Random Fiction - No Billygoat Gruff

Grog lived under the bridge between two meadows, but unlike his cousin who had had an unfortunate run-in with goats some years back, Grog was cautious. He had the filthy pelts of numerous woodland creatures, magical and mundane, to prove it. But of late his larder was bare, probably because even stupid woodland creatures got wind of a troll under the bridge eventually.

So when Grog heard footsteps, he played it cool. No reason to scare off his dinner. When he finally peaked over the side, there was something he hadn't expected: a faerie, eyes closed, lip trembling. Grog couldn't help but notice that she was also totally naked, her wings sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

It had been a long time since Grog had seen a female troll, and while this faerie was much too clean, much too hairless, and much too slim to be truly attractive, Grog wasn't going to be choosy, not when this sort of opportunity dropped into his lap. He leaped out and grabbed her around the waist.

"Hoho," he said in his most menacing voice. "What have we here?"

"Please just do it and get it over with," whimpered the faerie, eyes still closed. "Please."

Grog was taken aback. "Nope, no tricks," he said. "I'm not listening."

"No tricks. Just do it."

Grog didn't even have to drag her back to his lair; she bent over in the grass and put her head down. What was going on?

But still, the sight of her pert backside made Grog hungry for things other than billygoats. His cock was enormous, as befitted a troll, and it rose to hardness immediately, so he tossed aside the filthy loincloth and gripped the sylph's slim hips, directing his trollhood into her tight, hot passage. He grunted and thrust, caring little for her comfort, but he could have sworn he heard her sigh with happiness.

Grog was cautious, but not when his cock was demanding release, not when a seemingly willing cunt was taking all he could throw at it. He thrust and thrust, and he didn't even notice when the sword point made its own thrust through his heart. He collapsed in a puddle of blood, and his last thought was wondering just what had happened.

"You could have let him finish," scowled the faerie, climbing from her knees and turning to look the hero in the eye.

"I hate sloppy seconds," said the hero, his pants already down, his own cock, hardly a troll's but still impressive, jutting out like his sword. "In fact, I think with all that pounding that the only thing worth fucking on you today will be your ass."

And the sylph was happy to oblige, even as she idly wished that her hero would occasionally let her feel the hot blasts of troll cum she craved.

Random Fiction - Jealousy

When Marcus slapped my face with his cock, I came to the realization that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. What was Samantha doing back there anyway? But I couldn't stop now, not with my cunt aching for rough thrusts.

Sure, it had seemed like fun when Samantha and Marcus asked if they could watch us. David said he was game, and I didn't take too much convincing. After all, what were friends for? I remembered wondering vaguely, as David shucked his pants, if we'd get to watch them, and whether I'd enjoy that.

But now... well, I wasn't sure. Not that I minded Marcus' cock. Even when he came around behind me and started pressing into my ass, which I wasn't expecting, I didn't mind. I liked it. But if Samantha was doing what I thought she was doing, then we'd have problems.

David was mine. She had no right to touch him. "Get your hands off him, bitch!" I almost screamed. And they all just laughed. David laughed hardest. And I knew that he wasn't mine any more. Maybe ours, but not mine.

---

This was completely not the way I was meaning to take it. The story went off the rails at a certain point. She just had a look in her eye which suggested that she wasn't paying as much attention to herself as to what those hands were doing behind her back. I'd like to think that our heroine got over it, and maybe the happy foursome continued in a lighter vein. After all, she doesn't seem to mind sharing herself.

But people are weird. I get jealous about some things which are horribly hypocritical myself. I try not to let the jealousy get the best of me, but I admit a certain jealousy about sharing certain people, even when I'm in the room, even when I'm next in line to share and be shared. I imagine that my lovers are the same way.

Anyway, I hope PB is alright, but as there was no official FFF this week, this'll be my contribution to the blogosphere.

Random Fiction - Wanted and Had

Wanted

They caught the young fugitive after a harrowing chase through the fields. She was panting as Bill sat on her, hog-tied her, and pulled her to her feet. "You're coming with us," he said.

Karen gave him a strange look, standing at his side, watching the proceedings unfold. The fugitive strained against the bonds futilely, worn out from the pursuit. And Bill realized that he was gripping a very attractive, very naked woman, fugitive or no. "Special treatment?" he asked his wife hopefully.

"Special treatment," Karen nodded with a smile.

And maybe it was Bill's imagination, but their captive seemed to relax in his arms. Maybe she was just too tired to resist. Or maybe she felt the swelling of Bill's cock in her back and wanted more.

There was no reason to hurry her back to jail. They left her tied and went to the truck to get something, anything, to play with. Finally they settled on a beer bottle. Bill loved seeing his wife stroke the tied girl's slit, then slide the neck of the bottle into her, which made the teen wince and squirm away, then sink down with a muffled sigh and grunt. Bill held her up while his wife slowly worked their captive into a frenzy, his wife's hand sometimes straying to stroke her captive's breast or her own.

Then, still tied, the teen was bent over the bed of the truck, and Karen nodded and held her down. The fugitive seemed to know what was coming, and she didn't resist, didn't say a word as Bill's hard cock speared her. She was still tight, even after being reamed with the bottle, and Bill found himself close in a heartbeat.

"Inside me, please," begged the teen beneath him, panting, the first words she'd spoken. Bill's wife smiled and nodded. And who was he to refuse? He thrust a few more times into the delightful warm wetness, and then he gripped the teenage hips and spent himself inside her, until it felt like cum was all around him. She sighed beneath him.

Even after, when they'd told the girl that they were letting her go, that she could run away and they wouldn't chase her, she stayed. And she refused to be untied. Even as Bill fucked her again, even as Karen sat on her face, the captive stayed bound, if not by law, then by lust.

---

Had

Bill and Karen both looked at each other, shocked. Neither had intended to overhear their teen daughter's conversation, but they had been walking past her room and couldn't help but hear. "I just can't cum. No matter how hard I try," Gretchen said into the phone, in hushed tones. "I've tried everything you said. I really want to." Bill turned away, red as a beet, and Karen pushed him down the hall.

"God, what a conversation to walk past," Bill said shakily.

"The poor thing," said Karen, almost at the same moment.

"What?" Bill asked, perhaps more shocked now than he had been before.

"Come on Bill, you know how much I love getting off. I bet Gretch would love it too."

Bill stared for a moment, then he nodded. "Yeah, okay, the poor thing," he said, finally.

"The thing I don't understand is why she can't," said Karen, musing as she pulled her shirt off, almost absently. Bill watched his wife talk to herself and strip. "I mean, I'm practically on a hair trigger. I wonder what she's tried."

They made love. Bill wasn't expecting it, the middle of the day, talking about their daughter. They tried to muffle their noises, to keep Gretchen and her friend from hearing. Karen seemed insatiable. But finally, in the afterglow, she curled around Bill, sweaty and happy, and whispered, "We should teach her."

Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. Bill was no longer shocked.

That Saturday, the family went for a picnic to a secluded spot, and Karen said, "Gretch, your father and I want to make you cum." Just like that. Bill expected an outburst, but Gretchen just blushed a little and nodded. "I think you need to be restrained, so you won't do anything you shouldn't," said Karen, and again, Gretchen just nodded. "Gretch, get naked. Bill, tie her up and hold her. Mommy's going to show her just what to do."

Bill was shocked, but he found himself doing as his wife commanded, His little girl. Naked. Bound. His hands were on her. And heaven help him, he was getting turned on. Karen clearly was too, as she slipped her blouse down a little, showing she had no bra on and her nipples were hard as steel.

But her mother's skilled hands and a vibrator still didn't make Gretchen cum. Bill even found himself stroking his daughter's naked flesh, all thoughts but sex gone from his head. Gretchen cried out, writhed, tensed, but still, no orgasm. "Bill," Karen said to him, in the same normal tone she always used, notwithstanding that she was running a large vibrator in and out of her daughter's drenched pussy. "Bill, I think she needs you."

"Me?"

"Yes, please Daddy," begged Gretchen, moaning. "Please."

Bill felt his pants pulled down by his wife, his hard cock jutting out as Karen grabbed it and guided it without comment into Gretchen's wet space. "Oh yes!" Gretchen moaned, and Bill found himself moaning too.

And then he felt her cum on him, and he couldn't stop himself or move, and he spurted hot seed into his daughter's spasming pussy.

"You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold out," said his daughter's weak voice, as if from a great distance. "I thought I was going to cum a million times. Thank God you're good at keeping me in check."

"Was it worth it?" That was Karen. What were they talking about. Bill was a million miles away, his still-hard cock in something warm. Something very warm which sounded like his daughter. But that couldn't be, could it?

"God yes." Nope, that was definitely Gretchen. He opened his eyes, and it wasn't a dream. They were in a field, and Gretchen was sitting on his cock, and she was tied up, and Karen was smiling at him.

"Welcome back," she said, kissing him long and hard.

"Yeah, welcome back Daddy," said Gretchen, squirming around to face him and giving him a decidedly un-daughterly kiss. "You were wonderful, although next time I'll expect a bit more stamina."

"What?" Bill was almost ready to faint, except that he felt so good.

"Silly, Mom and me worked this all out," said Gretchen. "What, you think I talk about cumming with my friends? Come on. With Mom's genes, I've been cumming since I was old enough to walk."

"Well, maybe a little older than that," laughed Karen.

"So this was all a setup?"

"Call it an awakening," said Karen, putting her arm around Gretchen's still-bound shoulders, and mother and daughter smiled and waited for Bill to figure it out. And he did, with a bit of help.

---

There may be FFF this week, but I haven't heard about it, so I wrote this instead. I'm not usually that into bondage, but this one seemed... a little less about the bondage and more about something else. Maybe the two older figures are raping the girl, but it didn't look like it to me. She looked impassioned, not imperiled.

I meant to write the second story, but then the first one came to me and I wrote it. I don't think the two are related, but maybe they are. I used the same names because I could, not because I was attempting to draw some parallel. Different universes, same people? I don't really know or care. Just two fun stories.

If there isn't a FFF this week, feel free to steal this picture and use it for whatever challenge you like. I had to look a bit for a good one this week; the random spinner kept giving me uninspiring material. But then I hit this one, and it was clearly inspiring, even if it's not the greatest picture ever.

Random Fiction - Leaving

Tara shifted and Tamara winced. “Do you have to go?” Tara asked sleepily.

“You know I do.” Tamara shifted the garters, still naked save for stockings. Damn, she had hoped to get out without waking her sister.

“Couldn’t you just stay here with me?” Tamara winced again. Tara had a way of making that proposition extremely tempting. Even now, she was shifting, as if unconsciously, her flesh coming into view. Tamara could see the love bites from last night.

“It’s a job. We need the money.” But it wasn’t just a job. It was something more.

Turning tricks had always been Tamara’s job. Tara wasn’t suited to the life of a whore; she was too fragile, too easily hurt. And too easily in love. And Tamara wanted her sister only in love with one person: Tamara. “I won’t be gone long. My regular Friday client offered to pay double if I’d let a friend join in.”

“You’ll do that?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep food on the table.” Tamara made it sound like a hardship, when she was looking forward to it. Her Friday client was good to her, and the prospect of two cocks sliding into her made her wet just to think about it. “It’s not so bad. You’d probably like it.”

“No,” sighed Tara, turning away. “You know how I feel about that.” And that was just it. Tamara knew exactly how her sister felt about it. “Kiss me before you go,” Tara pleaded, suddenly childlike and hurt-looking, and Tamara couldn’t refuse.

She was late for her client and had to make up for it in ways she hadn’t expected. And the whole time, she thought of her twin sister at home, the love of her life, the anchor around her neck.

---

This started out being sexier than it wound up being. I have experience with having to get up and leave someone I love lying there, wishing I could stay. But I don't resent it in the way Tamara seems to. I guess I was exploring that resentment, that love and hate. Plus whores. Yay.

I would have played FFF this week had I known that there was a substitute host, but I didn't, so I didn't. Still, there was a substitute host, and you could head over there and see who did play.

Random Fiction - The Carver of Headstones

She is waiting in stone. Some day I will pick up my chisel to carve and she will be inside instead. I do not know if it will be a joyous meeting; time has changed me since she knew me. But I have been promised that she is waiting.

When she left me all those years ago, when I begged them to make her mine again, I made no specifications as to how. And when the chisel was left at my doorstep, tangled in a strand of her hair, I knew the old ones were telling me what I needed to know. But not what I wanted to know. How, but not when.

I am an old man now, and yet perhaps I am not the changed one. Maybe she will emerge from the cold embrace of rock like a virgin from the foam, or maybe she will come back cold and hard as I have become. Maybe we're meant for each other.

Maybe the chisel was just a joke. Maybe she did what she said she would do and went to America to be an actress. Maybe she wound up a whore.

Maybe...

I cannot think those thoughts. So instead I choose another block, another mortuary statue to complete, and chip away, and think that this may be the day. She is waiting. I have been promised.

---

This isn't a terribly sexy picture and in many ways it's sort of frightening. The eyes are what really get me. But it was the first picture to pop up on the random spinner that said anything at all, so I used it. I didn't spin that many times either; there was an obvious one about BDSM, a really ugly one, and an illustration from a book, and then this one. The first I already did last week, the second I wasn't about to do, and the third had already been done by someone else and I wasn't interested in literary sloppy seconds.

I like the idea of a sort of reverse Pygmalion with a bit of whoever said that there was a sculpture hiding in every rock, and it merely needed finding. Something like that. I think, if you ask dark powers to bring your love back, you're likely to get something other than what you bargained for, and I think carving your love out of rock would probably wind up badly. So let's hope, for our narrator's sake, that he never actually finds her in a stone. Those eyes aren't mortal eyes anymore.

No FFF again this week, not that I think I would have had the time to do it had there been one. I hope everything's okay at FFF headquarters. But I decided to do one of these random ones instead, because it's good practice.

Random Fiction - Mistress and Maid

Because there was no FFF this week, and because I've been struggling for posts, and because people have said I should, and just because... I went to an erotica site I like and hit the random button a few times until I got a picture I didn't hate (I know, that sounds like cheating, but there are a lot of crappy pictures out there and I wanted something I could vaguely get into, even if it wasn't entirely my thing), then I'm going to write something using it as inspiration. Who knows if this will be a recurring thing. I'm not offering this picture up as a substitute challenge; I'm just doing it for myself. See PB for challenges.

Clementine had been stealing again. I felt a certain compassion for the girl even as I instructed Harris, our Punjab butler, to tie her to the tree. "Please memsahib, she is so young," begged Tilda, the head maid. But I was firm.

"You would prefer it if the Master found out? So he could take it out of her hide with a horsewhip? Believe me, this is for her own good. She'll never learn if she isn't disciplined." And Tilda fell silent, knowing that Clementine was lucky to live in my household. "Strip her," I said curtly to Harris, who did as he was told. A faithful old retainer was Harris. He'd been with my husband for years. Never batted an eye.

"Please lady, I will not do it again," whimpered the girl, but Harris' firm hands pulled her frock over her head. The skin he revealed was much paler than I would have guessed, much more firm, more supple. The girl was a beauty. I couldn't help staring as Harris tied her arms to the branch.

"Harris, Tilda, you may go," I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice, the surprise from my tone. "I'll call for you when the punishment is finished." They bowed and receded into the bushes. "Girl, do you know why I have to do this?" I asked her, unable to stop myself. Was it compassion? My eyes wandering over her skin gave the lie to that notion.

Clementine merely whimpered, so I pulled a bunch of twigs from the nearby brush and swatted her taut buttocks. "Answer me," I said, more harshly this time.

"Because I stole," she sobbed.

"Yes." I swatted her again, more gently this time.

"But my family, they need food."

"No excuses." Again, the lash descended, harder this time, raising a series of small red welts on her smooth flesh. But then I dropped my bundle and placed my hands on her hips. "In future, if you need something extra for your family, you will ask, and I will grant your request."

It was easy to convince her, as my fingers slipped between her legs, finding her warm center and entering without obstruction. "Memsahib," she whimpered as my lips met hers. "Please do not stop."

"Stop what?"

"Do not stop beating me." And she smiled a little as my other hand came down with a crack on her backside, even as the tears welled up again.

---

I'm not one for corporal punishment play. I like pleasure more than pain. But this picture had to have that theme. And it just screamed "British Raj" to me for some reason. I'd like to think that the narrator is enlightened by her love of this serving girl. Who knows what might happen?