Clara Dreams : A New Erotica Anthology from Clara Brooks

A quick shout out to the world that I’ve anthologised the short works that I have written over the last year and made them available on Kindle for anyone who’d like to enjoy them that way.  Usually priced $2.99 they are currently free so grab them and enjoy them (and by that, I mean masturbate to them) while you can.

All but one of these stories have been freely available on this blog for a year but sadly it’s time to take them all – except for Clara’s Dream – down.  If you’ve enjoyed them at all then I’d be incredibly grateful to anyone for leaving me an Amazon review which is the recognition that new authors need.  Also, of course, the more people who visibly like my work the more I’ll write in the future!

Clara Dreams

 

Clara Oswald: Into the Vortex (An Erotic Doctor Who Fantasia – Part One)

Image

Clara Oswald: Into the Vortex (An Erotic Doctor Who Fantasia – Part One)

The central unit of the TARDIS’ slowly rose and fell with a dynamic, rhythmic whirr, propelling the mysterious craft forever onward, to continue its fantastic journey through space and time, while Clara lay dreaming,naked, in bed. A strange hand lovingly caressed the console, clicking buttons, pulling levers and twisting dials until the soft whir became a deafening roar and the motions of the main pillar increased in fury and vigour until the control room was awash with movement and noise; a deafening alarm, then a crash followed by an uncanny silence. And through it Clara slept on; and Clara dreamed on.

Clara dreamed of many things that terrified her; she dreamed of the terrible monsters she’d unluckily encountered, the single-minded Cybermen, the mechanical killers, the Daleks and the chillingly fearsome Ice Warriors. As the dial turned on the console and the temperature soared dangerously in the control room, Clara’s dreams slowly shifted from fear into an altogether different realm; Clara was experiencing strange dreams that terrified her and then aroused her; Clara dreamed of the Doctor, and of sex. The mysterious figure operating the dials chuckled to itself and exited, satisfied that a job had been well done. The TARDIS went spinning back through time. Or was it forward? Or perhaps a combination of the two. Either way, a cryptic alien message on the display screen flashed with urgency. Roughly translated to English, it read “next stop,
oblivion.”

“Next stop, oblivion,” came a sweet but worried snarl from Clara’s chapped, sleeping lips. The TARDIS had jerked from side to side and the jolt appeared to startle her into action. Her eyes flashed open and she sat bolt upright in bed, throwing a blanket aside as she did so. Any observer could tell that she wasn’t actually awake since her face clearly had the vacant, morbid expression of a somnambulist. The next time she spoke was markedly different; soft, gentle and enticingly sexual.  The voice of quiet seduction. ‘Oh Doctor, you saved me.’ As she spoke a silk sheet that clung tightly to her skin slid gently away exposing her astonishing figure to the electric illuminations of her private chamber. “Doctor, you saved me,” she breathed. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man. I want you. Take me Doctor, let me reward you, Let me give you what I know you
crave.”

Inner heat and tension rising fast, the TARDIS froze in time, span around quickly, and then abruptly exploded. It then lurched forwards in time, stopped and disintegrated once again before being propelled backwards in time only to be rend asunder for a third time, then a forth, a fifth, a sixth and so on, over and over caught in an infinite and devastating time loop. Clara, oblivious to the apparent mathematically impossible events taking place around her, continued to dream an unabashedly erotic dream. The electric light flickered once again, illuminating her soft skin, the tight curve of her breast, and every desirable inch of her unworried nudity. The illumination picked out the sweat of the heat on her skin, the goose-bumps covering her flesh, the gentle tremors of her aroused and shaking form. The illuminations looked dispassionately on as Clara’s uncontrolled, unawake hands, uncertainly explored the subtle contours of her body, slowly touching, caressing and enjoying every inch of her unaware, but vulnerable form. As the ship exploded again and again Clara’s hands slid excitedly across her breasts and dainty, firming nipples; they slid down her stomach, stroking and playing as they went lower still until eventually resting on her wet cunt, and a finger entered into that playful private vortex. As it gently slipped deeper and deeper inside Clara managed to moaned again out loud, “Doctor, you shouldn’t put that in there… oh! Yes Doctor, that’s one hell of a sonic … OH! OH!”

BOOM!

A further explosion occurred, and Clara awoke and fell, unsatisfied, to the floor. A further explosion and it all ended as the TARDIS flew itself out of the deadly infinite time loop and into a dimensional vortex of unknown worlds and desires; into a vortex where literally anything might happen; where Clara might encounter the whole of space and time … and memory. Clara – the impossible girl – was about to experience the impossible.

…and Clara Dances

… and Clara Dances, Like a Feather in the Wind.­­

 La donna è mobile
Qual piuma al vento,
muta d’accento
e di pensiero.

Feather

Clara span round and around. Naked men sucked one another to satisfaction as they watched Clara spin around and around on her point. They watched as she span but she could not watch them, for she was locked tightly alone in a world of darkness, a cover on her eyes forbidding access to the dazzling colour; forbidding access to the succulent pleasures of the male sex she so greedily desired to feast her eyes upon. She couldn’t have them, she could only spin around on her axis and dance.

And so Clara danced, and as she did, although denied vision, her sense of enveloping sound and music increased. She heard the rough whine of an old needle scratching a record as the light tenor voice of Pavarotti singing an aria from Verdi drifted pleasantly across the room. She heard the slow incessant drip-drip-drip of water from a tap, picking out every painful note of its ceaseless rhythmic torture. She heard the pop of a bottle uncorking and the slow dank pouring of wine in a glass, and she smelt the spiced cherry grape of the delicious vintage Cabernet she’d been expressly forbidden to taste. She heard the light, gentle tap-tappety-tap of her own bare feet upon the ground as she danced around graciously in time to the music, her feet picking out and accentuating the beat, as light as a feather in the wind. She heard the soft sounds of sex from every corner of the room, from far away and close beside her, and she could feel fucking warmly embrace her. She heard the sound of bodies pressed tightly against one another, the slow salivating suck of cock slipping deep down into a hot willing mouth. She heard moans of pleasure sing out, drowning out the melodic cries of Pavarotti. She heard the shrill shriek of male orgasmic lust and she heard the light slap of balls, and the swishing jet-spray of cum as thick members thrust hard in and then emerged softly from their adoring pleasures.

And as she heard all of this, Clara danced ever on like the wind.

Clara did not dance voluntarily. She span around and around because they wanted her, desired her, made her. She danced for them and they watched keenly, lusting her feverishly, aroused by the music she sang as she span. The wild music of her silken hair as it flung exuberantly about her shoulders, the tiny music of her breasts as they thrust firmly forwards in time to the drip of the water. The swaying music of her hips as they jiggled sensually from side to side, and the supple music of her legs as she span them faster and faster so that she might be free. But she could not dance free while the hands grabbed her body and held her, and twisted her, and forced her down. She could not be free as they came upon her, big, hard and filled with intent. Could not be free as they gave her themselves to their grip, to tease, to fondle and jerk. Could not be free as she was surrounded, overwhelmed, dizzy and confused. They desired her and they had her, and she wanted them back. She could not see as they slipped down her throat, first hard, then sticky, then soft. She could not count as they came at her insatiably and left her satisfied. She could not see her desire, just hear it, feel it and taste it.

Clara danced on her point until she stumbled and fell. She danced until they grabbed her and took her and held her down. They grabbed her arms and they bound them, took her legs and then tied them, they took her clothes and they ripped them. The Versace dress she wore was violently stripped away, leaving her naked and exposed.

“I’m frightened,” she confessed as they held her down, tore her clothes, stripped her naked and bare. She couldn’t see who, she couldn’t tell how and she couldn’t know what manner of pleasure or punishment awaited her. Clara was alone, scared, vulnerable and defenceless. Clara’s cunt dripped wet.

Clara Dances

As they strapped her up, her body ached and trembled. Bound tightly as she was, she was no longer free to dance; yet Clara danced inside as the tannic red wine splashed across her naked breasts, hands crawled slowly across her skin and probing fingers buried themselves deep inside of her most private holes. The softness of touch told her that these fingers were feminine, and as a delicate nipple flashed gently across her mouth, begging her to lick, her mind and body flushed hot with new sensations. The world seemed strange and she danced; sensations were soft and she danced; sounds sang pleasant and she flew, soaring upwards and ever higher as the groping fingers of a girl – or two, or three – penetrated her tight, clenched ass; she soared higher still as a full pair of breasts rubbed erotically across hers; she soared up to the sun as the rough tongue of a girl lightly licked up the scented juice that gushed like a torrent from her pussy.

“Let me go, please let me go,” she begged, almost screamed. “I want to be free.” She heard the stern reply of “Never.”

“Take off the blindfold, untie me. PLEASE. I want to see, I want to touch.” She implored her captors and they replied without mercy, “Never.”

Clara moaned aloud in pain and in pleasure. Clara screamed a happy, delirious scream and then she saw the entire world from above as a bright white light streaked across her senses; and then there were rainbow colours. She saw an intense streak of electric light and she felt it shock through her throat, constrict her back, pain her wrists and then sear through her brain, wrenching her entire body rigid. She saw her life in 16.7 million colours and she saw her death cloaked all in black. She saw Clara shrouded in dark blood red floating lightly around the room as a feather flies in the breeze. Looking down from above, Clara could see herself clearly, surrounded by lust and debauchery, smeared all over in nudity and wine, her face flushed tannic red, her mouth silently twisted, grinning with crazed notes of pleasure; her arms and legs pulling furiously on her bonds as her groin and chest thrust desperately upwards again and again; and Clara begged them again and again and again:

And the bonds on her wrists tightened, the straps on her ankles tightened, her constricted chest tightened and blood flowed freely from the stress of her bonds; her tentative grip on life and the world collapsed. She felt faint, overwhelmed with intense swirls of dizziness dancing around her skull. She descended into a world of pain and fear, and as the fear touched her heart she finally came. Her orgasm released her mind as the fingers, the hands, the breasts and the cocks danced across her helpless body, round and around; tongues thirstily licked the sticky wine that dripped from her chest, as two, three, four fingers penetrated her lusting holes, and the exploding cum drenched her body, squirting, smearing, and joyfully shooting its slimy sex across her tiny helpless figure. “Set me free, I must dance.”

She wrenched, contorted and collapsed exhausted. “Yes, I want this,” she managed before tiredly closing her eyes and finally embracing her dark prison. “I really do. This is all I’ll ever want. Thank you.”

And they nodded, satisfied, then released her body and un-strapped her bonds. She lay back and slept silently to the soothing sounds of a quietly dripping tap and the gentle clunking of the needle as the record played out its last operatic melody. And Clara was content. And Clara was free.

Beautiful Secrets

tumblr_mscxjcfhQy1rj9flpo1_500

(Note. A really light flash fiction I wrote today as a break from the piece I’m working on properly. This was inspired by someone saying to me that male masturbation wasn’t beautiful. I think that is is. Ended up being a little more comic, but that’s OK)

He was so beautiful.

He didn’t see me hiding away in the dark deep of the shadows. He didn’t know that I was there and he never could. He must never know. That I cherished his beauty was my deepest, darkest secret and it cloaked me with shame. My voyeuristic love of watching from a distance as he stroked his cock to climax swallowed me up in self loathing, but I was compelled to do it, and could no more resist the urge to hide myself away and watch his private performance than I could refuse to eat or drink.

He didn’t know that I knew his secret. I could sense the pangs of guilt that stole up on him as he tried so hard not to idly browse to the inevitable dirty websites; they were, afterall the reason he came here alone. If she knew he was sure that his girlfriend would leave him, his parents, he thought, would loathe him, his friends would tease him, his Church ostracise him. He slipped away in secret because he was compelled to, as I was compelled to cloud myself in guilt and watch.

Is it such a sin to bathe in the seas of such a beautiful act?

Guilt faded to resignation, then fired into lust. And as they always did, his eyes and attentions quickly turned away from the illicit pleasures onscreen and fixed themselves firmly onto his own. As I always did, I gaped on in wonder and  watched him undress, a patient, deliberate act that allowed him to savour every second of a moment that might not happen again for another week or two. And I savoured it even more for that. His top came off first, revealing such a glorious expanse of chest, muscle and ripple that looked almost out of place beside his delicately formed feminine features. I sighed as I longed to run my fingers across it and down its slender naked glory, imagining that it was I who skilfully unbuttoned the jeans that were now sensually siding over his perfectly round ass and falling to the floor. Like all men – like myself – he couldn’t keep his eyes from the main prize long, and as I marvelled at the huge bulge I could see stretching its way through his Calvin Kleins, he reached a hand inside and slowly started to fiddle and play with it – as all men do; I deeply regretted that I couldn’t step out from the shadow of my hiding place and help relieve the gigantic tension that had firmly mounted itself in full view..

As he slipped off his underpants and lay back on his bed, thick hard cock held tightly in hand, he rubbed himself off to an intensely satisfying conclusion and it was beautiful.The beautiful twinks came for his pleasure and he had to cum too. It didn’t take him long, a tight grip and a few swift strokes. He cupped his balls and thrust his cock repeatedly into his palm; he jerked and moaned and grunted and as he pleasured his penis the rest of his body writhed wildly, naked and sweating on the sheets. It didn’t take long for hot sticky jet to stream pleasantly from him and cover his chest in a lovely ocean spray of cum. It was my favourite part of the show and I couldn’t persuade myself not to reach down and touch myself as well; a terrible mistake, since on slipping a hand into my trousers my already blisteringly hard cock throbbed in accidental pleasure, and it peaked immediately, squirting streams of goo down the head of my cock, into my pants and over my hand. I couldn’t contain my appreciation for the show vocally either and I squeaked loudly as I shuddered; too late I realised that he’d heard and he started, looking across curiously in my direction.

Feeling drained, sticky and pathetic I was struck by a sudden panic. His beauty had led to this, my secret was to be found out.

He stood up, frightened too, fresh cum glistening on his chest, dripping silently down his still erect shaft and gently onto the floor. He looked cautiously in my direction and I froze, trying not to whimper. Suddenly, without warning, a girl’s voice spoke with authority and sexiness. “That was quite a show. I’m glad I had a ringside seat.”

“Oh my God!” He raced to shut off the PC a reflex action but there was really no point. All had been voyeured, secrets had already been stolen.

“This gets you off does it, lover? How very interesting.” His look of fright didn’t diminish, but her dress dropped briskly to the floor and she strode confidently in her lingerie towards him. “Looks like you need some help with this mess you’ve made.” He thought momentarily that he was off the hook for his actions and had missed what in hindsight was the obvious part of her performance. She glanced across mischievously to the dark place in which I hid and beckoned me towards the light.

“I think all three of us have secrets, don’t we? Come on boys, let’s have some fun together.”

We both looked at her. She was beautiful. She sat on the edge of the bed with a playful look and began to touch herself. Our dark dissipated and our cocks grew monstrously hard.

 

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.

The Pleasure in Death

Vampires
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.