This is Amber Skye's best work to date. Super slick writing with a hot little story. Nicole goes home to take care of her father and escape the disaster her life has become. She volunteers to do a neighborhood service project and hopes to be paired with the hot guy down the street. Instead she works with Harper, a girl Nicole babysat for years ago. The pacing in the story is spot on with tension in all the right places. And the sex is steamy.
Amber also told me that my book, Seasons of Lesbian Erotica, inspired her to write this kind of a story. That makes me happy, for sure. Especially since Community Cervix is such a good story!
The Temple of Dendur Exhibit: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City
I wrote this story for a writer friend, Shea Mara (shea_blue on Literotica) who writes light BDSM- heavy on the D/s, light on the B/D and the S/M. Her BDSM stories often feature sex in a hotel lobby or a Starbucks bathroom. Shea's avatar on Literotica is a blue scarab.
When I was in high school, an Egyptian man who worked with my mother gave her a scarab carved from some kind of blue stone. He said it was for luck. We had no idea if it was luck or a curse, and the Internet was ten years away at that point. When I started writing the story, I thought about that blue scarab, which led me to setting the story of public sex in the Temple of Dendur exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. I'd been there with a group of foreign language teachers in 2002, and combined with what I could look at online, I think it worked.
Here's a dirty excerpt:
The couple in the temple with us
spoke a language I didn't recognize, and I felt as though they stood right
behind us, waiting their turn to see what was etched on the wall where we
stood. They must have assumed that they'd find some important treasure there if
this professor was giving private lessons to his conscientious student, who was
writing each word with loving care. I gave a quiet sigh of relief when I
realized that they probably didn't understand what Ammon said. I saw them leave
out of the corner of my eye.
He slipped his fingers between my
lips, into my cunt. "Dripping wet, love. You want this, don't you?" I
nodded silently, and he moved his fingers to my clit. I fought to stay still,
to wait for his attention to the erect nub. My pussy burned with the need to
come, but I wouldn't until he said it was time. That was our agreement. My hips
wanted to move, but I stood as still as the replica of the Sphinx next to the temple,
waiting for his instruction.
Instead, he moved his finger back
to my opening, and pushed two fingers inside me, his fingertips brushing my
G-spot. I craved movement, but I remained in place, screaming silently in my
head, "Oh my god, just rub my fucking clit." After six months of his
training, I knew. The anticipation made the orgasm hotter and sweeter. It would
be worth the wait.
He pulled his fingers out of me
and placed them against my mouth. "Taste yourself, love," he said,
not bothering to whisper. We were alone in the temple for a moment. I parted my
lips and sucked his fingers into my mouth. He spread his fingers so that one
went to each side of my mouth, and I could taste the salty flavor of my own
cunt spreading across my tongue. I licked them clean, sucking on them, trying
to drive him to fuck me.
"Take your folio in your
left hand. Leave it open. Take your right hand and put it between your
legs," he said, still in a tone loud enough for other visitors to hear.
"Good girl. Don't move your fingers yet." I was worried about my
skirt being lifted in the front, but his large frame hid my body from the
tourists that popped their heads around the corner to see what was in the
temple. The museum would be closing in forty-five minutes. They didn't have
time to linger in the ancient structure.
I was overcome with lust. I
needed to come, and I couldn't stand still much longer. My nipples were so hard
they ached, and my clit throbbed against my fingers, harder and harder, the
swollen nub ready to explode. My arm was tiring from holding the folio up for
so long. He finally took it from my hand and held it, making sure it hid the
raised front of my skirt.
My most recent publication is called Muffin Submits in the House of Flies.
A nerdy university student keeps a blog full of sexy fairy tales and other wicked writings. When she plagiarizes her own blog for a school assignment, her English professor discovers her secrets--naughty fiction and a need for a man to Dominate her.
The professor contacts her, deceives her, and Dominates her by text until he sends her for a makeover to bring her out of her chrysalis. He arranges an invitation for her to a party at the Phi Lambda Upsilon fraternity. Dubbed the House of Flies, the house is well known on campus for wild sexual activity, and Professor Thompson knows he'll be able to watch her metamorphosis take place, from a nerdy wallflower to a sex goddess.
The story was inspired by the Deftones' song Change (In the House of Flies). There are no flies in the story. Just a frat house full of horny frat boys.
The following selection is one of Nadine's sexy fairy tales. If you like it, you can purchase the book on Amazon or on All Romance. Enjoy the tease!
The footman was a beast—muscular with a
long, angular face and huge hands. He ripped her dress over her head, tearing
the fabric in several spots. For a moment, Cinderella feared the fairy
godmother’s reaction to having her dress returned as tattered as the one she’d
replaced, but the lust she felt for the footman swept away her apprehension.
Standing in the garden in just her bodice and pantaloons, self-consciousness
edged in until the footman placed his hands at her bosom and ripped the garment
open, exposing her perfect breasts, her rose-colored nipples taut and ready.
He bit them, causing a stab of pain to shoot
through her chest to her pussy. His teeth left deep marks in her skin, darker
than the color of her areolae. The pain was sharp, invigorating, and it brought
a rush of moisture to her pantaloons. “Please, Sir. Take them off,” she said to
the footman. Why she called him “Sir” was not clear to her, but at that moment,
he knew he was in charge. She was but a servant, a slave, even to this humble
servant of the household. This time, the tearing sound excited her, and soon
she found herself completely nude except for the one glass slipper remaining on
her foot.
She was aware that she and the footman were
not alone, and it mattered not. Lust clouded her judgment, and even though she
knew she was surrounded by her friends—mice, the dog, even the evil cat—she
stood proudly in her nakedness, hoping all her friends watched her. The footman
grabbed her by the wrists and bound them tightly behind her back with the
pumpkin vine he found next to the coach. “Please bend at the waist,
Cinderella,” he commanded politely as he pushed her halfway into the coach,
with her torso draped across the velvet seat. As she did, his boot separated
her dainty feet, kicking her legs apart to allow his access.
“Please, Sir. Go gently,” she begged.
“Oh, Cinda,” the footman replied. “You know
that isn’t what you want.” He lined his cock against her dripping slit and he
forced himself inside. “You see? You like it rough.”
Her high-pitched, rhythmic squeaks affirmed
his declaration, and he pumped into her harder and faster as she bucked back
against him, meeting his sharp thrusts. “Fuck me,” she said breathlessly,
wanting him harder and faster until the pain turned to pleasure. “Spank my
bottom, Sir.”
“That is not your decision to make,
princess,” he said with a smile, but he complied, and with each crack of her
ass, she cried out, raising his arousal with her own. He fought to hold out, to
keep from spewing his seed inside of her until she’d reached her own climax,
but her yelps were such sweet music to his ears, he knew he couldn’t last.
“Oh, my god,” she gasped. “The fairy
godmother. She’ll see. She’ll know!” Cinderella knew that her intended for the
evening was the prince, but he spent his evening eyeing up the king’s advisor,
a giant of a man with a snarl to his lip. Cinderella couldn’t blame him; the
advisor looked as though he could tear her in half. Just what she craved. She
needed a man who wouldn’t be afraid to tie her to the bed and shove his cock in
her—
“Ah-yuh,” said the footman. “It’s been a
good ride, princess.”
The change came at the fourth chime. The
footman’s huge cock slipped from her pussy and his finger disappeared, leaving
her feeling empty and cold. The coach dissolved into thin air, and Cinderella’s
torso dropped to the ground, leaving her breasts to plop on either side of a
pumpkin stem. The cold flesh of the pumpkin aroused her nipples even more than
the cool, night air, but her knees hitting the dirt jerked her to reality.
Behind her, something cold and wet brushed
her left buttock, and when she turned to look, she was startled to see an
enormous, lanky plough horse nosing—
And that's where Nadine gets interrupted. To read about Nadine and Professor Thompson (and to read Nadine's tale of Princess Jasmine sucking Jafar's cock while Iago the parrot coaches), please purchase the book on Amazon or on All Romance.
Community Cervix by Amber Skye
