Thursday, November 22, 2012


She smiled, reminded of that day they first met. Alcohol, she teased him, was what did it for her. But she knew that was a lie.

No, she'd been tipsy before, but not like that day. That was a different kind of tipsy. The kind that made her feel wanton. That made her want to touch him. When she stood outside that pub and people she knew ran out to welcome her, she saw him through the glass. Just sitting there, making no effort to move, with that hint of arrogance and unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

She'd heard of him before, and he of her. She looked forward to seeing him and boy, it was all she'd hoped for and more.

But she was a tease, after all. Not one to give in easily. And he was persistent, not one to give up, at all. So came the night, 48 long hours after they met, when she stepped into his bedroom.

And he touched her. And she him. And he kissed her. And she him, feeling his hardness against her thigh. Hearing his jagged breathing. 

But she was a tease, after all. She pushed him onto the bed and stood between his legs. And undressed for him, taking all the time she needed. Unzipped her dress and unhooked her bra. Then ran her fingers up her legs, looking into his eyes and began peeling off her stockings.

What a night it was! He punished her for making him wait, for making him tremble with desire. What delightful punishment it was! His hands and his tongue. And the rasp of his stubble against her thigh.
And him, inside her, when she begged and moaned. The way he moved and the way she...

... "Your coffee, miss!" "Thankyou", she rasped out, her throat dry, sighing as she checked the time, waiting for the man she bedded and wedded six years ago.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Every single time

I like to imagine I'm the kind of thing you don't get too often. When I recall the length of your fingers, I think about what it would be like to tug at the button of your jeans, strained tight over your cock. I'm not sure you've ever been with someone like me. And I think, without knowing, of course, that I could be good for you.

I imagine your head thrown back, eyes closed, and I wonder how many girls have gotten on their knees for you. My lips pass over your velvety skin, and I breathe you in. I draw my tongue up the length of you as we seek out and find the shared rhythm between us.

I don't know how long we could stay drunk on the newness of it, but I imagine it would be a very sweet high.  Don't tell me you don't think about it, too.

I imagine you tangling your fingers into my hair, thrusting yourself into my mouth. I think about catching your eye with my own, smiling and moaning. I don't need the lights off, and I don't need the blankets pulled tight. I told you—I'm something you've never had before.

There's a lot of talk about power and head. As far as I'm concerned, there are at least two ways of looking at it. You could either say you're fucking my mouth or you could say I've got your cock between my teeth. Or you could take the sum of the parts, recognize the vulnerability on one side, the power on the other, and the fact that we both keep coming back here. Your fingers in my hair and my lips the shape of a secret, the strength of your hardness and the wetness of my cunt remind me that we're both getting something from this.

And that gets me off every single time.


“This party is boring.” She groaned to Carolyn as they sipped martinis.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him moving towards her. He’d been looking at her for an hour while pretending to talk sports with the guys. She knew that look.

Feeling him graze the small of her back, he swiftly grabbed her hand pulling her wordlessly towards the door. She stumbled in her heels behind him. Setting her drink down with a smile.

He still hadn’t said a word when they entered the house. Spinning her around, he used their bodies to quickly close the door. With his body pressed against hers, his hands wandered to her bare thighs then her behind. She felt his hardness as his touch explored her dampness. Both were breathless in their quiet house.

Taking her hand, less firmly this time, he led her upstairs.

“Lay down. Let me undress for you.”

And she did.


As he watched mesmerized.

Touching her bare skin deliberately as her black dress slipped down her body, she stood before him in black pushup bra, black lace thong and black heels.

She crossed the space and straddled him. His erection was pushing against his zipper.

Removing his shirt, button by button, then his belt, she crawled down the length of his body pulling off his pants and underwear in one tug.

Kissing his inner thighs, she began making her way up leisurely. Past his stomach, pausing at his ribs, nibbling both nipples, finally reaching his neck. She whispered, “I love you” into his parted lips before taking his tongue in her mouth.

He pressed against her thong desperate to enter her.

Swiftly flipping her, he started at her neck feeling his way all the way down her center. Shivers engaged her every nerve ending as his tongue found everything.

And he didn’t stop caressing her with his hands or mouth until he got the answer they both wanted.

Her back arched.

He pushed inside.


K.G. Waite

Tom sprawled naked upon the countertop. Catherine rummaged through the house looking for a length of twine. She glanced at her watch nervously: at any moment the doorbell might ring. She found the twine and quickly bound Tom's legs before dipping both hands in the melted butter.

“Derrick,” she shouted.


“Can you open the oven? It's time to get the turkey in.”

Monday, November 19, 2012


It doesn’t take me much. A hair flick, the way he raises his eyebrow, quizzically or mischievously and suddenly I’m there. I’m ready to go. He knows this about me, about his ability to turn me on. He wears white ribbed tank tops with a small notch cut just right in the center and will reveal the secret to me when I least expect it. That tank top with the little notch cut out, making it incredibly easy for me to rip off his body, becomes all I can see. He knows the power he wields over me at any given moment.

That’s why I’ve agreed to this game of his. He wants to see how far he can push me until I yield and give in. We’re at a party, and he’s watching me from a distance, wondering just when I’ll succumb to my need to ravage him. I’m sure it’s driving him mad, that I’m not driven mad at that very moment. He’s probably thumbing the little remote control in his pocket madly trying to adjust the speed on the mechanism that’s between my legs. It would probably be thrumming with maddening pressure, forcing me to demure from the conversation I’m currently having with a striking blond girl, and find him across the room. I know he wants me to beg him to take me back to our hotel room and finish what the night has started. I feel his eyes on me as I continue to flirt with the blond in front of me allowing her to put her hand on my knee, returning the gesture. He thinks he has me. We wants to have me. I can feel that need from him, that confusion. I should be his by now. That’s why we’re doing this, why he wants to do this, why he’s doing this to me. But what he doesn’t know is that earlier I took the batteries out. The power is mine now. So is he.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Julia Staley

Julia Staley's blog is having some difficulties, and she didn't want to leave her partner hanging, so we're posting her response here!

Charts and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two.

As if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue.

Why can’t he see it? Her shoes slipped in the early slush.  I’m no lab result.

He had tried to tell her:

“The human heart is as unfamiliar to me as the new life forms I study.”

Hive minds, queen bees and honey.  She knew he preferred that to talks of love anyday.

She was just his assistant, transparent as a beaker.


In celebration of their 1-year anniversary, Trifecta Writing Challenge is teaming up with Velvet Verbosity this week.

So the prompt for the anniversary challenge was:
"Charts and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two.  As if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue."

I'll be honest, I was really off-put when I read that.  I had no idea what to do with it, and it wasn't my usual writing style.    I immediately had to Google "preferential temperatures" because I needed to know what sort of a person might be talking about that.  Well, my results gave me articles about insects.  The rest followed.

My partner in the challenge is Natalie Amatera... her part will follow,and I will add a link once it is complete! (And probably just post a complete version here because that way it will flow.)

This was a lot of fun.