Woefully behind

On everything. Reading, writing, laundry… You get the picture. Life has been speeding by, and yet it feels as if we are moving at a snails pace. We are doing alright. A but numb, but alright. The next few days is going to be hectic, as family pours in and we change to a new perspective. My dad passed away yesterday.

Wolf has been such a support, as have many friends. For all of you who have contacted me behind channels, or on this blog, thank you. It means so very much to us. I will be back. I will finish up stories that have been left hanging, and I have a new one on the tip of my fingers.

“She ran. Snow crunched beneath her paws as the muscular legs drove her faster and faster. The whomping sounds over her head drove the pack towards the treeline. 

Crack! Crack-crack-crack!”

A breath.

I’m sorry that there has been such a dearth of erotica. I haven’t felt much like writing. I just can’t concentrate. We’ve settled into a new situation, and will get on our feet soon. Now we wait on another event, the passing of my dad. A friend posted a poem that hit me pretty hard as I read it.

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

–Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

An update

First off, it’s official. I have a couple of weeks to get everything moved. I’m planning a “packing party” this weekend. I have family and friends coming to help. Thank all of you who have sent me little notes of love and support. It means a lot to me.

My list of To Do’s:

1. Pack the bag of “toys” that even Nilla doesn’t want as well as the scary but usable toy bag and the box with all my favourite toys. (except Armageddon… I could go for losing it.) And do this BEFORE the rest of the people show up.

2. Don’t cry. It makes the boxes soggy and scares the dog.

3. Try to find a moment to respond to Sofia’s lovely award.

4. Keep it together long enough to get things done and then collapse in Wolf’s arms.

5. Work on Libellue’s story.

Wordwytch

For the record…

I have not been totally idle. I’ve been editing Buster’s Story in order to refresh my mind on what to write next. Yes, a new shifter story. In fact, I woke today with the first chapter worked out in my head.

I know that I still need to finish Twisted Delights. 

I’m also reorganizing my life after the chaos of the last few weeks. On top of everything else, I may lose my house. Long story, and I won’t go into it here. If you really want to know, you can email me. 

Wordwytch 

Interlude

He curled up behind Lynne, his right leg over her left, pinning her foot. Her right leg was pulled up, and her ass exposed as he ran his hand up under her nightie. He rested his hand just under her breast as they fell asleep.

Lynne dreamed that something kept poking her ass. She tried to get away, but was held down. Then she woke, to find that it was Quin, and while he was asleep, his cock wasn’t. She smiled, and reached her hand down between them, found his cock and guided it between her thighs. As Quin’s cock grazed her damp pussy, she moaned and pushed against it. It had been a rough few weeks with little time for play.

Quin dreamed that he was making love to Lynne. He felt his cock drive into her and gripped her hips. As he slid in, the sensations overwhelmed him. He shuddered with pleasure. Then he too woke.

“Hi stranger.”

“Well, isn’t this lovely?”

“Only if you don’t stop.”

Quin laughed slightly and rose up on his knees. Moving Lynne’s right leg up higher, he slid into her pussy. One hang gripped her ass, the other her knee. He stroked slowly at first, but need sped his actions.

“Oh yes!” Lynne gasped between thrusts. She pulled her knee to her chest as she lay on her side, to let him thrust deeper.

Quin’s thrusts increased until their skin slapped together in a staccato beat accompanied by Lynne’s gasps and moans. The heat of orgasm boiled up from his toes. He growled in pleasure as his orgasm exploded deep inside Lynne.

Lynne moaned as she felt him go off. Her own orgasm was so close. So close. She thrust against him in need. He realized this through the fog of pleasure and held himself deep inside as his fingers flicked over her clit. It didn’t take much until she too bucked and spasmed in orgasm. He delighted in making her cry out multiple times, until she seemed to melt into the bed.

Quin snuggled up behind Lynne as they curled up in bed once more. His arm was around her waist, and his right let over hers, pinning her foot to the bed. They fell asleep in sticky splendor.

Flash Fiction Friday

Advizor has pulled the plug. An exercise that I have participated in for 5 years is now fading softly into the night.  RIP. Probably a good thing, as I don’t feel much like writing at the moment.

Slip softly into the night ahead of Terry Pratchett, and keep the light on for my aunt, who is hovering on the edge.

Wordwytch.

Between Acts

Or what happens when sex is not high on the list of extra curricular activities…

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Bathroom.” She moved slowly towards the door and out of the room.

Quin shook his head. He’d been worried at how sick Lynne had been, but seeing her move about was a good thing. Not that he’d let her know. It was hard enough to keep her in bed as it was. When the door opened, he turned back to his computer. He’d been ill first, and while he was still weak, there was no way he’d let on just how he felt. Otherwise, she’d be up and trying to do for both of them.

“Back in bed.”

“I need to sit up for a bit. I’m sore from sleeping for the last two days.”

“Sit in bed.”

“Chair. I want tea.”

He laughed. She smiled weakly as she held onto the end of the bed. “Bed, and I’ll make the tea.” He stood up and shooed her back into bed.

When he came back with the tea, she was perched on the end of the bed next to his desk. “Here you go.”

Lynne took the cup and felt like she’d had a victory. He hadn’t made her crawl back into bed. She smiled as she sipped her tea.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes. Not really hungry, but at least I can stay awake for fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll see.”

“I am going to stay up and read. Sherlock and Mary are just about to catch the murderer.”

Quin rolled his eyes. “You need to sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping. You had this, and you’re not sleeping!” There was almost a whine in Lynne’s voice.

Secretly, Quin was glad she was being feisty. It meant she was healing. Outwardly, he looked at her and flipped her the finger.

She laughed. “Alright, now.”

“What?”

“You said “Fuck you”, and I’m calling you on it. On the bed now. Let’s have sex.” She barely kept a straight face long enough to get the words out.

Quin laughed. “Oh yeah? You’d last five seconds, run out of energy and choke on my cock as you fell asleep.”

“Would not!”

“Oh yes you would. ‘Lynne died of asphxiation because she couldn’t wait to get over her cold before having sex’.” Quin made quote marks in the air. Both of them were laughing hard, and Lynne was doing her best to catch her breath.

“Yeah, like you’d be able to go more than a few strokes.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.” He grinned. “You were the one who started this.”

“No, you were the one who started this.” She gave him the finger and they both kept on laughing.

Ten minutes later, she was back in bed, trying to read her book and failing miserably. The book fell twice before she gave up. Handing book and reading glasses to Quin, she curled up under the covers.

Some time later, she woke to feel Quin’s hands on her back. It felt good, and she moved closer. He hadn’t bothered with pajamas, and his skin felt nice against hers.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

“Lower?”

“No, this is not about sex, just massage. Your back is still all tight from being ill.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” She was teasing him.

He swatted her lightly on the ass. “No. Neither one of us would last long enough to actually orgasm, and you know it. When we are over this, I promise you a long day in bed.”

“Okay.” She relaxed into his massage and was soon fast asleep.