Today just a photo to stir your imagination, your thoughts, your desire.  You envision the erotic dream, the sensual tale to stir your want, your longing, your wish.  What will it be?  What will I fulfill?  If you could have all you long for, all you lust and crave…what would it be?  What would you ask for?  What would you ask of me?  What would you ask of the lover who rests beside you, who licks upon your swollen cock, sucks upon your mighty sword?  What would desire of the one who worships at her knees at your member?  Do you lust after my pink, dripping pussy; yearning to drink the sweet nectar dripping from my well that gushes with sweetness?  Think on it…  Tell me all that you desire…

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If you would like to use this piece as a story starter to submit to Sensualist Anthologies, use “Submissions” to send your completed story. 

by J D Russell

Miranda shuffles the cards, looks at the top one, which is the ace of clubs, then gets into bed.
When she wakes up the next morning, she has grown a penis. Her vagina has gone.
She examines the large organ with wonder. It is long and thick and hard. She touches it. The feel of it thrills her and makes her want to use it. She gently pulls the foreskin back and looks at the swollen tip. The feel of the skin rolling down the shaft makes her quiver. She cups her new scrotum and gently tickles her balls. Aroused, she encircles her cock with her hands and slowly masturbates. She feels the build-up and increases the speed of her hand action. She comes, spraying spunk over her stomach and breasts. She bucks her hips, pushes her head forward and opens her mouth. The last two squirts of come shoot into her mouth. She savours the spunk, then swallows it. She rests for a few minutes, completely relaxed, then she gets up and prepares for work.
That evening, after work, Miranda plays cards. Out of curiosity, she shuffles the pack and turns the top card over. It is the two of diamonds. She undresses, stretches out in front of the fire and drifts into sleep. When she wakes up an hour later, her cock has gone. Her vagina is moist and open. She spreads her legs, cups her breasts, then slides her hands over her body. She ruffles her bush. Her fingers touch her labia lips. She slowly masturbates, using both hands. She comes hard and fast. Before she drifts into sleep, she sets her alarm clock. She then shuffles the cards. The top card is the three of spades.
When Miranda wakes up, she has her cock back. She gets herself ready and goes to work. At work, one of her colleagues, Gerald, has always wanted sex with her. She has never acknowledged his attempts at seduction. Today she does. During the lunch break, Miranda and Gerald are in the photocopying room together. Everyone else has left the office. They have an hour. They flirt. Gerald touches Miranda's breasts. Miranda kneels down, undoes Gerald's fly and pulls his cock out. She slides his cock into her mouth and sucks him. Gerald grunts. Miranda waits until he is about to come, then stops sucking his cock, undoes his trousers, turns him around and bends him over the photocopying machine. She licks his arse, sliding her tongue inside him. Gerald gasps and squirms with pleasure. Miranda stands up, pulls her skirt up, pushes her knickers down and slides her cock smoothly into Gerald's arse, simultaneously reaching around and wanking his cock. She thrusts into him, fast and furious. When she is about to come, she wanks Gerald faster. They come together, both shooting copious arcs of come - Miranda up Gerald's arse, Gerald over the photocopying machine. Miranda slides her cock out of Gerald, then leans forward and licks his come off the machine. Gerald has nice-tasting spunk.
- Thank you, Gerald, Miranda says to him.
She pulls her knickers up, lowers her skirt, then turns him round and kisses him fervently. She then walks out of the photocopying room and goes back to work.
At home that evening, Miranda stretches out on her sofa and drinks wine whilst listening to music. She plays cards for a while, then shuffles the deck and takes the top card. It is the four of hearts. She has a nap.
When she wakes up, she has her vagina back. Her cock has gone again. She showers, dresses in her skimpiest clothes and goes to a nightclub. She brings a young man home and gets him to fuck her mouth, her cunt and her arse. Hard.
He leaves in the early hours of the morning.
Because she has got two days off work, Miranda doesn't set her alarm clock, but she does shuffle the cards and take the top one. It is the five of diamonds. Miranda relaxes during the day, then in the evening she puts on another set of skimpy clothes and goes to a gay nightclub.
In the nightclub, Miranda lets an aggressive young woman pull her. Miranda, passive and pouty, lets the woman take her home, where Miranda eats her fill of the woman's mouth, breasts, cunt and arse, then lets the woman ream her with a twelve inch strap-on dildo. After the sex, the woman is no longer aggressive, so Miranda goes home. She showers, shuffles the cards and draws the six of clubs. Miranda then gets into bed and goes to sleep.
When she wakes up, she has her cock back. She also has her breasts and her vagina. She strokes her cock and it begins to grow hard. Bending it down, she slides the swollen glans into her vagina. The sensations in her vagina and on the end of her cock make her spasm with pleasure. Slowly she fucks her vagina with her cock. Deliberately teasing herself, she stops before she comes and gets out of bed. She dresses in shirt, trousers and boots. She puts a coat on and tucks her hair under a hat. Then she goes for a walk in the park.
She starts talking to a young, pretty woman in the park. The young, pretty woman is obviously attracted to her, so Miranda takes her home. In bed, Miranda shows the woman both of her sex organs.
The woman sucks Miranda's breasts. The woman sucks Miranda's cock. The woman licks Miranda's cunt. The woman licks Miranda's arse. The woman fist-fucks Miranda's cunt.
Miranda sucks the woman's breasts. Miranda licks the woman's cunt. Miranda licks the woman's arse. Miranda fist-fucks the woman's cunt. Miranda fucks the woman's face with her cock. Miranda fucks the woman's cunt with her cock. Miranda fucks the woman's arse with her cock.
When it is early evening, Miranda goes home. She doesn't shuffle the cards. Instead, she bathes, then dresses in a long dress and delicate shoes. She goes to a gay nightclub and starts dancing with a young male and female couple. After a while, a young man – a friend of the couple – joins them. They dance and chat for a while, then the three of them take Miranda home.
In their bed they find Miranda to be beyond their wildest dreams. Both young men are happy to fuck and be fucked by Miranda; the young woman is happy to fuck and be fucked by Miranda. They all fuck her at the same time. Then she fucks them at the same time. When Miranda gets out of bed in the early hours of the morning, the trio are all still fucking each other.
Back at home, Miranda shuffles the cards and turns the top card over. It is the seven of diamonds. She has a long, hot bath, then gets into bed and listens to music, which soothes her to sleep. When she wakes up in the morning, her cock has gone. Her vagina tingles warmly when she strokes it. She then dresses to go to work. She finishes work and goes home, where she relaxes for a few hours, then prepares to go out. In a restaurant she sits with a young couple. She lets them persuade her to go home with them. The young man fucks her from behind as she eats the young woman's cunt. The young couple are not as imaginative as they think they are - they want Miranda to stay the night in order to do more of the same. Miranda – not in the mood to teach – politely declines their offer and goes home, where she sets her alarm clock, shuffles the cards again and draws the eight of diamonds. Then she gets into bed.
When Miranda wakes in the morning, the first thing she notices is that she's smaller in stature. Also her breasts are not as big as they normally are. They look as though they are not fully formed. She inspects her vagina. It too looks smaller. There is not so much hair around it as there was. Miranda gets up and looks in the mirror. She estimates she's about thirteen years of age. Miranda phones her employer and claims she's ill with a bug. She tells her boss that she'll be off work for a few days.
She then dresses in a school uniform; white blouse, tie, short black skirt, tiny white knickers, black shoes and blazer, puts a few books in a bag and goes to the park. She sits on a wooden bench in a secluded part of the park and pretends to read a book. Soon, a middle-aged man who is walking his dog approaches her. He begins to chat to her and she's receptive to his comments. She pretends to be an innocent, so that when he offers her a small amount of money to go into the bushes with him, she accepts. She asks him to be really gentle with her, knowing he won't be. He agrees, then makes her kneel on the ground. He gets his dog to lay down, then tells her to wank the dog while he fucks her from behind. Miranda does as he tells her, wondering how far he'll go. The man lifts her skirt, yanks her knickers down, puts his cock inside her, fucks her hard, comes quickly and -after throwing a few coins at Miranda- hurries off. Miranda -not interested in the money, only the experience- leaves the bushes and begins to stroll home through the park.
At the park gates, a car pulls up. There are three young men inside.
- Hey, girlie. Where're you going? one of the young men calls.
- Home, says Miranda.
- Want a lift?
Miranda nods and gets into the car.
Two of the young men are on the back seat. Miranda sits between them as the car pulls away. She notices that one of the young men is looking at her thighs and wanking.
- Can I suck it? Miranda asks. Not waiting for an answer, Miranda leans over and takes the cock into her mouth.
Miranda continues sucking as the other young man sticks his fingers inside her. They drive to a deserted barn. In the barn, Miranda gets one young man to lie on the ground, and then she crouches over him, sliding his cock up her arse. She then gets another of them to slide his cock into her cunt. The last one she tells to fuck her face. She then asks them to flood her with spunk. They do.
The three young men drop Miranda off near to where she lives and she goes home. She strips, bathes and eats, but doesn't touch the deck of cards. She dresses again in the school uniform. She deliberates over the knickers. They are sodden with spunk. She'd like to continue wearing them, but she knows that it might bother some of the people she'll meet later. It doesn't always, she reflects, but she doubts she'll meet any connoisseurs this evening. Reluctantly, she slips on a clean pair, identical to the others and is ready.
When it is late evening, she goes to a nearby lorry park. She counts twenty lorries. She makes a few tears form in her eyes and goes to the lorry furthest away from the road. She taps the door. It opens and a youngish man looks out at her. Miranda – acting tearful – tells the man she's just been dumped there by someone who was giving her a lift. She says she has no money and nowhere to stay. She asks if she can share the man's cab with him. He says yes. Miranda climbs up into the cab, making sure her skirt rides high up her thighs as she does.
After she's slammed the door shut, Miranda thanks the man for helping her. The cab smells of diesel and the man has oil on his hands and face. Miranda wants that oil all over her body. She leans over and hugs the man. The man asks her who he should pay, so Miranda pretends she doesn't know what he means. She begins to repeat her story, but the man stops her talking by grabbing her and pulling her over into the sleeping compartment. He runs his hands over her taut young body. Oil stains mark her blouse. The man rips it open. Miranda's nipples point up at him.
- Cover me in oil and spunk, Miranda tells him. The man runs his hands up the inside of Miranda's thighs. He yanks her flimsy knickers to one side, exposing her moist cunt.
- Squeeze my tits, Miranda tells him. He does. Hard. Miranda yelps with pleasure. She opens her legs. The man fumbles at his trousers. There are oily handprints on Miranda's breasts. She wants the man's cock inside her.
- I'm going to fuck you hard, the man rasps.
- Yes! Miranda pants. As hard as you want. Split me open.
The man thrusts his cock into Miranda's seething cunt, ramming it home, his hands on her shoulders, pulling her down onto his cock. Miranda, carried away, bites, snarls and scratches. The man thrusts hard, comes heavily and noisily, then slumps. When he's asleep, Miranda gets out of the cab and goes to the next lorry. She doesn't bother to straighten her clothes. She likes the feel of the warm spunk dribbling down her legs, so she doesn't bother to wipe her vagina. She bangs on the lorry door. There is no answer. She goes to the next lorry. She bangs that door. From inside a sleepy voice tells her to fuck off. She goes to the next lorry and bangs on the door. A bald man looks out of the window.
- Do you need some company? Miranda asks.
The man opens the door. Miranda climbs into the cab. The man makes a grab for her tits. Miranda lets him fondle them. She undoes his trousers and takes his cock out. She likes the feel of its thickness. She leans over and begins to suck it. Miranda is good at sucking cocks. She knows that the man is enjoying her expertise. Miranda stops sucking his cock to ask:
- Will you come in my mouth?
- Keep doing that and I will, the man says.
Miranda continues sucking the man's cock - up and down the shaft, licking the tip, nibbling the end gently. The man comes suddenly, shooting lots and lots of come into Miranda's mouth. She swallows it all, enjoying the warm, salty taste.
She then dresses and leaves the cab. She makes her way home and strips, washes and gets into bed after setting her alarm clock. In bed, she shuffles the cards and turns the top one over. It is the nine of clubs. Then she sleeps.
When she wakes up, Miranda is a dog. She is medium sized and black. Her cock is long. She goes to the park and runs around. She finds several dogs and sniffs their arses and cocks. She finds several bitches and sniffs their arses and cunts. None are in season though, so she tries to mount one whose season has just finished. It tries to move away, but Miranda pins it down with her paws and fucks it. The lady owner of the bitch keeps trying to make them stop, but Miranda needs her orgasm. She fucks the dog frantically, then comes in short, fast spurts. Then she pulls out and runs home. She knocks the cards off the table and turns the top card. Nine of hearts. Miranda curls up, licks her cock, then sleeps.
On awakening, Miranda is a bitch on heat. She is still medium sized and black, but now her cunt smells delicious. She goes to the park and is instantly surrounded by dogs. Ten follow her into the bushes. They all fuck her, one after the other. Miranda is delirious with pleasure. The first one makes her gasp. The third one makes her come. The sixth one makes her howl with pleasure. She doesn't feel the last one, not because it's not pleasurable, but because her cunt's so numb.
She staggers home and manages to turn the top card of the deck over. Five of diamonds. Then she sleeps for a few hours, waking up to find that she's a dog again. She goes to the park again, eventually finding a young woman on a park bench. Miranda sits and looks at the young woman. At first the woman strokes her, so Miranda rolls over, showing the woman her cock. The woman strokes her belly for a while, then gets tired of her and tells her to go away. Miranda stays by the bench. The woman gets up and leaves. Miranda follows her. The woman stops and begins to talk to Miranda.
- Are you lost? A stray?
Miranda rushes forward and nuzzles the woman's crotch.
- All right! If you're lost you can come home with me!
Miranda follows the woman home. In the woman's house, Miranda is given a bath and some food, neither of which she wants or needs. She then finds the woman's bed and curls up on it. When the woman sees Miranda on the bed, she tuts, but doesn't make Miranda move off it. Later, when the woman undresses and gets into bed, Miranda tunnels under the covers and rests her head on the woman's thigh. The woman doesn't push her away, so Miranda starts licking the woman's thigh. The woman still doesn't push her off, so Miranda moves her head and begins to gently lick the woman's salty vagina. For a while the woman lays very still as Miranda licks. Then Miranda feels the woman's hand stroking her head. When the woman starts to breath heavily, Miranda licks her harder, sliding her tongue all the way inside the woman's delicious cunt. The woman moans and her body begins to move gently and rhythmically. The woman's hands clasp Miranda's head, keeping her in her place. Miranda doesn't mind. She continues to lick the woman's cunt steadily and the woman begins to thrash about. Finally, after some more moaning and frantic heaving, the woman's cunt gushes hot, sweet liquid over Miranda's muzzle. Miranda laps it all up.
In the early hours of the morning, the woman rolls over onto her knees and Miranda eagerly mounts her, sliding her long cock into the woman's well-lubricated vagina. She fucks her hard and fast, wanting the come to be big. It is. Miranda howls. So does the woman. Later, Miranda sits by the front door and whines. The woman lets her out and Miranda goes home. She finds the cards and turns the top card. Ten of spades.
When she wakes up from a long sleep, Miranda is a woman again. She goes to work. She smiles at Gerald, but he doesn't smile back. Miranda finishes work and goes home. She has a bath, eats her dinner, then dresses in a short, tight, low-cut dress and a pair of shoes. She goes into a pub. She finds a back room with a pool table and watches a group of men play pool against each other. Miranda puts some money down, reserving a game. When it's her turn – against the previous winner – she makes sure that she bends over the table a lot, revealing her breasts and the tops of her thighs. She hears a few suggestive comments from the men sitting behind her and becomes more aroused. She becomes more flirtatious, more exhibitionistic. She bends low for shots she doesn't need to bend down for, she spreads her legs for a better stance, she pretends to masturbate her cue. Finally, someone closes the pool-room door and Miranda deliberately loses the game. She hands the cue to someone else and asks if anyone else would like to play with her. There is a chorus of approval from the men.
Miranda leans back against the pool table and raises her dress. The man she was playing against steps forward and tells her to lay on the table. Miranda slips her dress off, then does as she's told.
Miranda is fucked by every man in the pool-room. Sometimes she's fucked by one man at a time, sometimes by two. Her best moment is when one man fucks her, one sticks his cock in her mouth and two have their cocks in her hands being wanked. When Miranda finally gets off the pool table, her hair is matted and her body is covered in spunk. She is also very sore - but she's very, very happy. She dresses and goes home.
After a bath and dinner, Miranda slumps into bed. She doesn't touch the cards. She knows that soon she'll have worked her way through this particular pack. There are fifty two cards per pack.
According to statistics, there are over one million packs produced per day.

The Polymorphic Adventures of Miranda
© J D Russell (2007)

Tired of political blogging, I offer the following for mature readers. Although, if you're underage and choosing to read anything, I suspect your parents will be impressed anyway. This is an excerpt from my pulp fiction salute "The Adventures of a Lesbian Cowboy: Wherein Mr. Charlie Bluff Captures a Murderer in Rawlins and Earns the Favors of Miss Pretty Delaney."

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On the wall of the stable hung coal shovels, a hay fork, and rakes. A large drill with a broken bit had a thick cobweb holding it to the wall. The breeching of a harness hung in disuse, its leather cracked and peeling. Sticks and considerable stones littered the ground near the door. My mind tried to fashion everything I saw as if I were a cobbler for feminine pleasure. Nothing seemed right. Not until I noticed the tip of a dusty milk bottle peeking from under a horse stall.

I snatched up the empty quart of Whiteman’s Cream Line and wiped the open end across my shirt. The tin bail-top lid had been snapped off and the wide glass neck was smooth.

Miss Jinny had been craning her neck to watch me, her arms braced against the stall, her cotton drawers bunched at her ankles and bare ass high in the air. “What do you plan to do with that, Mr. Cortland?”

After pushing her dress farther back, I rolled the bottle’s texture of embossed words and rings around her skin. “I aim to screw you with it, Miss Jinny.”

Her eyes roamed down my body to my trousers. “Why not use what God Almighty has given you?”

I rubbed the bulge and smiled, reluctant to confess that the Good Lord had blessed me with ambition and a steady gun hand such as proper society allows no woman. The sausage that I had planned to eat for lunch slipped down my trouser leg, so I leaned forward to distract Miss Jinny. “Or maybe you need a lickin’.”

When her eyes widened, I dropped to my knees and tongued her furry slit until she was so spent of pleasure that she lay breathless in the hay. With panting words, she asked, “How long will you be staying, Mr. Cortland?”

I set my hat on my head and adjusted the sausage. “A day. Two.”

“Why then, I’d be pleased to see you again when you saddle up your horse.” I stayed mum, so she added, “I’m sure I could convince Daddy to discount you a quarter for the help you gave fixing the busted stall.”

I glanced at the stall she had finished nailing before I arrived. Then I winked and left.

Five years ago in Kansas City, Sealy McGuill killed my horse and used her as bait to poison wolves. But that wasn’t why I was in Rawlins, although finding McGuill here and the unlikely chance of tasting his randy daughter went a long way to paying the debt for Skinny Gin. No, I was here because the machinists of the Union Pacific railway went to strike, and the unionists took every chance to beat the devil out of the immigrant scabs hired to replace them. Such beatings required men of low character, which is why I knew I’d find my man, Bill “Jackjaw” Bivens, in Rawlins.

This is a true story.
Yesterday afternoon. I was sitting out by the pool as usual in the nude after our afternoon swim and two youths about eighteen or nineteen came to the screen enclosure and asked if we wanted our driveway pressure-cleaned for seventy-five bucks. It needed cleaning as it had been about a year since it had last been done and the algae had started to stain.
"That's a lot of money and we're a little short right now," Owen said. The kids had their eyeballs about out of their faces when they noticed that we were both sitting there on our chaise lounges totally nude. The older one said: "How much do you think it is worth?" and Owen said: "How about if I let both of you fuck my wife and you do the drive for free?"
That definitely got their attention and they promptly agreed that the price was just right. Owen told them to clean the driveway and then come back to the pool to swim and cool off before I would pay them with a fuck. Off they went, and about an hour later they came back having cleaned the driveway and the front walk as well. They then stripped off their clothes and dove into the pool naked until they had cooled down. When they were finished with their swim and dried off they came over and with each of them standing on the sides of my chaise they waved their dicks at my face for a little foreplay. That was all right with me as both of them were packing about seven inch and were as randy as young guys can be.
I began to suck on each of their dicks in turn until they looked like they wanted to come and only then did I learn that their names were Paul and Chris and that they were brothers working to earn money for college. I began to feel a little bad about screwing them out of college money so I gave them both blowjobs until they came all over my tits. I figured that at their ages they could get it up again and give me a ride so I could come too. Was I right about that?
I went in the house and brought them each a beer and told them to relax for a few minutes and drink their beers while I freshened up for them inside. When they were ready they were just to come to the sliding door of our bedroom and knock. Meanwhile Owen disappeared into the house to set up his video cam to record the action. We love to replay these tapes for our enjoyment later and it looked like these two guys could put on a show.
I was lying nude on my bed when Paul and Chris knocked a few minutes later and I motioned for them to come in and just lay out perfectly still on the bed. Paul was a little larger than Chris and he wanted to go first and just climbed up on the bed and began to insert his dick in my pussy when I told him to slow down and enjoy the fun. Obviously these boys weren't virgins, but they weren't experienced either.
Paul started to finger my pussy while Chris was sucking on my 38C tits – which always makes my pussy tingle – and I started to lubricate to the point that Paul figured I was ready and he placed his dick at my pussy lips and started to rub in circles until I grabbed his ass and pulled him home. He didn't hit bottom as he was only about seven inch but he buried his dick up to his pelvic bone and we were off on a fast missionary position while Chris continued to suck on my left tit. Owen was hiding in the closet and I could see him pointing his camera and smiling at me while I worked Paul in and out and squeezed his dick with my internal muscles until he came in a rush and leaked out on the bed. I handed him a towel and told him to clean up while I took on Chris. Now it was Paul's turn to suck on my tit while I let Chris climb aboard doggie style. I straddled Paul so he could suck my tits alternately and Chris thrust his slightly smaller dick into my well fucked and wet pussy from the rear. We took a little longer this time as I wanted to come at least twice and at that point I hadn't even had one orgasm.
Well, Chris might have been a little smaller but he had better moves and I was soon gushing cum out of my pussy and Chris was filling me up with his cum as well. At this point Owen came out of the closet with a couple of wash cloths and towels for the cleanup and the boys seemed to be okay with that. Lots of times when Owen watches my lovers they have a little trouble performing. In this case, eighteen or nineteen year old college kids were too hip to care.
Owen asked them to have a seat and watch a master at work. He then cleaned me up with his tongue and lifted me up by my legs and buried his nine inch dick in my still wet pussy. He had me screaming with an orgasm in under five minutes when he lay down on his back and lifted me on to his still hard dick for a ride they likes of which these kids hadn't seen before. I came two more times and was now worn out.
We felt bad about not paying the kids so Owen gave them fifty bucks and told them to come back again soon and do the pool deck as they looked shot for the day and I sure was.
After they left Owen and I watched the tape and had another afternoon of delight and then it was time to dress and go out to dinner. What a great day that was!

Pool

(c) J D Russell (2008)

I have been quite busy lately, but now it is time to relax and unwind, have a sip of rum and spend the weekend indulging in my favorite activity; sex, sex and more sex.  The sensual play began last night as I took my weary body and slipped into a steamy tub filled with warm water wrapped in a darkened room lit only with candles.  The night air was just enough to open the windows and enjoy a cool breeze. 

Today who knows where the magic will take me.  The comfort of this overstuffed chair with room for two is such a delight.  I’ve been oiled up and stripped bare in this chair with camera in hand.  My fingers have roamed my body, pinching, tweaking and massaging my flesh with enchanted strokes.  They have slipped between my pink lips, gliding in the juices that stem from aroused thoughts of you; slinking back and forth, finding the hidden pleasure zones that spark more tempestuous lust.  My body writhes beneath my own hand begging for more, wanting more touch, wishing for the feel of contact everywhere…and then I warm.  Tingles flow outward to my toes, upward through my spine, to the very tips of my fingers and I am sated for mere moments.  And then I strive for yet another climax fervently, coming again and again with the thought that I will have you soon, thrusting inside this pussy of mine, engorged, inflamed with desire and lust, filling me with your hot cream, beads of salted sweat pearling over your chest that I will taste as I hungrily take you in, biting and nipping in the heat of the orgasmic moment.

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If you would like to use this piece as a story starter to submit to Sensualist Anthologies, use “Submissions” to send your completed story. 

He was not a boss, but a hit man.  He was paid well for his hits, usually they were higher up mob members from different turfs.  He had a target on his back, and always looked over his shoulder.

Roberto dressed finely, in Italian made suits and shoes.  Rolex watch and bling that could blind you.  However it did not look gaudy on him, he actually glowed in it against his olive skin tone.

He met a dancer named Brandy and though not in love with her, showered her with gifts and kept her in an apartment on 43rd street in New York.

Roberto was careful in all that he did, he had to have control of all his surroundings and what lived inside his circle.

Brandy was in that circle, he fucked her when he wanted, kept her in spending money and everyone was happy.

He usually wore a bullet proof vest under his suit, no need to take any chances he thought when buying it.  He took too many chances as it was. 

Roberto received information on his next hit.  A woman, an informer.  She was fooling everyone , even, Roberto.  It was Brandy.  His heart sank, wondering how she could turn on him and give information to the Marino family.  It was about him, she played him good, three years good.

The hit was to take place before the following week, and Roberto cringed for the first time when given a hit request. 

"That bitch. that fucking bitch." 

He was now starting to get over the shock and get angry. 

"I'll kill the bitch and make it worth my while, slow and painful.  That fucking bitch"

He was hurt but also angry that she double crossed him, after he gave her the world.

She must have had no love for him at all. 

The Marino family was his biggest rival family.  Wanting control of New York and Vegas.  Guns, cocaine and other drugs, both families fought for control.  Marino was winning by a slight lead and it only angered Roberto more,knowing that most of the info came from Brandy.

He would kill her tonight and get it over with, he was going to be extremely careful since her murder could be traced back to him easily. 

He called Brandy and told her to meet him at her apartment at 8 pm, they were going to have dinner together and spend the night together.  

Brandy sounded thrilled and hung up with a short little,

 "Love you Rob"

Roberto thought all day on how he was going to do it.  He wanted to make it look like a robbery or serial killer.  Not just one gun shot through the head and that was it.  He wanted the Bitch to suffer for her crossing him.

Roberto arrived at Brandy's apartment, holding a small box wrapped plainly with one red ribbon. 

"Oh! is that a present for me?"  Brandy chirped

"Sure, sure it is,"  said Roberto"  With a slight grin.

"It's not for now, it's a gift for later"  Roberto said calmly and entered the apartment laying the box on a small cherry wood table.

He looked around at all the expensive furniture and decorations he bought for the apartment and felt like a fool.

"This is a nice place Brandy, you really laid it out"  He said with a pursing of his lips.

Brandy cocked her head to look at him and wondered why he was bringing up the apartment after three years.

"Thanks Rob, if it wasn't for you, I would not have such nice things.  You take care of me babe."

Roberto smiled and sat down, sliding deeply into the cushy chair.

Roberto thought it  was going to be a shame to kill Brandy, but she had become such a liability.  Plus, she knows things she should not have knowledge of.  She had to die.

Brandy stood near Roberto trying to entice him into the bedroom, her full lips were glossy with lipstick and they pouted in such a way that Roberto had a hard time not just grabbing her and kissing her.

Her figure was statuesqe, Roberto didn't like women too skinny or too heavy, but he loved a woman with curves and a full bosom.  Brandy had these qualities.

She knelt before him and placed a juicy kiss on his knee, she left it moist and stained slightly from her glossy lipstick.  He was pissed but loved to see her on her knees. 

"Babe, come on , I need you.. my pussy is wet."

Roberto smiled and stood taking her hand so she could stand and quietly led her into the bedroom.  She hurridly slipped out of her tight black dress, she was wearing nothing underneath. 

She jumped to the bed and Roberto meticulously undressed , laying his clothes over the back of a chair.

He left his tie on the bed and slid in next to her.  She moaned and slid her nude body against his.  They started making love, kissing and hands roaming freely over each others warm bodies.

Roberto turned her so she was on her stomach and urged her to her knees, he liked it doggy style it always made him feel in control.

He slid his cock slowly into her pussy, it was warm and slick, slippery slick.  He began to ride her, pumping her with deep , long strokes of his cock.  She was moaning and trying to push her body back onto his cock to feel it even deeper. 

Roberto reached for his tie, and gently wrapped it around her neck.  Brandy was excited at the feel of the expensive silk against her skin.  She began to cum, and he did too.   As he did, he tightened the tie around her neck, at first she didn't fight, but in a few moments she knew he meant business.  She began clawing at the bed and at the sheets.  Trying so hard to breathe.  He was slowly taking her breaths away, his cock was still inside her, though he felt muscles tighten around it.

Finally, she breathed her last breath, and Roberto slipped from her pussy.  Stood up, and wiped his body clean with the sheet and got dressed, tucking the tie into his suit pocket.

He walked to the living room and retrieved the little box and opened it.  Inside was a ring he bought for her, he slipped it on her finger.  It was an engagement ring. 

He felt sad that he had to kill Brandy, but then again it would come down to her word against his.  He couldn't take the chance.   He left the room and quietly left the apartment.  No one saw him coming or going, he walked to his car and drove off.  Sadly he went to a restaurant where he was known for an alibi and stayed there all night until closing. 

He knew he made one mistake, he left his dna inside her.  He was doomed.  He drank, fucked and killed someone all in one night.  He went home to sleep off the liquor and forget what he did.

In the morning there was a knock at his door.  It was the cops, he knew it would not be long before they figured out it was him.

Thou art to me, a delicious torment...

"Should we be doing this? Here?" Her voice was a breathless whisper against a pair of lips that left trails of fire along her skin. His lips traced the delicate arch of her neck, lingering where he drew the most moans from her lips.

"If we're not, then we can stop..." His breath was hot on her skin, his soft chuckle making her heart leap. Every part of her felt tense, that moisture coating her inner thighs slick as she shifted beneath him.

"Baby, you're free now, you got nothing to worry about..." His lips trailed where his fingers beckoned, grazing the curves of her breasts, lavishing her nipples with the teasing flick of his tongue. She thought she would die of want before he lifted his head to watch her reaction.

"Free?" She echoed, as if lost, and his only answer was a grin and two fingers slipped between her thighs, pressing past her protective cling, surrounding them with a sheath of hot, wet velvet. He was pleased that while she was hesitant, her body was not.

We always long for the forbidden things, and desire that which is denied us...

"Free." He said softly, watching her body writhe against the sheets as he gauged her limits, searched for where he could garner the most reaction from her. She looked like passion-made-flesh; voluptuous body like a chocolate Aphrodite, curves against curves while her parted thighs parted further. She was magnificent, her eyes shut, her lips parted in a moan of pleasure as he withdrew his sticky fingers to watch the writhes subside.

She was free, now. Meaning he could take her as hard as he wished.

She didn't object, pressing her hands on his chest and pushing him onto his back. Her lips caught his in a kiss of demanding passion, silencing his questions when her fingers wrapped around the turgid erection nestled between the soft curves of her body and the hard lines of his. Leaning down, she dropped a kiss on the tip, punctuating it with a flick of her tongue. He'd heard tell of her willingness in bed, but he'd yet to see the woman who fastened her lips around him pushing him as far as she could into her mouth.

Free to do whatever she pleased. And she did.

In the end, he lay down for her, letting her choose to mount him, watching her face become masked with an ecstasy without fault or flaw. His hands slid up her waist, willing her to take her time. She was free, after all.

Free to relish in this private escape he'd given her.

By the time his hands cupped the lush weight of her breasts, she was already in motion, her head tipped back, her back arched, the heat in the room becoming steamy as she began to burn the fuel of her lust in moments that were better spent contemplating the sunset. The sun had vanished hours ago, and in the dark silence of the room she felt herself shatter. No, not herself, but a part of herself she no longer needed, a part that was in the past, as she burned her way into a better future.

She called his name, and he answered by rolling her onto her back and sinking to the hilt. Fingers interlaced, he held her still, silently commanding her to remember this. If nothing else, remember. So he burned into her memory, he burned his way into her psyche, pushing—blending their heat until stars wheeled overhead and her body dissolved into quaking passion, her moans turning to whimpers. He was pleased at this...pleased that he could please her so effortlessly, and he impressed upon her that her freedom came without cost. She was willing to sacrifice everything she was for everything she would become.

She was free to choose.

* * * * * * *

She arrived shortly after sunset, wearing a tuxedo shirt and a pair of black jeans as if a tuxedo shirt was little more than another accent to her beauty. Her hair was in braids, and a bag sat nestled near her stiletto-shod feet. When she turned to face him, her glossed lips ghosted into a knowing smile, her eyes hidden behind a pair of shades as the last covetous rays of the sun reflected off of them. He had to laugh, because all he could imagine was what she was wearing underneath her unique attire.

"Going to invite me in? Or are you feeling adventurous tonight?" Her playing barb lacked the sharp hooks that had seen egos shattered and tears shed in the dark. Nothing about her words was caustic in the least...but they were...taunting. He took her bag and then her wrist and pulled her inside.

She smelled like...what sort of perfume did she wear? It was inebriating.

"So how long you here for this time?" He asked her, leading her into the bedroom. She slipped her shades off with a laugh that could be heard over the shutting of the door. Leaning against the place that was to be her...cage for the next few days, she sighed with a droll shrug of her shoulders.

"Three days, counting today. Any longer and I'll be pushing it with my classes." If she could devise holidays designed especially for these sorts of excursions, every weekend would be a three-day weekend. She almost wished Thanksgiving was not a family-oriented holiday. It was obvious that three days was not enough. Not for their electrical attraction. Not for what they wanted.

But it was all they had for now, and she meant to indulge every minute of it.

It started first with him coming so close as to touch her, before his lips brushed hers, before his lips took hers.

Their kisses were always slow, saturated, and dwelled upon. He tasted like something sweet; his tongue, albeit so new to her, caressed hers, she relaxed. That's when his fingers went for the buttons on her shirt...and he realized why she'd worn it—aside for the obvious sex appeal.

It was to torment him with so many buttons. This meant he had to leave her lips in favor of unbuttoning that damnable shirt, and little by little he caught a flash of red lace.

Oh fuck, he couldn't think of anything to say by the time he got the shirt off. A bra of red lace, striking a vivid contrast against her dark skin. He wanted to just—

She sensed his delight and smiled. Then his hands went for her jeans...and then he had the pleasure of seeing red and black lace bottoms.

Christ...she was calculating his desires and adapting to them as she saw fit...and she was doing it with enviable relish.

Shedding their clothes was just the beginning. A trail of red lace, black jeans, and extremely high-priced stilettos led to the bed, and the pair had forgotten everything that lay beyond the locked door. She kneeled between his thighs, her lips wrapped around him as if she could drink his desires into herself. When he couldn't take much more, he wrapped her legs around him and buried himself inside of her. Once he had reminded her of her freedom, she had shed inhibition in favor of...this.

Her fingers ran through his hair, her knees draped over his shoulders while he dove deeper than she could have imagined, stroking her as if were little more than a harp. And she sang for him.

In the end, he lay her on her front to trace the ink-scars of rebellion on her back with his lips. She shuddered from the sensation that he could go from recklessly persistent, to gentle. It was what she wanted...and so he obliged her. A few times, she felt his tongue against his skin, and whatever noise she made got a husky chuckle from him.

How could he be seductive with one look? There went his lips, grazing behind her ear.

"You should stay longer...I'm sure your professors wouldn't mind." He whispered. She had to laugh.

"I would if I could. But I can't afford to..." Her words trailed into a moan when he pressed himself until he slid inside of her again. Catching her breath, her fingers curled into the sheets. He started slow, drawing whimpers from her as her body writhed, her backside molding to his hips as each thrust grew harder than the last.

She hadn't been this wet in months...and she hadn't felt so sexy and wanted in almost two years. His fingers interlaced with hers, relishing in every delicious noise she made. The ways she called his name, the way she begged, the way she demanded him to take her, and commanded him as to how she wanted it.

He didn't hesitate, and she enjoyed that the most.

In the end they lay gasping, with her feeling replete and him drained.

That was only the first night.

* * * * * *

It was raining again. Third time this week, and she didn't care. She didn't knock, didn't call, didn't even throw her shoe at his window. Rain soaked her hair, soaked her clothes, soaked her shoes, soaked that $800 bag she'd made her daddy buy her for school because she "Just had to have" Nine West.

But she didn't care for ruined leather, or ruined dry cleaning, or ruined hair, or runny eyeliner. It was when a hand settled on her shoulder that she finally realized she was standing in the middle of a thunder shower. She turned to face him, the one she'd lost herself to for weeks. Weeks of well-earned sweat, weeks of tangled sheets, weeks of idle banter, love bites and lover's sigils carved into flesh by freshly-manicured nails. Weeks of lips on her flesh, a hand in her hair, a whispered word of longing against her throat, laughter, laughter until tears, until they dissolved back into pounds of lust-saturated flesh.

She faced him, and wished she could drown in the look in his eyes.

"Hey." And she did. She drowned herself in his cologne, drowned herself in his kiss, drowned herself in him. By the time the kiss was over, he was soaked, pulling her into the comforting protection of his arms and the canopy above them. Rain fell, and so did she.

To her knees.

He tasted as good as she remembered, and in the thundering rain she drained him until he shuddered from need.

In the end, he dragged her to the steps, and they stripped as they climbed, until she was a mixture of sweat, heels, hair, limbs...God she couldn't say no.

She never said no to him. Instead she kept saying yes...and he kept stroking until she couldn't remember how to speak anything but his name, until she couldn't taste anything but him, until she could feel him in her heart.

"God..." Her voice was breathless. He grinned hard against her neck, shoving her harder against the wall, until the cool surface no longer shocked her nipples, until her backside molded to his front as if they fit...as if this gavotte they danced was preordained. Her chipped manicure dragged along the wall as he buried himself ever deeper, trying to hollow her out until she was completely his.

An interesting friendship indeed.

SM.

by J D Russell

Huh nee... mm mm... ow ryu...hrn ee... yeh... mm hm... mtu... ths gd... wzs tht thn... bh cs... mmm... i fl lk... mm mm... skn... lkn... fkn... yr ck... yd oo dyr... ys iyd oo... wl i fl lk lkn... skn... fkn... yr cn t... du yu rly... yr id oo... mm... ino... hm hm... yu wn tha... ym mm... oh... an tha... mmm... ye ye... oka... thn dw tha... ohh... fme... yeh... mmm... thas fkn byu tfl... oh... oh oh... ye... ye... yeh... jee sus... yr fkn lv lee... ah... nd yr fkn lv lee tu... ah... tk dty tu me... hwd ym een... kmon y no... dty wds... tht srt oth ng... oka... bnd ovr bch... oh... oka... nw gwon... sprd m wd... oh... f me... mm mm... gw on bby... pt yr fce thr... mm mm... thas t... stk yr tng rt upt... ths t... o yh... gwon... lkit... hrd... ye ye... o... ye... dwit fm ee... sy mr dty wds... wl i sk yu... yu va lvl ee cnt... a byu tfl... lv lee… tst ee cnt... o... ar... yss... sy mr... cll m… nms… y slt... ah yss... mr... y byu tfl fkn lvl ee chp sl te hr... o yss... ths it... n ow... rm tn... yra... byu tfl... fkn bch... hhh... ng... gg... cl me a byu tfl hr gn... yu byu tfl fkn hr... lv lee... lv yu... lv yr boh dee... suh byu tfl... hr... oh ye... oh yeh... k moh vrm ee... k minm ee... ths it.... yeh o... ah... oh... ah... oh... yss... ll vu... gv... it... t... me... hrd... slm tn... aa... aa... ys... fk... fk... ah... fk hrd rr... ys... ys... fk m... fk m... ohh hhh... yssss... hg gh... hh hg gh... yaa... yaa... hg... gh... fr... haaa... huhu... hu... yehh... mmm hmm... hmm mmm... yu ka ym... mm... me tu...

And so, if you should happen to find writing of the type that is taking up the space above these expositional lines, examine it carefully for what it might be doing. Does it have a purpose? A meaning? Are there any messages in it? Is it of any practical use? Do we learn anything from it? Is it English (Standard, I mean)? Does it conform to the grammatical and lexical rules we all know so well? If not, why not?

In all honesty, I feel that I have to say that it simply won't pass muster as a good piece of writing. It has no structure, no syntax, minimal punctuation, absolutely no style at all (the writer apparently doesn't understand what style is - some don't you know), and as for the correct use of literary devices to provide analogues and therefore emphasize or increase meaning(s), well - it might as well be written in code. Register and tenor have been disregarded (the author may be unaware of their existence), and most of the recognizable tropes have been eschewed (probably out of ignorance on the author's part). Not only that, but the very necessary beginning, middle and end that Aristotle posits as essential to all good stories have been abandoned. The writer appears to know nothing regarding the craft of writing.

Anyway, the point is this: if you do see writing similar to the pathetic example that's printed above, don't mistake it for a story, or a poem, a play, or (ha ha) anything else remotely literary, will you? I say this because surely you can see it's just another one of those mess-about-with-the-punctuation-and-typography pieces of rubbish. They're ten-a-penny. Everybody does them (or has done them) - and it's usually those without the talent or ability to tell a straight story.

These things, these damn shallow, repetitive things, things that many try to give value to by describing them as (ha ha, excuse me), 'experimental', are just anti-literary artsy-farsty vacuous pieces of nonsense with no point, no significance and no content. They usually contain no visible understanding of human nature either. The writers of such pedestrian drivel are simply unable to communicate with us in a normal, sensible way that we can all understand at a glance. Besides, they can never tell us anything we don't know already, can they?.

In fact, in this instance, I'd go as far as to say this - I think we should all go on our finely-honed instincts and reflexes and denounce it for the senseless, puerile, illiterate, pointless insult to real writing that it so obviously is - and always will be for as long as it continues to exist. Publishers shouldn't touch it, magazines should reject it, other writers should scorn it, and readers should ignore it. No one will learn anything from it and every reader will have wasted valuable time on it - time which they could have been using profitably on something else.

So, I think that now we've got its little number, we can do with it what any decent human being would do with what is possibly the most worthless, tasteless, empty piece of uncreative typing I've ever had the misfortune to pass my eyes over. Here's what we can do - we can rip it up! Yes, that's what we do with incomprehensible rubbish such this - we rip it up. You heard me, get ripping. Rid the world of all such impurity. Go on - rip it up!

Untitled Writing
(c) J D Russell (2008)

While I'm mulling...I need you to do something for me.

I've set up a SayNow account so you can. Call me and leave me messages I like them. You can leave them for me about the book, or the show, or my new IMPROVED webcomic.

Love me LOUD

Okay so here it is! Erotica! For your purchasing pleasure. I promise. It'll be an absolute pleasure.
Its old so the contact info and such might be out of date. But, Get it cause it's hot... and under $5!

So, call me!!

Is your writing inspired by an artistic sensibility?

Then, Modernist Press wants you!

Stephen Soucy is an author who just published a book of short stores - titled - "Nine Hundred & Sixty-Nine" - which were written by a handful of gay writers based on tales set in West Hollywood.

The introduction was penned by Patricia Nell Warren - who conjured up the gay-themed book "The Front Runner" -  set in the high-profile world of athletes.

Now that "69" is successfully under his belt, Mr. Soucy is putting out a call for submissions for his next illustrious project.

The collection of fiction intends to focus on short stories that are connected directly to - or inspired by — a work of art.

"For example, the piece should be inspired by a song, a painting, a museum, an architectural monument, a blueprint, a piece of writing—a play, novel, poem, or letter," Mr. Soucy noted enthusiastically, when we crossed paths recently at the West Hollywood Book Fair.

The art in question needs to be a major component of the story - a character - within the fabric of the story.

The idea may be inspired by a day-to-day event or completely fabricated.

The editor notes that "ART from ART" hopes that the spotlight will be thrown on new and established voices by virtue of the publication.

Mr. Soucy - an outgoing pleasant young man - wholeheartedly believes that linking the stories through art will entice readers.

Because the art will be featured on a page either at the beginning or the end of each story (a visual correlative that will enhance the experience) those interested in submitting for the project are forewarned in advance to keep this in mind so they can meet all the criteria of the competition.

Stories may be submitted (deadline December 1st) with a brief bio via email to Stephen Soucy.

The publisher ask that writers follow submission guidelines.
(Microsoft Word Document with 12-point font)

Info: shsoucy@modernistpress.com

What might this image inspire?

God, it's like you're calling me a whore or something...

I must have gotten the wrong impression in bed last night...

Why? Was I whore-like?

Your collar was whore-red as well.

Imagine that, yes it is. Just like this plastic cup sitting beside me.

Just because a whore has red hair does not make the hair whore red. I am aware of your many shades of red from having seen so much of it in my extensive, unrelenting pulling of it.

Mmmmm. I'm purring.

Purring. Is this pussy wearing a collar? She'd better be. Someone owns her.

God, you fucking turn me on like no other. I'm going to email you something. They're not safe for work.

Mmm...I saw the pictures. You're going to get to know the inside of your little closet very well if you keep sending me filth like that.

Dirty whore.