from Serious Moonlight

tumblr_moknfvfmbb1sv1szbo1_500In the still room she knelt on the floor with her head bowed; he stood behind her with the belt in his hand. They had formed this tableau many times before. It was one of their oldest and most favorite games. A ritual in which they both knew their parts, with their lines memorized: a play straight out of the BDSM playbook. He would bind her hands tightly with the belt, then walk back in front of her, his cock thickening inches away from her face. He would tease her with it then, rub it all over her face as she closed her eyes and purred.

Except that’s not what happened. That’s not what happened this time. That’s not what happened when he looped the belt in his fist, not what happened as he walked toward her, not what happened as he stood over her, entranced and aflame.

He paused. He inhaled the moment, marking it in memory, not truly even sure what he was going to do next as his arm seemingly developed a will of its own.

He lowered the loop of leather around her neck. He did not pull on the belt but left the loop loose as he walked around to stand in front of her again. He felt on the verge of some new world.

She raised her head to look up at him. Her face was aglow, as if lit from within. Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyes round with wonder.

When he remembered the moment years later, and he would, he would recall her expression as not even specifically sexual. He would remember the openness of her gaze, the complete lack of boundaries, the trust in knowing anything might happen next. It was the awestruck look of a child; it was the worshipful look of a parishioner deep in prayer. The look of an athlete milliseconds before the firing of the starting gun. The look of a girl about to receive her first kiss.

Their eyes locked. The air shimmered. The space around their bodies electrified. The moon broke out into clear sky, and moonlight spilled through the window, baptizing them.

Silence.

from Serious Moonlight, by J G Cain

from Sexhair

The waitress came back to take their orders. Her eyes took in the woman’s hair a second time, and she took less care in hiding her smile. He told the waitress they needed more time.

“Sexhair,” he said, after the waitress left.

“Huh?”

“The waitress. She was checking out your sexhair.”

“I have sexhair?” Her expression was a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

“Yeah, it’s all disheveled, like you just got out of bed.”

“I did just get out of bed.”

“It doesn’t just look like it’s been slept on. It looks like it’s been pulled out of shape. Grabbed in a fist. It’s sort of, like, dented on one side.”

“She knows?” asked the woman.

“That we’ve been fucking?”

“She knows. I could see it in her smile.”

The woman’s hands shot up to attempt to fix her hair, though she gave up soon after she started, recognizing the task as hopeless. A loopy grin fell across her face, seeing the lust gather in his eyes.

“Do I look slutty?” she asked.

“You look hot.”

“Is that the same as slutty?”

“It’s not dissimilar,” he said, his grin spreading.

from J G Cain’s Sexhair

Serious Moonlight shines this month!


The Serious Moonlight project will start on Friday, February 15th, the day after Valentine’s Day, and publish a new erotic story every Friday for a full year.  52 weeks, 52 stories.

Serious Moonlight is a series of flash erotica pieces, along with the occasional erotic short story, that tell the story of a man and a woman who are witty, curious, creative, sexually adventurous and deeply in love.  Each story can be read as a stand-alone, but the series of stories, taken together, tells a narrative as well.

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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