February 06, 2014

Mix and Match Erotica

Here we are again with a match-up game. I mix. You match. In ABC order, the authors in this week's line-up are:

What do you do? Read the snippets below and guess which writer penned each piece. Please post your answers in the comments. In a few days, I'll reveal the line-up. (Don't you like how scientific I am? We'll have the results, oh, say, Tuesday.)

Excerpt A:

He held out his hand in invitation, waiting for me to give him the power. Mine still, until the moment my palm touched his. Then his hand closed over mine, his feral smile overwhelmed me, and the room burst back into the sound of several conversations, Julia's breathy sighs, and a few knowing chuckles as Thomas led me away.

The blue room was open by reservation only. There were real sheets on a real bed with a nice, heavy frame for bondage and a selection of toys and implements for borrowing. And there was the bag, which Thomas had stopped to grab from his locker, teasing me with its mystery. I didn't have to wonder for long.

The bag was full of rope in a rainbow of colors and a variety of lengths. My skin flushed and my breath grew shallow as he guided me to the bed and positioned me how he wanted me. My skirt and panties were taken away. My corset and heels were left. And soft, intractable knots were formed, sealing me in place with ribbons of pink and green and white. I shivered as each one breathed over my skin, immobilizing me by degrees.

"I've wanted to tie you up like this for months," he said, finishing the final knot and stepping back to admire me, trussed up on the bed, helpless before his desires.

"I know."

"What will you say if you want me to stop?"

My regular safeword seemed so ordinary. Thomas deserved something as sweet and heady as he was... "Caramel." It reminded me of the color of his skin.


Excerpt B:

Natasha was rubbing and rocking against the crack of his arse, and suddenly his head was filled with the idea of her taking him, fucking him there, using a dildo or vibrator or something to enter and claim him.  She was holding him by the hips, digging her nails in, and he wanted the penetration, thought of asking for it, pleading for it, prevented only by the idea that she wouldn’t or couldn’t do it.

She stepped back, and wielded the paddle again, delivering a couple of hard, stinging swipes to his throbbing bumcheeks, and that was the point when he raised his head momentarily and opened his eyes, and saw Rosa. She’d just slipped in through the door between the two bars, and she looked at him, and she saw him, bent over, being thrashed and clearly loving it, and then she stepped back through the door and disappeared. Madame Natasha only had to hit him three more times before he came, and the climax was huge, unstoppable, toppling him face down on the table, nearly overturning it and spurting, squirting, masses of jizz exploding out of him When it was over he stayed where he had landed,  trembling, craving a touch or even a kiss: a little reassurance. Instead, he heard her high heels clicking in retreat.

‘Better make sure you clean up your mess, hadn’t you?’ she said, and then she was gone.


Excerpt C:

Now that the invitation was offered and accepted, the urgency muted, sliding seamlessly into a lazy passion. Lou's world contracted to a dark and secret place of animalistic noises and movement. The swag's hood blocked much of the starlight, leaving the two of them encased in dim shadows and confining cloth. The rustle of the inner sheet sounded harsh and loud, amplified by their closed quarters, and Derrie's breathing, fast and rasping, drowned out the drumbeat of Lou's heart. It was elemental; touch, sound, and smell. Derrie was musky, her hair smoky from the campfire, the sharp tang of eucalyptus, the warm fug of a body that works itself hard.

For long minutes, Lou explored, finding the way around Derrie's body, mapping how her palms curved over planes of muscle and flesh, tracing the edge of a breast, the arch of buttock, the wing of hip, and reaching down to find steely muscles and firm, toned thighs. In turn, Derrie's fingers walked their way around her flesh, circling slowly, teasingly, never quite contacting where Lou wanted them the most.

Derrie shifted again, so that the two women lay facing each other. Enough starlight filtered through that Lou could see Derrie's eyes, open and glittering, intent upon her face. Now, she could explore properly. Her fingers sought the other woman's slight breast, tracing the swell, walking in decreasing circles toward her nipple. When she finally reached her goal, her lips followed her fingers, and she shuffled forward, taking the nubbin between her lips, suckling, feeling Derrie's shaky sigh in the hitch of her breathing.


Excerpt D:

Eyes still holding mine, she leaned forward again, but this time she didn’t pass over the cigarette. This time she moved in closer and kissed me. Softly. Gently. Her lips brushing over mine like a silken handkerchief, like the colored ones I’d worn in my back pocket years before to let people know that, yes, I liked Victorian games and corsetry (white lace) and, yes, I would be tied down if so desired by lover (gray), and, yes, I would be whipped (black).

         “Jane,” she said as she pulled away, exhaling the smoke that still lingered in her lungs. My hand went out and caught hers, “Rice,” I said.

         “Last name?”

         Shake of my golden curls. “Nickname.”

         She left it at that. We weren’t after small talk, neither of us.

         “You done here?”

         I waited a beat, staring into her eyes again, watching the colors within them shift and change in the dim light. She had chameleon eyes, now green, now blue, now grey. They stayed on this last color, going a dull metal hue as I watched, and then, deep within them, I saw the spirals of black. Vein-like, the way white marble is veined, the way the sidewalks crack after an earthquake. Swirls of black against grey, they cracked further, swallowing me up, promising me, promising me...

         “Yeah, I’m done.”

         Her grip was iron-strong, firm around my waist, shuffling me out of the pub and down the block in a rapid, military step. No words again. Energy moving between us instead. I trusted her and I let her set the beat.


Excerpt E:

“Where?” she asked.

I hadn’t really thought about that part.  “Your place?”

She shook her head no.  “I don’t want my roommate thinking I’m queer.”

Did she really think other women couldn’t read her like a book?  Well, whatever.  Her sexual identity wasn’t my concern—I just wanted to get off.  But not at her place, and certainly not at mine.  The only spot I could think of that wasn’t widely frequented was the women’s washroom in the sub-sub-basement.  So that’s where we went.

The stalls were all empty, as usual, so I stepped into the one at the end. She followed me like a puppy.  “Cash upfront, please.”

“I’m good for it,” I teased, sitting my backpack on the toilet seat and fishing for my wallet.  She set her bag on the floor after shoving my cash inside.  “So…”

Kira looked at my backpack sitting precariously on the toilet seat until I took the hint and moved it.

“I guess you should take off your top,” she said.

My stomach knotted as I stood with her in the cramped bathroom stall.  “Right.”

“How long do you want me to suck them for?” she asked.

I pulled off my t-shirt and bra, hanging them on the hook at the back of the door.

“Until I come,” I told her.  “However long that takes.”

If you'd like to sub a snippet for the next round, choose approximately 250 words from one of your stories or novels and send to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. Please make sure not to trip my no-nos: no underage, no incest, no non-consensual, no unsafe practices, no animals. Any questions, drop me a note. I live to please.


1 comment:

168d7130-34d4-11e2-91ad-000bcdcb5194 said...

Between the fact that the current flu bug has decimated my brain, and my lack of f/f expertise, I fully expect the sad trumpets to follow my guesses. Nonetheless:

A: Alison Tyler
B: Zak Jane Keir
C: Cheyenne Blue
D: Kathleen Tudor
E: Giselle Renarde