Category Archives: Sexy Little Reads

Post of sexy little stories.

Primal Embrace

Primal Embrace

By Damian Bloodstone,

Copyright 01/01/2012

A voice that sounds of heaven to the ear,
The voice that makes the soul resonate,
A voice that is so beautiful that only angels could match,
A voice that goes silent and yet silently begs.

The eyes that lock in a single stare.
Eyes that melt the walls and build the ember within.
The stare where everything else ceases to exist.
The eyes that meet and two souls are only seen by each other.

A touch that sparks an ember,
A gentleness that begets the primal,
A touch so innocent that tears might come,
A touch so enlightening that darkness fades.

A form that moves to say more than words can,
A soul’s light, radiant and bright in a single form,
A form of beauty and of art,
A form in the dark brought to the light.

A beckoning that goes unsaid,
A drive that is never openly shown,
A primal force and emotion,
That quickly throws all else away.

A touch that becomes more,
A caress that is felt to the core of one’s being,
A gentle embrace that makes all things cease,
The primal emotions and movements taking hold.

The soft moan, the quick sigh,
the sudden gasp, the soft whimper,
the half-done words, the muted moan,
the held breath, the soft cry,
the mingled scents of two to one.

The softness of the lines,
the smoothness of the skin,
the warmth of the soul,
the primal let lose to play.

The touch of the lips,
the softness of the skin,
the rush of the blood to make fire,
the feeling of the tenderness of the little parts.

The feeling of change,
the swell of the graceful body,
the wondrous softness of the one then two,
the little bumps that tickle the tongue,
the one point of each that stokes the fire within.

The rise and falls of the swells,
the valley that softly speaks of parting,
the softness yet lower,
the place which goes in nor out,
where muscles surround and a gem can be found,
the sudden moan as the warmth is touched.

The warmth turns to fire,
the scent turns to odd sweetness,
the softest down unmatched,
the velvet forest that leads to a flower on fire.

The flower opens slowly,
the beauty of nature unmatched,
the softest of petals,
the most sensitive of places,
the moans and cries beckon more,
as Primal is ignited.

The fire becomes blaze,
the opening rimmed,
the tunnel gently explored,
the warm, wetness yet unsatisfied.

The eyes once more meet,
the stem meets flower,
the sounds of the brief silence,
the flower and stem unite.

The sudden cry,
the soft moans now louder,
the quick sigh unending,
the whimper turned to the moan,
the words need not said,
the moans and sounds of the primal.

The sighs turned to cries,
the moans turned to breaths held,
The sudden gasp of life united,
the explosion of the lower heart,
the warmth of the stem’s and flower’s release,
the sudden quite in the garden.

The cries turns to sweet sighs,
the eyes united once more,
the touch felt as if almost pain,
the blaze slows to fire.

The words unsaid yet felt,
the whimper and moan,
the held breath, soft moan,
the flower and stem united no more.

The soft caresses of tenderness,
the mingled scents of flower and stem,
the sweet scent of the two being one,
the memory that is always remembered by the Primal.

The primal yet never dies,
the embers always lit,
the flower waiting to blossom,
the stem waiting to grow to meet,
The roots that lay of each in the heart.

The eyes that beckon,
the eyes that want,
the eyes that wish for touch,
the eyes that cry for love.

The sweet memories of togetherness
the tenderness, the warmth,
the caring, the compassion,
ignited by the primal fires
in souls’ lives long ago united.

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Her Blue Lover

Her Blue Lover

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 7/3/2012  All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

The wind whipped through their hair.  His power and grace between her parted thighs.  The gentleness of his approach and forcefulness of his muscular build made her heart race as his body thrust upward.

“Am I moving too fast?”

She sighed wondering if he heard it.  The sensation of her body riding him, the subtle movement of his muscles beneath her was causing a new excitement in her.  She pushed up from him and observed his notice.  “No, continue.”

He moved in rhythm, making her experience the rush of sensual pleasure as his body slowly raised, thrusting into her.  Leaning forward on him, she felt his soft, cool skin, could hear his powerful heart beating as he moved.  His scent was pleasant, smelling like that after a thunderstorm.  Diving now, she heard the wind rushing in her ears as blood rushed to every deepest part of her.  She screamed, her body tightened around him, set free in sensual pleasure.

He felt her grip lighten around his neck as he softly lowered to the surface.  “Did I do well?”

She moved slowly from the saddle, stroking his bright blue scales in love.  “Yes, dragon, my first ride was an experience.”

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

His New Girl Friend

His New Girlfriend

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 7/3/2012  All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

He looked at her again.  She was sleek; the graceful curves of her body were perfect.  The soft, smoothness of her skin and the way the light cast her in shadow, these were her wonders to behold.  Her eyes stared back at him, bright green in the dimness, as his hands gripped her body, his finger lighting on her most sensitive spot.  Pushing it into her was like heaven to his senses.  The experience of her weight in his gentle hands as he lightly touched her to make her go off in her type of orgasm.  Her pushing back against him, arching her body was exciting to his senses.  It was more than sexual; it was spiritual as he heard her cry out for the first time.  The heat from her embracing him with her scent caused his mind to race in erotic pleasure.  Her body quieted in his grasp once more.

A hand placed lightly on his shoulder broke his concentration.  He gently placed her down breaking his link with it.

“Well, is she the one?”

“Oh, yes.  This pistol is perfect for me.  This is definitely my new girlfriend.”

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Kane’s Lover

Kane’s Lover

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 6/7/2012  All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Kane looked at her shape, her fine curves and lightweight, strong body.  Sleek and professional in her dress but as deadly as any woman.  She was just right for his hands to grip and caress.  Her proportions were perfect to his.  Her bright skin shined in the sun as her long slender length showed her flexibility.  The gold she wore at her throat, accented her beauty and grace.  The warmth of her against him and the smoothness of her excited him.  Her hard touch was as if a warrior’s muscles tensed and flexed.  Moving, she sang in the air around her, gliding and dancing with a love all her own.  She was a reflection of him and yet always his first and true love.  He had passed by many another for her feel beside him.  She had always come forward to protect him in times of need, never berating or belittling him over his needs.  Kissing her lightly on his mark that she bore so willingly and with such honor, he sheathed her in leather armor to protect her oiled skin and sharp tongue.

He could give her up for no other.  His love’s soul forever trapped by a sorcerer in this sword he carried.

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

French Class

A little naughty tale to start your weekend.

French Class

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 12/20/2014 All Rights Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.


He noticed how empty the place was for the foreign film. The movie began as he got out some popcorn. The butter caused his fingers to become slick.
He hated French class. The trouble he had was the boring way it was taught. This aid told him she could help learn the language of love through movies.
A romance, he disliked those. When the love scene began, he surged and looked away in embarrassment.
The shock of her hand on his belly caused his breath to catch. He looked at her.
“Watch the film,” she said as she deftly unfastened his belt.
When her hand slid inside his waistband, he jumped. The scene had caused a little rush but the warmth of her hand made him hard. The slickness of the butter caused her hand to slide. Those fingers gripped him just enough.
“What?”
She placed her finger over his mouth a second. Her hand moved slightly faster.
He tasted the butter on her finger. Her hand held and caressed him. He didn’t make a sound as he came.
She smiled at him as she pulled out her hand.
French class became so much more than boring suddenly.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Let’s Reverse the Scene with His Mistress

I had written a scene and posted it before where a Dom went after a submissive. I want to be fair so I wrote another for the Mistresses out there and there lovelies.

His Mistress
By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)
Copyright © 11/8/2014 All Right Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.
Gema watched him glance toward her again, watching her as he ate. She returned the glance as she talked business. He intrigued her. This made her smile.
Coming to a high-class restaurant in his low class clothes, it screamed pauper. Even the service he received, only the least, made him out of place. He placed no demands as anyone of higher status might. His single bowl of soup and rice chips for lunch probably cost his week’s pay.
She barely heard the man before her and blushed as she laughed when the doors to the kitchen blew off the napkin from the poor man’s table.
“I’m sorry—Philip,” she said forgetting his name. He turned to look in the direction she had been staring.
“He shouldn’t even be here,” Philip said. “Look at him. He’s that guy from the mail room. I should get him fired somehow.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Gema said. “He delivers my mail at times.”
“Then you like the mail boy,” Philip said throwing his napkin in his empty plate. “I thought we having lunch but it turns out you had other plans.”
“I just can’t understand why he’s even here.” Gema placed her hand on Philip’s and watched him calm. She glanced over again and watched the young man fumble with the rice chips as they shattered in his grasp. Philip pulled his hand away. “Go or stay, decide,” she said.
“So that’s it.” Philip stood and put on his overcoat.
“What’s his name?” Gema asked. She watched Philip turn to leave. “Stop.”
“I don’t know,” Philip replied. “I don’t care either.” He clopped away from the table as if a shunned brat.
Gema removed her phone and quickly deleted Philip from the list of clients. She didn’t need Philip’s drama. Her own playtime was more important. Besides, this younger man looked special. Taking the bill, she rose, walked over to the young man’s table. The young man had nearly finished his meager meal of egg drop soup and rice chips. The logo of the company showed he worked at the same place but no nametag, it disappointed her.
She stood at the table. The servers didn’t dare to do the things they had done before passing it. She stared down at him until he set down the spoon and looked up.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“One of the mail boys, aren’t you?” She picked the last rice chip from the bowl and popped it in her mouth. He retracted his hands from the table and glance at his at the now empty bowl.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Stand,” Gema said. She smiled as he rose without question. He was a little shorter than her height. She adored this. Staring into his eyes, she didn’t see the normal side of most males she approached like this. Instead, she noticed actual fear. Had he recognized her? No, he couldn’t have.
He backed up a step, never glancing at her face.
“Look at me.” Gema watched him struggle to make eye contact. She smiled.
“What do want?”
“Kiss me.” Gema noticed his eyes go wide before he turned his head away. “Ahh, ahh.” She gently turned his face back to hers. “Kiss me.”
He looked at the people in the restaurant and then at her. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. When he began to turn away, her hand grabbed his wrist. He stopped.
“I said kiss me, not peck me like a mother or some friend.” Gema then realized that the fear wasn’t of her position but of her. “Do I—frighten you?”
“No.”
She detected the tremble in his voice. “Kiss me then.” His lips touched hers and then pulled away as if they hurt to touch her.
“There,” he said. “Let me go now.”
“I ordered you to kiss me.” She glanced at the couple in at the next table as they stared. She smiled at them as they turned back to eating. She turned his face back to her. His tears startled her.
“I don’t…”
Gema placed her finger over his soft warm lips. “Be still.” She moved her finger tracing his lips to his jawline. Running it back, she watched his eyes lock with hers in fear. She kissed the tears away on his cheeks as she grabbed his nape. He exhaled in a shudder as she hovered over his lips, grazing them until hers tingled. His eyes closed. She moved, lips touched and opened slightly as she nibbled his. She ran her hand down his shirt sensing the softer chest of less muscle than most. The fabric of the soft work shirt showed he enjoyed delicate things. She slipped her hand inside between the buttons feeling bare skin. Fingers touched softly to his chest finding unerect nipples. She circled one as she kissed. The heat in him began as it hardened under her touch. Moving her hand down, she turned it as she caressed below his navel, slipped in his pants and felt the prize she sought. Soft, warm, firm and average, he came to full attention with her touch. She moved her hand on him, slowly and felt a little wetness. She pushed lower and cupped his sac, his nice orbs, like new toys, danced in her delicate fingers. More wetness on her wrist and inside forearm signaled his growing desires. Her tongue darted out, caressed his closed lips as she gently squeezed. His lips parted and her tongue slipped in to touch the tip of his before she pulled away both hand and lips. She denied him any more. A button popped off his shirt in her hasty retreat. She stared into his eyes studying his reaction. Releasing his wrist, he stood there as if awaiting her next command. She smiled and giggled at his innocence.
“You’ll do with training.” Gema observed his feet shuffle and his body tense at the words.
“Training?”
“Come, and get my coat,” she said. “I’m taking the afternoon off and you’re calling in sick.”
“I’ll get fired.” He followed her toward the coat check desk.
“Only on my command,” Gema said.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Boredom Leads to Creativity – Master Found

I got bored last night editing while sick. My mind wandered with the music I was listening to and my fingers opened a new doc and began typing. Hope you enjoy it. It’s only a small piece, just an opening scene actually for something that will become bigger later.

Master Found
By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)
Copyright © 11/7/2014 All Right Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.
“You’ve stared at me most of the night.” She stood with her hands on the table. Her low cut blue dress revealing and tight as a second skin. The subtle scent of wild flowers drifted out like fingers tempting those around her. Her long dark auburn hair shined in the candlelight. The faint flicker of her eyes betrayed her soul’s sadness. “You ran off my date with just that look you gave him. You owe me my night’s worth and the check. So what do you want?”
“A kiss,” he said.
“Hell, I’d given you that just to stop your stare two hours ago.” She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. She turned away.
“Not like that.” He grabbed her wrist.
She stared into his eyes, mirrors of her own. His tailored business suit shouted money. His eyes didn’t wander her body as most might have but stared into hers. Held in place, she knew better than to struggle or make a scene. He stood. His eyes level with hers, she sensed more about this one than any ever before. Starting to move back, he pushed her arm behind her, bent it upward behind her until she gasped.
“I want a kiss.” He gazed into her eyes, scanned her face as a few tears fell from those golden brown eyes.
His breath on her skin burned. His other hand traced the line of her hair down around behind her ear. She lowered her chin looking away. His fingers gently lifted it back so she stared again into those eyes of his. “No,” she said. Others were watching them.
“Why?” He could see her soul in those eyes. “You do this for money. Are you so ashamed to be taken as what you portray?” He inhaled her scent of fear mixed with the perfume.
“No, please.” She felt his breath hot against her cheek. His lips followed. Softly, not harshly, as she had imagined, they kissed in nibbles until reaching hers. The heat of them touching made her heart race. She closed her eyes. He wasn’t greedy as most would have been. His lips lingered, tenderly over hers, gliding and taking what he desired.
She sensed her wrist freed but dared not move. His body wasn’t pressed to hers as others would have done. His hand caressed down her back, stopping at the top of the open backed dress. Soft pressure urged her forward until their bodies touched. His lips moved back along her jawline until reaching her earlobe. She took a breath as his teeth grabbed it in a nip. Moving to just under and behind her ear, his tongue flicked and licked with more pressure. Thinking became impossible. His scent filled her with each inhalation. The crispness of the jacket’s fabric, rough against her breast made her nipples spring to alertness.
His hand drifted lower. The lightest of touches to her exposed cleavage caused a shiver down her. Her legs betrayed her as she shifted her weight to her mounting excitement. When his lips left her, she stared into his eyes again as he hands left her. She wobbled as she stood before grabbing onto him for support. Slowly her legs gave way. Half sliding down him, she went to her knees and cried with her head against his legs.
“That’s a good girl now,” he whispered as he lifted her chin to stare at that lovely face once more.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Behind the Veil

I thought my readers would enjoy this. It is something I wrote because of a friend’s challenge to write about a picture she posted. This is what I came up with from the picture.

Behind the Veil

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 10/24/2014 All Right Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.


The slick pulling filled his ears. Cries muffled to gasps mixed with the coaxing words wrapped his mind. The droplets beaded in a sweat of fear causing gooseflesh mixed with their heat.
Shades of grey lurked behind the solid veil. It wavered moaning as if the animal it was. The low primal growl, scratching and clawing to the surface, struck fear in his heart. A strange sensation threatened to shatter the veil. A wave hit. He fell deeper, each moment closer to the veil.
A racing heartbeat and breathing filled his ears. Was it his or another’s beyond the frosted veil?
He pulled away from that door. His doorway blocked by the veiled image of something too primitive for logic or reason, something terrifying.
Silence filled him. Everything so distant, so parted from his senses as cracks showed in the veil. A stroking touch provided the harmonic twang to his soul. It shattered as if glass. The veil pierced. His world disjoined as primal prevailed, body moved without reason and mind quieted in the moment. Eyes closed with that primitive embrace. A silenced cry escaped him. Everything lost for that single instance of la petite mort.
He struggled in her embrace hearing her words of comfort and love whispered. Was she truly here or only a part of that primitive? Her warmth next to him at this time of loss and awakening proved physical.
Senses returning, his logic and reason followed. To know such loss terrified him, wrapped in the safety of her arms. Was she demon or angel? The question didn’t matter. She was here, his primal, and with the la petite mort, she so lovingly pushed him to experience. His desires made physical. He slept.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

Horny Hump Day. This Isn’t the Usual Post

This is something that I have shown only to select people until now. It isn’t the normal sex romp style for Horny Hump Day, but reminds us of why we even care about a hump day at all. Sometimes love is the cruelest of all emotions.

Broken Heart

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)
Copyright © 8/16/2014 All Right Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Callista sat next to his bed, his slow breathing and heartbeat filled her ears. A shattered antique reader set the desk over from them. The opening the door didn’t startle her anymore. She watched as a new nurse came to check him.

“I’ll look after your father,” the nurse said. “Why don’t you go for a walk?”
 
“He isn’t my father.” She tried to dismiss the remark but knew she had flushed since the room had gotten hotter.
 
“How about I get you something to eat,” the nurse asked.
 
“Leave us,” Calliste said. She heard the nurse quickly leave.
 
****
 
The doctor came in the room. He checked the readings on the machines then turned to the woman in the chair.
 
“What are you going to do, Calliste?” the doctor asked standing on the other side of the bed.
 
“He’s my life.” She glanced at the readouts as the heart rate dropped again. Sweat beaded on her skin as she felt her throat threaten to close.
 
“You can go back and be assigned another.” The doctor paused at the sight of her silently shake her head.
 
She got up and with trembling hands brushed the blanket down over him again. A sensation he had grown to love from her. He felt nothing now. She sat again, hands moving until forced to be still on the arms of the chair.
 
“You’ve cared for him as best you could during this time,” the doctor said shuffling his feet. “He would want you to go on.” The sight of tears, not possible in her eyes, shocked him. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until it groaned.
 
“Can you die of a broken—heart?” she asked.
 
“No,” the doctor replied. He watched the monitor.
 
“I will.” She held her lover’s hand and closed her eyes. His heart stopped as the tears fell from her eyes.
 
The doctor turned off the monitoring machines. He glanced at her holding his hand. She was completely still. By law, he was supposed to remove it. He couldn’t. The tears on her face were the evidence of something too profound for reason. He walked from the room, his own tears threatening to fall.

Who are we to judge those than can only find love in the most unusual places? We talk of finding someone to those alone around us. It is harder than most believe. Love comes in so many different forms that you cannot define or set limits on it. It is the best of emotions and the cruelest of them because we cannot control it.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr

What I Am – Flash Fiction

What I Am

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com) Copyright © 5/4/2014 All Rights Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

“Well, that was uncomfortable,” she said breathing again now that they were in the car. “I thought I was going to lose it when your father made the ‘she’s a beauty’ comment.”

 “I knew he would,” he said. “He’s like that with women.”

 “Your mother was more standoffish afterward.” She pulled down the visor to check her makeup. “When she rubbed against me in the kitchen, I was certain she knew something was amiss.”

 “Was that when you shouted ‘Oh’ so loud we heard it in the dining room?”

 “Yeah.” She felt her tiny boob through the dress. “I know she thought something. Just the way she looked at me later.”

 “It was an accident,” he said. “You were both in a tight area and touched.”

 “It was more than a touch.” She glanced at him driving and wiped away her tears. “I think she could sense it.”

 “How? You look beautiful — that dress shows you as powerful and confident.”

 “I don’t guess they knew,” she said.

 “How do you think it will go with your parents?”

 “I don’t know. They’ve never seen me as a woman before. I was always mommy’s boy,” she replied.

[powr-hit-counter label=”WIA”]

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr