In a wheelchair (m/f, oral)

(Please mind the misspellings.)

For the last several years she made a point of not staying in chain hotels. If she’d needed to live out of a small suite for a few weeks at a time she did not want to be able to predict the furniture and arrangement with more than sixty percent accuracy. In her early days of traveling she’d discovered most chains had the same handful of paintings and pictures in their rooms. Pastorals without location were mixed in with photographs of local landmarks taken from off angles. This happened from Seattle to Tampa.

Most of them were held in frames that hadn’t been replaced in decades. In a way she respected their resiliency. Hotels typically remodeled or rebranded every five to ten years but these frames persisted through each iteration. In a way, the hotel bent the frames’ will.

She’d come to recognize the patterns of local hotels. Without prompting, the staff would tell you about which celebrity who’d stayed there once, tipped everyone extravagantly, and then refused to stay anywhere else when they were in town. Young Celebrity Not To Be Named #1 was a jerk but Young Celebrity Nuber #2 was a sweetheart who also tended to ignore knocks on the door, usually didn’t bother to set the lock or generally wear clothes.

In a wheelchair (m/f oral)

(Mind the misspellings please.)

For the last several years she made a point of not staying in chain hotels. If she’d needed to live out of a small suite for a few weeks at a time she did not want to be able to predict the furniture and arrangement with more than sixty percent accuracy. In her early days of traveling she’d discovered most chains had the same handful of paintings and pictures in their rooms. Pastorals without location were mixed in with photographs of local landmarks taken from off angles. This happened from Seattle to Tampa.

Most of them were held in frames that hadn’t been replaced in decades. In a way she respected their resiliency. Hotels typically remodeled or rebranded every five to ten years but these frames persisted through each iteration. In a way, the hotel bent the frames’ will.

She’d come to recognize the patterns of local hotels. Without prompting, the staff would tell you about which celebrity who’d stayed there once, tipped everyone extravagantly, and then refused to stay anywhere else when they were in town. Young Celebrity Not To Be Named #1 was a jerk but Young Celebrity Nuber #2 was a sweetheart who also tended to ignore knocks on the door, usually didn’t bother to set the lock or generally wear clothes.

Presidential receiving line (f/m, m/m, oral)

This is satire based on the idea that giving a blowjob is as common as opening a door for someone. It is completely consensual and very normal.

The president stood at the end of another long receiving line and I was again amazed by his charm. Anyone can be charming for half an hour but he stood in his office, with his perfect posture and unwaveringly kind smile, and greeted visitors for hours at a time. The man was a phenomenon.

No one would have begrudged him a flaccid cock in a situation like this. Many distracted or disinterested presidents would bruskly shake hands with the men while one by one their wives elegantly took to their knees in a deep curtsey (all of them, it seemed, had gone to finishing school) and politely closed their mouths around the limp presidential member for the polite amount of time: three head bobs of the head according to Emily Post. Then they would rise just as elegantly as they had kneeled and nod to man out respect for the office.

Presidential receiving line (m/f, m/m, oral)

This is satire based on the idea that giving a blowjob is as common as opening a door for someone. It is completely consensual and very normal.

The president stood at the end of another long receiving line and I was again amazed by his charm. Anyone can be charming for half an hour but he stood in his office, with his perfect posture and unwaveringly kind smile, and greeted visitors for hours at a time. The man was a phenomenon.

No one would have begrudged him a flaccid cock in a situation like this. Many distracted or disinterested presidents would bruskly shake hands with the men while one by one their wives elegantly took to their knees in a deep curtsey (all of them, it seemed, had gone to finishing school) and politely closed their mouths around the limp presidential member for the polite amount of time: three head bobs of the head according to Emily Post. Then they would rise just as elegantly as they had kneeled and nod to man out respect for the office.

At the concert (m/f)

Each time she brushed against him he grew less restrained. The less restrained he grew, the more often she brushed against him. He took the first purposeful slide of her hips against his as an accident. Loud music drowned out thought in the small club. Everyone pressed together in a brick box with speakers, a soundboard and nowhere for the heat from the lights and from their bodies to go. She danced through the crowd with her arms in air as though everyone else were there simply for her to swim through.

He’d lost count of how many times she slid her ass across the front of his jeans when she passed him. Once, he ventured the back of his hand against the small of her back. The next he put the palm of his hand across her hip. She lingered, his hand against her body and the heart in his throat throbbed faster. He curled his fingers around her, gripping her waist softly. So softly. The jolt of sudden intimacy shot through him out of this subtle, slight caress. Then the subdued panic of overstepping his bounds and having misinterpreted everything. She turned her head slowly and as she moved to look at him the sense of gamble almost overtook him. Her smile had gravity though, and he felt himself pulled toward her as she danced away again. The next time she danced toward him he slid both his palms against her ass. She leaned back into him and his hard on stiffened.

At the concert (m/f)

Each time she brushed against him he grew less restrained. The less restrained he grew, the more often she brushed against him. He took the first purposeful slide of her hips against his as an accident. Loud music drowned out thought in the small club. Everyone pressed together in a brick box with speakers, a soundboard and nowhere for the heat from the lights and from their bodies to go. She danced through the crowd with her arms in air as though everyone else were there simply for her to swim through.

He’d lost count of how many times she slid her ass across the front of his jeans when she passed him. Once, he ventured the back of his hand against the small of her back. The next he put the palm of his hand across her hip. She lingered, his hand against her body and the heart in his throat throbbed faster. He curled his fingers around her, gripping her waist softly. So softly. The jolt of sudden intimacy shot through him out of this subtle, slight caress. Then the subdued panic of overstepping his bounds and having misinterpreted everything. She turned her head slowly and as she moved to look at him the sense of gamble almost overtook him. Her smile had gravity though, and he felt himself pulled toward her as she danced away again. The next time she danced toward him he slid both his palms against her ass. She leaned back into him and his hard on stiffened.

Published
Categorized as Erotica

At the museum (m/f)

She was full of questions and eye contact. He told her of the history of another and another painting as she listened with an approximation of attention. If she’d asked him to repeat what he’d just said he couldn’t have obliged her. He was aware that he was speaking a familiar speech that he’d given to tour groups of grandmothers and art students before her but he couldn’t say at what point in the speech he was. He could draw her deep blue eyes from memory though. He knew the brushstrokes that would paint her hair.

At the end of each speech at each painting she riddled him with questions. Had this artist been influenced by a certain other artist? From whose collection did the museum receive it? Had it been offered or was it pursued? How many times had they asked? She knew the answers. He felt her study his reactions at each question mark. He felt her undressing him with her eyes from his knowledge downward.

“What is your least popular exhibit?” she asked, her gaze penetrating him as he welcomed more.

“The furniture on the lower level.”

She stepped forward. “Why isn’t it popular?”

At the museum (m/f)

She was full of questions and eye contact. He told her of the history of another and another painting as she listened with an approximation of attention. If she’d asked him to repeat what he’d just said he couldn’t have obliged her. He was aware that he was speaking a familiar speech that he’d given to tour groups of grandmothers and art students before her but he couldn’t say at what point in the speech he was. He could draw her deep blue eyes from memory though. He knew the brushstrokes that would paint her hair.

At the end of each speech at each painting she riddled him with questions. Had this artist been influenced by a certain other artist? From whose collection did the museum receive it? Had it been offered or was it pursued? How many times had they asked? She knew the answers. He felt her study his reactions at each question mark. He felt her undressing him with her eyes from his knowledge downward.

“What is your least popular exhibit?” she asked, her gaze penetrating him as he welcomed more.

“The furniture on the lower level.”

She stepped forward. “Why isn’t it popular?”