Guest Writers

             

Guest Writers:

 

Kris Winter

 

Sommer Marsden

 

Cassie Exline

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every month I will feature stories from some really talented guest writers. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incoming Call- Kris Winter

 

Jill and Ben stepped off the elevator and followed the sign showing Room 1201 to the left. They hauled their carryon bags down the hallway on the flamboyant industrial casino carpet past the ice machine and stopped outside their room.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here.” said Jill. Ben swiped the pass card through the brass sensor and entered the room with Jill behind him. She closed the heavy door, surveying the luxurious suite.

“Not bad, huh?” Ben asked. “You feel like having a drink downstairs or having wine sent up?”

“Let’s stay in tonight. I still haven’t given up on the damn airline finding our luggage.” Ben picked up the phone and dialed room service as Jill began unpacking their carryon bags.

They showered together, enjoying the hot water as they lathered each other, anticipating an amorous weekend in the neon desert. For them, what happened here didn’t have to stay here. Two hours later they were on their second bottle, lounging on the bed in white terrycloth hotel robes. “Did you want to try out your ‘special’ anniversary gift?” Ben said. She looked at him, wide-eyed. “I’d love to, but the fucking thing is in our luggage. Somewhere a baggage handler’s handling a bag with my new vibrator.”

“At least the condoms are in my carryon.” He said. “I may have to pick up the slack tonight.”

“Alright. But just so you know? There were new batteries in it.” she said in playful intimidation.

He went to the bathroom and came back with a sleeping mask bearing the hotel logo. “Put this on and lie down.”

“Okay, I’ll play along.” She hesitated, not sure what he was up to, but soon took the mask, put it over her eyes and lay down. She felt the friction of her robe belt being pulled undone, then the coolness of the air conditioning on her body as he opened her robe, exposing her breasts and pubic hair. Then she heard the mattress creak as he reached for something, followed by a zipper. It was one of their carryon bags. Next she heard the sound of rummaging, then a smaller zipper that sounded like her makeup kit.

There was no sound for a few seconds before she felt a very faint touching sensation on her nipple. It tickled at first. Then he began to stroke it very lightly – Too lightly to be using his fingers. “What is that?” she asked. She felt more pressure, in a slow circular motion around each areola now, causing her nipples to become hard. She shifted herself on the robe, adjusting the position of her hips. The motion stopped for a second, and when she felt the same texture on her cheekbone, she recognized it instantly. He was exciting her with her makeup brush.

She heard more rummaging. “Getting innovative to compensate for no vibrator, is that it?” she asked. The bed creaked again and there was more rummaging, this time with the clink of his cologne and aftershave bottles. Then silence followed by the unmistakable tear of a condom wrapper. She smiled.

She listened as the condom was taken from the wrapper and stretched. The small snapping noises the latex made told her it was being put on…Something. “What are you doing?” she asked. Her next sensation was his cool breath blowing on her pubic mound through pursed lips, a favorite arousal technique of his, and particularly effective now. She spread her legs slightly. Now she felt the first tentative licks of his warm tongue. She still delighted in the way he’d deliberately touch her there with his tongue first. His licking became more passionate, till he sucked her clitoris in between his lips, flicking it gently inside his mouth. She raised her hips off the bed slightly.

He then returned to licking with the tip. She became aware that his skillful licking was slowly giving way to another pressure. As he explored the opening of her warm wet lips with his tongue, the other pressure was cool and steady as it traced a circular motion on her clitoral hood. His steady lapping of her labia combined with the unknown object teasing her clit resulted in her involuntarily spreading her thighs in invitation. She was savoring the hardness rubbing her, as he slowly began parting her lips with his tongue, sliding in deeper with each stroke. She lifted her hips higher off the bed this time, presenting herself with passionate abandon.

Suddenly both motions stopped. The unknown object lay still on her warm mound. She heard creaking and a phone taken from its cradle. “Who the fuck is he calling now?” she thought.

There was a beep which was probably the number to get a line out of the room. There was another beep, then 2 sets of 3 beeps followed by 4 beeps. It must be long distance. Then she heard the receiver faintly hissing by her ear, as his tongue returned to worshipping her lower lips with loving caresses. The object on her clit no longer moved, but she felt his fingers on her abdomen as he firmly pressed it onto her with the palm of his hand. She now longed for friction from the mysterious object.

He continued his oral attention to her, now thrusting his tongue deeply between her lips, as she spread her thighs and rose herself against the pressure of his hand holding “the object” down to her clit. The receiver continued to hiss as she anticipated her oncoming orgasm. She moaned softly as her loins started to flush at the point of no return.

It was then she heard the call going through. It rang once in her ear completely… Before his cell phone began vibrating between his palm and her swollen clitoris. She immediately realized what he’d done. The surprise of the unexpected vibration with his tongue plunging her caused spasms of pleasure to blossom from her lower body. Her moaning was now in full voice as she desperately tried not to buck her ass off the bed too high, disturbing his attention to her needy pussy. She reached her climax, and then lay there panting hot breath on both of them as he stroked her firm thighs, kissing her stomach.

When her breathing had returned to normal, she slowly reached up to the mask, pulled it back on her head and looked down at him. With a very satisfied smile, she asked him “Now where the fuck did you learn THAT?”

 



 

Ruthless -Sommer Marsden

 


"You have to be arrogant as hell to be a musician." That’s what Mickey always told me. "You have to be rude, abrupt, conceited, and cruel. Ruthless. All the things your mama told you never to be. You don’t have to be that way off stage, cher, but you sure as hell have to do it on stage. It’s the magnetism that gets ‘em."

 

Mickey Devereaux had taught me how to play the guitar when I was seven. Had me belting out Janice Joplin tunes at eight. At nine, he took me to see a live Elvis Impersonator show in Vegas. I saw eighty-one Elvis performers that weekend.
He was my mother’s long-time lover. My forever friend. A starving musician who embraced a little girl’s dream and taught her what she needed to make it come true.

 

I took a deep breath and surveyed the crowd. I was up soon. My rendition of "Me and Bobby McGee" would be in memory of Mickey. Instead of letting his recent death destroy my chances of winning the Rockville Music Festival, I was going to work it.

 

"Let ‘em hear it in your voice, cher," he’d coo. Mickey was from Louisiana and never called me Katie. It was always "cher" instead. It was how he showed me that he loved me. "Let ‘em feel what’s in your gut. In your soul. If you’re hurting, let ‘em know. If you feel like your insides are being torn out, it should come through loud and clear in your voice. If you’re happy, keep it to yourself." It was his little joke. Mickey believed most music came from pain. It soothed the ragged soul and brought the wounded together to heal. Music was the best salve for a broken heart.

 

Tears welled up, but I managed to fend them off. I would use my pain to make my performance better. I would beat Dean King if it killed me.

 

"We’re taking a quick break, folks. The equipment needs a little TLC. Grab a beer and stand by. Next up we have Dean King all the way from southern California, and a local gal, Katie Mudd."

 

The Mudd was in memory of Mickey, too, Mississippi mud cake and stories of the bayou having shaped my childhood and my career tales of huge mutant alligators stalking their prey through the muddy swamps.

 

"I’d say your name is mud, kid, but I bet you’ve heard that one a million times."

 

Dean King was a pig. A hot pig, mind you, but a swine nonetheless. I took in the sneer, the cold blue eyes, and the naked torso. He was as beautiful and cold as royalty. His dirty blond hair hung coyly over one eye. Broad, sun-browned shoulders tapered to a slim waist that accentuated a six-pack stomach. His ancient blue jeans hung seductively on his slim hips. They had been loved and abused into fitting him perfectly in all the right places. Button fly to boot. Sexy.

 

Pig.

 

"The name’s on purpose, jackass," I said, trying to hide my anger. The fact that I could hear the repressed tears in my voice didn’t help.

 

"Dean! Katie! We have a little problem." George Martinez came running across the field, swimming through a sea of tightly packed bodies. The festival was mobbed. The humid air had sweat running in rivulets from under his black hair. His eyes reminded me of a spooked horse. "I know you should be up any minute, but we have a few speakers down. We’re working as fast as we can to fix the ones that can be fixed and replace the ones that can’t. Even so, yâ’all have about a half-hour to kill. Maybe more." George’s face was half fear, half apology.

 

"No problem," I sighed. What could you do?

 

"This is ridiculous!" Dean shouted. "We’re ready now, George. Fix it. Fast." Then he stomped off like an overgrown toddler.

 

"Sorry," I said to George.

 

"It’s fine."

 

"No, it isn’t. He’s an idiot. A spoiled one."

 

"That’s why they love him," George said with a small smile and quickly retreated to do his job.

 

My heart kicked into overdrive. I was so angry I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.

 

I found Dean in a trailer designated for the talent.

 

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" I said, slamming the flimsy door. "That man is working his ass of to make us look good, and you have a temper tantrum?"

 

The heat and the anger had my black T-shirt stuck to my skin. I struggled for a deep breath in the confined space. Dean just gave me his signature looks the devil with blue eyes. I pulled my hair off my neck to compensate for my sudden, irrational urge to kiss him. At the same time, I wanted so desperately to slap him my palm itched. Adrenaline does funny things to a body. Musicians thrive on it. It’s the drug of choice.

 

"See something you like?" he said with a smile. "You know you’re pretty when you’re pissed."


"Shut up."

 

"Come on, Katie. I know that look. That’s the look we work for out there. It’s the whole point of being on stage."

 

I backed up a step but collided with the small table in the kitchenette. My eyes took in the fly buttons of his jeans. It was obvious Dean was riding the same high I was. Feeling the same tension.

 

"You want me to open my flies?"

 

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

 

"Sure you do."

 

He moved like a cat. Slow, leisurely, and nothing but confidence. "Pretty Katie with the red hair. Pretty Katie who wants to fuck." I did. It was true. I hated him but wanted to slide my hands along the naked flesh my eyes had already traveled. He stopped a few inches from me. Not close enough to touch me, but close enough for me to feel his presence. His energy mingled with mine. A phantom caress. I didn’t want to be caressed, though. I wanted to fuck. Ride the high and the nerves and the pain. I wanted release. Hooking my hand in the waistband of his jeans, I pulled him forward and took his mouth with mine. I did it swiftly so my brain would override my need.

 

"Pretty Katie," he growled again against my mouth. Nudging my urgent tongue with his. I kissed him again, undoing the first button and giving a forceful tug. The rest released on their own. Taking his cock in my hand, I stood on tiptoe and bit his ear. I wasn’t gentle.
"That hurt but it hurt just right," he whispered. He grabbed my ass and pulled me flush with his erection. My hand stayed trapped between us. "Take off your pants, Katie Mudd."

 

"You take them off," I countered and dipped my head to his chest. I rolled my tongue around one nipple then the other. Finishing off with a hard bite. A noise escaped him. Not a sigh, not a growl. It was low and primitive. My jeans puddled around my ankles. My thong quickly followed. Dean pinned me against the flimsy table and dropped to his knees.

 

"Peeling the peach," he laughed, parting my labia. His long, pink tongue claimed my clit in an instant, sending a crackle of electricity through my center. My stomach clenched and the feeling in my limbs faded. My being became focused on the sensation of the soft wetness sliding over my swollen sex. My cunt responded, contracting and relaxing. When his lips covered me fully, and his rigid tongue entered my slit, I gripped the edges of the table.

 

Lips snaked a trail over my hipbones, across my belly, between my breasts. His hands pinned my hips against his hips. His warm, smooth cock was captured between us. He sucked my nipple hard enough to make my breath hitch. Just enough pain to propel the pleasure.

 

"Just fuck me, Dean." I was ready. My mind singing Bobby McGee. Janice’s sweet, sultry voice filling my head. I needed this to make my performance real. To abate some of my sadness and spark the soul that could be heard in my voice. I needed to let go of my loss for the moment and get lost in pure sensation.

 

"Gladly. In here and out there on stage. You know I’ll win," he hissed, and plunged into me. The feeling of him sliding solidly into me overrode his words. I knew I would win. This was just a bonus. A catharsis to open the way. Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train...

 

"In your dreams," I laughed. I rocked against him, clutching his ass, pulling him forward. I wanted to devour him, fuck him, punch him, and beat him. I felt I would die before letting Dean win this competition. I would win. For me. For Mickey. I slid one finger into his ass and he faltered for a moment.

 

"Can’t take it?" I said, pumping against him as I held him tight. I allowed no room for retreat or withdrawal.

 

"You could give a guy warning," he said, his eyes hooded and angry.

 

"You like it," I spat. "Admit it."

 

"True, Katie. With you, I’d like just about anything." I hooked my finger in response, searching for that magical spot that would push him over the edge. Make him lose control. I wanted him at my mercy, panting while he came. His breath caught and he shoved me onto my back. The table swayed and creaked but held.

 

"Be that way," he growled and shoved my knees up high. He pushed me back with enough force to elevate my hips while he plunged in and out of me. His cock had found my G-spot and was stroking it incessantly. Smooth, swift pressure that had sweat pooling in my belly button, running from my temples. His face a mask of anger punctuated by an icy stare.

 

"You didn’t make me let go," I cooed. "I have long arms for a girl." I wiggled my finger to prove it and his stroking became less rhythmic, more frantic. "Dammit, Katie!" He pushed my knees outward, forcing his hands under my ass, tilting me up in his determination to win.

 

The beginnings of orgasm, like a huge knot of tension, uncoiled with fluid ease. My face flushed with heat and radiated through my torso, teasing my nipples into full erection. "Faster, asshole." I had given up on outdoing him I just wanted to come. My hands fluttered restlessly over his chest, down his stomach. I stroked over his hipbones as he buried his face against my neck. He kissed me there almost tenderly.

 

My body went rigid at the same moment he stiffened. We had a brief moment of eye contact before I was lost in my orgasm. Comforting ripples of warmth and euphoria. I felt my body relax completely, my belly flutter with anticipation as a second, smaller flood coursed through me. I allowed myself to get lost in it for a moment. It drowned out the music outside, the fear in my heart, the anger at losing my friend. I gave one gentle stroke of his hair before putting my guard back up. "We’d better go," I whispered, calming my ragged breath.

 

"Get on then." His eyes were a little gentler when he looked at me. His swagger a little less severe.

 

"You’re up!" George shouted as we exited the trailer.

 

"Let’s do it," Dean said giving me a wink.

 

"We just did."

 

"Good luck, Mudd," he said before taking the stage.

 

"Good luck, jackass."

 

On stage, Dean’s sultry voice belted out Otis Redding’s heartbreaking words. Words of sadness, desperation, and lost love.

 

*I’ve been loving you too long to stop now...*

 

As usual, the women in the crowd were practically swooning. With his lean, taut figure and rebel good looks, Dean could always get the women into a frenzy. All the girls want to do him. All the men want to be him.

 

I watched his performance and couldn’t help being impressed. His voice caressed each word as he moved across the stage with liquid grace. But was there a little less confidence in his movements, a little less bravado to his sneer? I was sure of it, and I laughed out loud, gladly taking credit for taming his bad-boy ways.

 

When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and offered up a prayer more to Mickey than to God. Please ... Oh, please let me get out what’s in my heart and soul. Let them hear what I’m feeling. Let me do right by you.

 

It’s hard not to show your heart and soul when you sing Janice Joplin, but I managed to turn it up a notch. Her infamous words slid out on my voice, all whiskey and cigarettes and hard living. Pictures flashed in my mind, backwoods roads, swamps and bayous, Elvis impersonators and tales of mutant alligators, all the memories that Mickey had tattooed in my heart and mind. Above all else, though, the great and treasured love he had for me.

 

*Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose,
And nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free,
Feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues,
And buddy, that was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.*

 

I had nothing left to lose. I felt free. I let it all pour out of me. The pain. The loss. The fear. It was sweetened with just a hint of victory and power. The last note escaped me like a sigh, and my body went limp. I was thrilled to be done, but sad it was over. There was dead silence for a moment. A tear slid down my cheek as the crowd rose up with an explosion of applause. It sounded like rolling thunder before a summer storm. I took my bow, knowing in my heart that I had won. Mickey and I had taken this contest me doing the singing, him as the inspiration.

 

When I accepted the winner’s trophy and my check, I dedicated my win to Mickey Devereaux but I made sure to thank Dean, "For giving me what I needed to win. In there and out here."

 

When I packed up my car, I found the button fly jeans on my seat. The note read, See you at the next show, Katie with the red hair.

 

To see more of Sommer Marsden's work

http://smutgirl.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

Houdini Hat Trick- Cassie Exline

 

He pulled until the line worked its way between her pussy lips. One more tug and it was rubbing tightly against her clit. He strummed the rope and licked her bare thigh.

She sighed. The vibration made her nerves tingle, and caused an orgasm to build.

He walked behind her and tugged on the same length of rope until it rode up her crack. He pulled it back like he was drawing a string on a bow and let go. It stung her skin, but the sensation was wonderful. She bit her lip, trying not to moan out loud.

Now he was able to stroke her clit and her ass at the same time. Like a musician, he strummed the rope, and like magic, her body floated.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed each vibration his strong fingers created. Thunder roared in her ears, and she rode the waves of ecstasy from her magical orgasm.

* * *

A very nervous Dorcas made her way backstage to the dressing rooms of the Magic House Theatre. As she walked down the hallway, she glanced from right to left reading each name plaque on the many doors. The theater was used by fifty magicians to practice their acts, to perform in front of peers and to feed off the energy of each other as they searched for new ideas to wow their audiences. She found the one she wanted—Dante the Magnificent—and stopped.

Dorcas swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat, and knocked on the door. She could hear someone murmuring but wasn't sure what was said. She hesitated.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a man peered at her. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying! Get out of here!"

"Sir, I'm not selling anything. I heard you're looking for an assistant and maybe a protégé. I would like to be that person."

"You want to be a magician?"

"Yes, sir. I do. More than anything."

"Humpf!" He eyed her from head to toe. "You look like a kid. How old are you?"

"I'm nineteen."

"Guess you're legal." He snorted. "Come on in, we'll talk."

"Thank you." She followed him inside and looked around the room. There were posters and photos of Dante covering every inch of available wall space. The photos were fascinating. His hair was still the same—dark, thick and wavy. Even in pictures, his presence commanded respect. No doubt his height and the cape were two of the main reasons he was magnificent.

"Sit down!"

Dorcas blinked. "Yes, sir." She sat on the nearest chair.

"Do you have any idea how much hard work this type of career takes? This isn't some glamour job, you know." He paced back and forth in front of her. "It's hard, and there's a lot of stress. I know, because I've been in the business almost longer than you've been alive."

Dorcas didn't say a word, just nodded as he talked. She didn't want to interrupt this great man who she had admired.

"It takes hours and hours of dedicated practice. If I were to take you on as my protégé, you'd have to be committed to this. This is a full-time job! I don't perform just on weekends or at some Lion's Club function. Do you understand me, girl?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

He sat down and stared at Dorcas. "Stand up. I want to get a good look at you."

She stood.

"Turn around."

Without thinking, she arched her eyebrows. She couldn't stop her reaction but still turned as he requested.

"I saw that look. Don't spout any women's rights bullshit either. We work on stage. People want to look at pretty people."

"Am I ugly?"

For the first time, he chuckled and sounded like a regular person. "You're very easy on the eyes. Do you want to hear my honest opinion?"

She nodded.

"The truth can hurt, you know. You still want to hear it?"

Her heart pounded in her chest. She was unable to speak, afraid of what he would say, but once again she nodded.

"You'll do."

She smiled.

"Changes have to be made. For example, the blonde hair has to go. Dye it black, a bluish black."

Dorcas bristled. "What's wrong with being blonde?"

"Nothing. You're a beautiful, young woman. Men will love watching you on stage. You look like an assistant."

"I don't understand. Isn't that good?"

"Yes, if you want to remain an assistant. But you said you wanted to become a magician. If you want people to take you seriously, you must look the part." He stood and walked around her. "My first impression is you're nothing but a fragile piece of crystal. Of course, I wouldn't mind ogling you all day long. Any man would. But, if you looked more dramatic, you would make me lean up in my seat, waiting, anticipating what you would do next. I love your eyes. They're dark and stormy. With those eyes and black hair, you'd have an air of mystery and of danger, and that's what you want. You want your audience breathless, unsure of you're next move. It's all about illusion."

"I'll dye my hair."

"Keep it long. Don't cut it. You can do much more with long hair than short."

She nodded.

"Let me ask you something?"

She blinked and swallowed. "Okay."

"In your opinion, who's the greatest magician whoever lived?"

"Houdini," Dorcas responded quickly. "Harry Houdini, whose real name was Eric Weiss, born in 1874 in Wisconsin. He was the master of escape, absolutely the best at..."

Dante held up his hand, interrupting her, and said, "Okay, I know my history, too. Who else?"

"The more notables were David Blain and Harry Blackstone, that's father and son. Later on, there was David Copperfield and Doug Henning."

"Did you notice who you didn't say?"

Her heart was racing so fast she thought she might faint. Had she missed someone of great importance? She had said Houdini. "No, sir. Who did I miss?"

"Not miss exactly. It's just that not one person you named was a female." With a smug look on his face, he crossed his arms. "Not one woman."

"Oh." She shifted from one foot to the other. "What does that mean?"

"That means you'll have to work twice as hard as a man to make it in this business. You're not the first female wanna-be magician." Dante looked at her and frowned. "What's your name girl?"

"Dorcas."

His face brightened, and he nodded. "Dante and Dorcas. Nice. They sound good together."

She smiled. Her name just might be included in the billing. "My family calls me Dory."

He waved his hand, disregarding her childish nickname. "Okay, Dorcas. Like I said, this job is hard work, and it will take hours and hours of practice. In your case, I think being a female might be a bonus. There are a lot of possibilities for us to get an edge over the others. Can you commit to all it will take?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sit down."

"I am looking for a protégé, someone who will take over in say, ten years. But whoever I choose will have to make lots of sacrifices. You're not going to want to quit and have babies are you?"

"Oh, no," Dorcas said. "I'm very serious about wanting to do this." She cleared her throat. "Uh, sir? Can I ask you a question?"

"By all means."

"You said you wanted someone who will take over in ten years, but you're just a young man."

Dante chuckled. "That wasn't a question, but I'm almost twice your age."

"Still, young in this profession."

"If we do come to a workable arrangement, I will tell you my reason."

"Fair enough," she said.

"Another thing, I shout a lot. If you're going to get upset and run off the stage in tears every time I raise my voice, we stop now."

"I promise I won't run off the stage."

"Humpf," Dante grunted. "I don't know about this."

"Why? Please give me a chance."

"I've trained three candidates for this job. As soon as they had learned my tricks, they took off. Later, each claimed the new act, which I taught them, was their own. A lot of work goes into training new people, but coming up with new feats of magic is draining. What guarantee do I have that you won't do the same?"

"I'll do whatever you ask."

Dante sat back in his chair and rubbed his goatee. "Not that I doubt your word, but do you have any collateral?"

She frowned. "Collateral?"

"Certificates of deposit in the bank? Family inheritance?" He chuckled.

"I have the deed to the family home," Dorcas said. "Will that be enough?"

He eyed the young woman before asking, "You're willing to sign over the family home to do this?"

"I will put it up as collateral, proving that I have every intention of doing as I said. If I don't, the estate is yours." Her voice was soft but filled with conviction.

"You realize that I'll want a lawyer to draw up papers stating what you just said, and you will have to sign them? Our agreement will be legal and binding."

She flipped back her golden curls. "Of course."

He nodded and stared at her, frowning. "I've gotten ahead of myself. I'm well aware that this is short notice, but I need to see you perform a trick."

Without missing a beat, Dorcas had a half dollar walking back and forth across her knuckles. Then she flipped her hand, causing the coin to fly into the air. She caught it in the palm of her hand, closed her fist, brought it to her full lips, and blew on it. She immediately opened her hand and revealed her palm was empty.

Dante leaned up in his chair.

Doing magic always turned her on. She smiled, knowing her nipples had hardened.

"I'm impressed Dorcas. That trick was performed flawlessly for someone so young. You're not wearing long sleeves which are the obvious give away." His brows furrowed.

Dorcas beamed from his praise and was pleased she'd piqued his curiosity on how she had done it. "Of course, it's quite easy to do when people's eyes are focused on my chest."

He cleared his throat. Red crept up his neck.

"How soon do I start?"

He sat back and smiled. "Have you ever seen me perform?"

"Yes, I have, lots of times."

"How is that possible?" Dante asked. "You're very young."

"From the age of fifteen, I worked for a magic supply store. The owner had tons of videotapes of every magician that had ever performed. His goal was to have them all. I used to watch a couple on a daily basis. One day, I saw you perform." Dorcas sat down. "The way you move is great, but it's your voice and eyes which captivated me."

"We are still talking magic aren't we?"

It was her turn to feel embarrassed. "I used to close my eyes just to listen to you talk, replaying the tape over and over. Your voice is commanding. It's a powerful tool. Then your eyes. There are times when it seems like clouds are swirling across your smoky gray eyes. It's amazing to see."

"My act has changed a lot since you've seen those tapes."

"But of course," Dorcas said and shrugged. "All of us have to change with the times. When do I start?"

"As soon as we've signed the papers."

She nodded. "You don't trust me. I understand."

"To be on top, we must work hard and have an edge. But it takes a lot of hard work. You will have to trust me."

"I'll do whatever you say."

* * *

Dorcas met Dante at her attorney's office.

The lawyer reacted as if Dorcas was out of her mind for signing over her house. "Young lady, do you have any idea what you are doing?" Mr. White asked.

"Yes, sir, I do."

"You're risking your entire inheritance on a whim?"

"I'm not risking anything," Dorcas said. "I have every intention of following through with the arrangement. This is not a whim; it's what I want to do with my life."

Mr. White shook his head but had the papers drawn up and notarized. It was official. If Dorcas defaulted in their agreement, Dante owned her family home.

* * *

Dorcas and Dante returned to the theater and went in Dante's dressing room to discuss their act.

"Now that you've proven you're serious," Dante said. "I'll share something with you. Follow me."

He led the way, and they were soon sitting at the back of the auditorium watching an act rehearse. "I take what I do very seriously," Dante whispered.

"I understand."

"No, you don't, Dorcas." He shifted in his seat so he was looking straight at her. "This is all mine." He gestured with the wave of his arm. "I own the Magic House Theatre. This is my inheritance."

"Ohhhh." She had no idea what to say.

"The problem is this is what is known as a white elephant." He sighed and focused his attention on the stage. "You do know what a white elephant is?"

"Yes. It takes every penny you have to keep it afloat."

He nodded.

Dorcas studied his silhouette. "Is that why you wanted me to sign over my house?"

"No-o-o-o!" Dante shouted.

A loud crash echoed from the stage.

Dante stood up and called out to the performers, "Sorry, for our interruption. We'll leave you to rehearse in peace."

He glared at Dorcas. "Let's discuss this in private."

She followed him, feeling like a scolded child.

The moment his dressing room door closed behind them, he turned to stare at her. "Do you really think I'm after your silly house?"

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she finally said, "I didn't until you told me about the theater. I, uh..."

He dropped onto the nearest chair and sighed. "I guess it did come across that way. The reason I told you about owning the theatre is to explain the reason for the type of magic I'm currently performing."

Her mouth opened and closed again, but she remained silent.

He continued, "I figured you couldn't possibly have seen me in action recently because as I've mentioned, I don't perform for the Lion's Club."

"And?"

Dante paced back and forth. "Rich people will pay any amount you demand if you put on the kind of show they want. When someone first approached me with the suggestion, I tossed them out on their ass. Then the taxes came due. The electric bill was overdue, as well as the water, sewer, and phones." He plopped down again. "My grandfather founded this place as a magician's retreat, a place where all magicians could come and be with their own. It's hard out there in the real world. Grandpa said Houdini was here when the place first opened its doors." Dante pointed to the door of his dressing room. "Houdini christened this very door with a bottle of champagne. He performed on that stage out there. This place has a lot of history."

Dorcas refrained from asking questions.

"I'm sure my grandfather is turning in his grave knowing what I'm doing, but it's the only way I know to get the kind of money it takes to keep this place in operation."

"Maybe you should tell me what you're doing."

"Remember the conditions of the document you just signed, all right?"

Dorcas nodded.

"It's called erotic magic."

"I see," she said.

"It means it's more of a show about fucking than magic, simulated fucking, but it looks like the real thing." Dante's gaze never left her face. "It means we wear next to nothing while we perform. Every movement we make is like we're making love to each other on stage."

"Oh." Her nipples were hard as little pebbles.

"Ready to back out?" he taunted.

"Do we do any magic at all?"

"It's magical in nature, but there are so many other things going on, no one notices the magic." He sighed. "It's a shame, but these rich people pay small fortunes to watch. I can't lose what my family started. It's my legacy."

Dorcas nodded. "When do we start?"

Dante jumped to his feet and hurried to her. He pulled her from her seat and embraced her. "With you in my act, we'll make a fortune."

* * *

When Dorcas and Dante rehearsed on stage, no one was allowed to watch. Dante claimed it was to protect the secrets of his new act. If anyone doubted him, no one ever said it to his face. Being the owner of the theater had its advantages.

At performances, Dorcas had to wear the skimpiest costume imaginable. But when they rehearsed, she wore panties, socks, and a long-sleeved top. Her hair was now as dark as Dante had wanted, and she French-braided it every day. The braid hung down the middle of her back. She wore cherry red lipstick and pearl stud earrings, even during rehearsal.

The first time she had had an orgasm on stage, she'd been embarrassed. It was a small audience but a memorable performance for a couple of reasons. Dante had given over the reigns of head magician to her as he took on the role of her assistant. She'd dressed in top hat and tails and wore a micro mini and four inch stilettos. Her black jacket was sleeveless—like a vest except with tails—and used only one button to hold the sides together. It was cut low to show off the contours of her breasts.

Dorcas had three stands placed in front of her; each had a metal canister with a dome-shaped lid. She lifted the first top to show the contents—a plastic bird.

Dante lifted her skirt and rubbed her crotch.

Dorcas replaced the lid, tapped her wand against the metal, and removed the top to display a very alive white dove.

On his knees, Dante removed her panties, releasing her pussy just as Dorcas freed the bird. The applause was thunderous.

Dante massaged her legs and his lips moved closer and closer to the center of her being.

Dorcas trembled with anticipation, but moved on to the second canister. She raised the lid and showed the onlookers a yellow rubber duck. She replaced the cover, tapped and again removed the lid to reveal a quacking yellow duckling. She bent over to gently place the baby bird on the floor. The duckling waddled off stage right on cue.

While Dorcas was bent over, Dante took the opportunity to enter a finger in her pussy, followed by a second one and then a third.

Dorcas stood, widened her stance, and proceeded to the third canister. The audience was riveted to their seats. Dorcas's juices were trickling down her leg. She took a deep breath. She wanted Dante, alone and completely, but the show must go on.

Once more, she raised a lid. She scooped up a handful of flower petals, and wiggled her fingers, allowing the petals to fall slowly back into the canister.

Dante's fingers opened her wide and his tongue scooped up her juices.

Glorious sensations coursed through her body, and Dorcas almost dropped the lid. Metal clanged loudly against metal. Her body quivered. The audience roared.

Dante's fingers pumped inside of her as his teeth grazed her clit.

She tapped the lid with her wand, and with a shaky hand, she removed the lid to reveal a bouquet of yellow roses.

Dante continued his tongue-fucking.

Her orgasm washed over her, flooding her with ecstasy. Dorcas stretched her arms above her head, fingers reaching for the heavens. As if planned, sparks shot out of her wand like a Fourth of July firecracker.

The audience gave them a standing ovation.

Thereafter, Dorcas looked forward to each performance.

* * *

It wasn't unusual that while they worked, Dante's hands would touch all of Dorcas's body—every part, every crevice. Dorcas wanted so much more, that on several occasions, she almost begged him to stick his cock inside her. She had ceased worrying about the wrong and right of things. She wanted Dante, and she would do anything to have all of him. He finally acquiesced without her needing to beg. A surprise show. A shocking show when Dante didn't simulate making love to her but actually fucked her. She still tingled when she remembered...

Her outfits were held together with Velcro tabs like those that strippers wore. Dante came up from behind and yanked off her costume panties. The audience responded with thunderous applause.

While she pulled a rabbit out of a hat, Dorcas stood with legs apart to show them her pussy. Dante pulled his cock out of his pants.

Catcalls and whistles filled the theater.

When she bent over to pick up the cards Dante had "accidentally" dropped, he propped his dick at her entrance and nuzzled it inside of her.

She was wet and more than ready for him. She moaned as he filled her pussy and pounded into her.

The applause was deafening.

They had never discussed actual penetration, but Dorcas had been craving it. She forgot about the cards and the voyeurs and concentrated on every sensation Dante created as he thrust in and out. Her orgasm was so intense, it rumbled through her and caused her legs to shake. If Dante hadn't held her hips as he fucked, she might have fallen. He pounded over and over until he reached his climax and filled her with his seed.

Without missing a beat, she picked up the cards and stood. His softened cock slipped out. She waved her arm as if she had just done a feat of magic and was greeted with more thunderous applause.

She wondered if the audience noticed his spunk trickling down her leg as she clicked across the stage in her stilettos.

Dante did and dropped to his knees in front of her to lick it off. He licked and sucked his way up to her pussy. Dorcas put one of her legs on his shoulder to give him better access. The crowd oohed and aahed.

As he tongue-fucked her, she arched her back. Her braid swept across the floor, swaying like a pendulum. His fingers replaced his tongue as he moved his mouth to her clit. He pumped with his fingers and pressed her clit with his tongue. Her second orgasm was as debilitating as the first. She thought she would fall, but Dante held her tight.

After that night, neither pretended they didn't want to fuck and made sure it was included in each show.

* * *

The bookings and money rolled in as word traveled about the performances of Dante and Dorcas. Night after night, they upped the ante in their performances, combining exotic magic tricks with sex. The latest idea was with rope.

Since Dorcas admired Houdini, Dante came up with an escape trick. Dorcas was naked except for pasties, which Dante would later remove with his teeth. She was tied to a pink crushed-velvet mat and secured in place by rope. The platform was propped at an angle so the audience could watch her struggle to get free. As planned, her bare breasts jiggled and the rope rode between her legs and her bare ass.

Dante continued to pull until the rawhide worked its way between her pussy lips. One last tug and the rope snuggled tightly against her clit.

He strummed the rope and licked her bare thigh.

Dorcas sighed.

The vibration made her nerves tingle and an orgasm began to build.

He walked behind her and tugged on the same length of rope until it rode up her crack. He drew it back like a string on a bow and let go. It stung her skin, but the sensation was wonderful. She bit her lip, trying to hold off her moans.

He stroked her clit and ass at the same time. Like a musician, he strummed the rope, and like magic, her body floated.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed each vibration his strong fingers created. Thunder roared in her ears, and she rode the waves of ecstasy from her magical orgasm.

Nothing had ever felt as good.

* * *

After sometime, Dorcas could not ignore the fact that she and Dante had made love numerous times on stage, but never off stage. She decided it was time for a private talk.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Don't tell me you want to quit already?"

"If I did, would you take my inheritance from me?"

"If I said yes, would you stay?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Well, if I don't just say it, we'll be here all day exchanging questions."

Dante frowned. "You want to quit, don't you?"

"On the contrary, I want to be your wife and lover off stage."

Her bold statement seemed to catch him off guard. He gasped.

"Let's stop playing games, Dante. I know you love me, and I love you."

"No. You're confused."

"I'm not confused. I love you."

He shook his head. "Besides our age difference, it isn't right."

"Don't start with the age bullshit. Outside of that, what could possibly be wrong?" Dorcas asked.

"I'm going to die," Dante blurted out.

She gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hands. Tears stung her eyes.

He went to her and held her close. "I'm sorry for saying it like that, but I'll be dead by the time I reach forty-five."

"How do you know when you're going to die?"

"Every male in my family has died at the age of forty-five. Every single one."

"Are you telling me that you don't have a disease but are making an assumption based solely on your family history?"

"It's not just an assumption. It's fact. There's no reason for me to be any different than my ancestors."

"Oh damn it all to hell." Dorcas plopped down on a chair. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "We have a strong family history of cancer. But so far it has missed me."

"You're still young."

She shrugged and sighed. "We can't live our lives on what may or may not happen. Do you love me?"

"Of course, I love you." Dante knelt beside her, gathered both of her hands and kissed them. "I've never fucked any assistant before you. I've never wanted to."

"Then, we'll be married."

"No, we won't. I won't make you a widow at such a young age. Besides, I'm too old for you."

She leaned in to kiss his lips. "Then you explain that to our son."

He jerked back. "Our what?"

"Our son. I'm going to have your baby."

His eyes grew as huge as the half dollars they used in the act. "I'm going to die."

"You don't know that for sure. And you won't talk like that in front of our child. I won't have it." She stood up so suddenly she knocked him backwards, and he landed flat on his ass. "I'm not hiding," she went on. "I don't want my child to be known as the bastard of Dante the Magnificent. Don't forget, our son will also be a magician."

"I won't allow him to be called by such a slur. We will be married, and he will bear my name."

"As far as our ages, when we're together, there is no difference. You're a man and I'm a woman. I love you, Dante. Not your age or just your body, but what's inside. The packaging is nice, but I love the man inside of it."

* * *

They were married. If anyone thought their age was an issue, no one said it to their faces. Twins were born seven months later.

"I have a son and a daughter. What will we name them?" Dante asked.

Dorcas kissed each tiny head as she said their names. "Ramon and Ramona. Perfect names for a brother and sister act."

"Excellent choices!" He leaned over to kiss the head of each baby and then his wife's lips.

"Until she is old enough, we will call her Ra-Ra."

He stiffened, and then nodded. "Of course, my love."

"We're also returning to the magic we were born to perform. The other type of magic will only be for our personal pleasure."

He frowned. "Sweetheart, I understand why you're concerned, but the theater will go under without that money."

"My darling man, you've never noticed the sleight of hand I've pulled on you, have you?"

He drew back and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I've been skimming money off the top all this time. I also had Mr. White, my lawyer who drew up those papers for us, to help me invest the proceeds. And if necessary, I've got the house to sell, which I'm currently renting out for more income. Mr. White is a great lawyer. Anyway, thanks to his advice I've got quite a nice nest egg accumulated for us."

"My God!"

"Don't look so shocked. I've had a crush on you since I was sixteen years old. After performing with you, I fell totally in love. I would have done anything you asked just to be part of your act. When I realized why you needed the money so badly, I did my part for you, for us, for our future."

"You tricked me!" Dante laughed. "All this time I thought I had taken advantage of you. You're not one bit gullible! My goodness kids, I do believe your mother is a better magician than your father." He kissed Dorcas again and gazed into her eyes. "Let me ask you something, my very smart wife. Did you know about the erotic magic before I said anything?"

She looked down at the bundles in her arms.

Dante cupped her chin and lifted it. "I'll love you no matter what you tell me. Please?"

Dorcas took a deep breath. "Yes, I knew about the erotic magic. I was at a couple of your shows and watched you perform."

"You knew? You saw me doing that with ... with another woman?"

"I watched you pretend to penetrate her. I was there the night your assistant stomped off the stage and quit because you wouldn't complete the act. That's how I knew you needed an assistant. I wanted that someone to be me."

"You're full of surprises, my darling. What a wonderful mother to have for my children."

"Am I forgiven for my illusion of innocence?" she asked.

"I suppose so. After all, you have given me two beautiful babies. I could and would forgive you anything," Dante said and gathered his son into his arms. "Are you going to remain the star of my show?"

"You better believe it. Our children will grow up watching us perform real magic on stage until it becomes their turn to take over." Dorcas smiled at him. "I have a feeling you're going to live a long time."

"Maybe you're right. All the family traditions have been tested. We've never had a girl born into the family, and none of the males have had a wife who was a magician. Thanks to you, I might live to a ripe old age."

They laughed.

"I've been so tied up in knots worrying about this day. Now that it's behind us, I can relax. From now on, I can look forward to a happy life with my family, and who knows, maybe giving you thousands of magical orgasms."

"Maybe millions, if you're the magician I think you are."

 

To see more of Cassie Exline's work

http://cassieexline.tripod.com

 

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