written by Christa Faust
Before I was a professional Dominatrix, I used to work the Peep Booths in Times Square. You know the ones, put your tokens in, the shutter slides up and you get to look through a little window at a LIVE NUDE GIRL. You can even pick up a prison-type telephone rig and talk. Our joint had something for everyone. Surgically sculpted porno queens all stiff blonde hair and big red lips. Cornfed promqueens looking like the cheerleader you always wanted to bang in High School who wouldn't look twice at you cause you were on the chess team instead of the football team. Manic crack-hos like hungry insects and voluptuous Mamacitas and sad old lushes who squeezed their sagging flesh into cheap lingerie and prayed for leftovers when the younger ones were busy. And me. More...
written by David J Schow
Abel Swift bandaged up his hand as best he could, given that there were no dressings or hydrogen peroxide in the apartment. To buy that kind of stuff from a bodega he would have to hump down six floors of stairs, and Abel hated exerting himself to waste money. He mummied up his hand with one of his wife's halter tops tied in a knot, which gifted him with a bonus twinge of revenge. It served her right. More...
written by Thomas Roche
The fog was coming off the river and shrouding the town in winter magic. Vi slipped the 68 Caddy into low gear and came down the hill toward the housing development. Bruno reached out and touched her on the arm, a gesture of reassurance. She looked at him without smiling, but the warmth between them was obvious. They were two soldiers in combat. More...
