New short story covers. How do they look?
New short story covers. How do they look?
My collection of three rather lovely short stories, called The Valet, is available for free all week on Amazon. Get it here.
It would be wonderful if you could review it. Reviews and rating mean a great deal when it comes to search position and sales.
I’m excited to announce my new novella That Sort of Thing, the story of a woman named Valentine who meets a charming writer of risqué stories. As she is seduced by his words she is also confronted by the guilt of playing his taboo games. Will reality live up to the dirty fantasies?
This novella can be purchased as an ebook or an audiobook (recorded by me!) exclusively at writingdirty.com, though it will eventually be up on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
If one wished, one could now purchase panties, t-shirts, flasks, and other assorted paraphernalia that proclaims your literary proclivities to the world.
I give you, the Writing Dirty Cafe Press store. Because why not?
It has been a long and rough Winter! As I look out my window there are inches of snow and dozens od…
From the top of the stairs, Tom watched as they were introduced.
He always knew Katherine would meet Diane at some point. Their circles of friends were far too close for them to stay strangers forever. Diane had been in his life for years and had been…
I’m excited to announce my new novella “That Sort of Thing” will be published February 1st, 2014.
You may remember I posted an excerpt from it a while back titled Work in Progress
Well, Amazon has accepted my re-edited version of the novella that has sold the most for me. It’s about a guy who pays a college girl to fuck him and call him daddy. Apparently I just can’t mention the daddy part, or call a nineteen year old a teenager.
Thus, I give you: Renting a Girl from the Mall.
Mark is a bit obsessed. He keeps running into a cute, if a bit bratty, college girl named Megan in the mall. She certainly wants nothing to do with the thirty-something Mark, but when she gets into some financial trouble she finds herself in his car listening to his very interesting offer.
What is she willing to do for $1000? Can she play her part in his kinky role play scenario? Will she be seduced into being his rent-a-girl?
Part two is going up in a bit. Let us see how long they stay up.
The first page of a story was stapled to the back of a paper on economic reform in post soviet Russia.
Jason wasn’t sure if the story was for him or the professor or simply a mistake. He assumed the students knew that Jason was the one who really marked…
Ezra Masters at Naughty Sounds has made an audio version of my story The Date and I think it is wonderfully creepy and hot all at once.
If you like stories with consensual non-consent play I highly recommend giving it a listen.
She missed his wall; his hall. That place he always threw her against when she came into his apartment.
She missed feeling small and afraid. She’d grown up too much, become too jaded, too brave to feel so little.
She missed the anxiety and hunger she felt walking down his block. She missed his pretty cock. She missed the fear that was particular to being in his elevator.
The fear wasn’t about what he’d do to her, she knew he would hurt her and fuck her and use her like a doll. The fear was that she wouldn’t be good enough, tough enough, pretty enough.
All those fears went away when she was against his wall.
She didn’t cover her scars or chubby parts because he would only slap her hands away. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about her razor burn or that her roots were showing, because she was too busy blushing about the dirty names he called her. She would fall into the whirlpool of humiliation and pleasure and dizzy confusion.
She didn’t have time to apologize because his cock was in her mouth.
She longed for all of it all.
And more than that she knew some other girl was in that hall, against that wall. His thick cock was inside of someone new and his hand was around someone else’s throat.
Perhaps it was strange that the longing could make her come so easily. Remembering that wall in that hall was almost as potent as thinking of another girls face, mascara running down her cheek, pressed against the wall as he fucked her. The humiliation and the jealousy and the heartbreak were poisons and aphrodisiacs.
The sadness kept her wet all day.
I looked down at my phone for the hundredth time, then up at the train as it chugged back into its underground tunnel. People rushed to leave and in moments I was alone on the platform, turned on and scared.
“Take the L train to Lorimer, get out and walk two blocks west…” the instructions started.
I got out of the subway station, looking around the foreign streets of Williamsburg or Greenpoint, I wasn’t sure which. There seemed to be nothing but bars, pizza places, and trendy little boutiques.
Everyone on the street looked hip and pretty. I looked down at my somewhat fashionable jeans and my high heels and suddenly I felt a little like Sandy at the end of Grease, but I walked on. I took out my phone again, more as something to do than for information.
I knew what the email said, I’d been reading it over and over all day.
“I have this good friend Brian, I want to lend you to him for the evening. Six to midnight, or when ever he’s done with you. You’re not to stay over. He’ll be safe, he’ll stop if you say “red” and he knows the things that you are not to have done to you. I’ve negotiated for you, so all you need to remember is “red” and that I am giving you to him for the evening,” I read and realized I missed my turn because the words made my whole body hot and confused.
“You’re my good slut and you will fuck and suck my friend. Maybe all of my friends. Maybe even people I hardly know. You’re such a good little slut I can’t keep you all to myself. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t share my favorite toy with my friends?”
He hadn’t even talked to me about it. Well, not really. We’d talking about it in the very theoretical, but we hadn’t actually spoken about the details face to face, which really made me crazy. I should have said no. I knew I could say no. I knew I could say no and I wouldn’t even get punished. He didn’t punish me for saying no to things or even stopping things once I said yes. He punished me when he wanted to hit me, not to train me, just because he liked it.
Reading the words over I got that warm feeling I always got when I read the word “good” next to the word “slut.”
I looked left to right and found the next street I needed to turn on to. I looked to see if anyone was near and then reached down and felt the crotch of my jeans and cursed because I was wet right through the denim.
The apartment was one of those big modern industrial looking deals in the middle of a row of ancient townhouses. I didn’t have room left in my brain to process what I thought about it. I pressed the code from the email into the keypad. The door clicked.
I climbed three flights of stairs and my heart raced the whole time. I didn’t know what the guy looked like. I didn’t know his name. I didn’t even know if he would be alone.
He was waiting with his door open and I only looked him in the eye for a second before looking down at my feet.
He was younger than I thought he’d be. Perhaps five years younger than Jake, which meant five years older than me. He moved aside to let me in, then he closed the door and locked the various locks NY city apartments always seemed to have.
He was a little shorter than me, a bit chubby but in a stocky solid kind of way. He was a brown haired, nondescript, white guy. He was wearing a Columbia sweatshirt and jeans.
He turned and looked me up and down. He stood motionless and looked very much like he was trying not to look nervous.
The apartment was a large studio. One big room with a bed and a couch and a window that looked out on a church. He walked past me and started looking through his drawers.
“You’re going to go into the bathroom and take a shower and shave your legs and your pussy. Shave it completely,” he explained without looking at me.
He opened and closed drawers, throwing things on the bed as he did. There was a clean looking towel, a pair of long socks still in their package, a small plastic bag of hair ties, a bottle of lube, a pack of condoms.
“When you’re done put these socks on, nothing else. They go up all the way to your thighs. Then put your hair in pigtails and come back to the bedroom,” he ordered as he handed me things.
There was a silence then, and I just stood there in this stranger’s apartment as he waited for me to follow his directions.
“Well?” he said expectantly.
The confusion was part of it; the pressure, too. I knew I could drop the stuff and tell the guy to fuck off and leave. Well, I was 99% sure I could do that. The 1% made me wetter than the 99%, honestly.
The shame of being “given” to this guy was like a drug. Actually better than most drugs I’d tried. He could be anyone. I was nothing more than a toy being passed around. I was a little fuck hole that was good enough that my owner thought his friend might like a try me out.
I liked that. I liked that so much. I watched as he eyed me and I could tell he was already hard. He rubbed his crotch through his jeans as he watched me. It was a perverted and completely honest move, something I guessed he would never do in front of someone, even before sex.
And I was going to have sex with him. This stranger. I knew it. So I turned around and headed for the bathroom.
“Wait,” he said and walked up to me.
He stood behind me and reached around me and felt my left breast. He made a little moan as he touched it. There was an almost high school awkwardness in the act. I realized he was probably just as curious and confused with the situation as I was. He was mauling my breast just to see if he could, to see what I would do.
He pulled up my shirt and I let myself be pushed and pulled by him. I stood up straight and let the upper half of my body become as limp as a rag doll. He pulled down the cup of my bra and rubbed my naked breast, pulling on my nipple possessively.
“Jake said you were a complete slut but I wasn’t sure,” he said half to himself.
“Fuck, I can’t wait for you to get out of the shower. I’m going to fuck you like twenty times. I’m going to use every inch of you until I have to give you back,” he growled as he pulled my other tit out of my bra and pulled at it.
He bit his lip, eyes locked on my tits, which made him look like a pervert. I should have been disgusted, but I was shaking with need.
“Take off your pants, I want to see your pussy before you shave it,” he said greedily.
He had the tiniest of a foreign accent I couldn’t place. He looked smart, his apartment was that of a professional computer something or other, lots of books, but there was an edge of Brooklyn bad boy to his voice.
It was weird taking off my pants while trying to hold on to the towel and socks he gave me. I got them off though and he pulled at my panties and then his hand was rubbing my thighs greedily.
“Fuck, you’re soaking wet. Such a fucking whore, fuck I can’t even wait. Why should I? I’ll fuck you fast then you shower and put on the socks for the second round,” he said taking off his belt.
The sound of the belt, as always, made me squirm with want. He didn’t notice. His eyes were still on my tits.
I looked around and saw a chair and dumped the towel and things onto it.
He took me, with my panties still around my ankles, and pushed me onto the bed.
He pushed the condom onto his cock and noisily squirted a glob of lube onto his fingers. He didn’t realize how unnecessary the lube was, but found out when he roughly pushed the cold wet stuff between my legs and into me.
“Jesus, you’re a wet little slut,” he said to himself.
Then he was on top of me and inside of me all at once and he felt thicker than he looked.
There was that newness of a new person, a new cock, a new body on top of me. He was fucking me, hands on my hips, fingers a little too tight, pushing himself deep a little too fast.
“Fucking tight, fucking slut, fuck, I can’t believe Jake just sent you here. Fuck. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you like a hundred times,” he said as he thrusted.
His hands were all over, on my tits, on my ass then up in my hair. As he closed a fist around the back of my hair and pulled the spark of pain made me go to that familiar dizzy place. The way his cock sort of hurt. The way he was pressing onto my clit with every thrust. I want to reach down and rub myself, but something inside of me reminded me that I was just there to get fucked and used. I was a toy. I was a stupid little fuck hole being passed around.
“Please,” I started saying, the embarrassment of dirty talk choking me a little, “please come inside me, sir,” I whispered.
It was a tiny little voice, I was guessing like the pigtailed pretend schoolgirl he was going to dress me up as. In saying it, in using those words with that voice, I was suddenly that girl. I let myself fall into the role. Innocent, stumbling into his big room, powerless as he used me.
He heard me. He let out a long hard gasp. Another “fuck” in the mantra the word had turned into as he pushed deeper into me.
“Fucking not going to take long with your tight, little, fucking, oh, fuck” and then he was thrusting into me hard, in that way guys did when their body just takes over because they’re near coming.
He was shoving me into the mattress hard and I swear I could feel his cock swell as he shot his come over and over.
Then he was next to me, gasping for breath.
“Fuck,” he said again.
“Go,” he said trying to catch his breath, “go shower and get ready,” he gasped, “we got a long evening.”
Then I was walking, past his little kitchen, which was small and minimalist and German looking.
The bathroom was spotless and high tech. The shower was cavernous and I was happy to be under the strong, warm, clean water.
I rubbed my now reddened and humming little cunt. I liked my tuft of brown hair. Jake had let me grow it out and for some weird reason it pleased me. As my fingers passed over the soft hair I wondered why the fact that a stranger was telling me to get rid of the little patch of hair was making my knees weak with pleasure.
I rubbed hard and found my clit then, as the water rained down on me. I liked a lot of pressure. I rubbed hard and thought about how much of a slut I was. I thought about going back out there and letting the little Brooklyn guy with no name fuck me over and over again.
I thought about sucking his thick cock and swallowing every drop of his thick come and I rocked my hips fast and rubbing myself hard and I came. I came all by myself, before I went out to let him use my body again.
Then a washed off my fingers and soaped up my legs and got ready to be a schoolgirl for the stranger who owned me for another five and half hours.
I felt, with every cell of my body, like a very good slut.
Back to work on my 1960’s secretary series, Mister McIntyre’s Secret. Hope to get the series finished and an eBook up soon. It’s damn hard work, but I love the world I created.
Here is the story so far:
From a work in progress:
"I’m going to fuck you now."
She was face down, hands on the bed, and she turned her head just enough so that he could see one eye and her lips.
"Okay," she whispered.
He reached around her waist and unbuttoned her shorts, pulling them as well as her tights and panties down to her knees. Then he straddled her legs and slipped a hand between her closed thighs, finding her cunt, wet and overheated. He undid his pants and pulled a condom from his pocket while he fingered her. Her arms were spread out to her sides and her hands gripped the bedspread as she raised her ass up to get more of his fingers.
"Bite down on a pillow, this is a family establishment, I don’t want anyone to hear your little slut noises. Do, you understand me?"
She grabbed a pillow and held it to her mouth.
"I asked you if you understood me," he said, punctuating the question with a firm slap on her ass.
She turned her head and glared at him, letting the pillow fall out of her mouth.
"Yes, sir," she said with a hate in her eyes that made him smile.
"I told you not to call me sir," he said slapping her ass again harder.
There were two red hand prints on her white ass and her eyes closed for a moment.
"Yes, Mr. Smith,” she said, pushing her ass further up.
He slapped her ass again and again, holding her in place easy as she writhed and squirmed, falling into lust drunk silence.
He leaned over and grabbed her hair hard.
"Yes, Mr. Smith, what?" he said right into her ear, as loud as he dare.
She bit her lip and struggled against my hand in her hair and my weight on top of her.
"Yes, Mr. Smith I’ll bite down on a pillow when you fuck me, so the nice families next door don’t hear my dirty little slut noises," she whined, enunciating each word with bratty contempt.
“Finally, your figuring it out. Now quiet,” he said as he slipped his cock against her.
“Maybe you shouldn’t slap me so loudly then,” she mumbled as she bit down on the pillow again.