Archive for Fiction

The plan

“Kidnap me,” she said, with a little laugh.

He looked surprised, unbelieving.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard me,” she said. “Kidnap me. I want you to. I dare you to.”

“You’re insane,” he laughed, lifting his beer and rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m not,” she said coolly, lifting her glass. “Send me out for an errand. Have me pick up your dry cleaning or run to the store for milk. Whatever,” she crossed her legs in his direction, pressing her knee against the edge of the bar.

He smirked, then drank more beer.

She continued, “I don’t want to know when it’s coming, so you’ll have to send me out on lots of errands before you make your move.”

“Great,” he laughed. “You’ll be picking up all of my dry cleaning for a while. Works for me.”

“Jerk,” she said with a thin smile. “Now, you don’t get off that easy. You have to do your part. Eventually.”

“Yeah?” he asked, gulping more beer.

“Yeah,” she shifted in her seat, leaning in a little closer. “See, I want you to snatch me. Cover my face, pretend to have a gun. Be creative,” she laughed wryly. “Push me into an alley or into a car, whatever.” She sipped her drink. “I want you to scare me.”

He widened his eyes.

“What you do after that is up to you,” she said with a smile. “You can rip my clothes off. You can be as rough or gentle as you want. You can bite me, lick my pussy, whatever. Fuck me. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you scaring me. I want to be scared. Got it?” she laughed and emptied her glass.

He wiped his forehead, looking scared, then signaled the barkeeper for another round.

The class

Have I ever told you what a good student I am? I love to be taught. Why should sex be any different? Our marriage counselor mentioned a few places, so I looked into them. One place holds workshops. What do you do at a sex workshop? I decided to find out. I signed up for Overdue: An Intro to Submission.

I went by myself the first time because, well, like anything sexy I needed to see it for myself first. I literally had no idea what to expect. I wore black – black jeans, a tank, bra, and panties. Nothing but black, because what the hell do you wear to a sex workshop? It’s winter, so I wore a sweater over top. It was drapey and black. Black boots.

Just in case, I brought a notebook and pen. The class description hadn’t mentioned to bring anything, but I did anyway. I took the train. It was a mid-afternoon class and it was still light outside when I arrived. The workshops are held in a loft on the top floor of a three-story walk-up. Dirty photos lined the stairs. At the top, I found the instructor, good-looking, medium height, ripped, energetic. All right.

“Hi there,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” I answered but didn’t smile.

“Here for the workshop?” he asked as if he was just curious. He was soft spoken and seemed friendly. Not exactly what I expected.

“Yeah,” I said, looking directly at him. He was cool.

“Grab a seat. There’s coffee and water in the lounge down the hall.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I walked down the hall to the loft, which was set up theater-style. At the front of the room was a large old-fashioned desk and behind it hung a chalkboard, an actual chalkboard probably circa 1975. Armchairs and wooden dining chairs were arranged in rows facing the desk. A few people had already taken their seats – two girls, both pretty, both long-haired, one blond and one brunette. One punk-looking guy in a knit hat and biker jacket sat in an armchair messing with his phone. A couple sat near the back. They looked older, maybe in their 50s. Nobody was drinking coffee.

“Hi,” I said to no one in particular. I took off my coat and sank down into an armchair near the punk, the most interesting of the classmates. I pulled out my notebook and tossed my bag aside.

After a few minutes, the instructor came into the room. “I guess this is it today,” he said cheerfully. He walked to the front. “I’m Bob,” he said.

Yes, I thought. Just right. Not Robert, Bob. I wrote it down in my notebook at the top of the first page.

“Let’s introduce ourselves, and if you’d like to, you can say why you are here today,” he said with a little smile.

He sounded very professional and I wondered for a quick second if I was in the right place.

The punk guy went first. “I’m Javier,” he said. “I’m a writer and I’m researching for a novel I’m working on,” he said.

“Mmhmm…” Bob responded. He sat on the desk, leaning forward attentively, legs spread, hands pressing down on the desk. It was an inviting yet slightly intimidating pose.

I went next. “I’m Jenna,” I said. “I’m trying something new,” I said, trying to sound interesting.

The rest of the group introduced themselves—the girls were there together, for work, presumably as escorts or something. The couple was there to spice things up, they said. Then Bob ran his hands over his thighs. “Let’s get started,” he said with a little grin. “First of all, you all should get comfy. You can wear anything you like for this class, as long as it makes you feel sexy. Go ahead and change if you want to.” He managed to sound only faintly like a perverted doctor about to give an exam.

I looked around the room, wondering what to expect. The older couple asked where they could change. The punk removed his hat to reveal spiky-messy hair and impressively stretched earlobes. He took off his jacket and revealed a tight black t-shirt with tattoos escaping from underneath.

I stood up to take off my sweater and turned to face the pretty girls. They were each stripped down to just bras and panties, so I took a chance and took off my boots and jeans. I sat back down and scribbled some notes about what everyone was wearing. The couple returned, clad in leather – a bodysuit for her, chaps for him. They looked self-conscious but happy.

Bob wore tight jeans, boots, and a white t-shirt with a hamburger-shaped planet on the front. While we changed, he hopped down from the desk and moved to the chalkboard. “Say yes,” he wrote in large letters in the center. I copied it into my notebook.

He turned and surveyed the room. “I’m no dom,” he smiled. “Not really. I’m just a behaviorist.” I jotted that down in my notebook.

“But there’s really only one simple rule for being a good submissive,” he said and stuck his thumb over his shoulder toward the words on the board. “And this is it.”

Everybody laughed.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But it’s true. You can learn so much about yourself just by saying yes.” I wrote that down.

“Okay, let’s play a game,” he said. “Craig and Sue. You guys look ready for anything. Come up front please.” Bob opened a drawer in the desk and removed a rope, a blindfold, and a gag. “Which of the two of you is feeling submissive today?” he asked them. Sue raised her hand and gave a little wave. “Okay, Craig, get to work then,” Bob handed him the supplies. “I have a book on knots if you need it.”

Craig and Sue nodded and stepped to the side. Craig whispered something to Sue and she nodded, then he began by blindfolding her and putting the gag into her mouth. He began wrapping the rope into an elaborate pattern, constraining her breasts and wrists. Finally, Craig whispered to Sue again and she dropped to her knees. I took notes. The pretty girls whispered and giggled behind me and Javier watched, seemingly unimpressed.

“Ladies, come up front, please,” Bob said evenly, beckoning to the pretty girls. They giggled and walked to the front modeling their underwear for the class. Javier shifted in his seat as they passed him, one on each side.

When the girls got to the front, Bob took the brunette by the hand and lead her to one side of the desk. “Kneel, please,” he directed. “Face the audience,” he said. She did. Bob repeated the positioning with the blonde girl, just to the side of the brunette. The girls looked at each other and laughed. Bob knelt down in front of them and whispered something. The girls nodded and giggled. I took notes.

“Javier, sir, come up here,” Bob waved to the punk. Bob whispered into his ear. Javier smirked and nodded, then moved toward the kneeling girls. He faced them and undid his jeans.

“Okay, Jenna, your turn,” Bob smiled at me. I came up to the front. “Um, do you like standing on furniture?” he asked.

I looked past him at the note on the chalkboard. “Yes,” I said decisively.

“Great! Take off your tank top please.” Bob was a combination of friendly and dead serious. I wavered for a moment, then took off my tank top and tossed it in the direction of my seat.

He nodded in approval. “Now stand on top of the desk,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, unsure. I climbed up and looked around the room. Craig was standing in front of Sue, rubbing his hard cock on her gagged and blindfolded face. My eyes widened. The pretty girls were kneeling before Javier, licking and sucking his cock at the same time, still giggling.

“Rub your pussy, please,” Bob said to me. I looked nervously around the room, and then I slipped my hand into my panties.

Bob moved to the front row and picked up my pen. He scribbled something in my notebook, then put the pen down and moved to the second row. He climbed up on a wingback chair, sat on the top with his feet on the seat, and undid his pants. He observed the room for a few minutes, and then started rubbing his cock, hard and fast.

After he came, he climbed down from the chair and zipped his pants. “Thanks, guys, he said,” although none of us was really listening. He left.

Later, when I collected my things, I noticed that he had left me a note. “Good girl,” it said in my notebook.


This is fiction, people. Total, complete, utter fiction. If you know me, then you know that I would never stand on a desk.


Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

None of this happened

He followed me up the staircase. I saw him notice me as I got up from the table. I admit it, I gave him a smile. As I neared the stairs, he pushed his chair back and squeezed his wife on the shoulder.

I climbed ahead of him, just out of reach. I could see you waiting at our table.

At the top of the staircase, I found a roaring fire. A wooden bench encircled the fireplace. I took a seat and looked up. I didn’t smile. Beyond the fireplace partiers laughed and music blared. It was perfect.

He stared at me from the top of the steps. Yes, he had followed me up here. Now he seemed surprised to see me waiting. A moment passed where we both considered the lines we were crossing. Yes, this was happening. He strode towards me and stood directly in front of me. He smiled. He reached out and touched my lips, then lowered his hand. He slipped into my blouse and with one swift movement pinched my nipple, hard.

I yelped. Luckily the music and laughter drowned me out.

A woman, not his wife, appeared at the top of the stairs. She paid us no attention as she walked past into the ladies’ room.

He kept his hand inside my blouse. With the other hand, he took mine and led it to the front of his slacks. He was already hard. I rubbed the length of his cock as he pinched my nipple even harder. I moaned and rocked my hips from side to side against my aching pussy.

A few seconds later, as the woman emerged from the bathroom, he abruptly removed his hand from my blouse. I gave him a longing look, but his mouth was set. No. She passed us and he turned and walked back to the staircase, down the stairs, to his table. I waited a few moments by the fire and then returned to you.

As I sat down I smiled at you. Beyond, he smiled too, and put his arm around his wife.

Wanna go to lunch?

“Time for lunch,” the text read.

Then, “Now.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I said, heart pounding. I shut the conference room door behind me.

I rode the train in a trance. Heat from between my legs traveled over my breasts to my neck. My face was flushed, my pussy wet. The ache was so intense that I couldn’t restrain myself. I slipped a hand under the jacket on my lap and pressed my clit hard. I moaned, too loud, and the man across from me noticed. He knew. It only made me hotter. I licked my lips and rolled my eyes back, giving him a little smile. He smiled back. I rubbed my clit furiously under my jacket.

Two stops later, I got up, shaking, and exited the train. I walked a block to the apartment building, hurrying. He followed me, the man from the train. I could feel him behind me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting there.

Another text. “I want you naked, pressed against the front window,” it read.

I took the stairs two at a time. I turned the knob as I kicked off my heels. I left the door gaping open, crossing the room to the wide window. I ripped off my blouse and skirt, leaving a trail on the floor. Panting, I pressed my cheek to the cold glass and slipped a hand into my ruined panties.

I heard the camera click. I waited, two fingers thrusting inside me, wanting more. A minute later he pressed his chest to my back, taking my hand and pinning me to the window, pulling my panties to the side and slipping his hard cock inside me. “Yes,” I called desperately.

Lost in the feeling of his fucking, I didn’t notice the sound of the camera still clicking away until afterwards.

“You brought a guest, you dirty girl,” he said, smiling at the man from the train, who put the camera down and unzipped his pants.


Your birthday

Although I so want it, I’m having trouble visualizing the specifics of this one. Here goes.


You sent us the invitation by email, almost jokingly.

“Come meet me,” you said mentioning a nice hotel downtown. “Room 909. I’ll be waiting. Wear as little as possible.”

She and I meet in the lobby. I’ve been sitting at the bar with a glass of wine, wondering if you are watching from afar. Imagining your face.

When I see her – she’s unmistakable – I abandon my wine and head slowly toward her.

We hug, kiss on the cheek, like old friends. She’s in a short black dress, a gray sweater, and knee-high black boots. She’s beautiful.

“Should we go upstairs, or do you want a drink first?” I ask. We are both a little anxious to discover what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she says, cheerful, breathy. “Room 909, right?” she asks.

I nod. We head to the elevator. I half expect to find you waiting inside. You’re not.

We get out on the ninth floor – You’re not in the hallway, either – and turn right, heading down the hall. The hotel is lovely. It’s so nice that I feel a little guilty for being here under these circumstances.

We find the door slightly ajar. She pushes the door open and we go inside, expecting you to greet us. The room is large, with a huge picture window overlooking the glowing nighttime city. There is a king-sized bed, a desk, a lounge chair in the corner, a mini bar. Music oozes from the speakers. Everything we need except you. You are strangely absent.

I close the door behind me, and we stand still for a moment, wondering what to do next. My phone buzzes, and I find that you’ve texted me.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Get undressed. Pour us some champagne.” I notice the bottle cooling on the counter of the mini bar. Three glasses sit next to it.

“I’ll be along soon,” you follow up. I show her the texts. We smile.

“Weird that he isn’t here,” I say. “After all, this is his birthday celebration.” We laugh. I take off my heels by the door, and briefly check the bathroom in case you’re hiding in there. I don’t find you behind the door, in the glass-walled shower, or in the enormous bathtub.

I head over to the dresser, and take off my dress, putting it away. I leave on my ivory lace bra and panties. She is already undressed, her black bra and lace thong outlining her curves, pronouncing them. She’s left on her boots, and is lying on her side on the bed with one leg at a right angle. She has her champagne glass in her hand. I want to take her picture like that, freeze her.

Just then my phone buzzes: “Put your heels back on,” your text says.

I do.


The interview

Let’s make it as sketchy as possible. This isn’t the typical job anyway, is it?

Text me the name of the hotel where we’ll meet.

I’ll dress professionally, but look closely. I’ve put a lot of thought into the details.

Will we have a drink at the bar first? Or will you send me your room number minutes before I arrive?

I want you to be firm, rigorous, thorough. Instead of questions, I want to feel your hands on me, directing me. I want to taste your mouth on mine. Let’s communicate through kisses.

You will find me receptive, hungry. You will be surprised by me, by my desire to please you and by my determination to succeed. You will find my mind open and my skin ready. Teach me. Mark me.

You will have only a taste of me, but I will leave you wanting more.

To whom it may concern

I want to work for you.

This is my application.

I want to please you. I’d like to earn your respect.

You have things to teach me. I want to learn.

I’d like to do things your way, exactly as you like. I want to relinquish control to you. Show me how.

I won’t like it, but still I want it.

I want you to admire me, compliment me, reward me. I want you to challenge me, push my limits. Show me how much more is possible. Pay me.

I want to earn your trust and learn your secrets. I want you to know me. I want to succeed.

I am ready.


You’ve seen all of my clothes. You know my skirts, tank tops, dresses, shorts, yoga pants, pjs, by now. All of it. You have your favorites, you’ve told me. I have mine.

“Pick your favorite dress,” you tell me. I’m half-dressed, splayed before you, begging for more. Really, I am. You’ve just ripped my panties off.

“Pick your favorite and put it on. Nothing underneath,” you tell me gently but firmly. This is what we’re doing now, there’s no question. It’s all okay.

“Yeah,” I say, barely coherent.

I get up and rifle through my things. I find the little black dress with the white polka dots. This one is nice, not slutty. I put it on.

“Kneel on the rug, please,” you say.

I do. I wonder what’s next.

You move around the bed and stand in front of me. Your cock is still bulging in your pants, I am still hungry for it.

“Undo my pants now,” You say deeply.

I do. I start to pull them down.

“No. Not yet,” you tell me, removing my hands from your pants. Your cock is half out and I am straining towards it, trying to lick it, brush it with my lips, anything.

You hold my hands tightly above my head. You slowly move your cock toward my lips until I can feel the heat pouring off of it. I whimper.

“Suck my cock now, please,” you tell me. “Just the tip to start.”

Finally your cock touches my lips. The contact sends shudders through my whole body. You are still holding my hands, bracing yourself against me, making it difficult for me to move at will. I brush my lips against the tip of your cock, again and again. I open my mouth and try to take you inside it, straining against your hands. I love the control that you have over me.

The tip of your cock is glistening. You want more, need more. But you’re resisting for now, drawing this out.

You move a tiny bit closer, let me circle my tongue around the tip of your cock. Your breathing is slow and heavy.

“Take my pants off now,” you say, releasing my hands.

I do, quickly, moaning when I see your cock finally free.

“I want you to keep sucking my cock now, please,” you say. “I want to come all over your pretty dress.”

“Yes,” I gasp, as I reach for your cock with both hands.


I want to put my hands on you

Take off your shirt. Undress completely if you like.

Lie down.

Breathe deeply. Our space smells of sandalwood smoke and desire.

Ready yourself. I am lighting the candles and warming my hands.


You’ll feel my hands on your shoulders first, heavy and needing.

My touch takes as much as it gives.

With my hands, I will work your body. I will translate skin, bone, muscle into feeling.

Slowly, I will move my hands up your neck, higher, onto your head. Where I touch you, I will infuse you with energy.

Lower, down over your back. Your tension evaporates, opening you.


Feel me. Feel the pure pleasure in the places I touch you. Feel the language of my touch as I translate you.

Hours pass like this. Me touching, you feeling.

I will know every inch of your body.

Full moon

Here I lay in the light of the moon.

The light shines in the grooves of my mind.

I’m mysterious, unknowable. I like complication.

Here, I belong to myself.

Here, I offer myself to you.

Here, I wait for you to take that invisible, indescribable thing, that heavy thing inside me that begs to be taken up and used, picked up and played with, scooped out of me and scratched.

In the light of the moon I can admit how deeply the dark draws me. I can feel the wild girl inside me and I can feel the layered ache for more.

In the light of the moon I can form the words to ask you for more, to beg you to take what is yours.

In the full moon I have no fear.