Category Archives: Hetero Stories

The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud

Here’s the beginning of The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud, a brand-new short story by Cassandra Flicker!


Lisa loved her new house. She had always wanted to live in an old-fashioned little farmhouse, and now she did. It was rickety and drafty and a little spooky at first, but it was everything she hoped it would be.
The land, however, was less appealing. The reason she could buy this land for a steal was that it simply wasn’t very good land — it had been farmed, briefly, but the family gave up decades ago. That’s why the farmhouse had been abandoned.
She went out one day to meet a local with a truck, whom she had hired to come help her. There was a large mud pit on her property, about a half-mile from her house. It was located where a couple of hills met, and it was down in the valley between them all. It looked like it would be perpetually muddy. If there was just a little more rain around here, it would have been a pond.
And there was an engine in it. An entire engine block, as though a car had vomited up its innards then crawled somewhere else to die. It was covered in inky black mud and moss.
So she had hired a local with a truck to pull it out. His name was Frederick, and he spoke like Boomhauer but he was very nice. He wasn’t helpful though. “I can’t get my truck in the mud there, miss, you gonna need a tow truck.”
She sighed and thanked him for trying. She even paid him twenty dollars, which was half of what she had offered to pay him. It felt like a rip-off since he hadn’t actually done anything, but she didn’t want to get a reputation as a skinflint among her new neighbors.
So now what to do? She had a feeling hiring a tow truck to come out here was going to cost hundreds of dollars. She could just leave the engine. It wasn’t hurting anything.
She decided to go to her neighbor, Dwayne. He was a bit weird, very intense and off-putting, so she didn’t really want to talk to him. But he was her only neighbor, and he had a small, successful beet farm. She thought he might know how to get the engine out, or at least he could satisfy her curiosity about why it was there.
“The engine? Oh yes, Martin Huffenpatter was drifting in the mud, doing donuts. He had done a lot of mods on his truck, making it purr like a kitten, and he spent a lot of time making sure the engine worked. He spent very little time making sure it was adequately secured within the body of the car in which it didn’t fit.” He leered and laughed. “As soon as he finished his run, he got out of the car, slammed the door and all of the car’s insides plopped right out in the mud.” Dwayne frowned, disappointed that she didn’t find the story as amusing as he did.
“Oh. I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas on how to get rid of it.”
“I could do it. I’ll get rid of it for a thousand dollars,” he said with a grin.
“Um… Lemme think about it,” she said. She was about to ask if he had a tow truck — maybe she could just rent it from him and do it herself — when he snapped at someone in the house behind himself.
“Hush, Elijah,” he said. He looked to Lisa. “Sorry, that’s my brother. He’s an ogre.”
“Oh. I, uh… Okay.”
She left soon after that. It was clear neither Dwight nor his weird brother, whom she didn’t even know existed until just now, could help her. Dwight didn’t have a tow truck. Apparently his plan, in its entirety, was to take her money and hire a tow truck himself. She could just do that directly.
Overnight, Lisa had an idea that she was pretty sure was stupid. She could, maybe, slide the engine block onto planks of wood that could be slid over the mud, like skis. She had no idea how feasible that was, but it seemed like the kind of thing that might work.
So on her morning jog, Lisa went to the mud pit just to see what it looked like again, with that plan in mind. Could she lift the engine block just a few millimeters to start wedging it under a piece of wood?
But she was distracted when she came near the mud pit because she saw a man standing there. He towered high, well over seven feet tall, and broad-shouldered like a bull. He had a thick, squat face that wasn’t exactly handsome — his features were squashed and thick and bulgey like his muscles — but there was something about him that was appealing too.
He had the engine block in his hands, dragging it through the mud. He glanced in her direction but didn’t acknowledge her. Finally he had the engine block out of the mud, laying on the side of the road. His shirtless frame was sticky with sweat and splattered with mud.
“Hello.” He had one of those ultra-deep voices, so baritone it hurt to listen to it.
Lisa blushed. “Hi.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, did you really just drag that engine block?” She would never have guessed that was possible. Even the strongest man in the world couldn’t do that, she thought.
He nodded and looked at her for a long time. “You are a very pretty lady. I will not eat you.”
“Oh.” Lisa had to blush and giggle because she was so nervous. “I, uh… I won’t eat you either.”

BW/AM – The Yakuza

Here’s the entirety of BW/AM – The Yakuza, a hot new tale of interracial black woman and asian man action! It’s part of The Smoothest Fruit!

Shelly had never done anything this reckless. It was ridiculous, preposterous, really. She could die. There were hundreds of ways this could end badly for her, and only one way it could end well.

But she was determined to do it. She didn’t care how it ended. This idea had been dominating her mind for so long, she just wanted to do it and get it over with.

Yomazawa was a nondescript restaurant in Midtown East, in Manhattan. It was a strange place for a nondescript restaurant. All the other restaurants in the area were ritzy, fancy, blessed by celebrity chefs and Michelin stars.

But not Yomazawa. It was quiet and small. It rarely had more than a handful of customers.

That’s because it was a front for the yakuza. Shelly’s younger brother was a cop and had told her that it was an open secret. The yakuza didn’t even do anything illegal here — the police suspected they used the restaurant as a meeting place and to launder cash illegally obtained in Japan. The NYPD had no way to prove that and no way to do anything about it even if they did prove it. So the restaurant was more or less tolerated.

Shelly wasn’t concerned about the law. As she strode into the restaurant that day, she was glad to see that some important-looking men were gathered there. They sat at a long table, sipping quietly from bowls of soup. There were bodyguards too, muscley men with square jaws and scars and colorful tattoos peeking out from underneath their clothes.

Judging from the looks on their faces, no one expected to see a middle-aged black woman come storming into the restaurant. They looked at her as though they assumed she had made a mistake and would walk right back out to find her actual destination. But Shelly had walked by a hundred times, and she knew exactly where she was.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, heart beating through her chest. “My name is Shelly. It’s so nice to meet you all. Who speaks English? Raise your hands.”

A few of the men raised their hands. Neither of the bodyguards did, but Shelly was sure that at least one of them did — he was who she was after. She’d overheard him speak on the street in flawless English (all he said was yes, sir, but his accent was impeccable).

“Well, I know that all of you are members of the yakuza. You probably hate it when Americans say the yakuza are the Japanese mafia. I know, I know, it’s a different culture and all that. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. I’m not a cop.” You’re rambling, Shelly, be quiet.

“Miss…?” One of the men cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to say hello,” she said. “I know it’s a hassle to have someone like me come in here, interrupting you when you’re trying to eat your soap. What is that? Miso soup? Right? I love miso soup.”

“Ma’am, if you would like a bowl of soup, we are a restaurant. You can simply order one,” said one of the waiters. He gently tried to guide her towards a table.

“Oh, no, I’m not here for soup,” she said. “I’m sorry to make a scene. I didn’t really want to interrupt you. I just figured your bodyguard here wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table unless I gave you all a very good reason. So I wanted to explain-“

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

The bodyguard she had pointed to straightened his back. His eyes were opened wide. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a nervous stammer. He wore a Western-style suit badly, like he wasn’t used to it. He was a hefty man, muscles brimming beneath the suit. His biceps and pecs flexed nervously.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Kamitsu,” he said.

“Well, Kamitsu, I’d really like to have sex with you,” she said. She blushed. She had never been this forward with a man. “I want to take you into the bathroom so that you can rock my world six ways to Sunday. I’m sorry, that was two different idioms mixed up. You probably didn’t catch my meaning. I want you to fuck me, in a diversity of ways.”

A long silence filled the restaurant. The bodyguards, yakuza and waiters all stared at her like she was crazy.

“So if you want to kill me for interrupting your crime-talk or whatever, I guess go ahead. Just let Kamitsu fuck me first.”

One of the older men loudly slurped his soup as though nothing was happening. No one said anything.

Finally another one of the older men cleared his throat. “We were not discussing crime. We were discussing… regulatory issues. We will not kill you for interrupting a meeting. We are not animals like the Italian Mafia,” he said. He bowed his head to her. “We are not yakuza anyway, ma’am.”

“We import soybeans,” said another man.

“Yes,” said a third. “That is all. Who told you we are yakuza?”

“Oh, I guess I’ve just been watching too many movies,” she said with a giggle. “I guess if you’re not yakuza, then your friend here can simply decide to walk away and fuck me in the bathroom here. He’s just a friend, I suppose, so you have no control over him, right? Kamitsu?”

Kamitsu blushed. He shifted his weight between his feet. He was clearly not used to being the center of attention.

“We do not wish to…” the older man who had spoke first sighed. “Nevermind. You may… It is rude to discuss such matters at the table. You may take Kamitsu into the back and tell him what you wish. Be quick.”

She giggled and squealed. She hurried to Kamitsu and wrapped her hands around his big muscular body. “Oh my god! You’re not going to be mad at Kamitsu, are you? He didn’t know anything about this.”

“Ma’am, just go, please. We will not blame him. We have much to discuss, and we must return to matters of business..”

She led Kamitsu away from the table. Two waiters stood there by the door to the kitchen — it looked like those two waiters were the only employees — and watched her drag Kamitsu by the chest. Kamitsu didn’t actually resist, since he was obviously much stronger than her, but he did drag his feet a little.

“Well, Kamitsu,” she said as she pulled him into the women’s bathroom — with all men in the yakuza and only two employees, both of them male, the women’s bathroom looked like it had never been used. The soap and the toilet paper was still in a package, never opened. “I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick, and I want you to fuck me.”


“Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed as though he hadn’t realized he was supposed to say yes or no. “I mean… I guess… if you want. I have, uh… I have never been with a black woman.”

“Well, we do it the same as anyone else. We just do it more rhythmically,” she said. She laughed at her own joke, but Kamitsu just furrowed his brow. She smiled. “Nevermind,” she said. She hopped up onto his chest and mounted him. She kissed him on the lips.

Lowering herself to her knees in front of him, Shelly giggled again. She caught a whiff of his scent and was unbelievably aroused — he smelled musky, like a man but a little different than she was used to; he smelled both cleaner and dirtier than either white or black men: dirty like the forest floor but clean like crisp forest air. She inhaled deeply of his scent as she unzipped his fly.

His cock flopped out, and Shelly smiled at the sight of its substantial thickness. She hadn’t really been worried Kamitsu would end up having a tiny stereotypically-Asian dick, but it was still nice to see it was not just fine, but big enough to be a challenge.

She kissed the tip. Kamitsu’s whole body trembled like he was so nervous he wanted to fall to the ground. He groaned. His cock twitched beneath her lips.

“You taste good,” she said. She stroked his cock as she sucked on the tip, and soon enough it was as hard as Kamitsu’s muscles. She deep-throated it the best she could. Kamitsu grunted, his arms stiff and at his side like he had to fight against his urge to move around. “You can touch me,” she said. But he ignored her.

Shelly giggled once more. She had thought the yakuza were sexy for a long time, and this sort of stony-faced machismo was precisely why. She liked to make it a challenge for Kamitsu, so she flopped his cock against her face and laughed at the suppressed surprise she saw dancing in his eyes. She slathered spit along the shaft and gulped down every drop of precum he let trickle out.

Finally she was ready to move on. It felt like he was going to blow his load soon, and she wasn’t quite ready for him to be finished. So she stood up and kissed his chest through the suit he hadn’t yet taken off.

He moved his hands to touch her for the first time since they had begun. He caressed her tits through her clothes, gently at first, then more firmly when she didn’t complain. He leaned his head down to kiss her on the lips, and their tongues interlocked in her mouth.

She turned around. She leaned over the sink and stuck her ass in the air. There was an oddly floral scent here — the soap in the unopened package; it had Japanese writing on it, and it smelled like something she didn’t recognize. It must be some fruit we don’t have here (it smelled vagely cucumbery, but it wasn’t cucumber), she thought to herself.

He undid his suit very carefully and slowly. She rubbed her ass against his bare cock, then guided it between her legs so it rested on her pussy. He took off his tie and shirt and undershirt, folding all of them and placing them on the back of the toilet.

Shelly couldn’t help but lean her head back to kiss him on the chest. He had a broad, fat-free torso, like a professional wrestler, but his was tattooed with a Japanese flag, smiling geishas, circling koi, birds Shelly didn’t recognize and symbols she didn’t know (not kanji, she would have recognized that). Every inch of his body was tattooed except for the parts that would be visible in clothes — his hands, neck and face were clear and unmarked.

It was only when he gripped her shoulder and held on tight to guide his dick into her pussy that she noticed his fingers. His left pinkie finger had been sliced off, seemingly deliberately since the cut was smooth and perfect though the scar suggested that the wound had been stitched inexpertly.

“What happened to your finger?” she asked as he slid his cock in. He grunted and moaned, pangs of pleasure shooting up her body. But she was determined to know. She took his hand in hers and sucked on his middle finger, then his other fingers until the only finger left was the missing one. She kissed his stump and asked him again.

“It was… a mistake. On my part. I made a mistake.”

“Like an accident?”

“No. It was not accident. I made an error in judgement,” he said. “That is all I will say.” He grabbed her chin and brusquely made her face him, so he could kiss her. It was another passionate, heady kiss even though Shelly suspected he only did it to make her stop asking questions.

His cock slid deeply into her, and Shelly’s clitoris came alive. She moaned, biting her lip, clawing at the sink beneath her. His shaft touched every inch of her womanhood, stimulating it and sending wave after wave of increasing pleasure through her body.

Though his cock was big, he was gentle and kind. He took it slowly, working his dick inch by inch. When he felt resistance, he pulled out and started again, more and more slowly each time.

When he finally got his entire rod in there, Shelly couldn’t help but moan so loud the conversation in the restaurant stopped. Kamitsu grunted and placed one hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” he said. “They will not want to hear you.”

She giggled. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

He bristled. “No. They will be happy that I am man enough for women to throw themselves at me. They will be happy that I can please a woman. Do not return though. They will tease me if they think you have fallen in love. Call me if you want to meet again. I will answer if I am available.”

“And if you’re not…?”

“I will not answer.”

“But how will you know if you’re available when I want to meet?” she asked, her voice breaking as pre-orgasmic sensations erupted in her. She bit her lip. “I mean, if I call you on a Thursday, I might want to meet on Saturday. So if you don’t answer-“

“Do not do that. Call me when you are ready to meet.” He flared his nostrils.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. He fucked her with increasing power, despite the expression on his face remaining identical. He looked like nothing was happening; he just watched himself fuck as though it was a delicate hobby that he wanted to get right but had no particular urgency about. Even when he gasped and moaned with pleasure, he showed no emotion on his face — all those sounds happened inside his throat and only barely escaped at all.

Her orgasm built up slowly, increasing with each thrust of his hips. Shelly bit her lip. She made eye contact with Kamitsu through the mirror, which made him blush and look away — the first expression of emotion on his face since they had gotten into the bathroom.

Then the pleasure wracking her body became so intense that Shelly could do little more than grunt and moan. She had been expecting something exactly like this when she decided to hunt down a yakuza. She had imagined herself getting fucked by them so many times she thought the actual experience could never live up to her expectations, but that turned out to be exactly wrong.

She had hoped to have precisely this kind of uncontrollable orgasm. She slammed her hands against the counter and she yelled as bliss poured through her veins. He fucked so hard she could do little more than squirm and accept it.

Soon her pleasure was so intense she couldn’t handle it. Without even realizing it, she lifted her feet, and her entire body was supported by his body and the counter beneath her arms.

She submitted to his fuck like she imagined a geisha might — she hadn’t found any information on what yakuza men did for sex, so she was just guessing. Apparently, she thought, they fucked perfectly.

Compared to most Americans, he seemed passionless, but that somehow made Shelly even more passionate, as though Kamitsu had sacrificed his own pleasure to increase her own. Shelly crooned and wiggled in his arms, but he just held her up like a functional fuck-statue, like a dildo with a man attached to it.

Finally he grunted, and showed another burst of expression on his face as he filled her with his load. He shot a big wad of cum that felt even creamier than any man she had ever been with. Its heat sunk into her body and spread through her veins like the broth of a warming miso soup. She squirmed and gasped.

He held her tightly in position, while his cock sprayed jet after jet of hot cum. He filled her pussy up then kept on humping even when he was done, even as his cock turned limp. That resulted in his entire cumwad slipping out of her body, making a frothy mess that kept on stimulating her clitoris the entire time.

There was a puddle of fluids on the floor when he finally let his cock flop out of her body. She would have fallen to the floor again but he held her aloft, and her entire body went limp. He pulled her face up to his, so they could kiss.

Her tongue traveled down to his neck. She kissed him hard enough to leave a hickey. He didn’t seem to notice. Her kisses moved to his chest, and she sucked all the sweat off his broad, firm pecs — did Japanese men sweat differently? His tasted so much cleaner and less salty than any American man she had ever been with.

She moaned. She at last put some of her weight on her own feet. Her knees were weak, but she managed to support herself. He sighed and stepped away.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. He blushed. Now that the sex was over, his stony, expressionless face was abuzz with activity. He looked worried that he would get in trouble with his boss, worried that this would turn out to be some sort of trick, worried that he had not performed well enough, or that he would make a mistake yet that embarrassed him or caused him to lose honor. He bit his lip and looked at her. He scrawled down a phone number on a piece of paper he tore off the label of the unopened roll of toilet paper by the toilet. He handed it to her. “Call me when you are ready to meet up.”

“Okay… I will,” she said. “If you don’t answer, you’re not available.”

“Right.” He paused. “You will not be my girlfriend. I can not date a non-Japanese woman. Or even a Japanese woman. My women are given to me.”

“Oooh, that sounds…” she couldn’t think of a word to end it with, and it looked like Kamitsu wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He hurriedly put his suit back on. “Wait,” she said before he left the bathroom. She fixed his tie, which was crooked. “There,” she said. “Do you want me to help you buy a suit?”

“I have a suit.”

“I know, but… a better one?” she said. “I know a gay man who sells suits. He’ll make you look like a Japanese George Clooney.”

He smiled and bit his lip. “Okay. Yes. But I can not tell them.” He motioned towards the restaurant. He bowed. “Okay, yes, thank you, miss. You must go. Leave through the kitchen. Do not disturb the men in the restaurant.”

Then he was gone. The bathroom door swung shut. Shelly sighed and dressed herself. She was glad she had done it. She had never thought she’d arrange a future meeting (sort of); she assumed that, if the yakuza didn’t kill her, she’d get one encounter with Kamitsu who would probably be sent back to Japan so he was never tempted by a black woman again.

Judging from the sounds outside the bathroom, nobody said anything when Kamitsu returned. They continued speaking in Japanese. Nobody acknowledged that he was gone. Nobody acknowledged that he had returned.

She was going to wait there for awhile longer, but the door opened and one of the waiters smiled at her. He carried a large tub of miso soup. “Here,” he said. “We are glad to have you. But please do not return. Thank you so much.” He politely but firmly guided her towards the kitchen.

In seconds, she was out the door in the back. In most circumstances, Shelly would have been insulted to be pushed out the back like a bag of trash. But she didn’t mind at all.

She had gotten what she wanted, and then some. She couldn’t wait to call Kamitsu and see what she could do next.

This, she thought, might be the start of something great.

Ingénuefication: Brothel Hag to Giddy Babe

Here’s the entirety of Ingénuefication: Brothel Hag to Giddy Babe, a new story about an elderly haggard woman who gets to live life again for a time as a voluptious, perky young babe in the Old West! It’s part of the Ingénuefication series.

Martha Twaddlestuff came downstairs to the tavern in the late afternoon. Her head pounded. She didn’t know why — she had not drunk all that much last night, but she felt like she had a terrible hangover. She’d been lounging around in her home all day recovering.

It was time to visit her empire; she didn’t quite feel good, but she felt good enough. She didn’t like to be away for more than a couple hours. If her lifetime spent managing this place had taught her anything, it was that employees need to be managed and herded and corralled more strictly than the cows that constituted the lifeblood of Mikasaukee, Nebraska. If she were gone for an entire night, the place would erupt in a frenzy of cowboys fighting, ranchhands screwing anything with a pulse, the fae-faced bartender giving out free drinks so he could seduce macho vaqueros. That wasn’t catastrophizing, she thought, it was what had actually happened the last time she took a night off.

That, she supposed, came with the territory. Running the only brothel in this corner of Nebraska came with it certain perks. Martha made a comfortable living, had plenty of power in the town and could sleep with virtually any man she wanted.

Her employees stared at her like she was an idiot for coming down here. They didn’t want her here. They were giving her the silent treatment, it seemed, pretending they didn’t know her.

The tavern was fine. It was open for business, on time, which was good. It had been swept and cleaned appropriately. There was nothing she needed to get angry about, which was good. She did not feel up to yelling or threatening anyone today. Even besides the hangover — which was finally going away — she was in a bad mood this afternoon, a relic of the night before.

Last night, Martha had been depressed. She didn’t remember why or what she had done to fix it — aside from getting blind drunk — but she remembered feeling she had wasted her life. When she was growing up, she thought whores were disgusting, just as she had been taught. And now she managed them; she spent her days brainstorming plans to make them more popular; she profited off the girls who worked for her and the men who hired them.

Is that what she had wanted to do with her life? The married women of Mikasaukee seemed to have such simple, pleasurable lives. They didn’t have to worry about anything but pleasing their man. A part of Martha knew it wasn’t that simple, yet she couldn’t stop daydreaming about being a normal married woman.

If she were younger, of course, she could be single. That had been glorious. For a few years when Martha was a young woman, she was popular and beloved by all the boys. She had fun every moment of every day. Doing something scandalous like hanging out in a low-class tavern was the most fun she had ever had. Taking a management role in the brothel had been a delight, until the day she bought it, and her dream became the grave she was very, very slowly being buried alive in.

What a dream it would be to be young and virginal again. Martha would have given anything to be a virgin once more.

She sighed. The wrinkles on her haggard face were so familiar to her she didn’t even notice them anymore. She caught her reflection in a bottle of whiskey behind the bar, and for one glorious moment, she thought she looked young and beautiful once more. It must have just been the angle of the bottle, she thought. She wished the whole world only ever saw her through that bottle.

“I’m not going to tell her. Madam Twaddlestuff can suck an egg,” said Janey. She was one of the prostitutes who worked for Martha. “She can hit me all she wants.”

Martha knew her girls didn’t much like her. That was normal. No one liked the brothel owner, but no one stopped going there either. Janey and the lavender-voiced bartender, Albert, must have not seen her. They talked in hushed tones at the bar.

“If she finds out you, she won’t beat you, Janey. She’s not like that,” Albert said. “She’ll deduct the cost of the mirror from your pay. You’ll go hungry for a few weeks, that’s it.”

Janey sounded like she was near tears. “I can’t do that! I’m hungry all the time as it is!”

“Hush, hush, she’ll hear you!” Albert said. He glanced down at Martha, who assumed she had been caught. But then Albert just whispered, “if you don’t tell her you broke it, she’ll deduct it from everyone’s pay. She’s an evil cow, Janey, she’ll figure it out-“

“Then I’ll go! She can’t stop me! I can make it to California,” Janey said. “Don’t you try to stop me either, Albert.”

“I won’t. I’ll miss you, but if that’s where your heart is telling you to go, then that is where you should go,” Albert said. Then he stopped talking because a man entered the tavern. Albert smiled and greeted him. “Sit anywhere, sir. Did you need any refreshments? Or a woman? Any of the women here are available for the right price,” Albert said. Then he pointed to Martha, “except her. Sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to give the impression you worked here.”

Martha cocked her head to the side. Did Albert fail to recognize her? That couldn’t be; they’d known each other for eight years. Maybe he was distracted, she decided, by the cowboy who had entered.

That’s because the cowboy was ungodly sexy. He had a thick shock of blond hair, broad shoulders and deep dimples. He was tall, with a crooked smile, clean leather outfit clinging to his muscled frame. He was the kind of customer that the girls might fight over.

“Oh, I just came in to wet my lips,” said the cowboy. “Name’s Harkness.”

“Nice to meetcha, Harkness.”

Harkness sat down at the bar, a few stools down from Martha. He tilted his cowboy hat at her. “Ma’am.”

Before Harkness could even take a drink from the beer Albert served him, Janey pushed next to him. She smiled coquettishly. “You’re one hell of a cowboy, Harkness. I bet you know how to ride a mare real good.” She licked her lips lustily.

“Sure do,” he said. He smiled at her in a way that suggested he was aware of her implications, and wasn’t interested.

“Nice try, Janey,” Martha said. She intended for her words to be the trigger that made Janey and the others realize she was here — no one had yet suggested they recognized her. It was because, she thought, she was in a shadowy corner of the tavern. Neither Janey nor Albert had gotten a good look at her.

But Janey just looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you even doing here, slut?” Janey walked away without waiting for a response. Albert laughed.

The cowboy, Harkness, frowned. “Ignore her, miss. There’s nothing wrong with a woman drinking alone in a tavern. I’m sure you are a chaste young beauty.” He smiled. He flashed his dimples at her.

This was not the first time anyone had flirted with Martha. She recognized it well. But it was a shock since hardly anyone flirted with her like this anymore — Harkness seemed to think she was young and virginal, not a bawdy old mare. He treated her like a girl instead of a woman.

She looked at herself in the whiskey bottle again. Then she looked at herself in the brandy bottle next to it.

That was no optical illusion: Martha had changed. She looked like a young blonde maiden, with fresh cheeks, rosy skin and bright, clear eyes. Martha was young again. Her tits were perky, her legs sinewy and smooth. Her hair glistened. Her lips were full. Her eyes were bright and bubbly.

And this man, Harkness, he liked her. He looked like he should be a knight in an old-fashioned tale. He had a square jaw and noble nose like a Roman gentleman. He looked kind too. He looked merciful and gentle and strong and brave. He looked like he would never hurt a soul.

“Oh, I may not be the perfect maiden you were hoping for,” Martha said with a giggle. That made Harkness laugh. Martha had rarely been this silly. It was obvious to everyone who looked that Martha was indeed a “perfect maiden”. She looked like an unsoiled beauty because she was.

A part of Martha was aware that she had become an ingénue, which was precisely what she had wished for last night. She didn’t know why, but it had happened. Of course, part of being an ingénue is being naive, trusting and sweet. So she was nonplussed about the transformation and it never even occurred to her that Harkness might not be the noble virtue-toting gentleman that she had assumed. Old Martha would have seen Harkness as dollar signs at best and as a seducer and lover of her girls at worst — he was precisely the kind of cowboy who would fall in love with a girl like Janey and take her to California. Old Martha did not want that.

As an ingénue, however, Martha did not care if Janey left. She preferred it, in fact, because prostitution seemed rather gross and unpleasant. She would rather have seen Janey fall in love and start a family anew. But Martha’s ingénue mind was much more focused on Harkness. She didn’t care about Janey, she cared about Harkness and his flashing eyes, dimpled smile and tan skin.

“Do you want to see the upstairs?” Martha asked, suppressing her girlish giggles.

“Upstairs? Don’t you want a drink first?” he asked.

Albert jumped in between them. “Uh, miss… Miss Twaddlestuff owns this tavern, and the upstairs is her apartment, her personal home-“

“I know,” Martha said. “I have a key. Miss Twaddlestuff trusts me implicitly. We knew each other when we were young.”

She led Harkness away from the tavern by the hand. He had a nervous, excited smile on his face like he couldn’t believe his luck in getting to bag a non-whore — there were simply not many nice women in this part of Nebraska, so it was an uncommon experience for him.

“You really know Miss Twaddlestuff?” Harkness asked when they made it to the stairs. His voice trailed off because Martha shook her ass; she was a few steps higher than him, so he was mesmerized by the sight. When Martha was this age originally, she didn’t know how to use her ass like that — it was a skill she had retained during this transformation. Her ingénue-mind was only vaguely aware that Harkness even looked at her. Ingénues didn’t know about leering, lecherous men.

“She’s an old and dear friend,” Martha said.

“Old is about right.”

Martha giggled. She knew Harkness was making fun of her, but it was hard not to laugh. He was right. She was old. Or she had been old, anyway, she had been old until sometime today. Now, she thought, she was gloriously young all over again.

“Girl, you look good enough to eat when you bend over like that,” Harkness said, his deep voice resonating in the small stairway. He whistled.

Martha blushed. She felt so suddenly nervous she couldn’t get the key in the apartment door. Her fingers trembled. She was so anxious she wanted to cry. She felt the body heat radiating off Harkness, who was close enough behind her she could virtually feel his body — he had come up closer, as near as he could possibly be without actually touching her. She sensed his presence and his physicality just beyond her body’s touch.

“Girl, you are beautiful,” he said. “Lemme help.” He guided her trembling hand to the doorknob and the key underneath it. The key clicked into the lock. The door slid open.

“Oh, thanks, I… I haven’t opened this door often, since this isn’t my home-“

“Sure, girl,” he said before either of them entered. “I think… You’re going to think I’m just saying this to seduce you, but I think I might love you. It’s been… I never felt this way about anyone before. No girl can live up to your perfection.” Harkness scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold into her apartment. She slammed the door shut with one foot.

For virtually anyone who might have been watching, Harkness’ sweet words were obviously canned. He was a serial seducer of women. His lines were well-practiced and smooth, not spontaneous. That was clear to most people, who saw Harkness as shallow and stupid.

Martha, however, never doubted his sincerity. That’s because Martha was no longer capable of being insincere — it was her stock in trade as an elderly brothel owner, but as a beautiful young ingénue, she took everything Harkness said at face value.

“I want to be with you forever,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Then he dropped her on the bed. Martha squealed and laid back. The old Martha would have ripped off her own clothes and/or Harkness’, but ingénue-Martha did not think to do that. Only sluts got naked, she thought, nice girls were undressed.

That was precisely what Harkness did. As he kissed her on the lips and the neck, and suckled on her sensitive flesh, Harkness took off her clothes. His lips traveled down her body, stimulating every inch of her skin. He suckled on each nipple in turn. Ingénue-Martha had no idea that nipples were sensitively sexy; when his lips touched her, she moaned and crooned. Nothing had ever been like this, she thought, it was totally unprecedented; all of her past lovemakings had been undone and replaced by this man, this occasion, this body and this series of overwhelming, overmounting, overcoming sexual sparks spiking her system. She moaned more potently than she thought possible.

His muscles roiled beneath her touch. Martha was overcome. He murmured sweet nothings in her ear, his soft, deep voice rasping in her senses, wrapping itself around her thoughts until she could ponder nothing but the depths of pleasure in her womanhood.

“You’re so beautiful, the most amazing creature I’ve ever seen. So pure, so clean, so wonderful… I want you, girl. I need you. I need you more than anything. I need you like no one has ever needed anything else in this world.”

And that was only his finger, all this pleasure came from nothing more than his pinkie finger teasing her femininity. Martha clenched down tight on it, out of pure instinct. Harkness moaned into her mouth as he kissed her again and again.

This version of Martha was a virgin. Not only that, but Martha didn’t even know what that meant — she was so virginal she learned what sex was as she experienced it for the first time — she had long understood the concept, of course, but she didn’t expect the intact hymen or the flood of uncontrollable sensations when he entered. She didn’t know it would be like this. She’d fingered herself as a young lady, exploring her burgeoning sexuality, but this made her feel different than that; this was a world apart from her own experimental fingering. This was a mind-shattering, world-altering explosion of desire within her.

There was pleasure, rotating around her womanhood for now, and growing only slightly more potent with each thrust of his hips. There was pain too, intense at first but gradually disappearing as he went on. There was fear, and anticipation, and confusion. Martha’s skin tingled, overwhelming her mind. All she could do was frisson atop the clean sheets of her own bed.

“Oh hell, baby, I… You alright? You got virgin-sheets, I see, couple drops of blood. Ain’t mean to hurtcha,” he whispered in her ear. “You just tell me if I’m going at ya too hard. Got me?”

Her body cried out for more. He fucked very slowly at first, just the first few inches of his meat filling her up inside. He rotated his hips, moving his cock around to tease her entire body. He smiled with a pinched expression on his face, like it took all of his focus to fuck her so he struggled to smile at the same time.

“Don’t stop! Don’t slow down! Harkness, oh yes!”

One of his fingers roamed down to her clitoris, even as his manhood slid into and out of her as well. He gently touched it, caressing it, exploring it as it awakened her orgasmic pleasures deep within her body. Martha moaned, which made her blush — nice girls like her shouldn’t be moaning.

But she found it difficult to stay quiet. She felt such intense sensations that she wanted to cry and beg at once; she wanted to swoon, sob and sing. She could do none of those things, however, because his cock was relentless. It sent a constant array of shifting blisses through her body, making her writhe on her own sheets.

“Oh, baby, I can’t believe you were a virgin. I didn’t think any girls in this town were virgins,” he breathlessly heaved. “Don’t worry, I’m no cad, I’m not here to seduce you and leave you. I love you so much.” He planted his lips on hers. She couldn’t respond to him verbally — not that she wanted to — because the pleasure in her body made her mind weak and empty. She could think of nothing else but the feeling of his manhood plowing into her body over and over again.

“I’ll be with you always, no matter what,” he said. “We’ll live in paradise in California.” His kisses traveled down her body once again. He stopped moving with his meat all the way inside her, the pressure so intense she squirmed on his cock. She gasped and bit her lip. Her frenzied reaction made him chuckle, and the movement of his body when he laughed sent Martha over the edge. “Is this too much, girl? You want me to stop?”

“Oh god! No! Don’t stop!” Martha screamed. She blushed at the realization that she was loud enough the people downstairs might hear. As an ingénue, the idea that people would know she was having sex before marriage was abhorrent.

Not that she wanted to stop.

Her fingers tightened into claws as pleasure shot through her veins like a swig of grain liquor. She dug her nails into the muscled back of Harkness, making him grunt and grimace. His skin twitched, and his whole body trembled, the movement awakening her final climax.

But it felt slutty to claw at his back. Martha had overheard her aunts talking once when she was a girl, and they spoke poorly of a low-class woman by describing her as having dug her nails into many men’s backs. She didn’t know what that meant when she was young, or even just a few hours ago, she would have been at a loss to explain it.

Now, however, she knew exactly what it meant. She knew she had always been meant to be precisely that kind of woman. She had always dug her nails into her men’s backs precisely to make herself into the kind of women her aunts disapproved of.

“Oh, god, yes, fuck me, Harkness!” she said. It was the first time she had said fuck — as an ingénue, of course — and it made her blush. She hoped no one heard, except for Harkness himself.

He grinned and kissed her on the lips, then threw his head back and moaned even more loudly. His baritone rattled the wooden walls of the apartment, and his trembling body made the bed shake underneath her.

He sharply inhaled, while Martha closed her eyes and endured her orgasm. It was so potent it hurt, and it made her beg herself for mercy. She both wanted it to continue forever and couldn’t handle it going on for even another moment.

“Aw, damn, sweetheart, you are too good for me…” He said, his kind voice now tense, his face pinched and pained.

Cum flew into her body. He moaned. She had never experienced this in her conscious memory, and it made her want to shout. He groaned and exhaled sharply on her neck, his tongue lolling out and touching her sensitive skin. She clutched him closely as her own climax wracked her body.

Once again, she dug bloody rills into his back. She blushed and tried to stop herself, but her body tensed up and refused to respond to her brain’s entreaties. She just ripped up his back while he groaned, seemingly unaware the entire time.

“Oh god, girl, god-damn…” He let out a long slow moan. It was an intense enough sound to make her cringe and giggle, as the last pangs of ultra-sensitive pleasure wafted out of her.

It was still too powerful a feeling for her to say anything until he finally pulled his cock out of her body. She felt an onrush of air and an explosion of oversensitive bliss deep inside her. It was agonizingly wonderful, and it made her squirm beneath his muscular chest.

“Harkness… Thank you for seducing me,” she said.

He rolled over on the bed. He lay next to her. He wrapped his arms and his legs around her, and held her close.

“Damn… I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

“I can’t wait to go with you,” she said. She nuzzled him close. His body heat was so inviting, she wanted to go to sleep right away. “What is California like?”

He bit his lip. “About that… I can’t wait for us to go either. I love you, girl. I’ll take you there one day. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet. I might need… I gotta save up some money though, first.”

“I can wait. I’m so glad we’re in love. With a love like ours, we can achieve anything together,” she said.

He smiled at her. He kissed her on the lips. “That’s right, girl, love. We’re in love. We’ll be together forever.”

Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok

Here’s the first chapter of Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour: Bimbofication in Bangkok, a black-billionaire-turns-blonde-bimbo tale that’s the latest release in the Gracelyn Brown’s Asian Sex Tour series!

Gracelyn was not expecting how colorful Bangkok would be. It looked like Tokyo as interpreted by Disney, but then with a couple decades of wear, tear and repainting. It was cartoonish, vibrant, loud, bustling, dingy in spots, ramshackle. She sometimes got the impression the entire city was held together with duct tape.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything here anyway. Gracelyn was flanked by security as she went to the World Passion Vacations office in downtown Bangkok, so she didn’t feel too safe. The security guys were surprisingly sexy though. She almost wished she’d get to spend the week with them instead of with whomever World Passion arranged for.

Gracelyn was a billionaire on vacation. She had arranged for World Passion Vacations to set up one of their legendary sex tours. She wanted to explore the sexual fruits that the Asian continent had to offer. After a few interesting — and strange — encounters in Japan, Hong Kong, South Korea and Mongolia, Gracelyn was here in Thailand for something new.

This was technologically mind-blowing. When she was told on the plane ride here what was in store for her, Gracelyn didn’t believe it. She said it must be a trick: some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion seemed possible.

But they were totally serious. The security guys were serious too. Gracelyn was shocked at the intimidating swagger of the guards surrounding her — previously on this trip, World Passion had set her up with local off-duty cops. They were sometimes macho and swaggery, but never like this.

The security guards here were buff like athletes, wearing Western-style suits that they clearly didn’t know how to wear correctly — ill-fitting, crooked, wrinkled. Gracelyn found out the reason only much later: these were not professional security guards. They worked for the Chao Pho, which was a sort of Thai mafia. They were not private security; they were goons, thieves, extortionists, strongarm men. That’s why they had a menacing look to them even though they acted submissive and obedient.

They avoided looking at her, as though they had been told to maintain a distance. Gracelyn had noticed that was a pattern, either for Asia or for World Passion Vacations, she couldn’t tell which made the decision: the people treated her like an empress, like she’d behead them for making eye contact. When she tried to chat casually with her driver at the Bangkok airport, he reacted like his family would be murdered if he said the wrong thing. She was unable to make him relax.

“So, uh… is this place for real?” Gracelyn asked one of the guards as they led her through the lab.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He was short, even for a Thai man, but he was built like a muscle-bound rectangle, with no neck, bulging arms and a craggy face. He wasn’t exactly handsome — certainly not in a Hollywood-protagonist sense, or even in a Hollywood-villain way — but he had an awkward sexiness that Gracelyn found alluring. She had a feeling that World Passion Vacations was going to set her up with some Thai boytoy, but she would have preferred this security man.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Chati,” he said. It sounded rather like the word chatty, which made Gracelyn giggle because Chati was the least chatty person she’d met in all of Asia. He hadn’t yet managed any multi-word answers to her questions.


“Miss Brown, we’re ready for you,” said a pretty Thai woman. She stood in a doorway. She had no trace of a Thai accent.

Gracelyn followed her in. She had already been filled in on the details, but now it was up to her to decide whether or not to go through with it. She had initially thought no, then yes, then no again. And now she just couldn’t decide.

Gracelyn was a proud black woman. She was curvy and thick, and there were very few occasions when she thought about changing herself. She was constantly trying to lose weight, but she didn’t want to lose a lot. She didn’t want to be some skinny little thing. She had fantasized about being white, of course, wondering what it would be like — her conclusion: not as much fun as it might seem — but she never seriously wanted to change anything about her appearance.

Until the option presented itself.

World Passion Vacations had invented a machine they called the Bimboficator. It could take any woman and turn her, for a limited time, into a blonde bombshell with a thin waist, huge tits and a dim mind. No part of Gracelyn wanted those things. She couldn’t even imagine why a man would want a woman like that.

But as she walked out of the bimbofication room, giggling, throwing her newly blonde hair back behind her head, Gracelyn had never been more sure she made the right decision.

I’ve done it. I’m a bimbo. I’m blonde. I’m white. I’m a bimbo. She giggled to herself.

The security guards escorted her out. This time, their brusque crudeness and mean looks weren’t just alluring; they were arousing. Gracelyn had never wanted to get laid more than she wanted it right then.

“Chati?” she said. “My thin little feet are weak. I’m not used to these matchstick legs.“

“”Yes, miss.”

“Will you carry me? Can I ride on your back?”

He smiled, and if Gracelyn hadn’t been a bimbo, she would have seen the hostility in his grin, the menace and intimidation. If Gracelyn weren’t blonde, she would have noticed it, but of course, if she weren’t blonde, it wouldn’t have happened. So she had no idea she was in danger. Her stupid-bimbo mind simply assumed that Chati was as kind and friendly as everyone who worked for the escort agency.

“Yes, miss,” he said. He got down on his knees in front of her. He smiled like it was a foreign expression for him, like he had rarely ever done so, like it was just as ill-fitting on his face as his suit was on his muscled body.

Gracelyn hopped up onto his back. She liked being small enough to easily fit on his back. The old Gracelyn sometimes liked the idea of riding muscular men on their backs — there was something so sexy about it — but she was always scared that she’d be too heavy. It’d be humiliating if her man were unable to support her. So she had never done it until now.

But she was small and light, and Chati was plenty strong. The rippling of his muscled shoulders beneath her body stimulated her pussy, and making Gracelyn giggle like a slut. She blushed intensely.

Chati’s muscles writhed beneath his suit. The other guards chuckled, and they exchanged words in Thai. Gracelyn got the impression that Chati bragged she liked him the best.

“To your hotel, miss?” Chati asked when they were back out on the street.

As a blonde, people stared at Gracelyn. There weren’t many blondes in Bangkok. Of course, there were even fewer large black female billionaires, but blondes were the ones plastering the billboards, magazines, movies and American TV that was advertised everywhere she looked in Bangkok. So the locals had looked at her as a black woman like an oddity; they looked at her as a blonde woman like a movie star.

“Yes, thank you, Chati,” she said. She giggled. She didn’t know why, but she did. She giggled as she climbed off Chati’s body, so shocked her knees went weak when she felt his iron-like arm. She had touched strong men, of course, but Chati was so short and small that his muscles had an oddly compact, tight power to them, which was a shock. He felt different than big beefy muscular guys had been. She had never touched a man like that as a bimbo, and it made her pussy get a little wetter, her lips quiver, her mouth water. As a bimbo, she loved tough alpha males like Chati. She wanted him more than anything, and the possibility that it would be dangerous to be with him seemed like a very minor, distant irrelevancy.

The driver took her to the hotel. Chati was right next to her in the back of the limo. Every few seconds his deep gravelly voice barked out a few Thai syllables. She didn’t know what any of it meant, but she got the impression that Chati was arguing with the other security folks.

It was a nice hotel, but when the limo pulled to a stop, it looked so tedious. There were men there to help her out of the limo, men to help her up to her room, clerks and bellhops everywhere. She didn’t want to go through all this, trying to decide who to tip, who to smile to, wondering who would know that she was the same woman as the large black lady from earlier. It all seemed so time-consuming.

“Chati,” she said after they got out of the car. “Do you have a car?”

He shook his head. “I have a scooter, miss.”

“Do you live alone?”

He shook his head. “I live… with other men. In a home.”

“Will they be there right now?”

“No, miss. They are away.”

“Will you take me there? I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist. He smelled so good. He smelled very faintly like cologne, but that wasn’t why he smelled good — he smelled like he had worn cologne with this suit months ago and hadn’t washed it since then. He had a certain innate muskiness that Gracelyn had noticed only dimly to begin with, and it was that scent that mixed with the lingering cologne to make her horny. Now that she was a bimbo, however, his spine-tingling musk was all she could think of.

That smell grew even more intense as she climbed onto his scooter behind him. She again wrapped her arms around his broad, strapping chest. His muscles rippled beneath her, and his scent assaulted her nostrils. Gracelyn was glad she fit easily on the scooter, not struggling to balance her hefty body.

The scooter sped off. Gracelyn didn’t know if the rest of the security team knew she was gone or not. She didn’t even think to tell them until much later — she was a bimbo, and bimbos didn’t worry about stuff like that.

Air flowed through her long, wavy blonde hair. It was delightful to Gracelyn. Even when her hair was at its straightest, the wind didn’t flow through it quite like that. It sort of tickled her scalp. Was that normal for all white people? She guessed maybe, but it was hard to tell. The sun also seemed to shine extra hotly on her skin. Was that a white thing? Maybe she should buy some sunblock? That was not an issue Gracelyn had ever dealt with before. She was excited at the prospect of getting a sunburn.

But she didn’t say anything. She just took in the sights and sounds of Bangkok, the bustling streets, the hustling men selling wares, the women hawking their bodies, bowls of soup and more. The air smelled slightly astringent, a bit fruity, a bit sooty, a bit sour.

Chati lived in a very nice neighborhood. Gracelyn was surprised. It took her stupid bimbo mind a long time to realize why — Chati was security for the Chao Pho, a high-class mafia organization; this neighborhood was inhabited exclusively by gangsters, and Chati was their security.

He and the other Chao Pho goons lived together in a small house. It used to be the servants’ quarters for the colonial estate that had been here. It was now modernized and adapted, but it was still a small home with barely enough room for three men rather than the fourteen who lived there.

But Gracelyn didn’t know any of that just yet. Chati bristled and sighed as he opened the door.

It was a bachelor pad, that was for sure. It was minimally furnished, aside from the cots everywhere. It smelled like men. There was a pile of free weights near a bench press. There were no chairs, no beds — just cots — nor a computer. There weren’t even any closets used as closets; they had converted the closets into sleeping quarters.

“I am sorry, miss,” Chati said. “It is not suitable. I did not know you would want to come here. My boss told me only that we were to escort you-“

“Where did your boss think I was going to go?”

“There is a resort nearby. It is called World Passion Sands Bangkok,” he said.

Gracelyn giggled. “Well, they don’t know me at all. They just want to sell me overpriced daiquiris. Or whatever the Thai equivalent of a daiquiri is.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. It didn’t sound like he knew what a daiquiri was.

“Can I kiss you?”

He hesitated. Then his deep voice rumbled. “Yes, miss.”

She kissed him right on the lips. Chati grunted a little in surprise, but he kissed her back. He was awkward at first, like he had never done it before. After a few moments, however, he kissed with renewed passion. His arms wrapped around her back.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “I love blonde women. I have never touched one before.”

She giggled. Gracelyn was glad she had done this. She didn’t even remember what her objections had been. She had never felt more aroused. All of her skin felt new, like when she just shaved her legs, that same tingling sensitivity to Chati’s touch sent a frisson up her spine.

Though he had been slow at first, Chati took charge more and more. It was clear he did not see it as possible to have sex with a woman without him being utterly dominant. Gracelyn was fine with that. He guided her head down to his cock, and she licked a trail over his belly.

“Lick my penis, miss,” he said. He sounded like that was the most explicit, sexy thing he could say in English. He gasped a little when she did as he told her to, and his manhood throbbed against her lips.

Her mouth planted itself on his cock. He said something in Thai. Gracelyn didn’t know what it meant, of course, but the gist of it was: suck my dick, you slut. He gently pushed her face into position.

Gracelyn had sucked her fair share of cocks in her life, and she had sucked several Asian cocks just in the past few weeks. But there was something especially savory and sweet about Chati’s manhood. She didn’t know if that was because he was Thai — maybe something about the diet, all the pineapple that was in everything could be it — or if it just innate to him. But she loved it, lusted for it and wanted more.

She hocked up copious spit and let it run down his uncut shaft. It twitched in her mouth, salty precum flowing over her tongue. She slathered her saliva all up and down it, from root to tip, and giggled when it made Chati moan.

“Yes, baby, you are sex… sexy, I…” His voice trailed off. It sounded like he was so aroused he had trouble remembering English. He said something in Thai, but again, Gracelyn didn’t know what it was.

“Will you fuck me now, Chati?”

“Yes,” he blurted out. He blushed. His muscles rippled. “I will fuck you very good, miss.”

She was about to tell him to call her Gracelyn, but she rather liked hearing him address her as miss. It was so old-fashioned it was sexy. His tattooed chest flexed beneath her fingertips, and she licked at it, her head getting in the way as he tried to fuck her.

He pushed her face away, which made her giggle some more. She leaned back and spread her legs. He moaned, kissed her on the lips and slid into her.

A shiver of pleasure and desire coursed through her body, and Gracelyn bit her lip. She felt so light and small, battered by Chati’s power. He was relentless, gentle but firm, pounding and caressing all at once.

Gracelyn moaned. She lost track of time. Chati was an accomplished lover, and from the moment he entered her, Gracelyn couldn’t think about anything but her desire for more. She didn’t know if that was because of Chati’s effectiveness or something about being a bimbo that made it better, but Gracelyn was overcome by passion that hit her like a punch.

She let out a scream of joy and dug her nails into Chati’s back. He snorted and sniffled like a horse, murmuring in Thai as he slathered her face and neck in kisses. His cock filled her up, seemingly expanding to tickle every spot of her body.

“Oh god, fuck me, Chati!”

“Yes, miss,” he said with a rumbling groan. There was a menacing look in his eye, which reminded Gracelyn that he was a thug — that was how he came to be hired as security — and sent a chill of excitement up her spine.

Her clitoris melted as an orgasm overwhelmed her. She screamed again, a hair-raising tone to it this time. She threw her head back and bit her lip. She hyperventilated, then held her breath as spasms of bliss flowed up her body.

He grunted and howled as he came inside her, and his hot juices sprayed within Gracelyn’s quivering body. He barked out something in Thai — it sounded like profanity — and his muscles undulated. Gracelyn moaned again and licked his chest, tasting his salt and the fresh musk of his orgasm.

At last it was done. He fell limp. He snorted and collapsed atop her for a moment, his heavy body pressing down on hers. Then he rolled over, and Gracelyn sighed with relief.

She intended to say something, to tell Chati thanks for helping her, to ask if he was going to get in trouble for leaving the hotel. But she was too overwhelmed, and it looked like Chati felt the same.

So she just drifted off to sleep there in his arms.

The Bimbofication of Wing Mao

Here’s the entirety of The Bimbofication of Wing Mao, a new tale of hardcore interracial AW/WM bimbo action! It’s part of the Bimbofication of Woman series, and is available in The Bimbofication of Woman, Vol. 2!

Wing Mao was in the library, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t study. Normally she remembered everything she read, and she read plenty. She’d gotten through her first three years of college in only two years on that brain, all while playing cello in the university orchestra as well.

But today — and increasingly on recent days — Wing had trouble concentrating because she kept running into him. He was Delroy Hopkins, a blond god, rugby jock and broad-shouldered hunk who made Wing’s mouth water.

She had never had a real crush on a guy. She’d seen guys she thought were hot, but Wing was always too serious to have a heart-stopping, shrieking-hot, life-consuming crush even when all her friends did in middle school.

But lately every time she saw Delroy, Wing wanted to beg him to give her just one kiss. It was all she could think about when he was nearby. She was too scared to ever ask, or even to speak to him about any topic.

“Man, how much of this do I gotta learn?!” he said with a scowl aimed at the bespectacled nerd beside him — seemingly a tutor. Delroy sighed and leaned back. “It’s a nice day, I wanna go to the beach.”

“You have to learn all of it, the test is tomorrow,” said the squeaky-voiced tutor.

Delroy sighed again and looked up. For the first time ever, he made eye contact with Wing, who blushed but couldn’t turn her head away. Delroy smiled at her. There was a flash of recognition. Did he notice that they had seen each other around campus on many occasions? Or was he too oblivious? Guys as sexy as him probably just didn’t register sad-faced nerds like her, Wing thought as she pretended not to notice his eye contact.

He looked back down at the book. Wing was overwhelmed by every feeling in the book — lust, love, fear, loneliness, envy, rage, sadness — all at once. She closed her laptop, gathered her books and darted out of the library so quick it attracted attention.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t be near him anymore. Her face was bright red, and her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. She ran towards the beach, just a few blocks from the campus library. The GHU-San Diego campus went right up to the beach.

When she got there, she felt faint and ducked into the first nice-looking establishment she saw. It was a bar, but it was early so few people were there. It was not crowded and reasonably clean, and she felt safe there.

She took a deep breath. She took out her cell phone to make it look like she was trying to make a phone call, but she had no one to call. She was utterly alone.

There was a fortune-telling machine against the wall. It was just a ceramic Gypsy woman, and a box where you could put a quarter in. It said it would tell you your future.

A trio of sexy Asian college girls came in. Ohmigod, you are such a dumb whore! There were dressed like sluts, and they giggled like blondes, and they had makeup, tits, skirts that ended just below the labia. Where did those guys go? Aren’t they such idiots?! Wing was jealous, even if she felt bad about being jealous. They could have gotten Delroy in a heartbeat. They could have gotten any man.

They were looking for someone, someone who wasn’t there after all, so they left. Wing watched their bubble-butts walk out, and she listened to their hot-chick giggling while they discussed where to go next to look for their boyfriends, or whichever guys they were currently pursuing.

Wing had never in her life done something irrational. As soon as she realized that, she wanted more than anything to put money in that fortune-telling machine. She rarely had change on her, but tonight, she happened to have a quarter. It was only twenty-five cents.

She slid it into the box. The Gypsy woman whirred, and the mechanics within it clanged. There was a puff of smoke. A sound emerged, like a dying robot. She didn’t know if it was supposed to act like this or if it was broken.

But then a slip of paper was printed out the bottom. She took it and read it.

Congratulations, Wing Mao, you have won a wish! Choose wisely! You have five seconds or the wish will be gone forever!

Wing’s heart skipped a beat. The rational part of her mind wondered how the machine knew her name, and wondered why it gave her a wish instead of telling the future as the marketing indicated. But she had only paid the machine in the first place due to the irrational part of her mind, the same part that made her come in this bar in the even firster place because her crush on Delroy was so irrational it was nearly trumpian. So the rational part of her mind was not in control of anything at this moment, which Wing was strangely fine with — she didn’t want to use logic or reason. She didn’t want to make sense. She wanted Delroy. She wanted her wish.

Even as her intelligence debated what to do, that irrational part of her mind took much less than five seconds to make a wish.

I wish to be a bimbo, like those sluts, just for one day.

Angry with herself at wasting a quarter, she hurried onto the street. She didn’t want anyone to see that she had paid for a fortune from a machine. She threw the paper away, not noticing that the writing on it had disappeared after her five seconds were up.

She stumbled down the street and giggled at herself. She righted her legs. Am I… taller? She felt taller.

Why am I wearing heels? Why am I walking successfully in heels?

She didn’t even own heels. She didn’t own them because she couldn’t walk in them, but all of a sudden she wore stiletto heels and she wore them so well she could have danced a ballet in them. Her sweatshirt and jeans were gone too, replaced by a low-cut sapphire-blue dress that showed off her cleavage.

A passing storefront with a reflective window proved what had happened: the fortune-telling machine worked. She looked like a hot, slutty Asian chick, like one of those girls from the bar, like someone who would be popular, like someone Delroy Hopkins might screw.

Again, the rational part of her mind formulated a very sensible plan, but her bimbo mind ignored it. She knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn’t go back to the bar and investigate the machine. It wasn’t check to see whether the “magic” had simply changed her hair, makeup and clothes or if it had actually made her tits and ass bigger, her thighs and waist smaller and her cheekbones more pronounced. The rational part of her mind whirred with questions. What would happen if I paid another quarter? Could I have wished for a million wishes? Will this wish backfire?

But Wing didn’t want to listen to that rational part of her mind. She had something else in mind.

When she got to the library, Delroy was there, leaning back in his chair. No one wore stiletto heels and a skimpy dress to the library, so every single person there turned to stare, jaw agape.

She walked right to Delroy, whose wide-eyed stare was enough to make Wing giggle like a skank. It was obvious what he was going to say before she even asked her question.

“Hi. Do you want to come with me?” she asked.

Delroy jumped over himself to say yes, not even asking who she was or where she wanted to take him. He pushed his tutor out of the way and left his books behind as he hurried to her side. Wing giggled and took hold of his belt, which he had dangling between his legs like a cock. She pulled on it and guided him away, into the back of the library.

There was a room there she knew of. The library put books needing to be reshelved there. The shelving guys — they were mostly high schoolers doing community service — only worked during the day, so no one would be there now.

It was just a small closet with a table, crowded high with textbooks. She brought him in there, hopped up on the table and smiled. “Delroy, I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Magic,” she said. She kissed him on the lips. He hesitated like he wanted to ask for more information, but didn’t want to ruin the situation. She smiled and kissed him again. “Would you believe me if I said it was an ancient Chinese secret?”

He gulped. “Not really…” It didn’t seem like he cared too much though.

At first, he was surprised by how quickly this happened that his hands stayed limp, his mouth not reacting to her kiss. But then his instincts kicked in as her tits brushed over his chest. He moved his head, his tongue planted into hers, and his hands gripped her delicate shoulders.

He let out a little roar and shoved all those books off the table. He grinned, his deep-dimpled cheeks making Wing’s heart swoon. She wanted him so badly.

“You’re the sexiest chick on this campus,” he said. He bit his lip. “I really like you a lot-“

“Oh, Delroy, you barely know me,” Wing said with a blushing giggle.

“I know… But I can tell,” he said, and it really seemed like he meant it. “You’re so special to me, even if we don’t know each other yet. We will. I can sense the future, you know. I’m a bit of a fortune-teller myself. It’s not an ancient Chinese secret, but it’s… I think we might be together for a long time, miss… whoever you are.” His broad chest heaved nervously. That made Wing excited because she never thought tiny, delicate Wing Mao might make a huge stud like him so exhilarated he lost his breath just kissing her.

He took off his shirt, and Wing lost herself again, kissing his throbbing chest muscles. Her tongue traced a line up to his neck, which smelled like days-old cologne. Her fingers undid his belt, and his jeans plopped to the floor.

Somehow her dress came off. Wing hadn’t put it on, so she didn’t even know how to take it off, but it seemed Delroy figured it out. Wing was too overwhelmed by passion to even notice, not until her bare skin puckered in the chilly library air.

His kisses traveled down her body. He kissed her neck, her breasts, his lips roaming down her flat belly and round hips. She moaned, and for once, the sound that came out wasn’t an unappealing frog-like grunt but a low slow-burning moan of sheer pleasure that made Delroy moan in sync with her.

In the tiny library closet, their voices resonated and echoed, forming a coccoon of their own lust. She was surprised to see him lower his head, his tongue going to her womanhood without her prompting him to do it.

Her entire body tightened and crooned as his tongue hit her clitoris. A bolt of pleasure shot up her spine. She clutched his powerful shoulders and back muscles, and writhed as his tongue explored her body.

He plunged into her pussy, then back up to her sensitive clit, which raged and sang and pulsated beneath his ministrations. He lapped at her as though his life depended on it, his easygoing-jock attitude replaced by eager solicitude.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly.

He didn’t need to specify what he was asking after. She nodded and leaned back. She spread her legs. He stood up, and she got her first look at his hefty thick cock.

He placed his dick right on the surface of her pussy and held it there with a smile on his face. “You want it in you, baby?”


“You sure?!”

“Yes, please! Fuck me, Delroy! I’ve been watching you for so long, I need you!”

He grinned broadly and did it. His cock sunk into her body, and Wing moaned again. Her fingers dug into his meaty shoulders, as her blood turned to pure lust in her veins. The sounds they made together grew so loud Wing was sure people outside the room would be able to hear.

Wing could see it on his face when her words sunk in — she had accidentally implied she’d been watching him for a long time — he looked momentarily worried that she might be a stalker. But then he moaned as a pang of pleasure shot up his spine, and he ignored his confusion.

Instead he fucked her harder, ramming his dick in her pussy now that it was clear she could take it. Each motion of his powerful hips made Wing feel it throughout her body, every part of her tightening and relaxing in sync with his gyrations. His muscles tensed, and she threw her head back, unable to suppress a loud shout as pre-orgasmic bliss wracked her body.

He kissed her again. “Baby…” he said with a blush. “You, uh… you really like me, right?”

“Of course!” she said, so aroused she was almost ready to cry. It felt like her entire body was about to shatter, like she couldn’t take any more pleasure and one more good stroke from his dick would be enough to make her fall into a million little pieces of orgasmic bimbo-confetti filtering to the floor.

“You wanna really show how much you like me?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes!”

“Can I stick it in your ass?” he asked. Then before she could answer, he leaned in and moaned into her ear. “You’re so beautiful, baby, I need you. I need every part of you. I gotta have you, please say yes, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes! Oh fuck, hell yes!” she moaned, so aroused right now she didn’t even need to think about it. She wanted it so bad she could cry.

He grinned and kissed her. “Thank you, baby, you’re the best. You’re the sexiest chick in the world.”

She giggled. He pulled out of her pussy, and Wing felt a brief loneliness at the lack of stimulation. Her womanhood felt empty and unloved. But that lasted for only a moment.

Delroy pulled her ass right up to the edge of the table, and he even used a thin Accounting 101 workbook to prop her hips up a little bit. That bared her ass and forced her cheeks apart.

Wing had never had anal sex. She’d never even thought about actually doing it. But she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this right now.

Her legs in the air, toes curling as though she could grip his shoulders with them, Wing bit her lip. She felt an intense onrush of pressure in her ass. She held her breath.

“Oh, baby, your ass is so good,” he said. His eyes closed and he took deep breaths like this hurt for him more than her.

But the pain was actually very dim and distant. There was a twinge of pleasure as well, and even though that pain was objectively stronger, all Wing’s mind could focus on was the growing chorus of bliss welling up inside her. It was her ass, on fire, tight and soft, moist, full, empty, potent and weak, pounded away at and made tender love to all at once.

She tried to grab for his chest, to massage and knead those bulging muscles. But her arms were too short, his chest too far except when he was at his apogee, all the way inside her ass, and then her fingers could glancingly get ahold of his chest. She tweaked his nipples and felt his muscles roiling beneath her grasp.

Had she even taken his entire cock within her? She couldn’t tell. She wanted to feel it, to feel his manhood and see how much was left outside her ass.

But when she tried to move her hands, all she could do was flail uselessly. The sensations boiling over from inside her were too intense to focus on anything else. All she managed was to moan and grunt and spit and squirm like a wild animal.

And then she felt him slide the last of his dick into her. She didn’t need to use her hands, she could sense that that was it. They became like one beast, rutting wildly, writhing in each other’s arms.

Wing’s body moved uncontrollably while she reacted to the sensations around and within her. Every part of her body tingled and shook. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood, while his blond jock body turned ruddy as he reached his own orgasm.

It all ended at once, and the most intense sensations of her life overwhelmed her. Her thin, delicate bimbo body shook like a beat-up old car shedding parts as it barreled down the road. Her tits vibrated beneath his tongue, her sensitive nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

She had no idea how long that orgasm lasted. She was only aware that it was done — sweat streaming down her body in rivulets, fingers tightened into claws that drew a few drops of blood from his chest — because someone knocked on the door. The sound snapped her out of her stupor.

Hey, uh… the librarian just called security, whoever’s in there. You should probably… Well… Just to let you know, security is coming. Whoever was there on the other side of the door chuckled. I mean… security is “traveling to this location”, not cumming.

Wing blushed. Her face was already red from sexual exertion, but now she blushed on top of that. The closet stank of sex. She would have gladly stayed there with Delroy forever.

But he pulled out of her. Tremendous relief flooded her ass, and she could feel juices trickling out of her body. She moaned again. She bit her lip and hopped off the table.

“Wow,” he said. “Thanks a lot for that. That was… crazy. Can I have your phone number?”

She giggled but didn’t answer. She bent over to display her ass to him as she grabbed her clothes. She shook her ass in his direction, and he stopped with his pants halfway up in the air. He growled at the sight of her jiggling asscheeks. He massaged her flesh, but then she giglged and pulled her ass away.

“Damn, you are amazing,” he said. “Please be my girlfriend?”

“Delroy… I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl,” she said. “I don’t always act like this.” She slipped her dress back on. He retightened his belt and put his shoes on. His bare, muscular chest was still shirtless, a few beads of sweat clinging to his flesh.

“I don’t care how you act usually,” he said. “Just be with me. Here.” He ripped out a page from a textbook and wrote his phone number on it. “You can call me too.” He paused, then added some more letters and numbers. “And here’s my email address and my screennames on Yahoo, Facebook and AOL instant messaging. And here’s my dad’s landline number, that’s where I’ll be on vacation from school. Oh, and here’s my street address and my frat’s address. They have a landline too but I don’t remember the number-“

“Delroy, relax, that’s fine. I have plenty of ways to contact you-“

“You can send me a postcard or something. Or call me collect, that’s fine. Is that still a thing? You can text me or… I don’t have snapchat, but I’ll get it-“

“Delroy, shut up.” She giggled. His lips slammed shut. She kissed him. “I’ll call you,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for another go.”

The door opened suddenly, and two dour security guards glared. They both looked a little upset at first, as though they had expected to see two fat library nerds making out. They were relieved to see two sexy people, who weren’t even naked. It must have stank like sex though, Wing thought with a giggle.

“What are you two doing in here? Why is your shirt off, young man?”

Wing laughed out loud. She grabbed that Accounting 101 workbook. “I was just looking for this book, for my class. I’m studying to be an accountant.” Delroy chuckled to himself as though it was impossible for hot chicks to become accountants. Wing smiled at the security guards. “Delroy here was just helping me find it. He’s so helpful.”

Delroy smiled too. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “That’s true. I am helpful. I took my shirt off because… Her dad’s a dermatologist, I wanted her to see this mole I had and send him a photo. Skin cancer is a serious problem.”

“That’s true. Don’t worry though, Delroy, my dad said it looks benign,” she said.

“Phew. Thanks, ma’am. I’m going to put my shirt on and do my homework now! I’m excited about responsible behavior!” Delroy said with a wide grin. He put his shirt on and pushed out past the two security guards, who glared at him. When Wing walked out, they moved out of the way to make room for her.

When she was out in the hallway, she moved towards the exit, while Delroy walked back into the library itself. The two security guards went into the closet to put the books back on the table Delroy had knocked them off of.

That meant she had a few more seconds to connect with him. He walked backwards, bumping into a book-cart and smiling at her, beaming like he was shocked about what had happened. He held up one hand to wave, while his other grabbed his crotch, cock outlined briefly by his clothes.

“Bye, baby!” he yelled so loud the other library patrons turned to look at him.

Wing blushed like she was still shy, but she wasn’t. She just pretended because she knew it was sexy to be demure. She waved back after him, then turned around and walked out the door into the chilled night air.

She didn’t know how long this bimbofication magic was going to last, but she intended to have as much fun as possible while it did.

First-Time Ganging the Whole Frat

Here’s a sample from the beginning of First-Time Ganging the Whole Frat! That’s a hot new tale of interracial f/m/m/m action at the sexiest frat party you’ll ever read about!


It was my first day at grad school and I was rather excited about all of the fun I would have. My degree was in psychology and I knew what these boys wanted to. They had been eyeing me for years and years. I had always been a good girl and never gave it up. I was definitely a virgin still. But that didn’t stop me from having all of these dirty thoughts. These dirty thoughts would always creep into my mind and consume my every thought once I lied into bed.


As I sat there in my dorm all alone. I pulled out my vibrator and I started to go to town and myself. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I wasn’t sexually active with myself. I knew every ounce of my body. I knew every square inch of it, and I knew how to please myself so well. I did so with great ease tonight thinking about the party that I was supposed to attend tomorrow.


I was invited to this party from an african american guy who worked at a sandwich shop. When I was getting a sandwich he was giving me the eye, and I followed up by getting his number. He told me about this fraternity party that he had tomorrow night and that was just the place that I needed to go. It was just the thing that I wanted to do the start of this new school year, and I always had a thing for black guys since I was a petite white women.


All of this anticipation I had regarding this party tomorrow night was building me up to quite a climax. My vibrator was quick to bring me to the first orgasm. I then reached my hand down and tasted my juices. My juice tonight tasted rather good, a little sweet actually.

Fireman Fantasy

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Fireman Fantasy, a hot new story of hetero alpha firefighter action by Ellen J. Gantos! It’s also available as part of the great value bundle Hetero Alpha Male Erotica, Vol. 1!


There I was sitting alone again and wondering what I was doing as they came into the bar, every Thursday at 5 o’clock and it was time for me to pay attention.  There were five of them.  All very muscled men and they were also firefighters.  They worked the local fire station, and I would always obsess over them as I drank my drinks alone at the bar, tonight was no different.  They came in, laughing, perfect smiles on their face, wearing their fire station T-shirts showing off their muscles.  I would sit there sipping beer, watching them hoping that they would notice me hoping that they would come over and say just one word to me.

As usual, they didn’t notice me.  They were all the way across the bar sitting together, laughing and joking I would get so turned on when one of them hands another a beer with his muscles flexing

I went home a few beers later all alone, layed in my bed.  I pulled out my vibe and fire fireghtor magazine and began to masturbate.  I rubbed myself hard until I reached the first climax.  I did it again thinking about the guys at the bar and about how I wished that one of them would take notice of me.  After I finished masturbating I went to sleep semi-fulfilled.

The next morning I woke up and I brushed my teeth, did my make up, went to work. On our lunch break I went down to the local grocery store and bought some Subway sandwich inside the store while in line I noticed behind me a man.  I didn’t look back is a very shy woman, but when the server came over and gentleman what he would like on sale which I recognized his voice.  He was one of the guys from the bar.  He was one of the firefighters so much as well.  I smiled back.  Huge smile smile like you’ve never seen before that give him up and down with my eyes visualizing naked.  I fantasized about what I would do to him could see me biting my lip.  He knew what was going on

“Hello there Miss” he said, smiling at me

“Hi there” I said weakly.

“I see you like the veggie delight.”

“Yes I try to stay healthy and the other veggies in my diet.  However, sometimes I go for a sausage.”

“A sausage?  You are an awfully tiny woman to enjoy sausage,” he said flirtatiously.

“Yes I do like a good sausage every once in a while things spicy”

“Well, I happen to get the spicy sausage sub today.  Anyways, what are the you up to later tonight. ”

“Oh, you know, the usual… Nothing…”

“Well if you aren’t doing anything.  I love to take you and give you a tour of the fire station.”

“The fire station?”

“Yes, the fire station.  It’s where I work.”

Cuckolded by a Redneck

Here’s an exciting new story called Cuckolded by a Redneck! It’s the latest by Ruby Redman, and it’s about a black woman getting down and dirty, redneck-style!


I felt very excited that day. Peter, my worthless, sissy husband had gone out grocery shopping and I knew he would be away for about thirty minutes. This was perfect because it gave me just enough time to get started on what I had planned, and then have him come in on me.

You see, I had been fantasizing about this redneck at work named Yoder. He had just started at the office, and was eager to prove himself. Therefore, when I had told him on Friday that I wanted him to come over during the weekend, he had said, “Yes, ma’am, I will be expecting your call. Just let me know.”

My juices began dripping when I was thinking about Yoder. His blue jeans, his ripped, sweaty upper body, his coy smile, his rugged, masculine face that was partly covered by his sexy cowboy hat. I could envision his musk, how he must taste, how he must feel inside of me.

Of course, Yoder had no reason to expect a booty call. He was probably just doing what his senior colleague had requested him to. When I had called him about an hour ago, he had told me that he would be on his way immediately.

“Who was that on the phone?” Peter had asked.

“Nobody,” I had said. “Now, go to the store.”

Peter, always obeying every little command, being the sissy he was, had taken off and now I was left waiting for my new, sexy redneck lover.

The doorbell rang and I opened the oak door. There he was.

He was quite the hunk, I had to admit. I had never been with a redneck before, and he, on the other hand, had probably never fornicated with a black woman. Would he enjoy filling up my tight vagina? Or pounding my firm, black ass? I wondered what his cock would taste like. I was sure it would be bigger than Peter’s. On the other hand, that wouldn’t take much. His dick was just too small, and couldn’t satisfy me. I needed a real man.

Now, with Yoder in front of me, I realized there was no going back. Up to this point, I could have let this all remain a fantasy, and I could even have called Yoder off on his way over. But now, as he stood there, seeing me in my revealing, sexy outfit, I knew that this was it. Yet, if he did understand my true motives, he made no notice of it. Instead, he greeted me politely, saying, “Howdy, ma’am, how’ya doin’? Here I am, hope I can be of service.”

Yes, you most certainly can, I thought to myself.

The Billionaire Story: Part One

Here’s the beginning of the first part of The Billionaire Story, a hot new tale of erotic action by Geraldine Stentorian and Stacy Steele! This is a three part story, and each part is hotter than the last!

On a Fridау аftеrnооn, ѕhоrtlу after mу tеnth birthdау, I ѕаt at thе kitсhеn tаblе with mу hеаd down оn mу folded аrmѕ, ѕоbbing. Mу mоthеr саmе over tо соmfоrt mе – ѕоrt оf.

“Whаt’ѕ thе mаttеr, Amy?” ѕhе asked, tоuсhing my ѕhоuldеr.

“It iѕn’t fаir, it juѕt isn’t,” I соntinuеd to ѕоb, nоt really аnѕwеring hеr question.

“Tеll me аbоut it, Amу.”

“Wеll, mу friеnd Jаmiе drорреd a рlаѕtiс bоttlе оut оf her bасkрасk whеn wе were gоing back tо class аftеr lunсh. I рiсkеd it uр but couldn’t rеturn it tо her уеt bесаuѕе thе bell sounded аnd ѕhе ѕitѕ on thе орроѕitе ѕidе of thе сlаѕѕrооm frоm mе. So I put it оn my desk ѕо thаt I wоuldn’t fоrgеt it,” I replied before stopping to ѕоb ѕоmе more.

“Sо whаt’ѕ thе problem?” Mom аѕkеd.

“Wеll whеn Mrѕ. Mоrtоn саmе by my desk a littlе whilе later ѕhе ѕаw the bоttlе – it wаѕ fоr something саllеd ‘Alive’ I think,” I соntinuеd before Mom intеrruрtеd mе.

“Aleve?” ѕhе аѕkеd.

“Yeah, thаt’ѕ it. So I hаd tо gо tо Prinсiраl Johnson’s оffiсе with it аnd he said that it wаѕ bаd for mе tо hаvе it and thаt I hаd tо ѕеrvе dеtеntiоn аll nеxt week.” I ѕоbbеd ѕоmе mоrе thеn lifted up my head tо look mу Mоm in thе eye. “I wаѕ trуing to dо thе right thing, but now I’m in trоublе – it’ѕ just not fair, Mom.”

“Did you tell the Principal thаt it wаѕ Jаmiе’ѕ bottle?” ѕhе asked.

“Nо, bесаuѕе whеn hе tоld me thаt it wаѕ ѕоmеthing kidѕ wеrеn’t allowed tо bring tо school I didn’t want to gеt hеr in trouble tоо,” I ѕnifflеd.

“Sometimes it mау seem thаt life just isn’t fair еvеn whеn уоu dо thе right thing,” ѕhе рhilоѕорhizеd whilе stroking mу hеаd; “but it’ѕ God’s will.”

I didn’t see how “Gоd’ѕ will” hаd anything tо dо with it, but thаt ѕееmеd to bе mу раrеntѕ’ сор-оut response tо еvеrу ԛuеѕtiоn. They nеvеr hаd a ѕоlutiоn, juѕt a trite аdаgе.

I was in a tоtаl funk until mу thirtееn year оld brother, Rоb, came home frоm bаѕkеtbаll рrасtiсе. Hе was my best friend, mу protector, аnd my аdvосаtе when mу rеligiоuѕlу ѕеvеrе раrеntѕ wаntеd tо punish mе fоr оnе transgression оr the оthеr аgаinѕt thе Lоrd, likе wanting tо рut lipstick оn.

“Knосk, knосk, Sԛuirt,” I hеаrd hiѕ fаmiliаr voice as the door to mу room ореnеd whilе I wallowed in ѕеlf-рitу оn my bed. Aѕ hе еntеrеd hе ѕаid “Whу thе long fасе?”

“Rоb, I got detention all next wееk fоr trуing tо dо the right thing,” I grumblеd, on the verge of another bout оf crying.

“Hеу, сооl Squirt,” wаѕ his smiling reply. “Nоw I’m nоt thе only black sheep of thе fаmilу.”

“Nо Rob, it’ѕ…”

“Listen, Sԛuirt, whеn оthеr реорlе аrе jеrkѕ you саn’t lеt it get уоu dоwn. You need some quality timе with уоur big bro, аnd you’ll fоrgеt all аbоut it,” he chuckled. Then he ѕtаrtеd to tickle mе until I аgrееd tо play mу fаvоritе vidео gаmе with him. Thеn he lеt mе win thе vidео gаmе (he ѕаid that hе didn’t but I knоw thаt hе did). Thеn he ѕреnt thе lаѕt оf his mоnеу frоm mоving lawns for neighbors tо tаkе mе fоr ice сrеаm еvеn though Mom would hаvе a conniption fit. Bу the timе that I wеnt tо bеd, I wаѕ a hарру camper.

I hаd a wide vаriеtу of оthеr dеmоnѕtrаtiоnѕ thаt lifе wаѕn’t fаir throughout mу teenage years. Thеѕе inсludеd Rоb getting ѕuѕреndеd fоr a wееk fоr beating thе ѕhit out оf three bоуѕ in mу grаdе who wеrе hаrаѕѕing mе bу grаbbing my еmеrging boobs (I wаѕ wеll аhеаd оf mу сlаѕѕmаtеѕ in thе tit dераrtmеnt) еvеn thоugh thе school itѕеlf tооk nо ѕignifiсаnt асtiоn against thеm; and whеn Rоb wаѕ ѕixtееn him hаving to go withоut a саr thаt he worked hаrd to buу with hiѕ own money whеn our fаthеr lеt thе insurance lарѕе and it was tоtаlеd bу a hit and run drivеr whеn it was in hiѕ wоrkрlасе раrking lot.

I dоn’t wаnt tо givе thе imрrеѕѕiоn that lifе has bееn соmрlеtеlу unfair to mе. I wаѕ bоrn with some ѕignifiсаnt аdvаntаgеѕ. They inсludеd hаving much better thаn аvеrаgе intеlligеnсе, much highеr thаn аvеrаgе empathy (which I соnѕidеr a benefit), аnd gооd lооkѕ.

As fаr аѕ gооd lооkѕ аrе соnсеrnеd, I wаѕ bоrn with, аnd dеvеlореd bу my оwn ѕwеаt, аll dеѕirаblе fеmаlе рhуѕiсаl equipment. Mу fасе wаѕ pretty еnоugh that I соuld hаvе bесоmе a mоdеl аѕ a tееn (аlthоugh mу parents wоuld hеаr nоthing оf it because “It wоuld bе соnѕоrting with thе dеvil”). I was соnѕtаntlу hit оn bу guуѕ whо саllеd mе either “Killеr,” аѕ in “killеr thighs,” оr “Buѕtу Betty,” because I hаd a full D bу the time thаt I wаѕ seventeen, or “Sultrу Suе,” bесаuѕе – wеll bесаuѕе I аѕѕumе thаt thеу thоught thаt I wаѕ ѕultrу.

Whеn I wаѕ ninеtееn I gоt аdmittеd to the соllеgе оf my сhоiсе. Mу раrеntѕ hаd аgrееd tо рау my expenses, whiсh wаѕ fоrtunаtе since thеir inсоmе was high еnоugh that I didn’t qualify fоr nееd bаѕеd ѕсhоlаrѕhiрѕ. Aftеr my firѕt semester, however, thе ѕituаtiоn changed. Quite unеxресtеdlу – at lеаѕt tо mе – mу раrеntѕ ended up gеtting divorced. The reason wаѕ even mоrе unеxресtеd givеn thе ѕеvеrе rеligiоuѕ beliefs thаt thеу bоth espoused whеn I lived аt hоmе – thеу bоth wеrе having affairs.

The contentiousness оf thеir divоrсе, whiсh I rеfuѕеd tо bе drаwn intо, рluѕ аn inеxрliсаblе change in thеir аttitudеѕ аbоut education (“Yоu саn gеt a jоb аt a fаѕt fооd rеѕtаurаnt and work уоur wау uр; a college еduсаtiоn iѕ over-valued,” ассоrding tо mу fаthеr), left mе withоut mеаnѕ to соntinuе the ѕесоnd ѕеmеѕtеr оf my freshman уеаr еvеn thоugh I hаd wоrkеd hаrd аnd hаd gotten gооd grаdеѕ. “Another ‘life isn’t fair’ moment,” I groaned tо mуѕеlf as I shook mу hеаd.

Mу brоthеr Rob came tо mу rеѕсuе once аgаin.

Rоb had always worked whilе going tо school аnd еvеn thоugh he hаd nоt grаduаtеd from college уеt hе had ѕаvеd еnоugh mоnеу tо соvеr mу firѕt tuition рауmеnt for mу ѕесоnd ѕеmеѕtеr, аnd books. Hе juѕt gave it to me, although I рrоmiѕеd tо rерау him. Thаt bought me enough timе tо аррlу fоr a lоаn fоr thе ѕесоnd аnd third tuition рауmеntѕ mу ѕесоnd ѕеmеѕtеr; hе еvеn со-ѕignеd thе lоаn.

“Hеу, Sis,” he counseled, “уоu саn’t go into debt tоо muсh for your еduсаtiоn. If you саn’t ѕwing a jоb to рау for nеxt уеаr’ѕ tuition, уоu need to drор оut a year; so get gооd grаdеѕ thiѕ ѕеmеѕtеr ѕо that you саn easily gеt back in once your есоnоmiс ѕituаtiоn changes. Alѕо, whilе уоu саn come livе with mе thiѕ ѕummеr – rеturning home iѕ not an орtiоn соnѕidеring whаt’ѕ gоing оn with our hуросritе mother аnd fаthеr – уоu’rе ѕtill gоing to hаvе еxреnѕеѕ this summer.”


“You’re right, brо. Got any idеаѕ fоr еmрlоуmеnt?” I queried.

“None off the tор of my hеаd. Juѕt соnѕidеr whаt уоur strengths аrе, tаlk tо friends аt ѕсhооl аbоut what thеу’rе doing, and lеt mе know if thеrе’ѕ anything thаt I can do to help,” he rеѕроndеd.

“Thаnkѕ, Rob, you’re thе best.”

I got thе loan in timе to рау mу ѕесоnd tuitiоn inѕtаllmеnt аnd fоr mу dorm аnd meal рlаn. I spent an inordinate аmоunt оf timе tаlking tо реорlе about раrt-timе and thеn ѕummеr еmрlоуmеnt tо pay mу way. One of my friеndѕ ѕuggеѕtеd that I tаlk to a senior named Gwen Swаnѕоn whо always ѕееmеd tо have еnоugh mоnеу withоut gеtting lоаnѕ, and whо wаѕ estranged frоm hеr parents. Thе friend pointed Gwеn оut to mе and said that ѕhе оftеn wеnt tо thе Student Uniоn bеtwееn сlаѕѕеѕ bесаuѕе ѕhе had hеr own off-campus араrtmеnt.

Gwеn was rеаllу еxоtiс lооking. Shе had lоng ѕlеndеr lеgѕ, ѕhоuldеr length ѕilkу brown hаir with auburn highlightѕ, a ѕtriking fасе, аnd a rеgаl demeanor. Unlikе mоѕt соllеgе ѕtudеntѕ ѕhе wore сlаѕѕу аnd fаѕhiоnаblе сlоthеѕ. Shе looked еminеntlу ѕuссеѕѕful.

Thе next dау I ѕhеерiѕhlу wеnt uр tо Gwen at the Studеnt Uniоn right after lunсh. Shе wаѕ sitting in a booth. I waited until a hаndѕоmе guу ѕitting with her lеft, then аррrеhеnѕivеlу аррrоасhеd her.

“Hi, you’re Gwеn, aren’t уоu?” I gulреd.

“Yes…,” ѕhе еxресtаntlу replied.

“I’m Amу Boston, a frеѕhmаn here. I bаdlу nееd a раrt-timе аnd/оr ѕummеr job аnd one of mу friеndѕ tоld mе thаt you were thе most ѕuссеѕѕful mоnеу-mаkеr оn саmрuѕ аnd thаt I ѕhоuld аѕk your аdviсе. Dо you hаvе a few minutes to tаlk?”

The Entrapment

Here’s the beginning of The Entrapment, an outrageous story in two parts on Amazon: Part One and Part Two. It’s hardcore dubcon about a woman whose controlling boss steps over the line!


The doorbell rang. Twice. Samantha snapped. Who could it be? It was such an odd hour. She removed her quivering fingers from her wet pussy. They were wrinkled, as if they had been left in the bathtub a little too long. Unbelievable! She had been so close to coming … a few more minutes and she would have let off in her black, silk panties, the cum standing out in contrast against the dark silk-like stars splashed in the night sky. The thought of her new co-worker, the 25-year-old irresistibly hot, dark-haired and well-fit Tom, had been too much for her to handle. The longing gaze they exchanged at the coffee machine earlier had left her with no choice. In that moment, she knew she would just have to rush home and masturbate to the thought of his fit, tanned, and (she assumed) hairless body.


She had fantasized about him pulling her skirt up, diving into her wet pussy like a swimmer would dive into the pool in the Olympic Games, eating her out with raw and wild abandon. Then, she had envisioned pulling his pants down, revealing the welcoming sight of his big, erect penis standing strong like the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania, clearly visible inside his boxers, threatening to burst to the surface at any moment.


Ah! She had thought of him removing his boxers, letting his swollen manhood out for her to grab, touch … then run her tongue up and down the shaft with a beastly maneuver, finally taking the whole thing in her mouth and pumping the creamy cum out of him. Ah … his moaning as she sucked him off, the salty taste of his big penis in her mouth.


Samantha knew that she gave good head, and she was sure she would be able to satisfy Tom. He was ten years younger than her, and she was sure he would be virile enough to get it up more than once. Yes, she had decided two minutes earlier, as she rubbed her clit, thinking about sucking him off until he exploded in her mouth.


After a few minutes, she would start sucking him again, and when he was hard once more, she would lie down willingly like a new bride who was meeting her groom for the first time in bed, let him take her every way and any way he wanted. Ah! It felt so good … Oh! Tom …


That damn doorbell!


She pulled her skirt up, straightened her shirt and hair a little. She hadn’t reached climax, and felt cheated, but also strangely alive. She knew that as soon as she whisked the caller away, she could resume her little love affair with herself. After all, David was away for the entire weekend, and as always, she was alone. That was fine with her, she did enjoy some time to herself, but the unsavory part was that, what had started out as an over-the-moon exciting and joyful marriage five years ago, had quickly turned into harrowing endless hours of sitting at home alone. She felt so far from the loving arms of a man. All by herself, no attention from anybody.
She was 35 now, still in her prime, not quite a cougar or let alone MILF material. How long could she let this go on without getting a potent and lasting solution? Before opening the door, she took a final look in the mirror. Had she had more belief in herself, she would have seen an incredibly hot and foxy woman with long, blonde hair, big, enticing boobs that stood out as firm as the Himalayas, and as adorable as freshly harvested malus apples. Indeed, they could compare, at least almost, with those of a twenty years old’s. Her body was curvy, with firm, toned arms, strong and sexy legs like that of a gazelle. Her juicy ass swayed with rhythm to her stepping, thanks to endless hours at the gym, and the apple bottom jeans with the fur. In the beginning, David had seemed drawn to that, but the last couple of years, his interest had waned and while he was on endless business trips, probably banging prostitutes for all she knew, she didn’t feel wanted anymore. So the look Tom had sent her today – for it had clearly been a desire in his eyes, she could tell a man’s heart instantly – had reinvigorated her, made her yet again feel hope, feel that maybe she had some more love-making in her. If, and that was a big if, David was willing to give her attention again. Or, more and more likely she now understood, she left him and found someone that really wanted her. Someone like Tom perhaps? Sure, why not. She was certain she could have done nothing but make love to him all day, she could even have given up her beloved afternoon glass of champagne if she could have traded that with the taste of his young, inviting, adorable and hot body.


She turned around and walked briskly to the door, twisted the knob and opened it.

In front of her was someone she had never expected to see. She twitched, and he must have noticed because he smiled courteously, almost apologetically, and said, “I’m so sorry to interrupt you at this late hour, Samantha. I hope I’m not disturbing?”

She frowned. What was Frank, her boss, doing here at this hour?

“Well, I guess it’s okay, I…” her reply dwindled with disdain.

“Yes, I know, you are probably wondering what on earth I am doing here right now. I will, of course, explain.”

She gave him a look of bewilderment, but at the same time she took the hint. It was obvious he was waiting for an invite. Unwillingly, trying to hide her true body language, she said, “Would you care to come in? I could make some coffee?”

“Yes, please, a coffee would be great.”

She opened the door and he followed her inside.

After she put the kettle on, she poured herself another glass of champagne.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he said.

“Would you like one as well?”

She offered mostly as an excuse to empty the bottle, so that she could open a new one for herself to enjoy as soon as Frank left, after conducting whatever business he saw fit. She didn’t think he would accept, but strangely, he just looked at her and said, “Yes, you know, I would love a glass. Just one though, as I don’t want the cops to bust me later on.”

Thinking it was a funny joke, he laughed, a dry, charmless laugh that more than anything annoyed her. Yet, she didn’t want to make her boss upset, so she joined in, adding, “Well, although I wouldn’t mind being arrested by a couple of young, firm officers, I do get your point.”

Even though she meant every word of it, it was intended to be a joke also, but he didn’t reply, didn’t pay her back. Instead, he said, with a firm voice, “Well, getting arrested by the cops is probably not something you would want, now is it, Samantha?”


There was something about the way he conveyed the words, the hardness of his tone, that alerted her.

“Samantha, I came here to talk to you about something serious.”


Again, she gave him a look of bewilderment, although the suspicion was growing inside of her. She took a big, in fact a very big sip of her champagne while she led him to the couch.

Frank stood over her for a second. She already knew what he was doing: striking a dominance pose. It was, after all, one of the oldest intimidation techniques available. Yet, he wouldn’t have had to. He always had a charisma to him, a kind of physique that automatically commanded respect. It was this aura of power that made everyone at the office feel uttermost respect when he was around, that could make anyone realize they best tiptoe around him and play to his music. Frank was not a good-looking man compared to Tom, or her own husband David. Tom was obviously a lot younger than Frank, about twenty-five years, in other words half his age, and while he looked like a model, heck, the man looked like a Greek god to her, Frank didn’t have that perfect picture look to him. His body was decent for someone of his age, and under his ever-present suit, she could see that there was some tone to his muscles, but young studs like Tom were much more to her liking than middle-aged men like Frank. Yet, Frank’s aura of power did have something to it, and although she was not attracted to him, she could understand that many women may be in some way or another.


Finally, Frank sat down next to her. Yet, while she had sunk herself into the couch, he remained upright, clearly portraying that he was, as always, a man in charge.

“I’m going to be blunt with you, Samantha.”

He took a sip of his champagne.

“We have been going through the records. And it seems there have been some huge purchases lately.”

Now she froze. She was the head of purchasing and as such had access to the company funds.

“Although we do need you to buy us various inventory, obviously, there are several purchases that in no way can relate to our business.”

She cursed herself. She had taken it too far. What had started out with a small purchase here and there, had turned into expensive dresses, rings, and for the company trip last year, she had even managed to bake the cost of a long weekend in London for herself and her sister into the total price. Then she had gotten braver. Like a knight of valor in the medieval ages, she started ordering stuff for friends, then receiving money from them. Had she needed the money? No, David’s company was successful and she could easily live off him. However, it had been the boredom that led her into it, the search for excitement. She now realized this was the end of it. She was going to get fired and would need to start looking around for greener pastures.

“I could name a lot of examples, and I could hand all the evidence over to the police as well.”

He looked at her, and he got that stone cold face again, that expression he only had when he was dead serious about something. And she knew that when her boss was serious about something, he always followed it through.

“Don’t forget, Samantha, stuff like this could make you do hard time.”

She wanted to look away, but it was as if his eyes were drawing her in.

“Even for a beautiful, hot lady like yourself,” he added, and at the same time she could feel his warm, moist hand on her bare leg.

A part of her felt disgusted and she wanted to cry out, wanted to tell him to get out.

However, she knew that she had been called, and she just couldn’t risk taking her chances with the authorities. He would tell on her if she didn’t comply with whatever he wanted, that much she knew.

“So what do you want?”