His Hall

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.

Something Borrowed

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.

Fuck Like a Pirate Day

Aye it was a fortnight out of the great horn when the sky opened up, gray and hungry, and tried its best to swallow us up. A storm at deep sea is a sight, I tells ya. As far as the eye can see it was like the great maw of the beast set upon the waves, trashing and wailing like a banshee, lightning flashing in the distance so big you don’t knows if it’s coming from the sky or from the sea. And all those charcoal clouds that rose up into the heavens until the sky looked more like hell.

In the tossin’ and the turning’ it was no wonder half the men were sick as dogs and the dogs aboard were sick as rats and the rats jumped ship days before.

The Capin, he was one of the hardiest, but even he was stuck up in his cabin, fill in’ buckets and green as a frog.

Aye, everyone knows it’s bad luck to have a lady aboard, ‘cept if it’s the Capin’s wife and so it was, she sat under an umbrella I myself had tied to the mast and by day she read dem books she’d brought and by night she watched the rain come down out in the black murky distance nd sighed like it was a poem.

Aye and she was the prettiest thing I’d ever. Dainty little feets and frilly dresses and all, with a pair of tits on her, all smashed together in her French lace. She made my trousers ache, she did.

All through the day go about the doings of the ship, yelling at the lazy and staying out of the way of the sick ones who leaned over and fed the fish their awful choking bile.

I had a boy then, sandy blonde and just his third time out in a real ship. I’d knocked the chip off his shoulder the first day and he’d come creepin’ into my bunk ever after. He was soft like a girl. Soft mouth, pretty too with his eyelashes long and ain’t a hair on his back. And his back was what I saw most of when the wind was so wet we couldn’t do nothing but wait.

He liked it too, though he didn’t admit it. He’s push back when I had him in my bunk, tight and hungry like a slut who’d waited for her man all Summer. Pulling that sandy hair, long as a girl’s, and had him good.

I’d think of her though and imagine it was her cunt. I’d even got a hold of one of her frillies, fresh from the bin and still wet with her stink and I rubbed it on my boy’s neck so when I hunkered over him I could smell it, smell that sweet girl smell on him as I came and came like the cold rain the hit the deck every fucking minute of that damn trip.

Work In Progress

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.

Morning Writing Exercise: Fairy Tale

"The fairest!" he screamed.

Her laughter echoed against the stone walls as she walked away. The pain across his back searing and burning as he tried to contain the sobs.

Her only command had been to cry and thus it was the one thing he tried to keep himself from doing. Yet, after hours and hours, perhaps it had been days days, he couldn’t remember why he was trying not to cry.

"You will cry for me pretty warrior," she said in the beginning, walking around his bound form.

He was bound to a cross of some kind. Hard wood, iron chains, and thick manacles.

"So much prettier without your silly armor and sword. Now you are a proper subject," she said with a strange pride in her regal voice.

The shame of his nudity muted him. She touched his cheek softly, pushing his chin up so that he faced her.

She was beautiful. Pale flawless skin, eyes sparkling blue. Her black hair tucked beneath a tight silk hood and her head topped with a large golden crown. Even the cruelty of her eyes could not mare the loveliness of her face, in fact he could not imagine her any other way.

"Won’t you cry for me?" she asked, her lips pursed as if to kiss him.

He was sorry then. He was sorry that he’d fought in wars and killed men and had been brave enough to run into a burning house to save a child, but he couldn’t cry, not never, not in sight of such a woman, a queen.

She sighed and her hand fell from his face and landed on his bare chest. Her nails, like razors, pressed and dragged down his chest and the scream came from his stomach, out of his control, and burst from his mouth like an exaltation of larks startled by thunder.

"You will, if it is the last gift you give me, you will," she promised and kissed his neck as he screamed.

Later he was sure he had cried, his face was wet, his eyes were burning, but she wiped his face with a cloth and smiled.

"These are inconsequential tears. It is the animal reaction of body in peril. No, you will cry real tears and you will cry them for me," she said in the same strong clear voice she said all things.

He looked up at her and then his eyes widened as he felt her hand close upon his very manhood. Her hand tightened, the soft flesh pliable in her fist, her nails just barely touching five points on his most tender skin.

"Now, I will ask again; who is the fairest?"

"You are!" he shouted, trying in vein to escape her clutches and her bindings.

"I am what?" she asked with a playful lilt in her voice.

Jack & Guy’s Writing Bar Crawl - Fetish Stories - Feeding

The problem was she was too damn skinny.

Walking past her desk every day he saw her sparkling stare under cat eye glasses and her low cut shirt and her come hither smile he couldn’t help think that she would be perfect for him if she just had a few curves; so he bought her a donut.

It wasn’t just a regular donut, it was a apple cider donut from a farmers market near the office. It was still hot when he placed on her desk and she demured, saying she probably shouldn’t but the way she sighed and closed her eyes when she took the first bite made him hard.

The next day it was a box of single origin chocolates with exotic fillings. She bit her rouged lip and debated whether she should or not. In the end she took them home and wrote him an email thanking him and telling him that she had a crush on him for months.

On their first date he took her to his favorite French bistro.

“Do you trust me?” he said with a smile, taking her hand on the pristine white tablecloth.

Her eyes lit up and her smile widened. “Implicitly,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He ordered oysters, frisée salad with a pouched egg and lardons, foie gras, huge ceramic bowls of cassoulet, and finally pots de creme.

By the end her face was pink from wine and her belly ached.

“My god, that may have been the most amazing meal of my life! You are really trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh and he smiled.

“I am,” he admitted.

She giggled and slapped his hand.

“With all the food I think you really might be. It was really delicious though, I loved it all,” she said letting the afterglow of the rich food overtake her.

He lifted her hand and kissed it sweetly.

“I’m not joking,” he said with a sudden frankness and a nervousness that made it difficult to meet her eyes.

She raised an eyebrow.

“So I can look forward to more gourmet snacks?” she said finishing her wine in one sip.


Two weeks later she sat in his bed and looked down at a beautiful wood tray that was laden with croissants, bowls of bread puddings, crapes dripping with chocolate, juices, coffees, and fresh beignets.

She looked down at her little tummy and her breasts, which had been so pinched in her bra that she had to take it off, and frowned.

“Do you like me more now that I’m getting a little meat on my bones?” she pouted.

He dipped a finger in whipped cream and smeared it on her nipple.

“I like that you’re changing because I want you to change,” he said licking the cream off.

“I like feeding you amazing things,” he said biting her nipple.

“I like that you’re embarrassed by it all,” he said, slipping a hand between her legs and smiling as she moaned.

She whimpered as his fingers slipped into her wet pussy.

“I don’t know if I like it yet,” she whispered.

He fingered her harder and she yelped.

“Do you like doing what I say?” he asked, trying to stay calm.

“Yes,” she said more quickly than he expected.

He moved up and pressed a strawberry against her lips, letting the juice redden her chin.

“Good, finish up, then you can work on my cock,” he said slipping the fruit into her mouth and another finger into her pussy.

Jack and Guy’s Writer Bar Crawl Prompt 2 - Puffy Nipple

“It’s wrong to be obsessed with a body part, isn’t it?” Frank asked a friend later.

This friend was, thankfully, a pervert.

“Not really, I mean you liked her before you saw them, right?”

“I did, I really did, but after they were all I could think about,” Frank admitted.


She was embarrassed and that always made him harder.

Her hands were on the hem of her shirt as he attempted to pull it up.

“I- I have to tell you something,” she said looking down.

“Did I do something wrong, I’m sorry if I was getting too aggressive-” he said with a face that went from hungry and aroused to thoroughly apologetic.

She touched his cheek, in that moment

“Oh, no! Not at all, I just wanted to tell you I have, like, weird, nipples,” she said sighing and laughing a little at her own embarrassment.

He let out a long breath and smiled.

“That’s all? Trust me, you are ridiculously beautiful and nothing under your shirt is going to change me wanting you,” he said kissing her sweetly.

“You can take your shirt off or leave it on, I just want to keep kissing you and keep touching you, is that okay?” he asked kissing her neck and enjoying how her eyes rolled back and her breath grew short.

“Okay, I will take it off, they’re just like, really, like, puffy,” she said struggling to pull the cotton off as he kissed her.

Her nipples were huge, fat aureolas with hard nubs on top. Her cheeks reddened as he eyed them.

“Fuck, they’re amazing,” he whispered to himself.

“They’re not. Thanks though,” she said leaning down to kiss him.

He turned, moved to the coffee table and got his laptop. She watched, perplexed.

“I have this, um, folder. It’s where I keep pictures I’ve found online. You know, pictures I like,” he said fumbling with the computer.

She peered at the screen, confused and a little hurt.

On the monitor appeared a little slideshow of nude girls. They were classic internet poses, selfies, art shots, but all of them were of women with large fat nipples like hers.

“Puffies, that’s um, what they call them. It’s like a thing online. I guess it’s sort of a fetish,” he said, suddenly a little embarrassed.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She wondered if he’d somehow knew and that was why he was with her, but that was impossible. Still there was a new light in his eyes, a hunger, and it made her feel pretty and a little powerful.

“So you like them?” she said straightening, pushing her chest out.

He let his eyes fall from her face to her delicate neck, to her teardrop shaped breasts topped with big puffy nipples.

His hands reached out to touch and she slapped them away. He looked up in surprise and saw a new smile on her lips.

“Now that I know you like them so much you should say please,” she said pushing her chest out further.

He swallowed, eyes unable to leave her nipples.

“P-please?” Frank begged.

She moved forward a little and nodded.

“With your mouth,” she commanded.

Frank moved in and took her pillow softness into his mouth. She sucked in air as he sucked at her tit. She closed her fist in his hair and pulled him closers.

“Stop,” she said and he immediately did.

“Sit down and I’ll let you kiss them again if you do exactly what I say,” she told him.

He whimpered and nodded, letting her push him down and crawling on top of him.

That Kind of Thing (Excerpt)

His apartment was in a somewhat bad neighborhood, but it was large and rather spartan and had a huge bookshelf. She felt bold and adventurous and accepted the bourbon he poured her and stood by the window wondering when he would kiss her.

He sat in a large leather chair and sipped his drink and watched her as she looked out at the city.

“Pull up your skirt,” he said casually, but not at all jokingly.

She scoffed.

“I’m not one of the girls in your stories,” she said with a laugh.


She put the drink down on the windowsill, unsure what to do.

“You seem nervous, you don’t have to be. You’re beautiful and smart and you can do as much or as little as you want here. I want you to pull up your skirt and show me your legs, show me your thighs, but you can say no and we can sip our drinks and look at my books and talk about a million other things. But I want you to know I’d like you to pull up your skirt. I’d like to see if you wore pretty panties tonight. I think you did.”

She squirmed and let out the tiniest moan.

“Maybe,” she said into her shoulder.

“Did you wear them because you wanted to show me?”

She felt like she was going to cry and she wasn’t sure exactly why. She had the hem of her dress in her hands and she pulled it up a few inches.

“I want you to show me all your secrets. You read my stories, but I haven’t gotten any of yours. Don’t you want to show me all your pretty parts?” he said softly. He sounded kind and mean all at once and it made her head spin. The bourbon was strong and sweet, it wasn’t the kind of thing she drank, but it felt like the right thing to drink at that moment.

“I want to, but I’m scared,” she said and she pulled her dress up more. The window was open a little and she felt the cool air on her thighs.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said.

“Pull up your skirt now,” he said.

She did. She pulled it up, feeling silly like a little girl.

“Your panties are wet.”

She felt her face grow hotter.

“Pretty pink panties with a wet spot,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” it was all she could think of saying.

He chuckled.

“I like that you are sorry,” there was a honesty and a little surprise in his voice.

“Now take them off for me,” he said.

This book is now available on writingdirty.com as an ebook or audiobook.


Super Hero Fiction: Phase One


The Holt Building still looked too new and unreal, like it didn’t belong in the city she’d been born in. At almost a hundred stories tall, it was a monolith of dark glass and steel that cut a gash in the sky like a dagger. There was something unworldly in its fluid design. It made her both filled with awe and a bit uncomfortable.

Security was tighter than most airports. Her bags were searched, her ID was scanned, her background was checked. Her stomach lurched as the elevator sped up fifty some odd floors before hissing to a stop abruptly, there was some internal click in the mechanism under her before the elevator hurled up the next fifty stories even faster. When it reach what felt like it must be the top floor, the door slid open to a single huge room.

The elevator bay was in the center of the circular room and all the walls were made of huge windows that showed a 360 degree view of the entire city; uptown, downtown, rivers to the east and west.

The room held two huge curved conference tables, each black glass like the exterior of the building, but the surfaces winked and flashed with numbers and pictures, like giant computer monitors.

In front of her were three desks, one of them topped with a lazily spinning holographic globe, complete with real time displays of weather pattern and swirling clouds.

At the smallest of the desk sat a twenty-something looking man, handsome in a prettyish way, typing away on a very sleek looking laptop. He looked up and motioned for her to sit in the seat on the other side of his desk.

Read More


On a lot of sites such as mine it is not uncommon to see ads in the sidebars or mastheads. That’s cool, people are saying “here is a way for you to help me pay for my site by going and buying stuff from this other company.” The problem with that, for me at least, is that the company you are putting up ads for is getting the bulk of the money. Plus I hate ads. I use an ad blocker so that I don’t have to see them and I’m sure many of my savvy readers do the same.

Instead I will let you decide how much you would like to pay for the stories I have put up here. Currently I have about 100 stories on here, fiction and non-fiction. Hopefully you’d like to contribute to the cost of keeping this site up.

Recently I lost my job and though I’m confident I will find a new and better one soon, for the time being I am short on funds and somewhat low on confidence. So if you have been looking for a way to pay me for my stories, there is now a PayPal link below (or on my main webpage) that will let you do so.

Faux Hunt

The first in a series I call “The Gentleman’s Club” which involve the debaucheries of one John “Randy Jack” Sackville, son of the third Earl of Amherst, and the other members of the Club De Lancey, a London gentlemen’s club.

I’m not sure it makes sense, but I like it.

Without further ado I give you:

The Faux Hunt

Winifred stood proudly in the gray light of dawn. A hair over five feet tall, 7 stone, and barely nineteen years old, she was stark naked save a pair of Jack’s childhood hunting boots and a bright red fox hat, its tail flapping in the wind. She blushed down to her navel and her green eyes burned with fear and excitement.

Jack and the others watched her stand there, her cream skin with nary a blemish nor a freckle was sheened with morning dew. Her smallish breasts were high and pert, the curve of her bottom seemed to jut out at a lurid angle. Her chest heaved and her heart raced from the shame of being naked, the joy of being the savior of the foxes and, if Jack guessed correctly, the wicked thrill of being wildly bad.

She turned, the contrast of the black of the boots against her white skin making her seem even more naked and the bright splash of carrot orange between her legs directing ever eye down to the virgin shadow every man in the hunting party almost painfully longed for.

Norman Gordon-Stanton, tallish, lean, bespectacled and wearing a dark gray hunting suit and deerstalker, took off his gloves to shake Jack’s hand properly.

“An outstanding diversion,” he said clasping Jack’s hand and shoulder.

The other seven men murmured “hear hear!”

Lord Strachey, by far the cruelest among the hunters, took a rifle from his valet and aimed it high into the air and away from the group and the girl. Even though they all knew the sound was coming, every man jumped a bit as the thunderous crack of the shot echoed through the woods.

Winifred jumped at the sound and startled, turned in a flash and ran. The poor thing managed only a few feet before she stumbled and tripped forward, her white knees painted green and red with grass and blood. She waited there for a moment on all fours, like the very game she was proxy for, and unknowingly gave the hunters a view of the pink split peach between her thin legs.

Jack’s hands tightened into fists in his leather gloves and he suddenly felt very good about his marital choice.

After a moment the girl finally got up and without looking back she sprinted into the woods.

Strachey fetched something small and white from his saddle bag. Jack saw it was a pair of his child-bride’s knickers. The cruel man rubbed said garments into the noses of the dogs, which waited as patiently as hounds could.

“They’re good boys, they won’t hurt her,” he promised with a steely glare.

The clubmen held the hounds back as they mounted their horses. They gave the girl a fighting chance, then, after a good fifteen minutes, the horn was blown and they were off.

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The Boy

To call him handsome was a misnomer; he was pretty. A delicate face, a somewhat chiseled chin, warm brown eyes, always clean shaven and looking slightly younger than his twenty-something years. He had the grace of an old time actor. Cary Grant in leather pants.

The room was large, low ceilinged, all black and red in some budget approximation of chinoiserie. Black lacquered chairs and overstuffed embroidered couches. Gold dragons on the walls and paper lantern hanging from the ceiling.

The crowd was riding the line between a kink party and sex party. As I walked around and eyed the pretty boy it struck me that we’d all become disconnected from the vanilla world. As I watched friends kiss and play kinky games and fuck out in the open, I thought how normal it all seemed to me and how shocking it might be to someone else.

I fell into a pile of five or six half naked people on a couch, which included the pretty boy. There was something of an excuse in our numbers. The legs and arms and lips all around us made it less threatening. Still my proximity to him felt forbidden. He sat with his arms draped around two women and his legs spread open. The bulge at his crotch made my throat tighten.

He smiled at me as I pressed into a buxom girl with huge lips and thickly made up eyes next to me, the one I’d seen get fucked a few minutes before. I met her gaze for a minute and her face was flush, her eyes flirting. She leaned in and kissed my neck, pulling me forward. My hand landed on his leg for support.

He was kissing a pretty blond with a pixie cut and bright blue eyes who then turned and kissed me, her mouth still wet from his. My eyes locked with his as her whiskey flavored tongue swirled in my mouth.

His hand touched mine and he moved it up and up his leg and I felt like I was hyperventilating into the blonde girl’s kiss. With one final nudge my hand was on his leather covered cock. I felt the outline, the familiar hardness.

I stopped kissing the blonde and she moved closer to me, her eyes on my hand and a low lusty groan escaping her lips.

"You should suck his cock," she whispered in my ear and I was scared. My face felt hot and my heart was pounding. It was a fear that was ground deep into my being.

He laughed, a sweet boyish laugh.

"You should," he agreed with a mischievous smile and a squeeze of my hand.

Then the blonde turned and started opening his pants. I was unsure, but I couldn’t turn away. Buttons and a zipper and squirming to pull down the tight black material and then there is was, thicker than I expected. It looked huge, actually.

He laughed again and then groaned as the blonde leaned over and slipped a pink tinged condom that seemed to appear from thin air. Then she slipped the fat cock between her lips, her eyes closing and his head going back.

I was forgotten as she took it into her mouth and her body started the smooth cycle of up and down.

I watched, unsure who I was more jealous of. I bit my lip wondering if I had the courage to ask for my turn. I thought about how it would feel against my lips.

The girl with the kohl rimmed eyes moved in and clawed her nails across my chest.

"You want to suck it, don’t you," she growled into my ear.

I fell into her kiss and we watched the blonde girl suck the pretty boy off.

I promised myself, next time. Next time.