran her smooth hands over my back and shoulders, the heat animating from her fingertips melted my angry sore muscles. Cylindrical pressure slid down my spinal column and cupped my waist, traveling up my rib cage.
Dawn had taught me that family was the only reason for being a warrior

“You never cease to amaze me Say,” Berta said, patting my back with a skinny hand. “Say was surrounded, enemy fighters surrounding her ship, blasting from nearly every angle…”
I felt myself blushing. I almost hated it when she went on like this.
“…we’re sure this is the end. Many better pilots have perished under these conditions,” she paused for dramatic affect and winked in my direction.
“…gee, thanks…”
“The Say activates the hyper drive from the air and hits the auto-eject button,” our audience of beautiful young ladies leans in closer. “Her plane rockets forward taking out two enemy fighters. And while she is flying through the air, gun-fire erupting all around her…”
A very attractive red-head leans in close enough for me to feel her silk covered nipples on my bare forearm.
“…she pulls her M-6 fire balls from her belt and tosses them, hitting two other enemy fighters before she makes contact with the ground.”
On my other arm is a blonde, and I am taken aback when I look down into her limpid blue eyes. Is she of legal age?
“I’m not so sure if this was brilliant or an act of complete idiocy.”
“Hey!”
“One of the enemy fighters incinerates on the spot, nothing but ash falling to the ground. But the other wasn’t hit dead on and it came crashing to the earth with the Say, nearly taking her out with it.”
“Were you scared?” the blonde asked breathlessly.
“There was no time to be scared,” I answered. I’m a cocky bitch.
“Just time to destroy a multi-million dollar fighter jet,” said a petite brunette coming down the staircase behind Tina. “Not the first, I might add.”
Senator Dawn.
The senator had been on my radar for close to two years now. I had made her my business when I began receiving complaints from the Legion for my “high flying vigilante tactics.”
Before tonight, she had been an image in a picture and she did not photograph well. In fact, I nearly didn’t recognize her. This was the first time I had seen her out of the very official, very ugly l looking structured suits she insisted on wearing. Someone must have chosen her clothes for her this evening, because tonight she glowed under the lights. The sheer sparkling layers of her dress hinted at a surprisingly hot body underneath. Ethereal was the word that came to mind. She rivaled a fairy from the planet Aireen. Impressive.
“I apologize, Senator.” I approached her as she came down the marble staircase. Dawn offered me her hand in greeting. I bent slightly at the waist, greeted her knuckles with my lips. Moonflower. “For destroying a few jets while saving Windfree.”
“For that I am grateful, although I do wish you would think of a way to take care of the Vaulday that didn’t involve brute force.”
The woman was impossible.
“I love a little brute force,” said the red-head, reattaching herself to my arm.
The senator’s eyes flashed.
“Me too!” the blonde said, sure not to be left out.
I offered each an elbow before turning on the group. We walked past the senator, up the stairs and out of the ballroom toward my quarters.
The three of us barely made it to my room before the girls were unbuttoning my pants and sliding their hands under my dress uniform. This was one of the perks of being the best fighter pilot in the Legion; an endless supply of beautiful women.
We kissed our way into my quarters, clothes falling to the floor, furniture toppling over. They pushed me onto the bed. The blonde took hold of my pants and drawers and whipped them down my legs, spread my knees and began licking my pussy as if she were starved. The red-head had unbuttoned my shirt and was sucking my nipples while she frigged herself. I didn’t even know their names.

“Time to dress, Say,” Robo1 said, drawing me from my memory. “The Generesss expects you in half an hour.”
I sat up and quickly put on my daily uniform. There was enough time to stop back in med lab before heading to the briefing room. I hurried down the corridors, passers-by saluting as I passed.
In my absence Dawn had been bathed and medicated. She laid still and serine against the white sheets. Some of the color had returned to Dawn’s cheeks, which meant she was taking the sustenance shots well.
Her hand was light in my own.
Do you promise to protect and love, shelter and forgive this woman, until your paths end?
I leaned over her body and pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“I love you.” My lips touched hers in a soft kiss.
Our lips met and I knew that I would never live a day in my life without Dawn, she was my end of the road.

My arms began to shake as I lifted the bar over my chest, letting my breath carry it just a bit higher before lowering the weight back toward my breasts. I pushed forward with my last rep, my arms shaking with fatigue and pings of pain shooting to my shoulders.
“You should really have someone spotting you,” Dawn said walking into the gym and jogging over to grab the bar from my hands, nearly dropping it on me.
“Two!” the bars weight lightened instantly.
“You trying to kill me?” I sat up on the bench and took the bar from her hands before she hurt herself.
“Sorry,” she said. “You looked like you weren’t going to make it.”
“Know how many times I’ve been told that?”
Dawn laughed. “Point taken,” she jumped up onto the step climber. “Four percent incline, six miles per hour.” The machine began moving, Dawn finding her rhythm quickly. I couldn’t help but notice she was wearing a deliciously small work-out ensemble.
I brought my water bottle to my lips and took a long swig, my eyes focused on her breasts, larger than I would have expected. She managed to hide them under those deplorable suits.
“Look your fill?” she snapped, her pace quickening, adding bounce to her babies.
“Not sure that’s possible,” I winked and stood.
“You are such an ass Say!”
“Why thank you for noticing,” I said glancing over my shoulder at my muscled posterior.
“Impossible woman!”
The senator wouldn’t meet my eyes, just stared down at the front of the machine.
I stepped close, leaning into her ear. “Not if you ask nicely.” Moonflower and sweat. She turned her head and met eyes, our breath mingling.
“Wanna fuck, Say?”
“Now?” I was so surprised that it was the only answer that popped into my head. Dawn laughed, a chuckle that danced along my spine, between my legs and tickled my toes.
“I’m not busy, are you?”

The briefing room was empty aside from the Generess. She was a short muscular woman, looking unfortunately, a bit like a bull dog. That aside, her attributes were many. A mentally stellar woman, much brighter than I could ever hope to be and a tactical genius to boot. She made an awesome death by chocolate. Loyalty inspiring like none that I had ever worked under. My respect and friendship was very real for Dorthy Generess.
I stood at attention across from the meeting table.
“At ease, Say. Take a seat.”
I sat down facing the Generess and she tossed a folder in front of me, and opened the one in front of her.
“I am glad to hear that the senator has returned home safely.” She rifled through the papers.
“Thank you, Generess.”
“It is unfortunate that you had to violate Legion code and disobey a direct order in order to retrieve her.”
“Permission to speak freely, Generess?”
“Permission granted, Say.” The Generess sighed and leaned back in her chair, lacing her hands over her stomach.
“I knew I would never be granted permission to go to Vauld to retrieve the senator,” I shifted in my seat. “She is my wife, and I could not let her stay in their stronghold and possibly be turned into a breeder.”
“And that is why the Legion is willing to overlook this code violation.” She tapped her file of papers on the desk and closed the file.
“That, and the fact that you and your team have managed to save our world from destruction on several occasions.” Generess Dorthy smiled a tight little smile, a dimple softening her face.
“But what about the other captives?” I leaned across the table. “Once our people are taken we assumed that once they were set up in a breeding facility they could not be removed without being killed. With Intel that the Senator was able to gain during her capture we now know this is not true. Some of our people have been breeders on Vauld for years! They are also able to live with proper medical rehab.”
“All Intel up until this point has confirmed that assumption.”
“Intel was wrong. There are more than three hundered of our people being held by the Vaulday.” I could still see there tortured faces, each hooked up to a breeding machine as their eyes pleaded with me for release or mercy. Unable to help them, I threw Dawn over my back and made my way out of the lock-up. I met the Generess’s eyes. “We must launch a full scale rescue mission as soon as possible.”
“Say, after the attack two weeks ago, I am afraid we do not have the man power to launch such a rebuttal.”
“All I need is my team, Alpha 4 and Alpha 11,” I hurried on. “Those are our strongest units, Generess. I am positive I will be able to rescue…”
“What condition are these people in, Say? Are they in the same condition as the Senator?”
“Generess…”
“You are not thinking Say! You can not carry all of these people out on your shoulders.”
“The newest arrivals will not be in the same…”
“The answer is no.”
I stood slamming my hands down on the table.
“Do not overstep my leniency, Say.”
I reigned myself in, trying to calm my breathing.
“I will meet with the Worlds’ Council tomorrow morning to discuss the most appropriate action to retrieve our people.”
I nodded.
“Good day, Say.” The Generous stood and walked out of the room.

(Sex scene, first time they had sex, not written yet.)Dawn’s lips latched onto mine as if my breath would sustain her life. We had barely made it out of the gym and into the locker room. I had always thought Dawn would be one for perfumed sheets and rose petals, but this tiny vixen wanted it hard and I was gonna give to her.
We kissed are way through the locker room, finding ourselves in the

The door to our quarters slid open and I gasped. No, shrieked and skipped my way into Dawn’s arms.
“What are you doing out of the med lab?” I said into her hair, breathing in soap and the pure wonderful scent of my wife. She leaned into my body, letting me hold her weight against me. Tears turned into giggles as I lifted her in my arms and carried her over to the sofa.
“Anna Med said I was weak but could just as easily rest at home,” she sniffed. I handed her a tissue from the box on the end table.
Warm and real, she fit under the nook of my shoulder. Breathing beside me.
“You will have to give me my sustenance shots though.”
“Of course, senator,” I teased. “Where would you like me to stick you?”
Dawn laughed again, which led to a fit of coughing. I rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head.
“I am so glad you’re alright,” I whispered, feeling tears choke my throat. “When I first saw you…I thought…I th…”
“I’ll be okay, Saline,” my wife said. And with those words, all of the uncertainty, worry, and fear I had been holding in for two weeks, tumbled out between us in great heaving sobs. Together we cried for our people, our world and each other.
When we could cry no more, we were still, Dawn asleep in my arms and me feeling like a new woman. I peered down at my wife, her face soft and relaxed, like a child. My lips grazed her brow and I carefully moved from under her and slipped my arms beneath her legs and shoulders. She was so tiny and delicate, made even more so by her time with the Vaulday.
Within moments the healing blanket was covering Dawn and her shots given. Her soft little snores filled the room and I made my way over to the information station. I wanted to prepare for the mission that was sure to come; the one that probably would mean the beginning or the end of all that was.

(another sex scene, wedding night) “Our paths are one, my love,” Dawn said. She threw her leg over my waist, layers of sky blue fabric billowing around us on the sea breeze, blending with canopy of blue above us, as if she were an angel. She leaned over me, taking my hands in hers, and brought her breasts flush with mine, separated by two thin layers of fabric. My new wife in her bridal gown and me in my bridal suit.
Elbows and exposed knees pointing toward are ceiling.

“Council, as a senator of the Legion of the world of Windfree I would like to thank you for coming to our world for a council meeting on such short notice.”
Dawn was wearing one of her atrocious suits, and it hung on her even more unflattering with her recent weight loss. How could a woman so beautiful look so bad? I shook my head. She looked enough though. Certainly a bit pale, but her resolve to discuss her capture was in the stiffness of her spine and the sparks in her eyes.
My wife stood proud before the ten members of the council representing the ten universes of the System. One council member to represent hundreds of worlds, a pretty heavy responsibility. Also, all military personnel on base not off world.
“When I was taken during the raid of our Portal facility two weeks past, I was not prepared for the danger,” she said, her eyes touching each of the council members. “Hearing tales of the Vaulday is very different than coming face to face with them in person. They had become almost a fairytale to me, a story told to children at night in order to keep them behaving well in the light of day.”

“The Vaulday have been detected over the planet,” Saline said strapping her phaser gun harness over her muscular shoulders. It couldn’t be.
“What! They’ve never gotten his close without detection,” I objected, unwilling to believe that our enemy was so stealthy they could enter our solar system undetected. The comminkay buzzed in my ear. “Senator, be in council room in five minutes.”
Saline, geared up for a mission, was an awesome sight to behold. The black tank top, although modest, outlined every hour she spent at the gym. The serviceable black cargo pants, when strapped with her leather amo belt strung with M6 grenades, hung low on her hips, flashing skin at her waist. Saline lifted hear arms and adjusted the phaser on her back, biceps flexing, the tattoo of a black bird dancing on her tanned arm.
My partner bent over the information console, her cargos stretching taught across her ass, and I felt the familiar twitch in my pussy. Animal magnetism, that’s what it was. A primal need to mate.
My wedding band began to warm as she activated its monitoring system.
“Do you think this is necessary?”
Just then, code red lights began flashing in the room and the sirens began to sound. Not in all of my twenty-eight moons had we known a code red. Not since my mother’s time. Our detection systems had become too advanced.
I could hear people running in the halls, preparing for battle.
Saline’s eyes were very serious, and she was looking at me as if she wanted to memorize my features.
“As you know, this ring is a homing device,” she said pulling me into her tight embrace. “If by some horrible twist of fate you are captured I will find you, my love.”
The comminkay buzzed in Salines’s ears and she pulled back. I could literally see her face change from that of my loving wife, to hard kick-ass warrior.
“I love you, Dawn.” And with that, she rushed out of our rooms.
The base was frought with fear, families were crowding the halls, young girls clinging to their mother’s hands in the crush of the panic. Our people were on their way to the portal docking facilities. Whenever a code red was issued it was mandatory that all the people of Windfree, not a part of the military or the Legion, to evacuate to one of the safe planets of the World Council.

Quote of the Day

2005-08-19T19:51:00.000-07:00

"Nothing risque, nothing gained." -Alexander Woollcott (1887-1943)