The first part of Simone that Ray saw were her toes.  He looked over from his digging to the edge of the pit, and there they were—brown, perfectly formed, and decorated with purple nail polish—in flip-flops.  Not cheap Walmart flip-flops but nice leather ones from a high-end department store. Ray looked up.  The sun was directly over her head, so he only saw a shapely silhouette in a summer dress, large sunglasses, and a...

David was barely aware of the conversation happening around him, their voices sounding distant and muffled as though heard underwater. He could hardly think anyway. It was like he could feel the blood draining from his head and flowing into his cock. All his worries and thoughts melted away, replaced by a fluffy cloud of hot, lustful energy.     Tiffany's body felt amazing against his. Relative to the oppressive, humid he...

The next afternoon the sun was, once more, high and hot, its light glittering on the surface of the Atlantic and beating down on the boat bobbing up and down on the low waves next to a bright yellow buoy.     After the events of the night before everyone returned to their respective rooms for several hours only to emerge once again and gathered for a morning meal in the dining area. Juliana had heated a few rolls and serv...

The sun was high and hot, its light glittering on the surface of the Atlantic and beating down on the cigarette boat cutting through the low waves, piloted by a wizened Brazilian man in a tattered Parrotthead shirt. Inside the boat's cramped cabin David Mercer tapped away at his laptop.   It was the same book he always worked on when he was idle, writing, changing his mind and rewriting, over and over again. It was a chea...

 "Almost there guys," I said as I looked into the back seat. My two Malamute dogs looked back at me. I hated seeing them like this, cooped up in the back seat of my SUV. "I'm sorry," I said as a single tear traced down my face. I wiped it away and shook my head. "Enough of that," I cursed myself. I had cried enough on this long drive.  Texas was a long way behind me now, so was a great life that I had left behind. Georgia...

In Part 1 of my story, I informed the readers that my name is Kayla. I am a black, voluptuous, sixteen-year-old high school student who was introduced by Jordin, a friend of my parents, to dominating mature white men and face sitting them. Jordin helped me get started and let me use her spare bedroom and computer to post ads to attract the men, where I became known by the pseudonym Angel. At the end of Part 1, I was looki...

I had a happy childhood growing up in Gulfport, Mississippi, living with my parents and older brother in a modest home in a poor part of town. We are a black family, and my father was on partial disability from an industrial accident. He still worked part-time at the Navy base, when he was sobered up from his alcohol addiction. My mother, Liana, worked two jobs, and with both working we subsisted, but couldn’t afford any...

History repeats itself, but no two stories go exactly the same way. Tones change, details change, endings change—no remix is note-perfect. Sometimes things change for the worse; first as tragedy, then as farce, as the saying goes. Other times things change for the better as if, like with so many other things in life, fate needs a few tries to get things right. And perhaps one thing sets up another, months or years down th...

It was two weeks before Christmas and I had been compelled to swap the heat of the Caribbean, where I was living, for the chill of England. Family business. A funeral, in fact. I was travelling in the warmest clothes I had - a thick cotton suit that I could never wear in the tropics because it was just too hot. But having been living out there for a few years, I didn't have a coat or an outdoor jacket, or even a sweater o...