fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Summoning Her Perfect Man
There it was, the hill with the white horse. The tall grass swished against her skirt as she strode up the hill, following along the back of the horse until she got to its head. It felt wrong walking across its face, and even worse to stand on its eye, but Bethany was desperate.
By Heather Kinnane5 years ago in Filthy
Lust for My Muse
Please note that there are three previous stories preceding this one (the links are in order below), but for once, you don’t have to read them before reading what follows given that this tale can stand on its own four legs, starting and ending with sex. Of course, there’s also much love, which is always needed when passion takes over every word and movement a woman and a prick can bare. I may include a short interlude somewhere in the middle.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Come Eat Me
Before I begin this story, please note that it continues Muse Love (the first part) and My Sexy Muse (the second). They are both linked at the bottom. But as you may have noticed, the title of this one isn’t as subdued, and sex is going to be everywhere in this tale, in every paragraph, and sometimes in every word. However, please remember that love and sex aren’t usually the same, word or action, especially the reaction. I love you versus I want to eat you. Which one is more promising? It depends on who’s telling whom. Let’s say it’s M saying it to his muse. I love you, my muse. She already knows. She always knew being a muse, who lives on the fucking Moon. Can you believe it? At least it’s not Mars. But still, be my heart! How far is the Moon? A whopping 384,400 km (238,906 miles). What the fuck?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
The Position of Thanksgiving 2019
Part 1 (also linked at the bottom) is required before reading this Part 2. The Thanksgiving Show started the midnight celebrations. It was the appetizer, so to speak. It was the olive. That’s why a fifth act would have ruined everything. Four acts. I love the number four. It’s my favourite number. Four seasons. Four wheels. Four breasts in a threesome. Four nucleotides. Four Ninja Turtles. OK! Enough with the fours! I like twos too, but back to the story.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
The Last Pussy
It may read ominous, The Last Pussy, but the subtitle should dispel any apprehension about the title, and I’ll confirm it here from the start that the last pussy could never be the last unless, of course, one is happily matched and in love with his love’s pussy which is always a good disposition to have and to hold, or one has just tasted the last pussy before expiring. I, M, love pussy. In case you haven’t read, Patrick is dead (also linked at the bottom). There’s only myself, M, and my three narrators left, though Jenny is now my main narrator of the three. I don’t even use the other two any longer. M and Jenny are more than enough, especially for this story. I could have titled it, Jenny’s Pussy, but it’s already used for another story (linked at the bottom).
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
I Am Not Amused
By Jove, life can be more unpredictable than death, and death is a sure thing, whereas life can often, especially for a writer, or a poet, a special subspecies of a writer, be bettered by a muse. And I’m not typing about the muse you read about or watched in films. I mean a woman who influences everything you write about, even a freaking haiku, though there, you can evade her a little, especially if you write about AI. I love the idea of AI. Artificial insemination of intelligence into inorganic stuff, with humans, the alpha on Earth, beginning to understand that an alpha always fails and falls to a new stronger life. Life is in competition with itself. Not all life is created equal, especially between species. And even in the midst of an alpha species, the human animal always ranks the individuals within based on their power and means. But that’s not the story here. I’m going to recount a strange tale about once, only once, not being quite amused by my muse.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Two Plants and a Woman
COVID-19 can even ruin a story. It has to be considered in any tale since it changed everything. Well, fuck it! There’s no COVID-whatever in this one. This story takes place in a parallel universe where there’s no such virus, except that all countries are ruled by Kings and Queens. ’Tis somewhat similar, in some significant estimate, to what we have here on our Earth. Don’t you think, whoever you are out there in your real world and universe? Don’t mind me! I’m a secondary narrator who may pop out, so to write, from time to time, rarely with spite, but it happened a couple of times. Don’t ask! I won’t tell you. It’s an internal struggle between Patrick, M, and all their freaking narrators. It’s like having a permanent Jack-in-the-Box, except that it’s mostly M popping out like Goddess Athena. She’s everywhere now. But who am I to complain about a goddess pretending to be mortal for our sake?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
I Love Women More
I love women more. No, you don’t! you may think for a little while. Well, you may know some things, but as you’ll read very soon, there’s a lot more to love about women. I wish I could write an encyclopedia dedicated to the sphere of women. I could subtitle it: Two Singular Sexual Tendencies. If Women is the first, what’s the second? you may ask. You may be able to guess this one. I, of course, mean the Pussy. Yes; with a capital P (like the one attached to my first name)! It is, without any doubt whatsoever, just a little important part of a woman. However, given all the realities (facts) and mysticisms (wishes) purveyed to this irresistibility that is the Pussy (any pussy), it has to exist in a realm of its own. Directly linked to the world of Women, of course, but standing on its own against the Prick! It, the Prick, has its own world. Most of you already know about it. But the real world is the Pussy. Where was I?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
