The Mistress' Domain

"Hyung, hurry up! We need to get back up to the studio; there's one more track to finish and it has to be done today." Jiyong impatiently taps his foot against the table leg. Seung-hyun looks at him and goes back to eating his patbingsoo. Jiyong sighs, knowing that this hyung will not leave a spoonful of his precious red bean dessert, a rare treat at the YG cafeteria. 'At least they didn't have mini donuts this time...' he thinks as he rolls his eyes over T.O.P.'s head. feeling his phone vibrate, Jiyong pulls it from his hoodie pocket to check the message.

"💕Jagi 💕"

He smiles and opens the text: 'Home by 6. Don't be late.'

Jiyong frowns and replies: 'Jagi, I don't know if I'll be home by then. Might be a late evening.'

She answers immediately with a picture; the caption reads: ' It wasn't a request.'

He swallows hard looking at the picture: 'Yes, Mistress.'

- - - -

You hear a familiar tread coming up the stairs and cross your arms across the lace covering your chest. Jiyong steps into the room.

"You're late."

He opens his mouth to reply, but seems to think better of it. he walks to where you're standing in the middle of a room ablaze with candlelight and music. Sinking gracefully to his knees in front of you, Jiyong bows with his hands clasped:

"I'm sorry Mistress."


Jiyong looks up, silent.

"You may"

"I don't have an excuse Mistress."

"I didn't ask for an excuse, I asked why you deliberately disobeyed me."

He inhales sharply and you notice his eyes take on a wet sheen.

"I...we..." he sighs.

You say nothing, waiting.

"Recording went late; I tired to hurry, but the last track wasn't where I wanted it to be and T.O.P. hyung wasn't concentrating, then YG Appa came in and wanted to listen to the whole album and..."


Jiyong trembles and a few tears escape before he bows his head again, obscuring your view of his face.

You reach down to run your fingers through his disheveled hair as you kneel in front of him.


Startled at hearing that word from your lips, Jiyong looks at you. You trace the path of drying salt down his cheek.

"You have a safe word for a reason're supposed to use it."


"Whenever you aren't ready or don't want to play you use that word. That includes the moment you walk into this room."

You cup his face and give him a chaste, sweet kiss.

"We are partners love, in everything. That means trusting one another and keeping each other safe from harm, especially from ourselves. Power play is one thing Jiyong, but this feels more like self-flagellation, and that I won't allow."

You get up, tugging Jiyong's hand. He gets up after you and follows you to the bed, where you hold up the handcuffs you texted him a picture of earlier. he looks at you, confusion in his eyes.

"You asked once if I'd ever submit to you, in this room. I think today we'll try something a little different."

"But..." Jiyong looks at you, unsure but perhaps a little excited as well.

"I trust you."

"You don't have a safe word!" He blurts out, making you smile.

" I think Jaaneman works, don't you?" You hold out the handcuffs. Jiyong slowly takes them from you, just as the music changes. Familiar lyrics to an old favourite make you chuckle softly: ' I am your god; call me, call me, call me Master.'

"How appropriate..." you say as you kneel in front of the bed and look up at Jiyong's face, lit by the flickering candlelight, "...Master."

--End Part Two --
© Briar Rose

The Dragon and his Mistress

Hi lovelies...long time no talk! It's been, well, a while, and I could launch into a flurry of reasons and excuses for my absence, but truth is I haven't been inspired or felt like writing (anything, really) for a long time. Recently, however, I read some not so great erotic fan fiction from the KPOP world and felt challenged to, well, do better. However, while the characters are informed by real people - such as a celebrity - I hesitate to call this body of work fan fiction because the storylines and much of the graphic content is based on real experiences (like most good writing is), albeit with different people. So, call it what you want: literary erotica, smut fan fiction, creative non-fiction...your choice, just be aware that it is original work. If a reader would like to reuse/repost, contact me first and always remember to credit any original artist by attribution text and links to the original work. Enjoy!

~The Dragon's Lair~

You wake up alone. Reaching out, you sigh, slightly annoyed, but mostly amused, to find the space beside you empty and cool to the touch. 'Well, I'm glad I caved and gave up the basement for his studio.' You stretch and yawn, flipping off the covers; you shiver as your feet hit the cold hardwood...'add rugs to the never-ending housewares list' you think to yourself. Slipping into the long black robe, you smile at the smell that lingers on its silken collar. Careful not to wake the cat, you pad out of the bedroom and walk down the stairs, trying not to get irritated at the dust, debris, tools and unfinished projects that have become a constant in what seems like the home reno from hell. 'One more month,' you remind yourself as you take a deep breath.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs you look out onto the main floor and notice that the lights leading to the basement are on, confirming what you already know. You turn towards the kitchen, your pride and joy. Immaculately designed and executed, it was definitely worth the months of frustration dealing with contractors, suppliers and the catty designer, who, nonetheless, is brilliant. State-of-the-art tech harmonizing with your love of vintage art deco's perfect; everything you've dreamed it could be, and it's all yours, well almost. You walk to the back counter and the coffee maker, seeing the dregs of coffee almost completely dry at the bottom of the pot. 'Probably ready for a top up...', but instead of brewing another pot, you switch on the espresso machine - another splurge. Italian-made and beautiful, you grind enough beans for two shots, and make one iced Americano and one cappuccino. 'Likely hungry too...' you think to yourself as you turn to the beautiful black stainless steel fridge to take out ingredients for a late night snack.
Balancing the tray on one arm, you knock lightly on the double-paned door, just in case. You love him, but sometimes he gets snippy if he's hit a productive phase and is disturbed. When you don't get an answer, you open the heavy door and slip into the studio. Quietly you place the tray with the drinks and grilled cheese sandwiches on the glass-topped coffee table in front of the couch near the door. Leaning against the comfortable grey love seat, an addition you insisted on for purely selfish reasons, a bemused smile hovers on your lips as you take in the array of production and recording tech that you can't even begin to name, let alone understand what its purpose is. Sheet music and crumpled paper litters the floor, while beeps and flashes come from various pieces of equipment. In the centre of the chaos is a slight form seated in a swivel chair, almost dwarfed by the monitors that surround him. You're about to move forward when pale hands grab hold of the headphones and slam them down on the keyboard, "Dammit!"

"Sounds like you're ready for a break," you say softly.

A sigh escapes from his lips as the chair slowly turns towards you. Long fingers run through jet black hair as deep brown eyes blink at you. "Mianhae jagi," he murmurs, "did I wake you?"

As he looks at you with tired eyes and mussed hair, your heart skips a beat, like it always does when he looks at you. It never ceases to amaze you that this incredibly talented, beautiful, sensitive, and sometimes kinky, boy is all yours.

"No love, the soundproofing works fine. I just came down with a caffeine fix and a snack for you. Everything ok?"

" dunno. It's this song for the new duo. Appa YG wants a title track for their debut and I just can't get it to work."

"Play it for me, maybe I can help."

"Worth a try." He turns back to the equipment and presses a couple buttons; a bass-heavy track fills the room, layered over with synth and guitar melodies.

"A little melancholy for a debut track, don't you think?"

"Yea, but the duo is a male and female and they want a slow ballad to show off their unique vocals. I just can't seem to figure out the right lyrics for the composition."

"What've you got?"

"A chorus...maybe."

"When does Appa want to hear the completed song?"


"How long have you been at this Ji Yong-ah?"

"Little over a week."

You sigh; if it's already been a week, it's never going to work. Kwon Ji Yong, aka G-Dragon or GD, is YG's golden boy and a genius in the studio. Incomparable; it isn't like him to be stuck for this long.

"Play it again."

"Let's eat, then you can go back to bed. I'll figure this out."

"Jagiya...", you come up behind him, hands lightly kneading bis tense shoulders; you lean down and whisper in his ear, " the track."

"Your wish is my command."

You close your eyes as the melody wafts through the room again. An image takes shape in your mind: a man and woman singing to each other, call and response. A sad, a love song; something bittersweet and slow, lovers finding their way back to each other after time, distance and heartbreak. "Stop."


"Are you still composing an arrangement for 'Phoenix'?"


"Use the lyrics for this."

"I wrote that for you..."

"I'm aware, but if you re-work some of the lyrics, write a new chorus, it'll work for this duet."

"I thought you liked it...?" You hear the pout in his voice and you can't help but smile.

"I love it. I love that you wrote it and I love that it's mine. And even if the lyrics are a little different and someone else sings it, every time I hear it I'll know you wrote it for me and no matter what, it'll always be our song. Use it for the new group."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes love. Besides..." you say, coming around to face him, placing your arms around his neck and a soft kiss on his forehead, "you can always make it up to me." A sly smile spreads across your lips and mischief lights up your dark eyes.

Ji Yong looks up at you, then pulls you down; his lips graze yours. "My pleasure..."

"I should hope so..." you chuckle.

Ji Yong wraps his arms around your waist dragging you closer, trapping your legs between his.

"Not hungry?"

"Oh, I'm starving." He smirks as he lifts you onto his lap so your knees straddle his hips. His hands run through your auburn waves as he brings your head down to his, all the while trailing gentle kisses along your jawline, until he reaches your lips. His tongue flicks out and traces their shape; your press you lips against his as his hands travel down to your waist, pulling you harder against him. The kiss shifts, going from soft and light to intense. Desperate, needy, almost violent as your mouths open and your tongues meet, dancing with each other. You take his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking slightly before your teeth nip gently. You feel his groan between your teeth and lift your lashes, eyes lock onto eyes while you kiss along his neck, continuing to suck and bite, marking him as yours. Sneaking your hands under his shirt you trail your palms along his stomach and chest, stopping to to play with his tightening nipples.

"You're trying to kill me..." Ji Yong whispers, breathlessly.

"Is that a complaint?"

"Fuck no!" He opens your robe and stifles another groan. "Jesus..."

You're naked beneath the soft fabric, mocha skin pebbling against the sudden cold. "Like what you see?"

"Always." He pushes the silk off your shoulders and it slithers down your back to pool beneath you, across Ji Yong's legs. His head dips down to capture one of your breasts, tongue flicking over its sensitive centre, your arms snake up his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades, breaking skin.


His hand comes up to your right breast, massaging it, while he uses his fingers this time to bring your nipple to peak. He switches sides, using his mouth and tongue on your right breast, while the other receives the same attention from his hand and fingers. Your body arches towards him, allowing Ji Yong better access to continue.

You bring your hands down to the hem of his shirt: "you're wearing too many clothes..."

"True." He stops playing so you can pull of his shirt; he quirks one eyebrow: "better?"

"Much." You smile, " turn."

Your fingers trace his collarbone and skim along his skin towards his stomach. Your lips and tongue follow the path your fingers take, stopping at Ji Yong's chest, your tongue swirls around one nipple but instead of sucking with your mouth, you take it between your teeth, grazing lightly, just the way he likes it. Not too hard, but with just enough bite to remind him who he belongs to.

"Somebody's feeling playful," Ji Yong says through gritted teeth.


As you play, his slim magical fingers move down between your bodies and dip between your thighs.

"Don't start something you can't finish..." your murmur against his chest.

"Do I ever?" He uses his other hand to lift your chin so that you're eye-to-eye. Slipping one finger between your slit, already wet from his earlier ministrations, his pushes it into you, thumb gently making circles against your clit. You bite your lower lip and wrap your arms around his neck, hands softly clenched in his hair. Widening your legs to give his fingers more room to move, you tug on his hair until his lips are level to yours so your tongue can play with his while his fingers play with you. Ji Yong slips another finger inside you and you moan into his mouth. Your core begins to tighten and your nails claw down Ji Yong's back, he lets out a hiss against your lips and you know you've drawn blood. His fingers continue moving in and out of your slit, thumb swirling around your clit. Your eyes flutter close, teeth almost nipping Ji Yong's tongue as you try not to scream out.

"Open your eyes jagi," he growls.

Your eyes snap open as you look into his eyes, drowning in their darkness; your toes curl while you climax around Ji Yong's fingers. Half sighing, half moaning, you melt against his chest; Ji Yong brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on one, tasting you.


"Sharing is caring..." you say with a pout, eyes sparkling.

"Wanna taste?' he asks, placing his middle finger against your lips. You lick up his long digit before slipping it into your mouth, nursing it like a lollipop.

"You always like having dessert before dinner."

"It's the best part..." you snicker as you let go of his finger.

"No arguments here." Ji Yong agrees.

You slip your arms across his waist to the drawstring of his sweats. " I haven't worked up an appetite yet," you say while reaching into his pants to stroke his hard length.

"Maybe I can help with that..."

"I dunno can you?" One perfectly-shaped eyebrow arches up.

"Yes..." he chuckles, lifting your hips with one, arm, while the other hand frees his cock. He lowers you, while your hand guides his swollen tip to your entrance; with one hard thrust he's buries himself into you as you gasp and grind your pelvis down. You begin moving slowly, adjusting to his thickness, but quickly increase the pace, while Ji Yong squeezes your ass with one hand, the other arm support your waist.

"It isn't a race y'know..." he grumbles through pursed lips.

"Says the man being ridden."

"Haven't you heard of delayed satisfaction?"

" want to delay your satisfaction?" You stop moving completely, squeezing your knees agains Ji Yong's legs.

"Ssibal..." he's realized his mistake. "That's not what I meant...go as fast as you want."

"So, you don't want me to stop?"


"I'll finish on one condition," you say, wriggling against him.

"Anything...."he moans.

You lean down and whisper something in his ear. He looks up at you and grins: "deal!"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you loosen your hold on his legs and start working your hips again, quickening your speed until you're both breathing heavily and moving in tandem.

"Jagi...I'm close"

"You know the deal."

Ji Yong crushes you against him, both hands clenching your cheeks as he cums, screaming your name out loud. Your own orgasm follows quickly, walls tightening around his length before it slips out of your wet warmth. You lean your face against Ji Yong's, noses touching, as you both gradually come down from your high. He pushes the hair stuck to your face away and kisses your forehead; your lips quirk up as your eyes meet his: "you are a good boy." Before you move off Ji Yong's lap, you slide down his legs while squeezing your inner muscles to push out some of your mingled juices, swiping with one finger to gather up the creamy liquid. You stick the finger in your mouth before he can say anything; you smile: "now I'm hungry."

He lets out a shy snigger, hand coming up to cover his mouth, in that famous endearing gesture. He turns in his chair, looking over at the table and remembers the food with a frown.

"It's gone cold by now...and you went through all that trouble."

You swing off his legs and slip back into your now wrinkled robe. You walk over to the table, pick up the iced Americano and his cold grilled cheese and kimchi—yes he likes his Mom's kimchi that much—sandwich, and bring it over to Ji Yong. 

"Looks like you have one more thing to make up for," you say with a wink, placing the cup in his hand and the plate on his workstation.

He caresses your face with the other hand: "anytime, anywhere."

--End Part One--
© Briar Rose

Happy Masturbation Month!

This is dedicated to all of you who are loud and proud about their sexual selves...especially Murf ;)

So who knew! I was recently informed that my birthday shared the dubious honor of being in the same month as National Masturbation Month...a whole 31 days dedicated to the pleasures (and importance) of self-love. And why not? Regardless of what religion says or messed up Victorian-era doctors say, masturbation is defiantly part of a healthy sex life for a number of reasons. First of all if you don't know how to pleasure yourself how can you expect someone else to know how? Second of all intimacy begins at home; that means knowing yourself inside and out. Lastly self-love is true love. Why? Masturbation allows you to release tension and stress through a healthy (self-inflicted) process thus cleansing and energizing your mind, body, and spirit. And really if you can't love yourself you can't really love anyone else. So in honor of NMM (and my birthday) give yourself the gift of love...self-love!


P.S. a great piece in the history and cultural impact of NMM; enjoy ;)

Let's Talk About...well SEX!

Just wanted to throw up a guest post I did for a lifestyle blog last month; enjoy!

As a Muslim woman I’m often asked: “how can you write what you write?” My answer is usually: “how can I not?" I write erotica, much of which is based on personal experience. It always makes me wonder why many people believe that being a Muslim supercedes being human. Does my physiology change because of my faith? More importantly, should it?

Desire. Does it disappear the moment you recite the Shahada? Is there some invisible chain that binds physical arousal the moment you declare yourself a Muslim? Based on my own experiences and struggles with sensuality, I’d have to say no. Faith, heritage, culture, and tradition are part and parcel of existing in the world, but that doesn’t mean that being true to them requires one to be chaste, or unresponsive to one’s physical self, or suppressing that which makes us human. And I’m not the only one; there are a handful more that support my stance. Many women, Muslim and non-Muslim, are taught that it is shameful and un-womanly to talk about these things. Fortunately, a few have chosen to believe otherwise because they understand the danger in keeping their mouths and minds shut.

We live in a hyper-sexualized world, but even so, we are afraid to speak candidly about anything related to sex and sexuality. It is this vow of silence that allows for sex to become a tool of exploitation and shame. Would the prevalence of sex crimes continue to climb if people were willing to speak openly and create honest dialogues regarding the nitty and the gritty? It is this blogger’s belief that it is because of the closed door policy on sex that is still prevalent in many parts of the world, Muslim or otherwise, that create avenues for those who would take advantage of the weak and vulnerable, while we as a society look away because it is still considered taboo to be aware of anything and everything sexual.

It is not my intent to judge the sexual practices or religious beliefs of others, nor is it my intention to begin a sexual revolution of the Muslim world; my work is an open book in order to create a dialogue where people of all walks of life can participate and connect to an experience, without feeling as if they’ve done something “dirty.” I write about passion, with passion, because it is my belief that no matter how you are raised or what your beliefs are, there is always a small part of every individual that wants to react to a sensual experience, that craves the need to connect with their own desires, that we all desire a safe space to let down our walls and take a walk on the wild side.

Check out what else Cherry Cross has to offer! -BR
© Briar Rose


Your hands stroke the stockinged legs in front of you, knees bent over your lap; the girl who they belong to shifts and sighs. You turn your head away from the screen in front of you to comment on her ridiculous choice in movies, only to discover she’s fallen asleep. Smirking, you lean over to wake her, but stop to stare at her peaceful profile.

Auburn hair fanned out over the couch cushion, long dark lashes splayed against smooth skin, lush lips contradicting the small button nose and spray of freckles across its bridge. Sleeping Beauty. You hands travel down the length of her thigh, caressing; with each pass your fingers brush closer to the sensitive inner flesh. She murmurs in her sleep as her legs part, allowing your fingers to drift further up her body. You move out from under her and bring yourself to face her on your knees, hands lightly pushing up the satin length of her dress, an act of worship. Fingers follow the sheer length of the stockings with reverence as they brush against the black scrap of lace, the only barrier between your flesh and hers.

You slip your hands underneath her to pull the silky fabric off; her body moves to turn over against the sudden cold, but you hold her tight and she squirms before settling. You lean forward, pushing her dress over her hips, bringing your face down to her cleft. Your warm breath mingles with her moist heat; her eyes flutter open as your lips touch hers, tongue softly parting the folds to find her clit. She moans as she arches towards you, still half asleep, her hands weaving into the curls of your hair. As you lick and suck on the sensitized nub, her grip tightens; just as you think you’ve brought her over the edge she pulls you away from her, smiling.

Lifting herself up from the sofa, she brings her face to yours, her kiss soft, sweet, tasting her own saltiness on your lips. Fingers trace the curve of your chin as the kiss deepens, her tongue sweeping in, taking over; it’s always like this with her: she consumes you. Pushing her body forward, your head hits the sofa, her thighs straddling your hips, mouth fused to yours, a dance of lips, tongue, and teeth. Making an effort not to distract her from your mouth, your hand reaches in between your bodies, fingers blindly searching until you feel the wet prize. You slip one finger into her; soft flesh giving way easily, your thumb massages her clit. She tightens her thighs and thrust towards you, mouth still working on yours with renewed urgency. Another finger slips into her slit, pushing deeper until you hit the spongy inner wall. You stroke slowly as she whimpers, although she remains undistracted from your lips. It’s one of the reasons you’re so taken: she’s the only one you’ve known that can give and take pleasure simultaneously and in equal measure, without compromising on the details.

You push against her folds, increasing the pace of the digits inside; focusing on your own actions requires giving up control of your mouth to hers. Holding her nether lips between three curled fingers, you control her climax and try as she might, she can’t dictate her own desire. You slip in and out, plunging a little further each time, feeling her get slicker with every thrust. You feel her draw air out of your mouth as her back arches, inner folds rippling as her flesh tightens around your fingers. She returns the air to your lungs in a moan, nipping your tongue with her teeth. She lifts her face from yours, lips full and bruised. You slip your fingers out from her and bring them to your lips, savoring the taste of her. Taking your face in her hands, she leans her forehead against yours, body relaxing for a moment, purged.

A moment is all it ever lasts though as her hands drift down the length of your chest. She lifts her face from yours slowly; brown eyes never leaving your hazel gaze, her fingers reach unerringly for the rigid length straining against the soft fabric. Ever so slowly, she unsnaps the button and pulls down the zipper. You refuse to give her the satisfaction of squirming under her skilled touch. One of these days you’re going to win, but as her hands reach in to stroke, you know it’s not going to be today. She tugs on the elastic waist of your briefs, puling them down, a soft sigh escapes her, as the object of her desire springs free. It dawns on you that she’s not unaffected, maybe not as in control as she always seems to be when it comes to these intimate moments.

Her hands caress you slowly, cool fingers on hot flesh, increasing the tempo in slow increments, fingers curling around your balls, lightly squeezing as you grit your teeth. The blood rushes down from your head as you become painfully hard. She stops her ministrations, only to replace hands with mouth. Ruby red lips engulf your shaft and journey down until you feel the back of her throat against the moist tip. Her mouth moves back up and you feel pressure as she sucks, her enjoyment is evident as is her concentration. Eyes gently close as she moans, the vibration adding another layer of sensation against the flesh in her mouth.  Alternating between milking and licking, the rhythm of her mouth steadily builds, one hand squeezing your balls the other following the trail her lips leave along your cock.  You’ve told her you don’t share her enthusiasm for fellatio, but somehow she makes giving blowjobs an art form, and she doesn’t seem to have a problem working on you for as long as it takes. Parting her lips she takes a breath, bringing cool air into her hot mouth, the feeling is unnerving and unbearably pleasurable; her tongue slips from her mouth, twirling around your crown, as if relishing an ice cream cone, a brush of teeth against the tender underside causes you to stiffen even more, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she moves back down your length, retracting her pearly whites back under heart-shaped lips. She moves her hand underneath you, squeezing your cheeks as her own cheeks tighten around you in an indulgent draw. You clench your fists, knowing you’ve lost this battle of wills, as your body jerks filling her mouth with the spoils. Her mouth takes leisurely pace down the softening length as you come fast, the dregs of your spent passion drip onto her bottom lip; her eyes open as she looks up at you, tongue swiping across her mouth, like a cat lapping up precious drops of cream.

Swinging her legs off the sofa, she stands; slowly, her gaze unfaltering, she pulls the zipper down from her dress and lets it slip to the floor. As you reach for her she turns and walks down the hall; turning towards the bedroom, pausing long enough to slingshot her black lace bra into your lap. You shake your head as you follow to finish what you started.

Articulating and finishing someone else's unfulfilled fantasy... -BR
© Briar Rose


Memories of three-inch stilettos and stockinged feet kneeling before pale legs crowd in on her as tears threaten to overwhelm her resolve. She’s cried too many tears over him; no more. Except, when the memories bear down on her it’s hard to keep them from running crystal pathways down her porcelain cheeks. Moments of laughter, moments, of contentment, moments of passion. It’s the intimacy she misses: butterfly kisses, hard caresses, lips, tongues, teeth, flesh.

Thirty second climaxes brought about with throat and mouth; climaxes he used to swear he’d never achieved by oral fixation. Her bruised flesh, tender to the touch, brought upon by exquisite pleasure. Then there was the moment the pleasure turned to pain: her pain. Tears and confessions, a shattered spirit beginning to heal because of supposedly sincere words. Words that turned to ash as the excuses dripped from his lips on the day the tears refused to be held back. Back against the closed door, she crumpled to the ground an anguished cry silenced as salt water streamed. For want of one more kiss, one more dance of tongues, one more fevered embrace, she’s made a decision too quick to be sane, too slow to be fleeting.

Blond hair, blue eyes, hard muscle, sweet smile. Whispered conversation, bubbling laughter. A brush of legs, a lingering gaze; swift seduction is always easy, but it rarely ever feels right. They play the game, both of them knowing that’s all it is; knowing it’s only a temporary ease from the ache of their broken hearts, hoping to find some semblance of solace in each others’ arms. She beckons, he follows; he touches, she yearns. The music gets louder, the lights get brighter; their bodies embrace as they take temptation to the dance floor. Fingers in his hair, hands around her waist, flesh moving in tandem to some secret melody inside their heads; mere moments on the dance floor turn banked lust into a raging tempest.

His hands lock her arms to her side as she twists around, blue eyes meeting brown; stockinged feet tiptoe off three-inch stilettos as her face lifts to his and his hands slip under her shirt. Their lips touch as the music and crowd fades; her body ignites as her spirit shatters once more.

Not really a proper piece, but it needed to be written; comments always welcome :) -BR

© Briar Rose

Luck O' the Irish

It started with a kiss.

Walking through the crowded pub towards the main bar, needing a drink, the current boy toy struggling to follow in my wake, I collide with the brunette amazon as shaggy haired Garret, the skater-boy stoner catches up to me and grabs my hand. The girl looks him over and the woman he’s clinging to and smirks.

“I don’t see it.”

Startled, I shake off Garret’s hand:


“You two…I don’t see it.”

Garrett bristles beside me ready to pick a fight as I stand in front blocking his way:


“Hmmm ya…you two don’t make sense.”

“And what does?”

She leans forward, taking my face in her hand, and brushes her lips softly agains mine; surprised my lips part and she deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping in, teeth scraping. My hand instinctively reaches for her and all I can think is: ‘Katy has a point.’ As quickly as it began it’s over. I lean back and smile:

“Well that was an education.”

“I’m always available for private lessons.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Garrett’s lost his patience and pulls me away:

“What is your problem?”

“What the hell was that?”

“She was just having a little fun…”

“You looked like you were enjoying it”

“And if I was?”

“What about us?”

“What us?”

“I thought we had a good thing going…”

“Just because I’ve been sucking face with you for the past hour doesn’t mean I’m going to be sucking face with you for the next”


“Ya but that’s how you like it.”

“How would you know?”

I grab his neck, one hand fisted in his hair, the other under his shirt; his hands grip my waist as I show him exactly how I know he likes it: ungentle, fast, desperate. His obvious pleasure proves my point and I should have been content, but all I can think about is her.


I decide to go home alone that night. Garrett has annoyed me to the point where even a night’s pleasure isn’t worth putting up with the neediness, yet as I’m heading out the door I can’t help but wonder where the brunette’s gone off to. On impulse I do a quick scan of the darkened room. She’s nowhere in sight. Shaking my head at myself I turn to leave, when a hand takes mine:

“Looking for someone?”


“It’s not that short grungy boy is it?”

“And if it was?”

She shrugs. I sigh:

“I’m just heading home.”



“That’s too bad…”

“I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

“No such thing.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Prove it.”

She just smiles and traces a fingertip down my arm, goose bumps rising on my heated flesh.

“How ‘bout I show you…unless you have somewhere better to be?”

“My mother taught me never to go anywhere with a stranger.”

“And how often do you follow that advice?”


We leave the bar and catch a taxi; the silence in the backseat is almost unbearable. We barley touch, just a skimming of fingers and a brush of knees, but it’s enough to have me craving more. We get off on a tree-lined street in front of a three-floor walk-up. She walks up to the building with confidence, not even fumbling for her keys. She holds the door open and I walk past her into the brightly lit hall:

“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

“The fairer sex was always better with the niceties.”

“Fair enough.”

We take a right and stop in front of 107:

“Lucky number seven.”

She unlocks the door and flips the switch; the room is bathed in a soft glow as she leads me into the dimly lit room.

“Care for a drink?”

I look at her for a minute and then I surprise myself by pulling her towards me, hands around her waist, face inches away.

“Not thirsty…you?”

She closes the distance between us, mouth fused on to mine. Suddenly I’m scared, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My arms crush her body against mine as she devours me with her lips; her hands tug at my jacket as she pulls me to the couch and onto her lap. Her mouth moves to my neck as I free myself from the cotton cage and my legs wrap around her torso. I pull of her shirt and I’m met with creamy skin encased in basic black cotton. Somehow the sheer simplicity of her underwear is more erotic than any silk or lace.


“What? Why?

“It’s your first time.”

She says this as if it’s tattooed on my forehead:

“Uh no…”

“With another woman…yes.”


“You should enjoy every moment…and so should I.”

She pulls me close and shifts so that I end up underneath her. She unbuttons my dress and pulls it down and off. Butterfly kisses trail down the line of my cheek, to my collarbone and down my stomach, fingers tracing light circles around my satin covered nipples. I squirm under her, nails digging into soft skin.


She reaches behind her and unclasps her bar. Perfect porcelain globes sway in front of me and I prop up onto my elbows, my tongue swirling against her pert pink nipples. Not to be outdone she slips her hand into my panties stroking my already wet slit. She slips in one finger and I transfer my attention to her other nipple. Her finger and my tongue move in tandem, matching rhythms with ease. She slips another finger in and I switch from tongue to teeth as we both moan softly.

“Maybe I was wrong about this being your first time…”

In reply I suck hard with my mouth and pinch softly with my fingers; freeing one breast I look up at her:

“Maybe I’m a quick study.”

She smiles a lopsided smile that’s strangely endearing and lifts my up so she can unhook me.

“Let’s see how quick.”

She flips me over and takes one breast into her mouth and the other into her hand. Slowly biting and squeezing, the opposing sensations cause my eyes to flutter close just for a moment to savour the feeling. I look down at my flesh in her mouth and I feel myself getting wetter. I begin to unsnap her jeans and she wriggles so they ride down her hips. Basic black cotton: the contrast against her translucent skin hasn’t lost its appeal. I pull down her underwear slowly and she stops what she’s doing to watch. I pause, unsure, and she takes my hand and leads it down to her wet sheath. Guiding my fingers she places my thumb on the sensitized nub of skin.

“Slow and steady.”

I follow her direction all the while watching the change suffuse her face: eyes glaze, smile deepening, body relaxing under me. With my thumb still working her clit, I slowly push two fingers inside her, increasing my tempo and pushing against that spongy bit of flesh so many men have trouble finding. Her body tenses and her eyes fly open; it’s my turn to smile.

“You ARE a quick study.”

Her insides pulse against my fingers in small waves and she quivers under me as a small sigh escapes her lips. I bring my fingers up to my mouth and lick her creaminess as she watches with narrowed eyes. I kiss her mouth, her salty sweetness still on my tongue, then her eyelids and work my way to her neck, nipping and licking as I go. She flips me again, this time pulling my panties off.

"Maybe we should…”

The words are caught in my throat as her lips touch flesh; her tongue is unlike any other against my clit: soft and hard, intense and gentle, consuming and caressing. It takes lazy swipes up and down my slick folds, taking its time and bringing me to the brink, falling short of taking me over. We watch each other over the rise and fall of my chest. Her tongue shifts its focus from the outside to the inside but her fingers makes a worthy replacement as mouth and digits increase their momentum. In the years of experiences I’ve had with the multitude of men, none have had her finesse and instinct. There’s no need for gentle urging or insistent guidance, my body tenses under her as I arch towards her mouth. I gasp out as she takes me over the edge and I fall seeing stars as I plummet.

She licks her lips like a cat licking cream:

“Now that’s what I call a happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

This story is dedicated to SV; thanks for the "gentle" nudges ;) -BR

© Briar Rose