Perfect Pleasures by Cameron Lincoln

A  single mother crafts her perfect fantasy using a very special service…

A dominatrix plays a game that will change her perception forever…

A secret affair is revealed with unexpected consequences…

Today marks a very exciting day for fans of Cameron Lincoln. His anthology, Perfect Pleasures, has been released in print form (yes that’s right, you can hold a little piece of Mr. Lincoln in your hands).

Perfect Pleasures collects six of Cameron Lincoln’s stories: Maria Unchained, The Madison Banquet, Submissive Desire, A Friendly Rivalry, Extra Marital Pleasures (one of our personal favourites) and the BRAND NEW story, Focus. As an added bonus, you will also find several of Cameron’s poignant poems (which we’ll admit we’ve spent many hours swooning over) within the pages of Perfect Pleasures.

We are so pleased to once again be featuring Cameron’s work. Not only are his stories intensely erotic, but he does a beautiful job at weaving in themes of love, empowerment, and self discovery into every tale. Be prepared to “Enter a world of erotic thrills and romantic, sensual encounters.  A world of adoring couples, sexual explorers, and lost souls found again through love, lust and liberation” when you pick up your copy of Perfect Pleasures.

Where to find this book:
Website: http://www.cameron-lincoln.com
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Cameron-Lincoln/e/B0082LNLY6

An Interview with Shawn Mohr

Earlier this week, we shared with you a never-before-seen short story written by Shawn Mohr. Now, we’re excited to have Mr. Mohr in the hot seat as we ask him some of our burning questions, like will we be seeing more of Irma and Robert (we think you’ll like the answer).

So The Story Goes: Thank you, Shawn, for taking the time to answer some of our questions. We thoroughly enjoyed your story “The Farm” and are quite excited to get to know more about you and your writing

Shawn Mohr: The pleasure is absolutely mine. I’m really glad to hear you enjoyed my story.

STSG: Very much so. It was the perfect continuation to The Diner.

We notice on your website, you have a recent post entitled “Erotica? I dabble…”. Is this a new genre of writing for you? And if so, what lured you to this genre?

SM:  It is a new genre to me. I’ve really only started writing erotic stories in the past few months. As to what “lured” me to it . . . sexual conquest? I wrote a story which led to a very interesting sexual relationship. I guess it’s pretty standard these days to use text as a tool of seduction, what with how frequently people meet and communicate online. I had some practice with the language and rhythm of sexually explicit writing through that sort of online flirting. I’d never really written a formal erotic story before, but I was getting a reaction from my audience, which enticed me to explore the idea some more. It’s been a fun experiment.

STSG: We’re glad you decided to try your hand at a more formal erotic story.

What projects were you working on before dabbling in erotica?

SM: Most of my work has gone into a fantasy novel which I’m hoping to release this fall. I’m expecting some feedback from readers shortly, and then plan to make my final edits. I’ll almost certainly self-publish online while I look for a publisher who’s interested in the property. I also write regular reviews at geekyuniverse.com, mostly on board games and comics. I also have a series of film scripts I’ll be getting back to working on, but they still need quite a bit of work before they’re ready to shop. Did I mention that I’m a nerd?

STSG: Haha no, you didn’t. But that’s quite exciting to hear you’ve already finished a full length novel. I’m sure readers of your erotica will be intrigued to check out your writing in the fantasy genre. We know we are.

With your interests spanning over many genres, where do you draw your inspiration from? And did you come across any obstacles when transitioning between genres?

SM: My inspirations are almost always things I’m frustrated with, or celebrations of overcoming frustration. Take Irma and Robert for example. In general, I’m frustrated that a generation put all their hard work into undoing the accomplishments of our grandparents. In this age of declining capitalism, I’m fascinated with its golden age, the mid 20th century and particularly the United States at this time. To top that off, I once heard that it was estimated that about 50% of the population of Atomic Age America were engaged in some kinky behavior in private (I have no idea how one would accurately measure that). The setting just seems ripe in so many ways. But it sets the stage for the mechanical banality of the advanced capitalist state, which Irma senses long before her society. Like many creative types, I find the daily process of work restrictive and counter-productive for myself, but I recognize what it can accomplish. So, frustration clearly informs my characters and their settings.

That frustration is overcome in my work. Whether its the consensual violence and the permission to break taboos like Robert receives from Irma, or if a hero of legend slays a demonic warlord to rescue a nation, it’s kind of the same release for me. But even these fantastical releases are drawn from my (mostly) real experiences. I love video games and comics and cartoons, so on the fantasy end, there’s a whole host of influences. Each of them add shape and colour to my imagination. In my personal life, I pursue sexual activities much like the ones I write about. I get a really great feeling when my partner not only permits me, but wants me to do things which society says are wrong. It’s a sort of acceptance which is unrivaled in my experience.

I’ve never really experienced much difficulty crossing genres, so long as I’ve got a story to tell. I find my style remains more or less the same, except that the language I use in erotica is more explicit and the phrasing is more baroque. I guess I don’t think about genre very much; the story is what it is. A story either has life and grows into its own thing, or it doesn’t and it inevitably fades away from my focus.

STSG: Well said. You make an excellent point about simply telling your story, no matter what the genre.

Can we expect more chapters in the story of Irma and Robert?

SM: They do seem to be the characters I’ve created that people like the most. I like them too, and I know a fair bit more about their story and the sorts of things that might happen. I’m a little hesitant to start on their next chapter though. I think they’ve got some challenges before then that might keep them from getting very hot over the next little bit. I’m not sure how I feel about leaving the erotic aspect of these characters for a few thousand words. So, yes, there’s more coming but I’m not sure when.

STSG: We can’t wait! Thank you again taking the time to chat with us and for sharing your latest story, The Farm, exclusively with our readers.

To read more of Shawn’s work, be sure to visit his website http://shawnmohr7.wordpress.com/

The Farm by Shawn Mohr

If you follow the popular blog Literotica, you may have seen a couple of Shawn Mohr‘s erotic shorts published there recently. In his short The Diner, we’re introduced to Irma, a lonely waitress who feels trapped in both her life and job, and Robert, a mysterious man who enters Irma’s life bringing with him the escape she longs for.

We quickly fell in love with his characters, and as other readers have expressed, we too were eager to know what happens next in the tale of Irma and Robert. Shawn has delivered with his follow up, The Farm. Even better – he’s shared this exclusive, never before seen short with So The Story Goes and now we get to share it with you! *Note: This story is NSFW

The Farm

Robert smiled quietly as they cruised into the sunset. He kept his strong right arm around Irma’s slender, naked shoulders as they sped across the arid plain. The night chased them as they went, lulling Irma to a soft and sweet sleep. She’d never known the kind of peaceful security she found at Robert’s touch. She dreamed only of his scent as he stole her away from the mundane existence of the diner.

There was only one place Robert had left to go, though it brought no surety to his mind. He’d been adrift for some time now, leaving him ambivalent about returning to his family home. No one lived on the farm any more, not since his mother had passed in ‘44. At least the emptiness would leave him with no one to judge him and his circumstances. He tightened his grip on Irma’s sleeping shoulders, kissing the top of her head gently. He’d seen her need to escape, and had greatly enjoyed playing her liberator. But the truth was that he’d need someone to get him through things, a place to put his insecurities and fears in knots, and in so doing, gain command over himself once again.

As he pulled into the long dirt driveway, he eased a blanket around Irma. Parking the car near the house’s front porch, he slipped away from her sleeping form. He quickly found the old breaker box and energized the circuits of the house with a loud electronic clunk. Irma stirred, but did not wake at the sound. He slipped into the house, turning on the lights between the hallway and the master bedroom. Several of the wall sconces failed to illuminate, but the path was well-enough lit for him to confidently bring Irma upstairs. He crept back to the car, and gently picked up her enwrapped form. She never woke as he brought her to the comfortable mattress and laid her down. Robert stripped down naked and slid his warm body next to Irma’s. They both slept deeply and well, protected by the night.

Irma woke to radiant streams of golden sunlight filtering in through the dust-caked glass of the farmhouse. She smiled to herself at the quaint arrangement of porcelain figures on the old fashioned dresser, laying there for minutes, just gazing out at the room, processing the madness and elation yesterday had brought to her life. She considered the oddness of her calm, her ready acceptance of Robert’s every utterance without question. It was so natural and easy; it was unlike any relationship she’d ever experienced. Somehow she knew things would alright, as long as she did as he told her.

Irma rolled over and sighed at Robert’s absence. His side of the bed was rumpled, and as she grabbed his pillow, she could smell him through the age of the sheets. She gathered every ounce of him to her nostrils, and luxuriated in the memory of his touch. Her sex grew hot as she breathed him into her. She was filled with a hollow need inside her. It ached so sweetly, but she resisted the urge to touch herself. That throb was for Robert and Robert alone now. She wanted his absence to hurt, her need to be incessant, and the satisfaction to be his when at last he claimed her.

Irma took her time unfolding herself from the sheets. She was reluctant to leave that moment, but knew it was time for her to acclimate herself to the place she’d been brought. Rising nude from the bed, she found her glasses on the nightstand, and slipped them on and granting her a good look at the room for the first time. The green wallpaper was fading to a greyish tint, and the paint on the trim was peeling away. Though it was fairly clean, the space was clearly in disuse and in need of work. Doors to a walk-in closet were thrown open to show a black, empty cavern. A faint scent of mothballs wafted out from the closet and mixed with the hint of musk which defined the room. Irma found a hairbrush on the dresser along with a handheld mirror. She took these and sat on the edge of the bed, working out her hair into a neat cascade over her shoulders to cover her breasts. She inspected herself and nodded in approval. Looking around the room, Irma realized there was nothing else for her to do but explore the house. She swallowed the hint of indignity at traipsing naked through a stranger’s home, and stepped into the hallway.

The walls were covered with a blue-striped wallpaper. It had retained more colour than the sun-exposed bedroom, but peeled away at the edges in an unflattering curl. There were dozens of photographs on the walls and the service furniture. All of them were old, and some practically ancient. Images of men in military uniforms and austere women surveyed her naked body. Their eyes followed her down the hall as the photographs took her backward in time. She recognized the uniforms of the young men on aircraft carriers from WWII, and even the infantry garb from WWI. The Spanish-American War, the Indian Campaigns, and even the Civil War, each of America’s violent excursions were represented in this hall. Robert’s family had bled for their country, and they were clearly proud of it.

Irma came to a door at the end of the hall, a worn nameplate identifying it as Cheyenne’s room. Irma pushed the door open to reveal a small four-poster bed with frilly dressing. She slipped inside to investigate, hopeful that there may be something she could put on within. It was a peach-coloured splash of hyper femininity, not at all Irma’s practical cup of tea, but she smiled at the naivety and innocence of the young woman who must have lived here. There were framed pictures on the dresser. A woman about 17 years old was in each frame, accompanied by friends in one shot, an older woman embracing her in another, and a young man in the last. Irma picked this picture up and examined it. The easy smile and obvious charisma belonged to a younger version of Robert. Gone was the greying at his temples, and there was no haunt in his eyes when the picture was taken. Scrawled at the bottom of the picture in a woman’s hand was “Brother and I”. They looked happy and confident and so full of life. Irma had to wonder what had transformed that family into a worn and empty house in the middle of nowhere.

She set the picture down again and walked over to the closet, easing the door open with a slight creak. It was pitch black within, but Irma could make out the pull-chain of a light. She reached out and yanked on it, feeling its disuse offer her some resistance. There was a buzz preceding the flicker of the light coming to life. She blinked against the sudden luminescence, the closet’s contents resolving before her. She drew a deep breath of gratitude to find it still appointed with the young woman’s dresses. Irma raked the hangers across the dowel, looking over the selection. Some of the items had been ruined by moths or decomposition. These she took down and placed in a pile at the foot of the bed. She was left with little to choose from, but found a loosely knit dress well-suited to the coming heat of the day. She frowned at it as she looked it over. It would be a little bit small on her, but Irma needed to wear something, and it would come close enough. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up. It clung to the curve of her hips as she did, accentuating the bounce of her pert ass. She slipped her arms into the short sleeves and slowly pulled the buttons closed over her stomach and chest. The top two buttons were too tight against her full breasts, so she folded the ends over, trying to showcase the line of her cleavage in a show for Robert’s approval. With the thought of Robert, her nipples swelled against the knit. The toothy yarn raked them gently, giving her a delicious sense of anticipation. She wanted to feel Robert’s rough touch and skilled knots on her skin again. Irma’s pussy dripped a lone bead of lust down her thigh. She tore a rag from one of the rotted garments, and tidied herself quickly before scooping the ruined things up, and heading downstairs.

The vestibule and living room which presented themselves downstairs were, if anything, even more neglected than the bedrooms had been. A coat of dust covered most everything, and the musky smell of rot was much more prominent. Despite the signs of age, the space communicated an earthiness, a rightness, which Irma found oddly refreshing. It comforted her to find signs of tradition and survival in the face of all that was new in her world. The scent of brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen, putting a smile on her face. Robert must have gotten it ready for her and gone off to attend some errands. She went into the kitchen and saw he’d left a clean china cup out on a saucer, a fresh pack of cigarettes waiting beside it. She gratefully poured the steaming black liquid from the stainless steel pot, and snapped up the cigarettes. She took both out to the screened in porch at the back of the house.

Irma set the coffee down on the sill of the screen and opened up the cigarettes. She gazed out at the unkempt fields of the farm as she tapped the package against her palm and drew one out. Lighting it, she stared pensively at the landscape that had formed the man to whom she was dedicated. She imagined the shape of his life here, doing chores and surviving the taunts of his sister, the call of his mother from this very porch as dinner was laid out for the evening. It was no more exciting than the diner she’d just escaped from, but somehow it was more tactile, more real. That solidity was attractive. Irma puffed the cigarette and sipped on the coffee, watching the morning grow close to noon.

The trail of dust kicked up behind the battered old Ford Model AA truck as Robert rolled back into the driveway to the house. He always woke up early when he was home. Years of helping to run the farm had just trained him to be up before the sun. He’d left Irma resting peacefully, made them some coffee which would keep hot in the electric kettle, and gone to inspect the barn. The place was a mess, and the crop duster it contained was even worse. He’d tidied things up some and made a list of parts for the plane, then headed out to the airfield to see what he could salvage. The parts had cost him $20. They’d need to work for him. He didn’t want to draw questions by having to sell things just yet. His situation was still delicate.

He saw Irma on the porch as he rolled up, and smiled to himself at the way she’d made herself at home. He’d wondered what she’d do about her nudity and coming downstairs, finding that he’d left. He was touched that she appeared confident in his return. Robert prefered a submissive who could be left on their own without turning into an emotional wreck. There were a lot of things which needed his attention and energy. Sometimes Irma would just have to deal with being ignored. As he parked the truck, Robert was struck by the gratification he had at seeing Irma as his. It implied something beyond the next few days or weeks, which had been as far into the future as he’d dare look for a long time now. He dug out the parts he’d purchased from the bed of the truck, and looked over at Irma. She smiled warmly and waved. Robert found he could only nod in response. He headed into the barn to get to work.

Irma suppressed her desire to run out to Robert as she saw him heading toward the barn. She knew by intuition that when he desired her, he would come for her. She lit another cigarette and let her mind drift through the hypnotic patterns of sunlight as it passed through the leaves of the ancient oak tree on the back lot. The dappled leaves and shifting shadows helped her ward off the questions threatening to pop her fantasy world with hard practicality. She wanted only to trust in Robert and know that everything else would be alright. They could take on tomorrow’s problems when the day came. The cherry of her smoke singed her fingers as she absently let it burn down. She dropped it to the worn 2 x 4 floorboards and stubbed it out. Her stomach rumbled at the same time; certain practicalities would not be dismissed by simple desire. Irma headed back into the kitchen, seeing what she might make them for lunch.

She found a loaf of bread in the cupboard, and some baloney in the icebox. It would be a simple affair, but Irma was eager for the opportunity to do something for Robert. Her heart raced at the thought of his approval as she assembled a trio of sandwiches, slicing them into halves and arraying them on a plate. Just yesterday she had begged the universe for release from her indentured reality. She laughed to herself how in less than a day, her entire life had melted into the desire to make this man she barely knew content. Odd as it was, she’d never felt so happy, so naturally in her place as she was with Robert. He was all she wanted now, and she’d take every chance she could to thank him for taking her.

Picking up the plate, she once again became aware of the need building inside her. She fed that hot ache with a memory of Robert’s cock. She’d make sure her pussy was laced with wet desire as she met him. Her clit swelled as she went down the steps of the porch and across the yard, stepping one foot in front of the other as she crossed the sparse lawn. The motion not only gave a seductive sway to her hips, but had her thighs cross one another to tease her engorged clitoris. Just thinking of Robert brought a sexual response faster and stronger than Irma would have thought possible. She could hear the sounds of Robert’s labour within the barn as she approached the door.

Irma was surprised to see the airplane inside, and to find Robert buried in the guts of the thing. His shirt was hung on a nail by the door. His well-muscled back gleamed with his sweat, and grease stained his arms in streaks up to the shoulders. Irma held the doorjamb and bit her lip against the tide of desire which wracked her body. Filled with helpless need, she straddled the entryway and groaned as the solid frame pressed against her sex. Robert was engrossed by his work, muscles straining against a rusted bolt. She rolled her hips as she watched his strain, the veins rising to pump more power into his physique. She could feel the stain of her lust spreading on the dress, flushing with embarrassment at her treatment of Robert’s sister’s things but unable to stop herself. Her breath started coming faster as Robert’s leveraged elbow shook with effort. Just before Irma could find climax, there was a loud ping as the bolt snapped from Robert’s wrench. The sudden shift of leverage sent Robert stumbling into the engine block. “Goddamn!” he bellowed as pain blossomed within his colliding hip. Irma’s desire collapsed into concern, and she rushed into the barn. She set the plate quickly down on a nearby crate, “Robert! Are you okay?” she cried in alarm.

He turned to her, rubbing the point of impact gingerly. He gave her a chagrined smile, “Got my pride more than anything, darlin’. You bringing me something?”

His smile was enough to right her world in an instant. She slowly came close to him, reaching out with hesitant hands, uncertain of what she was allowed to do. Her fingers eased into his hairy chest, already matted with sweat and grime. She inhaled his scent, her eyes closing in ecstasy, “I brought some lunch, but I’d bring you anything you want, Sir.” she purred. Her head rolled slightly back, exposing her neck to him. She felt his rumbling laugh through her fingers, which sent a tremor through her body.

He squeezed her hand gently, then pulled it from her chest, “Lunch sounds good.” he said as he eased back from her touch and ducked under the machinery. “This fucking this is being a pain in the ass!” He winged his torque wrench off the frame with a sickly gong. It did nothing to alleviate his frustration.

“Robert! You’re not going to help yourself out like that.” Irma chastised him.

He turned to look at her, a look of quizzical displeasure on his face. “Excuse me? Did you really just try to tell me what to do?”

Irma swallowed hard, “I’m sorry, Sir.” She spat out quickly, lowering her eyes and flushing with genuine shame. “I only mean that if you need to hit something. . .” she trailed off and turned around, hiking the dress over her hips to expose her ass to him.

Robert belted out a deep laugh and came close to her, “You’re walking a very thin line, Missy.” he said with a mix of playfulness and menace. His body was just short of hers as he slid a filthy hand around her throat. Irma groaned and pushed her hips back, finding the growing hardness in Robert’s filthy trousers. She could feel the grime transferring to her skin as she ground her ass into his cock. He growled into her ear as he spoke, “but you do walk it well.”

Irma pressed her throat into Robert’s palm, pushing her trachea into sweet constriction against his strength, “Please, sir.” She begged him. She wanted him to pour his frustration into her. Her mind reeled at her desire to receive violence from him. She was scared to give the desire more voice than a bare whisper.

“Please what, slut?” Robert’s growl vibrated through her body which forced Irma to gasp with a tiny orgasm. She loved how the word sounded coming from his lips.

“H-hurt me, please.” she rasped.

He moaned with satisfaction. Robert loved her eagerness, her need to take every sort of treatment he would give her, and her inability to keep that need secret. Spinning her around by her throat, he pushed her up against a support beam, holding her there, watching her face contort as she pulled shallow breaths through his grip. He could smell her desire building. He kissed her hard and deep on the mouth, finding her tongue a desperate partner to his in her mouth. Breaking the kiss he commanded her, “Take the dress off.” He released her and walked across the barn to a coil of rope.

Irma pulled the knit dress over her head and inside-out. The hair of her pussy lips was already matted with lust, her thighs glistening wet with desire. She turned to Robert as he approached her, the bite of the hemp rope in his white knuckled grip. His eyes burned and his lips curled into a predatory smile. He grabbed her by the throat again and kissed her hard on the mouth. His tongue was a hot invasion, which she sucked greedily. She groaned and pressed into his kiss, her body growing warm with need.

Robert broke the kiss, pushing Irma back slightly. As she spun her arms from balance, Robert seized her wrists and quickly bound them together. The toothy rope clawed at her, sending thrills of pain through her skin. He threw the line around one of the barn’s massive trusses, and tied it off to the frame of the airplane. Robert pushed Irma by the hips backward, forcing her to bend into her bound wrists, pushing her firm ass into the air. Irma’s body was an inferno of sensation and desire. Robert’s greasy hands left brown-black streaks across her body. Her skin trickled sweat from every exposed pore, mixing the grime into a filthy lubricant melting across her. She spread her legs slightly and her clit throbbed hard, swelling and pulsating with desire.

Robert walked behind Irma, inspecting his prize. Her curves glistened in the slatted light of  the barn. Every inch of her was succulent clay which begged to be molded to his desire. His mind raced with a million ways to use Irma. He would take his fill of her, but knew his appetite would never be sated. His nostrils flared to draw more of her scent in, intoxicating him with raw, animalistic lust. She was a narcotic of femininity, wild sexuality which needed to be claimed, but could never be tamed. His cock strained against the wool of his trousers, and a dark stain was forming where his precum pushed from the head of his cock. He slowly undid his belt, making sure Irma could hear the click of the buckle. He laughed at her as he saw her spine shiver at the metallic ring of it. Pulling it through the loops on his waist, he cracked it against the fleshy curve of Irma’s ass. She cried out her pain, then purred sweetly at Robert.

Irma had never thought pain would feel so good. Her sex flowed freely as the sting filled her body. Her nipples grew hard at the impact, and a warm sensation pulsated through her whole body. “Again please!” She begged Robert, raising her ass to ask for it. She felt her cheeks separate, which she hoped offered Robert a better view of her asshole. The air ripped as the belt crashed again into Irma’s rump, the first in a series of savage blows. Irma’s eyes rolled back in her head and she felt a rush of endorphins sweep through her. Robert’s strength sent Irma’s mind floating out above her body. She was awash in a sea of Robert’s will and power. It filled and surrounded her, each new blow pushing her deeper. This was the place Robert had prepared for her, the space where she most profoundly sensed that she was his. She drooled and droned a low syllable. Her body shuddered, cumming over and over though her mind could barely note it.

Robert smiled as Irma tripped in her isolated world. He dropped his belt and ran his hands over her body. She was hot all over and slick with sweat. She may have shuffle as he playfully twisted a nipple, or changed her pitch as his finger found her clit, but Irma was deep in subspace. Robert decided to take full advantage. He grabbed another rope, wrapping turns around her thighs just above the knee. He pulled the lines out and ran them through the hayloft pulley. Slowly, he pulled Irma up. Her legs bent and spread, her back to the floor, as Robert lifted her into the air.

Robert walked back around, inspecting his work. The taut coiled lines were stunning against Irma’s skin. She was a dappled spectacle of grime and rope and lust. Robert could not restrain himself any longer. He took to his knees and licked up and down the furred slit of Irma’s inflamed cunt. He spread her lips gently and caressed the sides of her aching clit. Irma’s moan became more coherent as Robert’s tongue coaxed her back into her body. She rolled her hips against his face, grinding her clit against his tongue. “Fuck!” she screamed as she felt the fullness of sensation returning to her. “Sir! You eat my pussy so well! Oh, you spoil me Sir!”

Robert stood up, letting his pants fall to the earthen floor in the process. His cock was a raging lance, and they both needed him to sheath it inside her. He grabbed her ropes and pulled her open cunt down on his swollen dick. They both released a cry as he filled her completely. Robert took her hip with one hand and her throat with the other, and swung her cruelly through the air. Irma swayed and bounced helplessly as Robert’s cock drove in and out of her needful sex. She strained to breath against his grip, but drew precious little oxygen. Her whole body shook and pulsed, giving three savage throbs, and then she exploded with orgasm, losing a massive scream with a torrent of ejaculate. Robert thrust against her spasming cunt, and holding himself deep inside, shooting white-hot jets of jism deep insde Irma. They held their posture together, each softly shaking with the force of orgasm.

Robert reached out for a long knife nearby, still holding himself inside of Irma. He carefully slit the ropes around her thighs, letting her shift her weight to his hips. He freed her wrists and pulled her into him. They kissed slowly and deeply, Dominant and submissive lost in one another. Robert eased them both to the floor, their bodies picking up more dirt, but neither one concerned. They stayed locked together as their arms coiled around each other. Holding one another, they drifted into an exhausted sleep.

© 2013 Shawn Mohr