Writing
My pussy respects no deadlines… His cock flexes inside me and I miss the key I’m aiming for and type an unintelligible...
When fact meets fiction… “What are you writing?” she asks. It’s the first time in an age that she’s shown even the slightest...
It’s freezing cold outside. I run from my car to his front door and wait on the porch. He comes to the door...
I pace in the shower, shifting my weight from side to side. My head hangs low as the water streams down my hair, bouncing...
I write erotica. No. Scratch that. What I really write is love poems to Lola. Really, really, really long love poems. So...
Chapter three: wild imaginings Kayla waited nervously for Brett. She imagined his firm jaw, his sharp, clear eyes boring into her. She...
The door to the bar is painted black. The warm night air is ripe for an evening rendezvous. Silhouettes of club-goers crowd up in...
I’m a petite girl. The kind you can pick up and throw around during sex; playfully if you so choose. My hair is dyed red. My eyebrows...
He lives in a small town, just off the 95 running north east of Baltimore, Maryland. I drive two hours to get to his...
It’s 9pm and I’m driving; with the exception of intermittent streetlights and the blur of corner store florescent signs, the night sky is dark....
