Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Cut

They are going to judge me, he thought as he sat there in the A+E waiting room. The receptionist had given him a cold appraising stare as he gave his details about where he lived and what the injury was. He felt like a dick head, his insides all cold and heavy.

She had left him. Simple as that really. She had gone off with someone else. She had said that it was not him, it was her; but that's what they all say when they are trying to being kind to your feelings. Feelings. He snorted to himself as he sat on the sticky plastic chair trying not to catch anyone's eyes. He had argued with her, begged her, pleaded with her, tried to turn himself inside out so that she would stay. She was nice about it but resolute, he was simply not the man for her.

The pain in his chest was real. Friends and family had said things like: 'there are plenty more fish in the sea' and that he was a 'great catch' and he would be sure to find someone new soon. 'Time is a great healer' was a phrase that was bandied about like a cheap rubber ball. It's not that they didn't care, rather they didn't understand quite how much this hurt. He was certain that others had had their hearts broken but nothing like this.

Round and round like blue bottles in a glass jar his thoughts went. Round and round without resolution or solace. Like flies in a jar his thoughts kept butting up against an invisible wall where he could not be released from this jail. The pressure of his emotions kept building up inside him, in his chest, in his heart and in his brain until he felt like he was going to explode.

Upon reflection, he could not recall where he had got the blades from. They were Gillette Safety Blades for one of those old fashioned razors that you used to see in the 60's and 70's where you just changed the blade and not the whole razor. Looking down at the metal shard in his hand he felt nothing, not inside or out. He watched himself draw the blade over his skin and a red line appear. He looked on as he did it again and again, feeling nothing; seeming distant to the immediate situation. Tears of blood rolled off his arm and dripped onto the kitchen surface forming roses of scarlet. Observing without compassion as he noticed that it had gone through the layers of skin and into the fat tissue; in places he recognised the maroon stripes of muscle. He could see his muscles just by pulling at his skin, it was rather an odd feeling, a tad unusual. Still he felt nothing, no pain.

He couldn't recall when he stopped cutting but he must have done sometime. The hot sensation alerted him to something having changed. Then, pop, like a bubble bursting all of his sensations came alive again. Holy fuck, it hurt. Ouch. Looking in horror at the wasted state of his arm he grabbed the tea towel to stem the bleeding. Tears sprang to his eyes. Unable to blink them away he just let them fall onto his cheeks and his makeshift bandage. Gulping at the air a sob sprang forth from his chest, followed by another. It was as if the grief had been released from its' glass coffin and was escaping through his tears and howls. This guttural expression of loss. It was the loss of his hopes and dreams as much as his heart that was making him blubber.

"Michael Rogers?" called a business like voice from across the room.

He looked up to see a petite nurse with blond hair and brown eyes. Creaking up from the stagnant position his wait had left him in, he edged across the room, weaving in between chairs. A hot flush of embarrassment crawled up his neck as he kept his eyes firmly rooted to the floor . He mumbled and muttered answers to the questions she asked, dreading the moment she took the wrappings off his arm.

"Ok, let's have a look at your arm shall we?"

Expecting derisive comments like 'now that was silly' and 'why did you do something so stupid' he sat tensely. Then, being brave, he looked up at her face and saw her scowling; appraising his wounds. 

Without tilting her head she lifted her eyes up to see him and said, "That looks sore, let's get you something for the pain and then we can see about getting this stitched." 

She finished her sentence with a warming smile that made him feel ok. It made him feel like he was worthwhile, that he mattered; she wasn't going to judge him. It dawned on him that there might be a glimmer of hope that he would get through this heart ache and out the other side.

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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Tender is the Night

Her eyebrows puckered as he entered her, at least they would have done if she had any left but the chemo had taken all of her hair away. The cancer had ravaged her body and left her as a shell of a human being.

"Does it hurt? Is it uncomfortable?", Ian asked as he slowly rocked his pelvis against hers.

"Nuh-uh," Lisa muttered. "You used enough lube and..." Unable to finish the end of the sentence because of the exciting friction rubbing on her groin. 

Ian had taken his time to warm her up. He had set the scene by sexting her all day, telling her that he still found her attractive and sexy; that she still turned him on in the worst, most deviant way imaginable; that his need for her was still carnal and undiminished despite her frailness. His lust remained as strong and hard as his cock was right now. There was a need in him to be with her, in his entirety; that was the time that he felt most whole both physically and emotionally.

She was looking thinner, and more delicate, the pain stopped her doing very much. Cancer took away so many things: her ability to work, to tidy the house, cook for her husband of nearly 40 years, look after the grandchildren, have coffee with friends. It was unfair and uncalled for but it was the pain and having to succumb to it that was the most degrading thing about having this illness, she felt neither feminine nor sexy. Ian knew how to push her buttons and take her mind out of the quagmire of crap that came with this disease and make her feel like a woman again. Not in the cheesy superficial way, but in the whole hearted, brazen, fanny-farting-during-sex way; a real woman.

Ian had spent time putting her into bed slathering on creams and helping her with her pills, he did this every night to help and tend to her, but more carnal pleasures were his focus tonight. He has used feathers, and oils. He rubbed her and stroked her slowly in concentric circles. Gently building up the sexual energy within her, relaxing her so that she could fall into that mental state where she focussed on her clit, focused on herself in a positive way.

Lisa felt like the wrappings of her life were falling away. With each touch, each stroke of his gentle and deft fingers peeling away her fears; her pain evaporating and sublimating into a golden flavoured desire. The slow build of this love making was incessant but calming, not stopping or slowing down but building and climbing and moving forwards towards that lovely place. Her breathing increased in pace, it came harder and sharper. Her heart began to beat faster making her feel more alive than she had done in months. Her skin, paper thin now and stretched taut over her bones, was super sensitive to Ian's ministrations. His light touches made her tingle all the way to her spine. 

With a wicked grin, emphasising his laughter lines, he snuck down under the duvet and between her legs, showing only the flash of his silver hair poking out between them. Her clitoris was not his goal, yet: now, however, he wanted to explore the sensitive areas on her inner thighs, contrasting his soft fingers and his rough stubbly chin. He was able to smell her excitement and wanted to touch it and lick it but decided that it would be all the better for the delayed gratification. Placing his head gently on her thigh he began lapping at her labia, sliding around the edges, watching as her hips began to move and buck in eager anticipation.

Knowing that she was unable to produce enough sexual juices he soaked his finger in lubricant before gently pushing into her, sliding along her folds deep within. Rather than munching on her pussy, he blew a gentle stream of air over it, then delicately brushed his tongue over it's very tip. With a knowledge of her body that came only from years of love making, he brushed her nub softly ensuring that her desire flamed and didn't smoulder. It really did not matter how long he was there, it only mattered that she felt great.

Only when she was about to cum did he slip into her. He knew that the grinding of his hips on hers would send her into orgasmic delight. She felt so frail underneath him; not only his desire but his love for her that made him want to make love with her so much.

With a rather ungainly click from her hips she wrapped her legs around him as best she could, drawing him in. His hips moving she urged him on; riding him like a teenager. Lisa started panting, the bloom of lust spread across her chest at the impending orgasm. When it came the orgasm over took her and raised her to that transcendental state: no pain, no cancer, no fear, just energy radiating out from her core.

After she rode the waves and shuddering of her climax, Ian withdrew and wiped her with a warm cloth. Ensuring that she was clean and comfortable he snuggled up behind her. The sense of pride that he had made her cum swelled in his chest and he settled down for the night smelling her, basking in the afterglow of sex. He missed her silver streaked hair, she always kept it short but the shampoo she used to use was comforting to him. Her breathing settled, slowing as she drifted off to sleep. Whilst he enjoyed the tactile sensation of holding her until he too succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.

He was first to wake the next day. He bent forward to kiss her head as he did every morning but this morning she was cold underneath his touch. They had made love for the last time.

*Authors note: I do not believe that erotica should only be about hot, sweaty, virile young people banging away. I don't think that I ever want to stop having sex, I still feel sexy, I believe I am erotic...all be it erotically mature (thank you  @DomSigns) and I think erotic literature should reflect this. I believe that it should reflect the whole human condition as accurately as possible. Thank you for reading - Rachel

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Tuesday, January 8, 2013


That knife was at the throat. It was a long knife, one with a curve in the blade. It had already been scraped down the skin on the back leaving white hot trails. Some of those trails had risen to be welts but there was no blood drawn. Yet. The fact that it was at the throat was frightening; it was too much to think about at the moment; believe it or not there were other more pressing concerns.

Hair was gripped, pulled between fingers so little blades of hair stuck up like grass. It was gripped so tight that strands of hair had parted from the scalp leaving their dark bulbous roots exposed to the air. Not too much was ripped out but just enough to know that they were serious, there was not getting out of this situation without some serious pain. The whole situation felt serious: it felt dire.

Head was cocked over to one side, ear exposed. This lead to thoughts of the knife going from the throat to the ear. There was a growl. A primeval method of communication which went from the aural senses to somewhere deep in the Lizard hind brain. There was no higher level executive functioning to this sound, pure fear, that was what it induced.

"Shit!" she thought.


"Fuck, how am I going to get out of this? How the hell do I end up in these situations?"

Heart racing at an illegal speed. Mouth dry. Stomach rolling, reeling from the adrenalin dump. Clenching her jaw, Georgina struggled to get her breath under control. It felt as though she was on auto pilot, observing what was going on from the other side of a pane of glass. Everything felt a bit surreal.

"Stay knelt down. It is where you belong. At my feet. I like you broken. I like you crying. I like you to begging for me to stop, knowing that it will never happen until I am ready. Until I have had my fill of you."

Stephen was shuddering. He was shaking, quivering from tip to toe. He wanted this so badly. It was all that he had been able to think about all day. He had been absorbed by the thought of this moment. The calmness in his mind. No longer did his breaths come in short intermittent bursts, now they were smooth and flowing.

There was a sense of home coming for Stephen because he loved being at her feet.

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Monday, January 7, 2013

That Sexy Mouth

There were her lips, so close to him. She smiled, her lips full, lush and soft.  He wanted to kiss her... amongst other things. He could feel her breath.  She was that close, tantalisingly close. So close that she was making him squirm. She looked up and smiled at him, not a full on grin, rather an enigmatic one displayed in the eyes rather than the mouth.

Ohhhh that mouth!

He was so excited now. She inhaled and smelt his scent.  He shivered in anticipation. He swallowed and ran his tongue around his dry mouth and lips. She opened her mouth and breathed out. Her warm breath moved the hairs on his body, she was that close. Holy fuck! He felt like he would cum soon. “Just a kiss, just one little kiss, please”. Of course he couldn't say this out loud, he just couldn't, but as if she knew what he wanted she opened her mouth and showed off her lovely teeth. She bent forward and kissed him. He let out an involuntary moan that caused her to look at him sharply.

No words were needed. That look said it all. She parted her lips again and let her tongue gently lick him. Opened it wider and she was able to fit most of his cock into her mouth. She closed her lips around his shaft and let the heat of her mouth diffuse into him. She moved her tongue around to get him wet before pulling back. He so badly wanted to touch her, to hold her head. He wanted to grab her hair and fuck her face, but being cuffed to the bed meant that he couldn't. She opened her mouth again and took more of him in.

Oh fuck she was going to deep throat him. He was breathing faster, his heart breaking out of his chest, beating so hard it hurt. He knew he would cum quickly and hard.

She was a rather wicked woman.   She knew he wanted to cum in her mouth. She contemplated not letting him, just because she could, but that would be cruel.  She had already spent a good hour teasing him until she thought he was going to cry. She would give him this, with pleasure.

Going as deep as she could, taking as much as she could in her mouth, she really started to suck him off. Going this deep meant lots of spit and saliva, dribbling and drooling down onto his balls. It made massaging them wetter – and a more enjoyable experience for both of them.

His whole body was rigid, his breathing harder,  thrusting with his hips into her face. One suck, draw back, suck again, go down, draw back. Deeper, faster, more intense, wetter. She had been teasing him too much. He couldn't stop himself, it was so warm, so wet and he could not withstand that delicious combination of a soft mouth, and being used as a fuck toy. His orgasm started in his balls and grew up his belly and filled his chest.  Then  he came deep in her mouth. Oh that beautiful, filthy mouth.

He seemed to cum forever, but then there she was licking and sucking him clean, taking great satisfaction in seeing him look so spent. She looked up when she had finished. She sat back on her haunches and smiled, this time a different smile altogether - a very satisfied cat like grin. 


Her toes wrapped around his warm cock. They were cool and still dripping with water from the swimming pool.  Her toes were painted red accentuating her arches.  Her cool, wet feet contrasting with the heat from his dick. He looked up into her dark brown eyes.  There was a contrast between her dark hair and eyes and her pale, alabaster skin.

She was sat back resting on her elbows with an obvious look of pleasure on her face as her feet went up and down. His breath was coming in short bursts but shame held him back. 

He had always had a thing about feet.  He loved the arches, the soft sensitive skin under the toes.  He delighted in gently tickling and watching women squeal and squirm just at a subtle touch.  The reaction they gave him was startling in comparison with the amount of effort he needed to apply to induce it.

Painting her toes was another one of his favourite sexual pastimes.  Not in a slap-dash manner.  He preferred washing her feet first and then patting them dry in a soft towel.  He ached to rub in moisturising cream from her heels, across the soles of her feet to the very tips of her toes, pulling each toe in turn, massaging the whole foot until it was soft and pliable.  He loved inhaling her scent then and stealthily trying to sneak a gentle kiss. He liked the idea of stolen, illicit kisses.

He adored taking each toe in his mouth and letting it just exist there before playing his tongue over the underside of each digit and sliding back, leaving it wet and sensitive. It was the way that she would ball her toes and try to fight it, then slow her breathing and accept the sensitivity of her toes in his mouth.  Occasionally, he would nibble and bite at the balls of her feet.  He knew that when he did that, she was totally at his mercy.  That firm grasp of her foot to his face with the other hand around her ankle, where she wanted to pull away but didn't want to hurt him; to watch her melt with full abandon at the pleasure of it all.  And yet he still would not have got around to the painting.

But there was the shame.  Which right-minded person loved to wank and cum all over someone else's feet?  He knew all 'normal' men loved coming in her mouth or cunt but he loved feet.  He adored feet.  He worshipped feet.  They were the unfettered erogenous zone of women.  Whenever he had tried to be open about his foot fetish he had too often been spurned.  Some women had tried to please him but none loved him touching their feet the way he loved to touch them.  His very being ached to be allowed to enjoy feet. Foot jobs were simply divine; heaven sent.

He had seen Katherine across the other side of the pool on the 2nd day of his holiday.  She had been in for a swim and was lazily swinging her legs back and forth at the edge of the pool.  She had a good figure, curvy and toned, not fat but delicious.  Skin that required biting and nipping between his teeth.  She had been bright and friendly enough.  He knew that he looked normal from the outside, he worked out and looked good.  But there was always that face-burning humiliation when, at some point, he would have to 'fess up to being sexually turned on by feet.
She sat there, splashing the water with her feet. She had no clue how hard he was as he leaned against the side of the pool.  They chatted away and he could tell that there was an immediate connection.  They verbally toed and froed, checking each other out.  He could tell she was holding something back; a boyfriend maybe? He wouldn't be surprised as she was extremely sexy.  The conversation changed, she changed; she went shy and then seemed to find the courage from somewhere.

"I love my feet. Do you? I love them being massaged."

The statement hung in the air, like some form of potential.  His mouth went dry and his heart raced.  He could feel the huge adrenaline surge within him.  He 'accidentally' brushed his hand over her moving foot.  She caught her breath and looked at him with her mouth parted.  'That' look was all he needed to know that she loved her feet being touched.  Emboldened, he delicately traced his fingers over the top of her foot.  Their eyes locked together.  There was a bubble around them shutting out the rest of the world.

"Let's get out of here.", he suggested.

They found somewhere secluded.  They kissed but it was only cursory, just to observe social norms.

"Pulls your shorts down, I have been dying to do this to you since I saw you yesterday.", she breathed.

He peeled his wet shorts down over his hips and sat down.  She calmly curled her toes around his cock and started to wank him off.  Slowly at first, but picking up a confident pace; it was obvious that she had done this before and had learned to specialise and perfect her technique.  There was the right amount of pressure between her feet and him.  The cool contrast of her feet on his burning skin.  The thing that was driving him towards a rapid climax was the look of pure, unadulterated pleasure on her face.  She was enjoying this just as much as he was.  Finally, he was able to let go of his shame, abandon it and embrace his kink and the moment.  He closed his eyes.

Short, sharp, shallow breaths.  Tension building up in his torso and his balls.  He looked over to her and her head was thrown back in lusty abandon.  He couldn't stop himself.  In hot, elongated bursts he came over her feet.  She moaned delightfully as though he had paid her the highest compliment.  She lifted her head and smiled at him.

"I think we are going to enjoy this holiday."


Welcome to my new blog.

Here is where I will post some of my erotica and possibly some ramblings too. Please feel free to comment because I love interacting with people. Failing that you can tweet to me @RachelKincaid4 or we can chat on Fetlife, my username is also RachelKincaid4.

I hope you enjoy reading my work.