Pillow Talk

Pillow Talk

© 2000 Mike Kimera  Do not reproduce without permission mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk

“When you tell yourself the story of your life, is it a book or a movie?”

No fair. How am I supposed to concentrate on questions like that just after I’ve come? I want to lie back and enjoy the warm glow; maybe nap a little. Of course, with Helena, that is out of the question. She is resting her head on my belly, apparently fascinated by my now limp and sated cock, which she is playing with like a bendy toy.

“Huh?” I answer, displaying my Cambridge education to the full.

“Are you a ‘I was born on a dark and stormy night’ sort of guy?” she says, moving her head further down my belly.

“You know, linear memories bound by the three unities of time space and action.” As she names each unity her finger and thumb test the degree of elasticity of my foreskin by way of emphasis.

“Or do you visualise your life in flashbacks, freeze-frames and fantasy sequences?”  Helena lets the back of my cock rest on her cheek as she laves my post-coital stickiness with her tongue.

“Er, I don’t know” I say, completely distracted.

“How…” a pause while she sucks most of my, now rather less limp, cock into her mouth. She turns her head to face me, nimbly avoiding twisting my flesh beyond return despite the continuous suction. Looking me in the eyes, she pulls me from her mouth, as if removing a lollipop, in order to speak, “…can you not know?”

One elbow is now between my legs.  Resting her chin on her hand, she places the tip of my penis on her large closed lips and raised one eyebrow in playful interrogation.

Enough. I am awake now and I’m not going to take this lying down; I need to be kneeling. But Helena has me in the palm of her hand. Before I can act I have to find a way to make her let go.

In her progress down my belly, Helena has insinuated her body closer to mine.  Her breasts are pressed against my thigh. Her hips are flat to the bed with one thigh snuggled in to my ribs. Her legs are parted just enough to display my cum oozing out of her. I know an invitation when I see one.

“Well books are difficult.” I say. Her eyes watch my hand rest on her buttock then caress the curved edge, fingers gently moving slowly into the dark recess. She slides her tongue under the length of my cock and presses her thigh closer to me.

“You find them inherently problematic?” she asks, as if we were discussing this in a seminar group.

The palm of my hand is now on her inner thigh, the fingers placing gentle pressure on soft skin below the labia. She opens her legs further and waits.

“I never know whether to say ‘Mark’s fingers pushed insistently into the cum-slickened centre of Helena’s sex’ or  ‘My fingers and thumb clamp on to your pubis from inside and out, the fingers buried in your warm wet folds, the thumb torturing the erect nub of your sex’ Tense is so important. Point of view is critical. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes” Helena says, releasing my cock and rolling on to her back. “From my point of view it is vital to find the perfect tense.”

I bend both fingers inside her, exploring the ridged flesh, relishing the touch of her muscles, eager and enticing. Trying not to break my rhythm, I move around the anchor of my hand until I am kneeling between Helena’s legs.

“Movies can be so much more immediate.” I say. “You know the kind of thing: scene opens with extreme close up, side view, of woman’s slender fingers caressing her own breast. Nipple is very erect. Male mouth lowers. Tongue extends, touches nipple. Low groan (female) is heard. Man’s mouth closes over entire nipple”.

Helena allows me to play director and throws herself into her role with enthusiasm, emit a low throaty sound that stiffens me. We improvise the dialogue-free action scene for a while, my mouth and her breast questing for ways to do something new with form but always returning to the traditional suck and bite formula, cliched yet effective.

Alas a director’s work is never done. My body is telling me that it’s time to move towards the denouement, or do I mean climax?

“Yep. It would have to be a movie.” I say, sitting back on my heels, my hands sliding under Helena’s buttocks.

“I particularly like sequels” I say moving her ass up my thighs and letting her wrap her legs about my waist.

“How’s about ‘American Beauty 2: the second coming’?” Helena suggests “with me covered in rose petals”.

“Sod art” I say, pushing into her.  “Let’s do a porno: ‘Helena takes it all – again’ ”

I bring her legs from behind me to rest on my shoulder, both ankles held in one hand. The serious work is about to begin.

“OK big boy” she laughs “Run VT”.


This is an updated version of  story that came to me after a long drive through Wyoming. My wife and I  fell in love with the place and the people. It’s a humorous little fantasy.

I hope you enjoy it.


(C) Mike Kimera 2010 All rights reserved.


Wyoming. Nothing much ever happens in Wyoming. What kind of state doesn’t even have a baseball team?

I was headed for California and a new job in construction. Wyoming was just a State I wanted to get through as quickly as possible.

Maybe that’s why I was doing  90mph. Have you seen the long straight roads they have there? You can drive for an hour off the highway and not see another car.

My mind was filled with thoughts of what I’d do when I got to California. I hadn’t had a fuck in three days and my cock got hard as I pictured the bikini-clad girls roller-blading into my life.

I didn’t see the copcar ‘til its blues went on. Shit! I couldn’t afford a fine.

I pulled over and waited for Cowboycop to mosey on over and tell me how fast I’d been going and how much it was gonna cost me.

The sun was in my eyes when I looked in the mirror. Man this cop was small for a cowboy.

It was the hat and the uniform that mislead me. I was looking at a coplet. A really hot coplet.

As she came up to the window I realised she was about 5’ and weighed no more than 85lbs. Thick dark hair held up in a french braid. Slight build, small breasts and god what a tight tempting ass in those trooper pants.

She bent towards the car window and I saw a set of bright pink Cupid-shaped lips beneath the reflective sunglasses staring blankly back at me.

She was not smiling.

Suddenly I wished I’d shaved. I expected “License and registration.”  I got “Get out of the car please sir.”

I hesitated. She stepped back, right hand resting in a relaxed but threatening way on her gun.

“Now sir”. She said…


Wyoming. Why did I ever move here? After I passed the exams I could have been a peace-officer in some nice little town with a beach.

But I had to follow pretty-boy Luke.

God he made me wet when I first saw him.

I was at the Rodeo in Moab. I’m a sucker for watching Old Glory riding out on a white horse, flanked on either side by the flags of the King of Beers and the Real Thing. This was the America my parents had moved from Mexico to find before I was born.

Luke was a young god on a wild horse. Tall, slim, hard muscles and an easy smile. Bright blue eyes that shone from a dark tanned face. And a butt to die for.

He fell off his horse in front on me. I was in cowboy boots, short shorts, crop top and straw cowboy hat. As he stood up dusting himself off his eyes moved methodically up my body and his grin widened.

The fucking started right there really ‘tho it took us another hour to get back to his motel.

That first fuck was wild. He picked me up, put me on his cock and literally rode me round the room. I was shouting “Yea Hah” so hard the neighbours complained. I came with a rush and he was still hard. He stayed that way for an hour. I was in heaven. I knew he was training me like a bronco;  riding me ‘til I got tired but I figured the ride was worth it.

When I couldn’t move any more, I lay my head on his hard stomach and sucked his cock like a baby on the tit. He came in my mouth, great spurts of cum pumping into me, his hand resting on my head as if he was patting a favourite dog.

“Thanks baby” he said and fell asleep.

In the morning I woke up to find him already eating me. He lifted his head, flashed his blue-eyed smile and said “Morning baby, I’m Luke– wanna tell me your name?”

The morning disappeared in grunts and groans and slipping and sliding and licking and biting. This time he came deep in my ass and I was the one who fell asleep.

When I woke there was a note: “Hey Maria, we make a great team. Wanna give it a try for a while? Meet me in Cody next Friday”

I read the address. “Cody? Isn’t that in Wyoming?” I thought,

So here I am, twelve months later, a highway cop in Wyoming.  I’m also a Rodeo widow.

“You wouldn’t like it on the road ,baby. Besides,  you have a job here.” he says with his famous smile.

“And besides, you have a girl in every town” I thought.

But then he always comes back to me. Yea hah.

Sitting in the cruiser, waiting for nothing much, I’m thinking how long it’s been since we really fucked. Luke’s been away for two weeks now and my magic wand is starting to pall. Yesterday I found an unwashed shirt of his in the back of the wardrobe and took it to bed with me just to have that man smell in my nose.

“Holy shit what’s his hurry?”

A beat up Ford has just shot past at way over the limit. And me in plain sight.

“You’re going down boy – you’ve just insulted a sexually frustrated cop with nothing better to do than chew on your ass.”

Christ, now I was talking to myself.

I set off after him, flipped on the blues and he pulled over. He was watching me in his rearview. Could be dangerous. My heart always beats harder at this point.

I give him my stony faced look. Wonder what he’ll make of the non-regulation lipstick?

Then I get a surprise. He’s a looker. Kinda Hugh Jackman thing going on: designer stubble with blue-collar cool. Bet he’s good with his hands.

What am I thinking?

Actually I know exactly what I’m thinking, I just don’t want him to know it.

I over compensate. Instead of “license and registration” I say “Get out of the car please sir.”

He’s looking at me strangely. I step back, right hand resting on my gun and say  “Now sir”…


I’ve always had a thing about women in uniform and this woman was pressing all my buttons. I loved that she was so small and looked so tough. And those pink lips had to mean something. I was already imagining the streaks of lipstick she’d leave on my cock as she sucked it.

This was not good for my peace of mind. My cock which had been hard at the thought of rollerblading california girls was positively rigid with excitement at the sight of this coplet.

How was I going to get out of the car without her noticing?

Maybe she was gay and wouldn’t care. Maybe she was a militant feminist and would shoot my balls off for disrespecting her by getting hard in her presence.

I got out of the car. She watched me closely, probably waiting for me to make some kind of move. I couldn’t tell where her eyes were looking through her sunglasses but it seemed to me that she looked at my crotch with more than a casual glance, but her facial expression didn’t even flicker.

I’m 6’3’’ in my barefeet and as I stood up I towered over the coplet, but she was still being tough.

“Assume the position, big boy,” she said.

I turned around and put my hands flat on the car roof and spread my legs. She kicked them slightly further apart and knocked me off balance a little while she frisked me. She stretched as she reached up to my shoulders.

I could feel her like a wall of heat behind me. Briefly I felt her breasts against my back. My cock was so swollen it hurt. Did I feel her nipples or were they the buttons on her shirt?

Now she was patting down my jeans. Her right hand touched my cock. It seemed to slide along the shaft from tip to base but so quickly it was gone before I had time to react. Was she touching me up? I thought about her lipstick, and her lips. I knew there was now a little stain of pre-cum on my jeans.

“Turn around slowly and keep you hands behind hour head” she said.


As he stepped out of the car it was lust at first sight.

Sometimes I just lose it. The civilised, law-enforcing, part of me switches off and the hindbrain takes over. This man had a hotline to my ovaries. My whole body was screaming Fuck him Fuck him now. Take his eed. We need it.

The first time this had happened to me I was nineteen and on my way home for Thanksgiving. I picked up the wrong bag at the bus station. I went to return the bag and found that the guy who owned it had taken mine and gone to his hotel. Boy was I pissed. I would miss my bus and my Mom’s painstakingly authentic American Thanskgiving dinner. I stormed up to the guy’s hotel room and pounded on the door.

He’d just showered. I think it was the way his thick black hair curled on his neck that did it. He was early twenties, tall, dark, six-pack belly of the truly self obsessed. Once our eyes met the rest was inevitable. Three days without leaving the hotel room. Room-service Thanksgiving dinner. I had lots to give thanks for.

I told my folks I got snowed in and couldn’t move. In a way it was true.

Then suddenly I woke up and thought, “who is this guy?” and I was released. The lust demon had crawled back into her cave and I had my life back. I left without a backward glance.

Now it was happening again.

I tried to stay professional but even as I started to frisk him I knew that his gun wasn’t the weapon I was looking for.

His shoulders were broad and his back was hard and lean. He smelled of clean sweat. I love that smell.

In reaching up for his shoulders I leant forward a little more than I needed to. My breasts brushed against his back. Actually my nipples grazed his back. They were stiff and trying to point me in the right direction.

My hands moved down to his hips. I touched his cock. I never touch their cocks. My hand was following instructions of its own and quickly but thoroughly traced the long hard length of it.

I realised I was holding my breath and biting my tongue.

Shit what was this guy going to think?

What was I thinking?

I was thinking how good that cock would feel moving inside me. I was imagining his hard hands on my breasts squeezing and pulling. I was going out of my mind.

There was no other choice; I had to get fucked.

I liked the idea. I hoped he did.

I needed to control this. Make sure I stayed on top.

FLASH IMAGE: me rocking back and forth on his meat, burying my fingernails in his chest hair.

Shit girl, get a grip.

‘”Turn around slowly and keep you hands behind your head,” I said.

He turned slowly, his eyes on mine. He looked embarrassed. Then I saw why. He was creaming his jeans.

This was going to be easier than I’d thought.


“Move towards the cruiser please, sir,” she said.

Her voice was cold and controlled but I‘d seen her head tilt to take in the stain on my jeans. I wondered if she knew that her tongue had moved quickly across her lips, like she was licking off the froth from her first ice cool beer on a hot day?

Something was going down here and I was beginning to hope it might be me.

I decided to try my famous Irish charm.

“Is there a problem officer?”I asked, flashing her my best I-may-not-be-harmless-but-I’ll-definitely-be-fun smile.

Her pink lips twitched a little and I knew she wanted to smile, but she bit it back and said “The problem here is that I gave you an order and you haven’t followed it yet. Now move towards the cruiser.”

I moved towards the cruiser, hands still on my head, absolutely certain that she was watching my butt.

I bet you’re smiling now, I thought.

She opened the rear door of the cruiser. She’d left the engine running and the cool conditioned air  felt inviting.

“Get in” she said.

I turned to get in the car butt first. As my ass touched the seat the coplet suddenly sprang forward and pushed me backwards.

She landed on top of me, knees either side of my hips, hands on my chest. She’d lost her hat and her hair was almost loose. Her face was lit up and her dark eyes were flashing. Then her tongue was in my mouth – for a fraction of a second – and she was kneeling up again, grinning and saying “Don’t just lie there big guy – FUCK ME”.


I have a very understanding subconscious. It understands that every now and then I have to cut loose. When the occasion comes along it tends to start without me. When I told him to head for the cruiser I still hadn’t really decided what I was going to do. Go with the flow. Surf the wave. Ride his cock.

But I didn’t want to rape the guy. “FEMALE COP FORCES MAN AT GUNPOINT” was not a headline I wanted to read.

Then he gave me his “Is there a problem officer?” speech with his thousand megawatt smile and I knew he’d always been able to charm his way out of trouble or into a bed. I also knew he wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by a 5’ lady cop with pink lipstick and a fuck-off-and-die stare. He was enjoying himself.

As I watched his tight butt make its way to the cruiser my conscious mind confirmed the decision my subconscious had already made. I just had to have him.

I literally jumped him.

God that felt good. The look of surprise on his face. His jaw hung open and I couldn’t resist putting my tongue between his open lips.

Do you know how hard it is to take off a uniform inside a police car while sitting on a guy’s chest? I didn’t even try. I moved to his jeans and unleashed the hard cock I’d felt earlier.

Now much as I love the feel of a cock inside me I’ve never really been able to get excited at how they look. Seems to me they were designed on a Friday afternoon and no-one ever quite finished the job. But this cock had as much charm as its owner. It leapt to attention in a flattering way and thudded against his belly. I just had to nibble it, right where the base joins the balls.

That made him writhe. Almost pushed me off. I was grinning now. I ran the flat of my tongue up the length of his cock and then wrapped my lips around the head. MMMMMM.

I looked up at him. His face was all smile.

“I surrender officer. Take me into custody” he said.

I did my famous deep throat trick. As expected it took his breath away.

When I was at college all the girls had competed in the Deep Throat Challenge. We’d do it in bars. It drove the guys wild. It involved those drinks they serve in a long thin glass – flutes I think they’re called. We would order drinks and then lean over the table, take as much of the glass as we could into our mouths, and, without using our hands, lift the glass and empty it. Great practice for suppressing the gag response. If it goes wrong you end up with a creamy cocktail running down your chin. If it goes right every man in the room gets an erection. I always got it right. Now the practice was paying off.

Several inches of his cock were in my mouth. When I started to hum he lost it completely.


I was still tasting her tongue on my mouth when she unzipped me and helped herself to my cock. I hadn’t been this hard since I was seventeen.

She bit me! For one paranoid second I thought I was in an adult version of goosebumps and she’d suddenly turn into a ravening beast that would tear off my cock with her teeth. Then her tongue moved along me like a cat lapping up cream. She was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

I’d just tossed off someline about her taking me into custody – to show I was cool with the whole thing – when my cock disappeared down her throat. She was swift and sure, like a predator swallowing her prey whole. Entering her mouth was like sliding into a warm bath.

Shit she was going to make me come in no time at all. When she started to hum I thought I would shoot right there and then, making myself the winner of the Wyoming Mr Premature Ejaculation contest.

“Whoa there” I said. “Come up for air”.

She let my cock slide from her mouth with a slowness that would have been pure porn movie cliché if it hadn’t been for the twinkle in her eyes that seemed to say “Ok. Your move”.

How the hell was I going to get her uniform off in here?

The answer was simple:  I wasn’t.

My turn for surprises.

The door was still open. I put my boots on the ground and slid forward without any warning. I caught her as I sat up. In a movement that was more luck than skill I ended up standing outside the cruiser with her legs around my waist, her arms around my kneck and my jeans around my ankles.

She looked impressed. She kissed me. Really kissed me. Both hands on my head. Lips crushed against mine. Tongue searching my mouth.

My cock was bouncing against her uniformed ass.



Jesus this guy was strong. He uncoiled himself from the car and took me with him.

The feel of all that muscle moving was enough to make me wet. The touch of his cock on my ass left me drenched. I was ravenous for him.

I kissed him, needing to taste him. I held onto him like I was riding a horse.

His hands were under my butt now. I leant backwards and started to take off my shirt, my legs still wrapped about him. To his credit he kept his eyes on mine, rather than staring at my breasts.

I grinned, climbed up him a little more and pushed his head down into my breasts.

Then I scrambled off him. I needed his cock in me right now. I pushed down my pants and panties together but couldn’t get them off over the boots. Then I assumed the position against the hood of the cruiser. legs spread as wide as I could manage and naked ass in the air.

I looked over my shoulder. The poor boy looked dazed. Birthday and Christmas all at once. But his cock knew what to do. It targeted my ass with military precision. Suddenly he was behind me, hands on my hips, cock at my sex. I couldn’t wait. I pushed back and felt him start his long slow slide into me.


I thought I’d have control once we got outside but being with this woman was like trying to surf the big one, even when you didn’t fall off you were being pushed along.

She may as well have had me on a leash.

When she looked at me over her shoulder, bare ass raised high in the bright sunlight, there was no choice involved in what happened next.

I’m normally a gentle lover. I like to stroke and lick and coax, but now all I wanted was to grab and bite and bang.

Her hips fit into the palms of my hands like carved handles of bone. My cock slid into her wet cunt like it was slicing through ripe fruit. I sank so far into her it felt like falling.

When I slapped up against her ass she grunted… and laughed.

I held her hips firmly and slammed into her with all my strength, she only stayed upright because I held her.

She tossed her head, shaking free her thick dark hair and her face looked as if she was growling. I once saw a lioness being fucked by a lion in the zoo. The lion was bigger than her and was on top but somehow you knew the lioness was in charge and the lion better make it good. The lioness had growled in just the same way as my little coplet.

Shit I was banging in and out of her and I didn’t even know her name.

She braced herself against the cruiser as I banged into her, her head was back, arms tense, breasts shiny with sweat in the sunshine. Her sext was sucking my cock into it with each stroke. Grabbing at it. Defying it to leave. She started to make a low groan that began in the back of her throat and seemed to vibrate through her whole body.

I wanted to come deep inside her but I wanted her to come first.

The moan was becoming a word:  “Fuck”, “FUCK” “FUUUCK.”

With each stroke the word got louder and I knew I was going to come.


I was nothing but need now. I needed to feel him pounding me. Gentle wouldn’t do it.

His cock just amplified my desire. The more I got the more I wanted.

The sun was lapping my body with tongues of warmth. I knew anyone could drive past and see us. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. But mostly I knew that I wanted harder and deeper.

I closed my eyes so that all my senses were concentrated on feeling him in me. To me he was just strong hands and hard cock, but that was enough.

I knew he was trying to control himself. Trying to get me to come first. To hell with that.  I love the moment when they come. It always pushes me over the edge. I wanted to feel him come inside me.

I was completely in the rhythm now. Caught up in magic friction.

I started to make the noise. I think of it as keening, but lovers have told me its more like a growl. It’s the victory howl of the lust demon. The  demon had me now and she started to shout“Fuck”, “FUCK” “FUUUCK.””. Then I felt it. The first hot wet pulse of cum inside me. Then the next. He was standing pressed completely into me, letting his sperm flow at the deepest point.

The feeling of warmth and elation and dissolving spread out from the tip of his cock and swept through me like a wave breaking against a sea wall. For a moment I was nothing but the dissipating energy of that wave. My mind shattered against the sea wall and slid down in pieces. My knees gave way and I slid to the floor, his cock slipping out of me like a cast off skin.


I came so hard it was painful. My cock was a storm drain for sperm. It rushed through me and out of me with force and purpose. Relief. Release. The words don’t even come close. I surrendered myself to coming. There was nothing else.

Then the cop started to fit. At first a tremble, then violent shudders that went on for what seemed forever. Suddenly she went limp and fell on her knees to the ground.

I hoped she wasn’t epileptic. What if she’d had a stroke and died?

Paranoid I bent towards her. I lifted her head by the chin. Her eyes were unfocused at first. As she started to see me there was a fleeting look of puzzlement and then her face was transformed by the biggest, widest smile.

“Thank you” she said.” I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, automatically as I reached down to help her up.

Normally, I’d have been taking in all the fine naked flesh that was on view but I couldn’t take my eyes off her smile.  She’d lost her sunglasses somewhere along the line and now I found myself looking into the deepest, darkest eyes I’d ever seen. A man could drown in eyes like that and die happy.

I wanted to say something or do something but my mind was blank. My erection-driven energy had deserted me and I was left standing with my dick hanging out, gawking like a fool at a women I didn’t want to leave.

“You need to put that away now.” the coplet said, pointing at my dick.

Her tone was serious but her smile was still there.

She watched as I tucked myself back in my jeans. Then pulled she grabbed her big cop-belt, holster and all, and pulled her uniform pants back on, keeping eye contact with me all the while.

While she tightened her belt, I took a risk. “Let me help you with that,” I said and reached forward to do up the front of her uniform shirt.


The afterglow stayed with me long enough for me to thank tall-and-handsome (I really do have to start getting the guy’s name before I fuck them), then reality started to kick in. The lust demon had fled the scene, leaving me to pick up the check, again.

I needed to assert my authority. This could get messy. Hell, it was already messy. I smelt of sex and sweat and I really, really needed a shower.  I put on my stern voice and told him to put his dick away.

Only thing was, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I was standing smiling at a guy who was tucking himself back in his pants, while mine were still around my ankles.  Shit, but sex turns me into a fool.

I pulled up my pants, wriggling into them and wishing I could wash first, and wondering what the hell I should do with tall and handsome now when I realised he was looking at me.  He wasn’t checking me out, grabbing a last look at the my nakedness, he was looking in me in the eye and he looked… bedazzled. Yep that was the word for it. Bedazzled. I like that.

I was playing for time, making a meal of refastening my gun-belt, when he offered to help me and reached out to close the press studs on my shirt.

He didn’t feel me up. He just helped me dress and he looked me in the eyes while he did it.

When he finished, he stood there with his hands at his side and waited like a puppy-dog.

A real cute puppy-dog.

“I need to see some I.D.” I  said.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and offered it to me.

“Just the I.D.” I said, slipping back into the routines of the job, “Keep the wallet.”

Even his driving license photo was cute. Patrick Mahon, from NYC.

“You’re a long way from home, Patrick,” I said, (hey, I still had the guys cum inside me, the least I could do was use his first name) where were you headed in such a hurry?”


Where was I headed? California had suddenly lost its appeal. Where I wanted to be was in a big bed with the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

“Well,” I said, “I was going to California but I’ve changed my plans.”

She smiled and said, “Really, and where are you headed now?”

“Well, that depends.”

She put her hands on her hips, raised an eyebrow and said. “On what?”

My heart beat faster than it should have given what we’d already done together, but I really wanted this to work out.

“On where you live.”


So now he wanted to set up house with me, huh?

Well the man had guts, you had to grant him that. He also had a tight butt, a serviceable cock and a cut grin

But there was no way that he was coming to my house.

I turned away from Patrick, slid into the cruiser and checked his license plate and I.D. Both came up clean.

I looked at the dash and remembered that the video camera had recorded me pulling over the car and how long it had stayed stationary. Thank god I’d waited ’til we got back to the cruiser before I’d jumped him or the tape would be on the X-rated version of “Cops” and I’d be out of a job.

I checked Patrick out in the mirror. He was leaning against the cruiser, hands in his pockets, sill grin on his face, waiting for me.

I was free of the lust demon now. I could do anything I wanted. I could send Patrick on his way to California. I could go home and wait for Luke to return. Or…


When she got out of the cruiser she’d found her hat and her sunglasses. She looked like a cop again,  apart from her hair being loose.

A very hot cop, with gorgeous hair.

A very hot cop who was writing me a ticket.

A ticket.


I’d really thought she’d liked me. I mean, I knew we hadn’t said much but you don’t smile at like that at someone you don’t like. Do you?

“I advise you to obey the speed limit while you’re in Wyoming, Mr. Mahon. Your next offense will cost you more than a fine. Is that clear?”

“Yea, ma’am” came out of my mouth without me having to think about it.

My shoulders slumped and me and my dented ego started to move towards my car.

“Stay where you are, Mr. Mahon, I’m not done with you yet.”


I didn’t make my mind up until after I saw how dejected he looked when I gave him the ticket. I felt like I’d  just kicked a puppy.

He stayed put like I told him to, but his head was down and he wasn’t looking at me. I switched on my radio and said, “Sandy, this is Maria. I’m coming off the clock. I’m gonna take some personal time.”

Patrick’s head came up.

“Something has come up.  I have to take care of it this afternoon.”

Patrick grinned at me. I threw my hat in the back of the cruiser and shook out my hair.

Sandy was still squawking at me.

“Yeah. I know ‘m off duty tomorrow, but this won’t wait.”

If  Patrick had had a tail, I swear it would have wagged.

“Thanks, Sandy. Have a good one yourself.”

I walked back to Patrick and stood very close to him.

“You got me sticky and sweaty.”

“I guess I did.”

“So now I need you to clean me up. You good with that?”

“Can I get you sticky and sweaty again afterwards.”

I pushed up against him on tip toe so I could reach his lips.

This time the kiss was slow and soft.

I stepped back and said.

“Get in your car and follow me.”

“Yes ma’am”.

I watched his butt all the way back to his car. I liked the way this was shaping up.  I adjusted my belt as I sat in the cruiser and my hand brushed against the cuffs at the back. I grinned to myself at the images that summoned in my head.   I pulled out in front of the beaten up Ford and headed for home.

Queen Martha And The Knights Of The Bound Table

I fell in love with the King Arthur myth when I saw John  Boormans “Excalibur” in 1981. A high powered cast, wonderful music, and one of the most erotic dance scenes on film (Igrayne – the dancer who aroused everyone’s lust  was Katrine Boorman, daughter of the Director. Imagine the father daughter chat on the set that day)

I decided to mix the myth with the ethos of the  Carry On movies (my favourite is “Carry On Up The Khyber”) a very British type of comedy filled with puns and innuendos and a relentless humor that doesn’t slow down.

Be warned, “Queen Martha And The Knights Of The Bound Table” is a tale of bondage, whips, leather, and lots and lots of puns. Enjoy.

Maudlin the magician felt that he was not accorded the respect at court that his abilities and position deserved. As the magician who had helped make Queen Martha the woman she was today, he should not be referred to as “that sad old Celt”. Anyway, it was hard to be joyful when you were living your life backwards in time as he was. It wasn’t always fun knowing what, and who, was going to come next.

Ah but today would be different. Today, at dawn, he had a meeting that could change everything. Descending into the bowels of Camealot (he should never have let her call it that, too backward looking and bourgeois; only one step away from Dunscruin) Maudlin let his mind form the image of Martha’s half sister Fata Morgana. It was a big image. Morgana, more than twice Martha’s size and with half her looks, hated the way Martha always called her Fat Mo, running it together into a single insulting word Fatmo. Martha never even noticed the hurt that she caused. Now Morgana was plotting revenge and she wanted Maudlin’s help. There’d be a price to pay of course.  There was always a price.

* * *

The young squire with his head between Queen Martha’s legs was on the verge of becoming a Knight of the Bound Table. He had been in training for a year and a day. In all that time he had served the sexual needs of others without ever being allowed relief. He had mastered the ability to become erect on command and to stay that way for hours at a time. Although technically still a virgin, he had studied the martial art of Tao Chi Feeli, and was able to pleasure women and men with or without the use of paraphernalia. Now, on the eve of his 21st birthday, he was ready to become a Knight and serve under his Queen. All he need do was maintain his erection from dusk until dawn while pleasing all those who called upon him and he would receive the Queen’s blessing.

So far the young squire was doing well. Lady Cuminere and Sir Wiltalot had played with him for hours. The noble knight had a reputation for being a bit premature in his actions, but Martha had noticed that he wilted a lot less often when the tight bum of a young squire was available to him.

It was Lady Cuminere who had set the squire his most difficult test. An hour ago she had provoked his erection until she could flick the end of his cock with her nail and it would remain unmoved. Then she had tied strong thread tightly round the squire’s balls and the base of his cock, pulled the thin thread up between his buttocks and used it to tie the young man’s thumbs together, leaving no slack at all in the thread. Any sudden movement would cause him pain. Staying still left him constantly stimulated. Martha had been impressed by the squire’s ability to remain motionless while Cuminere slowly covered the palms of his hands in hot wax. His suppressed moans of pain against the Queen’s labia as each drop of wax fell had been thrilling.

Martha spread her legs a little wider, wriggled to a more comfortable spot and tugged on the young squire’s ears to urge him to increase his pace. Turning her head to one side, Martha let her tongue flick across Lady Cuminere’s irresistible mouth, rousing her from her doze. Cuminere smiled, she knew what her Queen required.  Cuminere’s breasts were famous throughout the land: large, shapely, firm and with long nipples that she allowed to poke through her leather breastplate even when she went in to battle. The bounteously endowed woman now made her nipples available to the Queen and was rewarded by the familiar touch of skilled royal fingers between her legs.

Martha suspected that Maudlin was somehow involved in the forming of Cuminere’s perfect flesh. She wondered what exactly Cuminere had had to do to win such a blessing. Maybe some day she would make Cuminere tell her, perhaps even re-enact whatever task it had been.

* * *

Morgana had been studying magic secretly for years; patiently acquiring small fragments of the craft and then piecing them together. Now she felt she had learned enough to take from Maudlin the one spell she most desired. She, who was named after an illusion, would finally master the ability to shape-shift.

Running her hands slowly over her substantial flesh, Morgana summoned the sexual arousal her magic fed upon. No one in Camealot seemed to think that Fatmo had any sexual needs. Only thin people fucked. Fat people were just fucked up. Oh she’d had the odd session with a Knight too drunk to care who’s body he used, but mostly she’d been casually, thoughtlessly, excluded from the sex-life of the castle. Soon, when she could assume any form she liked, she would make up for the lost years and take revenge on Martha for treating her so badly.

As Morgana’s nipples hardened and her juices flowed, she could feel the heat of magic flowing through her. With her heightened senses she became aware of the wizard’s descent towards her lair. Morgana found Maudlin’s power attractive and his growing disaffection useful. Tonight she would pursue power through pleasure; pursue it ruthlessly. Twisting her nipples in joy, Morgana began to laugh. As her lust and magic mingled, a nimbus of crimson light coruscated across Morgana’s naked body.

By the time the wizard reached her, Morgana was wreathed in what seemed to be glowing serpents of blood. Inside an almost abandoned chamber of his soul, Maudlin felt his Dragon stir in answer to the serpents call.

* * *

The young squire, released from his bonds, knelt, still erect, mouth  glazed with his Queen’s spend, facing the east window, awaiting the rising of the sun. Martha watched him with envy for his belief. He was waiting to receive the Queen’s favour with religious devotion. The Queen looked down at the means by which she would bestow that favour: XCalibre.

In preparation for the climax of the ceremony, Martha let her mind return to that day, in her nineteenth summer, when she had first encountered XCalibre. She had spent the previous year locked away with the Wizard Maudlin, practicing skills that, according to the wizard, were part of The Way of Power: the use of the flogger, the scarifier, the clamp and, of course, the whip.

There was no doubt she understood the whip. She loved to hear the air sigh as the whip cut through it, to see flesh sliced and blood flow.  With the whip she could caress or cut at will. The wizard said that the whip was the medium through which she accessed her anima; bringing the power of her spirit into the physical world.  Martha knew it must be a powerful spirit, for when she used the whip she became calm and excited at the same time and was possessed of an indomitable power. She also achieved a level of sexual transcendence that, had she but known it, awed the wizard. Martha glowed when she used the whip. She generated a field of sexual energy that affected all around her.

Now young Martha she was going to The Naming. She felt so full of life she could barely contain it. She wore the traditional black leather breastplate and short leather skirt. Her whip, Shadow, was coiled around her thigh. It soothed her to have Shadow there. Maudlin had conjured Shadow for her; a living whip, existing partly in this world and partly in the world beyond the mists. The wizard had confirmed what Martha’s instincts had already told her: she must bond with the whip, making it an extension of her will. She fed Shadow on the pain he inflicted and he filled her with power. Maudlin had not had to teach Martha the ritual of licking her whip clean of blood at the end of a session, it had seemed obvious to her that this is what should be done. She loved the warmth of the whip when it returned to her, the way it throbbed under her touch.

Striding through the forest towards The Glade, Martha held Shadow’s shaft and ran her thumb over the smooth pommel that had brought her so much pleasure in her nights of enforced solitude over the past year. She paid no attention to the gentle tightening and release of the whip’s coils as she walked. She was focused entirely on The Naming and what it meant. She did not notice how the crowds parted for her, nor how those she passed closest to stroked themselves. Martha left a wake of lust to mark her path through the forest.

The most powerful women in the land would be at The Naming, each seeking to demonstrate that they were the True Born Queen. There had been strife in the land for nearly a generation now, with faction fighting faction for control. Three months ago, as Maudlin had predicted, the stone had appeared in the Glade, the spiritual navel of the land. Jutting out of the stone was the head of an obsidian phallus, that caught the rays of the sun at dawn and filled the Glade with light.  The inscription on the stone read: “Whosoever calls this phallus from the stone is the True Born Queen”.  Everyone had seen that naming the True Born Queen would bring peace to the land. Every leader felt that she must be the True Born Queen and that the phallus would prove it. A date for The Naming had been set and now the day had arrived.

Martha would never forget the moment she entered The Glade and saw XCalibre for the first time. The whole world went silent and grey. Nothing existed except her, XCalibre and Shadow. They were a trio destined to sing songs of pain a pleasure for the world.

In her mind the phallus spoke to her and her body was filled with joy.

“Welcome Martha, welcome Shadow, I am XCalibre. Together we will bring peace to the land. Wait now, until I call you to free me”.

Martha was in a trance, unable to move, waiting to be filled with that voice again. Around her thigh, Shadow tightened his grip until the he drew blood.

With part of her mind Martha was aware that powerful women where taking turns trying to free the phallus from the stone. She saw Magdelene the Massive lower her mighty thighs around the phallus, gripping it tightly within her and pulling fiercely until orgasm forced her to release the still-trapped head and sent her sprawling to the ground, semiconscious.  She watched the Sylvana of the Woods stroke and lick and suckle the phallus until she too fell into a stupor of lust. The Lady Tittonia advanced on XCalibre with a smile, tied her nipple rings together on the far side of the shaft and massaged the phallus with her breasts. She continued, moving in a rhythm she didn’t seem to control, until she was covered in sweat and visibly excited. Her nipple ring glowed with a bright light, the binding released and Tittonia fell backwards, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

After two hours, the stone was surrounded by the stunned bodies of the seven most powerful leaders in the land. By now the crowd had noticed that all the bodies moved to the same slow rhythm. Something had them in a thrall of ecstasy. Only Martha knew that the women moved to the beat of XCalibre’s song.

“Come to me Martha. Release me. Show that you are the True Born Queen.” XCalibre’s voice released Martha from her trance and filled her with the energy it was drawing from the seven women.

She stepped boldly up to the stone and shouted to the encircling crowd “I, Martha Pendragon, daughter of Ursula Pendragon, demand my turn”.

There were mutterings of surprise in the crowd. Ursula Pendragon had been dead for ten years and her family was no longer a power in the land. The wizards, worried at the failure of the seven women who had tried so far, and sensing Martha’s sexual power, signalled that she should continue.

Instead of going closer to the stone, Martha stood back and drew out her whip. Shadow was scarlet with Martha’s blood and twitched with pent up power. Bringing her whip from behind her head, Martha cried, “Come to me XCalibre”.

Shadow sliced through air with vicious joy and gripped XCalibre firmly around the shaft. For a second nothing happened; girl whip and phallus were locked in a tableau of want and power. Then the rock split open and XCalibre and Shadow flew back into Martha’s hand.

As the crowd around her shouted “Queen Martha, Queen Martha, Queen Martha” and the refused leaders woke from their trance and came to kneel before her, Martha’s eyes widened while the glassy phallus in her hand showed her what to do next.

That had been the beginning. Now Martha would repeat the ritual with the soon-to-be knight in front of her. As the first rays of dawn struck XCalibre, the chamber was bathed in light and the ritual began.

* * *

Almost filling the huge cave at the base of the castle, two dragons were lost in the throes of mating. The cobalt male dragon was mounted on the back of the larger red wingless female. Their necks and tails entwined, the male dragon used his wings to balance as he thrust at tremendous speed into the substantial form below him.

For the first time in a century, Maudlin lost himself to lust. He was the dragon now: huge, powerful, filled with the madness of rut. His wings were at full stretch, his talons were buried in the red scales beneath him and his barbed cock plundered the soft depths of the female. Maudlin’s arousal was such that, in his rush to take Morgana, he had shouted the shapeshifting spell he would normally have mouthed silently. He didn’t care. He needed this. He deserved this. He was a powerful wizard and this was his reward. Maudlin’s mind melded with his dragon form as his seed shot deep within the she-dragon below him. For a moment he was nothing but the dragon.

A moment was all that it took. Morgana had been waiting for that moment and used it to cast that spell of binding that can only be spoken in the dragon’s tongue. Freeing herself easily from beneath the smaller dragon, Morgana looked into Maudlin’s eyes and saw the fear there. He could not speak. He could not change back. Morgana used the spell Maudlin had unwittingly given her to resume her normal shape.

“I hope you enjoyed the ride Maudlin. Your technique needs work even for a dragon. Sadly you will have no time to practice I fear. But be happy for me. Your fumbling efforts were successful. I carry within me now a dragon-daughter. How powerful she will be. What a shame you will never see her born.”

Maudlin was screaming silently behind the dragon’s eyes. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had never seen the dragon-daughter in his pictures of the future. Something terrible had gone wrong.

Morgana stroked the dragon’s snout. “There is always a price Maudlin. This time it’s your turn to pay.”

Morgana put her robe back on then ripped it to expose one large breast. Using the immobilised dragon’s claw she raked her shoulder and drew blood. Running up the stairs she shouted “Guards! Guards! A dragon! Help me. Kill it before it kills us all.”

* * *

Lady Cuminere and Sir Wiltalot knelt shoulder to shoulder in front of the squire. Their tongues met and formed a cushion for the tip of the Squire’s cock. Their open mouths would receive his first spend in over a year.

XCalibre and Martha were now one. The phallus, nested in Martha’s cunt, feeding off her energy, glowed and writhed in front of her, eager to bestow the Queen’s blessing. Martha released Shadow and sent him to wrap around the squire’s neck to heighten the young man’s pleasure.

The squire trembled at the whip’s caress, then groaned as XCalibre entered him. Martha pressed her breasts into his strong back and placed her left hand around the rigid base of his cock. Without her needing to move, XCalibre filled and probed both of them, pushing and prodding towards a transcendent climax.

Martha’s blood sang. She was the only one in the room who heard XCalibre and Shadow join in. At the height of the song, the man in front of her found his long-delayed release.

“Bless you Sir Fortescru” his Queen whispered in his ear.


© Mike Kimera 2000 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

Hard At Work

“Hard At Work” is a slightly tongue-in-cheek story of a man being brought into line by his dominant but neglected wife.

It was originally an all dialogue piece but I decided that it would benefit from some further description.

The next time you see a man disappear to a conference room with a phone to his ear, remember this story and ask yourself what he’s doing behind that closed door.

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Playing With Barney

This story was meant to be a slightly dark, slightly sleazy piece about voyeurism, sexual exploitation and the use of sex toys.

The problem was that the main character turned out to be irrepressibly optimistic and completely refused to be degraded and exploited.

Which, in its way, turned out to be a smile.

I’m back in the room again, facing the mirror that he watches me through. It’s important that I pretend not to know that he’s there. If he wanted eye contact there’d be no need for the mirror.

I smile at myself. I look good today. It’s summer in the world outside and my simple print dress and bare feet have carried the season in with me. I make a show of pulling down one strap of the dress and looking over my shoulder into the mirror so that I can check my tan. I stand on tiptoe to do this. It looks cute and it shows off my naked legs. I pout at some imagined sunburn, pull the strap back into place and adjust my hair. Only then do I turn towards the room.

I know this room means something to him. It more a shrine for him to worship at than it is a stage for me to perform on. It’s a teenage girl’s room, decorated with a regrettable nod towards Malibu Barbie that is not quite rescued by the rock posters on the wall. They date back to the nineties, when Jon Bon Jovi still had chest hair. I think it’s supposed to be my room. The question is, who am I supposed to be?  First love? Lost love? Sister? No, let’s not go there. I won’t be able to do this right if I keep those thoughts in my head. Besides, his assistant made it clear that he just wants me to be myself.

I sit on the edge of the huge (pukey-pink) bed, side on to the mirror, and let my feet dangle. Then I spot the box on the dressing table. There is always a present somewhere. I bound off the bed to inspect it. A small box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a pink ribbon. I shake it; something too solid to rattle and quite light.  I don’t have to feign my curiosity as I rip off the paper. His presents tell me his mood and his mood tells me what to do.

The first present was a silver hairbrush. I spent most of the hour sitting naked before the mirror, bending my head to one side and brushing my long blonde hair. I love doing that. I feel like a cat licking itself. Sitting there, knowing I was being watched, putting myself into a trance with the rhythm of the brush, it seemed natural, towards the end, to part my legs and slide the smooth silver handle between my labia. It was warm from my hand. Not the ideal shape, but I liked the idea of it. The handle had initials engraved on it, his initials probably. I thought about them inside me, a token of his presence. I pictured the curves of the letters slowly being flooded with my juices. I came imagining him holding the brush afterwards, sniffing it, maybe even tasting it.

At the end of the session, his assistant told me that her employer, that’s how she always refers to him, “my employer”, had been very pleased with me. I got a bonus in recognition of my natural talent. And, of course, I got invited back.

Inside the box is a butt plug. We are not going for subtlety today. Hands up those who can think of 101 uses for a butt plug? I pick it up. It’s purple, six inches long, curved, fat, flanged and made of warm-to-the-touch latex. It reminds me absurdly of Barney the dinosaur.  What do you call a Dino butt plug? A fuckedtilsaurus. Good job I lubed in advance, like a good girl scout.

I hold Barney by the flange and waggle him about. I can’t help but giggle, he looks so ridiculously male: potent and ungainly. It will take a while to come with just Barney in my arse.

I never fake my orgasms. I’m sure he knows that. I think it’s one of the reasons that he keeps inviting me back. I suspect the other reason is that I look like whomever this room used to belong to.

His assistant approached me after my first performance in the University Drama Society. I was playing Lulu in a very realistic production, performed in the round, in a space so small I could smell the audience. I spent most of the play wearing nothing but underwear and at one point I rode a rather fat student around the floor, making him crawl on all fours while I hit him with a riding crop. Ah, the things we do for art.

I’d seen her in the audience for every performance in our four-night run. She didn’t speak to me until the party after the last performance.  I’d assumed (well perhaps hoped is a more accurate word) that she was some kind of talent scout. I wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t quite right either.

“Would you describe yourself as broadminded, Angela?” she asked.

This wasn’t what I had expected. I wondered if she was chatting me up. As it happens, I am broadminded enough to be flattered by attention from an attractive woman. I let my eyes flick across her figure to show my interest.

“I’m always open to new experiences,” I said, “actually this was my first time playing horsy in public.”

She didn’t laugh, but she did smile. The kind of smile that says, “High spirits are a wonderful thing in the young, but can we please get on.”

“What do you want me to be broadminded about?”

“My employer would find you interesting. He would like you to perform for him, privately.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t look like a pimp.”

“And you don’t look like a whore, Angela, despite your recent performance. That is what makes you interesting.”

She handed me her card: plain, white, with “Emma Smithson” and a telephone number in embossed black Times New Roman lettering. I’d admired its sparseness.

“Please contact me Angela. I think you would find it most rewarding.”

Ten days later I was coming hard with a hairbrush sticking out of me. Who would have thought it?  Four sessions later and my only reaction to Barney is amusement. Actually, that’s not quite true. There is also anticipation. I enjoy these sessions. They… stretch me. Although frankly I don’t think Barney will stretch me much.

Time to get a move on. Or at least, time to get my clothes off. Holding Barney in my mouth, I turn towards the mirror and strip, slowly. My nipples look good: long, eager, young, ready.

The Ottoman at the foot of the bed is the obvious place for today’s session, which I have mentally christened “Angela a la grecque”, although the tabloids would call it, “Angie gets her A Levels.”

I want him to see everything, my face, my poor abused arse, my pointy nipples, my wet sex. I want him to be spoiled for choice as to where to look. Mirrorman is about to find out how a butt should be plugged.

I sit on the floor with my back against the Ottoman. O.K., here’s where all those bloody ballet lessons pay off.  Slowly, never taking my eyes off my image in the mirror, I place my left leg behind my head. How’s that for a crowd pleaser? There was a risk that I would look ridiculous, but I don’t, I look spectacular. In this position I am completely exposed. No, exposed makes me sound too vulnerable. I don’t feel vulnerable. I am Super Slut, ready to take on the man of steel, or, in this case, latex. I decide I am displayed, not exposed.

I won’t be able to hold this for long so I’m going to make it good.  I take Barney out of my mouth and reach below my raised leg. Pressing up against my arse, he feels a lot bigger than when he was in my mouth. Maybe that’s why men like anal sex, it makes them all feel like big boys. I close my eyes and allow myself a short, unfaked, grimace as I push him home. I close behind him like I’m never going to let him go. Now he does feel like a Dinosaur. I wouldn’t want to be any fuller than that.

I open my eyes again and look down at myself. All that is visible of Barney is a purple flange with a little dimple in it. I look as though I have a corkscrew up my arse. I press against the dimple. It’s nice. It would be nicer if there was a vibrator to rest there. I repeat this a few times. Much better than I expected but not enough to get me off.

Well, I’d been told to be myself and I circumstances like these my natural reaction is to cheat.  I keep one hand on Barney and push two fingers from the other hand into my mouth. I suck them down and get them nice and shiny. They slide into my sex and are embraced like long lost friends. But I’m not taking them their normal route. They are on their way to meet Barney. There he is, just the other side of this thin wall of flesh. Actually, that feels good.

Time for my mental movie. Today’s feature stars Mirrorman, his assistant and me. He’s behind me of course, in the Barney position, so I can’t seem him. The lovely Emma is in front of me, pushing her fingers into me, stroking her employer from inside of me, still working for him even when she’s servicing me. I force her head onto my breast, trying to smother her as a punishment for wanting him more than she wants me. She likes it, the slut. She sucks on me and ignores him. Take that Mirrorman. He pushes deeper into me but she has found my happy button and matters are becoming very pressing.

The movie is making me laugh as well as making me hot. For the first time in a long time, I’m grinning when the come finally hits me.


I lower my leg. I’m going to be sore there for a couple of days. I stand up and Barney reminds me of his presence. The extraction, performed with me standing, bent at the waist, back to the mirror, leaves me breathless and with a sense of being empty and gaping. Thank God it was only Barney and not Godzilla, that’s all I can say.

In that moment of semi-blindness while my dress slips over my head, it becomes clear to me that I am happy. Very, very happy.

Clothed and almost demure again, I give way to an impulse that may mean I’m not invited here again. I run forward to the mirror and give it a big “thank you” kiss. Then I grin. On my way out, I wave. Happiness should always be celebrated.


© Mike Kimera 2000 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk


A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

It May Not Be Art, Darling, But It Pays The Bills

Porn movies range from the ridiculous to the vicious. I found myself wondering how it would feel to act in one of these  films. I doubt anyone sets out to make a career of it. This story imagines a British woman with an acting background working in a grunge porn “choke the bitch” type movie.

It turned out that the main character maintains her sanity by exercising her sense of humour to deal with what is fundamentally an unpleasant activity, hence it’s inclusion in this category. Our heroine continues her porn film career in “Licking Little Nell”

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