from Business Casual

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He lay naked on the bed, his khaki pants neatly folded on the chair at the side, his polo shirt draped over it.

She stood at the foot of the bed, wearing a modest beige skirt and matching blouse, the dull black matte of the enormous hotel television a backdrop behind her. She kicked off her sensible heels. She unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it, and when it was left dangling on her foot flung it onto the chair with a kick. She spent more time with the blouse, unbuttoning it one button at a time, maintaining simmering eye contact all the while. She opened the blouse, revealing the lacy bra that had been ticking in his imagination the entire day. She pulled the blouse off and tossed it next to her skirt.

Lacy bra and panties. He knew she had been wearing them; she had texted a picture of herself wearing them (and nothing else) that morning.

She hopped up onto the dresser counter that held the television. She slid off her panties, let them fall to the floor. She left on her bra.

And then in a move so fluid and cinematic it had to have been planned, perhaps even practiced, she opened the top drawer of the dresser with her toe. Her foot disappeared into the drawer, then returned into view with a thigh high fishnet stocking hooked onto her toe. She gathered the stocking with elaborate care, lifted her leg, and with studied slowness began to roll the fishnet up her leg. When she was done with the first stocking she slid her foot again into the drawer, pulled the matching stocking out of the drawer with toes foot, lifted her leg with a dizzying flair for the theatrical, and rolled it on her leg with the same considered slowness.

from Business Casual, by J G Cain

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from The Taos Hum

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Ashe said, “There’s this sound some people hear. I heard about on the radio, late night talk radio about crazy shit like the New Jersey Devil, or the earth being hollow. Anyway, it’s called the Taos Hum.”

“Are we near Taos?”

“About a hundred miles away.” She continued, “They say like one percent of the population can hear it. Low pitched, right on the edge of perception. It ruins their lives, most of em say. They can’t sleep, can’t concentrate, can’t function. And they all describe the moment of waking to it, this moment where the world changed and was never the same again. When they heard the Hum. The Taos Hum, they call it. Government conspiracy, they say. Weather modification experiments. Weapons tests. Some secret submarine base at the South Pole. Big machines tunneling under the earth. Something alive living below the crust. Almost as many reasons for the Hum as there are people who hear it.”

“Is it bullshit?”

“I dunno The people who call in, on the radio show, they sure seem to believe it. And it doesn’t ruin everyone’s life. Some people who hear it, they fall in love with it. Some of them say it’s like music. Like beautiful music. The music of the spheres. The sound of the earth turning. The sound of the stars spinning. Like they’ve been waiting for it, a missing piece. Something they lost once, but have found again.”

– from The Taos Hum, by J G Cain

Enraptured

Erotic model with  metal chain around neck

She lay beneath him, a finger deep in her pussy, another hooked around the chain between the nipple clamps, pulling on them, her tits pulled and distended from her body, knowing how much he loved the sight of it. She was performing for him.

He stood on his knees, between her legs, stroking his cock as he watched her, a pearl of pre-cum dripping down the tip of his cockhead with languid slowness. He saw the look in her eyes. He was performing for her.

They were bound in an ever-tightening net of desire, she watching him, he watching her, each performing for the other. Each the sculptor, each the stone.

He reached down to slide two fingers deep inside her, moistening them, using her juices to lubricate his hand as he jerked off. She pulled more tightly on the chain, her nipples thickening, her skin reddening. She arched her back, her head lolling, exposing her neck for him. He knew she was about to cum; it spurred his own gathering orgasm. She cried out, her body corkscrewing beneath him. He moaned low as hot white plumes of cum spewed into the air, onto her belly, her tits, the sparkling metal clamps that held her nipples tightly entrapped, her body helplessly enraptured.

from Click

1953437213-0c7a6f81-c227-4131-98d8-4f87cc0ac1c5She loved dressing up for him, wearing anything he asked, making herself into a fetish doll, a sex toy. Anything he asked. Fishnet thigh highs, fishnet gloves. Collars and leashes. Thick, whorish makeup. He didn’t ask every time, but he did often. He found his mind took a series of photographs when she dressed like this, snapping away as he climbed her, rolled her, fucked her, used her: click, click, click.

He wondered what part of his mind was taking those photographs: the porn-y, objective part that loved seeing her dressed as his perfect fantasy woman, the part that worshiped thigh highs and chains and nipple clamps, or the emotive part of his mind that loved her for wanting to be the vehicle for all his desires, for taking on whatever role he requested. He’d switch back and forth, one moment fully immersed in the experience, the next slightly distanced as he watched her transform herself into his literal fantasies, mirroring his inner sexual life with uncanny, shape-shifting skill.

They had tried documenting their fucking with a cellphone a few times, and while taking the pictures was hot, the result was flat and insubstantial. Looking at them afterward was arousing only because the images were a talisman from the moment, taken while the moment was actual and happening. They were not the same as the pictures he took with his mind while they were fucking; those pictures were living breathing things, fully fleshed the instant they breached his waking mind.

 – from Click, by J G Cain

from Bound

19494395523_3463f2d0b3_b“The lights were off, but the shades were open. A thin crescent moon lingered below the window, flinging a small fistful of grey moonlight through the glass, throwing pewter shadows across the generic hotel room set pieces: desk, two chairs and table, television, dresser, bed. The limited amount of light threw the features of the room into muddy black and white, but for the striking exception of the red leather collar she wore around her neck, the chain link of the leash glinting mischievously in the dim light.

She knelt before him, head bowed, her hair spilling forward. Her wrists crossed unseen behind her back. A small flower adorned the side of her head, tucked behind her ear. In addition to the collar and the leash, she wore black fishnets, petite silver earrings, a long strand of pearls. Nothing else. The room was dark enough so it seemed she wasn’t so much kneeling on the carpet, but planted in it, the fishnet transformed by light and shadow into root-like shapes, tendrils reaching up her legs. He could not see her pussy, as it too was shrouded in shadow, but he could smell it, keenly.

He followed the flow of her body with his eyes, moving up her legs to the silhouette of her hips, heady curves flaring out, then coursing in toward her waist before skirting out again. He felt more than saw the yearning in her breasts, waiting for his touch, nipples hard, skin flushed. His gaze lingered on the white slope of her shoulders, the regal line of her neck, the fragile grace of her collarbones like the wings of birds.

He approached her, stood over her. He touched his index finger to her chin, lifted her head, until she met his eyes.”

– from Bound, by J G Cain

Welcome to Serious Moonlight

Serious Moonlight

Serious Moonlight on Amazon

Every Friday for the next year, from Valentine’s Day 2019 to Valentine’s Day 2020, Serious Moonlight will release a new erotic flash fiction story.

Serious Moonlight is the home of smart and sexy flash fiction erotica by J G Cain.  Hot, playful, loving, subversive, humorous, theatrical, sex-positive and literate: it’s all in the mix.

Serious Moonlight tells the story of a man and a woman who are curious, creative, sexually adventurous and deeply in love. These stories push often hardcore BDSM up against loving and tender exchanges. They make no distinction between what is dirty and what is sweet, what is brutal and what is gentle, what is play and what is real, what is love and what is lust.

I hope you will join us in the moonlight.