Make me dirty

Oxnard said:

Wow, you guys have really taken this to a whole new level. Hope you won't mind me takin' a swing at this.

*******

She looked over her shoulder to see Daphne pulling out a translucent shaft. Her eyes widened and her hands trembled. The sharp clamps of the straps meant it was wrapped and ready to go.

“Oh, Val,” a reassuring hand caressed her buttocks. “I know it’s been awhile since last time, but we both know you love this, too.”

Click to expand...

Welcome aboard Oxnard.
That was a nice little story - keep sharing your writing here.
We've just been on a BDSM kick the last few pages. If you go back a little before that you'll see my stories weren't always that way.

Word: Blueberry

Joe and Debbie were good friends, not fuck buddies, not dating or a couple, just friends. They would occasionally flirt with each other and joke with each other about sex, were attracted to each other, but never actually acted on their words until that one night...
They were having dinner together in Joe's apartment when they were talking about foods that could be erotic or sexual.
"Blueberries," Joe said.
"How can a blueberry or blueberries be sexual?" Debbie asked.
"It's not the fruit itself, it's what you can do with it's accompaniments that makes it sexual."
"I still don't understand," Debbie said.
"Let me demonstrate."
Joe went to the refrigerator and got a bowl of blueberries.
He also got a can of whipped cream.
He scooped a small dish of blueberries for each of them and brought it to the table with the whipped cream.
"Now the blueberry alone isn't sexual in the least," he said.
"However if I wanted to add whipped cream to this desert and slipped with the can like this," he said as he sprayed a dollop onto Debbie's cleavage which was visible due to the low-cut blouse she was wearing. "It could be sexual
"Especially if I went to clean it like this," he said as he started to lick the whipped cream up.
"I understand," she said.
"Especially if there's an accident like this," she continued as she sprayed the whipped cream onto the front of Joe's pants and then started licking the crotch clean.
"Exactly," Joe grinned as they undressed each other.
"The blueberry can also be sexual when eaten off the body like this," he said as he placed a blueberry on each breast, her belly button, and her pussy, slowly eating each one.
"It can also be a balancing act," she said as she balanced blueberries on top of his cock before licking each one off.
When she was done, Joe stood her up and gave her a passionate kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She softly moaned her approval and gently stroked Joe's cock. He slid an arm down and started fingering her pussy and she quickly became wet.
"Take me," she whispered.
Joe laid her back onto a table before sliding his cock inside her.
They were looking into each other's eyes as he slowly pumped into her.
"Faster and harder," she moaned.
Joe obliged and started slamming into her, causing the table to move across the floor slightly.
After several minutes she shrieked her pleasure.
"Yeah baby, I'm almost there, I want to feel you shoot inside me."
"I'm almost there too, you feel so nice and tight," Joe groaned back.
Minutes later he felt her pussy clamp on his cock as she orgasmed, setting him off as she shot inside her.
They tenderly kissed and hugged while looking into each other's eyes.
"So are we now friends with benefits or are we a couple?" Joe asked.
"If you can be that good every time, we are definitely a couple because I don't want to share something that good," Debbie responded.
"Good," Joe said. "Because I don't want to share you either, I want you to be mine."


Word: Videogame

AverageGary said:

Word: Blueberry

Joe and Debbie were good friends, not fuck buddies, not dating or a couple, just friends. They would occasionally flirt with each other and joke with each other about sex, were attracted to each other, but never actually acted on their words until that one night...


Word: Videogame

Click to expand...

Good one, Gary! Very erotic.
Who will take the game?
I can if I may.

Serendipity

Cleaning her gun meticulously was Wanda’s meditation focus before going into a dangerous situation. It kept her hands and mind busy for minutes at a time and she could repeat the process as often as there needed.

This one would be a doozie so the gun was cleaner than it had been when it came out of the factory. No trace of gun powder, oiled to optimum specifications, all mechanism checked and tested. There would be no mechanical failure on this op.

Freshly showered, unscented soap and shampoo, leaving no trace of anything which could betray her presence. All jewelry on the dresser, clit ring included, all the tags removed from her generic, off-the-rack clothes. Nothing would make it easy for her to be identified in case of capture.

Joints stretched, muscles warmed, her body in as perfect condition as years of training could make it, she was ready.

The intel had been triple checked by the analysts before it was sent up the chain of command for the ultimate go ahead. Then the order was given. The mission was to proceed without delay. The data must be either retrieved or destroyed. There was no middle ground. One way or the other, the enemy must not be allowed to use it.

*****

The light drizzle muffled what little sound her soft rubber boots might make. Her silhouette, attenuated by a black combat suit covering her from head to ankles, with holes for the blackened skin around eyes, nose and mouth, she was one shadow among others. Intense concentration was required so her movements were random and would not register on the sophisticated detection system.

Praise be to the technical genius who had devised the electronic by-pass key which opened the door into the building invisibly to the program recording entries and exits. The ghost was in.

Stolen floor plans proved to be accurate as she made her way deeper into the terrorists’ inner sanctum toward the leader’s office. Their mole’s information had been tested to the last byte by various means before the operation was even considered.

Seven minutes later, Wanda was looking down the last corridor, eyes on the door she needed to breach. The timetable respected to the second. The scantily clad woman who came out of it was an anomaly, though. The place was deemed empty but for the security personnel. The red bustier supporting and enhancing superb breasts with rouged nipples was definitely not part of the military uniform. Neither were the elbow-length gloves, the g-string, nor the thigh-high stiletto boots, all blood-red also. The alabaster skin and golden blond hair made her an unlikely member of the middle-eastern cell. She must be ‘entertainment’, another example of the hypocrisy of those supposedly pure religious fighters.

A few seconds with closed eyes, Wanda found her inner peace space. This could only mean opposition in the office. Stealth ingress, theft and egress were no more an option. The plan would have to be switched for the shock and awe version and the destruction of the target. Unfortunately, she would be part of the collateral damage.

Like all members of her specialized department, Wanda had no family, no loved one, no one to miss her or look for her when she didn’t come home in the morning. They were the expendables.

Cultivated anonymity was their trademark. Her superior body forever hidden under non-descript and ill-fitting clothes, hair color a drab brown and contact lenses covering her striking light grey eyes, Wanda could and had infiltrated groups and organizations without leaving a memory of her presence.

One last look at the bubble ass sashaying its way around the corner would be Wanda’s ultimate vision as she faced her fate.

Her gun and thermite grenade in one hand, the electronic key in the other, she stood before the door. With a last breath, she was mentally rehearsing how she would insert the card and switch the armed bomb before the door even opened to be ready for whatever she found on the other side.

A faint whiff of perfume she attributed to the woman who had just left was her only warning, misinterpreted as it was. The sting on her neck and the spreading paralyzing cold were her second to last conscious perception. The last one was the satisfied smile on the full red lips of the woman standing over her useless body.

*****

An orgasmic wave of sensations was one hell of a way to wake up. Accompanied by the thought that she should be dead, it should have been dampened. It was not. Quite the opposite. Her climax was enhanced beyond anything she could have imagined by the relief of being alive.

The unnatural position, the restraints, the alternately feeling of cold and heat on her skin, all of it, even her scalp, all contributed to stimulate her senses nearly beyond endurance. When she screamed her throat raw, there was no way anyone could have differentiated the sound from one of excruciating pain.

All her training, all her preparations were for naught. This had never been considered by any of the psychological experts.

Even after the height of pleasure was attained and maintained for an impossibly long time, her mind was reeling as she took stock of her situation. Light air movement told her that she had been shorn of every single hair on her body, even her eyelashes. She was naked as she had never been. She was supported by some kind of harness or complicated rope arrangement. Her pussy lips were spread by clips of some sort, her nipples similarly clamped.

Her thighs were splayed and her calves tied tight to them. This would hurt when, or if, she was released. Her arms were stretched at shoulder level, supporting part of her weight which strained her joints. Her bald head was immobilized and her eyelids kept open by what she judged to be the same apparatus used by eye surgeons.

The same subtle scent she had smelled before came to her announcing the beautiful face which bent over her.

“Good morning, Agent Fisher. Welcome to my humble abode. As far as the world knows, you have vanished off the face of the Earth after completing your mission. The building was destroyed and the data is assumed to have gone in smoke. Of course, it was never there in the first place. This was an elaborate trap to get you into my hands. Don’t look panicked, I have no use for any information you may have in that brain of yours. I will not torture you for it.”

The woman gently caressed Wanda’s cheek. She dropped some liquid on her eyeballs to prevent drying, or so Wanda hoped.

“This whole terrorist cell set-up, the theft of the DOD information, everything was to get one of you super-agents into my hands. I was hoping for a man, but I’m sure I can get all I need from your body, my dear. You see, I have perfected means of pleasuring humans which are quite revolutionary. So much so that I have been banned to experiment on living subjects, having killed a few too many. So I needed the perfect subject to prove the validity of my theories. Tag. You’re it.”

As she spoke, Wanda felt a foreign object invade her vagina. She could feel her cream running down the crack of her ass as the thing was pulled out, then pushed back in. Something was attached to her clit, gradually stimulating it with increasing efficiency.

Over the next eternity or two, she was penetrated, sodomized, deep throated, whipped, caned, spanked, electro-stimulated, given belly-bloating enemas, clit and nipple pierced. All that time, kept at a peak of orgasm so her thoughts were a blur. She was at the mercy of her over-stimulated nervous system, unable to find surcease even in the oblivion of unconsciousness.

*****

“You see, General, not a scratch on her body and she will be good as new after a good night’s sleep. No more water-boarding or extensive physical and psychological enhanced interrogation. If the best prepared human being can be made to reveal her deepest secrets, even ones she isn’t conscious of, what do you think we can do with ordinary terrorists?”

“I’m convinced, Doctor. This goes against every conventional theory. How did you come up with this idea?”

“Like so many great discoveries, by a fortuitous accident. I was working on this body suit for total immersion in virtual reality. Then the company CEO’s daughter came to me with this kinky fantasy of hers. It was a simple matter to modify the genital and anal attachments. The scalp electrodes were slightly moved to stimulate different parts of the brain. And voilà!”

“Do you mean to tell me that your revolutionary interrogation method is based on a videogame?”

“Exactly, sir. As per your request, a suit in your size is ready. When do you want to try it?”


Word: Needle

(There is a subtle movie reference in the story. I wonder if anyone will get it.)

AnAngelReally said:

“Like so many great discoveries, by a fortuitous accident. I was working on this body suit for total immersion in virtual reality. Then the company CEO’s daughter came to me with this kinky fantasy of hers. It was a simple matter to modify the genital and anal attachments. The scalp electrodes were slightly moved to stimulate different parts of the brain. And voilà!”

“Do you mean to tell me that your revolutionary interrogation method is based on a videogame?”

“Exactly, sir. As per your request, a suit in your size is ready. When do you want to try it?”


Word: Needle

(There is a subtle movie reference in the story. I wonder if anyone will get it.)

Click to expand...

What a cracker of a story Angel, you need to publish! Publish! (Clockwork Orange?)

Come on RabbleVox, or someone else who may like to try.


Word: Needle

rawsilk said:

What a cracker of a story Angel, you need to publish! Publish! (Clockwork Orange?)

Come on RabbleVox, or someone else who may like to try.

Click to expand...

I will publish soon.
"A fish called Wanda", actually. LOL (Agent Wanda Fisher)

If no one will thread the needle, I can.
What about you, Silk?


Word: Needle

AnAngelReally said:

Cleaning her gun meticulously was Wanda’s meditation focus before going into a dangerous situation. It kept her hands and mind busy for minutes at a time and she could repeat the process as often as there needed.


Word: Needle

(There is a subtle movie reference in the story. I wonder if anyone will get it.)

Click to expand...

Good story Angel!

I'll pass on needle. I can't work it into the storyline I'm toying with in my mind (and no, it's not a sequel to my last two Jerry stories)

Perfection

Alexis has an arm around my waist as we walk along, like any other couple. We stroll at a leisurely pace, window-shopping like two... girlfriends, without a care in the world. I’m beginning to wonder where we’re going. We’re walking down a long corridor. The stores are more like shops. A cobbler, a key maker, a hairdresser, an old-style barber, a computer repair tech, a CPA, a couple of artisans doing artsy stuff.

“They put all the service people in this corridor.” Alexis tells me. “I found it a while back, walking around during my lunch break. I’ll take you to this store when we come back. The woman makes exquisite jewelry in silver. I could never afford to buy her products before.”

“You brought me here to see this?”

“No, silly. I found a true treasure at the very end. I have no idea how he ended up here and he won’t tell me.”

We finally arrive at a non-descript store. Incognito would be a better word for it. There is no sign, there are opaque drapes in the windows and the door.

She was right. I can’t believe it.

The space is much bigger than it looks from the outside. There must be a dozen mannequins of all shapes and sizes with partially assembled dresses on them. One whole wall is covered with shelves filled with bolts of the most incredible fabrics I’ve ever seen. I thought I was a discriminating experienced buyer of high fashion, but I feel like a kid in a toy store.

A short Asian man comes out of a hidden area with a length of fabric which he proceeds to drape on a naked mannequin. Soon, he’s pinning it in place and I look at an amazing dress in the early stages of creation.

Alexis comes up behind me. She slips her arms around my waist, under my jacket, and her hands roam on my belly. She runs one of them in my waistband.

I feel my nipples crinkle deliciously. I’m not sure if it’s because of her caresses or from the art before me.

“My friend Zenzō doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s creating. While we wait, we can look around, but if you want to touch the fabrics, you’ll have to come with me to wash your hands. These are very expensive materials. Some he’s invented himself. In fact, that’s why I brought you here.”

I can’t wait to run my hands on some... hell, on everything I see. I follow her to the rear end of the shop. I’m seen workshops bathrooms, before, but never one so sparkling clean. Alexis waves in front of a hands-free infrared proximity sensor to turn on the water. She takes an unmarked bottle and squirts soap on my hands. She washes them thoroughly. She makes the thing a sensual experience. I wish she was washing the rest of my body. She even brushes under my fingernails. The rinse is a letdown though it’s still sensuous. She dries our hands under a warm airflow. Finally, she runs her finger on my nails. When she feels an asperity on one, she takes a file and makes it even.

I’ve been caressed, fondled, licked, sucked, touched in all manners and orifices, I’ve been fucked and occasionally made love to, but this is the most erotic experience I’ve ever had, bar none. I can’t help but whine when she tells me to hold my hands up and not to touch anything but the fabrics otherwise she’ll have to do it all over again. I almost spit on my hands before I realize what I’m thinking. As if reading my mind, she molds her body to mine and kisses me.

Who is that girl?

Slowly. Oh, so very slowly, she disengages. I can feel myself getting wet from the smile she gives me.

“Do you still want to check out the fabrics?” She asks in a husky voice. She’s as turned on as I am.

I want to shout ‘NO! IT’S YOU I WANT!’ at the top of my lungs, but I follow her back to the front.

There’s silk, raw silk, cotton in all kinds of weaves, wool as soft as a baby’s butt, denim so smooth it must feel like a second skin, all manners of chiffon, velvet, satin and more. And the colors. The colors. Vibrant, subdued, bright, dark, some I don’t even have a name for. I’m in heaven. I want to throw them on the floor and roll my naked body on them, but it would be sacrilegious.

Alexis steps in front of me, takes my face in her hands. I can see it in her eyes. She understands. She tenderly licks the tears from my cheeks. I put my hands on her hips and simply hold her there as we share this beautiful moment.

A throat being cleared brings us back to reality.

The Asian man is smiling at us. He knows.

Alexis bows at him.

“Konnichiwa, Zenzō-san.”

He bows even deeper.

“Konnichiwa, Alexis-sama.”

“Master Zenzō, this is my good friend Jada. Jada, this is Master Zenzō. He has allowed me to visit occasionally. This is the first time I bring anyone with me.” She bows again to the artist. “I hope it’s all right, Master. We were very careful.”

“I see. This girlfriend?”

“No, Master. She’s my roommate.”

“She nice. Good girlfriend.” He looks me up and down. “Good body, why hide in garbage bag?”

Garbage bag? I’m wearing a three thousand credits suit.

Alexis puts a restraining hand on my arms before I explode.

“You have to excuse Master Zenzō. He’s a little eccentric. All geniuses are, I’m told. You see, he was run out of Japan when he refused to sell one of his creations to the wife of a very powerful man because she smelled. I suppose he shouldn’t have said that to her face.”

“You only looking... again?” He asks Alexis.

“No, Master. I’m buying this time.”

“You rich now? You win lottery?”

“No, Master. I found a patron for my music and I have to go to a very important event tomorrow night...”

“You prostitute? Tomorrow? No can do. Too soon. Next month, maybe.”

She does her thing again. I have to find out her trick. I sure could use it.

She hangs on his arm and... coos. Could it be as simple as that?

“Please, Master. What about that dress on the mannequin you keep hidden in your office? You said it was made for me.”

“My invention?” He laughs. “You cannot afford. Is unique. You know unique? Only one bolt. Use part for test dress.”

“Can you show it to my friend? Please. Pretty please.”

She works him over good. Within five minutes, he’s pulling aside a drape to reveal a vision of paradise. There is no other word. I reach for it reverently, but he slaps my hand away. I understand. I don’t complain.

“I can afford it.” I tell him in a low voice. Then, more assured. “Name your price. I’ll take it.”

He looks me up and down.

“Show body. Take off this thing.” He flicks his fingers disdainfully at my suit. I only smile this time. A man who can create such a masterpiece has a right to any opinion he has about clothes.

I stand naked before him. He walks around me, poking here, prodding there. He weight my breasts in his hands.

Turning to Alexis, he has her strip too then he pulls us in front of a tall mirror.

He slaps her ass, then mine.

“She hard muscle. You soft flesh.”

He cups one of her breasts in a hand and one of mine in another.

“She smaller, firm. You bigger, fall some.”

He tries to pinch Alexis’s belly and has no trouble doing it to mine. I get the message. The same when he runs his hands on her hips, then on mine.

“Dress made for her.” He tells me. “Not for you.”

“Why did you make a dress for her if you knew she couldn’t afford it?”

“Needed beautiful woman for beautiful dress. For you, two weeks.”

“Please, Master. It’s very important to me. When you did this one, you showed me. You said the secret to...”

I laugh when he slaps his hand on her mouth and glowers.

“You no say. Bad girl. One week.”

“She can pay extra.”

“Is hand sown. Five days.”

“What if I help? You said I have a fine stitch, and a steady hand with a needle.”

“I have other work. Four days.”

“I could make your favorite chinmi from back home.”

“Awabi no Kimo?”

“I can have living abalone flown in, just for you.”

“Deal.” He spits in his hand and so does she. They shake on it.

“You sure drive a hard bargain, kid.” He laughs with her.

“Hey! What about your thick accent?” I ask. “I thought you were just off the boat.”

“What century do you live in, lady? It’ll be ten thousand credits for your dress. I’ll have it done by noon tomorrow.”

“Woah! That means twenty thousand for both.”

“Not at all. Ten thousand for you and one thousand for her. That sounds fair. What do you think, Alex?”

“That sounds right to me.”

I look from one of the two jokers to the other, then I look at perfection again. I would have paid the twenty thousand just for mine.

I laugh with them but I still get my hand slapped when I reach to touch the dress.

“This one’s mine. You touch your own.”

I spend the next thirty minutes in a personal scanner, then he pinches my nipples. To see how they stands out, he says. Yeah! I sneer at him when he cups my mound with his hand.

“What was that about?”

“You’ll see tomorrow.” Alexis grins.

“And that?” I point at him licking the fingers he slipped in my vagina.

“Oh, that’s for my personal gratification.” It’s his turn to grin.

Yep. Two jokers.


Word: Carburator

Busy elves

Most people simply hate Christmas shopping. I don’t. I love it, in fact. The hustle, the bustle, the jostling, the impatience, the tired feet and aching backs, they all make my life so much easier.

Like most shopkeepers in the mall, it’s my busiest time of the year, when I make or break my annual budget. Unlike them, I choose my benefactors carefully. So many would not appreciate my efforts. It would even cause heartbreak and pain for them and their families.

I have preferred business hours too. Early bird gets the worm. Pshaw! I’m hardly ever up before noon. Why leave a warm nest if I don’t have to?

Mornings are made for loving. Lucky enough to live on the far outskirts of the city, we have this huge window in our bedroom. It offers a superb view of a valley. With gentle rolling hills in the distance, a single road transects it, so the snow-covered landscape stays pristine four months out of the year.

We love to gaze upon the peace and beauty as sweet pleasure rises, as the bliss of orgasm races through our bodies. My wife loves to be taken from the back, her soft breasts pressed on the cold glass. Mild exhibitionism, it was more so when we lived in the city proper. Here, we make love in our backyard, there it was in the various parks.

The compromise is well worth it for the serenity and quiet we found in this wonderful haven. Both city girls, it had been a childhood dream of ours. After long years of hard work, we finally got the inspiration while watching a movie. If they could do it, why not us. There were even detailed instructions.

We didn’t go half-cocked. Oh no! Long hours, days, weeks, months even we practised, rehearsed, perfected our craft. But that wasn’t enough. We had to learn to choose our targets well, do market research like the true crooks. And what about the after-action details, the liquidation of assets to best profit?

Our years of acting lessons paid off in a big way. She enrolled in specialized make-up classes and I in controversial computer programming. We worked like fiends, maintaining the appearances of a normal couple with steady but boring jobs.

It may sound like hardship, but we had lots of fun doing it, working toward a goal. Over time, to all appearances, we shifted from worker bees to self-employed women. After a long search, involving our friends and relatives, we found this small farm where we could have a large garden, and raise poultry and rabbits. At last, she had her cat and I love my dog.

A happy family, that’s us.

*****

Today, we chose a mall where Santa would arrive in a helicopter. The place promised to be packed. Good pickings for us, but not so much that we would wave red flags before we close up shop for the day.

As expected, we reap the benefits of our careful planning. People are so careless. Five times, I changed from flighty school girl to tired housewife and other innocuous personalities that no one would look at twice except for the men who leered at the cheeks showing below my short skirt or at the cleavage carelessly left exposed by one undone button too many.

They almost make it too easy, but I know better than to allow myself to become overconfident. That’s a sure first step on the road to failure. We’ve read about too many who did to risk our future needlessly.

After a stop in a gaudy jewelry store to make sure no dick is following me, I walk down the side corridor and there she is. To all appearances, a matron settled in for a while, A knitting needle stuck in her chignon while two more are a blur as she works on a pair of warm socks.

Under the guise of putting an empty soda can in the garbage can, I drop the result of my shopping expedition at the other end of the huge cavern in the large canvas bag at her side, knowing that by the time I walk her way again, the wallets and identifications will be in the postal box to be returned to their rightful owners while cash and credit cards will be distributed around her ample person, in carefully concealed pouches.

I can’t wait to peel off the fat suit at the end of the day to play with the gorgeous body hidden under it.

The life of a pick-pocket does have some rewards after all.


Word: Carburator

(I cheated a bit with the other story, so I wrote a brand new one this morning.)

AnAngelReally said:

Most people simply hate Christmas shopping. I don’t. I love it, in fact. The hustle, the bustle, the jostling, the impatience, the tired feet and aching backs, they all make my life so much easier.

Like most shopkeepers in the mall, it’s my busiest time of the year, when I make or break my annual budget. Unlike them, I choose my benefactors carefully. So many would not appreciate my efforts. It would even cause heartbreak and pain for them and their families.

Word: Carburator

(I cheated a bit with the other story, so I wrote a brand new one this morning.)

Click to expand...

Angel, as ever your work is so smoothly and beautifully constructed, the opening almost made me want to feel good about Christmas. Again the twist at the end. You dance us around so well.

rawsilk said:

Angel, as ever your work is so smoothly and beautifully constructed, the opening almost made me want to feel good about Christmas. Again the twist at the end. You dance us around so well.

Click to expand...

You still should feel good about the Christmas Spirit.
I don't care for what people twisted it into,
But I always believed in Santa and always will.

Word: Carburator

A man's shed has such a sexy feel about it, especially with the proper organization, a good range of tools and work tables. It is made all the better if there is something being repaired like an old car or a motorcycle.

Seeing a motorcycle in bits all laid out in the correct order allowing the reconstruction to be done properly, is a wonder to me.

The sexiest part of all is to see a good looking man with greasy hands working to repair whatever is not working.

I had texted Paul earlier and asked if he was around and might like some company. He said that would be great and to come back to the shed. I grinned at the message, I knew he would be in the shed, that is where he spends his leisure.

'Hi Paul, what are you doing.?'

Hey pretty girl, come in. I found a motor mower thrown out into hard rubbish. I thought I would see if I could fix it,' he said.

He held his hands out wide so as not to get my clothes dirty as he gave me a kiss.

He had the whole thing up on his bench and had pulled it to pieces. He was holding the carburator in his hands and was working on it with a small steel brush.

'There is a lot of gunk on this and the whole thing needs a good clean out,' He said as he focused on the lump of metal in his hand.

He is so clever, he can fix anything. I knew by the time he was finished, the mower would be gleaming as though it had just come from the showroom floor.

He looks up occasionally and grins. He is so good looking, thick blond hair that flops down at the front when he is working, tanned skin, slim with nicely formed muscles. I can see them, he has his shirt sleeves rolled up to above his elbows.

I love going out with him on his motorcycle, he has an old Triumph. Mostly it is in pieces, the thing is constantly breaking down. I am convinced this is the reason he owns it, just so he can tinker.
When it is running we often go for rides along the coast road. There are stops where we can have lunch and relax. There are always great views of the water at our stops. Sitting out on the balcony as we drink strong cups of coffee together.

He is very affectionate putting his arm around me as we sit and talk, sipping our coffee and taking in the peace of the ocean. He is completely unaware of how handsome he is, even with all the woman in the place ogling him subtly.

Slowly the bit of machinery he is working on begins to look brighter and cleaner.

'That is as good as it is going to get, it needs to be boiled up in some water with citric acid and baking soda, that should clear it out,'he said as he peered into the thing.

He went over and scrubbed his hands at the sink in the corner of the shed. He grabbed a kettle and filled it with water.

'Want a coffee?,' he said as he flicked the switch, I nodded.

He sauntered over to me and put his arms around me and hugged tightly. I closed my eyes in the hug, it felt so good. I am so lucky to have Paul.

He began to make the coffee when Jason arrived with a roar of his motorcycle. Jason rode a big red Ducati. A monster of a thing which was new and didn't break down.

He swept into the shed, his black leathers creaking as he walked. He dragged off his helmet and dropped it on the floor by the door. He acknowledged both of us with a wink for me and a pucker of his lips for Paul. His leather jacket joined his helmet by the door. He is very charismatic with dark hair and eyes. His demeanour is always carefree and happy.

He walked over to Paul and took him into his arms, kissing him long and tenderly. I watched them with a kind of envy for the love they both had for each other.

WORD:books

AnAngelReally said:

Most people simply hate Christmas shopping. I don’t. I love it, in fact. The hustle, the bustle, the jostling, the impatience, the tired feet and aching backs, they all make my life so much easier.

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Very well-written with a nice little twist at the end.

rawsilk said:

Word: Carburator

A man's shed has such a sexy feel about it, especially with the proper organization, a good range of tools and work tables. It is made all the better if there is something being repaired like an old car or a motorcycle.

WORD:books

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A lovely well-written story with a nice, unexpected ending.

I'll take books.

*****

AnAngelReally said:

Only a woman would find a workshop sexy.
It's a good insight into the female psyche to have, though.



And he threw it in the garbage can because he just rendered it useless by dropping it on a concrete surface.
Sorry, Silk. No biker would ever do that. You should fix this before you publish this emotionally charged story. I love it.



Love is beautiful, whatever form it takes.
And you have a unique way to share this message with us.


'Books' is all yours, Gary?

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For a woman who loves men, anything related to a man and his life can be rendered sexy for a receptive female.

I rode a bike for a few years (Ducati), helmets can be dropped from a certain height without damage I wasn't suggesting drop, boing, boing.

Well thanks for the spoiler Angel, you really ruined my story.

rawsilk said:

For a woman who loves men, anything related to a man and his life can be rendered sexy for a receptive female.

I rode a bike for a few years (Ducati), helmets can be dropped from a certain height without damage I wasn't suggesting drop, boing, boing.

Well thanks for the spoiler Angel, you really ruined my story.

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I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil it. Really.
It's a beautiful story and I said so.

The Meeting (Ver. 1)

I'm going to post this twice, because at one point in the story I hit a fork in my mind and couldn't decide which way I liked better, so I just wrote it both ways.



Steve and Sharon had met in an "adults only" on-line chatroom.

They were in their 30s and lived five hours apart by plane.

They started off talking about life and work. How they were each caught in a marriage where their sex drive was higher than their spouse's. How they each viewed where they were in their careers as dead-end jobs. Their conversations turned to music and TV shows they liked. They felt a connection and friendship with each other. Two days later, they had cybersex and each claimed to climax during it.

Over the next six months their friendship grew closer and their hot cybersex graduated to phone sex. They knew how to get each other off hard. They never talked about why their passion online and the phone was so intense, simply assuming their closeness as friends fed their passion.

Steve loved the fantasy escape it provided, being able to use his imagination to fuck her in whatever positions they wanted. Sharon simply loved the pure sexual passion in their conversations and having someone lust after her like Steve did. The one thing they had in common was they loved the mutual exchanges - having their conversations be whatever was needed to get the other off without worrying about who was in charge.


Per Lit guidelines: Do not post more than three paragraphs on the forum.



Word: LP (as in music album)

The Meeting (Ver. 2)

I'm going to post this twice, because at one point in the story I hit a fork in my mind and couldn't decide which way I liked better, so I just wrote it both ways.


Steve and Sharon had met in an "adults only" on-line chatroom.

They were in their 30s and lived five hours apart by plane.

They started off talking about life and work. How they were each caught in a marriage where their sex drive was higher than their spouse's. How they each viewed where they were in their careers as dead-end jobs. Their conversations turned to music and TV shows they liked. They felt a connection and friendship with each other. Two days later, they had cybersex and each claimed to climax during it.

Over the next six months their friendship grew closer and their hot cybersex graduated to phone sex. They knew how to get each other off hard. They never talked about why their passion online and the phone was so intense, simply assuming their closeness as friends fed their passion.

Steve loved the fantasy escape it provided, being able to use his imagination to fuck her in whatever positions they wanted. Sharon simply loved the pure sexual passion in their conversations and having someone lust after her like Steve did. The one thing they had in common was they loved the mutual exchanges - having their conversations be whatever was needed to get the other off without worrying about who was in charge.


Per Lit guidelines: Do not post more than three paragraphs on the forums.


Word: LP (as in music album)

AverageGary said:

"Nope," Steve said. "We'll use this experience to feed our cyber and phone interactions. Remember, I'm all about the mind, the imagining, the fantasy. This just enhanced it for better images. If we Skype, we're watching each other again, the imagination aspect is gone."


Word: LP (as in music album)

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The mind is the biggest sex organ we have.
Great story, Gary.

Enough is enough.
I know I don't belong when, repeatedly, my best intentioned comments cause distress and pain.
It's back to the lonely writer's life for me.
Have fun and try not to hate me too much, my friends.

Made a tiny tweak in the first version to eliminate an inconsistency I didn't think about when I was writing quickly last night, but noticed this morning.

I actually wrote the version where they watch each other first and was going to finish it off when I got back from doing my Uber driving. But while I was driving I began thinking that it might be out of character for Steve to agree to the mutual show, so I need to write it without that part.
After getting home at close to midnight, I finished off the first version and then picked the point where things would turn and they'd part ways and wrote from there.
I liked both versions and couldn't decide which was better.

AverageGary said:

Word: LP (as in music album)

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I grew up thinking my story was unique. You see, I was raised by my grand-parents, a gently couple of free spirits from the sixties.

My father’s name doesn’t even appear on my birth certificate and my mother abandoned me in their care as a baby to go live in a commune somewhere in the back country.

I suffered through the expected jeers and insults as a child, but they never bothered me as I grew up in such a loving environment that I always figured they were only jealous that my parents weren’t too busy with work or their social life to eat supper as a family, enquiring on my day at school or spend evenings playing cards and games.



Per Lit guidelines: Do not post more than three paragraphs on the forums.

Word: Spectacle

To Make A Spectacle Out Of Themselves

Criss and Riley are always willing
to make a spectacle out of
themselves by getting on a
bus and taking their clothes
off before he starts
to probe her wet
pussy with
his stiff
cock.

Next Word - superstitious

Pat was a tomboy, not a crossdresser. She would never take any special actions to make herself look masculine, but with her flat chest, short hair, and jeans and tee-shirt style, she was off then mistaken for a boy. She didn't mind though, boots were far more interesting to talk to when they weren't just trying to get in her pants. That all changed when she meet Mark. She was smitten and do was he. They dated and became closer. She felt truly feminine for the first time in her life, and shared a secret kink of hers.
"I love your feet, I want you to make me come with your toes"
He agreed and kicked off his shoes as she sucked of her pants. She last down on the floor and spread her legs, his foot hovering inches above her pussy, then he paused frowning.
"Oh no, you're gay and didn't realize I'm a girl!"she cried
"It's not that, he reassured her. "I'm just superstitious. I never step on a crack"

Next: coffee mug