Suddenly Sexy: 20 Ultra-Hot, Ultra-Kinky Short Stories
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by Jamie Joy Gatto
Category: Erotica/Taboo Erotica
Description: The Pause That Refreshes! Suddenly Sexy features twenty very short, very arousing stories by Jamie Joy Gatto, the reigning queen of contemporary erotic storytelling. Running the sexual gamut, from straight vanilla to kinky queer and lots of stuff in between, these tales are guaranteed to tease, titillate, leave you breathless, raise your heart rate, and getting you off! So sit back, and be prepared for some one-handed reading. You'll find yourself feeling suddenly sexy. Contents include: "Night Horses, Evening Primroses," "Benediction, " "Welcome Home," "Worship Me, " "The Old Swimming Hole, " "Summer Storm," "Eye of the Beholder," "When You Do That," "Simple Mysteries," "Player," "Neat," "Good Morning, Lover," "Mitsu at the Market, " "Michaela at Midnight," "Anticipation," "Maia's Perfect Hands," "Mary for Breakfast," "A Different Day," "Deprivation," "The Magic of Keitara's Hands," "A Basket Full of Surprises."
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2003
eBookwise Release Date: June 2004
40 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [83 KB]
Reading time: 50-70 min.
Night Horses, Evening Primroses
The Old Swimming Hole
Eye of the Beholder
When You Do That
Good Morning, Lover
Mitsu at the Market
Michaela at Midnight
Maia's Perfect Hands
Mary for Breakfast
A Different Day
The Magic of Keitara's Hands
A Basket Full of Surprises
Collected in Suddenly Sexy are twenty-one stories I've written to tease you, to titillate you ... even to make you think. The themes of these tales run the sexual gamut, from straight vanilla to kinky queer and lots of stuff in between.
But they all have one thing in common: each story is to the point. They're considered flash fiction, micro-fiction, flashers, sudden fiction, whatever you like to call it. You know, those itty-bitty tales that have only a brief moment to hook you in, pack their wallop, then bang! They're over. That's what this book is all about: leaving you breathless, raising your heart rate just a touch, getting you wet and hard, and maybe even leaving you wanting a tiny taste more.
Sit back and enjoy these quickies. Be prepared for some one-handed reading. It is my sincere hope that after reading each one of these little gems, you'll find yourself feeling suddenly sexy.
--Jamie Joy Gatto
NIGHT HORSES, EVENING PRIMROSES
for my Benjamin
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought
And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars
At this hour the self-collected soul
Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there
Of high descent, more than mortal rank
An embryo God; a spark of fire divine
--Anna Laetitia Barbauld, "A Summer Evening's Meditation" (1773)
In shadows, I awake after dreaming of haltering horses and fleeing calamity. The bitter taste of soot much like unsweetened chocolate--feels as though it lingers inside my lips.--The smell of burning lumber hangs acrid in my nose. The exhaustion of galloping too fast and too far, but never fast enough burdens me. Images flash inside my unmasking drape of sleep: destruction, houses burning, fire encroaching. My long-loved home crumbles behind my eyes, succumbing to a merciless blaze. Still haunting me is the feeling of cracked leather scraping tender palms. My muscles ache as though from riding. My body is cold, cloaked in the sterility of chill, black night. The feeling of imminent danger, of being frightened, alone, and of being newly homeless, still loiters in the air.
In my bed: stillness, dark. In reality I am surrounded by cool, air-conditioned night air. Late Spring heat is tamed by the machine which carries the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine in its Freon wake. My lover is next to me, tranquil, breath steady, a metronome of calmness. Our shared bedroom is a comfortable sanctuary whenever we are together. Now we are together every night. At my side, he doesn't crowd me, but he is near, his aura close enough to overlap mine. Security, safety, love and hope. When I awake fully, I no longer feel I am alone. When I awake with him at my right, I know I'll never again live with the torments of having a mentally ill partner which led to the enduring plague of loneliness that once was my life. So many years gone. Years lost to tending another's unattainable, unreachable needs. Days and nights I spent with my own soul festering, polluted by someone else's sickness and addictions: a life I gave away willingly in the name of misdirected love. Sex was a luxury a broken relationship could not afford, and impotence was the price my ex exchanged for cocaine bliss. My body languished, dormant, fallow.
The feelings I have for my new lover frighten me. I am often overwhelmed by the passion I feel, especially when I gaze at him. I love to watch him sleep. Only then can I pierce him with unflinching love. Only then do I dare to focus it, experience it, not shy away from my complete and total adoration of him.
I watch him as he lies there on his back, next to me in our bed, eyes gently closed. One strong arm is extended up over his head. His underarm hair is straight and dark, jutting out at odd angles. His skin is eggshell smooth. He is angelic, almost cherubic: lips too full, lashes too long, the face of a Renaissance artist's model. Peeking out from rumpled bed sheets, his nipples lie upon his skin like evening primroses. They spread across polished skin stretched taut, flattened like two pennies we placed as children upon railroad tracks, crushed by freight trains to form smooth, copper ovals. Their beauty beckons me like a blossom. Two garnet roses bloom for me this night. I want to taste them each, nuzzle them, place them between my lips and suckle them like a hungry kitten.
My own lips plump at the thought, and I find myself wanting to spread my mouth over his glorious buds. My lips hover over a perfect, garnet circle. I breathe out. My breath returns hotly on my face. He stirs. I don't want to wake him, but I cannot resist. And when I take his nipple between my lips, I find skin so soft, I can barely feel it in my mouth. Flesh melts between my teeth like air until the bud hardens. I toy with the delicate nubbin, carefully working it in my mouth as if it were a lover's tongue; a French kiss formed from true love is made by my mouth upon his dainty member. He murmurs, a soft sound, but deep and rich with masculine longing.
My cheeks flush, a rush of blood quickens in my groin as I swirl my tongue around his hardened tip. I suckle deep and long. Gathering up the flesh of his aureole between my teeth, I suck it all in, then I drag my teeth along the tender, rubbery tip. I take his flesh more fully into my mouth, then I begin to work it with my teeth and tongue. More than a sigh, but less than a moan, he utters an intonation of sex. My sex is wet, hungry for him. His chest rises and falls under me. I feel his breath quicken, and so does mine.