Archive | July 2012

Across My Knee, Bottoms Up, Making The Hook Up, and Free Erotica

I thought I’d post a free story for you guys today in honor of the short spanking story I just completed in hopes of being published in a new short story collection and also in celebration of the recent Mischief Books collection, Across My Knee which features my story, Music Morris Made. 

The story below is called Lonnie’s Licks and it was first published in Bottom’s Up edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, and was reprinted in Making the Hook Up edited by Cole Riley.  Enjoy!

Lonnie’s Licks

            It was what they called addictive personality.  Lonnie diagnosed me with it himself, him being a psych major and all.  Like how I always ordered the same take out and I was finicky about the type of movie I wanted to watch, and I had a favorite candy bar and a favorite sandwich and I had a side of the bed.

And I might have passed his judgment off as simply the perception of a shallow onlooker except Lonnie was a friend, sort of.  Well, maybe not as much as a friend as this tall, beautiful man who lived across the street and occasionally came over to fuck me.

“Addictive,” Lonnie said.  “You start something and you stick to it.  You don’t care to try something new.”

And if this were true, I suppose one could say I had become addicted to his dick.  And it was only his dick.  His kisses were nice and he knew what to do with his hands, but he knew as well as I did that I put up with those other things just to get to the prize, that glorious, mahogany dick of his.

I blamed it all on him, told him he should have never shown it to me.  If he had wanted us to remain friends, if he had wanted me to show interest in any other part of him, he should have never disrobed with his curtain wide open, knowing I was directly across the street, that I did my writing in front of my window and I tended to look directly in front of me when I was deep in thought.

So, I confronted him about it.  Told him how he his penis had distracted me so much I couldn’t write another word for the rest of the day and how when I was supposed to be thinking about irony and symbolism, I was thinking about his package and how it might feel inside of me.

And, being the good and gracious neighbor that he was, Lonnie had apologized.

I, of course, had accepted, but I was sure to let him know that there was the unsettled matter of him flashing me and costing me a full day’s work.

So, Lonnie agreed to a bargain.

The agreement was that we would fuck once.  Just get all that sexual tension out of the way and get on with our lives so that we could carry on like civilized people and be sensible neighbors, waving from across the street and borrowing cups of sugar and such.

And silly me, I figured he would be a mediocre fuck at best, most beautiful people were.  I had run across enough of them in my twenty-three years and I had learned to expect to be disappointed.

But, I wasn’t disappointed with Lonnie.  I wasn’t disappointed at all.

In fact, I was in love, head over heels in love with his dick.  It was gorgeous, solid and smooth.  It was the perfect length and girth.         He knew how to move.  He knew when to give and when to take and he always came last, always.

Lonnie’s dick made me forget he had hands or lips or even a face.  He was the only man who could make me come using his dick alone, no fingers, no tongue, no dildo.

Of course, that type of pleasure always came at a price.

His dick was terribly distracting.

It made me wish he had fucked me badly.  It made me wish he had been so awful that our relationship would become so awkward that one of us would have to move.  Then I wouldn’t think about it so much.  It wouldn’t take up so much of my time and energy.

But instead, I searched for reasons to fuck him.  Reasons like… I hadn’t burned enough calories that day and it was too late to go to the gym… or I had this scratch in this really weird place, and if he could let me borrow his dick for just a minute I was sure I could take care of it.

Instead, I was calling him over to look at a sink that wasn’t broken.  Or to taste my spaghetti with the special kielbasa sauce.  Or to read over a sample chapter, a sexy chapter, one that would have him all bothered and hot around the collar.

But, in true Lonnie fashion, he was soon onto me.

He mentioned it one morning after he had licked his way down my tummy, and I had viciously flipped him over and mounted him.

But instead of giving in, he said, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you, Stacey?”

And I asked, “What do you mean, Lonnie?”

He said, “You’re forming a habit.”

I shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Well, everybody has ‘em.”

Lonnie nodded.  “True.  Then, you should know what it is I’m doing, right?”

I leaned in, winked, played with the sleeves on his shirt because I knew what it was he wasn’t doing.  Then I said,  “No, tell me, what?”

“I’m enabling you.”

I crossed my arms.  “Damn, Lonnie, it’s your dick for fuck’s sake.  It’s not like it’s crack or anything.”

And Lonnie cocked his head, propped up on his elbows and looked straight at me.  “Isn’t it?”

And I couldn’t argue.   So, I just gave in.  I said, “Well, fine, Dr. Lonnie.  What do you think we should do about it?”

“I think I should stop you.  I think I should just take my dick away, cold turkey.”

That hurt.  It hurt more than I thought it would.

And I guess some would call it dramatic.  But his dick really was that magnificent.

Lucky for me, along with an addictive personality, I had a penchant for playing with fire.

So, I said, “Okay, so take it away then.”

And suddenly there was a shiver in my stomach and a lump in my chest that made it hard to breathe when I thought Lonnie might call my bluff.  I looked at him and waited.

He seemed to think it over for a moment.

“Not so fast,” he said.  “We’re going over something right now in my psych class.  It’s called aversion therapy.”

I leaned in.  “Tell me more.”

“Well, the trick is, when you have those addictive thoughts, say, beer to an alcoholic, to redirect your feelings.”

I nodded.  “Okay.”

“Can you imagine if every time you got the craving for some of my goods, you got this little shock, sort of like you stuck your finger in a socket of something?”

I scoffed.  “I don’t really want to imagine that, Lonnie.”

“Of course, but what if every time you had an urge for my dick, you got a sound smack on your ass?”

I shrugged.  I said, “I don’t know, Lonnie.  I guess I’d have to experience it.”

He eased me off of him, stood up and said, “Then bend over.”

“Bend over?”

Lonnie was a spontaneous fellow, always creative and interesting in his fucking, but this threw me for a loop.

“Yes, right here, over the sofa.”

I did as I was instructed.  I walked behind the sofa and leaned over.  I poked my ass out and gave it a little shake in case he’d want to throw this whole spanking thing out the window and fuck me instead.

But Lonnie was nothing if not determined.

He pulled his hand back and brought it forward in a matter of seconds.  I lost my footing, taken aback by the feel of his large palm on my bare ass.  I quickly regained my composure and awaited his next move.

The second strike was playful.  It barely even stung.  The third made me grit my teeth.  Then his licks became firmer, more forceful until I felt a burning in my cheeks.  By the time he gave me the last lick, I was biting my bottom lip, and…


I came so intensely that my legs tensed and my stomach cramped.

Hoping that he hadn’t noticed, I hurried Lonnie away, feigning a deadline and I crawled up under my covers, my ass tender and my cunt wet and slept for what seemed like a hundred years.


The next day, Lonnie called.

I was curled up on the sofa, twisting the telephone cord in my fingers.

He asked, “So, what did you think?”

I couldn’t let him know the truth.  So I said,  “Frankly, Lonnie, I don’t really see the appeal.  I mean, you’d have to be really screwed up to enjoy something like that.”

“You think so?  So, that means you didn’t enjoy it?”

“Well, I found it sort of degrading, and it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.”

I believe Lonnie’s psych professor would have called this reverse psychology.

“We don’t have to do it anymore.”  Lonnie sounded almost apologetic.

And I could see my newfound pleasure slipping right through my fingers.  So I said, “Well, it wasn’t that bad, professionally speaking, I respect your methods, and I appreciate that you want to, you know, help me with my problem.  I mean, I’ve barely written a word since I started fucking you.  Clearly, I need help.”

“So, I’ll help you, then.”

But I didn’t wait for Lonnie to decide when our next session would be.  I showed up at his door two days later in my favorite jeans, my most flattering top, bearing a gift.

When he pulled the brown leather belt out of the box, he half smiled, flipped it over in his hands and said, “This is really nice, Stacey, but I don’t really need a belt, Stacey.”

I frowned.  “That wasn’t really the point.  The thing is, I have a confession.  I thought about your dick today.  I tried not to, but I got sort of bored this afternoon and it just crept in.  And I do have integrity and I can take my punishment like a woman.”

So, he spread me across his bed.  It was good for a different kind of sensation, he said.

It was a different kind of sensation indeed.  I tensed at every lick.  I clenched my thighs and arched my back just so that my pussy pressed into his crumpled sheets.

I grabbed one of his pillows and held it to my mouth to stifle my moans.  I gripped a handful of his sheets and pulled them to me.  I felt the lashes all over my ass, on the backs of my thighs and in the small of my back.

“Are you still thinking of my dick?”  Lonnie inquired between lickings.

I shook my head.  And it was true.  I wasn’t thinking of his dick at all.  I was thinking of his spanking.  I was thinking of the many painfully sweet licks he was giving me as I lay naked across his bed.

He ceased shortly after I came, slowly and silently.

A satisfied smile on his face, he folded the belt in his hand, left me shivering on his bed and walked out of the room.


            I felt Lonnie’s last licks for three days after.  I began to long for the pain.  I loved how tender my ass felt when my bottoms brushed against it.

In the mirror, I admired my purple ass.  Throughout the day, I thought of Lonnie’s licks and became warm all over.

So, it was a pleasant surprise when one afternoon Lonnie showed up at my door.

“How’s the recovery coming?” he asked.  “Thinking about my dick much?”

I saw the suspicion in his eyes, but I gave it a go anyway.  “I fantasized about it today in the coffee shop, as a matter of fact,” I said.

Lonnie cocked his head and held his bearded chin in his hand.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.  I was having a double latte and out of nowhere, all I could think about was kneeling down in front of you, and taking you in my mouth.”

Lonnie dropped his hands at his side.  “So, why don’t you?”

And then he unzipped his jeans and whipped it out.  I looked down at his dick, in all of its solid, dark glory.

And there was nothing.

No spontaneous shivers.

No sudden gush of wetness between my legs.

Lonnie chuckled and shook his head.  “This isn’t exactly what you’re after anymore, is it, Stacey?”

I hung my head because he was right.  His dick was no longer the focus of my attention.

I said, “Damn it, Lonnie, it’s all your fault.  You and those sweet fucking licks of yours.”

Lonnie shrugged.  “I suppose it is my fault.  It was good while it lasted, though.”

He turned to leave.  He reached for the doorknob.

I grabbed his arm.  “Before you go, Lonnie, would you mind, I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, could you… just a little.”  I brought his hands around to cup my still tender ass.

Lonnie seemed to ponder the unspoken request.  Then he shook his head.  “No, Stacey.  I don’t think that would be wise.”

I threw my hands up.  “Well, why not?  It could sort of be like ‘one for the road,’ you know?”

Lonnie nodded.  “I know.  But don’t all addicts say that?  It’s like, ‘I’m gonna smoke this last cigarette and then I’ll quit’ or, just one more hit and I’ll go clean.  Well, you know what the trick is?”

I didn’t really want to know, but I obliged him.  “What’s the trick?”

“The trick is, you never have that last cigarette, you don’t take that last hit.”

And Lonnie turned the knob and walked out of my apartment. I stood at my sliding doors and watched him walk across the street to his own place.  He wasn’t even inside his door when I felt the cold sweat, and the tremors began to take over my body.

Something for Something

I’ve never featured a whore in any of my fiction.  Well, I did once, a long time ago, in something I never finished and of course never published.  That was when I first started playing around with the erotic genre and wasn’t really sure what it was all about.

I’ve been listening to Frank Ocean’s Pyramids over and over since I got the CD in the mail.  It’s by far my favorite, thought I must admit, since I got stuck on that one, I haven’t given the others much chance.  It made me think about one of the stories I’m working on, which happened to be about something quite far from a whore/john or even stripper/customer relationship, but it gave me the idea to play on that as something new and different to do in my writing.

As someone who has been writing in the erotic genre for more than a decade, wearing out my welcome is something I often worry about.  I want to keep satisfying and surprising my reader.  I want to keep them on their toes and I want to keep them coming back for more.  I don’t want them to open the book, read the table of contents and know that they’re going to get the same old thing from Tenille, hell no.

So, not to give anything away, but on this longer piece that I’m workong on that I really hope will make it to publication, I’m playing with somehting different and it was inspired by this song.  Actually, I’m really close to turning in a short-short piece that was inspired by an Etta James song, too.  Well, at least inspired by the title of it.

So, here’s listening, and writing, and hoping.

Close Enough To Touch

I have good news on the horizon that I’m not talking about yet.  One reason being I don’t want to jinx anything, another being that I haven’t received the go ahead, but it’s really, really close to being ready.  I’ve even seen the cover… hint, hint!!!

In other news, I’m finishing up a story that’s going so fast and smooth that it’s scary.  Great change from the hell and torture that was the last story I was working on which I’ve heard nothing from since I sent it in.  I think it’s safe to say that one’s dead in the water.  Ah, well.

Life news, well not news, but the weekend was turbulent and ended in the spouse seeming authentically concerned about the state of our marriage.  Now…that’s new.