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Jocelyn The Wicked

Erotic Horror, Futanari, and other Kinky fiction

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JOCELYN THE WICKED POSTS


HOW THE WGA STRIKE SENT ME TO THE LIBRARY

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on May 30, 2023

The Writer’s Guild of America has taken a bold step by striking against the
studios, and it fills me with immense joy to witness the delay of Stranger
Things. For those who may be unaware of the details, let me provide you with a
summary as reported by the Nation:

 * Writers asked for 2% additional revenue, Studios offered .004 percent instead
   (that’s two leading zeros!)
 * Production budgets increased by 4% over the last decade, and writers’ pay
   decreased by 23 percent with an inflation adjustment
 * Writers asked for a total of $429 million for 20k members, studios profits
   are at $30 Billion with $780 Million to CEO pay

The studios are in the wrong. This is not up for debate. The Universe is
speaking. It is speaking for the unions.

It’s vital to remember that these concerns reach beyond the realm of
entertainment. This is a battle fought for the rights of all of us grinding for
a fair paychecks. As we stand in solidarity, let us draw inspiration from the
wise words of the lovable himbo Rom: “Workers of the World Unite, you have
nothing to lose but your chains.”




HOW DO WE HELP THE WGA?

I was in college in Los Angeles when the last time the writer strikes against
the studios. It was an extraordinary experience, filled with a vibrant energy
that only creative professionals can bring. The strikers showcased next-level
dad joke game with slogans like “we write, you wrong” and “unfair is unfunny.”

Now I’m up in San Jose, with an office job, and wondering what the rest of us
can do to help. Then I thought to myself, if boycotts over beer cans can make
things worse, then boycotts are still effective. We can even do it better. No
bullets or bad beer necessary!

I cut off Hulu. Then I cut off HBO and the two other streaming services I was
paying for. I’m not paying for content right now. Not while the strike is going
on.

As an unintended consequence, I got some of my brain back too.


OH NO! I HAVE SPARE TIME?!

This memorial day weekend, I would’ve normally relaxed with my partner (also
boycotting) and streamed. Distracting ourselves, we tried playing our Switch. It
worked for a bit, but long story short we needed something different, and
something random.

I’m almost sad to admit it, but I entered a public library for the first time in
at least two years.

I found that my card was active, and picked up a random book on the Tudor
dynasty and a book from Karen Marie Moning, an author I once loved and had long
forgotten about.

It’s been a bit too long since I’ve enjoyed library books.

So big thanks to WGA and the universe for putting that together. I hope studios
get the message the universe is sending them too.

Art Credit to J.J. Lendi


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HOW I CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT SEX WORK

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on March 7, 2023

At this point in my life, I strongly support the decriminalization of sex work.
For too long, society has stigmatized and criminalized sex work, ignoring the
fact that it is a legitimate profession that provides a valuable service.
Decriminalization would help to remove the stigma and provide sex workers with
the legal protections and human rights they deserve.

But I hadn’t always been this way. Growing up, I had always equated sex work
with desperation, sex trafficking, and abuse. While my inner exhibitionist was
fascinated with many women who worked in porn, the contradiction between
enjoying sex work on film yet also disapproving of it off-set never occurred to
me.

This started to change during my second year of college. One girl I knew from my
apt complex -we’ll call her Alyssa- worked off campus. She worked out of state.
She flew out to Vegas to dance about a few weekends per semester, and never once
had a problem with her monthly expenses. Alyssa had been one of the prettiest,
nicest, girls I knew that year. She even invited me to get into dancing with
her. I contemplated it for a time, but only a time. I was to chicken to go
through with it.

Later that year, I noticed that Alyssa no longer maintained serious
relationships with men. This was also the year the housing crisis made any work
anywhere bad for people our age, and I can remember almost trembling about my
own future loans. On the other hand, Alyssa continued to work. Eventually, she
confirmed to a few of us what we had suspect. She had moved on to work more
lucrative -significantly so- than merely dancing.

Alyssa kept her work quiet for her safety and privacy, but what she didn’t have
any shame about it. Once, we talking about the business side of her work, I said
“it sounds like capitalizing on empathy.” She agreed that it was, as sometimes
clients simply loved to talk. Alyssa had access to a place to work, that was
legal, and safe. It was not without its drama, for sure. But it didn’t fit the
stereotypes in my head about what I thought sex work was.

I researched and wrote about sex work for an ethics class that year. I still
agree with many things I wrote back then.

First and foremost, decriminalizing sex work would improve the safety and health
of sex workers. Remember how I wrote that Alyssa had been safe? Everyone
deserves to have safe place of business, no matter what kind of work they do. By
removing the threat of arrest, sex workers would be more likely to report abuse
and exploitation. This would lead to better working conditions and health
outcomes for sex workers. Decriminalization would also allow sex workers to
access healthcare services without fear of being penalized, leading to improved
health outcomes for both workers and the broader community. Allowing sex workers
to feel safe is not fundamentally different than OSHA standards enforced in any
other profession.

Secondly, decriminalization would help to reduce stigma and discrimination
against sex workers. By recognizing sex work as a legitimate profession, society
can begin to break down the harmful stereotypes that have long been associated
with sex work. This can lead to a more inclusive and accepting society that
values the contributions of all workers, including sex workers. Someone recently
noted on reddit: why do we destigmatize sex workers, but still stigmatize their
clients? Let’s be clear on that point too: destigmatizing sex work destigmatizes
their clients as well.

Thirdly, decriminalization can empower sex workers by giving them more control
over their work and lives. Sex workers would be able to negotiate safer working
conditions and better pay, and have the ability to refuse clients or types of
work that they are uncomfortable with. This can lead to improved mental health
outcomes and higher levels of job satisfaction.

Finally, decriminalizing sex work can have significant economic benefits.
Criminalizing sex work is costly, with expenses associated with police
enforcement and court costs. Decriminalization can also generate tax revenue, as
sex workers would be able to work legally and pay taxes like other workers. This
can help to alleviate some of the financial burden placed on taxpayers.
Furthermore, it is fair for an industry that requires regulation, to be taxed
for that regulation. Preventing crime through regulation of sex work is my
favorite version of “defund the police.”

The decriminalization of sex work is a feminist issue that deserves our
attention and support. By supporting the decriminalization of sex work, we can
help to improve the safety, health, and human rights of sex workers while also
having positive economic and public health benefits. It’s time to embrace a more
inclusive and accepting society that supports the rights of all workers,
including sex workers.


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A SUCCUBUS MEETS HER MEAL’S SUPER NICE MOM

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on January 23, 2023

> I wrote this one during the pandemic from an online writing prompt. Enjoy.

I entered. I charmed. I did the girl on top position because I like it when
their eyes roll in the back of their heads as they eject their cum. Even more, I
love seeing their veins turn blue, then purple, then glow as I siphon vitality
from them…. all the while they smile and say things like “I love you so much
baby…” or other clumsy talk like that.

And this pandemic? Best thing ever. Everyone is lonely as hell, disconnected,
and living like livestock in isolated boxes. No more drama when I pick up a guy
from a bar and then run into an angry girlfriend -or even boyfriend!- when I
hunt in the same spot later! Nope, everything is good. I could even sleep
against my naked human pet for the night.

I do love snuggles!

At least that’s how it went when I snuggled against my twenty-seven or so odd
guy in a house in Glendale. He woke up looking famished, pale, and moaning.

“Hello baby,” he purred.

“Hi handsome,” I said. “Nice snuggling. I need a shower. Can you stand up?”

“uhhh… wait.. how did we…?”

I covered his lips with a kiss, exuding life back into him, and reactivating my
charm over him. A bit of color turned back into his skin. I rolled out of bed.

“I need a shower. Then you will make me food. With coffee. I take half a
teaspoon of sugar.”

“Breakfast, yeah… good.” He said. He stumbled out of that queen size bed of his,
and I walked away into the master shower. Bathing off the night’s grime, I
contemplated the old days of fucking a man to death and being done with it. It
was a simple era, for a wilder time. Now, it was the decision of the infernal
conclave that such ravenous consumption be avoided because the exposure risk was
too high. Manservants were better than mancorpses too. Although it is still
frowned upon to enter into relationships with humans. That also would increase
risk of discovery.

So I did want most succubus did. Hunt. Fuck. Eat sustainably. Disappear the next
morning leaving a man with nothing but a backache and a memory of some wild
dreams. I’ll have him eat me out before I say goodbye and put him to bed again.

“Oh, what do you mean you have a guest?” A matronly, happy voice called out from
downstairs. I Froze. Dammit. No. We can’t be discovered. We know what happens in
the old days when we get discovered. I had to play it cool.

I came down in a borrowed bathrobe with my hair slightly damp. Before me walked
in my previous night’s meal’s mother. She looked in her 50s, wearing a covid
mask, carrying in groceries in one arm, and leading the sweetest-looking
chocolate lab I’d seen in ages. The dog’s happy hopping stopped when he saw me.
It didn’t growl but it got in between mom and me.

“Hey… I’m Kelsey,” I said. I’d nearly forgotten the name I’d given my food last
night.

“Oh my,” she said smirking. “So sorry to come in at such a bad time. I’m Tricia.
So nice to meet you!”

She fumbled with the dog leash and proffered her hand. Her handshake came so
soothing, as did the cheeky smile she offered as she did. Hmm… I could tell she
had been Tommy’s mom. She had the same chin and the same happy glint in her
brown eyes. Different hair. Tommy had gotten those dark curls from his dad I
guess.

“Oh I feel like I’m intruding,” I said. My words were laced with my charm and
watched her eyes. The suggestion would take effect. I need her to let me leave
and figure this out. The dog barked. “Maybe I’ll be off in a minute.”

“Oh don’t be silly, I’m not about to see Tommy’s first bit of company in almost
three years leave out in nothing but a borrowed bathrobe!” She jeered at me.
Wait. Why did she jeer? How could she jeer? “Not with an empty stomach either.
So you sit down right over there, and tell me all about yourself.”

“Uhh… not much to say…” I was stunned. I couldn’t figure it out. Charm didn’t
work. Was it the dog? I didn’t know.

“Well, how did you two meet?”

“we… uuhhh…” Tommy scratched his head. Confused and bewildered, we couldn’t
remember because it hadn’t really happened. I’d drifted through his window like
a ghost and took solid form when I was ready to fuck. I can do that because men
get charmed easily in their sleep. Shit. That charm could wear off any second.

“Tinder!” I stuttered.

“Yeah… it was Tinder.” nodded Tommy. The dog barked again. At me.

“Oh! Let me get Yannie out back,” said Tricia. It gave me the time I needed to
think. As soon as she passed the sliding door, I yanked Tommy by the heft of his
morning t-shirt and pressed my mouth to him with a deep, lewd, kiss, and forced
my tongue deep into the warm cave of his mouth. I had him as susceptible as a
blank lump of clay. I could do anything to him. I could make him do anything and
believe anything after that case. This was more than a kiss of enthrallment.
This was the kiss of enslavement. In the old days, we’d wipe a man of anything
except his willingness to fuck us or fight for us… but I couldn’t do that. It
would break his mom’s heart.

“Tommy,” I said. “You with me?”

“Yes… I love you baby… so much,” he began.

“Alright, Tommy. Let’s start a story. I’m going to tell you how we met.”


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GENDER BENDING THE WOODEN SHIP SAILOR

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on December 23, 2022

It began as a reward for violence. A token for my duty, and nothing more.

My captain picked up that wicked trinket between London and St. Augustine’s Bay.
An ordinary ring. A ring of common tin. My captain had been swindled into
believing it silver. After he repaid the merchant in blood, he tossed the
trinket to me. I had aided him in that unpleasant but necessary affair of honor.

I wore it. It was a prize for duty. It was only when we crossed the equator,
under the light of a full moon that the being in the ring spoke to me. She, or
it, I still do not understand, appeared to me like a trick of Saint Elmo’s Fire
one cold night on the deck. She was a woman who was as beautiful as the harlots
who the Mohammedans hide from the Englishmen. Removing her veil, she spoke to
me, and stated a rote words: “you’ve awoken the pact. What is your first wish?”

I wished for her at that moment. Any sailor would. She was finer than all the
doxies that wait at the ports. She was even more breathtaking than the
aristocrats and duchesses who sometimes call on us. But thinking her a siren of
legend, I dare not touch the temptress for fear of going into the ocean. But
wishes she said she could grant, per the terms the pact hammered into that
ancient ring centuries ago. Laughingly, I told her I wished for my own ship.

A few wishes and more voyages later, the merchant company promoted me. A ship
was mine. After more crossings at the equator, I found myself the expected heir
of a great estate. It depended only on my marriage to an eldest daughter of a
respectable family. I would no doubt take the place as the eldest son for terms
of inheritance. As was my duty, I would no doubt honor her father with many
grandsons. Perhaps my days at sea were behind me.

It was on the land, in the room of mansion meant to be mine someday, that my
wish granter appeared as she often did, again out of the light of a full moon.
Her skin glowed in the light my bedroom candles, contrasting with the pale night
sky. The flowing of those oriental robes shimmied down her body like a slow
waterfall. More and more, her beautiful skin showed to me, my phallus tented
upwards as firm as the masts of the ships I’d captained.

“Wisher”, she spoke. “I have fulfilled my pact. Now you will fulfill wishes of
mine.”

My night clothes whisked off my body. The bones in my body shifted in a sudden
wrench of pain. Hair disappeared from my chest. The curves of my shoulders
softened and weakened. Why did she weaken me?

“I will make you quite beautiful..” she whispered. The generous breasts of a
woman grew from my chest. A prickle of the wind triggered a mad sensation. My
nipples… they grew harder, and it felt both sinful and good.

This vixen from the ring now stood naked and regal before me. The hairs of her
womanhood tantalized me, that enticing triangle. I covered my hands over my
manhood.

“I am to be married!” I declared. I didn’t recognize that soft voice that spoke
it. “To give children. To family… to be a worthy heir…”

“You are already married. For you bound yourself to me upon wearing that ring…”

She raised her hands lifting me off my feet and floating me in the air. My body
continued its change. She sculpted me to her pleasure, making me gasp and wheeze
as my soul struggled to adapt to this new body. My throbbing member remained,
and I clinged to it, as if my last raft in a turbulent ocean.

“What’s you have is also mine. This house. This fortune,” she chided. “Even that
aristocrat’s daughter who is to be given to you.”

Her hands caressed my changing skin. That unexpected touch felt so much… more…
than anything else that had touched me. It was if a layer of hide had always
been on me, and every doxie who I lay with had never touched beyond it. Now, as
she caressed me, it was as if I was naked for the first time.

It was enough to make me forget my duties.

“And I would never take heirs from you,” she said. My manhood slipped away
between my hand. I screamed no, only to have my hands touch a soft slit instead.
Curious, I opened myself, and found a treasure I never knew I wanted.

“Oh is it that nice?” smirked the woman of the ring.

“Yes!” I sighed. That soft voice. It hardly bothered me now. Fingering myself,
and listening to myself, I felt a spell cast on my mind. My mind would soon
match my new body, and I welcomed it.

“Now look here,” declared the woman of the ring. Her magic yanked my hands away
from my groin. Then I saw her. She had taken it from me. She had taken my
phallus and now it belong to her. It rose from her groin now, as strong as a
cannon.

“I promise you, our little bride will have many children,” she purred. “Now lie
back, wisher, and spread your legs for master.”


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WICKEDLY REVIEWED: FUTA TEACHES CATHOLIC COEDS COLLECTION 1 BY REED JAMES

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on January 31, 2022

Reed James Futa Teaches Catholic Coeds is a story of a reticent futanari
teacher, mixed with a subtext of blackmail, and tied together with racial
fetish. The story begins with Miss Zoey, a teacher struggles to keep her cock
down while she teaches ethics to a room full of Catholic college girls. More
than that, Miss Zoey is placed in charge of a dormitory. It includes Bella and
Selena. The head nuns assure all that no lesbianism occurs here… I’m sure it
doesn’t headmistress. Yes. Of course. No one would ever suspect such a thing.


FEMME DOM SHARES HER SUBMISSIVE WITH A FUTA TEACHER

Miss Zoey begins her journey when she accidentally discovers two of her students
breaking the rules in the bathroom. Bella moans as her master Selena treats her
to oral sex. There’s little doubt that Selena is the dominant, as she eats pussy
like she owns it and Bella declares herself a slave. It’s enough to give Miss
Zoey an out of control erection, and can’t stop stroking.

That’s when Bella and Selena announce that they knew they were being watched.
They insist that Miss Zoey play and Selena is confident, naked, and smelling of
orgasm. Before this night’s done, Miss Zoey risks her job, but she can’t resist
sharing a slave with Selena. Selena takes charge all the way, commanding Miss
Zoey to fill Bella with cum.

Bella loves being used.





FUTA SEDUCES ANOTHER STUDENT … OR ELSE

As strong as this first scene was, it wasn’t until the next section of the book
that I got hooked. Miss Zoey gets a blackmail letter, with orders to seduce a
Japanese student, Hikaru. Zoey naturally suspects Selena, but it isn’t made
clear at this point in the book that it’s her. The previous night’s hot
threesome could’ve occurred loud enough for anyone to hear.

But as reluctant as she is to obey, Zoey seduces the student, who is
surprisingly eager to have her first experience with a Futanari. These scene had
lavish description of oral sex:

> I licked my lips as her spicy musck filled my nose. Dewdrops beaded on her
> curls…I nuzzled her bush. Her curls spilled over my face…My lips explored
> deeper and deeper until I found her hot vulva. Juicy and delicious. I licked
> out and stroked a tight slit.

I loved the dew.

The story continues with scenes of exhibitionism and Miss Zoey’s guilty lust.
Selena commands Miss Zoey to stroke herself in a hallway. Later, Bella ambushes
miss Zoey with insistent submission: miss Zoey simply must accept oral, right
there. Now.

The rushed exhibitionism, the blackmail, are the only things that can make miss
Zoey stop thinking, and have fun.  Every sex scene in this story book comes as
juicy surprise in which the only thing that holds back Miss Zoey from connecting
with her students is herself. The scenes in this book are hot and occur at about
the right frequency expected for a short erotic work.

Download. Enjoy. Have some fun reading the word porn.

Bonus points if you dare to read it to yourself in an undergrad classroom.

Reed James is a thirty year-old guy living in Tacoma, WA. “I love to write, I
find it freeing to immerse myself in a world and tell its stories and then share
them with others.” He’s been writing naughty stories since high school,
furiously polishing his craft, and finally feels ready to share his fantasies
with the world.


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WICKEDLY REVIEWED: GASPING FOR GHOSTS BY JUNO NORTH

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on November 10, 2021

Multiple ghosts get more than curious about a curious ghost hunter.


SUPERNATURALLY PLAYFUL PREDATORS

Ghosts aren’t nice. They’re not exactly evil. They’re only doing what ghosts do
in this story: That’s preying upon a lone ghost hunter until she convulses with
unexpected orgasms. Not a shred of clothing covers her from the icy air.
Perhaps, maybe, she’s even joined the ghosts to play with them forever. Or maybe
that’s this reviewer’s mind looking to far into it. You never know.

The story begins with a group of ghost hunters, among them is Ashley who is here
for a good fright.

The group explores a house that has long been abandoned and is rumored to have
once been a brothel. Now, it is a place of cold footsteps and rumors of sex so
great that a wealthy man died happy. The story takes off when our ghost hunters
split the group. That’s when Ashley discovers a room of mirrors, and its four
posted bed. She hears the sound of the thunder outside, and the increasingly
intrusive and hypnotic sounds ghostly lesbian sex. She ignores the crackles of
her radio as the ghosts climax.


GHOSTS WILL DO WHAT GHOSTS WILL DO

Like a hawk going after a stray mouse, the spirits use Ashley with pure amoral
instinct. Ashley is touched and groped. Her clothes are unzipped. They expose
her breasts to the chill air, and through it all Ashley offers no resistance.
Next, the ghosts bring her into the bed, and she is restrained at her hands and
her feet, and looks at her nude and vulnerable self in the mirrors around the
room. The only warmth she feels is the wet hot mouths that kiss her skin, and
even bite at her. Haunted toys float in the room, and penetrate her without
patience. Then, Ashley only falls deeper into the paranormal euphoria. The
lesbian specters -and at least one masculine one- use her until she forgets why
she came to this place.

But does she join them? As in “play with us. Play with us forever.”?


THE HOT TAKE

Gasping for Ghosts is a quick, one scene, one handed read of supernatural ghost
erotica. I enjoyed this short immensely because it tickled my mind control kink.
The story hits the beats of supernatural horror well, complete with its haunted
house, strange sounds, and protagonists who make those juicily bad decisions.
Juno North knows her audience well, and writes the perfect story for those of us
who love a sexy paranormal story with a kink of supernatural mental domination.

About Juno North: Juno North writes saucy stories to share her love of the
wilder side of life with her readers. At various times in her life she’s been a
door to door saleswoman, a roller derby announcer, and the live musical act at a
popular burlesque show.


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WICKEDLY REVIEWED: FREMINIZED BY MY FUTA PROFESSOR (PART 1) BY CAMILA BLAIRE

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on September 29, 2020

One futanari professor needs to bend a student over her desk already, but first…


FIRST TIME FEMINIZATION IN PRESENT TENSE



I will  start this book with a slightly tangential confession: I normally can’t
read first person present tense narration. Such as, Jocelyn writes a review
right now and wonders if she’s really only brainstorming. She decides to
continue writing anyway. Many people enjoy the review and share it. Camila
Blaire’s book Feminized by my Futa Professor, is one of the few that kept my
interest. So with that silly aside out of the way, here’s the sexy book.


GET TO KNOW OBJECTIFICATION

The story begins with Brian, a cis-male who seeks an independent study on the
subject of Gender Studies with the infamous Dr. Courtney Kinsey. She enters in
yoga pants, and still intimidates. Keeping with the theme of the story, Dr.
Kinsey expects Brian to understand what it feels like to be objectified.

Yet it’s clear that Brian is ready to accept whatever stern, alternative
teaching messages that Dr. Kinsey has ready for him. Even if it means accepting
the slow transformation, including disorienting visions of Dr. Courtney Kinsey
completely nude and showing revealing her lady dick.

Brian, finds himself changed after the first session.


GET TO KNOW THE FEMALE ORGASM

That then, is the main kink of this story. Brain, a college aged intellectual
who is curious about gender, becomes a woman. The futanari makes an appearance,
and only that. She’s quite the tease for future stories, one that sets up a
squeal.

In this story, we spend time with feminized Brain, who is for the first time in
his life finds himself getting objectified. Furthermore, she has little to know
control over his new sexual urges, including a several hour masturbation
session. Is this because she’s literally just discovered what it’s like to be a
woman? Or is it because Dr. Courtney Kinsey’s influence? That’s anyone’s guess.

It’s not too long until feminized Brain takes her first cock into his mouth
either.


COURTNEY’S FEMINIZATION PLANS?

The only thing I can say, is that Brian is Dr. Kinsey’s first victim or first
guinea pig, depending on how you look at it. Either way Dr. Kinsey is in a
detached, dominant, position relative to hapless, horny, Brian. She’s enjoyed
dressing her student up, and even giving him instructions on which pronouns to
use.

But she hasn’t penetrated him yet. I hope to see some of that in part 2.

 


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SWIMMING WITH SHARKS

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on September 4, 2020

Hey Readers. This story is a non-magical, non-horror erotic story. I hope you
enjoy it!

The Las Vegas airport never heard the word subtly. Slot machines clutter the
waiting areas as if invasions from the casinos themselves. Allison walked beside
me and between those slots. She cringed at an older couple cranking at the one
armed bandits.

“Those machines are so antisocial,” she whispered.

That’s my Allison. Always out for the connection. It’s music festivals and
spiritual retreats for her. Which is why it took so much convincing to get her
to join me and another couple. Susan and her boyfriend Greg carried their
matching luggage together. I’d known them since sophomore year of college.
Allison and I met on a dating site for curious women.

“Poker is social,” I added. It’s my preferred way to play.

“Isn’t it a little adversarial, Rachel?” Allison said.

“But in a fun way!” I said.

I took my girlfriend’s hand. Her fingers intertwined with mine, making that
familiar warmth. Her large, dark brown eyes, looked at me for an intense second.
Allison was mystical, mysterious, and dangerous all at the same time. That’s
what attracted me months ago. I’d never dated another woman before her. We’d
been doing this for six months and we loved it.

“And there’s lots of other fun to be had here too, right?” she hinted.

“Yes. Clubs. Shows. We’re going to have a good time, I promise.”

The strip overwhelmed all of us as our rental van slogged through the traffic.
We passed a casino that advertised dancers, gambling, and sex toys all under one
roof. Allison smirked subtly at an advertisement for a porn star’s lessons in
pegging video.

“Would you ever do that, Rachel?” she said.

“Do what?”

“Top a guy with a strap on dildo,” she said. “I hear it’s orgasms on a whole
different level for him.”

“How so?”

“I wouldn’t let just anyone do that to me,” she said. “If I found someone ready
to take it like that, then that’s pretty special.”

“Hmm.. Oh and I bet you’d feel like a complete boss bitch doing it too, right
Allison?” I chided.

She blushed.

“Maybe that too.”

Our group made it to our resort hotel. Once in our room, we showered off the
afternoon sweat together and reclined half dressed until the sun went down.
Then, we hit the black jack tables. Allison played like her bets were her cover.
She never made much more than the minimum, and chatted with Greg and Susan. We
met other tourists there, and one local: An aspiring pro poker player by them
name of Eddie Silva. I watched him for any subtle tells. I sensed he watched me
in return. I fiddle with my bracelet when I anticipate a good hand. It’s lame.
He had to have caught it, which is why I chickened out and folded. Eddie won.

“You’re good,” Eddie said. “This isn’t your first time.”

“Nope,” I smiled. Allison put her cards down, happy to be rid of the betting.
“I’d go pro if I lived here. You better watch out.”

“Oh? You’d like another game?” he said. He indicated to a group clearing out a
poker table right then. Oh, yes, I had to do this, especially after that fold.
All I had to do was get rid of my stupid tell and I could clean everyone out.

“I think I’d like that,” I said. I turned to Allison and our friends.

“Allison?” I whispered. “Would you hold my bracelet? For like, an hour?”

“You’re not coming to the club?” she said.

“I am, but not yet,” I said. “I wanna see what I can do.”

“Okay,” said Allison. “See you in an hour?”

“Yes!” I said. We shared a quick kiss. “I won’t let you third wheel for long.”

She left to the club. I sat down at a poker table with a handsome local. Alone,
and outnumbered, I readied myself to swim with the sharks. Let me tell you, it’s
fun. Too much fun. Once I entered this poker shark head-space. It literally
flows like I’m swimming. I watched the older Asian man eye my cleavage. Eddie
Silva held his chin up ever so slightly when he was dealt that third card.
Another woman, a charming British lady, looked jet lagged. Yes, I learned the
tells. With no bracelet to fidget with, I noticed myself squeezing my feet
together at the good hands. Eddie caught that tell too.

But then I caught one of his.

When Eddie gets confident, he lets down his guard and orders a drink. Then he
stirs it.

The Asian man tried to buy his way out of a bluff, and fattened the pot. It
forced me to put more in than I had planned, ignoring the buzzing of my phone.
Eddie though wasn’t intimidated and the Asian man backed down like the sleepy
Brit. It was down to me and Eddie in that last hand. I bluffed my way into a
win. A huge one. Over a thousand dollars on my first night. You know what? I’d
just beat a semi pro.

“She’s good!” said Eddie. “Let me get you something to celebrate that.”

“Sure! Umm…” I pulled my phone out of the purse. Shit. I’d been playing for
almost two hours.

“I uh… I’m sorry,” I said. “I promised I’d only play for a single hour…”

Eddie looked hurt. The Korean man was disappointed too.

“You’ve all been great. Rematch soon!” I said. It hadn’t been the most gracious
exit. Though dammit, I’d sorta broken a promise here.

It’s good to be a girl. It’s even better to be a girl with cash sometimes. There
was the usual line of pretty people outside of a club, but I walked up to the
bouncer and bribed him. “I have to meet my girlfriend,” I emphasized. He
understood and let me through. Once past the door, the glitz of animated screens
strobe lights beckoned me in. Shuffling around, I got my way to the bar and
found my way to Greg, Susan, and Allison.

“Allison!” I said. “Oh my god! Top shelf on me right now, okay!”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Yes, come on!”

I told her how I totally killed it on poker. How I’d beaten a semi pro, and how
I’d become flush with cash.

“Good. I’m happy for you,” sighed Allison. We ordered some fancy vodka drinks
from the bar and then danced. Allison moved close enough to keep others away.
Still, she didn’t really dance with me.

“Hey,” I said. I leaned into kiss her. Her lips touched in rote acceptance.
“What’s up?”

“You said you only be an hour, Rachel,” she said.

“I know… but it happens. I got caught up in it,” I began. Oh god, no this wasn’t
the right way. It was all over her eyes. Allison and I loved to dance, and I
loved to dance with her. Though now we weren’t connected and it was my fault.
“Allison… I’m sorry I broke my promise to you, not even one day into this trip
and I’m messing this up.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re upset,” I said.

“You left me the third wheel,” she added. “Why?”

It’s far too hard to whisper shouts to each other’s ears like that. Allison and
I moved to the restroom of the club. We had to talk it out in there, as awkward
as it was. Listening about how she’d kept guys away embarrassed me. What made it
even worse is that Allison knew that I loved to play and had supported me in it
all night. She didn’t like how I would forget things, and forget her, when I’m
swimming with the sharks at the table. It’s too good to become the master in a
game like that.

“Okay, I’ve messed it up,” I said. “We’ll do something different tomorrow. I
promise.”

Allison looked at me.

“Not quite,” she said. “We’ll do something different tonight.”

Allison held out her palm.

“Share some of the cash with me first,” she said.

“Okay…” I said. I placed several hundred in her palm.

“Okay, now let’s get a cab…” she said.

Leashing me with her pace, Allison led me out of the maze of the casino, into a
cab, and into the sex shop we had passed by before. Exploring toys didn’t take
much time for her. She picked out a few things by intuition alone. My cash left
Allison’s hands, and then she took us back to our hotel. We held hands the whole
ride back. When she kissed me in that ride, it assured me our spat was
resolving.

Entering the hotel room made both of us wet, and Allison’s brown eyes focused on
me. She tugged at my dress in a way that felt like a command. One I obeyed. We
made out right there in the hallway, getting a feel for one another’s body heat.

“I want you naked,” said Allison. “Will you do that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Get on the bed then,” she said. “While I open the toys.”

“Which ones?”

“I’ll choose,” she said.

I stripped myself. Allison tossed a blindfold mask at me. I put it on and lay
there to the sound of tearing, cracking, and snipping of plastic containers.
Touching followed those sounds, as did a shift of weight on the bed. Allison lay
on top of me, the cups of her bra touched my bare nipples.

“We’re going to play now. I’m going to give you something new,” she said.

“Okay,” I sighed.

“Turn over for me.”

On my belly, I gave my hips to Allison’s control. Spanking whapped hard on my
ass. Both cheeks were clenched in turn, then a cold drip of something came down
towards my hole. Something pressed to it. It stretched my hole open, painful at
first, then I relaxed against its pressure and it felt so nice.

“Oh god, Allison,” I said. “What is that?”

“Me plugging your hole,” she said. “You like that?”

“Yes!”

“Good,” she said. “Next toy is for me. Open wide.”

I did. The next thing that entered there had the familiar shape of a penis.
Allison affixed it in place with straps around my cheek and a solid buckle round
my head.

“Feel this?” She took my hand and placed it over my gag. A dildo extended
upwards. I muttered yes through my restraint.

“It’s a cock,” she said. She dripped lube onto it, and some trickled to my chin.
“I’m going to ride your face, Rachel. You like that?”

I nodded. Everything remained dark under that blindfold. Rocking moved the
mattress while Allison took position. Oh that scent! The wetness of her pussy
hovered near my face. Then, she inserted that dildo into her sweet smelling
self. I pressed up, pushing in and out of my lover’s pussy. Allison moaned and
winced for it, enjoying the penetration.

“That’s so good, Rachel. Keep moving,” she sighed. “I like having my pussy over
you like this…”

Allison took it more and the heat of her juices simmered over me. “I’m going to
ride it now,” she gasped. She guided my head down, and then started thumping her
hips down hard. She pleased herself on top of me, and I endured the drips of her
pussy’s sweet moisture. Dominating me thrilled Allison. I could tell because the
sounds she made I’d never heard before. It made me hot too, and when she
orgasmed, I clenched against that plug. I literally had no idea I’d like it that
much!

Allison rolled off from me. Panting in my ear, she cuddled next to me. Then she
undid my blindfold and gag. She overwhelmed me with a series of kisses at my
neck and then locked her lips to mine and we touched one another’s tongues. Her
fingers caressed my pussy lips, and I exhaled in release.

“Are you ready for the next toy?” she said.

“You got more?”

“Just one more,” she said. She got up and got out of the last of her underwear.
She grabbed a huge magic wand vibrator, its pulsating bulb large enough for us
to share. My legs opened and we scissored. We held that pulsing vibrator between
us, dizzy with lust. That vibe on my pussy brought me to another level thanks to
the plug in my other hole. We pressed our hips together and struggled to keep
hold of our vibrator. After climaxing more and more, we fell over exhausted.

“Rachel,” she said as we cuddled. “You won’t forget about me again will you?”

“How could I?” I said.

“Good.”

We slept until the afternoon and then took a lunch out with Susan and Greg at an
above ground pool. Swimming, splashing, and simply sun bathing turned out to be
the perfect way to pass the afternoon Vegas heat. I got a text message during
that time. It was from Eddie.

“Who’s that?” said Allison.

“It’s umm…” I was tempted to hide it but no way. “It’s Eddie. The guy I played
with. He wants a rematch soon.”

“Oh?” said Allison. Her eyes still hidden behind sunglasses.

I read the next few texts. An local channel amateur poker night would be shared
online later. He had brought in to the game with a friend, who got sick and now
there was an extra slot. I touched my chest, sensing my heart beat faster.

“You want to do this,” Allison said.

“I know, but I promised you that we’d see Steampunk Whimsy Burlesque tonight,” I
said.

“So tell him,” said Allison.

The next text I wrote was more for Allison than for Eddie. I told him that I’d
be out with my girlfriend, and we definitely had tickets. We knew the show would
last until nine at least that night.

“I wish I could go, but I have a commitment,” I finished my text. Allison smiled
back at me for posting that.

There was a pause on Eddie’s end.

“Come to the early game then,” he replied. He shared the location. Same Casino
where Steampunk Whimsy would be performing.

Allison read the message too. I definitely wanted a chance, and she knew that.

“I want you to have fun,” she said. “Will you do something to keep me in mind
though?”

“Anything, Allison,” I said.

Allison motioned for me to follow to the shower room near the pool. She guided
me to a stall and we soaped away the chlorine from our skin. Focused on her, we
enjoyed the steam and I was ready to have sex with her and get caught if
necessary. She pushed me away.

“Hold that thought,” she whispered. “Can you turn around again? Put your hands
on the wall?”

“Like this?” I posed like a suspect in a cop show.

“Yes!”

Allison left the shower and returned. I dared not move. Tickling lube slipped
down my tail bone, and Allison pushed a finger in. Next? I gasped as the plug
stretched me once more.

“Oh!” I whimpered. “You had that handy?”

“Kept it in my purse,” Allison replied. “Thought we might need it. Are you
focused?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “Go down on me now.”

She hardly needed to ask me. I squatted before her in that tiny stall. Her hips
bucked forward to me and I tasted my girlfriend. Allison’s face beamed with
pride and contentment as I worked my tongue up and down her outer lips. She
moaned softly when I suckled at her clit. Before long, we heard whispering
outside our stall of other women coming in, and neither of us cared. I
penetrated Allison with a finger and coaxed more pleasure with each curl.
Allison gasped, suppressing her orgasmic cries, and she came right there in that
hot shower.

Later, I made it to the early game, with Allison’s support. You know what?
Playing poker at a casino is one thing. Playing with an audience around the
table and some cameras on you is a whole different level of intensity. I wonder,
if that had been the actual reason why Eddie had invited me to play here.
Examining him for any signs taught me nothing, and so our game began with two
other amateur players. My mind slipped into the flow of the game. Betting and
calling came as natural as every breath. No bracelet of mine provided tells them
time either, and the pot grew fat. Nothing except the game mattered, and my
world became no larger than that table. Even the cameras faded from my conscious
mind.

That’s when my butt plug buzzed. I let out a sharp puff of air. Eddie glanced at
me for a nanosecond. Dammit, in that moment I forgot what I was doing. The
pulsation changed. Instead of a steady buzz, it now turned on and off with the
rhythm of a bass drum. What distracted me most, was how it aroused me.

I pushed more chips into the pot, but why? Oh man, my cards! I didn’t think I
could go forth with a hand like this and Allison didn’t even tell me that the
plug buzzed.

“Alright, I’m still in,” said Eddie. The next player didn’t fold either. We
revealed our cards.

Stupid. My hand was so weak it was easily beaten. Eddie collected the wins, and
a clock struck for a break. The other players cleared the table and I sat there
dumbfounded for a few seconds hiding my lustful reaction to Allison’s buzzing.

In the break area I went to Allison, not sure if I was to beg her to remove the
plug or vibe me until I orgasmed. Frustrating.

“Allison,” I said. “I… I didn’t know it could do that.”

“It’s fun,” she said. “I saw you liked it.”

I blushed.

“I lost that bet though!” I said. “It took me out of my flow. I can win this
Allison, please no more, okay?”

“Can you remember me when you’re flowing?”

I was stunned by the bold vulnerability in her face, and even more shamed when I
knew the answer to that question. If I’m playing there, I’m forgetting
everything. I’m forgetting to keep promises and likely going to forget that
we’re going to see Steampunk Whimsy tonight. I might lose this damn game, and on
camera too.

“I may need a reminder,” I said. My breath grew heavier, like I wanted her to
strip me and put a vibrator on my pussy once more.

“Then we’re keeping it in.”

My next round began as the first. Eddie sensed something different in me. It’s
one thing to discard the things you may fidget with. It’s another to prepare
yourself for a spike in anal pleasure. The first few hands were tepid. None of
us were getting ahead, then I noticed Eddie watching the other two players like
a gunslinger. He had something, and waited to use it.

Or he was baiting me? I didn’t know.

That’s when the buzzing interrupted my flow again. This time, I accepted it,
exhaling evenly, in time with waves of those beautiful vibrations. Then, fuck,
Allison changed the pattern once more. Shaking, I put more money in the pot. Oh
god, all I wanted to do was win and then come, but in that order. Clenching my
core against the pleasure, I kept my best poker face despite the excitement
within.

I was wet. I held my thighs together which only clenched on the plug harder.

“Rachel? You in?” said another player.

I looked to my hand, and hid my confidence.

“I’m in,” I replied in a breathy tone.

“It’s only a game, Rachel,” said Eddie. “Don’t let the cameras get you nervous.”

“It’s a pretty hot game though yeah?” I said. “Let’s make it hotter.”

I pushed over more chips. That’s when a surprise orgasm made me trickle. I must
have been blushing with lust. It was everything I could do to suppress a moan,
and maintain a placid face.

“Oh… really?” said Eddie.

“Yes.”

With that, all players showed their cards. One of the other players hid his face
in dismay. Eddie smiled ear to ear at his flush. Me and my weaker hand failed to
beat him. The orgasming still pulsed in my body, and I couldn’t care.

“You’re taking this loss well,” said Eddie. “You’re a damn good sport.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Another round?”

“I’m good,” I sighed.

“Really?” said Eddie surprised. “Well, until next time you’re in Vegas.”

Allison took me aside.

“You did good,” she said.

“I lost,” I sighed.

“Not that,” she said. “You did a good job concealing your orgasm.”

I blushed a little.

“What makes you think I orgasmed?” I teased.

Allison touched her phone and the vibrations teased me again. I whimpered,
trying to maintain my poker face before her wild, dark eyes. She tugged me in
for a kiss. It was a tease, but damn it got me so hot.

“We’re going upstairs, otherwise, I’m ripping you naked right here,” she purred
into my ear. Heat swelled in my ribcage and I followed her.

I might have let her fuck me on that card table. Certainly would show the poker
sharks who is really winning. Instead, Allison had me by the hand and by the
backdoor buzzing all the way up to our room. Fuck. The thirst for her sweet lips
on my pussy had me short of breath with every step. Wasting not a single moment,
Allison held me, spun me around and tossed me to the bed. I shimmied out of my
clothes and she stripped herself. I then welcomed her succulent, soft, hot mouth
onto mine.

Then she set that buzzer to the strongest setting ever.

“Allison!” I cried out.

“Yes, Rachel,” she said squeezing my bare breasts in her hands.

“You’re so good,” I said. “Please fuck me. I wanna come with you again.”

Begging enlivened her and she pushed her tongue deep into my mouth.

“We’re going to trib now, Rachel,” she said, fubmling out for a toy. She
presented a wand to me with a smirk. I whimpered at it and spread my legs.
Allison activated the wand and its pulsations landed on my pussy. She pressed it
to hers and panted in exuberance at the sensation. I lay there at her mercy,
taking that unceasingly tight and overwhelming pleasure at both ends. Allison
grinded against the toy. Her torso arched to the side and her hair flung over
her face as she writhed in indulgence with me. She grunted, tightening her leg
against my torso. No mercy did I get, even as I struggled to suppress my own
rising orgasm for her.

Allison let out a percussive grunt, then a breathy, quivering moan. I couldn’t
hold back with her if I tried. My climax exploded in my hips and jolted through
every muscle. With my arms wrapped to her tense leg, I enjoyed my climax with
hers until we both lay back and gazed at the room. I swear, it felt like it was
swinging.

“Damn,” said Allison.

“Yeah.”

We said nothing more. Allison withdrew the plug and then I curled next to her,
my head on her breast and her hand on my cheek.

“Are we forgetting something?” I said.

“Huh?”

“I took the early poker because of that show right?”

Allison breathed in thought for a moment.

“Right!” she said in sudden recollection. “The steampunk show. Yeah… let’s get
ready soon.”


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HOLLYWOOD FOREVER

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on August 7, 2020

Detective Erica Vargas wore her gender like a uniform. She looked at the younger
woman across the table. The faint gulp told as much as the perky yellow sweater
with bright greek letters. The best tell was the makeup marred from a night in a
cell. Detective Vargas judged the younger woman exhausted, in over her head,
desperate, and tired.

“Sarah?” Detective Vargas said. “You’ve had quite a night haven’t you?”

The late morning sun had begun its climb in the sky, though there was no window
in this room. Detective Vargas liked it this time. No other officers bothered to
watch interrogations at around 9:45am. The young woman silently nodded.

“Your boyfriend, Cory?” began Detective Vargas. “He’s not telling us where he
got the MDMA. Smart boy, Cory, right?”

“Yeah,” said Sarah with a cautious breath.

“Says you’re not involved.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know he was selling shit,” she added.

Detective Vargas liked it when captives lied to her.

“So you wouldn’t know where he got it?” Detective Vargas added. “Because I think
you do.”

Sarah said nothing and looked away.

“You live on campus, right?” said Vargas.

“What do you care?”

“Just wondering if you went home for the summer,” said Vargas. She flipped
through a smartphone idly.

“Yeah, I sure did,” said Sarah.

“No summer organic chemistry lab?” said Vargas stopping on a photo of Sarah’s
social media. It showed the young woman proudly smiling in a lab coat. Vargas
held the phone like a poker hand. Sarah looked away again.

“Can’t I just go home?” said Sarah.

“Yes,” said Detective Vargas. “But what’s with your storage unit though?”

Sarah looked at Vargas for a guilty second and then looked away. Next her sharp
exhale and tightening of her lip made Vargas smile. Closing for the kill, Vargas
stood at her height and looked down at Sarah. She only crossed her arms over her
chest.

“Not sure what you need a storage unit for,” said Vargas. “Since you didn’t
leave campus this summer.”

She stepped around the table and stood next to Sarah.

“Should we search it?” smirked Vargas. “Find out more? Or should we let you go
home?”

“I don’t know anything,” repeated Sarah. “I’m waiting for a lawyer.”

“We can get you one, or you can go right now,” said Detective Vargas. “I need
something before you leave though.” She placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder,
massaging the tense cold muscles. Reacting in disbelief at Vargas’ gentle
fearlessness, Sarah only looked up in fright. Vargas brushed Sarah’s disheveled
hair aside and whispered into her ear.

“Give me a few nice licks,” she said and then raked her tongue over Sarah’s
lobes.

“What the fuck?” Sarah said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Your way out,” cooed Detective Vargas, as she held Sarah’s face. “The last
gate to get through before your bad dream is over.”

“Fuck you,” Sarah stammered, her voice too tired and the night too long for her
to be angry. “I want my lawyer.”

Detective Vargas unbuckled her belt.

“Lawyers take time,” she said. “If we’re doing it that way, I’ll search your
storage unit.”

She dropped her belt to the ground with a clatter.

“But this other way out, Isn’t it so much easier?”

Sarah looked up and down Vargas’s body, then her eyes rested on her pelvis. She
rolled her lips.

“If I do this,” she said. “We’re done? I’m out of here?”

“My solemn promise.”

Vargas shoved the interrogation table back, sat on its edge, and opened her
legs. Sarah took a resigned breath and then handled Vargas’s pants. A button and
zipper came undone under Vargas’s leer. Shifting her hips encouraged the
cornered little suspect to hurried compliance. Sarah hefted down the jeans and
the plain underwear. Vargas opened her knees and showed her trimmed, demanding,
pussy.

Sarah took one more look at the detective. That glossy dissociation in her eyes
entertained Vargas. The looks of spite and surrender turned her on like no
other. Her sex moistened and warmed. Sarah’s first gentle pinches at the outer
lips built a savory sensitivity. Vargas knew for certain then that Sarah had
done this before. Then again, these college brats almost always had.

Sarah fondled the pussy and responded to the sighs and whispered commands.
Vargas’s clit was plucked by dainty fingers and then suckled by defeated lips.
The heavy smooth feeling delighted as much as the captive’s reluctance. After
all, a resentful finger penetrating her pleasured as well as lover’s nails. A
desperate tongue lavished as well as one from a seduced partner. Any emotion had
its utility, though Vargas enjoyed using some more than others.

“Keep at it, bitch,” she groaned. “Get that dirty tongue all over. Drink all my
juices.”

Sarah complied, her eyes closed and her gaping mouth covered so much of Vargas’s
pussy. The ravishing grew more hurried, more fierce, and more determined. Energy
built up inside Vargas. She reached down and grabbed the back of Sarah’s messy
hair. Holding tight, she kicked her legs open wide and rubbed herself onto
Sarah’s face. Vargas exhaled in sharp huffs. A drug-like wave of pleasure
enlivened her muscles. When the dizziness hit her head, Vargas laughed and let
Sarah’s hair go.

Sarah pulled away. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and glared up at Vargas. It
was an expression Vargas knew and felt for one the moment: humiliation. One more
suspect humiliated made Vargas feel as alive. It had her heart beating as fast
as when she once hunted suspects.

“You going to let me go now?” muttered Sarah.

“Oh yes, Sarah,” she said. “Think we’ll cross paths again?”

Sarah said nothing.

“Yeah whatever,” said Vargas. “Don’t get caught okay?”

It had been good for everyone and Vargas knew it. A boyfriend would get a good
lawyer and probably plea out for a six month stint. The lawyer would get a nice
paycheck. Sarah would probably move her little chemistry project somewhere else,
or maybe dismantle it. She got herself a get out of jail free card from this
whole fiasco. Detective Vargas had had her fun. She even collected cash from a
colleague who bet that Sarah would insist on waiting for a lawyer. No lawyer
talked better than Vargas and she proceeded on with her day buoyed on the
victory from the morning.

Her less dull duties passed quickly too. She reexamined a double homicide from
two nights ago. A body had been shot twice in the chest. It was a male. Blood
pooled around it and the face looked up at the ceiling in rigor mortis. Some
bystander, maybe another customer, took a bullet in the stomach as he had come
out of the restroom. Blood in that case pooled around his side as if he napped.
He closed his eyes before he died. Vargas wondered why some bodies closed their
eyes before they died and others kept them open. Some things she would never
know, but she knew -thanks to her morning victory- that she’d solve this case
before Shales and Rosingar tried to one up her again.

It took only one letter to sink that mood.

“Vargas?” said Jarod. He was a handsome younger officer with nice biceps and
bright brown eyes. Vargas loved a San Jose summer.

“Yes?”

“Letter for you,” he said. He held a yellow envelope in his hand. “Looks
personal.”

Vargas held the letter and scanned it with her eyes for imperfections. Nothing
from the glue to the stamp looked out of place. The return address was Los
Angeles county.

“LA?” she said out loud. “Hey did this get cleared by security?”

“Of course,” said Jarod. “Issue?”

“I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles. This is a little random is all,” smiled
Vargas. “Thanks for the note. Got anything else to give me?”

“Maybe after tomorrow’s shift is up,” Jarod said nodding back. “Got time to hit
up Marshall’s High Top bar?”

“That one? What about the dive called Spyder’s? Heard your team arrested two
perps there last week.”

“Oh you looking for action, Detective?” said Jarod.

“Absolutely.”

“Then I insist on Marshall’s High Top,” he said. Vargas considered biting back.

“Marshall’s it is. I’m out of here at half past five.”

“See you then.”

She eyed Jarod and touched a pen to her lips. It got a reaction. She liked it.
Maybe she’d tease him later, get his pants down sometime, take his dick into her
mouth and take a bite. Yes, that’s the great thing about getting those parts on
the inside, one chomp down and its blood. Amazing how much people trust each
other. Yet that officer only cracked a smile back. Vargas watched his thighs as
he left.

With hands in white gloves, Vargas read the letter. Hand written? That was
unusual. Who does that? She read lines and shivered. “Erica, I miss you so
much,” it began. “I hated how things ended, because I can’t stop thinking about
how good we were together in Silver Lake.” Silver Lake? No this didn’t make any
sense. It sounded like Zoey. That’s Zoey Howers the news podcaster until some
years ago. Years before that, she was Erica Vargas’s Silver Lake neighbor,
frequent fuck buddy, and eventually lover. Things hadn’t ended well. Erica
Vargas slept with one of Zoey’s exes and for some reason that made Zoey upset.
Erica couldn’t forget that, she had said that her fingers and mouth could please
Zoey as well as any other. What was it Zoey had said right then after that? It
was written in this letter, “You’re more than a collection of parts, animated by
cravings, Erica. I know that now. You could be so much more.” No, this didn’t
make any sense. Who else could’ve known those exact words? Did someone get
Zoey’s journals? Did Zoey share that in a message? Maybe Zoey had shared it with
a therapist. That would be most probable.

After all, this letter couldn’t have been from Zoey. Zoey Howers had died three
years ago.

No one makes a fool of Detective Vargas, and she would have a chat with whoever
sent this. They were idiots to hand write it. That meant skin cells, patterns in
the slopes of the pen, even the kind of paper might be a clue. Detective Vargas
handed the letter to the forensics team who agreed to look at it.

That night, though, she watched a video of Zoey Howers on her phone. Zoey, god
it had been several years since she’d spoken. Zoey had been the one of the few
women to end things with Vargas before Vargas got bored, or maybe Vargas had
been bored, but she wasn’t bored of Zoey. No Zoey had all the attachment to
Vargas as a dozen other casual lovers, yet somehow she banished Erica from her
life. That burn to the ego ate at Detective Vargas, but she loved having Zoey
around too. What’s the deal with people and exclusivity? It’s not like random
partners tainted your body or something. Bodies were just that, things that
could communicate and have affect on other people, like Zoey Howers was doing on
her laptop screen right then. She had her mic between her and two student
activists from UCLA discussing gentrification. Zoey and the students had taken
part in a downtown Los Angeles tenants’ strike and a march at city hall
demanding expanded rent controls. It was one of the last podcasts Zoey Howers
recorded. Less than two weeks later, Zoey danced at one of the clubs she and
Vargas had attended, and was cut down in a blast of gunfire from a domestic
terrorist. What was the name of the place? It was the Blue Bumble, Vargas
remembered.

The shooter was chased into a blind alley, and Vargas enjoyed the body cam
footage. Three officers shot him six times. It’s quite a rush seeing police in
action, or anyone really.

When Vargas returned to work the next day, the forensics team shared their
conclusions. Not a trace of skin had been on the paper, which was common
notebook paper that could have been purchased anywhere. The ink in the letter?
From a 0.5 art pen, equally common.

“What about the hand writing?” Detective Vargas asked her colleague.

“We’d need some other samples to be sure,” said the lab coated tech.

He turned his computer screen around and displayed the side by side samples for
Vargas. It displayed a 92% likely match.

The social ritual of the date provided more than pretense for Vargas this time.
The light drinks and the over priced tapas of Marshall’s High Top bar provided a
needed distraction. Furthermore, she had learned throughout the years that
humans enjoyed the repetitions, and the chats, and the light laughter that came
with a nice dinner. Still, when it came time to end the night she was happy to
follow Jarod home.

Back there, Jarod clearly wanted Detective Vargas on her knees. She preferred
him on his back. Through a feverish make out, they contended with each other.
Each slight button undone and each bit of cloth removed displayed their strength
and yet also their vulnerability. Only one would win. Pecks on his neck summoned
moans of satisfaction. Vargas prevailed in that moment. Jarod fell to his bed
and Vargas stripped more naked. Firm mounds of his muscle resisted her
squeezing. She dug her nails into his pectorals until that handsome officer
begged for mercy.

That’s when Vargas rewarded him. She opened her mouth, and swallowed that rigid,
prone, cock. A smooth tongue made the man hers, but a simple chomp and she could
destroy him. Vargas had thought that many times with many partners. Once again,
with this groaning sex toy at her mercy, and that salty hot dick in her mouth,
she fantasized about blood exploding onto her face. Oh it would be so hot. This
though, wouldn’t be the time she could get away with it. Even more, her own
blood pumped into her pelvis and the living sex toy in her mouth had so many
uses.

Vargas straddled him. There, she aimed the cock up into her pussy. Riding him
controlled his body until his face tightened, and his head rolled to the side.
It was like watching him gasp, or choke, or die. That’s why she enjoyed the top
position so much. He came inside her too. People come when they’re connected,
and she liked the connection with him. Only then did she allow herself to be
taken like a whore on all fours. Once positioned, Jarod fucked her hard, and she
fondled her own clit until she climaxed.

It electrified her body, and then filled a void she always forgot she had.
Writhing in submission connected Erica to her fuck buddy and even to herself. So
overwhelmed with pleasure, detective Vargas became more than a body and an ego.
The orgasm from someone had touched her and she felt what he felt. Damn, that
sensation of pride, pleasure, and a soul wreaked havoc on her nerves. She’d
never wish to be seen like this, for reasons she never understood. She tended to
fuck to dominate and orgasms like those gave her something beyond that. She
craved the sublime experience of full and complete humanity.

As she cuddled with Jarod, that sensation faded as it always did. Vargas lost
that strange inner state that humans have. She was a collection of fearless
organic parts once again.

Erica Vargas’s cell phone chirped at three in the morning. She rolled away from
Jarod and gazed in to the spectral blue screen glow.

“Erica? Did you get my letter?”

Erica shivered. The text message came from, a bunch of random characters? It
wasn’t a number. It wasn’t blocked. It was indecipherable. This stalker had gone
out of the way to bother her. Vargas was up to the challenge.

“I don’t know who this is, but it is literally my job to find people like you,”
she texted back. Turning the phone face down and ringer off let Vargas protect
herself. She cuddled next to Jarod’s warm body. The phone buzzed again.

“It’s me, Zoey,” the text message read. “I miss you. I want you. Come find me.”

“You are going to REGRET IT when I find you,” texted back Vargas with angry
thumbs. “Zoey is dead. You’re not her.”

She shoved the phone away again. Jarod muttered something as she rolled next to
him. A droning synth wave and metronomic bass hits emanated from her phone. A
floaty feminine voice hypnotized in verses.

“Fuck!” grunted Vargas grabbing her phone. With sweaty palms, she fumbled to
turn it off while the unforgettable song droned on.

“Vargas?” said Jarod sitting up. “What the hell? What is it?”

“It’s ‘Cursed’,” snapped Vargas referring to the song’s title.

“And…?”

“And nothing,” panted Vargas. It was only a song. Only one of hundreds in Zoey’s
playlist. Any particular song could have been picked at any moment. It was only
a coincidence that ‘Cursed’ played the first time Erica ate Zoey out. Sure, Zoey
climaxed to the haunting beauty of this song, but that didn’t make it special.
It never had to be a special song. Vargas had the phone off at last, and would
smash it if it bothered her again. She reached down to Jarod’s dick and found it
a dangling rope. It hardened for her.

“Got energy for another late night fuck?”

“Erica?”

“Just answer, yes, Jarod.”

The following morning, Detective Erica Vargas looked across her chief’s desk at
a skeptical superior.

“A leave of absence?” he said.

“Only one week. That’s all I need.”

“Vargas, we had you on that double homicide because you asked for it. Now you
want to leave. Why?” he said. “You wanted the laurels for solving this one. I
put you on it because I thought you could.”

“I think Shales and Rosingar can handle it now,” she said, gulping because she
hated to lose to them on this too. The chief crossed his arms.

“You’re not handing this case over to your favorite colleagues,” he said with
clear sarcasm, “because the investigation of the scene was a dead end are you,
Vargas? Want someone else’s name on a cold case? Is that it?”

“Chief,” she said sitting and feigning submission. “Let me be honest: this is
personal. It’s about the Blue Bumble okay?”

The chief nodded in a ‘go on’ sort of way.

“I had a friend that was one of the victims,” she said. “It’s been years since
it happened. I can’t say I’ve dealt with it.”

That convinced him.

“I can’t promise you’ll be back on this case in a week,” he said.

“I understand, sir.”

“Alright then Vargas,” he said. “I’ll make the changes today. Take all the leave
you need.”

Erica Vargas drove five hours south to West Los Angeles where she found herself
a boutique hotel. She visited the LAPD, flashed her badge, and asked for some
department to department favors. Hardly any cops wanted to talk about the Blue
Bumble shooting. Though when Erica played the role of a grieving detective on a
mission, they opened up to her. She was promised access to crime scene photos,
autopsy reports, and anything she’d need when she returned on Monday.

With little to fill her time Erica considered driving all the way out to Silver
Lake, and maybe haunt some of the places that she and Zoey visited. Though it
wouldn’t do much good there to prove that Zoey had in fact died, and maybe her
anonymous harasser expected that. Instead, Zoey chose someplace public to scope
out: the Blue Bumble itself. It was a Saturday evening, and the club was filled
with reveling Hollywood hopefuls. All of them worked hard to stay beautiful, and
Erica enjoyed the eye candy. She even enjoyed flirting with another woman, while
she waited for other friends.

The Blue Bumble had a memorial at one of the booths. Pictures of the victims
hung in frames, among them was Zoey. A short epitaph read “Activist. Journalist.
Fur Mom.” Vargas looked away at the empathetic, photogenic, smile, and
distracted herself with the beautiful dancing bodies. There were no signs in
this club of bullet fire or blood. It amazed Erica how much those things could
get cleaned up. If it wasn’t for those photos, no one would even have to
remember. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the next lonely bigot opened
fire on happy people. Zoey suddenly felt exposed without her gun, and kissed her
unexpected date good night.

While Vargas slept, she heard the voice of Zoey. “Miss you…” Those soft words
could not be mistaken. Erica ignored it. Yet it only persisted and called to her
again. Vargas clicked out the lights and coiled her bedsheets tighter around
her. Despite that, the hotel sheets slipped off her shoulders, exposing her arm
and neck. The cool air touched her skin, and then it became warm. “Miss touching
you…” Zoey’s voice whispered. Vargas’s night time tank top rolled up from her
belly. Something hooked around her panty’s waistline and tugged them down.

“Stop it,” said Vargas slapping her hand to her underwear. “You’re not real.
You’re not here.”

A heavy, smooth, and warm sensation coiled around her wrists like a snake.
Vargas’s arms flailed against the invisible force, and it only got stronger.
Something pinned her wrists together above her head. Her tank top was yanked up
and pulled off.

“Always wished to be the top…”

“Stop it!” cried Erica.

A slithering spiraled around her legs. Vargas couldn’t kick. Her panties slid
down her legs and then something pulled at the thighs and opened them.

“Not Zoey!”

“Am I?” came that voice. A touch followed. Was it lips? Fingers? No, that
couldn’t be it. Erica couldn’t be feeling that irresistibly skilled caress at
her pussy. This had to be a memory. Erica Vargas had taught Zoey to please her
like this. Zoey loved nothing more than doing it. Bewildered by pleasure, and
confused at what she couldn’t see, Vargas succumbed.

“Do more like how I told you, Zoey,” she breathed out. “Lick me like I taught
you.”

A fluttering of tongue whipped Erica’s clit. A hard tendril entered her wetness.

“Fuck… How?!” sighed Erica accepting the pleasure. Bliss overtook her mind and
her body quaked against her unseen restraints. Heedless, Erica bucked her hips
against what pleased her. An explosive climax broke her last line of resistance,
releasing buried memories of Zoey into consciousness. Zoey missed Erica. Now,
Erica craved for her lost friend and lover as well.

“I will have you. We will be together,” the voice whispered. Vargas was released
from her bounds and her eyes closed in satisfaction. When the sunlight hit her
eyelids, and awoke her, Vargas found herself naked upon messy sheets.

Monday came. Erica glanced over the mortician’s photos. The corpse had eyes
closed and the straight hair had been slicked back. She examined the eyebrows,
the lips, and slight jut of the chin, and saw no flaws. The bloodless face in
the photos had to be Zoey. Still, suppose someone had reconstructed the face of
another. Perhaps it was a fake corpse placed there by a mad conspiracy. How
about that tattoo? Yes, the other photos showed the antique compass that Zoey
had on her shoulder. Erica examined the chest next. That’s where those exit
wounds were. So Zoey had been shot in the back. Speaking of the back, Erica
examined that part next. Zoey had a mole on her lower right latissimus dorsi.
Erica found the same mole, unmistakably dark against the corpse’s skin on the
morgue photos. Futhermore, Erica’s examination of the original crime scene
photos revealed nothing different. Zoey’s body had been photographed with
fastidious care, and the entrance wounds on her back matched what Erica saw on
the mortician’s photos. Not even the red pools of blood around bodies showed
anything suspicious.

Her phone pinged to life.

“So nice to touch you last night… did you like it, Erica?”

Vargas texted back.

“I’ve been looking at some photos of a body, recognize it?”

She took a snapshot of the mortician’s photo and sent it.

“I know I’m dead, Erica. You don’t have to remind me.”

“You’re not a ghost. I’m going to find you.”

“I want you to find me. I can prove I’m me. You’ll see.”

Vargas was about to type out another annoyed response, when she stopped. The
number it came from was no longer a scrambled string. It began with a 323, a
local area code in Los Angeles. “Holy shit…” gasped Vargas. “You idiot. I have
you.” Mere hours later, Vargas was in the back of a police SUV. She watched with
detached satisfaction as cops exited a squad car in front of her, issued an
arrest on a resident, and pulled him into the car. Vargas sized him up quickly.
Early twenties. Caucasian. He had the thin yet muscular build and a motorcycle
club patch on his jacket.

She considered questioning him right that night, but restrained herself. Erica
Vargas insisted the LAPD do her one last favor, and allow her to interrogate him
first thing in the morning. As he was chained to the table, he did nothing but
stare at her. She only stared back, counting the seconds and savoring the
moment.

“How do you know me?” Vargas said at last.

“What?”

“You fucked up. We traced your cell phone. You lost. I got you,” she said. “So,
how do you know me?”

“Are you crazy?” he said. His head cocked to the side.

“Okay…” smirked Vargas. She plopped copies of Zoey’s morgue photos and Blue
Bumble crime scene pictures in front of him. His nostrils scrunched in disgust.
His hands pulled at the table restraints.

“Take a good look. How did you know her?”

“Listen lady… I don’t know what you’re…”

“Look!” cried Vargas. She grabbed his hair and slammed his face down onto the
photos. A surge of adrenaline spiked in her veins. “You tell me now! I caught
you! It’s over!”

“What the fuck!? I dunno! I dunno!”

Vargas screamed. She held his hair tight and slammed his head against the metal
table again and again.

“Vargas!” shouted a voice in the intercom. She relented. The terrified prisoner
cried reaching for his bruised forehead. Vargas stepped outside the
interrogation room where another cop handed her a phone.

“You wanna calm down in there? It’s your chief.”

“What?” blinked Vargas. “What about?”

The cop pointed to the hapless prisoner in the room.

“We ran prints on that poor asshole. Looks like they matched a crime scene up in
your metro.”

Vargas had lost control. That made her hand tremble as she raised the phone
receiver to her ear.

“Chief?”

“Detective, you wanna tell me why you insisted this was ‘personal time’ when you
were chasing a lead on that double homicide?”

“No.. Not like that,” insisted Vargas. “It was… good intuition?”

The chief snorted in the phone.

“Vargas, I’ve known you for five years and I know you don’t have intuition of
any kind,” he said.

“It’s…” Vargas winced.

“Oh this is new,” said the Chief. “You see I figured you ran some scheme to
humiliate Shales and Rosingar. Now, I’m actually not sure.”

Damn, that would’ve been a great story to spin.

“You got me. I’m working the case,” began Vargas.

“Whatever lead sent you down there,” the chief cut her off. “You have 48 hours
to get back up here, understand?”

“Chief. No. I swear…”

“Forty Eight hours,” he said. “That suspect will be up here not later than
that.”

Vargas power walked out of the station and into her car. Her phone buzzed her
once more.

“I gave you a gift. Did you like it?”

The number was scrambled again.

“FUCK YOU!!!” Vargas texted back.

“I fuck. I fuck you like we did in Silver Lake. Or that time in Arizona. Or at
the Austin Festival.

Vargas growled. She squeezed the phone tightly in one hand, and reached for her
baton. As soon as she opened the door, that familiar song played from it once
more. She bumped her head in the car in surprise and the phone clattered to the
ground.

Erica Vargas picked it up. She sent one more text.

“You are dead. I saw your body. You’re not alive.”

“You saw pictures, Erica. You never saw my body.”

Vargas grabbed her baton and pummeled her phone to splinters on the asphalt.

Zoey Howers had been interred at Hollywood Forever cemetery. Erica Vargas waited
until night, and then waited longer. Late night road construction would cover
the noise. Zoey’s casket resided in a small mausoleum. Heavy bolts of brass held
the polished granite seal. With a drill she’d borrowed out of the cemetery’s
office, Vargas undid the bolts. The whirring of the drill and the cracking of
stone echoed off the polished walls. Next, the seal fell down with a thud. A
dusty casket lay within and Erica dragged it out.

“You found me.”

Zoey’s voice whispered from behind, as Vargas was hunched over the floor with
the casket halfway out. She didn’t want to turn around. She knew nothing could
be there.

“You’re dead, Zoey,” said Vargas. She dragged the casket out further. “Dead
people can’t talk. There’s a body in here. I know it’s yours.”

“I am dead, and I still miss you,” the voice spoke so clearly now, angering
Vargas. She spun around determined to prove to the nothing that nothing could be
there, and instead confronted a billowing apparition of black smoke. It had the
face and torso of Zoey. It had her particular chin, her jaw, the alluring almond
shape of her eyes. Her chest and shoulders couldn’t be mistaken either. Vargas
remembered too many nights pressed against that petite body, and so many
evenings of caressing those nipples. Erica looked down, curious about the legs,
and saw only a flowing black cloud.

“What are you?” said Vargas to it.

Zoey’s lips parted in desire. Lithe arms stretched towards Vargas who stumbled
back. Colliding against a wall, she could only look back at Zoey’s apparition.
The hands touched her cheeks with unexpected warmth. Zoey drifted in, and her
lips touched Vargas. Erica kept her eyes open in shock. Then her mouth opened in
concession. She shared a kiss with Zoey which put her into a trance. It had only
been Zoey who could ever do that.

“Why?” Vargas said. “You were the only one who ever rejected me.”

The ghostly figure smirked in sudden supremacy.

“Here I am. I’m dead. Still reaching out to you, and you’re worried about why I
rejected you?”

Tendrils spiraled around Vargas’s legs. The sudden constriction quelled
confusion.

“Maybe in death I’ve learned not to care,” said Zoey. “Or maybe I don’t care who
you cheated on me with. Or maybe there is something only I can give you.”

“You can’t give me anything, Zoey,” muttered Vargas. She didn’t believe it. The
void that orgasms filled yawned ever more hollow within. For the first time
Vargas could not ignore that empty space. She needed to come right then to fill
it up, to make the empty part of her soul whole.

“Remove your shirt, Erica,” whispered Zoey.

Erica Vargas lifted the tank top over her head and unclasped the bra beneath.
She stood there, with her heart pumping and nipples hard and erect. Vargas liked
being missed, and Zoey had clawed back from the dead to reach her. Now, she
expected to be adored, like she had so many times before. Yet Vargas had never
known that huge hollow place inside her. It was as if she was skin and bones
stretching over nothing. The voluminous spectral cloud enshrouded her, and
Vargas wanted it within.

Warm breath from Zoey brushed her neck. The sensation, so long forgotten, of her
chest pressed to Vargas. She reached out into the air, wrapped her arm around
Zoey’s neck and drew her close. The mouth that met hers warmed as they kissed.
Zoey’s tongue pushed harder, deeper, and shockingly strong. Like a heavy whip,
it pressed down into Vargas’s throat making her groan at the subjugation.

“Did you like that, Erica?”

“Yes!”

“I’m glad you liked it,” purred Zoey. Tendrils of smoke changed to heavy
tentacles which tightened down on Vargas’s limbs. Then, Vargas found her arms
tightened stretched out to her sides and her ankles likewise restrained.

“I love you, Erica,” whispered Zoey. Smaller tentacles undid Erica’s pants and
pulled them down. “As cold as you are, I still loved you. Soon, I will fix you.”

In a violent yank, Vargas’s knees were spread open. Her pussy, left prone,
received a heavy smack. It ignited such arousal, that she gasped and shouted. It
hurt, and she loved it. Zoey beat her again with other stray tendrils. All the
while Vargas looked to Zoey’s beautiful face hovering above her. As Vargas
panted and shouted at the sudden pain, Zoey watched and read every tremor in the
body in her possession.

Vargas would have taken more. She knew she could take more. What she wasn’t
ready for was Zoey’s torture of tenderness, as her hands and tentacles rubbed
her body. She shook against the bounds that held her, only for Zoey to reflect
her strength.

“Make me come, Zoey,” she begged.

“Like this?”

A tentacle pushed its way into Vargas’s slick sex, and throbbed there. Then
another curled around her clit and squeezed.

“Yes!” cried Erica.

“I missed you so much, Erica!” cried Zoey. She embraced Vargas once again. With
their chests together, and Zoey’s arms holding tight, Erica was lifted into the
air on a thick mass of flowing muscle. Constraining her even more, layers of
tendrils wrapped around her arms at her back. Vargas loved it. Zoey’s tender
lips, mighty smacks, and persistent penetrations filled the hollow inside her.

“You will come for me, Erica,” Zoey said. “Then you’ll come again.”

“Yes!” panted Erica. She spasmed against Zoey’s unyielding bounds as a juice
spilling orgasm made her dizzy. She found herself spinning once again when Zoey
shifted, turned, and otherwise controlled her. Erica took another thrashing at
her back as Zoey suckled at her nipples in her front. The unreal and unrelenting
passion cursed Erica into depravity that she had never known. Bound, controlled,
and at another’s mercy could not possibly break her. Despite that, she wished it
too. Another violent orgasm electrified the nerves of her body and she wept.
Lost to Zoey’s machinations, Erica could not even beg for more.

Erica Vargas awoke as the cool morning mist crept through the mausoleum. Her
bare skin rolled away from the smooth granite. For the first time, Erica
shivered. She was naked, and trembled as if the chilling had never touched her
before. Would someone see her? What had transpired? Erica remembered the night.
She remembered how Zoey lowered her, in a loving cradling down in a corner of
the mausoleum. She remembered Zoey covering her as if a tent filled with
pillows.

Zoey was dead. Oh god, why did Zoey have to die?

Too many thoughts and feelings screamed in Erica’s mind. Covering her chest she
sat and ordered those trespassing anxieties to silence and to submission. Unruly
and obstinate, they still demanded something of her. Erica looked over at the
casket. She closed her eyes and lifted the lid. Inside, the thinned, bloodless,
and decayed visage of Zoey rested, eyes closed in a morbid peace. Vargas touched
the corpse’s cheek and found it as cold as stone. She jerked her hand back in
grief, and retreated away. Huddling to the corner, she wondered if death itself
touched her hand. That’s not how bodies work, and that was still Zoey’s in
there. Zoey wasn’t supposed to be cold and decayed. Gulping down the shock, she
crawled to the casket and knelt over it. Detective Erica Vargas looked at a
corpse and cried.


END

Special thanks to Bobbi Mare and Nicolas Belvoir for their beta reading.

Thanks to Tokyo Rose, whose song “Cursed” helped inspire this work.




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WICKEDLY REVIEWED: LIMBO DEMON’S DESIRES BY RACHEL KINSLEY

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on July 15, 2020

What’s the best cure for post college ennui? A new life as a sex worker for
demons.


A DEMON TAKES VIRGINITY

Rachel Kinsley’s book, Limbo: Demon Desires, is an easily readable, episodic,
novella. Honestly, the structure of the book might be my favorite part. I read
each hot chapter on lunch breaks over the course of about two work weeks.

The story begins with a set up we all know too well: Samantha is out of college,
in a seedy city, and not sure where to go from there. Next thing, she visits a
fortune teller who advises her that she’s marked and special. Maybe that
explains why Samantha, despite having a high drive for sex, is a virgin.

Before long, an incubus visits Samantha, and her virginity is gone by the
morning.


 SEX WORKING AND TEMPTATIONS

After Samantha joins the demon brothel, she services demons of fear, sloth,
greed and so on. In each sexy episode, author Rachel Kinsley adds some spicy
temptation. The demons want more then sex. They want to corrupt Samantha through
whichever sin they represent. Because of them, every sex scene has a layer of
psychological domination in addition to Samantha’s submissive role. Does
Samantha break?


SLUT. DEMONS. TORTURE.

The answer comes at the story’s last scene. Without spoiling anything, sex with
demons requires some serious sadism. There’s no shortage of humiliation, pain,
and submission there. What I read was at least as intense as the most hardcore
scenes I’ve enjoyed at Kink.com.  It left me exhausted to read to the end.

Naturally, I enjoyed this book. I hope you do too.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Kinsley is an erotic author with a passion for delving into the surreal,
magical, and mystical sides of sex inherent in mythology, fantasy, and science
fiction. She enjoys finding ways to slip erotica into tales that already exist,
as well as devising her own unconventional storylines to awaken the sexual
imagination of her readers.

When not writing or contemplating delicious erotica, she creates illustrative
art and indulges in her geeky addictions for video games and D and D.


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