Erotic Tale #10: Just the Two of Us

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes

Josephine slid her hands down the lines of her tapering waist as she regarded her semi-nude reflection in the mirror. There was something different… unfamiliar… about the woman looking back at her. It was like beholding a stranger from across a crowded room, but knowing exactly who they are. Her reflection provoked a surprisingly submissive response in her, and she cast her gaze downwards. Somehow, she felt her reflection continuing to watch her, even though she herself was looking everywhere else but straight ahead.

A single tear seeped from one of her storm-tossed blue eyes. It rolled down her cheek, under her chin and straight towards the valley between her heaving breasts. It vanished into the space that shielded a heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest. This felt intense. She had always figured that she was never really truly alone when she was just with herself, but this time felt very different; it legitimately felt like a separate and wholly benevolent entity was right there with her… and it thrilled her to no end.

“Touch your breasts. Feel their weight, the delicate near-transparent tissue encasing them,” said a disembodied voice that sounded a lot like her own. She looked up and met the piercing eyes of her reflection once again. It was her for sure, but the difference was uncanny; her reflection was dominating… but adoring.

She didn’t question the order. She knew it was in her best interests to listen and comply without resistance. Her hands were resting by her side, and then they began to crawl like spiders up her torso, up the subtle muscle indentations of her obliques until they arrived right beneath her breasts. With utter delicacy and a silent slowness, her hand cupped her left breast, and her thumb swiped her erect nipple from beneath her bralette. Her other nipple hardened in anticipation as her hand finger-walked across her chest to cup her right breast and stroke that little node of oft-neglected nerve-endings. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, a whimper escaping her red lips.

“Yes. I can tell how much you like that. You do enjoy it, don’t you?” the honeyed voice asked. Josephine stared into her own eyes, her inhibitions melting like glaciers in the modern era.

“I do enjoy it,” she whispered as both of her hands pulled up her bralette, and held the soft orbs of warm receptive flesh. She caressed them as her eyes swept up and down the length of her body, which was ripening with sweetness and juice like a sun-warmed plum. Another bead of sweat released itself from her browline and travelled along the curve of her cheek.

“Take a photo. You can send it to your husband. You can send it to an admirer. But it’s really for you. You can opt to touch yourself to it later, if you like,” the voice offered, oozing excitement.

“Ummm… ok. But with my parts covered,” Josephine replied with growing confidence.

“They say ‘Less is More,'” her reflection agreed with a chuckle.

In response, Josephine adjusted her errant tits back in her bralette, grabbed her phone and snapped a few selfies. She giggled, enjoying her moment of self-worship. To her utter surprise, she really liked what she saw through her camera.

“Now taste yourself,” the voice implored with a trace of barely-controlled passion. Josephine’s body reacted with rolling hills of gooseflesh across the expanse of her skin. She looked into her own eyes as a finger caught another wayward bead of sweat, and brought it to her lips. Her tongue snaked out and licked it from her fingertip. It tasted like salt and home. It brought another tear to her eye.

“Taste more,” the voice asserted, still gentle but with a sense of scarcely masked carnality. Josephine was getting so turned on. She felt like two people in one, and relished the lip-smacking confusion of being both object and subject of her own desire. She finally smiled at her reflection… an eye-watering vision of cinnamon, honey, and acid-whipped cayenne.

She reached down, her hand vanishing beneath the lacey material of her panties, and slipped her fingers between the folds of her vulva, which were moistening with autosexual arousal. She located her little pearl of exquisite pleasure, and moved her finger around it in circular motions, drawing out even more nectar before plunging her fingers into her cream-lined opening. She pulled her fingers free and brought them to her lips, and proceeded to lick and suck off the glisten.

“Mmmm… that’s so good,” she moaned to herself, making eyes at her reflected self, a devious smile playing upon her elastic mouth. Her fingers plumbed back into her silky depths and pulled out strings of warm viscous sex which she rubbed between her thumb and forefinger before continuing to stimulate her engorged clitoris. She was already on the brink of climax.

She felt it building in her belly, and with feverishly dexterous fingers, she quickened her hand and found herself moments away from release.

“Let it go. Let is all go. Release it. I want you gushing as you cum,” the voice said. But the voice was coming from her own mouth, and not just her reflection. It had been coming from her all along.

“Mmm… yesss… unnnffff,” she groaned as she gave in to her climax. Liquid dribbled from deep inside her dripping wet cunt, and curled its way down her legs, pooling immodestly at her bare feet.

She looked up to meet her own eyes… and there was no more differentness or strangeness. It was just her, and she laughed so hard that she released the rest of the river roaring in her loins.



Mounds of Venus

erotic poetry

Take your lust-laced musings for a walk

Amid my swelling mounds of Venus,

And feel the mighty surge of the Aphroditic tides

Squalling forth from the twilight

Trapped between my quaking shuddering limbs.

Let my Aeolian murmurs dance upon the top of your head

And your shoulders

As your moans get tangled in fractaled folds

Of my glistening moon-steeped love



Erotic Tale #4: Surrounded

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes, Uncategorized

She lay on the bed, not a stitch of clothing on her. She was lost in a maelstrom of orgasmic bliss as she played with her slippery pussy, and squeezed her pert nipples. She was not entirely aware of the throng of men surrounding the bed, each one fully clothed save for their exposed, turgid cocks, which they were all working up and down, up and down, as if in a barely controlled state. They were grunting, moaning, growling their respective pleasure. One guy kept ordering her to stick her fingers in her moist cunt. Sometimes she would oblige; other times… no.

This was their privilege. To see her come undone before them. An absolute mess. A true cum slut in her element. But not their cum slut; rather, her own.

She knew they wanted to possess her, to covet her body, to enter all of her orofices, to coat her in their semen and mark her as their territory. But the rule was no touching anything other than their own members. No possession allowed. Not a fucking chance.

As she began to approach her climax, which was obvious by her increasingly desperate whimpers, each man began to fire off rope after rope of hot viscous spunk upon her body. Ok, so maybe their man-milk could touch her; every other part of them was strictly verboten.

After she came, she rubbed the collective pool of cum all over her writhing, glistening body, giggling like a naughty little school girl playing with glue.

Then she ordered them all to leave her alone so she could have more fun… all by herself… with her toys and her savagely tainted imagination.

She didn’t really need them there anyway, but it was a thrill just the same to tease and torment, and dangle without feeling the need or desire to deliver a single thing.


Erotic Tale #2 : The Bus Ride

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes, Uncategorized

She sat in a corner pocket seat in the back of the packed city bus. It was always busting at this time, a torrent of sweaty bodies belonging to people of all varieties: high school and college students, young moms pushing gigantic baby carriages, suits, working class, everybody all together, charging at the speed of rush-hour traffic towards their respective days.

She always got a thrill when doing the unexpected and unseen in plain sight. Writing smut on her phone next to an obviously modest and religious older woman. Checking out male “packages” behind opaque sunglasses. Going to work commando… in a dress. To name just a few ways in which she got her jollies on a regular basis.

Today, she was commando… again… but wearing a pair of vibrating ben-wa balls deep inside her well-toned pussy. No one could see the remote she was palming. She was waiting for the right moment when the bus reached maximum capacity, before flicking that switch… and her erect little bean.

When the bus couldn’t get any more full, when people were practically hanging over her, when she could feel the breathe of other passengers reach her nostrils, when they were almost too close for comfort, she pressed the button on her remote and closed her eyes. She could sense her sex awakening from the soft undulations of the gyrating little balls hidden way up her snatch. She pressed her legs closer together to intensify the expanding pleasure. She moved a hand under the backpack on her lap to gain secret access to her well, which was starting to brim over with liquid joy.

She could feel her nectar start to trickle out in a little stream; if she were standing, you would have been able to see it twising around her shapely legs and pooling at her feet. She had made sure to lift her skirt before sitting so that the material on the seat absorbed her ejaculate rather than the skirt itself. She didn’t want to ruin it.

Also… she liked the thought of an unsuspecting passenger (preferably someone who appears visibly religious, someone who would think her reprehensibly sinful) sitting on the evidence of her arousal.

With that one little thought, she had a full body orgasm which she hid with the skill of a masturbating ninja.

“I don’t know why it turns me on so much to wet my seat…,” she thought to herself with a mischievous grin as she stood up to navigate her way off the impossibly packed city bus. From the corner of her eye, she saw someone take her seat, and her clit jerked back to full post-orgasmic wakefulness, ready for another round.


Maestro, Muse, Masterpiece

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

Each day is a waiting canvas

Upon which I enact the roles

Of Maestro, Muse and Masterpiece,

All three

At once.

The Maestro in his masculine power,

All dynamism and fire,

All palette, paintbrush and brush stroke,

Becomes catalyzed by the divine whisperings and Aeolian caresses

Gifted by the Muse,

Who bleeds feminine enigma and goddess nectar

Down his ear canal,

Into his blood stream,

To the core of his galactic soul,

All over their altar of shared creation.

Together they meld and melt into the other and the aether

And bring forth a masterpiece

Of divine eternal union




And infinite

In its sublime grandeur.

All of this

Inside of Me.


More Than One


The first time I put this piece on and looked in the mirror,

I was powerless to stop my hands wandering, roving over the curves and slopes of my body.

I couldn’t believe it was me I was seeing.

I couldn’t believe the audaciously aroused expression on my own face,

When I saw myself in this new piece of lingerie.

Never had I wanted someone more than the one standing in front of me. I still want no one else more. I never knew it was possible to feel this way.

And I know it might seem weird as fuck to you, but sometimes I feel like I am my own secret crush. It makes me warm all over. It makes me want to touch myself.

Then I divide into more than one, and we end up making love until we are both howling and begging mercy from the ether

And each other.


Self-Worship Does the Body Good


I was perusing some of my favourite ladies on WordPress this morning, and I am seriously infatuated with a few of them. I mean, intelligence, wit, sexiness and lip-smacking titties and ass… what more can one possibly want out of a morning read?

Anyhoo, I was so inspired and turned on by one tasty photo set, that I had to snap some photos of myself. I may as well share them….

I have really grown to love and adore my breasts. I used to hate them… like seriously hate them. They always invited unwanted attention, and I used to be extremely introverted.

People have always commented on them… their size mostly. When I was 11, my uncle, who actually isn’t a creep, he just didn’t know any better, made me self-conscious for the very first time of my budding breasts by merely pointing out their existence. It was a simple observation of my starting to fill out that made me aware of my body and other people’s response to it.

An old high school friend used to oggle them constantly. When we would meet for drinks, he would always let me know how much he admired them. I should have been flattered but it just made me uncomfortable because I wasn’t into him that way. And I did not agree with him that they were desirable. I thought they were saggy, lopsided, squishy and just fucking gross.

My friend’s mom, whom I had known most of my life, once reached down my shirt and grabbed my tit and shook it. She meant it affectionately, and she was a very bold personality, but still, I was like 18 and a virgin, and no one else had ever touched my tits. I felt violated… but I giggled when she did it because I didn’t know how to set boundaries with others.

I had one person tell me that she could now see that they are assymetrical… when I was pregnant… when my body was transforming into an unrecognizable stretched out mess (I looked adorable as a short preggie chick… but I felt disgusting). Yeah. Always nice to have your imperfections pointed out to you when everything makes you cry.

There are so many more instances in which I have hated my tits, but those days are thankfully long gone. They are now an errogenous zone; prior to lactating, they did not factor into my sex life. I would feel repulsed when hubs would play with them… not by him but by me… because I hated myself. But hubs had a major fetish for my breasts when they produced milk, and I loved the sensation of letting down in a sexual situation (obviously with an adult and NOT my baby… duh) as well as how excited he would get when he expressed that liquid gold from my protruding nipples. That helped me learn to love and enjoy them. That, and now taking adoring photos.

No matter what anyone else thinks, says or does pertaining to my breasts, they are mine, and I grant you the privilege of watching me love on them. Yes… the privilege. It was a long road to self-love, but it feels like I have finally arrived home.


Honey Pot

erotic poetry

Dip your fingers in my honey pot,

And you will see how sun-ensouled nectar drips from your digits like a viscous melody.

You will see my undulations beckon you to a second helping

Of unhinged longing and glee,

Long held captive by gates of goose-pimpled flesh and opaque black fibre.


Painting with Body Parts #12: Spectral Boob Imprints

painting with body parts, Uncategorized

A weekend in the country usually brings with it a painting session. This weekend was no different.

I knew that I wanted to do something on a black background. With neon colours. Because I was feeling kinda… neon. Sometimes one just feels a little brighter, a little MORE, than usual.

I pulled down my mirror because it is more fun to pour and slather paint all over my body when I can do it along with my reflection. It also makes me feel like I have company. I don’t care if that makes me seem pathetic. I really do enjoy my own company; we are best friends.

Art-making is never just art-making for me, as I have mentioned before. It is a Party-for-One with wine, candlelight, music and tonnes of giggles. Maybe it’s more of a romantic and kinky date, now that I think about it. Unless there are negative emotions and experiences in need of purging…. Then there might be some crying… or anxious sighing in the very least.

This time, the only sighing that took place was the completely satisfied/aroused kind.

I primed the canvas in black, and allowed it to dry.

I played before the mirror in the mean time.

When the canvas was mostly dry, I started pouring neon paint in pink, blue, yellow and green over my breasts. This was the first time that I had an explicitly sexual response to the paint. All others times it was expressly sensual. This time… my nether regions were… ummm… swirling sacral chakra energy.

The next time I do this I will not take a single picture so that I can completely absorb the experience rather than document it. Documenting has its purpose as the process is very much a part of my art, but sometimes it takes away from being present… and that is something I need to do more… every day.

Anyway, this part was my favourite. My fetish metre (is there such a thing) was through the roof.

I took photos of the impression process but believe it or not, they are just a little too intimate to share. There is something very sacred about that part of my process that to display it might rob it of its power. So y’all can just imagine it instead.

I am not quite sure how this image came to be. It looks like spectral fetal twins or something you might see on a Sigur Ros album cover. It looks like I might have two people living inside of me. Makes sense because that is how I often feel. Or like an alien. It’s is usually one or the other on any given day.

Regardless, I really like what came out of me.

These imprints are kind of like full body tea leaf readings… with paint rather than tea leaves. Think I can use them as a divination tool? Come one, come all to Empress TJ’s School for tarot and body paint imprint readings! It could happen. This must be a thing somewhere out there. If not… I may have something here.




I have never really been big into lingerie. But in recent years, I have been developing a keen interest. I do not collect lingerie by any means, but have a few select items that I enjoy both with my partner and on my own.

In actuality, I am much more of a black thong and fishnet stockings kinda gal. I definitely want a garter belt though. That’s just what’s missing from my life.


Lounging Around


No work today. Fine by me. Time for some fishnet. And some painting… at some point.

Right now though… I am clearly distracted.

Should I bake like this? Thinking about it.

I enjoy solitude way too much. Hubs is probably going to roll his eyes at this post. But he will smile a little smile too… because he knows what’s coming… or should I say… cumming?

I am a silly little goose today. A naughty one swathed in black fishnet… shit. Definitely staying in today….


Playtime in the Snow


I had myself little fun this past weekend. Up in the country, there is still a tonne of snow. Mountains of the white shit blocks the view from most of our windows. This year was a doozy in the snow department.

So I figured I would make the best of it, and enjoy some temperature play of my own.

It started with a strip tease…

Then me reclining directly on the snow. Yes… I would have to be crazy to do this. And luckily, I am!

The photo looks delicious, yet I was feeling anything but! My ass was frozen!

See the redness? Like I said… frozen arse. But begging for a spank.

There is nothing quite as liberating as nudity (or partial nudity) en plein air. Mmmm! Can’t wait for warmer weather. I have a feeling a lot of naked outdoor adventures await.




These moments between time are so fleeting and ethereal.

Almost not of this world,

But not out of it either.

Though, my skin never forgets

The ghostly caresses and ectoplasmic digits that cross dimensions and invade my body,

That I sense without a single touch on this limited physical plane.

I feel you tongue the parts of me that fold inwards, out of their sight, but fully within yours.

You see me when I can’t. When no one else does. You always see me.

You touch me when my fingers tingle from a numbness spreading like gauzy spiderwebs across a vacant attic.

Your touch is my own, from the inside out, from the outside in.

No one touches me like I do.