Jennifer was in the study working, as she had all day, on her seemingly interminable thesis. She rubbed her neck; it had been a long day already, but a sense of duty if not the promise of any more productiveness tonight kept her going long after supper time. If she were paying more attention to her surroundings she'd have heard the door open a bit more than an hour earlier, and the sounds of Nat coming and putting her things away, but if the sound registered at all, it was only in the back of her mind as peripheral to the task at hand. She definitely didn't hear the soft barefooted steps that brought her lover to her sanctuary, or even the meticulously slow 'click' that meant the door was being closed and locked behind her.
Jen was leaning back to read over her most recent paragraph when a hand caught her throat, and pressed her and her expensive ergonomic chair backward a good half foot before something stopped it rolling back. She managed a quick gasp for air before her breathing was cut off completely. Her lover kept a firm controlling hand wrapped tight around Jen's throat as she slid her way up her lap until she was straddling her, their crotches so close that they could feel each other's heat. Nat's free hand reached into her partner's shirt, and caught the surgical steel ring that Nat had lovingly threaded through her nipple last year for their second anniversary. Nat let go of Jen's throat just as she pinched and twisted the piercing, and Jen gasped for air, a shiver rocking her whole body.
Nat smiled, and landed a far more tender kiss on her lover's lips, then slipped out of her lap, and headed for the door, pausing to look over her shoulder and wink. She was wearing Jen's favourite lingerie, a black spaghetti-strapped silk nightgown that barely made it past her hips. Jen groaned in appreciation as her lover left the room and closed the door behind her. Eventually, she shook the stars from her vision, and sighed, turning back to her monitor. What she saw made her smile and moan in anticipation at the same time. Nat had placed their electronic timer on top of her keyboard, set for an hour, and ticking away.
Sometimes, there are better ways to express your desires than words.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
New short story to be published in June
My short story, "Mr. February," is slotted to be published in Cleis Press' anthology Please Ma`am: Erotic Tales of Male Submission this June. You can see the details for the anthology, edited by the fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel, here: Please, Ma`am Anthology It's available now for preorder on Amazon.com (hint, hint!). Due to be released on June 1st 2010. Very exciting!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Microfiction Monday: Angela
This morning, I promised myself that for every day this year, my erotica portfolio would be somehow bigger or better than it was the day before. There were no other conditions to my resolution than that, whether I edit something short, write something new or add to a work in progress, I simply have to do something, anything at all, each day. Not so tough right? Somehow, right now, it seems to be.
I am a rational, free-thinking human being, so of course I don't believe that I have a little angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other constantly bickering over who gets to give me advice on all the choices I have to make in a day. Come on, I'm not Bugs Bunny! What I do believe in, however, is her. If the Jungians got hold of me, they would probably say that she is the personification of those portions of my psyche that are clamouring to be heard at any given point. If I were schizophrenic, she would be what the doctors called the voices in my head. Since I'm neither of these things, I gave her a different name: Angela.
This is a deceptively innocent sounding name, and I chose it on purpose, because Angela herself is often quite deceptive. She is cunning, tempting, and often very, very wicked. She's a chimera of all my desires, weaknesses, drives, motivations (or lack thereof) and rationales. She's a shape-shifter, picking up whatever avatar best suits her purpose of the moment, and hoping that she can trick me, if even for a moment, into believing that she's someone else: someone more... credible. She's my own personal devil's advocate, bringing each and every one of my decisions into question. And today, oh my goddesses. Today she was in fine form.
Today she was all alabaster skin in flimsy amounts of flowing crimson silk with matching fuck-me lipstick. She chose to wear ass-length ebony curls, and her plentiful figure was deliciously smooth and rounded, with curves all in the right places. Right down to her calf-hugging impeccably polished black leather boots, her entire being today was meant to bewitch, delight, tempt and seduce me.
Many times I've sat down at my desk today, with the intention of doing something, anything at all creative. Each time, she's crept up behind me, her breath hot on my ear, leaving the tiniest smudge of her ruby red lipstick as she whispered to me huskily "You know, you haven't checked you email recently." Her nails have scratched down my arms as she's moved to lay her hands atop mine, and guide them to see who's been updating their Fetlife accounts instead of to the word processor. She's moaned in orgasmic delight as her tongue traced the contours of my ear, seducing me into having just one more game of Sudoku. When she thought she might just lose me, she bit down hard on the lobe of my ear, making my masochistic side crazy enough with lust to check out which of my regularly visited pornographer blogs had been updated in the last two hours instead of my initial intent to re-tool the hated chapter 6 of my ever-unfinished novel.
Angela, demon temptress that she is, has learned well from having been born inside my head. She knows all my weaknesses, and how to exploit all temptations to the fullest. She is very good at what she does. As a being of my mind, she also knows one very important thing: that if I am not able to take this first step, and fulfil my promise to myself for today, then there is no hope at all of my ever making it to the end. This, of course, is her lofty goal, and knowing just how easy it would be to foil a whole year's plans in a single day, she got excited, she tried too hard. Instead of letting me look at how awful my 6th chapter was, how hard it might be to fix, and then slowly trying to coax me into doing "just one more thing" that could be instantly gratifying, she leaped into my lap instead.
"Look at me! Not the screen!" She whined, "Don't you remember that House is on tonight? And you have that new bag of kettle corn!"
She tried too hard, which made me finally see what was going on, and I did just that. I looked at her. That's when my sultry, mysterious, subtle temptress became my pushy girlfriend instead. I know just what to do with those.
Angela has spent the last hour tied up and gagged in the corner, whimpering in frustration. I spent it writing this, and my sadistic side likes that just fine. Now I have a silly bit of short fiction, not my most glorious erotica, to be sure, but it fulfils the quota of something new or better for today. Tomorrow, I can go on to bigger and better things. Maybe Angela has met her match.
I am a rational, free-thinking human being, so of course I don't believe that I have a little angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other constantly bickering over who gets to give me advice on all the choices I have to make in a day. Come on, I'm not Bugs Bunny! What I do believe in, however, is her. If the Jungians got hold of me, they would probably say that she is the personification of those portions of my psyche that are clamouring to be heard at any given point. If I were schizophrenic, she would be what the doctors called the voices in my head. Since I'm neither of these things, I gave her a different name: Angela.
This is a deceptively innocent sounding name, and I chose it on purpose, because Angela herself is often quite deceptive. She is cunning, tempting, and often very, very wicked. She's a chimera of all my desires, weaknesses, drives, motivations (or lack thereof) and rationales. She's a shape-shifter, picking up whatever avatar best suits her purpose of the moment, and hoping that she can trick me, if even for a moment, into believing that she's someone else: someone more... credible. She's my own personal devil's advocate, bringing each and every one of my decisions into question. And today, oh my goddesses. Today she was in fine form.
Today she was all alabaster skin in flimsy amounts of flowing crimson silk with matching fuck-me lipstick. She chose to wear ass-length ebony curls, and her plentiful figure was deliciously smooth and rounded, with curves all in the right places. Right down to her calf-hugging impeccably polished black leather boots, her entire being today was meant to bewitch, delight, tempt and seduce me.
Many times I've sat down at my desk today, with the intention of doing something, anything at all creative. Each time, she's crept up behind me, her breath hot on my ear, leaving the tiniest smudge of her ruby red lipstick as she whispered to me huskily "You know, you haven't checked you email recently." Her nails have scratched down my arms as she's moved to lay her hands atop mine, and guide them to see who's been updating their Fetlife accounts instead of to the word processor. She's moaned in orgasmic delight as her tongue traced the contours of my ear, seducing me into having just one more game of Sudoku. When she thought she might just lose me, she bit down hard on the lobe of my ear, making my masochistic side crazy enough with lust to check out which of my regularly visited pornographer blogs had been updated in the last two hours instead of my initial intent to re-tool the hated chapter 6 of my ever-unfinished novel.
Angela, demon temptress that she is, has learned well from having been born inside my head. She knows all my weaknesses, and how to exploit all temptations to the fullest. She is very good at what she does. As a being of my mind, she also knows one very important thing: that if I am not able to take this first step, and fulfil my promise to myself for today, then there is no hope at all of my ever making it to the end. This, of course, is her lofty goal, and knowing just how easy it would be to foil a whole year's plans in a single day, she got excited, she tried too hard. Instead of letting me look at how awful my 6th chapter was, how hard it might be to fix, and then slowly trying to coax me into doing "just one more thing" that could be instantly gratifying, she leaped into my lap instead.
"Look at me! Not the screen!" She whined, "Don't you remember that House is on tonight? And you have that new bag of kettle corn!"
She tried too hard, which made me finally see what was going on, and I did just that. I looked at her. That's when my sultry, mysterious, subtle temptress became my pushy girlfriend instead. I know just what to do with those.
Angela has spent the last hour tied up and gagged in the corner, whimpering in frustration. I spent it writing this, and my sadistic side likes that just fine. Now I have a silly bit of short fiction, not my most glorious erotica, to be sure, but it fulfils the quota of something new or better for today. Tomorrow, I can go on to bigger and better things. Maybe Angela has met her match.
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