Masturbation Monday #153 — Smitten

Sabrina felt vulnerable at the office. It was not that she wanted Ben just for sex, but he was really sinking in. A quick glance at him at his desk, not realizing she was looking at him and just his face made her feel warm inside.
It was that feeling that caused her vulnerability and alarm. It was too quick, it was too quick for her to feel this attached…to want him this much.
She got up to go to the bathroom, and Betty smiled up at her.
By the time she got to the bathroom door, she could smell Betty’s perfume. Betty was her office bff, but she really wanted to be alone.
“So last night?” Betty started with her expressive wide eyes, and stretched her mouth equally wide to touch up the rich plum lipstick she wore. “I hooked up with Jeb in Marketing, and let’s just say…I had to reapply my lipstick a few times!”
Betty smiled at herself in the mirror, and shot her eyes quickly over to Sabrina.
“He’s hot,” Sabrina whistled.
“Well I wanted Ben, but well, we can’t all have Ben.”
Sabrina nodded.
“Don’t you think Ben is hot S.?”
“Sure, I never really looked at him like that because you know–he is my boss.”
“That never stopped anybody else, believe me. He had one girl try to give him a blow job–and he has a glass office! And rumor has it, the girl before you was sitting on his couch masturbating when he walked into the office one day. You are a rare bird, if you have not noticed that he is a hot piece.”
Betty kissed a piece of cotton candy pink tissue that she pulled out of her purse, and blotted her lips.
“I just can’t think of him that way Betty.”
“Well I can! I can think of Ben a lot of ways!”
Sabrina laughed despite herself, because Betty wriggled her eyebrows and looked like something out of an old screwball comedy.
Ben was that hot, and now that she knew that women had been throwing themselves at him before her…why was she the difference? Why had he wanted her?
This morning, he rolled on top of her, and looked into her eyes for a long time. She liked his eyes, she wanted to lick them like candy. But his eyes penetrated hers so hard, that it was like he was using them for intercourse.
To get into her.
And he was in.
Right after that, he reached down for her and between her upper thighs were sticky and she was wet higher up. Her legs were jarred in such a way, that he could always open them.
She was always open for him.
When she and Betty walked back to their desks, there was a gorgeous redhead in his office and Sabrina bit her lip wondering who she was.
She recognized that jealousy, and knew she was smitten. Her emotions stung her like a bee.

More Masturbation Monday here:

bogey and bacall via wikipedia

Wicked Wednesday #270 — Bond

“Who was he?” Terrence had asked when he saw the look Eliza and Oscar exchanged in the stairwell, and now Eliza looked at Oscar.

They were at their favorite bar, and Josephine was still there when they got there.

“Long time no see,” she had mused while pouring them straight Laphroaig, the smokiness stayed in Eliza’s mouth as she eyed Oscar.

There was a bond between them–a forever bond–and she knew what he was thinking even without looking at him.

“You’re in love with him.” Oscar stated simply, taking a gulp of smoky Laphroaig.

Eliza wrapped her arms about herself.

She had been in love before, but Terrence was the first time that she was in love with someone, and so much of it was what she wanted. Not based on her expectations of what the other person wanted.

With Rafe, she was under so much pressure–that was how she met Oscar. But Terrence was Paris, and then coming back to New York and wanting him. Her want for him was so raw.

“It’s not like what it was like when you met me, with Rafe, you know?” she stated keeping one arm wrapped about her, and the other picking up her drink. “You were how I learned to love differently. Better.”

Oscar smiled.

“You taught me how to love too,” he said, smiled and picked up her hand to kiss it.

And she felt it, Oscar like always.

On her hand, between her legs.

Liquid lightning.

Because she loved him, and she would always love him.

But she was in love with Terrence…

“So yeah,” Eliza said, licking her lips and tasting Laphroaig on them. “I am in love with him.”

“And he is clearly in love with you. What man would not be in love with you?”

He leaned close, and closer, and his lips touched her cheek like they used to touch her lips.

 

More Wicked Wednesday here:

bond via wikipedia

 

 

Masturbation Monday No. 153 — Heat

Sabrina woke up in Ben’s apartment, and acclimated to his things and surroundings. She often woke up like that at her own apartment, because it was still fairly new to her as she had been living in the same apartment for awhile previously. Changing her life the way that she had, was oddly familiar.
Third time was a charm after all, wasn’t it?
And with Ben beside her, for a tiny moment, she fantasized about a life with him and maybe not having to run anymore. Could that always be the solution to run?
“You always look so pensive,” Ben mused, turning on his side, and smiling at her.
Sabrina smiled at him. She liked that about him, that he was intuitive and noticed her thoughts, that was why it had been so easy to start with him. They did not have to say much, that their eyes had not already said to each other. The way that they looked at each other when they met was enough, and by the time she sat on his lap there really was nothing that needed to be said.
At all.
Her eyes narrowed at him, as she cast her pensive eyes over his until they were both thinking the same thing.
Ben kissed her, that was all he did. His lips on hers: soft searching and…maybe pensive.
Sabrina’s body throbbed for him to be where she needed him to be, but she kissed him with complete abandon. Her lips said things she could never actually say to Ben, and her body talked to him in kind. Their combined heat was a dialogue.

More Masturbation Monday here:

heat via wikipedia

Super Duper Guest Blogger Oleander Plume Brings Superstar Horatio Slice to Us in a Flash!!!

Horatio Slice is hot af! *Fans* When Oleander Plume asked me to be part of his blog tour, I was a groupie just like anybody else! And she wrote a sexy flash for me which I am going to post here, and at my Friday Flash blog. Oleander and Horatio are just badass like that, gotta spread the love!!!

 

It’s only rock and roll but I like it…

When I see his name on my calendar, I cringe. Horatio Slice. Just the name sets my teeth on edge. According to my editor, Patty Shane, this interview is top priority.

“Like him or not, the kid sells,” Patty says, “Have you seen the proofs of the cover photos? Sweet Jesus on the cross, Caleb, if I had a uterus, I would fill it with his baby.”

“Why the fuck do I have to meet with him in person? No one does that any more. I interviewed Bono over the phone just last week.”

Horatio Slice, Patty informs me, hates talking on the phone, something about a fear of being misquoted, which I think is bullshit. But, Patty signs my checks and I like to eat, so I reluctantly agree to meet with this new era rock god in his hotel room.

I think I’m prepared, until he answers the door. The dude is huge. Linebacker huge. He smiles and sticks out a hand.

“Wow, Caleb Wallace from Rolling Stone magazine, I feel like I’m dreaming, man.”

I don’t like the firm way he shakes my hand while staring into my eyes. It’s unnerving. The fucker. No one should be that good looking.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mumble, feeling like a dick when I notice the hurt expression on his face. “I mean, you’re probably sick of talking to reporters, right?”

The smile returns. “Yeah, maybe a little, but I can’t wait to talk to you. You’re Caleb Wallace.”

By now I’m thinking the kid is a little stoned. I follow him inside, and we both take a seat in the living room of his fancy suite. I set my mini tape recorder on the coffee table and press record.

“So, Horatio Slice, how goes the tour?”

“Amazing. Happy to be in New York, my home base.” He flips that long hair out of his eyes. “Hey, would you like a beer or something?” A glance at my recorder. “Sorry. You can edit that out, right?”

Yup. Stoned. “No worries,” I say with a force smile. “I understand you’re quite the sex symbol. What’s that like?” Glancing around the suite, I don’t see what I expect, namely women’s panties draped over every available surface.

His expression tightens. “I don’t consider myself a sex symbol. Just a musician.”

“Come on, dish me some dirt, Horatio. Strictly off the record.” He just stares at me. “I’m an old man, kid, let me live vicariously through you.”

After a long sigh, he says, “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d want to talk about the music.”

The music. That’s the reason I became a rock journalist in the first place. When did I turn into such a jaded prick? “Let’s start over,” I say, rewinding the tape. “Let’s talk about the music.”

And we do. Minutes turn to hours. One beer turns into four. The conversation drifts from sixties acid rock to nineties grunge and all points in between. Somehow, we end up sitting next to each other on the couch. His knee touches mine and my balls tighten.

This is why I balked at the interview, I realize. I knew I’d want him, knew I’d want to touch those firm muscles and stroke that olive skin. Slide that zipper down and suck and suck and suck. Even at 40, I’m in shape, attractive even, but this guy is way out of my league.

And I hate accepting that.

But a few whiskey shots later, my dick tells my brain to fuck off. Something about the way he’s looking at me – lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded – makes me think he won’t mind if I slowly slide my fingers over his bulge.

“I want to suck it,” I say, enjoying the way his dick hardens beneath my touch.

“This is, like, the best interview ever,” he says.

The rumors are true. Horatio Slice has a behemoth between his legs. Erect and majestic. I lick the crown and the taste of him goes right to my head. Now starving for cock, I swallow that beast and suck with all I’m worth.

He likes to talk dirty. “Suck me with that hot mouth,” he says, fingers gently playing with my hair. “Then, I’ll blow you until you come. Or maybe I’ll let you fuck me. Would you like to fuck me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

Yes, you now have an all access pass to Oleander Plume's AMAZING new novel, with my friends at Go Deeper Press! I know I want a slice of Horatio Slice…sigh…

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Wicked Wednesday #269 — Titanic

Eliza did not even bother to turn around, she felt Terrence so close and could smell his scent. She backed away from the painting, and into his hard chest.
He put his hands about her shoulders, to brace her.
Something in her resisted, and accepted his embrace at the same time.
“Don’t resist…” he whispered.
Commanded.
And she could not resist, she could not resist at all.
“Sorry,” she whispered, as if she was sorry that she had bumped into him.
He pulled her closer to him, and Eliza looked around for Rafe.
He was nowhere to be seen.
She looked up at Terrence, and his eyes bore into hers.
Kissing him in the stairwell just happened. Her arms wrapped around him was like a fix, she felt euphoric and calm in an instant. His body pressed to hers was not close enough.
She wanted to be inside him, she felt like she was sinking more than she had ever sunk emotionally. Like an emotional Titanic–her fate was inevitable.
With him.
They kissed like addicts.
When the door to the stairwell opened, Eliza bit her lip from the sudden thrust of it. Terrence held her, as she looked to the offending door.
Oscar.
He stood there looking at her, and then at Terrence. Eliza swallowed.
It was so deja vu….

More Wicked Wednesday here:


titanic via wicked wednesday

Masturbation Monday No. 151 — Sticky

Sabrina sucked on the frame of her eyeglasses, and looked lasciviously in Ben’s direction. He did not look back at her, but the message he sent on her phone was so incendiary…she was pretty sure her pussy was on fire, but there was nothing to be alarmed about.
Ever since their first time together, work was the only time they were not touching each other, sexting each other or otherwise sexually entangled with each other.
Sabrina felt this time she was going to be direct as fuck. She was going to let Ben know she wanted him, whenever she wanted him. And Ben wanted her, and let her know in kind.
His goal was to make her come without touching her. She egged him on, and told him that it was impossible. But he had made her come more times than she could count, without touching her already. Now that he was on a mission, she was almost afraid!
Between her legs was raw from being touched and entered, but she could not stop. If Ben was not touching her, she touched herself wishing he was touching her.
She looked up again at him, and he stared intently at his computer. Sabrina looked at her own screen, where everything blurred together. Her focus was shot, as she slipped her fingers between her thighs under her desk. It was awkward, but it would have to make due.
First, she tickled her lips through her clothes, then she crossed her legs.
Tight.
Very tight.
Ben still was not looking at her, but the glint on his glasses in the sun did it. The tight flood between her legs made her gasp so loud that Betty turned to look at her.
“Are you okay S?” she smiled at her.
Maybe she was recreating what had happened before, but there was something about the way that Betty smiled at her…
“I am good B, just a sudden spasm.”
“Are you okay Sabrina? A spasm, where?”
Ben put his hand on her shoulder, and Sabrina looked absently at her computer screen again. Between her legs was sticky and wet, and she wanted to mingle fluids with him.
She looked up at him, still chewing on the handle of her glasses, with hooded lids.
“Oh, it was nothing.”

More Masturbation Monday here:

sticky hibiscus via wikipedia

Wicked Wednesday #268 — Vintage Art

Eliza looked at her face in the mirror, she had tucked into the bathroom because instead of focusing on the vintage artwork she had come to see, she was hiding in the bathroom.

She knew that she might have seen Polly at the sale because it was art that Polly sold. She knew that she might see Oscar there, and she had not seen Oscar for a long time.

But Terrence was there, and she had not expected…

Her hand in Rafe’s was on fire, when she yanked it out of Rafe’s.

Her face was creased with concern in the bathroom mirror, and she used her fingers as if she could smooth it…

…and then Lila walked into the bathroom. Eliza wished that she could ignore her, and she looked down.

“Eliza?”

Eliza looked at Lila’s eyes through the mirror, stood up straight and walked back into dodge.

“You okay?”

Rafe took her hand, and kissed it. Eliza smiled at him, and walked over to the painting, and closed her eyes before she became mesmerized with the it. The woman had her eyes, as if she knew what Eliza was feeling. She stood closer to it, as close as she could without the guards telling her to move back.

Kissing close to the painting, she felt the heat of the glass from it, and saw her reflection, and then she saw Terrence.

She hated that she could not control herself around him. She hated the raw emotion she felt. She started at the painting of the woman, which was becoming like a doppelgänger to her.

The woman in the painting could feel her pain, Eliza even thought she saw the breast of the woman in the painting move.

She put her own hand over her chest, and closed her eyes. The eyes in the painting haunted her like her own.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

vintage art via wikipedia

Masturbation Monday #150 — Kaleidoscope

Ben looked at Sabrina lazily, even caught red-handed—maybe because caught red-handed—and absently continued to stroke himself.Barefoot, Sabrina padded over to him. He looked up at her, and continued to caress himself–faster–a silent plea in his eyes. Reaching behind her back, she unbuttoned the top of her skirt, unzipped it and pulled it down her hips. Her movement was animalistic, as she turned her back to him and squatted. She grabbed his shaft from his hand, and slipped it into herself. Her eyes closed as he filled her. As she had wanted him to fill her all of this time. Her lazy and active daydreams were about Ben, wanting him inside of her. Sleep was impossible because naked under her sheets, she kept spreading her legs and using her fingers to simulate what she thought Ben would be like between them. And remembering what he looked like in his suit, and where she wanted to touch his body.

How often had she fallen asleep with her fingers inside of herself? And dreams that culminated in monsoonesque orgasms, that flooded her dreams and her awakening?

But now, Ben was in her–and it was not only her that had wanted this apparently. He clutched her tight around her waist, and pulled her to his hard chest. He was not happy with just her bottom bare on his lap, so he unbuttoned her blouse, and kneaded her breast with raw abandon until it voluntarily slipped out of her bra cup. He kneaded and thrust up into her, in tandem with her own movement. Sabrina’s eyes were first closed with bliss, and then she saw the reflection of their rutting bodies reflected in his all glass office from several angles over and over again, until it all blurred together like a kaleidoscope and she came so suddenly and sharply that she whistled out a startled gasp.

She pressed her hands on his thighs, saw their bodies still reflected throughout his office, and basked in their oneness.

For the moment.

More Masturbation Monday here:


kaleidoscope via wikipedia

Sinful Sunday, Week 327 — Skull


More Sinful Sunday here:

To Have…Guest Blogger Malin James Talk About Roadhouse Blues!!!

Malin James is a special friend, and as far as I am concerned (and as I tweeted yesterday), she is the gold standard as a writer, and more importantly as a human. I am honored to have her as my guest today, with a decadent post after my own heart to promote her new collection, Roadhouse Blues, with Go Deeper Press!!!


Thank you so much for having me, Ms. F! It’s a privilege and honor to be here! 

My collection of linked short stories, Roadhouse Blues, came out this week with Go Deeper Press, but I didn’t want to do a standard Please Buy My Book!!! promo post, (though if you’re at all inclined to by my book, please do – you won’t hear me complain). Don’t get me wrong, I’m damn proud of the collection, but I wanted to talk about it in a different way—one that taps into some of the aesthetics Ms. F and I share. So. Let’s talk about noir.

I love noir and classic films. I always wanted to include a noir story in Roadhouse Blues, but I wasn’t quite sure how or where a story like that would fit. Roadhouse Blues is set in Styx, a blue-collar, truck stop town in the middle of nowhere. It’s dusty and oppressive and the most glamorous thing around is the tabloid rack at the local Pak ‘n Buy. It’s about as far from a gritty urban jungle full of hard-nosed men and glossy, sinister dames as you can get.

I was about ten stories into drafting the collection and had pretty much decided to save the smoky, Sam Spade feeling for a different collection, when I started writing what would become the title story, “Roadhouse Blues.”

“Roadhouse Blues” is one of a handful of stories set in Rowdy’s Roadhouse, the only strip club for miles. Mick, the protagonist, tends bar and keeps a general eye on things. At the start of the story, he’s getting over a messy divorce and has pretty much vowed never to get involved with anyone ever again, but that doesn’t mean he can’t text (and maybe sext) with a woman named Jett, whom he met on a classic film forum online. But when Jett comes to the roadhouse late one night, she upends Mick’s lonely intentions.

Jett is sultry and sassy and damn, can she crack wise. The woman walks around like she was filmed in black and white, but under the Lauren Bacall glamour, she needs to get away from a life that isn’t working, so she runs to the middle of nowhere, straight into Mick.

As soon as Mick saw her standing in the doorway, I knew I had my film noir story. A beautiful woman with a mysterious past, a good man worn down by life…. So, I stayed with it until it became clear that the whole point of the story was to get Mick from “of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine” to “here’s looking at you kid”. It just took a little rough sex to get him there.

While there are no crimes or gangsters or dead bodies in an alley, there’s a lot going on in “Roadhouse Blues” that directly references or pays homage to noir and classic film—the damaged characters with difficult pasts, the spikey chemistry, and yes, rough sex. More than anything, the rough sex. 

In a lot of noir and classic film, sex is a fade to black thing, but there are plenty of women getting slapped or dragged around in an implied sexual context. In the film and fiction from the ‘30’s, ‘40’s and 50’s, casual violence towards women is a window into the attitudes of the early 20th century. It’s an interesting historical snapshot, but not something I wanted to sexualize or glamorize in an erotic story in the 21st. Which is why I wrote the sex scene in “Roadhouse Blues” the way I did. As opposed to the standard trope of the femme fatale getting punished by a dominant man, Mick and Jett unequivocal equals—equals who just happen to want to slap each other around.

I like rough sex. I like it a lot, but only with the right partner. The chemistry has to be right for that kind of dynamic to work. Happily, the chemistry between Mick and Jett was right. I wanted to let consensual violence play out between two strong people, but if I was going to do that, it was important to establish the fact that they were meeting on equal ground. Mick spanks Jett, Jett decks Mick, but they do it in a way that is actively consensual, which let me dig into the dynamic to find the sweetness in the rough. I wanted to give the reader the sense that the night they spend together is full of joy for them.

Mick and Jett have a rare kind of chemistry. They naturally communicate through short hand, like the dialogue in To Have and Have Not or Double Indemnity. Because the connection they have is instinctual and highly tuned, they are able to do things that, with a different partner, would be off the table. Jett holds her own, and Mick trusts her to voice her boundaries. Jett, in turn, trusts Mick to respect them, which he instantly does. It’s an ideal version of how a dynamic like this could play out with two well-paired equals.

Unlike in noir films, when a man slaps a woman and sends her sprawling before a fade to black, Jett gives as good as she gets, and Mick falls for her because of it. I wanted to see how their dynamic would play out, especially with the ghost of black and white film underpinning the story. I wanted to see what would happen if Bogart and Bacall got a little rough with each other while they were falling in love. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to do that in this collection, but Mick and Jett surprised me, and I’m glad they did.

 

To read an excerpt from the story, “Roadhouse Blues” click here.

Are you swooning like me? Want more Malin? I am so happy to be part of her blog tour–here are the links to the rest of it!

The Go Deeper Press Launch Post

Interview with Xan West

Interview with Emmanuelle de Maupassant 

Review by Ella Dawson

Interview with Jade A. Waters

Review by Jo Henny Wolf