Work Those Inches

NOTE: 18 and up entry only!!!

Another tasty lil'snippet from my nearly complete erotica novella Black Dogs and Rebel Roses:


He stood in darkness, on earth thick with soft black sand that glittered like onyx. The ground sloped gently downward to the edge of a lake whose waters were equally black, small obsidian waves gently lapping the shore. Skriker looked down and realized that he was naked, naked as the day that he had been born twenty seven years before. His cock was ridiculously hard, a huge thick rod of meat that thrust proudly outward from the bushy patch of pale blond pubic hair sprouting around it, throbbing, its tip already wet with urgency. He was staring at it stupidly, wondering if he should simply jerk off right here and get some relief, when the waters just beyond the shore quivered and sparkled, then parted.



Rose came out of the water, rising from it silently, without a splash or a ripple; it parted for her like folds of satin, and she emerged completely dry. Her hair hung long and heavy over her body, ropes of dark corkscrewed silk that tumbled past her buttocks and swung against her thighs. She was nude and her body was everything—no, beyond anything—that he had ever wanted, desired, or dared dream of, utter sweet perfection. She walked across the surface of the water as if it were not fluid but glass, and her eyes were closed. She moved as if by instinct, as if he were a beacon that she could see glowing in the depths of her mind. As she drew near her lips parted into a strange, almost terrifying smile and Skriker felt his desire become stained with a baser, sharper emotion.


Fear.


Rose opened her eyes, and he would have run away. Run away even though he didn’t understand why part of him wanted to. But he was rooted to the ground, unable to move as she approached him, her eyes no longer ocean-and-earth but glowing with a searing silver-white fire that seemed to permeate his very soul. The demon in him, the True Native, shrieked and howled in bald horror, while the human in him cried out, reaching for her, needing her as if it meant his very existence. He had never in his life felt more fragmented.


Rose came to him and when her hands touched him they seemed to sear his flesh with more of that impossible light. He tried to speak but found he could not. The fear thrumming through him was quickly being drowned by an insatiable desire; he sank to his knees before her on the soft glittering sand, his arms encircling her hips, his fingers digging into her high firm buttocks and the small of her back. He pressed his face against her flat perfect belly, his mouth open and eager, his tongue slicking over her flesh. She filled his mouth and nose with the fabulous mingled stench of sweat and dead flowers as he moved down and nuzzled into the soft dark tangle of her pubic hair, his skilled tongue searching, seeking, finding. She murmured to him, her long hands stroking the back of his neck and the line of his jaw. He dipped and tasted as a bee does to a blossom, and he could hear her voice, not in his ears but in the corridors of his mind


worship me


and he was helpless to resist her; her voice was like the voice of God and the demon in him screamed and writhed in speechless terror but he ignored it. He tasted her, caressed the silken folds between her parting thighs with his tongue until she flowed salty wetness and then she was pushing him down onto his back, sinking down onto him, impaling herself on his thick eager cock. He arched against her, groaning, and her grin widened as she began to work his inches, her hips grinding and thrusting in perfect rhythm. He caressed her breasts, her nipples coming to high eager tips between his fingers, and she began to cry out gloriously, her eyes blazing, her voice—

 
Oooh! Guess you gotta wait a bit longer, huh? ;)
(c) 2010 by Danielle D. Smith
Rip off my shit and DIE!!!