Jan 312014

Butchtastic wrote Luscious, and it’s delicious and sensual.

An endearing and creatively fun haiku on reading erotica, Aroused, not Impaired, Monocle writes on the upside and not the downside of this activity.

Haunting and beautiful, and a little sad, the youth when someone older pushes an advantage, Penny for your Dirty Thoughts wrote a poem.

A one sentence scene that I want to be a part of, Will Crimson, at the Erotic Writer. is a hot piece.

CaraSutra wrote Nervous When He Takes My Breath Away, and it is so hot and eloquent.

Dumb Domme reflects that her relationship is a shared custody. I am going to write up something about this, as it really got me thinking how true this is in my military-interrupted marriage.

 Posted by at 9:26 am
Jan 302014

Word Count: XLVIII for each quarter… so 192.
Bonus Words: Predict the final score and add the combined point total to your word count. So if you think it’s going to be Broncos 30, Seahawks 24, give yourself 54 bonus words. (Just for reference, the most points ever scored in a Super Bowl is 75.)
Required Words: Tight end, wide open, muff
Forbidden Words: NFL, Super Bowl, Super Sunday.
Extra Credit: It matters who wins.

The announcer used the word “tight end”, and Priscilla thought about how the man between them had a tight end.

A minute later “wide open” came out of the speakers, and Lola envisioned herself wide open to Brad’s penis.

The girls had a bet riding on this game, riding Brad. Content predominately lesbian, happily being the best muff divers around, they joked, every so often both of them would want cock.

Hence Brad, the friendliest cock of them all, and the one that both girls felt most comfortable with. On the couch, the girls on either side of him, they all leaned forward excitedly at the game. If Priscilla’s team won, she wanted Lola to be blindfolded and listen to them fucking, unable to touch herself, and to suck and lick Priscilla’s cum from off of Brad’s penis afterwards.

If Lola won, she wanted to watch Priscilla gloriously riding Brad’s cock, her breasts bouncing up and down, until just before she came, with Lola astride Brad’s face. Then Priscilla had to stop, and pleasure Lola with her tongue, before Brad himself pleasured Lola. And maybe, just maybe, Lola would please Priscilla later.

**192 words exactly, internet high five! See who else is playing games!

 Posted by at 2:26 pm
Jan 282014

The man heard singing while riding through the dark forest. Glorious singing, as if an angel descended from heaven and he felt drawn towards the noise. Before he reached a small clearing, he heard, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” The singing stopped. Dismounting from his horse, he crept closer until he saw a tower, with a figure disappearing into a window high above. With the disappearance of the singing, he felt sad and like he lost something, but couldn’t remember what. Getting back on his horse, he turned it back to the forest to continue trapping and hunting, but the strange singing haunted him, as did the disappearing figure into a tall tower in the middle of nowhere.

He was not familiar with this forest, as most of the townspeople called it haunted and tended to avoid it. But when food was scarce, and skins and fur going for a good price, he decided he would be luckier in this forest rather than where every other hunter went. And he had had much success the past week, so much so that he began to venture farther in. Surely that angelic voice couldn’t be responsible for the gossip of a haunting.

He didn’t get very far before he decided to turn around and go back to the small clearing, hoping to remember the way. He didn’t; normally he had a great sense of direction, but the thick forest made the middle of day seem like evening, and everything began to look the same. Somehow or another, he stumbled upon the clearing – right when the evening was beginning to set. The singing had fortunately began again, and he felt compelled to follow it, eventually riding up to the tower. He got off his horse, who meandered to the edge where the forest became thick again to eat some shrubs. Looking up, he couldn’t believe such a single tall tower existed, and housed such a beautiful voice.

He remembered hearing a chant, and felt the need to repeat it. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” Suddenly silken threads come cascading down upon his head. The singing had stopped, and he realized he had no business being here. But now he was curious, and he had already backtracked to get here. He wasn’t sure what to do. “Hello?” he questioned up at the window, where the threads draped from.

No response, not even the forest seemed to reply with an unsettling silence. He grasped the threads with both hands, pulling, testing the strength and to see if they were attached – they were. Suddenly, they began pulling him upwards, and he found himself just below the window. He reached up tentatively and gripped the sill, feeling someone grab his hand, and then let go to grab the sill with the other hand. He used his feet against the rough rope, and the hands helped him over the sill. Tumbling in, but grateful to have made it, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside.

J Scott Campbell

Greeting him was a woman, the threads were actually her hair, strawberry blonde in color, long and trailing behind her, covering her body, which upon closer inspection was naked. All he could really see was her arms, a slight curve of a hip, and calves and feet as the hair was swept over her shoulders to cover her and then parted around her knees to trail behind.

“Your hair is so long,” he blurted out, and then felt stupid for saying it. Clearly, she was aware of it – it was her hair.

Her eyebrow arched up, already having a natural arch. Her catlike eyes were the green of a sunny meadow, her nose sharp, her lips almost too full as if pouting. He was nowhere near as pretty – well, not counting the fact that he wasn’t a female. He’d seen some handsome fellows around town, and the prince was considered good looking, but his hair was too thin on top, too long on bottom (he simply tied it back with a bit of twine), too light brown – women wanted the dark hair it seemed these days. He was far from being so active, but still had a bit of a bulge around the middle. His nose was too round, his eyes too small and dark. And he had no skills in talking to the ladies, much more comfortable being a loner. So what was he doing, talking to this mysterious naked woman in a tall tower?

“Yes,” she agreed, slowly. She took a few steps closer to him, the hair parting further and revealing all but her breasts. Lord, she was pretty.

He felt nervous. “O-okay, well, I…um…I am sorry to disturb you, missus,” he went to step back, and almost fell out of the window sill. He forgot he was up so high, but before he could worry about how to get down, her hair coiled around his upper arms…

To continue the story, click here.

 Posted by at 9:59 am
Jan 262014

“Headed over now”

“Okay, be there in a min”

Linda reread the texts, reflected that they met in the stockroom, the pungent smell of cigars strong in the small room.

At first the woman arrived, anxiously looked around after she hurriedly opened the room, crossed through the silent concrete hallway that reverberated her every step, experienced relief, suffered nervousness, wiped her hands on her dress. She stood in the doorway, faced the shelves, fidgeted with her hair, unsure how to pose, even standing felt unnatural.

She heard footsteps and peeked out, watched his long strides towards her, felt the impulse to smile ridiculously, saw his calm smile back.

He felt just as nervous as her, surveyed his surroundings as he walked towards the stockroom. No one seemed to be near, but that didn’t ease his concern. And then he saw her bright eyes peek around the corner and the smile light up her face. He couldn’t help but smile back, and took one more quick glance around before he stepped through the doorway.

His hands gripped her upper arms and moved her back, and she continued smiling up at him, took small steps back at his physical direction. He was so handsome, and she sensed her heartbeat speed up, her ears resounded the gleeful noise. He reached behind himself and shut the door, his mouth crashed down at the same time as she threw her arms around him and met his tongue excitedly.

Their lips pressed tightly together and he moved his hands up towards the side of her face, tilted her to access her mouth more fully, explored the hot heat with his tongue. He smelled her perfume and thought how different it was, enjoyed the weight of her hair as he ran his fingers through it, the soft fullness of her body as it pressed into his own.

They were so close together, and their hands roamed – sought the shape of each others’ bodies,  tongues tasted – famished. Both felt a longing lower, a pull that only shedding clothes and fitting together puzzle pieces of body parts would cure. But they didn’t have time for that, and the stockroom was certainly not the place.

Linda wondered… when they finally separated, gasped for breath, eyes met and spoke of need, hands longed to pull back together… she wondered if he was aware of a camera in the corner of the ceiling. If he was aware her perfume clung to his uniform. If he really believed that his hands could wipe off all the lipstick without a tell-tale pink residue.

What Linda questioned most of all was if he thought of Linda, felt a little guilty for sneaking off, kissing someone who wasn’t his wife.

Linda also pondered when he came home that night if he still thought of the woman and the moment in the stockroom. She pretended not to notice the faint scent of perfume that wasn’t her own.

 Posted by at 12:36 pm
Jan 232014

A guest post from an anonymous friend of Cammies’. 

Ether Fucked

Your hands have never touched my skin

Still I feel your fingers’ trace


Mica stars on my ceiling lose their place

In their sky, your invisible face


You float into the room and settle on my chest

I’ll breathe you in and devour the rest


Heart racing, mind pacing

quick flicks


Heat rising, hands binding



and again

and again


Sinking into the pillow

then making    one      last       stand


Suddenly, I’m all alone

and I need to wash my hand.

Jan 212014

Real (yes, actually happened) version:

My hips were propped up on pillows, my legs wrapped around him as much as they could. He was on his knees, gripping my waist, thrusting in and out very quickly and with a lot of force. This was to be my fifth or sixth orgasm that session, and I felt myself clenching, my core crunching to where my shoulders were now level with the pillows. Tightening, tightening, screaming with my orgasm, I hit the peak and suddenly he was no longer inside me, but instead hunched forward, pressed tightly lengthwise against my lips.

“Did you get yours?” he asked, breathlessly, unsure.

“Yes, just barely.”

He moved slightly, a little away. “Good.”

He wasn’t making a move to enter me again, so I asked him: “Were you pleased?”

“Yes,” as he pulled further back, his hand went to his penis and came back with some cum. I moved off of the pillow and he laid down with his feet towards my head. I relaxed for a minute, before crawling up to join him. “I was right there. That’s why I pressed up against you, I didn’t want to cum all over you or make a mess, but I accidentally moved too far out as I hit mine.”

I sleepily laid my head on his chest, my hand rested by my head, and my elbow dipped…in goo. “What?” I questioned, but he must’ve felt it too.

He lifted his head and started laughing. I looked down and there was a puddle of white liquid pooled in his belly button.

“Did you just violate your belly button?” I asked, smiling.

He was still laughing, “I must’ve.”

I joined in on the laughter. “That’s what you get. It’s karma.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” he rolled his eyes, before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom. Haha, his turn to do the walk of shame with cum sliding down his skin.

“It is,” I shouted, to make sure he could hear me. “All those times you violated my belly button, and you’ve just thoroughly violated your own.” I could hear his disbelieving snort. I was referring to all the times that he would try to stick his finger in my belly button, thinking it was cute, but it bothered me and I would always state: “Stop violating me”. I hated when he did that, and now here he was: a belly button full of his own cum.




The sexier version (as read in books):

My hips were propped up on pillows, my legs wrapped around him as much as they could. He was on his knees, gripped my waist, thrusted in and out very quickly and with a lot of force. This was to be my fifth or sixth orgasm that session, and I felt myself clenching, my core crunched to where my shoulders were now level with the pillows. Tightened, tightened, screamed with my orgasm, I hit the peak  and before I came all the way down, he slid himself out and let me enjoy a rare view: he came, beautiful drops of white spurted from his gorgeous cock and painted my already glistening body. It was so erotic, this act that my body absorbs but my eyes never feast on.


**I actually wrote this (the real version) almost a year ago, and when I saw Wicked Wednesday’s prompt, I knew it was time to bring it out….but how to make it sexier?

Cum (haha, puns are fun) read the romanticized and the realWicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 1:52 pm
Jan 202014

He is very good to us sisters. For Christmas, I picked out a couple of toys (have I mentioned it is the first time that anyone besides my lover has bought me something sexy?).

For my birthday, he took a photo of himself and posted it (first time for that, too. He gives me a few firsts it seems). That has to be the best birthday present yet, and by far the most publicly demonstrated.

I thought I would return the favor, and show him what I did with his Christmas gift.

Thank you!

His name across my back

His name across my back

His name burned into my skin

His name burned into my skin

Jan 192014

When I first read this, I thought, oh I hate biting.

Contemplation past my first thought and I realized that I don’t, actually, hate.


Often when I am turned on I give a tell-tale, corny, overly written, sign of biting my bottom lip. As my lips tremble with need and sensations, I will pressed the top teeth to halt the bottom lip. Craving the taste of my lover in my mouth will often find my finger the dream substitute, hardened pearly whites soft around the fleshier parts of my digit, holding to not let go of the fantasy of him.


I hate being bit.

No, that’s not even correct. The soft graze of teeth on neck, more of a subtle nipping, such a sexy thing to get it all started. I like to feel a chomp on nipple tip, when I am in the mood, he will actually bite them.


And then, I actually bite.

In the throes of passion, a more animalistic  reaction of skin between my teeth, more often on fuller part of his shoulder or arm to quiet the grunts, to seize onto some part of the present even more firmly than just gripping him with arms and legs and even the clinging walls of my sex. He is a stress ball squeezed with mouth to deplete my pleasure filled tension.

Sometimes teeth are called for. More often than not, I’ll mark him, the small imprint of a half crazed, lust filled, wanton woman devouring the very essence of my lover, the tiny skipping indents the evidence of my orgasmic journey that he dragged me upon.


Biting myself hard?

Yep, that’s a thing too. Suppose I am tied and unable to arch or bend up to feast upon his skin, and orgasms drench me, engulf me, that I cling to even my own skin, my flesh a craft that I cling to drown out my sounds of passion, fasten onto before I float away somewhere silent and peaceful.

 Posted by at 1:40 pm