Lexi Sylver “A Thirst For Truth”

About Lexi Sylver…

Currently residing in Montréal, Canada, I divide my time between writing short erotic stories and running a small lingerie business.  My passions for psychology, reading, writing and sex have all combined wonderfully to help me produce original, detailed and explicit erotic works for my fans and friends to pore over.  I am in the midst of working on Mating Season, a collection of previously unpublished short erotic stories.  Read my erotic shorts, sex advice, and humorous Top 10 lists on my site: http://www.lexisylver.com/.

A Thirst for Truth

By Lexi Sylver

Currently residing in Montréal, Canada, I divide my time between writing short erotic stories and running a small lingerie business.  My passions for psychology, reading, writing and sex have all combined wonderfully to help me produce original, detailed and explicit erotic works for my fans and friends to pore over.  I am in the midst of working on Mating Season, a collection of previously unpublished short erotic stories.  Read my erotic shorts, sex advice, and humorous Top 10 lists on my site: http://www.lexisylver.com/.

The evening is brisk, a chill sweeping up her bare legs, signaling a change of season.  She feels his arm slide over her shoulders, hugging her body to his, trying to warm her.  She eases into him, making the walk back to her apartment more bearable.  They reach the front steps to her building, and she turns to him with a smile.  Without speaking, he grabs her in his arms.  She looks up at his shadowed face, her body faltering against the hardness of his body.  Then his mouth is on hers, soft yet urgent, the scent of him making her dizzy.

“Come up for a while,” she murmurs against his lips.  He follows her up the winding staircase to her apartment.  She fumbles with her keys, drops them, nervous.  He picks them up and smiles, reassuring her.  The key slides in the lock, and she opens the door, bringing this man into her personal space, her little world away from reality.

He comes up behind her and grips her tightly, sliding his hands down her back, finding the hem of her dress and slipping beneath it.  She moans as he touches the soft, sensitive flesh of her bare thighs and bottom.  His lips lower to her neck as his fingers wander closer to her most aching spot, touching her gently over her moistened panties.  She moans, leaning her head back onto his chest as his fingers slip the straps of her dress down her arms, the fabric falling into a silken pile onto the floor, leaving her almost naked.  He pulls off her panties, propelling her to the bed, where she lies down on her back.  Her eyes flutter shut as his mouth hungrily presses into her inner thighs, until she feels him bite into her flesh, the most exquisite pleasure washing over her…

Smokedawg “Bound Flesh”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by finally writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). He began work on a sci-fi novel in 2008, then fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish in fiction and commentary. He sometimes writes exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and is also regularly contributing general erotica and even some non-erotic fiction for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective. You can e-mail him at: pseudojeff@msn.com.

Bound Flesh

Life in Chicago post-invasion certainly wasn’t a bore—and exhaustion was par for the course, Audrey considered. Of course, she’d put herself, as had her brother Oliver, into that position when they elected to be part of the resistance three years before. Among the few who hadn’t embraced their new reptilian overlords.

OK, to be fair, only some of them are reptilian, Audrey acknowledged in her mind. Along with amphibians, inverterbrates, avians, mammalians, herbacians, botanoids, arachnoids, insectoids, silicoids, hydrocarbon-based colloidal intelligences, sentient mathematical equations, luminous cohesive thought matrices, and a slew of others.

But reptilian beings did form the largest single bloc of extraterrestrial entities in the Grand Hegemony. And Earth was the newest member, whether it wanted to be or not. It wasn’t as if there had really been much resistance. Hegemon starcruisers had surrounded the Earth, some of them had entered orbit, and others had landed on large areas of open ground or now floated near coastal areas. But there had never been any assault. No bloodshed—at least not by member of the Hegemony.

“Fuck all those sci-fi movies,” Ollie had said to her in the early days they were putting together their Humanity’s Heart organization. “No lasers, no exotic viruses or chemicals to wipe us out. No trying to serve us up for dinner. No mind control devices. No troops. No concentration camps. Just plain old simple strategy of give us what we want, and we’ll roll over.”

Michael L. Lewis “Trick ‘or’ Treat”

About the Author:

Michael L Lewis born Feb, 26 1974 raised in the beautiful Blueridge mountains of Southern West Virginia. Having grown up on cattle farms in the wide open country of Tazewell Va, he is no stranger to hard work and perseverance. Loves horseback riding, hunting and fishing. A father of five wonderful children and is currently enrolled in the Childrens Institute having the childrens Author ‘Shirley Raye Redmond’ as his tutor. Recently has a poetry book ‘Death Awaits The Ressurection’ published on Lulu.com and is also working on a Western Horror Novel as well as short stories for magazine articles.

“Trick ‘or’ Treat”

Michael Lewis

The rain had just stopped for the night as fog began to rise from the dark asphalt. I have just begun the last round of trick or treating before returning home to calculate my bounty.My Mom, and Aunt wait for me a block or so away until I finish up. I always cut down by the maple view cemetary- where a dozen or so homes reside, this is where I usually pocket some of the best candy, and a few bucks to boot. Although the cemetary freaks me out as I walk alone in the dark. I didn’t let that stop me from getting what I wanted. But this night would turn out to be quite different. As I made my way down pass the old willow trees, and directly across from a small playground built for the neighborhood. I notice a little boy about my age sitting upon the merry go round in a shadow of complete darkness. I would not have seen him had it not been for his reflective costume he was wearing. I proceed to ring the doorbell of the last house not taking my eye off of the boy who had an eerie look about him. He was just sitting there looking down to his empty halloween bag with an expression of dismay. At first I thought he must’ve been a victim of a candy robber, namely the high school bullies who think it fun to rob small children of their lute. I decide to walk over to him as it seemed that no one was answering the door here anyway. He doesn’t pay me any attention as if I’m not even visible to him. He continues looking down into the empty bag mumbling over,and over. “Trick or Treat, trick or treat.” Maybe he is lost?” I thought to myself looking around for someone to help me out. I didn’t want to just leave him here all alone. The storm returned sending bolts of lightning streaking overhead. That’s when I noticed that the boy was also bare footed, and cacked with mud. “You been walking about in the cemetary?” I ask him, but to no avail; He just kept repeating the words Trick or Treat, trick or treat. I was starting to get a little frustrated when I heard my Mom, and Aunt yelling for me. “I’ll be right back.” I tell him and go for them. Upon our return, and after I told my Mom what all was going on-the little boy was gone. In the exact spot to where he was sitting a floral reef had been placed like the ones you would find on someones grave. “How could this be?” I say to a whisper. That’s when my aunt began to tell me about a little boy who had been struck by a drunk driver and killed last halloween right in front of his home. Which upon looking at it now, I could see the (For Sale sighn)posted out front in the yard. His parents divorced, and moved out a couple months later, my aunt tells me. I began to feel lost, then scarred, and then a great sadness for the boy. I never walked by that way again as a child. Now that I am grown, and still feel sadness for the child. I go to where he sat that night and place a bag of candy for him. The park is now a row of pic-nic tables, and a few shrubs for looks. No one places a reef there anymore, and a new family has moved into the two story home. I would have never believed in ghost if I hadn’t seen it first hand, but I never would see my little friend again to this day.

Stephanie Sendak “The Smell of Sex”

About the Author:

I live in Miami and this is the first time I’ve sent my poem for publication.

“The Smell of Sex”

By Stephanie Sendak

His lips trembled as I sucked

The hard length of him

As my man gasps his pleasure his penis

Invade my throat

I hold back a little to take in some air

I smell his funk and my juices flow

A dick in the mouth

A finger in the pussy

A squeeze of the breast

All temptations

I swallow him once more taking my time

I clutch at his ass, bulging at the pleasure of my touch

I want him so much that urges to bite his sex overwhelms me

I want to eat him

To be part of me forever

Instead I spit on his veined cock wiping it off with my face and hair

I rose to straddle him, my wet cunt dipping easily down his shaft

It was my turn to be pleasured but on my own terms

I rode his slickness

Up and down

My breasts slaps together

My quim burning from anticipation

He bucks under me

I slam down

I scream when it is over

Panting until the tremors subside

Celis T. Rono “Sleeping Dead Re-Edited”

This version has been re-edited.  I think this is one of the strongest stories.  Hope you enjoy it.

“Sleeping Dead”

by Celis T. Rono

There was a reason why my grandmother was so adamant about not disturbing the sleeping dead in the forest.  I shake my head even now at the strong-willed girl of eighteen too mature to listen to her elders.  In fact, I shake my head at many things I did at that age.

In the forest lay sleeping forms that could not be awakened by even the loudest of screams or the fiercest of kicks.  My brother once had the temerity to throw a rock at an unmoving man in an immaculate tunic then ran away for fear of the figure awakening.  I stayed to watch and see what would happen, but nothing did.

A particularly handsome man with dark hair, strong nose, and full lips had intrigued me ever since I was a child.  He looked to be asleep, leaning against the cradle of an old leathery redcran tree.  I used to sit on his lap as a child and touch his black eyelashes.  As a young woman, I caressed his cold face from his cheek to his jaw wondering about the color his eyes.  He never moved.  His chest didn’t even rise to breathe in air.  Out of the twenty bodies strewn all over the forest, I was particularly drawn to this man.  I visited him everyday and even bestowed upon him a name, James.

“What happened to those people, Granny?” I asked once again, hoping my grandmother would finally reveal something useful to me.  She was the wisest in the kingdom, and some contend that she practiced the dark arts.  “They’ve lain on the forest ground for years.  Why don’t they decay?  Animals won’t even come near them.  And if they’re alive, how can we waken them?”

My grandmother shook her head.  “You’re much too curious, my child.  You’ve been asking me these questions since you were a child.”

“Then maybe it’s time you start telling me the truth,” I said annoyed.  “No one wants to talk about them.”

“You’re a pesky child, but alright, I’ll tell you what I know if you help me with my spindle.  It seemed to have hit a snag,” she sighed, brading thin fabrics together for the gowns of her granddaughters.  She was one of the richest women in the land yet she dared use her hand in lowly tasks.

“Anything, Granny.  I’ll do anything you ask,” I said, noticing for the first time how withered and gnarled my grandmother was, and it pained me.  Any type of loss disturbed me. “Rumor is these people were punished hundreds of years ago for offending the Great Lady of the forest.  They were too prideful and vain.  One particular man, the handsomest of them all, turned his back on the Great Lady’s advances and he can never thaw into a living man again.  She hated him the most,” said my grandmother.  “That’s all I know, child.  Now leave me to work in peace.”

Siren Bacall “Wolves”

About the Author:

I am a professor at a local Junior College in a city I cannot reveal at the moment.  I am dabbling at writing erotica and Ms. Rono was nice enough to indulge my fantasy.  I am 35 years old and am very satisfied with where I am in this juncture in my life.  Enjoy the story and let me know what you think of it.

Wolves

By Siren Bacall

They surrounded me.

Dozen pairs of eyes glowed in the dark, their wolf body stalking my naked, huddled   body.  I shook with fear as I smelled their hatred and hunger for my flesh.

“I didn’t mean to kill one of you,” I said, my voice breaking.  “I was just protecting my horse.”  They growled and salivated in the half light.  They didn’t care for my explanation.  I was riding home on my horse whose flesh had been ripped apart by the pack not ten minutes before.  Three of them flanked Ashby, my little mustang, and began to stalk him.  I had no choice but to pull out my pistol from my waist holder and fire at the closest beast.

My aim proved deadly.

Before I knew it, the grey furred animal on the right of my horse transformed into that of a man.  Hi savage eyes captured my eyes as he yanked me down from my horse and throw me to the ground.  From the damp grassland, I witnessed the black wolf hurl toward Ashby’s jugular while the other brown feral things attacked the tendons of his hind legs.  Within minutes, my beloved horse since I was a child was mauled in front of me.

Grey eyed man standing naked before me glowered and began to rip my clothing until nothing was left.  I covered my self the best I could but even in early sunset, my nakedness was stark.

Smokedawg “Widow’s Web: Promoting From Within”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by finally writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). He began work on a sci-fi novel in 2008, then fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish in fiction and commentary. He also has begun writing exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and now also writes some non-smoking erotica, exclusively for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective (unless of course by some miracle some publisher wants to pay him to put it in print). You can e-mail him at: pseudojeff@msn.com.

I had originally intended to publish no more smoking fetish fiction here at Celis’ blog, but I want to maintain a regular presence, had no time to write something from scratch right now, and realized that this story had been sitting on my hard drive since the early 2000s. I was surprised to find out how close to completion it was, and found it to be better written than I had expected it to be, since it was during a period I thought I might start writing mind control fiction erotica, then gave up on the idea. I had intended it to be part of a series, obviously, but not sure if I will do that. We’ll see…

Widow’s Web: Promoting From Within

Arriving for her fifth week of work, Cecile was amazed at one thing above all others: She still had a job. Not the best of typists, hardly ever on time, barely able to handle any software application more advanced than the word processing program…not to mention the fact she was working for a fledgling e-venture in a time when dot-coms were continuing to crumble…well, she wasn’t going to question her good fortune.

So, when the human resources director who hired her suddenly showed up at her cubicle, she figured she was done for. When he told Cecile that the CEO wanted to meet with her immediately, she knew she was doomed.

But considering the way the H.R. geek’s eyelids were drooping and way his words seemed…well, not slurred really but somehow flat…she was thinking maybe he’d be next to get fired—for being stoned on the job. Come to think of it, a lot of people had a certain glassy-eyed look around this company. Too many hours in front of computer screens, no doubt.

Her stomach bunched into a knot tight enough to hurt, she followed the bespectacled man (what was name again? Walter?) as he led her to the CEO’s office.

<My God, Cecile thought, what kind of CEO of any company drops the axe personally?>

A few minutes later, their destination reached, Walter nodded to the CEO’s personal assistant and then lazily rapped on the door the head office, where Cecile fully expected to have her head chopped off.

She was amazed that the person inside the office would even have heard Walter’s limp-wristed knock, and even more amazed when she heard a woman’s voice summon them in with a nearly magisterial authority.

<Sydney Prescott, Cecile realized, is a woman. I never even considered it. Of course, I’ve never seen so much as a picture of our CEO, much less witnessed a public appearance in the office. Oh, well, oh hell…There goes any chance of sweet-talking my way out of this and flirting my way into a second chance.

Celis T. Rono “The Great Hoax at Bloody Convent”

This is not an erotica story.  It’s pretty much a horror story that I wrote many years ago.  Early Halloween everyone!

“The Great Hoax at Bloody Convent”

By Celis T. Rono

His dark scornful eyes followed the figures of Sister Isabella and Sister Lucretia who were making their way to the third floor.  He spat on the cold marble hall as he watched the two ascend the stairs.  The stone building he inhabited was suffocating him.  The heatless walls chilled his bones and the myriad statues that stared down at him with their painted glassy eyes disturbed him rather than provoke wonderfully benign thoughts.

“Bloody nuns!” he muttered as loudly as he could without being overheard by the handful of people who still roamed the second floor hallway.

“James Dalton, why are you still here?  You ought to be in the chapel praying with the others,” reproached Miss Timball, a thick waisted Algebra teacher with coiled red hair.

“I left my books in Miss Ridge’s room.”

“You could have done that after prayers.  Now get going.”  She glared at the insolent twelve year old boy who always had an excuse for everything.

The moment the teacher turned her back Jimmy scrunched up his face and muttered, “I’m not even Catholic.”

Miss Timball, hearing such a blasphemous remark from her least favorite student, sharply faced the boy.  “What did you say, James?”

“I said I’m not even Catholic.”

“I see you’re still as imaginative as ever.  Of course you’re Catholic!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are truly vexing me, child.  You were baptized a Catholic; you know that.  Your parents are devout followers of the church.”

Evee Vaughan “Trystal Brewer Chronicles”

About the Author:

I’m 18 and just recently graduated High School and I live in New York City. More accuratley, The Bronx. As a child and even now, I have a mild curiosity for the paranormal and preternaural. Any book that has a paranormal/romance topic, 9 times out of 10, I will read it.

I have a love for science fiction and anything that has to do with history.

I’m a fun loving person that is pretty good at giving advice. Most of my friends call me crazy, cooky, spontaneous and just downright “out there”. Most of the stories that I write usually have to do with my own expierences in life with a supernatural twist and most of the characters are usually based on my friends. My favorite authors are Sherrilyn Kenyon, Laurell K. Hamilton, James Patterson, Anne Rice, L.A. Banks and Richelle Mead just to name a few.

I hope that everyone enjoys my writings and thanks to everyone who reads them.

I can be reached at Starfire2231@aol.com and also on myspace and soon enough on facebook under the same email adress.   XOXOXOX Ciao!!

“TRYSTAL BREWER CHRONICLES”

By Kyle Vaughn

Chapter I

Dillan’s Roller Rink was the hotspot for Delco University’s college students. The strobe lights, variety in music, exotic cuisine, and all around aura made it a haven for high school students, families and the college crowd. But tonight, this was the last place Trystal Brewer wanted to be. While she and her two best friends were sitting down and enjoying a quick snack on one of the rink’s many balconies, her boyfriend had his hands and lips all over another girl. How dare Him!!

“Can I go over there and choke the living shit out of him please?” A normal comment coming from Trystal’s best friend Amanda. She hated Jason with a passion and right about now so did Trystal. How many times was she going to let him get away with cheating on her? “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” Trystal said choking on tears. To think she came here all dressed up for him. Hoping it would make him stay around her more than wonder off. A tight baby tee that enhanced her double D breasts and very feminine figure, navy blue booty shorts which gave length to her already long and gorgeous bronze legs and navy blue and white converse sneakers completed the look. Trystal stood up to leave when Amanda pulled her back to a stop. “Don’t you dare walk away from this! If you walk away now he knows he has you for good.”

“I personally don’t care what he thinks right now, I just want to get out of here.” Trystal said as tears began to fill her eyes.

In the three years she spent dating Jason, he never did anything like this. There were rumors about him with other girls and plenty of them he actually admitted to but he never cheated on her in front of her face. He never embarrassed her like this in public.

Jennifer Lauren Ackermann “Unveiling the Secret Fangs”

About the Author:

I’m 19 years young and live in Orlando, Florida.  I am currently attending my local community college and working toward my degree in English.  I would like to thank Celis for all her kind words and support.  Feel free to follow me on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ItsMeJaylah.  Enjoy.

Unveiling the Secret Fangs

By: Jennifer Lauren Ackermann

Darkness hadn’t really freaked me out before, but when floating yellow eyes that glowed started moving toward me from the shadows, that, I admit, did scare me.  Even though I was twenty-three years old, living on my own and financially stable, I wanted my older sister there with me more than anything.  Sinthea had always been the brave one growing up.  I had learned my cynicism from her.  Sinthea had always told me that all realists needed a hint of cynicism in their bones.

Having a mom that had passed away shortly after my birth and a father that had worked himself non-stop to keep busy and away from the house where all of mom’s things were, growing up had been hard and lonely.  Sinthea had taken it upon herself to care for me where our father had failed to.  Being four years older than I, Sinthea had sacrificed a lot for me and my happiness.  It hadn’t been until a few years ago that I realized that and felt stabs of guilt from it occasionally, even to this day.

We were very close.  Close enough for me to see that my big sis had a darkness that was inside her deep, deep down.  Even being as close as we were, it seemed that I could never get close enough to touch or identify it.  She seemed to guard it, keeping it safe from everyone.  It hurt me to see her practically thriving off of it, like it was the only thing that could keep her going.

Sinthea had gone missing the day she moved out of the house, severing all ties with everyone.  She quit her job, cancelled her cell phone service and didn’t tell anyone where she had moved to.  The last thing that she had ever said to me whispered through my mind, reopening the wound that would never be fully healed over.

I love you, Roberto.  You are my brother and my best friend.  I need you to know that before I leave.  If you’re mad at me for this, I understand and I won’t blame you, but you must also understand that this is for your own good.  I know you don’t see it now, but you will, she had said.

When she had left and never bother to call, visit, e-mail or write a letter to let me know that she was all right, I hadn’t been mad.  No, I had been pissed.  She had left me all alone with a father who couldn’t even look at me since I reminded him so much of his dead wife.  Maybe I was stupid or ignorant, but after eleven years I still couldn’t see how it was for my own good.  Maybe I simply didn’t want to see it.  I didn’t have a clue as to what she had been talking about.  Eleven years of constant wondering hadn’t gotten me any closer to an answer than I was now.

The burning, yellow orbs stopped coming closer and blinked a few times.  I back peddled a few steps right into a cluster box that clanged loudly.  The wind that had been rustling the leaves, died, the night bugs’ song silenced as well.  It was creepy, to say the least.