Issue 37: (Almost) Everything I Wrote This Year, Part 2/2
The remaining original stories I posted in 2024
Happy holidays, dear readers! Here’s Part 2 of (just about almost) all the stories I wrote in 2024. (Here is Part 1.) I like to imagine a reader spinning the wheel and randomly choosing a number and reading the story associated with it. If I ever made an advent calendar of short erotica, would anyone be interested?
Of course, I wrote more that’s not linked here: I released Wicked Bites and Sweet Tidbits in 2024, both of which contained brand new stories I wrote this year. I made progress on several works in progress: As She Craves, Their Owned Girl, Diary of a Band Slave, and Obeying Mr. Shannon…as well as other unnamed pieces that I’ve only hinted at, and some I haven’t even shared yet.
This was also my best year yet in terms of publishing sales. I can’t thank you enough—all of you who bought my books, read and reviewed them, everyone who comments or reblogs my stories, sends me a message to let me know you enjoyed reading, or just likes a post. It means the world.
What I’m working on: As She Craves. I just wrote the scene where Billy and his older brother Noah share Ella for the first time. Mmmmm. And I just wrote a new story just for this newsletter issue, down below.
What I’m listening to: “Rid of Me” by PJ Harvey. A strumming, thumping good song with a bit of rough threat, an explosive hint of being on the edge of violence. I beg you, my darling / Don’t leave me, I’m hurting / Lick my legs, I’m on fire / Lick my legs of desire / I’ll tie your legs / Keep you against my chest.
What I’m reading: Bound by Sasha White is one of my favorite books and I am shocked that I haven’t recommended it before. After all the dark erotica I’ve read in recent years, Bound seems far more tame in comparison. But, I still love the relationship that develops between the two main characters. Joe’s bossy dominance — he doesn’t play games — and filthy talk really do it for me.
I also enjoyed reading Pornhub’s Year in Review.
What I’m wondering: I love playing and watching sports. I love reading books set in the world of professional sports. I’ve read a lot of sports romances, but not much sports erotica. If someone has a good one to recommend in that realm I would be grateful if you’d tell me in the comments. Now if I were to write a BDSM erotica story featuring a professional athlete, which sport would you want the character(s) to play?
Stories I Wrote in 2024 (101-155):
For this issue’s exclusive erotica…
“Holiday Happiness”
The fire leaped and crackled behind the grate. She stretched her limbs, luxuriating in the tactile sensation of the the king-sized faux fur throw beneath her. Outside the wind made the windows and doors shudder, but inside she felt warmed throughout, her body dewy with a sheen of perspiration.
It was the first time Tom had taken her to his family cabin. Snow had fallen steadily on the three hour drive north, and when they finally emerged from the car, it was to a winter wonderland.
She rolled over and reached for her glass, draining it. The movement made Tom stir in the nest of blankets they’d heaped on the floor. His hand slid up her calf to her thigh, and she shifted, parting her legs for him.
“Think we need to throw another log on there?” he murmured.
“I’m toasty,” she said, cuddling closer to him. She could feel him hardening by her hip and she shivered in happy anticipation. “Aren’t you?”
“Mmm.” He made a low sound of contentment in his throat as he dipped his head to nuzzle the damp valley between her breasts. “I was thinking about the slave.”
“Oh.” She gave another full-bodied shiver at the thought of the slave, naked and alone in her cage.
“Oh,” Tom echoed. “Should we let her out?”
She pouted. She had been enjoying having him all to herself. “If you like. You’ll keep her tied up, won’t you?”
“Sure. That turns you on?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted baldly. “But I think it will help her remember her place. You said she’s been here a lot in the past, right?”
“Sure,” Tom said. “We’ve come up here for years, even before we were married. She loves it here.”
“Well, things are different now,” she said reasonably. “I think we should make it very clear to her that you and I are together and we brought her because we felt like it, not because it was expected or because you guys always come here for the holidays.”
“I don’t think she can forget about her changed circumstances,” Tom said dryly, dropping a kiss on her nose, “but I take your point.”
She admired his lean, nude body as he bounded to his feet and strode out of the warm room, aglow with firelight, for the darkened kitchen. She took the time to pour them both another generous glass of the merlot, and to nibble on some of the cold cuts they’d prepared. She even made the effort to extract herself from the blankets to visit the bathroom.
She looked up at the sound of Tom’s return. He was carrying their sex slave and murmuring something in her ear.
She appreciated Tom’s handiwork with bondage. He’d bound the slave’s legs into a frog-tie, and kept her arms bound at her sides with her elbows brought together behind her back. The slave’s face was covered by the expressionless black leather hood, her neck extending over a thick collar.
Tom settled her on her back beneath the Christmas tree, running his hands over her body with quick familiarity, squeezing all his favorite parts. His wife shuddered, drawing in deep breaths. Tom had removed the slave’s omnipresent chastity belt, and she could see the shiny dampness between the slave’s legs and felt smug that her arousal would not abate.
“There, now you’re nice and warm, aren’t you?” Tom said, unable to resist giving the plump nipples a friendly tweak.
“Bring her here, Tom,” she said suddenly. “I want to taste her.”
He raised an eyebrow at her but obliged, easing the slave to lean back against his chest and filling his hands with her breasts.
She smirked at him and settled on her belly between his spread thighs. She could feel the quiver that went through the slave’s body as she waited with bated, breathless anticipation.
She licked a long line up the slave’s slit before sucking lightly on the protruding clit. The slave’s thighs tensed; Tom made an adjustment that kept her legs locked on the outside of his thighs, unable to close.
She dove in and lapped with abandon at the grasping, moistening pussy.
“Mmm,” she remarked throatily, looking up at her lover over the heaving, straining body of his wife, “our slave tastes so much better with a denied pussy.”
Tom grinned at her. He was groping his wife’s breasts quite roughly from his excitement, seizing the thick nipples with biting cruelty that made her hooded head loll back. He must have gagged her beneath the leather hood because the whimpering that emitted was of a garbled, muted quality.
“I want you to fuck me while I edge her,” she said, knowing the slave could hear them both. “I want us both to come together and when we do, I’m going to stop playing with her pussy.”
Tom shrugged. “She’s your Christmas present. I want you to enjoy her however you like.”
A few quick adjustments, and Tom was railing her from behind while she lapped carefully at the slave’s pussy, with increasing distraction. She brought her fingers into play, enjoying the way that greedy, grasping pussy fluttered and clenched on her, the long, unbroken moaning the slave babbled incoherently. The merriest Christmas indeed.