Superotica Advent Calendar 18 – Sheri Savill & A M Hartnett

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I may have been a little reckless today in handing over the Superotica Advent Calendar to Sheri Savill & A M Hartnett – what with their bad girl attitudes and love of tentacle porn! But rest assured, normal service will resume tomorrow! In the meantime, be ready to be squicked!

Tentacles

Well, this was certainly unexpected. I had no frigging idea what in the hell I was going to come up with when Tamsin made a request specifically for tentacle erotica until I asked myself, Okay, what has tentacles? Octopi? Nope. Squid? Not happening. Flying spaghetti monster? Sorry. Slender Man? Not a chance in no, wait.  No, thats too fucked up oh God, I must write it.

 So, yes, Ive written Slender Man tentacle porn for Tamsin in return for giving me the gift of red hot zombie cock.

He’s not real, Lisa thought, and as the writhing thing that had slithered underneath the bedding closed around her ankle, she squeezed her eyes shut.

 She never should have taken that dare.

 For weeks there had been nightmares. Waking up in a cold sweat and searching every shadow for movement had left her a wreck. There was never anything there. The university counsellor she had visited prescribed pills to help her sleep, but she never took them and she never told anyone about the images in her head.

 And now he — was it even a he? — was there in her bedroom, one of those six frightful appendages clasping above the ankle.

 As he took possession of the second ankle, Lisa gasped and reached for the headboard, but too late. He was already dragging her down to the foot of the bed.

 Lisa couldn’t tell if the rattling sound she heard was in her head or coming from him, but as the covers were pushed off and she felt his eerie closeness looming over her she heard only the thumping of her heart.

 She never should have gone into the woods.

 Her hold on the bedding beneath her was useless as he cuffed her wrists with two more … God, they really were tentacles, weren’t they? In the next moment she was sitting up and praying that fright would make her pass out before whatever came next.

 She remembered what her friends had said, had teased her with around the campfire before the dare. His victims were never found. No bodies. No trace. Nothing for her to look towards now that he had her.

 She never should have opened her eyes that first time in the woods.

 For the next few moments he simply held her in place. How she could feel the stare of a creature that had no face, she didn’t know, but awareness tingled across her shoulders and down her back. She swore she wouldn’t look, but as he tightened his quadruple grip and drew her legs apart she couldn’t help but open her eyes.

 Nothing stared back at her. No menacing eyes, no flaring nostrils, and no mouth pulled tight. Nothing at all but white flesh pulled taut over a narrow skull.

 Yet, still she stared where eyes should have been and held her breath as those two remaining tentacles jutting from his back slithered around his pale torso.

 Her terror climaxed with the brush of one tapered end coiling around her neck, but she felt no danger in that grip. Just insistence, a request for obedience as that final feeler ran along her inner thigh.

 This is real, she thought now as he opened her up, as he slowly stretched her. Lisa couldn’t pretend that this was in her imagination as he drew her legs further apart and that vine-like thing that invaded her began to move slowly against her inner walls.

 She couldnt pretend he wasnt real as she drew her thighs further apart.

 

And now heres Sheri Savill for God only knows, but good luck topping Slender Man porn.

 

Most nights, she just let him have his way with her. Shed come to think of it as a he. Theyd bonded, all those weeks. He really was good, maybe the best shed ever had. Something about the tentacles. It was like a gang bang, but she didnt feel slutty because it was still one squid or octopus or whatever the fuck he was. Thats what she told herself. One thing. Not a bunch of them. So it was okay.

In a typical evening she came so many times she lost count. Then they would spoon. His arms around her. Sometimes a suction cup would tease at her nipple, sending spasms of delight through her.

Mmm you, shed murmur, near drifting off to sleep. She still had no name for him, which was getting to be a bit awkward. Calling him you was better than thing with the white fleshy skin-like stuff pulled taut over a head, sort of, but with no real face and no eyes. After all theyd shared, that seemed much too formal. Then again, she couldnt see calling him Joe or my favorite cephalopod either.

And there was no one to ask as to matters of protocol in this. She couldnt tell anyone. Not even her best friend. Darlene. Im being fucked every night by this thing. Him. I dont know what he is. But its the best sex of my goddamned life. I need a name for him. He has tentacles. And Darlene would think she was joking and go back to her book.

Im serious, Darlene. I need a name for him.

Darlene looked up. Thoughtful.

How about my imaginary boyfriend with no face and at least six tentacles?

Thats not funny. Were in love.

It is too funny.

You dont know what hes like. He wears nice suits.

Do tell.

Tailored. Very expensive. Custom, of course.

Of course. Because, six arm holes, right?

Dont mock me. Dont mock what he and I share.

Im not mocking you. Im glad youre getting laid. Gangbanged, suctioned, whatever.

Occasionally she would have a fleeting moment of sadness after a rough interlude wherein a tentacle had invaded her too brusquely, to the point of near pain. Shed flash on all the times shed ordered the deep-fried calamari at Carrabbas. Even as he brought her to the edge he liked to torment her, and he liked it rough — shed find herself wondering if shed eaten one of his countrymen or whatever they might be.

Thats crazy. He doesnt have relatives.

Her reverie was cut short as the tip of a playful tentacle abruptly pushed into her ear.

Ow! Watch the ear you. Another sinewy feeler poked at her ass. Nuh uh, she warned. Not without lube you. Im still fucking sore from last night. Jesus. I wish you could say something. Or that you had eyes at least. Yet you seem to know me, and what I need. Better than any thing Ive ever been with. You make me crazy, though. Strong silent type.

In an instant, she felt a suction cup attach to her pussy. The force of an industrial-grade vacuum action took her breath away.

Oh my God! YOU!

She undulated while he pumped her soft flesh, the blood flowing, making her mad with desire. He released her and she struggled to find her breath again. The show of force was his way of saying, Im in charge here. I can attach suction cups to you and make you writhe and scream and come. Im not angry about the calamari. But I cant ignore it. Its a sore spot. It always will be. Behave.

Ok so now Im feeling a little insecure. Sheri topped my Slender Man porn with her own Slender Man porn. All thats needed now is Sam Rockwell cringing in the corner shouting Thats not right!

galaxy questBig thanks to Tamsin for the homework. This was unusual, but fun! Now Sheri and I are off to think of new pen names, because from here on out were known as the duo who wrote Slender Man porn.

A.M. HARTNETT began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counselor. She is the author of the Carried Away series, currently available from Mischief Books.

http://www.amhartnett.com

SHERI SAVILL writes crazy funny things and whatever else she feels like writing. She hates being cornered and shoved into a genre-hole. UGH. NO.

 http://sherisavill.com/

 

 

 

 

ICYMI: Why a Serial? Why Now?

Why a Serial? Why Now? This post was originally published on 12 December on One Handed Writers, so my apologies if you’ve already seen it.

Why a serial? Why now? If you’re already a friend of mine on Facebook or Twitter, you’ll probably have heard me referring to Alchemy xii. It’s my current WIP, favorite project, new release, careening juggernaut of a current ‘thing’. In fact, I would say, it’s a tiger that’s got me by the tail! A massive undertaking that’s just gone live and will continue as a rolling serial throughout the whole of 2015.

Alchemy xii - New Year's EveSo what’s the deal about Alchemy xii? The whole thing started a long time ago, probably more than two years ago. An idea sprung to mind that I wanted to write a D/s story in a diary format. Initially, my thoughts were just to write it as a straightforward novel. But gradually over time, as I developed storylines and characters in my mind, I began to wonder if I couldn’t quite literally run it as an ongoing diary.

The genesis of Alchemy xii has been long and slow. There have been false starts and a number of central players breathed life before I was finally happy with the pairing of Harry and Olivia. And in parallel to creating a story arc that could run over the course of a year, I had to work out the logistics of offering not just a serial, but also omnibus editions and the opportunity for readers to subscribe.

But what amazes me about this whole two year process, is the uncanny on-the-nose timing I’ve managed to achieve with Alchemy xii. What do I mean? Look at this way – this month I’m launching a serial that will run for the whole of the next year. When I set out to do this, I wasn’t thinking about the zeitgeist. I hadn’t heard of podcasts – or at least I wasn’t actively listening to them. And if I was binge-viewing my favorite TV series, I certainly didn’t appreciate that this was what it was called. Fast forward to December 2014. The USA and GB are gripped by the This American Life: Serial podcast. I’ve read at least three articles about why now is the time to serialize your fiction in the last month alone. And Netflix and Amazon Prime continue to show how viewers are turned on to episodic story telling in a massive way.

January cover-page1400And I wander into all this with my sweet little story about Harry and Olivia – a Dom and a sub with a difference!  I couldn’t be more thrilled with the way it’s all turning out. I don’t usually get my timing right. I’m not actually a zeitgeist kind of a girl. But just this once, maybe, I’m riding the front of the wave – and I’m going to f**king go for it!

So what exactly made this just the right moment to launch a serial? Releasing fiction in serial form is as old as Charles Dickens himself. In fact, he was an early proponent of the serialization of fiction and released many of his lengthy tomes in bite-size chunks in newspapers or magazines. As did Alexander Dumas of The Three Musketeers fame. Penny dreadfuls and dime novels followed, with their sensationalist storylines and lurid covers. The advent of cheaper printing meant the genre fell out of favor and huge door-stopper tomes became the replacement – perfect for picking up in the airport for that interminable long-haul flight.

But there seems to be a feeling in the air right now that we’ve come full circle. People are reading on mobile devices, snatching a snippet in their tea break or on the commute home. As our concentration spans have shortened, the prospect of wading into a Dickens novel has, for most readers, become the ultimate turn-off. It’s time to turn back the clock in a new way and harness modern technology to provide readers with the same sort of serialization kick that they’re getting from the television and the podcasts.

What could be better than getting hooked on an exciting story and then having a new novella length episode, delivered to your device, on the first of every month? This is what Alchemy xii has to offer – a red-hot club-based BDSM saga that will detail month-by-month the rising sexual tension as my irreverent Dom Harry Lomax struggles to tame his beautiful submissive, Olivia Roux. And while he knows exactly what he needs to do to push all her buttons, she’s doing a wonderful job pushing all his without even realizing it!

 

subscription pack-page0001The first episode, Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve is available now, free of charge.

The next episode, Alchemy xii – January releases on January 1 and is available for pre-order.

Or you can subscribe to the whole series by visiting the Alchemy xii store.

Superotica Advent Calendar 17 – Rose Caraway

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Today I’m thrilled to welcome the Sexy Librarian herself, Rose Caraway, onto Superotica, with a sexy seasonal ghost story she’s written just for the occasion…

 

Naked woman

 

An XXX-mas Story

 

He wakes to the sound of something repetitive. An insistent banging. He rubs his eyes against the intermittent blinks of Christmas lights strung around their bedroom window. With a yawn, he props himself onto an elbow. He tilts his head and studies the sounds. He hears the Lincolnshire Poacher melody playing on the clock-radio. The dry hum of the heater pushing air through the vent. And then, there it is—headboard meeting wall. And, the strange weighty jangle of… chains. It sounds as though there are strands upon strands of them. Heavy and unrelenting. Then he hears his wife’s impassioned moans underneath it all and his cock responds of its own volition. The scorching flush of jealousy suddenly rises to his cheeks. He swings his bare feet to the winter-chilled hardwood floor, is instantly awake. He doesn’t bother with his robe. Heads for the little staircase that leads up to the attic. Where his wife has been obsessing over her latest treasure. An antique brass door knocker.

The door is ajar. For him, he supposes. Hopes. Another hazy, blinking strand of Christmas lights glows from the small, round single-paned window inside. His palms are sweating from anxiety as the tell-tale sounds of fucking seem to reverberate off every wall around him now. He hears his wife’s fast, breathy whines and his skin tightens and he lets out an anguished groan. His cock stands entirely erect now, completely perpendicular to the floor. The dripping head of it taps his heated skin just below his bellybutton, leaving behind sticky cool dots of pre-come with each careful step he takes. He can’t help but wonder: Is she fucking a friend or a stranger this time?

The heavy metal sound of rattling chains and hard bed-to-wall collisions pulls him forward. His trembling fingers reach out, barely nudge the old door’s dried wooden surface. The rusted hinges creak. The door opens a few inches wider. Almost hiding behind the door, he flinches, distressed by what he sees.

Amidst the banging and clanging he sees her. His wife. She is naked save for her lovely slender legs which are wrapped in thigh high candy cane-striped stockings—a gift from him this Christmas Eve night. They make her legs festive and cheerful as they are splayed irresistibly wide. To him, she is a beautiful and whorish vision. Her breasts pitch and toss about her chest as the bed slams against the wall. Her arms are stretched and tethered to the top bedposts, by something unseen at this distance. To his rational mind he recognizes the throes of orgasm that she is suffering, there is no doubt that she is being fucked. But by what? Her body is sweating and pink with arousal. He feels his jaw go slack when he looks between her legs to find her glistening pussy… gaping.

Each thrust she receives orchestrates her toes, her mouth, the bed, the bedframe, and the strange, ghostly sound of chains. His wife’s moans are relentless, escalating and he can’t help it when his fingers press the door open the rest of the way. His eyes blink wide as he steps over the worn threshold. He sees…no one. No one is in the room with her. He doesn’t understand. As his wife’s wrists are bound to each corner post, her legs extending painfully wide …she is clearly being ravished, mercilessly. By something—someone. He swallows. His suddenly feels parched. As the headboard continues to pound against the wall his eyes are drawn to the antique knocker nailed prominently above the bed. He shakes his head. Pushes the thought away. Impossible!

He focuses on what he does understand, what he knows to be possible; if only to ground himself before his mind reaches, irreversibly for the preposterous.

He looks back at her pussy. It is practically yawning open. Proving what he suspects. Someone—no, something is fucking her. A specter? No.

Yes.

He looks back at the knocker—its brass handle keeping beat with the headboard and his wife’s animal-like cries. The knocker suddenly flickers and glows and catches his eye; a white and luminescent face rises from it. It smiles back at him, a handkerchief tied around his jaw. The thing winks at him before sinking back, disappearing.

Chains clank louder. The bed quakes. The walls shake. His wife screams now. She’s gasping for breath. Her round sweaty breasts pitching in spastic rhythm as the—ghost pounds into her. Based on the thrashing it is giving his wife, he knows that this is not a ghost sentenced to an eternity bound by monetary greed. This is a ghost imprisoned by the eternal and unbreakable chains of lust. It is the insatiable, Jacob Marley.

His knees shake. He feels dizzy, weak with powerless desire. He knows this ghost’s lust. Embraces its familiarity. And he wants to run to his wife, save her body from this ravishing trespass, but he wants to watch her experience it too. He leans heavily against the doorframe grateful that it’s there.

The chains stop rattling, the bed and its frame terribly cruel as they become still, too. His wife whimpers, pulls impatiently against her invisible restraints. He sees the impressions in her breasts as they are being squeezed by long, unseen fingers and his chest feels as though it is collapsing as he releases a loud groan. Lust is burning in his blood, thrumming in his cock. His eyes meet hers and he sees that it burns the same within her, too.

Droplets of sweat—illuminated by the glow of Christmas lights, glisten over her skin. One of her candy cane-striped stalking’s has slid down her thigh. She opens her mouth, sighs with a tired, lazy smile. She says, “He doesn’t like to share, my love, but he says he will. Tomorrow.” Her lips pull back as she grimaces and he sees that both of her nipples are being tugged, stretched impossibly far…

 

Find out more about Rose and her super-hot podcasts at The Kiss Me Quick’s.

 

 

 

 

Elust 65 – Best Sex on the Net

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Photo courtesy of Sassy Cat

Welcome to Elust #65 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #66? Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

“Does this look sexual to you?”
Submission Can Be Hard
You can have a secret sex blog and be ethical

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

On Writing and Self Doubt

Online porn: the canary in the coalmine

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

The Pendulum: Why Americans Should Care that British Porn is Fucked

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Blades
Dark Desires
This Is How You Use Her
“Office Santa”—A Free Story for the Holidays!
Feral
Justin’s Rope
Santa Sutra & the Rebellious Rein-Girl
Dirty
I Want You, My Way
Caught In The Act
The Smile

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Feminist Rape
The Sex I Like
Erased
Post-Revolution Kink: What kinds of kink?
Why MakeLoveNotPorn Has It Wrong

Blogging

I Do It My Way

Erotic Non-Fiction

Slave Olive’s Ongoing Chastity Experience
Coast to Coast Traveling Panties.
My Headshaving – During
Tell me…..(want versus need)
flip fucking a punk boy but good

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

To Avoid Street Harassment, Dress Slutty!
Touch
“You’re not a Domme, you’re a hooker”
We Don’t Do That: On Vulnerability
He suspects something’s up…
Aust Sex Survey: Triumph, Trouble & Tragedy
Erections, Erections, Erections
Am I queer enough for you?

Poetry

Quandary – A Lusty Limerick
Used

Writing About Writing

A Sticky Vocabulary Situation

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Tickling, consent violations, and violence
Sniffy
A Few Things I Wish I’d Known About Sex, Dati

 

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Superotica Advent Calendar 16 – Jacob Louder

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For day 16, Jacob Louder is gracing the advent calendar with an excerpt from M, which is the second installment of his ongoing First series.

Naked woman

 

I sat on Sadie’s bed and kicked off my shoes. She pulled off her small red sweatshirt to reveal a black tank top that had three pink decorative buttons running down between her breasts. I didn’t need to check for bra straps. I could tell she wasn’t wearing one simply by the way her tits moved when she stretched her arms over her head. Gorgeous fucking tits. Her nipples were hard, and when they were, they were big, pink, and sensitive to my tongue and fingertips—sensitive to everything. One time, I made Sadie come just playing with her breasts. I had started by slapping them with my cock, and then I sucked and bit her nipples, running my tongue lightly over her skin, moving from breast to breast. I had no idea what had happened. Her hands were in my hair when she gasped, and then that familiar sound rose from her throat, and then the quick breaths came. I looked up at her. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I didn’t know that could make me come.”

But she was playing with me now, running her thumbs along the insides of her jeans’ waistband, like I still needed to do some convincing. I tapped the tops of my thighs with my palms. “Come here,” I said.

Sadie sauntered over, finally popping the top button open, lowering the zipper of her fly. She straddled my legs and sat, running a hand over the bulge in my corduroys. “Don’t get all daddy on me. You’re going to suck my cock first.”

“Oh,” I said, eyebrows raised. “Did you get some surgery you didn’t tell me about or something?”

Sadie’s soft laugh—that’s all I need. I could have come right then, with her warm hands pulling my cock through the fly of my pants, with the vision of Sadie with a big dick—one way bigger than mine—and beautiful like Philip’s. “Not surgery,” she said, her short nails teasing the length of me. “Mailorder.”

“Let’s see it.”

She was quick with the harness, had it right in her top drawer. I had to interrupt as she stepped into what looked like a sexy pair of red silk underpants with an O-ring front and center, because there was her pussy, finally revealed to me, and how could I let that go unacknowledged? I got on my knees, my hard, heavy dick bouncing between my legs, and put my hands on her thighs. She adjusted her body to accommodate my face. There was nothing better than what I wanted being what she wanted. I tilted my head up, and there she was—hot, wet, and soft against my nose and chin. The hair on the lips of her cunt was short and the lightest of browns. This was the only way I’d ever seen her natural hair color.

I loved the way Sadie’s pussy smelled and tasted. I would have screamed this from New York City rooftops at rush hour. After we’d have sex, I’d go as long as possible without washing my hands just to keep her scent with me. I loved this girl’s pussy, and I would have spent hours teasing her clit with my tongue and teeth, making her wet hole wetter, and dipping forward to try and get a taste of her asshole. But she stopped me when her playful moans turned serious. I looked up at her from my knees, my cock aching, chin and nose wet with her.

“On the bed,” she said. There were no better words.

First book coverFind out more about  and First at Go Deeper Press.

Superotica Advent Calendar 15 – Exhibit A

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Have a happy start to your week with this steamy new story from Exhibit A…particularly relevant if you’re flying away somewhere for Christmas!

Womans legs

 

Dark Sky

As the plane reached its cruising altitude, the captain dimmed the cabin lights and I settled back in my seat. I’d counted on getting bumped up to Business, but with only ten days till Christmas I wasn’t the only guy in a suit looking for an excuse to head back to London; instead, I’d killed a couple of hours in the airline lounge before take-off, and I knew that even squeezed against the window in Economy, the free booze wouldn’t take long to work its magic.

 

The couple occupying the other seats in my row were way ahead of me on that score. Or the male half was, at least. I’d seen them in the queue for boarding, rearranging their bags to accommodate the last-minute souvenirs they’d bought in Duty Free. Young and wide-eyed, with skin pink and glowing from afternoons spent out in the bitter December cold: I envied them and I didn’t. They retained a wholesomeness that I’d lost at some point, systematically rubbed off by the years and the miles; by the endless hotel rooms. Even though we were close in age, I felt dull and faded next to them.

 

I glanced across again. The woman – and she was most certainly that – turned towards me and offered a small smile. Her boyfriend’s head had slipped down his seat, onto her shoulder, and she rolled her eyes theatrically as he started to snore. I studied her more closely. There was something guarded in her expression – sad even – that I hadn’t noticed back at the airport. It was as if a mask had slipped the second she no longer felt his eyes on her.

 

She gazed back evenly, her chin jutting out like a boxer’s: open, but defiant. There was nothing unusual about her face – it wasn’t one to make men stop and stare in the street – but behind the impassive features her eyes glittered with something that made my skin prickle, and caused my thighs to tense with sudden need.

 

With exaggerated slowness, she moved a finger to her lips and smiled at me, lips quirked wryly even as her eyes continued to bore into mine. She shuffled in her seat, just enough to jostle her boyfriend’s sleeping head deeper into the crook of her neck; the movement freed up her right hand, which she used to tug her discarded shawl over her lap. Both of us looked down at it, as if the simple gesture had settled a debate that neither of us knew we were having. I cleared my throat, my tongue suddenly dry.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

She shook her head and took my hand, rubbing her fingers over my knuckles. I swallowed an involuntary moan and held my breath, desperate to stay silent even with the engines’ helpful roar filling the cabin. She guided me under the hem of her short cotton dress and up the inside of her thigh. My fingers tensed when they met bare skin; I must have looked surprised to find stockings instead of tights, because she flashed me a tight grin.

 

“Men…” she mouthed, and parted her legs still further, encouraging me to continue. I looked up to see the steward push through the curtain a dozen rows ahead of me, the drinks trolley in front of him. Shit. She clasped my wrist with her hand, holding it in place for five seconds, ten seconds; then, with slow, firm insistence, she moved me the last few inches up between her legs.

 

Before I even touched her there, I felt the warmth pulsing out from her cunt. She was so wet that when my fingertips finally grazed over her soft folds, it felt like I was pushing them into melting butter. They met no resistance at all and I laughed despite myself. Who was this woman?

 

I let my fingers explore her cunt, trying to keep my movements light and teasing. I dipped one finger inside her, up to the first knuckle, and she turned to look at me, eyes wide. She shook her head. Her lips looked bruised in the moonlight that leaked in through the plane window, as if they were swollen with arousal.

 

“No,” she whispered. “Not like that. I want you to make me come.”

 

My ears felt hyper-sensitive. I heard her breath hitch, and release in a low shudder, somewhere between a purr and a growl, as the slippery heat of her clit brushed the underside of my fingertip. I heard her boyfriend’s grunts, irregular and shallow, as he slept on her shoulder, oblivious to what we were doing. And getting ever closer, I heard the jangle of cans and bottles on the drinks cart, the bright, pleasant tones of the steward now only a few rows away.

 

I touched her as slowly as I could, her clit already slick and elusive. Her eyes closed and she sighed. An almost imperceptible thrust of her hips pushed her more firmly against my fingers, and I responded, stroking evenly up and down, under the hood of her clit. It felt like a clandestine symphony was playing out all around us: the different rhythms of the engines, the trolley, his snoring, and her ragged, shuddering breaths rolling over and under each other with metronomic intensity. Her thigh started to tremble under my wrist and I increased the pressure, but not the speed, trying to coax her there, not wanting to break the spell with a jarring change of pace.

 

“Oh…oh…” I felt her hair brush my ear as she buried her face in her shoulder, her boyfriend slipping further down towards her collarbone. The wheel of the drinks cart appeared in the aisle next to our row, but she clenched her thighs tight around my hand, unwilling to let it slip back to safety. Seconds later, I felt her legs go rigid; her fist balled on the armrest, the skin patched red and white, and I put my other hand over it, protectively – possessively – as she came over my fingers.

 

By the time the steward hove into view, her eyes were closed again, but instead of screwing up they merely flickered with the beginnings of sleep. I took a gin & tonic and downed the spirit in one gulp, trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs. I turned rested my head against the window – I knew I couldn’t look at her any longer – and tried to get comfortable. All that was left to do was sleep.

 

I woke up as the plane finished its taxi back to the gate. I lifted my fingers to my nose and smelled her on them, but by the time I swivelled around, they had already stood up, ready to disembark. I waited, trying to slow the sudden thump in my chest as I looked at his smooth, kind features; the way he held her coat and helped her wriggle into it. As the aisle cleared in front of them, she glanced back and I smiled at her. She held my gaze for the briefest of moments, her eyes unreadable, before she turned and followed her boyfriend through the curtain, towards the front of the plane.

 

You can find more of Exhibit A’s writing on his site, Exhibit A.

 

Superotica Advent Calendar 14 – Lace Winter

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Today I want to extend a huge welcome to Lace Winter. It my be her first appearance on Superotica but I can assure you, it certainly won’t be her last. Lace has given me a hot, hot excerpt from her current WIP Switch, which features, coincidentally, a beautiful young woman called Olivia…(Now why does that sound familiar, I wonder?)

Woman in leather cuffs

Cuffs and Clamps

“There’s just one more thing I want you to do for me.”

In my somewhat trancelike state I probably would have agreed with anything. Nicholas leaned over me, looked into my eye as he lifted his hand.

“Come for me, Olivia.”

His hand came down, harder than all the smacks before, and at the same moment he gripped my clit and squeezed it. The pain was absolutely intense, my vision went white and I heard a roaring in my ears. I may have had an out-of-body experience. When my eyes cleared and I could understand what I was seeing again, my body was twitching and jerking in the bonds and in his hands. He was holding me, but my hips would not stop bucking, my pussy was spasming, and somewhere someone was screaming. Wave upon wave of sensation rippled across my belly and lightning bolts shot from the metal conductors attached to my nipples. I gasped for breath, unable to get enough air into my lungs, and then suddenly I realized that he had released my ankles and lowered my legs gently to the mattress. He continued to hold me, kissing my brow, my cheek, my shoulder and neck, until finally the tremors subsided. I was drenched with perspiration.

He was right. I had an orgasm while being spanked. Not just any orgasm, either, but the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm of my entire life. I expected to never be able to recapture such an intense experience ever again, as long as I lived, and despite the strength of the afterglow, I was sad.

He hadn’t even fucked me yet.

A startling realization came over me in that moment, in the midst of my confusion and my topsy-turvy emotional state. Nicholas had talked earlier about the responsibility of a dominant to his submissive, about seeing to her safety and her fulfillment, and it now occurred to me what he meant. I was definitely pretty fulfilled after that orgasm, and he had carefully brought me to that point along every step of the way. What’s more, he had done so without taking his own pleasure. In fact, the only time he’d even had his pants down was when I took them down for my abortive little experiment in dishing out the spankings.

My eyes must have been big and round, looking up at him, with an expression that said something other than wow, what an amazing orgasm I just had, thank you very much, because he kissed me again, brushed the hair back from my brow, and looked into my eyes.

“What’s the matter, pet? Have I lost all powers of observation, or did you not just thoroughly enjoy that experience?”

I bit my lip. “But you didn’t.”

He looked surprised. “Why on earth would you think I didn’t enjoy that?”

“You didn’t have an orgasm. You didn’t get to fuck me. You totally saw to my needs, my pleasure, and I haven’t done anything for you. I feel incredibly selfish all of a sudden.”

He laughed. “Darling Olivia, trust me on this. Watching you experience all of that for what I’m pretty sure was your first time was a very pleasurable experience for me. I draw a great deal of satisfaction just from seeing the glow on your face. But, believe me, my time will come, and when it does, I am going to enjoy it very, very much. As, I trust, will you. For now, though, it is enough that I get to take care of such a delightful creature. So, do not worry about me. I’m touched by your thoughtfulness, but you needn’t be concerned.”

Could this man be any more perfect? And to think, moments ago I was cursing him and calling him the rudest of names. Well, most of those were in my head, but my stinging behind was testament to the fact I vocalized one or two of them. I reached up to hug him tightly, and that’s when I remembered my hands were still bound above my head. I rattled the cuffs against the headboard a bit and smiled at Nicholas seductively.

“I don’t think we need these anymore, do we? If you take them off, I will be more than happy to show you just how grateful I am for this evening.”

“Ah, well, little one, yes, we’ll take them off, but first, I think it’s best if we leave them secured for one last thing.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s best if you don’t thrash about too much for this next bit, and just let me handle it. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

I’m sure I looked thoroughly confused, but my confusion quickly cleared up when he loosened the ring on my left nipple clamp and pulled the clamp away. I had forgotten all about those in the excitement of everything else, and now as the blood rushed back into my poor, abused and crushed nipple it was all I could do to breathe. I pulled hard on the wrist cuffs, and it probably was a good thing I couldn’t grab my poor breast with them, as I don’t know what damage I may have done to myself. I gasped for air, arching my back as pain seared my breast.

As soon as he took the clamp off, Nicholas instantly had his mouth over my breast, suckling gently on my nipple like a baby, caressing it with his lips and tongue, and gradually the pain became just a dull throb and heat, and with his mouth he took even the heat away. After a minute or two he lifted his head and looked in my eyes, gauging my condition.

“Better?”

I nodded, thinking this would be the last time I let anyone do that to me.

“Good,” he said, and pulled the other one off.

 

Read more of Lace’s work on her blog.

Superotica Advent Calendar 13 – Delilah Night

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Today we have an excerpt from Delilah Night’s story “Plunder.”  When Brianna’s father’s ship is attacked by pirates, her sassy spirit catches the eye of the pirate captain.  She agrees to spend a night with him in exchange for her ship’s safety.  Once in his cabin, William tells Brianna that he won’t be satisfied with just tumbling her—he wants her willing surrender.

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“You’re beautiful.”

The simplicity of the words undid Brianna. She pulled William’s shirt free and upwards over his head. She’d seen many shirtless men over her years at sea, but he was the first that was hers to touch as she liked. Two dark nipples peeked out from the hair of his chest. A trail of hair led to and then disappeared into his breeches. She felt some small satisfaction at the scratch on his side from where her cutlass had nicked his skin.

What do I do now?

She had enjoyed his touch on her nipples. Would it feel equally pleasurable for him? Nervously she reached out and touched one. Bree felt a swell of confidence as William groaned at her touch. She had the wicked impulse to use her tongue instead. Leaning forward, she flicked his nipple with her tongue and he swore. Bree was invigorated by his reactions as she licked and suckled the sensitive skin. Her hands roamed the hard planes of his chest, enjoying the feel of his warm skin and the wiry hair.

This would be far more comfortable if they weren’t standing. Bree looked up at William. “The bed?”

“Yes, there is a bed. Very good. What would you like to do on it? Recite a sonnet?” He was a bit breathless, but apparently he wasn’t going to give her any quarter.

“At school they didn’t mention sonnets. Something about closing your eyes and thinking of your duty. Would you like me to close my eyes and think of my ship while declaiming a specific sonnet?”

William picked her up and tossed her onto his bed. “I wonder what perversion causes me to find you more enticing with each insult you lob my way.” He paused to remove her boots and then his own.

When William leaned over Bree, she pulled him down to her. The feel of his skin against hers was more intoxicating than grog. Her legs parted and his thigh pressed against her. The insistent pressure of his rod at her hips sent another wave of desire through her body.

William’s mouth was everywhere. He possessed her lips. He nibbled and nipped at her neck. He feasted at her breasts. He pressed kisses against her arms, her stomach, her face.

“William,” she gasped. “Parlay. My breeches. Remove them. Touch me.”

“No truce,” he growled. “Make your choice. Are you mine?”

Brianna reached down and grasped him through the rough material of his breeches. “Why not say you’re mine instead?”

“My ship, my woman.” Turning the tables, he reached down and cupped her. “Wave the white flag, just for tonight.”

My choice.

Brianna’s hips moved. She needed his touch. “Remove my breeches and convince me to.”

Within seconds the rope was undone and the breeches were across the room. He kissed her belly, moving slowly downward. As if they’d lain together a thousand times, her legs parted for him. He settled between her thighs.

“What are you—” the question became a moan as his tongue found her.

What began as an eddy had become a whirlpool. Desire was spiraling out of control. She knew the only way out of a whirlpool was to try and steer free. Only a fool stopped fighting the wheel.

“I surrender.”

“Again!” He barked the order and dove back between her thighs, tongue sending her into a frenzy.

“I surrender! Oh God, I surrender! Just don’t stop, William!”

Every inch of her body felt the pull of a powerful current moving to the spot his tongue worshipped her. Bree took hold of his curls to pull him closer still as her hips bucked beneath his magical tongue.  Everything was spinning faster and faster as she was pulled down into the vortex. Something broke free within her and, screaming his name, she let the maelstrom have her.

****

 Breathing heavily, Bree felt the churning waters from which the whirlpool had sprung begin to calm. The ceiling of his cabin has more stars than the night sky. Or maybe I’m just seeing things.

It might have been seconds, minutes, or hours later, when she felt his weight settle above her. His breeches were gone. He was gloriously naked.

“Tell me again.” His eyes did change with his mood. Despite everything, she could see uncertainty there.

“I surrender. My choice.”

William reached down and stroked her. Bree’s hips rocked against him as she felt a new storm brewing.

“Now, now, now,” she chanted, unsure what she was asking for.

William’s cock nudged where she was flooded with need. “Say you’re mine, Bree.”

“I’m yours, William.”

When she was adrift in pleasure, she felt him enter her. She had been lied to. There was no pain as her maidenhead broke. Once he was fully within her, there was a completeness as if she’d placed the last piece of a puzzle.

William began to move. Brianna’s hips found the rhythm and lifted to match him thrust for thrust. Her legs wrapped around his waist, greedy to pull him deeper, to keep him there. Their kisses became equally urgent as his thrusts sped. They were so absorbed in one another that the ship could have capsized and neither would have noticed. William’s body stiffened, and he growled her name as he came.

William settled on the bed next to her. She was pleased that his eyes were still blurry with pleasure. He was reaching for a blanket to pull over them both when she stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“Darling, clearly it’s your nature to argue over everything, but it’s a blanket. It’s warm. You sleep under it.”

“I didn’t say I was ready to sleep.” Bree plucked the blanket from his hand and tossed it back to the floor.

 

You can find out more about Delilah Night and her writing at DelilahNight.com

Superotica Advent Calendar 12 – Janine Ashbless

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Today I’m welcoming Janine Ashbless onto the Superotica Advent Calendar with a steamy excerpt from her short science fiction story “The Military Mind”. If you want to read more, and I know you will, you’ll find it in her latest collection, Fierce Enchantments.

 

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‘Corporal Peyton? Welcome to Lammergeier Squad.’

There were noises from the others—jeers and whistles. ‘Take a look at that!’

‘They sent us a brunette. Fuck, man—I wanted a blonde this time.’

‘Think the paperwork got mixed up?’

‘Shuddup, Rialto. You’ll make the ‘ickle girl cry.’

‘Huh. Bet she’ll be crying before we’ve finished with her.’

She didn’t look at them. She didn’t dare. She kept her eyes fixed on the sergeant, and when he beckoned her forward she obeyed. He pulled a hard chair out into the centre aisle between the beds and sat upon it, which put his eye-level just—only just—below hers, and then he looked her up and down thoroughly.

‘You’re pretty,’ he announced. ‘Looks like we got lucky, lads.’

‘I’m ready to get lucky!’ laughed one of the men, swaggering in from the side with his hand already rummaging vigorously down his shorts. Peyton glanced sideways at him just as he popped his cock out. The tip looked ruddy and glistening.

‘Stow that, Hayes,’ the sergeant grunted.

‘Sarge!’ he complained.

‘You’ll get some, don’t worry. All in good time.’ His gaze flicked back to Peyton. ‘You never seen a man’s dick, Corporal?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said huskily.

‘Of course?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘Lots of them, then?’

‘Well … pictures. Vids.’

He grinned, and there was laughter all round. It wasn’t very kind laughter. She wavered, heavy-limbed with dread. She’d been brought up by women in the Psi training school. There’d been precious little opportunity to meet any man who wasn’t crippled, aged or an officer; these men felt alien to her. Their bulkiness, their rowdiness, their loud voices … even the smell of them was unfamiliar.

‘Vids, huh?’ The sergeant patted his thigh and she stepped in closer. ‘You like watching them?’

Watching them was a compulsory part of her training. Why then, did she squirm inwardly as she answered him? ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘Well, that’s something. Let me see those tits, Corporal.’

So, this is it.

She pulled up her top, so that her breasts jutted out from beneath. Her aching nipples were hard as bullets now, and aimed right at his head. She saw him lick his lips, and for a moment he seemed lost for words.

‘Fuckin’ A,’ said one of the others happily. They were all on their feet, all watching. She felt the flush steal down from her cheeks over her breastbone. Her tits quivered with every breath.

‘I want me some of that!’

‘Fuck yeah. It’s been … too long.’

‘Come on, Sarge!’

‘Shush.’ Sergeant Jomoa put his warm and callused hand between her knees and drew it up the inside of her thigh, all the way to her cotton panties. Gently, he pressed the edge of that hand up against the cloth. ‘So you never been fucked?’

‘I … uh.’ The gentle rubbing of his fingers seemed to rob her of words. Her gusset was moist with sweat and lube and anticipation, and clung to her as he pressed in. ‘I’ve trained on the machines … Sergeant.’

‘Oh?’

She cleared her throat. ‘You know.’

‘Yeah, I know. We’ve got our own machines.’ His fingers slid under the fabric of her panties and found her wetness.

‘Uh,’ she whimpered, his slick touch on her clit making her squirm. ‘I excelled on the machines, Sergeant. Extra credit.’

‘That’s good.’ He withdrew his hand, an appraising glint in his dark eyes, and sat back in the chair, spreading his thighs. The fly of his shorts was already gaping to reveal the great curved mass of flesh rising beneath. ‘So show me. Show me how you earned that extra credit, Corporal.’

Pleasing him was her only way forward. She dropped to her knees and, fumbling a little with the unfamiliar clothes, freed his cock. But all her hours of diligent study hadn’t prepared her for this. The real thing wasn’t just big; it was hairy—nested in thick curls, hairy around the balls, hairs even growing up the shaft from the root, like outriders for an army. And it was hot, and a little sticky, and it had a taste totally unlike the plastic and disinfectant she was used to, and it moved—responding to her touch—twitching and swelling and stiffening. Making her mouth wet, she engulfed it and heard the rumbling sigh of his satisfaction.

‘Not bad, Corporal,’ he said, as her head rose and fell in his lap. His deep voice had dropped to a huskier note. ‘But if you want to graduate with honours, you need to do this,’ he added, pushing her down hard on his erect cock, shoving right into her throat.

She opened up to him. That was something she had practised. She let him do the work and slide her up and down, fucking her throat. His cock was so thick that she knew her jaw would be aching before he was done. Her head whirled—so much so that she hardly noticed her panties being pulled down to half-mast behind her or the stiff dick slapping against her splayed bottom. The voices above her were made indistinct by the sergeant’s palms over her ears. Not until her ass-cheeks were parted by rough hands and that dick bounced into the cleft between, rubbing up eagerly against her, did she whimper anxiously.

But the sergeant noticed. He stopped her mid-stroke, allowing her to draw breath through her nose. ‘You ruining my fine view, Hayes?’ he asked.

‘I couldn’t help it, Sarge. She was winking at me—look!’

Hayes demonstrated by poking the whorl of her bum-hole with his fingertip. Her ass was well-lubed and exceptionally well-trained, and that digit sank into her without resistance. The sensation—that electric ripple of invasion—was in no way diminished though, and Peyton uttered a muffled squeal around the thick length of NCO rod in her mouth.

‘I think she likes it, Sarge,’ said Hayes, circling his finger in her anus and making her wriggle.

‘You’re no gentleman, soldier,’ the sergeant growled. ‘You haven’t even been introduced and you’re up her ass.’ He sat up, pushing Peyton off his cock. She gasped for breath. ‘Line up, you dirty horndogs, and stand to attention.’

Fierce Enchantments coverAvailable from Amazon UK and Amazon.com

 

 

 

Superotica Advent Calendar 11 – Sommer Marsden

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I want to send out all the love and best wishes I can to Sommer Marsden, who’s probably had the most difficult year anyone ever could have. Please continue to give her all your support and keep buying her books throughout 2015. This excerpt comes from her fabulous Christmas story, ‘Tis The Season.

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“Now I just tie this end to that metal eye we screwed into the wall and it should make sure that even if it gets off balance it won’t fall.” He leaned over to do just that and all the muscles in his back seemed to dance.

I made a little noise and then, watching my hand as if it wasn’t my own appendage, I reached out and stroked the skin above his waistband. It was soft and smooth and warm. It provoked a teeny tiny little moan out of me. He straightened and turned to me before I could even try to cover it with a cough or a sneeze or, you know, just run away.

Brogan caught my hand in his bigger hand and tugged me closer. Then he leaned in and said, mouth nearly touching mine, “You know what I’d really like for Christmas?”

I shook my head, dumbly. Nope. No idea. None.

“No,” I said, sorta stunned by how damn gorgeous he was close up. And now that he talked he was quite the package, wasn’t he?

“A kiss,” he said.

I blinked again bringing those big blue eyes into focus and then I nodded. “I hope you get it.”

“Well?” he said.

“Well?”

“I meant from you, Natalie. Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

“Me?”

“You.”

“Sure, I mean yes. I mean…”

He cut me off by cupping the back of my head in his big hands. He leaned in and kissed me softly at first. So softly I wasn’t sure at first we were kissing until the tingles and zings of arousal started to shoot off just below my skin, warming me in a way a toasty fire could never manage.

His tongue slid along mine as he took a step closer. There was barely any space between us now, and I felt the heat coming off him like a pot wood burning stove. It was nice. It was perfect. I closed the gap, pressing my body against his until we were belly to belly. Brogan wrapped an arm around me and held me right up against him. I felt how firm he was. Everywhere.

When he pressed his pelvis against mine I felt how truly hard he was. And it was for me. Not the crazy beauty Celine. Amazing.

When he broke the kiss he pushed his fingertips beneath the hem of my sweater and rolled it up just about an inch. His fingers skated back and forth over my skin raising goose bumps with that single touch. He tugged it a little higher and then stared me right in the eye. “May I?

“God, yes,” I said in a rushed breath.

He pulled my sweater up and over my head. My hair flew around my face, settled gently around my shoulders. He unhooked the front clasp of my bra and it fell open. And then Brogan’s mouth was on me, lips and tongue gentle at first but then growing more aggressive as I arched against him.

I hummed softly, sifting my fingers through his short dark hair.

He sucked my nipple and then used his teeth, pleasure skittered along my skin like electricity arcing over water.

I pushed against him, reached for him, found his button and zipper with my hand and tried to open his pants. When I failed, he stepped back and undid it for me, pushing his pants down, dragging his boxers down, too.

Taking him in hand, finding him gloriously hard, I rubbed his cock and tried to go back in for another kiss. He kissed me but then stepped back away, working my button and zipper with big handyman hands. My pants were off in what seemed like a blink, and he was touching me. Parting my nether lips, stroking my clit, and when I moved against him eager for more, he drove a finger inside me.

“Now,” I said.

He paused.

“Now, now. We can do foreplay next time.”

 

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