Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday Special: Street Magic Excerpt

Another treat of a sort, I hope. This is an excerpt from my upcoming fantasy erotic romance novella. I'll stay out of your way from there.



I kissed him. His lips were so soft and pink. Even with his eyes puffed and red, he was lovely. I could feel his body, a solid weight leaning into me, and his chill skin. I touched my hat again and called over a blanket to wrap over him, then broke out of the kiss, panting and lightheaded. "I'm sorry."

After a pause, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled it forward, crushing us together. His tongue, hot and strong, felt its way around my mouth. He leaned harder against me, pushing us into the couch. Now, I could feel his full weight against my body. The bars piercing his nipples were even colder than the rest of him. They pressed into me, hard, frigid.

We slid down, deeper into the blankets, the warmth. He shivered as I traced his spine, down to the waistband of his jeans. He arched up and, without any intention on my part, my hand slipped into his pants, sliding along the smooth fabric of his underwear.

I yanked away and pulled my hand up against my chest. "I didn't mean to."

"Please don’t stop." He brought my hand back down to cup his ass, tightened my fingers so I squeezed the firm muscles. “I just… distract me.”

How could I say no to him? I was the whole reason he needed distracting. And my dick was happy to oblige. I sucked in my lower lip, trying to control my reactions with him lying on top of me, but I could feel the tingling growth in the gray wool pants, and I couldn't pull away far enough to hide it from him.

His rough fingers slipped open my buttons, making quick work. In the heat of the embrace, the Magisters could have come and killed me. I wouldn’t have cared. Not pressed up to Nick's warm, pale brown chest, his hands undoing my shirt, wrapped under a blanket, the pungent smell of the A and D twining around us. Let them come.

I fumbled a hand out to snuff the lights, leaving him blind and me with only the light of the runes.

He pulled my shirt off and pressed his lips against mine again, let the soft fullness warm my mouth. He moved down, pressing his lips to my throat, my Adam's apple, the center of my chest. He stopped, sucking a nipple into his mouth. I shuddered as his tongue danced over the hardening, sensitive nub, as his teeth glided across it. My back arched up, shoulders tightening. My other hand reached around, squeezing down on his other cheek, pushing his crotch against mine. His skinny jeans hid no excitement, a hard rod running partway down his thigh.

He sat up, the blanket slipping off his back, and unbuttoned his pants, then yanked down on the zipper. I moved my hands away from his ass while he jerked his pants off, exposing bulging, electric green briefs. Damn. Talk about self-control. I almost started rubbing myself as I unbuttoned my slacks, slid my boxers down. I pushed myself up to get clearance, rubbing my calves against the hot, lightly haired insides of his thighs. That didn’t help matters, either. My dick stood straight up, foreskin pulled back to show off the head. Precome glistened in the subtle light of my runes.

Nick had finally loosed himself. A lightning jolt thrill of excitement coursed through my whole body, skittered across my skin when I saw his foreskin. I didn't often get to sleep with uncut guys—a dying trend in America—and I much preferred the smooth, supple look. The skin covered his head, leaving just the very front of the tip to peek out. And a piercing. A tiny bar, capped off with two silver balls, running through the underside of his dick, just behind the head. I could only just see it under the hood of skin.

His balls held tight to his body. Shaved smooth and out of the way. His bush, coarse black curls, had been groomed into a perfect triangle, the bottom point at the base of his cock.

I leaned up and grabbed the blanket, threw it over the two of us. Now we were alone, cut off from the rest of reality again.. I groped in the near total darkness, first against his hard stomach, then down into his bush, then finally to the cock. I flicked the tiny silver balls and he buckled down on top of me, letting out a quavering moan.

I moved my mouth over there, smelling the sweaty musk, the way it mixed with the A and D into a strong, pure smell. I could almost feel it lock into my mind. His smell. The smell of sex.

I eased the foreskin back until it wouldn't move anymore, then moved closer to it, kissed him on the head. Then again. Then again. Each time, I let my mouth open wider, let him slide into me until I had his head—piercing and all—in my mouth, resting against my tongue.

Heat built up under the blanket. I could feel sweat in my hair, now, dripping down my back and between my cheeks, sending another spark of excitement through me, straight to my dick.

I wiggled my tongue against the hard metal piercing as I sucked on his head. Another moan, this one shaking Nick's whole body as it forced its way out of his mouth. It bent him down again, resting his head against my shoulder. His hair flopped down, tickling my nipple. "Fuck," he whispered, the hot, humid breath of it cascading over my back.

I took in a little more, a few more inches, still leaving most of his cock exposed to the open air. His foreskin slid back into place. I moved it with my tongue, went at the piercing through the sheath of skin. One of my hands moved up and wrapped around my cock, rubbing precum all over the head, moving it inside the foreskin, turning every nerve in there all the way up to the max. I felt it all the way up into my middle, a heat, part apprehension, part bliss.

I took in all the rest that I could. It still left more than an inch of taut skin showing at the base of his cock. His head rubbed against the back of my throat. I shifted a bit, opened my jaw a bit wider, and pushed forward, let the head slide down my throat. The heat moved farther up, almost in my chest. It tingled in my toes and fingertips, too.

He tasted slightly of soap. Of soap and the sweat that poured from both of our bodies, filled the air with that raw smell. Every breath tasted of salt, though that might have just been lingering from his cock.

I stroked myself faster, foreskin gliding over the precome-slicked head. I moved in counterpoint to my bobbing. I took his dick, my hand went up to the top of my head. When I came up off his shaft, my hand hit the bottom. We moved in unison, all to Nick's steady, whispered counterpoint. "Fuck. Shit. Yes."

I sucked long and hard as I came off the final time, the head coming free with an audible pop. I still stroked myself, more slowly. I kissed him on the lips, let my tongue touch his, let myself feel the soft skin on the inside of his cheeks. His hair hung in my face, brushed against my nose, dripped sweat down my cheeks, my chest.

I pulled back and looked at him where I figured his eyes must have been. "Do you want to do more?"

"Hell yes." He breathed, then kissed me again. He only landed half on my lips, but shifted over as he went, as his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. When he released me, we both panted. The heat had hit my chest, now, into my heart, out into my forearms. A tiny ball of it had formed right between my shoulder blades. My body felt lighter, as though it could have just floated off if I hadn't had Nick to bind me down.

I groped in the darkness for my hat, then flipped it over so I could see the symbols better and touched the summoning rune. It took a little bit, but in a few seconds the blanket fluttered up, flashing our darkness with light, and a bottle of lube and a condom flew in, landed right in my hand. I fumbled with the condom, tearing it open on the third try, then stopped. "Top or bottom?"

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Sol and Lun


At the top of the hill, Sol waited, his body bathed in bright white light. He stared up at the sky, fixed his gaze on the pale orb of the moon set into the blue. For once, together, night and day.

A gentle, familiar rustle in the grass drew Sol’s attention behind him. A ghostly, silver form walked up the hill, brightening with each step closer. “I had assumed you wouldn’t make it.” A voice like a soft breeze blowing through the dimness of evening. “I’m glad you did.”

Sol didn’t respond, just bridged the space between them. He wrapped brilliant arms around Lun’s hard body, lost sight of him in the reflected brightness. He wrapped warm lips over the cool, traced shallow, circular scars that covered his silver form. His cock grew hard just being this close to Lun, and he pressed his hips closer, ground himself against Lun. Only here on this hill, and only when the full moon hung in the morning sky. Otherwise, they remained bound only to look at each other.

Sol did look. He stared longingly for years before he could finally bring himself to step out of the light, touch Lun’s pale perfection. And since, they waited for the moment their bonds would loosen again. Moments like this.

Sol bent down, wrapped his lips around the shaft of silvery flesh. It was hard and cool against his cheeks, on his tongue. Lun shuddered as Sol sucked, slid slowly up and down. Cold hands wove through the golden fire of Sol’s hair, knotted it, day around night. It only urged Sol on, made him want it that much more. He took the cock deeper, all the way to the back of his throat. It slid easily, like cool water. The only thing that could ever chill Sol’s flames.

He let himself slide off and looked up into solid black eyes. “How long?” Only Lun’s time was so limited. Eventually, the moon would disappear, and the sun would remain there in the sky for hours and hours.

“Not enough.” He unwound his fingers, stroked a smooth hand down Sol’s cheek. “But time for this.” He lowered himself to his knees. The grass came up around them as they lay, lips against lips, fire and ice, stone and light mingling together. No matter how much he tried, Sol could never capture the sensation, the feel of that icy body, the press of solid silver, the hardness of Lun’s cock riding against his thigh. Yet he relished it all the same, longed for it. Love, he couldn’t say, but the passion between them flared too bright when they were together. So bright the hilltop glowed, just as it did that day, as they lay together.

Lun wrapped long, stiff fingers around Sol’s shaft and stroked, pounded his fist from base to tip and back again. “I wish we had more time.”

“So do I.” Always more time, always the same wish. And always unanswered.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday Special: Midwinter

It's very warm where I am, and I'm feeling quite the longing for snow and ice. I know I can't be alone.

Now, normally I keep my Tiny Tales under 500 words, but this week is something special. I wrote a story called Midwinter for last year's Circlet Press Advent Calendar. Trouble is, it was only up that one day.

So, here and now, I'm letting it out for the world to see. I hope you enjoy it.


The screech of metal against stone filled the dark, wooded halls of the Oak King's palace. He stood at the grinding wheel, foot pumping, honing his blade. After so many thousands of years, the twining knots on the center were almost nonexistent, but if he held it just right, the moonlight would catch them, revealing the sword's former glory.

He told himself that lie every Midwinter. He knew the designs would come back, brilliant as ever. But not now.
Now, his power was weakened. No amount of polishing or grinding would change that. But, just as it was his place to greet the sun at Midsummer, so too was it his place to fight this fight on Midwinter, no matter how unfit his blade.

A few final passes over the sword. It would get no better. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. The last remnants of his power lived there. While everything else had turned to gray death and slumber around him, the ceiling of his palace remained green, full of wave-edged leaves, fluttering in the too cold wind.

"My apologies." He held out his hand and watched the leaves wither and fall. Their light flowed into him. Their warmth filled him. And, for those few moments, he could once more make out clearly the tooled patterns filling the flat of his claymore. But it faded, as it always did. His rejuvenation felt empty, not enough for his tastes.

But after the battle, he would see the Holly King again. And that alone gave him the will to slip into the useless, brittle oak armor.

***

It was nearly Midwinter. Minutes away. And still, the Oak King stood alone at the top of the mound. What would happen if he stayed alone, if they never met? What would become of the wheel of seasons, then?

But he wouldn't find out. Not this Midwinter. The Holly King's light preceded him up the hill, casting long, spidery shadows from the lifeless trees. The Oak King gripped his sword in both hands and waited, tried to ignore the stirring anticipation in his midsection.

Glowing, rapier held to the side, the sight of the Holly King caught the Oak King's breath in his chest. Pale skin like fresh snow. Long, languid limbs that seemed never to end. The pale, peachy armor of holly wood, carved with the same knots as the Oak King's sword. But these knots cut deep, visible even from across the hilltop.

The Holly King stopped a few feet away. "Evening." Streaks of bright red from the holly berries slashed uneven across his cheeks, matching the bright color of his eyes. Empowered. "You came, then."

"I must." The Oak King looked up at the moon. "It's nearly time."

"I know." The Holly King took another step closer, his sword held off to the side. "Must we fight?"

"It's for the humans." How often had the Oak King asked himself the same question over the centuries? "They expect to see the battle."

"No one pays attention, anymore. We've clung to this meaningless ritual too long."

"It's not meaningless." More lies. They both knew the Holly King was right. The battle meant nothing, it only served to keep the respect of the people. What mattered came after, when the crowds cleared.

But there were no crowds anymore.

Another glance to the moon. The Oak King backed up. His claymore felt so heavy, tonight. Perhaps he could just abandon this. But pride wouldn't let him. Not that night. "We don't have anymore time for discussion. Midwinter is here."

The Holly King sighed and spun his own sword around. "Very well." He rushed ahead and thrust. The Oak King spun aside and sliced out with his sword but the holly armor deflected the blow. It shouldn't have, should have shattered under the weight of the claymore. But not on Midwinter.

Metal clanged against metal, filling the night air. Every movement of the Holly King shifted the light and shadows across the hilltop. Sweat already built on the Oak King's forehead, ran down under his armor, slicked the grip of his sword.

He swung again, throwing his body into the movement. And the claymore slid out of his hands, skating across the hilltop and well out of reach.

The Holly King pressed the tip of his rapier against the Oak King's throat. "You give in." It wasn't a question.

The Oak King nodded. "I always do."

Slowly, the rapier lowered. The Oak King stared into the bright, vibrant eyes of the Holly King. Stunningly red. Looking at him felt warm, like taking the last power from his oaken palace had. A ball of light and heat expanding in his chest.

The Holly King's long, pale fingers brushed down the Oak King's cheek. "I've missed you." Down his hand went, untied the breastplate, the pauldrons, the faulds. Soon, the Oak King stood in the night air, nothing but his leggings and tabard between him and the cold.

But he stripped those off, too, let Midwinter embrace him. And the Holly King joined him. They lay together, bare on the hard dirt and stone. The Holly King's light washed over him. Their lips met, locked together. Cold against the Oak King's mouth. Each touch felt like the lightest drop of a snowflake against his skin, only a whisper of chill.

Long fingers walked down the Oak King's body, wrapped into a fist around his shaft. Up and down. Soon, the cold dissipated into hot, silken skin. Up and down, hardening the Oak King's shaft, lengthening it. Up and down.

The Oak King scooted lower, down until the Holly King's curving cock sat even with his lips. He slid the length into his mouth, down to the back of his throat, tongue swirling and spiraling over the soft flesh. The Holly King shivered and groaned, tangling his fingers in the Oak King's coarse, dark mane of hair. The shaft tasted of icy winds, mingled with the earthiness of winter nuts and pine. His white-blonde bush smelled of spicy leaf rot and smoke. All signs of his grandeur, all synonymous with winter.

All perfection, to the Oak King.

The Holly King pulled himself from the Oak King's lips. Those long, thin fingers moved under the Oak King's thighs, lifted him up, exposing his bare opening to the chill night. Soon, now. Soon, Midwinter would take hold, and the Holly King would rule.

Two fingers pressed against the Oak King's hole. He relaxed, letting them slide in. The Holly King spit on them as he worked in and out, loosening the muscles. "I'll try to be gentle."

"I know." He said that line every year. But their battle was not gentle. The change of seasons was not gentle. Thus could their love never be gentle. The snow and the sun must always clash.

The Holly King slipped his fingers out and hoisted the Oak King's legs and ass higher still. His hard shaft pressed against the Oak King. Harder. Harder. In. Quavering waves warped through the Oak King's body, all from that point. His back arched off the ground. He always felt that bite of pain, no matter the Holly King's intentions.

But slowly, it subsided. He fell into the fullness of the shaft inside of him, the gentle ebb and flow as the Holly King's speed built. Coarse hair pressed into the Oak King's ass, then pulled away, taking that glorious, powerful fullness with it. Then back again. Ever faster until finally, skin slapped skin. Each thrust of the Holly King's hips rocked through the Oak King's body, digging a rut into the earth beneath him. This, he longed for every year. Not the weakness. Not the fight. Not the submission. But the closeness. The fullness. Even through Midsummer, when the roles switched, he would think of the pressure moving inside him. He would ache for it, grow hard at the mere thought of the Holly King within him.

The hardness grazed across a spot inside the Oak King. He gasped as new waves of ecstasy warmed him, cooled him, toyed with him. The tip of his cock glistened with wetness, strands of it falling to his belly. Crystalline tethers in the light of the Holly King.

Fingers tightened, pressing into the Oak King's thighs. The Holly King's words stuttered out past quavering lips. "It's nearly finished."

The Oak King resisted the urge to rail against it. Not to preserve his tenuous hold on the seasons. To prolong their coupling, even for a few minutes more.

The Holly King's body tensed. His light intensified. A choked moan rattled out of his mouth. His nails dug deep into the Oak King's legs, scratched down as his grip slid free.

A piercing cold shot through the Oak King's body. A chill of sheer ecstasy. The Holly King's essence filled him. One shot. Two shots. Three. Four. Each time, the chill pushed deeper. The domination of winter over summer, the thriving holly over the slumbering oak. The cold seeped from the Oak King's body, glowing down into the earth. Winter taking hold. The Holly King's palace would bloom from the power, dark green leaves and brilliant red berries, bright snow scattered over it all. Breathtaking. But the Oak King would get only one night there before returning to his own halls of dormant, dark gray oak.

The Holly King pulled out and wiped himself clean on the back of his hand. He smiled as he helped the Oak King to his feet. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." One he would not know again until next Midwinter. The Holly King's seed dripped free, a tiny, jagged-leaved sapling sprouting from the ground where it fell. "I would like very much to visit your palace, now."

The Holly King nodded, kissing the Oak King hard on the lips. "Of course." He picked up his tunic and slid back into it. "My bed is welcome to you, Lord of Midsummer. Whenever you wish to visit."

But it wasn't. The magic prevented that. He only had Midwinter's Day. But the Oak King was no fool. He would make the most of those short hours. He would feel the power of the Holly King again.

And soon.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Elf/Wild

The backroom of Elf/Wild thrums with the beat of drums from the club proper. The rhythm plays to my own heartbeat, washes over my naked body like warm water. I can't see past the shadow spell cast across my eyes. But there, just barely audible over everything else, Natir's footsteps.

I finally approached him that night, and I finally had enough money to afford time alone with him. The most sought after consort in all of New London. Lovely to look at, but most elves are.

His footsteps stop. My breath hitches. Something delicate and soft caresses my chest, circles my nipple.

Natir's voice runs silken over my skin, breath warm and scented with sweet wine. "You can't see?"

"No."

A snap meets my ears. "Can you speak?"

I try and the words ricochet back at me, unspoken. I can't even move my lips.

"Good. All you have to do is think. If things go too far for you, the magic will break."

And the nothing more. .Only footsteps and rums and my heart. Clanging metal, wood against stone. Maybe just making noise. I can't tell, and the nervousness builds in my core, tingles under my skin. I wait, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. The noise stops, leaving me alone. So alone, and simply waiting for the touch of a flog or a paddle or even a hand.

Something dances delicate across my chest. I tighten at the touch. It almost tickles, but not quite. Natir's voice fills the room. "Try to relax."

And it begins. First a warmth on my chest, but that builds and builds until it snaps. A sharp jolt of pain, electricity. Just a split second, but enough that I squirm. Natir's magic holds me strong, and another jolt comes, lower this time. They run in a line down my stomach, down into my bush, and then into my cock. I yelp against the magical gag and no sound comes out. It still leans toward pleasure, only brought into stronger focus by the jabs of pain.

Now down to my balls. Not a jolt, this time, and not as painful. But constant, a tingling surrounding by balls, flowing back to my taint. If not for the magic holding me in place, I would back away. But still, I have no desire for it to stop.

When it stops, the room seems so large around me, the music so distant. I relish in the hard beating of my heart. Another snap and the gag vanishes. The blindfold as well. I take in Natir's slender face in the dark. Gold and silver tattoos snake across his bare chest and abdomen. Bright scarlet hair flows free across his shoulders.

Natir smiles. "Did you enjoy that?"

"Yes."

"Good. You paid for the night. And I find you fascinating. I intend to make this last as long as possible. Do you approve?"

"Absolutely."


"Good." Another snap and no more sight, no more speech. Just Natir and his touch and the drums of Elf/Wild.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Stoned

Cyrus passed me bong and the lighter. Red rimmed his hazel eyes, and bright pink lips spread over too-perfect teeth. He just looked at me and laughed. "I'm here with you."

"Absolutely." Everyone else had left a half an hour ago. I was going to, but that went out the window real quick. I locked my lips to the mouthpiece, held the lighter to the bowl, and sucked up on the smoke, filling the chamber. When I pulled up the bowl, all the smoke flowed up and into my lungs. It tasted of dry grass and old paper.

When I passed everything back to Cyrus, he put out the cherry and set the bong up on the coffee table. "I'm glad you stayed."

I nodded, but couldn't hold the smoke in my lungs anymore, let it flow over my lips as I spoke. "I'm having a good time." I'd already smoked more than enough t feel the effects. My shirt felt so heavy on my skin. Just wearing it made me tingle all over. Pants and boxers too, although that tingling could have been from Cyrus just as easily.

He leaned back, showing off the tufts of pale brown under his arms, stretching his skin taut over his ribcage. "It's been a long time since just the two of us smoked a bowl together."

"Not since high school, yeah."

"Graduation day. We had a couple hours before everyone else showed up." He rolled onto his side and grinned at me, eyes alight. "You still have that crush on me?"

"What crush?" The blush in my cheeks didn't play along with the ruse. They burned and surely shone bright red. More tingling downstairs, too.

"You weren't exactly subtle." Cy sat back up and grabbed my hand. "It's flattering. I'm not one of those jack-offs who's going to freak out about it."

"I know. But still. You're straight. It wasn't really right for me to say anything about it." Even though I'd always wanted to. "And it's still not."

"So you still have a crush on me, then?" He leaned over suddenly and kissed my cheek. An innocent thing, but it chilled me, pushed a cold thrill through my veins. He winked at me when he'd pulled back. "And I'd call myself straight-ish, not straight?"

"What?" He was fucking with me, and it was mean. "Cut the crap, Cy."

"Not crap. I've fooled around with guys before. Just… never stoned."

"Which guys?" I could hardly speak. Way too much of my focus went to keeping my dick under control. "Come on, you've never shown any interest."

"I'm subtle. So what?"

"You're not subtle." He inched closer and closer to me, and my voice quieted the nearer he came. "You're probably just high and horny."

He reached over, put his hand on my thigh. Anyone else would have gotten slapped for that. "What if I am? You've got a boner, Jacky."

"Come on. Just calm down." But in my mind, I urged him on, begged for more. "You're acting crazy."

No more words. He leaned in again, pressed his bare chest against me, sucked in my lower lip. I only resisted a moment before melting into him, leaning back and feeling his slight weight against my body. His tongue tangled with mine, and I could taste the smoke on his breath. With so much contact, my skin felt like a sea of sparks. Every contact an explosion, almost an orgasm in itself.

He pulled back and winked again, smiling so wide it filled his face. "We don't have to, if you don't want to. But… I want to."


"Maybe just a little." Or a lot. A hell of a lot. All night.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Wager

I could hardly keep my stomach steady. We weren't doing much, just sitting in a booth, waiting for the little blonde waitress to bring us our appetizers. But Danny had his hand in my pocket. And there was a hole in my pocket. And I wasn't wearing underwear.

All Danny's idea, too.

His fingers brushed across my balls, raising the heat in my cheeks. I had to resist the urge to cross my legs. All it would have done is trap his hand down there.

"Come on," I whispered. "At least until the waitress comes?"

He shook his head and smiled. The silvery ring in his lip glinted under the fluorescents. "You lost the bet, and you said I could have my way with you."

I had said it… "I'm pretty sure this is illegal."

"Just relax, babe. I promise not to get us caught or anything." He walked his fingers higher, rubbed them over the tip of my dick. I bit back a gasp and tried to cover it with a cough. The old lady in the booth next to us looked over, but didn't say anything. She didn't know, did she?

The waitress came back with a tray and set our plates down in front of us. "There you go, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can get you?"

Danny glanced over at me, a gleam in his eye that I wished I didn't know so well. He wrapped his fingers around my shaft, but nothing more. Just looked up at the waitress. "I'm good." Back to me, smiling wide. "Babe?"

He had something in mind and I knew it. Sure enough, as soon as I opened my mouth, his grip tightened and he slid his fist up and down, pumping me harder. The words caught in my throat and I'd been staring at the waitress way too long. I jut shook my head and looked down to try and hide the red I'm sure filled my face.

As much as I complained, I'd never been this turned on. Not that Danny and I ever had a bad time in the bedroom, but this was new. And my resistance only made my blood rush that much faster, boil and bubble that much hotter.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Still grinning way too wide still stroking up and down my dick, he bit into an onion ring, held the other half up to my lips. "Your favorite."

I snapped it up, and of course that's when he picked up the pace, shooting lightning through my dick, filled my balls with the tingling power. Way familiar, way not the right time for this.

"I think you might want to stop, now." I tried to tell him with my eyes. "Otherwise something's going to happen."

He leaned in close, rested his head on my shoulder. But still stroking. "I don't think I understand. Why don't you tell me?" His breath caressed my neck, hot and humid. Not helping matters. "I want to hear you say it, and then I'll consider stopping. Agreed?"

I nodded. "You better do more than consider stopping." I locked eyes with him and whispered as softly as I could. "You're going to make me come."

He kept up his assault for another second, then finally released me, slipped his hand out from under the table. "You win for now. I'll let you calm down." He winked and snatched up another onion ring, slipped it between my lips. "But once we're in the car, the safety's off."

I snapped up the onion ring and smiled back. "I guess that's all right." Now that he'd let me go, I burned for his touch again. Even if the old lady over there decided she wanted to watch.


"I should lose bets to you more often."

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Circus Daze



The salt and butter of popcorn filled the air. Raucous cheers filled the lot. And there in the middle, anchoring the chaos, there stood the tent. A gaudy affair of gold and scarlet sweeping into the sky.

Damian walked the dirt path, focused on the tent. He weaved through the crowd, jostled past when they blocked him. All roads in the circus led there, straight to the tent, and no amount of fair food or rigged games of skill would distract him.

Around the tent, the crowd thinned, the show still an hour from starting. But Damian hardly cared about seeing the show again. He'd been yesterday. How much would change?

A burly woman put a hand on his shoulder as he approached the entrance. "Sorry. They're still setting up."

"Nikolai sent me." He showed her the black padded glove he'd gotten.

After a moment, the woman nodded. "Head back then. But don't tire him out too much."

Damian rushed past her before shame heated his cheeks. In the dark of the tent, he hoped it wasn't noticeable. Workers strung up the trapeze, hung bunting around the bleachers. It looked almost like it had the day before. Just a little more disheveled.

"Damian." A thick, liquid voice drew his attention around. He looked over his shoulder and saw the broad, bare chest, the slim waist, the bulge of a package hardly concealed by tight, striped shorts. Nikolai came up and grabbed his hand, dragged him away. "We don't have long."

They wove through other performers, clowns and jugglers and highwire walkers, and darted behind a stack of boxes. Nikolai smiled at him, brilliantly white teeth. "Ready?"

"How often do you do this?"

"As much as I can." He dropped his shorts, unleashing his semi-hard cock. "So I've got lots of practice."

Damian only hesitated a second before stripping off his shirt and pants, standing naked in front of the Cyr wheel artist. Nikolai went straight to work, kneeling, his lips tight around Damian's shaft. He wrapped a hand around his own dick and pumped, matching the rhythm of his mouth to his hand.

So much heat. Damian's knees threatened to buckle after just a few minutes. He felt light-headed, and not just because of the frenzy of the circus. The wet heat around his cock, the slight grunting from Nikolai, the slap of skin on skin as he pumped faster on his own shaft. Sweat beaded on Damian's forehead, dripped down his nose.

The pressure built and built until, finally, it surged out of Damian's cock. He leaned his back against the boxes to keep from falling. One hit, two, three, four, five before his ecstasy abated.

Nikolai rose and nodded, still hard as steel. "It'll be better next time."

"Next time?"

He slipped the shorts back on. Now they really didn't hide anything. "Tonight, after the show." He slapped a hard palm against Damian's bare ass cheek. "Don't disappoint me."

"Don't disappoint me."


Nikolai smiled again. "Doubtful."