You’re currently reading a manuscript of Jack Waters. Upon mentioning that name, one of two things probably went through your mind. Either: Who the hell is Jack Waters? Or: The Jack Waters? He’s a legend! In the first case, give it a few years, then I’ll...
We had been meeting up for regular over the knee spanking sessions at each other's homes for some months. In the conversations during and after these sessions, it came to light that each of us had, in addition to other fetishes, an interest in watersports...
Mum was right, his blaze was sweet; but, for fuck’s sake, calling him, Sugar, was character assassination. Even as a gangly foal, his face screamed white lightening. In utero, he was my mother’s horse, but the devil-may-care fire in those newborn eyes dre...
Thank you. Xoxo, the text read. Sean cursed at the prospect of having to endure Michael's various caprices longer than necessary and at his inability to say no—more accurately: to say no to the pair of perky breasts Michael's mother, Sharon, used to keep...
You know what they say about gymnasts in the bedroom... I balance the perfect handstand on his chair while inhaling his cock and offering him a birdseye view of my stunning cunt - the cunt that entices and manipulates. As my pussy inhales his prick, his...
I sat in the comfort of my home, reflecting on the turbulent aftermath of George Floyd's murder as well as the unending quarantine. The looting bothered me, but I understood the rage. I understood as well as any seventy-year-old white woman can. I've live...
Two women stood in the kitchen looking into the living room. On the coffee table stood their latest purchase from their favorite sex shop, a board game still shiny with plastic wrap. The blond turned her head away from the game and bent gently to retrieve...
The 1950s (hiding in cages) "Gross indecency" is what they call it in British law. Homosexual men are prosecuted. However, strangely enough, sex between women is not criminalized. Therefore, the men who are attracted to other men have to hide their feelin...
They weren’t supposed to be together. He was a married man, and she was a friend’s daughter, home from college. Yet there they were, making love in a poppy field in the middle of nowhere. Sunshine beat down on her back as she rocked back and forth, slidin...
The sun above me, the poppies below, and her in-between sublimates what I know. I came here to write; she came here to read. Instead we found something that both of us need. Her lips on my body. Her lust for my cock fulfills dreams before daytime stops. H...
They spread out amidst the flowers (Papaver rhoeas, he said). Waves of shimmering heat turned the blooms into a lush impasto, thick incarnadine whorls. High growths and grasses concealed them. Possessions sat by mute and offended, waiting for the attentio...
"What's with the typewriter?""You were complaining about writer's block; I thought it might inspire you.""It doesn't, but I don't care. As long as I am riding your cock and watching your face, you can bring whatever you want."Flowers, typewriters, the sun...
She wept, seeing Gallipoli chiselled into the cenotaph marble. No rose-tinted remembrances for those poppy fields. Sixty years hadn’t wearied one precious memory; amongst azaleas beside the billabong, they’d consummated love under the ancient red gum tree...
