Warning and Welcome.   The posts going forward on this page will be at various levels of erotica, and the definition of what is and is not erotic is an extremely subjective thing, but it will not be porn.  There will be interviews, “shorts” and more that fall here, and while I can’t promise you’ll appreciate it all, most of it will be worth the visit.  After all, the title of the page has been read, and here you are…so dare forward, experience.

Christopher Rose writes fiction for this page.

Mezmerelda contributes interviews and opinions – All names and locations are nonsense but everything else is true.


  • Elevation (9/5/2017)

    By Christopher Rose


    Miranda did not like to talk to many people, but in fairness they might not have liked talking to her. She felt self-conscious because she had more freckles than she thought was right, and her hair was never at ease.  This made her wear her dark hair up in a bun-ified pony tail.  In fact she was a very pretty woman, but having grown up with a model for a mother who was good at criticizing every swallowed morsel and lack of make-up had worn her down, and her father was never around to hear it and defend her, because she knew he would have defended her.  She totally understood why he had never been around and why, when he was,  had been mostly very full of whiskey.  Unintentionally she walked trying to be unnoticed.

    She was an accountant at a medium sized firm in Las Vegas, and she had seen many things on the streets and had learned from them all.   It was also partly the reason she dressed more conservatively than most for her young age of 34.  She worked out all the time because she didn’t have too much else to do, it being a workout that consisted of running the streets and weights at home.  She was not up for a gym, didn’t dare want pity or being overwhelmed by muscly beasts walking on by her in the heat of ignore.  She was not sure if she was more scared of the beasts, or having to look at pretty women wearing almost nothing and looking good.  She was terrified of it, and knew she was off  mentally because of it, but didn’t care.  She had a lean hour glass of a body herself, and you could mostly make that out even with her fairly over-sized/layered clothing.  She had small, but proud tits with nipples even she thought were pert, and complimented the rest of her.  She’d have been seen as prettier had she not always looked like she was carrying a burden, but in effect she was with a life like that.   You could not have said she was an unhappy person, because she smiled sometimes, talked when engaged, but it was just not much more than that.  It’s unfair, but she might have been the classic example of a person just living day to day.  Her night life was minimal, but she went out with a few people from work sometimes, had some drinks and went home.  She had a couple of friends still from high school she’d go out with on occasion but she truthfully preferred the company of her two cats, a sad cliché she knew.

    She did not date very much and didn’t really care. She’d go out a few times with a man and either he would get bored with the conversation or she would.  There was sex sometimes, but then uncomfortableness she could not bear, so she stopped looking for a companion as much as she had been and decided she’d buy better toys instead.  She didn’t really understand the uncomfortableness since it did not stem from her.  She was perfectly comfortable, but the men seemed as though they wanted more, yet when she tried to get some answers no one was ever able to tell her anything helpful.  She was aware they probably wanted her to talk more, or at least volunteer conversation instead of merely answering questions.  Why is it that no one could just be?  And why was it so important to learn everything about a person all at once? Good things evolved over time.  This sort of unanswered introspection inevitably landed her feeling like a lost soul.

    Things changed very dramatically when her building’s maintenance man was fired and the replacement showed up. Miranda was sitting at her desk and glanced up when she heard someone ask Maeve where the kitchen was.  Normally, it would have been a glance and only that, but she immediately looked back up, possibly a little too startlingly, because the man looked over at her. He smiled, and politely nodded to her and then went back to Maeve who was in the middle of explaining where the kitchen was.  Miranda could not stop staring at him.  He was tall, black, and from what she could tell, had a lean physique.  Instinct told her he was perfect underneath his beaten jeans and heavy shirt.  She did not get to analyze his face because he walked away, but there was something that was pulling at her, that made her warm between her legs, her abdominal desire making her wish she were at home so she could touch herself privately and stay that hunger.

    His name was David Marsh and he was 39. Being in Accounting made it easy to find those kinds of things out.  Figuring out where he kept himself when he was not working on building repairs took a little more effort, but it was effort she was willing to expend.  A week after she had first spotted him, she was going down the elevator to her car and he entered the otherwise empty lift on the next floor down.  Their eyes briefly locked, and she drew in her breath, hating herself for doing so because it was audible.  He looked away, not saying anything.  In dismay, she realized he might assume she was scared of him.  Much as she wanted to say hello she was paralyzed, could feel her heart beating faster and louder as the elevator arrived to the basement.  When the door opened he waited for her to get out, which she did but slightly tripped as she walked over the gap.  He touched her back to steady her and she felt herself shiver as a reaction to his touch, even though she wore a few layers.   She turned her head as she recovered.

    “Thank you.” She said while giving a demure and slight nod, her eyes unable to avoid glancing over his body, quickly taking in the jean jacket over T-shirt and the loose fitting jeans.  She thought she smelled a faint musk mixed with something mechanical.  Manly.

    David looked at her strangely, maybe shook his head a little. “No problem”.

    She hurried away so she would not further embarrass herself, and wondered if he’d seen her look him over and what he thought. If he assumed she was making some kind of negative judgement because of his color.  Shit!  She shouted in her brain.  The opposite!  She opened her car, got in and leaned her head against the steering wheel to slow her breathing and ease her worries, one of her hands easing itself between her legs to calm the throbbing there that would not stop.

    David had also exited the elevator, but had paused to watch the strange woman get to her car. He recognized her from one of the offices, and remembered vaguely her delicate features.  Nervous type.  It got a little old being feared by delicate white women.  He sighed and broke from his thoughts, but then noticed her head was leaning over her steering wheel.  What did THAT mean?  If she were scared of him she would not want to see him standing nearby, so off he walked to his own car, quietly thinking about her.  Chicks were just weird, particularly white chicks.  Likeable, but weird.  He smiled and forgot about her as his beautiful blue Mustang appeared around the garage column.

    “Now there’s my woman” he said to no one in particular. “You lookin’ fine”.




    Miranda did something she didn’t normally, though she’d had in her mind the idea she needed to start. Even if she was quiet, meek, or whatever people wanted to call her, she was a woman who liked sex, and she was sure she hadn’t had the right partner yet.  Her mind kept going back to David, his lean, steely length, his smell in the contained space of the elevator.  She was ravaged, a craze in her blood to find someone.  She didn’t even care if it’d be a woman as long as a dildo was involved.  But she went out with the intent to seduce a man.  On her ride home she had thought back to his hand supporting her as she tilted, knew they were calloused hands and that just got her hotter.  She was basically frantic as she went through her closet.

    “How fucking stupid am I?” she asked her cats. “Seriously.”  She was unhappy with her wardrobe.  “This is why I have no fucking boyfriend”.  She paused and made a bullshit-to-that expression.  “Or it’s a lot of the reason.”  She made a mental note to start buying better looking stuff.  Even if she covered herself too much, the patterns and colors could be better.

    She was hungry, sullen, horny enough that she wanted nothing more than to feel her own heat and rub herself into ecstasy, but she didn’t. There was an edge to this need that she didn’t want to take off because she figured she’d have more success if the men could read her when she walked in.  Smell the sexual desperation.  So she got in the shower and efficiently cleaned, shaved and stepped out.  She held off on looking for clothing she knew her closet didn’t have, and instead focused on her make-up, another area she only dabbled in.   She went tilt-a-whirl with her black eye-liner, going deep and long under and over her eyes, smudging, even adding shadows under her eyes.  She found old red lipstick and generously applied it.  She would not wear her hair in a ponytail, but took it down and then teased it to something wild.  She had not known she knew how to do that and heard herself purr.

    She smiled at what she saw in the mirror because it was not her, and she was just fine with that. She knew her chances were good.  Fuck that, very good, and she could feel her excitement grow, a slight intake of breath as she thought of the night ahead and the actions it promised.  The disguise she had created was her courage, and she did not pour herself a drink.  She smiled at her freedom, knew it was David who was making her act this way even if he didn’t know it.  Thinking of him made her head for the door to find, find, find.



    Vegas is a tough place to live, but the residents knew where to go to avoid the throngs of idiots that visited.  Normally Miranda stayed away, but the new Miranda soaked it in, walked confidently down the street.  She stopped in a clothing shop and found a lace trimmed black tank top that she donned in the dressing room, along with a light pink, tight fitting skirt, then left her own clothes behind and paid the cashier.

    She stepped back out onto the street and headed for “Heist”, a mid-range famous dance club she’d been to once before. Women did not pay cover, and the bouncers waved her entry while looking her up and down.  Small, suggestive smiles that she returned.  She would have her way.

    But when she entered, she felt a small wave of Maranda-the-accountant hit her. It was massive, too massive, too dark and too loud.  “Get the fuck out of here” she said out loud to that woman she wished to leave behind.  “Not tonight” she emphasized but said more softly. There was space enough on the outskirts, and she walked slowly, purposefully, soaking in the deep, reverberating rhythm until she reached the remote bar where she ordered a martini.  Which she’d only ever had once with mixed results.  After the bartender exchanged a deep look with her as he handed her the glass, she turned around to view her scene.

    There were a lot of beautiful people, and the usual surplus of the almost-theres that were less passive in their demeanor.  Always reaching.  Her mouth twisted while she contemplated that irony.  Striving for something not yours in this life that ever so lightly it affected your appearance in the opposite direction.  She sipped her drink, didn’t gasp at the strength, but enjoyed the liquid’s thrill ride down her throat.  Since she was not in the center or dancing, and the night was still relatively young, she could see a lot, and her eyes casually roamed.  Miranda caught the eyes of a young, handsome blonde, widened her smile into something knowing and lifted her drink as a greeting from afar but then looked away.  She drank quickly as she continued her scan, not really knowing how her eyes would settle.

    She leaned back against a wall in what she now considered her section of the dance bar, began to feel more at home and a little more in tune with her physicality.  She swayed slightly to the music, felt the beginning of a really nice buzz, and this made her aware that her second martini would be her last, and then on to something wit-keeping.  She had momentarily looked down at her hands, and when she looked up she saw them on the outer ring of the dance floor, but facing her and not the dancers.  It was startling to the point she would have turned to look for what their focus was had she not known she were standing alone.  She had heard of them.

    It was the Jackson twins, she was sure of it, a set of brothers more than casually discussed in female circles.  Well loved, adored really.  And she could see why, since all she had heard was true and amplified.  They were dark haired, dark skinned men with lean builds, and they always dressed alike.  Tonight it was black T-shirt and jeans–not original, but classically effective.  This would have seemed trite or stupid under most circumstances, but since one of them was in a wheelchair, it was decidedly not.

    They were staring at her from across that way, and it had only been a couple of seconds, but Miranda was on the better side of bewitched, distracted by the thoughts of all she had heard.  The one in the wheelchair looked a little amused, and she felt her mouth go dryer and took a deeper sip of her martini.  The un-handicapped Jackson was standing behind the wheelchair holding it, looking at her as well but more serious, hypnotizing.  The virility of the picture was matchless.

    It was said they were wealthy, lived together and shared women.  One at a time.  It was said they were not any kinkier than that, one brother helping the other but really helping each other because what could be a better combination for piercing the heart and the pussy of a woman than just the good looking two of them?  What differentiated them further was their reputation for kindness, and passionate attention to the desires of a woman, their wish to please exceeding their need to be pleased, slow and deliberate with their efforts.   She believed they had “regulars” or what equated to their girlfriends, but they had a large appetite and that’s how their reputation had developed.  She had seen a picture of them once in a similar stance as she looked at them now, only each were clad in boxer briefs, their bodies tanned and nice to look at, linger on.  Someone had said they had modeled for a stretch in Italy and Japan, and even did some fashion related commercials.

    She realized she was breathing heavier, and that her groin ached, and her hand was lightly but discreetly over her own soft triangle, and she moved it away even while part of her  thrilled they noticed the gesture.

    “You were thinking of something good I guess” a woman’s voice said, startling her, close.

    Miranda felt jerked out of her exquisite reverie, almost offended as she turned her head to look at the source. “Um, what?’ she asked, foggy.  Her eyes focused to this nearer vision, and she beheld a tall, long haired blonde.  Pretty.  With her own sort of hunger.

    The woman drew nearer, and reached to put her hand delicately through the side wisps of Miranda’s hair.  “You started to touch yourself when you were looking at the twins”. She said matter of factly and seductively at the same time.  “I think I saw your eyes starting to roll back”.  She said more quietly, staring intently into Miranda’s eyes.

    When she turned to look back at them, the one guiding the chair was beginning to turn it, but as he did so kept his gaze on her for a few moments longer and then nodded his head with a smile, saying good-night.

    “Don’t worry” The woman continued.  “You’ll see them again if you want to.  They like you.” Miranda looked at the woman again.  “I can see why”. She added, and her hand glided softly to touch the top of Miranda’s left breast, her eyes holding hers steady.  “You don’t talk much”.

    At last Miranda found her voice.  “You won’t let me.” She said.  She felt the woman’s hand then fully cup her breast and squeeze hard.  It hurt, but she  closed her eyes because it also felt good.  Anything would feel good right now as long as it was touching her.

    “Like that, do you?”  She said, and took a long drink and set it down on the ledge behind Miranda, so Miranda knew things were going to get trickier, slicker and heavy.  She felt herself moan, heart-beat hammer, and triangle hum.  She put her own drink down, and grabbed the back of the girl’s head, brought her face to hers.

    The dance lights sparkling on the main floor gave the bar an eerie-hip aura, and the two melded to each other, almost unseeable against the dark wall, Miranda losing hesitance, enjoying making out, feeling the woman’s strong tongue command their kiss, teasing and sometimes forceful, her hands keenly feeling as much of Miranda as she could manage. The narcotics of eagerness were throbbing in all the veins that mattered, the music adding to the sensation, the walls obeying the reverb behind her.

    She broke free for an instant to look into the eyes of her stranger. They were both panting, waiting, the blonde’s hand still searching her body, beginning to slide down beneath her skirt as she stared into her eyes. Miranda was feeling weak, jittery, ready to explode and she closed her eyes. She felt the woman gently slide her hand from out of Miranda’s skirt so that she could guide her to an even more secluded spot with a booth.

    “Sit down dear”. The woman said in a thick voice, gently pushing her down in the seat and sitting down heavily beside her, almost on top of her.

    It had only been two drinks, but the combination of those and the spitzy lights, echoing dark, unstoppable hands was making Miranda light-headed, and somehow hungrier at the same time. She opened her mouth to utter something, but all she got out was “I…”

    “Be quiet little girl” Was all the woman said and began to devour her.

    The music was loud enough that Miranda’s moans turning into cries weren’t heard even if her facial contortions were well understood by the few close enough to observe them. She did nothing to stop the hands that easily pried her legs apart, and then fingers pulsing into her while other fingers massaged her clit.  The woman, feeding on her neck, her body covering her hand’s exploits, felt in and around Miranda’s pussy in ways Miranda had not yet felt, and her throat began to hurt with her intensified breathing.  Her head was leaning back against the upholstery of the wall facing side and she knew she was climaxing, felt tingling in her hands and the skin on her face.  In the middle of the sexual trance, she opened her eyes and noticed a few couples at the side bar cautiously watching, forgetting their drinks.  She was falling back into closing her eyes as she felt her orgasm approach, but just as she was about to fade into the height she spotted a face she knew.  It was too late, however, and without being able to stop herself, she cried out silently as the intense wave of pleasure hit her, wave after ebbing wave.  Her stranger slowly abated the massage and offered a lingering soft kiss that  Miranda returned, but while she did she opened her eyes to get confirmation on whom she had seen.  David was still there at the far side of the bar, looking down at his drink but two more seconds and he was looking back at her.  Quickly she turned her head.  Her body tensed, and the woman drew back.

    Stranger smiled.  “You’re like a cat”. She said.  “You love the pleasure but you’re fucking skittish”.

    Miranda smiled sheepishly.  “This is not my usual thing”.  She said, feeling lame and old all of a sudden.  And tired.  She could feel David still looking their way and wondered if he recognized her.  Wondered if she wanted him to.  No, she did not.  She looked at the pretty blonde then, and marveled.  She did not feel like returning the favor.  Selfish me, she thought, but the blonde  seemed to read her mind.

    “My name’s Lex.”  After she stopped the embarrassed Miranda from making excuses to extending the night she handed her a business card.  “Call me any time you want.”  She hesitated before getting up.  “The man at the bar?”  Miranda darted her a look and Lex nodded.  “He’s here several times a week and never does too much–doesn’t talk to the girls that approach him, and there’re a lot obviously”.  Her eyes said “get me?”

    “You know a lot, Lex”. And Lex smiled before she sailed out the door or to another part of the bar, Miranda didn’t know.  She waited a few minutes and went home herself, not looking back at David, not knowing what she was hoping.


    David went to Heist all the time, but rarely got to see what he had seen tonight, certainly not to such a great conclusion. It had not lasted very long, but it was enough to make his shower that night more entertaining.  Something had been familiar about the dark haired girl.  Woman?  Too dark.  And she had looked at him as if she recognized him, and she had looked at him several times.  Where had he met her?


    By Monday Miranda had gotten Friday night out of her system.  She had spent many hours on Saturday and Sunday dancing between fantasies of the twins, exchanged glances with David and the relived ecstasy with Lex, all of which gave her ample material for the satisfaction of masturbation.  So when the work day hit, she was ready for it, put on her usual work clothing and demeanor, and headed in.

    But it was a bleak day,  no David who she had expected to see, whose image now regularly sent desire pangs through her body, whose countenance at Heist had unnerved her but also made him more human, attainable in her eyes.  She sat at her desk, did some work, checked her clock, nibbled at lunch and robotically answered any questions.  Why the haste for a man who wasn’t there?

    But David was there, just elsewhere in the building getting shit fixed, and there was a lot of it for a Monday.  Most of it usually hit Fridays.  He didn’t spend too much of his weekend thinking about anything he saw at Heist because it was just a show to him, and he’d watched it many times from his comfortable spot at the bar.  He wasn’t even sure why he went since he almost never talked to anyone or took up any offers.  He just wasn’t sure the women that approached him were the kind he wanted to fuck, but if it was just that, a good night of fucking, why the hell not?  He puzzled himself.

    Only once or twice did he think of the wild, pale white beauty he’d seen get it on with another pretty thing.  He had not watched a woman come like that–at the hands of another, and live instead of part of a porn movie.  It had made him rock hard while he had watched her face contort, her body quivering in the dark.  Something about her eyes.


    Miranda finished her day as usual, and got in the empty elevator.   She wasn’t phased.  She couldn’t expect to see him every time she got in it.  As she reached the basement she thought about making steak for dinner and maybe having chocolate cake for dessert.  She smiled at that, and then frowned since she did not want to smile at the thought of food.  Or her cats.  She wanted to smile at the thought of having people, family, company.  It was starting to get to her.  When the lift stopped, the door did not open right away, it was glitchy she knew.  She felt annoyed and pressed the open button.  After too much hesitation it let her out into the lot.  She caught her breath because she saw David getting into his mustang. Her click clack steps or her inhale or all the noises that made up Miranda caused him to look up and their eyes locked.  A lot can happen in a second or two and Miranda saw him registering something?  Or just recognizing her from the office?

    Panic struck her.  She nodded uncomfortably at him since her hands were full. “Uh, hi David”.  Fuck she’d said his name.  This new horror made her feet finally start moving in the direction she needed to go, but not before she heard him say “Hey” in a drawn out way that she thought sounded confused.  Confused that she knew his name, no doubt.  She drove home and never had steak.


    David did not know what to make of the weird girl in the Accounting Dept. who knew his name now.  That wasn’t the weird part, and he had liked hearing it come out of her mouth.  Maybe she was not a scared white woman, just shy.  This intrigued him.  He tried to picture her now as he watched TV, thought about her thin frame, her dark haired pony tail he thought was cute even if the whole get-up was off somehow.  But her eyes spoke the most, and tonight they’d only looked at each other but it felt familiar.  he shook his head and went back to his detective show, a small frown on his face.

    He woke the next day from a dream that had left him sweaty, his sheets damp, his cock hard.  Not unusual but a cause behind it.  Enough of a cause that he did a little homework on his accountant friend and felt better armed for his next encounter, which he decided to arrange.  He whistled once or twice during the day while he made broken things work.

    Miranda saw David a lot that day, and he walked through her arena often, almost always glancing her way to then catch her looking at him.  He did not smile after the first time, but gazed into her eyes until she looked down at her work and shuffled what didn’t need it.  She felt uneasy but excited, and the softness between her legs stayed wet all day, a very deep ache never subsiding.  All she could think about was getting home, diving under her sheets and rubbing her very hungry clit.

    By the end of the day she was ruination, her eyes feral.  She grabbed her things and headed to the elevator, this time actually hoping she would NOT run into David.  When she landed at the basement, the door didn’t open as the night before and she let out an exasperated sigh.  “You piece of shit” She said not too loudly and hit the door with some force.  “You..” But she trailed off as the door opened to reveal David standing immediately outside the door, looming, staring.

    He smiled politely.  “Miranda” was all he said while nodding, and proceeded to walk in even though she had to get out.  He did not move aside, but blocked her.  He had said her name.  She looked up into his eyes and those eyes were close, deep, piercing.  Maybe she’d faint.

    “Um, I have to get out and…” But the door was closing behind him.  He had said her name.

    And then they weren’t moving.

    And when she looked up into his eyes, they were waiting.  Curious.  Stern, but not ungentle.

    She couldn’t stop herself.  “Umm…” as one last attempt to illogically break free from something she desperately wanted.

    “I don’t think you’re going anywhere right now, do you?”  Casual question, not threatening, but his approaching her made her heart hammer, her groin burn.  Her mind brought her to thoughts of Heist, of him looking at her.  Like this.

    He was now close enough so that he reached up and pulled the elastic from her hair so that it came down around her face, and she looked up at him in partial fright and partial challenge.

    “I see the wild in you”. He said.  “I see it all over you.  And the door won’t open until I open it.  But I’ll open it if you ask me to”.

    That was all it took for Miranda to let out a low, guttural sound of need and begin to sway, where he caught her with one arm and grabbed the back of her neck with the other, pulling her face to his in a hard kiss that softened slowly so that he could pry her lips apart with his tongue and control her mouth with a skill that made her obey.  Her arms dropped her bags and she pulled his torso against her more closely feeling the steel of who he was, what she’d always known he was.

    She was breathing hard, but so was David, his hands getting rough, yanking her blouse from out the top of her skirt as he felt her shudder, making his dick painful inside his jeans and he pushed one of her hands to it, holding it there until she reacted, held the immense protrusion through the denim, felt the dome trying to break free.  She ripped back from him, and he watched her, starting to feel a little tipsy himself.

    She quickly undid his belt, carefully unslid his zip as she squatted, and eased down his pants.  She took a deep breath at the sight, teetering and nearly falling back, but she reached tentatively with her hand to touch him, the hot beautiful steel in front of her, now wanting nothing more than to put it in her mouth. Forgetting the rest of him was there, she pulled her mouth to it, enveloping it as greedily as she could, caressing it, sucking it in full and then licking it up and down as she caressed his balls with one of her hands.

    David looked down at her as one of his hands massaged the back of her hair.  He was falling for this strange bird in a heady way.  But he also didn’t want to miss out on looking at the rest of that pale body, of the softness her tits promised beneath her clothes, so he pushed her head back gently.  “Get up against the wall.”  He said roughly.  “Take off your clothes”.  She seemed to hesitate.  He stepped out of his own pants on the floor while he said “Now” with a small sideways nod of his head that added a shade of question to the order.  That he wanted her to be willing.  She did as she was told and was very soon completely naked against the back wall of the elevator.  She thought she heard someone outside talking about a stuck elevator, but she tuned it out, concentrating on what she knew was coming and on looking back into eyes she had come to adore.  Deep and brown like his glorious skin.

    “Please” She heard herself say.  “Please.”…merely a whisper, but David didn’t need to be told.  He had just wanted to take in her body, which he did and then his head dove to suck one of her breasts, sucking hard, beginning to slide a finger inside her as he did.  Her cry grew louder as he slowly finger fucked her, tantalized by her sleek wetness.  His own cock was not as patient as he wanted it to be and he decided enough was enough, that his cock couldn’t wait much longer and time was probably limited.  He never stopped his finger until his own length was there to replace it and when he did Miranda stiffened, her head snapping back.  But instead of a louder cry, the force of penetration seemed to bring immediate silence, her eyes closed, her face strained in agony.  Maybe an inward scream, David realized as he watched her.

    He felt more domineering than he’d ever at the helm of this pale skinned woman, got intense satisfaction as he went in and out of her, watching and hearing her losing control.  He was grunting to his own waves of ecstasy, thick quick and thick quicker.  When David watched Miranda come he immediately began his own release.  She was at beauty’s height, her eyes blasting open and staring into his and then they were both panting, she leaning on him feeling happy to have his torso encircled by her legs. Feeling powerful and bashful at the same time.

    As she eased off of him, David helped her down and he took note of the wild woman withdrawing into herself. He did not want that to happen, at least not with him.

    “Don’t you go anywhere Miranda”. He said. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “You don’t have to hide your wild with me. And you really shouldn’t hide it at all.” She was still looking at him. He went on. “Plenty of people disappear all day long, but you’ve got the spirit not to. It’s not useful to disappear.” She seemed to consider this and then smiled widely, an expression he hadn’t yet seen, startled and pleased him.

    “OK” was all she said as she put her clothes back on.  She remained silent and he didn’t like that either.  But people don’t change overnight.  He made quick work of opening up the door, and when it did there were no longer people milling around, and all of a sudden Miranda didn’t know what to say.

    “You going to Heist today?” He asked.  She threw him a quick look and smiled again.

    “What’s the point?”  She asked.  “I got this evening what I would have gone there for”.

    “Fair.”  David paused.  “You want it again?”

    They had not moved from outside the elevator, and it seemed neither wanted to break at this point.  There was a momentum that might dissolve if the next time they saw each other was in the morning.

    “Of course I do.  But maybe we get some dinner first.”









  • Happy Endings, Yay! (4/5/2017)

    By Mezmerelda


    Even if some subjects that fall into Erotica don’t get you going or turn you on, they will typically interest you, or question human nature some more.  But some subjects are interesting and fun, and this is one that just makes me smile.   As always, half my adventure is finding people that will talk to me.  Whereas experiencing a happy ending from a masseuse is by no means weird, it’s still sex and not exactly legal (happy ending definition).  Luck was on my side this time because a friend of mine mentioned she knew someone who frequented massage parlors and had some experiences he would probably share with me.  So I met Adrian in Florida, locationally about 3/4 ways down and not coastal, but that’s irrelevant.  This town is like many in the US, and there is a handy site (pun friendly topic too) called that will help you find that special massage regardless of where you live.  It might be slightly harder if you are female, but I am working on that piece of education.

    Adrian and I met in a coffee shop, a pretty noisy one really, and I’ll tell you I had no preconception as to what he’d look like.  I think getting one’s cock nicely stroked is a common wish among men so it could have been a 16 year old scientist, a 45 year old architect or 70 year old cobbler.  So no surprise Adrian was a cute blond in his mid to late twenties wearing sweats and work boots, and smiling when I met him.

    We sat down after grabbing a too late in the afternoon cup of coffee on a Friday afternoon and I mentally justified a cocktail later in the evening to tame the caffeine.

    M: “So how did you find out about these places?”

    A: “Well I work in the blue collar field and guys talk, you know there’s a lot of swearing and talk about sex.  So I heard about these websites from some of the guys that used them – like or”  This was a funny name in my mind so I laughed.  “Rubmaps is great because it tells you the location of a place that will give you a massage with a happy ending and even rate it for things like cleanliness, quality of service, price, parking…everything.  Plus it’s all over.  You just punch in your zip code or town, and you get a full list.”

    M: “But how do you approach the place or situation so they do what you want, because obviously you could be a cop…”

    A: “I’ve been like a dozen times and every time it’s different.  Sometimes you can tell the way they touch you…they might give a tickling massage or something and if my body responds like I like it then they know to go on.  Or sometimes I might –you always start out lying on your stomach–so I might raise my butt up just a bit or maybe stroke her leg, see if she likes that.”

    M: “What is the best experience you’ve had so far?”

    A: “This one time I went in, and as usual I didn’t really know what or how it was going to happen, and honestly that’s really the best part of the experience.  The build up.  The getting in my car, knowing I’m going to get a massage, not knowing whether or not I will get a happy ending, how it will or won’t happen.  You know what I mean?”  I nodded.  “Anyway, so she never really gave me a regular massage at all.  She started light tickling, and then playing with my lower area even though I was on my stomach.  Obviously, I was turned on, and then when I rolled onto my back she just started sucking on my penis”.  I agreed that was a lucky turn of events.  He continued. “I almost think she might have been using me in a way, like she got off on doing that or something.”

    M:  “Something tells me you both enjoyed it.”  We laugh.

    A:  “The only thing that can be frustrating is not being able to last as long as I’d like, to enjoy the experience longer.  I’ve tried again and again but they have these lotions and oils, I’m already very excited just to be there…”

    M:  “Well they’re professionals.  Very good at what they do.”

    A:  “I’ve also used a couple of times.  It’s an escort service for hookers.  But it’s a little sketchier because you have to meet them in a hotel, you’re not sure of what you’ll find.  I mean you’re doing something illegal, right?  I get there and we talk for a few minutes about the terms–what does she charge, what are her boundaries, how long, stuff like that.  It’s also another situation where the best part of the experience is the build up the adrenalin and all that, but there’s also another possibility to climax too early.   One time a buddy of mine did that, like in the first 5 minutes–he uses the service all the time–and even though it was supposed to be a half hour visit, she said “OK, that’s it”.

    M:  “That doesn’t seem fair.  Maybe that should be part of your terms discussion in the future.”  Adrian laughs with me, agreeing.

    M:  “What do you know about females getting a similar service?”

    A:  “I don’t know of any female that has looked for something like this.  I mean would she ask for a female or male?”  A moment of silence while we both pondered this and came up with our own respective answers.

    A:  “You can also get two women to massage you and get a happy ending.  This is called a “four hand massage”.  You just call and ask if they provide this, and just asking for that type of service gives them a clue of what you are looking for.”

    M: “Have you ever visited a place that was supposed to provide a happy ending but you didn’t get one?”

    A:  “Sure.  It’s like “well I guess I gotta write this one off””.

    M: “Do you ever say anything to…”

    A:  “Of course…hey what about…and make a facial gesture or question.  And they say nope, sorry.  Just means they didn’t get the right vibe.  Happens sometimes.  The other thing is I’ve never had to pay for it, or pay extra for it.  I pay for a massage and then leave a good tip.”

    We talked about the risk of getting caught, of the fact some of the parlors had closed down recently in the area.

    A:  “The thing is, it’s never the girl or the person visiting for a rub and tug that get’s busted.  It’s always the owner.  I’ve checked out a few shut-downs and that’s always the case, not sure why”.

    We changed the topic slightly and he mentioned not having tried a threesome, and that was a wish of his but that he wanted to find it “for real” and not a paid service so I wished him luck and patience.  I considered this a Friday afternoon well spent and thanked him.

    A: “Hey, stay in touch.  And don’t forget to tell me if you visit one of those parlors and what happens.”

    M: “I won’t.”

    A: “Oh and call me if you need a plumber”.






  • War (12/27/2016)

    By Christopher Rose

    Nate and Portia had not worked together forever, but enough to have gotten to know each other well and they were fast enough friends to talk freely and sometimes even collusively.  They shared a lot of laughter, somewhat intimate glances and just a general comradery.  It could not have been more than that because both were in serious relationships and neither was inclined to stray.  While it seems true that there is more than one person for each of us on this planet, everyone also knows not everything can happen in one lifetime.  There was, without question, an unspoken attraction between the two, and each would have occasional thoughts about what it might be like to undress the other and do sinful but exquisite things, pressing skin to skin, breathing deeply in the scent of their actions and passion.  Nate was tall, broad, and Portia liked his soulful eyes and generous smile, along with his slightly tousled dark hair.  Portia was also fairly tall, had a svelte line to her body Nate liked to watch without her knowing (he thought).  She always had a twinkle in her blue eyes that was what really endeared her to him, and he liked the way she would toss her own dark hair, gently gently as she walked.   Portia did not watch Nate in the same way, but was happy to see him when she did.  She was comfortable when he was in the building, knew that it was an important part of the day’s aura.  And it was as innocent as that for a while.

    But one day the tides shifted in an inexplicable way and that comfort gave way to a different friction neither was prepared for.  On a random Wednesday Portia went to get coffee and Nate was a distance behind her on his way to do the same thing.  He did the usual – watched her sway her way into the kitchen.  Portia was unaware of him today, her mind on the next project as she hummed a little and then reached up to grab some cups.  What Nate did next was not par for the course, and even surprised himself a little, but as noted, something essential had shifted.  As he reached the same counter, he placed his hand on the small of her back as he said good morning, lightly but lingering longer than anyone should, and as he pulled his hand away he made sure to brush more of her back.

    Portia was startled, and then more so as she felt herself react with an inner, nether desire prompted by the combination of Nate’s voice and his hand on her back.  He had never touched her like this before, and now she found it unnerving, shaking her usual casual stance with him.  She stumbled over her words.

    “Oh…..Hi….uh….Morning” She said as she turned to face his nearness.  She thought she smiled.

    Nate grinned and was in good spirits, better spirits.  He stared down at her.  “You look good today.”  He said.  He wasn’t sure where he was going with any of this, but he carried on.  “The black top” He said, pointedly looking at her cleavage, “is particularly flattering”.

    Portia thanked him slowly, having to think as she was doing so.  This was not the Nate she knew, and it was a Nate she did not know how to handle.  She backed up a few steps in the hopes of gaining some composure and slowing her heartbeat and the growing uneasy desire between her legs.  She looked at him, noticed an edge and confidence that seemed more well-honed.  She could not define how, but his smile looked a shade of wicked and the gleam in his eye was more intense.   She liked what she saw, was having no success slowing her heartbeat, felt tongue-tied.

    “You…you seem in a strange kind of mood” she said lightly and with an inquisitive face.

    “I feel in a strange kind of mood Portia.”  He said this slowly, still smiling, and then again running his eyes over her body.  He took the few steps to cover the distance she had retreated so that he was only a foot away from her.  Portia watched in paralyzed silence as he lifted his arm and reached out to the side of her neck, landing his index finger gently on her flushing skin, letting it trail down along her blouse’s neckline so that if she had not stopped him he probably would have traced a path as far as he could.  She shuddered visibly and she hoped he did not recognize it as the desire that it was.  She stepped back.

    “Nate!”  she said quietly but emphatically.   “What are you doing?  You do realize we are in the kitchen.  In a company that is not empty”.

    Nate laughed, looking exceptionally happy.  “So it would be OK if no one were here?”

    This annoyed her.  She had been framed into saying that.  “What is UP with you?”  She asked.  She walked past him, not letting anything else transpire.  “I’m going back to my desk”.  She said as she did so.

    While Portia tried to work and forget about what had happened between them, Nate was back at his own side of the building thinking about Portia, how he had touched her, how he had enjoyed the power it gave him.  He decided he had done exactly what he did because something inside him had buckled to what he had been pretending wasn’t there.  He wanted her, and some part of him had that day decided he would do something about it.  What made it perfect, and now pursuable, was that it was clear she wanted him right back.  Her skin had been smooth, warm, pulsing even, and he had felt her excitement even while she had been taken aback by his behavior.  He was satisfied with the day so far, felt a wonderful awareness of things he knew he would make happen, and so he very easily got back to the work he needed to complete.  And Portia sat at her desk wondering how to avoid Nate even as the skin on her neck burned and she thought of his hands and how it would have felt if she hadn’t stopped him.


    Nate and Portia worked in separate departments, so their paths did not often cross, but they each made a point to stop by the other’s office once in a while.  Portia did not know how to visit Nate after the other day’s scramble, but she also knew that not visiting would somehow be a sign of weakness – yet she was afraid he would take an actual visit as an invitation to continue.  If she were any decent woman she would wait around for an apology and then maybe visit.  But that’s not how things went.

    Portia got a call from the shipping department telling her she had a package.  When she entered the enclosed area she didn’t see Rory, the clerk who had called her down.  She called out his name, but on not hearing a reply she started to look around for her delivery.   It was quiet in this area, a little creepy, but also seemed like it might be a comfortable place to get things done quietly in peace.  She couldn’t see anything marked for her as she poked around.  It was unfamiliar territory for her.  She rounded the corner to go farther into the stock room and came face to face with Nate.

    She was startled, let out a tiny scream.   He had been lurking around the corner this whole time?    “Nate.”  She said.  “What are you doing here?”  She asked.

    He smiled.  “Hi Portia.”  “Probably same thing you are.”  He said as he approached her.  He looked taller than she was used to.  He was wearing a purple shirt, neatly tucked into dark blue jeans.   His hair looked a little more out of control, or was it just because he was so close?  Portia felt her heart beat increase.  “About the other day…” he began, a curious but thoughtful look on his face.  She stole a look at the department’s door but it was closed so they were alone.  He caught her glance.  “Don’t worry about that.”  He said.  “Rory won’t be back for a while”.  He said this with a smile.  “About the other day” He began again.

    “Never mind”.  Portia said, feeling the need to back up.  “Doesn’t matter.  Off day…” silly words escaping her.  Despite her wish to stand her ground she felt herself step back.  She would have only so many steps as she knew the wall was behind her.  “Anyway, I have this package….” She made an attempt to look around, but Nate was blocking too much of her view.  She would have to walk around him.

    “I think Rory said it was over there”.  Nate responded, vaguely indicating with his head somewhere behind him as she was walking by.  She could not really pass without brushing him, but was relieved he did not block her.  As she began to breathe a sigh of relief she felt him grab her hand and spin her around.  In the same movement he pulled her to him.  So clever, quick and utterly self-assured.  “Portia.” Was all he said before he put his hand behind her head and gently but firmly pulled her mouth to his.  She was taken by surprise, though should not have been given the circumstances and his recent behavior.  She thought about fighting him, but found she didn’t want to.  She let his mouth claim hers, felt his strength press against her, eagerly answered his tongue with hers.  She was breathing heavily, and she heard herself let out a gentle moan, and then felt Nate’s desire increase.  He took his hand from behind her head and put it on her breast, sliding it inside her blouse and then under the top of her bra, reaching, holding and letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction.  This woke Portia from what could only be deemed sexual hypnosis.  So badly, badly did she want his hands to continue, but what had started in the back of her mind began to flare strongly more frontward.   She felt herself pulling back from his kiss, hating and respecting herself at the same time.

    “Nate we’re…”.  She said, still breathing heavily.  “We can’t do this”.

    Nate looked lost for a moment, something like understanding moving across his eyes.  She noticed he was fully erect and felt something between sadness and unadulterated desire.  He saw her notice and he didn’t smile but instead had some kind of challenge or danger in his eyes.   He said nothing.  He turned around and walked out the door while Portia stood motionless, silent, empty, and then possibly crying.

    They did not speak for a few days, each recovering from a wealth of thoughts.  Illegal kisses, accepted but illicit touches, and the real truth that they had both wanted to go beyond their own defined boundaries.  They probably would have gone another week or so without talking but the company announced the adventure for them, the team-building event.  Paint ball.

    Company outings are often fun and this next one promised to be entertaining.  The CEO had even sprung for renting the property so that there would be no other parties playing at the same time.  This time Nate visited Portia.

    “Hey Portia” He said casually.  He did not advance or act in a suggestive fashion so Portia immediately relaxed.

    But she still had the vivid feel of his hands on her skin from the previous week.  “Hi Nate.  What you doing over here?”  She asked.

    “Paintball.  You playing?”

    She had forgotten about the company outing.   “I’ve played before” Portia said.  “So exciting and your adrenaline is going at a hard to handle pace, frightening but exhilarating.”  She was trying her hardest not to look at his body, the stolid tallness, how close he had been just days before.

    “Me too”.  Nate replied.  “It’ll be fun.  Wonder how we get to be on the same team.”

    “I’d rather shoot you” Portia said, raising her eye-brows playfully but also looking at him seriously.

    “Either way.”

    Portia thought about Nate a little more than she was accustomed to, was dismayed by the increased frequency, found herself even occasionally touching herself to thoughts of his straying hands, brash advances.  She was rattled.

    The day before the event Nate told Portia to dress properly.  “You’re lucky it’s fall so you get to wear a jacket.  Those paint balls won’t feel great when they hit you.”

    Portia smiled widely, hiding the fact she was very conscious of his presence, the way his shirt aligned perfectly on his shoulders, his lazy smile.   “You watch yourself too Barrett.”  She said, using his formal name.  “I think I’ve rigged it so that we ARE on opposite teams.”  She had in fact done so a few days earlier, determining it would be more fun that way, and certainly safer.

    Something nervous twitched in Nate’s stomach as he thought about the game ahead.  Portia would be his enemy.  He could not easily dismiss it as the feel of excitement or the thought of hunting an animal.  There was just more to it than that.  The not so innocent events that had transpired between them made him feel ready for something more, something other level, and he knew she was aware.   Without being sure why he was doing it, he left work early and drove to the paint ball location.  No games were in place at the time so he asked one of the workers to show him the courses.  He was given permission to roam on his own, and he did, also noting what sort of properties abutted the premises.  Since it was early enough in the month that the trees still held their leaves, he had to spend the better part of an hour to get a real idea of the various courses, their borders and where the barracks were located.  He was pretty impressed.  Most of the battlefields created were well constructed with varying themes – from bullet riddled stucco homes to miniature turrets.  The place must have been at least 15 acres.

    The day of the event everyone arrived on time, and were instructed how to put the gear on, which included a jacket and protective head covering.  They were told how to use the rifles and given 5000 “bullets” each, did some practice shooting at the targets.

    Portia looked over at Nate while she was putting on her gear and smiled with a good degree of mischief and forgetting their earlier encounters as any possible hazard.  She felt exhilarated and ready for the day.  Nate returned the smile but said nothing.

    “You scared?” Portia taunted.

    “Oh, I’m not scared, Portia, but maybe you should be”.  And he smiled a smile that could have been interpreted as long and sweet, but to the designated few would be interpreted as dicey and determined.  It made Portia hesitate internally, and she got a desirous flutter in her belly.  What is going on, she thought.  She returned his smile, but she knew it came off as shy instead of confident and sexy, as was her intent.  She put on her head gear and looked at him again.  He was still smiling at her.  She just shook her head and walked to the next area where they would be given instructions on how to play war.

    Portia listened, but it was straightforward.  They would have several hours to play over about five different landscapes/war zones.  They were lucky to have been blessed with beautiful weather, almost too beautiful.  She thought about Nate and his strange but beguiling attitude and looked around for him, but didn’t see him.  They were about to begin so that was a little weird too.   Maybe he was taking this game more seriously than she would have thought, and was plotting something wretched for her, and then there was that strange smile he had and the warning he had given her with a sexy sort of sinister. She felt her heart rate increase as she looked around again.

    They called start for the first game and Portia went with her teammates, for a moment forgetting the anxiety she felt about not being able to find Nate.  Each team headed to their respective side of the war zone and positioned themselves properly after having been given five minutes to amongst themselves decide who would be aggressors, and who would hang back and defend the flag.  This time Portia was a defender, along with Jennifer and Jacob.  They each had to face in a different direction while hiding behind something in order to have clear visibility of any approaching enemy in case their offense wasn’t good enough to stop that sort of action.  It was a lot of ground to cover, so Portia assumed they may have to do battle, but she was ready.  She had heard gun fire a few times but had seen no one raise arms up (universal sign for “I’ve been shot so please don’t shoot me again while I leave the field”).

    Nate had brought binoculars, possibly illegal for the purposes of the game, but he was playing a different game anyway.  He watched from a distance as the first battle progressed, more or less focused.   Portia was guarding their post along with Jen & Jacob, not very exciting.  He used this time to determine where he needed to be for the next match in which Portia would be on the offense.  He made his way to that area, trying to figure out the least visible location.    He remained at the outskirts with his binoculars, keeping tabs on the activity.  Seemed like it was drawing to a close, and Portia’s team was dropping the enemy pretty well.   It would be time for the second game shortly, so he waited but not without feeling his heart rate go up a bump and not without a smile of a weird happiness crossing his face.  Play time.

    Portia should have been happier their team had won the first match, but she was still distracted as she headed to the post of their second game.  When she had asked Sasha, a team-mate of Nate’s, about his whereabouts she had just shrugged.

    “What do you care?”  She asked.  “It actually makes the odds more favorable for you since we’re now seven and seven instead of eight over seven….”

    “Don’t”.  She lied.  “Just curious”.

    Since she was on offense this time and she wanted to win to have the momentum of winning on their side, she strategized on her own while she listened to her team’s over-all plan for retrieving the flag.  When the whistle went off she sprinted to the left and then went fairly far, but not far enough that anyone from the approaching team would see her.  She promptly laid on her stomach, breathing heavily, and slowly easing her way back to almost the border of the fighting area.  She would let the team pass and then fire from behind.  Not entirely sportsman-like, but certainly war-like.  She smiled with pride at her resourcefulness, though she knew the strategy would only work once.

    She stayed put looking in obvious directions, getting tired of holding the gun and generally getting bored.  She thought she heard something, but knew that wasn’t realistic.  No one had seen what she had done, and hopefully she had not done it for nothing.  She realized there was no way to guarantee which way the enemy would approach.  She sighed in frustration but didn’t move.

    “Put down your gun” She heard one second before she felt what she knew was the butt of a gun against her back.  She was frozen.

    “Put down your gun and take off your head gear” Nate repeated, and not too gently pushed the butt a little harder against her back.  “And stand up please”.

    “OK, OK.”  She said.  “Skipping games is cheating I think”.  She added, and so is kissing you she thought.   Nate said nothing and it was frustrating she could not see him.

    Once she was standing he said “Thank you.  Now walk in front of me and head to the next battlefield”.

    “What?  I don’t even know where that is” She started to turn around.

    “To your right please and go quickly.”  There was most definitely command in his voice.  “We’re taking a detour back to my fort.  I don’t want any of your team to see us.”

    Portia said nothing, and walked, not entirely sure of where she was going, but since Nate wasn’t complaining she must have been going in the right direction.

    “Where were you the first game?” She asked casually.

    “Planning this game” He said.

    She shuddered with a mixture of pleasure and dread.  “Oh”. Was all she said.  She was out of her element.

    Portia did not hear any other sounds other than their footsteps and some birds.  After about five solid minutes of walking she realized he may have lied to her.  She stopped short and spun around.

    “You said….” She stopped and drew in her breath.  Nate was not wearing the traditional head garb, but had wrapped a bandana around his face in the fashion of a cowboy thief.  She would have laughed if this were any other situation, but it clearly was not.  In fact, Nate looked dangerous but she could tell by the look in his eyes he was smiling.   He was most definitely handsome.

    “Yes?”  He asked.

    She stammered.  “That, that….we’d be going back to your fort”.

    “We are.  Not much farther, so turn around and keep walking”.

    She did as she was told, feeling a little scared and very over-powered.  She could have run at any point of course, but she didn’t want to.  Whatever game he was playing, she was not about to back down, and he’d catch her anyway.  They were getting farther and farther from the second arena, she knew that much.

    “Up there.”  He said.  “See that red shed?”


    “That’s us.”  He said.  Barracks, sweet barracks.”  He smiled to himself, appreciating his own humor.

    Portia said nothing, and kept walking.  When they had arrived shed-side, Nate took her hand and led her around the other side.  It was a fairly pretty area, at least for now while the colored leaves still remained.  She turned and her eyes met Nate’s.  She was rattled.  She could see something in his eyes, and even during the walk here she understood what this was really about.  She started to feel a little weak, a little more the shrinking violet than the brave, sassy woman he was accustomed to.

    “Portia” he said.

    “Yes Nate.”  She heard her own voice quaver, but she was not ashamed.

    He approached her, his rifle extended in front of him, lowered to his hips.  He walked until the barrel of the gun was against Portia’s hip, and he heard her breathe in sharply.  He looked into her eyes as he let the barrel of the gun travel down her leg slowly, and then slowly back up the other leg, all the while not letting go of her gaze.

    For her part, Portia was undone.   She knew she was quivering at his touch, even if it was only the gun.  She should stop this, shouldn’t she?   She couldn’t, didn’t want to.  She felt the gun leave her leg and ever so gently go between her legs.  She heard herself moan.  Before moving the gun upwards, Nate pressed the gun harder against the point that made Portia moan a little louder, breathe a little harder.  He dragged the gun upwards, making sure to catch her garment and drag it up as far as it would go before letting go.

    “Take off your clothes” Nate said, his voice deep and a little ragged.  He had lowered the gun and was leaning on it slightly.

    “Nate, I….”  But the look in his eyes stopped her.  He was not a killer warrior, but a hungry soldier who wanted what he had conquered.

    She did as she was told, all the while trying to keep her eyes on his, but his eyes could not obey.  Nate had to enjoy every second of this, of his Portia disrobing.  She had removed her jacket and blouse, showing to him now more than he had yet seen of her body.  She wore a dark gray bra of some diaphanous material and he looked at her nipples, ached to touch them, suck them, but he would be patient.  She reached behind her back and undid the clasp, letting the brazier fall gently to the ground.

    Portia heard Nate draw in his breath this time as he looked at her breasts.

    “Do you like what you see, Nate”?  She asked, now feeling a bit more confident.

    Something in his gaze hardened.  She sensed she should not have used his name, and she immediately understood, and shook her head.  “Now take your jeans off” he said, unwilling to be distracted by stray banter.  Their eyes held as she unbuttoned and then unzipped her pants.  She eased out of her shoes, then took off her jeans.  She stood before him in her underwear only, arms at her side, looking at him, waiting.

    Nate was virtually paralyzed, his penis throbbing inside his own jeans so constant a throb it only served to add to his unnerved state.  He was in pain.  “I want you to come here and get on your knees.”

    Portia did as she was told.  She could see how excited he was and she wanted to free him, suck him like she knew he wanted.  She got on her knees but knew she had to wait for instruction.

    Nate was breathing rapidly.  “Undo my belt and unzip me.”

    Portia complied, looking up into his eyes as she did so.  She risked a move and leaned forward to breath warm air in and out of her mouth through the material of his briefs, his hardened cock responding, and Nate’s own moan escaping him.  “You don’t have to tell me what to do next” she said.  His hand came down and rested gently on her hair as she reached up and carefully took his cock out through the hole of his briefs.  When she put her mouth around the head of his penis, he felt electricity throughout his body, an intense rush of pleasure rush through all parts of him.  She began to mouth him expertly, licking circles, sucking gently in turn, and then more vigorously, changing her pattern to suit his reactions.  He would not be able to take much more of this, and he had other things to do.  Gently he pushed back on her forehead.

    “That’s enough” he said hoarsely.  “Lie down on your back.”  He watched as she lay back, her body perfect, perfect to him, and he wanted her more than he’d really ever wanted anything he realized.  He did not know if it was because he was a soldier and she the captured enemy, but he was pretty sure he would kill anyone who tried to stop this from happening.  He got down on his knees, pulling his clothes down before he did so that they were awkwardly around his ankles – but not awkward enough to thwart his intentions.

    He looked into Portia’s eyes as he got on top of her, as he put a finger between her legs and watched her cry out.  He began to massage her, deftly aware of the spot that would bring her to climax, rubbing her gently but firmly until she looked like a wild animal and was pleading with him.  Despite his own hunger, he couldn’t stop, needed to see her tiny death, and he knew he was close.

    “Nate.”  She said only in a harsh breath because she could do no more.   “Nate…..”  And her back arched with the violence of her spasms, and she made a sound she had never made.  Not panic, not hunger, but Nate knew he had done what he wanted and if it was possible he felt himself get harder.

    But he wanted to kiss her.  A kerchief around his face was the preventative he had planned around.  He took out another from his back pocket.  When Portia saw it, she looked at him questioningly, but as he tied it around her eyes, she again understood him.   He took off his own kerchief and swooped down to her mouth, his hands still roaming her body, feeling the undulating curves, the eagerness with which she pushed her body up against his as she welcomed his tongue in her mouth.  The perfect rhythm of their mouths made the kiss divine, and all other sensations heightened.  He wanted to spend more time on this body, but his own needs trumped everything else.  He got on top of her and very gently said “Be ready Portia”.  He spread her legs and moved himself into her softness easily at first, tentatively out and more forcefully in.  Portia cried out at first, overwhelmed with the power she felt on top of her and now inside her.  She had never imagined it could be this way, and she felt herself shaking with pleasure as he fucked her.

    She was still reeling from her own orgasm, from all the sensations of being outside, of hearing him breathe, of seeing this side of him.  “Please, harder” She heard herself say.  She heard him groan and then comply.   Nate was in his own other world, a warrior but now lost inside Portia, whose name he dare not say or break this spell.  He watched her expression, her covered eyes, the way her mouth was open in unadulterated need.  He felt whole, and he shook completely, cried out as well, as he came inside her, leaves rustling, sweat on her breasts.

    They lay side by side for a time, Nate with his hand on Portia’s stomach, Portia with her hand on his.  They said nothing but breathed in the air, felt the sun where it was able to peak through the trees, heard nature and the distant battles that didn’t matter.

    Portia had taken off her blinder and looked over at Nate.  Their eyes immediately held, and there was now much more between those eyes than there had been a day before, even an hour before.   They held this gaze for a few moments and Portia smiled warmly at him and felt at ease with the returned smile, genuine and kind.  Portia rose then to lazily put her clothes back on, calmly wondering exactly how they would re-enter this match.

    She said “I think I’ll get back to my team soon”.  But when she looked at Nate his eyes were closed.  She realized he might not even go back to the game.  She took a walk around, walking into the shed, but there was not much.  Remnants of another life, likely another century.  She looked at a broken down wheel barrow, stared at it and then wondered why she was staring.  She understood she was in a post sex sort of state, delaying herself from re-entering reality, albeit a game.    She left the shed, looked back but did not see Nate so started on the path that would hopefully get her back to her team or at least the parking lot from which she could leave and hence recover.  She smiled absently and looked up at the tree leaves, noticing the beauty in which they were surrounded.  It was quiet until she heard a gun being cocked and she stopped short, a little scared, spun around.  Nate was staring at her seriously, and she had grown to like those eyes- the look of just those eyes above the bandana, but he looked like he was still her enemy.  She felt desire and a welcome weakness as she watched him approach.

    “I’m not done with you yet” he said.   Portia tried to determine whether or not Nate was smiling, but realized it didn’t matter.   He had won this particular war, had taken her at gun-point and did what he had wanted, but she did not feel defeated.  Was in fact a willing prisoner.

  • Let Them Play (11/13/2016)

    By Mezmerelda

    It had been advertised as a house. This was not a lie since it was a house, but it was really just an apartment of a house. The event had been listed as an “All Gender Play Party”, was in the middle of the week and went from 7:30 until midnight. I did not know what I was getting myself into, and this time could not bring a friend since the event was sold out, but since I promised I was just an observer and writer she granted me a place, she being one lovely “Monique Darling”. The name fits her. A day before the event I was getting nervous. After all, even though I write erotica, this was my first solo event that was in someone’s house. “What the fuck am I thinking?” was my thought that Tuesday night. The ad did foretell that there would probably be nudity and sex, and the “all gender” piece of it made me think I could possibly watch/see two men having sex and I just was not sure I could do that without making some kind of stupid face. I have no problem with gay people, even enjoy watching women make out, but I have an innate fear (I think) of seeing one male penetrate another. That was even difficult to write! Anyway, Tuesday night was a late revelation that made me look up this Monique Darling to see just how legitimate she was, if there had been other events, etcetera, so that I would not find myself locked up in someone’s dungeon forever.

    What a great discovery.  Monique’s business is Juicy Enlightenment, which, along with her handsome partner Peter Petersen and others, has hosted over 800 global, similar events over the past 5 years. There were pictures of her on the website and her smile is beautiful. It radiated warmth and sincere kindness. I know smiling faces can hide deep, dark awfulness, but if you check the pictures yourself you will see what I mean and why I was put to ease immediately. I then looked at the profiles of most of the people attending, making sure it was not all male, etc., and I was satisfied with all my research. “Safe to Go” I told myself.

    Wednesday night. I found the house in a pretty neighborhood in an upscale town, and I knocked on the door. I was greeted by Monique herself with the warm smile I was expecting and recognition when I told her my name. Several people arrived at the same time and we were all asked to take off our shoes. Once that was done we went upstairs to the apartment, which was set for the event. There were thin mattresses all over the floors and pillows strewn against the walls with only minimal floor space for walking. Chiffon drapes hung from various points in all the rooms, creating a private, bedroomy feel. Candles were lit, and soft music played. Monique told me I had a ½ hour before “opening circle” and if I wanted I could browse through people, ask them questions, just do my thing, which I am still in the process of understanding myself. I had a total of three mini-interviews, two of which are topics in and of themselves (teaser – masochism/submissive  and orgasmic meditation). I introduced myself in each case as a writer and made my usual anonymity promises. The candid nature of what I was told still surprises me. The thing is, since you are already with a group of people of similar minds, the need to get to know someone before sharing such personal information is just not there. You know everyone is there for the same thing, so it is not conceived as weird to anyone. And it isn’t weird, it’s just still a hidden part of society and kinksters are thought of as just that. Odder tastes in sexual behavior are deemed by the vast majority (at least in this country) as unnatural, when in most cases it is quite the opposite. It’s just different.

    By the time opening circle started there were at least (40) people in the apartment. It was crowded, possibly a health hazard, but it was peaceful and people were ready to experience. Monique talked about what would happen, a gentleman came forward and played an extremely beautiful piece many of you have heard of but may have not actually heard (Hare Krishna) on a harmonium (see below) while many of the group sang and hummed along, me included. I won’t lie and say it did not remind me of hippy-dom, but it also reminded me why that era once was and now there were some of us hiding in this apartment singing, appreciating and waiting for the next good things.  It was moving.

    Image result for Harmonium Instrument

    Peter gave a 10 minute session on his discipline, Qigong, and this helped relax us and made me curious about learning more. Then it was time for us to get to know each other a little and loosen up.  Games for helping us along were played as well as the presentation of the rules. Rules were obvious: Use protection and respect a “no” answer if that’s what you get. To everyone else the request was that you know your answer in advance. “Don’t be afraid to ask for whatever you want, that’s what we’re here for, and don’t be insulted if you are turned away, but ask. I’ve seen everything. If you want to lie in the middle of the floor and ask for five people to come touch you all over then do it. If you ask, there is a very good chance you will get what you want”. She went on to say that voyeurism was also appreciated, that she in fact had attended (17) such parties before ever participating.

    We played one of the games. Like I said, it was tight. I was sitting on the mattress laden floor and was touching several people with my legs because that’s how close we were. We were asked to make groups of the nearest 6-7 people and we did. A highly tattooed couple on my left side chimed in first, the husband intoxicated, but had misunderstood the rules of the game. The rules had been: Think in advance. When you walk out tonight after this experience, what is the “mildest” thing you would have liked to experience and what is the “wildest”? His wife admitted the mildest would be being watched by several or many while she sucked off her husband. The wildest? “Being fucked by 7 guys in front of everyone on an airplane”. I gently cleared my throat to remind these inky lovelies that it had to be something that could actually happen that night and we were not in fact on a plane. A couple next to me, Wanda and Michael*, made up of a beautiful heavy-set black woman and an older business-suited white man told us what they wanted, and it was reasonable, calm and lovely. Their mildest action would be the two of them just cuddling and watching everyone else enjoy themselves. Their wildest would be her going down on him as others watched.

    Games ended. Sexy music got louder. Encouragement was made, and I took my seat on the sidelines and averted my gaze. I was very conscious that most people did not know I was a writer, and men walked around and I can’t know they looked at me, but as a chick I do know. Not looking at a person is a very good way to avoid the question “Ya wanna fuck?” or “Wanna go make out?” And only my friend Andar from an earlier interview came back to me, knowing I was a writer, and asked if I wanted to go somewhere to “touch/feel/kiss”. Sweet man, and receptive to my “no, sorry, only observing tonight”.

    After that I watched, wandering from room to room to see who was participating in which sexual act. I had asked Monique what people would do if they wanted to fool around more privately. “Well then they wouldn’t be here” She had said. Part of the definition of these get-togethers is exhibitionism. Very soon this was confirmed. In the main area, another racially mixed pair, initially strangers, began to slowly take off each other’s clothing. An older black gentleman in a corner held up the back of his robe as a shield to hide the two white women who were on the other side. Sometimes the women made out, and sometimes one of them sucked his cock. A robe can’t hide everything.  I mention race only because it is important to define just how diverse and accepting this group obviously was.

    The other  couple that had been taking off clothing were massaging each other, the man doing most of the work, the woman moaning. Another man sat up against the wall watching them, and then began to take care of himself.

    I walked to the bathroom, barely being able to navigate the people on the way there. People wandered outside sometimes to have a cigarette, chat, enjoy fresh air. I briefly thought about the downstairs neighbors and what they thought about everything they saw and heard. Next to the bathroom was a dimly lit bedroom in which I noted my acquaintances Wanda and Michael were in the middle of reaching their “wildest” moment and then some, and that made me smile. Three men stood around them, each with their arms folded in front of them and each watching very intently. On my way back to the main room I stopped in the kitchen and had some strawberries. There was fresh fruit, cheeses, and one amazing looking peanut-brittle cheesecake.

    By the time I did get back, the naked couple was well on their way to the inevitable. His back was to me, but he was putting on a rubber. And then they fucked. Simple as that. I was one of maybe fifteen people who were in the room, some watching, some involved in their own situations and levels. It was perfectly natural, almost to the extent it became less erotic because it was so natural. But that is in this writer’s head. I am sure this couple was swimming in something very erotic, mesmerized by their own movements, penetration and of course the knowledge they were being watched.

    The 30-ish woman who resided there and who flitted around in a friendly manner, had taken off all her clothes and was talking to Monique and Peter. A very handsome man took up with a young girl. A young woman who had a rainbow wig on and tight clothing with furry socks was being petted/caressed by three men. She later walked up to the man who had been stroking himself, introduced herself and started kissing him.

    What I have told you all happened before 9:30 since that is when I decided I could leave. Had it been a weekend night I might have stayed ‘til the end. This had been a gathering of peaceful, mostly intellectual, curious and sensual people looking to experience sex with like-minded people, or at least watch people having that kind of fun. The warmth and immediate friendship conveyed was palpable, and respect for all was clear. Monique was sitting next to Peter and when I went to thank her and say good-bye she asked for a kiss, so of course I obliged. This reporter most definitely walked out of there having attained her stated “mild” from the earlier game.


    *Only Monique and Peter Petersen are identified by their real names.

  • More than One. More the fun? (8/10/2016)

    By Mezmerelda

    I’ve been traveling a lot, and I haven’t been able to go to anything kink.  Since I only just got into covering this kind of thing I was surprised how much I felt the itch.  Course traveling and no kink shows meant I was not only missing getting visually stimulated (at least), but I also wasn’t writing which is clearly the opposite of what I am supposed to be doing.  So it was time to get creative on the source of my articles/interviews.  I hung out on various sites to see if I could have a discussion on the maybe less exciting of sexual escapades – the three-some (this time I am tackling two women/one man).  No amount of shyness on this topic since it happens more than you might think.  Not just the rich, good-looking and famous get this kind of love.  Since I got a lot of feed-back I had to have several mini chats to get what I thought might be a more meaningful story.  What I mean by that is that I didn’t want to interview women who decided on a semi-drunken night to delight some guy they decided deserved it.  While that might have its own kind of story, I wanted a little more this time.  Regular debauchery I will have to ease myself into, so it’s a story for later.  Anyway, I came across Dahlia, a girl who had bounced around a few times with the same couple, so I thought her story could be better.

    I waited for her at the college campus bench and looked around, watched summer students, trees bend in the tiny but brave breeze.  I have decided to always be the first one at an interview because it gives the chance of a longer observance of a person’s manners, expression, etcetera, and I guessed correctly when a confident looking girl with long dark hair walked purposefully towards me, a smile on her face.  She was dressed in jeans, flip-flops and a mid-riff revealing shirt, simple but flattering.  She was, from what I could tell with her eyes shaded by glasses, beautiful.  But I guess youth in and of itself is beautiful.

    We got the introductions out of the way and then walked to a nearby tree that provided the shade we wanted.

    Mezmerelda:  What made you want to be the third wheel of a standing couple?

    Dahlia:  Wow.  That doesn’t make it sound like a lot of fun (laughs).  They are a couple of my closest friends.  We went out one night to a club and Ginger asked me if I’d ever slept with another woman.  Which I have.  A few anyway.  Then she asked me if I’d consider fucking her and her husband.  Maybe she was a little more delicate than that, but the deed is what it is no matter how you wrap it.

    Mez:  You said yes.

    Dahlia: Obviously, or we wouldn’t be here talking.

    Mez:  Sorry.  How was it arranged?

    Dahlia:  Was later that same night.  We just left early.  No one was drunk.  By the way, her husband is HOT.  I have a kind of thing for him, always have, even when I was going out with one of his friends.  Or maybe that’s why, can’t really remember.  He is not hot in the obvious looks kind of way, though still cute.  He is just drop dead sexy/sexual/yes of course I want to fuck your husband.

    Mez:  What about your attraction to Ginger?

    Dahlia: Existed sort of, but thinking about it enhanced it.  She did not do it for me for more than this, but that sounds mean, but you can’t help what gets you turned on, you know?  I was into this for the experience, for the chance to have good sex because I never had it.  Or have it.  Sex is not as good as it should be, but I had a very good feeling my friends would know what they were doing and that is hot right there.  And attractive.

    Mez;  I know you’re young, but you seem old enough by now to have had at least some good in and out, or oral or something.

    Dahlia:  Well, you said it.  I’m young which means so are the men I’ve been with and they haven’t had time to figure it out, or they are so possessed with their own getting off they can’t help you out even if they want to.

    Her wisdom was out-tiring mine.

    Mez:  OK, so how was it?

    Dahlia – Pretty fucking intense.  He has a big dick.  They looked at me a lot, looked like they knew they were giving me almost as much of a gift as I was giving them.  I could feel her pleasure as she watched him fuck me and that was also a turn-on.  And when she wasn’t watching me she was licking me elsewhere, all over.  The overwhelming feel of multiple hands and lips on me during the whole thing was shattering, so fucking shattering.  I got more into it.  I looked at Robert as he watched me and fucked me and even though I can’t come with intercourse (yet), I made it seem like I was.  That was the first time, and then the next time we dropped acid and that was more intense, but also more weirdly meaningful.

    Mez:  What does that mean?

    Dahlia:  Please don’t print this…Nevermind….or this wasn’t that long ago, a month I think.  I was still seeing Jason, Robert’s good friend, and I slept over of course.  Well Jason showed up the next morning.  He stops by a lot like that because he gets high with them.    Robert had to make something up while I was in the bathroom hiding, slightly weird.  But I’m getting off track.  That part was funny.  The stupid feelings started to get involved is the problem.

    Mez:  Your feelings for Robert?

    She looked away, not troubled but not happy.  “I care about them.  Ginger too even though I hate her jealousy.  If you fucking ask another chick to fuck your husband you are not allowed to be pissy or jealous.

    Mez – Not sure there’s a rule book on that but I get what you mean.

    Dahlia:  It’s just that I go over their place a lot, mostly just to hang and have some beers, but if Robert looks at me a fraction longer than Ginger wants him to he gets in trouble and I get some kind of cold shoulder from her.

    Mez:  How many times have you danced this dance?

    Dahlia:  Four times now.  The last time he watched me go down on her, which I’d done before but not quite like this.  We dressed for it, laced up, delicate, almost ignoring him.  As if he minded (laughs).  She was lit with it, with me and how much she was liking it.

    Mez – So you enabled a freakishly good orgasm for her?

    Dahlia:  Well, sure, but it doesn’t really matter and then we had to talk about it the next day.

    Mez:  Talk about it?

    Dahlia:  Well, we’re friends so we talk about shit, and obviously Robert, being the guy that he is, had a little ego re-building to do, like “well you know exactly where to put your tongue since that’s your anatomy, etc.”.  He’s right but he got off.  And still I did not.

    “Mez:  You didn’t?  Why?

    Dahlia:  Because I’m good at pretending, of living in a good but maybe half fake moment just to see people I care about get to where they want to go.

    Mez:  So you got them there.

    Dhalia:   Mmm.  They’re there, they like to look at me with and without clothing and we are good friends, now and always.  I think.

    Mez:  Gotta say here Dahlia, you don’t look like a happy sex goddess or anything, despite his ferocious sexuality and come hither dick.

    At this point, Dahlia looked up at me, a weird and daring look in her eyes almost daring me to figure it out, whatever it is I couldn’t.  “We are not strangers, which is something I want to try.  We can’t all fit in their bed so I have the guest room after we’re done with the raunch.  That is not a great feeling at night if you’re buzzed, and it is really crap in the morning when you might be a little hung-over, if it’s light out, when you are not waking next to someone.  Yeah you have breakfast together, and there are light touches, caresses and soft kisses, but the line is there.

    She looked over at me and smiled.  “I sound a little poetic or pathetic I guess.”

    I have pictured her story so far so I don’t think so.  “No.”

    Dahlia:  I think it’s not over, because I know how I feel about him, which makes it sound even worse.  Oh, this poor idiot of a girl went and fell in love with her married fuck buddy, and she should have known that might happen.  What I did not tell you is that I told him I loved him.

    Mez:  Oh.

    Dahlia:  Yeah, oh.  Obviously, she does not know and he won’t tell her.  I would be a liar if I said I have not enjoyed any of this so far, and it is “so far” because I’m not done and can’t be just yet, but I am not sure I would say yes if someone turned back the clock.  I like the sex, the pretty clothes and the two acid nights so far, but I am getting a little tired.  It can be lonely, and even though I am a decent looking chick (understatement), it is not enough in the face of committed friends who you don’t want to hurt.

    Mez:  I guess I can’t disagree with that.  How are you going to exit?

    Dahlia:  Dunno.  I do know that I am going to find some good-looking strangers, and figure it out and learn things and for tits’ sake teach things.  I would like not to be the only one who can get me off.  I think I’d like to be with two men next.  And then maybe seventeen.  And then maybe something real.

    Mez:  Seventeen?

    Dahlia:  Well no, at least not at once.

    She winks and smiles but the wink is not without acknowledged irony.

    I didn’t really know what to think of her, other than I believed everything.  None of it was wild enough for me to think otherwise.  We talked for a while about the rest of college life and for a change I did not get nostalgic.  I knew there was more to cover, but I would get no more from Dahlia.  As I said, next time I’ll stick to the smuttier, less storied fun.  Don’t get me wrong, Dahlia’s story isn’t sad, and she is just at the beginning of her sexual journey, but I remember those days not long ago, and they are not easy ones.


  • Fire, Pain,Wax and Rope (7/14/2016)

    By Mezmerelda

    I finally have been able to attend my first erotica related event, and went with a new friend of mine about whom you may have now heard, Ángelita.  I had briefed her on the distance of the venue, and the content (demonstrations on fire and wax play), and we decided it was a good adventure for us each to seek our respective goals–me, a story, and her, well whatever might come along.

    We wound up in the heart of a rather large town, and neither of us knew the town at all, or even any surrounding town, and after driving around a little to explore the area we were still uncertain as to the sketchiness/non-sketchiness of the area, but we decided we needed to find the address and just do it.  In a quirky section and amid two strange looking churches we found the building we had sought after some degree of confusion and parked.  Half jokingly I asked Ángelita if she had a gun. She said no but then took out a very respectable knife and said she’d been trained in its use.  This prompted nervous laughter, but none-the-less a sense of some kind of security.

    And our fears were for naught.  We went up stairs by candlelight and a sweet chandelier, and at the top were greeted by a few hosts who checked us in, validated we were who we claimed, and that we were on the list.  There was a friendly ambience and a table of snacks, for after all the event was scheduled for a 5 hour span.  Since we were newcomers, a gentleman brought us around for a quick tour of the establishment and a provision of general rules.

    The main room was dimly lit, large and open with several oriental rugs spread about, a corner lounge area, other chairs here and there for sitting or watching,  but the rest of the furnishings were about rope, chains, play mats, and other means be which to apply other stimulations.  David, our tour guide, showed us a few private rooms for those that wished to play without eyes on them.  There was also a “recovery” room furnished with soft couches, pillows and blankets for people to relax after a “scene” should they so need.  I’ll get to that later.  As far as rules: No nudity, no sex, and no talking to those in a scene.  You could only talk to those who were providing demonstrations.  He left us and we walked around, observing.

    My main interest, other than the acquisition of information, was wax play.  I’ve dabbled and wanted to see just a little more, so I was a little disappointed the first show was to be on fire play.  Fire play?  Seriously?  Why would you ruin some perfectly good sex with getting important things burned?  I had told Ángelita as much.  But after witnessing what it really meant I was the first one to raise my hand for a personal demonstration.   I was asked to lean over a bar height bench, my shirt pushed down to allow maximum back coverage, and a woman who was able to keep her hands lit with fire massaged my back.  This is not an easy skill, to keep your hands lit, but she could transfer from one hand to the other as one hand got too hot.  It was an amazing massage, very hot, singing even, but it was not too much.  She had asked me what my safe word was and I said “how about don’t burn my hair” or “ow”.  No such safe words came from me even when she changed from her own hands to the fire stick itself rolling across my back (a stick with cloth soaked at the end that remained lit).  While this also felt good, it can’t beat human hands on fire, skin to skin.  Afterwards, my skin tingled, felt new, relaxed and alive.

    From almost the beginning of our arrival and during my fire application came the sound of a woman crying out in pain.  She was in the open area so we knew it was she in the corner leaning over a leather device specifically for such entertainment.  The garment she wore was leather and thong-like so that the cheeks of her ass were exposed properly to the whipping she was receiving.  I think the duration may have been about 20 minutes in total, and when it was over the gentlemen who had accommodated her (one by her head so as to hear any safe words uttered, and one administering her desired punishment), gently walked her to the recovery area.  This is a fetish I do not yet understand, but it was perhaps the first of three such events during our two hour stay, so it will be part of future interviews and investigation.  The particular device on which she had leaned was next to a heavy chain spider web that spanned about 8′ across and 6′ high.  I could not take a picture and for the life of me could not find a picture on the web anywhere (pun intended).  We did not get to see this piece in practice, but my imagination and yours likely gets the gist.

    In the center of the room was a rope play square where those that practice with rope (the art of Shibari or Kinbaku) were able to suspend themselves or others.  One woman, an extremely talented Shibari artist, knotted herself in several places and, upside down, performed beautiful twists and turns to rhythmic, pretty music.  It was enchanting.  We later learned she was an expert, and saw her assisting another with self tying.

    This brings me to the highlight of the evening, which was when a gentleman approached us as we sat watching the wax demonstration.  He introduced himself as Gabriel, a rope “Top” (the roll of tying up an individual) and asked if one of us would like to be the “Bottom” (recipient).  As it happens, Ángelita is a fan of this art and volunteered.  We had already been sitting next to the mat where he would be practicing, until this point empty.

    What I witnessed for the next 20 minutes was hypnotizing, not only because Gabriel was good at what he did, but because Ángelita was transfixed, overtaken, enraptured.  He told her to get on her knees and face any direction she chose, and she chose something halfway between the wall and me.  From the moment he knelt behind her and readied her for the experience, she let out gasps of anticipation, desire.  Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, and then forward depending on where Gabriel positioned himself.  Initially ropes went round her waist, and then began placement of strategic ropes that crossed above and below her breasts, with the knots having to be tied at points on those very tight lines. The art of Shibari is more about emotion and the connection between the top and bottom, and here there was clearly a connection, that from my 4 foot distance felt electric.  Due to the nature of rope tying, Gabriel had to be intimately close to Ángelita, had to tie knots between her breasts and then pull snugly, each time doing so eliciting sighs or moans of pleasure from her. A few times he had to pull her close to command a tighter hold with the ropes, and it was clear that as he did so he whispered things to her, guiding her, getting to know her.  From where I sat I could swear she was close to orgasm from the sheer expression on her face and the sounds she made, and at one point she opened her eyes and looked at me.  I just blinked and smiled slightly, since this experience was having its own effect on me.  Nearing the end Gabriel must have said something to her that taunted her about being somewhat helpless since she was tied up because she said “Yeah, but I can still kick your ass”.  This got her, to her increased pleasure, placed on her stomach, her ankles tied together, and then that rope hooked to the rope that already crossed her back, so that her body was now arced, truly rendering her defenseless, and utterly enthralled.

    After a few minutes in that somehow joyful helplessness, he gently  untied her, and Ángelita arose a little unsteady–and hungry, maybe voracious for something more that could finish what had been started within her.

    Gabriel asked me if I wanted a turn.  I did.  But we had a long drive home, things to talk about, time to unwind.

    As we started out on our long ride home I realized I was missing an answer.  “Was that the first time you’ve been bound?” I asked her.

    “It’s the first time I have been bound by a stranger”.  She paused.  “And I am so glad I said yes to that experience.”  A deep sigh, smiles on either side of the front seat.  Hungry indeed.




  • M’s Notes – I (6/26/2016)

    By Mezmerelda

    Since my interview with the lovely Ángelita (see  previous post), I have learned a darker side of skirt parties.  I had been talking to “Madison” in Seattle, WA, about an upcoming event.  These events, by nature of the fact they are conducted in secret to protect the identity of the female attending, are sometimes fraught with concerns we wish did not exist.  While the occasional boyfriend or husband might encourage his partner to attend something like this, far more likely is the opposite reaction—jealousy, indignation, anger—so there is a real need to protect the woman’s identity for her safety, the continuation of Madison’s get-togethers, and obviously any other ramifications that can occur when something is made public.

    I was scheduled to fly out a few weeks ago and meet Madison, but as the time drew near I became concerned.  My emails were not getting returned.  The last time that happened I was left stranded in a restaurant drinking several margaritas and left the place with 1) staff feeling sorry for me since they assumed a date stood me up, 2) a half tank of gas missing, and 3) no interview.   It had been a prospective meeting with a different woman who was hoping to attend an event.  Only Ángelita had been brave enough to meet me! Missing emails become very loud in their own way, particularly when Madison and I had developed a regular and friendly rapport.  So I reached out again, and then simply realized it was a lost cause and sent a good-bye/good luck type of note.

    She did respond to my last note, but not with a message I would ever have hoped to read.  Ever since I had started asking her about her business and the potential for my attendance she had been receiving death threats, and one of her clients had been hospitalized.   That this was more than a horrible coincidence is extremely unlikely, but I understand her getting spooked.  I do not want to temper with anyone’s safety or perceived safety, so I will give it another go in another part of the country.  I hope Madison and her client continue as before, enjoy their next event and many more, and I also hope some of this research gets less clandestine and a little more welcoming.   Anyway, onward.


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