1 Chapter 1
Foreword
When I was approached to write this foreword by the authors, I was awed and humbled. I have come to know these two highly skilled women through a shared publishing house, and a communal sense of humor and appreciation of the random, quirky, and erotically enjoyable aspects of life’s bumpy highway.
As a writer of several published M/M and M/F romance novels, I know that my forte is the novel, and not the short story. Writing short stories is not for everyone. Even those who call themselves authors, such as me, realize that those who pen a short are skilled mapmakers.
Who else could chart out quick literary journeys of but a few miles while taking us on a trip that is just as fulfilling as a year-long quest? The short story writer is a master of choosing just the right route through a landscape of unneeded words. They know innately which road to show us for the ultimate visual aspect each chosen word will give us.
The two women whose works fill these pages are among the elite of the literary cartographers. Their narratives will lead you down erotic roadways that weave through wonderful landscapes ranging from carnivals to cats, dark creatures and darker desires, with an occasional sojourn into the lands of voyeurism, bondage, romantic love, science fiction, and succubae.
As you read through each tale that Lynn and Elizabeth have mapped out, you’ll find yourself traveling over pathways both familiar and strange. Each boulevard they have charted is filled with twists, sensuality, and serpentine side roads to both heaven and hell. I am sure you will be drawn off the beaten path by the stories collected here for you. As a fellow author of the passionate and the romantic, I know exactly how thrilling finding those amorous lanes can be.
V. L. Locey
author of the To Love a Wildcatsports romance series
Middlebury Center, PAUnsaid by Elizabeth L. Brooks
“What do you want to do tonight?”
I want you to tie me down. I want you to spend at least half an hour just taking off my clothes, and then another hour teasing me and dancing me on the edge of climax without ever letting me drop off, no matter how much I beg for it. I want you to take another hour—or more—and find out how many times you can make me come. And in between, I want to watch as you kneel over me and jack off. I want you to fuck my mouth and my breasts and my aching, needy pussy. I want to watch your face as you come.
“I don’t know. You have any ideas?”
I want you to strip me naked and stand me against the wall, my arms spread and my hands braced against that unyielding surface as you caress my shoulders with the tails of the flogger. I want you to whip my back and my ass and my thighs, until my skin is so raw that even the passage of air makes it sting. Until I’m forced to beg for mercy. I want you to threaten my cock with it, to tickle it with those leather tails, still warm with my own heat, until my prick is so hard it weeps and leaps with excitement at the touch. I want to store up that sweet pain like a camel so I can live on it for days, to make my own skin a reminder of your power over me.
“We could go to the movies, if there’s something on worth watching?”
The vibrator is nestled snugly against my clit, and even without turning it on, its shape and pressure taunt me. I am fidgeting; it’s an effort of will not to rock my hips, not to make that nub of plastic push and stretch me out of myself. The car stops, and I allow myself one small thrust against the firm leather of the seat as you walk around to open the door for me. You come back into view and you smile at me, through the window, and one hand slips inside your coat pocket. I jump as, gentle and insistent, the vibrator comes to life. I can feel the blush climbing my cheeks as I look up at you, and your smile widens as you open the door and offer your hand. I take it: I will need your support well before we reach our seats, it seems.
“A movie could be fun, I guess. Maybe a walk in the park, after?”
The scent of fresh-cut grass mingles with that of your hair as you lean back against my chest. I push my cock against the curve of your ass and I feel, more than hear, your chuckle. You stand behind the park bench, leaning only slightly forward, your hands resting on its back as if you are posing for a portrait. From behind you, I lift your skirt and slide your panties down. Only a moment later my prick is seeking your depths. My hands cover yours as we rock together, but as the need mounts, such delicate restraint ceases to serve me. My arms wrap around you, hands closing on your breasts, and I pull you tightly back against me, tighter, tighter, tighter still, as if through sheer will I could meld us into a single being. You tip your head back, nestling it into the hollow of my shoulder, giving yourself to me entirely, your eyes closed to the expansive brilliance of the night sky.
