The contest challenge was to include photography. A lot of my stories veer into kink, which I obviously do NOT have a problem with, but I wanted to try for something a little straighter.

Pictures at an Exhibition

“Come see,” he said. She curled next to him on the sofa as he brought the slideshow up on the laptop. “Tell me which one you like the best.”

They were all out of order. A close-up of her lips covering the head of his cock. “I like that one,” he said, his hand sliding along her thigh.

A full-length profile shot of them kissing, fully clothed. G-rated even, except that the image emanated a decidedly X-rated tension. “Nice,” she murmured.

Angled naked torsos, in high contrast black and white. She looked for a long moment, tilting her head, sorting out which parts were which. “Hmmmm.”

A brilliantly juicy close-up, his cock nestled just at entrance of her cunt, awash with her wetness. At the top of the frame, her clit burst between two of her fingers; at the bottom, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. She blinked. “I remember that,” she said. “But I don’t remember the camera being that close.” He laughed gently. “Zoom lens.”

He clicked again, and she pulled in a breath, stunned.

The camera caught the slightly rough texture of his skin against the impossible creaminess of hers. The lines of his fingers sunk into the yielding curve of her breast. Her arousal evident in the flushed tightness of her nipple, the arch of her spine. His passion and possessiveness eloquent in the fierceness of his grip.

Her reaction inspired him. And life proceded to imitate art.

Creative Juices

From Alison's contest -- the theme is writing. My entry did respectably in the poll.


The blank yellow pad mocked her. Through the window, a breeze carried the sound of a lawnmower droning and birds tweeting, offering no inspiration whatsoever.

“Vagina,” she wrote. Ugh. Jane scratched through the word.
“Vulva. Labia.” More ugh. Why were there no good words?
“Tunnel, channel, sheath. Glove?” Hmmm. Maybe.
“Center, core. Folds.” Potential. Approaching overused though.
“Dewy blossom of womanhood.” Heheheheh. No.

Desperation. She tried the thesaurus: “Vagina: no results found. Did you mean vain, virginal, angina, avian?” Yeah, there’s a big help.

The problem was, this *character* was very verbal during lovemaking. She wanted to tell her lover “ah, god, do that again. I love your cock buried in my….” My what? Tunnel? Slippery folds? Not.

The mower’s hum cut out, then the screen door banged. Sean moved to the doorway, gulping down ice water. “How’s it going, honey?”

“Not good.”

He hugged her. “Anything I can do?”

“Actually…yes.” She pulled him toward the bedroom. “I need your throbbing manhood in my sheath.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sliding together, they fell to the bed with wordless caresses, kisses, sighs, moans. He slid his fingers into her, and she was ready. Inexplicably, she giggled. “My dewy blossom,” she gasped.

He ignored that, working his fingers and rubbing hard little circles over her clit. “No,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “Want you inside--”

He paused at that. “Tell me again.”

She moaned. “Please… I *need* your *cock* buried in my *cunt* when I come…”

With that, she found her juice.