stories

Covered

The nurse’s look when she pushed up her sleeves would’ve made Tracy bolt if she could have moved.

“What’s your name?”

Tracy eyed her badge. ‘Tammy’ it said, a cheerful sunflower beside her picture.

“Tracy DeCarlo.”

Her lips felt twice as big and talking sent a pain shooting through her jaw.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Tracy glanced over at Paul; his stare sent her heart into a stuttered rhythm. Her rapid breaths made her side protest.

“I fell,” she mumbled.

Tammy held her gaze, her eyes asking questions. Tracy looked at Paul and then the floor.

“I fell.”

Stories I Create On…

Flying today. An unedited sketch for you.

“I’ll have to call my husband.”

That catches my attention. I’m on the aisle and glance to my left to see a man with shaggy salt and pepper hair beside me. He’s wearing a fedora and a suit jacket with jeans. To me, he’s slight in build and I’m sure I’m taller than he is by five inches at least. By the window is a thin blonde woman with her hair pinned up in a messy bun and her lap filled with a slew of writing paraphernalia.

Are they joking? The level of extended closeness on planes makes listening in too easy. The jolt of her words makes me slightly more attentive.

He mumbles something about being her boyfriend and leans in for a kiss. My mind goes wild.

I picture her husband, a burly man with huge hands and a barrel chest. He’d be fit, the definition of virile, a paragon of male perfection. His hair a rich brown, his skin a healthy bronze, his muscles prominent in his chest and thighs. I picture him sitting at the end of a large four poster bed, his arms and legs tied tight to a chair, his big cock standing tall and leaking precum as he watches…

His wife is splayed out naked on the bed, her skin pale against the black of the sheets. Her legs open as her lover’s salt and pepper head moves between.

The perfect cuckold. While her husband strains against his bonds, nothing but lust vibrates through his body. His eyes would be the color of honey that darkens to amber as he watches. He has to give way to the older man’s expertise as well as his obvious helplessness. He can’t explain the emotions roiling inside him, lust being the hardest to explain.

She’d gaze down the bed at him, her tiny body writhing with pleasure.

“Do you see what he does for me?” Her back would arch, pushing her breasts high. “Do you see?”

He’d only groan in reply, his eyes fixed on the point where her lover feasted on her cunt. Her lover had skill and patience on his side, he knew her body well because they’d been lovers a long time. Her every moan makes her husband hotter, harder, closer to losing control.

His cock aches for what he’s denied, what he can’t possibly give her, what he wants desperately to give her. Another man’s mouth on what was his shamed him… Aroused him to an embarrassing level.

Her husband’s in real danger of cumming all over himself as her lover pushes her closer to the edge.

The plane taking off pulls me out of that particular fantasy. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in mental erotica and now my mind won’t slow down.

I find myself glancing sideways at him often through the flight. At his hands that look strong with blunt nails. At the crotch of his jeans with a definite bulge situated to the right. Every shift makes me wonder.

Could he work such magic with his mouth?

Maybe his mouth on me while I take care of her husband’s neglected cock. Ah, but that’s a story for another time, maybe…

State Your Purpose

What am I doing here?

The reason I started this blog-thang almost 9 years ago was because I liked putting my thoughts out there and seeing what conversations I could start. It could also be read as me being a glorified attention whore. Mostly, it was a safe way for me to meet and interact with strangers without the awkwardness that comes with first meetings.

I was much more revealing with my person during the early stages of my blogging. I’d post lots of photos of myself, talk about work or school, things I worried about, my family, and anything that floated through my mind. It was a journal that garnered me public feedback.

That’s changed over the years. I post about myself less and less, and have shifted away from frank revelations about feelings and the like. That’s fitting in a lot of ways, but I struggle with what my purpose for blogging is anymore.

As a writer, you’re required to have a niche of some kind. I’m an erotica/romantic erotica writer. That’s my label, my genre of choice, but what’s my niche as a blogger?

People come to Cara Thereon’s blog to gain what kind of insight? I’m not sure…

If I can’t do the things I did before because of backlash, what can I do that is attractive to people? Figuring out not my marketability, but my likability is hard. I write, so naturally I post my unpolished pieces to give you some idea what I’m capable of. My brain is brimming with stories, but not all are worth sharing. I can’t help asking myself if that’s the best use of this space?

I may need to go back to some kind of schedule. I’ve considered posting a piece where I ask for critique, going back to posting a book review a week, and sharing the stories I like the best of my writing.

Bottom line is I need to figure out exactly what I’m offering and give that.

What’s your blogging purpose?

I’ll post a story in a bit.