Tag Archives: clothes

Stabbing Pleasure By Sunni Brock

I smell your desire
Inhaling your breath
As our tongues touch then embrace
And I reach downward
Smoothing the warm mist of perspiration
Over the tingling hairs of your navel

You rise suddenly and
Your arrow pricks my finger
Leaving a single drop of sticky sweetness
On my throbbing fingertip

My nipples are racing
To escape their bindings
I feel my thighs trembling
My stomach tightens

I am clenching
Moist, warm, and waiting
Engorged with the thrill
Of your immanent entry

Maneuvering my hips over yours
Freeing my full breasts
And cupping them
Into your face

Biting, teasing, nibbling
A direct nerve
Between my bosom
And maidenhead

I feel your arrow tapping
Ready to accept my invitation
I am so swollen it aches
Engorged to the edge of ecstasy

Breath held for a moment
My lips part in anticipation
Then the tip barely probing
I feel myself spreading slowly
You gliding gently, firmly in

In…

In…

Deeper,
Slowly,
Ever deeper
Until I can hardly –

Your
Arrow
Plunges
Deeply
Into
My
Open
Heart

…and I gasp as I teeter on the brink

and you retreat

then stab again

and again

and I die a little

again

and again

Until I break open
Gushing love from my legs
in a torrent release of rapture
flowing down the creases of our bodies
into rivulets over the sheets

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Temptation: The Anthology is out now!

Temptation: The Anthology. is out now!

Temptation: The Anthology, a diverse collection of erotic fiction from around the world. From the sensual caress of a lover, to S&M torture, fantasies and filth… A wild ride, a passionate embrace, all of it awaits you…

Featuring:

Seven Foot Two, Fur of Blue By James Hartley

Charlie’s Room By A. A. Garrison

Sister Patience By Jerome Brooke

Bird of Paradise By Jax

Finding Elsbet By Peter Baltensperger

Don’t Go By S.L. Johnson

For The Love Of Rachel By Laura J Campbell

Shoot Me By Albert Tucher

A Pound of Flesh By Charles Langley

Inspiration By Ken Goldman

A Little Bit of Lovin’ and a Bushel of Winter Wheat By Charles Langley

The Collar, The Leash and The Wife By Aiden Mulane

Nympho Librarian By Mike Sharlow

A Good Night’s Sleep By Franklin Sr.

Down By Ralph Greco

Barbara’s Waterboarding By Sandy George

The Art of Women By Jerome Brooke

For The Love Of Legs And Feet By Michael F.

Ms. Welsh After the Interview By Paul Henry

Devil’s Delight By Matthew Wilson

The Muse By Jerome Brooke

Kamalia By Kara Leigh Miller

The Hangover Cure By Holly Day

Olivia’s Ordeal By DirtyMartini

Grey By Caitlin Hoffman

After Dinner By Jerome Brooke

Original fiction and the very best reprints from the successful Temptation Magazine blog: https://temptationmag.wordpress.com/

The book is available now!

The printed book is available here:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/temptation-magazine/temptation-the-anthology/paperback/product-20528099.html

The ebook version in several formats is available here:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/257622

Coming soon to Kindle!

The Hangover Cure By Holly Day

Pete was at the door, banging louder than anyone had a right to at nine in the morning. Anna ran her fingers through her knotted hair as she marched to the door, feeling horribly and defiantly unattractive as she marched to the door in her sweat pants and faded t-shirt. “That was quick,” she said as she let him in, rubbing at some of the cat hair that was sticking to her clothes. As if on cue, Max poked his head from around the corner and proceeded to slithered around her ankles, putting even more cat hair on her than she had just removed.

“That’s a nice cat,” said Pete, leaning down to scratch the big orange tom. Max arched his back in delight and rolled over on Pete’s feet a few moments before running off to hide in the kitchen. Pete straightened up smiled at Anna. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together like he was about to do something important and organized. “You ready for my great hangover cure?”

“Sure,” shrugged Anna. “So long as there are no eggs or tomatoes involved, I’ll try anything.”

“Good,” he said brusquely. He waved at the couch and ordered, “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll be just a minute.”

Anna obediently went to the couch and sat down as Pete went into the kitchen and began opening and closing refrigerator and cabinets doors noisily. “You need any help in there?” she called out, nervous as to exactly what this hangover cure would entail, since she was sure there wasn’t anything but a couple of cans of soup and half a carton of milk left in the kitchen.

“Nope!” answered Pete, poking his head around the corner, waving a frying pan at her. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Sounds good,” said Anna. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She wondered if Pete would be angry if she just fell asleep while he was making whatever the hell it was that he was making in the kitchen.

“Put this on,” said Pete, suddenly close by. Anna opened her eyes blearily and saw him standing in front of her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of black fabric. “Put it around your head so that your eyes are covered. C’mon,” he said when she started to protest. “It’s part of the cure.”

“Oh, God,” said Anna, taking the piece of cloth from him and tying it around her eyes. “What in the world could you be getting ready to feed me that you don’t even want me to see it?”

Pete laughed and patted her gently on top of her head, like she was a puppy or a stupid child. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is guaranteed to work.” Anna could hear him walking away once more, heard the front door open for a moment, then close again.

“Shit,” sighed Anna, closing her eyes. The blindfold made everything nice and dark, just like it was nighttime. At least it would be easier to fall asleep with it on than without. “Did you go home already?”

“Nope, I’m still here,” said Pete, very close this time. “I put my bag outside the door so that the cure… ingredients…. would be a surprise. I wouldn’t want you poking around and discovering all my secrets this early on.”

Suddenly, cold hands slid up under Anna’s sweatshirt, up her stomach and gently cupping her breasts. She jumped back a little bit, suddenly very awake. “Whoa,” she said, reaching up to pull off her blindfold. One of the hands moved away from her breast to stop her hand and push it gently back down to her side.

“Shh,” said Pete. “It’s my world-famous hangover cure.” He kissed her, prying apart her sticky lips and licking all the early-morning fuzz from the inside of her mouth and even her teeth. His tongue filled her mouth to capacity, his kiss sucked the air out of her until she felt light-headed and empty. She closed her eyes and lay back against the couch  feeling his mouth move from her lips to her neck, his gigantic hands squeezing her breasts almost too hard.

“This is your cure?” she giggled when she could catch her breath again. “I have to warn you, I’m a real lousy lay when I’ve been drinking, and even worse the next morning.”

“Shh,” said Pete again. Anna felt him tug at her pants, and instinctively grabbed one of his hands. He stopped tugging and said, close to her ear, “Any time you want me to leave, just take the blindfold off. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing it, if I’m in the middle of it and you take it off, I’m gone.”

“Okay,” answered Anna. She let go of his hand and let him tug her cat-hair-covered sweat pants all the way off, sliding them down to her ankles and slipping them off over her feet, one at a time. Anna waited to feel the hands that would pull her t-shirt up over her head, preparing herself to help keep the blindfold from slipping off with the shirt, but it never happened. He left her socks alone as well, so that her feet were warm and comfortable while the tiny hairs on her legs stood up in goosebumps from the drafty apartment, making her feel a little like she did when she was at the gynecologist’s, naked save for a paper gown and a pair of rolled-down tube socks.

“Open,” Pete ordered, pulling her knees gently apart with his incredibly warm hands. Everywhere he touched on her skin grew warmer simply from being in contact with him, and Anna wished he would touch other parts of her that weren’t so warm, like her chilly calves, or the naked parts high on her thighs that seemed to catch just about every breeze in the apartment. She could just imagine how wonderful it would feel to have him simply rub her legs up and down with those gigantic, warm hands, like the way she’d seen people do to hyperthermia victims on TV, how they would warm her whole body up, put her right to sleep.

She was so engrossed in thinking about how nice it would feel to be so comfortably warm that when he put his finger in her, she actually jumped a little in surprise. The finger disappeared, and Pete asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” waved Anna, angry at herself for scaring him and his finger away. “It just startled me. I wasn’t expecting it, for some reason, although that sounds like a really stupid thing to not expect.”

“Good,” said Pete, and this time, she felt his mouth on her cunt, his tongue pushing the lips of her labia apart and finding her clit. She floundered with her arms until she found his head between her legs. Her immediate impulse was to push him hard into her crotch, but, instead settled on patting the top of his head, tousling his hair a bit in the confusion, before putting both her hands behind her head and burying them in her hair where they couldn’t get into any more trouble. She grabbed her own hair tightly and pulled until her fingernails dug into her palm, spreading her legs apart to that nothing down there could possibly be neglected.

Pete continued his steady lapping, settling into an obvious but pleasant reinterpretation of the alphabet, moving fluidly from a distinguishable “A” to a slightly-muddled “B” and an almost useless “C,” and back again with a very effective “D.” Around “G”, he stuck his finger into her one more, a little rough, a little fast. Anna winced, immediately trying to make her expression look more like ecstasy than mild annoyance, trying to ignore the jagged hangnail she could feel dragging against her insides as he did so.

A few moments later, the finger disappeared. Anna could hear paper rustling, some shuffling, more rustling. The tongue disappeared, and something thin and cold slithered inside of her, about as thick as a finger but much longer. Pete pushed against he until the thing as deep as it could go, warming up as it retracted, and back in again, deep enough that Pete’s knuckles pressed against her clit, his fist wrapped around the thing inside her. Then the tongue was back, picking up where it left off, and Anna clenched her muscles around the hard, cold object, wishing she had more.

Almost as though he could read her mind, Pete pulled the thing all the way out of her, and replaced with another cold object at least twice as big as the first. Anna felt her insides spreading around the thing, wider until she was almost positive that whatever the thing was, it wasn’t supposed to go inside her. Pete pushed her legs open even more, throwing one of them over his shoulder as he worked, and resumed licking at her engorged clitoris, gently pulling and pushing on the oversized object lodged inside her just a little bit in, just a little bit out, until she was wet enough to take the whole thing in.

Anna felt the orgasm starting up deep inside her, felt the walls of her cunt  bucking helplessly, her head full of fireworks as her muscles exploded. Pete held the object in place as her body tried to push it out of her with the force of her climaxing, held it in place until she was lying back against the couch, hands twitching, toes digging into the short acrylic carpet fibers. “You want another one?” he asked from somewhere far away. “Are you ready?”

“Gu,” said Anna, waving one of her hands vaguely, unable to speak. “Hm,” she added. Pete apparently took this as a yes and set to work all over again, patiently reapplying lube to his fingers and the dildo as Anna drifted in an out of consciousness, exhausted, wondering if he would take offense if she just fell asleep while he was diddling her. After a while, she came again, not as explosively this time, but longer and more beautifully. A sunrise flooded the corners of her tightly-closed eyelids, cartoon birds twittered in her ears, and Pete was gently shaking her shoulder, asking if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Why?”

“You just got so quiet there,” he said. Anna felt him touch her hair, and then the blindfold was off. “I thought maybe you’d passed out or something. Girls do that sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I know,” she said, grinning. “Nope, I’m here. I’m okay.”

“How’s your hangover?” he asked. He leaned in and kissed her long and hard, and if she hadn’t been so completely worn out from the waist down, she would have totally fucked him.  “I find cunilingus really is the very best hangover cure,” he added.

“So much better than tomato juice or raw eggs,” agreed Anna. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him as gratefully as she could without giving the impression that she actually wanted to have sex. “I do so love being a girl!” she whispered in his ear before falling back down on the couch and drifting off to sleep.

The Art of Women By Jerome Brooke

Dear Uncle Charles. Thank you for your sage advice. The Countess is well please with my assistance with her correspondence. She is most devout, and takes great interest in the welfare of the slaves on her plantation. Your nephew, Lucian.

 

May 10, 1736.

 

“Welcome, Madame and young sir,” said the witch. “Enter, and sit here on the bench.”

The Countess DeCharente smiled, and took my arm. We sat down, while the black woman took a bottle from a table. “This is my clerk, Lucian. I have told him you have great power – and that people come to you to secure good luck.”

I had been asked by the countess to escort her to the hut of the witch, Helene. We had driven to the coast in her buggy, and arrived late morning. The witch returned with a bottle, and presented it to the Countess. To my surprise, the lady took a drink from the bottle – then gave it to me. “Try it, Lucian.” The wine had a sweet taste. I returned the bottle to Helene.

To my surprise, the witch pulled her shift over her head, to reveal her plump form.  “Do you like black women, pretty one?” the witch asked, lifting her pendulous breasts with her hands. The Countess placed her hand on my leg, with a smile. The witch had light skin, and must have been the product of miscegenation. She was a woman of years, with white hair.

“Call upon your saints to give us youth, good fortune, and luck in love,” the Countess asked, in a soft voice. The witch lit a candle on the table, and raised her arms high.  She began to chant in a strange dialect, perhaps some African tongue. As she continued her prayer, I began to feel very sleepy. The Countess began to unbutton my shirt.  She took my arm, and raised me to my feet.

As the witch continued her chant, I saw a figure emerge from a door in the rear of the room.  She was a tall black woman, also nude. Her skin was very dark, and her hair short. She came to me, and knelt at my feet. She unlaced my trousers, pulling them down. She boldly reached inside my under cloth, and grasped my manhood.

The tall woman began to practice the secret art of women, as the Countess knelt at her side. The two women took turns, ministering to me. They were soon joined by Helene in the practice of these unnatural acts. After a time, the witch rose, and took my arm.  She led me to a cot in one corner of her room. The three women stripped me of my garments, and pressed me back onto the cot.

The woman with short hair climbed atop me, slipping forward and covering my face.  After she had pleasure, the witch followed her lead. The Countess, in turn, slipped off her pantaloons, and raised her silk dress. She then followed the other two women in their perversity.

The witch then made me ready with her tongue, as her sister mounted me once more. The tall woman used her long fingers to guide me inside her womanhood. Each of the other two women followed her, in turn. After the women tired of this adventure, the tall woman knelt at my side. She used the arts of women to obtain what she desired.

The witch handed her sister a silken cloth, allowing her to spit into it. The witch took the cloth, and placed it in a leather bag.  She placed the bag on the table, near the candle.

“You have found favor with the Lady of Darkness, Lucian. She favors men with green eyes. If you serve her well, great wealth will be ours!” the countess whispered in my ear. “We must return each month, when the moon is new.”

I drew upon my clothes, as my head began to clear. As we went to the door, the two dark women shameless embraced me. I bowed, and stumbled out the door. “You are most fortunate, Lucian!” said the Countess. “You now have a powerful patroness!”