Please note: Advertised works are of an adult nature, 18+
The Ass Grabber Series:
Book 1: Love on the 500
Carla should be arrested, she keeps molesting men on the bus. She knows it’s wrong, but she can’t help herself, all those asses crying out for a fondle, a caress. Every time she got off at her stop, she’d grab a piece of cheek.
One day, a man follows her off the bus, and her life changes forever.
Join Carla as she dusts off her kitten and takes her out for a beer and a little slap and tickle with a younger man. Set in Pittsburgh’s affluent neighborhood of Shadyside, this story captures of the fun of two twenty-somethings falling in love in the Steel City.
His tongue flicked over his lips, and they were wet when he pressed his mouth to mine. A fug of beer and garlic hovered around us, but I didn’t notice it between the buzz of the alcohol and pot and his mouth moving over mine.
I slid my tongue between his lips, touching his teeth. He moaned, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me onto his lap. He grew hard beneath the towel. My hands were running up and down his skin, velvet soft with patches of downy hair. Tugging at my shirt, he pulled it up to touch my waist. His palms were calloused and rough.
My nipples tightened in my bra. I pressed my body to him and squirmed, his skin hot on mine. Gripping my breast through my shirt, he teased my nipple through the thick padding of my bra. I laughed, and reached down to take off my t-shirt.
“Oh no,” Tod said stopping me. “That’s no fun. I get to undress you.”
I waited for him to take my clothes off, but he went back to kissing me. “Jerk,” I grumbled between my teeth. His chest vibrated as he chuckled.
Two can play this game. I may have been rusty, but I excelled at sucking face. I ran my hand through his hair, massaging his scalp with my nails. His lips parted, and I thrust my tongue into his mouth, wreathing it around his, pleading fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. His arms tightened, pulling me against him. There he was, hot, hard and alive under my hip. One hand I kept tangled in his hair, with the other I stroked his spine, and his body rocked beneath me.
He pushed me off of him, his face flushed red, his chest heaving. “Jesus Christ Carla.”
“Yeah, there are other things I can do with my mouth,” I said, my gaze dropping to the tent he was pitching. It was huge. “You’re not too shabby yourself, Tod.”
Book 2: Gutter Punk
“Do you like to cook?” I asked.
Looking at me over her shoulder, her smile was genuine. “Yeah. It works out well, ‘cuz I bet you like to eat.” She gave me a cheesy wink.
“I do.” I pulled up my shirt to rub my stomach. “I do.”
She snuck peeks at me through lowered lashes.
My hand moved down, rubbing my crotch.
Carla sat down, her elbows on the table, her entire body pointing toward me, as if this were a fascinating conversation and not me getting ready to jack off in front of her. I undid my fly so slowly I could feel each tooth part. My boner added a delicious element of danger.
Her timer went off and I got my dick out while she still had her back to me. I worked the precum around its head as Carla finished with the grill. This time, she turned the timer to face me.
“I’ve got three minutes to what?” I said, reaching down with my other hand to cup my balls.
“I dunno, entertain me.” She reached out to grasp my shaft while I touched the head. “I was trying to be spur of the moment too.”
She laughed at herself, and I laughed too. Something about her made me feel comfortable. If she didn’t take herself seriously, maybe she could laugh away the fact that I ran away, to be a confused teenager, for three years. My cock softened a little.
“I should give you a blow job later. I’m good at them,” she said.
The timer went off. I had thirty seconds to do something naughty. My balls were tight and heavy, my dick huge. I shucked my shirt and pulled my pants down around my thighs.
Carla gaped at me, like she had that first night.
“Fuck, I’m trying to make dinner here. Have some goddamn mercy,” she said
God, she really does want me. If I don’t put my cock away, she’s gonna jump on it and we’ll make a baby. I awkwardly worked my pants back on and got my dick safely tucked away. I tucked the tail of my shirt in my pocket so I didn’t forget it. As she stared at me, I touched my nipples and rubbed the obvious bulge in my pants.
“Thank fucking god,” she said when the timer went off for the final time. “Ugh, I forgot to get the tray to put the meat on, because someone was distracting me.”
I just grinned at her, my cock in one hand, my hard nipple in the other. As hungry as I was, I wanted to screw around more. The way Carla licked her lips, she felt the same.
A Tale of Two Clitties
Andrea: She’s a hot-head who can only tame her temper with an orgasm. After a humiliating Internet fight, Andrea imagines tying her nemesis, Constance, to a chair and forcing her to watch. Her enemy is soon squirming with desire. Feeling generous, Andrea teaches her all about being a woman.
Victoria: She’s a timid housewife, wound tighter than a three dollar alarm clock. She has demolished yet another enemy, but feels no pride. Victoria’s big adventure of the day is wearing a skimpy outfit into the front yard. Imagining a blue collar sex-pot named Lacey, Victoria jills off to thoughts of her until her fiance returns to satisfy her.
Inspired by their encounters, each pens a tale of lust. Posting them on the internet, they find themselves caricatured in the other’s story and find they like it.
Constance sighed with pleasure. This woman’s body never felt so good, all at the hands of Andrea. Pinching Constance’s clit, she made Constance’s legs jerk against her bonds. A muffled cry of surprise slipped past the gag. Constance squirted her own girl cum onto Andrea’s hand.
Andrea let it pool in the palm of her hand. Unbuckling Constance’s gag, she held her cum filled hand in front of her. Constance eagerly licked it up, her whole body still undulating from the sensation.
“That’s right Constance, that’s what being a woman tastes like.” A sparkle lit Constance’s once dull eyes. This time as Andrea put the gag back in, Constance smiled.
Andrea was more than warmed up—her pussy twitched with want. She turned her vibrator on low, a dull throbbing hum, and touched it lightly to her clit. Her legs jittered and she came, her fluid spattering off the head of the vibrator. “Keep count Constance, keep count of how many times I come.”
Andrea pressed the head of the vibrator to her clit, her thighs closing over it. Another orgasm rocked through her body and she moaned. As her pussy clenched, cum sprayed over her thighs and ass. Flopping onto her back, she eased up the pressure, allowing her legs to open. She centered the vibrator over her clit, and she rode waves of multiple orgasms until the towel beneath her was soaked in her hot cum. Her clit hummed, even after she turned off the vibrator. Constance’s hungry gaze devoured her body.
Andrea’s pussy needed a break from the intensity of the vibrator, and she knew just the thing. Andrea lowered Constance to lay on her back. She freed Constance’s lips, and crouched over her face.
The Altar of Deimos
Wanda is devastated after her nasty divorce. With an evening to herself, she decides to take a hot bath and put on some sexy lingerie, just for her. Little does she know that lurking in the shadows is an immortal creature, come to kneel before her, and soothe her aches with his flicking tongue and hard cock.
The Incubus understands his purpose, to give pleasure to women, but still, he has questions. Who am I? is one that will not go away. He knows what to do, but has nothing to call himself, nothing to distinguish him from brethren besides his features. He is the mist that creeps in the window or under the door, and takes women in the night.
A crash startled him, and he turned to see Wanda gaping at him, her eyes wide and her mouth popped open in a little o. Holding up her hands, she backed away.
Rushing to her, he lifted her from amidst the shards of glass. She slapped and screamed at him as he carried her to the bed. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?”
The Incubus tried to scurry away, but she had his black coal locks gripped in her fist. She beat him with a book from her nightstand.
“Get out of my house before I call the cops!”
He caught her wrist, hoping if he could still her blows he could talk to her, but she started kicking him as she wrenched his head to one side.
“Please stop Wanda, I haven’t come to hurt you,” he said. “Let me clean up that glass and I will go.”
Something in his voice, the low sensual tones in which every Incubus spoke, must have calmed her, because she stopped kicking him. Afraid she would start again, the Incubus didn’t move.
The towel had fallen off in their tussle, and he was trying not to stare at the damp blond curls of her pubic hair. She kept her bush tastefully trimmed, and he was so hard it hurt. The hand that held his hair loosened, but her fingers remained.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“For you,” he said, peeking at her from under his eyelashes.
She surveyed his body, his dusky skin and lean muscles, his Patrician features and bee-stung lips. His cock jumped as her eyes rested on it.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
“I want you to put on your lingerie,” he said. “And I want to watch you make yourself come. Then I want to make you come.”
“Who are you?” Her voice was low and husky, her body leaning toward him.
“I’m an Incubus.”
“A what?” She withdrew from him and he moved closer, not wanting to lose contact with her body.
He sighed with joy as she laid her hand over his. “An Incubus. We’re not demons, though we do pleasure women,” he said. “We are given to those who have struggled, who need someone to touch them.” He reached out to trail a finger up her arm, leaving a wake of shivers.
Already her eyes were growing dark, intoxicated with him. As an Incubus, he had been blessed with many gifts to seduce women, including the heady aura of sex.
She blinked, jerking her gaze away from his body. “Don’t you have a name?”