Pink

Pink

Seconds take hours,

Knots bind in my belly.

I distract myself with this and that,

Fluff and nonsense.

Kitten things.

But memories linger and sometimes shout.

Words, fingers, lips,

your belt.

Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain.

A duet so carefully crafted,

Cultivated.

Time is all that separates us.

I anticipate. Yearn. And wait.

I’m flushed.

Ready.

Pink.

A super lame poem by Kitt Wolf

Wicked Wednesday

This silly poem was written in response to Wicked Wednesday. She always has the best prompts and keeps me writing.

Monster Mash

Monster Mash

This is a terrible piece of erotica if it can even be called that. Please enjoy. It’s so so stupid.

By Kitt Wolf

I hate movies. They pervert the truth to entertain the mindless masses. Take me for example. I am just your average sea monster. Nuclear reactions caused me to wake up from a long nap and I admit that I was a little cranky. Sure, I’m big for my age, but there was absolutely no reason for those people on that little island to exaggerate my explorations. I may have knocked over a few buildings and stepped on a few cars while I was trying to view the beautiful cherry blossom trees, but I didn’t mean any harm. I know that my voice is very harsh when I sing, but I like to hum little tunes to myself as I stroll around. The movie creators make me out to be a monster. But I’m just a regular radioactive lizard looking for a good life and a little love.

Mmmmm love. I am so in love with Mothra. She lights up my world like nobody else and I would do anything to get in her pants, if she wore pants. She is one hot kaiju. Yum yum yum. She’s a big tease though. Flitting around the bright city lights, illuminating her body so I can see all her curves. I want to pin her wings to the wall and pound her like a tough piece of meat. Just thinking about it makes my cock twitch in anticipation. One of these days I’ll drop a load in her that will cover half of Japan. She’d squeal loud enough to burst eardrums in Tokyo. But first I’ve got to catch her. She’s a coy one, but I know she likes me. She keeps inviting me on dates, but all we do is tear up some cities and awkwardly kiss. I think she’s waiting for something special for us to finally knock boots because I’m sure it will be explosive.

I decide to invite her on a hot date. I set the stage for romance and lovin’. I shake up a few volcanoes and lay a bed of sweet sweet magma down. There’s nothing like doing the nasty while churning lava flows over writhing bodies. It really heats up the blood. I pull up several acres of trees to create a spectacular bouquet because the ladies love that and dab a little pheromones on my neck. I send her a nuanced text asking her out for a night of wanton debauchery and I wait. I hum a little tune and flick my tail side to side. I hear the soothing sounds of faint screaming and begin to tap my toe. She doesn’t answer. I will have to step up my game. A quick Google search lets me know that she was getting her wings done somewhere near Canada. Of course she wouldn’t answer me when she’s at the spa. I pinpoint her location by tracking weather patterns. Windstorms tend to follow that beauty. Also, her two humanoids tend to divulge too much info on Twitter. They snapped some selfies with my Mothy in the background. Her squad. Human fan girls really aren’t my type but my lady really loves having them around.

I have an epiphany. Maybe if I satisfy her girlies then maybe she’d give me some of her sweet time. I track down some sexy dancers from down under who will do just anything for a quick buck. They are beefy and flexible. I’m sure they will entice her entourage and maybe give me just enough time to work my magic on my girl. I pick up the dudes and put them in my little people carrying backpack that has the little bubble window so they can look outside. I throw in some mattresses and sumptuous fabrics and my backpack is transformed into the perfect love nest. I tweet at Mothra’s girls and they seem down for the deed. They are huge fans of the heart eye emoji and eggplants.

I pack my bouquet and sling on my backpack and begin the journey to Canada. I try to be careful not to knock too many things down, but I’m nervous and I stumble somewhere around Alaska. It looks like they needed a new shipping route through there anyway. I’ll send them a card.

I can smell her once I hit the Canadian border. Damn. My cock twitches and I see twinkling lights near my feet. Ugh. Paparazzi. I hope they got a good look at my swollen member. Wait until they see me fully erect. Now that would be worth a million pictures.

I see her perched atop Mount Logan. The sunlight shimmers off her wings and she’s batting her antennae at me. I put my backpack down and cue up the music so that my Australian hotties start their gyrating and flexing. Mothy’s human pals giggle and run into the backpack. I zip it up and fix my eyes on the most beautiful creature in the world. I put my bouquet down and she flits over to uncurl her proboscis and probe around the leafy goodness. I knew she would like it. Her eyes fix on mine and she blinks slowly. Seductively. I’m fully erect now. There’s something about her jerky fluttering that just makes me hotter than Old Faithful. I’ve fucked that. It was good, but this will be better.

The cold from the mountains is a harsh contrast to the heat that I imagined for our first time, but I’m digging the goose bumps that I am getting. Mothra reaches out a tentative leg and begins to stroke me. It’s like being wrapped in velvet and electricity sparks from the plates on my back. She follows her touch with the wet curl of her mouth parts. I almost lose my load then, but she looks at me sharply when she feels me twitch. It’s not my turn yet. I relax and use my little arms to stroke her wings and she allows me to move down her abdomen. I dip a finger into her powdery slit and she tightens her mouth around my dripping cock. I tilt her head up to lick her proboscis clean from my juices. She leans back and opens herself up to me. I drive into her and the years of flirting fade into this spectacular moment of union. I push deep into her and feel her wrap her six legs around me. We roll from the mountain top and take out a few outposts and a grizzly bear. We crush southern Maine and she lets out a shrill screech that drives me over the edge. Her orgasm pulses around me and I let loose a torrent of kaiju cream. Her body swells as I drain my balls into her. We lay panting in the afterglow for a few minutes before she flutters away with a wink over her shoulder. I love that woman. I would move mountains for her.

I go back to pick up my backpack of snoring gigolos and return them safely to their homeland. I kick back on an oil derrick and flip through my social medial. Insta says that my lovely is hooking up with Rodan in Peru later tonight. Moths aren’t monogamous after all. I check my Twitter and I’m flooded with a zillion messages. It seems that a site called Bad Dragon is marketing a likeness of my cock and the ladies love it. Oh yeah. The ladies love it.

This train wreck of a story is dedicated to Mistress Melissa because a proboscis and tentacles might feel the same.

This was written in response to another prrfect prompt crafted by Charlton Tod at Forbidden Writings.

https://forbiddenwritings.blog/2020/10/16/fantasysmutfriday-week-74/

Time after Time

Time after Time

by Kitt Wolf

I always notice my hands first. I’ll be clacking away on my computer when I notice the faint bluish tinge marring the normally creamy pink skin. The vein pushes its way to the surface a few days later and I find myself constantly rubbing at it, willing it to fade away. Panic gnaws at me and I know it’s once again time to make the decision between life or death. I have always chosen life so far. Nothing has made me think otherwise. When the choice is made, I know to start preparing.

Most of the things I need for the potion are easy to find: bits from the kitchen, my garden, the pond, and a lock of my hair. The main ingredient is a bit of challenge and something that weighs on my soul to collect. But I’ve seen what happens if the ritual isn’t completed. Sisters I have loved chose not to continue their practice. They fell deeply in love and allowed themselves to fade into stories that children tell to scare each other around the campfire. Witches do not go out from this life gracefully. If I decide to reverse the hands of time, I must become single once again and hunt for a new mate.

It’s not that I don’t love my husband. I do. I have for thirty years, but the passion that once fueled our partnership has wilted to fondness. I still swoon from his smile and adore the way that he looks at me in the morning, but raw heat gave way to comfort years ago. It felt like we could go on forever that way. Comfortable. At one time, I could see myself fading with him, but lately life has become quite dull. Then that damn blue vein decided to rear its ugly head and I felt pressure to make a choice. After the vein I know that sagging skin, spots, aches, grey hair in places that seem unspeakable, and pain will soon follow. Pain is not something I enjoy, well, outside of the bedroom. It’s lovely to be spanked, but it’s ridiculous to feel pain when I stand up from a chair. I’m not ready to age and wither and so I will go hunting for the final ingredient to reclaim my youth.

I need the full moon to slip on a guise to catch my prey. My husband usually passes out in his armchair by 8:00 while watching reruns of old game shows so it’s easy to slip out of the house on the evenings when the world is drenched in that milky magical light. The caressing light that spills from the sky soaks into my skin and revives me. Temporarily, my curves become defined, my hair becomes sleek and black, and that damned blue vein vanishes. I feel radiant. The first opportunities for a full moons I make sparse connections. I bed a few hapless men, but none of them feel right. They are all too full of themselves and not aware of the world. If I am to choose life, I must feel that connection and zing. Otherwise, the potion will be wasted.

I creep back home in the wee early morning hours reeking of men and stale cigarettes. My husband never notices. He carries on about his day and completes our rituals of greeting, comings and goings. We have the odd night of boring marital sex. He starts on top, wiggles his hips, flips me over and finishes with a grunt before falling into a deep sleep. I stare at the ceiling for hours wanting more and feeling the pull of the hunt.

This month, I leave my home for the full moon weekend under the guise of visiting a luxury spa. However, instead of being wrapped in mud and getting my nails done, I’m wrapping myself in other men’s arms and dragging my nails down their backs.

I check into my room and place a tall pink candle on the vanity. I encircle it in rose petals and arrange my crystals to open my mind to love. I strike a match and the flame greedily licks the wick. The dancing flames draw my gaze and focus my intention. A handsome face appears in the smoke and I close my eyes and deeply inhale. The image is faint but enough. I blow out the flame and prepare to hunt.

A few hours later, I’m sitting in the hotel bar wrapped in a tiny white dress that shows off my best assets. My tits peep over the top of the sweetheart neckline and delicate garters encircle my thighs with straps that disappear under my perilous hemline. Anyone who draws near would notice the heady sweet aroma of amber that I dabbed along my neck as I finished pulling my hair into a top knot.

I see the man from my vision enter the bar. He’s dreamy. His eyes crinkle when he smiles and his teeth practically chime with perfection. He’s with a group of men, but it will be easy enough to capture his attention. It looks like a business function. I chat with men at the bar but keep the undercurrent of attention on him. Finally, he walks over to order a drink. I drop my compact and the clatter makes him startle and look directly at me. I see him drink in all that I have put on display including the worried look about my mirror, a damsel in distress.

He picks the compact up from the floor and looks dismayed that the shiny surface has cracked. He makes a joke about seven years of bad luck and offers to buy me a drink. His hand touches mine and I give in to the pull of fate. We dance, drink, talk, and flirt. He’s charming and marvelous however my thoughts are laser focused on getting this man to bed.

Finally, we are stumbling to the elevator laughing. I press the button for my floor and at last, we are alone. I back him into the corner and kiss him hungrily. His lips feed the electric power building within me. I stroke his balls through his pants and he moans. They feel heavy. Perhaps, it’s been awhile since they have been emptied. His strong hands roam my body and squeezes my favorite soft spots. The doors open and we kiss while we walk towards my room. I fumble with the key card as he bites my neck while pressing his hard cock against my ass in front of the door. I feel my pussy spasm and I draw in a short breath. The light turns green and we quickly enter my room.

I drag him to the bed and we tumble with him on top. I snake my legs around him so that I can feel his cock strain against the thin layers of fabric between us. My pussy grinds against him until the front of his pants darkens from the wet of my want. I push him back so I can shimmy out of my panties, but leave my stockings and heels on. He shoves my dress down to reveal the puckered peaks of my round tits. He sucks hungrily and makes me writhe. He needs to take off his fucking pants so I can have that cock. I push him back harder this time and roll onto my belly. I frantically undo his belt and strip off his pants and finally his cock springs from his boxers. A pearl of creamy goodness teases me and I quickly dispatch it with a lick. I look to him for permission and he offers a nod before I take him deep in my throat. This is a cock that needs proper worship. My tongue drags along his shaft and I explore his thick ridge with sloppy sucks. I’m rewarded with another jolt of liquid. I wrap my fingers around his cock and lap in circles at his balls. They are too big to fit in my mouth, but I try anyway. I leave red lip prints in my wake marking my territory. His hand closes over mine and helps me find a rhythm as my mouth explores. My pussy drips in anticipation. I open my mouth to take him in my throat again. I like it rough. I move his hand to hold my hair and grab his ass as permission to go harder. He does not disappoint. With a guttural growl, he fucks my pretty face until my eyes are watering and I need to break the connection to breathe.

I gasp for a moment and then pull him down for a kiss. I hope he can taste himself on my lips. I wrap my legs around him again and dig the points of my heels into his calves. Just enough to make him feel it. I’m ready to take what I need.

He enters me swiftly and I feel myself stretch to accommodate his girth. I buck my hips up to milk his cock with slick strokes. A low growl rumbles from my lips, and I bite his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. He grabs my throat to pin me to the bed and slams his hips into me. I feel the power building within me, and I unleash a yowl while flipping him on his back. His face registers surprise at my sudden display of strength. I roll my hips to engulf his cock and rock back in forth with frantic rhythm. He takes one of my tits in his mouth, gentle at first, but then latches on like a wolf. I feel the pressure of his teeth and explode in orgasm. My pussy spasms as every cell in my body is lit up with pleasure. I keep fucking him as waves wash over over and I no longer feel anything, but release. I collapse, gasping, against his shoulder as he grabs my ass and pumps me full. I take it all.

I kiss him gently one more time before putting him to sleep. I touch his forehead and his face goes slack. I probably should have asked his name, but there will be time for that tomorrow. I adjust my dress and quickly head home.

Goosebumps pock my arms as I tiptoe into the dark sleeping house. The door clicks softly closed as I slip off my heels and pick my way across the chilly slate floor. I peel off my dress and drop it in a heap in the corner of my bedroom before sitting on my bed to remove the rest of my clothes. I retrieve the vial from my nightstand and take a long drink. My throat registers a bit of soreness from the thick cock that it accommodated just hours before. I feel the tingle begin to grow within my body.

My husband groans and rolls over in bed as I slide in next to him. His heat feels good against my naked skin, and he snakes a hand around my waist, pulling me into his embrace.

I turn and press my lips to his. He murmurs in his sleep. I press my naked body to his and sling a leg over his hip. The telltale sign of my marital indiscretion seeps from my swollen slit. I rub against him until he is taut with promise. I gently push him onto his back and straddle his sleeping form. His cock becomes coated in my lover’s cum as the transformation begins. I move my hips in slow circles to savor him one last time. I lean down for our last kiss and begin to drink his memories away. Painless for him but electric shivers course through my body as I relieve all of our moments together. I keep my lips firmly on his as his body gives me everything. I ride him slowly, squeezing his thick cock as I coax him to cum. It’s slow and sweet when he finally spills into me. My skin glows and I am renewed once more. When he wakes, our life together will be erased from his memory and any trace of me will be expunged from his life. I leave the house to steal back to my lover’s bed at the hotel. Perhaps a long life with this one will make me choose a different path when time begins to show on me once more.

This witchy prompt was from #FantasySmutFriday. Click below for more writers and more prompts from the ever imaginative Charlton Tod.

Lame Ghost Story

Lame Ghost Story

I was working on some writing exercises and came across this one which asked the writer to use a gym, knitting needles, a rose, and a book of poetry to write a spooky story. Here is my crack at it.

The air is stale and smells faintly of sweat and popcorn. I wrinkle my nose and check my own pits. Freshness established. I walk into the empty gym. I’m guessing my phone fell somewhere on the bleachers, lost in the final big wave of cheering. What a night. We crushed Spencer County and I met a girl. I should hustle to get back to the dance in the cafeteria. I can’t believe that I’m an idiot who lost his phone. I also can’t believe that Cynthia Stephens said yes to a dance with me. My head spins thinking about holding her in my arms. I promised her that I would be right back. She looked really annoyed that I had to leave, but my mom would kill me if I lost my phone. I can’t believe I never noticed Cynthia at school until tonight. Cynthia! I yell her name into the empty room, and my voice bounces off the walls. I blush and look around. Reputation solid.

The cavernous gym is dark save one glimmer of light coming from the bleachers. Must be some sort of emergency lighting. I try to flip on the overhead lights, but the switch only sputters a few sparks.  Woo hoo public school.  The dark clings to me and the air feels cooler than it did with a hundred screaming fans.  I wish I had my coat.  My sneakers squeak as I move towards the only source of light in the room.  

My foot scuffs against something soft at half court.  I bend down to examine it.  It’s a rose.  Probably left over from homecoming court, I thought. Cynthia.  She  looked beautiful in her long red dress as she stood at the edge of the bleachers watching the end of the game.  I begin to hum to myself as joy again bubbles up at the thought of being close to her. I clutch the rose as I move closer to the illumination.  I hear something now.  It’s like a clicking sound.  Familiar, yet strange to hear in a gym. 

Finally, I can peer under the bleachers. I’m startled by a bent figure sitting in a rocking chair. Her hands move deftly as they add to an ever growing knitted scarf. It coils around her feet like a python. She looks at me, and I feel safe. It’s just someone’s grandma knitting while waiting for the dance to end. It feels good to be in the light.

“You brought me a flower?  How nice.  Such a nice young man. Place it on the table and come closer.”

I shrug and nod. Her voice is so comforting. It makes me think of working in the kitchen and cooking with my grandma. I place the flower on the little table holding the lamp. There is a faded book of poetry that looks well loved. The pages are yellowed and most are dog eared. I’m compelled to pick it up.

“Oh.  Will you read to me?  My old eyes would appreciate that very much.  Such sweet words.  Makes me feel young again.  Read from page twelve please.” 

I flip to the page and begin to read.  

“I promise to love you always.  I promise to never leave.  I promise that we will be together forever.”  

“Such a sweet promise. Boys need to keep their promises.  I’ve waited such a long time for you to come back for our dance.” 

Confusion marks my brow as I look up to the old woman. She’s left her chair and the tattered rags she’s wearing are scarlet red. The same shade as Cynthia’s gown. I will my feet to move, but she is faster than shadows. I look into the gaping sockets where her eyes should be and feel her bony grip pulling me in for an embrace. My scream is cut off by the constricting scarf that is now wound tightly around my neck. I’m glad my pits were fresh.

Where the Fuck are my Glasses?

Where the Fuck are my Glasses?

The alarm blared on my nightstand and I swatted my phone to silence the intrusion on my dreams.

“Another day, another dollar,” I muttered as I opened my eyes a slit. My room was still dark and the rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan was the only sound. The air had grown chilly overnight and the thin cotton of my nightgown felt inadequate. Snuggling deeper into the blankets felt delicious as I willed myself to warm up a little. My legs felt silky as they rubbed together. Waxing really paid off. I made a mental note to do it again in a few weeks as I enjoyed the warmth brought on by the friction of soft skin on skin. I peeped a toe out from under my quilt to check to see if the room felt warmer and the clammy grip of morning make it scamper back to safety.

My desk, spreadsheets, and files beckoned me from the business corner in my brain. Spreadsheets. Mmmmm. The rest of my brain had other thoughts.

“Spread them wider or I will have to get the bar to teach you how to stand again,” Thomas had barked at me. The sting of the crop made me adjust position and slip deeper under his spell. He was simply marvelous.

I wiggled my butt to test for any latent soreness. Nope. Arnica and had aspirin cleared up any trace of my weekend romp.

My phone chirped from the nightstand and I brought it close to my face to read the message. I had to squint a little, but if I held my tongue just right, I could make out the words. Stupid poor eyesight. Thanks for the bad genes, Mom.

Mmmm. Thomas. The text just said:

Cold, beautiful?

Two little words caused shock waves to reverberate through my body. I quickly texted back:

Want to warm me up?

Can’t. Already at work.

I sighed. Of course he was. I imagined him leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on his desk. I wanted to straddle him and smother his handsome face with my boobs. Office sex was a fantasy of mine. I wondered if his spinning chair would support us both. I wanted to leave his lap streaked with kitten cream and his face bedecked with lipstick kisses. I wanted to be bent over his desk and spanked. So yummy.

Send pics.

I choked on laughter. I looked like hell and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet. My curls were in a snarl that poofed off the top of my head and my face felt oily from sleep. But. My tits still looked good all perked up from the cold room. I raised my phone and hastily snapped a dimly lit picture. I hoped it was enough. The phone stayed silent for longer than I expected. I groaned and began to look for my glasses.

Reach in your nightstand and retrieve the clover clamps. Put them on those pert nipples, kitten.

Damn it. I hated those clamps. They were right where he said to look and I dangled them over my face. Beautiful. Delicate. But painful. I held my phone with one hand and opened a clamp with the other. With a deep breath, I pressed the record button. I whimpered as I grazed my aroused nip through my thin tank top. I rubbed my tits and then spilled them out of the top of my shirt. He would love that. It was going to hurt. I sucked in a breath and allowed the clamp to take hold. I quickly sent him the video. I needed to get the second clamp on. His response was immediate.

Good girl. Now show me the other.

Swooning and floaty, I gently attached the second clamp and sent him the video.

Mmmmmm. Beautiful. You can take them off when you find your glasses. Face time me, but don’t make a sound. I am working. I’ll be watching you, but I don’t want the whole office to know what my precious girl is doing.

Face Time him?! I quickly scuttled out of bed and blindly took a swoop at my hair and slicked on some lip gloss. I squinted at the mirror. Good enough. I guess. I can’t see a damn thing.

Waiting, kitten.

He hated to wait. Shit. I propped the phone up on my nightstand and quickly called him. His face filled my phone screen and my pussy pulsed. He always looked at me like I was a roast beef dinner and he was starving. But today he looked like a blob. His voice boomed in my quiet room.

“Spin for me, kitten.”

I did an awkward twirl and stuck my tongue out at him. My nipples ached, but his honeyed voice pushes thoughts of pain to the back of my brain.

“Strip, you bad little thing. I don’t have time for your sass. Let me see the clamps.”

My tits bobbed at the camera lens as the clamp chain slaps against my body. Owie. Wincing, I strip off my pajama pants and slide my tank top off over my hips. I dance around and wiggle for him a little bit. I hoped he was smiling.

“Remember to shhhhhhh. Where are you glasses, kitten? Show me.”

I begin to move around the room patting the carpet in the hopes to find my glasses. The chain swings and each time I move, my tits sway and pain zips through my body. I could hear him chuckle softly as he watched me move around the room. The pain reminded me that I was his kitten. He wanted a show. I arched my back and let the chain shimmy between my tits. I stood and positioned my butt in front of the camera and slid a wicked little finger along my slick slit. I turned and licked my finger clean and stood in front of the camera to show off my chained tits. The pain was coming in waves. I wouldn’t last much longer. I needed to find those glasses. Crawling again, I began to move through the pile of sex junk next to my bed that was left over from the weekend. Gloves, ears, toys, cock rings, all very good things. I slid a hand under the bed. Success! I perched them on my nose and looked at the camera so that I could finally see Thomas clearly.

His camera was tilted down to face his lap. The front of his pants was bulging and I could hear him talking to someone in the room. I suppressed a giggle and hungrily drank in the sight of his covered cock. The screen went black. Our connection was lost. I snapped a picture of me victorious in my glasses and clamps and sent it to him.

I then quickly removed the damn clover clamps with a shaky hand. Sometimes taking them off hurt more than putting them on. I massaged my boobs and headed for the shower. I turned on the water when my phone chirped again.

Such a very good girl. Meet me for lunch in my office. Wear a skirt.

Thank you, Charlton Tod for a another great prompt!

Snooze

Snooze

I need to put all of the kittens back in the box before the python comes back. I grab the ginger one and it squalls and fights me as I try to save it from certain disaster. The box is flimsy and hard to hold but I manage to snag the last baby cat and clutch it to my chest. I feel the snake looking at me. I hear it’s breathing and feel a shiver of dread crawl down my back. I turn and face the wide gaping maw of death and just as I succumb to darkness I hear a distant persistent bleat. It resonates over and over. It fills my head until the dreamworld vanishes.

Damn. It’s morning. I slide my gaze around the still dark room and see fuzzy shadows. I smack blindly at my phone until silence once again fills the room. Cold clings to my bare shoulders so I huddle down into my blankets. I stretch a toe outside of my comfortable nest to test the air again. Freezing. I steel myself for the inevitable. I must get to the shower. I breathe in and envision the deliciously warm water spilling over my body and do a silent count down to spring forth from my bed.

One. Mississippi Mississippi Mississippi

Two. I take a deep breath.

Three! I throw off the covers and instead of dashing to the bathroom my phone brings to chirp merrily. I fumble for it on my nightstand and hold it really close to my face so I can see the text. Squinting, I read:

You up?

I sigh and throw the phone as far as I can away from my bed. I bought an Otterbox for a reason.

Men. I lose my mojo to race to the shower and begin to think about my weekend forays with the opposite sex. Most men are exciting for fifteen minutes on average and then their dumbness or aloofness creeps back in leaving you bewildered by the initial attraction. Bunch of damn pythons.

I had several dates over the weekend, and they were nice. Not mind blowing. One wasn’t even really memorable, but in the moment, it felt nice. Mr. “You up?” was probably the best of all my dates. He at least knew his way around a clit and kissed with excellence. I hoped we will go out on another date soon. I did like him, mostly. He had a habit of tapping his fingers on the table which was distracting and he was obsessed with talking about his job. At one point, I wasn’t sure if he was interviewing me for a position or flirting with me.

He did have lovely hands and a gorgeous smile. I scowled. My damn pussy was betraying me. I felt the familiar gnaw of want begin to grow in my belly. I threw off the blankets to see if the cold would shock me back to reality but all it did was kiss my body into alertness and leave me with stiff nipples. I stroke the soft patch of hair between my thighs and finally give in.

I roll onto my belly and snag my trusty Doxy Die Cast 3 from the floor. It looks clean enough. This thing is the sex toy of champions. I place it in the sweet spot and let the engine purr. Ahhh. If only men could be this efficient. My mind wanders around memories of past cocks and lovers. Warm bliss begins to ebb and flow through my body as I rock in time to the alluring buzzing. My phone beeps just as I finally tip over into the delightful spasm of orgasm. A stupid smile on my face spreads across my face as I flip to my back.

I greedily slide fingers over my pussy and revel in the slick heat. My throbbing clit begs me for another round. I know this could go on all day and I must get to work even though my “office” is just in the next room. Invigorated but resigned I head for the shower. My glasses crunch under my foot. I set them on my face, pick up my phone and tap a reply.

Come over for lunch?

#WickedWednesday

#WickedWednesday

Prompt #434: Family Heirloom

Superstar

The water crept over her toes as she adjusted the tap. Anna eased her body into the tub, and the warmth lapped soothingly at her skin.

“Finally,” she muttered to the empty room. The busy evening melted into the rising bubbles and she began to tap her toes on the contrastingly cool faucet.

Anna hummed under her breath as she rewound her performance in her mind. She nailed the tricky choreography and the audience roared in appreciation. A pile of cash waited for her to count on the bed; mostly fives, but she saw a few Andrew Jackson’s peering up at her when she dumped her purse out. Fairly lucrative for doing what she loved.

Anna’s hair was still drawn up tight in the bun; a style her mother taught her how to create. It made for easy wig changes now, but it was also the signature of a well schooled ballerina. She remembers squalling as her mother knotted her hair high atop her head for yet another dance lesson. Anna hated the monotony of barre work, and craved the freedom to bound like a gazelle across the floor. The repetition and exercise built her now lean and lithe body, but her heart wasn’t in the classical trappings of that style of dance.

Anna was drawn to fast and sexy choreography, which she highlighted with her ability to whirl around a bar in next to nothing. She could also grab a dollar bill with her booty cheeks, a skill the ballet prudes never taught in dance school. She felt powerful when she was in the spotlight and commanded a room like no other woman on the stage. Men fell all over themselves to get her attention. She liked the control.

A muffled thump from the bedroom made her eyes snap open and broke her reverie.

“Someone is impatient tonight,” she sang out loud enough to be heard in the other room. The thumps ceased and she chuckled. He can wait, and he will be punished for shortening her tub time. She fiddled the tub drain open with her toes and rose out of the now lukewarm water. She wrapped herself in a huge fluffy towel and peered into the partially steamed mirror. Her lipstick needed touching up but she was otherwise refreshed by a quick swipe of powder. She tucked the dainty aged bobby-pin that ended in a jeweled star back into her bun.

“Momma’s little super star,” she laughed at the mirror. Her mother always said that the pin would bring her luck on the stage. Her mother had worn it during her years as a principal dancer. It was now Anna’s turn to live her dream and reach for her own kind of fame. The thrill of being the center of attention was no less even with an adoring audience of one. She slipped out of the towel and slid on a long black satin robe and cherry red stilettos. She considered his punishment. She chose a slender cane from her wall of tools and strode into the bedroom. Her grin lit up the room. Showtime.

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FOWC with Fandango — Deviate

FOWC with Fandango — Deviate

9/22/2020 Deviate

The styrofoam container of mashed potatoes slump out of the bag as I extract tonight’s dinner from my cluttered arms. I holler up the stairs at my teens and husband who have all been working from home all day. I survey the damage as I deposit milk in the fridge and my briefcase next to the couch. The sink is full. The counter is cluttered with remnants of brownie baking, colored pencils, and what looks like science notecards. The cats are unfed and squalling around my ankles. Upstairs remains silent. They probably all have on headphones. I walk to get the cat food from under the counter and feel the crunch of a thousand Cheerios underfoot. It’s not really a thousand but there’s enough to be noticeable by the naked eye. I glare at the highly visible broom.

“And miles to go before I sleep,” I mutter under my breath as I deftly begin the simple chores. I tackle the dishes and clutter with gusto. I’ve almost returned our square of paradise back to the default setting, when my family thunders downstairs. Plates fly to the table and the world is filled with delightful chatter. The drive through meal is consumed in a flash and soon, dishes are back in the sink and the tornado returns to the upper realms of the house.

I wipe the table and sigh as I move towards the newly dirtied dishes. My reflection startles me in the window, haggard and weary. Sunlight dances across my backyard and the trees beckon me with their leafy arms. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. Literally. They are lovely. I open the back door and leave the monotony of my everyday drudgery. I kick off my shoes and tuck my socks inside. The grass welcomes my toes and I find a plush spot in the middle of the yard.

The world slows and stills as I’m lulled to sleep by the birds and breeze.

“Seriously, Mom?!

I open my eyes to see my children peering down at me. I have promises to keep.

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#FantasySmutFridays: A Matter of Taste

#FantasySmutFridays: A Matter of Taste

I nibbled the end of my pen and gazed out the open window. A haze clung to the dewy grass. The world beyond my yard seemed out of focus. The crisp air coaxed goosebumps to rise on my bare thighs and I picked up my coffee cup, welcoming the warmth.

I doodled on the yellow legal pad as I sipped my morning muse trying to stitch together words and images to find a story. Something other people would like, something that might make them smile. I enjoyed the thought of readers peeking inside my brain and seeing the dirty nonsense that rolls through my head like ticker tape and recognizing a tawdry part of themselves. But nothing really excited me this morning.

My pen began to sputter ink and I scribbled it one last time in the hopes of revival but the well used tool had eked out its last line. I flipped it toward the trash can and heard it miss the mark and clatter to the floor. My feline army immediately went to investigate. They determined that there wasn’t a threat and then began their morning request for treats and food. I filled their bowls and gave both of them a scritch on the head before taking on a quest for a new pen.

I opened the first junk drawer and had to jiggle it a bit to settle the contents. I shoved through packs of crayons, Sharpies, spools of thread, a flashlight, batteries, junk mail, and the bits of life that don’t really fit anywhere but in this drawer. Finally, smooshed in the back of the drawer was another ink pen, but laying innocently next to it, was one of my leather collars. I pulled both things out of the drawer.

I loved this collar and remembered how it ended up downstairs. Sir had brought me downstairs for a saucer of milk. My leash was wound taut in his fist as he allowed me to raise and lower my head to lap up the drink. I spilled the creamy goodness on the floor and remembered the faint taste of floor polish as he made me clean my mess. That was a very good session and we ended up sweaty and tangled on the couch. Afterwards, he put up the leash and in my post-orgasmic stupor, I shoved the collar in the drawer before scampering up the stairs to plead my case for a round two.

I was alone this morning. I stuck my pen in my mouth as I fastened the collar around my throat. The bell merrily jingled as I shimmied my shoulders. I admired my reflection in the microwave door and decided that since the cats had morning treats then the Kitten needed a treat as well. I spat my pen towards my legal pad and pulled my saucer from the cupboard. It made my stomach twist in anticipation. I am a Kitten. I am a Kitten. I asked Alexa to play my theme song by Momus and began to wiggle dance to the loud music as I prepared my treat. I didn’t want the actual felines to put their noses in my drink so I set up on the kitchen island. I dragged over a chair so I could hop up on the counter.

I began to lap up the milk. Each flick of my tongue made a gush of delightful comfort trickle down my throat. My nipples grew pert beneath my thin white tank top and I lowered my shoulders to drink so that my tits would brush to cool granite. The carnal satisfaction of lapping and licking made warmth spread all over my body. I closed my eyes as I lapped to the rhythm of the happy music. This was way better than writing. My butt was bobbing. I am a Kitten. I am a Kitten. The familiar roaring ache of sexual need began to consume me. My tongue ravaged the innocent saucer until it was dry. The music abruptly stopped.

I startled and scrambled around. His deep voice rumbled across the room.

“Hi Kitten.”