Contributor: Richard Osgood - - Ivan Chemalski stands at the center of a blow-up kiddie pool, naked, feet spread, penis erect, defecating in the water. A metallic rendition of The Entertainer cycles over and over from the loudspeaker of an ice cream truck as it approaches, passes, and fades under napping pine trees and languid American flags. Coitus, he calls her, the young Slovakian woman with burlap hair and volcanic skin, who sits in a folding beach chair, fully gowned, feet over the inflated edge of the pool, washing dirt from soil-burdened toes. A glance at the paperback within arm’s-length grasp of fruitful clover, her fingertips callused by fractured asphalt, she anticipates locked doors and drawn shades. Sunrise weighed down by iron skillets and uncharitable destinations serves blood sausage and beets to former transmission...

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Author: Richard Osgood

Contributor: LA Sykes - - Eye eye. Who is this dodgy looking cunt? Suspicious behaviour indeed. Creeping around the alley at this time of night? What the fuck is he wearing? Who does he think he is? Which house is he planning to hit? Time to find out. Out the back door and jump the fence. Creep up on this thieving fucker from behind and boot him up the arse as he bends over mauling about with the canvas cover sheet on his getaway vehicle. Rip off his silly hat and grab his hair snapping his head back. Crush his bulbous nose with a quick crack. Look him square in his pleading eyes taking in the white beard slowly turning crimson with blood. "Don't tell me, you're Santa Claus delivering presents for all the boys and girls?" I ask sarcastically. "Yes, look please I really am S...." I cut off his driveling bullshit with another backhand...

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Author: LA Sykes

Contributor: LA Sykes - - The day of the big opening. Display stalls quickly being filled by organisations wanting to be seen the most. Networking and getting their services out there. Being early my work was already done so I spied the chance to grab a smoke before the tape cutting started. Exiting through the fire escape the summer sun bathed my face in warmth. Cool breeze lightly flickered the flame from the match as I inhaled deeply. It was then I saw her. Sweet strawberry blonde hair bobbed as she walked. My eyes took in her body. Fair skinned shoulders lowered to full curved hips and buttocks covered only lightly by a yellow summer dress. Knee length. No panty line. My blood rushed down and I felt myself swell pushing against denim. She caught my presence in her peripheral vision. Turned and met my gaze. I caught her eyes and...

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Author: LA Sykes

Contributor: LA Sykes - - ‘’You will most certainly NOT be leaving the hospital!’’ Doctor Bubba stated hysterically. Talking to his patients was very stressful, triggering his self-diagnosed situation-specific social anxiety disorder that he’d diagnosed himself with after long periods of self-assessment. He was very convincing in his diagnoses, especially regarding himself, and was suddenly pleased with his expertise on the matter which reduced his anxieties in this social interaction. Relaxing, he leaned back cooly and caressed the sleeve of his suit jacket with the leather elbow patches that he wore continually in the belief they exuded intellectualism, which triggered severe bouts of self-consciousness, triggering an acute bout of self-consciousness. ‘’Why not! I’ve been compliant with this ridiculous charade to assuage my Community...

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Author: LA Sykes

Contributor: Jenny Nielsmann - - I love to ride. I love the feel of the sweat as it slicks across my body, runs down the crack of my ass and drips to the cock throbbing between my thighs. I love the movement of men beneath me, the hardness they hurl balls deep into me, filling me, grabbing me with arching fingers as I rise, as I roll my cunt back and forth, cradling every inch of them, teasing them until they cum. Teasing them until the ride is over. Teasing them to make them eager, eager for me, eager for the snatch they remember, the hot wetness they crave. I'll play with myself to get them hard again, moan a little in their ears. I know what men like. I know what cocks love. I love only one thing. I love to ride. - - - Blond hair, blue eyes, skin tanned Hawaiian style. You know you want ...

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Author: Jenny Nielsmann

Contributor: Seth Johnson - - Every week she returns to the same room to get fucked by strangers. Man or woman, it makes no difference. She’ll gladly let anyone fuck her. She never knows their names, at least not the ones that speak. They always know hers, even though she rarely uses the same one twice. She changes her appearance, too. But there is always some flaw. On the nights when she is ornamented and manicured, she is also bloated. Other nights she is hurried, almost late, arriving sleepless and bare, unfinished. Her intentions are pure, even though it is not always easy to tell. They take turns with her. She passes from one set of hands to another. Some fuck her more than once. Some can’t stop fucking her. Some get impatient and snatch her away, even though her legs are flipped open to reveal her middle, and her climax is on...

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Author: Seth Johnson

Contributor: P.A.Levy - - crack of dawn (lovely girl is dawn) … morning has broken … up with the larks … in the heroic minute there was a word and the word was cunt … lancelot awoke from his slumbers and his automatic codpiece extension creaked and groaned to full size to accommodate his gentleman’s good morning then as always in this state the first thought to enter lancelot’s mind was cunt must get cunt but he realised his quest could be severely hampered by morning dragon’s breath when able to reset his codpiece to default position he arose for a slash (this is the only legend with such realistic detail) then set off for the tavern a pint or two of some mead to honey his rank breath for this was a known successful remedy after so much smoking skunk but whilst at the tavern lancelot couldn’t help but become besotted with the new...

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Author: P.A.Levy

Contributor: Allen Taylor - - I awoke one morning to the sound of footfall under the covers. The sounds of boots, pedes shod and unshod, hooves of human miscreants, and stomping substructures pounding upon my fundament. Shouts of protests accompanied said racket and in truth it amounted to nothing short of bedlam to my naked alarm clock ears. What I felt was every bit disturbing as the hubbub upon my flaps. The clamorous clang upon my orifice made a madhouse seem quite sane. They gathered first in small numbers, then the maelstrom grew. A peaceful protest against the residents of my inner parts. Some of the dissidents carried signs, signs which read, “Down with the 1%,” or “Liar, Beggerman, Thief.” A few derided in anger the status of the turds that lingered deep within my colon; others arrived simply to join in something bigger than...

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Author: Allen Taylor

Contributor: Moxie Malone - - Poor Jerry. It was difficult to watch him slowly deteriorate day after day. It's never easy seeing someone you care about suffer. Unable to do anything to ease the pain, you feel helpless, irrational and guilty. There were moments - fleeting moments - when it crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe I was somehow responsible. Hell, at the end, Jerry blamed me, but any rational person would know that it was ridiculous to fault me. To my knowledge, stepping on cracks never broke any mother's back and secret curses don't come to pass. It's true, there were times when I was angry with wickedly cruel thoughts, but I would never act on them and certainly never tell him. I didn't really mean to cause any actual harm, which is not to suggest that it is possible to inflict pain with a simple thought. Obviously,...

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Author: Moxie Malone

Contributor: Quill Enparchment - - Coming home for the evening after a hard day of work, I had two things on my mind: a hot bath to wash the stench of ink off my skin, and a date with the dragon. President Grant visited Virginia City today and the streets filled with hullabaloo the moment he stepped off the train. I wanted to cover the story for the newspaper but that son of a bitch editor I work for reminded me that women weren't real writers and told me to go cover the quilter's circle. My afternoon had me up to my ears in tea and talk about the ladies' work being done in time for Halloween. I'm not part of the quilter's circle. In fact, I don't sew at all - not a stitch. Can't even darn my own socks. I write minor stories and help the guys on the printing presses. Every evening my skin is covered in stinky black ink and sweat. No...

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Author: Quill Enparchment

Contributor: Korrie Calanthe - - I want to fuck you. I want to drag my tongue across your lips, your face, nibble your ear, breathe it, fog and tonguefuck your skin, tease you, bite lightly, pull, teeth scouring, clawing, fingers just enough to make you hot, hot, ready, eager. Grab me, take me, take me! you're mine, mine every inch of you every inch every inch. Give me every inch lose yourself in me lose yourself and become mine. mine. - -...

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Author: Korrie Calanthe

Contributor: William Clifford - - Who can sleep anymore? Not me. Not after Heather. Not after Marvin. My bed belongs to my cat. Sleep has become a foreign country. I can’t speak the language. I stumble along, never quite understanding, taking wrong turns. I squint. I stagger into a bodega on Avenue B to buy a beer and the cashier demands 64,000 dong. I reach into my pocket and produce a trembling handful of pesos. And my hands, they’re not good, they’re bad, they shake. My cigarettes are sparklers. My bad hands are probably the result my nightly bouts of Homeric drinking, but who knows? A neurologist might know, but I’m too nervous to see one. What is going on? I know what isn’t going on-- rock and roll and sex. There is, however, a fair amount of drugs: a little of this, a lot of that; a lot of this, a little of that. Contrary...

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Author: William Clifford

Contributor: Eric Boyd - - (an excerpt from the novel Multiplex) Augie was having an art show. Like any good painter, he whored himself out to everyone he knew, including me, to bring people for his opening. “Fredrick, after that first night,” he said, “I don’t care who comes. Anyone can come; I hope a lot of people do. As long I get enough people to buy back my rent on the gallery, I’m happy.” The gallery, Artplace 107, was about twenty feet square, with a backroom and toilet. Augie had paid four hundred dollars to have it rented out for a month. That was the minimum he could pay, he told me. The rent on the space was six hundred, with the gallery getting a flat fifteen percent of all of his sales. For five hundred the gallery received twenty percent until the balance was met and the regular fifteen after that. Augie paid them four...

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Author: Eric Boyd

Contributor: J. Holgar - - Cunt. That's what he calls her, snarls it as he throws her to the rug. The way she likes it, the way she needs it. Need runs down her thighs in sugary slicks. Skin rises red as he beats her. The way she likes it, the way she needs it. Need comes echoed in the subtle tones of her desperate moan. He is hard. She knows he is hard, but as she reaches, arches, he pulls away, rises more skin red and ready. Arching, she feels his heat, the heat of his need, reaches, arches, reaches, arches. Hands twist into the rug, and then she has him. She has him. Every inch of him. Every inch of his hard, hot cock. He is the fire, she is the fuel. She takes him, rises, screams, rides, rides, and as he stiffens she rolls over him, tightens in the way he likes it, the way he needs it. hands twist into skin, and then he has her....

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Author: J. Holgar

Contributor: Donna M. - - Joleen turned slowly in front of a full body mirror mounted at the end of a short hall in the garden apartment she shared with Galen. She gently straightened the dark fabric of a "Wings" uniform that had been specifically tailored to fit her slim figure and nodded in silent approval. It had been a gift from her close friend Karyn to celebrate her nineteenth birthday and it was, as Karyn had claimed in the accompanying card, “A way to make Jo feel like part of the gang!” “I like it.” Joleen commented, turning slightly to the left, her dark eyes moving across the reflection as they followed a gentle curve in the fabric that modestly complimented her form. “It looks good on you.” Galen acknowledged as he rested lightly against a nearby wall with his arms crossed. She took a deep breath and her eyes drifted, meeting...

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Author: Donna M.

Contributor: Amanda Firefox - - What can I say? I was 19, he was 22, blond hair, eyes the color of country denim. Gorgeous. Running around the beach with no shirt all day, I could tell he wasn’t a six-pack kind of guy, but he was damn close. Several times I watched him massage knots of sunscreen into the curves of his tanned biceps, down the hard lengths of his arms and into the toned musculature of his swimmer’s legs, imagining myself there beside him, lathering him in creamy lotion, feeling those muscles harden and flex under my thumbs, the eager, caressing fingers of my hands. I spent almost three days watching him from the window of the timeshare bungalow a friend of mine had suggested I stay at when my first vacation from work came around. I spent a week there, afraid to really touch anything, staying in a lot and mostly...

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Author: Amanda Firefox