Based on the film from Wicked Pictures. Download this story for free today!

Excerpt:

I leaned up and kissed him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, but I wanted to know. I wanted to give him the chance I hadn’t gotten.

At first I only thought of little pieces of sensation—his mouth was cold from the ice in his drink, and he tasted like lime. His lips were slippery and full, satin against mine. His tongue was finely grained and clever, brushing against my mouth. I opened my eyes for just a flicker and saw that his stubble had picked up the light in strange ways, showing his hair wasn’t just brown but red, gold, black, silver. He sighed and his huge chest rose and fell like an ocean swell. His hands tangled in my hair, but soft. He was holding back to a degree I wouldn’t have managed, but I could feel the desire and strength trembling just under his fingertips. I wanted to feel what it would be like when he let go. I kissed back harder, taking his lower lip between my teeth, darting my tongue deeper into his mouth, and urging his body closer to mine.

“Oh, God,” he whispered and pulled me close with a crushing embrace. That was what flicked the switch. The longing I had for Russ, the impossible crush that had kept me distant from the few and far between men who had courted me, was falling away. My brain filled with all the clues I had ignored over the years. The generosity I had taken for granted, the closeness I had depended on, the way Harris smiled for me like he smiled for nothing else.

But I didn’t let myself feel like a fool for long. I was due this, and I was going to take it.

I pulled back, and when I saw the dismay in his eyes, I put my hand on his cheek and looked at him to let him know how I felt. When he was reassured, I began to unbutton his shirt. He held himself still, barely breathing. This was like unwrapping a gift. I had seen him topless countless times before, but this was different. Now he belonged to me. The collar bones, surprisingly delicate. The muscles of the chest, casting shadows down his stomach. His nipples, dark and pretty. Soft hair on his stomach, disappearing down his pants.

I would go slow. I had time. He let me push the shirt over his shoulders, shrugging it off and throwing it on the floor. He played his hands in my hair and against my face, using just a fingertip to trace my cheek and nose. I was rougher. I wanted so much. I kissed his shoulders. Someday I would have to count the galaxy of freckles there, but for now, I just wanted the clean taste of his flesh, and to feel his shuddering as I grazed him with my teeth.

Excerpt:

The arrangement had been great for Lisette. She received enough extra money to cover books, room and board and going out with her friends. And she liked him in a platonic way. He was polite. Didn’t ask her to do anything she was uncomfortable with. And was chatty and friendly yet seemed to have no interest in her beyond their arrangement. She began to trust him so much they started to talk about their personal lives. She told him about the guys she dated at college. He told her about his wife, who always seemed to be ill and unable to do much. Lisette liked that he was so devoted to his wife and was always so worried about her. It was sweet. Lisette saw herself as providing a distraction for him. Something to take his mind off running a company and providing for a sick wife.

One day, he’d been lying back on the bed and she’d been hovering over him, when she’d accidentally kissed his penis. She hadn’t meant to do it. She’d often put her mouth close to it and mime licking it or she’d blow on it without touching it. But this particular time, she’d gotten carried away and without thinking, she’d given it a brief yet firm kiss.

He’d moaned in utter pleasure. “Do it again,” he’d begged her.

Lisette had smiled at him, but hadn’t repeated the gesture. And then he’d offered her more money in exchange for blowjobs. To which she’d agreed as long as he would wear a condom. So their sessions had progressed to her dressing up in an elaborate costume that he would strip her out of as quickly as possible, she’d grind against him and let him finger her and then she’d kneel in front of him, put a condom on him and blow him until he came while still in her mouth. This would repeat another time or two.

And then one weekday, while she’d been in class, he’d texted her to ask what it would take for her to agree to have sex with him. And she’d written a flirty, polite yet firm message telling him that she wasn’t willing to do that. But he’d kept at it and in the end had offered her so much money that she couldn’t turn it down. It had been hard for her to accept that she was going to make that much money in a single afternoon. Most of her friends didn’t make that much in a week.

Excerpt:

She rubbed her cheek against his jeans, against his cock through his jeans. He flexed his hips against her face. Then she bent over his feet again, this time removing his socks. The skin on his ankles, where the hair on his legs faded away, was soft and pale. His leg hair was reddish. His feet were warm and groomed. His ankle looked pale against her darker fingers, like he got all his sunshine while wearing shoes.

She stood up and removed her jeans now. He continued to stand there, looking at her again. She shimmied out of her jeans, her hands fumbling. She walked backwards into the room, white bra and white panties. He continued to stand there in the doorway, fully dressed but barefoot. She lay back on the fresh white cotton duvet on that big high bed.

He followed her then, quick and feral as he pounced on her, rubbing his face against her neck again and kneeling over her on the bed. His big, heavy body moved over hers and his jeans were rough on her thighs. He tangled his hand roughly in her hair, groaning as he licked at her shoulder and neck. His other hand slid across her stomach, up to her breasts. He cupped one, almost roughly, then the other. He bit her nipples through the cotton of her bra. She could hear her own sounds, breathless and incoherent as she scrabbled at his shirt, trying to lift it up and find the skin of his back. As his teeth closed around her nipple again and his thigh pressed up against the soaked crotch of her panties she gave up and gripped his back with flattened hands, pulling him close.

Could she possibly climax from this? From his teeth at her bra and his hard thigh at her pussy? She felt it close, felt that insane desperation as she arched and heaved against him. He pulled her hair and pressed his mouth on hers; she could taste that wheat beer as he moaned against her mouth and that was it, over, she was grunting into his mouth as instinct took over, bowing her body, grinding her up against that thick, unyielding thigh between her legs. As the initial shudders were winding down she opened her eyes. He had pulled back, was laying beside her on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. That same smug look was back on his face. Not the real smile, but the smirk. One of his hands was still stroking her breast. She looked down at her body, splayed and vulnerable. There were wet spots from his mouth on her bra. She swallowed and felt her face burning.

Reviews:

“This isn’t your typical hit the hotel for a bang story. Instead, Marie from Bar Kompa features some excellent slow build and unique scenes. Simon’s writing style, at times langourous and at others staccato is a wonderful compliment to the elements of her story.” — Jon Pressick

Excerpt:

“Do you know any hangover cures?” she groaned.

“The only one that ever works for me,” I said frankly, “is sex.” It’s a neurochemical quirk of mine; when I’m horribly hung over, I wake up horny. The distraction of fantasy and the brief endorphin hit is the only respite from the physical wretchedness and free-floating shame. This is the only time I allow certain depraved fantasies to drift through my mind uncensored. Pretty much anything but the dog is fair game. Whatever works. It’s a special occasion, a holiday from inhibitions.

“If I didn’t have company, I’d just masturbate,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Shelly, with a rueful, don’t-let-me-stop-you arching of her eyebrows. We laughed and passed it off, pretending, by mutual consent, that this idea was obviously out of the question, to spare us both embarrassment. We let it drop and considered some other alleged cures, all of them ineffective: aspirin and lots of water the night before, of course, which we’d forgotten; marijuana, which I didn’t have; spicy food, the thought of which made us feel ill; exercise, which, like, yeah right. There was, of course, the sure-fire Hair of the Dog, in the form of mimosas or Bloody Marys or early afternoon beers, but this inevitably led either to the dreaded 8 p.m. hangover or another late night of drinking and an even more catastrophic, cumulative hangover the next day. Ugh. If only there was something.

Finally Shelly said, “Well, why don’t you masturbate, and I’ll watch?” She said it in the most matter-of-fact, oh-for-Pete’s-sake, let’s-get-it-over-with-already manner. “It’ll make you feel better, and I’ve always wanted to watch a man come,” she explained. As though it all made perfect sense.

*****

Reviews

“Equal parts sexy and indifferent, author Howard Raymond pulls together a simple story that actually is more complex than we‘re lead to believe.” – Jon Pressick

Excerpt:

I sat upright and lifted myself off the bed, naked Billy and nearly naked Max still hard and kneeling on the mattress.
“Why don’t you two sit on the edge of the bed?” I said, and without a word they both simply obeyed. With the two of them sitting side by side, me standing over them, we had a pretty good angle.

“Billy, I’m going to have you show Max how it’s done,” I explained, stepping in closer to Billy. “Why don’t you see how much of my cock you can get in your mouth?”

“Well, OK….” Billy answered, looking up at me. “I’ll try.”

Billy reached out to grab my cock by its base as I leaned in toward his mouth. His jaw went slack and he started swallowing, one inch at a time. I kept my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t block Max’s view. He was rapt.

“Take it slow, Billy,” I instructed, feeling the warm walls of his mouth, his tongue, collapsing on all sides of my shaft as that tough little ginger took in more and more of me. “See how he makes sure to keep his mouth real wide, breathing through his nose, Max? It’s really not that hard, even when you’ve got a lot to work with.”

On a lark, Jake tries on the panties his girlfriend left behind last night. When he calls her at work to tease her, she gets an idea–Jake’s going to be her girlfriend for a change.

What follows is a week filled with all new levels of pleasure, passion and kink; and the discovery that maybe gender is more than it appears.

Excerpt:

Jake comes to my place after work. Not wasting any time, I unzip his pants, revealing the bits of ribbon and lace underneath. The pink tip of his cock pokes up slightly from underneath the top of the panties. His cock stiffens and strains as I rub it through the silky fabric. I peel his pants off all the way and stand back, taking in the whole effect.

He’s beautiful. The panties add an unexpected touch of androgyny, and an idea springs to mind.

“Let’s try something,” I say.

“Mmm, what’s that?”

“I want you to be my girlfriend for the week.”

“What does that mean?” he asks with a smile.

“Whatever you want it to,” I answer, “Fuck me like you’re a woman discovering she likes women for the first time.”

He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, kissing me roughly.

“Mmm, that isn’t very ladylike,” I moan.

“Maybe I’m butch,” Jake says, and we fall into each other’s arms.

*****

Reviews:

“Without a doubt, My Girlfriend Jake is a fantastic and hot story.” – Jon Pressick

Excerpt:

I wank about come. A lot. I imagine it spattering over my face and tits. I visualize it shooting inside me. Sometimes, I’ll star in my own mental bukkake movie; men – and women – squirting their sex juices over me in the ultimate validation of my desirability.

When my arse is in a welcoming mood – something I wish was a more regular thing – I relish the moment that my lover comes inside me; cock-pulsing warmth filling me in the most intimate and taboo way. But it’s after he’s withdrawn that I enter another zone. When the ache soothes – I’ve still not mastered painless anal but I am learning to convert the pain into pleasure – I feel the come inside me. I feel it trickling out of me and my pussy warms of its own accord, clit crying out for attention. His come is a physical reminder of the intimacy we’ve shared; the love that we’ve made.

Excerpt:

The Skype icon beckoned me….I clicked it on, and there he was. What was he doing loitering online at this time of night? My math was never good, but it was at least 5 AM in London….I willed him to message me. I fingered myself while staring at the screen, believing somehow he had to sense my presence in the ether, hanging there and wanting him so hard, my desire transmittable through the ether.

It always blows my mind to touch the inside of my own body. It makes me feel like Carl Sagan or something. I want to wax rhapsodic about my own cunt and how unlikely and bizarre it is that our cells came together to create such elegant and complicated organs that swell with blood and feel like hot velvet, the eccentric grooves and bumps and softer spots of the inner walls, the way my lips look pillowy and sleepy-looking when I’m most aroused. Knowing that the people I have sex with feel the same kind of awe at touching this thing I have between my legs makes me understand myself as a sexual, desirable being. Then I understand why wars are fought over desire and power.

A window popped up with a message from him.

*****

Reviews:

“Louise Lagris does a great job getting the reader right into the action with clever, fun, sexy writing.” – Jon Pressick

Excerpt:

“Do you have a room at this hotel?” she asked.

I nodded. We paid our tabs and rode the glass elevator to the eleventh floor. Lucy was shy and did not touch me as we went up, up. In the hallway, we walked a foot apart—less, when we stumbled slightly toward the other person, more when we veered away. I pulled my white keycard from my purse. Inside, the heavy door swung shut, and Lucy got very close to my face.

“I think I want to kiss you,” she said.

I unbuttoned her white blouse, revealing a black lace bra. Beneath, her nipples were perky and pink, her breasts heavy. I knelt on the prickly carpet and kissed them, her stomach. I unzipped her skirt and it slid down her stocking legs with a shush, and then rolled down the tights so she could step out of them. I let her pull off my dress, and we fell onto the bed. She fucked herself on my leg until she came, never speaking. She went down on me while she was three fingers deep in my cunt, something that I’d never had done before but that Adrian had, once upon a time, always insisted on. I came hard, my fingers laced in her dark hair. She looked up at me from between my legs, her fingers still inside, waiting for the pulsing to pass. After the last flutter, she gently slid her fingers out.

*****

Reviews

“In her erotic novella Five Stages of Grief, author Olivia Glass takes readers on an emotional journey as three women learn to live and love again after heartbreak….5 Stars” – Portland Book Review

“Glass is an author who knows how to write a blush-inducing sex scene even when her characters are apart through flashback, fantasy, and one bizarre phone call.” – Erika Almond