“Girl B”: New Story Out!

"Girl B" included in Dancing With Myself: Stories of Self-Love Erotica

I am honored and thrilled to announce that my short story “Girl B” is included in the new anthology Dancing With Myself: Stories of Self-Love Erotica, published by Sexy Little Pages and edited by Jillian Boyd.

I think this is honestly my best erotic short story I’ve written. At 6,000 words, it has been difficult to find a good fit for it, so I am doubly excited it now has a good home. Featuring a woman faced with a new conundrum, I will say that it’s perhaps more “desperate self-relief” than “self-love.” 😀

*

Here is a filthy little 1000-word excerpt from my story:

 

“Don’t you want to know how the story ended?” Angie said.

“What story?” Bree asked.

“The one I read to Trey.”

“You told me. The woman had suggested it herself.”

“That was the twist. But they all lived happily ever after, happier than they were before, even.”

“With another slave girl in the house? I doubt that.”

“No really, they did. Because the new girl wasn’t there to replace her. He brought her in to serve her.”

“What?”

“And him too, of course. It’s got this long threesome scene. They made her do everything. Did everything to her. Both of them. They kept her very busy—had her tied up, tied down, oh my God. It ends with these hints of all the things they had yet to do, every day, for ever and ever.” She tilted her head and smiled an innocent, angelic smile.

Bree felt hot blood rush to her face.

“They decided to call her Girl B. And the main character was Girl A.” Angie leaned forward. “Get it? Angie, Girl A? Bree, Girl B?” She gestured to Bree. “It was all right there in the story! It’s perfect. Who else would I suggest, when he asked me? Some stranger off the internet? It had to be someone I trusted. And who I thought was hot.”

Bree folded her arms. She had never really thought of herself as especially hot.

“I can’t tell if you’re serious, or just messing with me.”

“Why don’t you ask the Master himself?” Angie said. “Hey, baby.”

Bree turned.

Trey.

He was standing on the sidewalk, on the other side of the iron railing that separated the café from the moving lines of downtown shoppers. He was wearing his usual sawdust-covered jeans, but with a decent buttoned shirt and a black sports jacket. His hair was heavy and wavy, and he was wearing wraparound sunglasses that hid his eyes.

He looked good. Very good.

“Hello, ladies,” he said, leaning on the rail behind Bree.

“Hi, sweetie,” Angie said. Sweetie, after he’d just whipped her ass with a crop. “We were just talking about you.”

How does one stop a blush? Bree tried to think about work.

“Hi, Trey,” she said, but couldn’t quite look him in the eye.

“Bree.” He was smiling. “So, what were you two saying?”

“I was just telling Bree about our recent explorations into contemporary literature.”

“Oh, really! And what are your opinions, Bree? On our recent explorations into contemporary literature?”

“Oh my God, Bree,” Angie said. “Your face is so red.”

*

Bree lay on her back on her bed, every stitch of her clothes somewhere between the door and here; she didn’t know, didn’t care.

She lay spread-eagled, both legs outstretched, one arm reaching up behind her head. Her other hand was toggling her clit ferociously, pressing it hard, pausing only briefly to fuck herself with two fingers. Three fingers. She raised her hips off the bed and moaned.

She kept her legs spread wide, because in her mind she was tied up that way.

Girl B.

She was tied down, ankles and wrists cuffed with ropes running to the bedposts (even though her bed had no bedposts), her body stretched tight.

In her mind, both arms were stretched and bound, but of course that would mean releasing her hand from her clit. Her wet, desperate clit. And she just couldn’t seem to do that.

She moaned again. Trey was telling her to spread wider, to make herself available. To open her mouth. And Trey would kneel on the bed beside her, right by her face, and order her to lick his cock.

“Reach for it,” he would say, and she would crane her neck and reach out with her tongue until she—

Bree came. Hard. She panted as the intense waves of release flowed through her, tensing, tensing, tensing, until she nearly cried out as the relief came.

But it wasn’t enough.

No.

She was still tied down; they were just getting started. Yes.

Where was she? Oh yes—she was licking his hard cock, up and down its shaft, licking his balls, wanting it all in her mouth, wanting him to fill her mouth with his hard dick.

“Beg for it,” Trey would say, and she would.

“Please!” Bree said out loud, and hoped no neighbors heard.

“Now, beg Angie to whip you while you suck my cock.”

Bree couldn’t bring herself to actually say this out loud. “Please, Ange, whip me. Whip me hard while I suck Trey’s cock,” she said in her mind, and he shifted closer to her and grasped her hair and proceeded to fuck her mouth as she tightened her lips around it.

“You heard her—whip her,” Trey would say.

She felt the whip, the crop Angie had told her about, as Angie began to hit Bree, on her breasts as she moaned into Trey’s huge cock (she assumed it was huge); across her stomach, then harder against her spread thighs, spread so, so wide.

God damn it, she thought, as she came again, even harder this time.

“Whip me,” she whispered, out loud. Her entire body shuddered.

Tied up or not, Bree now brought her legs together, squeezed them tight with her hand still inside her, clamped her muscles hard as she rolled to her side and curled into a ball. She shuddered again.

She would not fuck her best friend. No.

But Trey was noticing her ass as she rolled over. (Never mind how she’d done that while tied down so securely.)

“Well, will you look at that, Girl A?” he’d say to Angie. “No whip marks at all on that smooth little ass. I think you’d better fix that.”

And he would recommence fucking her mouth while she begged and cried, the stinging crop heating up the flesh of her backside, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Because she was Girl B.

Her soaking wet fingers found her clit yet again…

*

Dancing With Myself also includes stories by Jillian Boyd, Rachel Woe, Leandra Vane, Jordan Monroe, T.C. Mill, Jones, Dena Hawkins and Hollis Queens.

It can be purchased here.

 

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