The Bodice Ripper is now available on Amazon. You can read it free with Kindle Unlimited or purchase if for $2.99.
An Unusual Superhero.
Long flowing blond hair. A bare chiseled chest. Wash-board abs. And lithe, seductive, ever-moving hips. The Bodice Ripper is a virile visitor from the Deep South with powers, abilities, and techniques far beyond those of the average male escort. He can arouse the desires of stingy prudes, and pop cherries with his bare hands. And who, disguised as a southern hick, a crude-mouthed farmer, fights a never-ending battle for indulgence, debauchery and the American way.
Read on Amazon here: The Bodice Ripper
This was a really fun one for me to write. It’s super short, but I was giggling out loud at Starbucks as I typed it up. It’s good shit.
Prompt: A young cyclops works up the courage to flirt with a beautiful mermaid.
Taylah Morgan © 2017
CYCLOPS IN LOVE
Guessing the size of a woman’s chest is really hard work. Especially with monocular vision.
If I get her the large-sized shell brassiere and her nipples only reach to the mid of my palm, she may think my eyes disillusioned, my opinion of her lacking. But the tiny brazier would hint to yearnings of pebble-sized tits and unshaven pelvises. My desires, no different than those Talian Dolphins—the pedophiles of the sea.
It’s hard being a one-eyed Milky Cyclops. I am purple-helmeted underwater Spartan of Love who has been claimed from balls to head by the most beautiful mermaid in all the seas. All I want is to tell my lady love how my albino asparagus ripens at the attention of her creamy, strawberry-shortcake skin. How I yearn to gaze upon her snake-scaled fin with my large bulbous eye and slither between the taut mounds of her gilled breasts.
Just the thought of my forever love’s webbed face gleaming in glee makes me giddy and sprung like sticky sap atop Morning Wood.
That is why this gift must be perfect, it must be the wooden spear to strike her unawares and garner her attention, because not only is it a confession of my hymen-hammering intentions, but it also represents the shells of my love which shall lie forever next to her heart.
I purchase the large-sized shelled brassiere.
If her slime-covered flesh doesn’t fill it, I’ll feed her the spoils of my clam digging until she grows plump from my affections.
A member of my writing club advised me to start submitting some of my shorter erotic pieces to this website called Literotica. I’d never heard of it before, especially since I don’t necessarily read Erotica, I just write it. So yesterday, I visited the site, saw they were having a contest, and wrote a short little piece for it.
Hot Weather, Cold Water, Roving Cam
Taylah Morgan © 2017
I didn’t have a pool at home. I had a bath tub, a shower, and a sink. But none were submergible surfaces. None filled me like a cool giant body of water to dip my head in, float in, and swim around until my skin shriveled.
When my friend needed me to watch his house while he took off on vacation for earlier in the summer, I gladly accepted. No need for any payment. He had a diving board, a stone waterfall and a large, cool, pool.
I was outside, in his pool, every day. Sometimes two or three times a day. There were days I wore swimsuits, and there were days I didn’t. Feeling cold, chlorinated water in my pussy gave me a cool tingling experience.
Wearing my favorite pink bikini, and laying out on a large floater in the pool, I noticed the camera at the top of the sliding entrance door to the backyard. It was dark and small, and barely visible underneath the outdoor speaker. But it was there, and it followed me as I lazed the length of the large pool.
I stared at it underneath my large sunglasses. It must have watched me the past four days. No wonder my friend, hadn’t called to check on me. All he had to do was turn on the camera.
I forced back a smile. He would’ve gotten quite a view.
Prompt: Finding solace in an airport bathroom.
I never should have watched that Netflix special on the hidden cruelty of airport security.
“Ma’am, this isn’t jail, you can keep your clothes on.” The balding one with a frown declared.
I had already stripped down to my Winx Club underwear and fuchsia bra – which I had just started to unclip. “Never!” I screamed, throwing the bra onto his shiny bald head like a horseshoe. “I know what you did to that poor man! I will not go behind that closed door with you and be manipulated into unwanted sex acts! If you want to pat me down, let all witness your evil ways.”
Moving my fingers to the hem of my underwear, I started hopping as the too-small cotton panties caught on my nubby knees, when, out of nowhere I was tackled by a large woman named Steve.
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I unloaded my single-people food on the register and watched the cashier start to ring up my purchases. My eyes were drawn to his dirty hands. Maybe he was cleaning something, I’m not sure, but dirt laid under his nails and dark grime smudged in between skewed hair on the outside of his hands. This guy needed a pair of cleaning gloves, Dexter would never let his hands get dirty. Shit, thinking of Dexter reminded me of the titillating scene I left playing on my television and warmth rose in my cheeks.
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