Excerpt from my new Kindle book: “Banged by the Band”

It was silly, really.

I knew the Angel Boyzz had aged right along with me, and it had been a long damn time since I was sixteen. Back then, I’d have been able to tell you their birthdays, favorite colors, and shoe sizes. Every teenage girl in the world had all that information memorized, myself included. Their glowing, flawless faces smiled and winked at me from my locker, from the posters on my bedroom wall, and sang me to sleep as I played their songs over and over (and over.)

That was a long time ago, a different lifetime. I’d had my heart broken and mended so many times since then, I couldn’t even tell the scars apart anymore. This latest scar was fresh enough though. Jeff had unceremoniously dumped me six months before our fourth wedding anniversary, and the sting hadn’t quite faded away.

Things used to be so much simpler, didn’t they?

A crush on a boy band was safe, fodder for so many innocent fantasies. They were just there, singing their hearts out to you, not fucking your best friend while you were away on a business trip.

So when the DJ on the radio said they were giving away VIP tickets to an Angel Boyzz Reunion Cruise, I felt weirdly compelled to dial the number. My hands shook as I punched in the number, an icy trickle of sweat inched down my back. When the DJ said “Kerry, you are the fifteenth caller, YOU WIN!” I shrieked into the phone and jumped up and down like I hadn’t done for years. It felt good to be excited like that again, that jolt of pure unbridled joy. Continue reading

Fiction: Part of Everything

Henry looked around the room. There was a weird tension tonight he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was most of the usual people, plus a few he’d never seen before. Fresh meat, that was always good.

Some nights, the sex would start right away, clothes would peel off and lay in a heap next to the door. Other nights it was like a painful high school dance, everyone choosing corners, eyeing and sizing up the enemy from across the room. Finally some bold person would break away, stride across the room and take someone’s hand and lead them into a bedroom. Then, everyone else would find the courage to pair up and scuttle off. The sex was never as good on those nights. The nervous atmosphere was poison, he could never quite find his rhythm, and it made him angry.

The nights Henry liked best were the nights of slow seduction. Layers of clothes gradually peeling off. Maybe a woman would drape her scarf around another woman’s neck and pull her in for a kiss. Hands would find each other under blankets or tables or jackets, pants would be unzipped, skirts lifted, panties yanked down. The lights would seem to automatically dim, like in Hollywood movie set. An intoxicating heat would rise up, and the room would become a mass of writhing sweating bodies. No closed doors, no inhibitions, only the hedonistic pleasures of watching, being watched and devouring. No shame, simply reaching, kissing, caressing, fucking.

Henry had been going to these parties for a couple years now. He wasn’t sure how they started. There were a few people who didn’t come anymore, maybe they’d started them? He imagined an unbroken line of gatherings going back decades, all these long years of decadence stemming from one crazy night, maybe during Prohibition. The clothes on the floor would be dapper suits and short flapper dresses. The bathtub would be full of gin, the men would smoke cigars and grasp the short bobbed hair of the flappers as they gave them succulent blowjobs, leaving bright red rings of lipsticks on cocks as the jazz music played on.

The torch would be passed on and on, the founders overlapping with the next generation to take it on. Or maybe it was nothing like that at all. Maybe it was simply people just getting together to get their fuck on and he was being entirely too romantic about it all again. He was prone to fits of romanticism now and again.

This night was definitely weird. Henry couldn’t figure it out. There were a few new people, but not enough to throw the balance off completely. Mattie was there, breasts spilling from her cherry red latex dress as usual, rubbing up against some rather alarmed man the corner. Rob was already getting a blowjob, but he didn’t seem interested in it, his eyes were on Mattie’s tits.

A new girl, Leah, Henry thought her name was, sat wide eyed across the room, trying desperately to keep her cool. Henry watched as Mark approached her.

Mark was smooth, Henry had to give him that. He leaned over, whispered something in the new girl’s ear. Within moments, Mark was kneeling on the floor in front of her, gently sliding his hand up her skirt. She flushed. Mark had his fingers in her. She lay her head on the back of the sofa, eyes closed.

Mark would get the night started, Henry decided. Mark gave no fucks at all. The room quieted as Leah’s soft whimpers turned to full blown moans. Mattie, always seeking an opportunity to be in the spotlight, sat next to Leah and unbuttoned her blouse.  Mattie ran her fingers through Mark’s hair, then descended on Leah’s exposed breasts, squeezing one tight while sucking the other. Leah cried out. As if that were the signal everyone had been waiting for the room came alive, the barrier broken.

Mark looked around, gave someone a nod who brought him a bottle of lube. He removed his hand from Leah’s pussy, squirted lube across his hand, and plunged his fingers back into her. Mattie relentlessly sucked and bit Leah’s breasts, then lightly slapped them. Leah moaned louder, writhing as Mark stuck another finger into her. Another man, Thomas, came up behind Mattie and bit her neck. Leah was suddenly the center of a widening web, everyone somehow connected back to her through someone else.

Mattie arranged herself so her cunt was exposed as she suckled Leah. Thomas slammed into her so hard that Leah shook too. It only took moments before Mattie’s dramatically loud cries pierced the soft din of moans.

Henry heard a scraping sound as someone pulled a chair up. Sarah sat down next to him, and handed him a fresh glass of wine.

“Popcorn would be better for this show,” Henry whispered. Sarah was his co-conspirator, his friend in snark.

“Mattie never misses a chance, does she?” Sarah whispered back, “Always has to be part of everything.” Sarah and Henry leaned back against the wall, sipping wine as the display continued.

Leah was fully spread now, her knees were being held open by other people now by Mattie’s orders. Mattie held Leah’s wrists together, pinning them against the wall while Thomas now suckled and bit her breasts. Mark’s face was tight with concentration as he attempted to work his fist into Leah’s cunt. Leah was radiant with pleasure and sweat, her eyes dreamy and unfocused.

Mark worked his clenched fist in and out of her, her thighs glistened. Mattie still held her delicate wrists together, but with one hand now. Her other hand rested wickedly against Leah’s throat.

Henry felt a twinge of excitement, finally. He was feeling lately that he’d used up all his normal fetishes, that only extreme stuff could excite him now. Watching someone being choked and fisted felt fairly tame, but he was glad that it still excited him even some.

He reached over, took the glass of wine from Sarah. He grabbed her firmly by the wrist, she followed willingly. The night had taken on a life of it’s own, he could find his rhythm tonight, he was sure of it.

Dream Girl

When I enter the room, she’s standing in a corner. Why she’s being punished, I don’t know. But I’m glad she is. Black corset, black stockings. Skin as pale as the moon on snow. A cherry red ball gag against cherry red lips. Blonde curls.

It’s the hair that does it.

This is how I know it’s a dream, even submerged under heavy layers of sleep. Blondes are not my thing. When I fantasize, when my eyes follow a woman down the street, it’s always dark hair, short, androgynus. Dark haired pouty butch girls make me swoon, not curls and ribbons and red, red lips. My subconscious has it’s own fantasies.

Oh God. She’s beautiful. Perfect. I walk all the way around her, her bright blue eyes stare straight ahead, never wavering, such a good girl. When I stand behind her, I see her hands aren’t tied behind her back, she’s holding them there, just so. She’s such a good girl that I ache for her in my sleep.

There are little frills on the bottom edge of her corset, barely skimming her thighs. Black on pale. I want to lick that place where the lace touches. I reach out…

Here’s where I wake up, full of wanting. I keep my eyes shut to hold her close. Don’t let her fade, must not let her fade.

I want to bite through the elastic on the garter belt, watch each one snap back in slow motion. Run my hands down her thighs, ease down those sheer black stockings, unwrapping my present like a terrible greedy child.

I want to take those corset strings, and tie them just a little tighter, until I hear that sharp gasp of breath. That’s how I would ruin a good girl like this, centimeters at a time. I’d brush my fingers through those curls, leave a strand or two tickling her nose. I’d be so cruel, in so many little ways.

Panties, is she wearing them? Yes, midnight black, like the corset. Reach around back and yank so the lace edging scratches the inside of her thigh, so the crotch pulls up tight and uncomfortable between her legs. A little pain now to make the pleasure that much more of a treat later.

I’d kiss her around the ball gag, my lips pressed against hers, my tongue teasing hers from the other side of the prison wall. Her lips would strain to kiss me back, her eyes finally focusing on mine. I’d step back because I’m not hers to have quite yet.

Or maybe I am.

Impatiently then, because she’s such a good girl and I hate waiting, I’d slide my hand between her legs, I’d pull those goddamn panties down around the tops of those perfect fucking thighs. I wouldn’t tease her clit, I’d shove fingers in, cram them into her wet and lovely cunt. She’d  spread her legs, tremble, trying to be a good girl, struggling to remember that she had to be good no matter what. And then I’d break her. She’d cry out, muffled by the gag. She’d flinch, moan, and then she’d reach for me, but she’d stop herself, just a little too late.

Her blue eyes would go wide when she realized her transgressions. Then I could really punish her for being such a good, good girl.

Fiction: Married Women

“Why do you only fuck married women?” I prop myself up on my elbows and look him in the eye.

He fluffs the pillow, then laces his hands behind his head as he thinks.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, “It’s just easier, I guess.”

“Easier than what? Finding a girl you can screw without having to dive out the window afterwards?” He knows I’m teasing him. A little. I poke him in the side and he smiles. He grabs my hand and kisses my index finger.

“I can fuck as many women as I want without apologizing to anyone. A married woman can’t say anything if I’m fucking someone else, because she is too,” he kisses my finger again, then guides my hand under the sheets. I rest it on his cock, but I don’t do anything else.

“You romantic devil, no wonder you need to keep your dance card wide open.”

He grins at that. He fancies himself a bit of a rogue, and he knows I know it.

“Why do you fuck a guy who fucks married women?” he asks.

“I’m barely married. I’m not even sure I qualify as married by your standards. I’ve been separated so long I’m not sure it counts.”

“Ah, but technically you are,” he says. “I’m not worth the trouble for you to actually divorce the guy, right? You can be honest. I’m a great lay, but otherwise, I’m really not worth the hassle of something significant and long term. Right?”

He is right. I massage his cock, coaxing it back to life. He’s cute, that crooked little grin that says he knows he’s guilty, but aw shucks, let’s forget it this one time. Blue eyes, not sky blue or sea blue, just blue. He’s not dumb, he’s not smart either, but he’s funny and sweet, in his own way. He forgets to call, never brings me flowers, but he’s right, he is a hell of a lay. I wouldn’t hunt down the guy I’m technically still married to for him. The court costs, ripping open old wounds that we’ve laid to rest by simply by ignoring them.The fleeting pleasure isn’t worth the pain.

The afternoons and occasional evenings we spend together are delightful. He’s never an asshole, never cruel. He’ll always take the wet spot, and he always asks if I’m satisfied. He’s like a friendly ghost who appears now and again. A friendly ghost with a nice dick.

“Oh my,” I say. His cock stiffens under my hand. “Someone’s awake again.”

He reaches out, touches my face and pulls me close. “Just one more quick one,” he kisses me, “I’ve got to be somewhere in awhile.”

Fiction: An interview with Elliott J.

The first time I had sex with Rachel? We were just kids. Not kids like little kids, but compared to now, you know?

She was cute, long brown hair, real tall. I noticed her in our freshman comp class. Serious. All button down shirts, and pushing her glasses back up kind of serious. It was her first time away from home I think. She didn’t really fit in, but who does when they’re eighteen? We’re all trying on new personalities.

Anyway, freshman comp. It was like she didn’t know how to relax, she raised her hand for everything, even though Mr… Mr. Stevens, was it? Yeah, he would just call on you randomly, but she didn’t catch on. I liked how earnest she was. She was whip fucking smart too. Book smart. She didn’t pretend to know the answer to make herself look good or anything. She really knew it. I could imagine the pep talk someone must of given her the day she left for college “Make this family proud, Rachel!”

It took me until nearly Christmas break to get up the nerve to speak to her. She had no idea how cute she was. I watched other guys try to score with her. It’s not like she blew them off, it was more like she had no idea they were flirting. So I was smart, went the direct route and said “Hey, Rachel, I like you, let’s go out.”

Her face lit all up, that was when I realized how innocent she really was. I’m not even sure she’d been on a date before then. One the one hand, I wanted to protect her. On the other hand, I wanted to bang her silly. She had no fucking idea what she was. I felt like the first guy to connect the dots, to see the X marked on the treasure map. Goddamn.

We didn’t actually go out until after the break, she was overly nice about telling me how she had to go home for the holidays, what day and time she’d be back. It was like she didn’t want to disappoint me, you know? She called me right the moment she got back to the dorms, all explaining who she was, like I’d forget. I couldn’t forget, who could forget Rachel? Continue reading