Worn Out

“I’m tired,” she said softly, standing five foot and a bit in the door way, naked save for a loose college t-shirt, her lip pensively caught between her teeth.
“Come fuck me to sleep.” Continue reading “Worn Out”



His phone vibrated on the desk beside his laptop and he touched the screen to open her text. She often messaged him in the afternoons, leaving his mornings to him to be productive without her distracting words and images.  Those snippets of her fed the hunger in him, both a blessing and a curse, as they both worked from home. The message was just an image: a pristine white counter with a single bottle of red nail polish. His heart raced. She must have known what this picture would do to him, and if so, her hunch was correct. Continue reading “Varnish”


“I’m a man of science, Gale. My mind thrives on empirical truths and patterns.” His thumbs dug into my thighs as he stood between my knees, the polished wood of his desk warming against my skin through my stockings. Fishnets, as requested. We’d been talking, dancing this dance, touching for nearly an hour, the penultimate moments of months of flirtation. I leaned back on the heels of my hands, feet swinging languidly aside his legs as he looked at me, one red leather Mary Jane dangling delicately from my toe. Continue reading “Souvenir”

All the way down

I knew it was a thing for him. I knew it was a want, maybe even a need, a craving. We’d shared some kinks and proclivities and started to slowly explore each other’s secrets and inner monologues. We’d spent hours with careful touches, whispered questions and permissions, gradually gaining ground and building on our personal catalogue of shared experiences. Continue reading “All the way down”