For Cookie.
Ok old fiction that has been very lightly (meaning spell check/no rewrite) edited.
First one, really old uber goth romance. Was this one it Cookie?
“Christ on a friggin crutch get off of me.”
Her voice is gruff, which of course is almost amusing given her sweet looking soft cheeked face. Tousled black hair, face devoid of make-up, big black eyes stern beneath manicured brows. She swings the book in her hand at his head and grouses something unintelligible and probably obscene. She’s reading “Fight Club” again.
“Sorry sorry.”
He moves away from where she sits curled up in the corner of the couch like a cat. Her eyes narrow at him as if it’s inevitable that he will make a second run at snatching her book. He pouts, she glowers.
“We never go anywhere anymore. Come on Tica. Please, just tonight I promise I won’t bug you again for like a month.”
She’s so goddamn beautiful is what he’s actually thinking. With that mean looking plump little mouth, her perpetually disheveled hair. And she doesn’t even know it. He tries the pout. Sticking out his lower lip, making his eyes all soft and watery. Hands shoved deep into his pockets feet scuffing the plush carpet.
The look on her face isn’t exactly malice, but it’s not far from it. A long heavy sigh, the sound of her giving in. His hopes soar. She licks her lips and rolls her big eyes.
“Fine. I’ll go get dressed.”
She rises and saunters into the bedroom of the suite to dress. He’s so excited he could jump up and down. They’d been in the city for three weeks and had subsisted on “room service” and each other. He did love her but, he craved a little outside stimulation. Always had and probably always will. Fairly skipping he follows her into the bedroom and flops on the bed to watch her transform.
Aside from finding something to nibble on at a club this had always been his favorite part. To watch her go from just plainly beautiful to stunning with clever strokes of color and pretty clothes.
“Tica make me pretty too?”
She almost laughs then smirks over her shoulder at him while she slides out of her pj’s.
“Sure Eric. Hold tight and I’ll dress you too.”
That offer makes him squirm in delight on the bed. She has to feel bad that they hadn’t gone out in so long. Usually that sort of request would get one of those nasty laughs of hers and a nastier look. Getting out of his silky dressing gown he sits naked on the bed waiting patiently.
For her part she stands naked in front of the large closet, eyes going from latex to vinyl, then wandering to satins and velvets. She settles on a tight black dress made of lace over mesh the same smooth brown as her skin. She turns slowly, the light highlighting pert small breasts, small silver hoops swinging from gumdrop bitter chocolate nipples.
“Eric, music. We’re in Dixie so why don’t you put on some blues.”
Her tone is lighter, and finally he gets one of those little smiles while he scrambles to obey. Knowing his pale naked flank is presented to her, and her eyes are appreciating the movements of supple muscles beneath soft boy-skin. He thinks the only reason he’s with her now is his looks. She is light years beyond him intellectually so it would seem, but they have fun when it’s called for.
He puts on smoky bawdy blues ballads. Wonderful songs that veritably paint the air with a melancholy dark love and longing. Waiting patiently toying with a long lock of ebony hair with an indigo stripe at the very bottom he can’t help but stare at her.
She’s wriggling into that dress, her fleshy sumptuous body jiggling in that way that can stop a man dead in his tracks. Her proud high backside is to him as she gets the dress over her hips and slips the thin ribbon straps over her shoulders. As she turns his breath catches, she looks to be naked save a whisp of black lace.
“I take that look to mean you approve Eric.”
Her tone is teasing because he was gaping at her. He’d seen the dress, but not her in the dress.
“Yes it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
She chuckles and sits at the lighted make up mirror in the dressing area. Taking up a few pots and colors she paints her face. Nothing extravagant, just a line above the lashes, a bit of contour to her cheekbones. Mascara, and finally her lips painted in a deep sanguine red. They almost look like she’s bitten them and is bleeding.
“Come Eric.”
She walks back into the closet and he waits. She likes him in pretty clothes. Frothy voluminous poets shirts in deep purples and gauzy burgundies, with those skin tight pants. Velvet usually, or some other clinging material that spells out everything about his as she puts it “nine inch personality”. He loves the pretty things she puts him in. The rings and necklaces, elaborately buckled boots, thigh high butter soft leather.
Handing him an almost sheer black pirate-ish shirt he slips it on as she sings softly along with “Lilac Wine”, her smoke laden voice mingling well with the music. Then the pants, this evening tight stretchy velvet with the thigh high cuffed boots. As he tucks in the shirt and pulls on the boots, lacing them up the sides of his long legs carefully she prepares to paint his face.
When properly dressed, the shirt hanging open to reveal smooth skin the color of almond meat he sits at the vanity. Face tilted up towards hers, eyes closed. She paints him quickly. Powdering his face smooth, then carefully painting his eyes with black liner. Her touch light and sensual. Then for his favorite part, the lips.
“Lips.”
That single word is enough, his eyes open partway as do his lips. Her own part as well as she brushes the deep red carefully onto his angelic mouth. Thinking all the while that he has no real idea how much she loves him. Her pretty one, the enigmatic angel who attracts men and women like a beaker of pheromones left open in a ventilation system.
To blot the dark near black from his lips she kisses him, their lips not quite moving but pressing together. Tongues seemingly of their own accord searching. It doesn’t take much, it never does. Their lips are joined for eternal minutes before she pulls back and smiles down into his eyes. A real smile the love he knew all along to be there shining in her infinite eyes.
“Let’s stay home love.”
He nods and the undoing is begun again as they fall deep into each other. The world, the night and their hunger forgotten in a flash of white-hot passion. Perhaps, they will go out tomorrow night.
~Fin
And some other random porn type free write I started for fucking ever ago and only just a few weeks ago finished at all. I only say cunt a few times.
~~~~~
My skin is prickling and electric. Gooseflesh raised all over my body I swear I can feel the air moving over me. If I wanted you before, I’m craving you now. I want to feel your touch so badly my muscles are jumping randomly at the thought. But I’m doing as you asked.
I’m laid out well, draped really, on a ratty old chaise lounge you found somewhere. You draped it with a blood red table cloth and have me sprawled like some Odalisque. You’re standing at your easel watching me intently. Occasionally wandering over the peer down at me, adjust a lock of hair, move flower petals. I’ve always loved to watch you paint.
Of course I’d always done it from the sidelines. Sitting quietly in the corner of your studio while you did your thing. And now, and now I’m laying here wet between the legs and naked as the day I was born. When you asked me to model for you did I blush? Did I look as embarrassed and turned on as I was?
You remind me to be still and I take a breath. Feel a rush of cool air and my nipples harden. I can hear you muttering, ‘oh that’s right. Gorgeous.’ You’re in the land of Muse and I’m, I’m not quite sure where my head is. Well, I can tell the truth. My head is? I’m not sure where my head is I’ve never felt this way before.
I think it’s the way you’ve been looking at me. How your left eye squints a little as you move me here and there. Adjust a curl, pat a scarf into place. You always look at me intently, but this, this is something else all together. I can hardly stand it. My cunt is tingling and dribbling as if you were kissing me rather than standing ten feet away behind your easel.
I let my eyes slide half closed and you nod. Murmuring for me to stay just like that. No problem. I can do that. With my eyes unfocused like this I can concentrate on how I feel. I think, I feel beautiful. Truly beautiful. Not in the way you do when you’re all dressed up to go out or one of those moments when you smile at me and whisper, ‘hi’ then look away. No I feel beautiful just sitting here naked as the day I was born and lounging in what seems to my conscious mind a ridiculous position, and wanting.
Oh yes I am wanting you. I would love nothing more than for you to come over here take off the decorations one by one and coerce my body into screaming for you, wetting the cloth and you. I squirm a little and you make a noise, I lay still. I wonder if I can sneak an orgasm? As turned on as I am, I wonder if I can contract the PC muscles you praise daily, enough to make myself come.
I want to so badly if I don’t I’m afraid I’ll move and break the spell. After the first few contractions I can feel the muscles in my face relax, you’re murmuring at me encouragingly. If you only knew what you were cheering on. After another few minutes the wetness is seeping out of my slit and running down between my ass cheeks. I’m thinking about your touch and you smile at me from behind your easel.
That funny no teeth corner of the mouth crooked upwards a touch smile to let me know you like what I’m doing. I’m so close if only I could have your mouth or even just a little tug on one of my now painfully erect nipples it’d push me over. I can feel the color coming up in my face and I take a long deep breath. Without thinking about it my eyes close.
So deep into fantasizing about your touch I don’t realize it when you’re right next to me. You have that knowing look on your face and just nod. I knock flower petals, scarves and whatever other little props aside and spread my legs. You know what I need without asking.
Gently your lips find mine and one of your long fingers slides into my pubic hair, teasing me. Testing me to see just how far along I’ve gotten. You’re pleased and I’m desperate. You rub along the top of my clit and I sing into your mouth, when you start to rub just the way I like it. The way I need it my body starts to shake.
Yes, you know me. I open to take your fingers joyfully and gladly. And when you’ve brought me shaking and growling to climax, I open my eyes to hear you say.
‘Odalisque.’
~Fin
First one, really old uber goth romance. Was this one it Cookie?
“Christ on a friggin crutch get off of me.”
Her voice is gruff, which of course is almost amusing given her sweet looking soft cheeked face. Tousled black hair, face devoid of make-up, big black eyes stern beneath manicured brows. She swings the book in her hand at his head and grouses something unintelligible and probably obscene. She’s reading “Fight Club” again.
“Sorry sorry.”
He moves away from where she sits curled up in the corner of the couch like a cat. Her eyes narrow at him as if it’s inevitable that he will make a second run at snatching her book. He pouts, she glowers.
“We never go anywhere anymore. Come on Tica. Please, just tonight I promise I won’t bug you again for like a month.”
She’s so goddamn beautiful is what he’s actually thinking. With that mean looking plump little mouth, her perpetually disheveled hair. And she doesn’t even know it. He tries the pout. Sticking out his lower lip, making his eyes all soft and watery. Hands shoved deep into his pockets feet scuffing the plush carpet.
The look on her face isn’t exactly malice, but it’s not far from it. A long heavy sigh, the sound of her giving in. His hopes soar. She licks her lips and rolls her big eyes.
“Fine. I’ll go get dressed.”
She rises and saunters into the bedroom of the suite to dress. He’s so excited he could jump up and down. They’d been in the city for three weeks and had subsisted on “room service” and each other. He did love her but, he craved a little outside stimulation. Always had and probably always will. Fairly skipping he follows her into the bedroom and flops on the bed to watch her transform.
Aside from finding something to nibble on at a club this had always been his favorite part. To watch her go from just plainly beautiful to stunning with clever strokes of color and pretty clothes.
“Tica make me pretty too?”
She almost laughs then smirks over her shoulder at him while she slides out of her pj’s.
“Sure Eric. Hold tight and I’ll dress you too.”
That offer makes him squirm in delight on the bed. She has to feel bad that they hadn’t gone out in so long. Usually that sort of request would get one of those nasty laughs of hers and a nastier look. Getting out of his silky dressing gown he sits naked on the bed waiting patiently.
For her part she stands naked in front of the large closet, eyes going from latex to vinyl, then wandering to satins and velvets. She settles on a tight black dress made of lace over mesh the same smooth brown as her skin. She turns slowly, the light highlighting pert small breasts, small silver hoops swinging from gumdrop bitter chocolate nipples.
“Eric, music. We’re in Dixie so why don’t you put on some blues.”
Her tone is lighter, and finally he gets one of those little smiles while he scrambles to obey. Knowing his pale naked flank is presented to her, and her eyes are appreciating the movements of supple muscles beneath soft boy-skin. He thinks the only reason he’s with her now is his looks. She is light years beyond him intellectually so it would seem, but they have fun when it’s called for.
He puts on smoky bawdy blues ballads. Wonderful songs that veritably paint the air with a melancholy dark love and longing. Waiting patiently toying with a long lock of ebony hair with an indigo stripe at the very bottom he can’t help but stare at her.
She’s wriggling into that dress, her fleshy sumptuous body jiggling in that way that can stop a man dead in his tracks. Her proud high backside is to him as she gets the dress over her hips and slips the thin ribbon straps over her shoulders. As she turns his breath catches, she looks to be naked save a whisp of black lace.
“I take that look to mean you approve Eric.”
Her tone is teasing because he was gaping at her. He’d seen the dress, but not her in the dress.
“Yes it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
She chuckles and sits at the lighted make up mirror in the dressing area. Taking up a few pots and colors she paints her face. Nothing extravagant, just a line above the lashes, a bit of contour to her cheekbones. Mascara, and finally her lips painted in a deep sanguine red. They almost look like she’s bitten them and is bleeding.
“Come Eric.”
She walks back into the closet and he waits. She likes him in pretty clothes. Frothy voluminous poets shirts in deep purples and gauzy burgundies, with those skin tight pants. Velvet usually, or some other clinging material that spells out everything about his as she puts it “nine inch personality”. He loves the pretty things she puts him in. The rings and necklaces, elaborately buckled boots, thigh high butter soft leather.
Handing him an almost sheer black pirate-ish shirt he slips it on as she sings softly along with “Lilac Wine”, her smoke laden voice mingling well with the music. Then the pants, this evening tight stretchy velvet with the thigh high cuffed boots. As he tucks in the shirt and pulls on the boots, lacing them up the sides of his long legs carefully she prepares to paint his face.
When properly dressed, the shirt hanging open to reveal smooth skin the color of almond meat he sits at the vanity. Face tilted up towards hers, eyes closed. She paints him quickly. Powdering his face smooth, then carefully painting his eyes with black liner. Her touch light and sensual. Then for his favorite part, the lips.
“Lips.”
That single word is enough, his eyes open partway as do his lips. Her own part as well as she brushes the deep red carefully onto his angelic mouth. Thinking all the while that he has no real idea how much she loves him. Her pretty one, the enigmatic angel who attracts men and women like a beaker of pheromones left open in a ventilation system.
To blot the dark near black from his lips she kisses him, their lips not quite moving but pressing together. Tongues seemingly of their own accord searching. It doesn’t take much, it never does. Their lips are joined for eternal minutes before she pulls back and smiles down into his eyes. A real smile the love he knew all along to be there shining in her infinite eyes.
“Let’s stay home love.”
He nods and the undoing is begun again as they fall deep into each other. The world, the night and their hunger forgotten in a flash of white-hot passion. Perhaps, they will go out tomorrow night.
~Fin
And some other random porn type free write I started for fucking ever ago and only just a few weeks ago finished at all. I only say cunt a few times.
~~~~~
My skin is prickling and electric. Gooseflesh raised all over my body I swear I can feel the air moving over me. If I wanted you before, I’m craving you now. I want to feel your touch so badly my muscles are jumping randomly at the thought. But I’m doing as you asked.
I’m laid out well, draped really, on a ratty old chaise lounge you found somewhere. You draped it with a blood red table cloth and have me sprawled like some Odalisque. You’re standing at your easel watching me intently. Occasionally wandering over the peer down at me, adjust a lock of hair, move flower petals. I’ve always loved to watch you paint.
Of course I’d always done it from the sidelines. Sitting quietly in the corner of your studio while you did your thing. And now, and now I’m laying here wet between the legs and naked as the day I was born. When you asked me to model for you did I blush? Did I look as embarrassed and turned on as I was?
You remind me to be still and I take a breath. Feel a rush of cool air and my nipples harden. I can hear you muttering, ‘oh that’s right. Gorgeous.’ You’re in the land of Muse and I’m, I’m not quite sure where my head is. Well, I can tell the truth. My head is? I’m not sure where my head is I’ve never felt this way before.
I think it’s the way you’ve been looking at me. How your left eye squints a little as you move me here and there. Adjust a curl, pat a scarf into place. You always look at me intently, but this, this is something else all together. I can hardly stand it. My cunt is tingling and dribbling as if you were kissing me rather than standing ten feet away behind your easel.
I let my eyes slide half closed and you nod. Murmuring for me to stay just like that. No problem. I can do that. With my eyes unfocused like this I can concentrate on how I feel. I think, I feel beautiful. Truly beautiful. Not in the way you do when you’re all dressed up to go out or one of those moments when you smile at me and whisper, ‘hi’ then look away. No I feel beautiful just sitting here naked as the day I was born and lounging in what seems to my conscious mind a ridiculous position, and wanting.
Oh yes I am wanting you. I would love nothing more than for you to come over here take off the decorations one by one and coerce my body into screaming for you, wetting the cloth and you. I squirm a little and you make a noise, I lay still. I wonder if I can sneak an orgasm? As turned on as I am, I wonder if I can contract the PC muscles you praise daily, enough to make myself come.
I want to so badly if I don’t I’m afraid I’ll move and break the spell. After the first few contractions I can feel the muscles in my face relax, you’re murmuring at me encouragingly. If you only knew what you were cheering on. After another few minutes the wetness is seeping out of my slit and running down between my ass cheeks. I’m thinking about your touch and you smile at me from behind your easel.
That funny no teeth corner of the mouth crooked upwards a touch smile to let me know you like what I’m doing. I’m so close if only I could have your mouth or even just a little tug on one of my now painfully erect nipples it’d push me over. I can feel the color coming up in my face and I take a long deep breath. Without thinking about it my eyes close.
So deep into fantasizing about your touch I don’t realize it when you’re right next to me. You have that knowing look on your face and just nod. I knock flower petals, scarves and whatever other little props aside and spread my legs. You know what I need without asking.
Gently your lips find mine and one of your long fingers slides into my pubic hair, teasing me. Testing me to see just how far along I’ve gotten. You’re pleased and I’m desperate. You rub along the top of my clit and I sing into your mouth, when you start to rub just the way I like it. The way I need it my body starts to shake.
Yes, you know me. I open to take your fingers joyfully and gladly. And when you’ve brought me shaking and growling to climax, I open my eyes to hear you say.
‘Odalisque.’
~Fin