Why Do Straight Women Enjoy Watching Lesbian Porn?

This question has been buzzing like crazy in my brain all day, demanding an answer I was worried that I’d never be able to give it. My inner bisexual knew what I wanted the answer to be. “theyreallylikewomentheyreallylikewomentheyreallylikewomen.” It would be more evidence to me that we are, after all, existing on a sexual scale of preference, rather than fixed to a straight/gay binary.

But that felt like an easy answer. It doesn’t seem quite that straightforward. Straight men, for instance, do not watch gay porn. They just don’t. They need some girl-flesh to get off to and watching men do things to men generally makes them squirm, or die inside or something. I’ve been told by men of the world that “guy on guy sex is just “unnatural”, whereas girl on girl is part of the way of the world – because men like to watch it DUH! And so do straight women, apparently. So if the answer is simply that “we’re all a little bit bi, then girls are clearly a little bit more bi than boys; a conclusion that makes very little logical sense.

It’s fairly obvious that men are anxious about their masculinity, and that so much as daring to watch Brokeback Mountain can be perceived as a gay, anti-male threat in many circles. There’s simply no reason for a manly straight man to watch gay porn if he isn’t immediately aroused by it.  And if he is, then then the instant conclusion is, of course, that it’s because he’s a repressed gay(not bi). On the other hand, straight porn is a harder sell to women because representationally it’s … pretty horrible mostly. In terms of power dynamics it’s not only all male fantasy, it more often than not features male dominance and displays of power over women.  Women in porn are mostly fuck toys.  As a woman, it’s not easy to get into a space/frame of mind for being aroused when the person on-screen you identify with is being objectified and shown as dehumanised or subservient.  

If we consider lesbian porn, instead, it’s entirely different. Of course, lesbian porn isn’t actually made for either straight or gay women to enjoy, it’s still a male fantasy game, but no matter how tawdry the onscreen dynamic is still entirely different. Instead of watching a male figure dominating and subduing women, two (or more) women are meeting for sex and pleasuring one another on rather more equal power- terms. How much easier to switch off and feel arousal if there’s at least something onscreen that the woman can identify with  How much more enjoyable. The male in straight porn is so often a little bit threatening, but in lesbian porn that figure has gone.  It may not be that all women are fantasising about fucking the woman onscreen as men are when they watch straight porn.  They may be using the sexual scenario as a way to fuel their own, more abstract, fantasies.

If this is close to correct, does that make straight women free from the potential, horrific curse of being labelled bisexual – are they still being honest with themselves if they call themselves straight? Well, I guess this depends on how one views sex/arousal; I doubt that most women who say this are actually lying, but I think that their language of sexuality and our culture of anti bisexuality suggests to them that the straight box is the one they should fit into. Does saying “I like watching women onscreen, but I wouldn’t go out and have sex with one” mean that you are definitely straight? For me, whatever the reason you’re doing it, surely the fact is that if watching two women having sex arouses you, takes you to a place in which you have erotic thoughts and desires, then you’re aroused by the thought of your own sex.(Do you have to actually have sex with a woman to consider yourself a bisexual woman?) In my mind, that’s still a strong indication that sexuality exists on a continuum, and that what we call ourselves, straight, gay, bi, pan or whatever, we still have the possibility to break free from the constrictions of our language and the boxes it tries to put is in and consider that sex and desire is flexible and more than a little unpredictable. 

An Ill-advised Interview with Talentless Hack “Clara Brooks”

Since she’s now firmly on the road to superstardom, it seems somewhat criminal that the delightful and enigmatic Ms. Clara Brooks has not yet been approached by either Time Magazine, Playboy or Cosmo for that all revealing interview. Yet since her many adoring fans are simply gagging to know the truth behind the mystery that is Clara, I decided to take the mammoth task upon myself and created the equally unusual Mr.X to do the seemingly impossible task and interview the seemingly uninterviewable.

So, dear reader, love of all things erotic and forbidden — read on and see this incredible personality reveal all in this exclusive interview.


Clara Brooks sits before me alluring, impatient, weaving all manner of dizzying, spellbinding, erotic enchantments on this humble interviewer. Dressed in a tight revealing red dress, she crosses and recrosses her legs seductively. She smiles warmly and leans forward, hugging me intimately rather than the usual aloof shake of the hand. I catch a whiff of her Chanel No.5 and a slight touch of her breast against me makes me feel….

CB: Can we get on with this, this wasn’t quite what I hand in mind?

Mr.X: It’s an honour, Ms.Brooks, to be given such a great opportunity to interview someone so smart and interesting such as yourself. May I just say that as alluring and provocative as I find your fiction, in person you are ten times more intoxicating. I feel as if I have been graced with the presence of a Goddess.

CB: Really, Mr.X, you do exaggerate, I’m just this cheeky little London girl…

Mr.X: I know, but I have to set the scene correctly for the reader. In truth you’re really rather ordinary, it’s a bit of a disappointment really. And frankly, I find your fiction rather cliché…

CB: OK, OK can we get on with the questions please? This is supposed to be a fucking puff piece.

Mr.X: So, how did you get into writing erotica, Clara? Isn’t that a bit of a filthy and disgusting thing for a lady to be doing. Why don’t you stick to Fantasy, Vampires or YA like a good girl?

CB: I’ve tried writing those things — OK not YA – for many years it was my ambition to write poptastic, exciting genre fiction. But my muse really hated me for it and she ckept screaming rude words in my ear at night, like “cunnilingus” and “cocksucker”. I realised that the world didn’t need any more fucking heroes, or if it did, they needed to be literally fucking heroes. I read a wide range of fiction and it occurredd to me that for one reason or another I’ve always been let down by sex in novels, whether it’s a work of porn/erotica or a single sex scene in genre/literary fiction – it’s always boring, That doesn’t gel with real life. Sex is a fundamental – possible the most fundamental – part of our human experience and yet we’re always so coy, dismissive or just plain terrible at expressing it in fiction. So I decided I wanted to attempt to capture sexual experience in its many and interesting forms; arousing, comic, strange, beguiling, terrifying …

Mr X: So you’re not just trying to cash in on the whole 50 Shades thing then?

CB: Well, that too. No, honestly, romance erotica is not my thing and so marketing my work will be as difficult as if 50 Shades had never existed. I want to push boundaries in terms of idea, form and content. I want my readers to feel like they’ve experienced something.

Mr. X: But don’t erotica readers just want to “get off?”

CB: They have my blessing to do that. I’m willing them on. But there’s more than one way to be aroused, and something can excite you erotically and stimulate you intellectually at the same time. I’ve had people – especially guys, for obvious reasons – tell me that they get off on my stories, and I think that’s awesome. If nobody did I’d feel a little sad because I want my writing to arouse people.

Mr.X: So your work is more than just porn? Do you see a big difference between what you write as “erotica” and pornographic jerk-off material?

CB:  Honestly, people make such a big deal over that distinction and I’m not sure that I really care for it. I might think of my own writing as “artistic” but I don’t really need someone to invent a label to categorise it as such. “Pornography” for me is material that’s subversive because it pushes the tastes of decency and acceptability in society, that is, the idea of it heralds from a time when “sex” and representations of sex weren’t considered to be decent. Everything has changed now and “porn” just means hardcore sexual content. My writing has hardcore sexual content.

Mr.X: Now for the question that everyone wants the answer to. Do you base your stories on real life experiences, or do you just make them up.

CB: I’ve had so many people ask me this one already. I think that people want to bridge a gap between the concept of Clara on the page and with the Clara they might meet in real life. But I don’t actually answer it, not because I’m coy or care what people think about my sex life, but because my fiction is about blurring the boundaries between what we are, who we are, what society wants us to be, how it defines us and our fantasy-dream-erotic inner worlds.

It seems enough to me to say that writers can only write fiction if they have experience and understanding of the world and writing is a way of expressing their experiences and understanding.

Mr.X: OK that’s getting too deep for me. Before we end up getting personal again do you want to take a moment to plug your first published short fiction, currently languishing at the bottom of the Amazon Sales Ranks, “Proud and Prejudged?

CB: Buy it because it’s awesome. Basically it’s my cross between a fan fiction, erotica and comedy and I think that makes it unique. It’s a story about a girl – Clara, my alter ego – who has a hyperactive sexual imagination, and so when reading Pride and Prejudice she ends up fantasising about fucking Darcy ; that’s what good literature appreciation is, of course. The lines between fantasy and reality become blurred, so there’s a little weirdness, strange encounters and hardcore sex. Read it, it’s some good shit.

Mr,X: Sorry, I don’t have time, I’m reading Dostoyevsky.

CB: Motherfucker!

Mr.X: Any plans for future works you’d like to tell us about?

CB: Yep, loads of stuff.In the short-term I’ll be writing a sexy semi-sequel to Clara’s Dream, which ahs easily been my most popular flash fiction so far. It’s really going to be fucking hot, so watch out for it. I’m also writing another fabulous comic Clara fiction in which Clara meets Sherlock Holmes. I’m not gonna give anything away, including who fucks who, but there’s a lot of drama, comedy and hardcore threesomes.. I’m also planning a magical novel featuring Clara which is going to be insane and a little wonderful.

Mr.X OK, this is kinda boring. My readers are more interested ion dirty facts about you. Namely, do you masturbate while you write your stories. And is that even possible?

CB: Yes, I do. And I can promise you it’s perfectly possible. It’s not the quickest, most productive way of working, though.

Mr.X: You’re bisexual. So, you like girls? If you kissed one, would you like it?

CB: I’m very into girls. Girls smell of roses.

Mr.X: That’s your Chanel perfume actually, Clara.

CB: I’m a girl.

Mr.X: Good point. Can’t we discuss their breasts and the things you’d like to do to them, though?

CB: Try using your imagination huh? But seriously, LGBT issues are very important to me. That’s half of what my blog is about.

Mr.X: You also label yourself as a feminist. Isn’t that a bit PC for this day and age? Do you want people to see you as militant?

CB: I don’t see it as militant or too “PC” at all. I just happen to think that there’s a power imbalance in the world that’s developed over time and that we should all work together – men and women – to redress that imbalance. It’s just a way of saying that I think it’s important to see women as important as men, and that women have the right to express themselves and be the people they want to be.

Mr.X: What are your major literary influences. You claim to love books and movies. Which ones are your favourites?

CB:  I’ve had lots of influences over the years and I try not to be a slave to any particular style. I read a lot of classics and am into women’s writing, my favourites are Jane Austen, George Eliot and Virginia Woolf. I love Dickens, of course. I’m also a big sci-fi/fantasy fan and I love Lord of the Rings, Asimov’s Foundation, A Song of Ice and Fire, Robert E Howard’s Conan books, Gene Wolfe … the list goes on. I’m a huge Joss Whedon fan, so Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I love graphic novels too – Alan Moore’s Lost Girls was one of the workd that inspired me into thinking that Erotica could be pretty cool.

I could spend all night listing movie influences. David Lynch is probably my biggest. And Kieslowski’s Three Colours. But really I love anything from Classic to Modern Hollywood, to art house, to Hammer Horror. I love Star Wars, of course.

Mr.X : What’s your ideal fantasy threesome.

CB:  I could easily have said Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, but this morning I realised that Kurt Cobain and Courtenay Love would have been damn hot. I fancy most celebrities, this won’t be a problem for me. Natalie Portman, Scarlet Johannson, Johnny Depp, Michael Fassbender… you get the idea, I could do this all day.

Mr.X: Finally, any tips for aspiring writers?

CB: Work harder than I do. Don’t masturbate while you are writing.

Mr.X: Clara, I’d love to say that this has been a pleasure, but honestly, apart from being able to stare at your overly exposed cleavage for extended periods of time, it’s frankly been a really dull interview with a talen less hack.

CB: I really can’t believe I created a fictional interviewer who insults me and my work. I must have a serious psychosis,

Mr.X : Don’t be so hard on yourself, most authors do. Especially the ones destined to fail.

CB: Ouch.

She Wakes

She Wakes
(Author’s note: I wrote this attempting to capture a gentler, more sensual moment.)

Her body lies sprawling, naked and peaceful, an erotic adornment to the stark crisp linen of her bed. The dawning sun shyly observes her calm and unmoving beauty, for she lies perfectly still but for the soft regular rise and fall of her small delicate bosom. Strong male hands run lightly across the tips of her breasts and grab hold of her curving hips; a firm cock slides gently inside of her; and she wakes.

The first coy greetings of the morning sun tentatively shine through and brighten the room, illuminating her precious nudity. She yawns, stretches out her arms, and then blearily wipes away the encrusted sleep from her sticky eyes. The bolder rays beam their warmth across her smiling face and neck, bringing welcome heat to the exposed breast, recently cupped so tenderly by the man now thrusting his way deeper and deeper within.

She wakes as the gentle thrusting quickens, intensifies and heats; as the penetrating rays of the sun explode and refract into a light of a thousand beautiful colours; and then it burns and dies. She feels a husky breath on her neck, her warm body is surrounded, cradled in the arms of her lover, and she emerges into the day feeling safe and content. One arm wraps tightly around her, hand playing fondly with her chest, the other gently squeezing downwards on her thigh.  His semi-rigid cock lies pressed up against her ass, while the seed it spilled trickles innocently down her leg. She wriggles, pushes her body onto his, and then giggles sweetly.  She mutters, “I love you,” incoherently before drifting back into sensuous sleep.

The sunlight creeps ever over, caressing her soft, naked skin.

Born this Way or Shoved Into a Gay Box?

Wise words from a wise lady.

Wise words from a wise lady?

We live in a world of tasty sound-bytes and “Born this Way” has, through its simplicity and well-meaning heart become an LGBT slogan for an American generation.  I’ve heard/seen it uttered as the ultimate trump card in a debate against those who belittle queer sexualities by arguing it’s a choice (therefore, immoral) more times than I’ve seen Star Wars, (and that’s a fucking lot) and every time I’ve ended up scratching my head wondering if the slogan ultimately does more harm than good. “It’s not fair to say I shouldn’t have same-sex attraction, I was born this way, I can’t help it any more than you can help your hetero-lust, dammit!”
Ethically it’s very dangerous to deprive people of their choices
Casting my mind back to days when I was a homophobic teenager (as I mentioned before that I was), I recall thinking in a similar way.  The simple logic of “Why would anyone choose this life for themselves?” Coupled with the notion of “it’s a little disgusting, so I guess people must be compelled to do it against their will,” persuaded me that there was a gay gene of some sort, forcing us to act out its morbid ideas of sexual fantasies that the rest of us never could and never should understand. (Nowadays I wonder what evolutionary benefit a gay gene would offer.  How would it replicate itself through natural selection exactly?  Thoughtful answers appreciated.  Creationist ones, not so much. Comment below.)  I didn’t dislike gay people; I just felt sorry for them and refused to try and understand their desires.
Growing up in England we’re not overwhelmed with this same style of rhetoric, perhaps because the gay debate is a little more divorced from religious debate.  Or at least there’s less potency to the religious debate.   Nobody ever pressured me or my friends to live a strict religious life or follow a religious moral code. Religious concepts rumble on in the background but Christianity doesn’t take over our culture, and my own secular atheist mind-set is rarely frowned upon.   The impression one gets from American culture is that religion is a big deal and that being gay does not mesh well with religion.  God will not be impressed with you if you make the choice to have homosexual sex since marriage in The Bible is between a man and a woman. Religion often relies on the power of its rhetoric, and anti-gay religious groups have chosen to focus on the rhetorical idea that “choosing” to be gay is a sin against God.  It’s a gay apple, really (eateth of it and you’ll discover the joy in being queer as well as naked, but you’ll be cast out of heaven!)  What has clearly proved useful for LGBT groups in the past is to have a rhetorical comeback of their own that religious groups struggle to argue against.  The “born this way” message of  “God made me this way, I have no choice,” really screws with their ethical systems.  If he made you that way then why would he punish you for it?
When you’re a teenager going through puberty and scrabbling to learn about your place and purpose in the world, it’s easy and seductive to latch onto the idea that you have no choice and that your emotions control you completely.  Life and lust is confusing at the best of times, and if you’re 15 and you have gay thoughts that set you apart from a rabid anti-gay crowd, it can be potentially very frightening.  I’ve spoken to a lot of people who are adamant that they wouldn’t have chosen a gay life for themselves because of the social outcast they felt it made them, and certainly it’s hard to think that someone would willingly make their own life that difficult if they didn’t have to.
People are, then, likely to develop a set of sexual preferences based on their discoveries at puberty and then form their teenage-adult identity around them and be defined by them.    And it’s this obsession we have of thinking in male/female binaries that’s causing problems: what is never discussed is that people also have an equal tendency to shape and define their sexual preferences over time, depending on where they are and what they are doping in life.  Sexual preference covers a whole lot more than male/female, it covers a wide spectrum of taste from body size, age, hair colour, ethnicity, to activities such as kink & BDSM, romance, voyeurism, exhibitionism, watching porn and so on.  As a teenager it’s impossible to appreciate that you can and probably will – gay or straight – jump around a spectrum of sexual taste throughout your entire adult life.  (My own tastes, for instance, change from month to month.  Sometimes I’ll be into women, then Asian women specifically, then ripped men, then androgynous men.  Then just Scarlet Johansson) Therefore “Oh fuck, I think I’m gay” becomes an all-powerful and all-pervasive thought, and a defining thought.   In a less controlling world that thought could just as easily have been “oh fuck, at the moment I am feeling same-sex attraction.”  See how the latter, whilst still distressing, doesn’t hole you up in a box for life?  It’s the difference between “ I am gay” and “I like gay sex”.  Of course, I’m categorically not stating that there’s anything wrong with identifying as homosexual, I’m simply pointing out that we’re all in an awful hurry to label ourselves up, and we feel as a society that puberty is the time to do it; and I think we are in such a hurry because we desperately want and need an identity for ourselves.  We want to know who our friends will be and what box to check on the census forms.
The problem is  the way that the rhetoric we use likes to divide things up into simple binaries and throw them into simple boxes so that we can make simple sense of them.  If, for instance, it’s not the case that I discovered my sexuality by waking up one morning and thinking “I think I’ll try out  gay sex today” then it seems to be argued that being gay “cannot be a choice”.  Being gay comes with a lot of negative societal consequences and so for a lot of LGBT supporters being gay “cannot be a choice.”  If gay is not a choice, then therefore it must be genetic – And there we have it, the battle-lines have been drawn from which no-body will budge.  It’s a WWI trench warfare of words between the LGBT and Religious homophobes.
I don’t really see how there can be a bisexual gene that allows desires to shift and change over the course of a lifetime.  Desire may not express itself as a simple choice like picking a movie or a flavour of ice-cream, but it does involve agency on the part of the desirer, and the will to actively entertain and pursue the multiple desires that s/he is capable of feeling.  Desires grow within as we contemplate them, entertain their possibilities within our brains and consider the different pleasures that different scenarios might bring us. 
I’d describe it as something of an existential choice.  It’s a choice that society is eager to deny because society is afraid and doesn’t want to understand it, just as I was an afraid teenager who wanted to feel that sexuality controlled us and that we could never harness our desires or enjoy expressing them in a free and liberated way.  I’ve talked about how men and women are strongly defined by a patriarchal society elsewhere, and this seems to be another consequence of patriarchal power politics.  Men have to be one way, women another or the power systems in place will, it seems, crumble right around us.  It’s my own assertion that to break the restrictions that society constantly tries to place upon us through media, advertising – efforts to box us up and sell us dreams that mostly won’t ever come true – we need to embrace existential choice and take a greater ownership of our passions.  The huge problem that I have with “Born This Way” rhetoric is that it’s an apology, a defense for being gay as if a gay lifestyle somehow needs to be apologised for.  “I’m sorry, I don’t fit in with the structure of your society properly, but please accept me as I am and I promise faithfully not to cause any trouble.”
It’s ethically dangerous to deprive people of their choices and unfortunately a lot of people seem to feel that it’s more dangerous to give people the opportunity to make their own free choices about how they want to live their lives.  I for one am happy to state that I wasn’t born this way.  I wasn’t this way until I reached my early twenties.  But why on earth would you judge me for my sexual choices?  It needs to stop.

The Pleasure in Death

I quickly wrote this quickie.  I’m going to write some erotic vampire fiction later, so this is just me putting down some initial thoughts for you to read. 

I stood alone, transfixed by Carmilla’s haunting gaze – or possibly it was the thick blood red wine freshly drunk – an uncontainable fit of lust coursing through my body.  I hadn’t desired this, yet as I looked into her cold dank eyes an unknown passion built inside of me telling me what I must do, so I obeyed.  It told me to slip my dress off onto the floor and remove my brassiere and panties, and I did so unquestioningly.  The cool air on my naked skin excited me; her lascivious eye, now fixed on my small breasts, both thrilled and scared me.  The wine glass I held slipped from my hand in fear, crashed to the floor and shattered, thick red liquid covering my bare legs.  Dark red wine mingled with deep thick blood as the shards of glass rent open my flesh.
“Renfield, tidy that mess up,” she ordered the meek servant who had been watching on in awe and amazement.  He scurried over, and like a rabid animal he began to lick the juice from off of me, slowly sucking the blood-wine from my toes and feet, slowly licking the blood-wine that had gathered in dropsand congealed on my leg.  His tongue slowly, but eagerly, embarked on its cleansing journey further upwards until instead of sticky wine I was drenched in his hot sticky saliva.  As his tongue caressed my inner thigh, creeping upwards to a place that had begun to drip a different kind of liquid, Carmilla ordered him to stop. “You have had your fun.  Your place is to watch, and perhaps if you behave like a good servant, as you should we shall have sport of you later.”
“I will do as you bid good lady,” he muttered deferentially and scurried back into the corner and continued to watch.
“Now my love, Clara; my lovely Clara,” her hand caressed my cheek as she whispered enticing promises of many pleasures in my gullible ear.  “Lay down darling, Clara lay down.  Close your eyes and lay back and I shall take you to places you never dreamed possible.  Lay down and feel Clara; feel me and die.  Die erotic death for me, Clara, and be reborn to my world of endless pleasure.”  I moaned softly as her delicate hands gently brushed over my naked tingling skin, taking in the feel of my neck, the soft round shape of my breasts, the curve on my hips and the moistness and depth of my willing pussy.  I was told to lay back, so I lay back, and I moaned gently as her finger slipped inside of me; my breath quickened, my pulse raced and my mind spun lightly round and round; round and round I span as her fingers worked round and round my hole, and with the spinning came pleasure and with pleasure came the light release of death.  And more pleasure, forever.  I was held fast in this world of blood-red pleasure and could not move to save myself from the end.  But I wanted the release her fingers were giving to me as they soaked up the juices from inside of my dripping cunt.  I wanted the release she would give me as she moved in close, sighed, whispered “I love you, Clara, I want you,” in my ear.  I wanted her too; I wanted the release found from the taste of the bloody wine on her feminine lips, the hot slime of her tongue and her cloudy breath on my neck.  I wanted the release from the prick of her teeth in my neck, the caress of her tongue as she eagerly sucked in the blood that spilled from the tiny gashes she created, the release from the intense orgasm  only pleasure mingled with sharp deathly pain can bestow.
I slid my hands over my naked dying body and moaned aloud in ecstasy.  Sticky blood-red spilled from the hole in my neck as sticky wet fingers slipped from the hole in my cunt and into my waiting mouth.  I sucked blood and pussy juice and I came.   I came, and I died; died to be reborn into a new pleasure.   

Clara’s Dream

Clara's Dream

Clara’s Dream

“How did I get here? I don’t know where I am.”

Clara closed her eyes and gently floated away into an uncertain alcoholic euphoria. She could just hear the gentle ticking of a windup clock marking out every single beat of time; marked out as every gentle beat of her heart marked out a beat of her pleasure; marked out every bead of sweat that gently formed and then trickled down her delicate naked back, down over her soft pleasant round buttocks and slowly dripped cool wet patches, unnoticed onto the floor.

Smells of Clara’s perfume and stale, long forgotten vodka hung in the air, mingling together eccentrically in Clara’s dark place, a sensuous chanel tinged opium. The hot, sweet sweat of sex consumed her, leading her ever onwards into heavier indulgence.

Clara closed her eyes; in the dark she could not see, just feel and drink and taste. Her tiny nude body, on its knees, straddled face down across a hard bed, held roughly round the hips by strong masculine hands, was dripping with thick honeyed oils. The man’s thick tool thrust violently inside of her in time to the gentle ticking of the clock and the warm, pulsating beat of her heart. Ankles bound tight, hands cuffed firmly behind her back Clara could not move but for the sharp thud of her body smacking into the firm bed, and the thrusting of her tight oily glistening ass backwards and upwards into the air.

Clara felt helpless, and her thoughts, thoughts of how she got there, thoughts of where she was going to, drifted ever upwards into a cloudy, constricted helpless dream.

As Clara closed her eyes and drifted into that helpless dark she opened up her mouth and licked the cherry lips covered in vodka and lipstick. Alcohol tinged her breath, sugar sweetened her lips. She opened up her mouth wide and invited them to enter into her, even though bound and taken there was no other choice. Two impressive members belonging to two succulent young men were playing together and kissing one another in all imaginable places, taking lustful pleasure in one another’s erections, readying themselves for Clara’s taking. They lightly rubbed their cocks across one another’s and together they slid them into Clara’s beckoning hole.

Clara’s body trembled as her heart pounded faster and faster; and faster it beat as the thickness swelled and throbbed in her mouth, the thrusting in her dripping pussy about to erupt into thick sticky pleasures. The clock ticked faster, beads of sweat multiplied and flooded in cavalcades down her back, the rhythmic ache in her cunt intensified into a blistering heat. Clara’s petite frame tightened, clenched, and her alcoholic haze lifted her towards the heavens. The clock chimed the hour and two throbbing cocks together burst, releasing their heady substances into her waiting mouth. Clara clenched, choked, plunged forward; her heart stopped beating. Thick, sticky ooze formed inside of her two hot warm places. Drops of cum dripped slowly, unnoticed, out of her cunt and formed cool wet patches on the floor. Streams of liquid gushed down her throat, remaining there, the rest thickly coating the dual cocks that still slipped in and out of her mouth, searching for one last taste of Clara’s sweet sugar.

Cries and moans drowned out the sound of the clock. Clara’s faint heart beat again, slowly and irregularly, no longer marking the time as Clara’s sudden orgasms rushed her to another pleasureworld. Vodka, oil, sweat and sperm mingled together with Clara and her Chanel No.5. She moaned and lost her other senses.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here,” she muttered inaudibly, still sucking excitedly on the cum drenched cocks. “But I don’t think that I ever want to leave.” She closed her eyes again.