Reflections of Sin

by Dean Mcmanus

They like to experiment.
New things are common in their bedroom these days. James has always been more favorable to the vanilla, but Thomas likes to spice things up. Nothing as of yet has made them regret it. Though he’d been more than vocal in his appreciation for the idea of a mirror – a huge one, at that – at the foot of their bed.
Thomas had put a stop to his idea of it on the ceiling. There’s kinky and there’s tacky.
He’s likin’ this too though. His lover on his knees at the edge of the bed, back straight and pressed to James’ front. Whereas Thomas’ bare, James is still wearing his belt and jeans, and it gives a surreal sort of awareness when Tom remembers that fact. James’ got an arm around his waist, helping to keep him upright, and his lover’s got one arm lifted and wrapped around James’ neck, the hand on the opposite arm braced on one of the denim-clad hips behind him. Their eyes meet and hold in the mirror across from them as he mouths at the curve of a pale shoulder. Fingers are slick and sure as they grip and pull, up and down and back again. No tricks, just the bare basics to get his lover going.
Slowly, as the minutes pass, the bare chest in full view begins to heave, a thin sheen of sweat dusting his collarbone and a drop of it traveling in the hollow behind Thomas’ ear. James catches it on his tongue, feeling the vibration of the moan his lover releases as he does so.
Still he doesn’t speed up, he doesn’t move things further, he doesn’t allow Tom to do so either. He brings him to the edge and then stops, over and over again until Thomas has forgotten that English is in his repertoire, until he’s cursing and begging in every language he knows.
They progress when James nudges those hips with his own, and releases the hold he has on him. Quick on the uptake, Thomas moves and braces his hands on the dresser that holds the mirror up, precariously balanced between the space of flooring that separates their bed and the other furniture.
The drag of the zipper is almost deafening, but the moan Thomas gives when James finally gives what he’s been asking for is the best sound by far. Needy and frantic, hips have little to no rhythm. Their eyes are still held in the reflective surface only inches from them, and they only close when the long awaited release is nearly ripped from each of them.
Later, soaking in the afterglow and catching their breath, James stops the trail of kisses he’d been leaving over a spine that still occasionally shivers to murmur: “We’re totally keeping the mirror.”
Thomas’ laughter is just as sated as his own, so he’s okay with it.

About the author- “I’m twenty-three and I live in a small town in Texas. I started writing erotica at a young age, mostly through online roleplaying until I could gather my footing and confidence to do it on my own. I was an English Major during my time in college and hope to be going back to that soon. I have a family of my own, including a four year old stepson that keeps me busy.
I love to write in my free time, and I just hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do.”

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Wanted and Worthy.

by Dean McManus

It’s wrong.
It’s forbidden, it’s a sin, it’s taboo and *dangerous.*
It’s *right* and *beautiful* and *addicting.*
They’re not supposed to.
They are anyway.
They’re young, they’d be told everything they already know. Wrong, dangerous, filthy. They’d be sent elsewhere, beaten until the devil was out of them. It’s a weird age, where the roads are still dirt, they’re barely old enough to be allowed in the Saloon, and James is due to find his brother and go hunting for that night’s meal.
Thomas probably should have been home hours ago, and there’s no doubt that Jack is out and looking. They’d had to get more creative with their hiding places recently, the bathrooms and the sheds too well known by both of their brothers, and though they are willing to cover for them, it only lasts so long.
It’s quick and dirty, the flat of James’ palm pressed tight against an open mouth to stifle the sounds, and only his will stopping his own. Each breath is too short and burns his lungs, the hand trapped between the leather of his trousers and his own skin working him quickly, and James’ doing much the same in the way of returning the favor. Their shirts had already been rucked up, so used to this that they know the tricks and ways to make it a quick and easy clean up.
When they finish, it’s with stuttering movements and James biting down on Thomas’ shoulder through his clothes, and Thomas’ muffled curses in god knows how many languages painting his skin. When they let go, the draw to each other is still intense, almost dramatic even though they know their time is so limited. The kiss is lazy and unhurried, his words written with the trace of his tongue.
“James-” It’s barely heard, reluctance in the form of his name. Said man stalls the words that would come next with another kiss, kept chaste, yet lingering. “I know.” They’re still a little out of breath, but by the time they’ll be out of there it’ll be back to normal. They’ve got it down to an art. It’s a thought that when he’s alone, brings his mood down to the point of whiskey and bruising his knuckles. The truth can’t be changed, at least not yet.
Their clothes are fixed and hair patted back into place, mess contained. As per usual, Thomas leaves first.
It’s barely thirty seconds before he hears the familiar lilt of Jack’s voice, more exasperated than anything, telling his brother to hurry on home before they get whipped. Again. Because though they’re of age to be legal, you’re never too old for a lashing.
By the time James leaves, Sam’s given up searching. But when he gets home, he gets an earful. James needs to be careful, to stop, to quit before he’s hung in towns square.
Halfway through the act of brushing through his horse, Sam’s finally had enough and asks the question they’ve both been waiting for.
Is he really worth it?”
When James stops, all movement ceasing and his shoulders a tense line, Sam swallows rough and dry. He knows the answer before it comes.
“Yeah, Sammy. He is. Now drop it.”

I

About the author- “I’m twenty-three and I live in a small town in Texas. I started writing erotica at a young age, mostly through online roleplaying until I could gather my footing and confidence to do it on my own. I was an English Major during my time in college and hope to be going back to that soon. I have a family of my own, including a four year old stepson that keeps me busy.
I love to write in my free time, and I just hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do.”

indescribable.

by *Miss Theresa*

i wanted it, so badly, but was still not aggressive enough to just take her. i have to hint around here and there; touching and teasing, being stupid and unnecessarily shy. i finally saw my chance to get in there for a kiss. *sigh* those kisses planted on superbly soft lips. thin, perfect, almost absent lips… smooth as the lips of her pussy…. perfectly sensual, gentle. Sigh

i love to kiss her. usually it’s a struggle between wanting to receive and give. we get into rhythms and just kiss and kiss and kiss until i cant breathe, until i don’t want to breathe anything but her. breathe everything into her. so we kissed and she kisses and i licked and i bit. she put her mouth to my neck and she sucked my skin. i breathed her kisses and her words and she swallowed my sighs and we loved and melted into each other.

there is a power struggle, but we give over easy, knowing the prize is full climax and explosion of sensation, and no one really loses. she starts to lick my aching nipples, nipples desperate to be held in her teeth. her mouth moves along my body, to places that need to be explored…. and bit, and marked and bruised by her mouth and lovingly violated with her teeth. her hands rest in places that set my cunt to fire. her teeth do things that make me melt into puddles. her sighs make me want to cum the moment the sound escapes those delicious lips. my own sighs seem detached and far away….

her sensuality makes my body writhe with an exquisiteness that makes me feel foreign and strange. she uses no force but once her arm comes up and around my thigh to lock me in place, her mouth can go directly to where we both want it to be.

an instant of white hot liquid lights up my clit, and radiates to all parts. my body shook, causing my hand to grasp her shortshort hair and rock her mouth further into my cunt and her mouth was waiting waiting waiting to put her tongue back to my cunt, but instead her whole mouth enveloped my clit and warmth spreads through my vulva like a hot coals crackling under a blanket, fighting to catch and burst into flame. gods…. fantastic.

more.

by *Miss Theresa*

It is also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that’s sitting right here right now…
with its aches and its pleasures…
is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.
-Pema Chodron

they sat on the porch together, in silence, leaves rustling all around.
she focused on a leaf that fell from one of the tallest trees in front of them, and watched as it fell slowly, gracefully to the ground.

the trees were the richest of reds and the color of juicy pears. she took her then, right there in the daylight. sun streamed through her hair making her squint as she focused on a place on her luscious neck. freckles and fine blonde hair. wispy winds blew across their ears as a delicious warm patch of saliva and sweat appeared at the base of her lover’s neck. her breasts were quickly freed with a jerk of her shirt over her head. the sun played across those breasts as more winds gusted about, dimpling and puckering her playfully soft and supple skin.

leaves gusted about, crackling and whooshing about their feet, trying to get a glimpse of their lovemaking, trying to become part of their delicious autumn memories. she wished then for an apple, moist and crunchy, to feed to the one she cherished. to tempt her, to tease her aching lips, to lure her to close her eyes, offering a bite but then kissing her mouth instead. but with no apple, her lips, soft as the sunshine beating down on their necks, would be her temptation, her treat; a delicious reward for the something they shared.

“it has never been like this with anyone before. i know this sounds cliche, whatever. think what you want, but i mean it. this is new.”

i did not think that i could ever be satisfied by just one.
all of the girls that i had been with until her- always left me wanting more. feeling forever still unsatisfied… wanting more than anything to come with someone; it just never was there. with other lovers i might as well have just gotten myself off for as nothing as our lovemaking was.

my first impression of her as she went down on me was that she indeed knew what she was doing and i would have done anything for her not to stop. ever.
she was not out to impress me, or get me off as quickly as possible, or do anything more than what she was doing… she definitely enjoyed it and seemed content lapping my cunt all night.

the first time we screwed was actually our first night together and it was veryvery hot because we were strangers and we were drunk and we were horny from dancing…..
we were making out fabulously, her always trying to control me through my mouth- taking control with her tongue, with her lips always just slightly more forceful than mine- always an erotic struggle- a dangerous but easily fun-filling game to play.

there was not as much kissing of my breasts or neck or throat like i was used to.. but to be honest, i was more focused on getting her tongue in my pussy. she touched my crotch and started manipulating me skillfully and effortlessly- seeming to enjoy her vantage point from down below as i squirmed and moaned. i was already close to coming and i started to grow disappointed that our first time would be her just fingerfucking me. i was getting closer to coming when she just stopped….

just stopped…. and i let out a whimper of disappointment… and she said mercilessly, “sucks, dont it” and laughed. i agreed, but it was obvious that she had an agenda- one that i was willing to accomodate. i would have done anything at that moment for her to tongue my slit. i felt what she could do with her fingers and knew her tongue would have much more to say to my shuddering body. i came twice and i remember her resting her mouth on my thigh- highly erotic- pornstar type stuff- looking up at me, kissing me still, flicking her tongue over my moist wet folds. and in the most fucking seductive voice i have ever heard, “You want more?”

i was riding the ripples of coming down and i did not want to ruin it. i fell blissfully asleep- but only after she kissed me hard on the mouth- slightly sucking the breath from me.

shame.

by *Miss Theresa*

picked up the scarf you wore this weekend.
common plaid pattern, all greens and blues.
a new favorite of mine.
it doesn’t look nearly as good on me as it does you.
placing it near my face, i feel the fabric and inhale YOU.

the scent of you causes such lust.
makes me want to touch you everywhere.

i want to lick everywhere.
push myself on you.
make you feel the urges that i do.
i want to fuck you anywhere you’ll have me.
i feel no shame for this.
this is how you make me feel.
no shame for this.

i walk in on you.
watch you.
fucking yourself.
there is no shame.

i let out a moan
a sigh
sighs from both of us. you reach for me and i walk to you.
i was spent from touching myself earlier, but my clit still buzzed,
wanting more.
you turn me on so completely
want to never stop fucking you.
feel no shame for this.

i could watch you forever.
lost in you
losing myself in you for forever.
fucking you, no shame.
being you

and it was-
and it was-
and we just fuck
and our love is here
and we never stop
and i feel as if you can take no more.
and you seem to want no more

needing it all
wanting it all to stop
but i wont.
i want you to come and i should not feel bad because i wanted to fuck you still
your breathing so ragged, so jagged
your hips bucking insistently
my breath into you
my mouth touching your fingers working your sex
and finally
explosions into you
explosions from you
indescribable.
it is everything.
everything,
but shameful.

Ten Seconds

by *Miss Theresa*

Ten seconds to the point of contact. Electric stares; the kind that turn your stomach to jello… Eye contact connecting, breaking. Wanting to look into his eyes, but not brave enough to do so for more than a second. Quick upturned glances; looking just long enough to see him smirk, making blood boil then freeze. An arm’s length away, yet a universe-sized distance apart. Lips too far away to kiss, but smoldering eyes fasten me into his personal space.

I fuss with a paper scrap and dare to look again. His held is tilted with a quirky confidence, making me wonder if it is all just an act of false bravado.

He stares. He smirks. He waits. He teases. He waits some more. He makes me weak in the knees and turns me upside down. I feel like every clichéd love song and every sappy movie enjoyed by giggling lovelorn ladies. I feel impossibly goofy.

Nine seconds to contact. Just several breaths away.

Eight… seven…

He looks at her, wanting nothing but to touch his lips to her petalsoftness. It is imprinted in his eyes. He doesn’t want to make love to her. Not just yet. He just wants to taste her breath. He wants to feel the lifeblood of her lips. He wants to touch the tip of his tongue to the fragrance of her neck and fuse their separateness. He wants to melt into her.

Six… unconsciously we move closer together. I can smell his cologne, and open myself to it, to the glorious deep deliciousness of it, and knowing distance between us is decreasing.

Five… four… three… we move closer still, somehow. And closer still, as if gravity was pushing them together. And closer.

Two… he stares and I stare. The awkwardness is deathly sexy, which only makes things feel like guilt. We both smirk and snicker and feel like schoolchildren. Our eyes lock and release, and I welcome all of the background distractions. I enjoy the intensity of the unfulfilled passion, but wish it to end.

One… somehow we are “right there.” So very “right there.” Our eyes lock and release again, and he reaches to me for the first time. We have reached the point of contact. We are solely in the moment. And I expect him to touch my face, my neck, my cheek, but instead, his fingertips play through the ends of my hair. He half strokes, half sweeps the wispy ends of the heavy fullness. This simple unexpected act dizzies me, emptying my lungs of breath, my bones of marrow, and my heart of blood. Time stops.

I look down to witness his strong hands playing through the straightwave of curls which are the color of blackcherry soda. He caresses just the ends, fearing to move up further, not wanting to break this entrancing moment. Tangible shockwaves of restraint keep his fingers from following the tresses to the source. It is maddening. My lips pulse. My heart thumps. I watch his fingers lace and coil through the ends, just the ends of my hair, through the texture of melted chocolate.

His self control is overwhelming. His confidence is deadly. His smirky smile is sex. He plays these cards without thinking and I flounder, fully lost in this moment. He is content to just be in my personal space and touch my hair as if this act is desire-come-to-reality.

His full hand is in my hair, and softly tugging, as if plucking a juicy apple from a treebranch. Not quite a pull, not quite a grasp, my brain short circuits and I struggle not to crumple to the floor. I can feel him playing there as if my tresses are nerve endings. Testing me, touching, trusting, trying, forever registering my reaction; waiting for acknowledgement. Confirmation, permission or even a possible hint of discomfort. My legs are incapable of holding me steady as his hand continues to relish this luxury.

I look at him, his face crackly silver sparks all aimed at me, and with a now-or-never attitude I say, “any more of that and I wont say ‘no’ to anything you want of me.”

A half-raised eyebrow and he breathes out, “that’s the idea” and grabs a handful of hair from the nape of my neck and pulls me into his intimate space placing his mouth just inches from mine. I was breathless upon breathless. No air but his flowing into me. I swallow his desire for me in that instant.

Our lips weren’t touching, but I could feel him on me. His hand stayed in my hair, now a tangle of fingers and flounce. He whispered out and into my mouth “does this make you nervous?”
“Of course not,” I lie, I fake.
“What about this?” He scrums his fingers on the flesh of my scalp, neck and nape, all the while holding me, still, controlled, his.
“Not really.” I muster.
“This?” He pulls me closer still, and with a handful of my hair, he tilts my head and smiles deliciously. Daring me.

My lips twitch. My lips want. My eyes wander. We smile dangerously. This is the instantkill. This is-.

We reach the point of no return as his other hand goes to the small of my back and guides me the last inch to him. I exhaleinhalexhaleinhale… Warmcreamy mouth on mine. His hand pulls and stretches my hair pushing me, pulling me to the place where his mouth can explore my soul.

I feel him exhaleinhalexhaleinhale as if he is pleased that this was all planned.

Our tongues move and our lips twitch, and heat is exchanged in our kiss. The bright room is now black ink and I can see nothing as my eyes want to cheat me of his face. Although it is full daylight, the city behind us twinkles and shimmers as day has turned to night upon the initial moment that our lips touched.

Our passion is a mushroom cloud bellowing out from our locked embrace. An out of control brushfire sucked into a vacuum of our intimate space. The force of a rainforest downpour. The perfection of a fanning peacock on full display. The joy of a favorite song playing JUST when you need it. The pinnacled bliss of every “happily ever after.” And this was only from lips touching and clothed bodies pressed to the other’s. But his was THE ultimate kiss. The simultaneous “ah” from a crowd immersed in the grand finale of fireworks when the sky is exploding purple and goldflame and silver shimmer and tinkling, falling, sizzling sparks. The moment was ours. And in that moment we wrote sonnets, and swam oceans. In mere seconds we traveled beyond any place on a map, and learned things no person could teach us. But in ten seconds more, his hands were no longer in my hair, his mouth, not on mine, and no sonnets were written. We were back to what we were moments before. We were just two people afraid to lose themselves in each other, too afraid to take that leap. Two people that had no idea what they were missing in those ten seconds, never reaching that point of contact, the ten seconds to an opportunity that they would never get back.

Liquid

by Brenna Campbell

My whole body flushes when I begin to make love to you, or rather, when I let you make love to me. I want you in me. You roll me onto my side and you are still in me and you put my leg onto your shoulder. Your touch sends sparks to my core. Your gaze never breaks, adding more sparks, conducting raw energy, passion to my solar plexus. Euphoria. I see your face in the flickering candlelight. I can see, feel, all of your emotions, the awesome depths, and the look of sheer magnificent pleasure as you kiss my ankle, closing your eyes momentarily.

Yes, I was far away at times. Yes, I was thinking about her and thinking about being with her. But I was ever curious as to what this one boy was up to. Always wanting to call him and make him laugh, or blush, or really anything that would make him think of me. Thinking how lucky I was to be able to have these people in my life, but also thinking about the other “someone’s” in my life that remain without titles.

Was thinking particularly about a man with which I had shared an incredible relationship with, despite what it felt like, despite how it appeared. A man who knew all of this without either of us having to say. A man, who, as the cliché goes, knew me better than he knew himself; a person that endlessly amazed and surprised me, when few others were to ever benefit from his true self.

I experience that you can take a person out of a situation, but you can not take away chemistry, or extraordinary limitless bonds. You can never take away the feeling of absolute freedom in a relationship, of true selfless love.

The moans. Oh god. How I love to hear your shuddering moan. Like when I lick you from throat to chin. Your breathing is heavier, as my own slows. I look into those eyes and sink. Sink into those eyes that make me feel so real. So complete. You enter me. You slide easily, effortlessly, dreamlike, because I am so ready for the pleasure I feel from you biting me. Caressing my neck is a dream, all warm and rich, muted softsoft amber.

I float through our lovemaking. Kissing, always kissing. Feeling your lips like fluttering butterfly wings, powdered tips pressing energy and passing life from one connected thing to the other.

My trembling body is clammy, alight with both flame and ice, all the while zinging with the low hum of electricity. My arms and legs are now tingling and fluttering. The hairs on the back of my neck add to the already heightened sense of me. It as though every particle of my body is trying to make itself known.

I have been repeatedly blessed to find people that are able to love me without wanting in return. Their love endlessly flows, quenching my craggy places, dryhard and cracked places that I never thought could be healed from baneful times long and not so long ago. These admirers do not try and change me. They don’t want to stick me somewhere that I don’t belong. I have many people in my life to be grateful for, and endless gratitude and happiness. True love for the sake of true love and joy. Of not wanting anything in return. Of wanting nothing more than to make that person feel as happy as you do. No hokey schmaltz. No bullshit. No games. No stress and without limits. Fulfilling relationships that help me discover more about myself than I think possible… I evolve in these relationships. I do not change myself, instead my life changes and I feel compelled to do nothing but enjoy this person, this situation.