Gentle, insistent pressure roused Jessica from sleep, and breath warmed her ear before someone’s lips closed around the lobe. A hand eased between her bare thighs; she spread them without thought. She sucked in a breath as the caress of kisses fell to her cheek and an unseen tongue painted a molten path to the corner of her mouth. Jessica turned towards the sensation and parted her lips, even as the fingers between her legs parted those. Smooth skin slid over her as one of her lovers pressed in close. She didn’t know which one, and didn’t care. A feminine murmur made its way through the fog. “Jess. Put on your strap-on.” She had several, but she knew instinctively which one was meant: the double-ended toy in the nightstand drawer. Jessica fumbled to obey. It was Sanneke on top of her: her Belgian wife, over ten years’ Jessica’s senior. Sanneke was the only woman in the household who could get away with such a demanding seduction, with ordering rather than begging. It was San’s confidence and fire that made her so attractive, and gave Jessica such sadistic joy in putting her back in her place. Sanneke pressed something into the…

The following piece was written as a paid commission by a wonderful fan who has requested to stay anonymous. They loved the final result, and I hope you do, too! Sin seems to be in style lately. Statues of the saints loomed in the darkness like silent watchmen as Saraqael drifted between them. Their pious expressions were upturned towards the Heavens, or bowed in humble respect. Had they been able to truly lay eyes on the angel that walked the aisles, whose sunlight aura illuminated the mute martyrs, they would have fallen to their knees in terrified awe. She paused betwixt Saint Sebastian, who cured the plague, and Saint Dymphna, patron of the fearful. Tilting her head, she could see the sanctuary in the gloom beyond. The altar was a large and intricate thing made of wood and marble; the soft radiance of its blessing was visible in her sight. Now and then it flickered and dimmed; this was a troubled church. The source of that trouble, she had no doubt, was the figure standing behind the altar. Just as the sacred stone glowed with holy light, the being behind it bathed in profane darkness. Above and behind it, surrounded…

I made it as far as the nearest bathroom that night, before I stopped and rubbed myself to a quick, shuddering climax in an empty stall. The drive home was a blur, and I came twice more on my couch, my head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth open, re-living how he’d thrusted deep into the back of my throat and the crude words he’d whispered. I fell asleep in a cum-and-contentment coma that lasted until nearly eight o’clock the next morning. That was Saturday. By Sunday morning the high had worn off, and by Sunday evening my elation had fallen into worry that bordered on despair. The encounter still played through my thoughts, but now shame hung heavy over the recollection. I’d let a complete stranger just… fuck my mouth like he owned me. Cumslut. Cocksleeve. In the moment, the names had fanned the fantasy with delicious heat. Now they hit me like poisoned darts. I felt dirty. What if he’d had an STD? What if I saw him again? What if someone had seen, and I lost my job? My stomach was in knots that night, as I faced going back to work Monday morning. Self-love vied with self-loathing….

It wasn’t unusual for Madison and him to share the bed.   His marriage to Amelia had ended in a bitter, messy feud fueled by screaming, slammed doors, and insults hurled alongside coffee cups and picture frames.  The court had sided with James and awarded him both full custody and a restraining order, citing Amelia’s history of verbal abuse and physical aggression.  Madison had only been nine at the time, and she’d had nightmares for nearly a year afterwards. Night after night she’d wake up crying. Sometimes she’d wander into her father’s room and crawl into bed to sob herself to sleep against his chest.  Sometimes he’d go to her room and sooth her back to sleep with a litany of shh shh, Daddy’s here, it’s okay and hummed lullabies that faded when he dozed off, too. Life as a single father hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared.  Maddie was a bright girl, mature for her age, and — thank God — well-behaved.  Emotional counseling had helped both of them adjust to new routines and new reality, and eventually her nightmares became less frequent and less traumatic.  The older Madison got, the less often she needed the comfort, but…

He’d asked about Little Red Riding Hood. It was the myth that inevitably came up when she mentioned her specialty. She rattled off the interpretations: obeying one’s parents; the dangers of the primeval forest; the wolf as stand-in for the sexual dangers that faced an adolescent girl. James laughed. She was three drinks in; he ordered her a fourth. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who was intelligent and interested, and who didn’t meet phrases like ‘ethnographic fieldwork’ with a blank, brainless stare. From there it went to werewolves and Twilight, and how the ‘animal’ had become ‘erotic’. Her fifth drink. Her sixth. James stood in close; he smiled, laughed, and watched her with bright, interested eyes. They were so deep in their conversation, so apart from the bar around them, that they both blinked in surprise when the bartender announced last call. He drained the last of his Jack and coke. When he leaned in and lowered his voice, she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Have you ever done it?” he asked. “Done what?” “A dog. A wolf.” She had stared at him, stunned into silence even though the fuzzy pleasure of her…