A. writes creative nonfiction and fiction across a range of genres.
As soon as the door clicked, he was on her. Or, she was on him. They were eager, hungry, desperate for each other's touch.
By A.5 years ago in Filthy
She parked outside the Mexican restaurant he'd suggested. It had been over a year since they'd met the first time. She was excited and nervous about tonight...about their first real date.
"Come every soul by sin oppressed there's mercy in the Lord..." -- I want to cum, he thought. I want to cum so hard inside her tight ass. God she looks good in that dress... there's mercy between her thighs, that's certain...
He rubbed the coconut oil on her firm, tan calves... down to her ankles, and onto her feet, smiling as he noticed the bright orange and yellow she'd chosen for her toes. They'd just settled in on the beach, set up a tent and chairs. She was laying on a towel, her blonde hair curly and bouncing on the soft curves of her shoulders.
She pulled up to the house, texted him to let him know she was there. He wasn't. He'd run to the store at the end of the street to get a few things, thinking it would be at least another 30 minutes before she arrived.
She sat next to the fire wearing grey sweatpants and a short, white t-shirt that revealed the butterfly she wore in her belly button. The shirt fit tightly, and you could make out the outlines of the piercings in her nipples. Her feet were exposed, her toes painted a deep, autumn red.
He pulled his stiff, throbbing cock out of her wet, aching pussy and forced it into his dark suit pants, tried to calm it down. Zipped up and kissed her neck.
Donald Trump loves loan sharks. This should come as no surprise. After all, this is the same guy who couldn't make money in the casino business and saw his Atlantic City Taj Mahal fail. What's worse, contractors and union workers in that deal were left with no money after Trump refused to pay the bill.
By A.5 years ago in The Swamp
600 miles. 9 hours on the road in the middle of a cold and lonely winter. The interstate hotel he'd recommended was fairly quiet and close to a few restaurants. She wouldn't have to navigate the strange town between a place that wasn't home and another place that wouldn't be, either.
He checked his email again. She was sure this time. Room 135 at the hotel just a couple miles from his office. They had tried the day before, but she just wasn't ready.
He was going to wear the purple tie with his lavender shirt. The one with the tiny stars on it. He had the whole ensemble planned in his mind. Grey suit, lavender shirt, purple tie. The color beneath adding interest to the chalk-striped charcoal suit. Showing confidence and perhaps a bit of surprise.
She wore black boots, small ones, size six. With gold buckles on the ankle and at the calf. A long gold zipper up the back. Thigh high stockings. A black skirt and white oxford. Her dark hair cascaded onto the white shirt in soft, welcoming waves. Her eyes a deep brown, mysterious and intense. Her skin pleasantly tan, even as the first cool days of autumn took hold.
