Erotic Fiction

Daddy called it his ‘pee’ hole.  I call it the ‘peep’ hole. Giggle giggle giggle.

Why?   Cuz the ‘thing’ peeps out of the hole at me, that’s why.

And your father wanted you to do this?

Mm-hmmm (nodding her head voraciously up and down).  Daddy is so silly, isn’t he? (she begins to fidget in her chair)

Can you tell me more about the pee, I mean ‘peep’ hole and the ‘thing’?

Sure.  (she grabs her lollipop off of the desk and starts sucking on it, twirling it around in her mouth as she speaks.  Spit starts dripping down her chin.) Ummmm….he makes me take his thing, yeah, his “THING”, you know, (she points to her crotch and begins to giggle again) out but ssshhh.   It is supposed to be our little secret.

Your daddy makes you take his penis out of his underwear? (the therapist’s pen pauses in mid-sentence and he looks down at her over his thick horn-rimmed glasses.)

No, silly, he makes me take his ‘thing’ out of the ‘peep’ hole because, you know, it gets all stuffy inside of there and needs some air.

And what do you do? (the therapist continues looking down his glasses at the little girl in front of him.  She is still sucking on her lollipop, twirling her tongue on the tip of it now.)

Well, I do what daddy tells me to, of course.

You take his penis out of his underwear?

NOOOOOO.   I already told you.  I take the ‘thing’ out of the ‘peep’ hole, silly.

And then what happens?

Well, sometimes, if the thing is already stiff, it is hard to get out of the peep hole but that is okay because daddy says that he likes it when I struggle trying to get it out.  He says it turns him on, but I don’t really know what that means because, like, is daddy a light bulb or something that needs to be turned on?   Anyways, if the thing is limp then it is easy for me to stick my little hand in there and pull it out but if it is already stiff it is a bit harder.

She puts the lollipop down and begins sucking her thumb and moving her legs back and forth under the desk now.

What does daddy do while you are pulling out the thing form the ‘peep’ hole?

Oh, ummmmm, (thumb still half way in mouth) he just lays there on the bed.  Sometimes he is talking to me and telling me things.

What kind of things?

(A blank look comes over LJay’s face.  She stares off into space.

The girl is disassociating, the therapist observes.  He writes some things down in his notebook.   We are done for today.)

to be continued…

 

“Brad!”

“Brad!   Are you listening to me?”

He was sitting there across from her at the kitchen table, newspaper pulled up over his face.  His thick-rimmed glasses were peeking out over the top of the newspaper and his pudgy hands were gripping the side of that fucking inked up paper as if his life depended on it.  Disgusting. He disgusted her with his balding, greasy head & fat protruding stomach. But when he was younger, on man, he was so hot.  She remembered him taking charge and slamming her on the kitchen table and just having his way with her.  Now he could barely get it up and if he could he had to take those stupid pills.  Viagra? Is that what they are called?  Pathetic.  Plus, he was more interested in reading the stupid news now and watching ridiculous things like football on television rather than romancing the woman that he married.  

“BRAD!!” she screamed it this time and slammed her hand down on the table.

“Yes, dear. Were you calling me?”  Fuck. It didn’t even phase him like he is so clueless he didn’t even realize she was yelling at him. What a moron he had become. I don’t think it was Alzheimer’s. Just indifference. A boring aging man with only a fat stomach to show for all of the years he spent working and trying to support his family to make a living. Working at a job he hated, nonetheless, while his wife was left untouched and passionless.

I mean, if you were her, what the fuck would you do?

Exactly.

What any passionate woman would do.

Take a lover. Or two. Or three. Have them come over while dear old Brad is at work.  

“Brad.  Ryan is coming home tomorrow, remember?   I want it to be special for him”

“Tomorrow?  Oh, honey, but I go away on a business trip to an insurance convention.  Are you sure it is tomorrow?”

“Yes.  I’ve been telling you for weeks now that he is coming home from boot camp to spend some time with us before he goes off and does, whatever it is those military boys do” she giggled ferociously.

“I am sorry. I must have forgot. I cannot cancel this trip. These insurance sales meetings are so important”

Sigh. Typical.  Forgetting his own son.

“That’s fine. I will make it special without you then”

He went back to reading his paper.  Completely and utterly clueless. Vacuous. Overweight. Boring.

Brad left at the crack of dawn. He peck-kissed her good-bye and was off to his important, professional, suit and tie-guy meetings.   Yawn.

She got up, made a lemon cheesecake with blackberries for her son.   It was his favorite.  He especially loved the texture of the cheesecake and occasionally loved whipped cream on top.  Everything was prepared exactly the way she remembered him liking it.

She loved her son so much.  He was just 19 and such a skinny young man.  It was his decision to join the army. She could not wait to see him and wondered if he would be wearing those silly camouflage things the army boys wear.

DING DONG

Oh my gosh.   Is that him?  Would Ryan ring the doorbell?

She checked her watch.   It was 12:30.  He was scheduled to arrive between 12 and 1, so, yes, it most definitely could be her son, but, why on earth would he ring the bell?

She went to the door.   

She opened it.

A man, not a boy, stood there in army fatigues.

“Can I help you?”

“Mom.   It’s me.”

“Ryan?”

“Yes, mom.   Of course.  You only have one child, silly”

Mrs. Smiths blood began to boil.   Standing in front of her was no scrawny 19-year-old boy.  This was a man.  And what a beautiful man he was.  Oh my.  Her palms became sweaty. Her heart was racing.

Ryan walked in, threw his pack on the bed, and took off his coat.  He was wearing a tight army green t-shirt.  Mrs. Smith could see the contours of his muscles underneath the shirt.  Her palms became even more sweaty. The spot in between her legs that had been asleep for so long began to wake up

“I am going to go take a shower, Mom.  I’ve been traveling all day”

He took his shirt off and threw it on top of his bag.

“Ryan.  You are….”

“what, mom?”

“So….grown up”

“Bootcamp, Mom”

He walked over to her and kissed her on the mouth and hugged her.  A peck kiss. 

Just

A

Peck

Kiss.

His body was sculpted.  Beautiful. Nothing like that blob of a husband of hers.  Did Brad ever look like that? Like her Ryan looked right now? So toned and big and muscular? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care. And, no, Ryan did not remind her of a younger Brad. Ryan was just, well, Ryan, but like a new-improved version of her son. The son that left for bootcamp and came back a man.

She heard the shower turn on.

“Hey, mom. I forgot to get a towel. Will you bring me one?”

Mrs. Smith grabbed a plush white towel out of the hall closet.  She walked to the bathroom.  Ryan had left the door unlocked.  She pushed it open.  She saw his silhouette behind the clear glass shower door.  He must have the water on very hot because it was already beginning to get steamy in the room. She just stood there watching him wash his hard man-body through the glass door.   He turned around and looked at her through the steam.  She could not take her eyes off of him and his manliness.  He opened the shower door.  Soap was all over his body.   They did not say a word.   She devoured his muscular chest and arms with her eyes and then, ever so slowly, turned her eyes down to his pelvic area.  He had soap in his hand and his hand was covering his genitals that he had just been washing.

“Move your hand” Mrs. Smith said.  “I want to see what a big boy you have become”

He did not protest.  He moved his hand, but just a bit.

Mrs. Smith moved in closer to look at her young son’s cock.

As she moved in closer, it got bigger. 

She reached over and moved his hand completely out of the way.

“Oh, my.  You have grown, now, haven’t you?” she said.

Her son’s cock had to be about 9 inches long and 3 or 4 inches thick.  Oh god, it was beautiful.

She reached out and touched it.

Ryan did not say a word.

He was hard as a fucking rock.

Mrs Smith took the soap from her son[‘s hand and began to wash his pubic hair and hard cock. 

Ryan did not say a word.

She took her dress off.   She had no under garments on.  She always wore dressed with nothing on underneath. Brad never noticed. He was too interested in the fucking newspaper and his ridiculous football games.

Mrs. Smith got in the shower with her son.

She continued to wash his body. 

She leaned down and put her mouth on his cock. It pulsed as she closed her lips over it.  She devoured that cock, like someone who has not had a meal in a very long time. She licked it up and down, and up and down over and over again.

Then she handed him the soap.

He knew exactly what to do.  They had been doing this for years.

He took the soap and washed her body.

And then he got down on his knees in the shower.

“remember how mommy likes it”

“yes, mommy, I remember”

He then proceeded to lick her pussy so softly, so sweetly, exactly how she had taught him.

“Mmmm. Now that’s mommy’s good boy.   Did you miss me?”

“Oh, mommy, I missed you so much”

He loved her succulent juices so much and loved the way it tasted when she finally exploded into his eager young mouth.

They got out of the shower. The room was like a regular steam bath by this point. She laid the towel down on the white tiled floor .

Son penetrated mother, fucking the shit out of her on the hard white tiled bathroom floor, while Brad sat in his white-starched shirt having the time of his life at the insurance sales convention.

 

 

 

I hadn’t seen him in almost a year.     Excitement culminated in wet, dripping splendor running down my inner thighs.     I lit candles, turned some sultry music on, got my silk scarves and tied myself as best I could to the bed post.   I wrapped one silk scarf skillfully around one wrist, then pulled the other end around the post, securing it there.   Oops.  Forgot the blindfold.  I undid one scarf, reached for my blindfold, put it on, then secured the scarf back to the bedpost

The door of the hotel I left ajar so that my lover could have easy access.

I lay there, breath heavy, waiting to hear the footsteps creaking ever so lightly across the suite to find me haphazardly tied in some amateur fashion, which is, of course, to be completely expected when one ties themselves to a bedpost. I felt like Jane waiting for her Tarzan.

I decided to switch the music to my headphones, crank the music LOUD, so I could NOT hear him walking across the suite. I wanted to be completely and utterly surprised.  

And I wanted to be a little scared.

Danger turns me on.

The thrill of the unknown, you know. The undeniable excitement associated with the “what if”, with the “X” factor, with the who the fuck knows what is going to happen.

Was there anything to fear from this man who was coming to see me this evening after a year of absence?

I don’t know.

Maybe.

I have this odd effect on men.   

They become completely OBSESSED with me.

Want to own me.

and sometimes, just sometimes, if they want to own me, make me their possession, but realize the unequivocal truth that they can never own such a free, wild woman as me, well, it drives them mad.

They literally lose their minds.

And sometimes.

Just sometimes.

The notion that they cannot ever control my body, that my pussy is NOT theirs and enjoys other cocks besides theirs, well….it is just too, too much sometimes for them to endure and.

oops….my mental musings are interrupted as I feel a hand gliding up and down my leg.

I am wearing lingerie.  No stockings.  A bra and crotchless panties.

The hand is gliding ever so softly up and down and up and down my leg.

No.  There is no danger.  There is nothing to fear.

or is there?

(pssss – hey – reader – are you a pervert?? want to give me an ending to my story?  contact me on my Niteflirt or via link below. If I choose you, if you are perverted and turn me on enough, your ending will be published here, on my blog. I am so excited. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with, you naughty thing.  WYLDE LINKS – CONTEST

 

Put on that mask!

Yes, mistress.

What?   What the fuck did you just call me?

Ummmm…..mistress? (she slaps him HARD in the face and gets down very close to his face.   He can feel her breath on him as she sneers…..

What are you supposed to call me?

Ummm…I don’t know, mistress.   (she grabs the whip and whips him HARD until he begs for mercy)

Try and remember.

Sir?    

Yes.   That’s right.    I told you before that you are to call me sir and only sir.    

Yes mistress.

Oh, god.   Are all men just morons?    (she proceeds to shove him down to the ground, whip, slap and now step on his throat with her foot, thinking the entire time, hmmmm…..I wonder if he is listening yet or if we need to amp it up even a bit more…..I wonder if I, the DIVINE DARK PRIESTESS that he worships so much, can make him run around and squeal like the filthy pig that he is)

Get up you idiot.

Yes, mistress.

Oh, my.  you are a slow learner, aren’t you.   WHAT DID I SAY TO CALL ME (she puts her long black leather gloves on this time and backhands him repeatedly across the face).

Sir.   You told me to call you sir, ummmm. sir.

(this ridiculous specimen isn’t even worth my time, she thinks to herself. I am tired of looking at him. She motions to the floor where the grotesque pig mask is now laying)

Pick it up.

(he stares at her with a blank, stupid look on his face)

I SAID PICK IT UP!

(he bends over to pick it up.   As he does so she beats his ass some more with her whip)

Yes, mis—-, I mean, sir.

Put it on.

(he puts it on)

There.  Now that is better.  A pig mask for a filthy, fat, smelly pig.

Yes, sir. (he mumbles through the mask)

What?  Your speech is garbled.  Try to speak clearly.

Yes, sir.

Now, crawl around and squeal like the filthy pig you are.

(he obeys – she laughs hysterically, mocking him the entire time)

Here, piggie, piggie.   Come to me.

(she puts on her big black strap-on)

Bend over like a good, dirty swine.

Yes, sir.

(she grabs onto the collar that she has placed around his neck. She does not put lubricant on her cock.  She shoves it in as hard as she can and without any warning other than this:

NOW SQUEAL LIKE THE GOOD LITTLE PIG THAT YOU ARE AND MAKE YOUR SIR PROUD

(and, of course, the pathetic mindless man in a pig mask does exactly what she says)

 

 

Mistress, will you please destroy me and take everything that I have?    I am so worthless and I have done such horrible things.   I deserve to be punished, Mistress.   Please punish me, Mistress.   PLEASE.

The poor, pathetic slave was on his knees, grabbing onto my legs, begging me to “destroy” him.    I agreed.

Years passed.     Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times.     And then one day……

Mistress said that she was going to destroy her little bitch.

NO WAIT!!!!    I really don’t want you to destroy me and take everything that I have, Mistress.    I didn’t mean it.       Mistress consoled her little Bitch.   She bent over and whispered in his ear, it’s alright, baby….it’s all just role play, remember?    None of it is real….but thank you for the impeccable compliment.   I must be so skilled.   I’ve convinced you our little games are real, now haven’t I?  Bitch Boy nodded and fell even more in love with her in that moment.

Mistress, I know that you could blackmail me if you wanted to and that I have been so very foolish to let you know where I live, my real, name, and all of that.    Please blackmail me, Mistress.  PLEASE.    

The poor, pathetic slave was on his knees, grabbing onto my legs, begging me to “blackmail” him.   I agreed.

Years passed.   Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times.    And then one day….

Mistress said that she was going to blackmail her little bitch.

NO WAIT!!!!    I really don’t want you to blackmail me, Mistress.   I didn’t mean it.   I DIDN”T MEAN IT.   PLEASE DON”T.    Bitch Boy began to spin out uncontrollably, much more so than the last time they played their little games.    Nonetheless, Mistress consoled her little Bitch.   She bent over and whispered in his ear, it’s alright baby….it’s all just role play, remember?    None of it is real…..but I will take that as such an impeccable compliment.   I must be so skilled.   I’ve convinced you our little games are real., now haven’t I?    Bitch Boy nodded and fell even MORE in love with her in that moment.

Years passed. Little Bitch Boy and Mistress had such jolly good times.  And then one day…

The poor pathetic little bitch was grabbing onto her leg once more.   He was begging Mistress to reconsider her decision to never see him again because he had been so incredibly pathetic thinking all of their games were real.

Mistress liked to see him grovel at her feet, begging and whimpering, his face so close to her pussy. The smell of that pussy intoxicated him.  How could he ever break free from his addiction to her.

So you want to make amends with me, do you?  You still want to be allowed to be in my presence?

Yes, Mistress.  Please, Mistress.  I miss you so much.

She leaned over and whispered her answer into his ear, “Oh, baby. It’s alright.  Of course I will continue to see you.  I’ve missed you so, very much.  You were always my favorite, remember?”  then she began laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

Mistress, why are you laughing? the Bitch Boy asked her.

“I must be so skilled.  It is all just role play, remember? None of it was real”

 

 

My red stiletto heels are completely ravishing.    My sweet, submissive slave adores my red shoes.      I decided NOT to wear the red shoes for our lovely lunch date that he invited me to because I was still punishing him for his mishap.  He needed to earn the right to the red shoes again.

After a nice conversation  and meal and just a teeny bit of naughtiness in the restaurant (putting my leg on top of his & letting him place his hand on my stockinged leg while four uppity women, you know – the type who have probably never been fucked in the ass in their entire life, bake apple pies for their husbands, have squeaky clean perfect hair & make up, (I mean how the fuck do they get their hair so straight like that, anyway) kept glancing over at us, shocked by the brazenness and “indecency” of our behaviour (it wasn’t indecent at all … it was hot … but I am sure in their vanilla, never-been-fucked-in-the-ass kind of world it most definitely was).  Them watching made what I was doing that much sweeter.    I was so turned on by their discomfort.   Such an unruly exhibitionist I am.     My slave had no idea that all of this was going on in my head as I had him try to zip up my dress (the zipper was, indeed, stuck) and stroke my leg under the table.

 

He walked me to my car.     I was parked in the parking garage.    We took the elevator up.   Once the elevator door closed I gave him this directive: “Get down on your knees and worship my shoes”    (while we were eating lunch, he had hinted to the fact that he had secretly hoped I had worn the red shoes.    He had no idea that I purposefully did NOT wear those shoes as part of his ongoing punishment.   He still needed to repent a bit more before I would succumb to wear them again).     Sweet, submissive slave dutifully bowed down before me and began to worship my shoes.   He began softly and sweetly kissing all around my shoes and up my leg, around my ankle.   “Lick the bottom of my shoe” I barked at him.    He, of course, did as he was told as any good slave would do.   “Make out with my shoe”    He eyed.   “Now … suck the heel like you are sucking a big, huge cock    That’s right.   Slide it in and out.   That’s a good boy”     The elevator door opened.     He walked me to my car.    “Get down on your knees and worship my shoes again before I leave”       Such an obedient slave.    On his way to the reclaiming of the red shoes.