Stories

With a Chisel

He’s rock-hard already when she stops teasing him to fetch the gorgon, dolldick waving proudly (or perhaps desperately, if the little drips oozing from its tip are any indication) in her workshop’s warm air.

She’s been careful not to touch it, but that’s hardly a barrier; his body has so many other sensitive places for her hands to linger, and the plug buzzing against his prostate certainly helped—it’s always been his weak point, though she’s been careful not to give it the sort of hammering that might push him over the edge. That would ruin things.

Burnt-lemon Smoke

“Hey, get ready. Fifteen seconds …”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.”

“… five, four, three, two, inhale—”

The burnt-lemon smoke burns her throat as it goes down, leaves her feeling rough and raw. Spasmodic coughs shake her body.

“—there, I think you got it all. Sit down …”

Her head feels hot as her friend’s hands guide her down to the carpet’s cool embrace. It’s so soft, so yielding! The perfect place to be, the perfect place to stretch out her legs and wiggle her toes and giggle and fall over—

“I’m glad you’re broken too.”

“I’m glad you’re broken too.”

The murmured words linger in her ears just like the sticky sweat covering both their bodies, its wet horny smell slowly fading into a memory of itself as the little room’s littler AC unit struggled to catch up with the heat. The room smells like sex, like her body and theirs, like all the gasps and touches and shuddering moments of release they’d filled each other with all through the movie murmuring its background noise from her laptop’s little speakers and long past its end—

Royal Doll

Ever since the prince’s new tutor arrived at the castle, everything has been just humming along. It’s really almost uncanny! It’s like someone’s filled off all the edges that used to cause so much friction; the chefs haven’t bitten anyone’s head off, let alone snapped at them, and the scullery maids have grown so quiet and efficient that you almost wouldn’t know they’re there. The footmen move in well-rehearsed motions, the horses kneel down to be mounted …

Tying scraps of cloth to a dryad’s limbs in the winter so she won’t feel naked

a response to this prompt  

She first met them in the summer, when their strong arms and broad thighs and sturdy chest were covered with a thick coat of fresh growth—a dozen shades of vibrant green sprouting from the rough bark of their skin, little rivulets of life like spreading moss sheltered beneath delicate leaves and the thorny flowers that adorned their head.

They were everywhere, then, always waiting for her to venture out into the forested hills so close behind her home; up and up along the merest hints of hiking paths and deer trails winding between the last traces of decaying industry, up into the fresh-born wilderness blossoming with life—

Something She’s Got Plans for Later

a response to this prompt   .

It’s not quite your first day, but she makes it feel like it is.

Everywhere you go in the tiny, crowded kitchen you can feel her eyes on you, the heat radiating from her bulk as she slides in next to you (or behind you, with the weight of her arms reaching around your too-slender body) to correct some perceived flaw in what you know is exactly what you were told to do just a few days before.